PALE REIGN OVER GESHEM - CHAPTER 11 by Abyss Well, I'm back, bigger than life and twice as witty. Much thanx to everyone who has written me about this story. It's a real motivator to know someone is actually reading it. Assuming my account continues to work properly, I will be sending along a chapter or two a week from here on until the end of the story. Ideas were coming fast and furious during exams, [what, you think I was studying or something?] and things in Geshem are about to absolutely explode... DISCLAIMER; Ideas contained in this work that are the property of those really swell people at Marvel are used without permission, which is bad, but for no profit, which is good. Any content which is not theirs is mine, and may not be used without permission and much grovelling. Now more than ever, comments, critiques, opinions, etc... are most appreciated. Ok, lets do this... -Abyss ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I'd say they would be right not to trust you at all... Prelate." For an instant, silence ruled, and then everyone in the room was talking at once, the resistance leaders demanding explanations from the Hunter, the Hunter demanding silence, Lillian ordering Cyclops into the room at sword point, and Tabitha trying to tell everyone her version of what was going on. Only two people were silent; Prelate Summers, formerly servant to the madman Apocalypse in a reality that had ceased to exist, pulled into this dimension in an act of magic by a desperate resistance leader, and Cyclops, leader of the X-Men in the dimensional reality the Prelate's world had supplanted, and then been replaced by in turn. Each was looking at a reflection that should not have been, each recognized the other as an aspect of himself he had always known, but never allowed to surface... and on some instinctive level, each distrusted the other. The sound of a blacksmith's hammer shattering the table silenced everyone else in the room. Amon, a huge man by any standard, had brought his hammer down on the table hard enough to snap it into kindling. Stephanie, the Mage's Hunter, seized the moment to speak. "Lillian, close the door... we have much to talk about." * * * Cyclops watched as the girl, who he was shocked to recognize as Illyana Rasputin from his own world, moved to his side and shut the door. Her blade rested against his throat the whole time. When she turned to look at him, he gingerly raised his hand and moved the point away. It was like moving wet cement. It moved, but only with great reluctance. The big man with the hammer turned to Stephanie. "Hades woman, what is happening here?" The Hunter met his angry look without blinking. "Very possibly the only hope the Queen and the Land has, blacksmith. Clear your people out of here, we need to plan." That got an angry response from the group. Cyclops quietly moved a step back to the door. If this got ugly, he wanted a wall at his back. He noticed the Prelate actually moved a step sideways, closer to the smith, and also placing the Hunter between Cyclops and himself. If it came to a fight, Cyclops would have a more difficult shot, and the Prelate knew it. Cyclops recognized him from Bishop's descriptions of his memories of a world that Apocalypse had ruled. He had been stunned at the path his own life had taken there, and even somewhat sceptical. His disbelief fled in the one-eyed face of proof before him. The objections were still flying across the room when Amon hefted his hammer over his shoulder. Everyone got very quiet. The man had a voice like an angry bear. "All of you, go home. I'll come get you when we've decided." He turned back to Stephanie. "I'm staying." There was really no room to argue, and the other seven men and woman seemed to agree. Cyclops moved away from the door and they all filed out, some throwing distrustful glances his way. Lillian shut the door behind the last of them. Stephanie looked from her to Tabitha and back again. "Lillian, Tabitha's dress is in rags. Go see if you can find her something to wear." Both girls looked ready to object and both got the same dark look from the Hunter. They walked into the back room of the house and Amon closed the door firmly behind them. Stephanie turned to Cyclops. "You're alive." He almost grinned... almost. "A little worse for wear, but yes. Glad to see you are too." "Tabitha might not be if it wasn't for him." She indicated the Prelate with a nod. Cyclops opened his mouth but Amon spoke first. "Now. They both look like Lord Summerisle. What is the meaning of this, Hunter?" Stephanie seated herself and explained the Mage's spell and subsequent events. Neither Scott Summers' spoke. Amon was silent throughout the story, and then he asked the most important question. "What now?" Cyclops took the opportunity to speak up. "I say we go ahead with the plan. The problem is what to do with him." He indicated the Prelate, who stood by silently. "He's proven himself to us." Stephanie said. "Has he? Has he told you about the madman he used to serve? Has he told you how he's responsible for the deaths of thousands, maybe millions?" Cyclops turned to the Prelate. "When did you plan to betray them? When Sinister was ready to take you in?" If he was shocked at the accusation, he didn't show it. His voice was low, and deadly calm. "Sinister isn't here, and I stopped serving him a long time ago." "You expect me to take your word for that?" "I don't care what you believe... Scott. You weren't there." "You served him, willingly. Why should here be any different?" "How do you know its him... Scott?" Cyclops noticed the catch in his voice every time he used... their... name. He was deliberately goading the Prelate, trying to find out if the man was truly the butcher Bishop had indicated. "Put it together, Prelate. The Marauders are here, he's called the Pale Man, who else could it be? Who else would you want it to be?" "I told you, I stopped serving him, and Apocalypse." He grinned. There was no humour in it. "You won't take your own word for it?" "You're. Not. Me." *And I'm not him...thank god* Though neither could recall moving, they were inches apart, staring at each other through ruby quartz visors that sparkled with the fury of the power each was a thought away from lashing out with. The knife stabbing into the floor between them barely caused them to flinch. The Hunter's voice was something else. "Enough. Hear me." She stepped forward and grabbed both of them, the Prelate by the collar, Cyclops by the combat harness he still wore. Unseen by all of them, Amon grinned. "You are both going to help me free the Queen, and the Mage. You will do this because you have both sworn to, because this Land dies if you don't, and most of all because if you do not... I will stain Lillian's floor with your blood RIGHT NOW!" Neither man seemed shaken. The Prelate looked at Cyclops with open contempt. Cyclops just looked straight ahead. They both answered in the same tone, with the same voice. "Fine, let's get to work." Amon actually laughed, and the Hunter turned to pick up a chair, and mostly to hide a grin. Neither Scott Summers looked at the other. * * * "But why do I have to go?" Tabitha asked for possibly the tenth time. This time, Stephanie didn't even reply, just went on looking at a rough map of the palace they had drawn. Lillian was packing some things in the other room. Cyclops had gone with Amon to secure some supplies, and Prelate Summers just sat quietly in a corner, staring out the window. "Look, ok, I know the Lord-Consort will recognize me, and I know you have enough people for the raid, but I also know the palace better that you and..." The Hunter was ignoring her, and she HATED that. Throwing her hands up in despair, Tabitha went to help Lillian prepare. Stephanie looked over at the silent figure in the corner. His expression was unreadable, behind the visor and the long hair and the stone-like set of his jaw. "Looking for the meaning of life, Scott?" He didn't turn. He didn't answer. She tried again. "I've seen warriors look like that before battle. Some are praying, some are thinking of home, some are just trying to push their own fear away. Which is it with you?" He stood and leaned on the window sill, his back to her. "There is no god, I have no home, and I haven't been afraid of anything in a long, long time. None of the above." She walked across the room and stood at his shoulder. "Was your world truly so terrible?" "You have no idea." "And did you do those things your other self accuses you of?" "Yes." His voice was so dead. She wondered what was raging inside him to cause him to withdraw so much. "And will you betray us, as he says?" The reply was forced through teeth. "I. Don't. Know." She considered this for a moment. "I think you will not. I think you are as noble as the High Lord whose face you share. Your world could not break you. Bend you, perhaps, but not break. Geshem can be a place of healing." He whirled on her, his face twisted in rage evident even behind the visor. The three long scars down the left side of his face were a livid red against his flushed skin. "What's there to heal? What? My world is dead. Everything I knew of is dead, and if we win, if we get your precious Mage out, what? I get sent back there to be with the dead! And if we lose... it's the same... bloody... thing. I have nothing left to heal." She didn't flinch. "Maybe your soul, Scott Summers..." The door opened and both of them turned. Cyclops stood there with a rucksack. He had changed his blue uniform for leather trousers and a blue shirt. He still wore his combat harness. He looked from the Hunter to the Prelate, then moved to the table and put the bundle down. The Prelate turned back to the window. Cyclops took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, then he moved across to the Prelate "If we're going to work together..." he was at a loss for words. What did one say to oneself, especially when you didn't trust them? "We need to make peace." The Prelate turned. Stephanie braced herself for the explosion, but it came from the door, not the Prelate. Amon burst in. "Hades! The Pale Man's bandits are here, a troop of them, rounding everyone up." Tabitha and Lillian were in the room in a moment. No one noticed they had been right at the door of the other room. Amon kicked aside the table and pulled at the floor. A loose board came up and then a trap door swung down, revealing a staircase. He gestured and all of them rushed down. He followed and swung the door shut behind them. It was pitch black for a moment, then the smith produced a candle. The flickering light cast eerie shadows on their grim faces. They were underground, on their hands and knees. The tunnel was well packed, but only high enough to kneel in. Lillian started to crawl down the tunnel and the others followed silently. After a few minutes they emerged into a cave. Sunlight streamed in from an entrance and tree roots twisted and spanned above their heads. The warrior-girl was out the opening in an instant and they all followed. The clearing was hemmed in by tall trees growing side by side. Six horses with full saddle and tack were waiting there. "Tabitha, Lillian, you're going, now." The command was evident in the Hunter's voice. Lillian's face coloured in fury. "My village..." "Will be fine. Its us they're after, now GO, the Land guide you both." The two girls had equally resentful looks on their faces, but they did as they were told. When the sounds of their horses had faded into the distance, the Hunter turned to Amon. "What did the bandits want?" "They didn't say," the smith's face, already dark from long hours at the forge, darkened further. "I heard they wiped out a village because they thought the resistance was based there." "Were they?" the Prelate asked. Cyclops answered first. "Does it matter?" All four of them were silent. The Hunter spoke again. "The land is more important than one village..." "You don't mean that." Cyclops replied. "If they mean to hurt the villagers, we have to help." The Prelate turned on him. "You that eager to die, Scott?" "Are you that eager to let others die... Prelate?" Both men were silent. Amon broke in. "I'm going back. Help. Or don't." He moved back into the cave. Cyclops moved after him. The Hunter looked searchingly at Prelate Summers, and then followed. The Prelate just stood there. * * * The grey-haired man was a bundle of energy as his bandits herded the villagers into the square. He shifted from foot to foot, he leaned on a wall, then a hitching post, then paced. Those villagers already in the square watched him nervously. They had heard stories of this one... but they were too horrible to be true... weren't they? After a moment, a bandit, his red eyes glowing from beneath his hood, ran up to the thin man, who standing next to a well now, absently pushing the hanging bucket back and forth. "Sir, that's everybody." "No one got away, did they soldier, the men in the woods did what they were supposed to yes? Did they?" "Yes sir." "Good, do tell them to come in and join us won't you." The man ran off. Bandits spread out in a lose circle around the square. Some held crossbows lightly, bolts strung and ready. Others held bared weapons casually at hand. Their faces were hidden from view, which added to the atmosphere of fear. All together, there were about seventy villagers huddled together, nervously watching everything. The leader hopped up on a bench near the well and addressed the group. "Good people, my dread lord and yours, the Pale Man, seems to think there is resistance here in the village. Now I was as dismayed as I know you are... how could there be trouble in a peaceful place like this?" He spread his arms wide to include the whole village. Under their hoods, some of the bandits grinned. They knew what was coming. "And I told my dread lord I would come here and personally make sure there was no such thing. And I was right!" He smiled, showing lots of white teeth. Some of the villagers sighed in relief. Most didn't. "But good people, I am a fool, because as we all know, the Pale Man is never, ever, ever wrong." He pointed to one of the streets leading into the square. Five more bandits ushered in six villagers. They were beaten, bloodied, and their hands were tied behind their backs. A murmur ran through the crowd. The grey-haired man continued. "After all, why would these mice flee if there was nothing to hide?" He shook his head and jumped down from the bench. Someone was weeping in the crowd now. The bandits herded the new prisoners to one side of the square and pushed them against a wall. Two men with crossbows covered them and the rest moved out of the way. The grey-haired man walked over, pausing to brush some dirt from his boots. He addressed the bound prisoners. "Do any of you have anything to say for yourselves?" One of the prisoners, a young man in farmer's clothes, spoke up. "We were just afraid, my lord. We didn't mean..." He didn't finish the sentence. The grey-haired man, smile firmly in place, waved his arm. To the watching villagers, it looked like a cloud of dust grew up from the ground and surrounded him for an instant, and he was lost in the swirling cloud, and then there was the briefest moment of screams. The six prisoners were bloodied by dozens of small knives and blades that hurled from the leather-clad bandit, passed without pause through their bodies, and buried themselves in the wall behind. The screams were so brief because the blades were so fast. Every one of the six was dead. The man turned to the crowd. Weeping, screams of denial and despair filled the square. He grinned again. He didn't really care who was a rebel and who wasn't. They were all about to die. * * * END CHAPTER 11 ..