Her assessment of everything is summed up in two words, an' I know exactly where she's coming from, because it feels the same for me. Two different situations, two separate sets of circumstances and they can be joined by two simple words.

"How'd you mean, love?" I ask. Elektra is sat before me, the great fire is roaring in the massive hearth in the center room of the fortress of the Chaste, and we're both in the Lotus position, meditating, thinking, relaxing and, more than that, healing.

"I was charged with putting you back on the Path, after your ordeal at the hand of Genesis."

"You did a fine job, darlin'," I say.

"No," she said. "I merely showed you the skills and the power of who you were. I never truly returned you to the Path, in the same way I failed Nina, and ultimately the rest of the Chaste."

"Love," I want to reach to her with more than just words, but we cannot break the cycle. "Love, just because you feel you let people down, it doesn't mean you did. Look at me. I know I've let people down in the last few months, but with you're help I am accepting who I am now. I'm at peace here."

"But what do we do now?"

"What d'you mean?"

"The last few months have been special, Logan. When we arrived here, I was afraid I'd lost you forever."

"You weren't the only one, darlin'." I don't remember much about my time with the X-Men in Australia, other than the team savin' my life, but I do remember a battle in my mind, against the new darkness that's tryin' to take over, and it was winnin'. I vaguely remember Elektra stabbin' me through the heart with her sai,* and the next thing I know, here I am in this castle, lying in bed, healing from my injuries as Elektra sits by me, candles around the room and she was chanting some kind of mystic words that put a calm in my soul.

( *It all happened in the last issue - Dino )

That was two months ago, two months of her teaching me how to calm my soul, to unite my being and to walk the line between madness and sanity. It's also been two months in which we've spent discovering each other again, revivin' the friendship and closeness we had before everythin'.

"I'm afraid that when we leave here, you won't be able to keep the calm as you are now. This mountain has powerful properties, and it has helped you to learn how to cope with your disability." I'm tryin' not to think of my missin' hand. It's healin' slowly, because there's more of a stump than there was when I lost it, but it's slow. It's a kind of damage I've never taken before.

"I know, 'Lektra, but it's something I have to - we have to - deal with. Together."

"I know," she says, "however, I'm not sure my teachings will be enough."

"So what can we do?" I know she needs me to be whole before we leave, so that way she will have helped to fulfill her vow to restore the Chaste. I know that she thinks that if she cannot use their practices, then what hope is there to restore them? From time to time, I saw this kind of conflict in Xavier when he was alive, and the X-Men did all we could to help. However sometimes it wasn't enough.

"I need to know that what I am doing is right," she answers. "I need to know that the Shadow King won't be able to take you over, and I think there's a way of doing it."

"Go on."

"Logan, he spoke as though he were a separate entity within you, which is not truly possible as you are one person."

"Schizophrenia, perhaps?"

"Could not be calmed by the teachings of the Chaste, which leads me to believe that it is something within you, the parts of your life you don't know, the missing essence of your soul. From the Shadow King to Weapon X, you have been used and manipulated in your body and soul and a lot of what you knew is either missing or false."

"Yeah."

"I want to try something special, something..."

"Go on."

"The cost to you could be great."

"The cost of not knowin' whether I'll be me or trapped within me is worse than anythin' that can be thrown at me."

"I want to try and recombine your soul. To put you back to the man you once were, to make you a whole person. I think the reason the darkness within you is winning is because there is so much of your life you don't know, and it's greater than the parts you do." I can hear the uncertainty in her voice, and I know what she fears.

"You know, I'll always love you," I say. "Don't make no difference what part of me is who or where - this part o' me will never stop lovin' you. That's what I gotta live for, that's what keeps me goin', that's what will get me though, darlin'. I love you."

"And I love you, but now we've found each other again..."

"How long have you been carryin' this, 'Lektra?"

"A while," she admits. "I didn't want to lose you, and that's why I held back. I hoped we didn't need it, but I know we do."

"Sacrifice is never easy," I say, slowly standing and moving across to her. "So where do we begin?"

"The beginning," she says as I take her hands in mine. I nod and we prepare.

I get the circle of light ready while she gets the incantations ready to bring the missing parts of my life together with the rest of my being. From what she described, she will put me in to a trance while I lay in the chapel, the candles representing the main elements of the Chaste, combining around me with the essences that they had. Elektra's incantation will submerge the conscious mind, sending it outside conscious reality to a waking state, something like the Alcheringa* of the Aborigine's. Here, in theory the missing parts of my life will come together and make me whole and hopefully I will survive the experience. If not, I'll be trapped there.

* (Dreaming or dreamtime, - David)

I don't intend to let that happen, but I also get the sense that there's somethin' else here. Somethin' that Elektra's not tellin' me about this. Still, I trust her with my life, and when she's ready she'll tell me what's wrong. I smile and she kisses my forehead and I lay back.

"Clear your mind," I hear her voice echoing in my head and I use the techniques she's taught me in the last few months to start to relax, to feel the calm come upon me, driving out the wisps of thought. Soon all I hear is her voice, softly speaking, chanting words I don't understand, yet somehow make sense and I drift away...

1876

"Calm yourself, Andrew," said Sir Gordon Charters as he watched his best friend and his junior partner in their Ottawa based shipping firm pace the floor, gradually stealing a glance at the clock.

"I am calm," said Andrew Werther, looking at the time piece once more. "It's just been such a long time in there."

"The doctor is a fine man, and sometimes these things take their toll. Giving birth is not an easy thing," he rapped his pipe on the side of the chair, and tried it again and gave a large grin. "So I have observed, at the very least." He thought back to his time before he moved out to the colonies, back in Westminster, where he had seen his wife give birth to their two beautiful children, James and Hannah.

"How long were your two?" asked Andrew as he looked at the older man, seeing the smile on his face and realizing that he was reminiscing to the birth of his children.

"James was born in around five hours. Hannah, however, was almost 11 hours. Her obstinate behavior was a trait she never lost. Even now she is married." He gave a chuckle. "Sit down, my boy. You'll wear out the carpet."

"I'm just concerned. Her grandfather said we'd not make it, that our marriage would not last, and that I would be the death of her if she stayed with me."

"I know," said Sir Gordon, his voice full of patience, "however Amitola knew what she was doing when she came here. She wanted to be with you."

"But I know she still believes," whispered Werther as he looked at the picture of him, his fingers caressing the glass over the image of her face. "Maybe Heammawihio was right."

"Don't think that way," snapped Sir Gordon. "It helps nobody, all you can do is wait and pray. I am sure that God looks after everyone in the end. And you were married in a traditional church ceremony and that should at least point him in her direction. She believed in enough to do that."

"Yes, you're right," said Andrew, his own personal fears that Amitola believed more in the presence of Andrew Werther than in the presence of the God of the Christian faith remaining unspoken. He looked at the clock. Seven hours since he had been told that his wife was in labor, seven hours since Sir Gordon had brought him to his townhouse.

He had seen his wife in a great deal of pain, but she knew this was to come, for she had seen members of her tribe go through this so she was not as afraid as she might have been. Then the doctor had rushed him out of the bedroom to let them do their jobs and ensure that mother and baby would be fine.

"I love her so much, you know?" said Andrew. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

"I know, my boy, I know." Sir Gordon put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Come, I'll pour you a brandy." However before he could the door opened and the doctor stood there.

"Dr. Grey?" asked Andrew.

"John?" asked Sir Gordon, seeing the man's face.

"There were... complications," said Dr. Grey. "There was some kind of protein infection, which is why she has been so tired of late. In almost all cases this results in the death of the child before it is born, however the child seemed to survive. How, we don't, but this created problems at the birth. The boy survived, but I'm afraid..."

"Amitola..." said Andrew, running to the door.

"I'm sorry, Andrew" said Dr. Grey. "She didn't survive the birth."

"My God," breathed Sir Gordon, his head dropping to his chest and he closed his eyes.

"Can I..." stuttered Andrew. "Can I see them?" Dr. Grey looked towards the nurse who nodded. She had quickly tidied the room and ensured the child was well. In her opinion and the doctor's, the child was inordinately healthy.

"Yes," he said, and allowed him access to the room. The child lay next to his mother, sleeping in her arms. Amitola also looked as if she was sleeping, though her skin was paler in complexion than it normally was and there were traces of blood on the floor.

"Oh, my dear, sweet Rainbow," said Andrew, going to her side and he buried his face in her side and began to gently sob at his loss. Doctor Grey withdrew from the room, to let them have the moments alone. He had attended the deaths of several women in childbirth, however in most cases the child had died as well. The coming months would be hard on them both.

"Such a shame," said Sir Gordon. "Such a bonny lass. He doted on her, and she on him, John." He poured himself the brandy he was going to pour earlier.

"Yes, I was just thinking the next few months will be hard for them both," commented Doctor Grey and shook his head as Sir Gordon offered him a drink. "Thank you, but no. I..." There was a gunshot that interrupted them and both men looked at each other, and then at the door, to which they swiftly hurried.

At the scene before them, the brandy glass fell from Sir Gordon's hand and smashed on the floor. The baby was screaming, at the side of the dead mother, the hand of the father draped over the body, lightly touching the child's head. The gun on the floor, the strange position in which Andrew was laid, and the blood that was now soaking the sheet made it evident as to what had happened.

"No," said Sir Gordon as Doctor Grey ran over to check on the man, but he knew it was too late. He had shot himself in the head, obviously loving his wife too much to be parted from her. "I should have known, should have anticipated this..." muttered Sir Gordon.

"Don't blame yourself, Sir Gordon," said the doctor. "There was nothing you could have done, and hindsight is a useless tool. If we had realized her tiredness was a sign of illness, but the child was healthy. What if games are of no help."

"Oh, John," said Sir Gordon, looking at his friend.

"It's a tragedy," said Doctor Grey. "Nothing more than a terrible tragedy. It's the child I feel sorry for. He's alone now. He's nobody and nothing and at such a helpless stage of life..."

"No," said the elder man. "He has family."

"You?" started the Doctor. "Forgive me, Sir Gordon, but you and your good lady wife are not as young as you used to be..."

"No," said Sir Gordon, softly. "Not me. His other family. The Natives, the Cayuga Indians. See to them, John. See to them all. I will send word to his grandfather of this... tragedy." The doctor nodded and Sir Gordon brushed the tears from his cheek. He hadn't even realized he was crying.

There was much to be done.

Heammawihio watched the burial of his granddaughter and her husband at the native ground in the mountains. Their heir, the young child whose coming had in all innocence caused their deaths and yet he held death of himself, was held in the arms of his own daughter, Chilaili, silently watching his parents being buried. After the ceremony had finished and the people were heading away in their respective directions, Chilaili turned to her father.

"The child needs a name, Father," she said.

"I know," replied Heammawihio. " I have though about this long. I have watched the child, and seen. I have dreamt of the nature of things and I have seen visions of what the child may be like. I believe there is a vengeful nature within him, for Death took his parents yet he refused to be taken. There is a warrior spirit within him, like the men of generations passed. His name must also reflect his dual heritage, that of the White Man and that of the Cayuga. The child shall be named Logan. Though he is family, he will come to know we are not his parents and that he can expect no favor from us. We will teach him our ways. To hunt, to track, to fight if necessary."

"The world is changing, Father," said Chilaili as they walked towards the encampment. "Perhaps he will be one of the people who guide us through the changes."

"Change is gradual, but when change occurs its effect is great," said Heammawihio. "I fear that there will be many changes in our life before Logan will be able to use his life for us. However, it is whatever the wind decides for us all."

1881 was a year of change for the tribe as they joined another tribe known as the Seneca, Chilaili opting to stay with her husband and not continue with the tribe in their new home. Logan was now five years of age and he was already becoming skilled in the ways of tracking and hunting. He also had developed a tendency to fight with the others, and though he never started things he certainly finished them, which earned him beatings from the man he referred to as Nixkamich. However what impressed everyone was his unnatural ability to repair his body from damage. Like all children he fell, and injured himself with regularity, but he healed very quickly, even from broken bones and his wounds left no scars.

He also never fell ill, even in the harshest winters and he developed a reputation of being blessed and that his escape from death at his birth had touched him with immortality, yet he was smaller than the other children. As he grew up, he was taunted by the other children who he ran with, yet he let it wash over him, for his grandfather told him that 'size does not matter, it is what you do with the life within that matters'. It was the wisdom and guidance of his grandfather that ensure his confidence in regard of his 'immortality' did not become the driving factor in his life and that he did not develop an arrogance about his life, because he could not be killed. But it was when he was 16 years of age, that the idea of immortality was debunked, and at a tragic cost.

He was fishing with his grandfather in their canoe, who had become frailer and less able over time, however fishing was the one pursuit he enjoyed and Logan was spending time with him now, for he knew that Nixkamich would not be around for much longer, and Logan would soon have to go on a mission of self discovery, a ritual every member of the tribe went through when they were 16 years of age, before they could become a true warrior and member of the tribe.

It was while fishing that the skies grew dark and the rains came suddenly and unexpectedly and the wind became harsh. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed in the sky and the two of them tried to make for shore in the difficult conditions, but it was too late and a bolt of lightning hit the small craft, rendering it in to splinter and throwing them both in the water.

Logan was a strong swimmer, and he grabbed a hold of his grandfather, and started heading for shore, but the weather became worse, and he could barely see where he was going, and he could feel himself being pulled under, but he would not let his grandfather go. He would take him to the shore, and the old man tried to help, but they became tired quickly and they were dragged under. As Logan went under, he tired to call out for help, but the water entered his mouth and he realized he wasn't immortal after all, and that he would drown.

Luck, however was on his side and somehow the two of them were washed ashore, where the tribe had come to see if they could help and they had been able to revive Logan, who for a moment had been dead, but their efforts in reviving him coupled with his own healing talents had brought him back.

Heammawihio was not so lucky, for the water had claimed him and they had tried in vain to bring him back, but it was too late, and Heammawihio died. For the first time, Logan knew Death, not as a child, with no recollection of his parents, but as a boy who had lost the greatest influence on his life. More than that he knew that the old ways were gone and his life would never be the same, for his childhood was truly over.

There was an irony to it that made him smile for he also knew that soon the year would change and the eighteen hundreds would give way to the nineteen hundreds, a major sign of change. It was the dawning of a new century, and in his heart Logan knew that he would be alone and that his life had been changed forever. He knew that once he left the tribe to discover himself, he knew that he would not return, for there was something out there beyond what he knew, something he sensed was out there, calling to him. The ties he had once known were gone, and he knew there would be nothing to return to. The Indian way of life had changed much during his childhood and adolescence, and his road was no longer theirs.

But the changes to his life he had barely even begun.