When he closed his
eyes, he could still see her, and feel the touch of
her hand on his cheek.
He wondered when the
dream had all gone wrong. Their early
years
together, troubled as
they were, gleamed like shining silver in his mind
in comparison to those
horrible final months, culminating with their
being kidnapped by the alien Shi'ar and their final battle on the moon,
his allies by his
side. And the terrible choice she made,
to save them
all.
"Patricia,"
he whispered to himself. "What am
I to do without you?"
Her absence from his
mind, sans the telepathic link they'd shared for so
many years, was as
painful as her physical absence. My
head is full of
corpses, he thought to
himself. And I am left with nothing to
show for
it.
His reverie was
interrupted by a knock at his cabin door.
The Crimson
Cavalier stuck his head
in. "Chevalier?"
Chevalier Bretagne looked up.
"Yes, Jacques?" Jacques Duquesne had
been one of the
founding members of the Escrimeurs' Entente.
"We have a visitor."
In response to his old
ally's tone of voice he rose to his feet and
ventured out onto the
deck of their sailing vessel, the Blackbird.
He
did a double-take at
the sight he witnessed.
A woman, at least the
form of one, flickering in and out of visibility.
Her skin swam with
black and red energy like molten lava.
Aside her,
swords drawn and
pointed at the apparition, were his teammates Paul
Richarde, known as Le
Sabre, and the fabled Fourth Musketeer, who had
only recently joined
their company. "What is it?"
"We know
not," said the Fourth Musketeer, "but 'tis most passing
strange, and brings
with it a premonition of naught but future
darkness."
As he stood before it,
the apparition seemed to focus on him.
The
flickerings slowed, and
she tried to speak, her voice like the rumble of
a volcano. "Chris
... Christopher Summers?"
Chevalier Bretagne
removed his cap. "It is I."
The energy patterns
across her body stabilized, and she seemed to enter
fully into
reality. She was naught but a teenage
girl, bright red hair
cropped close, wearing
the tattered garments of a prisoner, her face
gaunt with hunger and
terrible memories. She lunged forward,
wrapping
her arms around him and
sobbing hysterically.
"Father!"
"That's
impossible."
Duquesne put a hand on
his friend's shoulder as he peered out the window
portal. "She did say she was from the future,
maybe ... "
"If Patricia had a
child from me, you don't think I would know about
it?" Summers
snapped at him. "I wish Professor
Viridian were here, he
could delve to the
bottom of this in no time."
The Musketeer entered
the meeting room. "She
sleeps," he said. Having
caught Summers' final
words, he ventured, "We must carry on with our own
best judgment, it
seems."
"I'm lost
here." Summers sat down at the
meeting table. "Do either of
you give credence to
her story?"
His teammates looked at
one another. The Musketeer sat down
aside him.
"Chevalier, I came
to walk the Earth centuries after my physical death,
in time to assist my
people in a war which spanned the world.
In the
war's final days, I was
caught frozen in a trap, only to walk again
decades later, and stand
by thy side. I have seen much that
amazed me,
that I would have
thought a madman's dreams in my youth."
"Christopher,"
Duquesne added, "as a member of the Chevalier Bretagne
Corps you have
traversed time and dimensions. Could
she be ... the
child of yourself in
another possible world?"
Summers' eyes
widened. "That had never occurred
to me. We've all seen
divergent futures, but
Merlyn tends to proscribe us from encountering
our divergent
counterparts. Maybe ... good
lord." He sighed. "A world
in which Patricia Hope
never died? A world in which we married
and
lived out our lives,
gave birth to this daughter, Rachel Summers?
It
sounds too much like a
black comedy. Why am I cursed to be
here, rather
than there?"
"You're forgetting
something," Duquesne added.
"She also said the word,
'Sentinelles.' Several times, in fact. Her future may not be so ideal
as you think. Something brought her back, that is
certain."
The Musketeer nodded,
"She hath the look of a prisoner about her. Her
lot hath not been a
joyous one."
Summers templed his
fingers and rested his chin on their tips in
thought. "I will speak to her after she awakens,
and we will see."
Their discussion was
interrupted by a loud crash, the sound of a
whirlwind, and profuse
swearing. The three ran outside, to see
Rachel
Summers stumbling
across the deck, the ship's gear swirling around her
as if she were haunted
by a poltergeist, and Paul Richarde, battleaxe
and shield in hand,
trying to protect himself.
"She has inherited
her mother's power, that's for sure."
Summers raced
over to her, standing
at the centre of the storm. "She's
asleep."
"Then wake her
up," shouted Richarde, "before she destroys the ship! I
tire of dodging these
missiles."
Summers took her
shoulders in his hands. "Rachel.
Rachel!" He shook
her gently, and slowly
her eyes opened, and the objects around her
dropped back to the
deck.
"Oh." She looked around her in dismay. "Sorry ... I ... I guess I must
have been having a
nightmare."
He put an arm around
her shoulders. "Come back into the
warmth."
As she sat at the
central table of the meeting room, he brought her a
cup of coffee. She drank it eagerly, holding the cup like a
squirrel
with a nut. "Thank you. Father ... I've seen Uncle Jacques and Uncle
Paul, but where's
Mother? And ... that man in blue, I
don't know him at
all."
He thought for a
moment, measuring his words, and chose to be direct.
"Patricia Hope is
dead."
Her mouth fell open,
and she almost dropped the cup onto the table.
She
winced at the spilled
coffee on her hand, shaking it out to cool it.
"But that's
impossible. You ... you died at her
side."
"I almost
did," he said. "She and I had
been kidnapped by the Shi'ar,
in an effort to keep
secret their existence from Earth.
Eventually
Jacques, Paul,
Patricia, and I managed to arrange a trial by combat with
members of their
Imperial Guard. During the battle, the
power of the
Phenix reawakened in
her, but she chose to slay herself rather than
allow us all to be slain."
"No, that's not
what happened!" She shook her head
wildly. "The Shi'ar
placed psychic blocks
on Mother, she was left powerless ... "
He sighed. "Rachel, you're physically almost my
age. You're from the
future, aren't
you?"
She bit her lip, and
nodded.
"I am not an
experienced time traveler myself, although I have traversed
many alternate worlds
in my time with the Corps. Rachel, I
think you
have traveled to a past
that is not your own, one in which your mother
died before you were
born."
She shook her head
again. "But she's not dead! I couldn't have come
here if she were! I'm a telepath, I know!"
He blinked. "What?"
Rachel Summers closed
her eyes. She was silent for a moment,
and then
said in a low murmur,
"I can hear her, she's singing to me.
She misses
you, Father."
Christopher Summers
could not breathe for a long moment.
"I must speak
to the others."
Later, the team
assembled on deck. "So it's
decided, then?"
Duquesne gave a
flourished bow, "You are Chevalier Bretagne ... the
Crimson Cavalier stands
by your side, as always. Le Sabre and
the
Fourth Musketeer have
agreed as well." The others
nodded.
"Sibyl Girl here
will act as our guide," Christopher Summers said,
ignoring his teammates'
queried looks at the use of Patricia Hope's
original alias. "She is evidently in touch with
Patricia's essence,
residing as it does in
something she calls the Egg of the Phenix."
Rachel Summers gave a
small, hard smile, and set herself at the forward
part of the ship, eyes
closed and arms gesturing to the horizon.
As they set en route,
Richarde pulled the Musketeer aside.
"Tell me, do
you believe the girl's
story?"
The Musketeer lay a
finger across his lips in a pensive gesture.
"There
are legends, even in my
own time, of sirens ... beautiful women who lure
men to their deaths at
sea. I do, indeed, fear she will serve
that
purpose for us ...
whether that be her intent, I know not."
Richarde glanced over
at her. "Christopher is
obsessed."
The Musketeer smiled
gently. "He is in love. Hast thou never felt
eros' sting? It leads men to great things ... and great
tragedies. We
shall see."
Days later, Christopher
Summers at the helm, Rachel Summers turned back
to look at him from the
bow where she had spent her days perched,
"Father, why have
you turned the ship south?"
He blinked, "I
didn't."
She narrowed her eyes,
"Yes, you ... oh, I see. There's a
psychic
barrier on the port
side. It diverted you from your
original path ...
shift the helm to
starboard and I'll guide you in."
Chevalier Bretagne
focused his enhanced perceptions on the space before
him. Every instinct that he had led him to
believe he was heading the
wrong way. It felt like sailing off the edge of the
world. Finally,
his head cleared, and
he stared aghast at the island that rested before
him. The ground below was a grey-black desert
surrounded by a mountain
ringwall like a lunar
crater, and a mile-high tower filled the place of
a central peak: it
dominated one whole side of the island, more a
mountain than a
building, black and monstrous.
The Fourth Musketeer
looked on, aghast. "I hath seen
the borderlands of
Hell, and they didst
resemble this land before us." He
placed two
fingers between his
lips and gave a piercing whistle.
"Renoncule, to
me!" From nowhere came a ghostly yellow stallion,
which whickered
softly as his owner
mounted him.
Le Sabre, likewise,
approached the stone gargoyle which stood at the
prow of the ship. He placed his hands upon it and from them
flowed
sorcerous energy, after
which the beast shook itself into motion and
fluttered into the
air. "Welcome back, Goliath,"
he said to the mobile
statue, as he climbed
aboard the beast.
Sybil Girl stamped her
foot. "Father, you're not leaving
me behind ...
you raised me with a
sword in my hand as soon as I was able to walk."
The Crimson Cavalier
laughed. "I have many, for every
occasion." He
ducked into his cabin,
returning with a small, light, foil which was
perfect for her
size. He tossed it to her and she
caught it, easily.
Chevalier Bretagne
scowled, but knew the girl deserved to come to her
mother's aid ... if
indeed she had been summoned for that purpose.
"Very well then,
we shall proceed. Allons Enfants de la
Patrie!" he
shouted as he rose
again into the air. With Sybil Girl
telekinetically
supporting herself and
the Crimson Cavalier, the quintet crossed over to
the beachfront and
approached the base of the tower.
As they paced around
the base, speculating about the existence of an
entrance, Renoncule
suddenly began to snort and stamp.
"Easy boy," said
the Fourth
Musketeer. "What do you
hear?"
As if in response, from
several of the craggy rocks which surrounded the
tower came the
defending army. They were two-legged
animals: from the
belly up they had the
torso of a man and the head of a bull, save for
long horns which stuck
up and forward; from the waist down they were
splay-footed satyrs.
The Crimson Cavalier
struck first, pressing buttons on the hilt of his
Makluan sword and
projecting first energy beams with great concussive
force, and then
disintegrating rays, at their attackers.
Chevalier
Bretagne's twin epees
materialized in his hands, the Fourth Musketeer
drew forth his own
sword and Le Sabre drew forth his battleaxe.
Several of the
creatures gave great, goatlike, leaps into the air,
forcing the team back
against the walls of the tower. They
used their
horns with expert
skill, displaying more than animal brute force.
Renoncule's hooves and
Goliath's claws joined with the humans' flashing
blades as they held
themselves in place under siege.
"Chevalier!" The Crimson Cavalier's sword emitted a large
jet of flame,
and then an electrical
blast, which took down another pair of the
creatures. "Go and seek out the Egg of the Phenix
... we shall cover
your escape, and join
you anon."
Chevalier Bretagne
hovered into the air for a moment, raised his sword
to his forehead in a
silent salute to his companions, and then flew
upwards in a spiral,
circling the mile high tower as he sought an
entrance.
Near the top, was a
window cut into the stone, the size of a man.
He
entered the interior of
the tower. It was dark and
unornamented,
rough-hewn stone as was
the exterior. Down the hallway was an
open
door, through which was
a lit room.
He walked towards it
slowly, swords sweeping ahead of him, glancing at
the open rooms to the
right and left, which seemed long abandoned.
Finally, he entered the
room ... and found himself in a library.
He rested on a
platform, every wall covered in shelves of books. He
looked down, and saw
the platform led to a staircase, which led to level
after level of walkways
which descended down through the mile-long
interior, and every
wall was filled with books. The tower
was nothing
but a massive
library. He could scarcely imagine it.
He turned, and saw the
egg, roughly six feet in diameter, set on an
ornate gold
platform. Its surface swam with gold
light, which was the
sole source of
illumination in the room. Glancing up,
he also saw a
strange contraption:
what appeared to be an ornately carved wooden box,
covered in small glass
spheres which appeared to be dewcatchers.
As approached the egg,
he heard footsteps behind him. He
turned to see
a man cloaked in
shadow. Despite the light which
radiated through the
room, he seemed himself
to be in perpetual darkness, so Chevalier
Bretagne could not
discern his features. "Greetings,
monsieur," said
the man.
Chevalier Bretagne
raised his sword in salute.
"Greetings," he said
warily.
"I am the Eater of
Souls," said the man. He stopped,
knees bent, wrist
straight, left arm
back, and point for Chevalier Bretagne's heart. "Your
name, sir? I like to know what I'm killing."
"I am Chevalier
Bretagne," he said, "the champion of my nation. I have
come for the
Phenix." He raised his twin swords
in response.
"No doubt,"
said the other, and lunged into a killing stroke. Chevalier
Bretagne parried, his
other sword sweeping forward in an aggressive
response, and found it
likewise blocked.
They began a duel,
shifting offense and defense, and Chevalier Bretagne
found himself against
the greatest swordsman he had ever encountered.
His opponent's
movements seemed effortless, and despite his enhanced
physical abilities, he
could not make headway. And then, the
man began
to sing:
"Lunge and counter
and thrust,
Sing me the logic of
steel!
Tell me sir, how do you
feel?
Riposte and remiss if
you must
In logic long known to
be just."
Their blades sang
accompaniment, the sounds of metal on metal filling
the room. At the endings of the last two lines, the
Eater of Souls
stomped on the ground
with his boot, as if to accentuate the rhythm.
Chevalier Bretagne knew
this was a common trick to distract his eye, and
he did not shift his
gaze from his opponent's weapon.
"Shall we argue,
rebut and refute
In enthymeme clear as
your eye?
Tell me, sir, why do
you sigh?
Tu es fatigue, sans doute?
Then sleep while I'm
counting the loot."
With the final word,
his opponent's sword hooked into the hilt of his
own, and his right-hand
sword went flying into the air.
Evidently he
was expected to be
distracted by the gesture, because he saw an opening
and thrust his
left-hand sword into his opponent's forearm.
The Eater
of Souls backed away
for a moment. "Excellent! First blood, monsieur!"
He shifted his sword to
his left hand. "Let us continue!"
Chevalier Bretagne
swore to himself. Despite his own
ambidexterity, he
was used to dueling
with right-handed opponents. He
expected the wound
to give him an
advantage, but the man he faced was as skilled with his
left hand as his right,
and now his own weaponry was halved.
The Eater of Souls
pressed his advantage, and Chevalier Bretagne soon
found himself on the
defensive. A strike, and another, and
he feared he
would be joining
Patricia Hope, when the combatants were interrupted by
a sound at the
entranceway. Le Sabre, the Crimson
Cavalier, Sybil Girl,
and the Fourth
Musketeer charged into the room, bruised and battered but
still whole.
The Fourth Musketeer
led the charge. "Cease and
desist! Chevalier, how
art thou?" He turned to the Eater of Souls. "Sir, thou art
outnumbered, a
surrender would be no shameful thing."
"Surrender? Even to the hero of my youth?" The Eater of Souls laughed,
and gestured as if to
draw aside a curtain ... and the shadow was
withdrawn from his
features. He was an ugly man, tall and
broad-shouldered; his
eyes and grin were merry and proud. His
most
prominent feature,
however, was his nose.
"D'Artagnan, did you ever
know me to
surrender?"
"Cyrano?" The Fourth Musketeer leaped down from his
steed Renoncule,
and ran to embrace the
other man. He turned to the others,
"This man
aided me in rescuing
the Mystery Knight from his prison at the Mont
Saint-Michel, and with
me founded the original Escrimeurs' Entente,
along with Captain
Blood and Oliver Tressilian."
The Crimson Cavalier
gave a deep bow. "Even in this day
we know the
name Cyrano de Bergerac. Sir, would you keep the Chevalier from his
lady love?"
"Ah, he seeks an
incarnation of the Phenix." He
walked over and touched
the Egg. The surface shimmered in response to his
touch, and the
Entente thought they
viewed, for a moment, the form of a woman encased
within.
[[Christopher, my
love? Rachel, my child?]] They all
heard the words in
their minds, a delicate
and familiar touch.
"We are here,
Mother," said Sybil Girl.
"We've come to take you home."
"This is her
home," said Cyrano. "She is
not whom you seek."
"Patricia Hope was
the Phenix," said Chevalier Bretagne.
"She belongs
with us."
Cyrano shook his
head. "The woman you speak of is
long dead." His face
was compassionate. "At times, the Phenix will rise from
the corpse of a
woman with whom she
feels an affinity, take on their thoughts and
memories ... and their
feelings. But she is not them. She is fire, and
life incarnate. I admire your dedication in your search, but
sir, if
you release her from
the Egg you will have a facsimile, nothing more, of
the woman you
loved. And the pattern of death and
rebirth which is part
of the cycle of the
ongoing creation of the universe will be broken."
Chevalier Bretagne scowled. "Are you saying that the last several
months had been a
lie? The woman I lay with was nothing
but fakery? I
was linked to her mind,
I knew her thoughts."
Cyrano said, "She
is life incarnate, as I said. She
partakes of the
souls of all lives,
including your beloved."
Chevalier Bretagne
walked to the Egg, slipping off one of his gloves and
touching his bare
fingers to its surface. "Is this
true?" he enquired
of the woman
within. Within the Egg she swiveled to
face him, and what
he saw was not the face
of Patricia Hope.
Slowly, ignoring the
ache in his heart, he turned away.
Sybil Girl screamed,
"Mother! Come home to
us!" She bolted from the
rest, running towards
the Egg, and the figure within opened its arms as
if to embrace her. The Crimson Cavalier drew his sword and it
emitted a
stream of gas which
rendered her unconscious. She fell to
the ground.
Le Sabre shook his
head. "Let us leave this place,
there is only pain
to be found here."
Chevalier Bretagne
nodded, and turned to salute his former opponent.
"Perhaps you had
the better of me, sir." He leaned
down and picked up
the unconscious form of
Rachel Summers, holding her as tenderly as if
he'd held her as a
baby.
"It was an honor,
Sir," said the Eater of Souls, once more drawing a
curtain of darkness
around himself.
Aboard the Blackbird,
Christopher Summers lay the girl down on her bed,
and then quietly left
the room. "How is she,"
enquired Duquesne in
hushed tones.
"She will be fine,
I'm sure," said Summers.
"When she awakes, we will
discuss her future ...
all of them. Perhaps she will wish to
return
home; perhaps she will
wish to join our company. And she must
speak to
Professor Viridian as
well, clearly, about these things."
Inside the room, Rachel
Summers opened her eyes. A smile was on
her
face. From outside, the two men did not see the
flare of the firebird
that danced within her
small hands, illuminating the room and all within
it.
All
characters trademark and copyright Marvel Comics, Inc.
Thanks
to Jean-Marc Lofficier for developing and naming the team
(Escrimeur
is the French for sword fighter and Entente could be
construed
as a group's name), and for recommending that I read Robert A.
Heinlein's
Glory Road.
The
song "Lunge and counter and thrust" copyright the estate of Robert
A.
Heinlein.
Information
on the characters can be found online:
Chevalier Bretagne:
http://www.psysdomain.com/alliesa-f/chevalierbretagne.html
Crimson Cavalier:
http://www.marvunapp.com/Appendix4/crimsoncavalier.htm
The
Fourth Musketeer:
http://www.internationalhero.co.uk/m/musketeer.htm
Le Sabre: http://www.marvunapp.com/Appendix/sabrele.htm
Phenix
I / Patricia Hope: http://www.coolfrenchcomics.com/phenix.htm