What's the Matter With You

By Camospam, with Wendy K and Gabi

 

Chapter 4

 

 The Void

 It was eerily dark as Cameron began to assess his condition. He kept still hoping the pain would ebb quicker. “Owww! That hurt!” he said barely audibly, his contorted body unable to vocalize more than a whisper. Cameron blinked repeatedly as he tried to ascertain what had happened, only to see nothing but blackness. Panicked, Cameron rotated through his different layering of vision which escalated his desperation at still being unable to see.

 “Fer crying out loud! Did anybody get the number of that bus?” Ken Tallman bitterly complained. He mostly lay sprawled on-top of Cameron with his face pushed into the ground right beside Cameron, near enough to have heard the boys complaint.

---

 Cameron felt more pain as the crushing weight sitting on him shifted.

 “Get off of me!” exclaimed a young sounding voice that then broke into a fit of deep coughing.

 “Patty! - Troy! You guys alright?” asked another voice; a boy. He had an accent and sounded a little older than the first.

 Grumbled a girl, “I will be once you get your knee outta my ribs.” This was followed by her giving a sigh of relief.

 Cameron felt the heap on-top of him being lessened as more bodies extricated themselves and got untangled. Each of the voices moaned in conjunction to the movement Cameron felt. At last Cameron was no longer the low man on the totem pole and breathed easier, although each intake of air burned his throat and lungs making him cough.

 Cameron heard Ken cough too, then felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him gently.

 Ken asked, “Cameron! How’re you doing bud?”.

 Cameron was face down, his visor no longer covering his eyes, he turned towards the voice and groaned. He heard a slight gasp come from Ken.

 “Your eyes …!” Ken managed, appalled from seeing blank white eyes instead of the usual golden light being emitted.

 “I can’t see,” revealed Cameron. “Where are we?”

 “Oh my, it’s the Police!” observed the girl.

“Frak!” the older boy commented.

 Ken grunted as he stood, stretching to work out some kinks from his back. Once stabilized, he began to scan the surroundings and tried to determine their situation. After taking a deep breath he began a deep rumbling cough.

 Cameron tasted the air, it was foul and smelled of old cheese.

 “Stay close to the ground, it’s not as bad down low,” instructed the girl.

 “Is the air poisonous?” Cameron asked, in as strong a voice he could muster - in the direction the girls voice came from.

 “It burns your lungs and you’ll develop a nasty cough, but you’ll live,” replied the older boy. “But we need to keep quiet!” he said, with the accent that Cameron couldn’t place.

 Ken finished checking his Special Investigations phone only to determine it was useless. That frustration carried over into his voice, “So we sit down and shut up."

 “We don’t wanna attract attention…” hissed the youngest boy, his worry evident in his words and actions.

 Cameron heard Ken sit beside him. “No phone coverage, and John isn’t with us,” whispered Ken in a somber voice.

 Cameron advised, “Well Ken, Bossman keeps telling us; ‘first get the 5W’s, then make a plan.’ You better take the lead.”

 “Alright, I suppose introductions are in order,” stated Ken to the small group that had huddled near. “I am Constable Tallman, this is Seargent Burke, we’re RCMP.”

 “How come you’re older - but he has a higher rank?” asked the youngest boy.

 Once Cameron stopped laughing he said, “Ken’s the real policeman, they just didn’t know what else to do with me. I’m Cameron, What’s your name?”

 “Troy Smithers,” he replied.

 The girl added, “ I’m Patrica Conners.”

 “Oliver Jones,” chipped in the third youth.

 “Do you know where we are?” Ken asked.

 “Somebody called it the Inter-Dimensional Rift, but I don’t know where that is,” Oliver answered.

 Cameron questioned, “How did you get here?”

 “My roommate is a Teleporter and he gave me a ride … I was joking around and stupidly let go partway through,” admitted Oliver.

 Troy blurted out, “I was swallowed by a demon and got spat out here!”

 Incredibly, Ken took that answer in stride to then direct his question to Patrica, “What about you?”

 “I …” she timidly began.

 “She stepped through a portal,” interrupted Troy.

 “I manifested as a mutant,” Patrica disclosed. “I tried to use my power and made a portal; it brought me here.”

 “You mentioned others; how many are there?” asked Cameron.

 “Nine,” supplied Troy. “I’m the youngest.”

 “What happened? How did we end up here?” wondered Ken.

 Patrica spat, “Tell him!” her annoyance manifested towards Oliver.

 “We saw a lot of teleport flashes, so I suggested we try and escape. We jumped in at a flash and when we tried to grab on … you guys came out,” Oliver stammered out.

 The two newest arrivals absorbed that info for a moment before Cameron then put forward, “Who are we hiding from?”

 “The wraiths,” informed Troy shakily.

 

 February 26, 2008. Franklins Ranch: ‘Passing Wind’, Southern Alberta.

 Lynn let out a deep sigh, and rested her chin on her balled up fists, supported by her elbows sitting on the dinner table.

 “Manners! Elbows off the table,” chided her mother Terry, as she set down a delicious smelling pot.

 “Cameron’s in trouble!” informed Lynn. “He didn’t show up where he was supposed to.”

 Her father Doug asked, “Do you know where he is?”

 “No!”  Lynn replied, crying dejectedly.

 “He’ll show up,” Alan concluded as he leaned forward taking a prolonged sniff of the food, “Smells great Mom!” he complimented enthusiastically.

 Terry smiled, then began scooping out the meal.

 Talk at the table dealt with the day’s chores, but Lynn remained somber until she announced, “I’ve got to help him!” startling her family with the sudden outburst.

 “Take it easy,” comforted Doug, “tell us what you’ve seen in your visions.”

 Lynn explained, “Cameron’s friend Leap has been jumping back and forth from Victoria and Prince Rupert. The poor guy’s past exhaustion trying to find Cameron and Ken.”

 “You don’t know where Cameron is, so you can’t help find him,” Terry reasoned.

 Lynn continued, “That’s not all. There’s a narrow window of opportunity that could bring an end to the Were’s binding. If Cameron was around he could go - it’s up to me now!”

 “What needs to happen?” sought Terry.

 “I need to get to the Mediwihla,” Lynn pleaded.

 Doug lamented regretfully, “I’m sorry Lynn, but I can’t leave right now; its calving season and your Mom isn’t exactly welcome there.”

 “I could take her,” volunteered Alan.

 “You’ve only been home for a few days!” complained Terry in exasperation.

 Alan stated, “It’s okay Mom, I’ll be back - I promise. Besides, I owe it to Cameron,” giving Lynn a wink.

 

 The Void

 Cameron had brought from out of the Warehouse his tent, in the process he added a layer to make it airtight and then filled the room with clean air. He’d also provided everyone with fresh water to drink and set out what food he could find from Storage; it was only peanut butter, jam and bread, but his guests were ecstatic over it. Ken and Cameron sat on the bed while the others ate.

 “So we were mid transition when we got knocked out of Leap’s teleportation jump,” confirmed Cameron. “What does this place look like?”

 “There’s a thick grey fog, I can’t see more than twenty feet. It looks like the sun has set for how much light there is - but it’s not getting darker. The ground is a fine powder - same grey colour as the fog. I haven’t seen any plant life or rocks even.”

 “What about our new friends?”

 “Oliver looks to be the oldest; fifteen maybe sixteen, he’s wearing a school uniform.”

 “Black jacket, crest on the left side that looks like a two headed bird?”

 “Yes … can you see it?”

 “No. It’s a Whateley Academy uniform - he said his roommate’s a Teleporter, so he’ll be a mutant. The girl?"

 “She’s wearing pink pyjama’s that have these bizarre cats with ribbons.”

 “Hello Kitty pyjamas!”

 “Is that important?”

 “Could be, It seems to be favoured by ‘troublemakers’.”

 “She’s young, I’m guessing fourteen; brunette, brown eyes. Troy is around ten, he’s in a tee shirt with a transformer logo and blue jeans.”

 “Autobot or Decepticon?”

 “How can you tell?”

 “Does the face have a smile or frown?”

 “Smile.”

 “Autobot. Good.”

 “Do you hear a slurping sound?”

 “Is it one of our new friends?”

 “No, Troy chews with his mouth open, but that’s not what I hear.”

 Quietly moving closer to Oliver, Ken asked him, “What is that slurping sound?”

 Shocked, Oliver quickly became agitated and started shaking his hands vigorously up and down getting the others attention, then uttered, “Ssshhh!”

  Everyone in the tent sat as quiet as can be, amplifying the sucking sound coming from outside.

 Silent as a mouse, Ken moved over to the tent flap and peered outside, then quickly withdrew his head back into the tent. He returned to sitting beside Cameron and whispered into his ear.

 “There’s an intangible life-form out there, I could only see it because it displaced the grey fog. It was hunched over sucking on a small nub rising up from the ground.” Seeing the pure terror on the three new faces, Ken didn’t make any further sound or move - but kept a hand resting on Cameron’s leg, assuring him that someone was close. 

 After a long slice of forever the sucking sound stopped. Cameron could hear the three breath again, and in a hushed voice asked, “What was that all about?”

 The question hung unanswered, until a silent debate between them was settled and Oliver answered, “A wraith, they feed on teats that stick out of the ground - when they aren’t sucking the life out of us.”

 “Vampires?” Ken asked.

 “They draw blood, but that only seems to let them pull the life out of you easier,” advised Oliver.

 “It feels like you’re gonna die once they're finished,” added a shuttering Patrica.

 

 February 28, 2008. Airport, Montreal Quebec

 Ella Oberon looked out over the crowd, she had selected a railing on a platform that allowed her to see the passengers coming in from arrivals. The call she had taken from Mike Williamson, explaining in part what had happened to Cameron - had shaken her.

 ‘Why did I leave Cameron,’ she berated herself. ‘My father trained me my entire life to be a protector … and then once I find him - I just let him go off alone.’ The burden of failure tore at the Were’s heart. Ella zoned out deep in recollection of their recent trip together, before she had left to help the Were:

 Cameron, Ella and Ben traveled together to Ottawa, following a path that allowed for Ben and Ella to deliver flashlights and black energy balls to the Were villages enroute.

 It was during the drive that Ben revealed he was an archivist - a type of librarian for the Weres. This was news which held Cameron’s fascination for many miles - which had Ben recounting stories that Ella grew up with, but Cameron knew nothing about.

 It was at one of the Village stops that they had been informed about another small Were community in Arizona which had been probed - the precursor to being attacked. Cameron had formulated a strategy that had them fly-out immediately - in fact, as soon as they had arrived at Ottawa.

 “How am I supposed to protect you if I’m not at your side?” countered Ella, as she parked her Jeep in the Ottawa Airport parkade.

 “I was with Mike, it’s not like I need a bodyguard - at least not all the time,” Cameron complained.

 “The Oberon has a valid concern,” grunted Ben as he picked up his gear. “The Mediwihla would be honoured by your return. You are one of our people, you should go and stay with us. Granny may be an old fuss-bucket but she took a liking to you.”

 “What of you L, what do you think I should do?” wondered Cameron giving the option some thought.

 Ella returned, “My voice carries no weight, I go where you go.”

 “That’s just wrong in so many ways!” refuted Cameron. “What kind of freedom do I bring, if the Were closest to me act like servants?”

 “It is the duty of a sword and shield!” countered Ella.

 "You are so much more,” Cameron replied. “You know the strategy of fighting and can keep up with a running battle. It is you that must lead the Were,” persevered Cameron. 

 “But I…,” objected Ella.

 Cameron instructed, “Ella, right now the war has two fronts, if we can put up a resistance to the dark - by reclaiming those Were taken in corruption … that is the place the sword and shield needs to be. By denying the dark its army, we will change the tide to our favour.”

 “The people will only follow the Golden Eyed Man.” 

 “The Were will follow an Oberon, I know I would,” said Ben, “especially if she had a way to defeat the dark … gifted by the Golden Eyed Man!”

 “You are not helping!” chided Ella. At which Ben slung his pack over his shoulder and chuckled. “But what of you?” she further sought.

 “I will be drawing their attention. If we can distract the enemy they won’t suspect it’s a combined effort,” counselled Cameron.

 Ben offered, “I will go with the Oberon, a bear is always a force to be reckoned with.”

 “I welcome a friends support,” smiled Ella.

 “Actually Ben, I was really hoping you could do something for me,” Cameron stated.

 “Name it?” the curious were-bear responded.

 Cameron explained, “I need to know what the Were’s vowed! We seek to break what I believe can be considered a legal contract - we’re going to need an understanding of what both parties said, plus the conditions and circumstances that surrounded the agreement.”

 “It will be an honour,” accepted Ben.

 Ella nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice behind her said, “Hello Ella.” She was surprised because no-one should be able to sneak up on a Were unawares!

 Turning to face her would be assailant, she was met by the visage of an attractive young girl. She had long wavy black hair with vivid green eyes, her slightly upturned nose was wrinkled from the huge smile she wore. Ella was tense - ready to pounce, but wasn’t prepared for the hug that she found herself wrapped into.

 “Ummm?” was the best Ella could muster as a response.

 The mystery girl said, “Trust Cameron to never introduce us,” still holding Ella tightly.

 A look of shock came over the warriors face draining her ferocity replacing it with awe. “The Pantheress!”

 “Pul-ease!” came as an objection, and then offered, “Lynn,” along with another squeeze. “I’ve never met an Oberon before.”

 Ella tried to make enough space between them so she could drop onto her knee to show due honour.

 “Please don’t make a scene!” Lynn cautioned, as she stepped back slightly, then gave a high pitched growl announcing her position. “For my brother,” she provided as an explanation. “We separated to find you, he guessed you’d be outside.”

 Ella was puzzled, “You knew I’d be here?”

 “Yes, I know it’s hard to grasp - but I’m what our people call a seer - or farsighted,” supplied Lynn.

 Ella stuttered, “But …”

 “It’s very cute,” admired Lynn, looking over the young fox. “Cameron said you were pretty. I do wish he ‘was more’ verbal.”

 “I wonder at times if he’ll ‘ever stop’ speaking,” snarked Ella.

 The two girls stared at each other briefly before breaking out in laughter! They were interrupted by an indignant, “Ahem!!”

 Lynn reached over and grabbed her brothers arm, thus presenting his hand to Ella. “Alan Franklin, met Ella Oberon.”

 The two Were shook each others hand for an extended period as they just stared admiringly at each other. 

 Alan was a fine looking young man, he didn’t have the black hair like his sister; rather the sandy coloured hair of his father as well as his father’s blue eyes, but he had strong cheekbones and a similar nose to his mother’s.

 Ella had her copper / red hair tied in a stylish pony tail that curled down to her mid back, her face struck in a coquettish smile that only had one corner of her mouth raised up.

 “Awkward…,” stated Lynn, which reanimated the two. “When is the flight from Prince George due to arrive?”

 “Landed twenty minutes ago,” Alan replied, without taking his eyes off the vixen.

 Blushing, Ella pointed to a set of doors, “They’ll come through that gate,” only to notice a group of four standing just outside the doorway attempting to get oriented.

 The three Were walked the short distance from Ella’s vantage point over to welcome the newcomers.

 Central among the group was a tall wiry man dressed in a flannel shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. He stood head and shoulders above a group of three teens; a boy and two girls.

 Lynn was the first to approach and began by hugging the tall stick of a man, who looked down at the head of black hair with his eyes doing a dance of confusion at the friendly assault from a complete stranger.

 “Mr. Johnson, I’m Lynn Franklin,” provided Lynn while still hugging the beanpole.

 “Lynn?” stumbled Marcus, “Mike said someone would met us at the Airport, but I thought you were in Alberta.”

 “Marcus, I’m Lynn’s brother Alan,” inserted Alan. “And this is Ella Oberon,” he provided, after they’d shook hands.

 “May I present: Timothy, Rachel and Charlotte.” Mike was then interrupted by a loud, “Hoy!” 

 Turning to face the outburst, a large barrel chested fellow with his arms wide open approached Marcus and embraced him.

 “Roche!” exclaimed Marcus, and wholeheartedly returned the greeting.

 Standing just a little behind Roche was a very tall girl, even taller than Marcus, who wore a hoodie that hid most of her face leaving just her mouth and chin visible. She also wore heavy duty gloves.

 Roche reached over putting his arm around the girl’s waist and onto her back and drew her forward, “Please to make the acquaintance of R.E.D.”

 

 The Void

 The ear splitting screech was enough to make everyone cover their ears and wince in pain.

 The tent walls and roof were indented by hands that pressed upon the fabric. The three youth curled into fetal positions and repeatedly wailed, “no,” and fear wracked their faces.

 Ken and Cameron stood back to back, Ken had drawn his RCMP issue pistol as he faced the doorway. Cameron had layered his most powerful shields around the tent after the stories they’d been told of being fed upon, but they seemed to provide little protection against the wraiths.

 The wispy outline of a wraith passed thru the tent and latched onto Ken’s shoulder. He cried in agony as he tried to hit it with the butt of his gun, to no avail. Ken dropped to his knees as he no longer had the strength to stand.

 More of the wisps entered and each targeted one of the tent’s occupants. Over the wraith’s shrieks Cameron heard whimpers from all of his companions. Cameron felt the bite on his neck and then sensed the pull upon him.

 

 

 Cameron panted heavily. He was down on one knee and only remained upright from the support provided by the staff he had manifested during the battle. Cameron’s tent was in tatters. He still was not able to see, so he could only lash out in hopes of making a chance connection upon the foe - and not strike friend.

 When the entity began to siphon off Cameron’s life force, Cameron had been able to reverse the tide and drew energy in from the wraith. It was an energy source unlike anything he’d encountered before and left a nasty taste in his mouth. He badly wanted to see what level his battery was at now, since he’d never felt so empowered, but without sight he couldn’t know.

 The wraith had dislodged itself and began wailing like nothing he had ever heard before. The other wraiths gave up their feast and began circling Cameron, attempting to punish him for ruining their dinner.

 To defend himself Cameron had fashioned a quarter staff out of his energy absorbing material. It had started out dark black, but from the occasional contact it made on an attacking wisp - it now had whirls of milky white intermingled in the black.

 Each strike that hit the wraiths resulted in a satisfying wail of anguish from the wisps as their energy was drawn into the staff. The shrieking abated and Cameron no longer felt the jabs and shoves he had been getting pummelled with.

 Listening, Cameron could hear the pained breathing of his companions, each was moaning and coughing from the bad air around them since the tent no longer provided a pocket of clean air to breathe.

 Digging deep into his memories, Cameron imagined a face mask with filters and brought it out from his Workshop. He put the mask on and breathed thru it, the seal wasn’t great so he adjusted the fitment. He made four more and distributed them, checking the fit for each. 

 The mask distorted a person’s speech, but he ascertained how everyone was feeling. None of them were much more than just alive, they shivered violently and were clammy to the touch. Cameron couldn’t locate his blankets in the Warehouse, but decided to make ponchos out of the black absorbent instead.

 In Storage, Cameron knew there was some steamed white rice, he was able to recall its location and felt for it. He then made some small energy pellets like he had done for Alan at Arkham, but this time he filled them with energy so they were white, and mixed them into the rice.

 Cameron apportioned out the food, telling them they would feel better after they ate. They all commented about the crunchy bits, but ate nonetheless. As they ate they heard voices coming from out of the grey gloom. The voices called out the three youth’s names - to which Patrica called back, “Over here!” between mouthfuls.

 The five were joined by another six that Oliver, Patty and Troy knew. The grown-ups vigorously chided the three teens for having run-off. They had heard the commotion and came in search of what they had feared were three deaths.

 

 Concord, New Hampshire.

 Emit Paulson sat back in his chair watching the case unfold; he had volunteered to act as co-counsel for the state but that was declined. Instead, he sat in the gallery as a spectator watching this court’s proceedings, which had been an entertaining exchange. 

 New Hampshire Child Services had a good lawyer representing themselves, and Marissa Dawson: Whateley Academies lawyer, was competent at least. Emit was taking notes and sizing up what to expect when his own case came before a judge.

 The defence being used was almost formulaic: The defendant: Mrs Carson, claimed that Cameron Burke had brought his woes upon himself; it was his own fault for not bringing his situation to the administration’s attention.

 Meanwhile, Child Services had exposed some gapping holes in how Whateley conducted its business. The school’s independently managed and operated sections hadn’t communicated effectively with each other - and that situation allowed someone to drop through the cracks.

 That someone was Cameron Burke, and now Mrs. Carson was facing charges of child abuse, in part because the school failed to account for him under her administrative blanket. At issue and under debate was that she herself was to blame for Cameron’s situation.

 Mrs. Carson looked sufficiently contrite as the court peeled back layer after layer of mistakes. When damning evidence was revealed, she even wept on occasion. A good act conceded Emit.

 Marissa Dawson was tireless in her efforts to construct a chain of evidence intending to build a defence that would exonerate the school and its top administrator. She kept returning to a simple conclusion: What’s wrong with that kid? All he had to do was come to the office. All this could have easily been handled.

 Emit could see the strategy behind creating reasonable doubt. The best legal recourse was to turn the blame back onto Cameron Burke for not working along with the school. That basic premise would have prevented any of the issues that had culminated in a legal battle.

 Mrs. Dawson was also working the angle that Cameron had problems with authority figures, implying he was a complete dunderhead. She even explored the possibility that he’d come to Whateley to foment discord, and wanted to create trouble for the school, for mutants.

 When Marissa Dawson thought she had sown enough dissent she called Mrs. Carson onto the witness stand. It was a brave move, but calculated: presenting to the court a caring, motherly figurehead that all the students adored, a heroine that could do no wrong.

 While Mrs. Dawson was finishing up her charade, Emit passed a few notes and a large bound volume up to the lawyers positioned at the table. The note was read with interest, and some furious activity ensued.

 When Mrs. Dawson concluded with her witness, it was in haste that the lawyer stood to begin a cross examination. Addressing the witness she asked: “Mrs. Carson, is it correct to conclude that choosing a code name, the moniker used to obscure a true identity is typically done to reflect a persons extraordinary abilities and personality traits?

 Mrs. Carson: “Yes.”

 Lawyer: “How about yourself, we understand that you have taken several of these aliases, Miss Champion, and Miss Miracle for instance?”

 Mrs. Carson: “The first name I took originated from my association with Champion; we were partners since we shared many similar abilities. When I went solo I took on a name to distinguish myself from Champion.”

 Lawyer: “This would have been around the time you found an affinity for the mystic arts, hence the new name Miss Miracle?”

 Mrs. Carson: “Yes. The changed name better reflected my abilities at the time.”

 Lawyer: “Interesting! Now I take it at some point that you married. Was this the reason you decided another name change was required rather than just retaining the name Mrs. or Ms. Miracle?”

 Mrs. Carson: “No. My abilities developed beyond what a simple miracle might imply.”

 Lawyer: “I see. Your progression into wielding magic required you not ascribe the wonders you performed to mere fluke.”

 Mrs. Carson: “Magic only comes about because of commitment to study and practise. It is not miraculous, rather it takes hard work to perform.” 

 Lawyer: “Thank you for clarifying that. So your current name then?”

 Mrs. Carlson: “Lady Astarte.”

 Lawyer: “So we are to understand that this is now a current reflection of your abilities and personality?”

 Mrs. Carson: “Yes.”

 Lawyer: “Mrs. Carson: are you a god?”

 Mrs. Carson: “I do not make that claim.”

 Lawyer: “But yet you have named yourself after a god.”

 Mrs. Carson: “I chose that name because it best depicts my abilities and reflects a powerful figure.”

 Lawyer: “Oh dear! I am certain this court would be interested in learning about who you have chosen to emulate.” Picking up and reading from a large encyclopedia she commenced:

“Astarte was the goddess of fertility and married to Baal the god of harvests, her priestesses were temple prostitutes and her adherents held orgies in their honour. The images archeologists have found of Astarte rank as some of the most extreme and grotesque types of pornography. Unearthed from under her temples are the human remains from the sacrifices given to her: consisting of children - burned to death, then buried in urns.”

 Closing the textbook, the lawyer looked suitably appalled when addressing Mrs. Carson: “Certainly an outstanding figurehead to provide for a school full of impressionable youth.”

 

February 28, 2008. Highway outside Montreal

 The large passenger van that Roche and Marcus rented carried the newly acquainted group of nine away from the airport. It was being driven Northeastward away from Montreal towards Quebec City. Ella would have preferred to travel in her own Jeep, but it was left behind in Montreal.

 The youths far outnumbered the adults in the vehicle and Ella was cautious around the newcomers … either it was her instinct kicking in, or possibly due to years of preparing for anything. As it was, some of the passengers were taking the opportunity of the lull caused by the journey, to have a nap. Conversation so far had been a little subdued because the unfamiliarity of the three groups made it tough to feel comfortable with each other right away.

 The quiet surroundings gave Ella some time to think. Everything happened so fast - it was a blur, so she returned to her memories. Undoubtedly her role would become the storyteller of the Golden Eyed Man, and the battles with The Dark, so she had to get the story right.

 The Were had a resounding victory at the village in Arizona. Her rallying call had brought a large force to help the beleaguered village, which honestly, was much to her surprise. Incredibly even to her, was how many of those who came in response had already heard stories about the battle at the Mediwihla Village, where the contaminated were defeated.

 Ella successfully used a similar tactic that had been executed with the Mediwihla, by setting a snare. After this battle had been won fifteen had been reclaimed from The Dark. What was only to be a brief separation from Cameron changed once again when two more villages faced siege.

 Ella and her band of warriors rushed to provide aid to the two beleaguered villages, and the resulting victories cemented that the Were could win. The news of the dispersing of the flashlights and dark energy adsorbing balls were now spreading like wildfire. As their reputation grew, and their value in defeating The Dark was established, Cameron’s weapons against the foe became sought after by Were across the nation.

 The return of those lost to The Dark was the news that Were desperately needed. Hope flourished among the Were at last.

 She absently rolled one of the black balls in her fingers; it was set into a necklace given to her by the grateful people at one of the villages she and her band had helped. The Were had started a whole new art incorporating Cameron’s solutions against The Dark. They had taken to weaving his protective and curative devices into clothing and making jewelry around them.

 Cameron. The thought of him made her smile. As is often the case, the runt of the litter holds the most surprises. Ella had never been more surprised than by that scrawny human boy. She had always imagined herself as the ideal soldier; it was who she was trained to be, the existence she was born into.

 Cameron didn’t hold to the traditional values. In fact, he broke down those walls which had been past down for ages … it was like he didn’t know - or didn’t care. Some of the Were tried to convince her that the boy couldn’t fulfill the legend of the Golden Eyed Man, yet others absolutely loved him and never doubted his role. Looking to her own heart, Ella didn’t truly know how she felt, or what she thought because Cameron was so different to her preconceptions. 

 Ella’s mind slowly drifted away in her thoughts to conversations of another long drive she had taken not so long ago:

 Ella impatiently commented, “You went off unprotected again! Did the children need a hero?” 

 “They wanted to show me their home. You worry like a mother hen,” observed Cameron.

 “As compared to you running-off like a chicken with its head cut off?”

 “I keep my head firmly attached, Thank you! Making friends goes a long way to building trust.”

 “I’m sorry to be sharp,” retracted Ella.

 “Not a problem. But you must admit -  each step you take is like you’re waiting for someone to come at you swinging.”

 “I don’t want my next step to be my last … and now I must protect an undisciplined human who has no clue of the dangers present!”.

 A surprised Cameron retorted, “You think I’m oblivious to what surrounds me?”

 “Without a Were’s senses, I doubt you are cognizant of half the dangers around you - even here,”Ella referenced the border station they were queued up at.

 Cameron performed a quick three hundred sixty degree scan, then began pointing. “Four MCO agents at eight thirty; each with low calibre sidearms, pepper spray and concussion grenades shaking down a family with a mutant son. Ten o’clock - a Federal Marshall is carrying an unloaded sidearm while transporting a prisoner. One thirty is a United States customs check point with a total of seven officers; all with sidearms and close to a concealed weapons cache with shotguns, rifles and tasers.”

 Continuing his evaluation Cameron kept pointing, “Three o’clock, Canadian Customs office; three people currently posted with a fourth entering a bulletproof control area. The door’s touchpad code is: seven, seven, three, two, two, eight. On our six is an off-duty policeman who’s taking his family on a holiday, his firearms concealed in his luggage.”

 Ella gave her charge a long look, a mix between shock and awe.

 “Would you like a breakdown of who has knives and their lengths?”

 “How do you see that?” She questioned, as she moved the Jeep forward.

 “Me?! I’m blind … at least that’s the official verdict. I don’t see the normal way - I’ve failed every vision test given me. I’ll never get a drivers license because I can’t narrow my focus down that way.”

 “I never considered that your eyes did more than shine.”

 “Am I wrong in guessing that you’re wondering what useful role an Oberon can have if it is not to make up for my pitiful ‘human’ senses?”

 “Yes, I’m struggling trying to figure out how I am best to be of help to you.”

 “Ella, I need a sword and shield in ways you’ve probably never considered. In order to use my sight to the fullest, I become blind to all else happening around me … I’m at my most vulnerable when I’m at my strongest.” 

 “Then why complain that I keep wary of the dangers around us?”

 “Did you ever see the movie Pinocchio, where Jiminy advises the puppet?”

 “You imply I should be a noisy cricket and sing you songs?” jested Ella.

 “Boy! That would be swell!” humoured Cameron.

 Ben roared with laughter in the back seat.

 “Ha!” she scoffed and gave Ben a dirty look, “Fat chance of that happening!”

 “I was trying to say that I need someone to act as my guide to all things Were; your culture, your customs.”

 “That is a reasonable suggestion.”

 “And if you could put it to a nice Caribbean beat, toss in a couple maracas - Oh! oh! or maybe steel drums.”

 “You’re testing my patience,” fumed Ella.

 “Only seems fair, you’ve been testing me against some secret Oberon code of yours - so what’s the verdict; am I the guy?”

 “I…”

 “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that. You have a job to do - I get it. Just don’t let work stop you from smiling a little. No matter what the test says, at the end of the day I’d like to be able to call you a friend.” 

 “That would be acceptable,” revealed the duty bound Oberon.

 “Where are we heading?” Marcus’ question drew Ella’s attention back to the present.

 “R.E.D.’s family has a place we can all stay,” answered Roche. “We’ll spend the night there before heading to the States.”

 “Hate to impose,” worried Marcus, “there’s a lot of us.”

 “Her family demanded we come … It would insult their hospitality if we refused,” countered Roche. “Besides; you haven’t eaten until you’ve had a French Canadian feast. Trust me! These folks are family you just haven’t met yet.”

 “I’m more concerned with eating them out of house and home. Mutant teenagers are bottomless pits!”

 “Fair point,” replied Roche, “but don’t worry, they’re prepared.” After checking the traffic he then asked, “You didn’t bring Polaris with you?” 

 “Grace wanted to come, but she’s at home taking care of Mark; the little guy’s too small for an adventure.”

 Roche nodded in understanding, “How old is he?”

 “Two months,” Marcus proudly added with a sigh, “I didn’t want to leave, The Trifecta of Trouble had to drag me away.”

 Ella inquired, “Try who’sit?” 

 “He means us,” provided Rachel. “We got a message saying Cameron needed our help.” The head bobs to the affirmative indicated the same for everyone else.

 “That would have been me,” chimed in Lynn. “I contacted all of you through Mike Williamson.”

 “It seems you are the only person who knows what we are getting ourselves into,” the comment drawing attention as it came from the most quiet of the group; the tall hooded girl sitting in the back.

 “Cameron has disappeared,” informed Lynn. “I don’t have all the details yet, really just that he's in trouble. But I’m sure he’s going to need our help.”

 “I assume collecting us together makes up the who, have we an inkling towards the what and why?” contributed Ella.

 Tim piped in by saying, “Cameron saved our lives, so I’ll do whatever I can - but really, what kind of help can we be?”

 Ella voiced her worry, “My concern also.”

 “I wish I had more details,” confessed a remorseful Lynn. “But best as I can tell - it looks like Cameron needs our help. Without us; it will be bad!”

 The van’s occupants returned to being quiet as they pondered what Lynn meant. It was only a short pause before:

 “I was just tested so I could go on the airplane: I’m rated as an Exemplar four and Energizer three, and can fly - on my own - the plane was neat too. I wanted to use the code name Princess,” explained Charlotte, “but they said it was a title not a name; the poopie-heads! So I picked Excelle,” sulked Charlotte. Her expression quickly turned to a grin as she turned and poked Ella who sat beside her, “You’re it!” teased the young girl.

 “What is ‘It’?” asked Ella, confused by the expression.

 “‘It’ is your turn,” instructed Rachel. Seeing the answer didn’t register she continued, “To tell us what you can do.”

 Lynn jumped in to rescue the uncertain Were regarding how much should be revealed. “Ella, Alan and I are shape-shifters with enhanced healing abilities and above usual strength, I’m also a Pre-Cog. But we don’t have code names.”

 Rachel piped in next, “I’m a level three Psychic, and an Exemplar one. I haven’t chosen an alternate name yet.”

 “I’m a level four speedster, call me ‘Swift’,” announced Tim.

 All heads turned to the last person, seated in the van’s back. R.E.D. removed her sunglasses and pulled down the hoodie revealing the sparkling ruby red eyes and hair that looked like it was on fire - it pulsated, the effect working down the length of her hair. “I am Energizer six, and Exemplar three. Please to call me Flambé.”

 

 The Void

 Cameron outfitted everyone with a breathing apparatus and poncho; he also handed out staffs to those who asked for one. 

 Those that had undergone the recent attack had started to feel better. Cameron’s energy infused rice had imparted a replacement for that which had been stolen. Ken described to Cameron how it felt like his life was being pulled through a straw, and was grateful for Cameron interceding when he did.

 In the distance could be heard a roar like crashing waves. It was coming closer until the individual shrieks could be distinguished. The wraiths had called up reinforcements who now came at them as an angry horde.

 Oliver asked for a staff and joined the ranks that formed a circle around those like Troy and Patrica, who curled up under the ponchos.

 Cameron stepped a few feet away from the circle so he looked like an easy target, as the remaining defenders all held the staffs out to get a feel for the weapon.

 The first attackers arrived and beset upon Cameron. Although the wraiths had no solid form, contact with them was painful, feeling like a heavy slap rather than a punch. Cameron gave no resistance, daring them to bite him. When any wraith attacked him it was much to their surprise when they started to be drained of energy.

 The main body of the assault swarmed the circle of defenders. The wraiths tried to find an opening past the barrage of staffs, but any contact with the staffs to the intangible wisps elicited a scream, and the injured wraith reeled back to have its position taken by another angry attacker. 

 Cameron was slammed into repeatedly by the mob trying to unbalance him. Struggling to break free from those wraiths who were stuck to him Cameron spun, and by happenstance managed to grab onto one of the assailants by its trailing tail. He then used the captured wraith as a bludgeon by swinging it around in a circle knocking away many within the arc. Cameron pulled out a copious amount of energy in the process.

 A few of the wraith rose up over the reach of the staffs to then dive-bomb into the ring’s centre. The attack was halted by the ponchos that prevented them from attacking from behind, or getting to those huddled underneath the protective covering. Oliver turned inward and began swatting the close range targets with his staff; each blow resulted in a great howl.

 The staffs which had started out pure black started to show white, indicating the hurt that was being inflicted, but it didn’t stop the onslaught. Instead it seemed to make the wraiths madder the more energy they sacrificed through engagement.

 A number of wraiths began to crawl along the ground and managed to bite onto the unprotected legs of two of the defenders. These wavered and fell, but those wraiths were easily struck and beaten off. The weakened men were pulled into the middle of the group, and put under cover as the circle tightened up to adjust for the losses.

 A punishing blow was delivered upon Cameron who stumbled and fell to the ground. One hand held onto his staff, but his other brushed up against a nub that stuck out of the ground. To his mind it felt like a nipple. He accidentally jammed the end of his staff into the nub as he tried to stand, resulting in a loud crash sounding like shattering glass. This was followed by a shock wave that sent all the wraiths tumbling, but had no impact on the people fighting them.

 The nub then disintegrated into the grey powder that was scattered all over the ground. The defenders who witnessed what happened shouted for Cameron to hit another of the teats.

 Ken managed to give concise directions by shouting to him, “Eleven feet, head to two thirty on a clock.”

 Cameron got to his feet after knocking away some wraiths that had tried to hold him down. He walked one step at a time, planting each foot firmly to try to remain standing. 

 “One foot to your right,” Ken yelled, as he swung his staff making a solid connection. The resultant shrieking drowned out anything else he might have said.

 Cameron dropped down onto his knees and ran his hand over the ground, finding the nub. He again jabbed at it with his staff and the resulting reaction and concussive blast was even bigger, knocking the wraiths out of the air. The group of defenders shouted loudly celebrating the effect upon the wraith, rejoicing over the discovered means to fight back.

 “Another!” hollered  Cameron.

 “This way,” directed Oliver, “seven feet to the left of me!”

 As Cameron stumbled towards Oliver, two of the others left the protective ring and rushed over to two of the nubs that barely rose above the dust layer. Synchronizing the thrust of their staffs, both men jabbed simultaneously and the resulting blasts flung the wraiths further back than before.

 Once the wraiths picked themselves up out of the dust and shook off the grey powder, they howled in unison like an angry choir - showing their displeasure. None dared approach the humans, but circled and shrieked, as the defenders regrouped and strengthened the ring.

 Cameron was posed to jab another nub; he gestured his intent, which elicited a shrill from the wraiths who maintained a distance. He very slowly knelt and touched the nub, gauging that it was at least three times the size of the ones that had been destroyed.

 Returning to his feet, Cameron threw out his arm, a single finger pointing away from the group of humans to emphasize his objective - then he threatened to shatter the teat with his staff.

 The message got across, not without complaint however as the shrieking coming from the wraiths was earsplitting for a brief moment. But the wraiths did back away, their noise abating, letting Cameron know of the departure. The others watched as the wisps began slinking away into the thick grey gloom; soon all that could be heard was a faint din.

 “We won!” exclaimed Oliver, showing a large measure of disbelieve in the turn of events.

 “For now.” Ken did not want to sour the moment, but he was not ready to say the danger was past.

 “Ken’s right,” admitted Cameron. “I doubt there was even fifty spirits in that attack, what happens when there’s a hundred of them, or a thousand?”

 “We open another can o’ whup-ass on them!” encouraged Oliver.

 “We got lucky,” confessed Ken. “Cameron was on his last legs, and the same for all of us. Against greater numbers we don’t stand a chance.”

 “So we keep popping those pimples; that shook em up,” countered Troy, who had watched the battle blow by blow from safety.

 “It rattled them, but I don’t think that is what drove them off,” explained Cameron.

 “What do you mean?”

 “I suspect the nipple I was threatening is important to them.”

 “You need to explain,” came from one of the adults.

 “When I touched it, it was much larger than the others. I sensed a lot of potential energy in it.”

 “That’s why the wraiths suck on them - it’s how they feed,” surmised Ken.

 “Compared to those nipples, we’re probably just appetizers,” conceded Cameron.

 “So; what do you suggest?” asked another of the adults.

 “We stay close to this nipple, they may not attack again right away, but I believe they’ll return sooner or later.”

 

 Concord, New Hampshire.

 The courtroom finally had returned to order after repeated attempts by the court officials. It was only after a bailiff had discharged his firearm into the ceiling that the pandemonium halted.

 Emit Paulson basked in the furor that had erupted from so little tinkering; emotions were high, the stakes higher. This is exactly what the Goodkind's wanted, for Cameron’s legal case to rip apart any favourable public opinion of mutants.

 The proceedings judge called for the court session to be dismissed and resume tomorrow in order to cool everyone down; a good idea on his part. Emit decided a coffee was a suitable reward and left to find a purveyor.

 Marissa Dawson sat down at the table and let out an exhausted sigh. That last go-round had been damaging; she knew it, but couldn’t let her client see it in her eyes. Marissa had hoped to deal in facts, instead there was name calling and mud-slinging … Why did it always come down to the level of being in day-care?!

 Looking over at Elizabeth Carson, who sat with her head bowed, her breaths short and in sporadic fits. If she would have spoken you would have heard the pain. This close, Marissa could see the streaked mascara and the puffy eyelids. 

 In a soft controlled voice Liz asked, “Are they going to use that recording from my office?”

 “I’m sure of it,” admitted Marissa. 

 “I don’t understand, I’ve played it over and over, but when it happened - I heard Ronald Lundquist’s voice.”

 “Are you saying they doctored the recording?”

 “No! I had Delarose check our tapes, they’re identical. But I heard Ronald Lundquist, not Cameron Burke in the office.”

 “Liz! I’m sorry, but I can’t build a case on what you thought you heard. We’re in enough trouble.  I can’t open the door that you might be hearing voices.”

 “I should have listened to the little voice that told me not to accept Outlook’s application to Whateley. It had too many inconsistencies.”

 “Why did you? He’s not a mutant.”

 “I thought we could actually help him. He’s a hard luck case like so many of my kids; an orphan with a messed up life.”

 “You’d pick up every stray off the street.”

 “So sue me!” the smile was weak, but Liz did manage one. “Outlook was so intriguing: a power set I’d never heard off before, an odd physical condition, plus a tough medical history.”

 “I noticed he was under a psychiatrist’s care for emotional issues. I had hoped it was mental problems; that would have given me something to work with.”

 “You’d willingly exploit a person’s faults?”

 “It would depend on how serious the situation. Sometimes the moral high ground is a luxury when you’re fighting for your life… Wait!… You’ve got something don’t you!”

 “On his school application, look at the date of birth!”

 

 February 29, 2008. Outside Quebec City.

 “I can’t believe you punched me!” complained Tim, as he doctored his eye, gingerly holding the wrapped ice Marcus handed him.

 “I told you to keep your hands up!” counselled Marcus from the vans front seat. “It’s a defensive posture; then you’re ready in case your opponent leaves an opening.” Marcus was trying to ensure their sparing lesson wasn’t a complete waste.

 “I’m gonna have a black eye!”

 “It’s your own fault, you walked into it,” pointed out Rachel as she leaned forward from the seat behind to say close his ear.

 “Like you can do better,” Tim snarked back.

 “I’m not the one with a shiner,” Rachel snickered. 

 Alan laughed out-loud at that, giving his seat mate a nudge. They had mixed up the seating,  and Alan had wanted to sit with Ella, but Rachel had jumped into the van’s third row chair before he could make his move.

 “Sisters are good at pointing out the obvious,” noted Alan.

 “Tell me about it! I have two of them,” huffed a frustrated Tim, who sat back allowing the ice to rest atop his eye. “I just wanted to be better prepared; I haven’t done much fighting. What about you?”

 Alan wondered just what he should say. His heart won teller’s rights, “I’m afraid I have been in a number of battles, each worse than the one before. I desire peace but can see that it must be fought for.”

 Ella picked up on the conversation and asked her own question, directed to Lynn seated in the row behind, “Are we expecting a fight?”

 Lynn sat looking out the window giving a long ‘Hhmmm’, “I don’t know,” she gave in an apologetic tone. “I have seen when and where we need to be, but the rest isn’t clear … I’m sorry.”

 From the front seat came the suggestion, “We are all tied together by knowing Cameron, why don’t we share with each other how we met him?”

 Lynn blurted out, “Before we swap stories, Ella, Alan and I need to tell you something, it’s important. We are Were!”

 The van’s occupants mulled that over until Roche said, “About halfway between Sainte-Marie and Thetford Mines.”

 Even Ella laughed at that. Alan interjected, “It is better said that we are Were-folk. No doubt you have heard of Werewolves. Unfortunately movies and fables have painted us as bloodthirsty beasts, and that stereotype is a great misconception.”

 “You change form,” stated a nonchalant Rachel. “Ella is a fox, Alan and Lynn are panthers,” the revelation not phasing her in the slightest, although her saying so soothed her siblings.

 Charlotte on the other hand made an impassioned plea, “Show me! Show me!”

 Lynn obliged and changed to her kitten form. The tiny little puffball of black fur and amazing green eyes looked up at the young girl sitting beside her. Charlotte’s eyes went big as saucers, followed by raising her hands into small fists, and they vibrated in glee to her saying, “So Cute!!!”

 Lynn stretched before sauntering over onto Charlottes lap and flopping down. The girl was ecstatic at being able to pet the tiny cat. Tim looked questioningly at Alan and asked, “How about you?”

 Alan looked around himself to then say, “Not enough room.”

 Elle stared at Rachel, half in curiosity and half in indignation before saying, “I don’t do requests.”

 “I didn’t ask, but you want to know how I knew?” garnered Rachel. “Psychic, you can hide physically but not mentally. Before I allow you to put my family in harm’s way; what is this binding you’re trying to break?”

 

 Concord, New Hampshire.

 Emit Paulson arrived early to ensure getting a good seat in the courtroom, he wanted to sit as close to the action as possible, it allowed him to watch the lawyers - see any tells that might give away their hand. By being close he could also get a feel for their mental state, that spoke to how they assessed the hearing was going.

 The table for the State was eager, they knew they had damning evidence to present, whereas the representation for Mrs. Carson didn’t look right, it was jovial, smiles and happy. Emit was puzzled, since to him the outcome was a done deal.

 When the Judge entered and took his Dias, the room was called to order.

 Looking down at a paper the Judge’s expression shifted from grumpy to become appalled. Emit was now beyond curious, what had changed?

 The Judge spoke with a scowl, “I have a request from the defence that this hearing be dismissed. Mrs. Dawson, as counsel for the defendant, please explain your reasoning.” 

 Marissa Dawson stood to make her address, “My client has been charged with child abuse. I am drawing the court’s attention to the fact that the State has failed to demonstrate where and when such a situation occurred,” only be cut off before she could continue.

 The States Lawyer commented: “Your honour, we are prepared to submit such evidence.”

 Marissa Dawson continued, “As I was endeavouring to say, The State has failed to produce a situation of endangerment, therefor the charges of child abuse must be dropped.”

 This was a twist that caught Emit’s attention.

 Seeing that she had the judges attention, Marissa Dawson pointed out, “The State is claiming that my client willfully brought harm, by denying the basic necessities of food and shelter to an underage minor. If it pleases the court; Cameron Burke was born November 11, 1985, making him twenty-two at the time of the alleged crimes.”

 The Judge ‘hurmpt' loudly at that news, matched by the State’s lawyer quickly checking her notes.

 The State’s Lawyer approached the bench, saying, “The State acknowledges the date of Cameron Burke’s birth. But we have medical records showing that the victim had been incapacitated for seven and a half years in a coma. Cameron Burke only had thirteen years of accumulated life experience, certainly not enough to be called an adult.”

 The Judge called a break as he withdrew to his chambers, and everyone grew restless waiting for his return. After two hours, the lawyers responded to an invitation to join the judge. An hour later all parties returned to the courtroom.

 The Judge called the courtroom to quiet before addressing the room. “After deliberations and consultation, I was unable to find any precedent that allowed me to roll back the clock. On the contrary, there are many cases where a youth claims the right of majority due to demonstrating advanced development, not a reverse. I find I cannot support the State’s motion and must dismiss the charges against Mrs. Elizabeth Carson.”

 

 Mediwihla Village.

 Ben returned to his lair, lighting the lamp that burned in a holder on the small room’s wall. Stationed in the middle of the hand hewn cavern sat a table piled high with books, parchments and scrolls.

 After many days his search was bearing fruit, as he’d uncovered much on the Were’s history. Last night Eloise was shocked when he told her about why Panthers were sought as leaders among the Were. He’d at last unearthed how the binding to the seven courts had been performed, and by who! The council of elders sent a Were pantheress to make a peace treaty. It necessitated the Were swearing to be subjugated to the seven courts, what’s more, it was a blood oath.

 In-order for Ben to get as concise a history of events possible, he had called many of the leading Were houses to gather their recollections. Oral tradition allowed for variation, but the central tenant held true. The Sidhe had made a pact swearing that if the Were aligned with the Seven Courts, the Sidhe would grant protection to all the Were.

 The phone call he had with Ella last night had been unnerving, he had been surprised to speak with Eloise’s niece Lynn, from whom he had been instructed to make the necessary arrangements. These were as dictated by the old ways, and supported in the texts he’d researched.

 Ben had gone earlier in the day to seek an audience with the Grove, he had spent many hours conferring with the conifers. He had to present his request succinctly as there is no beating around the bush with a bunch of bushes. But it was successful! The grove agreed to host a parlance to air a grievance.

 Sitting back down to his desk Ben rechecked his writings, ensuring it was all in order. A mistake now would carry penalties. His hand shook as he dipped the quill into the ink pot and scratched out the last remaining words onto the velum.

 He gave the documents to the duly appointed messengers and bid them haste. If Lynn was right, and he had every reason to believe she was, timing was critical. His assignment done, Ben breathed a sigh in relief; he could now afford to relax and give attention to what he’d found. He hoped Cameron was okay, from what Lynn revealed there was reason to worry.

 

End of Chapter 4