Part Three: In which Despair makes a visit and a nightmare is unleashed on the world
*****************************************
"He's gotta be the tragic figure standing out in the rain, mourning the loss of his beloved."
Brief Lives by Neil Gaiman. Chapter 2 panel 4
******************************************
The tribe was dead. Everywhere Methos looked he saw the bodies of friends and family. For the past ten years he had lived with them. They had taken him in and made him one of them. But now they were all dead.
Out of nowhere a band of raiders came and attacked the small caravan in the desert. But to the last person, the raiders slaughtered the tribe and took their valuables. From the freshness of their tracks, Methos judged that he had revived shortly after they left.
He stumbled among the remains of the tribe until he saw one particular body. He collapsed to his knees next to Inianni, his wife of three months. Her tunic was stained with blood, her blood. Her throat had been slashed deeply. Her beautiful brown eyes stared lifelessly into space. Methos picked up her limp body, cradled it in his arms and allowed himself to weep.
"Why her?" he cried into the silence. "Can't you just once, let me have someone for a lifetime?" He buried his face into Inianni's chest and wept.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't need to look up to know who stood beside him.
"But you had a lifetime," a soft female voice said. Methos looked up into the face of Death with a cold hatred.
"All right, I'll be more specific. How about twenty, thirty years with the woman I love? To be with her while she grows old. Is that too much to ask of an old friend?" He spat the last word. "A thousand years should surely count for something."
Death looked down at the woman in his arms. "You're right it should. But, I cannot return her to you. She is in the afterlife now. Not even I have the power to return someone from there."
"You could take me to her," he stated.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I have not come to take you. Not yet anyway."
"Then what good are you?" He returned to cradling and rocking the body of his wife, refusing to look at his companion any more.
Death stood there, her long black tunic flapping in the wind, looking down at her friend. She hated to see him like this. Destiny had warned her a long time ago about the dangers of befriending people. She would have to one day fulfill her role and take them or their loved ones. But there was one thing that none of her siblings would ever understand: Death was lonely. Methos had come to fill a void in her life, no matter how painful that it could be at times. She needed him and the visits they shared every couple hundred years.
Something moved just on the edge of her sight. She turned her head to see a short, fat, naked woman sitting roughly 100 paces from where Methos knelt. Death knew that Methos could not see her, but he was definitely influenced by her presence.
The woman's black hair, which was pulled behind into a severe knot, contrasted sharply against her ghost white skin and sunken eyes. She was wearing a ring with a sharp hook on it and was dragging the tip of the hook across her chest, causing streams of blood to run down her torso. Every time she pierced her flesh, Death felt Methos' anguish grow deeper.
Death walked over to the woman. "Despair, what are you doing here?" she demanded.
"This one has entered my realm now, eldest sister," Despair replied, dragging the hook along her right cheek, causing Methos' sobs to become louder and harder.
"I want you to leave him alone," Death said, glaring down at her. "He belongs to me."
Despair laughed. It was not a comforting laugh. "You? He does not belong to you. He is among the living and does not die. Therefore he does not belong to you. When he discovered his wife's body, he became mine."
Death squatted down so that she could look her sister in the eyes. "You listen to me, Despair. I want you to take your hook out of my friend. Now. You have tormented him enough. Let him have some peace."
Despair met Death's eyes. "He is mine now. And you do not have the power to take him from my realm. He's not to enter yours any time in the near or distant future. So back off, Death."
"You're right," the older of the two siblings said. "I don't have the power to take him. But that doesn't mean you will keep him. This is not over, Despair." With a rush of wind and a sound of beating wings, Death disappeared, leaving Methos alone with Despair.
*********************************
Within every realm of the Endless is a room. On the walls of the room are items to represent each of them. A replica of Destiny's book, a silver Ankh for Death, the bone helm of Dream, a reproduction of Destruction's sword, a glass heart for Desire, a copy of the hook of Despair, and a swirl colors to represent Delirium.
It was the bone helm that Death looked upon as she stood in her gallery. Carefully she removed it from the frame and held it before her. "I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil in my hands. Brother I need your help. Will you join me?"
Between one beat of the heart and the next she found herself joined by her eldest younger brother. She smiled warmly at him as she place his helm back in its frame.
"Sister, this is a rare occurrence indeed. It is not often that you call me for aid. What can I do for you?" His voice was deep and dark, as only the voice of the Dream King would be. She looked up at him and met his eyes of endless stars. He stood a head taller than her, but like her, his skin was pure white and his hair was the color of a starless sky at midnight. He was thin, almost gaunt in stature, with sharp facial features. Around his body swirled a cloak of black that was fastened at his throat by a large ruby broach.
"You know of my friend, Methos?" she asked him. Dream nodded. "Well, recently, I had to guide his tribe to the other side. He is now all-alone. As a result he has fallen into the hands of our sister."
"And what do you wish me to do about it?" Dream asked emotionlessly.
Death found her voice growing soft and she looked down at her feet. "I can't stand to see him suffer like he is. I've begged Despair to set him free, but you know how she is. I have no power to remove him from her realm." She looked back up at her brother. "Would you take him out of her realm for me? Give him a dream that will let him leave Despair behind. Please."
Dream looked down at his older sister and smiled. "You know that I can't deny you anything. When he next comes to the Dreaming, I will ask him about his dreams and do my best to make it so that our sister will take her hook from his heart."
A large and heartfelt grin spread across Death's face. She reached up and wrapped her arms around her brother's neck, drawing him in for a hug. "Thank you," she said. Dream stood there for a moment, uncomfortable with his sister's display of emotions, but understanding her need for it. After a minute he broke away from her.
"I will do what I can," he said and vanished back to the Dreaming. Death smiled to herself, a great weight removed from her soul. Dream would do the right thing. She knew he would.
*******************************
Methos found himself standing in an oasis. He couldn't recall how he had arrived there. The last thing he remembered was burying his tribe and setting off across the desert, vowing revenge on those who had killed his family.
"Where am I?" he asked himself aloud.
"You are in the Dreaming," a deep male voice said behind him. Methos spun around to come face to face with a man. But he was unlike any man he had ever seen before. His features reminded him of someone. The white skin, the dark hair, the otherworldly look in his...star-filled eyes? He was one of the Endless.
"Who are you?" Methos demanded.
The black cloak that covered the man began fluttering as if being played with by a wind that Methos could not feel. "I am Master of all you see. I am Lord Shaper. I am the Master of Stories. I am the Creator of Nightmares. I am Morpheus." Suddenly the cloak stopped moving. "But you may call me, Dream."
"What do you want with me, Dream-King?" Methos asked, fear coloring his voice slightly.
"You have nothing to fear from me, Methos. I have met you here as a favor to my sister," Dream said, trying to reassure the man before him.
"Your sister," Methos said, realizing whom the Dream Lord spoke of. "Hasn't Death done enough to ruin my life? Ever since I met her, she had done nothing but take those I love away from me."
Dream shrugged. "That is her reason of existence. She is Death, after all. She cannot help who she is anymore than the rest of us can. But for some reason she has grown to care for you and has asked me to help you find a dream that would help you break free of Despair."
Methos was shocked to hear that Death would go to such lengths for him. Perhaps he had been too hard on her. "She did?"
"Yes she did. I told you, she cares for you. So tell me, Methos, what do you dream of?"
A cold and hard look formed in the Immortal's eyes. "Vengeance," he said flatly. "I dream of returning the actions on those that killed my friends and family. I dream of them quaking in their boots at the sight of me bearing down on them. I dream of introducing them to your sister." He looked up at Death's brother. "That is what I dream of Lord Shaper. Can you fulfill my dream?"
Dream stood there for a moment, staring at the man before him. His voided eyes bearing in and looking at Methos' soul. "Very well," he said at last. "I can see that is truly is your dream and that it will allow you to rid yourself of your despair. You shall have it. Let me tell you something though. Someone once said, be careful what you wish for, for you just might get it. But as a favor to my sister, I will grant you your dream."
As Methos stood there, absorbing all that he had just been told, Dream vanished.
*********************************
Methos awoke the next morning with a lighter heart. No longer was he ruled by the pain and hurt from the loss of his loved ones. Something had happened in his dream, but the memory of it was slipping away like sand through a clutched fist.
As he gathered his things so that he could continue on his journey, one thought ran through his mind. Revenge. He would have it, no matter the cost.
Shortly after midday, he felt the presence of another Immortal. He saw a mounted figure approaching him. Carefully, Methos set his belongings down in the sand and drew his sword.
"I am Methos, and I have no wish to fight you," he said when the rider reached him. The rider pulled his horse to a halt and looked down at Methos.
A broad grin broke across the stranger's scarred face. "I am Kronos, and I had a dream about you," he said.
TO BE CONTINUED...