From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
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   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 28  of 45   
   E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net, mrkeller829@gmail.com   
   PG-13   X-File: Myth-arc   Disclaimed in Part I   
   Already sent to Gossamer   
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   Westminster Palace   
   London, UK   
   Saturday, June 20, 1998   
   12:13 am   
      
   Dafydd ap Morgan ap Gwinn stood before a dark oak door. Brother Pict had been   
   in a hospital in Edinburgh recovering from a respiratory infection, so this   
   had been their first opportunity to discuss the matters of the Ekklesia. The   
   death of the Riata had    
   been particularly difficult for the Pict, even though all knew it had been   
   coming, that her life had been full of the richness of kindness. He had   
   knocked twice. Finally, there was a creak, then a nod.   
      
   "We are many, we are one, Honored Brother. Come, come." The Pict led the way   
   back to his inner office. The two would be alone for this conversation, which   
   was as it should be.   
      
   The Cymru settled in the deep leather seat. "We are many, we are one. Dearest   
   Brother, surely, these austere quarters are uncomfortable for you for so many   
   hours."   
      
   Two long hands clenched the Celtic lion. "Not at all. I am only at peace   
   either here or at the Suola. Only in either place do I still feel her   
   presence." He tapped the tip of the cane twice on the thick carpet. "The   
   Danaan has informed me the Slav has    
   agreed to be initiated at the end of the coming week." He favored the younger   
   man with a gentle smile of relief. "The Fellowship will almost be complete.   
   Please, tell me you have good news as well."   
      
   Wondering, not for the final time, what had been between the Riata and the   
   Pict in their springtime, ap Gwinn pushed his red curls off his forehead. "I   
   have seen her, in the flesh. Here. Look." He laid the flier on the desk.   
      
   The Pict studied the black and white image for several moments, then the pale   
   green eyes closed. "I have lived to see this day. It is she." He settled back   
   in his tall seat. "Tell me of her."   
      
   The Cymru took a deep breath. "She is small, Brother."   
      
   "But great." The grey head inclined once. "A leader?"   
      
   "Indeed. Her fellow officers hailed her, many times. But, it was most telling   
   that she knew me, recognized me for who I am."   
      
   "And the son of our fallen Atrebates? What signs?" The Pict leaned forward   
   eagerly.   
      
   "First, he is an Atrebates himself. There was no question of his adamant   
   devotion."   
      
   "Ah, well." He gave himself a push upright on the lion. "So, have you spoken   
   with her? Seen if she is of a mind to join us?" He stood over the Cymru. "Have   
   you, Brother?"   
      
   "There was not the time. There were too many about. I have arranged to speak   
   with her in private on my return to Washington. Then, we shall know."   
      
   The Pict returned slowly to his seat. "We have some light in dark times."   
      
   Ap Gwinn stood. "Dark times? What?"   
      
   "Our Brother Suebi has brought a viper into the Ekklesia, although he does not   
   know it yet."   
      
   Now, the younger man moved forward. "This was his failed candidate?"   
      
   "Indeed." The lion was propped against the edge of the desk. "He has made him   
   one of the Tribuni Plebis, since he could not be a Brother. We will need to   
   bring the Riata into our Fellowship over his active resistance, I fear. With   
   her skills, she could    
   take him down easily, I am certain. But all must be precisely done, or we will   
   be lost. We cannot be lost."   
      
   The Cymru extended his hand. "Come, Honored Brother and Faithful Guide, back   
   to my residence in Belgravia. It's not far. You can have a long, hot bath, a   
   nourishing late supper, and a good sleep on one of my overstuffed mattresses.   
   Then we shall plan.    
   Alright?"   
      
   The older man mustered a tired smile. "As you wish. You favor me with your   
   kindness, Brother. We are many, we are One."   
      
   "We are many, we are One." The Cymru held the door for the Pict, then led him   
   down to his waiting Rolls. They would be at his townhouse in less than a   
   quarter of an hour.   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Scripps Memorial Hospital   
   Outpatient Care   
   Friday, 9:14 pm   
      
   Walter Skinner turned into the small room the receiving nurse, without looking   
   up, had waved him toward. His diminutive agent, still in her bloodied   
   trousers, was slumped in a chair. Her clothes looked like she had been dragged   
   through a shredder. The    
   pants were ripped open at the waistband, with vertical tears that exposed her   
   bruised knees. Her jacket, torn down the left arm, was draped loosely across   
   her lap. Her left arm was bandaged from over the shoulder down to her fingers,   
   all suspended in a    
   sling. But, she was alone, her head resting on the wall behind her, apparently   
   asleep. "Agent Scully?" He stepped forward.   
      
   She jerked, then opened her eyes. "Sir?"   
      
   He gritted his teeth. "Where is your partner?"   
      
   One cheek twitched. "I made the mistake of hinting I was thirsty, Sir."   
      
   Skinner felt the rush of air to his right.   
      
   "Scully, this is the best I could do." The dark-haired man was carrying a   
   pitcher and a plastic cup. "They're pretty short-handed tonight. Friday." He   
   poured until the water was halfway to the top, then held it out for her to   
   take. "Room temperature.    
   Sorry." When her fingers grasped the bottom carefully, without contacting his,   
   he let out a grunt.   
      
   After a teasing cluck, she drained the contents. "That's good." She handed her   
   partner the cup. "Thank you, Mulder."   
      
   He held up the pitcher, but she shook her head, so he set both on a nearby   
   rolling stand. Only then did the tall agent turn his attention to the bald   
   Director. "Sir?"   
      
   Skinner looked from one to the other. "We have him, Agents. He was trying to   
   take the stairs from the top floor of the Northern Trust Tower, just as you   
   said. He's at Northern Division so we can question him before we have to hand   
   him over to Pierce.    
   Johnson isn't placing the call to the Marshals until we're satisfied."   
      
   The auburn-haired pathologist pushed herself wearily to her feet before   
   beginning to tuck the torn and bloodied jacket inside the sling, but, her   
   partner's hands were there faster, turning the shredded fabric into a roll he   
   squeezed between his side and    
   his elbow. She sent him a tiny smile of gratitude before she turned to their   
   superior. "I'm ready, Sir. We three know him and the Smoker, so they can't   
   pull any games or tricks to weasel out of this."   
      
   "Scully, you need the antibiotics, remember?" The tall agent, gazing down at   
   her somberly, was blocking her exit.   
      
   The bald Director's jaw set. There was more going on here than they had told   
   him, but that was far from unusual. "Agents?"   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)