Title: Conundrum
Author: Chad
E-mail: Chad_Skywalker@webtv.net
Feedback: Always welcome
Archive: Yes, please
Category: M/O
Rating: PG
Series/Sequel: This story is a sequel to "Dangerous
Undercurrents"
Spoilers: Set after the TV story "Existence."
Disclaimers: All familiar characters belong to CC,
1013 and Fox Television; all others were coceived in
my warped imagination. Azathoth and the Great Old Ones
are creations of HP Lovecraft and are now the property
of Arkham House. No infringement intended.

Author's note: Special thanks to Bertina and Michele.


===== Interlude One: The Curse of Azathoth =====

THE PROPHECY OF THE CHOSEN ONE
from The Necronomicon, translation unknown
(published in The Lone Gunman)

Beneath the Earth, an ageless evil stirred. Born
amongst the stars, he and his brothers were lords in
the time before man. Driven into the roots of the
world, they strove to return one day.

One in their number, Azathoth, desired his freedom and
stretched out with his astral influence. His dark
power touched those willing to listen. When his
followers numbered thirteen, he instructed them to
find a strong, youthful body and bring it to the
appointed place.

For in the sacred city of Rhy'leh they gathered,
bringing with them one strong of body and spirit. What
Azathoth had not forseen was the strange little man
who appeared, bringing with him a box carved from
mahogany. Azathoth's dark essence reached up through
cracks in the earth, a sacrificial knife swept through
the air.

But the little man wielded secret magic, and as the
thick mist surrounded the chosen one, the stranger
leapt forward to capture the essence. Sealed inside
the box, Azathoth found himself trapped in a world of
shadow.

The mysterious stranger rescued the young one and they
travelled to many mystical lands.

But Azathoth would not be beaten. For the Chosen One
left behind a daughter. From within the confines of
the box, Azathoth's essence reached out. He sowed the
seed of a curse when the daughter came of age. There
would be other chosen ones, and other chances of
escape, in another time, another place...

[The Book of Prophecy, Part One]

~*~*~*~*~

Charles Wickham, renowned for his travels, fell in
love with a young Scot named Jeremiah Patterson.
Shortly afterward, Charles left for the far east.
Always interested in the occult, he came across a
strangely carved box in an oriental market. The old
stallholder told Charles that a great secret was
contained inside and he could not sell it.

Distracting the old man, Charles took the ancient box.
So Charles returned from the east, thinking this box
would make a fine gift for Jeremiah. But what he never
knew was that the box was cursed with evil and death.

That first night, a dark fog, not unlike anything seen
before, crept across the moorland, and in the morning,
several men lay dead -- their bodies dry and white.
The elders claimed that their souls had been stolen
from their bodies.

With a heavy heart, Charles gave his love Jeremiah the
box. For a while, no more strange deaths occurred.
Charles and Jeremiah made plans to leave the village
and travel together.

Now the dark curse returned, swirling round the
highlands in death. Each night, more and more
villagers died. In the green forests, cowled figures
appeared signalling doom. Charles turned to Jeremiah
and said,

"A curse is following the box I stole. It will kill
everyone in its path. I cannot allow anything to
happen to you. I shall hide the box where no one can
find it."

So Charles and Jeremiah fled the dead village, but the
whispering mist followed. They arrived in Oxfordshire,
thinking all would be safe in their new refuge.

But one night the dark figures took Jeremiah and the
box away. Charles followed, determined to save his
love. What he witnessed changed his life and those of
his descendants forever.

For an evil power, older than time itself, reached out
from the box to claim Jeremiah. Before him was a
stranger, cold and devoid of love. Struggling toward
him, Charles kissed Jeremiah farewell. He plunged a
dagger into Jeremiah's heart to free him forever.
Holding his dead lover close, Charles trapped the
black mist once more inside the box.

The next day, Charles buried Jeremiah and carved a
stone to place on his grave. Then, Charles hid the box
where no soul could find it. As night fell, he prayed
for Jeremiah and for forgiveness. Charles Wickham
vowed that he and all those who followed would protect
the Chosen from the touch of evil.

In half a century's time, the box would be discovered
by the dark god's followers, and the curse reached out
once more.

[The Book of Prophecy, Part Two]

~*~*~*~*~

"For the one touched by the curse shall bear the mark
of the naga. Through a dream he will be revealed. They
will call him The Deliverer. He will make the ultimate
sacrifice and will be entombed in a pit. But Azathoth
will not be complete. The life essence, lost in time,
waits. The Great One will find escape, and be joined
by one with shining eyes and the cunning of a wolf who
has caused much suffering. For this is the one who
shall lead The Deliverer to the box."

[The Book of Prophecy, Part Three]

===== Interlude Two: The Awakening =====

Oxford, Summer, 2000

Silence.

A pair of bright eyes pierced the impenetrable
darkness. The power within the host body flexed his
muscles. Sleep had overcome him, sleep that had lasted
longer than expected. He reached out with his mind,
and a faint smile appeared. Sensing traces, like
taste, the life essence was not too far away. He would
be complete.

Hibernation had kept the body intact. He was ready to
leave this tomb. Time and shadow would no longer be
his prison. Turning his head, he concentrated his 
power through borrowed eyes. Wind whipped through the
chamber, accompanied by a 
whispering screech. An awesome force shifted the heavy
stone. Within moments, it exploded. Slivered fragments
rained down as the body of Jamie Grayson stood for the
first time in eighteen years.

The ground above stirred, folding inwards. With a vast
force he was lifted from the tomb and into the world.
High above, there was a crack of thunder and gray
clouds passed over the moon.

Azathoth scanned the dense forest. He stumbled and
held onto a tree. Using his power to escape had
weakened him. He could feel the presence of the Chosen
One within his mind, struggling for release. Sucking
in great lungfuls of night air, Azathoth felt control
returning. Peering ahead, he could sense the naga box.
It still contained the majority of his life essence.
Without it, he would surely die. He needed
assistance... Raw material to seek out his jailer...

The snapping of a twig!

Ah!

The clinging mist followed the lithe figure. Azathoth
moved silently among the undergrowth. 'Yes! There he
is... the one I have been waiting for. I can smell it
on the wind. He has been touched by my curse.'

Stepping forward, Azathoth approached the frightened
young man. A smile spreads across Azathoth's ghostly
features. He enjoys the succulence of fear. Gathering
risidual strength he forces the boy to stare into his
glowing eyes, and he cannot resist.

The thick, whispering fog surrounded the screaming
boy's body. Slowly, painfully, he twisted and
transformed into the hideous shape of a shoggoth, an
elder thing, the Leviathan. The instrument through
which Azathoth shall find the one who holds the box.
The newly born shoggoth reared up, its tentacled maw
hissing at its master.

Azathoth smiled. "You know what to do. Follow me."

~*~*~*~*~

Azathoth stood over the empty husk of Professor
Wickham. He'd taken great pleasure in killing the
meddling old fool. A satisfying payback for all
Wickham's ancestors who had prevented his becoming.

The Leviathan, rabid after two fresh kills, tore the
flat apart in search of the naga box. Azathoth
searched the empty rooms in a frenzy of activity. The
box was here! Where had he hidden it? No! Azathoth
stopped his obsessive pacing. Wickham had sent the box
away, far away. 'I can barely detect it now,' he
wailed to himself.

Furiously, Azathoth turned and came face to face with
the glowing reflection of Jamie Grayson in a wall
mirror. A beautiful golden aura swathed Jamie's soul.
He stared back in horror at the harsh figure wearing
his body.

"What's happening to me?" he gasped.

"You're just a trapped soul now," Azathoth casually
told him, irritated that the Chosen One fought
control.

Jamie struggled for air. "I can't breathe," he said
weakly. "I feel like I'm suffocating."

"That's because your soul is dying," Azathoth replied
with a hint of pleasure. "It's easier if you don't
fight it."

Azathoth turned away, not wanting to continue the
discussion. But the Chosen One persisted. "Where's
Mulder?" he cried.

Azathoth cocked his head to the side. "Ah yes, the
last link. He also dared to stop my becoming."
Azathoth moved close to the mirror. "Don't worry, I'll
find him again."

"I won't let you hurt him," Jamie threatened.

Azathoth simply smiled. "You may have a death wish,
but I don't. One will come to help me."

~*~*~*~*~

Several months later, Azathoth stayed close to Oxford.
He sent the Leviathan back to the sacrifical chamber.
Not only to keep guard of the sacred inscriptions, but
to also await his call. The dark god would need the
manifestation for future use.

Waiting aeons for release, the curse had been
fulfilled. His power had touched all through the
centuries, wreaking vengeance. Azathoth stretched out
with his mind, it was still weak without his complete
essence, but strong enough to find the cursed. All
that he needed was the wolf...

'Why does he make me wait? I want him here! Now!'

On a warm, autumn day the wolf appeared. Clothes
suitably tattered and torn, Azathoth concealed himself
until the right moment. He closed his eyes, reading
the Russian's mind from afar. Smirking, he relished
the devious thoughts emanating from within. Jealousy
had sent this one searching.

"What are you doing?" Jamie's spirit angrily demanded.

With frustration, Azathoth glared at the image
reflected through the shop window glass.

"Not as weak as you seemed after all?" The dark force
residing within Jamie's body nodded toward the
bustling crowd. "See that handsome man valiantly
searching? It seems he has a colorful past with the
man you love," Azathoth taunted.

A hopeful look filled Jamie's eyes, and Azathoth was
quick to dash it. "What are you planning to do? Wave
to him? You're just my reflection. Only I can see
you," he scorned.

"Unh! What are you going to do to him?" Jamie
exclaimed, fearful that this stranger would die along
with that boy, Inspector Winston and Professor
Wickham.

"Oh, don't worry. He's too cute to kill." Azathoth
turned away, ready to catch the Russian's eye. "At
last, another of the cursed arrives to play his part."

Alex Krycek hurried through the crowd toward whom he
thought was Fox Mulder's long lost love, Jamie
Grayson. Avatar had been right, he was alive after all
this time!

"Jamie," he called, approaching him carefully.

Pretending not to know that name, Azathoth allowed
weakness to show. Inside, he was privately overjoyed
at the suitably confused Krycek. Using the Chosen
One's compassion to reach out to this troubled man,
Azathoth could feel the dying soul struggle in vain.

'Alex Krycek has a heart filled with hidden depth,
something he has rarely let anyone see.' Azathoth
decided to use this to his advantage.

"I want to help you," Alex told him.

Azathoth grinned. How sweet.

After a short time, the evil force unleashed its
power. Krycek, terrified by the power emanating from
Jamie's eyes, cannot resist. An alien voice, tinged
with hate, pierced into his innermost thoughts.

'This body is dying. Where have you been?' 
Krycek could not answer. Azathoth, surprised he is so
easily mainpulated for one steeped in blood,
continued.

'You still don't understand, do you? Why you are
here?'

Alex replied back, his voice calm and steady, "To find
Jamie."

'Because your great-great grandmother was descended
from the first. You are touched by the curse of
Azathoth!"

Azathoth smiled. 'Through you the chains that bind me
to this world shall shatter!'

[Next Episode: "Jamie, is that you?"]