For Disclaimers & Author’s notes, see Darkning Storm.

Date: September 22, 2002 (re-edit & hopefully the last one)

Rating: NC-17 (for violence): Warning: Section 2 contains a graphic Black Magic ceremony with animal sacrifice, which may be disturbing to sensitive readers. This scene is not meant to either condone, nor accurately portray, Black Magic ritual or animal sacrifice.

THE DARKNING STORM SAGA: PART ONE

THE GATHERING STORM

By Denise Engi

I

          That which does not change, dies.

          Including the human race.

          Throughout it’s history, humanity has changed and grown. From Neanderthal to Cro-Magnon, from Cro-Magnon to Homo Sapiens. And from there to...what?

          All of these changes have been the result of evolution. And evolution is the result of mutation. Some mutations are lethal, generally resulting in death soon after birth. Some are innocuous, such as the mutation resulting in red hair. And some are drastic, and powerful.

          Like the one that allows a certain middle-aged man to have control over magnetism - like Magneto. Or the one that allows a young woman control of the elements - like Storm. Or the one that results in substantially enhanced senses controlled, in part, by a symbiotic companion - like the Sentinel/Guide pairings.

II

Three Years After The Press Conference

          Thirteen men and women were gathered around a fire pit set in the center of a group of tents in a remote wilderness. They talked and laughed just like any thirteen men and women on any ordinary camping trip. But this was no ordinary camping trip, nor were these ordinary men and women. They were all tall, strong, agile, and athletically-built, and they called themselves “Shadow Sentinels”. And what they talked and laughed about wasn’t ordinary, either.

          Blonde-haired Althea Barrett laughed at stocky, red-haired Jeremy Groats’s disparaging description of the residents of the hick burg he’d grown up in, and the way he was going to enslave them all - as soon as the Shadow Sentinels came into their power.

          Althea Barrett had once been known as Alexis “Alex” Barnes, a.k.a. Alicia Bannister, thief and murderer. But Alex Barnes had “died” at Washington State Psychiatric Hospital. She’d “officially” died of cardiac and respiratory arrest while in a comatose state. But her “death” had actually been a ruse arranged by Dr. Martinez, in order to accomplish half-formed plans of his own. So he had spent a goodly sum of money to fake her death and move Alex to a private facility owned by a cousin, where he’d previously done the same for another patient of his, a Guide named Victoria Ferris, once known as Veronica Sarris. He’d introduced “Victoria” to “Althea”, hoping they’d be compatible.

          The match had been a success.

          However, it had taken months of work for Victoria to bring Althea out of her zone-out and back to sanity - or as much sanity as she ever possessed. Then, more months had gone into training her to use and control her senses.

          During her zone-out, a discovery had been made: Althea Barrett was pregnant.

          Five months into the pregnancy, Althea had regained enough lucidity to understand her condition. She’d been horrified. Yes, she remembered the strong mating impulse that had driven her to take Sentinel James Ellison while he was drugged and unresisting in the Temple. But that didn’t mean she actually wantedthe child that nature demanded she bear.

          Just after the baby’s birth, Dr. Martinez had paid a relative in Cascade to steal a blood sample from Detective Ellison, and had performed the DNA test which confirmed the boy-child was his. Upon realizing how high the probability was that the child would be a Sentinel, too, Althea had willingly turned the baby over to another cousin of Carlos’, who had two children of their own who showed high Guide-potential. She didn’t want the child, but she wished him no harm, either.

          ********************************************************

          But Carlos was more than just Evan’s Guide and Althea’s and Victoria’s benefactor. He had an ulterior motive. For a tradition in Black Arts magic ran in his family, too. And among the things he’d learned were spells and rituals aimed at gaining dominion over others. So Carlos had studied these especially closely, and when he knew all there was to know about one of the paths to power that he’d found, he had begun gathering the other eleven Warrior-Spirits (Sentinels) and eleven Mage-Spirits (Guides) that would be necessary for the summoning of the powers they sought.

          The Sentinels and their Guides had been recruited over the course of three years to summon powerful Dark forces to take over the United States.

          Unfortunately, most of those three years had been spent with all of the female Sentinels (except Althea) and all of the female Guides pregnant at one time or another.

          For the mating urge that Alex Barnes/Althea Barrett had experienced was evidently “normal” for both Sentinels and Guides. Dr. Martinez had first thought to prevent the pregnancies - until they’d discovered the hard way that that only meant the mating drive continued until conception occurred. Worse yet, they’d lost one male Sentinel in a fight to the death with another for mating rights to one of the female Sentinels. But Dr. Martinez hadn’t found enough deviant (in other words, those born without the “normal”strong protective instincts) Sentinel/Guide pairs of the same gender to avoid such problems - which only highlighted the fact that there weren’t enough Sentinel/Guide pairs period, and since there is only one way to make more Sentinels and Guides...Dr. Martinez eventually gave up and just let nature take it’s course and have done with it as quickly as possible. The result had been three more Sentinel-bred infants and four Guide-bred infants (one of the Guides had had twins). The family stories Carlos remembered gave two conflicting time-tables for the “mating” cycles - one said it only happened once in a life-time, the other said it happened once every five years. Either way, however, there was now enough time to set aside the full year needed to accomplish their goals. (Provided, of course, that either of the stories was true and this didn’t happen, say, once a year.)

          ********************************************************

          Now, finally, they were here to take the first step; to set into motion the events which would, in a year’s time, result in a psychic cataclysm that would plunge the population into chaos. Tonight was the first of twelve rituals, all to be performed at the dark of the moon so that the Balance of the Universe would be at it’s darkest phase.

          The Shadow Sentinels were ready to do their part in tonight’s ritual. They waited only on the Mage/Guides, who were finishing their preparations.

          The Mages had spent the day meditating and gathering what they’d need for the ritual: certain plants and the small animal to be used as sacrifice for the dark powers they’d be calling forth.

          Now, all was in readiness. Dr. Martinez whispered a summons to his Sentinel.

          At Carlos’ signal, tall, thin, blond-haired Evan Gifford passed the summons to the other Shadow Sentinels, who left the warmth of the fire, donned their night-black robes with the blood-red trim at hem and cuffs of sleeves, and gathered in a circle surrounding the thirteen mages who, in turn, stood around a stone altar.

          The Sentinels stood guard outside the protective circle cast around the mages, while the mages performed their ritual and sacrifice.

          First, a rhythmic chant in a guttural language floated into the air. Incense smoke and then spurting blood followed, as they sacrificed a black cat, making sure some of the blood touched them all as it drained from the creature: first, Carlos himself brought the knife down, shallowly piercing the animal’s flank - for it wouldn’t do for the cat to die too soon. After him, Robert Garvey, a short, brown-haired accountant for the mob, approached the altar. He stared at the creature as it struggled helplessly in the ropes, the small heart beating wildly against his fingers where he grapped hold of it. He licked his lips nervously and felt guilty about killing a beautiful, creature such as this. But he finally took the sharp knife to it, letting some of the blood fall on his hands. Then, Victoria Ferris stepped up to the altar. She had no qualms about what was happening, and quickly sliced the animal along it’s ribs. One by one, all thirteen Guide-Mages took their knives to the now-weakly thrashing cat: Rugged, scarred Jack Takashimi; short, blond Ulla Von Hyden... The blood pooled on the altar in sticky puddles and dripped down the sides onto the ground, and the stench awakened a battle-lust in the surrounding Sentinels.

          When they were finished, Carlos finally put the creature out of it’s misery by administering the death-stroke. He slit it’s throat. Then, they re-formed their circle, awaiting the response to their offering.

          A sudden, eerie silence fell upon the clearing. The Sentinels glanced around uneasily, though the Guides seemed pleased by the unnatural stillness. Then, a gust of wind shook the nearby trees and brought a nauseating scent of decay through the circle of Sentinels. They shuddered and made noises of disgust, but held their ground, keeping their watch over their vulnerable partners. A slight trembling shook the earth. Then, a blood-red glow suffused the blood and the corpse on the altar. The glow spread outward, bathing the mages, who closed their eyes and basked rapturously in the power they’d raised. They absorbed the power like the desert sand hungrily absorbs the infrequent rain.

          Soon, it was over. The glow faded. The wind died. The normal woodland activities resumed as nocturnal creatures moved about the business of life.

          Ecstatic at their success in summoning this first level power - which would give them the strength to continue on to the next level - the mages de-constructed the magic circle which had protected them from outside influences and kept in the energies they wielded.

          Then, the sybaritic celebration began.

          But in the shadows outside the firelight that played over the men and women in their orgiastic feast, Robert Garvey sat alone, contemplating evil, and wondering how he’d gotten himself talked into this. And what to do about it.

III

          But the universe is a place of balances - even at this dark ebb. Darkness surrounds Light which in turn encompasses Darkness, separate but inseparable, a part of each other but apart. And the dark energies which began the process of awakening even more powerful darknesses also evoked certain light energies.

          The Light thus stirred sought to shift the balance to stability again, by seeking the necessary Warrior-Spirits and Shaman-Spirits.

          That night, eighteen people around the country had a peculiar dream. For each, it was similar, but not completely the same. Still, while the symbols were different, the symbolism all said the same thing:

          Jungle.

          Night.

          In blue-tinged light, the powerful black panther stalked through the under-brush. A silvery wolf loped easily by his side. They were headed towards a nearby temple. The Temple of the Sentinels. They didn’t know why they were compelled to go there, just that they were.

          Upon arriving at the foot of the crumbling stone steps, the panther stopped and sat alertly. The wolf took the great cat’s lead and sat also. Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of them, beside the steps. It was Incacha, the deceased Chopec shaman that had been Jim Ellison’s temporary guide when he’d been stranded in the Peruvian jungle. Incacha had guided the Sentinel, then called Enqueri, until Ellison’s rescue eighteen months later. Ellison had several times since then been called to this place - the spirit plane - for the guidance meant to help with Ellison’s spiritual advancement in his role as Sentinel and Guardian of his people. But rarely was Ellison, as the black panther, here with his permanent Guide, anthropologist Blair Sandburg, in the form of his spirit guide, the wolf. Upon sighting Incacha, the panther glanced at the wolf askance, wondering if he understood what was happening. But the wolf only glanced back with puzzlement.

          Incacha didn’t leave them much time for speculation, however, as he gestured towards the blank, black doorway into the temple. The doorway suddenly filled with thick storm clouds. They were peculiar clouds, however, for they were white, not the black thunderclouds the panther and wolf were used to. Then lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, but it was no ordinary lightning, either. For this lightning was black, and smelled of decay instead of ozone. The sensitive panther wrinkled it’s nose at the stench.

          A sudden, blindingly black “darkning” strike, and the panther and wolf abruptly found themselves in an alley just outside their home in Cascade, Washington, where their “tribe” lived.

          The panther was still disgusted by a terrible smell, but this time, the culprit wasn’t the unnatural darkning. This seemed to be all around them. The wolf seemed to understand this, and made to touch his paw to the panther to ground him so he could extend his senses and trace the source of the smell. However, as the wolf lifted his paw from the wet pavement, he realized that the wetness wasn’t from the rain that was seemingly ever-present in Cascade at this time of the year, but from blood. The wolf glanced from his blood-reddened foot down to the cement, and saw that the blood was everywhere, dribbling and spreading into the alley from the street. The wolf looked at the panther, who’d followed his glance from the paw to the alley floor. Together, they advanced to the alley mouth and out into the street. What they saw there appalled them both.

          There were bodies strewn everywhere. In doorways, on the sidewalk, in the street. The bodies were intermingled with the burnt - or still burning - wreckage of cars, and of furniture and clothing and various other items dropped by looters. The panther had been so overpowered by the smell of blood that nothing else had registered. However, it did now, and the panther shook it’s great head and sneezed, as though that would push away the overwhelming reek.

          Besides the sights and smells there were also sounds - screams and sirens and wails of despair. And above it all, the darkning storm raged, the white clouds rolled and a strange, high-pitched, staccato thunder skipped through the air. The black darkning flashes occasionally struck the roofs of buildings, the tops of trees, and various items on the ground.

          The panther glanced to the wolf. The wolf’s eyes showed his horror at what they were experiencing. The wolf glanced up. Somehow, he knew that the death and destruction they were seeing was a result of the storm overhead. He glanced back at the black leopard, seeing the knowing reflected in his eyes. There was something else, too. Resolve. The feline and the canine gazed back upon the bodies and debris in the streets, and knew they would fight it however they must.

          ********************************************************

          In Detroit, a Rottweiler glanced back at a deer that stumbled gracelessly but still ran valiantly towards the storm.

          On the other side of the mountains from Cascade, in Twin Peaks, Washington, it was a dragon-fly and a beaver that answered the call.

          In Los Angeles, California, a hawk and a coyote took up the challenge.

          In all, nine established Sentinel/Guide pairs around the country experienced the vision/dream; called to do something to stop the horrors that were approaching with the gathering storm.

          However, only six pairs determined to enter the fight. Only six pairs with both the ability and the willingness to become the other half of the equation - the balance between the Dark and the Light.

          Seven more pairs were needed. And that pre-supposed that all six pairs survived to enter the fight. And that was not a sure thing, for the Dark was strong, and getting stronger.

          The Light searched for and found others, but their power was latent. That power would have to be awakened. But only by choice, for choice is a consequence of free will, and many religions respected that (even the Holy Bible of the Christians says that the Virgin Mary was offered the choice whether to become the mother of the Messiah). And so, the latent ones, whoever they were, whatever Creator they believed in, had to be given the choice.

          That same night, twenty more people around the country had a peculiar dream. The symbols were different for each, but the symbolism was the same:

          Dark of night, and a majestic, reddish-gold lion stood atop the Hollywood Hills and looked down upon the lights of the city of Los Angeles.

          Strangely, the lion’s senses seemed...muffled; dull. His hearing low - only the closest night sounds registered; his vision short - as though everything was shrouded in fog; his touch numb - the ground beneath his feet seemed light and distant; taste bland - as though the wind was filtered somehow; smell dull - as though the landscape were artificial: no scent of green grass or flowering trees. And, lastly, there was no sense of the life-force or presence of anything nearby.

          Suddenly, an unfamiliar man was standing beside the lion, in what appeared to be native clothing of some kind, and carrying a spear.

          ‘What’s happening?’ The lion thought.

          ‘Your senses are perfectly normal - for a human.’ The native told him. The lion started, surprised at this communication, but the native continued, ‘But they could be so much more.’

          And suddenly, the lion’s senses all came alive. He listened to the sounds of the night and heard an owl’s feathers rustling as it soared in the breeze - and, looking up, he saw the bird land in a tree...almost a mile away. He focused on the ground below the tree - and saw an insect in the grass. He could hear it chewing on a leaf. And, vaguely, if he concentrated hard enough, the lion could see the bright spark of life within all living things.

          Then, a taste of rain in the air and a scent of decay came to him upon an errant breeze, and the lion focused on something approaching on the distant horizon. It looked like a storm - but unlike any storm he’d ever known. For this storm seemed to have it’s colors reversed, like looking at a video negative. The clouds were white, the thunder high-pitched and staccato instead of deep and rolling, and the flashes of lightning that streaked from cloud to cloud were black. The lightning...no, darkning storm, approached slowly, but inexorably.

          ‘Right now,’ the native interjected, ‘the storm’s barely visible even to your enhanced sight, but this storm will come soon enough, and will bring with it death and destruction such as even the worst natural storm can never do. And when it does, behold!’

          The lion saw what would happen if the storm came. He saw:

          Men, women, and children running through the streets like packs of wild animals - taking, maiming, raping for the pleasure of it.

          Oldsters curled up in dark corners - their despair a palpable miasma that the lion could smell in the air.

          Blood, staining doorsteps, flowing in gutters, dripping from the fingers of blood-maddened people who ran wildly looking for someone else to tear apart.

          Flames licked and devoured shops, houses, and people, like a hungry monster come to call.

          Crashes and sirens, screams and wails of terror and despair bounced and echoed amongst the burned-out, shattered buildings.

          The streets emptied of all but debris and the battered husks of cars and lives.

          The taste and feel of death and decay hung over the city like a fog.

          ‘Only a True Sentinel, dedicated to the Light, can stop this from coming to pass.’ The native commented.

          ‘Sentinel?’ The lion thought, confused.

          ‘Your senses, enhanced as they are now - all six of them - along with certain privileges granted only to a True Sentinel.’ The man answered. ‘But beware, for there are unique weaknesses to go with the unique strengths - the possibility of becoming lost in one sense, or going insane from so much coming in at you. And once given, this gift - and curse - can not be taken back. But fear not, for you will have help in coping with the afflictions inherent in being a Sentinel. Behold, your Guide!’

          And the lion looked down, into the shattered city, and saw:

          A hummingbird, which flitted from person to person, desperately trying to help, to heal. Staunching the flow of blood from a man’s head wound, splinting an arm on a child, comforting a battered woman. The hummingbird worked in growing despair, knowing he could never heal them all, knowing he had to try anyway.

          Finally, it was too much for the hummingbird, and, heart-sick and in desperation, he launched himself into the sky, soaring above the city, searching for help, finding none.

          ‘None?’ The native’s voice whispered to the despondent hummingbird. ‘Yes, help is nigh. Behold!’

          And the hummingbird looked, and saw the lion perched on the hilltop.

          “Help me!” The hummingbird cried, and the lion knew he should recognize the voice, but at this moment it didn’t matter. Only what was said mattered. “Help me to help them!”

          And the lion knew he had to help - knew he could help, no matter the cost. But not from up here. He had to get down into the city. But how? For, instead of the gently rolling hills that were supposed to be here, there was a steep, vertical cliff.

          “I can’t get down!” The lion cried, as he paced frantically back and forth along the tall cliff edge. The hummingbird knew he should recognize the voice, but at this moment it didn’t matter. Only what was said mattered. Without thinking, without wondering why the idea didn’t seem ludicrous, the hummingbird flew swiftly towards the lion pacing at the top of the cliff. Upon his arrival, the hummingbird hovered just at the level of the top of the cliff and said,

          “Climb on my back. I’ll take you down.”

          “You’ll what?” The lion said, disbelieving. Still it did not occur to the hummingbird to think the idea impossible.

          “Trust me!” The hummingbird told the lion with absolute confidence, and again the lion thought the hummingbird’s voice familiar. At least, he knew somehow that he knew and trusted the hummingbird, in another world.

          And the lion took a leap - or a step, at any rate - of faith. The huge, proud lion stepped off the cliff, and onto the back of the humble hummingbird.

          The hummingbird faltered a bit as the lion found his balance, and the hummingbird braced himself against the unfamiliar weight.

          Then, the hummingbird opened up his spirit, and soared.

          Sure and true, they flew. But not down into the city. No, that was not what needed to be done. Not yet, anyway. There would be a time for that, later. For now, treating the symptoms, the hummingbird knew, wasn’t enough. Instead, they must go to the heart of the matter. They must stop the storm.

          ********************************************************

          All over the country, twenty people all had a similar dream. The city changed, as did the animal spirits. But the dream of a darkning storm carrying death and destruction with it did not.

          In Colorado, a German Shepherd with flecks of grey in his muzzle headed unerringly out of a mountain cavern, an owl soaring above him.

          In Miami, Florida, a butterfly came forth.

          In all, of those who experienced the vision, eight Warrior-Spirits and nine Shaman-Spirits answered the call.

          But the Light knew that not all of them would make it to the final battle. Hopefully, though, there would be enough.

          If not, then the country was doomed.

End of Part One