Author's note #1: Although SPIRIT QUEST is a sequel to SHADOW MAN in which Logan's trip to Alkali Lake pits him against Magneto, Mystique and Toad, it is an independent story in its own right.
Author's note #2: Hey, if Marvel first says Logan has blue eyes, then in Ultimate X they're black, I can have them green here for the purpose of the story to make them more unusual and distinctive.
Lurching away from the snake, Logan's foot slipped in the loose rubble behind him and he lost his balance, falling backwards to hit the ground. And in that fashion, by pure, clumsy luck he managed to avoid the fangs. The claws shot out even as he was rolling down the slight incline. Scrambling to his feet, he crouched to attack. The snake, meanwhile, rose up coil by coil like a big orange spring pulled out straight, growing thicker even as it stretched, and the incongruous scent of leaf mould and sea spray overwhelmed the rotten egg stink of the barren wastes.
Logan's lips curled back from his teeth in a harsh grin. "Hey, darlin' -- "
A green-haired Mystique stood before him, her blue scales now shiny gold, her golden eyes -- purple-blue. Water chuckled over rocks as she laughed. "You look like something even Sabertooth wouldn't eat!"
Smiling, he dug his feet more firmly into the sandy soil, preparing to either hurl himself at her or evade her assault -- whichever the next moment might dictate. They both knew the banter served only to size each other up and right now Logan felt the advantage was hers. Not only was he downhill, but she appeared cool as ever despite the heat.
He shook the sweat out of his eyes. "I'm lucky, I get to look at you. Gorgeous as always, darlin'. But what the hell are you doin' here? I thought your social calendar had you all tied up."
"That!" She dismissed the security prison with a toss of head. "You ought to know you can't keep a good morph down."
"This mean Magneto's footloose and fancy-free, too?"
"Wouldn't be surprised." She returned his smile even as she leaped.
He dodged, just barely, whipped around, slashed. But Mystique had vanished. Too late he heard the faint click of pebbles, looked down to see the blur of the striking snake as it sank its fangs in his leg.
Logan roared, swept the black claws perilously close to his foot severing the snake's head from its writhing body, and fell to the ground. He was agile, but he couldn't tie himself into knots like some of the girls at school did, so sucking out the venom was not an option. Instead, a claw slashed first the leg of his jeans, then a gory X over the bite. With his thumbs he squeezed out a quantity of green blood and purple liquid. The wound closed up almost immediately, so he had to repeat the operation again and again until only blood oozed forth.
Realizing he'd done all he could on that score, he next cut a long strip off his jeans which he bound above the injury. But even while he furiously worked, he knew his efforts were useless. For first foot, then leg, burned as if dipped in acid, and just when he believed he could endure the pain no longer the limb swelled into a throbbing agony that made even his teeth ache. He swore as he saw streaks of green crawling past his makeshift tourniquet, climbing up his gray leg like particularly aggressive poison ivy attacking a cement post. He slashed a series of little vertical cuts along those tracks, bleeding out more of the venom, but the swelling did not go down.
Logan didn't know if snakebite could kill him, but the means of his death hardly mattered. He was already a walking corpse; he'd promised his life in exchange for Kia's. Even if he thought to go back on his word, there was no escape from this inferno. He'd end up dying here of thirst if nothing else. However, if this injury delayed him and Kia died anyway, then his sacrifice was pointless and the kids would have no one.
Cutting off the rest of the pant legs, Logan sliced them into strips which he tightly wound around the injured member in an attempt to both contain the swelling and support the leg so he could walk. His efforts rendered the limb as stiff and numb as if it really were cast of cement. He snarled, struggled awkwardly to his feet, spotted something glittering in the dirt and picked it up. The orange snake head, black mouth yawning wide. Did this mean he'd killed Mystique? Somehow he didn't think so; he wasn't that lucky.
He studied the grotesque thing in his hand and suddenly let out a grating laugh. For some reason a thread of old song played out in his head--Thanks for the memory . . . But with this evil-looking skull it ought to be Fangsfor the memory -- A souvenir. Why not? A potent reminder not to trust her next time -- if there was to be a next time. He fastened the head onto the medicine bag using the black fangs as hooks and stumped up the hill, claws digging into the hard-packed earth to give leverage to his one good leg while the dead one dragged along behind.
His blood pounded in his head as if somebody was using his skull for a drum. Logan couldn't decide if the throbbing pain was a reaction to the venom or the heat. He reckoned it was an even bet which one would get him first. The medicine bag had become even heavier as he climbed and he had slung it around to lie on his hunched back. This position relieved the nape of his neck which finally had a chance to heal, but every time he straightened to ease his shoulder muscles the cord now dug into his throat, all but strangling him. He pulled up to rest a moment and supported the bag in his hand, letting the cord hang loose. Mystique's purple-blue eyes glittered at him out of the snake head.
"Why did you have to go bite me, darlin'? That wasn't very friendly." Logan grimaced, coughed, shook his head in disgust. He must going loony talking to a chunk of dead snake, and the next second he knew for sure he was a basket case -- Mystique herself appeared before him. The claws automatically shot out, but then he looked closer, brow furrowed. It was Mystique, right enough, but why could he see the hillside through her and why couldn't he smell her? Was it some kind of mirage? And why was she her normal blue color -- a hell of a lot paler, true -- instead of the gold he'd last seen?
" . . . have to stop you." The words rumbled in Mystique's usual deep organ tones, but so faint were they that even Logan's acute hearing was severely tested.
"Huh?"
"You asked why I bit you. We have to stop you."
"Who's we, and stop me from what?"
"Throw away that nasty head and I'll tell you. The sight of it makes me sick."
Almost he did as she asked, even to the point of unhooking the thing and rearing back ready to let it fly. Then he noticed how her pink tongue slid over blue lips in anticipation, and he slowly lowered his arm.
"You want this cute little horror, don't ya, darlin'? How come?" He grinned, taunting her with the head, waggling it in her face. She made a grab -- futile, it turned out, because her fingers passed through both his hand and the snake head.
The apparition's gold eyes glittered with hatred. "As long as you have part of my spirit beast I'm caught between worlds. Throw the thing in the dirt and I'll leave!"
Logan's smile broadened. "A snake for a spirit animal, eh? Figures. Just slip outa one skin into another. But as long as I got this dainty death's head you're a metamorph who can't morph? Hell, that's real tough. Like not being able to change your socks for the rest of your life. Damn skanky!"
"Drop it and I'll go! Please," she ground out.
He chuckled. "Golly, gee, darlin', I'm lonely. I'd just as soon you stay." His voice turned hard. "'Sides, I'm thinking there's another reason you're so eager to get gone. I ask you something, you gotta answer, right?"
Her eyes narrowed to sparks of fire and her mouth twisted into a knot in an effort to keep it shut.
"Well, am I right or not?"
"Yes!" she hissed.
He laughed, coughed again as the fine dust clogged his throat. "Come on, then. I got me a date and I can't be late." Logan hooked the snake head to the bag once more, dug his claws into the hillside and pulled himself up the slope as graceful as a three-legged camel. "Talk to me, darlin'. Who's the 'we' who wants to stop me from the 'what'?"
"If I tell you, will you release me? Just throw down the head."
"I'm asking the questions, remember? Be a good girl and I'll think about it."
She made a grumbling sound like distant thunder and the scales above her eyes jutted out in sharp, little ridges, but she skimmed alongside him as he humped up the hill. "The 'we' is me and Sabertooth and Fred. The 'what' -- "
"Fred?" Logan paused. "Who the hell is Fred?"
"Fred Dukes. A friend."
"Any friend of yours is an unfriend of mine, darlin'. Okay, now the 'what'." And Logan continued on.
"The 'what', of course, is saving that bitch's life!"
"What you got against Kia?"
"Is that her name?" Mystique's shoulders ruffled in a shrug. "It's not the woman. It's the little girl."
"Which one? Kelly? Casey?"
"The one that's not born yet!"
Logan stopped to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. "But why -- " he began, when the medicine bag lurched, almost dislodging the snake head. He secured it, started out again in a panic. Damn, Mystique! He'd have reached Kia by now if he weren't hobbled by this aching leg. Aching -- Hell, yes! It was coming to life again. He cut off some of the jeans strips. A quick glance showed no more green vines lacing his skin. Good enough! A careful claw sliced through the rest of the bindings and he tottered painfully uphill in a lopsided jog.
Head and heart pounding, lungs aflame, at long last Logan reached the summit and got his first real view of the spirit world. What he saw was not encouraging. Either the haze was thinner up here or the dusty air had inexplicably lightened despite the lack of breeze, for now he looked out on desolation so complete it was easy to believe that nothing had ever lived in this place. Truly, it was a land of the dead. On all sides the yellow earth stretched out for miles, flat and bare as a carpet. Only where he stood was there any break to that featureless landscape.
The hill proved to be part of a ring of hills, or, more accurately, a ring of hill. He had climbed up what appeared to be the crater of an extinct volcano, and he felt that if he were a foot or so taller he could actually touch the incandescent, metallic sky. On either side of him the crater's stone arms stretched around to join in an unbroken circle. In the center of that grim, rocky embrace was a shallow depression and lying there by a steaming fumarole was Kia.
Ignoring the twinges from his injured leg, Logan skitter-slid down the slope in a rush of rubble. And that proved to be his undoing.
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