1
It was a blasted tired little planet not even worthy of a name, with three aging moons that had been falling away for the last millennia as the hulk of rock long ago lost its grasp on them. The atmosphere was thin, but there was just enough for a dusty rust colored wind to blow about one lone figure silhouetted by starlight as she stands on the edge of a large ancient canyon. Weak light from the abandoning moons above reflects off the helmet that hides her features as she peers over the edge, considering. Lifting her arm, she reads a small display on her sleeve: "1.8793 kilometers." Decision made, she moves back a few meters, and then runs towards the edge and leaps gracefully into the moon kissed darkness below.
Silently she falls, pulled down by the gravity that could no longer contain the satellites, gaining speed until just before she is swallowed in the impenetrable dark of the crater a chute opens and both slide into shadow.
Moments later standing in the darkness, the parachute sprawled out on the uneven floor of the crater, she searches with eyes made for the dark, for finding what wants to remain hidden, remain unseen. There. A crack in the rock, nearly indistinguishable from all the other flaws in the wall, yet too uniform to be natural. With carefull stealth, she moves towards it and feeling with gloved hands is able to find the simple latch and move inside.
Air, barely, but enough. The helmet is removed freeing her hair that falls nearly to the ground, luminescent as the moons above and braided with trinkets and bits of mementos from battles fought long ago. With deft fingers, she fastens a clasp to keep her hair from her face, revealing to the darkness tiny gills opening and closing with an even rhythm on the sides of her neck, pulling from the atmosphere any extra molecule of breathable oxygen possible.
Without benefit of illumination, she moves along the hallway, sensing light ahead before actually seeing it. Eventually she comes to an intersection of corridors and as she steps into the middle, a drac glides out from the left hallway as silent as she. She curses to herself but before she can act she is thrown against the wall with the telekinetic power granted to it by The Shadows.
Moving in ways contrary to nature, the lone drac slides towards her, hissing in menace as it dances side to side, blurring, making her dizzy. She can't help but wonder if it was it gloating. Eternally slow, it creeps forward as she struggles against the force of its mind. Reluctantly, in frustration, she gives in and relaxes. Her apparent defeat emboldens the drac and it moves more quickly to her side, peering directly into her eyes, lingering, and taunting.
The drac, to busy inspecting its prize, doesn't notice it's control of her slacking, and with one freed arm she has the grim satisfaction of feeling flesh tear, bones slice. The pain from her attack makes the drac lose his hold on her and with one more well placed attack she severs the spinal cord and the once dancing body falls heavily to the ground. The knife was crude, as crude as the latch outside, but deadly and more important to her, it was silent.
Without much effort, she drags the drac around the corner into the darkness and kneels next to the body, waiting. After an hour, satisfied that no alarm had been raised by her presence, she moves into the corridor a second time. Navigating only by a map in her mind, she hurries along the rough-hewn hall to another hidden doorway. This lock is crude and simple as well and she is almost disappointed at the ease of her entry, but brushes such pettiness aside as she gazes upon what she has traveled so long and so far for.
The room is cavernous and unlike the corridors outside, these walls are carved with meticulous care, broken only by thousands of pinpricks of light scattered like stars. The floor is the same onyx black, with an intricate mosaic that winds around the 13 coffin-like structures evenly placed in a wide circle, and it reflects the lights above giving an effect of endless space. Was the design on purpose? Did the builders intend to mimic eternity?
Lightly jumping over the rail, she lands softly on the reflective stone floor one story below and walks quickly to the sole structure that is untouched. Standing only slightly taller in height then her, she inspects it for an opening mechanism. Disappointed again by the lack of a sophisticated lock, she almost sighs as she reaches around to the small of her back and pulls from underneath her hair one of her fighting pikes. After releasing it to its full length with a soft * snit * uses the long weapon as leverage to pry the case open.
Inside is a man, his long curly black hair acting as a cloak over his naked body. She removes two tubes feeding blue fluid directly into his neck intraveniously, but no other restraint held him in place. Without warning he slumps noisily to the ground. She throws the cloak she took from the dead drac over his shivering form, and then kneels down as he tries to forces his eyes open. With one arm she props him up as he struggles to speak and brushes his hair from his face.
His voice weak and shaking he says defiantly, "I am Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod."
She smiles, "Good morning Duncan. I am Kierna Sinclair, of the Val'den'kai. You have been asleep for far too long, my friend. The Gathering is here."
2
"Well, aren't you pretty," she says as Duncan lifts himself up, gaining his strength with unusual speed; a gift of his immortality. But even with his superior regenerative abilities he was still too weak to stand on his own. Kierna helps him up with the extra strength that is her gift of being a Val'den'kai.
He struggles with the over large robe, cursing as his unruly hair tangles in the sleeve.
"Here," she places a small silver clasp in his hand. Even in his state, he recognizes the trinket and feels an all too familiar tightness in his chest. It was a gift from Tessa.
Sensing his distress Kierna leans close and whispers,"It's good to remember those who loved us. It reminds us that we deserve to be alive."
Caressing it with one finger he forgets the moment and his current peril, and instead remembers his lost love. Then, with quick decisive movements and a grim expression, he pulls his hair back into a ponytail and secures it with the clasp. That simple gesture takes the wind from him and before he can slump to the ground again, Kierna catches him about the waist.
"No, no time for this. Come on," and with dizzying speed she turns him and half carries him to the stair against the wall. "Work with me Duncan," she says as they begin to climb the steps, "We have very far to go."
"Where did you get this?" He demands as they ascend.
She sees no reason not to tell him and replies, "From the Watchers. It had been passed down generations."
"Generations?" he asks, astonished.
"Yes. It's been about 270 years since Tessa gave that to you."
He is sweating with the effort and is frustrated to need so much assistance, but even an immortal will degenerate if kept stagnate. He knows it will take time to get his strength back. He also knows how vulnerable he is at this moment and trusting some woman bearing gifts is a risk, but he also knows he has no desire to remain.
"What do you want from me?" He askes finally.
"Want? Nothing."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"The game must end. It is The Gathering."
"How can you be sure?"
She stops progress as she turns to look at him, puzzled, "Can't you feel it?"
He is silent for a moment to consider, and then says softly, "Yes."
They continue on and reach the top of the stairway. She moves him to the wall so he can support himself while she opens the door a small fraction to peer out. Listening for any movements she is perfectly still. Satisfied the way is clear she wraps her arm about him again and pulls him along with her as they navigate tunnels that wind together with out much rhyme or reason he could discern.
"I hope you know where you're going," he says quietly.
"What? I'm following you."
He looks at her, startled; then is chagrinned to see her lips twist into a sly smile."Fantastic," he mutters in exasperation and her smile broadens, but then grows solemn as they approach an intersection in hallways and tilts her head to one side.
"An alarm," she says more to herself than to him.
"I don't hear anything."
"You wouldn't," she says moving them both back, closer to the wall. She asks, "How's your strength?"
Realizing she asking to acess her immediate resources, he sets aside his pride and answers honestly, "Returning, but slowly."
"I'm not surprised. You've been in Sanctuary about 200 years," her voice trails off; then becomes flat, emotionless. She seemed distracted, and he gets a sense that she isn't even speaking to him anymore, but to a different audience instead, "And everything has changed. Humans walk among the stars now. They have suffered intergalactic war, near annihilation, and found peace. Built communities, made alliances and discovered fantastic things."
She moves a few steps into the hallway, knowing it was an ambush, but deciding to confront it head on, "terrifying things," she continues. Duncan's head begins to buzz; like when another immortal is near, but if he had been pressed to describe it all he would say that it was 'much less'. She turns back to him as he leans against the wall and to his shock her eyes are completely black, like obsidian, and with a thousand voices in one she says, "Like me."
Reaching with both hands behind her, he sees her release two cylinders, one in each hand. With a small jerk they extend to nearly her height.
"Stay behind me," she commands with the multi-voice that chills him. Stunned, he doesn't object. Slowly he is aware of a noise from the dark of the hallway. Soft, whistling.
She curses in a language he doesn't recognize, and then she springs forward as hundreds of jagged pieces of metal fly towards them. With a speed that makes him dizzy, she spins the two long weapons, smashing into the barage of deadly shards aimed for them. Twisting and spinning with frightening accuracy, she knocks each piece to the ground and into the walls around them with each staff working in synconicity. His ears are ringing from the clash of metal on metal but as quickly as it had begun the assault stops.
She steps back, her breathing labored, but she remains alert. Without taking her eyes from the hallway, she shrinks the bo like weapons to their original size and returns them to their clasps in the small of her back.
"Stay down," the chorus of voices calls to him over her shoulder.
Before he can object, four figures move into the light, dancing like snakes in a trance. His eyes have trouble focusing on them and for a moment he thinks to himself, "Is this a dream?" They speak in a vile hissing language he cannot recognize, but he understands a challenge when one is made. He watches as Kierna holds her ground, but notices her back stiffen in anticipation. Could she defeat these four creatures? Again, he cursed his temporary immobility.
Next to him, he notices some of the metal she knocked down vibrating, trying to free itself from where it had become imbedded into the wall. Again the buzz fills his head, aching and angry.
"Kierna," he begins, but she sharply interupts him.
"I know," she says through clenched teeth. He can see from his vantage point her eyes closed and her lips are pressed firmly together.
Suddenly the metal strewn about the room springs up as if alive. The four creatures lift their hands in unison and as they gesture, the swarm speeds towards her from all angles. At the last possible moment she brings her hands up and to his amazement the pieces are halted, inches from her body on all sides. One of the creatures hisses. All four gesture again, this time angrily. The metal quivers but moves no further. Duncan can see that she is sweating with effort and all her muscles strain against the unseen force that is pushing the objects towards her. Slowly, she opens her eyes and relaxes the tiniest fraction. The metal moves in menacingly, but before they touch her, cutting her in a thousand places, her hands move and the metal reacts as if being thrown at her opponents. One by one they fall to the ground silently, black blood ozing from their many wounds. For a moment she leans against the wall breathing hard. After a few moments to gather he own strength back, she walks forward and with her crude knife makes sure all four are dead.
"What are you?" Duncan asks.
"I've told you," she replies with out looking at him.
After her grisly work is done, she turns back to him and he is releaved to see her eyes have lost their obsidian glaze and are once again the eyes of a human.
"What is 'val' den' kai'?"
"It is Minbari for 'Warrior Child'," she says with a sigh figuring now was as good a time as any, then explains in short clipped tones, "Your gift is immortality. Mine is death." She pauses and then continues softly, "It is what I was designed for, and I was designed very well."
"What are you really doing here?"
"Truthfully, I'm here because I am getting paid to be."
"You're a mercenary?"
"Independent contractor," she replies, slightly amused that a nearly 600 year old head hunting immortal could have his sensibilities offended. She kneels in front of him to look him squarely in the eye, "Look Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, you don't have to like me, but you do have to trust me. We have to get moving, more will come." Just as she finishes speaking, the lights in the hall go out, plunging them both in absolute darkness.
"What are they?" He asks as he allows her to help him to stand once again.
"Drac," she says, "They are former sevants of the Shadows, now allies of the Hand, and they fear only one thing: you."