an X-Men story by Rajiv Mote'
74123.1146@compuserve.com
Charles Xavier's muscles strained as one hand pushed against the countertop, and the other fumbled for the cabinet handle. He shifted his weight and pushed himself up, gaining the extra inch needed to grasp it. But suddenly, the wheelchair slid back, the handle pulled out of the cabinet door, and with a thump, Charles fell to the kitchen tiles.
"Professor!" He felt himself being lifted, without being touched, and placed gently back in his chair. "Charles, are you hurt?" The soft red locks of Jean's hair brushed against his nose and lips as she leaned over him, smoothing his jacket and centering him in the wheelchair.
"No, Jean, I'm all right," he said, dismissively. "I'm just not used to this chair."
"I'm sure Forge is almost finished with his repairs. I could..."
"Please, Jean. It's all right. Just... There is some tea in the top cupboard. Could you bring it down?" He sensed her concern reining itself in. She understood.
"Of course, Charles." She screwed the handle back into the cabinet, located the tin of tea, and placed it on the counter.
Xavier took a kettle from the lower cupboard. "Can I make you a cup?"
"No, thank you. Warren and Betsy somehow convinced that husband of mine to go out dancing with us--we're leaving now." She laughed. "Honestly, I didn't think Scott even knew how to dance..."
Xavier sensed a fleeting flash of guilt from Jean over her words, just before she managed to mask it. He inwardly sighed. She should know better. "Have a wonderful time," he said, putting as much warmth into his thoughts and words as he could muster.
"Thank you. Charles." She didn't ask
him if he needed anything. She understood.
The mansion seemed particularly quiet that night. The psionic ether usually rippled with the thoughts of the mutants who called the place home. But not tonight. Most of the mansion's residents were out, taking advantage of a rare peace, when the X-Men weren't required to save the world. Charles wondered if nights like these, when mutants could go and partake of the everyday joys of a normal life, did more to further his Dream than any of the battles against the would-be conquerors and madmen. Bringing humanity together against a common threat was simple compared to fostering harmony in times of peace. Charles was glad that in preparing his students for the worst the world could bring, he hadn't stifled their ability to enjoy its best.
So it troubled him that on an evening like this, when the only responsibility was to savor the peace, he felt as empty as his mansion.
Charles wondered why he couldn't share his students'
happiness, as he often shared their pain. Erik had once said
that a part of him resented his students for having what he didn't.
No--that wasn't Erik; it was only a dream. It had been many
years since he had spoken to his one-time friend outside of a
battle. And the last time they met, he had used his powers to
destroy his friend's mind. For the good of the world. "So
do I also resent the world, Erik, for denying me a friend with
whom to share this tea?"
He wheeled himself out onto the terrace, which commanded a view of Breakstone Lake, at the edge of the estate. Charles fixed the sensation of the evening breeze in his mind. Such subtle tactile sensations were generally lost in his astral form. He took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, Charles Xavier's consciousness rose out of his body. An exhilarating sensation of release accompanied the departure; by comparison, his body felt like dead weight.
And then he ran. The sensation was barely more than a memory of running, but the illusion was enhanced by the trees and hills rushing past his spectral form. The strides of his astral legs quickly crossed the distance between the terrace and the lake, and without pausing, carried him out over the water. From the middle of the lake, the landscape was unobstructed by buildings or trees. Just black, rippling water below his feet, in all directions. In the distance behind him, the mansion was dark.
Perhaps it is time to move on. The thought seemed like his own. A telepath of lesser experience might have thought it his own, but Charles felt the resonance through the psychic ether--a resonance that didn't quite match his own. In less than a heartbeat, his astral form was encased in psionic armor. His mind cut a swath through the ether, probing.
You never could abandon the physical manifestations, my student. Again, the thought echoed through his mind as though it were his own. This time, Charles thought he recognized its pattern. It was a pattern he never expected to feel again.
"Dharmapada-ji?" Charles's mind continued to sweep the ether, trying to localize the resonance. It seemed to be everywhere at once. He could detect no astral presence anywhere.
If this will make you more comfortable, Xavier-rao,
I can oblige. A portion of the ether seemed to coalesce,
and the image of a man hovered above the water. He was an Indian,
with dark, wrinkled skin, wild white hair, and a long, unkempt
beard, also white. He was clothed in the robes of an ascetic,
and his limbs hung rigidly at his side. His face was expressionless.
"Your mind holds so many questions." The thought came
from the image, though its features remained frozen. "The
offer I have come to make you will answer all of them."
Xavier only stared, his questions silenced before he had voiced them. Vasant Dharmapada. Years ago, when a younger Charles Xavier first faced Amahl Farouk, the man who would become the Shadow King, Charles came to a realization. Though he had won the battle, the episode convinced him of the need to learn how to use the vast psionic power at his command. With the existence of homo superior only recently becoming known, Charles had only rumors to follow. He followed them to India, where he met Guru Vasant Dharmapada and became his disciple. Dharmapada taught a form of meditation to the "gifted," but Xavier recognized it as something else: telepathy.
"But you rejected my teachings, did you not, Xavier-rao?" The features of Dharmapada's image began to animate, and his lips began moving with the projected thoughts, though not entirely matching them. "You will excuse me. It has been many years since I have made use of a body."
Charles made his armor vanish. He folded his intangible hands in respectful greeting. "Namaste, Guru-ji. You taught me discipline, and focus. You inspired my mission as a teacher of mutants. And most importantly, you taught me to open my mind to the rest of humanity--to its joy and its pain. For that I am eternally grateful. But your way was to try to escape from the world you showed me. After touching the heart of the world, and having it touch mine, I couldn't accept that. I felt bound to the world. Responsible to it."
"The world is a trap, my student, as is the flesh. I had thought you ready for that realization, but I was mistaken at the time. Now, I sense, you may be more ready. Even now you seek to escape the material world. Look at yourself, Xavier-rao. Could you be here in the body you possess?"
Charles looked down at the gentle waves beneath his feet, and winced in embarrassment.
"Pretentions? Perhaps," Dharmapada replied to Charles's unvoiced thoughts. "Even untrained, those many years ago, you were far stronger than ever I was. But despite your power, you are still a man. I have come to offer you a chance to become something much, much more. To free yourself from the shackles of the world, and to know the Truth. To join with it. You would not be alone, Charles. There are others, like me, who have crossed over. They will welcome you as kindred. In particular, Amahl Farouk wishes to make amends."
For a moment, Xavier's astral form flickered with shock. "Amahl Farouk? You've encountered the Shadow King? Dharmapada-ji, he is a creature of pure evil--you must..."
"He was, Xavier-rao. But no longer. I have seen his mind, laid bare before me. He crossed over when your students severed his connection with the corporeal world. Released from those bonds, he found the Truth, Charles, and it changed him. He regrets his crimes, particularly those against you. He has seen into your mind, and at last, he understands you. He only wishes you to see into his mind, to understand him as he does you. And to forgive him."
The Shadow King. "It's a trick, Dharmapada. He's using you to get revenge on me." Instinctively, Charles probed the image, searching for signs of deception.
"That is fear speaking, Charles. Amahl has changed. It is the core of your beliefs and hopes that the Truth can change a man, for the better. Let me show you the reality of that belief. The recent years have not been kind to your Dream. I can see the doubt and fear--it clings to you like creepers on a wall, eroding away your strength. I only want to clear those doubts away--to give you peace. You have fought long and hard. You have earned it."
Farouk. The Shadow King. The monster who fed off of the world's hate. Who turned his students against one another. Who took my legs. "What do you mean, that he found the Truth? What are you offering, Dharmapada-ji?"
"Wisdom, Xavier-rao. Knowledge and understanding beyond human comprehension. A chance to apprehend the world through every mind, to understand it from every perspective, as a whole. You had a taste of it when I taught you to touch the heart of the world. But there is much more. The mind cannot contain the Truth in its totality, so you must transcend the mind. Leave it behind. Now, you move through the ether. The next step is to become one with it. I can guide you, Charles."
"Guru-ji, that is the greatest danger a telepath faces-to open his mind too far. That road leads to madness."
"The danger lies in the duality to which you cling. The Individual is at odds with the Universal. Through severing the link with the flesh-through transcending the duality, you become a part of a reality far greater than the one you know."
"Severing my link with the flesh…" That had happened to the Shadow King, before he found a human host. The notion was terrifying, existing as a ghost, without substance, the only sensations more like phantoms of memory. But with the knowledge that Dharmapada promised, he could do so much more for his students. For his cause…
"No, Xavier-rao." There was a hint of sadness in Dharmapada's thoughts. "To return to this world once you have crossed over is to risk the madness of which you spoke. It is only through the power of your own mind that I was able to contact you in this way, and still I risk much. But you have reached a point where my teachings can help you. I could not ignore that."
"I cannot leave my students." Again. "I have no use for the wisdom you offer if it will not help them."
"The Truth is not a tool to be used by men as they please. It is a goal towards which we all reach. You have made it your mission to help others along the Path even though you, yourself, know only a small portion. Despite your ignorance you have done as well as any human could, given the limitations. But your students have grown now, and are ready to walk the Path on their own. The next generation is in trusted hands. Others abound to carry out your earthly work. It is time for you, too, to move on. To be among your own kind. To be happy, Charles."
You mean my students no longer need me. Other than his students, Charles could count his close friends-his peers-on the fingers of one hand. Charles's astral eyes flickered back to the hulking form of the mansion, looming at the other end of the estate. Dark and empty.
"There is little time for me to guide you, Xavier-rao. I cannot remain for much longer. Once you cross over, though you will not be able to speak to them, you can place the understanding of your choice in your students' minds. But time is short."
Xavier turned his gaze from the mansion. "Show
me, Guru-ji."
Like ripples from a stone in a pond, Charles Xavier's consciousness expanded through the ether, and like that stone, he felt his identity falling away. As it did, his astral body began losing cohesion, dissipating along the ethereal waves. He felt a flash of panic; but even this feeling was becoming distant. Dharmapada's astral form had already vanished, though Charles could feel his resonance permeating the ether. Flow with it, Xavier-rao. Make the ether your new body. Join with it. The thought could have been his own. It was growing difficult to determine which thoughts were his own. There were only thoughts, hundreds of thousands of them, belonging to no one-to everyone, pressing against the psyche he could still identify as his own.
And he felt a heaviness. Something monstrously strong was coalescing around him. Waves of raw psionic power buffeted him with images and emotions. It came at him in a torrent. He could identify only fragments as they raged around and through him. Shame. Hatred. Despair. Regret? He recognized the faces of his X-Men. Of Moira. Of David, his son.
It was Amahl Farouk. The Shadow King. He forgot-how could he have forgotten?--that Farouk awaited him here. Do not fight! Release your hold on the physical world, and you will understand! To resist is to be trapped on the brink, to succumb to the madness! The thought could have been his own. Or Dharmapada's. Or the Shadow King's.
"No!" Xavier's mental scream ripped through
the ether as he pulled his consciousness inward, rebuilding himself
through sheer effort of will. The scream drowned out the encroaching
thoughts, and he felt the ether churn. Then, the pressure and
cacophony of thought receded, and he felt a flood of sensation
as his perception of the physical world returned.
The leather and steel of the wheelchair felt cold against his neck and hands. Of the Shadow King or Dharmapada, Charles could sense no trace. He swallowed and shut his eyes as his breathing returned to normal. Had it been a trap? Or had Dharmapada been right-he was too afraid. Too afraid to learn the truth. Too afraid of Amahl Farouk, even to forgive him. I'm only human. But Dharmapada had offered him the chance to become something more. And like Magneto, or Apocalypse, I tried to place myself above humanity, to escape the burden of being 'only human.' To escape the uncertainty, the fear, the alienation. He shifted his weight in the wheelchair. The limitations.
A crisp breeze blew in from over the lake, carrying the scent of pine that grew along the waterfront. The purple on the horizon deepened into black overhead, dotted with shimmering points of starlight. Charles warmed the tea in his cup with more from the kettle, and took a slow sip. Behind him, a light turned on in the hallway. "A lovely evening, Charles. The ideal accompaniment for that particular blend of Darjeeling."
Charles smiled at the scholarly lilt of his colleague
and former student's baritone voice. "A very lovely evening,
Henry. Please, share it with me."
END.