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From: Monture_&_Wicks@magic.ca (Monture & Wicks)
Reply-To: Monture_&_Wicks@magic.ca
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Distribution: world
Subject: The Talisman 6/7
Date: 05 Dec 1994 01:32:09 GMT
Message-ID: <4170706910.2173557@magic.ca>
Organization: Magic Online Services Toronto Inc.
Lines: 100

This is my first posting in this forum ... I hope everyone likes my story.  It
contains shamanism, shape-shifting, pseudo-science, and a lot of speculation.
 I  started writing it after Scully disappeared, and this represents the way
I would have like to  have seen the plot develop, but alas ... and because I
like Mulder, he is the central focus of this story.

Also please note that the Mohawk words used are phonetic representations,
rendered as much as possible in an English format.  I have included a
phonetic key at the end of the story.   There are also aspects of this story
that are not (and I repeat not) in keeping with traditional Native American
practices, so don't for one minute think that it represents any of those
sacred ceremonies and rites.  I have ultimately created my own intepretation
of what may or may not happen, but among my people, there are still those who
practice the craft of the "wadayoneras".  I hope I have treated the idea of
their art with the respect and reverence that it deserves. 

This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter,
Ten Thirteen Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Company.  No infringement
of copyright is intended.


			The Talisman ... An X-Files Tale (6 of 7 parts)

Chapter 5

	Mulder seethed quietly as the Pathfinder wound its way through the hills,
wanting to stop her but knowing he would not be able to.  Part of her
considerable attraction lay in the strength of her will, he saw that now, and
to cross her was to lay himself open for a severe injury of the spirit.
	He snuck a look at her.  She was staring straight ahead, her hands gripping
the wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white.  Her face had gone a
strange pale shade, like she had been drained of blood, and her eyes burned
like some black charnal pit.  She was frightening, and beautiful.  He tore
his glance away from her.  She was beginning to scare him.
	About fifteen minutes from her house, she suddenly pulled over, putting the
Pathfinder in park, and turned to him.  
	"I need you to take Sowahs to the vet," she said.  "It's Dr. Maartens on Elm
Street.  He'll look after him, no questions asked.  You can leave the
Pathfinder in his parking lot and the keys with him.  I'll pick them and
Sowahs up when I'm finished here."  She unbuckled her seatbelt and swung open
the door.  He gaped at her.
	"Where are you going?!" he demanded, fumbling with his own seatbelt.  She
held the door open and smiled again at him, and he saw the destruction in
that smile.
	"I've unfinished business with them," she said, and she pointed upwards.  He
squinted through the windshield and saw that they were at the base of
Arrowhead Peak.  "They have taken Tehonig, and they must learn that they
cannot operate with impunity."
	"Wait --" he said, and managed to get out of his seat.  She started walking
into the forested hillside, and he caught her arm.   She looked at him like
he was a peculiarly interesting bug and smiled that terrible smile, and then
he felt the weird vertigo again and was stunned to find himself in the
driver's seat of the Pathfinder, Sowahs whimpering softly behind him.   Daisy
was no where to be seen.
	He sat for a few minutes, unable to move.  The ghost of that terrible smile
haunted him, it was all he could see.  Her wild hair tumbling about her
shoulders, her rumpled red dress.  He shook his head to clear it, then put
the Pathfinder in drive.
	Some ten miles away, there was a low rumbling sound and he instinctively
pulled over, looking in the rearview mirror.  Arrowhead Peak was obscured by
a brilliant orange fireball, thick black smoke pouring into the atmosphere. 
He got out of the truck and watched as the mountain itself seemed to catch
afire, and he knew that Daisy had caused it, had caused Arrowhead Peak to
disappear into a blazing inferno, and its secrets with it.  
	He drove into Albany by reflex, his mind blank, images of the shapeshifting
journey and the memory of Dana's voice dancing before him as he gripped the
wheel.  He could feel the talisman burning a psychic fire in his pocket and
decided he wouldn't even bother to have it analyzed.  As Daisy said, some
things were not meant to have the light of logic shone upon them, and he felt
that this was one of them.  He knew the truth would frighten him so badly as
to paralyze him, and he could not afford any fear.
	He completed the tasks Daisy had set out for him and took a plane back to
Washington, phoning in the fact that the announcement of his death had been
premature.  He went home to his silent apartment and spent the remainder of
the weekend in a kind of fog of memory, mourning the loss of his brief
association with the enigmatic sorceress Daisy.  When the UPS courier came
with his briefcase and overnight bag, he practically tore them apart, looking
for something, a message, a note, anything.  There was nothing there except
his possessions and his empty gun holster.
	Monday morning, he entered his office in a glum frame of mind.  He swung
open the door and was shocked into utter stillness by the fact that Scully
was calmly seated at her desk, pouring over a file as though no time at all
had passed.  She looked at him and grinned, the warmth in her eyes thawing
the frost in his soul.
	Her green-blue eyes had shadows beneath them and her face was puffy, like
she had lain asleep for a long time, but otherwise the sleek intelligence and
humour that shone from her face remained unchanged.  He willed himself to go
forward and put his briefcase on the desk.  
	"Hello, Mulder," she said, pure pleasure evident in her voice.  "You look
like you've seen a ghost."  
	"No, just a witch," he answered and came to her, putting his hand on hers. 
"You're okay?  How do you feel?"
	"A little tired and kind of fuzzy," she replied.  "I can't remember a thing
since Duane Barry, though."  She looked into his eyes and he saw the
imperceptible pain there.  "I keep remembering a dream about a mountain lion,
though.  It's weird -- I never even really thought about them before."
	"It is pretty weird," he agreed.  He smiled at her, grateful for her
presence and her strength.  "What are you doing here?"
	"Working," she said firmly.  "Now, take a look at this file --"