Charles DeGaulle Airport, 1 January 2024, a few hours earlier:
It had taken a couple of days to get the flights set up for their trip back to Athens. Four seats… not three as originally planned.
In the meantime, Derrick had taken Amber on a trip about Paris. After all, now that he knew he wasn't staying here, he doubted he'd ever come back. Whatever purpose there had been in Darius' long sojourn here, it had nothing to do with Derrick. In quiet moments, he read and studied the chronicle entries about the two thousand year old priest. Some of them he realized he knew… as if he'd lived them… dreamed them… others were a revelation.
He'd never realized that the man had a sense of humor both before and after his coming to Paris. He might have considered winning the game at one point… but it seemed to even his Watchers that he was amused about it and that it never entered into his calculations as general of a barbarian horde… or later as priest.
Some Watchers remarked about the size of the sword he wielded with ease and its strange configuration in a day and age when swords were shorter. It seemed a massive thing. Later chroniclers wondered what had happened to it and if it lay hidden somewhere on the church grounds… awaiting the day when he'd take it up once more. Still others suggested that it was a legend only… or that it was simply a sword with a longer blade to give him an advantage… he had been a metalworker… according to things he'd said that had been written down… and perhaps the sword was just something he'd created.
Derrick smiled at some of the entries, thoughtfully translated into English by the program or by Joe… though Derrick thought he could have managed them even in the old tongues. His dreams as a boy had often included languages he didn't know and yet somehow began to understand… or remember. These entries were written by men who fought beside Darius, or by women who served him soup at a campfire. Later they were written by young monks or priests on fire with the word of God and yet trying to justify an immortal within that framework. Most spoke glowingly of the man they Watched… only a few cast aspersions on his character… even when he was conqueror of their people. Derrick found it filled with insight into the man whose quickening had somehow not been lost but had found its way to him. But he was no closer to knowing why that had happened… except that Darius had felt something still unfinished that needed to be done. But if not the cavern… what?
"Come on me boyo," Amber said with a laugh. "Yar all caught up in that and can't see the forest for the trees.
Derrick glanced up at the milling crowds at the airport. They'd arrived in plenty of time and had been processed through swiftly; their swords once more relegated to baggage. He still worried about that, but Phillip had told them it was the easiest and fastest way through commercial travel.
"I don't like being without mine either," Phillip had chuckled before they left, "But it's better to hide something in plain sight rather than try to hide it at all."
No one with weapons was allowed on the planes other than the air marshals and while that gave Derrick and the others some measure of security within the terminal and aboard the plane… he was still concerned. After all… the Great Sword supposedly called to other immortals when it wasn't with him. What if there was one working in the baggage areas?
Sensing another immortal somewhere in the terminal he sat back and casually scanned the crowd. No one clearly stood out and he assumed that whoever they were… they were moving on, determined not to react unless necessary. Derrick couldn't blame the immortal. It's what he should do. He clicked off the scanner.
"Want something to drink?" he asked Amber. When she nodded, he rose and headed for a drink kiosk not far from their waiting area. Swiftly he bought two bottles of water and was heading back to her… even flashed her a smile when he felt the immortal move up on his right. He turned swiftly… ready for hand-to-hand combat if necessary.
The man stopped some six feet away. He was wild-eyed, and his clothes were covered with dust. He rubbed his forehead, as if uncertain what was happening. Derrick cautiously lowered his defensive stance. People continued to brush past the two of them unconcerned.
The man clutched his head and hissed in pain as Cassandra walked up. He backed away, shaking his head at both of them. His wordless cry of terror said more than many explanations might.
"Warren," Cassandra said tentatively. "Warren Cochrane?" she reached out for him.
He shook his head and backed away further. Then he turned ready to take flight, when he saw Alisaunne emerge from the ladies room. Her eyes widened and she smiled as she raced toward him. "Ren! You found me!" She was hugging him happily while he looked around in wordless terror. Then he began to clutch her and sob.
"And you know him?" Derrick said quietly to Cassandra.
"Yes… an old friend. He's had some problems. He had a mental breakdown a few years ago and has never been quite the same." She smiled. "I met him on Flodden Field… after the battle he first died in. Such a bonny boy he was."
Derrick shifted warily, wondering just what this new immortal meant to him, and to the others.
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Warren… or Ren as Alisaunne kept referring to him did seem to respond to her. "I was looking for you. Your face was all I could think about," he told them while they huddled in the chairs near their flight. Ren had tickets for Glasgow… but other than looking up when his flight was called, made no move to leave her. He kept touching her as is to prove she was real.
"He's got to come with us!" Alisaunne said. "Give me your ticket. I'll make the arrangements."
"I think he has to do that," Derrick said cryptically. Alisaunne was excited, Cassandra was concerned, Ren was confused and Amber and he were just observers at the moment.
"You must come to Greece with us. I want you to meet my p…" She paused and then continued, "Meet my friends and mentors. It's the first time in almost thirteen years that I've been home. I want them to meet you." Alisaunne's happiness seemed infectious as Ren gradually seemed to come around to the idea. They headed for the ticket counter to see about exchanging his ticket. Evidently he didn't care where he was going… as long as she was there.
"I'm not certain I quite trust him," Amber whispered. "How do ya feel about him?"
"I'm not sure," Derrick replied honestly. "I sense danger about him… but it's unfocused… as if it's as much against himself as one of us."
"Ya still see those auras ya spoke of then?"
Derrick nodded. Usually if people were a threat to him… he could sense it about them… like a feeling or a color. But about Warren, it was in flux… as if he could go either way. Derrick thought about Tyler Burke and his confusion. Cochrane seemed much the same. He was angry… but it was focused at someone or something he couldn't seem to clearly recall. He felt dangerous… but not imminently threatening.
"I'll watch him," he whispered back and noticed that Cassandra was watching the other two with an odd look on her face… as if she were jealous. But jealous of who? Which one? And why? Was it something as simple as that the two of them knew one another and were making plans without consulting her? Or was it something else? Derrick wondered just what had happened at the battle of Flodden Field and how those events might yet impact them all.
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Ren handed over his passport and ticket with a rueful smile to the ticket agent. Beside him Ali practically bounced. Until an hour ago… shed been a face in a dream that he'd been uncertain of. She knew him… she called him Ren… it was enough for the moment.
"We're flying into Rome and then on to Athens," she was explaining to the agent and Ren was content to let her do the talking while he tried to think clearly. His head still hurt from the annoying buzz he kept hearing and didn't understand. He'd felt it several times recently and… Ren shook his head. He wasn't certain what had happened those other times. It was confusing and had something to do with getting hit by lightning.
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The flight into Rome had been uneventful. They'd had a short layover of about an hour… barely enough time to move from one plane to the other as they'd been parked on opposite ends of the terminal. The two couples held hands and laughed as they moved along the concourses toward their destination. Cassandra felt like a fifth wheel. Her coat folded over her arms, she followed them sedately and with a worried expression teasing at the small line in the center of her forehead. She was thinking about Flodden Field… and a new immortal name Warren Cochrane.
Flodden Field, Scotland, 1513 C.E.
The dead… the young men of Scotland who had followed their king on his quest were dead… as was the king. The slaughter of nearly an entire generation of young was beyond comprehension. Ravens swooped over the bloodied corpses on the battlefield, cawing their raucous delight.
Among the dead she walked, Cassandra, the witch of Donan Wood. Around her was death… rotting, putrid death. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand as she stepped amongst the corpses searching for life. With her were other camp followers, many showing the signs of the brutal rape of the victorious English. Each searched through the bodies, seeking a familiar face or the clan sigil of someone they knew. Those bodies would be buried and word of their deaths would be taken home to their villages. As for the rest?
Cassandra glanced over to where some of the peasant men were already piling corpses to be burnt or buried in mass graves. She had seen such carnage before… many times… and its aftermath always required harsh decisions. Like the Morrigan of Celtic legend, she had come to search the battlefield for a warrior. In this case, she hoped to find an immortal… someone new to the life. Her dark cloak fluttered like raven's wings in the breeze as she moved among the dead. Thus she had done for millennia. But this time… there was the prophecy to consider… the Highland child born on the Winter Solstice. Did he lie here among the dead?
Not far away the voice of Angus MacFadden yelled and called to her, "Cassandra… I've found one!" The burly, red-haired Highlander was kneeling in the bloody soil and had lifted the semi-conscious form of a wounded man… no… a dead one, who was only now reviving.
Even as she strode toward the pair, Cassandra could feel his quickening spark and then begin to burn as the body jerked in Angus' arms and drew in that first tortured breath of immortal life.
"Here is some clean water," she told Angus as she offered him the small bag of water from her side to the Scot and then crouched at his side to get a look at their prize. The new immortal was dark-haired; he wore it long; a dark and bloody beard surrounded his mouth, now gasping as he drank the offered water. He spat blood two or three times and then looked around with wild eyes.
"Wha's 'appened? Who ur yoo? The king?"
"King James, my young friend, alas, is dead. The English are victorious," Angus began but was interrupted by the young man's howl of denial and his flailing arms. Angus released him to survey the field of battle. The howl increased as the young man got a good clear look at Flodden Field.
Cassandra's heart broke for him. Too often those whose first death was on the battlefield… who awoke to the carnage-laden aftermath… were never able to become strong immortals. It was one reason she always came, hoping against hope that she could save them. Perhaps it was something she had learned from her teacher, the mysterious Lilith who wanted so to save the children. At any rate… she reached forward to gently touch the young man's arm.
"There will be other battles for you. Come."
His hazel eyes met hers and filled with tears. "Fer a free Scotland, I'll lay down my life."
Cassandra caressed his cheek with a smile. He was so very young and naïve. "Then come away with me young one… for I have much to tell you."
He looked around in confusion and horror, sobbing once more. Angus patted his shoulder. "Aye lad… tis a hard thing to live when all about ya are dyin'. But God had a plan fer ya and it didn't involve dyin' this day. Now go with Cassandra. I'll continue lookin' fer others."
"Ma kinsman Donal… Robert of Glenelwinn… ya'll search fer them?"
"Aye lad… and come nightfall… I will come to ya and we'll have ourselves a real talk."
Numbly the young man rose… clearly still overwhelmed by events and by what he saw around him. He flinched as one of the nearby women shrieked and then fell to her knees, clawing at one of the corpses.
"Do you have a name?" Cassandra asked, taking his arm lightly, fully ready to withdraw her hand if need be.
"He nodded. Warren… Warren of Helensburgh… in Strathclyde."
Cassandra's heart fell, but she gave no sign of her disappointment. He was not from the Highlands. He was not the one she sought. "Then come with me Warren of Helensburgh. I have a campsite just over there… upwind of the battlefield. I have a fire, and there will be water, ale, food, and a clean blanket. Whatever you seek?"
He nodded and accompanied her. Behind them, Angus continued his grisly task of searching the dead.
At the fire, Warren sank cross-legged while Cassandra stirred the embers and put water on to heat. When it was hot, she dipped a cloth and began to wash his face of blood, sweat and grime. Warren's eyes remained unfocused, but he no longer fought her. Indeed, it didn't seem as if anything would break through the heavy depression he was in. Cassandra sighed and then offered him some more cold water to drink while she set about cooking a basic meal. When it was ready, she was surprised by Warren's intense and curious gaze. He fingered the hole in tunic where likely he'd received his fatal wound.
"Am I bewitched?" he asked. "Ah know I was wounded. But there's no wound."
Cassandra glanced at the setting sun. Angus would be here soon. She sighed and then moved to Warren's side. "There are those of us who heal very quickly. You are such a one."
Warren's brow knitted. "And this noise in my 'ead!" he cried with a brittle tone. He winced and held it with both hands.
Cassandra gently pulled his hands from his head and lifted his head until his eyes met hers. "It is the gift of us who have it to know when others are about. You sense me… and Angus. Now you must eat. Angus will tell you everything when he comes."
Warren shook his head. Cassandra gathered the young man into an embrace, feeling his tears on her breast. He groaned and lifted his head to kiss her. Cassandra kissed him back and then relaxed onto the ground so he could fumble aside her clothing and make love to her. It had been so long for her since her last lover. In the back of her head, the thought that she was taking advantage of him reared its head. She pushed it down and focused on pleasing him and urging him on.
By the time Angus returned, they were finished and still lolling in the dirt… Warren atop her, her bare legs bent and shining with sweat in the firelight. Angus snorted at them both and then stepped out of the circle of light for a moment. Cassandra pushed the young man away and straightened her clothing. Inwardly she felt content.
Cassandra shook her head, brushing her hand before her eyes as if to dispel the flies that had swarmed about them that long ago day. Warren Cochrane had never been a strong, confident immortal… and his love for a free Scotland had always been the one overwhelming truth of his life. Angus had taken him away the following day to train him while she had returned to Donan Wood to watch and to wait. The immortal she sought would be born nearly a century later… in 1592.
L'attenzione tutti i passeggeri per il volo 664 del AlItalia, comincia prego ad imbarcare ora.
The feminine voice on the intercom asked them to begin boarding their flight to Athens. Cassandra fumbled for a boarding pass and as a group, the four… no make that five now… immortals moved forward in the line.
The new seating arrangements had Cassandra sitting with Derrick and Amber while Alisaunne and Warren were two rows up and in the center. Cassandra eyed them whispering with each other and worried. Nothing good can come of that," she thought and then sat in the window seat. Amber sat next to her while Derrick sprawled his long legs partially into the aisle. After the plane took off, he scrunched down in his seat and closed his eyes. They were in the air. The next stop would be Athens. What could go wrong now?
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Ten minutes later there were people running in the aisles, screams, a shot fired, and the definite feel of the airplane banking sharply and then diving before leveling out and streaking across the sky at full throttle.
Cassandra made to leap to her feat… awkward in the coach seats and was restrained by Derrick's firm arm. "Be still," he said quietly.
Cassandra gasped at the feel of his hand and for a moment saw once again a fight to the death… and Derrick was on his knees. She moaned her denial and then blinked the image away. She needed to concentrate on the here and now… or all of their lives and their hopes for a future would be lost.
A man of medium height, bearded and with dark curly hair sauntered slowly down the aisle, an automatic weapon in one arm. Slowly he leaned over a male passenger slumped in his seat… blood dripping from one hand from the slowly blooming rose-shape on his chest. The hijacker gingerly lifted a small firearm from the man's holster and tossed it to another of his armed compatriots. Evidently the dead man was the air marshal… the only armed man among the passengers besides this man's own men. They'd already identified and killed him.
From where they sat, the immortals could see the armed men slowly emerging from the hostess galleys scattered throughout the plane. Evidently they'd smuggled the arms aboard in the hostess carts and had just waited for them to begin pulling them out to begin serving the meal. Some of them were dressed casually in Western clothing; some were in business suits. They made no attempt to hide their faces from the rest of the passengers.
A man several rows back managed to stand from an interior seat and began to yell at the leader. He was dead a moment later, blood spilling from between his eyes.
The leader glared at the rest. "Anyone else? Remain where you are and there will be no further need for reprisals."
Amber leaned closer to Derrick. "We have to do somethin'."
Derrick shook his head. "Even if we were armed… how far do you think we'd get. For the moment, it's best to sit still and watch for an opening."
"But they're killin' people," Amber argued.
"I know. But if do anything, others might die, too. Let's just wait this out for the moment. Our moment to act will come," he replied quietly.
Meanwhile Cassandra's vision kept assaulting her. Two dark figures struggled and fought in a white-hot desert landscape… and one was losing. It had been a long time since so powerful a vision had claimed her, and she was indeed worried.
At the front of the plane, the locked door to the cockpit opened and one of the flight officers called and motioned to the leader. He headed in that direction, leaving his men to patrol the aisles.
Children cried, women wept silently, men fumed and were occasionally assaulted with gun butts if they said or made any movement. But for the moment… there was no more shooting. The bodies of most of the flight crew, throats slashed, were dragged into the passenger cabin. Three of the hijackers joined the flight officer who had survived and was apparently working with them, into the cabin and locked the door. The leader had returned by this time.
"If you think the plane's black box will help authorities to find you… I would relieve you of that hope." He held up the box. "All tracking devices have been disabled. You will not be killed, but I require all cell phones and PPC's. My men will begin searching. If you refuse to hand over your electronics… you will be shot."
While the plane veered again in another direction, the hijackers began to methodically search the passengers. Derrick calmly gave up his cellphone, glad that his Watcher's reader was well hidden in his coat balled under his seat. He made no move to fight them.
Ren mumbled and made to fight the hijacker off when Alisaunne held his arms down. "He's on medication. Please… don't shoot him."
The hijacker grinned at her and reached over to caress one of her breasts in that skimpy top she wore, and to pinch it. Alisaunne winced but did nothing to fight him off. Another hijacker urged the man to move on. He did so reluctantly. "Perhaps my pretty… you can repay me later," he laughed.
Alisaunne smiled bitterly and then turned her attention to keeping Ren calm.
Two other passengers who complained were shot. By then, the plane, at a high rate of speed was descending below the clouds. Cassandra could see nothing but sand. Where are we? Does anyone know where we are? She said nothing aloud, and feared that her vision might be imminent.
The hijackers held on as the plane hit the sands on its belly and bounced three times before sliding to a sudden stop. In the aftermath of the controlled crash, several passengers rushed the hijackers and shots filled the air.
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