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