PALE REIGN OVER GESHEM - CHAPTER 6 by Abyss DISCLAIMER; Marvel Comics has rights to everything here that is theirs. I have right to everything here that is mine. Their stuff is used without permission, and only for private entertainment purposes. None of this is being done for profit, and may not be sold for profit. The small print here is so tiny it may not be read without a really expensive microscope, and the meaning of life is contained therein. Comments encouraged, criticism appreciated... In the event of spontaneous decompression of this story, please place the oxygen mask over your face... Keep the faith Abyss ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pale Reign Over Geshem - Chapter 6 It was like being caught in a raging river, a windstorm, a landslide all at once. He was thrown every which way, thoughts and images rising and falling before him, crystal clarity and fog like illusions warred for Prelate Summers' attention, and then all at once, he understood... She was a dryad, a tree spirit for a very old oak tree, he had hurt her when his optic blast slashed the branches, but she was already in pain... the land was called Geshem, the world was simply that; the world. No star travel, no aircraft, no sentinels, no mutants, little science, magic was the rule... and someone was tainting the magic... more, a castle, a gem, her voice in his head... *...prophecy...* The images warping chaotically, a kaleidoscope of reality and colour... coalescing into more images, but these were all hazy... ...a castle, covered by a dark cloud... a diamond, covered in blood... something with teeth, hiding in the dark... and more teeth, closer, in his face, around his throat... There was more, vision after vision burning itself into his mind faster than he could accept or begin to understand them. His mind reeled, it was too much... The dryad watched as Prelate Summers fell back into the bed of leaves... * * * He woke up at the foot of the tree. It was mid-day. He stood up slowly, looking around. There were signs someone had been there recently, several of them actually, but they were long gone, some back into the forest, some up the stream bed. The events of the evening rushed back to him... the dryad, the visions, his wound... he looked down at his chest. Nothing, not a scar. And something else. There was a pouch at his belt. A quick investigation showed it to be filled with nuts, berries and some plants he assumed to be edible. Prelate Summers looked at the huge oak tree. It remained unmoving, at peace with the forest. The whole thing seemed like a dream, yet there he was alive, intact, and far more clearheaded then he had been in a while. His voice was only a whisper. "Thank you." The only response was the whisper of a breeze in the leaves and the rustle of the grass. He would be content with that. Not having any clear idea where to go next, he started to trace the tracks heading back into the woods. Then he heard the horn, and the hounds. * * * "The Pale Man's lackeys. They're hunting us." Cyclops didn't doubt her for an instant. This Stevie Hunter had shown herself to be a skilled, deadly serious woman. The horn sounded again, and the baying of the hounds was louder, more frantic. His mind began racing. "How far to the village?" "A few more hours." Tabitha spoke up. "The huntsmen will be mounted. We can't outrun them." Cyclops turned to the Hunter. She appeared pensive, then her eyes narrowed and she looked back at their trail. "We can't disguise our scent if they already have it. There's a river not to far from here. If we can get across and bring down the bridge behind us, we might have time to lose them." "What about your people at the village? Can't they help?" "There's no time, and we can't let the Pale Man know they're there." She looked at Tabitha speculatively. "Can you keep up?" The girl barely blinked. "Just watch me." The horns sounded again. All three of them broke into a run, the Hunter leading the way. * * * They were just in sight of the river when the howling dogs broke into sight. They were large wolfhounds, bred for size and savagery. Cyclops glanced back and saw them, brown and grey forms running through the woods at them. Tabitha was lagging badly. He stopped. The Hunter was back at his side in a moment. "We cannot fight them all." "I don't plan too. Get to the bridge, I'll be right behind you." Her dark eyes studied him for a moment, then she grabbed the out-of-breath Tabitha by the arm and dragged her onwards. "Come on girl, no sense in all of us getting killed..." Cyclops allowed himself a smile as they hurried off. He turned in the direction the dogs were closing in from. Horn blasts were more frequent now, and there were shouts as well. The huntsmen following their pack. Cyclops waited until there was only a thin line of trees between himself and the first of the dogs, and then he cut loose. The force of his optic blast was wide and dispersed. It shattered trees, it churned up earth, it picked up two hundred pound dogs like toys and hurled them back. The sound of the sheer force he was releasing echoed through the woods like a thunderclap. Five seconds of sweeping his power across the forest, then he stopped. The wreckage was impressive. He wasn't too happy about all the damage, but from what he had seen, deforestation wasn't a problem in Geshem. Staying alive was. Some of the hounds whined softly. Men were shouting off in the distance, warnings now, rather then excitement. Cyclops turned and followed the sound of the river. * * * The stream had grown thicker by the minute, and he figured it was a runoff from a larger river up ahead. He had found one body, wearing the same uniform as the men he had fought in the clearing not to long ago. The man had been stabbed from behind, stripped of everything of value except his cloak, and left facedown by the water. There had been tracks of two other men moving off into the woods. Prelate Summers had taken the cloak. His shirt was ruined, and it might help him blend in better. It also reminded him of the cloak he had worn to disguise his identity, along with a scrambler module, when freeing mutants from Sinister's slave pits, what seemed like a lifetime ago. There were more horns blasting in the distance. A hunting party, maybe? He had read about such things, before Sinister had found him, before Apocalypse had changed the world. Visions of mounted hunters in red coats faded at the next sound. An energy signature. A strong one, and somehow, familiar. Shouts and cries had replaced the baying of the dogs. Prelate Summers hurried up towards the river. * * * Cyclops reached the shore. He saw the wooden bridge, Stevie and Tabitha already half way across. *One good blast will shatter that, then we'll be in the clear.* The Hunter saw him coming. She spared him one urgent look, then hurried after the girl. Cyclops reached the edge of the bridge. The shoreline cut off abruptly, and the water was easily twenty yards below. He turned to cross, and three figures emerged from the treeline, charging him. Two were dogs, large hounds like he had discouraged moments before. The third ran on four legs like the others, but was definitely no dog. It was human, heavyset and broad, wearing only some cutoff leather trousers, with a heavy blade strapped across his back, it had a face, covered in brown fur like the rst of its body, and a mouth that drew back to show large fangs. As it got closer, it drew up onto its hind legs, and its hands reached back and pulled out a large, heavy saber from the sheath strapped to his back. Cyclops recognized him now, or at least, his counterpart... one of the Nasty Boys... Hairbag. The hounds sprung ahead. Cyclops was just on the edge of the bridge, but he had to cross before he could destroy it. The first hound leapt. An optic blast to its nose pushed it down into the ground, hard enough to knock it senseless. The second came in low, and a hard kick to its head sent it falling to the water below. Then Hairbag was coming down off a long jump, howling at the top of his lungs, saber held double-handed over his head and intent on cutting Cyclops in half. He triggered his optic blast, the lens of his visor responding to his thoughts and sliding up. Hairbag twisted in mid-air, taking part of the blast along his side. He came down hard enough to make Cyclops lunge sideways and avoid loosing a leg to the heavy blade. The blade sunk into the wood and stayed there. The snarling bandit didn't even try to pull it loose. He jumped at Cyclops, hands extended, claws bared. Cyclops caught one of the arms by the wrist. The other slashed at his face, and knocked his visor just slightly off centre. Scott closed his eyes reflexively, but with the visor still in place more or less, opened them. He could still see somewhat, but his accuracy was ruined. If he fired now, he might take the bridge out from under himself. He grabbed the other claw with his free hand. Hairbag growled at him. His breath was nearly enough to finish Cyclops off right then. They grappled, Scott finding himself forced up against the thin railing that lined the bridge. Shouts from the near side. Other men were approaching, and if his guess was right, the Hunter was probably on her way back for him even now. He had to take out the bridge! Hairbag shoved his face forward, trying to bite at Cyclops. The x-man pulled his head back, then snapped it forward, head-butting the attacker hard, and also knocking his visor back into place. He scanned the situation quickly. Two men rushing up the bridge to assist Hairbag, and sure enough, farther along, near the other side, the Hunter, blades out, charging to his rescue. An optic blast sent the two men flying backwards. Hairbag did the unexpected. He dropped, hugging the floor, letting the blast pass over him, then lunged from that position, piling into Cyclops, claws reaching for his throat. They were grappling again, but the force of the lunge threw them back at the railing, and the rotted wood gave way. Cyclops and Hairbag went falling over the edge towards the river far below. Back on the bridge, the Hunter watched her companion of the last two days fall, and with him, her only hope of fulfilling the mage's quest. More of the Soulsworn were rushing up the bridge. The Hunter said a silent prayer that Tabitha would keep on to the village, and prepared herslef to sell her life dearly. * * * They hit the water hard. Cyclops had braced himself, arms across his chest, legs together, chin tucked in. The impact with the water was rough, but even as the currennt tore him away from the bridge, he was pulling himself to the surface. He shoke his head to clear the water from his visor. Hairbag was nowhere in sight, and on the bridge, Stevie was waiting for a group of hooded men with swords to attack her. Steadying himself against the current, Cyclops loosened another optic blast. * * * Her prayer complete, the Hunter was in low fighting stance, gratefull the bridge was narrow enough that they could only come at her two at a time. They could've used their horses, but the bridge was not going to give a mounted fighter an advantage, so they came on foot. She waited for them, one blade out, arm extended forward, the other held back and behind her leg. The first of them was almost in sword's reach when a red blast of energy tore most of the bridge out from under them. The sound was like nothing she had ever heard before. Like thunder and fire and magic all at once. Stephanie jumped back. Wreckage and Soulsworn fell to the river below. The half of the bridge she was standing on trembled. She looked once down the river, then turned and ran back towards the other side. * * * The destruction of the bridge was impressive. Prelate Summers had arrived just in time to see one man in blue fighting another in brown, with a group of the goons in hoods rushing upon them. There had been a woman too, who had run from the woods on his side of the river, towards the fight. Since she hadn't joined up with the hoods, she had probably been on her way to help the one in blue when they had gone over the edge. Distance made it difficualt to determine if they had survived the fall, but the red energy blast that had destroyed the bridge and saved the woman had been very clear indeed. And disturbingly familiar. The blue-clad man was lost to the river. Prelate Summers moved back into the forest to find his companions. * * * Scott Summers revised his impresion of the city up a few notches. It was huge. It wasn't New York, or even the smalest of citys he had been in, and flying around the world, he had been in a lot, but it was so... real. He had never seen anything like it. * If this is a dream, I must be far more creative than I thought. * He was in the low dip of the valley now. The road started to incline just ahead, and the outermost huts and shelters were maybe a half hour away. The castle still loomed higher and more majestic with every passing mile. The sun framing its towers beautifully. A funny thought occured to him, and he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his pouch. His windbreaker suit was going to be out of place enough, and it wasn't warm enough yet that he wanted to remove the jacket. A yawn caught his off guard, and he almost tripped on a stone on the path. He realized it had been a day and a night since he had slept. * I must be getting old. * He grinned at himself, thinking of how Lee would tease him if he ever said that to her. When this whole fantasy was over, he'd have to... He broke stride again as his stomach grumbled. It reminded him he was hungry, and it reminded him you didn't get this hungry in dreams. His mind wouldn't linger on that. He pulled one of two granola bars from his belt pack and ate it as he jogged, his eyes taking in the scenery, his mind in that auto-pilot like state only long-time joggers and runners can attain. He slowed down when he was minutes from the edge of the city. Morning was in full bloom, and there should have been a hustle and bustle, even here at the outskirts, yet there was almost nothing. A few figures ran furtively from hut to hut. Some moved quickly through a large entry set into the huge main wall that led into the castle. Scott saw the local clothes were as medieval as the ones he had seen in the woods. He pulled off his jacket and rolled it into a small bundle. He was only wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Hopefully no one would look to closely at the windbreaker pants or his sneakers either. He was determined to get into the city. Even if this was a dream or a delusion, he wasn't going to wander the countryside until he woke up. No one seemed to look at him as he approached the arch. Anyone in the open walked quickly and with their head very firmly studying the ground. He was in sight if the arch when he saw the guards. Two men stood to either side of the entry. They wore leather vests and held bared swords openly. What was really disturbiung to Scott, though, was the fact that they both wore cloaks with the hoods pulled up, even in the sunny morning, and red eyes were all that showed beneath the hoods. Just like the men who had attacked him in the forest. Neither of them seemed particularly concerned with anything going on around them. Either whoever had put them on guard duty wasn't a stern taskmaster, or they were simply not used to this kind of work. Scott had to hope either case would work in his favor. He was getting into that city. One way or the other. END CHAPTER 6