The Vengeful Soul: Part Three

by Kerri G.

"Darlin', ya got company comin'." Logan stuck his head in Remy's room where Charlotte and Hank were talking quietly.

Charlotte looked over at him, confused. Company? She got up to follow him out, Hank behind her.

She stepped out on the porch to find Bishop facing off with a group of five men. Storm stood back out of the way, poised for a fight.

The group of men stood quietly, but Charlotte could tell they were preparing to defend themselves. All the signs were there. The magic was beginning to manifest itself, sparks shooting from their collective aura. The power of five was about to make a painful introduction.

Oh, damn. With everything that had happened lately, she'd completely forgotten. After 200 years.

"Hold on," she called to Bishop, stepping around him to place herself directly between the charged weapon he held on them and the magic gathering itself to strike. "It's okay, they belong here."

Bishop looked doubtful, but slowly lowered the muzzle towards the ground.

The shamen relaxed. The magic faded.

Charlotte let out a breath and turned back to men.

"Grandmother," the eldest of them spoke. He wore his age and wisdom with dignity, the 74 years he'd lived left few signs on his face. His silver-gray hair was held neatly in place with a strip of leather, his dark eyes spoke of a long, full life.

~I'm sorry~ she told them, taking Bear's hand. ~I forgot you were coming.~

The five men, the current generation of Quapoa shamen but one, were dressed in buckskin, faces painted, hair long and unbound. On each chest a silver medallion was proudly worn, bearing the sign of the ancestor claimed and served.

Bear bowed his head in ceremonious acceptance of her apology. ~It is time for the rites, Grandmother.~

~I know, the summer gathering. I have no excuse for my neglect.~

~I believe we will allow you to claim old age this once.~

She swallowed a laugh, but her eyes twinkled. Bear winked at her, holding her hand tightly. She could still the boy he'd been in his eyes.

~Come and gather what you need,~ she told him. ~Raven should be here.~

He moved past her towards the house, the others following behind. Each one stopped to greet her formally. They moved silently past the men on the porch into the house and to the library.

Thomas was on his way up from the basement, already attired in proper clothing and paint. He carried several items wrapped in buckskin.

~Raven.~ the others greeted him. He handed each a wrapped object.

They filed back out. Thomas held back. He glanced around at the X-men. "We'll have a lot to talk about when we're done," he commented.

"You'd better go, Raven," Charlotte answered. "I'll see you at dusk tomorrow." She reached up to touch the wing symbol on his cheek, then the raven medallion against his skin. Touching the past and future.

He rested his forehead against hers for a long moment, the way his father had done each time before the rituals, then left with the others.

Charlotte stood staring after them for a moment, then shook herself out of the mood. "While you're here," she said to the others, "don't wander over to the next valley. In fact, stay around this house."

"What is happening?" Ororo asked.

"Tomorrow is the summer solstice. They are the shamen of the Quapoa tribe. They've come for the ceremonies to renew their bonds with the magic."

Magic? Hank's brows rose as he glanced at Storm and Logan. He couldn't remember if Thomas had ever mentioned magic in their long association. Surely he would have remember that. He didn't recall Thomas ever telling him he was a shaman, either.

Charlotte looked at each one directly until she'd gotten their agreement. Bishop looked disgruntled, but he knew better than to challenge her. He grudgingly gave her a nod.

Charlotte, Ororo and Hank returned to Remy's room. Charlotte sighed as she took her seat again. Hank looked at her curiously.

"He is your grandchild?" he asked.

She didn't understand what he was talking about, her mind on the rites. Then it dawned on her. "The title is honorary. I've lived so long, their ancestors felt uncomfortable calling me by name, especially as they were taught to respect their elders with the title of Grandmother or Grandfather. It pretty much stuck."

"Chere..." Remy breathed the word.

They jumped up to his bedside.

"What do you need?" Hank asked him, peering into his eyes.

"Noise."

"Nothing to be worried about," Charlotte assured him, brushing his hair off his face. "Bishop made some new friends."

His mouth stretched slightly in a suggestion of a smile, but Charlotte could 'hear' his faint chuckles. "Water."

"I'll get more ice," she told him.

Hank had propped Remy up a little more in bed with an extra pillow. Ororo reached for the bowl, then sat on the bed next to him and began carefully spooning shaved ice into his mouth.

"You've corresponded with several of those men. They are some of my resources on folk medicine." Charlotte leaned against the doorway.

Hank rubbed him chin thoughtfully. "Thomas wasn't in the house. How did he get in without being seen?"

"Come on."

She led him down to the lower level. "I told you my father was a mutant and my mother was an alien, a race called the Torel. They were a technologically advanced civilization, even then."

"Space travel does tend to suggest intelligence."

"True, but lengthy space voyages weren't the preferred method of travel for them." She flipped on a light in a small room. He tried to follow her, but a force field bounced him back. "Sorry about that," she tapped on the keyboard at the controls. "Try it now."

He entered, frowning at the doorway. Then the device in the corner caught his attention. A large flat disk, made of the same black metal she wore around her neck and carried as weapons, about 4 feet in diameter lay on the floor. The control board sat in another corner. "What is it?" He moved closer for a better look.

"It's a transport gate. I think my mother used it to go back and forth to her home planet, but at some point she altered it to operate on this planet alone. I use it to get around. I do live in the middle of nowhere."

"This is the method you employed to retrieve Gambit?"

"Bishop called me with his last known coordinates and I gated down to bring him back."

"It is capable of transferring more than one person?"

"It's worked so far." She picked up a belt. "It's a one-way trip, so I use a homing device to get back. The gate is bio-locked, just like the doorway, only myself or Thomas can actually operate it."

"We have teams who use teleportation devices, we've even had members who could teleport themselves," he said, looking over the control panel. "The X-men have not employed such a mode of transportation."

She nodded. "I know. I keep this one very low profile. I didn't want any outsiders trying to steal it. The entire valley and the next are shielded with Torelan technology. That's why the 'paths couldn't find Remy. The field completely camouflages everything inside. It's rather handy."

"I would imagine so," Hank agreed thoughtfully. "About the power source-"

Later that evening Charlotte walked up from the lake, using time alone to bring her anger under control. The solicitude they were showing worked her nerves. She knew they genuinely cared about Remy, but it still grated. Left to die an ice wasteland. It was cruel beyond anything.

She spotted Logan on the porch. As angry as she was, she felt better with him near her. 'My soul will find yours.'

She smiled slightly as she mounted the steps.

"Have a seat," Logan patted the space next to him on the glider. "Beer?"

"No, thanks, not much of a beer drinker. I keep it on hand for the boys." She sat down and leaned back, stretching her legs out. "What a day." He was certainly making himself at home. "Emma told me about the showdown at the Xavier corral, but I think she gave me the made-for-TV version. What happened?"

Logan puffed on his cigar for a moment, collecting his thoughts, wondering how much to tell her. "Ya gotta understand, Gambit ain' liked too well by some of the team. He's secretive, an' his attitude rubs some the wrong way. He an' Storm used to run together in New Orleans, she won' hear anythin' wrong 'bout him."

"It seems that he has no problem getting along with the women on the team," Charlotte mused. "It's just the men."

"Mebbe so. He an' Rogue spark off each other, too much som'times. When they were in Antarctica an' the Marauders put him on trial, she kissed him and absorbed his mem'ries, found out 'bout him bein' wi' the Marauders an' the Morlock massacre. Kid's got blood on his hands. It was too much for her, she flew off an' left him there."

"Blood on his hands? You're kidding, right? Is there one person on your team who isn't covered in blood?"

"No, but when ya don't like a man, ya use anythin' ya can to get rid of him. Cyke an' Angel don't like him, they think he's the traitor Bishop came here to kill."

"He's not a traitor."

"We don' know that."

"I know it. I've been in his head for the last week, I know he's not a traitor."

"How can ya be so sure?"

She fell silent. "Have you ever looked at a painting," she said slowly, "and suddenly you're able to see *into* the picture, past the streaks of paint and brushstrokes, right into the soul of the artist? It's like you've peeled back the layers of perception down to the bare bones and you see it all so clearly. In that one moment you see the answer."

"What answer?"

"To the question it's asking you. I've been in museums around the world. I've never failed to see at least one person staring at a painting or an object and you know, just know, they've found that answer. Sometimes it's enough to change their perception of their own world."

"It's a great deal more....profound when you look at a person and see through all the layers we build up to protect ourselves and find their soul. You know them, intimately. Not the facts or circumstances of their lives, but their feelings, their convictions, their own morality. It wasn't just the mind link. I looked into him and I knew. He is not your traitor." Just like I looked into you and found my soul.

"The rest of us ain' got that option." He caught that last thought from her. He couldn't tell if it was deliberately sent or not, but made him feel good.

"Then why are you here?" She turned in her seat to face him, tucking her leg under her. Her knee brushed his thigh.

"I know what's happenin' now ain' fair to Gambit. Cyke's outta control, an' he ain' got the right to judge him. 'Course, Cyke don' like me much either. Don't believe the kid was in his right mind during the massacre, he tried to save them. Sinister was experimentin' on him. He's free of it now, an' I trust him as much as I can trust anyone. He ain' gonna be able to defend himself till he's back on his feet." He finished his beer. "It came down to a choice. Follow Cyke's new order an' ignore Gambit, or leave. We left."

"Will you go back?" Do you want to go back?

He shrugged. "Don' know. Mebbe when things cool down. Hank'll go back, once he gets over being mad an' Gambit's recovered. Storm, too. They got too much history wi' the X-men to stay gone. Bishop'll go back, he ain' finished the job he came here to do yet." He glanced over at her. "Ya 'fraid we're here to stay?" He meant himself.

She laughed softly. "No. That's the last thing I'm worried about. Company is nice, once I got over that 'kill 'em all now and sort out the details later' moment on the road earlier. Guess I've been alone too long this time."

"How long ya lived here?"

"On and off, about 200 years. I moved here and married Thomas' father in 1798."

"He's a mutant?" He'd never gotten around to asking before.

She shook her head. "He has an extended lifespan, but he doesn't carry the X factor. Just as well, that could have really complicated his life."

"What's he do?" He debated whether to have another beer or not, then decided against it. He'd have to get up and go get one, and he was loath to break the mood they'd fallen into. It was...nice, peaceful.

"He's a consultant for the Luna Foundation in San Francisco."

"Never heard of 'em."

"They don't make the news too often. The group specializes in unexplained phenomenon, primarily supernatural in nature."

"Like ghosts?" His voice sounded skeptical.

"Like ghosts. All the shamen are magicians. They come in handy."

He did realized there were six men somewhere near performing a ceremony for magic, but he still had a problem accepting the concept. If he couldn't hold it, smell it or taste it, he doubted it. "Yeah, sure."

She grinned, she liked this part, then whispered a few unintelligible words, rubbing her fingertips together lightly. He heard a faint 'whoosh', then a ribbon of fire licked her fingers. He reached out to touch, only to be burned before the flames were gone.

Logan took her hand in his, examining it closely. He could smell the odor of smoke and something more, but no other sign. "That could've been a trick." The smoke dissipated quickly, all that was left was the scent of her soap and the natural musk of her skin. He didn't release her hand.

"Could've," she agreed, "but it's not. The Quapoa practice magic, the members were much sought after as healers and protectors. Raven was also a shaman and he taught me a few spells. They do come in handy. I never have to worry about having matches." She didn't pull her hand back. His large hand felt warm and safe wrapped around hers.

"Didn't ya call Thomas Raven earlier?"

Her voice softened. "The title is hereditary. Legends say the Quapoa tribe is descended from six magical creatures: Raven, Crow, Bear, Wolf, Coyote and Fox. It's passed from father to son, or grandson."

She reached out with her other hand and lightly touched his cheek, turning his face to hers. Effortlessly she drank in the emotions eddying through his mind. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his, her eyes meeting his, waiting for a response.

He didn't move for a long moment, just feeling the softness of her mouth against his, watching her eyes glow a bit. When her mouth moved slightly under his, he took possession, pulling her into his lap. He moved his hands to hold her face, deepening the kiss, tasting her. Her eyes closed, but not before he saw the amber gold blaze. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

Then, just as quickly it was over. Her forehead rested against his, her body intimately pressed against him. Then her good sense took over. She laughed a little as she untangled herself from his arms and stood up, moving away.

"What a day," she shook her head ruefully. "I've managed to swing from thoughts of scalping to seducing the.....that thought's better left alone. I think it's time I stayed out of trouble and went to bed. I'm sorry." She gave him a half smile and headed through the front door.

"Don't apologize, darlin'," Logan said softly. "I'm not." Not sorry at all. Damn woman.

[next part]

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