December, 2006
Fiona ran blindly, her attackers following close. She was bleeding, bruised and frightened, all they had wanted was her purse, why had she tried to fight them off with a freaking pen knife?!
Hoping to lose them, she cuts into a park across the street. Weaving through trees and underbrush, hoping that they'd give up. With a suddenness that only happened when man tried to replace some of the wild that it had destroyed, the trees ended leaving a large expanse of well manicured grass, a large stone fountain under lamps and a path that seemed miles away. A man stands under a lamp, the light illuminating short hair and the tops of his shoulders leaving details in shadow. She tries to call out to him when a bang from behind heralds the burning pain of a bullet tearing through her shoulder. She screams and goes down hard and is set upon by the thugs who kick at her prone body. Someone tears her purse from her shoulder while others rifle through her pockets. Finding little in the way of cash they slowly disperse until one man is left. He turns her over, looks into her eyes and stabs her in the chest. Fiona tries to scream again but is cut short as the thug puts his hand over her mouth. Whimpering, Fiona gives into the pain and the darkness.
PainRageFearLight
Fiona gasps, life flooding into her body. She jerks upright with a cry of alarm. She's in a large bed, fluffy down comforter pulled up to her chin.
"the Hell?!"
She looks around the room. A full length mirror stands in the corner. Fiona pulls the comforter off the bed and goes to the mirror. Turning she inspects her shoulder, nothing. Same in the front, just smooth skin where a gaping stab wound should be.
A sudden rush of energy makes her dizzy. She drops the blanket and braces herself against the mirror. A knock on the door startles her back. She wraps the comforter around herself, "um, Come in?"
The door opens and a man comes in. Dark hair, angular nose, smiling eyes and a lop sided grin. He carries a tray in one hand and a bag in the other, "Oh good, I had hoped that you'd be up by now"
He sets the tray on the bed. a large bowl of fruit, scrambled eggs, toast and what smelled like the strongest coffee ever brewed beckons to her. "Eat, you're probably starved"
Nodding, Fiona nearly pounces the food. She finishes off the fruit and starts on the eggs. Half way through she looks up. Gesturing to herself with an eggy bit of toast. "what just happened? Who are you?"
He grins, slouching against the headboard, "I am Methos and I am your teacher"
"What now?"
"Your teacher, dear Fiona, those thugs beat you, shot you and stabbed you. You died in that park. I brought you here, cleaned you up and waited for the inevitable. You are an Immortal"
"No, I'm lying in a pizza induced coma at my apartment"
Methos laughs, "I brought you some new clothes. Your old ones weren't mendable"
She inspects the bag. Under a pile of brand new clothes is her sweater. She holds it up to the light, the green knit is marred with blood dried nearly black, a hole in one shoulder and a gaping slice in the front.
Fiona drops the sweater, hands numb with shock, "I died?"
Methos sighs, "yes, you were dead but now you're not. And you will continue to not be dead as long as you keep your head"
March, 2016
Fiona raises her blade to block her opponent. He presses in, trying to disarm her. Body to body, she brings a knee up swiftly, half expecting him to anticipate the move. He grunts as she makes contact, with a grimace he pushes away, stupidly bending double. She slashes out, wounding him. He falls to his knees in front of her. With a well practiced swing, Fiona takes his head.
Lighting strikes, connecting the heavens and herself as the Quickening consumes her. Fiona drops to her knees, panting. Electricity dancing across her skin, in her hair. She senses movement behind her, "Methos, are you going to keep standing there while my pants catch fire?"
Methos chuckles, "been telling lies again?"
"To everyone except you"
He helps her to her feet and steadies her for a moment. Taking advantage of the stability, she does what he taught her to do. Fiona reaches inward, picking bits and pieces of information from her late opponent's mind. She smiles, "got it. The book is close. But Methos, we could have tortured the location out of him"
"and miss the learning experience that only a real fight can give?"
"You're an ass"
"So I've been told"
He helps her to the car.
"How are they?"
"Good, We'll need to add the scar and tattoo soon"
"How will we fix the split Quickenings?"
"I have a plan"
"You always do"
"Here's the thing I'm trying to figure out, Methos..." Fiona reads from the large tome as she nibbles on a sandwich, Methos looks over her shoulder. "We know that 'there can be only one' so how can these individuals all survive? unless we tweak it like this" she flips to another page and points.
Methos smiles, "that would work. have you been working on the meditations I gave you?"
"Yes. the more powerful the immortal was, the easier it is to isolate the Quickening inside my head"
"good girl, now I want you to read this-" he hauls a massive old book onto the table, "- so you know what to expect if I'm not the first to wake up"
Fiona nods, "So, did you call him? He knows?"
"He knows enough to enrage him and offend his sense of decency. He also thinks that the witch went up against you and you won"
Fiona laughs, "He never learned the truth, did he?"
"He chose to not believe the truth, he likes to embrace his idea of what the best of a person is"
"Fool"
"Are you ready for this?"
She gives him a look, "Are you? Cheating the Game, we don't know if some cosmic equalizing force will destroy us all. And then there's the side effects"
"This has been the plan for nearly a thousand years my dear"
"That's what I mean, if this works there's no getting rid of me and I don't want to be the third, or fifth wheel so to speak"
He ruffles her hair, "You'll fit right in. Now you read, I'll get everything into place"
Fiona enters the large warehouse. From the outside it looked neglected, abandoned. On the inside though, that was a different story. They had cleared the main room, it had taken them years to etch out the complex pattern in the floor and inlay it with copper. Swirling and swooping from a center circle, the pattern separates to four copper tables. Stiff fabric woven from more copper, pressed thin as silk, covers four prone figures. At the head of each table is a hook, three of them hold weapons.
She ignores the sounds of battle echoing from upstairs, Methos would make sure they were close when the time came. He also told her to forgo the customary line for something that would guarantee a last second epiphany.
Ducking out of sight, she waits. Soon Methos stumbles into the room, the dark haired Scot close behind. He allows the Scot to disarm him, ducking and weaving to keep the fight focused. Fiona slides the dropped sword up and into the final hook.
Finally Methos drops to his knees, clutching a wound on his chest. The Scot raises his sword, his voice full of rage, anguish and fear, "Why,Methos? Why this? Why the girl?"
Methos laughs, "Because I am Death, MacLeod. And Fiona is my Heralding Angel"
"I can't let that happen, I'm sorry but you've gone too far. Goodbye, Methos"
MacLeod lets his sword fall, lightning arcs from the headless body. Even though he prepared her for this, Fiona fights the urge to scream. MacLeod is the momentary center a massive storm. When it subsides he is hunched over, right where he should be.
He doesn't notice her approach, he weeps, the poor fool hadn't figured it out yet. She softly picks up his sword, he'd dropped it in the maelstrom. She tosses it to a well placed pile of fabric, it makes no noise as it lands. She raises her own sword and he finally notices her, he gazes at her, too weary to move, "He twisted you, fooled you"
"He fooled you, MacLeod. And he gave me a message. They Ride"
His eyes grow wide, finally piecing everything together, too late. She puts all her strength into her swing, the blade jolting slightly as it hits bone. The body stays upright for a moment, energy bubbling from it like over boiled water. When the first bolt hits her she is knocked back into the center circle. Bolt after arc, arc after bolt, the Quickening lances into her, more intense than any she'd taken before. A nudge, a familiar energy courses through her, it trails three other energies with it. It was time, she places a hand on the North facing pattern, leaving a coil of lightning roiling there at the base. Then the East, South and West patterns. The distinct energies dance along the copper, lacing up the tables and over the fabrics. The remaining Quickening jumps from body to body, always passing through her first, like a seam being closed. As it ends, with one final bolt, Fiona collapses, sprawled on the cold ground. Coughing she stands.
One by one, four immortals surge to life. Their Quickenings settling into meticulously cloned bodies. She stands as the four men sit up, disoriented.
"Silas, Caspian, Kronos, Methos" Four heads turn in her direction, her voice solidifying reality.
Methos, flexing new arms and legs, laughs, "Welcome back, Brothers"