Highlander: Osiris
Into the Game
Chapter 1
My love cried out as the bringer of death arose. His servant stood behind him, holding up his deadly staff. Anubis, the jackal god, stared at me, and crossed his arms against his chest.
His servant raised the 'was' staff, and with a smooth motion, separated the jackal's head from his human body.
Shesmu had murdered his master.
I heard myself screaming as death died. My own scimitar was useless. I cast it aside.
And in its place...
River's fingers intertwined with mine and squeezed gently. "We're almost home." she said, "We'll be landing any minute."
My eyes snapped wide open, taking in everything at once. The inflight movie had long since run out. I was sitting by the aisle, River was next to me, and Forrest had the window seat. My little plastic cup had a small puddle in it that had once been ice.
My throat was dry, so I drained it, then handed it to a passing flight attendant.
"Good." I managed to grunt back at River, "It will be good to be home."
Forrest turned from his window seat. "Home?"
It took me a moment to catch the question. Then I shook my head. "The nile banks may have been home to me once. They've changed as much as I have over the last two thousand years."
Two thousand years.
My mind flickered back to my dream for a moment.
It wasn't right. I killed Anubis. I took his head. I killed Anubis.
While Shesmu watched. If Shesmu had helped his master, both would still be alive. Shesmu had killed his master. Shesmu could have easily stepped in and stopped me. But he didn't.
He was too power-hungry. He was hoping to kill me during the quickening.
Then he would have taken my power... and his master's power. Instead, because of his greed, I took the power of both of them. Both evil immortals. Both power-hungry...
And I had their power. But not their hunger.
I fumbled with a lock that appeared to be older than me. Of course, appearances are deceiving. After a good deal of scraping at rust, and a sharp twist of the key, it finally loosened enough for my immortal strength to pull it open. The doors to the warehouse cracked open, and I pulled them the rest of the way.
For the moment, I was alone. River had to be back at her college right now, and her uncle was off somewhere doing his archaeological work. Most likely I would not see him before he went back to Egypt. But right now, I needed to find my old workshop.
Light shone in through the open door for the first time in quite a while. The small but sturdy warehouse had been converted, more than half a century ago. I had converted it into a small workshop.
While I am by no means a master blacksmith, weapon repair is something any immortal will learn over the years. I spent the next three days only leaving the shop at night, heading back to the nearest hotel for sleep and food. The first thing I did was to clean and repair my weapons. My scimitar took half of the first day, and my katana the rest. The next day was spent repairing and cleaning all of the smaller weapons.
The third day I spent making weapons. Something I hadn't done in a long time.
By the end of the day I had a stockpile of sheaves, stars, knives, and anything else I could conceivably lose in a fight.
I spent half of the fourth day polishing and sharpening my new weapons. Then I went home.
For now, home was my apartment in New York. It was roomy, something few people in New York can claim. But few people in New York had been there in the 1800s, when New York was still young.
And few people in New York needed room to store and practice with weapons.
With my scimitar and wakasashi under my coat, three sheaves on my left wrist, and a carbon-bladed knife that could pass through a metal detector on my right, I felt safe enough for now.
New York has changed a lot in the last few decades. Muggings and murders aren't as common as they once were.
Still, with a population as large as New York City... on any given island you can find a minimum of a half-dozen immortals at any time.
And most of them would lust after the head of a 2,500 year old immortal.
I sensed my first almost immediately after I had settled into my apartment. I arrived in the late afternoon the first day, and spent most of my time cleaning, then after dinner, practicing. My weapons left several marks on the concrete pillars in my living space.
Most people would have complained that they took up too much room. Three huge pillars in the middle of the living space. But to me, it was perfect. I simply put padding on them, and used them as practice dummies.
It was the next morning when I sensed the presence of another immortal. Somewhere down below me, in the teeming mass that was the sidewalk, or the slow-moving line of vehicles that was the road... somewhere down there was an immortal.
And if I could sense him or her from this distance, they were probably powerful enough to sense me too. My experienced eyes picked out a few likely candidates from the mass of people... anyone who appeared to stop and look up was a possible immortal.
Finally one drew my attention. He was not only looking up, but once he seemed to find what he was looking for, he stood at the base of my building, appearing to mentally mark the address and building for future reference.
Well, at least it was a he. I still have trouble fighting and killing women immortals. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm still used to fighting against men. Perhaps in this day and age that kind of attitude would be considered sexist.
But you try living through the victorian era without developing such an attitude. Not so easy, now is it?
Unfortunately, I had not thought to keep a pair of high-powered binoculars in my apartment before I'd left. I could not see his face. All I saw was that he had dark hair... long, short, curly, straight, I couldn't tell. His skin could have been any color except black... he could have been irish or arabic for all I knew. But he wore a long coat, and he had been checking out my building. That was enough to label him as an immortal for now.
He'll be back. And if he wants my head... then I won't run. It's time for me to get back into the game.
Into the Game
Chapter 1
My love cried out as the bringer of death arose. His servant stood behind him, holding up his deadly staff. Anubis, the jackal god, stared at me, and crossed his arms against his chest.
His servant raised the 'was' staff, and with a smooth motion, separated the jackal's head from his human body.
Shesmu had murdered his master.
I heard myself screaming as death died. My own scimitar was useless. I cast it aside.
And in its place...
River's fingers intertwined with mine and squeezed gently. "We're almost home." she said, "We'll be landing any minute."
My eyes snapped wide open, taking in everything at once. The inflight movie had long since run out. I was sitting by the aisle, River was next to me, and Forrest had the window seat. My little plastic cup had a small puddle in it that had once been ice.
My throat was dry, so I drained it, then handed it to a passing flight attendant.
"Good." I managed to grunt back at River, "It will be good to be home."
Forrest turned from his window seat. "Home?"
It took me a moment to catch the question. Then I shook my head. "The nile banks may have been home to me once. They've changed as much as I have over the last two thousand years."
Two thousand years.
My mind flickered back to my dream for a moment.
It wasn't right. I killed Anubis. I took his head. I killed Anubis.
While Shesmu watched. If Shesmu had helped his master, both would still be alive. Shesmu had killed his master. Shesmu could have easily stepped in and stopped me. But he didn't.
He was too power-hungry. He was hoping to kill me during the quickening.
Then he would have taken my power... and his master's power. Instead, because of his greed, I took the power of both of them. Both evil immortals. Both power-hungry...
And I had their power. But not their hunger.
I fumbled with a lock that appeared to be older than me. Of course, appearances are deceiving. After a good deal of scraping at rust, and a sharp twist of the key, it finally loosened enough for my immortal strength to pull it open. The doors to the warehouse cracked open, and I pulled them the rest of the way.
For the moment, I was alone. River had to be back at her college right now, and her uncle was off somewhere doing his archaeological work. Most likely I would not see him before he went back to Egypt. But right now, I needed to find my old workshop.
Light shone in through the open door for the first time in quite a while. The small but sturdy warehouse had been converted, more than half a century ago. I had converted it into a small workshop.
While I am by no means a master blacksmith, weapon repair is something any immortal will learn over the years. I spent the next three days only leaving the shop at night, heading back to the nearest hotel for sleep and food. The first thing I did was to clean and repair my weapons. My scimitar took half of the first day, and my katana the rest. The next day was spent repairing and cleaning all of the smaller weapons.
The third day I spent making weapons. Something I hadn't done in a long time.
By the end of the day I had a stockpile of sheaves, stars, knives, and anything else I could conceivably lose in a fight.
I spent half of the fourth day polishing and sharpening my new weapons. Then I went home.
For now, home was my apartment in New York. It was roomy, something few people in New York can claim. But few people in New York had been there in the 1800s, when New York was still young.
And few people in New York needed room to store and practice with weapons.
With my scimitar and wakasashi under my coat, three sheaves on my left wrist, and a carbon-bladed knife that could pass through a metal detector on my right, I felt safe enough for now.
New York has changed a lot in the last few decades. Muggings and murders aren't as common as they once were.
Still, with a population as large as New York City... on any given island you can find a minimum of a half-dozen immortals at any time.
And most of them would lust after the head of a 2,500 year old immortal.
I sensed my first almost immediately after I had settled into my apartment. I arrived in the late afternoon the first day, and spent most of my time cleaning, then after dinner, practicing. My weapons left several marks on the concrete pillars in my living space.
Most people would have complained that they took up too much room. Three huge pillars in the middle of the living space. But to me, it was perfect. I simply put padding on them, and used them as practice dummies.
It was the next morning when I sensed the presence of another immortal. Somewhere down below me, in the teeming mass that was the sidewalk, or the slow-moving line of vehicles that was the road... somewhere down there was an immortal.
And if I could sense him or her from this distance, they were probably powerful enough to sense me too. My experienced eyes picked out a few likely candidates from the mass of people... anyone who appeared to stop and look up was a possible immortal.
Finally one drew my attention. He was not only looking up, but once he seemed to find what he was looking for, he stood at the base of my building, appearing to mentally mark the address and building for future reference.
Well, at least it was a he. I still have trouble fighting and killing women immortals. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm still used to fighting against men. Perhaps in this day and age that kind of attitude would be considered sexist.
But you try living through the victorian era without developing such an attitude. Not so easy, now is it?
Unfortunately, I had not thought to keep a pair of high-powered binoculars in my apartment before I'd left. I could not see his face. All I saw was that he had dark hair... long, short, curly, straight, I couldn't tell. His skin could have been any color except black... he could have been irish or arabic for all I knew. But he wore a long coat, and he had been checking out my building. That was enough to label him as an immortal for now.
He'll be back. And if he wants my head... then I won't run. It's time for me to get back into the game.