Work Text:
Natasha studied the Dark Altar before her with an outward calm in direct contrast to her roiling nerves. She had been trained to distance her mind from danger, sorrow, pain, and fear - but hope still mastered her, and this shrine, recorded in some archives as "Cassandra's Altar", held a powerful promise.
"You are sure?" the Priestess asked.
"Yes," Wanda answered for Natasha, her Red Jewels prominently displayed to offset her obvious youth. "You must light the candles in the order I have given you."
Still uncertain, the Priestess shrugged in acquiescence. As Natasha knew from other attempts, if the ritual were incorrect, the worst to come would be a minor backlash of power, from which Wanda could easily shield the lighter-Jewelled Priestess.
They had failed many times. In the last four thousand years, Natasha doubted that many from Terreille, Hell, or Kaeleer had even tried.
They watched the Priestess in silence as she slightly adjusted the candles in the pattern Wanda had laid out, then began to light them, accompanying the action with soft murmurs and gestures.
As the last candle caught, Natasha focused her eyes on the stone wall beyond them. In the past, when she had travelled through a Gate between Realms, this was when the wall would fade into darkness. This time, however, it subtly brightened, taking on a strange, deep indigo that sparked and shimmered like the darkness at the back of one's eyes.
"Thank you, Priestess," Natasha said, stepping forward.
"Let me test it -" Wanda said.
"No. Add your shields to mine, but I suspect all but the weakest probes would be considered hostility."
Her vision was tinted with rose for a moment as Wanda's Red shields settled over her own and vanished from sight.
"Good luck, then," Wanda said, adding Craft to her words.
Natasha acknowledged this with a brief nod, and stepped through the Gate.
On the far side, she felt steel pressed against her skin - as if the shields were nothing - before her eyes cleared. She waged a silent war within herself to stand still and wait, rather than attacking on the instant. But she breathed freely, and felt blood run down her neck. That, too, would serve her - as Blood would call to Blood.
Not blood, in the end, but a name and a face secured her passage to Wakanda's throne room. Natasha could well appreciate how few of the Blood from her own Realm of Terreille had had the chance to stand there. Those who had heard of Wakanda at all knew it was isolate by choice - since the time of the Witch Storm, four thousand years before.
She was surprised to be greeted there not by a Queen, but by a Warlord with a sense of authority beyond his rank.
"Natasha of Terreille." He inclined his head. "I am T'Challa. You claim to have saved the life of a Wakandan in Terreille."
"In return, I asked her name," Natasha agreed. "It was Nakia."
He glanced up - not merely in surprise, but to a point above Natasha's head. A musical laugh came from behind her, and she realised a mezzanine floor overlooked the audience room.
"She is correct," Nakia said. "Well-met, Natasha - if your purpose here is honest."
"I am seeking information," Natasha said. She had marked Nakia as a spy the moment she had seen her; she knew that there was no such thing as mere information. But she had much more to say.
"It is recorded that Wakanda came into being when Witch unleashed a storm across the Realms. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"Another storm is coming," Natasha said. "It comes from the Dark Realm, and from one who now styles himself the Lord of Hell."
"Saetan has returned from the Darkness?" He was well-informed. And rightly incredulous - as far as Natasha knew, it was impossible.
"No. This Lord styles himself Thanos. He claims that the Realms have become tainted again, and must be cleansed, the Blood reduced only to the best of us again."
"Surely a male of the Blood, whatever his race, does not have the power Witch unleashed."
"He seeks Twilight's Dawn," Natasha answered. "If he finds it, he will have all the power he needs."
No quirk of incredulity now; no laughter from above.
"I bring warning," Natasha said. "But it is my hope that yours, of all the Realms and regions, needs no warning. Whatever magic created and protected Wakanda two thousand years ago - and set it apart from the Realms - I beg you to share it."
T'Challa regarded her soberly.
"This requires conference," he said. "Await our word." She bowed at the dismissal - though he was no Queen, he surely spoke on a Queen's behalf - and turned to be led away by his guards.
"What do you think of her, Nakia?"
They were alone in the throne room again, Nakia having descended to the dais.
"She is not tainted, but nor is she revealing all she knows." Nakia sighs. "Even now, I wonder if the peril she saved me from was something she also created - but I think not. I think, in that case, she would not have come alone."
"Do you trust her?"
Nakia smiled. "No. Not yet."
T'challa spread his hands. "Then we must send her away empty-handed. Above all, we must not reveal Wakanda's true origin."
It seemed that in Terreille, Wakanda's history had been imperfectly transmitted. It seemed the Realm of Light believed that Wakanda had been spared the witch storm - that some rarefied Craft or great sacrifice had permitted them to shield all of their people from its effects, at the same time sealing Wakanda off from its home Realm of Kaeleer so that it could only be reached, as Natasha had, through a Gate from another Realm.
This was not true.
Wakanda was a nation of survivors. In the witch storm, many had died, vanished as if they'd never been. Those that remained had fled a wide, indefensible land, and taken to the mountains; there, the feline Kindred had taken pity on them. It had taken two generations for human and feline Blood to construct the Craft that would isolate Wakanda.
Which meant that they could not be sure Wakanda would be safe from a second witch storm.
"It seems that the outside world threatens us again," T'Challa said lightly, feeling even more the burden of bridging the gap between a retired Queen and one yet too young to rule.
"It has concerned us more and more in recent decades," Nakia replied just as lightly, with just as much weight behind her words.
He nodded firmly, her comment solidifying his own opinions. "This is my decision. Go with her to Kaeleer - and Hell if you must. Find out more about Thanos, and satisfy for yourself that Natasha and her allies are truly opposed for her plans. Tell her, if you wish, that we need to know more about Thanos' plan in order to know if our Craft will hold against it."
She nodded. "And if she is lying?"
"Incapacitate her - kill her if she has betrayed us - and return."
"And if she is telling the truth?"
"Then Wakanda may be required again to join the struggles of the world."