The Monastery was founded sometime in the early 7th century A.D. In 1045, its name was changed to The Monastery of Saint Timothy in honor of an alleged defender who protected those there from a raider incursion. Duncan stared at a picture of a tapestry that allegedly hung on the Monastery wall. That could be an immortal and that could also be a quickening. Despite his further reading though, the Monastery had simply seemed to fade into the history books. One possible reason was that it was a Catholic-based institution; England was mostly Protestant. It did not have the fame of other edifices of Catholicism, either. He looked at the time; he did not realize so much had passed. He had best get home and check on Amanda. There was also the matter of Gwyneth. Somehow, he would have to find the means to train her.

"Gwyneth. I am back!"

Duncan looked in shock. His place was in shambles. Gwyneth's laptop was askew on the table. A chair had been destroyed. A lamp and an end table also were a ruin. He had felt the tingling, but the moment he saw the trail of blood on the floor, his Katana was in his hands, ready for ruin.

"Amanda? Gwyneth? Who is there?"

Only his paranoia saved him from the paperweight that whistled by his head and smashed into the wall. He whirled to see Amanda facing him. She wore a grimace on her visage, and in her hand was her sword.

"Put that down, Amanda. Don't you recognize me? It's Duncan. Where in HELL is Gwyneth?"

Without saying a word, Amanda attacked. Sword rang upon sword in the dwelling. Duncan now heard a moaning sound, then a scream. He did not dare investigate though due to Amanda. He knew she could use a sword, but he had not sparred with her for a long time. The way she wielded her weapon was unnatural but deadly. She moved inside his guard several times and drew blood, but he had yet to come close to striking her. Then she faltered and convulsed and staggered. Duncan ran to her, but was jolted by a bolt of lightning! He staggered away, holding his side where he was struck, but still kept his sword in hand. That had hurt! That was quickening fire! Had there been another immortal here? That could not be; a quickening only happened when you took a head!

What he saw, though, defied what he knew. Amanda faced him with a deadly expression on her countenance. Quickening fire crackled down and up her arm and across her body.

"Even I have more POWER than any youngling ever possessed! And I will soon possess this one! This is the price you pay for interference, fool!"

Amanda convulsed yet again, as if she fought something. Gwyneth was alternating between sobbing gasps and screaming as she crawled on hands and knees out of Amanda's room. She was a bloody mess from head to toe, her head especially. Amanda's gaze centered on Gwyneth now.

"Havoc, dowdy on Ap Hwywd!"

She stalked over to Gwyneth and raised her sword. Gwyneth screamed again, but this time in fury. She smashed into Amanda, ducking under the sword cut and bore her to the floor. Amanda's sword clattered away. Duncan had to physically pull Gwyneth from Amanda. She was pounding Amanda's head on the floor. Amanda was out cold, but lightning still crackled across her frame. Duncan turned to Gwyneth to say something, but she was near catatonic shock.

"Sh-sh-sh-she killed me! She attacked me for no reason. WHY IS SHE DOING THIS! Is this what I have to look forward to?!" She spat on Amanda.

"No. She is not herself. She attacked me too." Duncan looked as if he was near tears. "We need to do something, and I need your help to do it."

"Kill her! She will only go berserk again! Kill that –"Duncan slapped Gwyneth hard enough to knock her down.

"I don't want to hear any more of that from you! Do you understand me!? She and I have been friends for over 200 years. If you had not lied to her before, she may have avoided all of this! So WE are going to deal with it because YOU are partly to blame for this! In the basement, there is a spool of rope. Get it now!"

He tenderly picked up Amanda, ignoring the periodic jolts of lightning he got from her. Her room was a mess as well. He gently set her down on the floor. He removed the sheets that were soiled with sweat and now blood and cast them aside. Even though immortals could not die from such things, they still were affected like mortals regarding drugs. He injected Amanda with a heavy dose of an industrial strength sedative. Then he cleaned up the room and laid fresh bedding down. A bloodied Gwyneth returned with the rope. She only watched in silence as he laid Amanda on the bed then proceeded to tie her securely to it. She noticed he was crying as he did so. He bound her legs , then her arms. Then he wrapped several turns around her chest. He had put another bandage on her wound. It still did not heal! It had turned almost black and wept an unhealthy looking fluid. The bands of infection radiated from the wound to most all areas. He turned to Gwyneth.

"Get cleaned up. You sleep in my bed again. I am staying here. I am sorry I struck you, but Amanda is one of the few immortal friends I have. You will eventually learn that friends are more valuable when you are immortal."

He heard the shower running as he watched Amanda. He was crying as he spoke to her. Despite the sedative, her body still twitched and convulsed, though restrained by the ropes that bound her.

"What happened to you, Amanda? What in the hell happened? Here I thought that you were up to your old tricks, but it turns out you were only trying to help a friend. All the times I was telling you should grow up and act your age, "he sniffed," and now you try to do so and you are near death for the effort. Whatever it is, you have to fight it somehow. I don't want to take your head. You still are going to get a lecture you know." He smiled at her through his tears. "I wish there was something I could do to help, but I can't think of anything right now." He kissed her on her sweaty brow and wept for his friend. He sat in a chair by her bed and covered himself with a blanket. It was going to be a long night.

Paris 1805

Duncan was reading the paper that morning when bedlam interrupted his task. He observed hordes of soldiers swarming through the esplanade. What is going on, he asked a passing soldier. Nothing to worry about, monsieur; it's just that a theft has been discovered of some valuables from an esteemed personage. Duncan shrugged and went back to his reading, but he could not fail to notice the telltale tingle of someone nearby. The only possible targets were a doddering old man…and two young looking females hidden in the shadows. The fact they were dressed in trousers confirmed to him they were of his kind. He went over there. The two initially looked up in fright, but relaxed when Duncan introduced himself. He had noticed also that the brown haired one was hiding something from view.

Good afternoon, ladies. Isn't it a fine day? I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan Macleod. You haven't possibly seen a thief or two running around on the Esplanade, have you? They are looking for one now.

Oh, are they? What would make you think we would know of such people, the blond-haired female sniffed.

Maybe it's your partner's look of guilt? Duncan laughed. I am not going to report you, but it's not a good idea to be pickpocketing people here. There might be good pickings, but also a lot of police, too. Good day, ladies.

Duncan took his leave with a tip of his hat.

After he had left, both ladies breathed a sigh of relief. How do you think he spotted us? Amanda asked. She showed her mentor the coins and jewelry she had purloined. I don't know, but we do need to be careful. He is a rakish sort, isn't he? Yes he is, Amanda said, and not bad looking either…

Amanda! Duncan's voice had lecture written all over it. But Duncan, it will be fun! Hasn't there ever been a time when you kicked up your heels and enjoyed life? Yes, but not deliberately at other peoples expense, and I might even think before I act. Doesn't that sound like good advice? That sounds like a boring existence to me!...

Duncan was nudged from his reverie by laughing. It was Amanda doing so. She looked at her bonds and tested them. They held her tight. "Release me from here now!" Her look was not only baleful but also seemed imperious.

"I don't think so, Amanda. That is at least two times you attacked Gwyneth, and once for me. You know how it is." She made lightning crackle across her right hand, but it was not very active. "And that's a neat trick with the lightning as well. That will not work, either. "

Amanda mumbled some words to herself in that same strange language. "It doesn't matter, anyways. My brothers will kill you for interfering, as I intend to kill this one for the SAME THING!"

"What brothers? Any relation to Gwyneth being your sister?"

"The whole clan is related to each other. That is our strength. This bitch should never have interfered; now she is paying the price! You think that these bindings will stop me? Or stop any of us?"

"Interfere in what? And what clan?"

"Our clan, youngling. The Clan of Ap Hwywd. The Clan who will rule unfettered after all has been accomplished!" This was followed with what sounded like a cackle.

Duncan smiled, "There have not been any clans of consequence for centuries. They are only figurehead representations."

Amanda stopped laughing and glared at Duncan. "I was not talking centuries, fool! I meant millennia! We were old before what you even call ancient history! You study it, but we lived it!"

Duncan may have looked like he was humoring her, but he was listening to every word she said. "It sounds like you are as old as some people I know, then. That still doesn't explain the monk though." Despite the unpleasant conditions surrounding this dialogue, he was filling in some blanks.

Amanda seemed to be conversing with another in her mind. "Death is a very good liar, youngling. Even he is not as old as us. And you are a fool if you think that…DESTROYER! Is a monk! If we do not kill you, he may do the same!" She convulsed, only restrained by the ropes that bound her. "Sardicus should have been king, not he!" She collapsed to the bed, all tautness going slack. The only sound in the room was her harsh breathing.

"The King? Is that what she said, Duncan. "Gwyneth stood in the doorway, her face slightly sleep worn.

"Yes. But it still doesn't make any sense. Go back to sleep. We will have our hands full tomorrow as well. " One piece of information he turned over in his mind, though. Death is a very good liar, youngling. Methos used to go by that name long ago, but what had he lied about? As he mulled this over in his mind, sleep once again claimed him.

The sun was warm on the back of his neck as he slowly came awake by degrees. He arose and stretched, cracking the kinks out of his frame. He mulled over his options. Any real going about would be impeded by Amanda's condition. Gwyneth could not be trusted with her care; after all, hadn't Amanda attacked her twice, once with vicious intent. She lay in her bindings like a corpse; her flesh nearly as white as alabaster. On occasion, her head would twitch or her body would jerk, and she would mumble something in that strange language. He sadly shook his head and went outside into the living room. Gwyneth still was asleep, he guessed. After he took a shower, he dug out some cold cuts and made a sandwich. After that and some strong coffee, he almost felt human again. It was only a little after eight when he heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Duncan eyed his sword nearby.

"Mr. Dawson sent me to look at some items you had?"

Some people did consider early as early! He opened the door to see a rather wizened, scholarly looking man standing there. Duncan let him in. He offered him some coffee, but the old man declined.

"My name is Mr. Saule. I was told you had some items that would need to be inspected and possibly appraised?" He had a most grandfatherly smile on his countenance.

"You were not given any information on them? I left some with Dawson."

"They only told me that you had some items. I prefer not to know them beforehand; it could spoil my objectivity. "

Duncan smiled. If anything, Dawson did know some capable people. He bade the man sit at the desk then produced the items one at a time. Mr. Saule turned the crown over and inspected it.

"This is perhaps 45 ounces of sterling silver with an indecipherable rune on it. There would not be much value in this unless you were fond of this sort of thing. He looked over the tomes carefully; he only handled them after putting on thick gloves.

"These are also interesting. The writing in these appears to be several languages. Someone coated the page edges with some sort of poison, probably lethal." The man closed the tomes after quickly leafing through their contents. "You will need someone far better versed in various dead languages to make any sense of these. The runes in them look Celtic or the equivalent."

So, I was right about those, Duncan thought. The old man became more animated upon seeing the parchment, though.

"This is in Latin way before the time of the printing press. This was handwritten. "

"What is it?"

"An Order of Excommunication against a Monastery dated 1201 according to the writing. And it was signed by the pope himself! This must have been a task of utmost importance as well. He included his papal cross as authority to go with the document."

"I take it that is this?" Duncan produced the cross.

The old man was speechless at first, but then he deftly inspected the item. "There is some documentation that states this was lost and never recovered. It seems to be genuine." He suddenly had a serious expression on his face. "I do not wish to know how this was obtained, but it is at once priceless, worthless, and possibly dangerous."

"How would it be dangerous? The gems on the item, let alone the gold, would be very valuable as well."

"No one in their right mind would dare try to sell this; it would be like trying to fence the Mona Lisa. The back is hallmarked. This item poses an additional threat to who possesses it. The danger here would be that even though we live in the modern age, there still exist protectors of the Catholic faith. They are called Defensor Fidei; not to be confused with the title conferred upon the English royals. They would go to great lengths to get this item back, especially if they knew about it." He reread the excommunication order. "It looks like this cross was included with the writ so as there would be no issue with authority."

"It seems that way, yes."

"Then it may be possible that those who carried out the order never accomplished their task. As far as I am concerned, these items do not exist. I wish you the best in your endeavors. "The old man made haste in preparing to leave.

"One more thing. Does this say what Monastery was to be excommunicated?"

"The Monastery of Saint Timothy. Good day, Monsieur." He left without a further word.

The same place with that hanging. Why does that figure? His train of thought was broken by Gwyneth appearing and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Sounds also came from Amanda's room. Gwyneth turned in that direction, but her expression was grim.

"I hope she is tied down securely, Duncan. Who was that who was just here?"

"Someone who looked over the items in that satchel. And Amanda is my problem. I will deal with it."

I hope I do not have to…NO! He would not even consider that thought; more than one immortal friend had died by his hand. For all those times, he had an excuse, but there would be none here. She simply had to get better! He tried Dawson on his cell phone, but it was turned off at Dawson's end. He thought that was odd, but he shrugged it off. He had some more reading to do, but he had the books he needed here.

Mr. Saule had not gone very far from the abode before he was on a cell phone as well. Unlike Duncan's attempt though, the number he dialed was answered before the first full ring. The voice on the other end seemed bored at first, but as Mr. Saule spoke, the voice on the other end became more and more animated. The conversation ended quickly, but not before the call's recipient received some valuable information regarding some lost property.

There was a good reason that Dawson's phone was turned off. It had been turned off ever since he made up his mind to travel to Wales over the objections of his colleagues. It is a trap, some of them said. Others pointed to what information they had gathered. Even though Wales was somewhere off the beaten path, the Watcher cell that had gone red had now come under renewed scrutiny. Out of the 17 Watchers allegedly active there, only Edmund Laskey appeared to be answering his phone. Upon closer inspection, the reports out of that cell were routine. Too routine. This abnormality started around six years ago.

Despite the human urge to finger point, there was no time for that considering the circumstances. Numerous Watcher cells had gone to ground in the last week. What that meant was that the cells archived their files and disappeared as best as they could. If the cells ever reformed, they would then unarchive their information and update it. Once Dawson made up his mind to go to Wales, it set the Watcher organization in motion. His cell phone was confiscated and shut off, due to it not having sufficient security. Despite his protestations, a group of six escorts was going with him.

The group was led by one Paddy Humboldt. A giant sized human being, he was retired from a special services police force stationed in Ireland. He had received an honorable commendation from the force; publicly, he was as upright a policeman as any force would want. The real truth was that privately, he possessed a brutal pragmatism which his superiors felt did not fit in with the new image they wished to adopt. It is a simple matter to find people brutish enough to not have qualms about injuring their fellow man, but much harder to find one with those qualities plus the ability to think. The suspect they had caught would not admit to his crimes. With only circumstantial evidence, this child molester would have gone free. Not after Paddy had a chat with them. They found two of his victims dead and buried exactly where the suspect said they were. The suspect died of his injuries shortly thereafter. He was recruited into a Watcher cell after he researched a tattoo found on a corpse. It was either recruit him or kill him; the vast majority who had voted decided the former option was the best. He had selected five others to accompany him and Dawson to Wales. He was the one who confiscated Dawson's cell phone. He and his associates had secure units. Paddy then quickly appraised the situation. He decided that it was a trap period, but orders were orders. The seven of them left that morning on a train to their destination; they were armed to the teeth as per Paddy's instruction.

Only two hours after they left, a bomb detonated near the Watcher cell HQ in Paris. A vicious firefight ensued, leaving many dead and wounded. A Watcher was found out to have betrayed his own to the attackers. After a very brief discussion, what information they had was archived and the remaining Watchers left alive had disappeared into the population. A pre-recorded message made it seem that the line was no longer in service, but a Watcher hearing the message would know that another Cell had gone to ground….

Brother Timothy awoke and stretched. He took a shower then ate some leftover food he had in the small fridge in his apartment. He started to say a prayer to God then hesitated. Me? Does he even exist, or have I been living a lie? Already, nineteen people had been killed by his hand; more would die before this was through. Possibly even yourself. Did he have any right to beg for God's forgiveness? He thought about all the times when he had answered to another set of gods; ones who would have sneered at the pacifism of Christianity. Pacifism? He prayed silently in his room. And it seems that the ones who would seem the most pious deserve not God's mercy at all….

England 1202 A.D.

…he had already heard the rumors, and they had been backed up with written fact: The Pope had declared an Inquisition and no one was safe from it. The worst had occurred in France, but its deadly tendrils had crept northwards and crossed the small water. It was amazing how many would admit to heresy once the proper tortures were applied. It did not even matter what sort of sentence was imposed; death always seemed to be the outcome. The ones who ran this circus would be satisfied with nothing less since only a death of a heretic could prove their glorious work for God.

They came to the Monastery one day; he remembered because the day was sunny with few clouds, and they had ruined it. The speaker was a gaudily dressed fool

. We call upon the Brothers of this Monastery to lend their will in finding the heretics amongst you and show them the proper path to the Lord God!

The Monsignor at the time was a weak-willed fool, so heBrother Timothy addressed the speaker directly.

Why would we need you and yours to root out heresy and apostasy? Haven't you slaughtered enough?

The speaker was in shock as he went to converse with the entourage. Then he returned. Your attitude is not seeming with one who is penitent to God!

You are a human as am I; what gives you the right to make that statement? All that this Inquisition is being used for is to steal and pilfer for some human pursuit. I see no glory of God in that. You and yours will leave here and not return; you are not welcome or wanted here. When the speaker motioned two guards to accost him, he easily disarmed them and knocked them down. He grabbed the speaker by the front of their clothing. If you seek heresy and apostasy, maybe you should investigate the one who sanctioned your murderous purge! He cast the speaker to the ground. Get out of my sight! They never returned to the Monastery….

..it was several months later that the troubles began. Two Brothers were burned at the stake as heretics, and several had to flee angry crowds. Soon, the seriousness of the attacks was revealed. The speaker had gone up through the chain of ecclesiastical command …all the way to Rome! The pope had taken umbrage at his comments and issued an order of Excommunication against the Monastery. They did not consider this to be a major task, so they were sending only fifty people to carry out the edict. After the Monastery was no more, the inquisitors would move in and probably purge the population. As it went for the moment, it was now open season on any Brother of this Monastery. Because of the popularity of their Monastery regarding the village, there was no formal, spoken announcement. That was a factor in his favor. If the edict was never carried out, it could be quashed. There was no way the Brothers here could resist an armed force of that size, so it fell to him…..once again…

…You know, you are going about this rather inefficiently, the stranger said.

Brother Timothy snarled back, how else am I to do what must be done? He had shadowed the fifty they had sent; he had killed only three so far, and two messengers. Those crossbow quarrels hurt, though! This made the second time he had died. He writhed in agony as he yanked out the second quarrel that had hit him. Then he looked at the hooded stranger. What do you care, anyway? I have to get back to what I was doing

I have never seen you this petulant, Ardis, not ever. The stranger's laugh was like a bell. They removed their hood.

Clywd! Where have you been all this time! Oh, I have been around here and there. If you like, my companion and I would be glad to assist partially in this endeavor, but we really do not wish to deal with the iron wielders with swords.

That will be no problem.

And you may want to consider one of those bows to keep at your side…you never know when it could be of use…..

….the crossbowmen were all dead. Clywd and his companion had seen to that, and in very short order. He harried them constantly, killing one or two at a time then disappearing. Of the fifty that had left, only ten remained…he laughed as he pursued them….

…..now only one remained, and he was not in the best of mental conditions. He howled obscenities at him, but the monk paid those no mind. He knew that this monk was not of their kind; his wounds healed almost instantly. They had tried trampling him with a horse, but he easily unhorsed the rider. The final battle was not even a battle. He had searched the corpse first, but found what he was looking for in the leader's saddlebags. Not only did he now have the edict, but he also had the sign of papal authority…he hid them safely away. The inquisitors came later, but they decided to leave when a number of them also died. No such purge ever got near the Monastery again….

England 1232 A.D.

….The weaponsmith looked at him askance. What use will a crossbow that size do ye even if I can make it? It will not have the power of this full-size one here.

How would I carry that unobtrusively, though? It would not be meet for a man of the cloth such as I to openly carry such a godless weapon. I am told you are the best craftsman around….but if you can not make what I wish…

He had taken his friends advice in a way…he had a crossbow now…but it looked like a child's toy. It was only 10 inches in length or so at its largest point, but it was not a toy. Its range was limited to perhaps sixty feet, but he found that more than adequate. Finding quarrels for it proved to be a harder task, but that was done as well. He tipped them in deadly poison to compensate for their shorter range. All things considered, maybe I should have done this a while ago, he thought. It had served him well throughout the years…

He finished his prayer and once again arose. He wondered how that youngling was faring at the moment; wherever she was, anyone near her would have their hands full. He decided to go out for a walk and think over his options. It was rather annoying that there were barricades up and police about detouring traffic away from a scene of carnage. No bother, he thought, it does not concern me. Something else was of more concern now. He felt multiple tingling sensations. He ignored them for the moment, but not totally. Though he had hopes for a friend, it was most likely that a foe was around. He kept his persona as damped down as he could.

….she rested in the middle of a midden heap. The wounds on her body were infected and there was no way to move without causing pain. This was where she had lived before the plague took her. She was appalled at the filth surrounding her; she only considered the surroundings a midden heap. This was how I lived before I died and became immortal. Wait….I was never wounded like that. Those sorts of wounds in that filth would have killed me. But she is killing me….who is? The red-haired bitch of the perverted habits. The vision of her home was washed away in a sea of blood. It drenched her and tumbled her around in it. The bitter iron-tinged odor was enough to make her gag. She was covered with bite marks; pieces of her flesh were missing! The red-haired woman bent down again, her filed incisors dripping with blood.

I said I would consume you bite by bite, and I shall! You can not escape from me! Try as she might, Amanda could not escape those sharp teeth or the gore or the reek of death that was everywhere. She now knew the strange language the woman spoke; it was beyond the realm of humans since it was not their language originally. The languages of the day like it were but pale runic imitations of it. Olden-Tongue was as good a name for it as any. She had so far resisted the red-haired bitch to an extent, but not totally. My god, she had attacked and killed Gwyneth and attacked Duncan! Would they ever forgive her? It was not her fault…..She screamed…IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!...The woman tore off another chunk of her flesh and chewed it…..and swallowed. It is your fault bitch! All your fault! You bit me, and tore off my flesh….and I cut off your head to stop you…I killed you! I ….killed..you..

The woman was no longer laughing; she was furious! She clawed and scratched at Amanda…you are mine….

but I killed you…..

YOU….ARE…MINE!

You are DEAD! I killed you…..The blood washed over her in torrents…but I am only seeing her memories….of who she was…where she had been….she had a lot of power…this Amanda knew….but when an immortal takes another's head, they gain the power….nothing regarding their memories, though…..but...she knew this now...powerful memories….of a race and language long dead….of her perversion….she knew why she had attacked Gwyneth now….she may not be like this one, but she is from the same clan…the sea of blood was only in her mind…..she accepted its symbolism. It ceased to wash over her. She looked at her ruined flesh. This did not happen to immortals! She ignored the red-haired woman's verbal abuse. One by one, she concentrated on the wounds. And one by one, they disappeared. There was one that did not, but she ignored its pain. She saw a monk slaughtering nine immortals…but to these immortals, younglings like her had power of no consequence. How many heads did you take?...it no longer mattered at the moment…these memories were hers now…she would have to deal with them as she may…her clothing was a gore soaked filthy ruin…now they were whole and clean and warm. There was one more thing she needed, though…she felt its weight in her hand…..she smiled…a smile of malevolence and fury…..the red-haired bitch was dead..now to purge her from her mind…it was her mind after all…..

Amanda shuddered and writhed against her bonds. Blue lightning crackled from her in fits and starts as she struggled. Duncan sat in a chair near her silent as a stone. He was enraged at his powerlessness in this situation. He had no idea who or what had hurt Amanda, but someone was going to pay dearly for this misdeed. His grim countenance reflected this vow.