IN THE SHADOWS OF THE MOON -- PART 3
by - Joyce
mab49@earthlink.net
April 1997

Warnings and Disclaimer in part 1

 

Lafe Mileson's cabin - Hawkins Ridge Creek
11:30 a.m., July 23
 

"All right, everyone. Lafe's an idiot, but if I'm right about him, he's a dangerous idiot. Don't take any chances," Sims whispered urgently to his makeshift possee. Somehow, in the intervening hours, Sims had convinced himself that he was the one who targeted Lafe as the killer. With an exaggerated wave of his hand, he sent two of his men off off into the thick brush to the right of the main trail.

Mulder saw Scully's lips moving and suspected she was muttering under her breath about their less than subtle approach. Sims had taken the dirt road at nearly fifty miles-per-hour, raising a dust cloud that no doubt could be seen for miles. Lafe Mileson would have to be drunk, asleep or just plain stupid not to realize he was under attack. Somehow Mulder didn't think Lafe was going to wait patiently in his cabin to be arrested. Considering Sims' attitude, Mulder didn't even consider pointing this lapse of procedure out to him.

"OK, agents, I'm going to take McDonal and we're going to sneak up along the left side of the trail. I'm leaving Haskell with you. And, of course, your watchdog. Try not to step in anything," Sims said as he gestured McDonal to follow him. C.J. gave a slight shake of his head as they made a noisy advance into the tangled brush.

Mulder looked at Haskell who gave him a cold distainful stare in return. Apparently Sims had not been reticent about his disastrous encounter with Lafe the night before.

"Right, then. You two follow me. I wouldn't want you two to get lost or anything, you being city folks. Rawlins, keep them out of trouble." Haskell shifted his shotgun and started up the trail.

Mulder quickly moved into postion right behind Haskell, ignoring Scully's glare. C.J. filed in right behind her. Their two escorts guided them quietly and carefully up the trail. About a mile later, they halted.

"Lafe's cabin is around the next bend. When Sims gives the signal, we're going to rush the place. Lafe won't know what hit him."

Haskell's whisper carried well past the three people standing beside him. Scully's soft hiss of disgust barely reached Mulder's ears. He couldn't agree more. Whatever surprise may have lingered after their rush up the road was surely gone by now.

A sharp whistle exploded from the far left and Haskell immediately sprinted up the trail, shotgun at the ready. Mulder drew his gun, looked at Scully and C.J. to see if they were ready, then followed their erstwhile guide slowly up the trail.

Mulder proceeded cautiously. Lafe was not someone he wanted to bump into unawares. He divided his attention between scanning the clearing and looking down at the trail. The cabin looked deserted. Hell, the cabin looked like it was falling down, but Mulder maintained his cautious approach. With a quick nod at Scully and C.J., then at a shabby storage shed, he sprinted across the open ground and took up position where he and C.J. could cover Scully's dash. As he moved aside to let Scully come up beside him, he came to an abrupt halt. Just finishing her own dash across open ground, Scully almost ran into him. C.J. slithered to a halt barely inches from Scully's back.

"Bear trap," he said softly, nudging her shoulder and pointing to an innocent pile of leaves and twigs laying just beside the shed. Scully could just make out the glint of metal under the leaves and the camoflauged chain holding the trap to the wall of the shed. C.J. flashed Mulder an approving grin and a quick thumbs-up.

Gunfire shattered the silence. Mulder pressed back against the shed, weapon held at the ready, while he scanned the front yard. Scully dropped into a crouch, sweeping the area behind them. C.J. immediately moved out to their left, behind a rotting pile of logs, to a position where he could have a free field of fire.

A loud agonized scream burst out from behind the cabin, a second scream echoed the first. Curses intermingled with yells of agony accompanied by the creak of old wood collapsing.

"Peters, Jaskins, what the hell is going on?" Sims roar was almost lost as several shotguns went off, peppering the cabin and shattering the sagging door.

Haskell and McDonal made a reckless charge at the cabin. Mulder calculated that they were going to reach the cabin with empty guns at the rate they were firing. Sims was roaring at them but his exact words could not be heard over the shattering sound of their shotguns. Finally he burst out from the brush and went after them, followed somewhat more cautiously by Jacobson.

Within minutes silence had been restored. Mulder and Scully cautiously made their way to the cabin. Both of them were now scanning the ground for traps. C.J. moved like a silent ghost behind them, constantly scanning the area, alert for a possible ambush.

"Not a very trusting man, our suspect," Mulder commented wryly as he sidestepped a trip wire attached to a nasty-looking bombard of nails, barbed wire and broken glass.

They were now close enough to hear the moans of the men in the rear of the cabin. Sims was still roaring inside the cabin.

"Show's over for now. Figured Lafe was too canny a mountain man to get caught like this," C.J. said with a resigned sigh. He turned to Scully, "Heard you're a doctor, of sorts. Sounds like Peters and Jaskins could use one right now, if you're a mind to help."

"Agent Scully, get in here. The cabin's clear and I've got men needing medical help," Sims bellowed out the window.

Scully grimaced as she holstered her gun and sprinted up the porch steps. The cabin smelled worse than it looked and for a moment it was all she could do not to gag. She heard Mulder's reflexive gasp behind her.

"Peters and Jaskins are out back. Damn that Lafe. Damn him and his traps. Someone must have warned him we were coming."

"Actually, Deputy Sims, I think you probably did a good job of that yourself. A dust cloud any idiot could see a mile off is a good tipoff that someone in a hurry is coming up the road."

Scully delivered her rebuke in a clipped tone as she shouldered past the sputtering deputy. Sims was definitely on her shit list, right up there with Mulder. Mulder at least had the common sense to follow FBI procedure when approaching a possible entrenched, heavily armed suspect.

When they reached the back porch they saw Jacobson applying rough field dressings to the wounds. Immediately absorbed in the task of stabilizing the men, Scully didn't even feel Mulder leave her side.

Mulder left Scully to her work and made a brief tour of the cabin. He held his breath against the stench of generations of unwashed bodies and whiskey that had seeped into the very boards of the cabin. Exploring an old cherry-wood cabinet, he found a pot of greasy ointment that smelled and looked like the stuff smeared on the ritual victims. He bagged it as evidence, not sure if it would ever be needed, but it gave him something constructive to do while everyone else was fussing around outside.

"Damn bitch!"

Acting Sheriff Sims was furious. He stormed out of the cabin and sent McDonal and Haskell out into the brush to see if they could pick up any sign of where Lafe had gone. Jacobson was assisting Scully with the two wounded men. His decade-old medic's training in the army was a bit rusty but better than nothing. C.J. was following that damn Agent Mulder like he was his shadow. Damn waste of manpower.

Sims seethed at his luck. It was bad enough that his carefully planned raid had failed to turn up any trace of Lafe Mileson. OK, so maybe taking the last two miles of dirt road at full speed wasn't that smart an idea in hindsight, but Sims just couldn't believe Lafe was smart enough to realize he'd been identified. The man was an egotistical brute with more brawn than brains and God certainly hadn't blessed him with much brawn.

What really hurt was the damn embarrassment of having two of his men fall victim to Lafe's childish traps. Even that idiot Mulder had managed to avoid the traps littering the yard. Peters and Jaskins however, who for God-certain knew better, just had to walk right into the trip-wire strung across the back steps. They'd live, but the doctors would be picking buckshot out of them for awhile. So much for showing the FBI how competent he was. Haskell and McDonal came back, reporting that Lafe was nowhere to be found. Sims' day wasn't getting any brighter.

Mulder left Mileson's cabin, moving quietly to the edge of the woods, out of range of Sims temper. He watched as the acting sheriff rampaged around the small clearing. He had never really held out much hope that they'd find Mileson at home, but it gave them something to do and kept Scully too occupied to have her significant discussion with him. Her diminutive figure looked almost childlike among the big husky boys Sims had pressed into service for this posse, but he'd rather have her at his back than a dozen of Sims's brawny boys. Now she was busy getting the two unfortunate victims of Mileson's trap ready to transport.

From the looks of the cabin, Mileson hadn't been at home for several days, possibly as long as a week. The cabin looked like it had been built about a hundred years ago and not built very well. The boards were so weathered that they shone as a grey shadow amid the thick overgrown bushes surrounding it. The yard was littered with beer cans and assorted rusty junk that might have been, at one time, a functional still. Honeysuckle vines covered unidentified lumps in the yard. It looked like anything that didn't move out of the way fast enough was fodder for the voracious honeysuckle. Mulder wondered if the honeysuckle was carnivorous and decided to keep moving just in case.

The little voice in his head assured him that Lafe Mileson had passed beyond the puny reach of mortal law. Perhaps, but Mulder saw no harm in building a nice logical case against him, if for no other reason than to satisfy Scully's urge to transform the paranormal into a safe, rational cause and effect. Right now, Mulder was determined to give Scully as much of a solid foundation as he could. If things went the way his voice was predicting, and it will, Fox, why do you still doubt me? then she would need every bit of that solid footing to keep her sanity.

From the back of the cabin he heard Scully's voice as she barked orders at the men carrying the two wounded deputies to the Jeeps. He smiled as he realized she had quickly assumed command of the demoralized posse without a single one of the men even questioning her authority. Sims was too involved with his own fury to interfere, but Mulder saw his head swing round at the sound of her voice. There would be trouble soon. Sims wanted revenge and Mulder doubted if he was going to listen to his request for a detour. Still, the interruption should deflect Sims from his obvious intention to put Scully in her place.

Mulder walked quickly to intercept Sims, barely conscious that his shadow had returned to his duty. C.J. had the happy facility of disappearing from Mulder's awareness and right now, Mulder was grateful for that. He liked C.J. and, under better circumstances, might have enjoyed getting to know him, but right now he was a necessary appendage inflicted on him by a Scully in full den-mother mode.

"Sheriff Sims," Mulder shouted, reminding himself that a bit of prudent diplomacy might not hurt.

Sims halted and waited for Mulder, his face mottled with the heat and the remnants of his fury. He wondered what this idiot from the FBI wanted now. They had to get Peters and Jaskins back to town and then organize a manhunt for Mileson. Right now he didn't care if Mileson was actually the killer; Lafe had hurt his men and his pride and Sims intended to make him pay for that.

"Before you go back to town, I need someone to take me to see the old woman you told me about last night."

"Old Sallie? You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to waste any of my time hauling you up to Glendower Falls to talk to a senile old hill woman." Sims tone was contemptuous and curt. Mulder had badgered him with his friend's body growing cold nearby until he told him about Old Sallie. Now the idiot actually expected him to divert men and a vehicle to traipse up there. No wonder the country's falling apart if this is an example of a government agent, Sims thought angrily.

"Sheriff, I need to talk with her. She might have information . . .."

"Damn it, are you deaf as well as dumb? I said no and I damn well mean no. I've got a murderer on the loose and two wounded men. I rather think that takes precedence over your silly interest in our local folklore." Sims brushed past Mulder and headed down to the Jeeps to supervise the loading of the wounded. His words and attitude making it clear that the conversation was over.

Mulder stood still, clenching and unclenching his fists, as he tried to control his rising temper. He knew he was grasping at straws, but straws were all he had. If there was any chance at all that this Old Sallie could help, he had to take it. It was thin, but Mulder was willing to take a chance. It wasn't like he had many other options. The alternative was to simply wait and do nothing. Despite Scully's fears, Mulder wasn't a defeatist. He might have to go into this fight knowing he couldn't win, but that didn't mean he wouldn't use anyone or anything he could to try to pull off a miracle.

The whispering voice laughed at him, amused that he dared to think there was any help out there, much less that he would be allowed to reach this elusive hope.

Shut up! SHUT UP! Mulder flung back at the voice. I'll keep trying till I'm not alive to try any longer. I'm not going to give up. I owe Scully more than that; she expects more of me than that.

The voice merely laughed mockingly and summoned up all his failures and lovingly presented each one of them for his viewing pleasure. Mulder sighed and leaned his head against a convenient tree. If Mileson didn't kill him first, this voice was going to drive him completely mad. Insanity was actually beginning to look good right now except that he was certain the voice wouldn't go away and he'd live with it whispering to him until his very soul went insane.

"Agent Mulder?" C.J.'s voice interrupted his musings. Mulder looked down at his watchdog, his mind so preoccupied with frustration and fear that for the moment he had difficulty focusing on what the man was saying.

"I said I can get you to Old Sallie, if you're willing to do a bit of walking," C.J. said with a half-smile that didn't touch his serious grey eyes. He had the air of a man who had decided to wade into dangerous waters on nothing more than the faith that he was doing the right thing.

"How much is 'a bit of walking'?" Mulder asked cautiously. He didn't like the chuckle he heard in C.J.'s voice when he mentioned the hike.

"Oh 'bout three hours of steady walking. Mostly mountain trails. Part uphill, part down, but mostly up." C.J. gave Mulder an appraising look. He appeared to be in good shape, as did that pretty partner of his, but mountain walking took stamina. There wouldn't be a lot of time for resting if they wanted to get to Sallie's place in good time. If she couldn't help this man, C.J. didn't want to be caught out in the hills with two city folk when dark came.

If Lafe had targeted this man, C.J. wanted him safe in town. There were too many dark rumors about Lafe and his new-found powers running through the families living up in the mountains. Some of his kinfolk had been quietly gathering along with a half a dozen of the hell-raisers from the hills. C.J. sensed impending violence in the air. Lafe wasn't the only fool to sell his soul for power and whiskey; there were plenty of fools in these hills, and not a few of them in town for that matter.

"Won't you get in trouble with your boss?" Mulder wasn't sure he dared to believe in this miracle; almost wasn't sure he dared to accept the offer lest it prove to be one last mocking disappointment.

"I'm willing to risk it. 'Sides, what can he do to me? Fire me?" C.J. grinned like a young wolf. "Sims's word doesn't go past the city line. Ma folks ha' been in these hills since afore Sims's folks ever heard of Tennessee, much less lived here. If ya want ta see Auld Sallie, I'm tha one to take ya. Likely she won't set off her discouragements if she kens I'm with ya."

Mulder noticed that C.J.'s manner of speaking began to change, to slip into an entirely different rhythm spiced with the slang of the Highland immigrants who had populated these hills centuries earlier. C.J. noticed him noticing and smiled reassuringly. Mulder didn't think he wanted to know what C.J. meant by 'discouragements'. Somehow the impression he got was that they were something far more unpleasant than anything Mileson had planted.

"Mulder!" Scully's shout caused them both to start. Mulder gave C.J. a quick firm nod to accept his offer before turning to face his partner. Convincing Scully to let him go was going to be a challenge. He knew better than to try to convince her to let him go alone. At least she was dressed for a hike in the woods.

"Come on, Mulder. The sheriff is getting ready to leave. There's trouble in town. Some of the townsfolk have taken violent exception to being flooded with reporters." Scully was beginning to sound impatient.

"Sorry, Scully, I've got to see an old woman about a killer," Mulder tried to lighten the tone, maybe convince Scully he wasn't dangerously suicidal or insane. Well, maybe convincing her he wasn't insane was already a lost cause, probably had been since their first case, but he wanted to let her know he was about as normal as he ever was.

"Mulder!" Now Scully's tone had slipped from impatient to her 'I'm getting very pissed off with you and you had better have a good explanation' tone. Mulder walked down to meet her halfway. Her eyes were as cold as ice. This was going to take longer than he thought. He saw C.J. slip down and talk to Sims, no doubt to inform him of the change in plans. Mulder winced; Scully's mood was not going to improve when she realized that she had been effectively removed from having any say in this little expedition. Over her shoulder, he saw C.J. pull out a backpack from the Jeep just before Sims slammed the door and gunned the motor.

"What the hell?" Scully spun about in time to see the Jeep shoot down the road, then whirled back to face Mulder, her eyes flaming with fury.

From ice to hellfire, Mulder thought with a resigned and weary sigh. He really wasn't up to dealing with Scully's anger, however justified it was.

"Scully, before you start, I had every intention of asking you if you wanted to come along or not. C.J. did the deciding, not me." I know better, Mulder thought.

C.J. joined them and, ignoring Scully's glare, handed her a canteen. Then, using his bowie knife, he cut down a small sapling, trimmed it, and presented her with it.

"Here ye are m'lady. One first-rate walking staff. You'll need it 'bout as much as the water." C.J. grinned engagingly at her. Mulder held his breath, C.J. obviously liked playing with fire.

"Of course our long-limbed friend there is more likely to need help by trail's end; the tall ones just have no staying power." C.J. winked at her as he pulled on the backpack.

Mulder bristled at the implied insult then was stunned to see Scully break into a smile. C.J. had to be a magician. There was no other explanation as far as Mulder could see.

"OK, C.J., where are we going? What impossible quest has Mulder convinced you to take us on?" Scully actually sounded more resigned than angry. Mulder gave up wondering how or why and just enjoyed the result.

C.J. looked at Mulder, plainly letting him know the explanations were up to him. He'd calmed the waters, now it was up to Mulder to try to explain why they were going to hike over two mountains.

"Scully, I think there is an old woman up near, Glendower Falls was it?" Mulder looked to C.J. for confirmation. C.J. shrugged and nodded. Mulder took that to mean that the hill folk probably had their own name for the place, but wouldn't argue over it. C.J. started walking towards the tree-line without stopping to see if they followed. Mulder motioned Scully to move ahead of him. It would be easier to talk with her in front of him.

"Old Sallie may be able to help me."

Scully stopped dead and gave him a look of sheer disbelief. Mulder managed a grim smile and a shrug.

"At least it's better than sitting around town doing nothing except brood. I really doubt if Sims would welcome my help in putting his town in order, however much I would like to bash a few reporters' heads together. Whether you believe me or not Scully, I think you know I have to check out all possibilities. C.J. is willing and I think I trust him a whole lot more than Sims where my life is concerned." Mulder laid out the bare facts, hoping Scully would understand. He concentrated on avoiding low-hanging branches while Scully considered his scanty explanation. She would know there was a lot he wasn't saying, but they had three hours of walking ahead of them; plenty of time for explanations and arguments.

"Mulder you never cease to amaze me. Just when I think you can't come across sounding any more insane, you surpass my expectations. We are going to hike into the back country to hunt up an old woman who might, just might, be able to help you fight off a killer, while we watch the heavily armed police of this area drive away." Scully sounded incredulous. "He's insane. He's my partner, but he is definitely insane," she concluded, looking heavenward as if for guidance, patience or who knew what. Mulder wisely kept silent, not sure of how to respond and figuring silence was the only safe course of action.

 

Auld Sallie's Cabin
4:00 p.m. July 23
 

By the time they had reached the footpath C.J. said led up to Sallie's cabin, Mulder was almost past caring. He was painfully aware that running did not prepare the legs for hiking mountain trails. In the future, providing he had one, he vowed to do more cross-training. During the periodic rest breaks C.J. allowed them, all he wanted to do was collapse on the ground and give his aching leg muscles a break. Scully appeared to be holding up well, though he knew she would drop in her tracks before admitting she couldn't keep up. He did notice that she had very little to say once they hit their first steep climb. Like him, she probably needed her breath for walking; talking was a luxury neither of them could afford.

Under other circumstances, Mulder would have enjoyed taking this trip into the wilderness. They had left an identifiable trail near two hours ago and as far as he could tell were plunging into uncharted woods. C.J. seemed to be following some invisible trail through this labyrinth of mountain ash, honeysuckle and laurel as well as trees Mulder couldn't even begin to identify. Over the past hour, he had come to the depressing realization that if anything happened to C.J., he and Scully could simply disappear forever in this lovely serene wilderness without a prayer of finding their way back to civilization.

Whoever this Old Sallie is, she certainly likes her privacy, Mulder thought as he gasped for breath.

Mulder could not help glaring at their guide when he noticed that C.J. was barely breathing hard as he let them rest before tackling what he modestly called 'the really tricky part of the trail.' If what they had just endured for the past three and a half hours was the easy part, Mulder wasn't sure he wanted to experience the 'tricky part.' However after C.J.'s comment about his height at the beginning of this trek, Mulder was determined to walk himself into a massive coronary before complaining.

At least with his entire mind focused on breathing and putting one foot ahead of the other, he had very little attention left to give to the whispers of damnation still seeping from the voice in his head. He no longer bothered to argue with the voice; he merely accepted it as an inescapable part of his psyche now. Damnation might very well be his fate, but the voice would have to do more than whisper him into Hell. If Hell wanted him, the devil would have to come after him. A stray thought crossing his mind produced a short laugh and a rueful smile.

I can believe in the devil, but not in God. Wonder which one of us is the greater fool - Scully for believing in God or me for believing in the Devil? At Scully's curious look, he shook his head and went back to massaging his screaming calf muscles. Hopefully it was not a question he would have an answer to any time soon.

"OK folks, time to get moving." C.J. helped Scully up with a gallant gesture reminiscent of a Cavalier. Mulder felt a stab of resentment that she seemed to accept C.J.'s gallantry without a quibble. He struggled to his feet, swayed uncertainly for a moment, then straightened up, stretching out muscles tightening into cramps.

"From now on, you two watch me and if I stop, you stop. Auld Sallie has quite a few surprises for unwary intruders. I know some of them, at least the ones on this lower part of the trail, but once we get within a hundred yards of her place I'm going to have to hope she kens I'm coming and will let us through."

"What kind of traps? I didn't pack a medical bag, C.J." Scully sounded ticked off.

"Nothing you might need your doctor's kit for, but still mighty unpleasant to experience. Auld Sallie is wise in the way of leaf and tree and all the animals of the forest protect her in their own way."

Scully gave C.J. a very skeptical glare which he accepted with a smile and a shrug.

"Believe or not m'lady, but it would be best if you believed. T'will do no harm to accept that you are about to enter a realm where the ancient lore still rules. Your partner understands, but then Lafe has already drawn him half into that shadow world," C.J. said seriously as he gave Mulder an appraising look.

Seeing Scully's impatient look and her critical appraisal of his physical condition, Mulder wished for Scully's sake that he could refute C.J.'s conclusion. He couldn't and that was beginning to scare him. Ever since the sun had begun to slip into the western sky, he realized that he had begun to feel a bit shadowy about the edges. He shuddered at the implications of that erasure of his physical self and tried to concentrate on keeping himself anchored in the here and now.

As they started up the path, Mulder briefly considered moving ahead of Scully to the middle position to protect her if C.J. happened to overlook a 'discouragement,' but decided that he didn't feel like arguing over the issue. Scully had graciously let the matter of his insanity drop during this hike and Mulder didn't want to give her any excuse to pick it up.

 

Auld Sallie's Cabin
4:15 p.m. July 23
 

Sallie watched the hawks glide in their slow, graceful sweeps over the trail leading up to her place. Company was coming. The fact that the approaching visitors had passed without incident the traps she had laid for the unwary or the accidental trespasser signified that at least one of their party was a mountain man wise in her ways. She didn't need to use her magic to sense that the two strangers were approaching. The dark man's aura blazed around him, unsettling the forest. Where he walked, Sallie was sure the woman walked. That was good, there was need for talking before the battle began. She had cast the runes again and they had been silent about the outcome of the approaching battle, only that Uriel waited in the shadows and the Hunt hovered restlessly on the horizon to sweep the land clean at his command. Whose death was foretold, the runes refused to say, only that death and damnation lay in wait for someone this night.

Now they were crossing into her land. Sallie sensed her protectors readying themselves to act should she not give the word to let the visitors approach. Bridget chivied her kittens under the cabin and was guarding the entrance. Jock paced restlessly across the porch railings, mouth open in a muted hunting cry. Sallie sat quietly rocking back and forth in the old rocker, waiting and watching. When she sensed the sudden cautious halt by the visitors just outside the great circle she had drawn to protect her home, she smiled. With a whisper as soft as down, she bade her creatures stand aside. Whoever the strangers had found to lead them here knew her and her ways and respected them. Jock gave voice to a loud warbling cry, half challenge, half welcome that was answered by a rich baritone wordless hail.

So, t'was Cynan wha was bringin' tha strangers hither. Good eno, he be a bra' man an' one wha kenned tha ancient ways.

They would need brave fighters before this day was through, Sallie knew. From here Lafe would have to draw the dark man forth and here would the first battle be fought, but not the last. Sallie suspected that she could protect either the dark man or the lady but not both. Still there were ways of help that did not depend on physical force and were not evident until the need was great. What she contemplated was dire and almost as grim as what awaited the man and not to be chanced without consent, yet there was no time to gain his understanding and consent. "On ma soul tha sin," she prayed, hoping the hope of last resort would never have to be grasped.

"Halloo the cabin."

"Ye an' those ye bring be welcome son o Madoc's line," Sallie called back.

She recalled the raven-haired small men who came up from the South to settle in her mountains. Cynan was one of the few who had left to see the outside world then returned, content to live where his forefathers had lived for more generations that she could count. Watching him walk confidently out of the trees into the clearing, she held her breath for her first sight of the pair who would be her weapons in this latest battle in the war against the evil which haunted these hills.

The flaming red hair of the lady caught the afternoon sun in answering fire; the fire of the Celts. Seeing her reminded Sallie of the Highland women girding their men for battle, singing the ancient songs to bring them luck and guide them safely home again. This lass did not hold to the ancient ways, holding them to be superstitious nonsense, but in her own way, she fought to hold back the darkness. The boundaries of her beliefs would be sorely tested this day. Sallie prayed simply that her will and her bond with the dark man would be enough to carry her through the storm.

Like a cloud following the sun, Sallie saw the dark man emerge from the shadows. Strange that such an unprepossessing figure of a man should be the king-piece in this battle. His eyes were dark with foreboding. Starting at shadows as he was drawn into their world. Still, from the air of him, he was used to fighting shadows; he was not succumbing easily to the despair Lafe's demon-master was no doubt fostering, but she sensed that his will was weakening under the relentless pressure. Time for him to rest, before the battle opened. She could at least offer him a respite from the whispers of the damned soul who held him in thrall.

Mulder looked up with astonishment at the cabin C.J. had led them to. It looked almost as if it was growing out of the mountainside. Unlike Lafe's ramshackle, decrepit shack, this had the look of a craftsman's hand in its making. Mulder was no carpenter, but he had grown up on an island where the artistry of the carpenter practically shrieked out from every historic house. This cabin's construction and detailed work would rival some of the fancy houses on the Vineyard. A grin flashed across his face like lightning as he contemplated the jealous outrage that comparison would provoke in the breasts of the Vineyard aristocracy. Whoever had crafted this place was a master of saw and hammer.

Rivaling his astonishment at the cabin was the shock of recognition when he saw the woman calmly rocking on the porch. He had been right, this was the shadow that intruded in his dreams. Perhaps his faint hope for salvation from the fate he faced wasn't so faint after all. As he stepped into the clearing, he felt the voice snarl in rage, nearly droving him to his knees in pain as his mind was engulfed in fire. He stopped, one foot hovering above the grass, the other still planted in the piney earth beneath the trees, torn asunder by conflicting forces.

The voice raged, pulling him back into the shadows of the forest, but his will and heart leaped forward to the surety of the sanctuary that lay ahead. His body shuddering with the conflict between will and voice, Mulder felt his will weaken under the onslaught. He began to gradually withdraw the forward thrusting foot as the voice exerted its control. Mulder looked to the old woman, a desperate plea battering against his frozen lips, begging her with his eyes for help before the shadows that lay behind him swallowed him up.

"Eno! Begone ya foul spirit. Ya have na power here unless ya win free o tha chains I bound ya in. Release tha man. He stands on holy ground, ma ground. Begone!"

Sallie rose up from her chair and straightened her ancient bones. Tall and proud she challenged the voice that held the dark man in thrall. Now, if the man would just throw his own weight into this battle she felt sure of victory. She could see he was straining to move forward, but the voice had its hook in his soul and wasn't going to relinquish its prey so easily. Victory came from a not unexpected source, but one Sallie had not been sure she could count on this early.

"Mulder, I'm here, it's alright."

Soft words, gently spoken, but they shattered the fey chains the voice had tightened as if the words were cold iron. Scully had turned back to see Mulder apparently in the grip of a seizure and instinctively rushed to his side. Her hand barely brushing his arm, she tried to reach him with her words, to bring him out of whatever waking nightmare he was caught in. Her suspicion of the old woman flared and she wanted nothing more than to take Mulder away from here, back to the safety of their motel rooms, but unless C.J. was willing to turn around and take them back the way they had just come, they were stranded here.

Mulder gave a retching gasp and sank to his knees. He knelt on the rim of the clearing, his head hanging down, hands stretched wide on the grass, struggling to breathe. He felt strength seep up from the ground into his hands and then throughout his body until the voice was driven into a dark pocket deep within his mind. Wrenched free of the voice, he gave Scully a twisted grin and grasped her hands, allowing her to pull him upright. He owed her his soul, yet there was no way he could make her understand what she had done.

Trapped in the foul darkness spewed forth by the voice, feeling himself drawn into the shadows, he had heard her voice and had flung himself towards her, confident that somehow she would grasp his hand and stop his headlong plunge into Hell. She had, at least for the moment, but she'd never believe him. He might not believe in God, but he was a firm believer in Scully.

"Mulder?"

"I'm fine, Scully. Guess C.J. was right about us 'long-limbed' fellows. Remind me to cross-train when we get home," Mulder answered her unspoken questions with a smile.

Scully glared at him for a moment then stepped back and let him walk on his own. She wasn't convinced he was fine, though she was enormously relieved that he was able to jest about the grueling hike they had just endured. Right now she would be willing to trade next year's vacations for a hot bath and a nap. From the looks of this cabin, any hot water she got would have to be heated on the fireplace. What Mulder thought he was going to find way up here in the back of nowhere was beyond her comprehension. At least the trip had kept him from brooding over his imagined fate. Maybe when they finally got back to their rooms tonight, she would be able to talk some sense back into his stubborn head before he scuttled his career beyond all hope of repair.

"Come hither an' set a spell. Ya have walked far an' must be thirsting." Sallie waved them forward, eager to meet them face to face. Dreams could tell her much about a person, but nothing surpassed a real sit-down-and-talk meeting.

"Come on Scully, I'm tired and thirsty doesn't even begin to describe my condition. I just walked over two mountains to talk to this lady and the blessed woman is offering me a chance to sit down and a cold drink to boot."

Mulder lengthened his stride, trying to ignore the painful complaints from his thigh muscles, impatient to talk with this strange woman. Could she offer him hope or should he just resign himself to fighting a losing battle?

Scully sighed in resignation over her impulsive partner. Hopefully whatever brew this mountain woman offered them wasn't going to be listed as a controlled substance. She recalled from one of her history of medicine courses that folk medicine usually included quite a few herbs that ranged from the illicit to the down right hazardous.

As she prepared to follow Mulder she looked around for C.J. who seemed to have vanished into thin air. A slight rustling on the trail behind her caused her to spin around, pulling her gun and dropping into a crouch with the gun aimed firmly towards the trail. Behind her she heard Mulder's hiss of surprise and felt him move in to back her up. Sallie's clear laugh rang through the clearing.

"Cynan, lad, ya be scarin' these poor folk. Show yerself, then go 'bout yer scoutin'."

C.J. stepped out onto the trail, flashed Scully and Mulder a sheepish grin then disappeared back into the brush. Scully muttered under her breath words that Mulder wasn't sure he wanted to catch. If C.J. was smart he'd avoid needing medical attention until Scully calmed down, in Mulder's experienced opinion. He shoved his gun back into the holster with a rueful shake of his head. Two paranoid, jumpy FBI agents shouldn't be allowed loose in the woods; too many unexplained noises.

"Come on Scully. Whatever C.J. is up to, I don't think it includes abandoning us here."

Scully scowled at him and stomped off towards the cabin. She couldn't help notice Sallie's grin and despite her irritation, she had to admit that the sight of both of them over-reacting with such deadly intent must have been amusing. Still Sallie didn't look alarmed or even unsure of what she had seen, rather mildly amused and, perhaps even, satisfied. Scully began to realize that there were depths to this old mountain woman that would bear watching.

"Welcome to ma home. I dinna get yer names." Sallie waved her visitors to the bench seat against the cabin wall while she drew out a jug from a cooling bin. Pouring a dark amber liquid into three thick wavy glasses, Sallie smiled to herself. These were definitely warriors with a warrior's instincts and reflexes. Good, they would need both before this day was over.

"I'm Agent Mulder, this is my partner, Agent Scully." Mulder said as he stretched out his long legs in a painful arc before propping them on the lower log of the porch railing. Sitting down felt so good he wasn't sure he ever wanted to get back up. He refused to even contemplate that he faced an equally long hike back along the trail before too long.

"T'was nice an' formal lad, but do ya no have friendly names? I be known as Auld Sallie along with less friendly names as ya no doubt have heard be ya talkin' to tha sheriff's lads."

Scully chuckled at the expression on Mulder's face. This old woman had nicely pinned him in a corner. He was convinced he needed her help and so didn't want to be rude and here she was asking for his hated first name. Mulder looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place.

"I'm Dana. Mulder prefers to use his last name," she finally got out around the internal chuckles.

"Well eno for city-bred folk, but I think I'll be having yer full name lad. For tha help ya ask, names be important." Sallie let just a bit of sternness enter her voice. This dark man was proving to be as difficult in the flesh as he was in the dreamworld. Time for him to recognize some hard truths.

"Fox," Mulder muttered, barely loud enough for Scully to hear sitting next to him, but Sallie gave him a smile.

"Fox. Good, tha bond is already there, less work on ma part, easier for ya ta endure." Sallie said as she handed him a glass letting her hand brush his for just an instant. Mulder flinched and shot her a sudden look of wary unease as he felt the shock of their touch reverberate across his nerves. He watched suspiciously as Sallie handed Scully her glass but didn't notice any similar reaction when their fingers touched.

Scully sniffed the liquid suspiciously. It smelled of rich ripe apples with a hint of spices. The cool glasses promised a refreshing drink and despite her hesitation, she felt her mouth watering. She was thirsty.

Mulder watched her examine the drink with the same suspicious glare she'd use on a piece of evidence and smiled. He couldn't see Sallie poisoning them. Sallie had already taken a sip or two from the glass she held so, unless she had poisoned their individual glasses ahead of time, the drink was probably safe. Right now he was so thirsty, he was willing to risk poisoning.

He took a big drink and sighed with genuine pleasure as he recognized apple cider with an unusual twist. There was an almost bitter taste of spice or herb that brought out the tartness of the apples like no cider he had ever tasted before. Ignoring Scully's cautionary hiss, he finished the glass in another big gulp and held out the glass for more.

"Mulder," Scully hissed. Damn him, he has no idea what could be in that drink.

"It be cider, flavored a bit with some herbs grown here-about, but perfectly harmless." Sallie fixed a calm eye on Scully who unaccountably began to feel highly embarrassed by her suspicions. "Even tha sheriff, God rest his stubborn soul, liked ma cider," she said as she refilled Mulder's glass.

Still suspicious, but now feeling more than a little foolish, Scully took a cautious sip. It was good: cool, tart and delicious. A second then a third sip followed in slow enjoyment. Only after the third sip did she suddenly look up and stare at Sallie. How had the woman known about the sheriff's death so quickly? She looked over at Mulder who was warily watching a large black cat stalking him across the railings.

"News, 'specially bad news, travels fast in these mountains, lass. I need no magic ta hear of another death. Yer partner is tha key. Either we'll have na more deaths or these mountains will drown in a sea of blood."

"Youch!"

Scully turned towards Mulder startled by his sudden yelp. He was holding his left hand and glaring at the cat who was studying its paw, seemingly caught in mid-grooming. The cat stared back with sublime feline arrogance at Mulder then wet the paw with a long pink tongue and languorously washed behind its ears.

"Jock, now behave yerself. These be strangers an' guests." Sallie admonished the cat who merely glanced at her with what Mulder could swear was a smirk before resuming its bath.

Mulder stuck his wounded hand against his mouth trying to soothe the razor-sharp pain, muttering about damn cats and their egos. After a moment the pain subsided and by the time Scully reached over to check the wounds, they had stopped bleeding and merely resembled four parallel red lines, barely visible. Mulder opened his mouth to protest that he had indeed been gouged by that damn cat but seeing the barely suppressed laughter in Scully's eyes, held his peace. With a flick of his tail, Jock stood up, stretched his full length along the railing then hopped down and sauntered across the clearing to the edge of the forest.

Tis done. Pray God that we can avert tha need for such a deed, Sallie prayed silently with all of her heart and soul.

"Jock be a strange one. He ha taken a likin' ta ya, Fox. 'Tis his way o shakin' hands, na more."

"Well, can't you just teach him to extend a gloved paw?" Mulder grumbled still shaking his hand and staring in aggrieved disbelief at the rapidly fading lines.

Sallie laughed and the sound drew out Scully's repressed laughter. Mulder grumbled a bit more but was too pleased to hear Scully's all-too-rare open laugh to remain upset.

"Eno' lad. Laughter does much ta ease tha burden, but ya need more than that for what ya be facing."

Mulder looked up sharply, instantly alert and wary. The swift transition from relaxing laughter, even at his own expense, to deadly serious tones echoed his own feeling that time was running short. The sun was already two-thirds across the western sky. It would be dark in another few hours. A sudden thought, chilling in its implications, came to him that this was where Lafe would try to take him. He wondered if he had merely walked into a trap as Scully had implied.

"Na lad. I am called to battle for ya, na agin ya. Lafe Mileson be a servant of a great evil, imprisoned for nigh unto three centuries, now restless an' straining ta be free. Lafe has fed it tha souls it needs ta grow powerful agin. But, you kenned this already, haven't ya lad?"

Caught by Sallie's deep gaze, Mulder could only nod. A cold fear spread into his heart as he finally acknowledged what it was that whispered to the darkness in his soul.

"An' ya lass. Ya be a great believer in science ta answer all yer questions. But wha' be magic but another form of science. It has its rules an' laws that govern its use. Science an' magic, physical an' spiritual, twin suns in our universe." Sallie smiled at the stunned look in Scully's eyes. She could see Dana re-evaluating her original opinion of this old mountain woman.

"There be many truths an' many paths ta finding them. If ya would help yer friend, ya must be willin' ta travel into tha world yer science has na dared ta explore. Consider well, how far ya would go, ta aid yer friend?"

Sallie smiled sympathetically at Scully who appeared to be having a hard time gathering her thoughts into a coherent objection to the current direction the discussion was taking. The words had been spoken and, if God be pleased, would take root and blossom at the proper time. Now to the man's needs. A small use of magic, barely enough to cause a ripple in the aura of this place, but enough to draw Scully into a light trance. Sallie disliked entrancing people against their will, even in this best of causes, but she did not need the woman's skepticism interrupting what she must tell the man.

She picked up a platter of scones resting on the small table beside her and handed them to Mulder, letting her hands clasp his as they met around the platter's edge. In her youth, she would not have needed the contact of flesh to flesh, but now she wanted the reassurance of physical contact. The feel of his long-fingered hands strengthened the bond between them until she could feel the tingle where the edges of her power touched his aura. She could only hint at the truths he needed to know; the actions he must follow had to come genuinely from within, but she could lay down markers on the trail he must follow and trust the bond she was forging with her touch would give him eyes to see them.

"An' ya lad, there be a choice approaching an' I canna choose for ya. This be ma home an' I can protect those wha seek sanctuary here but na agin tha full force of our adversary. He dinna ken tha power of choice, only tha power of takin'. Ya ha two choices this day, Fox Mulder. One be an easy one an' ya will ken it when it comes, 'tis no more than ya ha been expecting. Tha other be hard an' cold an' dangerous, a leap of faith by choice ta turn tha power agin tha one wha' wields it. Remember ma words, lad, when darkness looms, a consenting sacrifice at tha right moment can open tha realms of power ta all possibilities."

Sallie's words echoed in the still air as she settled back into her rocker and began a slow rhythmic rocking back and forth. The creak of the chair against the wood floor was the only sound Mulder could hear above the rapid beat of his own heart. He gave a quick glance at Scully who was still absorbed in her internal musings, then a careful scan of the clearing as if he expected the enemy to pour out of the woods.

"Na quite yet, lad. He will wait until tha sun be a tad closer to tha mountain top, but soon," Sallie answered his unspoken question quietly.

Mulder sighed. He was confused by her words, but somehow he knew they would make sense eventually. In essence, he supposed she was telling him he wasn't getting out of facing Lafe and that in the end, he had to follow his instincts. The small sane rational part of his mind grumbled that he had walked for nearly five hours just to be told to trust in his own instincts, but that part of him that almost grasped what Sallie was saying, almost understood the magic in her words, told him that without this journey, he would be a cold gutted corpse by morning without fail. Somehow he had been told how to survive. Now he could only hope he understood how when the time came.

"Promise me this, Sallie. Promise me that no matter what happens to me, protect Scully. I'll deal with whatever Lafe has in mind for me, up to and including damnation, as long as I know that Scully is safe." Mulder caught Sallie's eyes with an intensity that burned the air between them.

Sallie saw his aura flare up with such power as she had not seen in generations. Na wonder Aristide wants this soul. Power such as this an' he could set tha mountains afire, yet untrained an' unfocused. Lafe be well matched it seems. If t'were na for tha evil that hangs in tha balance, I could enjoy this battle. Laird, forgive an auld sinful woman wha remembers tha Highland clans an' their battle songs.

"Aye lad. As ya ask, so be it, ta tha breakin' o my soul if need be," Sallie answered in the ancient words of oath-taking of her people.

Mulder stared at her intently for a long moment more, then nodded his acceptance of her oath. He released the breath he had been holding in a long gusty sigh that broke Scully out of her reverie. At her quizzical look, he merely smiled and offered her a scone. He munched happily on several before she gave up trying to glare a hole in his mind and raised the scone to her mouth. Lafe might be coming to collect him, but until then he intended to enjoy the cider and scones.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Mulder?" Scully asked finally.

"I think so. At least I don't think the trip was wasted." Mulder wasn't sure he did have the answers he sought, but something inside told him that he did, if he had the wits to unravel Sallie's riddles.

To Scully's growing irritation, Mulder proceeded to chat with Sallie about the local folk legends in seeming happy disregard for the descending sun.

"Mulder, its getting late." Scully finally gave voice to her impatience as she stood up. Scanning the area for any sign of C.J. and finding no sign of him, she gave a sharp hiss of anger. Trust Mulder to strand them up here with darkness coming on fast and about four hours of treacherous trail to hike before they came close to anything resembling a road back to town.

"Dinna worry lass. Cynan could take ya across that trail in tha dark wi' his eyes closed. Ya couldna' ha a finer guide, day or night. His folk have been in these mountains since Hector was a pup an' knows more ways in an' out o that town than you have scientific theories."

Mulder choked on a bite of scone as he heard Sallie's gentle put-down of Scully's eternal war to justify everything by science. Catching Scully's glare he gulped down some cider to loosen the lodged scone and made a big show of coughing. He was beginning to like Sallie. Never in his best moments could he have hoped to come up with such a masterful gibe that sounded so innocent yet was so devastatingly accurate.

Momentarily surrendering the fight, Scully sat back down and tried to think of various non-fatal ways of wounding her partner. This Sallie was a bad influence on his already wicked sense of repartee. Still, the cider was good, the view magnificent and her legs definitely enjoyed the rest. She could afford to wait a little while. There would be time enough to repay Mulder when they got back to town. She gave him a long steady stare before turning her attention to the deer beginning to emerge from the woods to graze in the clearing. The sun was barely visible atop a far mountain and all the world seemed at peace. She smiled to herself as she felt Mulder shift uncomfortably beside her. He could entertain himself with imagining what her revenge would be, she consoled herself as she tried to curb her impatience.

Sallie's Cabin
6:00 p.m. July 23
 

The storm appeared out of nowhere. Thunderous clouds boiled out of the northern sky as wave after wave of darkness consumed the sky and covered the earth with shadows. Sallie sighed to herself and commended herself and her charge to God's keeping. The battle was joined. She looked at Mulder who was standing rigid against the post staring at the gathering storm. His eyes were almost black and Sallie could feel the shadows reaching out for him.

Scully watched the storm with a growing sense of unease. She had no desire to be stuck up here on a mountain in the middle of a storm, but she wasn't about to attempt the trail in the combination of darkness and lightning. Mulder seemed entranced by the storm, but then he had always had a weakness for spectacular displays of thunder and lightning. Sallie also seemed largely unconcerned by the weather, but there was a tenseness to her that was focused on the woods rather than the sky.

An explosive crack of thunder exploded over their heads almost drowning out Jock's scream. The sound of the cat's howls sent cold shivers up Scully's spine. They were answered by the howls of anger and fear from human throats, howls that were abruptly silenced by a deep-throated roar. A foul-smelling aroma drifted up from the woods carried by the storm winds. Mulder rubbed at his nose, only too familiar with the scent of an aroused and angry skunk. He glanced at Sallie and saw her smile. Apparently whoever was on the trail had met up with one of her 'discouragements.'

Another scream and a man stumbled out of the woods frantically clawing at a writhing mass of fur lodged on his head. With a shove from his powerful hind claws, Jock leaped off the man and came flying across the clearing towards them as if his tail were on fire. He made a final leap for the porch and clawed up the post until he was sitting on the rafters. Howl after howl of defiance and rage were lost amid the cracks of thunder and Scully wondered how his initial scream had ever been heard. The thunder sounded like a battery of cannon sweeping the sky clear of light and choking the air with sulfur.

The attacking men surged out of the woods, racing towards the cabin. Mulder made a quick estimate and guessed that there were about fifteen men charging at them. He saw Scully draw her gun, but barely heard her challenge the onrushing men. Somehow he doubted if they were terribly impressed by the news that they were attacking a pair of FBI agents. Lafe was nearby; he could sense him waiting just inside the shadows. If Lafe was driving these men, Scully was going to have to do more than yell at them.

A shotgun blast echoed the thunder that rolled overhead and sent splinters of wood flying across the porch. Scully began bleeding from a nest of splinters impaling her left thigh. Furious, she fired her gun, dropping one of the attackers. Another blast tore a hole in the wall beside her and Mulder's tackle practically pinned her to the floor. Once she was down, he rolled off of her and trusted that she would remember to stay low. They had little shelter out here and he began to reluctantly consider moving inside. He hated the thought of being confined and surrounded inside the cabin. Out here, at least, they had a clear view and options for escape. Sallie seemed unconcerned about the shotgun pellets flying around her.

A spray of pellets peppered the porch again. Mulder looked down at his jacket and saw the entire left side looked like a porcupine. So far as he could tell he was unhurt. Sallie also seemed to be unmarked. Her expression was grim, and sad, and Mulder wondered if she knew the men intent on killing her. He had no doubt that this attack was meant to remove Sallie and possibly Scully from offering him any assistance. Lafe wanted him and was obviously prepared to sacrifice anyone he could control to get to him.

C.J.'s cry of agony mixed with the throaty roar of an enraged lion encouraged the attackers. Scully dropped another one as they ran up the slope towards the cabin. Certain that this was an exercise in futility and, hating the slaughter of men he suspected had no choice in this battle, Mulder drew his own weapon and methodically began to sweep the clearing in a rapid-fire fusillade. The attackers dove to the ground. In the ensuing silence, the angry roar of the lion battered against the stunned attackers. Scully occupied herself with discouraging anyone from lifting their head with precisely aimed shots.

Mulder mentally counted the rounds remaining in his weapon and tried to recall how many shots Scully had fired. The result was not encouraging. Together they might have enough bullets to take out the remaining attackers providing they made every shot count. That still left Lafe and Mulder suspected it would take more than an ordinary bullet to take him out of action. Sallie was watching the men in front of the cabin, waiting for some sign known only to herself.

Lightning hurtled down into the clearing blinding him. The ensuing thunder of the shock wave sent Scully crashing back into the bench seat. She made an abortive effort to stand up, then crumpled. Mulder sprang to her side in an instant checking for damage. Aside from the splinters and an expanding bump on the back of her head, she appeared to be undamaged.

Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. The voice in his head had returned stronger than ever and had presented him with a vision of a gravely wounded and dying Scully. He was finding it difficult to concentrate as the voice grew louder and louder as the ferocity of the storm increased. Soon he would have to make a choice whether to fight the voice or the attackers before his disorientation made him as much as danger to Sallie and Scully as to the attackers.

The mob, realizing that they were no longer under fire, rose up and began a cautious march towards the cabin. Taking careful aim he dropped two of them, before he heard the chilling sound of an empty clip. Scully had kept hold of her gun despite her collision with the bench. Wonder how she does that? Mulder wondered, bemused by his ability of his mind to wander after inconsequential ideas in the middle of a bloody fire-fight. The roar of several shotguns sent him into a protective curl over Scully's prone form.

Crouching over Scully, trying to protect her from the blast, Mulder realized that one of the moments Sallie had been talking about had come. As if the voice, determined to drain all hope from him, had bestowed the hearing of his namesake upon him, Mulder could hear more men coming up the trail. Absently he re-holstered his useless gun and pried Scully's gun from her hand. A quick check of the clip told him the grim truth. He didn't have enough rounds to drop the remaining men in the clearing, and take out the reinforcements.

Forcing himself to be calm, Mulder considered his options. If he stayed, Lafe would tear this cabin down, killing Sallie and Scully to get to him. Sallie had bluntly told him she could not defend this place against the kind of power Lafe could draw on. The other option sent shudders of cold terror through his soul, but it offered a damnable kind of hope. If Lafe could be drawn away from the battle, Sallie could hold against the men. Why he believed that, he couldn't say, but he felt certain that Sallie was more than a match for a mob of men.

As he grimly considered a choice that was no choice, he remembered Sallie had mentioned critical moments when the choices he made could skew the plans crafted by a more powerful force. Looking at Sallie, desperately hoping that this choice that had suddenly confronted him wasn't what it seemed, he saw her give him a sad smile and felt, rather than heard, her silent benediction. Bowing his head and shivering with cold fear, Mulder gently laid Scully down and covered her with his jacket.

"Remember your promise," Mulder said as he looked up at Sallie. Three words, barely choked out through the despair that was swallowing his soul, dropped in the air between them like stones laid on his grave. The whispering voice surged high with exaltation bringing the shadows in to embrace him until he could barely see to stand.

"Ay, I do an' I will. God go wi' ya, lad. An' ya remember, even in tha depths of Sheol, He be there."

Sallie watched as Mulder rose to his feet and staggered down the steps. The mob parted in front of him, none daring to touch their master's prey. She watched him sadly, praying hard for this gallant lad who embraced his darkest fears to save another, until he disappeared into the darkness beneath the trees. Lafe would withdraw now, eager to prepare for his final glory, leaving these sad deluded men to deal with her. A mistake, one Aristide would not make unless he was so preoccupied with gloating over his captive that he could not spare a thought to see if she had been eliminated. It was time now to deal with this mob that dared to trespass on her land. Lafe's time would come later, if God was generous. Now she had an oath to fulfill and justice to dispense.

Sallie thought sadly of the men who were being driven to kill. She felt no ill-will towards them. She had known them all the days of their lives and their fathers and grandfathers before them. They did Lafe's will out of fear, though some no doubt with greater willingness than others. She would not kill unless they forced her hand. However, she would and could make them think twice before daring her wrath again.

Although she was prepared for the attack, Sallie was startled by the sudden rush of screaming men into her yard; pale faces distorted by a savage hollow-eyed glare. For ten slow beats of her heart Sallie sat motionless, her hands poised above the bowl containing the mixture of herbs she had prepared for this moment. An eerie silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the attackers' screams. She faced the mob quietly, willing herself not to remember the night so long ago when another mob struck down her father as he fought to protect her mother from the fire.

These poor men were sheep too easily led, she thought, in sadness rather than contempt. Now, like a stern shepherd she would have to teach these particular sheep a lesson. They were not God-fearing men, these kinfolk of Lafe's, but today she would put the fear of God into them. Pity held her hand, pity and a heartsore grief that her patient guardianship should end by destroying the people she had sworn to protect.

Abruptly she realized that in her pity, she had waited too long. The mob was almost upon her. Fool, addled auld woman. She cursed herself as she realized the men had swarmed over her first line of defense. The ground wasps would have to wait for the next attack, if she were alive to summon them out of their nest. With a resigned sigh, Sallie began the soft chant that would summon up her second defense.

Sallie called forth the soul-fire at the very feet of the stunned mob. With a grand theatrical gesture she raised the flames into a sheet of white fire. Caught between the two terrors, the men's stillness shattered along with their cohesion. A few bolted, fleeing for the safety of their homes; men shaken to their souls by the fire which laid bare the evil in their souls. Those would survive, Sallie knew, perhaps driven to more godly ways by honest fear and repentance.

A half dozen men were caught as they emerged from the woods. They clumped together in a pitiful imitation of the square used over two centuries ago by the proud Redcoats against an encircling enemy. Their eyes darted frantically in every direction as they clutched their weapons in white-knuckled fear. Unless Lafe came and personally drove them to the attack, these men would not be moved. The four remaining men were dangerous. Afeared of heaven's fire, but believing that Lafe was more powerful, these men dared the flames. One bold soul raised his shotgun and fired blindly at her through the pale sheet of fire. Sallie heard the report and saw the pellets explode into a hundred fireflies at they hit the fire.

Sallie watched helplessly as the four men hurled themselves against the fire that shielded her. In an instant, four human figures were transformed into incandescence; all their sins burning black like shadows against the sun. Small forgotten acts of charity, remnants of kindness extended to others flared into golden flame to challenge the dark consuming fires. Sallie held her breath, praying that the good in each of the four was strong enough to prevail and save the souls of these weak deluded men. Through Lafe, Aristide had corrupted their petty evil and made them vessels for his greater evil; left alone they might have slipped through heaven's gate.

As they passed through the fire into the clean air of her yard, the bodies of the four burst open like sausages on a grill. With her inner sight Sallie saw a brief flicker as the flaming souls broke free of mortal flesh. The souls were black fire and then, with soft whimpers of despair and pleading, they vanished. Tears fell unheeded down Sallie's wrinkled cheeks and she bowed her head in remorseful submission to God's judgment. As Sallie relaxed her will, the rippling sheet of white fire faded into the long slanting rays of the setting sun.

Sallie's Cabin
6:30 p.m.
 

As Sallie sadly surveyed her victory, she could hear Scully begin to moan and move on the floor beside her. Jock leaped down from the rafters and walked over to her, gently licking her hair around the bruise as if she were one of his kits. His low rumbling purr filled the air now silent with the abrupt departure of the storm. She would wake with an aching head and more questions than Sallie wanted to answer, but it would be awhile yet. Jock could tend her as well as herself. She had a more serious errand to pursue. The memory of Cynan's agonized cry haunted her and she went in search of her friend.

Fifty yards into the woods she found him, bleeding from a dozen deep gashes, twisted into a ball of agony. His eyes stared at her, waiting for her judgment on his wounds, prepared to take her blessing into the Grey Lands if must be. The wounds were bad, some deep enough to show the white glint of bone, but God had granted them one miracle today. Cynan would live, with God's help, her herbs and Dana's medical skills. Sallie wondered if God's will included tying Dana down to a critical patient to keep her occupied until the time was right to follow Fox to the place of confrontation. God moved in mysterious ways, Sallie knew, but couldn't help grumble a bit at His methods.

Sallie made Cynan as comfortable as possible and went to awaken Dana. She would be angry and frantic about Fox, but she was a sworn healer and there was no way, Sallie was certain, that she would turn her back on Cynan's dire need of help.

Frantic, it turned out, barely even touched Scully's reaction to the news that Mulder had been taken. Sallie wisely decided to gloss over the fact that Mulder had willingly walked into Lafe's arms. Scully was angry, frightened and determined to follow them until Sallie told her about C.J. Even then, impatient to follow Mulder, Scully merely thought to give the wounded man a quick check, hoping to find Sallie's estimate of his condition to be overblown and then try to find her errant partner.

One quick check later and Scully knew she wasn't going anywhere for several hours. C.J. needed airlifting to a major trauma center. What he had was an old woman skilled in medicinal herbs and a doctor without any sort of medical kit. As she ran down the list of things she needed that she didn't have, Sallie immediately offered a substitute that Scully was forced to concede would work as well. Finally, glaring at Sallie and C.J., who stubbornly refused to pass out, even during the torturous journey up to the cabin, Scully threw up her hands and conceded defeat. Her heart and soul were lunging after Mulder, but her oath bound her to this cabin until she had done all she could for this man.

"Wouldn't need my doctor's kit, eh, C.J.? You are going to live to regret that statement, I promise you that," Scully said as C.J. looked warily at the crude surgical implements she was laying out on the table beside him. She smiled to take the sting out of her words, to reassure him that she wouldn't joke with a dying man then gestured to Sallie to dose him with an herbal sedative. Crude surgery, under crude conditions, but C.J. was a strong man with a strong will to live and Scully was determined that he wasn't going to die; not if she had anything to say about it. Worry for Mulder ran in a constant torrent through her thoughts, but she knew he would expect her to help C.J. As she worked she prayed and if her prayers got rather jumbled between C.J. and Mulder, she trusted God would understand her intent.

After the surgery, with C.J. resting quietly, Sallie showed Scully where she could wash up and tend her own wounds while she prepared a light supper. Twilight was rapidly dwindling into nightfall as they sat and ate. Scully was too tired to argue, but only nibbled at her food.

"I told him he had nothing to worry about. That he was just over-reacting. Damn it, Sallie, I need to find him before Mileson hurts him." Scully's voice seethed with self-recrimination. She had been so certain Mulder was wrong, so damn sure that he was reading too much into his 'link' with the killer. She should have insisted on keeping him in town; should have handcuffed him to the bed before letting him take her on this wild-goose chase into the back of beyond.

"Lass, 'twas nothing ya could have done ta prevent this. Lafe would have found him no matter where ya had put him. Ya did right in comin' here. Only tha opening skirmish o this great battle be done. Tha battle itself be yet ta come. Wi' yer help, lass, an' mine, yer friend will win free," Sallie tried to comfort Scully.

"Do you know where Mileson has taken Mulder?" Scully asked sharply.

"Aye, an' I know when he will bring him there. Everything now is set in tha great rhythm o sacrifice. Tha rules be set an' each player has his own moves ta make. Like a chessboard, lass. Fox has his role ta play an' if he canna break tha rules an' move agin tha master of tha game, then all be lost. Pray for him lass, an' for us, for we move ta shake tha foundations of evil."

Sallie would say no more despite repeated prompting. Scully's temper erupted and she stormed at Sallie. Helpless to find Mulder in the dark in unfamiliar territory, she hurled her frustration and rage at the old woman and her superstitious nonsense until, worn out she collapsed onto the bed. Jock jumped up in her lap and pawed softly at her face, purring and rubbing his head against her chest until she hugged him tight and felt the warm reassurance of his rumbling purr ease her grief and anger.

Silently Sallie handed her a cup of tea, sweetened with honey, and motioned her to drink. Scully grimaced a bit at the bitter aftertaste. She suspected that more than simple tea was involved when she felt herself begin to relax. Within minutes she had regained her composure and listened sternly, but calmly to Sallie's words. She didn't trust this old woman, but the hard fact of the matter was, she was Mulder's only hope.

"T'will soothe yer nerves lass. I dinna blame ya for yer hard words. Ya have been taken into a world where yer science canna go an' ya feel lost an' alone. But Fox will be needing yer strength an' yer courage this night. He needs ya an' I must be tha one ta lead ya ta him. Just for tonight, let yer soul remember tha ancient ways; for yer sake, for Fox's." Sallie wove the trancing spell gently in among her words, soothing and gentling Scully's anger until her mind was clear.

Scully found herself drowning in the metaphysical rambling of this old woman, yet found it strangely comforting. Her head felt light and her body held no more weight than a feather. Exhaustion, worry, just the damn strain of it all, she thought to herself as she followed Sallie into the night; a blind woman following one who could see only too well what Scully preferred to avoid. Mulder, the things I do to save your ass.

In the woods near Sallie's cabin
6:20 p.m. July 23
 

As soon as his feet left the clearing around Sallie's cabin and he stepped into the shadows under the trees, Mulder felt the voice squeeze him out of his own mind, locking him into a tiny corner, powerless to intervene.

To his horror, Mulder realized that if the voice wished it could command his body to do anything, commit any crime, hazard any danger including fire and his body would comply. Mulder screamed in the silence of the dark corner of his mind where he had been imprisoned. The voice, preoccupied with gloating over its victory, refrained from inflicting that particular horror on its victim's shaky grasp on sanity.

You are mine now, Fox. Hallowed to my purpose. An extension of my will. Rejoice that you are my most cherished servant.

Mulder gave thanks to whatever beneficent powers there were that he didn't have to cope with memories of turning on Scully or Sallie. A missed opportunity; a fragile hope that this voice was not omnipotent, that was the frail reed Mulder clung to in this waking nightmare.

He smelled Lafe before he saw him. A foul, rotting smell clung to Lafe, befouling the air around him. Mulder tried to gag, but the voice which held his body in thrall refused him even that small relief. Lafe capered around his frozen body, singing a hideously off-key song of child-like delight as he examined his prize. Mulder was reminded of a horseman checking out a new mount. Lafe did everything except check his teeth. Everywhere Lafe's hands went, chest, legs, face, a trail of corpse-like cold followed.

Lafe's uneven, yellowed teeth shone in a wide grin as he stared into Mulder's eyes then cupped his groin. Mulder bucked up and away in a reflex that defied the rigid control the voice had imposed. Mulder was about as surprised as the voice. He had begun to resign himself to the fact that he had no more control over his body.

"Bit shy, boy? You'll loosen up later. Might come to wish you'd let Lafe have some fun, later."

Desperate defiance prompted a battle of wills as Mulder fought the voice's control in a frenzy of fear. Sheer panic lent him strength, but he was outnumbered. A brief flash of a bony fist, then a heavy skull-cracking thump that laid him flat on the ground.

Barely conscious, he felt Lafe bind his wrists together then place a halter around his neck. Lafe thrust a flask between his lips, jamming his teeth apart before pouring a bittersweet potion down his throat. Mulder coughed and gagged in an effort to spit out the cloying liquid, but Lafe grabbed his jaws and squeezed hard. Mulder had no doubt that Lafe would break his jaw if he didn't swallow. The aftertaste seared his throat and mouth and tasted even more foul than the liquid itself; spoilt milk tasted better.

With a rough jerk that nearly strangled him, Mulder was hauled to his feet, his legs splayed in an effort to remain standing. Another rough jerk and Mulder was led away from the clearing deeper into the woods. As they walked, the voice thundered at Mulder, hammering at his sanity until he felt he was drowning in a sea of his own guilt. Pulled along by Lafe, he trekked through the tangled brush and woods, until Mulder could no longer feel his legs.

Whatever drug Lafe had given him left him without the will to resist; he was a passenger in his own body. Helpless to do otherwise, Mulder conceded the battle and curled up in a ball inside his little corner and tried to shield himself from the angry voice and its promise of a slow death and eternal mental agony.

Nightfall shrouded the mountains by the time they reached the cave. Mulder stood on quivering legs breathing in ragged gulps of air, too exhausted, too winded to even be curious about this fabled cave. The voice purred softly to him of Hell's delights.

Didn't I promise you that your curiosity would be satisfied Fox? You were curious about this cave, weren't you?

Mulder felt his head lift up as his body responded to the voice's command. The cave looked so ordinary and felt so evil. Mulder could feel the evil on the faint current of air that exited the cave. His death lay inside that dark cavern that loomed before him like a monster's hungry maw. But the constant hammering of the voice on the manner of his death had curiously rendered that event distant, somehow muted the terror, at least for the moment. Mulder embraced the distance, anything to drive a wedge between the voice and his grasp on sanity.

Lafe gave a hard tug on the halter and Mulder stumbled forward to avoid choking. He had made that mistake once. He had fallen and, unable to control his body, had nearly strangled to death as Lafe pulled him forcibly down the trail by his neck. Lafe finally relented and pulled him to his feet as the voice chuckled at his helplessness.

Mulder realized then that without the voice, Lafe would have indulged in his own brutal nature and killed him for the momentary pleasure it brought him. The voice controlled Lafe as it sought to control him. A point, Mulder wasn't sure of the significance of it, but he recognized a vital point when it slapped him in the face.

Aristide's Cavern
9:00 p.m.
 

Light from a single lantern threw grotesque shadows on the walls of the cavern. Lafe's movements as he cleared rocks and other debris from the small cavern floor sent shadows chasing shadows. Mulder watched in a distant, drugged haze as if watching a shadow play created for his entertainment. Even drugged, Mulder was curious about this cavern, the center for so much local folklore. The lantern provided little light, but from what he could see, the cavern was a natural formation, not manmade.

It was cool in this cavern, the dry air bitter with an acrid taste of musk and sulfur. Mulder could barely remember being led into the cave, but he knew the entrance was too far back to allow any fresh air into this pocket under the earth. The stones were cold and hard against his back, but he lacked the power to shift position. He sat where Lafe had dumped him, a sack of seething helplessness.

The far end of the cavern, deep into the mountain, was cloaked with a dark, roiling shadow that Mulder avoided looking at. One passing glance had frozen his soul with dread and terror. Whatever lurked there was not something he wanted to face. The shadow looked like the voice sounded, full of evil and black despair.

Afraid, Fox? Always so afraid when the extreme possibilities you hunt actually show up. Soon . . ..

For such an untidy man, Lafe seemed obsessed in removing the tiniest bit of clutter from the cavern floor. Even in his drugged condition Mulder could draw the inescapable conclusion that this was going to be the site of the evening's festivities. His brain was operating at full capacity, but the connection between brain and body was effectively scrambled. He could think, but not act. In fact, his intelligence was now more of a threat to his sanity than a help. Mulder wished that whatever Lafe had given him had also diminished his ability to recall in detail the crime scene reports of the other ritual killings.

Cursing his imagination, Mulder fought down the images of his death; fought to retain his sanity as he was pulled into the darkness. Death he could face. Perhaps not well or even bravely, but that didn't matter. It never mattered, ultimately, how the victim faced death. The only thing he would leave behind would be a body: corporeal evidence of the how's of his death, but nothing to say how he faced it. The ultimate terror for him was not in his dying, but in how Scully would take it.

Would it be better for her if his body was never found? To leave her imagining his death would be cruel, but would it be any more cruel than to have to see him savagely mutilated, a mockery of himself? Even the voice, so adept at plucking out his worst nightmares, seemed unsure which was the greater horror. Both scenarios played out for him in his captive memory until Mulder wanted to die just to end the persistent question flung at him by the voice. To know or not to know, that was the question for Scully. That was the choice the voice was giving him.

Lacking any other occupation, his memory, aided and abetted by the whispering voice, was replaying the earlier murders. If the voice had been smart enough to leave it at just one replay, Mulder was sure he would have spiraled down into the bleak depression the voice wanted. However, this constant replaying of gory photos and detailed autopsy reports was having the opposite effect. Mulder fought back in the only way he knew how; in the only way he was capable of acting, drugged and trussed up as he was. He began battling memory with memory.

He soon discovered that trying to recall happy memories only increased the intensity of the dark voice's horrific imagery so he opted for suitably dark memories, but those of his own choosing. Choice, it was all coming down to a choice, yet Mulder still had no idea what Sallie had meant. Still, he seized any opportunity to insert some kind of choice into the inexorable process leading towards his death.

"Prepare ye the house of the Lord of Hell and I will go down into it with sacrifices and praise," Lafe sang in a hideously off-key whiskey tenor voice.

As Lafe swept clean the place of sacrifice and prepared the sanctuary of stone and shadows for his ceremony, Mulder let his mind drift back to the last time he walked under sunlight as a free man. Replaying the memories like one of his videos, losing himself in them to avoid the suffocating sense of time running out.

Lost in his memories, Mulder woke up with a start when he felt Lafe's hands stripping off his clothes.

NOOOO! Not yet, please, I'm not ready, Mulder pleaded with the now silent voice. Startled into panic, he struggled to control the terror rising up to choke him.

Heedless of Mulder's panic, or perhaps aware and savoring the terror he was provoking, Lafe slowly began slicing his t-shirt off in slow languid sweeps of a large hunting knife. The razor kiss of the knife as it grazed his skin was simultaneously terrifying and arousing. Mulder cursed the highly inappropriate reaction in his groin as Lafe turned his attention from the shredded rags of his shirt to his jeans.

"Not yet, city boy. Time enough later fer yer little man to play."

Lafe laughed and patted the bulge in Mulder's groin. Hate burned out the fear in Mulder's eyes as he watched Lafe paw him. Satisfied by his victim's reaction, Lafe slowly carved Mulder out of his jeans and boxers. His boots were carefully removed and set over in a corner with his watch and gun. It occurred to Mulder that if he did somehow manage to escape, it was going to be a long, cold, embarrassing walk back to town. However, he was willing to trade some embarrassment for a future, but so far no opportunity had arisen to make that bargain.

Naked and shivering, Mulder lay against the cold rocks as Lafe proceeded on with the preparations. Arms, legs, chest and finally groin were carefully, even lovingly caressed with an old-fashioned straight razor until Lafe was satisfied that no stray hair was left to mar the smooth perfection his ritual demanded. Even his eyebrows had been shaved. Lafe paused as he held a shank of hair, head cocked to one side as if listening to someone, then he patted Mulder's head affectionately and let his head fall back against the rock.

"He likes your hair, city boy. Me, I prefer 'em shaved clean, like newborn babes. 'Course I wasn't 'llowed to be as particular to the others as you. You're a special one, he says. 'Course the others squealed a mite more than you by now."

Apparently he was going to be allowed to keep his hair. Small comfort - he wouldn't be a bald corpse, Mulder laughed silently in near hysteria as he tried not to visualize himself as a shaved, gutted corpse. Warmed only by his rage and shame, Mulder gritted his teeth and endured. Still ignorant of what Sallie had meant by a singular time for a choice, Mulder opted for waiting. Presumably he would recognize the time when it came, providing of course, he was conscious or even sane by the time the moment rolled around.

The water Lafe dipped out of a rusty iron kettle was as cold as ice. Lafe gave him a rough bath using a coarse cloth, scouring him clean with lye soap until his skin burned. Mulder flinched when Lafe began smoothing on a harsh-smelling ointment, but it seeped into his abraded skin with a gentle caress. Warm and thick as honey, the gel lulled him into an erotic, intoxicated haze. Struggling against the temptation to sink into blissful unawareness, Mulder tried to focus his mind on the details of the ritual, searching his memory for any match, any clue to the spirit Lafe sought to raise.

Here, on the edge of the great mystery, drawn into the heart of the ceremony, Mulder did not doubt that something was being summoned, that something waited just outside his understanding, something he would come to understand only too well if Lafe had his way.

Dragging his mind back from the abyss, Mulder tried to concentrate. So far Lafe was following a fairly standard pattern, nothing yet to distinguish one ceremony from another.

That's right, Fox, focus on the academic. Remove yourself from feeling. That's what you're good at. Isn't that why you quit profiling? Quit saving all those lives? You enjoyed the darkness. You felt a brotherhood with those you hunted. Yet you fled from that feeling and ran to the safety of your X-Files . . . here to me.

Mulder tried to block out the voice, knowing it was futile, but desperate to deny the evil rising to swallow him. He was drowning in it, helpless to stem the tide sweeping out from the deep craters within his soul.

Did all the others feel this raging flood of self-hatred; did they drown in despair before they drowned in their own blood? Mulder wondered as he defied the voice.

No Fox, this is just our little secret. You are the special *one*. It is only right and proper that we should know each other.

Get out of my head! Please . . ..

Mulder's rage dwindled into pleading. Drugged and despairing he slipped into the twilight world of dreams, comforted by familiar nightmares and old companion terrors.

And the voice fell silent, content with its chosen sacrifice, impatient for release.

Lafe, unaware of the exchange between his master and his victim, finished the anointing and began his own preparations. The time of sacrifice was fast approaching. The time of his ascension was upon him. Lafe sang happily to himself as he stripped off his clothes and drank the vervain-spiked whiskey to open himself to the power flowing from his master. Drunk with whiskey and evil, Lafe sang to his master obscene parodies of prayer and praise in this cathedral under the earth while the stars moved in their courses through the heavens to the appointed time.

Aristide's Cavern
11:00 p.m. July 23
 

The feel of Lafe's hands roughly jerking him to his feet shattered Mulder out of his dreams. Not giving Mulder a chance to get his feet under him, Lafe dragged him away from the wall into the center of the cavern. Disoriented, Mulder struggled, but a quick jerk of the halter cut off his air and he was reduced to short frantic gasps for air.

With studied care, Lafe paced off the distance from the wall until he had reached the exact center of the cavern and there he dumped Mulder to lie in a twitching gasping heap. A leather strap bound his ankles together before Mulder could gather his wits and enough air to resist. Lying trussed up like a calf, Mulder tried to shake the cobwebs from his brain. This was important, something was about to happen that he needed to be fully alert for, but his brain was sluggish and the night terrors slow to relax their grip on his mind. The lack of air wasn't helping either and Mulder felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.

He felt Lafe's hand at his throat then the pressure was gone and air flooded into his starving lungs. Mulder lay on the cold dirt floor drawing in great heaving gulps of air until his lungs ached with the effort. Drifting on a sea of drugs on the edge of awareness, he was barely aware of Lafe's movements, indifferent to the ache in his arms and legs.

The sound of harp strings being brutally abused tore Mulder back into full consciousness. A twangy, discordant tune echoed through the cavern varying in rhythm and, he supposed, key. Mulder shook the last of the dreams from his head and tried to focus on who or what was producing such demented sounds. Perhaps during his dreams he had actually died and this was Hell; the sound certainly was hellish enough.

Standing stark naked in the middle of the cavern Lafe played the ancient tune, strumming the Jew's Harp in an ever-increasing tempo. His eyes were unfocused as he weaved in time to the music. Gradually, as the tempo rose, Lafe began to move his feet. Slowly at first, shuffling softly against the smooth stone floor, three steps to the right, then six to the left, all the while turning in a slow sensuous circle like a languid top. As Mulder watched, Lafe began to dance in a spiral, always turning to the left as he spun out a great circle.

This was familiar. Watching Lafe dance, Mulder remembered the crime scene where he had first entered Lafe's mind, where he had first sensed the spell Lafe was dancing. Mulder's feet twitched in an echo of the dance his mind remembered. The warding circle was being cast. In answer to Lafe's harping, a great bass voice sang a chant, hideous with discordant notes that set Mulder's bones to aching. A voice from out of the depths of Hell, raging against heaven in its despair, bitter fury against all good; a chant of evil.

Mulder shuddered and wished desperately that he could cover his ears. Hearing the voice whispering in his mind was bad; hearing it booming through this cavern was beyond bearing. At times the voice sang so low, Mulder was sure his bones would shatter from the harmonics. He lay there in pain watching the circle being cast which would cut him off from all outside salvation.

Each time Lafe reached one of the cardinal points he paused, raised his arms in supplication and he sealed the circle at that point. Reaching the southern point, Lafe drew himself up and saluted the great lords of darkness Aristide was summoning to guard his circle.

"Hail Great Moloc, Commander of the Legions of Hell. Bar this gate against the hosts of Heaven that I may consecrate this ground to evil."

Lafe resumed plucking at the harp which was now echoed by a grating bass song chanting two octaves below the harp string. From the darkness Aristide sang until the very shadows quaked to the sound of his voice. Three spirals later he faced the east, then moved to the west.

"Hail, Lucifer, bright Prince of Hell, who holds dominion over the eastern sky. Bar this gate against the rising Sun that I may consecrate this ground to evil."

"Hail Zophiel, Herald of Hell, who rises up out of the darkness in the west to break men's hopes. Bar this gate against the spirits of air and light that I may consecrate this ground to evil."

Spirals tracing spirals in an ever-tightening coil that closed the circle. Lafe felt himself expand as if he was absorbing the very power of the earth. Unseeing and unheeding of anything but the chant, Lafe cast out Heaven from this place.

Finally the northern point, the last gap in the circle remained to be sealed. Mulder felt the air grow heavy and dark as the circle closed in around him.

"Hail, Azazel, Lord of Hell, Seducer of Mankind, who bears the standard of Hell in the dark places of the earth. Bar this gate against the Heavenly Angel of Earth that I may consecrate this ground to evil."

Lafe gave a loud scream of exultation and accomplishment. His face was transfigured by a dark light that shone out of his eyes and swirled around him like a demented shadow. Pacing off the distance slowly, in a slow parody of his earlier frenzied dance, Lafe moved back to the eastern point of the circle and stood facing the darkness that shrouded the rear of the cavern. He raised his arms in prayer and supplication.

"Open to me the Gates of Hell and I will go into them.
I will praise the name of Aristide, son of Eblis.
I have laid the final sacrifice before you, O Child of Hell
The souls of my sacrifices lie at your feet, O Child of Earth
My heart exalts your name, Dread Lord of Night."

Mulder now realized that events were accelerating towards the climax of the ritual. So far he had seen little that resembled a choice. At least now, with the help of that damnable mouth harp, his brain was awake; complaining, but awake and beginning to come to full speed. Mulder wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. It was one thing to confidently tell Scully that he would try to disrupt the ceremony in the comfort and safety of their motel rooms, it was quite another to be staring at the imminent onset of the ritual trussed and helpless.

He wondered if at some point he would plead with a silent heaven for the return of the drugged haze, willing to barter any hope of stopping Lafe in return for the release from pain. For now he was willing to remain an observer, waiting for that singular moment Sallie had assured him would come.

Mulder shuddered when he realized he could actually see the strands of power flow out from the dark mist on the far side of the cavern. Black rainbow rivers of light swirled around and through Lafe, cracking the wall that barred this world from the realms of chaos. Lafe's dance had opened a pathway between one world and the next. Power roared out from the mist like an inferno, cradling Mulder in its fire, drawing him into its world. The flames caressed his soul with promises of torment and intimate knowledge of things beyond his wildest nightmares.

He lay there as the weight of the rock and earth above him pressed down on him, crushing him into dust; wishing for once that he did not believe in things that went bump in the night. Still he waited, silent in the eye of the storm Lafe had raised, defiant, refusing to surrender to the siren song of the damned.

Outside Aristide's Cavern
11:00 p.m. July 23
 

"Eno lass. Take a breath." Sallie turned and grabbed Scully's arms with her strong bony hands. Jock began a weaving dance in and out around Scully's legs forcing her to stop or fall.

"Let go of me! If he's in there like you say, we need to get to him before Lafe can start," Scully hissed angrily, resisting the urge to drop-kick Jock into the nearest tree. For hours she had followed this old woman through the darkness, always climbing upwards until she was certain they were climbing to the top of the world. She was exhausted and terrified. They had finally reached this crack in the side of the mountain and now Sallie wanted her to wait outside.

It was late, so damn late. Her own autopsy reports haunted her. Time of death approximately midnight. Indications of severe, multiple trauma to the chest and groin suggest that the some of the injuries were inflicted up to an hour before death. That was Mulder in there, facing what horrors she knew only too well from the bodies she examined.

"Na, lass. It na be tha time fer ya. Tha stars be whisperin' that we must wait for tha proper time." Sallie said sternly. Sallie was losing patience. Dana was refusing to listen to her heart, still adamant in her reliance on her science to deal with this problem. Sallie could hear the ancient songs on the night breeze, summoning the spirits of light and air to this battle. All around them tiny lights of the fey folk glistened in the darkness, protecting them from the evil shadows darting around them.

They walked in the shadows of the moon on the paths of the fey, yet this stubborn child refused to see, refused to hear what was plain before her. Sallie clucked her tongue in exasperation, but did not try to deepen the trance that bound Dana to her. When the time came, she would either believe or not. Sallie's oath bound her to Dana's protection; it would just be a tad easier on them both if Dana would cooperate. God bless her fer a stubborn Irish lass. She has a warrior's heart tho an' I pray tha be eno'.

"I'm going in. You can stay out here if you want, but Mulder needs me now, not at some mystical moment of truth!" Scully tried to twist out of Sallie's grip, but found, to her dismay, that the fragile-looking old woman had a grip as strong as a sailor. Desperate in her frantic worry for Mulder, she struggled furiously for a moment then went completely still. Fixing Sallie with a cold glare she waited until she caught her breath and could speak in a calm, icy tone.

"Release me now. If Mulder is hurt in any way by this delay, I will personally lock you up in the nearest mental hospital for the rest of your life."

"Ah, lass, ya still dinna comprehend tha battle." Sallie sighed and released Dana, shaking her head in sad acceptance of the impatience of youth. "Weel, if ya be bound an' determined ta rush inta tha jaws o Hell . . .."

Startled by Sallie's sudden capitulation, Scully was a few steps behind her by the time the old woman had reached the cave entrance. Stepping into the cave was stepping into total darkness. Even without the moon, their trip up the mountain had been lit by starlight and the swarms of lightning bugs that seemed determined to follow them. As irritated as she had been by the bugs, she rather wished some of them had followed them into the cave. Anything to relieve the oppressive blackness of the cave. Yet, even in the dark, Sallie seemed to know exactly where she was going.

Probably following that damn cat, Scully thought.

After a brief bout of rebellion that earned her a barked shin and a too intimate collision with a stalagmite, Scully gave up trying to pick her own way through the darkness and followed close on Sallie's heels.

Their passage through the cave was excruciatingly slow. Scully wondered if Sallie was deliberately keeping the pace to a crawl in order to keep them to her mystical schedule. Scully wanted to scream in frustration, but she felt an overwhelming desire not to make a sound to break the dread silence that wrapped itself around them as soon as they entered the cave.

Lacking Sallie's sense of direction or Jock's, Scully was forced to follow them even while fear for Mulder was growing into a painful knot in her stomach. Trust Mulder to land himself in a situation where she would be forced to depend on things she didn't believe in to save him.

Scully lost track of time as they moved through the dark corridors. Gradually she realized that she could hear music; well, if she was feeling especially generous she supposed she could call it music. It seemed to be coming from deep inside the cave, more or less directly in front of them. She heard Sallie sigh and breathe out something in a dialect so obscure she wasn't even sure it was in English. Sallie turned back to her, barely visible in the pitch darkness.

"It has begun lass. Time an' destiny march ta tha battle an' so must we. Fox be there waitin'. Pray ta God, Dana that he chooses well."

Scully shuddered at the implication behind those words. Sallie seemed to be implying that Mulder was beyond her help. That she refused to believe. Let this old woman mutter about magic and demons and such. What they had to face was a crazed killer, probably armed and definitely dangerous, who wanted to carve her partner into hamburger.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

Scully pressed forward and was relieved when Sallie began to move faster. The timetables of the previous murders ran through her mind. Mulder would probably be hurt, that was nothing new for him. But with luck and speed on her part, not seriously.

A scream of pain echoed through the cave just as a blinding flash of light burst out of the tunnel ahead of them and rippled out in waves towards the mouth of the cave.

"Mulder!" Scully yelled as she fought the light-blindness that paralyzed her. Jock's answering yowl of anger joined the echoes bouncing around the cave.

When she could see again, Scully could see the pathway leading towards another opening in the dimming light. Sallie was already at the opening chanting something in a tongue Scully vaguely recognized as Gaelic. An explosion rippled across the entrance and shards of black fire shattered against the tunnel walls. For just a moment, Scully thought she saw Sallie bathed in light wielding a great sword that sliced through dark-winged shadows barring her way. Scully shook her head and muttered something about after-images and retinal flash burns before following Sallie into the cavern.

11:30 p.m.
 

Lafe danced the final steps in the intricate knot that would seal his warding circle. Wearily he dropped the mouth harp and stood panting for breath. The residue of power that had surged through him now flickered around him; a blood red halo streaked with black. Each time he had danced the spell, he emerged weakened and hollowed out; the power scouring him away bit by bit. This was the last time however. With this sacrifice, his reward would be unlimited power and dominion. Lafe heard the deep rumbling voice of Aristide urging him on, driving him despite his exhaustion to the rite of sacrifice. Lafe understood. If he was impatient, just having to endure these past eighty-two days, he could imagine how Aristide must feel having waited nearly three centuries.

As Lafe walked over to Mulder, he comforted himself with the notion that the hard part was over. Now he could have himself some fun. Aristide had drummed it into his head that the final blow had to fall during the strokes of the midnight bell, but he always allowed him time to play with the victim. Tonight he wouldn't have as long and that thought soured him a bit, but he decided that instead of working slowly up to the fun parts, maybe he could just start right in.

"You a screamer, city boy?" Lafe said as he kicked Mulder onto his back. Seeing the defiance in Mulder's eyes, he kicked him again. The satisfying crunch of ribs under his foot brought a smile to his lips. Playfully, Lafe allowed himself to enter the first stages of the change and watched in amusement as Mulder's eyes grew wide with shock. Lafe licked his fangs and studied the long claws that now extended beyond his paw-like hands.

"We're not goin' to git to play as long as I'd like, but I bet I kin make you scream for mercy from old Lafe."

Mulder watched Lafe warily as he babbled. Lafe's hold on sanity was probably more tenuous than his own. He had no doubt that if Lafe had his way, he probably would be screaming, but there was a gnawing unease growing in the back of his mind; a feeling that he was missing a very vital piece of the puzzle. Concentrating on trying to figure out what he was missing, Mulder's attention went inward.

Angry at being ignored, Lafe raked two talons across Mulder's stomach. Mulder's yelp of surprise and pain made Lafe feel much, much better. He liked the way Mulder bucked up and away from the pain, actually moving away a good two feet. Lafe hauled him back to the center mark by the halter letting the leather rope grind into Mulder's throat until the agent's face turned red and he quit struggling to lay twitching on the floor.

Untie the man and place him as you wish. He will not move until I release him, Aristide's voice boomed in Lafe's mind.

Lafe obeyed grudgingly. He hoped Aristide would keep the man still during the ceremony. He had wanted to drive stakes into the earthen floor to tie him down, but Aristide promised him that the matter would be taken care of. Lafe didn't care how Aristide managed it, just so he got to have his fun without having to chase the man all over the cavern.

Released from his bindings, Mulder found that he was unable to move; his body once again controlled by the voice. He watched helplessly as Lafe carefully positioned his body, legs spread apart, arms stretched wide to either side. Why the lack of restraints? Why was this time different? If what the voice said was true, and that was a big if, then somehow this ceremony was different from all the others.

The throbbing across his stomach held the promise of more to come, yet Mulder was growing more certain that there was a play within a play going on here. Maybe it was his long contact with the voice, maybe simply that his brain, hovering on the brink of destruction, decided to slip into hyper-drive, but Mulder began to realize that Lafe was as much a victim tonight as he was.

As Lafe used the blood welling out of the wounds on Mulder's abdomen to paint himself in the familiar runic characters, Mulder continued to ponder the puzzle. There was little else he could do at the moment except to think and Mulder was fervently trying to avoid thinking about what Lafe planned on slicing open next.

When Lafe finished draping himself in blood, he began to draw a careful pattern of runes around his victim, enclosing him in a circle of elemental power. Twice he had to deepen the wounds on Mulder's stomach in order to get the blood he needed. Mulder grimaced and panted with the pain but refused to give Lafe the satisfaction of yelling. He'd yell soon enough when the time came to draw the master rune, Lafe assured himself, angry that Mulder was refusing to cooperate.

Satisfied at last with the circle of runes, Lafe let himself flow back into full human form. He needed his hands for this next part; he didn't want to mess up the final rune. Retrieving his knife from the edge of the outer circle, Lafe knelt beside Mulder, grinding his fingers into Mulder's jaw to force him to look at the knife.

Relishing the spark of fear in Mulder's eyes, however quickly squelched, Lafe drew the tip of the knife slowly down his throat then around the collar bone until the point rested lightly on Mulder's suddenly still chest. Mulder held his breath, trying to prepare himself. His eyes still locked onto Mulder's, Lafe pushed the knife into the chest, deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to touch anything vital, yet.

Mulder screamed. Cold agony beyond anything he had expected exploded from his chest to fill his heart and groin with ice. A flash of bright light burst from the back of the cavern searing his eyes as it filled the cavern and surged down the tunnel. Through a red haze dotted with black spots he saw Lafe begin to slowly carve something into his chest. Mulder tried not to breathe since every breath seemed to push his chest further into the knife. Through his pain, he thought he could hear Scully's voice screaming his name. Delusional . . . I've finally gone insane. Oh God it hurts!

With the pain came understanding.

Behold my most cherished sacrifice. You shall rise above all the rest. You shall be consecrated in the blood of the slayer of souls. You shall be consecrated to my purpose.

More pain, searing, choking pain that turned each neural pathway into an inferno of fire. He was being baptized in a river of fire.

Soon you shall take your rightful place. Lafe shall lie at your feet. You shall avenge the souls he has taken. Then, all pain shall cease. You will rise up and eternal life shall be yours. Your enemies will be dust beneath your feet and you shall be my most exalted servant.

Seeing into the mind of his tormentor at last, Mulder tore himself out of the hypnotic spell Aristide was weaving. Clinging to the pain engulfing him, Mulder fought back. He now understood only too well what fate awaited him. If he had thought that dying at Lafe's hands, grotesquely mutilated was horrific, what he suddenly saw behind the murmuring voice from the shadow was so far beyond horror as to defy description.

The battle had shifted and Mulder's mind was scrambling frantically to cope with the revelation that it wasn't his death he was facing, but his eternal living damnation as Aristide's substitute. The horror behind the horror; the play within a play was revealed to the sound of Aristide's mocking laughter.

Together, Sallie and Scully burst into the cavern in answer to Mulder's scream. Sallie stepped quickly into the shadows among the jumbled rocks along the cavern wall. Jock disappeared into the rocks and only soft scratching noises marked his careful passage. Satisfied that she was well hidden from the imprisoned demon, Sallie gave Aristide a stern scrutiny. His madness had not diminished, nor his overweening ego. Already he was singing his victory song, celebrating his freedom before the last blow was struck.

Countin' his chickens afore they're hatched. Nothing had changed; perhaps nothing ever could. It wasn't in the nature of demons to change. Sallie felt no pity for the pinioned demon. Her pity was reserved for his victims, even Lafe, though that was stretching pity to the limit.

Standing quietly in the shadows, Sallie waited for her time to strike. Let Aristide savor his victory while he could. She trusted in Almighty God and in the two warriors she had summoned to this battle. Aristide was too confident, exerting only enough strength to control the humans he held in such contempt. Unless he sensed her arrival, he would not cast his whole strength into the battle until it was too late, she hoped.

Sallie ruefully acknowledged that she was no longer the handsome lass she was when Aristide last saw her, but there was the chance he might recognize the taste of her aura. Surprise would be critical in shifting the balance of power surging through this place.

Turning her attention to the center of the cavern, she sensed that the ritual was rapidly approaching its climax. Even shielded as she was, she sensed Fox's dawning horror as he realized what his fate was to be. Aristide was entirely focused on twisting Fox to his purpose, forging him into an extension of his will.

Fight him Fox. His be na tha battle ya must fight. Tha time is nigh lad when ya must lose ta win.

Sallie sent her silent blessing towards the embattled agent even though she knew that, for now, nothing except Aristide's will could pass through the circle enclosing Fox and Lafe. The crucial moment in time when good and evil hung evenly in the balance in the scales was fast approaching. Then Fox's choice would either shatter the circle or close it fast around him like a shroud.

Until that time, however, Dana would no doubt raise all sorts of ruckus. Sallie sighed for the impatience of youth. Well, at least it would keep her occupied and reasonably out of trouble, until it was time for her to act. Dana was impulsive and too certain of her science. Sallie actually chuckled softly in her throat. There were a few surprises for Dana here in this place, perhaps a bit of uncertainty to leaven her science. For now, however, all of their futures rested in Fox's hands and Dana must wait her turn.

Propelled by Mulder's scream still ringing in her ears, Scully sprang past Sallie into the cavern. Her eyes immediately focused on Lafe kneeling over her spread-eagled partner using a large knife to carve something into his chest. Scully would hear the strangled moans breaking from Mulder's throat even while he remained strangely motionless under Lafe's torture.

"Freeze. FBI! Put your weapon down, NOW!" Scully screamed the words. The sound of a great chorus of voices buffeted her ears, as if a thousand voices, each a little off-key, were singing 'Carmina Burana.' Cursing softly, she took careful aim and fired two rounds at Lafe's chest hoping to knock him away from Mulder. In total disbelief she watched the rounds explode harmlessly into miniature fireworks about ten feet from Lafe.

Lafe looked up from his task to give her a toothy grin while giving his knife a vicious twist. Mulder screamed, his eyes fairly bulging out of his head with the effort to move. Without a second thought Scully fired another round and again watched helplessly as it exploded against Lafe's wards.

"Mulder!" Scully screamed his name, trying to let him know she was here and somehow she was going to rescue him. She didn't know what was stopping her bullets. A Star Trek force-field sprang to mind only to be quickly dismissed; Lafe barely had the intelligence to construct a workable still, much less a technological innovation decades ahead of modern science.

You're babbling, Scully reprimanded her mind. Angry and frustrated by her inability to reach her partner, Scully prowled around the invisible circle, constantly testing it. She didn't know how, but she was sure there had to be a way through whatever was keeping her from helping Mulder.

Her first glimpse of Aristide convinced her she was hallucinating. A good Catholic upbringing included lessons on demons, but the priest never warned her that she might actually meet one in the flesh. This was Mulder's nightmare, not hers, she protested to God.

Hanging suspended in his web, Aristide grinned down at this newest participant in the game. Small, but nicely shaped, and oh so disbelieving. Aristide considered the enormous joy he could take in convincing this skeptic that he was very, very real. He allowed himself a few seconds to savor the idea of initiating this little woman into his sexual preferences. Not wishing to hog the delicious imagery to himself, Aristide obligingly flooded Scully's mind with them. His laughter shook the cavern as Scully flinched in horror.

Stung by Aristide's laughter, Scully pulled herself together and snarled her defiance at this monster. This was the face she had seen over-shadowing Mulder's in the motel room. This was the monster responsible for Mulder's pain. Fury quickly replaced fear.

"In your dreams, demon!"

Aristide merely grinned and licked his lips. Allowing his wings to flutter restlessly apart, he permitted her a fleeting glance at his genitals. The defiant ones were always the most delectable in his experience and he felt a sigh of utter contentment sweep through him as he contemplated his victory celebration.

Scully backed carefully away from Aristide never letting her eyes leave his face until she was out of his direct line of sight. Only then did she turn her back on him and resume her restless prowling around the barrier locking her away from Mulder. If this was what Mulder had been fighting in his mind, Scully's opinion of him rose considerably. She made a silent vow that somehow she would get Mulder out of this alive so she could apologize. Hell had better not get in her way.

His name, screamed as only Scully could scream it, cut through the pain. Scully . . . here? Trying to respond to his partner, Mulder strained against Aristide's control. Linked as he was to Aristide's whispering voice, he was privy to Aristide's sexual taunts. Enraged by this threat to his partner, Mulder exploded against Aristide's control. He caught a brief flicker of surprise from Aristide, felt the control tighten until he thought his bones would shatter then abruptly he was free. Aristide's exultant cry was lost in the sudden murderous fury that overwhelmed and consumed Mulder's mind.

Without warning Mulder erupted into motion. He threw himself on Lafe, ignoring the gash the knife made when it slid across his chest. A gaping red gash completed the final rune; a mind-twisting glyph of chaos unleashed. Within the circle, the earth cried out and the air burned as the winds of chaos poured through the opening gateway.

Grappling for the knife, Mulder and Lafe rolled around the floor in a fury of dust and blood-drenched naked bodies. Using a particularly vicious wrestling move, Mulder wrenched the knife from Lafe and rolled free. Even before he could get to his feet, Lafe was melting into cat form. Blinded by fury and fear and driven by Aristide's whip-like voice, Mulder attacked.

Scully watched in horror as Mulder took blow after blow from Lafe's talons. Lafe was also bleeding from two long gashes. Despite their wounds, neither combatant slowed their insane attacks on each other. The air in the cavern was charged with fury. The chorus of the damned howled until the cavern shook with their songs.

Scully raged against the barrier that prevented her from assisting Mulder, pounding insanely upon the invisible wall until her hands bled, shouting unheard curses that were absorbed by the awful sounds rocking the cavern. Aristide breathed in the intoxicating scent of rage and drove Mulder to a frenzy of attacks designed to drive Lafe against the very circle he had cast.

"Now, lass. Now be tha time ta rise an' fight!"

Sallie's voice cut through the howling madness, shattering the unholy inferno of noise. Shuddering in the sudden silence and in the abrupt return of her reason, Scully looked down at her bleeding hands then back into the circle where Mulder and Lafe still struggled amid a shrieking windstorm. This could not be happening, Scully thought desperately.

The fact that she had just witnessed the transformation of a human into a giant cat was just a tiny drop in her general fading grip on reality. She decided that this must all be a drug-induced hallucination, but while she was here, she might as well act as if it was real. Convoluted reasoning, even she had to admit, but it worked to satisfy her whimpering rational mind.

Sallie's voice, loud in the aching silence, reminded her who and what she was. Somehow she sensed that the moment in time Sallie kept babbling about was hurtling towards them. Drawing in deep breaths to steady herself, Scully stepped back from the barrier and readied herself to take advantage of whatever was about to take place.

"Who dares to defy me? Come forth little human and let me see you before I tear your soul from your body and hurl it into Hell." Aristide's voice thundered against the rocks, but they did not answer. Only a derisive, solitary howl mocked him from deep with the rocky debris. Aristide howled in fury and was answered by a smaller howl full of feline superiority.

While Aristide and Jock exchanged insults, Sallie centered herself and commending her soul to God, stepped forward directly in front of Aristide. Unleashing her aura, she stood in front of the demon she had imprisoned so long ago.

"I do, ya loud yammerin' beastie. Ya hae na changed. These children are na for ya. They are ma warriors. An' they be yer doom."

Seeing the old woman step out of the shadows and come forward to defy him, Aristide began to laugh, but as her aura billowed out his laughter stopped and fear began to war with anger in his heart. This was the woman who had bound him to this torment, here now, at the exact moment of his victory. Let her see then his victory. He would feed upon her soul at the instant of his release.

Glancing at the struggle between Mulder and Lafe, Aristide smiled. Soon, very soon. Lafe was the stronger, but he fought alone, abandoned. Mulder fought with all of Aristide's power and hate burning through his blood. Soon, very soon the sacrifice would be hallowed by the blood of his victim and Aristide would be free.

"You foolish old hag. All you have done is provide me with my sacrifice. Your champion is indeed a child. I control him as I would control a puppet. Watch now, and prepare your soul for death."

Sallie sadly shook her head. It was not in the nature of a demon to change. Aristide was no different now than he had been nearly three hundred years before. Then she was in the springtime of her power, strong and sure, certain of her path. Withered now, she still wielded power enough to seal Aristide back into his prison, but not to interfere in the collision of good and evil raging in that circle.

Sallie prayed again that Fox would seize the moment and wrench himself out of the claws of chaos. The riddle was there in his mind, she had seen to that. Dana, she saw, was poised and ready; unsure what she was supposed to do, but prepared to act the instant she saw an opening. Jock was nearby, waiting for his cue. Now was her time.

"Aristide, by tha sacred names of God, I cast ya out o tha game. By yer own rules, ya may na interfere. Ya hae chosen yer substitute an' by his blood o' his victory, ya be bound. I stand here, as God's witness, that ya may na interfere."

Sallie's words sang through the cavern and echoed from the rocks like the ringing of fine crystal bells. Aristide's face grew black with fury then white with shock as he felt his control over Mulder shatter. He spat curses at Sallie and his wings swept up all the stench of rotting hopes from the depths of hell to buffet her. Sallie swayed like a willow in a storm, but held fast to her command. Power versus power; the clash caused the earth to groan and the hills to cry out above them.

Storms gathered, hurling lightning down upon the mountains in wave after wave until the air reeked with ozone and burning earth. Sallie stood firm, a burning brand buffeted by darkness, refusing to be blown out or cast aside. Aristide turned his fury and his power totally against her, forgetting Mulder in his obsession to destroy this one old woman who stood in his way.

Feeling Aristide's control abruptly severed, Mulder reeled, then screamed as Lafe raked his shredded chest. Dodging Lafe's next attack, Mulder began a series of evasive moves that forced Lafe to be constantly on the attack. Watching the pattern of Lafe's attacks, Mulder realized that it would be very easy to lure Lafe in with a feint then drop him with a quick thrust. Lafe was slowing down, no doubt feeling the loss of blood that was now matting his fur. It would be so easy, and yet . . ..

Shaking the fog of Aristide's fury from his brain, he saw Scully standing outside the circle, poised with gun aimed and ready. Making another twisting, dancing move to elude Lafe's charge, Mulder saw Sallie facing off with Aristide. Something she had said eons ago while he sat on her porch and drank apple cider and watched the deer graze; something about a choice. Mulder didn't need to be psychic to sense that the singular moment Sallie had spoken of was almost upon him. He felt its harsh breath on the back of his neck. The choice was here and now, present in this circle, waiting for him to act.

Vainly his brain scrambled for the answer to Sallie's riddle even as Mulder began to realize he was going to have to simply choose from instinct, trusting that in the midst of the absolute chaos which surrounded him that he would choose correctly.

Please God, let this be the right one, for Scully, if not for me.

Drawing a deep painful breath, Mulder caught Lafe's eyes, then feinted a blow to Lafe's right side, allowing himself to overextend slightly. He held his breath, willing this not to hurt too badly, willing Scully to understand everything he never had the chance to tell her. Lafe grinned, exposing bloody fangs, and struck. Mulder arched against the talons dug into his chest and screamed.

Lafe struck again with the other paw, tearing down across Mulder's neck to his chest in four great gouges that laid open his rib cage. Silent now, Mulder hung limply in Lafe's paws. He shuddered once, then again, then was still. Lafe howled and threw the body of his victim against the barrier. Mulder's body went flying past the circle into the cavern wall to lie crumpled in an ungainly heap against the rocks. Jock howled like a banshee from his hiding place among the rocks.

Stunned as she was by Mulder's defeat, Scully realized that the barrier was down and, drawing careful aim, blew Lafe's chest apart with three neatly placed shots. Lafe looked ludicrously down at the gaping wounds in his chest, raised a pleading hand towards Aristide, and collapsed.

Suddenly realizing that both his sacrifices were lost to him, Aristide abandoned his attack on Sallie and slammed his attention on Scully. Driven to her knees by the sudden assault on her mind and body, Scully felt herself drowning as Aristide fought to consume her soul. Lost in the howling wind that filled her mind, Scully felt a hand reach out and pull her to safety. Standing over her was Sallie and they were surrounded by a softly glowing light, like butterfly wings at sunrise.

Gasping for air, Scully allowed Sallie to help her to her feet and in the shelter of Sallie's ancient arms, watched as Aristide literally ignited with thwarted rage. His roars of agony and fury shook the cavern, dislodging small rocks and dust from the ceiling that fell around then like a summer shower. Flames turned the web to molten silver rivulets that ran down, across and through Aristide's convulsing body.

Beside her, Scully heard Sallie sigh as she made a small gesture and the web molded Aristide back into his prison, now thrice bound for good measure. Watching all of this in unwilling belief, Scully heard a multitude of voices singing Glorias and felt the exultation of souls released from Aristide's dominion as they fled into the netherworld. Remembering her own journey to the threshold of that world, Scully wished the souls luck on their passage. Silence fell like a benediction on the cavern.

Turning her back on Aristide, Scully ran over to Mulder's body, praying desperately that somehow, with his usual uncanny ability to skirt along the edge of death, he would still be alive, perhaps hovering on the edge, but alive.

He'll need blood of course and stitches. God he hates stitches.

He'll hurt like hell, but he'll be alright . . . he has to be all right . . . please dear God let him be alright.

Her legs collapsed under her as she slid to her knees beside the battered, bloodstained body. Very gently, like a mother turning over a newborn infant, she laid him on his back. She stifled a tearful gasp as she saw the great gaping gouges across his chest. In one place she could see the still heart, dark reddish-purple floating in a sea of bright red cradled in a nest of white bone. Ignoring the blood that covered him like a second skin, Scully gently touched the heart, pleading with anyone who would listen that her eyes were deceiving her, that her partner's heart wasn't lying still in his rapidly cooling body.

Damn you. No not that. Please God, never that. Scully shuddered at her sudden revelation of how ominous that casual comment had come to mean.

"Mulder, please don't be dead. There are things still out there. I won't concede everything you believe." She smiled slightly at the involuntary resumption of their eternal arguments even as the tears began to flow unnoticed.

"But you are right, there are things out there, but I can't believe all on my own. Please . . .."

Her tears mixing with his blood on her shirt, Scully cradled Mulder in her arms quietly talking to him, trying to tell him all the things she never had when he was alive to hear them, her head bent down low over his, draping herself over his body like a shroud.

Sallie watched this tableaux with a heavy heart. Much now depended on how well her spell had been cast and how strong Mulder's spirit was. Walking slowly over to Aristide's prison, she saw that he had hidden himself within his wings, an impotent, defeated child of Hell once more.

Kneeing before one of the trees that anchored the web, Sallie hummed an air that had been ancient when she was a lass running wild and free in the Highland hills. The ancient tree shimmered for a moment with a pure white light then blossomed with a single tiny dark red rose resting in a nest of thorns as long as her finger.

Using extreme care not to prick herself, Sallie cautiously broke off one of the thorns. The tree bled three drops of dark amber sap. Sallie rubbed her thorn against the sap until the thorn was coated with it. Cradling the thorn in her hands, Sallie rose to her knees, trying to ignore the creaking of her bones that sounded too loud in the hushed silence. Time was running out. Sallie began walking rapidly over to where Scully sat grieving over her partner.

Feeling Sallie come up behind her, Scully looked up, her face ravaged with grief, only able to choke out one word from the hundreds she wanted to scream. "Why?"

"Lass, Fox faced a choice. Ta live an' take Aristide's place in tha web an' endure in torment 'til Great Gabriel closes time or ta die an' cheat Aristide o' his sacrifice." Sallie laid a sympathetic hand on Scully's shoulder. She felt time pressing close, but Scully had to understand, to consent to what must be done.

"Now, if ya be willin' ta give him ta me, there be a chance, albeit a small one, that he can be restored, but ya must have faith, ya must be there ta reach through tha mist an' guide him home. Can ya do that lass? Can ya believe in wha ya canna see? For him? For yourself?"

Scully simply stared at her, grief shattering her disbelief, yet too stricken to react. Jock emerged from the rocks, staggering in an uncertain wobbling gate towards them. As he brushed against Scully's legs she could feel every hair on his back standing straight up as if he had been electrified. A rumbling, disjointed purr wavering from deep bass to baritone shook his body as he sat down and stared fixedly at Scully.

Almost absently Scully ran her fingers over Mulder's shaven face, lingering for a moment where his eyebrows had been, then smoothed his hair, trying for some semblance of his usual neat styling before she nodded ever so slightly. Very gently Sallie knelt beside her and lifted Mulder's body into her own lap with surprising ease. Scully's arms followed the path of Mulder's body until they held nothing but air, then she let them fall into her lap.

"Great Laird o' Heaven. Be upon ma tha sin. T'was na his choosin', but mine tha sent his soul awry. Let him coom home, Laird o' Life, Laird o' all beasties an' men wha battle in tha dark for tha Light."

As Sallie prayed, she traced the wounds Lafe's talons had made with the thorn. Scully stared in disbelief, almost horror; the wounds sealed themselves as the thorn passed over them. Her mind was reeling now, incapable of objecting to this fantastic event unfolding before her eyes. Reason and science fled before the hope that, by whatever means, Mulder might be restored to her. If her doubts could in any way hinder this miracle, Scully was prepared to cast them to the winds and believe, just this once; to believe with all of her heart and soul and mind in miracles.

Sallie sealed the last of the gaping tears in Mulder's chest and sat back on her heels to rest. Her breathing was ragged and she felt her heart pounding with the effort she was pouring into this healing. As she rested, she felt the thorn turn to powder in her hand, its power exhausted. Mulder still bore claw marks on his body, but none were serious and would easily be treated by Dana's science or her own good herbs should the lad live. The easy part was over, now she struggled to calm herself for the perilous part. Scully's eyes were wild, but Sallie saw hope rising and prayed that she would not fail either one of these two brave children.

"Now lass for tha final leap o faith."

When she was sure she had Scully's attention, Sallie placed both of Scully's hands on Mulder's chest. Sallie's right hand rested lightly on Mulder's forehead.

"Now call him lass. Call yer friend home. An' wha'er happen, dinna take yer hands awa. His life depends on ya."

Scully looked at Sallie, saw her nod her head, then, feeling slightly foolish, started softly whispering Mulder's name.

"Mulder, come back. I need you Mulder. Please Mulder, it's not your time." A litany of need.

Jock rose up on his hind legs, stretching his full length against Scully's chest and dropped down and began an agitated pacing, yowling in protest. Sallie crooned softly to him, urging to come to her, extending her free hand to him. Jock inched forward, then jumped back as if he'd been bitten, then dropped to his stomach and crawled forward until, hesitantly, he moved his head under Sallie's hand.

Jock's screech beside her startled Scully so much she jumped and her hands jerked until only her fingertips rested on Mulder's chest before she remembered she was supposed to keep both hands firmly planted. Scowling at Jock, she gritted her teeth and firmly pressed her hands into Mulder's still, chilling flesh.

A strangled gasp from the chest beneath her hands sent Scully bolt upright. Mulder's chest was heaving as his starved lungs pulled in air. Tentatively, Scully pressed her palm deeper against his chest and felt the strong racing beat of a heart pumping blood through a warm living body. Resisting the urge to cross herself, Scully prayed that if this was a hallucination that she would never know sanity again.

Wanting to believe with all of her heart, Scully caressed the outlines of Mulder's face. She broke into one of her rare grins when his eyes fluttered open. At first they were wild and rolling as if he was waking up from some nightmare terror. His head rolled from side to side and his body shook in shudder after shudder until Scully picked him up and cradled him in her arms. Pressing his head against her shoulder Scully felt the tremors gradually diminish. For several long minutes they remained clasped together, breathing in tandem as his breathing and his heart rate slowed down to normal.

"Ah, Scully, would you happen to have . . . a . . . a towel or something?"

Mulder's plaintive tone was the final straw that sent Scully into a storm of laughter. Helpless to stop the sudden release of hours of stress and near madness, Scully held her chest and rocked back and forth laughing. The expression on Mulder's face, part embarrassment, part astonishment to find himself alive and part irritation at his insanely giggling partner did not help to restore her equilibrium.

Mulder hid a small grin and looked to Sallie for help in calming his obviously hysterical partner. His expression sobered at once when he saw how pale she was. Ignoring his nakedness, Mulder scrambled to his knees and pulled Sallie into his arms. She was shaking so bad he thought she was going to fly apart in his arms and she was as cold as he vaguely remembered being just moments before.

Jock was lying at her feet, gasping but already his tail was beginning to twitch and paws were flexing against the rock. Mulder gave Jock a hard cold look which was returned in equal measure until Mulder surrendered the fight and gave Jock a deep nod of his head. Jock yawned and began to stretch slowly and sensuously. Mulder shuddered and turned resolutely away from Jock.

Realizing Sallie needed help, Scully mastered her hysteria and crawled over to examine her. Warmed by Mulder's body, the shudders and the chills were almost gone and Scully was relieved to see a feisty glint in Sallie's eyes.

"An auld lass like maself be willin' ta do most anything ta be held by a handsome lad like yerself, dinna ya know?"

"For you Sallie, anytime, anywhere. Thank you, but I hope you know that you really, really didn't need to go to all this trouble for a hug. I would have been happy to hug you just for the cider, dinna ya know?"

Sallie laughed which set Scully off again and the two of them clung to each other laughing like hyenas. Mulder grimaced then allowed a few chuckles to escape. They made a fair sight, the three of them. Not exactly FBI standard, any of them, but the FBI's poster boys hadn't just survived a fight with a demon either. Gathering Scully and Sallie back into his embrace, Mulder stared over their heads to where Aristide hung silent in his web.

Better you than me hanging there. And I promise you this: if I have to I'll blow this mountain down around your ears to make sure you don't pull this stunt on anyone else.

Aristide's wings rustled slightly and Mulder felt a despairing whisper reach out to him. Mulder visualized a slamming door as he lowered his head to rest atop Scully's. Aristide still retained his power, but his hold over Mulder was gone, leaving behind only the memories burned into his nightmares.

How long they sat there, Mulder could not have said, but finally Sallie seemed to collect herself and breaking free of Mulder's arms, stood up. Scully groaned in protest, content for the moment to rest against Mulder's chest.

"Tha night be passin' fair fast. Unless ya wish ta traipse through tha woods in yer altogether in broad daylight, lad, we must be goin'. Of course yer altogether ain't particularly bad ta look at lad, so it's up ta ya."

Scully looked up to see Mulder blushing a deep magenta from the tips of his ears down to . . .. Scully wrenched her eyes back up from where they were drifting, absently following the downward track of the blushes. Mulder quickly turned around and bent over, his shoulders shaking. For a moment Scully wondered if he was crying, then realized he was laughing. Getting a firm grip on her giggles before they started up again, Scully started looking around for his clothing. She dismissed the rags of his shirt and jeans as impossible to salvage.

"Uh, Mulder, I . . . uh . . . here are your boots. The good news is you didn't lose your gun this time."

"Fine, give it here." Mulder reached back and let Scully drop his belt with the holster and gun in his hand. With a bit of maneuvering he had the holster arranged as strategically as possible. Muttering a prayer that this improvisation would work, he stood up. "Not great, but better than a fig leaf," he muttered plaintively.

Scully's lips twitched spasmodically as she forced herself not to laugh. Mulder was still beet-red but he was staring at her, daring her to laugh at his predicament. Scully tried to repress the urge to compose a list of the top ten uses for a gun and holster. She was too grateful to have him alive to be embarrassed; she would walk the Washington Mall naked with him if that had been the price of his return.

"Ya look fine, lad. Now coom, we must be goin'"

"Not one word, Scully, not one," Mulder said as he wrapped his dignity around him and walked towards the tunnel. Jock bounded ahead of him and proudly led their little parade out of the tunnel. Scully swore she could hear Mulder muttering under his breath about cats and wondered what Jock had done to set Mulder off.

The night sky was ablaze with stars as they exited the cave. Raindrops hanging from the trees looked like tiny diamonds. Wet earth, damp wood and a thousand other smells of the upper world greeted them. Mulder inhaled deeply, head flung back as he stared hungrily at a sky he had not expected to see again. Scully sat down wearily on a nearby rock and groggily considered whether it would make a nice bed. She was exhausted and not at all sure she was up to retracing the trail she vaguely remembered back to Sallie's cabin. She felt Mulder sit down on the ground beside the rock and lean his head back to talk to her while still staring at the stars.

"I know, I think I could sleep for a week. I know I'm going to need at least that much before I can even begin to come up with a coherent report for Skinner." Mulder paused and gave her a wicked grin. "Do ya think he'd believe in demons, lass?" he queried in a fair imitation of Sallie's accent.

"Mulder, ask me that question when I've had some sleep. Right now I'm so tired I'd believe in Santa Claus."

"You mean you don't?" Mulder asked in an outraged tone. He ducked to avoid the slap Scully aimed at his head. He knew they would have to discuss what happened in the cavern, or perhaps not, given how much Scully would be into denial by the time either one of them was back up to speed. Despite Sallie's work on his chest, his body felt like it had been through a meat grinder. Right now he was running on pure adrenalin. If they didn't start for Sallie's cabin soon, he very probably would fall asleep on his feet and, knowing his luck, would probably fall down and break something. He was tired of hurting and the idea of adding more hurt was not appealing.

The earth suddenly rolled under him in a series of gigantic waves as a thunderous rumble filled the air. For the next few minutes the earth around them danced a jig. Scully slid off the rock into Mulder's lap and they clung together for support as the earth went crazy. Shielding Scully's head from falling limbs, Mulder looked around for Sallie. There she was, standing straight and stern, watching the side of the mountain slide down to seal Aristide in his cavern. Mud, broken trees and rocks piled up to bury all evidence of the existence of the cavern. Mulder imagined he could hear Aristide's pleading cries before the earth buckled up and closed over the cavern. From his perch high above them in the trees, Jock gave an approving cry.

"Tis done. He'll na be lurin' anymore poor souls ta their doom. We can go na, if ya be done wi' yer hugging?" Sallie smiled as she turned towards home. From the noises behind her, the two agents were hastily untangling themselves and following. She would miss them, but she could at least give them hospitality until Cynan was ready to take them home. Say about two days. Sallie smiled contentedly as she envisioned the tall, lanky man struggling along behind her wearing a kilt. He could call it a blanket and no doubt would, but it would be a kilt of her own clan's tartan. There would be time enough to sew him pants for the trip back to town. God was good to an old woman in His own mysterious ways, she thought as she led them safely and surely back to her home.

Epilogue 10 days later

X-Files Office - Washington, D.C.
 

Fox Mulder sat at his desk, legs propped up on a stack of files resting precariously atop the wastebasket. His computer screen blinked encouragingly at him, reminding him that his report remained largely unwritten even after an hour of concentration. No matter how he tried, his efforts to reduce the events at Helsgate to the ordinary mundane realm familiar to normal FBI agents came disastrously short.

In the ten days since his encounter with Aristide, Mulder had been unable to shake the certainty that he had collided with pure evil completely outside human experience. He would carry the scars on his body and in his nightmares to remind him how close he came to damnation.

Mulder sighed in exasperation as he recalled Skinner's reaction to his initial report. Displeased was a mild description; infuriated came much closer. Skinner's subsequent lecture nearly peeled the paint off the office walls without ever descending into vulgarity. Mulder had left the office seething. Forbidden to report the truth, he rebelled against facilitating the lie Scully's media admirer was spreading.

In what even Mulder had to concede was a brilliantly creative article, Francis Macsen had recounted the story of Lafe Mileson, who in an insane binge of violence managed to terrorize the population of Helsgate and the surrounding farms. Finally identified by a team of brilliant FBI agents headed by the astute and valiant Special Agent Dana Scully, Lafe was stalked and finally killed by the aforenamed Agent Scully, saving her partner's life in the process.

Mulder had barely concealed his amusement at the transformation of his reserved partner into a media heroine. Francis had been a devoted follower from the moment of Scully's arrival in Helsgate and had greeted her return from the mountains with enthusiastic creativity. It seemed that he and Scully had had an arrangement and he had come to collect. Scully had welcomed the chance to talk with him and get a proper story out first. To her utter dismay, Francis transformed her role into the major force responsible for bringing Lafe down. All her denials were merely taken for modesty and only fueled the media hype. Scully wasn't pleased, but had actually smiled and commented that she should know better than to fence with a master.

From what Francis told her, Lafe's influence had apparently spread into town and sucked up about half of the tabloid representatives into his scheme. The local law plus all able-bodied citizens were pressed into service to suppress the riot. Francis gave an eloquent description of a running battle that lasted for most of the night until just after midnight when the riot just seemed to collapse. Mulder figured Aristide was merely making sure their little ceremony wasn't going to be interrupted. Apparently he had forgotten about Sallie altogether.

Mulder actually welcomed his demotion into obscurity as Scully's sidekick; the miasma of Aristide's possession still clung too heavily on his mind to allow him to deal diplomatically with the press. As he literally threw her to the hounds, Scully gave him a look that promised payback. Mulder was willing to risk her revenge; he was glad he was alive to take it.

Once Francis had his story, the rest of the pack closed in. Cornered, Scully fell back on the bare facts, carefully editing out all references to demons and mysterious old women with paranormal powers. Mulder gave her high marks for creative and selective presentation of the truth that skirted the paranormal and severely edited the more unflattering portions relating to his own role. The tabloids ran their lurid exposes and hinted at a cover-up, trying to use Mulder's known alien interest as bait, but Macsen's story had hit the national wires first and commanded center stage. Mulder remembered with fondness the growls and complaints of the other reporters at being scooped by a 'hick cub reporter.'

Acting-Sheriff Sims, furious that their wild goose chase had struck gold, took their reports in stony silence. Mulder kept his report vague concerning Sallie's role and noticed that C.J. also carefully avoided mentioning her pivotal role in the affair. Mulder indulged himself by relating the possible paranormal source of Lafe's delusions. Since Sims already thought he was crazy, Mulder enjoyed a perverse sense of pleasure in shoving the truth in someone's face.

Increasingly uncomfortable in the media spotlight, Scully had become snappish and rebuffed all of Mulder's attempts to talk about their experiences in the cavern. With a sense of resigned inevitability he watched her gradually retreat behind the barriers of scientific denial. Hallucinogenic drugs seemed to be her favorite theory, though Mulder noticed her efforts to explain away what happened seemed forced and cumbersome. Mulder gave her the distance she seemed to want. When she was ready, she would talk, even if only to blithely explain away what he had seen and felt.

Now, confronted by the command to produce a rationally acceptable report, Mulder wished Scully would come rescue him and help him compose something Skinner would accept. Her scientific denials were extremely useful in mollifying the brass, he gave her that. As if on cue, he heard the door open and saw Scully walk in shaking her head.

"Mulder, what in hell did you say to Skinner?" Scully's tone bordered on irritation, but a half-smile twitched on her lips.

"The truth," Mulder replied with an exasperated shrug.

"Mulder . . .."

"I know, Scully. What I saw happen didn't really happen," Mulder snapped.

To his everlasting surprise and confusion, Scully laughed; a genuine heartfelt burst of laughter. Mulder rapidly ran back over what he had said trying to figure out what was so funny. Scully sighed deeply and walked over to her desk and sat down, still chuckling and shaking her head. Mulder was beginning to get irritated.

"Sorry, Scully, but it's not everyday I come face to face with a demon, die and come back to life so forgive me if I get a bit testy with someone who refuses to believe any of it happened." Mulder's voice had a bitter sarcastic bite to it.

"Mulder, haven't you learned by now, that Skinner really doesn't want to know about such things as demons and witches and things that go bump in the night? Give him the bare facts, stripped down and plain and he'll be happy." Scully smiled at her partner as if he were a terribly precocious five-year-old who had forgotten his nines-table.

"Scully, are you saying you do believe in demons and witches and things that go bump in the night?" Mulder asked in stunned disbelief. The sudden left turn this incipient argument had taken left him confused and shaken. This had to be a clone, a badly programmed one at that. He wondered what they had done with his partner and what he was going to have to do to get her back.

"Mulder, I don't know what to believe. It is certainly easier to believe that the hallucinogens the lab has managed to identify so far in that ointment severely affected your objective judgment and that the belladonna and vervain herbs I saw drying in Sallie's cabin could more than account for my own visions," Scully's voice trailed off as if she realized she was nearing dangerous territory. On the maps of her mind, here be dragons.

Mulder sat silently for a moment, realizing that they were both treading on uncertain ground; that a wrong word could wreck any chance either of them had to come to terms with what happened.

"Scully, do you believe in God?" Mulder asked softly, almost gently as he leaned back into the shadows. His voice seemed to echo out of thin air.

Scully looked puzzled by the abrupt change of topic; wary as a deer hearing the approach of the hunter. Since Helsgate, she had kept a wary eye on her partner. Mulder had been elusive, almost inscrutable at times.

"What is so difficult about my question, Scully? Do you believe in God?" Mulder watched Scully with the relaxed tension of a cat waiting for an unwary mouse to scurry by. If he had whiskers, they would have twitched.

"Yes, I do. Why?" Scully's answer was equally soft, a whisper barely loud enough to disturb the air.

"Then why do you have such a hard time accepting the existence of demons. Nature, even science, thrives on duality. Could not that mimic the very real duality between Heaven and Hell?" Mulder sat up and leaned forward, intent on pressing his argument.

"I have seen no evidence of a good and merciful God in my life, Scully, yet after seeing Aristide, feeling him inside my head, I cannot help but believe that if such evil exists, then an opposite and powerful good must also exist or else the universe is naught but chaos and science is a child whistling in the dark."

Scully sat quietly and thought about Mulder's passionate words. Faith and science were the two irreconcilable halves of her soul; the division that was at the core of her existence. Science screamed that Aristide was an illusion and Mulder's death merely a horrible drug-induced nightmare and yet . . .. Scully let her head fall into her hands as she tried to deal with the flood of memories, the raw aching feelings of rage, horror and despair that had haunted her nightmares since Helsgate.

"I can lie to Skinner; give him a proper report that makes everyone happy because it preserves the illusion that we are masters of our own fate, but I won't, I can't, lie to you. Scully, we have gone through too much together to retreat behind a comfortable lie." Mulder let his voice drop back to a soft tone that still vibrated with the passion of his arguments.

"Mulder, it isn't that easy. There are valid scientific explanations for what happened. I can't just ignore them."

Mulder was moved by the fact that Scully was giving his arguments her entire attention and not trying to pass them off. He knew they were rapidly approaching the dangerous core of her resistance.

"I know. Once you asked me to take a leap of faith; to believe in the physical manifestation of faith. We both saw the same evidence, but you believed while I saw only what I wanted to see, a disturbed boy with self-inflicted wounds. You believed then. You believed again in the cavern, enough to call me back. Why can't you accept your belief?"

Scully looked at her hands then raised her eyes to gaze deeply into Mulder's eyes as if trying to gauge how far to lower her barriers. With a slight sigh, she plunged into the morass of her own confusion.

"I don't want to believe, because if I did, I would have to believe you died and that Sallie healed you using a thorn from an old tree and that I was propositioned by a demon! And I don't believe in demons!" Scully sounded outraged by the very idea of demons in her ordered universe, much less that one would make a pass at her.

In spite of himself, Mulder's mouth twitched as he fought the urge to grin. Scully scowled as she saw Mulder's mouth twitch. She tried to glare him back into a serious mood, but found her own sense of humor percolate up and out. Here they were debating whether she believed in demons and all she could do was betray how outraged she was that the only genuine pass she'd had in months had come from a creature that probably existed only in her hallucinations.

A giggle slipped out before she could catch it and Mulder promptly lost his own battle. Their shared laughter drove out the last vestige of anger either of them felt. Catching his breath finally, Mulder walked over to Scully and held out a hand to help her rise.

"I can't argue with the most ingenious rationale for disbelief I've ever heard. Scully, you believed when it was important to believe and I think I owe my life to your willingness to believe. If you want to turn to science to explain things now, I guess you've earned that right." Mulder smiled to let Scully know that whatever she believed, he was right there beside her as always.

"Mulder, you're impossible. In the same sentence you manage to compliment me and tell me I'm being a fool. Come on, let's take an early lunch. I'm going to need food before we tackle that report for Skinner." Scully allowed Mulder to escort her through the door. A few minutes later, as they left the building, she let a wicked smile light up her eyes. Mulder wasn't going to have the last word this time.

"Besides, I promised Julia we'd meet her for lunch at Samuel's."

Scully never turned around, but she felt Mulder jerk to a stop and could hear him swallow convulsively before he caught up with her. The hand resting against her back trembled slightly. Lunch promised to be a very entertaining event.

THE END

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