by Clive May (clive@cj4386.demon.co.uk)

A story of the Fifth Doctor, Nyssa, Tegan and Adric.

The copy right of all things pertaining to the concept and characters of Dr
Who is the property of the BBC.  This Story is a work of fan fiction; it has
been written simply for the pleasure it gave me in writing it; and no money
has or will change hands with respect to the story.

The story and original characters are copyright Clive May 2001.


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Chaos Hunt

Three


He fell, like a hammer of doom, out of the wide winter sky. All talons and
teeth, he was,  and great green eyes ablaze with vengeful fury.

Far below his plummeting body, a wrinkled sea nuzzled up to a curving strand,
strewn with boulders, and backed by towering cliffs. Atop those cliffs,
loomed a monstrous castle of black stone.  It resembled a great toad,
assembled from the bones of the world, hunching over the very brink of the
abyss, in brooding contemplation of old evils done for no better reason than
expediency.

Down the sheer cliff, before this grim edifice, several terraces had been cut
from the living rock.  They had been formed into narrow gardens, and planted
with roses.  The red of the blooms seemed as blood pooled from some feast of
flesh consumed by the house above.

Below, at the margins of the sea, the Selkie Folk were frolicking in the surf
washing among the boulders, when they were suddenly riveted by the wrathful
avenger's plunge.  The sleek, silvery forms paused in their endless game.
Then, with a flick and a splash, they were gone.  Being creatures made of the
very joy of being in life, they *would* not bear witness to blood spilled in
vengeful fury.

Overhead, in the hard blue sky, Agalayne held his wings close to his grey
furred body.  The wind sang a song of wrath as it whistled past his tufted
 ears, laid flat to is triangular head. His long neck was extended, as he
worked his spade shaped tail in a constant correction of his murderous
dive.

Before Madelayne had found him, he had been alone and desolate.  Cold and
afraid, he had cowered in the nest cave, crying piteously for Mother - who
did not come.  Instead, Madelayne had come.  She had enfolded him in a
boundless love, and named him Agalayne.  He loved Madelayne more than he
loved flying; and being born to the air, he loved flying more than he loved
life.

If Madelayne could not be saved, then he would be avenged on her betrayer.

On the top-most terrace, under the walls of the fortress, the target of
Agalayne's wrath lent on the parapet guarding the drop.  He was unaware of
the fury falling from the sky.

A flicker of shadow darting over the parapet gave Kendron a second's
warning.  It was barely enough.  By instinct, he flung himself aside.  He
went down in a whirl of white robes, a hand drawing an ugly black blast
pistol.  As he rolled among the roses, the arrowing black shape of Agalayne
momentarily blotted out the cerulean sky.  Razor talons slashed for
his face.  One claw raked through his long blond hair, another nicked his
left ear.  Then the racing form was past, trailing a scream of rage and
frustration.

Swearing and wincing as the thorns of his beloved roses ripped his flesh,
Kendron rolled to his knees and tried to bring the blaster to bear.  But
Agalayne was a canny creature.  He kept low, darting over the rose garden
fronting the fortress.  Kendron waited, not daring to risk a shot with the
building behind the rocketing creature.  Eventually, though, the vile beast
would have to clear the end of the building, rise up over it, or swing around
and back past where Kendron knelt.  He would have to gain height to clear the
parapet if he was to escape over the sea.

An unpleasant smile toyed with the corners of Kendron's mouth.  It twisted
his handsome, patrician features into a gloating mask.  The pestilential
creature had made a mistake.  Kendron had every intention of making certain
it would prove fatal.

Agalayne arrived at the western end of the building.  He swerved back over
the rose garden.  Again he kept low, his talons and wing-tips clipping petals
from the blooms.

Kendron scowled at that; and his lips worked to form vulgar oaths.  It was a
shrewd and wicked creature, no mistake.  It knew that he would not endanger
his beloved roses.  But it would have to pass him to gain the safety of the
sea.  Then he would be finally rid of that airborne nuisance. The thing had
given him nothing but trouble since he'd made his move against Madelayne.

Agalayne dropped lower, skimming along the gravel walk, heading for the
parapet.  Kendron took aim at the top of the rampart, just where the thing
would have to rise up to clear the wall.  His finger caressed the firing
stud.

"Lord Kendron!"

The shout made him start.  His finger closed on the stud as he jerked about,
distracted by the sudden interruption.  The blast pistol cracked; the violet
discharge scored across the stone work.

Agalayne screamed in panic. Membranous Leather wings flapped madly, as he
skidded sideways in the air. Then he was gone, over the edge and plunging out
of sight.

Kendron snarled a profanity, and ran to the wall.  He let off two more shots;
but it was hopeless.  The flying fury was hundreds of feet away, hard to see
against the shimmer of sunlight on the sea, drawing quickly out of range.
Kendron glared after the swerving, plunging form for a long time, his lips
curling in frustrated rage.  At length he slid the pistol out of sight, and
turned to tend his precious roses.

Two of his finest bushes were smashed to ruins.  He knelt before them,
shaking with rage.  That vile monster would pay for this.  The roses were the
only things that had made his life bearable during the interminable exile
from the place of his birth.  He had taken endless trouble with them, tending
them daily, feeding them with his own hands, protecting the delicate blooms
from tempest and the salt wind.

He had pleaded with his Sisters to bring him the first plants from Terra.  It
was strictly forbidden by the Incarnators, but they had acquiesced to his
entreaty because they imagined it would turn his part of the con-tesseraite
mind from dwelling upon darkness. They had found the construct in the
tunnels, and already suspected the mischief he intended with it.  The fools
had actually thought their agreement would distract him from his bid for
freedom by encouraging him in what they thought of as his folly of creating a
rose garden.

Letting the crushed plants drop from his fingers, he got to his feet, and
turned to face the short, plump man in black leather armour who had come
pounding up.  The pale sun was gleaming on the man's bald head.

In sudden fury, Kendron lashed out. The man staggered back under the force of
the blow.

"I want that...that...thing destroyed!" Kendron snarled.  "Do you hear me,
Lobo?  I want it caught.  I want its wings ripped off and fed to it."

Lobo's Adam's apple bobbed.  His predecessor had been given the task of
bringing down that creature.  He had failed; and Kendron never forgave
failure.  He had sent the unfortunate man into the air after the creature.
Lobo shuddered at the memory of the man, screaming in terror, arms
wind-milling uselessly, as he plunged to his death on the rocks below.

Lobo swallowed and said, "My Lord Kendron, there is a capsule.  It has
entered the Orion-Terra-Dulac Triad.  The trajectory vector looks perfect."

When Kendron did not show any sign that he had heard, Lobo cleared his
throat nervously to speak again.  But before he could say anything, Kendron
suddenly strode past him towards the glassed doors leading into blackness,
his cream robes and blond hair streaming behind him.

Lobo hurried in his wake.

Beyond the portal was a large room, carpeted in royal blue.  To the left, a
sofa and matched armchairs were drawn up to a magnificent stone fireplace.
It was as if they had turned their backs on the evil that promised in a vast
terminal, like a mechanical mould, spreading over the opposite wall.
There, screens flickered above an array of keyboards.  The main screen shone
with a bright green light.  Patterns of red lines, characters and numbers,
drifted across the glass.

A man sat before the terminal, dressed in black leather armour, similar to
Lobo's.  His hands were passing over the controls in an intricate finger
ballet.  He did his best to pay mind to his task, but it was difficult, given
his companion.  Beside the desk, strapped on a wheeled trolley, was a woman
in a silken gown.  Once a shimmering black, the material was now soiled and
ragged.  Her head had been shaved.  It had been done roughly, for livid scars
ran ragged upon her naked skull.  A metal band was clamped around her head.
Cables led from the band, snaking across the carpet to disappear into the
base of the console.

Kendron hurried over to the man seated at the desk.  He glanced at the
wheeled trolley, before turning his attention to the screen.  A smile of
unholy triumph lit up his face as he studied the patterns on the screen.

 "Yes," he breathed triumphantly.  His hand fell upon the shoulder of the
tech.  The long sensitive fingers clenched.  The seated man winced, but kept
his attention fixed on the screen.

"At last!  A perfect trace!" Kendron exclaimed.

On the trolley, the woman made little gurgling sounds around the tight gag
binding her mouth.  The pathetic noise caught Kendron's attention.  He moved
to the side of the trolley, peered down at the woman.  His face betrayed no
concern or pity for her pathetic plight.

Blood wept from the corners of her mouth to trickle down her chin.  The black
eyes were wide open and hunted about the room, full of panic and terror.  She
writhed and twisted; but the straps holding her down, at her ankles, wrists,
across her waist and throat, held firm.

Kendron smiled down at her.  It did nothing to assuage the woman's
fear. He brushed a hand along a bare arm with a touch that was almost
affectionate.  "You see, Madelayne, even despite your wilful opposition, the
plan goes forward," he said conversationally.  His eyes filled with amusement
at the stark terror that flamed in the black eyes.  He continued to stroke
the satiny skin, marred with bruises.  "You should have listened to me,
Madelayne.  They compel us to their need.  We owe them no loyalty.  You, lest
of all, Madelayne." He broke off and sighed.  "Well, it matters not any more.
It will soon be over.  I cannot say that it will be pleasant for you.  Alas,
Madelayne, it will not, I fear.  But I will not be denied access to my Lady
Rain."

The woman contorted in a frenzy of panic.  She jerked and strained, arching
her slender form against the restraints.  Blood began to flow freely from her
lips, down the curve of her neck.  Kendron withdrew a step, watching the
scarlet welling with ostentatious distaste.  He imagined it spoiling the fine
carpet.  He turned back to the terminal with a scowl.

Things were happening on the screen.  He watched the display with a maniacal
intensity, his hands clenched into tight fists, his shoulders drawn taunt.
This needed to work.  This had to work.  This would work.  No matter what his
Decima Tercia and the Sister-Selves of the Brood did to try and prevent it.
Through the shielding of his medallion of office, in his own private corner
of the Con-Tesseraite mind, he could feel their frenzied desperation.  But it
had no power to compel - compulsion was his by right of being the Hunt
Master.  He would prevail against their wishes.

"You WILL block the Earth Station Brood for me!  Even if it kills you,
Madelayne!" he hissed.

There was an expectant hush.  The only sound was the lament of tortured silk
as Madelayne wrenched helplessly at her bonds.  In a dank dungeon excavated
from the bowels of the rock, the twelve other Sister-Selves of the Orion
Brood writhed and moaned in sympathy with Madelayne's despair.

"It must not fail, Kendron said, an edge of tension in his voice. "Du Lac is
an interdicted world.  Even one capsule forced to make an emergency
materialisation there will focus their attention on it.  They will
investigate, eventually.  They have become supine and languid given the
luxury of time.  But they will get to it eventually. We must move before
then." His hand caressed the technician's shoulder.  "Be certain, Anser.  Be
very certain.  We will not be granted a second chance."

The tech nodded mutely.  He was sweating, though the room was cool.

Kendron suddenly stabbed a finger at the screen.

"There!  Now is the moment!  Open her mind!"

The tech drifted a hand over one of the lighted areas.  A thin wheezing, like
a TARDIS straining for take-off, echoed faintly in the room.  Madelayne
jerked spastically.  She began to writhe in agony, letting out a scream
barely muffled by the gag.  Blood flowed from her nose, from her ears, and
from the sides of her mouth.  For a long agonised moment, she continued to
contort and jerk in an orgasm of anguish, muscles standing out along her
arms, and in her face, twisting it into a grinning death's head mask.  Then,
with a sigh, she subsided into stillness.  Unregarded, blood dripped from the
side of the trolly, onto the carpet.

"So is the key delivered into your hands," Kendron announced.  "And now it
falls to you my Lady Rain, to unlock the door and come forth.  Be swift my
dear, be swift and sure."

The pale winter sun streaming through the windows, fell across the tortured
body of Madelayne strapped on the trolly.  The dark eyes were open.  Those
eyes, that had looked upon raw chaos and thought it the most beautiful thing
in creation, had now only the utilitarian blankness of the ceiling to
contemplate while she waited for death.  Though she knew he always attended
in person for one of the Brood; and though she would have company on that
last journey, the knowledge did nothing to assuage the fear that gripped
Madelayne's soul.

Suddenly, a slender wand of darkness was manifest in the luminous radiance of
winter light.  The shadow swept a tall hat from its head and made an
extravagant bow.  Its other hand waved in the direction of the terminal.
Time stretched, pulling out until its flow was stayed.  From the very edge of
her vision, Madelayne could see Kendron and his men stilled in the act of
their treachery. They were now no longer aware of what passed in the room.
She looked back to the windows, forcing her head against the restraints.

The figure moved at a leisurely pace to her side.  As it drew closer,
Madelayne saw that he had taken the form of a man.  He was tall, young and
preternaturally pale, with eyes blacker than hers, so dark that she could not
see the iris.  He was dressed in a manner wholly unfamiliar to her,  wearing
a long black coat that reached his knees, black trousers, shiny black shoes,
a white shirt with an up-turned collar, a black waistcoat, and a black scarf
tied round his neck.  In his black gloved hands he was carrying the tall
black hat.

Madelayne began to worry at her restraints, growing fearful; but the young
man stepped forward in a quick, fluid movement to smile down at her.  He
placed a slender finger over the bloodied gag on her mouth. Madelayne relaxed
back onto the trolley, her eyes wide in fascination.  The young man smiled
again, showing perfect white teeth.  There was an impression of familiarity
about him,  though she could not recall where she had seen him before.  It
was as if his very being was shifting from moment to moment, defeating her
quest for recognition. Even so, she knew him, for he was The Gatherer of
Unregarded Souls.

The young man tilted his head at her and spoke, in a voice that sounded like
a perfect symphony of discordance - as though all of the instruments in an
orchestra were straining against each other in minor keys.

"It is time, Madelayne."

At those words, the fear faded like mist in the morning.

He reached down and, taking her hands, drew her from the trolly to stand at
his side, forming a second shade eclipsing the winter sunlight.

"Might we beg a favour of you, before we walk with you?" she asked.

The three men at the terminal noticed nothing.  The Gatherer never wanted for
privacy.  He nodded to Madelayne. "I have a certain latitude; it depends on
what you wish?..."

"We would ask that as Kendron uses this aspect to block our Sister-Selves of
Earth, our Agalayne be granted escape from this mad house of Kendron's
making."

"You would ask this, that your companion be saved from this man and place?
And nothing else?"

"Yes.  We do."

"Then, Decima Tercia of the Orion Brood, The thing is done!" The gatherer set
his tall hat upon his head and took Madelayne's hand.  He brought it to his
pale lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers.  At touch of his flesh, the
blessed relief flooded throughout her being.  Once more, she was complete,
dressed in her silken black finery, with her raven tresses flowing like
midnight over her shoulders.  Not a trace of the brutality done to her by the
Hunt Master remained to mar the silken integrity of her skin.

"Walk with me a while, Little Sister.  It is not far," the Gatherer cooed to
her.  Madelayne's smile was radiant as she graciously accepted his arm.  As a
flooding golden haze transformed them into insubstantial shadows, he
added "See, already we arrive..."

On the trolly, the body thinned away with the faintest whisper of a wheezing
noise.

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The Doctor watched Tegan stalking off, wobbling a little uncertainly on her
heels.  He raised an eyebrow, and turned back to the car.

"Come along!" he chivvied.  "The matter sounded urgent."
 He opened the car door for Nyssa.  Extending a hand, he helped her
out.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a concerned voice.

Nyssa managed a small smile for him.  "Yes.  I will be.  I'm -- I'm just not
used to such a rapid form of transportation, at least not one where I can
see my surroundings flash by in a blur."

Adric got out and wandered around the car park.  He stopped before the
picturesque inn building, studying the sign.  It was in the shape of a
witch's cauldron, hung from an iron bracket over the entrance.  The painting
represented a coven of witches at some dark rite or dance with a gleaming
silver snake.  The Thirteen figures were enmeshed in the coils of the serpent
in a stylised design of twisted complexity that reminded Adric strongly of
something he had seen recently.  The pub sign artist had artfully contrived
to give the impression that the women were striving against the shining
coils; and at the same time, welcoming the snake into a fond embrace.  Behind
the balanced scene stood a stern visaged blacksmith, his mighty thewed arms
folded across his chest.  Across the top of the picture, in "olde worlde "red
lettering, was the legend:

The Coven

After a lengthy examination of the inn sign, he strolled back to the others,
frowning.  Something about the faces of the witches worried at him.  Those
leonine features possessed a familiarity which he could not pin down.  It
troubled him, though he could not say why, exactly.

"Doctor?" he asked, "why are we here?"

The Doctor glanced at the inn sign.  "To see a black smith," he answered.

Adric frowned.  "A black smith?"

"Yes.  A very peculiar black smith."

"So why couldn't we just take the TARDIS here?" Nyssa put in.   "Instead of
scaring us half to death by letting Tegan drive?"

"I wish I knew?" the doctor said.  He turned away and strode off in
the general direction taken by Tegan.  Now come along!"

It was a perfect early summer day.  The trio strolled through the village
towards the forge just opposite the Church.  A playful breeze chased cotton
wool clouds across a sky of delicate blue. It dipped down now and then to
ruffle invisible fingers through the new, green leaves of the beeches planted
all about the village.  The sound ought to have been soothing; but the noise
had a sinister whispering quality which filled the Doctor with foreboding as
he approached Wayland's forge.

The blacksmith, in his leathern apron, was at the horse trough before the
doors.  He watched the Doctor approach, his dark eyes hooded.  The breeze
toyed with his pony tail of black hair.  He took a rag from the pouch of his
apron and wiped his large hands.

The Doctor paused before him, looking around.

The whispering of the beeches died into a pregnant silence.  It lengthened as
the two aliens regarded each other warily.  At last the Doctor broke the
silence.

"You invoked Omega Point, Law One," The Doctor stated in a neutral voice.

Wayland nodded.

"That's a very serious matter," said the Doctor.  "Law One is a matter for
the High Council.  Why did you involve me.  It's no secret that I am not in
good standing with those at home."

"We could not," Wayland answered him, meeting his gaze directly with a touch
of defiance.  "It's Sedra-"

"Your Decima Tercia?  What has she done?"  The Doctor had the distinct
feeling he was not going to like this.  Dealings with the Brood were always a
walk along the knife edge of insanity.  Whatever was wrong with the Earth
Station Brood, those at home were not going to be sympathetic.  The Doctor
brightened a little.  A tiny crooked smile caressed his lips.  Well, they
only had themselves to blame, didn't they?

"Sedra has gone!" Wayland said bluntly.  "Against all inhibition. Against all
interdiction. Against all law and custom, the Brood has gone to Karn...to
drink from the forbidden well of the Sisterhood!"

The Doctor's mouth drew into a thin line.  This was serious indeed.  And he
was not certain what might be done about it.  Any dealing with the Brood was
bound to stir up waves.  The ripples would certainly flow back down the time
lines as far as Gallifrey itself.  Where the Brood were concerned, *that* was
something to be avoided at almost any cost.

The breeze resumed its conclave with the leaves overhead. The Doctor listened
with growing disquiet. Somewhere, he could hear Nyssa talking to Adric; but
even his sensitive ears could not catch the words.

Wayland went on.  "When your people find out, and they will find out, they
find out everything in the end, then in their fury they will visit a terrible
retribution upon us -" He broke off to implore the Doctor with his black
eyes.  "For this aspect, we care not. But Sedra, Octra, Septa, all of
us...We did not ask to be made the way we are.  Can you do anything to help?"
 "I don't know," the Doctor answered carefully, his mind tracing down all the
possible ramifications of this information.  It was too ghastly to
contemplate.  Wayland's estimation of the Time Lord's reaction was pretty
accurate; only he had not said the half of it.  The Brood Sisters were
inextricably enmeshed in the troubles and disasters of Gallifryean history -
a Dark Time of expediency and dubious morality and things done without
scruple to fend off even greater disasters than the one Rassilon made for his
people with his vaulting ambitions.  Their reaction would come as close to
panic as Time Lords collectively could come.

"Why did she do it?" the Doctor asked, fingering his stalk of celery
thoughtfully, looking around the yard.  Nyssa and Adric were just turning in
from the road.  The Doctor turned his attention back to Wayland, awaiting an
answer.

"We failed on a hunt!  A TARDIS was destroyed!"

The Doctor rode the shock without letting any of his sudden anguish an alarm
show.  At least now he knew why Wayland had warned him not to use his TARDIS
- any capsule moving in the Earth/Orion/Du Lac triad would have to do so
unprotected from the Chaos Beasts until the Earth Brood were back on station.
And having "killed" in this region, the Chaos Beast would not move far from
the site of its "success".

"This will need some careful thought, " he informed the Hunt Master.  "We
can't talk here." The Doctor turned away.  "We'll go to your Gate Hold...It's
not far?"

Wayland started to speak but was cut short.

In that moment, many things happened.  Each one trod hot upon the heels of
the next.

Nyssa screamed.  She stood on the verge of the road and screamed.  It was a
sound composed of panic and fear, unutterable fear.  But it was not
Nyssa's panic and fear - she was responding to another's
terror. The scream had substance beyond being a vibration in the air -
it had presence inside all their heads - like razor blades slicing into their
skulls.

The Doctor exploded into a run, a fierce surge of protectiveness surging up
within him for the Traken girl.  Nyssa was clutching to Adric with such
frenzy that her fingers tore the hardy fabric of his jacket.

Something was in the air above the pair.  It resembled a large dark cloak
twisting and flapping madly in a gale.  The thing was alternately screaming
and chattering.  The sound was panic incarnate.

The Doctor reached the frozen pair just as the taloned airborne rag descended
upon them.  He swept off his hat and waved it vigorously at the flying
creature.  The demented thing seemed not to notice.  It was hell bent on
getting at Nyssa.

Wayland pounded up.  He stared wide-eyed at the flapping monstrosity that
had veered up and away to bank around and dive back in again at Nyssa.

"What is it?" cried Adric, surrendering Nyssa to the Doctor's protective
arms.  He stared open mouthed at the thing.

"It's Agalayne!" Wayland cried.  "Madelayne's friend."

Then insanity piled upon madness.

The air was suddenly full of wheeling black shadows.  They settled to the
ground in a group among the stones of the ruined abbey.  In some fashion that
defied description, they "rotated" into existence, becoming a semicircle of
black robed women. Long dark hair floated lazily around their languidly
inclined heads.

One stepped forwards.  She held up an imperious hand to the flying
monstrosity. It stopped screaming, seemed to reverse its dive with an
impossible flip, and dropped to the grass beside the woman.

These newcomers carried with them a profound air of contentment, of
replete satiation. As one entity, they bent lazy, amused eyes upon the group.
Mild curiosity toyed with their features.

Then, the lead woman looked hard at the Doctor.

Like a bolt of invisible lightning, a spasm of the purest terror split the
air, rending asunder their smug contentment. As one they grew ashen faced. As
one they turned a look of hot reproach upon Wayland.

"A Lord of Time!" Sedra snarled in a hard voice.  She bent and swept up a
large stone.  With that uncanny co-ordinated unity that was the Brood, the
other women also bent, to straighten with jagged stones clutched hard in
their hands.

As one they advanced on the little group, focusing on the Doctor.

Their intent was writ plain in fear crazed faces.  Explanations, pleading,
half-truths and appeals for mercy would not suffice now.  The situation had
gone beyond these things.  They had been discovered red-handed by a Lord of
Time.  Only direct action would save the Earth Station Brood now!

The women closed in.

They were going to commit murder.




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