Chapter 11: Broken Women

"A war is brewing..."

-Magneto, 2003

It was late, and after many detours, before Tymah and Spit finally reached the human colony again. A human that had met them when they had first entered the camp was there to meet them again. He marveled, in a frightened, almost disgusted way, at how Spitfire was using his own hand as a flaming torch. Tymah watched as Spit grinned, and there was fire between his teeth and on his tongue. The human looked away, terror in his eyes. Spit laughed and turned back to Tymah.

"That was for you," he said with a fiery smile.

They walked on. Spit extinguished his hand as the light in the camp became adequate for walking. He seemed to know where he was going. They approached a tent made of tarp, skins and other bits of everything, and he spoke to a flap.

"It's me, Spitfire. I'm back," he said. "Can we come in?"

A hand whipped the flap back and Daytripper, looking anxious, exclaimed, "You found her! Tymah—" he reached to touch her, his fingertips grazed her arm and she felt a fire in her hotter that Spit's. She tore her arm out of his reach and heard her own voice growl like an animal's, saying, "Don't you touch me!"

He pulled back in surprise. She did not know whether the sound of her voice, or her words, frightened him more. She had sounded like an animal, and at that moment, she suddenly felt what an advantage it must be to be an Animalis mutant. She had never appreciated, until now, the value of pure rage and primitive desire. Her soul wanted to scratch out his eyes and tear him to bits; her mind knew that that was both physically, and conditionally, impossible.

Daytripper said not another word. He admitted them both into the tent, Spit as silent as himself. Within the torn bits of cloth and tarp, sat Magneto, and the Wolverine. The human female Tymah had seen before was not there, and she was glad of it. It would have been far too much for her to bear at that particular moment.

Daytripper sat near the Wolverine; Tymah and Spit stood at a distance from all of them. Magneto got up, suddenly, and walked towards them. "We're finished, here, I think, Logan?"

"For now," the other man said.

"Will you two walk with me, then?" Magneto asked them. "This is Logan's tent. And Daytripper seems to have a home here already. You may stay in my tent."

Spit and Tymah followed him wordlessly and walked with him towards his tent. Tymah bit her lip in the cold, biting silence and said suddenly, "I'm sorry. I let my emotions get the better of me. I should not have left you, sir." She exhaled with difficulty and waited for his response.

He seemed to be smiling, though, but with his back to her, she could not tell. "I do not need your protection, my dear." It was not a reproach, but an assurance.

It stung all the same. "I know that," she said, "but I still should have…I mean…I shouldn't…I mean…it won't happen again," she finished weakly.

"Of that, I have no doubt." He turned and approached a smallish tent, half the size of the Wolverine's, and entered it. There was a single bed in that tent, but he handed them blankets and she and Spit made a bed of their own, neither of them thinking to ask the other if it would be alright to share. The two of them had a sudden, unspoken understanding: they were alone in the wilderness, quite alone, but they were together, at least, and together they would stay. Sharing a bed would have seemed strange a day ago, but it did not seem so now.

Magneto sat on his bed when they were through and said, "You're right, about not letting your emotions get the better of you. You should learn to control them, but do not do it on my account, but on your own. They could kill you, if you let them."

Tymah wrapped her quilt around her shoulders and nodded.

"Emotions are devilish things," Magneto continued. "They creep upon you when you least expect them: guilt, fear," he looked pointedly at Tymah, "hate. They are useful, no doubt, but only under the…proper supervision."

"It…it…must be terrible for you, sir," Tymah said quietly, "I hadn't really thought about…about how you must feel. You must feel so alone."

Magneto shifted on the bed. "I won't deny that," he answered quietly. Then he smiled, a grim, but placid smile. "But…I am not alone now. We have been ignoring your companion, Tymah," he said suddenly, gesturing towards Spit, "you must be terribly confused, speaking of emotions."

Spit frowned in perplexity. "I…yeah, I am, definitely. But…but, you know. I can get along." He did not seem to know what he was saying and Magneto seemed, in turn, to be amused by that.

"Take comfort. You cannot be nearly as confused as I am."

Spit laughed. "I'd believe that." His smiled faded in thought. "I mean…they told me all about it. About you being…you know frozen and shit. But…I mean, who froze you? Why'd they do it? It's all just…it's weird."

Tymah recalled how all the mutants had reacted when they had first seen Magneto, conscious and alive. How they had knelt and called him father and had wept with fear and awe. It amused, as well as horrified her, how very irreverent Spitfire was behaving now, and how candid he was, despite his confusion. His belief was whole; he knew he was speaking to the one and only Magneto, the legend of old, the "father of mutants." He knew all this and could still speak to him as if he were any mutant on the street.

"I've been discussing that with Logan. We have no answers. But there seems to be certain inconsistencies in your history, my death among them, that do not fit with reality. There have also been two incidents in this camp that seem to correlate with my appearance here, but that we cannot explain."

"What incidents?" Spit asked.

"Two deaths. A little girl and a man. The deaths were unrelated, in that they did not occur in the same place, but the circumstances were identical. Both victims bled from the inside out, as if, it seemed to me, something were inside, trying to get out. The man spoke as if he were possessed, but neither of them lived long enough to tell us exactly what was happening to them."

Tymah?

"Yes?" Tymah answered. Both Magneto and Spit looked at her. They seemed confused. She frowned. "Did one of you…I heard my name…"

Spit smiled gently and shook his head. "You must have dozed off."

"I think we should all sleep now," Magneto said.

Had she dozed off? She had not. She remembered everything that Spit and Magneto had been talking about. Someone had said her name… but no one had said it. How could that be? Yes, she must have dozed off.

"Goodnight, sir," she said to Magneto. "Thank you for sharing your tent with us."

"It's nothing, my dear. Perhaps we could put an addition onto it for the two of you. Maybe install a shower and a hot tub."

Spit laughed again. "Good night Magneto," he said. "I mean…Eric, sorry. Good night, Eric."

"Good night…Spit. May I call you Spit?"

"Sure, Eric. Everyone does."

"Than I shall. Good night." Magneto reached and turned down the oil lamp beside him.

The body was cold, wet and bloated. The once beautiful visage was marred by dried blood, muddy filth and the general ugliness of death. The blond hair was streaked with mud, scum and debris from the water. The river lapped up against the lifeless legs, uncaring, undaunted, unaffected by what it touched again and again and again.

Himmel stared, his hands resolutely folded behind his back. At his feet rested the vial that had once held the Cure serum, which he had injected into the class three metal worker that now knelt behind him, defeated and human. Fathom stood near the woman, who was bound at the hands and feet. Sky's lifeless eyes, wide open and gray, looked up at nothing, were concerned with nothing. "You came back for the body?"

The woman looked up at him as he turned from Sky's body to face her. Her eyes were red and puffy and her body was limp and exhausted. The events of the night, the next day and being Cured seemed to have sent her into a state of shock. Without blinking or struggling, she answered, "She's my sister."

"I didn't know Sky had a sister," Fathom said.

"Didn't," Himmel answered. "You are not her sister."

In a monotone voice, the woman explained, "We were...raised as sisters," she paused, then, "I'm all alone now."

"Name?" Himmel asked.

"My name is Magneta. I am all alone now," she looked away and saw the body, as if for the first time, and cried, "Oh...oh...oh...she left me all alone!" Magneta's bound hands flew to her face and she began to cry hysterically and to rock back and forth. She moaned without ceasing, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" Gasping, heaving, hyperventilating, she shook and cried.

Himmel was unaffected. He turned back to the body, Magneta crying all the while. Fathom had sensed this woman almost as soon as they had left the tunnels. She had been alone, without any protection. They had come upon and defeated her without a fight. It was only now that he understood why it had been so easy. This mutant, Magneta, had run out of things to fight for.

He crouched on his haunches, leaning over the body, inspecting it with his eyes. All he saw was a puzzle. Sky had no visible injuries. No puncture wounds, no burns—but that did not necessarily mean anything. There were many ways to kill someone. Blood had dried under her nose, in the corners of her eyes and in her ears, which suggested some kind of hemorrhage or other internal injury.

"Fathom...how did she die?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know. That night, I sensed a tremendous amount of power coming from this area. When I concentrated, I sensed Sky and there were other mutants there, but no one above a class three. The only one I was sure of was this metal worker," she gestured toward Magneta, who was still crying.

"What did you feel?"

She thought about it. "It was like...like energy being pulled all together in one big ball...like a vacuum, all the energy going to one place. And then, it was gone."

"Sky could not have had such power."

"There was no one else there who was using their powers at full strength."

"Even at full strength, Sky could not have been as you describe." Himmel knew he was right. "Something else...someone else...was here."

"But...I didn't sense anyone else..."

"You did," he argued.

Fathom cocked her head, a confused expression contorting her face.

"The power," Himmel said. "Another mutant."

She shook her head. "But...it was coming from Sky...I'm sure it was."

"Coming from her, but not her," he said. He watched her think. It was pleasant to see the thoughts and theories flick over her features like lights and shadows. At last, she ventured a theory.

"Like...a...a telepath? Someone here but...not here? Maybe...killing her from the inside out? Or using her and accidentally killing her?"

"Perhaps," he said, glad, and strangely proud that Fathom had reached the same conclusion he had.

Then, a look of fear passed over her. "But...only a class five could do that."

Himmel looked at her closely and nodded. "Yes."

"But that's...that's impossible. That's impossible. No class five mutants are allowed to live. If they're Sensed, they're killed."

Himmel shrugged stiffly. "And are we aware of every mutant born in the world?"

Fathom's eyes widened. "No, of course not. But any mutant knows it's for their own good to kill class fives, even as children. Their powers will inevitably control them, instead of the other way around. Like a serial killer, or somebody who's crazy—it's not their fault, but...still..." she trailed off. "But I...I guess..."

"Possible," Himmel finished with finality. The older man looked away from Fathom and knelt in the sand across from Magneta. The wind whipped through her messy hair and river spray coated her face, along with her ever falling tears. Before him was a woman broken. Good.

"Tell me about the metal room," he began.

"Tymah? Tymah! God! Can't I talk to you?!"

Daytripper caught up with her and then jumped in front of her, blocking her path. She ignored him, and moved to circumvent him. He would not let her. If only she had her powers!

"Get out of my way!" she cried.

"No! Let me talk to you!"

Three days had gone slowly by in this camp. Tymah had spent most of them with Spit in Magneto's tent, or if not there, the Wolverine's tent. She avoided the humans as much as possible and when she had to come in contact with them, she did not speak to them. It was with more effort, but no less spite, that she had been doing the same to Daytripper.

She gave up trying to get around him and looked past him. "Get out of my way," she insisted, in a cold voice.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Janet," he began. She stopped him.

"I don't want to hear about your human," she spat. Just the name "Janet" had made her burn with envy and hate.

He looked stunned. "She's not my...my human. She's my wife! Well, I mean, more or less..." he finished, stupidly.

Tymah's eyes flashed. "Your wife?" she repeated quietly. "You took a human as a wife?" It had been bad enough to think of the human female as Daytripper's lover, but to now know that she was bound to him, and he to her, was unthinkable. "You are married...to a human?" Her whole body tensed and began to shake with disgust. She had to get away from him!

"It's not official or anything. No ceremony, but—yeah, she's my wife. And she's a human."

Tymah looked at him as if he had just told her he was a human. He may as well have. She back away, slowly at first, and then with more urgency. "You..." she breathed, "you...are disgusting!"

Tymah turned her back on him and walked briskly to her tent. He did not call after her or try to follow. Once she reached the tent, she flung herself on her and Spitfire's makeshift bed and cried until she fell asleep.

Magneto stepped into his tent, carrying three bottles of water for himself and his fellow occupants. He placed them quietly on the ground when he noticed Tymah asleep in her bed.

Her strawberry red hair was spread over the blankets and across her face. She was frowning slightly in her sleep and Magneto thought he could see tear stains on her cheeks. He was debating whether to wake her, when her eyes suddenly opened wide, in surprise.

Magneto looked away. He hadn't meant to be staring.

"I see you," Tymah said, in a raspy voice.

He turned his face back to her. "I'm sorry if I woke you," he said.

"I see you!" she repeated excitedly.

Her face was full of sudden joy and her eyes remained wide, but they seemed distant, eerie. "Tymah?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Tymah rose. She extended her hands, then looked down at them, as if surprised to see them move. "I can touch you..." she exclaimed and did so. She grabbed his shoulders with a vice grip before he had a chance to pull away. Close up, he saw how black her eyes were, fully black. "Tymah!" he cried. "Tymah!"

"Do you...remember me?" she asked, the same raspy voice. "Do you?" She shook him, as if to forcibly jog his memory.

Magneto stared into those black, abyssal eyes and was afraid. "Who are you?"

"I can't stay," said the voice, that he now knew was not Tymah's, "but there is room here! She will be able to hold me!"

A slow trickle of blood slid out of Tymah's nose. Tymah's right hand released Magneto's shoulder and touched the blood. "She won't die," said the raspy voice. And Tymah collapsed at his feet.

"This is the time!" Centaur was shouting. "This is the perfect time! Fellswoop, the stalemate is at an end! Godspeed is dead!"

Satyr nodded. "Centaur is right. If we act now, we could cripple the Elementals. Set them back years. We know where their base is, we know where their Council meets. We could wipe out the Council, Fellswoop! Imagine the repercussions!"

He was imagining it. It would be, as Satyr had so rightly said, crippling. And yet...and yet...

"I cannot think why you've waited this long, Fellswoop!" Centaur cried.

Why had he waited this long? He had the Elementals exactly where he had always wanted them—at his mercy. Would he, then, show mercy? Could he afford to? Somehow it felt wrong, implicitly wrong, to take what Godspeed had told him and use it against the people she had served. It was entirely counter to the plan they had created together. The plan for peace. The failed plan.

The plan that his Table, Creature aside, knew nothing about.

He had argued with Godspeed that to revive Magneto, who would be categorized as an Elemental by default, would give the Elementals a devastating advantage. It had had been his greatest fear, in following through with the plan. Now, in the end, the opposite had come true. The Animalis now had full advantage over their enemies.

But if it had worked, would we still be enemies? he wondered.

And then there was that irritating matter of whether or not Magneto was, in fact, dead. If he was, the silence was explainable. If he was not, what the devil had happened to him? They had never returned to the bunker. Had Tymah, the Elemental, betrayed them, given him up? Had Daytripper been working for the Elementals? Had they been working together all the time? But Godspeed had trusted Tymah! And the teleporter had seemed trustworthy. The only remaining conclusion was that something had happened to all three of them: captured, Cured, or killed.

Two out of the three choices offered hope of Magneto's being alive.

"We have to find Magneto," Fellswoop said, suddenly decisive, aware that what he was saying would sound like the ramblings of the insane.

Centaur's mouth dropped open. "Magneto? Have you gone mad?!"

The silent Creature smiled widely. "The answer," he assented.

"Have you both gone mad?!" Centaur rose from the Table. Satyr was still seated, looking from Creature, to Fellswoop, to Centaur in a state of perplexity.

Fellswoop smiled for the first time in weeks. "Sit Centaur. I have not gone mad."

"I have always been mad," Creature said, slyly.

Centaur remained standing. "You've lost it, Fellswoop. Lost it."

Fellswoop stood likewise, but his stature was more impressive than Centaur's. His wine-dark wings pressed against the walls. "Sit," he ordered, smiling no longer. "I have something to tell you."