From: "spookey247" Date: Sun, 3 Jun 2001 20:40:54 -0400 Subject: xfc: The Four Corners Cycle, Book Four: Yekaterina's Kiss (NC-17) (1 of 9) by Spookey247 Source: xfc Title - The Four Corners Cycle, Book Four: Yekaterina's Kiss (1 of 9) Author - Spookey247 Feedback- Cherished and answered: Spookey247@msn.com Archive - Gossamer, Ephemeral, ok. If you archived my other story, go ahead. Anybody else drop me a line and let me know. Rating - NC-17 for sex, language, and potentially disturbing situations Classification - TRA, AU, Post-Colonization with MSR and MM (Mystic Mulder) Disclaimers - Most of these characters are mine, with three notable exceptions, who belong to Chris Carter and the suits at Fox. Spoilers - general for season eight, but not past Per Manum, really. Keywords - Post-Colonization, Mulder/Scully Romance Summary - Truths lurk in a dark place. Our friends descend and delve. Thanks and Dedication - To Amanda, for beta, great ideas, web-mistressing, virtual hand-holding, and believing I could finish this when I really, really didn't. Hey A, GODDESS, you. Suggested Listening: Radiohead "Kid A" over and over and over and over Author's Notes: This is the last in a series of four stories I started posting in April. If you haven't read the other three, they can be found on my website: http://www.geocities.com/spookey_247 We could say this tale takes place in an Alternate Universe, or we could pretend everything after TINH and DeadAlive didn't happen. Either way, whatever. Choose one. There's lots of Native American imagery in this story. I just want to say that the words, symbols, and locations found here were carefully researched and used with respect. Whatever liberties I've taken are meant harmlessly. My understanding of some concepts is bound to be incomplete. I apologize in advance for my oversights and welcome any feedback that might gently teach me something new. More notes and thank-yous at the end of 9/9. Yekaterina's Kiss __________ He is buried alive in a dark, empty place; afraid to move for fear the night will swallow him. Hands pressed over his ears, he tries to become as small as he feels. You've always wanted me to be a man, he thinks, but I'm not. I never will be. She's calling his name, but he doesn't want to answer. He doesn't want to answer because he doesn't want to see. He cannot bear to look at her belly: taut and distended; bloated beyond reason. He listens to her wailing in the chamber below. She needs him now. She pleads. She cries. But he has no intention of going to her. Screams and whispers. Screams and whispers. Screams fly like buzzards, streaking up from the depths. They seize the soft pink core of his heart, rending and shredding, gobbling and gulping. Screams summon the darkness. The darkness takes form. It shrieks like a devil and whisks him away. Suddenly, solid ground. A river rushes past his toes. The water is as black and treacherous as their lies. His father's voice whispers in his head. You can cross, son, he sings softly. Fly. Fly over. Meet me on the other side. What about Mama? Screams and whispers. Screams and whispers. Her screams scurry across the stone like rats. They swarm around his boots and climb up his legs. They crawl inside his shirt, nest in his hair, feed voraciously from his mouth and his eyes. "Turn around," she begs, desperately. "Look what they've done." He moves backward into the blackness. "It's too dark," he gasps. "I can't see. Where are you?" "I'm here, baby," she whispers. "Mama's right here." His foot sinks almost imperceptibly, slides forward slightly. Something is oozing out from under his boot. Brittle with terror, he forces himself to look down. Her head is small and delicate, poking up from the rocky floor like a newly sprouted melon. Lidless eyes stare up at him, trembling on the tiny sphere, fragile as a pair of robin's eggs. Her belly has blown wide open. He drops to his knees in the midst of what remains: smooth brown shoulders, ruined breasts with ragged pink nipples, disembodied legs that lie askew, cast off like an old pair of trousers. Her flesh pools around him. Bone. Meat. Blood. "Mama, oh god," he cries. "Oh god, Mama." Lidless eyes stare up at him accusingly. Her moist, red-velvet mouth hangs open. Spectral arms thrust two tiny creatures toward him, dangling like newborn kittens from spattered, bony hands. "You have to take them, son," she whispers. "Keep them for your father." Early Afternoon June 6, 2036 Desert View, Arizona __________ "I think the last time I saw anything that looked like this I might have been watching 'Bonanza'." Mulder stretches his legs, kicking a pile of coiled rope out of his way. "No, Scully," he deadpans. "I think it was the Brady Bunch. They came here, you know. It was a two-parter." She laughs. "Mulder, of all the things you could choose to remember...that is just, well, disturbing." The trading post seems to be sinking into the desert. It is a gray-brown building with an Old West design that was obviously built to impress tourists, decades ago. The plastic sign dangling in the front window says, "open" in faded rust-brown letters. Nearby, a teenage boy slouches in a rocking chair, his body imitating the crippled sag of the front porch. He stares at them dully as Ben pulls the truck into the parking lot. Ben gets out of the truck, stretching his long arms toward the sky and yawning. "Damn," he says. "This place has seen better days, hasn't it? Want me to go in and ask about that van we found, Will?" "No, that's okay. I'll go." Mulder reaches up impulsively and smoothes Dana's hair, brushing his lips against her ear. "Come inside with me," he murmurs. ~~~~ The boy on the porch stands up as they climb the front steps. Dana judges him to be about Kaya's age. He drags a thin hand down the front of his t-shirt, pulling the dirty fabric tight over his malnourished frame. He crams his hand into the pocket of his jeans. "We're out of gas," he mutters. The words slip sluggishly under the cleft upper lip, dropping, leaden, before they have a chance to be heard. "Excuse me?" Mulder says, stepping closer. The boy takes a quick step back, flinching slightly. Dana puts her hand on Mulder's arm. "He said they don't have any gas," she says, quietly. "Oh." Mulder moves closer to the boy, watching him intently. "We're not here for gas." The boy stares out at the parking lot, mouth dropping open. Dana follows his gaze. Kaya and Matthew have gotten out of the truck. Kaya is unwrapping her dark hair from its scarf, re-wrapping the fabric around her head and smiling at something Matthew is telling her. Mulder watches the lanky youth watching his daughter. "We were hoping you might have some kerosene for sale." The boy takes a step back, swallowing nervously and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He gives a vague nod, jerking his head in the direction of the door to indicate they should follow him inside. "Ben," Mulder calls. "Hand the kerosene can up here, will you?" As the screen door slams behind them, Dana's nose wrinkles automatically at the stench of unwashed dishes and untended animals. The boy reaches under the cracked linoleum counter and takes out a small key. "Kerosene's in back. You got goods?" he asks, speaking with difficulty. Mulder reaches into the hip pocket of his jeans and retrieves a well-worn, brown-paper sack. He sets it on the counter. "I've got a little tobacco. How much will you give me for that?" The boy's lips stretch toward his oversized ears in the semblance of a smile, revealing the tips of yellowed front teeth. "Give ya quarter gallon for it." "Make it three-eighths and you've got a deal." Without another word, the paper sack disappears into the boy's pocket. He picks up the kerosene can. "Hey," Mulder says quickly, taking advantage of their clerk's momentary goodwill, "We passed a white van, parked, maybe broken down, by the side of West Road about ten miles back. Has anyone come through here in the last day or so? Possibly a group of men?" The boy frowns, shaking his head. "I'm looking for my son. He might have been with them. He would have been just a little older than you. Tall. Very dark. Long hair." The boy's eyes widen slightly. He crams his free hand back into his pocket. Mulder takes a step forward. "He has a snake tattooed in blue, on his forearm, right here. It's easy to see." The boy shakes his head again, harder this time. "I ain't seen nobody, Mister." He disappears into the back of the store. "That kid's a bad liar," Mulder mutters. He puts both hands on the yellowed counter-top and presses back against the linoleum with a sigh, dropping his head to his chest. "Maybe he's just afraid of strangers, Mulder," Dana says, gently. She trails her fingers down his spine. "It doesn't seem like they get many visitors here." He pushes away from the counter, spinning toward her impatiently and crossing his arms over his chest as he props himself against it. "Yeah, but...that van, it's just a few miles away from here, and the trailhead Stephen showed me is just past that watchtower outside. There's no way they wouldn't have come through here. And that kid..." His voice trails off and he bites his lip. "What about him, Mulder?" "I've seen him before. I know him. I just can't remember why." Dana leans against the counter next to Mulder. She rests her head on his shoulder. He shifts, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her back, pulling her closer. "Mulder," she says in a low voice. "Yeah?" "This morning..." His voice softens. "Yeah?" "I just...I keep thinking," she says, feeling inexplicably shy and hesitant. "Was that real? Did we just..." "Yes, we did." He lifts her hand, planting a kiss in the center of her palm. "I was...god, I feel so funny saying this..." "Go ahead." "I left my body, Mulder." "I'll take that as a compliment." She smiles. "The experience was so...authentic. I flew over a canyon. I was told something... It's all fuzzy. It's hard to remember." "You were shown the confluence of two rivers and told you'd find our daughter there." She looks up at him, bewildered. "Was that a vision you put in my head, Mulder?" "No. You went there on your own. I went along for the ride." "How? I mean, I'm getting used to the idea that *you* can, um, see things...but... " Mulder's arm tightens around her. "It's not easy to explain, Scully," he says, carefully. "Because of what we've been exposed to, you and I are, well...we're wired up differently than other people. Our brains are different, our body chemistry is different. The experience you had this morning was just the beginning. You're going to find yourself seeing things, drawn to places and situations..." He waves his free hand toward the back room of the store, smiling wryly. "You'll feel like you know people, without knowing why." "Mulder, I don't understand any of this, and I really need to." He takes a long, slow breath and lets it out again, turning toward her and cupping her face gently. "Understanding is something that's going to take time, Scully. I'm still trying to make sense of it myself. The one thing I know for sure is that people like us are capable of making contact with the minds of others...it's not telepathy, per se. It's not that literal. It's more of a kind of profound identification. A kind of...consummate intimacy." "But Mulder, sometimes I hear your voice in my head. I know you've put thoughts and images there on purpose. How can you say that's not telepathy?" "It's different for people like us, Scully. When you meet the survivors from the Labs, you'll see that." "People like us? You're telling me I can do this, too?" He nods. "Where you've been, the state they kept you in, you probably weren't aware of it happening. But you can learn to use it, Scully. To direct the energy when you need to. It just takes practice." Dana thinks back to her conversation with Kaya this morning. "The psychic ability...it's because we've been changed somehow, isn't it? It's because there's a part of us that's not human any more." Not human anymore. Dana can't believe she's saying the words so calmly. Mulder's answer is equally matter-of-fact. He strokes the back of her hand as he speaks. "That's a hard one, Scully, but the answer is yes, in a sense. As I understand it, everyone has alien genes. They've been here as long as we have. It's kind of an ancient symbiosis. People like you and I have had those genes switched on, in a way. We're what the Colonists wanted the Consortium to create, what they needed to take over the earth: genetic hybrids. Human bodies, already perfectly suited for life on this planet, carrying alien genes, used to perpetuate an alien bloodline. It's why my sister was taken, the thing my father died for." "But Mulder...there was an invasion. The bees, the virus, the people dying..." "Yes. The invasion started exactly the way we were afraid it would, Scully, but we couldn't see the whole picture. Now the nature of the invasion is changing. At first I couldn't understand, but lately I've begun to see..." His voice falls to a murmur. "Scully, the real Colonists..." He falters. She urges him on, gently. "The real Colonists, Mulder?" "People like us will give birth to them." Suddenly, Dana understands why the Hopi Elders were so afraid. She wraps both arms around Mulder's waist and lays her head on his chest. They hold each other silently. "Mulder?" "Hm?" "How are you going to explain our marriage to your family and friends?" His body stiffens. He pulls back from her, twining his fingers in her hair, eyes searching her face intensely. "Who have you been talking to?" he murmurs. "Kaya," Dana answers. The corners of his mouth turn downward; his eyes darken. "What did she tell you?" "Mulder, please," Dana says quickly, smoothing her fingers over his furrowed brow, "This has been so hard for her. She's confused and hurt. She doesn't understand. She told me about the restrictions because she was worried. She thought I ought to know." "There was no point in her telling you that. I've abided by those restrictions for years, but only because it didn't matter one way or the other to me. I didn't have you. Now that I do, I can't acknowledge those rules anymore. They're pointless, anyway. They just stave off the inevitable." "But those are the rules in your community, Mulder. And we've broken them. How are we going to handle that?" "I don't know." He releases her and paces restlessly toward the back of the store. "It doesn't matter. We'll figure something out. Where's that goddamn kid with our kerosene?" It's been a good ten minutes. The boy has not returned. "Okay. He's not only lying, he's trying to rip us off." Mulder heads behind the counter and flings open the door to the back of the store. Dana follows him as he moves swiftly through the doorway. "Hey, kid. Where's my..." He stops short. The boy sits on a cot near the door, his back against the wall and his knees drawn to his chest. He starts. He stares at them intently. Mulder sighs impatiently. "Wanna tell me why you're hiding back here?" The kerosene can sits on the floor near a bedside table. Mulder picks it up and shakes it. It is still empty. "Mister, I..." Tears spring into the boy's eyes. His cheek twitches steadily, as if someone is jerking it with an invisible thread. "Tell me the truth." Mulder takes a step forward. The boy flinches. "I know you saw the boy I described to you. Are they still around here somewhere?" "Mulder, take it easy," Dana cautions. "Was he alright?" Mulder asks, stooping to look the boy straight in the eye and lowering his voice slightly. "I need to know." Dana's gaze sweeps over the room. The level of squalor is unbelievable. Animal hair and bits of trash cover the floor. Piles of cast-off junk fill every corner. The boy's bedding looks as if it has never been washed, and every surface in the room is smothered in dust. It's so dirty she wants to wash her hands and she hasn't even touched anything. Someone has traced a picture in the dirt on the top of the bedside table. She leans closer. It's the crude outline of an automobile. Inside the lines there are three letters. Dana puts her hand on Mulder's arm. "Mulder." Turning toward the spot where she's pointing, he stands quietly for a moment, looking at his son's name in the dust. He reaches down slowly and wipes the name away. Then he turns back to the boy abruptly, seizing him by the front of the shirt and hauling him to his feet. "You better start talking, kid," he says with deadly calm. "Or I'm going to have to hurt you." "It wasn't me!" the boy wails. "I didn't do it!" "Didn't do what?" Mulder asks, giving him a hard shake. "It wasn't me that killed him. I swear it wasn't me!" Mid-Afternoon South Road near the Western Labs __________ The smoke is still visible, a dense gray cloud hovering in the canyon just beyond the turn-off. Sam stares down into the haze. It's hard to believe anyone would waste good explosives on a place like that, he thinks. He's seen all he needs to see. There's no point in going down there. He turns to his companion, a kid called James. James lives at Riverbend; Will's friend Elise took him in after his father died. Sam has known James for a long time. He sees him all over the place: at all the big dances in Second Mesa, hanging out in the parking lot of the exchange in Tuba City. James is really Dru's friend, though, one of hisparty buddies, someone who has a tendency to pull up in the yard and honk without getting out of the car. Sam can't figure what Will must have been thinking; it's totally weird that he trusted James to deliver his message. Will has never thought much of James. At one time he even tried telling Dru to stay away from him. "Dude," Sam says, quietly, his stomach in a knot. "This sucks. Let's go." "Yeah," James answers, wistfully. "Hard to believe, ain't it? I'm really gonna miss that place." They get back into James' truck, an old, green Chevy Blazer. The words "Riverbend Estate" were once emblazoned on the doors, now the gold paint has faded to a dull, patchy brown. James sits for a minutewith the motor running, staring down at the smoke rising up the red canyon walls. "I wish I'd've seen the muthafucker go up, though. I bet that was pretty." ~~~~ One of the wheels of the Blazer slams into a pothole and James nearly loses control of the truck. He lets out a long string of curses. "Goddamn holes," he mutters. "Sorry, man. Getting so damn many of 'em these days I can't keep track of 'em all." "It's okay, man. Don't sweat it." "Where'd you stash the little guys, Sam? When I didn't see Kaya toting 'em I figured they must be hanging on your leg instead." "I left them with a friend of Will's in town. You know, Wynn, the blacksmith." "Oh yeah? Shee-it. That bitch is tough. I don't know who to feel sorry for." "Well, they like her better'n me, anyway." James laughs. "Shit, they oughta come live with Elise. They'd be glad for you then, boy. They'd think you was sweet as their Granny." Sam shifts in his seat, rubbing his stomach. He's been feeling like he swallowed a bag of rocks all day. He figures it's because he slept so bad last night; laying awake worrying about where everyone had gone, with his brothers taking up all the room in the bed. Then, when he finally got to sleep, he had that dream. It was a relief to leave the twins with Wynn this afternoon. He knows they'll be fine there, well taken care of. The food is good and there's fire to play with, in the shop. They probably won't want to come home. Now the only thing that seems important is to get to his father. Something's wrong. Something's bad, bad wrong. "Hey Jimmy, did Will have any idea how far into the Canyon they were headed?" "I don't know, man. I wasn't there when they was talking about going. All I know is Elise calls me and Will says, 'Go tell this to Sam.' So I did. He went to find brutha Dru is all I know." "Why the fuck does he think Dru's gone off into the Canyon?" "How should I know? I heard from Matty he got the word from chasing down a dead guy, but more'n likely that was a load. It'd be like Matt to tell me some big fat lie so I could go around telling it to people and end up looking like a dumb shit. He's probably laughing his ass off right now." "Damn, Jimmy, c'mon. I don't think Matt would joke about something like that." Sam's not laughing, that's for sure. End 1 of 9 Title - The Four Corners Cycle, Book Four: Yekaterina's Kiss (2 of 9) Author - Spookey247 Late Afternoon Near Temple Butte, Northeastern Grand Canyon __________ Yekaterina sits on the edge of a warm, sandy rock, looking down into the Colorado River, far, far below. She scrapes loose soil off the rock with the heels of her boots, raining debris down into the river. She lifts an old pair of black-plastic binoculars to her eyes with a murmur of excitement. She can see them in the distance, making their way up the trail on the other side of the river. Black smudges, walking. A mule, maybe, carrying supplies. Dropping the binoculars into her lap, she lifts her cap, pushes a strand of long, red hair from the pale skin of her forehead, and jams the cap back onto her head again. Her face breaks into a tremulous smile, fracturing its normal mask of melancholy. He's on his way home. If she starts now she'll get back in time to have dinner with him. Yekaterina scrambles around the rock and climbs back onto the trail. She shoulders her pack and turns toward home, heart tapping briskly. Stephen's been gone a long time, she thinks. I didn't know I was going to miss him this much. She picks her way along a deep drainage, looking for the trail marker. She's been out in the open three days, much longer than ever before. The weather has been fine, not too hot, and she's enjoyed the fresh air, the space, the freedom. If there were anything but desert beyond this canyon, she would have just kept walking. Papa's going to take a chunk of my hide for this, she thinks. I won't get up to the surface for months. He'll be watching me like a hawk. Watching me like a hawk. Yekaterina smiles. She learned that phrase from Stephen. Yekaterina wonders if her father can remember hawks. She wonders if he has any recollection of the kinds of animals and birds Stephen has showed her on the surface. She figures her father never thinks about it, that he probably doesn't care that all he ever sees are people and bats and fish and snakes. She knows the only living things he cares about are the ones he can personally engineer. ~~~~ He is sitting where he always sits, in the big armchair near the heating unit. There's a thick cardigan wrapped around his body. His gnarled fingers clutch it closed at the neck. He's always cold these days, it seems. He's becoming old and sluggish. Yekaterina can remember a time when her father was vital; a time, when she was very young, when he was handsome; a time when he played with her, took her to the lab on his shoulders, proudly showed her the fruits of the latest experiments. Those were happy times. He twists in his chair as she enters the room, face darkening. He is paler than usual and he gasps as he forces himself out of the chair, moving toward her. "Where have you been, Katya," he says, crossing the room swiftly, black eyes flashing in the gloom. "In the canyon, Papa. I needed to breathe..." "You bitch. You're trying to kill me," he snarls. He sweeps her into his arms and locks his mouth to hers. The pink tongue reaches into her mouth. His lips are hard and thin. Yekaterina wills her body to relax. She used to struggle, in the beginning. Lately she just lets him have what he wants. She's come to understand that there's more going on here than just a simple prelude to fucking. Her father reaches between her legs and moans, rigid with pain, just like always. There was a time when Yekaterina thought this was simply how men acted with women, but when she started sleeping with Stephen, five months ago, she quickly realized her father's behavior was not normal. She allows him to unfasten the clasp of her trousers and slip his fingers inside her undergarments, leaning against him as he clutches and strokes her, listening, detached, to the familiar keening sound rising in the back of his throat. He presses his mouth deeper into hers, and Yekaterina feels his thoughts filling her mind, the way they always do. His emotions unfold one by one in her consciousness, just like a story in a video show: melancholy, hatred, lust, obsession... she watches hazy memories rolling by; pictures of dead men, monsters, and violence. He worries habitually about the fate of the Project. So many burdens, so much despair. And now she sees that Stephen is dead. Yekaterina jerks away from her father, wiping her mouth and taking a step backwards. He follows her desperately. "Katya. Baby." She fastens her clothes with trembling fingers. "Papa, what happened to Stephen?" "What do you mean?" "I saw. Don't lie to me." He stops, eyes stony. "If you saw, you already know all about it, babe. Why are you asking me?" Yekaterina's feels like she's floating. Her body spirals upward. "He's dead, isn't he?" His upper lip curls slightly. "That's what they tell me." She wills herself to become nothing. Wishes for endless blackness. "How?" she whispers. "Didn't you see?" Her voice rises. "Don't be cruel. You know I don't see everything. Stop keeping things from me." Her father passes his hand slowly over his genital area, rearranging his erection. His eyes are bright with the pain he's suffering. Tears of rage spring to his eyes. "I told Birch I didn't care about the details. I guess this time you'll have to get your information the way the rest of us do." ~~~~ Yekaterina crosses swiftly through the medical bays, bloodlust raging through her body. She's headed for a ventilation shaft that is her usual escape to the lower reaches of the cave. The lower passages are her domain. No one else knows them the way she does. Most of the people who work on the Project, her father, the doctors, Birch and his people, use the upper access to come and go. You have to climb the bluff to get to it, but once you're inside the way is easy. The lower access is tricky; one wrong turn and you could be lost forever. Gary Birch is standing in the passageway, flanked by his right-hand-man, Jonah, and that idiot, Wallace. He's talking to a doctor by an open steel door. Yekaterina's afraid to stop and speak to him. She's afraid of what she might do. "Yekaterina," Birch says, brusquely, as she pushes past. She stops, looking down at the floor. Talk, you troll, she thinks. Say what you have to say and then leave me alone. "Your father told you about Stephen." She nods; eyes steady on the stone below them. "I'm sorry. I know he was a friend of yours." "Tell me how he died." Jonah speaks up. "I hate that it happened. There was a fight. We were drinking...I don't know what else to say." "Where's his body?" she mutters. Jonah's face is a mask of studied innocence. "The van broke down. We buried him by the side of the road." "I understand." Yekaterina starts walking. She wonders which part of the story is a lie this time. "Yekaterina, wait..." Birch says. She can hear his footsteps behind her. She speeds her pace; feels her soul growing blacker. One of these days, I'll kill you, she thinks. I'll eat your brain for breakfast. Midnight Tanner Delta Near the Colorado River, Northeastern Grand Canyon __________ Dana wakes to the sound of thunder rumbling gently across the sky. Dark clouds drift like long fingers across the waning moon. Lightning flashes in the distance. She sits up on her blanket, rubbing her aching legs. They're going to have to cover a lot of miles in the morning. She wonders if she's going to be able to keep up. A small fire flickers peacefully nearby, stretching shadows up the side of the tall rock that shelters the camp. Dana looks around, shaking her head in disbelief at how serene and comfortable Ben and Matthew look, lying asleep on the hard, rocky ground. Ben is curled on his side with a flannel shirt pulled over his head, using his boots for a pillow. Matthew is propped against the rock with his pack padding his back, arms folded, chin dropping low to his chest. Kaya sleeps practically on top of him, wrapped in a blanket, her cheek resting on his thigh. Mulder is gone. So are his pack and blanket. For a moment, Dana feels a surge of panic. She forces herself to her feet despite the burning in her legs and paces along the edge of the circle of firelight. Within a minute or two her breathing calms. She can see a lantern glowing, not too far away. Broken moonlight bathes the path to the river. Thunder and lightning continue in soft, distant concert as Dana picks her way to a sandy spot near the water, where Mulder sits under a rocky ledge, studying a map he's laid out on his blanket. He starts as he hears her footsteps, reaching for his rifle and rising quickly to his knees. "Don't shoot," Dana says. "It's just me, Mulder." He relaxes. "Sorry." "Can't sleep?" She settles herself on the blanket next to him. He shakes his head, staring at the map intently. "I'm still trying to figure out this trail that goes upriver," he says. "It's hard to make out the trailhead, but it should be right around this area somewhere. I just can't figure out if we go up into the bluffs here," he points, "or here." She takes his hand. "I'm sure in the daylight it will be easy to find." Thunder sounds in the distance. He looks up at the sky. "The rains don't normally come 'til July," he observes, hoarsely. Mulder's eyes are round and dark. He falls silent, biting his lip. "Maybe that kid was lying, Mulder." "I can tell when people are lying." He closes his eyes. "He wasn't." "So he believed what he told us." She strokes the back of his hand. "But you don't, do you?" He shakes his head, running his tongue along his lower lip and sighing. "No. I'd know if Dru was dead." His voice drops low. "In some ways, that would be easier." "God, Mulder, what do you mean?" "If he were dead, I'd know where to look for him. I'd be able to see him again. Then I could tell him..." "What would you tell him?" He shakes his head. "Oh, god. I don't know. Whatever you need to tell a kid like Dru. I'm sure you've noticed that we don't get along." "Mulder, we'll find him." Dana shifts on the blanket, grimacing at the stiffness in her legs. A look of concern washes over his face. "Are you all right?" "I'm just a little sore, Mulder. I'll be fine." "You should be sleeping. Do you think you're up to this?" "Yes. This is good for me. I'm getting stronger all the time." "Here, lie down." He moves off the blanket. "I know what'll help." The coarse sand shifts under the weight of her body as Dana lies down. Mulder takes hold of one of her legs and begins to knead the muscles slowly. His hands are rough, but incredibly warm. Within moments, Dana's body begins to hum. The sky rumbles. The storm is coming closer. "Mmmmm," she murmurs, as he circles her thigh with all ten fingers and drags them slowly down the length of her leg. "You do have the healing touch, Mulder." "Shh," he says. "Rest." He pauses for a moment to turn the lantern down. "Probably shouldn't waste the fuel," he observes. "We're going to need it, where we're going." He turns again to his work. Dana sinks into the blanket and tries to lose herself in the lush feeling of his hands stroking her leg, but she cannot take her eyes from his face. Even half-hidden in darkness, the furrow in his brow stands out clearly. He removes her boots, peels back her socks, draws lazy circles with his thumbs on the sole of her right foot. Dana's relaxation deepens with each touch. She feels herself drifting, but not towards sleep... ...towards him. He opens. For an instant she sees his fear clearly, knows it as fully as she has ever known her own. She sees the shining steel of the narrow compartment, feels her heart racing with the threat of imminent suffocation. She fights the urge to gag on the fat plastic tube invading her throat, winces at the bite of the metal claws that anchor her head to the floor of the compartment. Mulder would rather face Dru's death than allow his son to experience that level of suffering. There is a sudden clap of thunder. She jerks back to full consciousness. "Mulder," she gasps. "I just...I was... with you." She's not sure if she can trust what's happening. "Shh. I know. It's okay, Scully." He does not miss a beat, switching evenly from one leg to another. "Talk to me, Mulder. Tell me about Dru." His palm cups the soft flesh of her inner thigh. "What do you want to know?" "There's something wrong between you and him...it's not just a simple teenage thing, is it?" He works silently for a few minutes. Then he pauses, trailing his fingers across her kneecap. "No, it's never been simple," he says, quietly. "He was ten when his mother died. Um, they...they were very close, and she and I...anyhow, he's always blamed me." Dana sits up, reaching for his hand. "For what?" His voice is bleak. "For not being the one who died, I think." A gust of wind pelts them with blowing sand. Dana lifts herself to her knees and wraps her arms around Mulder's neck. He pulls her closer and kisses her, deep and hard. She allows his despair to wash through her. Be empty, Dana, the old man said. Be empty, like the riverbed. "You'll feel better if you keep talking," she tells him, tenderly. "Tell me about Maia, Mulder. I need to know." ~~~~ There's no denying it now. The storm is coming their way. They lie in the blackness together, Mulder's arms wrapped around Dana's body. Dana's presses her ear against Mulder's chest and listens to his voice, throbbing low as distant thunder: "Verbena was a true believer. The Resistance was her religion. Maia was twelve when the Resistance liberated the Labs, and even as young as she was, she never missed a day while they were working on the tunnel. She went with her mother on all the raids, even the very first one. On the third raid, the day I was brought out, it was Maia who opened my cell. I don't remember that day, but anyhow, that's what Verbena told me, years later. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only half-wit they brought home, but I know I was the only one who stayed. I think for the first couple of years I was so far in shock that all I wanted was to be put out of my misery. I would refuse to eat. I would get violent, thinking maybe they'd just shoot me. I was a real pain in the ass. I still can't understand why they put up with me. One day I woke up and I don't know how, but something like three years had gone by. Just like that. And I realized that this kid who'd been helping to take care of me for such a long time, this kid, who'd somehow become my closest friend, had turned into a woman. I don't know why that surprised me, but it did." Lightning flashes. Grains of sand fly through the air, mixing with a fine, driving rain. "It was Maia who made me live in the world again. She would come up with some excuse why I had to go to the exchange with her, then drag me all over the countryside visiting her friends. She would pick at me and call me names until I got so mad I would do something, like ride a horse or climb a rock or go to a dance with dozens of people, just to show her I wasn't an idiot. I started to get my confidence back. I learned how to talk to people again. About that time I started seeing things. Having dreams. Hearing voices. Verbena was excited. She said I was being called by spirits. I had no idea what she was talking about. I went to live in Moenkopi for a while, to learn from Verbena's uncle, who was a healer and a shaman. One day while I was in the kiva there, drumming for a ritual, I just kind of...fell over, I guess. That's what they said, anyway. I was lying on the floor, and I met this lizard. The lizard showed me how to crawl through this tiny little hole in the earth, and so I followed her, and she taught me how to fly under the ground. That doesn't make any sense when I say it out loud, but trust me, Scully, it can be done. I woke up singing a song the lizard taught me. The funny thing was, I was wrapped in a shroud and they were piling kindling underneath me. They said I had been dead for three days. Then I understood what Verbena was talking about. But if I had chosen to believe what she was telling me, that would have meant taking on a lot of responsibility, and I didn't want to have responsibilities, so I left Moenkopi and moved to Tuba City, to live with Wynn. Then, a few months later, I had a vision about you." "Me?" The wind gusts, dies. Dana feels like she's coming out of some kind of trance state. She's not sure if Mulder has been telling this story out loud or if she's been living it with him, inside his head. "Yes. Listen. I was lying in bed one night when I heard you crying. It was so clear. You were begging to be left alone." There's a catch in his voice. He swallows and continues. "The things you were saying...you used exactly the same words after Ben and Matthew brought you to Tuba...asking to be killed, not to be tortured any more." Dana tries to breathe, remembering. They cling to each other, two rivers merging. Mulder continues, speaking in a hoarse tenor. "I was...god, I was beside myself. I got out of bed and I walked out into the street, and then I walked to the exchange, and out to the road, and I couldn't stop, Scully. I couldn't stop walking. I walked all night and part of the next day. I didn't stop until I got to Moenkopi. All the way there I was crying for another vision. My teacher said he would do whatever he could to help me look for you, and I tried for weeks, but it was no good. I didn't see you or hear you again. After a while, Maia came to me and told me I had to choose...live or die, she said. By then I didn't care. I told her to choose for me. So she did." He pulls Dana closer, drawing a long, painful breath. "I'll always be grateful to her. She gave me...everything. But we couldn't...we didn't love each other like a husband and wife. We both tried, but after a few years..." His body is rigid. He fights to retain control. "Tell me about her death," Dana whispers. "When she was carrying the twins...god, Scully. There was nothing about that pregnancy that was normal, and I *knew* the babies weren't mine..." "You mean..." "It had been years since we'd slept in the same bed...probably since before she got pregnant with Kaya." "Mulder, I'm so sorry." "Even so, when she died having the twins, I felt..." Dana reaches up to run her hands over his face in the darkness. His muscles are taut with grief. "Mulder, what? You felt what?" He forces the words through clenched teeth. "If I had been a better husband," he chokes, "she wouldn't have ended up sleeping with whoever fathered them." The rain is light and steady. There is another wide burst of lightning; a roll of thunder, seconds later. Dana cups Mulder's face between her hands. "Do you really believe that?" He stifles a sob, his body drawn and trembling. "Mulder, no. It's not your fault..." She presses her lips against his. Darkness runs like a brook into her soul. His mouth searches hers, the tip of his tongue warm and salty. She sips it, gently, tasting his sorrow. He breaks away from her, shuddering, weeping without making a sound. Dana's heart aches. Some things never change. He has always mourned in silence. She rakes her fingers into his hair, pulling him close, pulling his mouth deep into her own. He responds with a muffled cry, arms tightening around her. She is his sanctuary. She knows what he needs. "I know how hard you must have tried," she tells him, pulling back just a little, her lips brushing his. She reaches for his shirt, unbuttoning it by touch alone, slipping her hands underneath the worn cotton, pressing her palms against the fine, soft hair. "No," he murmurs. "I didn't try." Fathomless kisses, stealing her breath. "I couldn't." His tongue, rushing in, then retreating. "All I could think of was you," he whispers. The clatter of the rain intensifies. The wind whips around them. Dana unfastens Mulder's jeans, helping him tug them down. She runs her hands lightly down the length of his naked torso. Her lips glide toward the base of his ear. She blows softly. He shivers. Her tongue travels downward, caressing his throat, tracing his Adam's apple and dipping into the hollow that lies just beneath. Lips follow fingertips, tasting every inch of his chest: the muscular contours, the rock-hard nipples... Tiny, soft kisses, dropping like the rain through the silky hairs that cover his belly. He moans, he whispers, yes, yes... She can sense how hard he's growing. Yes, she tells him. Yes, yes, my love. Forget about everything. There's only this now. Pausing to trace the rim of his navel, inching slowly downward... Heat. A rich, musky aroma. He whimpers like a little boy. Her fingers stroke his ankles, slipping across his calves and along the backs of his knees. Slow caresses, like a bouquet of feathers, moving in circles across the tender flesh of his thighs... He is insensible. "Scully, oh god..." She slides her fingers smoothly over his balls, runs them up the length of his straining cock. Nuzzling the soft fur at its base, her tongue slips slowly toward the head of his shaft. Animal noises. He twines his fingers in her hair. She buries him deep in her throat. "Yes," he moans, "Oh god, oh yessssss..." She caresses him tenderly, with delicious languor, careful not to bring him to a climax too soon. He writhes on the blanket. She hums with delight. His pleasure courses through her, she grows wetter by the instant... "Scully," he gasps. "Oh my god, stop, don't move..." She waits while he controls himself. "Come here, you," he mutters, pulling her body on top of his own. He captures her lower lip and sucks, seizing the hem of her dress, trying to rip it away. She lifts up, straddles his body, pulls the dress over her head. He lifts on one elbow, mouth locking on to her breast, but she pushes him back onto the blanket, leaning down to find his lips again. She reaches for his cock with a sigh. They cry out together as it slides inside her. A pulsing rhythm. The tempo increasing. They drum against each other, steady as the rain. ~~~~ Dana lies dozing in the cool desert air. Mulder's arms circle her body, heavy with slumber and more comfortable than the plushest blanket. He is her safe haven. He gives her all she needs. Even in this forsaken landscape. Her eyes float open. The storm has cleared, gone to douse some other place; she gazes out at the starry sky and listens to the Colorado as it courses nearby. She hovers. Sleep beckons. She allows herself to drift. Snap. Lamplight, rosy, glowing. She starts. She is lying on her back in a richly furnished room. Her legs are raised and spread apart, locked into stirrups jutting from an examination table. Wait, she thinks, gaze flying, wait. Maybe I shouldn't. I've changed my mind... She tries to close her legs but finds they've been restrained. A heavy-set man in a golf shirt stares intently at her loins. He holds an unfamiliar instrument between manicured fingertips. Wait, she screams, wait, I don't want this... Someone takes her hand. Her head twists toward his face. Please, she begs, I've changed my mind. Please don't let them. Let's talk first. Let's talk. His watery blue eyes stare down at her tenderly. The white beard wags as he speaks. "We'll never forget what you've done for us. Maia, brave girl, brave girl..." Snap. The river rushes. Mulder murmurs in his sleep. Dana whimpers, shuddering, pressing against his body. Trying to hide in him. End 2 of 9 Title - The Four Corners Cycle, Book Four: Yekaterina's Kiss (3 of 9) Author - Spookey247 Just after dawn, the next morning Desert View, Arizona __________ James steers around a sharp bend and slows down. Some kids are sitting on the concrete steps of a box- like house by the side of the road. They stare at the Blazer as it bumps down the decaying asphalt road. James lifts his fingers off the steering wheel in a half-hearted wave. One of the kids raises a hand in response, his thin brown face devoid of expression. Sam studies a stand of pine trees passing by the window. "Didn't you used to live here, Jimmy, when you were a kid?" James grimaces. "Yeah. It's a shithole. I ain't been here since I ten." Sam yawns. He didn't sleep last night. Normally, he sleeps like a baby at Riverbend, stretched out all by himself in a clean, soft bed. It's a far cry from sleeping at home, where he has always shared a lopsided mattress and threadbare sheets with at least one other person. Last night, though, after Elise bedded him down in the attic room, he just laid there for hours, staring up into the darkness. Wondering if he would still have a family tomorrow. Whenever Sam closed his eyes and tried to sleep he would feel his soul rising out of his body. He would feel the spirits calling him, beckoning to him like a bunch of peddlers from the corners of the room. He could feel how many things they wanted to tell him. He could feel how important those things were. But he had no intention of speaking to them. Whenever Sam closed his eyes and tried to sleep he would remember how he had always had to rescue Dru when they were kids. Dru was always doing stupid things, climbing too high, riding too fast, picking fights with kids bigger than him, just to see if he could win. He never seemed to mind that he'd end up falling or wiping out or getting his ass kicked. Pain didn't bother him. He never got discouraged. Dru's lost somewhere, now. Shut away in a dark place, having a really bad time. Sam doesn't want to think about it, but the feeling won't leave him alone. Last night he felt how scared his little brother was. He can still feel how scared he is now. "Dude, wake up." James pokes him in the shoulder. "I'm awake." "Want me to take you to the trading post?" "Yeah. I need to ask if Will came through here." James wraps his fingers around the steering wheel more tightly and falls silent, working his jaw back and forth. He's spoken maybe two or three times since they left Riverbend, no dirty jokes, no running off at the mouth...it's really not like him. "Hey, Jimmy. Is Elise gonna kick your ass for bringing me up here?" "Hell, yeah. But, whatever. She kicks my ass for a lot of things. No big." Last night after dinner Sam had tried to talk Elise into letting him take some of the guys, like a search party, to go after his father and sister. Elise had listened, quietly and thoughtfully. Then she asked him why he couldn't trust his father to take care of things. She did, she said. Elise thinks nothing can kill Will. She worships him like he's some kind of helpful ghost. So Sam had told her about his dream, his vision of his father standing on the other side of a dark river, his vision of his dead mother, telling him he had to take charge. Elise wasn't impressed. She patted his arm and said it was simply a nightmare. Then she sent everyone to bed without giving him an answer. After staring at the ceiling in his room for hours, Sam had gone and awakened James. He knew he couldn't afford to wait for Elise to decide. He knew if she denied him help he'd never make it to the Canyon in time. The trading post is quiet and dark. Sam and James stand on the porch, looking out across the parking lot toward the scattered trailers and board houses that line both sides of the used-up highway. Far away up the road there is one house with a light in the window. Otherwise, there are few signs of life. James shoves his hands into his pockets. "Nobody's up yet," he observes, tightly. "I can wait. So, if you're from here, Jimmy, what's your best guess on where they went down into the Canyon?" "Only one good trail into the Canyon from here, Sam. Trail head's about a mile or so up that little road there." He waves his right hand toward an old dirt service road that takes off from the main road several hundred feet away. "After we check with folks here, think you could show it to me?" "Um..." James pushes his hands deeper into his pockets and looks down, jaw working harder. "I guess I could." "Hey man, are you okay?" "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." They sit down side by side on the splintered wooden steps, watching the morning light begin its slow fade from lavender to yellow. A skinny, spotted dog runs through the parking lot, pausing to sniff in their direction and then continuing on its way. James sits lost in thought for a few minutes, slowly flipping the key to the Blazer end over end between his thumb and forefingers. "I want to go with you, Sam, but I can't," he says finally, quickly, with a hint of anger in his voice. "I wasn't really expecting you to, Jimmy." "I know." James gets up from the top step and climbs down to the bottom, jamming his hands in his pockets again and turning back to Sam. "You know what kind of people you and Will's headed for, don't you, Sam?" "I guess. They're not good people, I know." "Shit. 'Not good.' That's a laugh." "Whatever. It's not like I have a lot of choice." A screen door slams. Sam and James exchange a look and then leave the steps, following a cracked sidewalk through the weeds toward the back of the trading post. They pause at the corner of the building. There's an outhouse a hundred feet or so back. A scrawny kid stumbles out, yawning and zipping his pants. "Fuck," James mutters, stamping his foot down into the dirt, his whole body jerking in frustration. "Bitty." "Who?" "I know that kid. Um, that dead guy I was telling you about that Will burned up night before last...that kid's his little brother." "Shit, you *knew* that guy? Why didn't you tell Will?" "Oh, right. Stephen was already dead. I couldn't of helped him. All that woulda gotten me is the third degree." The kid disappears into the trading post, leaving the screen door swinging open behind him. James leans against the wall and stares at the sky. "What the fuck," he mutters. "Might as well see what he knows." Sam and James follow the boy inside. They find him stretching out on a dirty cot in the back of the store. "Hey, Bitty. Wake up," James says, kicking the leg of the cot. "Wha - " The kid pops up fast, reaching instinctively for his boots. Probably got a knife or a gun stashed in there, Sam thinks, kicking the boots out of reach. "We're not here to cause trouble," he says, evenly. The kid blinks at them, rubbing his eyes. He looks up at James. "Shit. 'Zat you, Jimmy?" "Yeah. Look, this is Sam. We gotta ask you something." Bitty's heavy lids swing open a little wider as he looks at Sam. "I don't know nothin'." He gets up off the bed and takes a few steps towards the stove. "Hey man, just hear us out," James says, following him. "Sam's looking for his daddy and his brother and some other folks. We just need to see did any strangers come through here yesterday." Bitty opens the front of the stove and starts filling it with kindling and bits of tinder. "I can't talk to you, Jimmy," he says, his voice shaking. "You know it. And I ain't talking to him, either." He lights a wooden match and almost drops it as he reaches out to touch it to some paper in the stove. James is undeterred. "Oh, shit, man. Whatever. Hey, no one's around. Just pretend I was never here. All's we need is for you to tell Sam, here, if you saw a fella that looks a lot like him, only older. Some other folks was with him. They was driving a gray truck." Bitty opens a metal box and starts scooping coffee into a dented coffee pot. "I ain't seen nobody." "You sure?" The boy shakes his head. "Nobody. Shit, Jimmy. Red'll be here soon." "Okay, we'll leave. Listen, I know you probably know about Stephen..." The boy freezes, holding the coffee pot, staring down at the floor. James keeps talking, lowering his voice. "I was there when they sent him off, Bitty. At Riverbend, okay? Sam's daddy did the sending. It was done right. Just so you'll know." Bitty doesn't move. His knuckles get white as he squeezes the handle of the coffee pot. "They was here," he whispers, after a few moments. "Yesterday afternoon early. I don't know where they went after that." "Good man," James tells him, laying his hand on Bitty's shoulder. ~~~~ James pulls out of the trading post parking lot in a hurry. "What the hell was that all about?" Sam asks, as they turn up the service road. "Why the hell was he so scared to talk to you, man?" James drives, lips set in a straight line. "Okay, listen. Like I said, I wasn't around when Will and them was talking about coming up here, but I know who it is they're chasing." "Who?" "A guy named Gary Birch." "Yeah, I know that. Little guy. Real ugly. He was at our place and Dru went with him." "Well, he *owns* Desert View, and he's no one to fuck with, boy." "He Resistance, like he said?" "Oh hell, no. I think he *was* Resistance, like, a long time ago. Like, before you and me were even born. But now, shit. If there's a Resistance around here, I ain't ever seen it. Naw, this is something else." "Like what?" "Them people in the canyon, where you're headed. They're doing something really bad up there, Sam. I don't know exactly what, but..." James pulls into a weed-covered parking lot and stops the truck. "What?" Sam asks, urgently. "Dude, I'm going after my father and I need to know whatever you know." James closes his eyes. "Bitty was scared to talk to me because he works for Birch. Everybody in Desert View works for Birch. If you cross him, you get it, POW. I don't know what Stephen did, but he must've done something." Sam's stomach twists. "Where's that trailhead? 'Round here somewhere?" "Yeah. Right through those bushes, I think." They get out of the truck. Sam opens the back of the Blazer and gets out his pack and canteen. "So Jimmy, what'd you do to piss Birch off, then? Shit, you were just a kid when you lived here." James leans against the car, face suddenly gone sullen. "It's not me, Sam. It was my dad." "Ah, shit, of course. You mean..." "Yeah. That's it. Birch killed him to make him be quiet." Sam sets his pack down. "Tell me what happened, Jimmy." Suddenly he can feel James' fear and grief, blowing through his body, like a chilly breeze. "Oh, shit, Sam," James rasps. "There's not much I can tell." "Tell all you can, then." "Okay, listen. This is all I know. Birch came to our place one night and gave my daddy a job. Take a car and meet a woman out on West Road, near Moenkopi. Take her to Riverbend. Wait and then take her back. I was sitting right at the table in the kitchen when Birch gave my dad the orders. It was like, just a normal fetch-and-carry kind of thing, the kind of shit everybody did for Birch. When my daddy came back from that job he was hot. I never saw him so mad. He told me if he ever heard of them doing again what they did to that woman, he was gonna start telling folks. He was gonna spread the word. He didn't just tell it to me, he told it around Desert View, too. So Birch came to see him again. They were outside arguing, and I came out the back door and hid under the porch. And all I remember hearing was my daddy telling Birch he was gonna go to that woman's husband and tell him what they'd done to her. Wasn't five minutes later he was dead. Shit, I just went back inside and hid. Next day, Elise's daddy, you know, Mr. Solomon, he pulls up and tells me I live with him now." Sam takes a deep breath. He exhales, slowly. "Shit," he says, running his fingers through his hair. James slumps against the Blazer, kicking at the ground. "That's why I can't go with you, Sam, even though...goddammit, it seems like I should." ~~~~ They cross the parking area, headed toward a thick stand of bushes on its far side. "I wonder if this is where they went in," Sam muses as they walk. "Ben's truck should be around here, somewhere." "If I was him, I wouldn't leave it sittin'," James observes. "Someone'll come along and pick it clean." "Ever been down this trail, Jimmy?" "I been to the river, just to go swimming. Trail's steep as hell, about ten miles long, I think. There ain't no water 'til you get to the river. My dad used to stash some along the trail for the way back." "Your dad ever tell you where Birch and his people hide out?" "Birch and his people all live in Desert View. They don't need to hide. The people Birch works for, now, *they're* the ones that hide out in the Canyon. I don't think my dad was ever there, though. It's upriver somewheres is all I know. Daddy always figured at least a days walk, just from watching Birch come and go." Sam looks down as they reach the edge of the parking area. "Jimmy, look." In the dirt beside the concrete there is a fresh tire track. His eyes follow it for a couple of feet, then it fades into the soil. "Damn you, Ben," Sam mutters, pointing down. "Matt was probably cussing like hell when he had to come back and wipe out all those tracks." "You can still follow 'em, though..." James says, squatting down and peering. "It's all still fresh." They find Ben's truck a good quarter mile away. It's parked behind a big boulder, locked up tight with the cab crammed full of stuff. "Damn." Sam peers inside at the jumble of clothes, books, and miscellaneous supplies. "Damn," he says again, more emphatically. "I thought if I found Ben's truck I'd find..." "What?" "You know, maybe they made camp, maybe someone stayed with the truck..." "You mean, you was hoping maybe Kaya didn't go into the Canyon after all." Sam sighs. "Yeah, I guess I was hoping that." "Hey, Sam." "Yeah?" "What the hell is this?" Sam straightens up and looks where James is pointing. Drawn on the hood of the truck in red dirt is an eye- shaped oval, with a circle of rocks in the center. A small, horned doll, made of human hair and feathers, rests in the center of the rocks. Sam smiles. "Don't you know what that is by now, Jimmy?" James snorts in exasperation. "It's a charm, ain't it? What the hell." "It's the sign of a 'powaqa', Two Hearts, a sorcerer." Sam laughs. "Either that's Will's idea of a joke or it's to protect the truck. To make people afraid to touch it." "Well, shit. It's working." "There's nothing to be afraid of, Jimmy," Sam says, gently. "Will's never done evil to anybody or anything. He just knows what scares folks, that's all." He reaches over and picks up the doll. "Holy shit, Sam." James takes a step back. "Settle down, puss-boy." There's a scrap of paper hidden underneath the kachina doll. Sam picks it up and unfolds it. "West Road to Desert View. Twelve miles due north into the Canyon. Ten miles upriver to the mouth of the Little Colorado. North side of the wheel. Forty feet up the canyon wall." Sam folds the paper again, puts it in his pocket. He sets the kachina back in place. "Thanks a lot, Will," he murmurs. Afternoon Near the Confluence of the Colorado and Little Colorado Rivers Northeastern Grand Canyon __________ Pale, gauzy curtains drift in the shadows, nudged against the bedpost by the cool night breeze. There's a soft, steady swishing sound off in the distance. She's not sure if it's the river rushing or the wind simply stirring the pines. His arm tightens around her waist; the fingertips of his free hand gliding slowly the full length of her leg. His lips stroke her breast, gently, like a baby, nuzzling, searching. He traces her nipple with the tip of his nose. She laughs softly, savoring the dark, musky aroma that rises from the tangled sheets. With a luxurious sigh, she draws her lips across his forehead, burying kisses in his hair like pieces of gold. This is the perfect moment. The moment she's been waiting for. "Mulder, I have something to tell you..." Curious. Her voice has changed, become higher, more musical. Mulder wraps his lips silently around her breast, pulling her nipple softly, deeply into his mouth. With a muted cry he suckles, insensible, unheeding. "Mulder, please. Can you listen for a minute?" With a growing sense of urgency, she cups his face between her hands and tries to lift it. He whimpers and fights her, pushing deeper into her body. "Mulder, you've got to look at me. There are things you need to know." "No," he whispers, hiding his face between her breasts. "No, no, no...." "Will," she begs desperately, "Will, you have to listen..." The voice of a stranger echoes inside her head. "I have to tell you what they did to me. You need to know what they've done..." Dana jerks awake. Her eyes fly open. She didn't mean to fall asleep; she can't imagine how it happened. She lifts her head from Mulder's shoulder and shifts wearily away from the sharp rock wall that's digging into her back. "Scully. I'm sorry. We have to get moving again." "Oh," she gasps, heart pounding, "Okay..." She struggles to her feet, blinking in the glare. His arm slips around her; for a moment she leans against him. "Are you all right?" he asks. "Yes, I...um, I just had a really weird dream." "Here, drink this." He hands her a canteen and she takes a swig of metallic-tasting water, swallowing with effort, the warm liquid running down her dry throat like a sudden downpour washing over parched earth. Dana feels like they've spent the day scouting craters on the moon. Since they left the river at daybreak they have ascended and descended at regular intervals, traveling laboriously, on treacherous switchbacks, up and down out of the cliffs. They have slipped in and out of numerous dry creek-beds, wandering in search of elusive, decades-old trail markers. Earlier this afternoon, they came over a rise and got the first glimpse of their destination. Dana found herself trembling as she stood watching the distant swirl of the two converging rivers. The descent to the confluence was long and torturous. They traveled back downstream a half-mile or so and crossed a ford to the north side of the Colorado. That was perhaps half an hour ago. Their clothes are still drying and they just stopped to rest after climbing yet another steep switchback. Mulder takes a few steps up the trail, shading his eyes with his hand. He scans the cliffs that tower behind them. "This landscape feels right. This is the area he showed me." Dana kneels and tightens her boot-lace. She has never been so exhausted. "What are we going to do when we find this place, Mulder?" He frowns. "I'm not sure yet." Kaya stands a few feet away, her pack on her back. She is red-faced and grim, jaw set in determination. She has not spoken for hours. Matthew stands next to her. By contrast, he still seems energetic, even though his body is loaded like a pack animal, wrapped in yards of heavy rope, a rifle strapped across his broad back. He shifts his load, ready to start walking again. Ben watches his young friend pacing restlessly back and forth. He is still lounging on the ground, his back against a boulder. "We should make camp. Light'll be going soon." "We're close. We need to keep going." Mulder shoulders his pack and takes a drink from his canteen. "Just another mile or two and we'll find what we're looking for. I'm sure of it." Ben drops his head to his chest, rolling his head from side to side. "But this is a good place to make camp. It's sheltered." "Ben, come on." "Everyone's beat, Will. We've been walking all day." "We're almost there." Ben chuckles ironically, lifting his eyes and regarding Mulder evenly. "Almost *where*, Will?" he asks softly. Mulder slams his boot down into the dirt and glares at his friend without speaking. After a long moment, Ben heaves a weary sigh. "You're a fucking maniac, you know that?" Mulder's face softens. He removes his specs, wipes sweat from the bridge of his nose, and puts them back on again. Finally, he looks down. "I know we're all tired. It's just...I've got a really bad feeling," he murmurs. Kaya turns toward her father with a stricken look. "About what?" she asks. "We just need to keep moving, that's all." ~~~~ They walk. The sun beats down. Matthew lopes along a good twenty to thirty feet ahead of them, as he has all day. He scans the rocks for trail markers and calls out warnings whenever hazards present themselves. Mulder isn't far behind him. Dana is beginning to think it would have been better if Mulder and Matt had come into the canyon alone. She is sure they would have made better time. She steps on a loose rock and loses her footing, the weight of her pack pulling her off her feet. "Whoa, Dana." Ben catches her as she tumbles backward. "You okay?" "Yeah, I just tripped. Thanks." "Need to rest for a minute?" Dana watches Kaya's back as she disappears between two boulders ahead of them. She drops her pack wearily to the ground. "Maybe for just a minute..." "What are you carrying? Can I take something for you?" Dana opens the top of her pack. "I'm not carrying that much, Ben. I have some food, a lantern, the kerosene can..." "Put the kerosene in my pack." He reaches in and helps himself to the can. "You shouldn't be carrying anything, Dana. It's too soon for you to be making this kind of trip in the first place." Dana falls silent, watching him rearranging the supplies. "Ben..." "Yeah?" "I've never thanked you. For what you did for me. I've wanted to, but I didn't know how." Ben stops moving. He stares into the depths of his pack. "You don't need to thank me." "Oh, I know. I know. But you've been so...um, nice to me, you know. So kind. I know if it wasn't for you and Matt I'd probably be dead." He closes his pack, jerking the drawstring. "I did what any decent guy would have done, Dana." He stands up. "I'm glad things are working out for you," he mutters. There is a shout from the trail ahead of them. "Ben!" He turns away quickly. "Here!" "Ben!" Kaya appears at the spot where they last saw her, emerging breathlessly from between the boulders. "Ben, it's Matt. Hurry." They follow Kaya up the trail until they come to a spot where Mulder's pack lies abandoned at the edge of a steep embankment. "Matt was looking for the trail marker," Kaya tells them, tearfully. "Some rocks came loose..." "My god," Ben says, heading for the edge. "Where is he?" "There." Kaya points. "Down there." Matthew has fallen a good twenty feet. His body is motionless, lying in a tangle of rope just a few feet from the edge of the river. Mulder is picking his way toward him, the sharp incline of the hillside forcing him to turn sideways, practically lying on his side as he descends. Ben throws the supplies he's carrying to the ground and starts down the slope. Dana shrugs her pack off her shoulders and follows suit. Dirt and slag tumble downward in sheets as she slides toward the bottom, the harsh, rocky soil scraping her bare legs. Other stones roll by her, kicked loose as Kaya comes behind. By the time they join Mulder and Ben on the ledge, Matthew is sitting upright. He has a goose egg on his forehead and his face is scraped and bleeding, but he seems, at first glance, to be all in one piece. "God, Matt, are you all right?" Kaya drops to her knees and whips the scarf off her head, using it to dab at the blood on his ruddy face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Shit. Guess that wasn't the trail." Ben instantly sets to work freeing his friend from his pack and the mass of rope that encircles his body. "Lucky you had all this shit for padding, my friend." Mulder probes the lump on Matt's forehead. Matt winces, pulling away. "Be still and lie down," Mulder tells him. "That was a hell of a fall. Let's check you out." Matthew reclines, laying his head gratefully in Kaya's lap. "Does anything hurt?" Dana asks him. "Everything hurts," he replies. "But nothing bad. Except I turned my ankle when I slipped on those rocks." Mulder pulls his boot off, feeling for broken bones. Matthew groans as Mulder runs his fingers down both sides of his ankle. "Damn, now, Will. That *does* hurt." "Nothing broken, as far as I can tell," Mulder observes. "You're a lucky bastard, Matt. But it's sprained, I think. This is going to slow you down." "You mean 'slow *us* down," Matt quips. "I'm sorry, Will. This sucks." Mulder nods ruefully. "Yeah. Kaya, can I have your scarf?" Mulder folds the scarf into a triangle and starts wrapping Matthew's ankle. Dana examines Matthew's pupils while Mulder works. "Are you at all dizzy?" she asks. "If I am do I get to keep my pillow?" Matthew looks up at Kaya with a wry grin. She makes a soft, sympathetic sound and lays her hand against his cheek. "I don't think there's any head trauma, Mulder. I think he just got a bump." "Holy shit," Matt exclaims. "Sorry, man," Mulder says. "Did I pull it too tight?" "No, *look*." Matthew lifts his arm and points. His eyes are locked onto something behind them, something above their heads. They turn en masse and raise their eyes to the spot. "Oh my god," Dana breathes. "What is that?" Kaya asks. "God, Matt, if you hadn't fallen down here we would have walked right past it," Ben says, staring in awe up the canyon wall. The stone stairway is ancient, cut into the bluff above them; its bottom step hanging suspended some forty feet over the ground below. "Who would put a stairway there?" Kaya asks, bewildered. "It just stops. Where's the rest of it?" "That must have been the river level at one time," Ben muses. "The stairs led to the river." Mulder rises from the ground, staring up at the stairway with a look of stupefaction. "How the hell do they come and go through that?" he asks no one in particular. "Guess we'll make camp here." End 3 of 9 Title - The Four Corners Cycle, Book Four: Yekaterina's Kiss (4 of 9) ~~~~ Mulder sticks like a fly to the rocky face of the bluff. He digs in with the toes of his boots and stretches toward yet another craggy handhold. For the last several minutes he's been moving laterally across the rock toward an area of deep fissures and sharp outcroppings that lies no more than ten feet beneath the bottom of the ancient stone stairway. Dana and Ben stand side by side at the foot of the wall. Having latched on with his fingers to a rugged protrusion, Mulder reaches out with his foot. Dirt and gravel plummet downward as his boot digs into the rock, searching for purchase. He hesitates, working up the nerve to trust his weight to the foothold. Dana presses her hand to her mouth. She inhales sharply as he shifts himself up and sideways. "This is easy for him, Dana," Ben says calmly. "I've seen him go up higher walls than this one." "Really," Dana says, eyes locked to the face of the bluff. "When?" "Years ago. Before Maia...before the twins were born. We used to all climb for fun. I'm too damn old to do it anymore, but nothing ever changes for Will. He's spry. He sticks to rock like a lizard." True to Ben's word, Mulder finds a series of solid outcroppings and begins climbing straight up the wall at an astonishing rate of speed. "You've known him a long time," Dana says, lowering her voice. "Will? Yeah. Forever. Since I was a kid. I grew up in Tuba." With a sinking feeling, Dana realizes that Ben has probably known Will over twice as long as she knew Mulder. Her voice drops even lower. "And you knew Maia, obviously." Ben stares up for a few minutes without speaking. Then he nods, slowly, his gaze steady on Mulder's form as it travels up the side of the bluff. "What was she like, Ben?" He shrugs. "Hard to sum up a person like Maia. She was a good woman. She loved her kids." Dana watches as Mulder reaches the spot towards which he's been working. He anchors himself to a ledge and begins hauling himself up over its edge. "Did she love her husband?" Ben doesn't answer. He watches Mulder ascending, jaw working hard. "Far as I know," he answers, finally. "I mean, they were always really good friends. The match made sense. It meant a lot to Verbena. Gave her a lot of prestige within the movement." Mulder stands up on the ledge, reaching toward the overhang above it. He jumps, grabs hold, begins pulling himself up by brute force. "You're saying the marriage was arranged?" "Not exactly." Ben looks down abruptly, dragging his fingers across his forehead and back through his long gray hair. "Not so much arranged, as...expected." Mulder pulls himself up onto the bottom of the stairway and slumps across the steps, breathing hard. "Hey," he calls down. "I'm going to go check it out. I'll be right back." He disappears triumphantly up the stairs. Dana turns toward Ben. "What do you mean, 'expected'?" she asks. His dark face has gone pale. He studies his boots. "You asked me what Maia was like," he says softly. "I'll tell you what she was like. She and I were both raised in the Resistance, hearing every day about what a noble thing it was to make sacrifices for the cause. When it came right down to it, though, most of us learned fast that it doesn't do any good to be noble if you're dead. We tended to put a high priority on looking out for our own asses. Maia was different. She took all that crap about duty to heart. She lived it. She was the most selfless person I ever knew." "So she married him because her mother wanted her to?" "People in Tuba treated the survivors from the Labs like they were holy, so Verbena already considered Will to be a good match for Maia. When he was called, you know, when he started seeing spirits..." He raises his gaze to meet Dana's. His eyes swim with bitterness. "At that point there was no arguing with her. She expected Maia to do her duty and give up everything else." He looks up at the stairway, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "So she did. She gave it up," he mutters. There is a long silence. "She gave *you* up, didn't she, Ben?" His eyes close briefly. He does not answer. A hawk screams, far above their heads. Afternoon Beamer Trail Northeast of the Tanner Delta Colorado River, Grand Canyon __________ Sam walks. One footfall after another in the soft, rocky soil. He travels up, then down, left, then right, first west, then east, back and forth, lower and higher, ascending cliffs, dropping into creek beds, climbing over boulders and jumping sharp gashes in the dry, red earth. Sam remembers. A night in the springtime when he was eleven. Visiting Grandmother's family in Moenkopi. Sitting cross-legged on the ground late at night with his left knee brushing Will's and his right knee brushing Dru's, looking around at a gathering of relatives, dark brown eyes glowing in the firelight, dark faces upturned in wonder as his father's teacher, Uncle Edward, told the story of the First World and how it ended with a journey. Sam walks. The first world was called Tokpela, Endless Space. Its people were happy. Like all living things, they had been created by Spider Woman to make the earth vital, to fill it with color and movement. They understood that this was their true purpose. They revered and loved Taiowa, the Creator, who showed his face in the sun each day. But gradually there came a time when some of the people forgot to respect their Creator. Instead of following their own inner vision, which told them right from wrong, they let themselves be corrupted by Lavaihoya, The Talker, and Kato'ya, The Handsome One, who led them away from peace and unity and into duality and suspicion. After a time Sotuknang, the nephew of Taiowa, came to those people who still revered the Creator and told them Taiowa had decided to destroy the first world and replace it with a new one. Sotuknang told these people how to escape the destruction, and because they had not forgotten how to use their inner vision these people were able to see the signs he left for them, following clouds by day and stars by night. They walked to a certain place where Sotuknang met them and led them to the kiva of the Ant People. Sotuknang stamped on the roof of the kiva, and the Ant People took the people down under the ground, where they took care of them for many, many years, while the Creator destroyed the old world and made a new one. Sam remembers. The night Uncle Edward told that story, Sam laid awake for hours. He stared into the darkness, listening to Dru breathing in the bed beside him, listening to the murmur of voices in the kitchen: Uncle Edward's voice, dry and crackling, always joking under his breath; Maia's voice, higher, laughing at the jokes; Grandmother's voice, scolding them for their lack of respect. Now and then he would hear Will's voice, always low, no word uttered without prompting. He couldn't quit thinking that night. How would it be, he wondered, to live away from the sun, shut up under the ground, never to study pictures in the clouds or see the three colors of the dawn? What would it be like to live, all mother and no father, all earth and no sky, without being able to tell east from west or night from day or summer from winter? Sam walks. The night Uncle Edward told that story, Sam had a terrible dream. He was standing in the desert in total darkness with a sickening crawling feeling in his feet and ankles. Even though he couldn't see, he knew his feet were buried in an enormous ant hill and that he was sinking into that ant hill, disappearing, the sand underneath him cascading downward in a strange, slow-motion crumble. As the ants pulled him deeper into their home, his body melted, became soft and elastic; filled the dark passages like a long stream of honey poured from a ladle to fill the depths of the earth. Then he was standing at the bottom. He didn't know what bottom, only that it *was* the bottom, and that there was no place lower, no place darker, no place more airless or further from the sun than the place where he stood in that moment. The Kachina came out of nowhere, looming toward him with a huge black face that blended with the dark, defined the dark, *was* the dark. Its eyes blazed white. Hot stars shone forth from its massive head. It held a helpless woman in its wildcat claws. Flinging the woman to the ground, it fell upon her, pushing her legs apart and penetrating her cruelly. Sam wanted desperately to cover his eyes but found his hands glued to his sides and his feet frozen to the ground. The woman looked up into his eyes as the Kachina violated her body. She begged him to forgive her. She begged him to be silent. Her voice was high and musical, "I'm right here, son. Mama's right here..." Sam stops walking and drops to his knees. Suddenly, he can't stop remembering. Soyal, the Winter Solstice, a time of long, solemn ceremonies. Will was in the kiva praying with Uncle Edward and the other men from the village. Sam was supposed to be in bed, but he had slipped away from Uncle Edward's house that night. He was waiting by the entrance to the kiva, listening to the prayers below, waiting and listening and dreaming of the next winter, when he would be a man. From his hiding place near the kiva, Sam noticed a figure in the shadows, walking quietly and carefully near the edge of the main road of the village. It moved hesitantly and appeared to stop now and then to give a backward glance. Curious, Sam stole away from the kiva and followed the figure, silent as a ghost through miles of high desert. He thought maybe it was a spirit. Maybe it was leading him somewhere special. Maybe it wanted to tell him something. But as the first full moon of winter rose high in the sky, he realized the figure he was following was a woman. The figure he was following was his mother. When the car picked Maia up near the main road, Sam was left behind, hiding behind a rock in the moonlit darkness, wondering why his mother had left them behind, without any explanation, without saying good- bye. He didn't expect her to return, but later she did, dropped off by the very same car in the exact same spot. Sam had been waiting for the sunrise so he could find his way back to the village, and as the sky began to glow with the purple light of early dawn, he followed his mother again. Maia made guttural moaning noises as she walked. She paused now and then to double over in pain. Near the village she knelt by the side of the road for a few moments. Sam could hear how desperately she wept. He could see how hard her shoulders were shaking. Sam wanted to go to his mother, but he was too afraid. When she returned to the village, the men were still in the kiva. Will never knew that she had gone. But Sam knew. Sam gets up off the ground, dragging a sunburned arm across the tears streaming down his face. Sam keeps walking. All through that winter, through that spring and that summer, the nightmares would come before he knew he was asleep. He would wake in the dead of night, screaming and crying. At first, Maia would come to him with her ever-growing belly, the product, he knew, of that horrible night. She would try to comfort him by stroking his forehead, but he always shrank from her touch. After a while, she just quit coming. Sam knows his mother must have wondered why he wouldn't let her touch him. She died late that summer, still wondering. Late afternoon __________ Yekaterina kicks the grate off the ventilation shaft and climbs through the wide opening into the medical bay. She sets her light down and takes a moment to replace the grate. Someone should do me a favor, she thinks, and just install a door here. Everyone knows how many times a day I come and go through this stinking hole. She's been in the depths all night, sitting by a clear subterranean stream, numbing her feet in the ice cold water and pelting the blind, pasty fish with pebbles. She's been trying to find a way to forget about Stephen, trying not to think about how sad his pale blue eyes always were, trying not to remember how the sadness melted away when she touched him. She's been telling herself she shouldn't have let herself get so attached. Everyone dies, she thinks. Especially around here. She douses her lantern and stalks up the passageway with its dim, artificial lighting. Steel doors have been affixed to the ancient living spaces that line each side of the narrow stone hallway. Yekaterina wonders what the natives who lived here eons ago would have thought of the pointless partitioning of this venerable hiding place. Most of the doors are locked, for reasons Yekaterina has never been able to fathom. Where the hell does her father think the women are going to go? They're wired to the beds like summer squash in the hyrdoponic bay, all tough and yellow with big, swollen bellies. She can't see why anyone would waste energy keeping track of a key. Why, indeed. Her face melts into a twisted, wistful smile. Looking around to make sure she's alone, Yekaterina sits down on the floor and takes her boot off. Hidden underneath its insole is the key to the compound. Ages ago, when she was just seven, she stole it from one of her father's employees, figuring he'd be too afraid of the consequences to admit to anyone that it was missing. She was right, as always. Yekaterina unlocks the door to room two and slips inside. Three beds line the walls of the chamber, surrounded by equipment: heart monitors, brain monitors, stands with plastic bags and feeding tubes swinging from them. There are other kinds of machines, as well, but Yekaterina's never understood what those are used for. She approaches the beds as she has since childhood, slowly, with a feeling of reverence and awe. Mothers of Humanity. That's what Papa has always called them. Yekaterina reaches underneath the first bed. The brush is right where she left it; its handle tucked neatly into the bedsprings. She pauses for a moment, smoothing the fine chestnut hair of the woman lying in the first bed. Her name is Teresa. She lies on her side. Over the years her body has toughened and twisted, but she still has beautiful skin. Teresa's babies always have blue eyes. It's been about three weeks since Yekaterina has visited room two. They've been keeping her very busy in room three, the room where they keep the newer mothers, on the other side of the hall. There was a woman who joined the Project just last year, Emma, who bore a baby girl that lived two entire weeks. Everyone was excited. When Yekaterina went to work in the lab the night it was born, she couldn't believe how sweet the baby was. Such a tiny little thing, so soft and needy. Spending her shift bathing it and holding it was a nice change. Normally after a birth she just mops up lots of blood. But that's how it's been the last few years. The mothers get so big with those green-eyed boys. More often than not, it ends badly. Emma got lucky, though. They gave her a girl. These days, that's like getting a reprieve, Yekaterina thinks. A chance to live, to give birth again. It was a shame about that baby. Yekaterina's never seen one like that: perfectly formed, and so, so small. Failure to thrive is what they said, when it died. Still, the fact that it lived at all was an encouraging sign. Papa says the Project has never been this close to success. Yekaterina begins singing, a soft, tuneless murmur: "The night keeps all her light inside, to fill her empty womb..." It's an old song. Her father taught it to her when she was a child. She's always loved the way it made her feel. Yekaterina moves on, pausing at the second bed. The sheet has slipped off of Colleen's shoulders. The Project doesn't ask much of the first mothers anymore. They've been asleep here in room two for months and months. The doctors say their bodies are exhausted. They've given so much. Yekaterina still comes to see them, though. It's habit. She's taken care of them since childhoood. It's not fair, she thinks, to shut them away like this, just because they're not bearing. Yekaterina tucks the motionless form securely under the covers and leans down to give it a quick kiss on the cheek. She continues singing softly as she turns toward the third bed. "...her breath comes quick and shallow, like a dying bird..." Yekaterina catches her breath. Dana's bed is empty. ~~~~ Yekaterina drops the key as she tries to lock room two, cursing softly as it bounces across the floor. She bends down, peering in the gloom to see where it ended up. She can hear someone pacing, further down the passage. The key is lying a few feet away. Yekaterina locks the door with trembling fingers and stuffs it quickly into her boot. She heads for the lab. She's got to find Dana. Where could they have taken her, she wonders, desperately. She's been in stasis for years. Why would they move her? Yekaterina knows that her father has no plans for Dana. He's never had any luck with her. It's always been hard to get Dana pregnant, and when they do, her babies always come too early. They've tried taking them out and incubating them, but they never make it, not even for a few days. When she asks her father about it he shakes his head in frustration and says that Dana just wasn't meant to give birth. Not like Teresa. Not like Colleen. Certainly not like the younger women, in room three. Yekaterina has always wondered why her father is so insistent that Dana should remain with the Project. She's tried reaching into his mind while they're fucking, rummaging around for information about Dana; digging through his memory like it's a dusty supply trunk. All she receives, though, are the same hazy images, the same useless parade of dark emotions. She knows he loves Dana, in his own twisted way. She knows Dana's given him something. Something he treasures. Somehow, Dana is Papa's favorite. She's Yekaterina's favorite, too. Unlike the other women in the Project, Dana remains fresh and beautiful, no matter what they do to her. "Yekaterina." She starts, hand flying up to her throat. "God, don't do that to me." Wallace leans against a door, arms folded, staring down at her over the fat, hand-rolled cigarette that dangles from his lower lip. His round cheeks redden almost imperceptibly. "Where've *you* been?" "You know where." He clips his cigarette between his index and middle finger and spits a fragment of tobacco on the floor. "You're worse than a fucking rat, Yekaterina. Everyone else is dying to get out of this place and you just dig down deeper." "I love you, too, dickhead." Yekaterina shifts on the balls of her feet. The key is digging into the side of her foot. "Hey, um...have you seen anyone...have they got anything going on in the lab?" "How should I know? Go down and look yourself." "Okay, fine. What are you doing hanging around down here, anyway?" "Guarding," he sneers. "Guarding a prisoner." He hooks one enormous thumb toward the partially closed door behind his back. "A what?" Yekaterina cranes her neck and tries to see around him. "A prisoner. You know, another lucky fuck from the surface who's just dying to get buried alive." "Really? Where'd they get her?" "Not 'her'." Wallace takes a deep drag of his cigarette and blows smoke, contentedly. "I guess this is the part where I freak out and beg you to tell me more." He smiles. "Yup." "Oh, Wallace. I can't stand the suspense," she intones. "Please, please tell me what's going on." "It's a guy. A kid. We brought him all the way from Tuba City." "No way. Really? Why?" "You really want to know?" "No, I'm hanging around this door because you're so goddamn sexy." "It's because he did something. Something really bad. Mr. Birch was bringing him here to punish him, but then something happened." Yekaterina suddenly feels incredibly nauseous. "And what was that?" "We got to the trading post at Desert View, and of course we told Bitty his big brother was dead. When Bitty found out that this kid was the one who killed Stephen, he freaked out and stole my gun. He shot the kid in the back." ~~~~ "Scully, watch it. Push off from the rocks as you come up by the steps. There are some sharp edges there." "Got it." Dana kicks a foot out as she rises, pushing her body away from the rock wall with its many protrusions. She grips the rope tightly, casting a glance down at the canyon floor, where Kaya and Matthew stand looking up, their worried faces slowly receding. She cranes her neck and looks up, toward the aged pulley mechanism that was Mulder's first discovery when he reached the top of the archaic stairway. She gazes with apprehension at the rusted apparatus. It squeaks and strains each time Mulder pulls her higher. The fact that the rope itself is obviously far newer than either the stairway or the pulley affixed to it is of little comfort. It is hard to trust her safety to this conspiracy of corroded metal and lurking dry-rot, despite having watched both Ben and a load of equipment make the journey without mishap before her. After an eternity of alternating gasps of alarm with a complete inability to breathe, Dana arrives at the top. "Welcome to the Penthouse," Mulder quips, reeling her in. "Hope the view is worth the trouble," Ben adds, offering a hand to steady her as she steps onto the landing. Still holding onto Ben's hand, Dana extricates herself from the cracked leather sling she rode up in and turns to look out at the canyon. Huge white clouds dot the indigo sky. The sun is dipping lower, casting odd shadows as it streams past jagged formations and slips in and out of the fitful rock walls. Nameless terror raises the hairs on her arms and sucks all the moisture out of her mouth. Suddenly she feels lost, engulfed and immobilized, no more than a collection of frail organic cells waiting to be buried alive and petrified by increments. She turns to speak to Mulder and Ben, but instead her mouth drops open. "Oh my god..." "Yeah," Mulder murmurs. "That's what *I* said." The archway towers above their heads, its ancient hand-hewn stones set around a massive portal that still bears the coarse marks of antediluvian chisels. A pathway is marked in crumbling tile on the floor of the passageway, giving way to packed dirt as the pathway becomes a tunnel and winds off into the gloom. A faint, familiar odor wafts up from the interior of the cavernous dwelling, a whiff of something foreign, not of rock or earth, animal or bird. Dana's breath comes quick and shallow... All at once she's lying on her back in the darkness, paralyzed by tubes and wires and a host of powerful drugs. Gentle hands stroke her hair. A smooth, soft voice sings, tunelessly. "The night keeps all her light inside..." A horrifying chill runs through her body. Mulder's hand is on her shoulder. "Mulder, this place..." she begins, turning toward him. "This is the place," he answers, softly. He runs a finger over her collarbone, searching for words. "If it's too much for you, Scully, to come back here..." "Mulder, no." Dana grasps his hand and squeezes it. "I need to do this." "Hey, look at this," Ben calls. He is staring at images carved in the rock near the foundation of the stone archway. A large figure with a square, mask- like head is carved above a smaller human figure. A long line is drawn below the figures, crossed with many smaller lines and ending in an arrow that points away from the cave. "What's that?" Dana asks. Ben scratches his head. "I'm not sure." "From the placement..." Mulder muses, tracing the carvings, "might be a wu'ya." "Yeah," Ben agrees. "And that is...?" Dana asks. "Sign left behind to show how long people were here. Left to welcome anyone from the clan who returns." Mulder points to the large figure, then to the small one. "This is the god. This is the people. The marks might represent years, or tens of years, or hundreds of years." He shrugs. "Who knows? Probably carved by the people who built this, but not necessarily." "Hey, Will. Give me your lantern." Ben squats down and opens his pack. He fills Mulder's lantern with kerosene. Mulder fixes a coil of rope to his belt while Ben works. He goes to the edge and calls down to Kaya and Matthew. "We're set. We're going in." Matthew's voice rises from the canyon floor, fluttering in the wind like a loose piece of paper caught in an updraft. "When do we start worrying?" "First light tomorrow. But don't worry." "Will!" Kaya's voice sounds childlike after being carried so far up the rocky wall. "Yeah!" "Be careful!" "We will. Kaya!" "Yeah!" "Remember, Sam's coming. Send him in." There is a pause. "I will!" "We'll see you both soon!" Mulder turns away from the edge and takes a few steps back toward the entryway. He shakes his head with a wry smile. "I bet they'll find something to do while we're gone." "Do you think we'll have enough light?" Dana asks in a dry, husky voice. She remembers how vast the darkness can be. How light only makes it seem bigger. Mulder stares at her intensely for a long, long moment. Dana can feel how badly he wants to take her in his arms. "Is everybody ready?" Ben pulls his pack on his back and nods. Dana takes a deep breath. She's not sure if her feet are going to move when she tells them to carry her toward that blackness. She reaches for Mulder. He takes her outstretched hand, then turns toward the dark and raises his lantern. "Okay, then," he says. "Let's do it." End 4 of 9