Part 2

A Romale, A Chavale

Vi man sas ek bari familiya,
Murdadas la e kali legiya
Aven mansa sa lumniake Roma,
Kai putaile e romane droma


Erik flinched backwards, but the black cat, a veteran fighter, merely
recalculated its leap. One paw managed to scratch deeply and accurately on
Erik's wound, and he let out a startled curse.

"Rom!" the hooded gypsy called harshly, "Nein!"

The cat landed neatly back on all four paws, darted Erik a baleful look then
chose to forget what had happened, and padded back to its mistress, tail
curling into a question mark.

The gypsy's head was lowered as she rose, obscuring her face, but she
gestured for Erik to seat himself before the table where bandages and
antiseptic were placed. The cat Rom leaped onto the table, and continued to
watch him with an almost hypnotic stare.

Erik shrugged, and sat down on the chair. There was a mess of Tarot cards on
the table, but he'd never given much thought to superstition, though he knew
that the Romany gypsies were often much taken by it. He briefly wondered if
the 'tarot lady' was a fortuneteller, an occupation that he had seen
prevalent in most of the gypsy camps, and decided she probably was. There
was something about her that he should know, but couldn't place.

Something in the back of his mind kicked him for attention.

The gypsy, without a word, had taken the bandages and the antiseptic
stiffly. Helpfully, Erik rolled up his bloody trousers. "There's an exit
wound," he said. No surgery needed, in other words. But the phrase sounded
like someone had built an extra tunnel in his body - entrance and exit?

He hoped his mind wasn't about to snap.

She applied the medicine and he noted that her fingers were shaking. Old age
was his first impression, and then he sensed the fear emanating from her.
Fear of his reputation? But the other gypsies hadn't known him. And if she
somehow knew him she would have denounced him to the others.

He bit his lip to shut out the pain, then helped her put on the bandage
tightly. Erik could feel the stare of the cat, like twin nails, and he
wished it wasn't there. It had a very unnerving presence, perhaps justified.
Erik knew he was technically, if the cat considered the wagon as 'territory'
, an invader of sorts.

Once the gypsy accidentally touched his fingers, and flinched back.

This was getting very curious.

**

"Really, you lot," John was saying severely to his team, "It's only lucky
she allowed further interviews. The questions you asked would have scared
even me."

Richard and Larry were staring at the gypsies who crowded around a stranger
being led into the camp. "That man looks familiar," Larry said.

"Injured person brought to camp," Neuman said, with the air of a newspaper
headline, "Gypsies show great compassion. Two equipment technicians
puzzled."

"Oh, shut up," Richard said, "I think I've seen him before...on television."

"The only television I've known you watch is the odd news and Cartoon
Network," John said dryly, "You don't even watch our productions unless
necessary."

"White hair," Larry said.

John turned around, and squinted at the stranger as he was being brought to
the pine green wagon. "Jesus Christ," he said suddenly, "What's he doing
here?"

"Who?" Neuman asked.

"The mutant terrorist," John said, "I think it's Magneto himself!"

"That's the man," Richard said, snapping his fingers. Then he paused. "So
what do we do? Ask him for an interview?"

"He's a wanted criminal," John said.

"A wanted, powerful criminal," Larry corrected, "Last I heard he managed to
trash Manhattan and the army."

"That was years ago," John said sharply.

"Manhattan's still ok," Neuman said doubtfully.

"Someone else trashed him, I'd think," Larry said, "Don't really pay
attention to news either. Anyway, Manhattan's an odd place - they say there'
s someone who goes around there calling himself 'Spiderman'. Huh."

"What can Magneto do?" Neuman asked.

"He's got control of magnetic powers," John said, "Control over metal."

"Don't let him near the camera, then," Neuman said with a grin, "That's a
lot of film we have. It's only lucky we can 'send' some of it back to base
with your internet thing, but other than that I wouldn't like to lose the
original."

"Is that all you worry about?" John demanded, "Your camera?"

"Then what do you want to do?" Neuman asked, "We're taking pictures for a
geographic magazine, not for Time or something."

"I think I'd like to ask him a few questions," John said.

"Sidetracking," Neuman said flatly.

"Not exactly," John said defensively, "I heard somewhere that once he spent
a lot of time with gypsies. Maybe we could ask him a few questions."

"Is that all?" Richard asked with a skeptical smile.

"No," John admitted.

"How are we going to get to him?" Larry inquired.

John shrugged, then glanced at the crowd. It was moving towards them. "Now
what did we do?" he asked.

The lead person, an elder, reached them. "The children say they saw gunmen
in the woods." He began. "Three of them were killed."

"I don't remember any sort of threat in this area," John said.

"They are after the white haired gadjo," another man said. "But he also
thinks that we may be in danger."

"Why?" Neuman asked.

"Knowing 'too much'," the first man said, "Already they tried to kill them."
He gestured to four children, who shyly smiled at the Englishmen. "The
children think you can 'scare' them away."

"We do not have guns," Richard said, "But we shall try, I suppose. Do they
know where the bodies are? I think we can 'take a look'."

"They could have friends," Larry argued. "We wouldn't be much use dead."

"The children also say," the man said, holding up several silver marbles,
"The gadjo made this in front of them by pulling metal out of the ground."

"I see," John said, quietly pleased. "We would try and ask him about that."

"Did you see any symbol on their clothing?" Neuman asked the four children.

"Small picture of black bird," the girl spoke up, "Look like eagle."

The gypsies looked at the Englishmen expectantly.

"Sorry," John said after a while, "Never heard of them. I think we should
ask the gadjo why they are chasing him."

"He did not wish to tell us," one of the men muttered angrily, "He hides
something."

"Everyone has his secrets," John said, placating, "I think we'd try." He
gestured to his companions. "He's inside the wagon?"

"Yes. We can call him out," an elder said.

"He may feel easier speaking to us in a private place," John said, "And the
gypsy can be our witness, if you'd like."

The elder nodded curtly, and the four of them walked over to the pine green
wagon.

**

Erik decided to see who it was under the hood, and was debating several
ideas on how to make it look like an accident. Strangely, there wasn't
anything metal inside the wagon except for the locks to the chests and the
bottle caps of the medicine bottles...and the parts that held together the
wagon. In the reasons of safety, it was probably better not to use those.

He had better think fast. The bandaging was nearly finished. Then he had a
bit of inspiration. "What is your name?" he asked politely, making it sound
like an effort to be friendly.

The gypsy stiffened, then shrugged nonchalantly, still looking down intently
at her hands. Erik sighed inwardly, then looked at Rom. It ignored him, so
he reached out a hand in a conciliatory way for it as if to pet its coal
black fur.

Immediately, it hissed, and swiped at his hand with a paw, sharp claws
first. Hastily he withdrew his hand, but the cat arched its back, spitting
in rage.

"Nein!" the gypsy cried again, and he looked sharply at her. The hood had,
on her sharp upward glance, fallen back, to reveal her face.

Erik felt like he had just been slapped, and his eyes nearly started from
his face.

The gypsy rose and stumbled backwards in consternation, her hand going up to
her hood belatedly.

"Magda?" Erik asked, in astonishment. A flood of emotions welled up, and
threatened to overwhelm him, that after so many years, she was alive!

**

John sprang up the stairs and into the wagon. He stared at the tableau in
front of him, then upheld the Englishman's traditional reputation for calm.
"Are we interrupting something?"

The man he knew as Magneto tore his eyes away from the woman, and shot him a
glance. "Who?" he asked blankly in accented English.

"Are you Magneto?" John asked unhurriedly, "And if you don't mind, I think
you are frightening the lady."

"Are you mad?" Neuman hissed, behind John, "That man can pull the iron out
of your blood!"

"I don't think that is possible," John replied.

"Magneto?" Magda asked blankly, "What is that?"

"What do you want?" Magneto asked John quickly, sounding faintly relieved
that Magda did not know who he was.

"A few questions," John said, "In the interest of the gypsy camp." The two
stared at him; or rather Magda stared in his direction, with varying degrees
of consternation on their faces. "Who is hunting you, Magneto?"

They both looked relieved. "I do not know," Magneto said truthfully.

"He understands?" Richard whispered behind John.

"'Course he does," Larry whispered back. "He's German. Obviously."

"Most singular," John murmured.

"The children said you could chase them away?" Magneto continued, with a
faint smile on his face. "Which paper do you work for?"

"National Geographic," John said proudly, "Not a paper."

"The famous magazine," Magneto said in a disinterested tone, which meant he
had either heard of it but did not read it or was not impressed by the
magazine.

"I see. And so if you were to film these people?" His voice had a strong
current of dismissal, as if he wanted to continue speaking with Magda, for
some reason John could not discern.

"They'd probably shoot me," John said dryly, "Like the movies."

"Perhaps your presence here would prevent that from happening to all the
gypsies," Magneto said, just as dryly. "I imagine the magazine has many
readers."

"Yes," John said modestly.

"Why are you being 'hunted', Erik?" Magda asked suddenly, turning her
sightless gaze to Magneto.

Erik? How did Magda know Magneto's other name? John filed the idea away for
instant retrieval if necessary.

"That's because he's..." Richard began from behind.

"Shut up, Richard," John said quickly. There was a look of pleading on
Magneto's face, which he believed the man usually would not have exhibited.
Magneto radiated a masterly, dominant personality, probably a natural
leader.

Richard shut up. John glared at them, then continued smoothly, "A bit of
trouble over that," he said soothingly to Magda, "Since he doesn't know
himself." Though I'm very sure it has to do with him being a mutant
terrorist, don't you know? He added mentally.

Magneto nodded thanks to John then turned his attention back to Magda. In an
instant, he probably realized that there was something wrong - he leaped to
his feet and grabbed one of her arms. "What is wrong with your eyes?" he
asked in horror.

John opened his mouth to protest the man's conduct, even if he was supposed
to be an insane, dangerous criminal. "I say," he began.

Magda struggled briefly, and he let go of her. "Is it not obvious?" she
asked bitterly. She seemed to notice their presence, and looked at them.
"Would you go for a moment?" she asked, "And close the door behind you." She
looked at Magneto. "It would be better for me if you went as well," she said
harshly.

"No," Magneto said firmly.

"Very well," she said coldly, and then motioned imperiously for the rest of
them to get out.

They filed out of the wagon obligingly, with bewildered expressions. "I
wonder why the dame's doing that," Larry said. It was a question they all
had.

**

Magda walked over to the table, and picked up Rom, cradling the cat. It
stared at him with open hostility.

"It is dangerous speaking to you," she said, as if calmed by the cat,
apparently ignoring his question, "The gypsies condemn those women who marry
gadjos. It would be better if you left."

Erik shook his head, not even managing to utter any other questions.

"If you are wondering about how I lost my sight," Magda said coldly, "It was
some sort of infection brought about by being unconscious in snow for
several hours until this tribe happened to be passing by, and the lady tarot
before me decided to help."

Mutely, he stared at her. Was she implying that it was his fault? "Are
you..." he finally began, tailing off awkwardly.

"Afraid?" Magda finished callously, "Yes. But not of your powers. Some of
the tribe used to have these 'special' powers, and I have been convinced, as
are they that they are 'natural' and gifts from the Lord, and can be used
for good. Young Miarka herself can see some thoughts, but this causes her to
become very upset when her close ones are hurt, though the elder ones say
she is soothing to be close to..."

"Telepathy," Erik murmured automatically.

"I am afraid of you yourself and probably just as well now, for you have
obviously become someone notorious in the world, for some reason probably
justified. You are frightening, Erik, because you seem to have removed the
instinctive barrier against hurting, or perhaps murdering others - and you
have the power to do so. You're no longer human. Those Englishmen treated
you like a snake." Magda finished in the same callous tone, "It is not
surprising."

"I believe that those with these 'special' powers are not human," Erik said,
ignoring the last part of her speech.

"Higher than human?" Magda said coldly, "Young Miarka is perhaps more loving
than most of her friends, and just full of feeling. I believe that human is
not a scientific species but a state of mind, like we sometimes call our
pets 'nearly human'. You are not human in which you are like some bomb with
a set of easily tripped triggers. No doubt you have had many more of those
rages like the one in Vinnitsa, did you not?"

"You have changed," Erik said finally. Colder and incisive and callously
frank, your words cut in deep...how can you say this? But deep in his mind
something cried out that her words were true.

"As have you," Magda retorted. "Knowing you, I am also sure you have had
several...indiscretions, would you say?"

Erik flushed. "I would admit it," he said. There was no more point in lies.

"I would admit I care not how many," Magda mimicked his words with some of
her normal spirit, "Because I no longer consider our union as valid."

"What?" Erik felt her words like a physical blow, as if she had slapped him.

"If you would like it to be legal," Magda pronounced the last word with
distaste, "I am sure any good court would agree with me, so there is not
much use in trying to cling on to something quite nonexistent."

"Nonexistent?" Erik repeated, "Then we have lived on lies." Had she ever
loved him?

"Perhaps," Magda continued. There was not much sense in encouraging him, but
she couldn't continue hearing the anguish in his voice and continue lying
like this. Perhaps the magic of the tarot had been wrong, but she knew it
never had been. "I loved you once. Whether you as had, I care not now. There
is blood on your hands, Erik, and that is unforgivable!"

Erik wondered if she had been referring to the people he had killed in
Vinnitsa, but knew that even if she had been, her statement was still true.
He had killed many times even after that, seemingly without remorse, but
sometimes in his sleep he'd see their faces, accusing. He'd shout out what
they had done, but still they would be there, white and drawn with the
pallor of the dead.

"Now murderers are hunting you," Magda said, "I would think that you have
done something to deserve it."

He stared at her. How had she become so callous? Then he thought he
understood - the years of being and outcast among her own people, because of
him, the loss of her sight, something that she thought was also probably
because of him. Did she blame him for everything that had gone wrong in her
life? If she did, Erik believed that was totally, cruelly unjust of her.

"I do not blame you," Magda said sharply, "Honestly, do you think I have a
flawed ability to reason?"

"No," Erik said, feeling relieved. Then he blinked. "You can read minds?"

"I cannot claim to," she said, "Merely that I knew, or know you well."

"Magda," Erik shook his head, "If you do not blame me, then why do you
consider...when we took oaths...is there someone else?"

Magda laughed. "I am too old for 'someone else', and the gypsy unspoken law
is that a woman should be virgin before marrying." Odd that she had been
frightened of the thought of this encounter, and yet when it came be totally
unaffected. Odd how the mind twists and turns possible consequence into that
which is more serious that what it actually became, such that the mind feels
strangely let down and also pleasantly surprised.

Rom suddenly hissed, ears pricked, eyes staring straight out of the window.
The two looked startled, and then they heard it - an incessant, high whine,
strangely familiar. Coming straight for them.

Magda leaped to the table, scooping up the tarot cards, and then Erik pulled
her towards the door. They barely made it out a few paces before the shell
hit the pine green wagon, and it exploded, the shock wave knocking them from
their feet. Erik rolled on top of Magda on instinct to shield them both from
the falling pieces of wood.

The whine sounded again, and Rom started to struggle away from Magda, who
held on grimly. Erik made a quick decision, and started away from Magda and
the camp, towards the source of the sound, hoping he could find it quickly
before the camp was destroyed.

Further shells hit other wagons with pinpoint accuracy, but as he hoped, the
shells soon stopped, and started to aim at him.

Thankfully this time they had added metal inside the shells, but just
traces. He bent his will to them, the effort of making them stop their
screaming descent nearly making his knees buckle and the pain in his leg to
start up with new fury. Then, with a sudden idea, he aimed them towards the
blank spots that his vision of the earth's electric field could not
penetrate.

There were a few screams, and he curled his lip in satisfaction. Stupid that
he hadn't thought of this earlier, but he did have other things on his
mind...he closed his eyes to concentrate - it was easier that way - and
scanned the surroundings.

**

Matthews edged forward on his stomach, commando style, towards the gypsy
camp. Several of his comrades had died for some reason - he wasn't sure why,
but one thing he was sure about was that he'd find out.

His black heavy-duty leather-kevlar suit was laced with specifically
'engineered' magnetic lines to sufficiently confuse the electric fields. Or
something like that. Matthews didn't care how it worked, so long as it
worked.

Matthews hauled the comforting weight of his gun beside him. Strange - a gun
gave one the sense of power, a confidence, a seductive lure that caused your
finger to itch to pull the trigger...he pushed that out of his head.

His comm-unit suddenly crackled to life. The 'operator', as they called the
person giving the orders, spoke in the clear system as if right next to his
ear. "Has the target been eliminated?" he asked. It sounded like Andrew.

"Not as I can tell," Matthews said. "Several of ours have been, though."

"No wisecracks," the operator said warningly.

Matthews felt that the operator was having a hard time, and on an impulse,
he spoke again. "Andrew?"

"Yes, Agent Matthews?" Andrew asked. "Seen anything?"

"Tell Meredith I love her," Matthews said quietly, referring to his wife,
who also worked for Hawk. As he spoke these words, virgin metal burst out of
the ground just out of his radius of protection, forming in seconds into a
metal disc and shot towards him at burning speed. He had already raised his
gun, levering himself up into an easier, kneeling position, and shot it, but
his bullet ricocheted off. The disc flew into his radius, no longer pushed
by the mutant force behind it, but had enough kinetic energy left to bury
itself into his heart.

"Matthews? Agent Matthews?"

**

Erik turned around in satisfaction. That should have been it for a while. He
almost ran into John and Neuman, camera at the ready.

"Got the buggers?" John asked.

He nodded slightly.

"How?" Neuman asked with a certain morbid fascination.

"I looked for the lack of electric fields," Erik said in a curt explanation.

"You navigate like that?" Neuman asked in curiosity.

"Sort of," Erik said, just as curtly. He didn't feel like speaking to them
for the time being.

"Like sharks," Neuman mused.

"Sharks?" Erik asked, startled.

"Was with some people filming sharks before this," It was Neuman's turn to
explain, "Sharks are believed to navigate with their sense of smell and
their..."

"We've informed the government of terrorist activity," John interrupted.
"They'd be along soon. I'd advise you to avoid them. Those people have gone
to such a long way to be 'unknown', they'd probably leave this camp alone,
but they'd probably still be after you."

Magda materialized next to John, a spitting Rom held firmly in her arms, one
hand clutching the tarot cards tightly. She looked immediately at Erik, "Are
you all right?"

He looked at her wearily. "And you care?"

Erik immediately regretted his words. Magda's eyes widened, then narrowed
and hardened. The silence seemed bottomless.

"When the government's agents come," John said in an effort to fill it up,
"They'd find the bodies. I'd suggest you get out of the country immediately
to somewhere far away."

"They'd find me," Erik said, "Sooner or later."

"Then find them first," John replied.

Erik looked hopelessly at Magda, but she averted her eyes.

"Lady Tarot?" someone said in Romany. John glanced to the side, but
immediately knew who it was, old Revjak, who of all the gypsies in the camp
had an unnerving ability to suddenly appear at your shoulder, like those old
servants in movies. He was remarkably cat-footed, and possessed of a humor
Richard called 'perverted', like suddenly looking over his shoulder and
making a comment when he was engaged in a particularly intricate job. This
never failed to make Richard leap into the air with a yell of fright, and
any surrounding children to laugh.

Magda looked at him, and Rom stopped hissing. Rom liked Revjak, who often
knew where to scratch and what to feed him.

Revjak looked pointedly at the Englishmen until they withdrew with dignity.
Then he turned his attention back to Magda. "This gadjo is your husband?" he
asked quietly. Erik, probably used to or having known the term, took no
offense.

Magda's eyes widened. "How...?"

"You are very obvious, Magda," Revjak grinned, "You spoke with him longer
than that bandage needs tying. And there is no other logical explanation,
eh? He is not your brother because I knew you in the camps and you did not
tell me of any such brother with such a head of white hair."

Magda gave an embarrassed glance at the other gypsies who were thankfully
more preoccupied in looking into the woods.

"They may know, or they may not," Revjak said dismissively, "But you know
what will happen. A Romany who marries a gadjo..."

"Will be outcast," Magda said miserably. Erik looked at the old gypsy with a
sharp glance.

"I do not wish that to happen..." he began, also in Romany. Revjak looked at
him in new respect.

"You know our tongue. Have you spent time with our people?" Revjak asked.

"I have," Erik said.

"I see," Revjak said, "Then you should know this custom of ours. Divorce is
not permitted in this camp, Magda..."

Magda stared at him.

"What else could you be speaking of?" Revjak asked. Receiving no answer, he
continued, "Are you bound of our rules?"

"I am," Magda said. She had agreed to this many years ago.

"Then you will stay with the gadjo," Revjak said firmly. Magda gave him a
stunned look.

"If it is against her will..." Erik tried again, but the gypsy waved him
silent, with an air of one used to authority. Revjak was one of the elders.

"Magda?" Revjak asked meaningfully.

"It is not," Magda said quietly. "I follow the will and law of my people."
But Rom hissed in her arms, and made another creditable attempt to scratch
Erik.