Just a shadow
I don't own the characters, Davis/Panzer Productions does. Just borrowing them to dust them out after all these years off. This is a re-write to add more highlander background and heck, why not add some flashbacks? Thank you Laurie and Rachel for beta reading.
The Enchanted Rock is an actual sacred site located near Fredericksburg, TX
Liberal license has been taken of a legend of a Chief's daughter that fell to her death and a white man that was Reborn there.
To my knowledge, the names used for tribal members and the people mentioned to and from Enchanted Rock are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental
Animal Spirits information is from a reference site Honoring the Animal Spirits, interested? Check it out at http://www.powersource.com/gallery/objects
Seacouver
Methos stopped his SUV at the stop sign and looked down the block towards Joe's bar. Joe Dawson was a friend and one of the few people that knew that Methos was over 5000 years old. Joe was also a member of a secret Watcher society that observed Immortals like Methos. This made for an interesting friendship to say the least.
It was not uncommon for Methos to stop by Joe's bar, when he was in town that is. Methos tended to disappear for months, even years at a time. This time he had only been gone a few weeks. He smiled as he checked the time. It was just an hour away from last call. The bar would be nearly empty, just the way he liked it.
He noticed MacLeod's thunderbird parked across the street from the bar. He shook his head in disbelief. Duncan MacLeod was so predictable. Methos had cautioned the four hundred year old on this flaw but the big Scot just shrugged him off.
Methos had made a lifestyle of not being too predictable. He chose his new lives to be just different enough from each other so that anyone looking for him would have to work at it. He wouldn't even park in the same place twice. MacLeod on the other hand felt safe in routine.
With a grin, Methos made a decision and turned away from the bar. He parked several blocks away and getting out, hit the car alarm as he walked away. He headed towards Joe's bar planning his next move. The Scot would insist he show him what he had done but with a smirk he thought, that was only a tiny part of what he could do. It would be worth it to see the look on his face.
One block from Joe's he turned into an alley and stepped into the shadows. After making sure he was alone, he shrugged his shoulders then relaxed them, braced his feet slightly apart and closed his eyes. He began his focusing routine.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly he focused his mind. He inhaled and exhaled deeply several times and when his senses had intensified he felt for his Quickening, the source of an Immortal's power.
In his mind's eye he visualized it as a sparkling curtain of light that surrounded him. He saw it floating about fifty feet away. He continued his breathing exercise and each time he breathed in he pulled the sparkling curtain towards himself. He stopped when it floated ten feet from his body.
He could feel the Quickening crawling under his skin as if he stood close to a high voltage fence. Good thing his hair was cut short he laughed to himself. Otherwise his hair would be standing straight up! Looking around the alley again and seeing no one, he headed to Joe's.
Slowly Methos opened the door and poked his head inside the bar. MacLeod sat near the stage on the other side of the bar. His back was to the door while Joe at the same table faced the door. Shaking his head again, Methos thought to himself that the kid needed this reminder!
Stepping inside the bar he felt the 'buzz' of MacLeod's Quickening. For Immortals this was an early warning sign of other of their kind. Immortals may live forever but only as long as they kept their head. Beheadings were the only way to cut an Immortal off from the source of their Quickening. Some Immortals made it a lifestyle to collect the Quickening of other Immortals trying to be the strongest. Some like Methos tried to avoid this Game. He hadn't lived over 5000 years by picking fights or being predictable.
He walked quietly along the bar and stopped just far enough from MacLeod to keep his Quickening from announcing his presence. He nodded to the bartender, Mike who poured him a draft. Putting the reason for his last trip down on the bar, he patted the leather bound journal and took the beer. Smiling he turned to catch Joe's eye.
Joe caught the movement and looked towards the bar. Seeing Methos leaning against the bar drinking he raised a brow and said, "Look what the cat dragged in."
Duncan looked at Joe and asked, "Huh?" as he turned to look. Seeing the old Immortal he abruptly stood knocking over his chair.
MacLeod's look of shock was worth the effort Methos decided with a laugh. He relaxed the hold on his Quickening slowly and saw the look on MacLeod's face as it brushed past him.
MacLeod's face clouded over with anger. He stepped up to Methos and whispered in his face, "What the hell was that?"
"What was what?" He asked innocently.
Joe stood and walked to the two men at the bar. "What's going on MacLeod?"
MacLeod glanced at Joe and returned his glare to the ancient Immortal. "I didn't feel him come in. In fact I didn't feel him until I stood up."
Joe looked from MacLeod to Methos. "That's barely ten feet away..."
"Why don't we go sit down and I'll tell you." Methos picked up the book and his drink and brushed past the Scot.
Carefully taking off his coat and draping it over his chair he sat with his back to the wall and facing the door across the bar. He pointedly placed the leather book in front of himself and gestured for the Scot to join him.
Joe thought as he joined them.
His anger and alarm dissipating a little with the promise of an explanation Duncan sat next to the ancient. "How did you get so close without me feeling you?" he asked quietly.
Putting on what he thought of as his 'old and wise' face Methos leaned forward to talk quietly.
"I manipulated my Quickening."
"You can't do that, it's impossible." Duncan stated firmly.
"It is?" Methos asked, "Are you sure?"
Before Duncan could come up with a reply to his question Joe spoke up. "Let me get this straight, you made your Quickening to do what exactly?"
"A little something I learned from a Shaman while traveling through Texas." Nodding towards the book he continued, "I received a call from one of the antiquities dealers that keeps an eye out for objects of interest to me. Seems some tribal elders were having an auction to raise money for an Emergency Clinic. Among the auction items was a journal written by an English doctor that passed through the area in the 1800's. The journal was passed down through the generations and because it was appraised for a great deal, they voted to auction it off."
"One of yours." Duncan said knowing the answer.
Methos nodded.
Joe looked at the journal with great interest and with a gesture from Methos picked it up. He carefully opened it. "It's written in Latin."
"Latin, Greek, French, whatever seemed appropriate at the time. Part of why it was valued so high, seems the good doctor was a man of unusual intelligence." He smirked.
Joe rolled his eyes at Duncan.
"I'd left New Orleans after that run in with Morgan Walker but wasn't ready to give up my doctor's identity. I was moving west while practicing medicine in the small towns to pay my way."
Flashback South Texas 1809
Doctor Benjamin Adams also known as Methos took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his duster. He squatted beside his drinking horse and dipped his silk bandana in the river. Wringing it out he wiped the dust and sweat from his face reveling in the coolness of it. He looked around the riverbank to make sure there was no danger before stepping upstream the length of the reins to refill his canteen.
He had left New Orleans after that unpleasant run in with Captain Morgan Walker. When he'd left Louisiana he headed in the direction he figured the sea captain would never go, inland. He didn't feel like he was being followed but he still felt sadness over the death of Charlotte and traveling fit his mood. He had been practicing small town medicine as he headed west. He would stay for a few weeks in a town, treat the local's aches and pains and move on.
He was two days out of Austin Texas when his horse had bruised a foot on a stone and come up lame. Being close to the river he had walked the distance leading it. Scanning the area he decided to camp there a few days to let the horse heal. There was plenty of water and small game in the area to supplement his supplies and he wasn't in any hurry.
He had been following the tracks of the stage that went this way once a month. It had passed by several weeks ago by the signs. He had also seen signs of unshod horses, probably Indians. The locals told him that there hadn't been any trouble with the local tribes so he is not alarmed.
That evening he sat cooking a rabbit he had snared earlier in the day. While the meat cooked he wrote in his journal. He had been keeping journals since writing began. He had always been glad that he had, there was just too much to remember. He wrote about the things he had done and the people that had passed through his very long life. The journals were his gift to them, to make them a part of his immortality. As long as they were remembered in his journals, they would never truly be forgotten. He wanted to remember the people he had met in Austin. The bright-eyed enthusiastic newspaperman who was going to bring civilization to the west, the young blind woman that showed him that there was more to listening than just hearing, and the brave pioneer woman that was so gracefully dying of old age.
He heard a coyote yip in the dark, miles away from his campfire. Putting his writing utensils and journal away he checked the meat. After eating he tossed the bones into the fire and banked the coals. He checked his horse before covering himself with his blanket and settling down for the night. He folded an arm under his head and lightly rested his other hand on the sword hidden under the blanket.
He gazed at the stars noticing not for the first time how different they were from his early years. He couldn't remember his childhood or even his first death but he could remember taking his first head and the struggle to survive each day. He smiled as he realized that things hadn't really changed that much. He was still living day to day and off the land, even if it was on the other side of the world.
He slept lightly, alert to noises and danger. At dawn he led his horse to water and re-staked it out to graze. He wandered back to the river and bathed before the heat of the day. Keeping an eye on his camp he scouted the surrounding area. Looking for signs of game he saw a fresh moccasin print at the edge of a rock formation. He scanned the area suddenly feeling like he was being watched.
He squatted down to make himself harder to spot. He looked at the print again. It told him the owner was average height and weight, a man he thought by the width. The toe was slightly deeper and scuffed as if the owner had a limp or was an older person. He quickly set out his snares and returned to his camp using a circuitous route. He moved about his business during the day but kept a close watch on his surroundings. Late in the afternoon he collected the range hen he had caught in a snare and started cooking it. He watered his horse and circled the camp to check for any more signs of the owner of the footprint. Still finding nothing he returned to camp.
He had not been asleep for very long when he felt a tingle in his quickening. Not like the 'buzz' that he sensed with another Immortal. Grabbing his sword he rolled away from the fire and crouched into a defensive posture looking for the cause of his alarm. A short distance away he was being watched by an old Indian sitting cross-legged on the other side of his fire. Fully awake now, Methos knew the old man was not an Immortal.
"I am Gray Owl. The voices in the wind told me that you were here."
"The what?" Methos asked.
"The voices in the wind, the Spirit Helpers. They told me to come to the river and wait for you. They have something you need to hear."
"And what do these voices have to say Gray Owl?" Methos asked thinking the man was a little crazy. He kept his eyes looking around for danger still alert and ready to fend off attackers.
"I am alone my friend. The spirits surround you, what do you have to fear from an old man?" He closed his eyes and lifted his hand towards Methos.
Methos felt the tingle against his Quickening again. "What did you just do?" He asked stepping closer to the old man.
"I am a Shaman in my tribe. I see into the spirit world and I see a great light around you. I have not seen it's like before and I am an old man. What is your name?"
"Benjamin Adams, the thing you did, what was it?" Methos gave his current name rather than his real name.
"I touched your light." The old man closed his eyes and repeated his gesture.
Again Methos felt the tingle. "Tell me about the light you see. How are you touching it?"
The old man looked into Methos' eyes. "Perhaps this is what the spirits want you to hear." He gestured for Methos to join him closer to the fire.
Methos cautiously sat down out of the old man's striking distance and held his sword lightly across his knees. He looked to the old man to continue.
"Each Human being is born with a light or life force about them. As we grow older and experience life our life force grows in size and brightness. Sometimes Spirit Helpers join with us and make this life force stronger. You have many Spirit Helpers with you. More than I have ever seen how can this be?"
"I am somewhat older than I look," Methos smiled.
"You have very powerful Spirits that walk with you. I can see the Bear, Cougar, Eagle, Wolf, Coyote, and Snake."
"And what do these Spirits mean?" he asked amused.
"The Bear stands with you to give you self sufficiency so that you can stand on your own rather than rely on others. The Cougar gives you confidence and purpose so that you prefer solitude and the will to take easy prey. The Eagle gives you courage, strength and bravery while the Wolf tempers this with the instinct to go out of your way to avoid a fight. You would rather bluff or growl to scare off danger. The Coyote gives you skills as a trickster, you are amused by leading and misleading until things are not as they seem, until a lesson is learned. Lastly and most rare is the Snake. The Snake gives you his gift of shedding the old life and creating the new."
"That's all very interesting but..."
"My Spirit Helper is the Buffalo. The Buffalo gives me knowledge, so that I can honor all of the things that the Earth provides for her children. It allows me to see the spirit world."
"Tell me about touching the light."
They talked through the night. As they talked, Methos relaxed in the presence of the old man. Gray Owl showed him how he had 'touched' the Quickening. They talked and worked on this until the early hours of the morning. At dawn, Methos stretched and fixed food for their breakfast. He encouraged the old man to sleep while he took care of the horse and checked his snares. This went on for several days.
Grey Owl talked of his knowledge of the spirit world and taught Methos what he knew about manipulation of the life force. Methos talked of his travels and of places the old man would never see. By the end of the week Methos was able to control his Quickening so that, in Gray Owl's words, He didn't offend the eyes and life forces of the other 'gifted' people he might come into contact with.
Their long conversations quickly turned into a friendship and Methos stayed at the riverside longer than his horse needed to recover. At the end of the second week Gray Owl invited Methos to join him at Enchanted Rock. One of the Chiefs was asking for the other tribes to join him at the Rock for a reuniting ceremony.
They walked westward for a week continuing their conversations and practice sessions. One night when Gray Owl saw Methos pull out his journal and write in it he asked about it.
"It's called a Journal. I have been keeping one for as long as I can remember. I write about things I want to remember."
"What language is this? I can read some of the white man's English."
With a chuckle Methos answered, "This is Latin. I have learned many languages in my travels."
Gray Owl laughed, "Then now you must learn to say it in our tongue so that your words will stay true."
At the end of the week they reached Enchanted Rock. As Gray Owl had said, there were many tribes there. Gray Owl was greeted with respect and affection by the other tribes. They were suspicious of Methos but Gray Owl spoke for him and they accepted him. When they arrived at the camp of his tribe, his grand daughter Dancing Bird met Gray Owl.
Dancing Bird was in her early teens. She was plain of face but had beautiful brown eyes that saw the spirit world like her grandfather. When the three of them sat alone by the campfire eating dinner she asked in their language, "Grandfather, who is this man that you have found in the desert? His light moves like the flames in a campfire."
Gray Owl smiled. "He is working on that. He has only just learned to hold onto his light. It is blinding when he sleeps and forgets it."
Struggling to follow the conversation with the new words he had learned Methos said, "I apologize for my non-control, it is new to me."
Dancing Bird nodded. "Are you a Shaman in your tribe? You have a great power."
"I am a healer."
She looked at him closely. "I see age in your eyes but not in your face."
"I'm older than I look."
The next morning Gray Owl went to talk with Chief Red Horse who had called the gathering. Methos went with Dancing Bird and the other women and children to collect wood for the council fires. Methos asked about the reason for the gathering. She explained that Red Horse wanted the tribes to meet and offer prayers to the Great Spirit. For a year the tribes had been split into factions as a result of a disagreement among the warriors.
Midmorning they were joined by a beautiful girl. Dancing Bird introduced her as Singing Brook, the daughter of Chief Red Horse. Singing Brook had heard talk of the white man who was a healer in his tribe. Her curiosity over why the Shaman Gray Owl had brought him to their camp drove her to seek him out. She thought he was handsome for a white man. He was tall with the dark hair, prominent nose and cheekbones similar to the people of her tribe, but his piercing eyes fascinated her with their changing colors. He moved with the strength of a warrior even if he did the woman's work of collecting firewood. He also wore a long knife with an ease that said he knew how to use it. As she helped them collect firewood she flirted with him enjoying the musical tone of his voice. He spoke differently than the other white men she had met. More importantly was the way the other warriors glared at the white man as she flirted with him.
Red Horse's daughter was very beautiful and skilled at playing one warrior against the other. She took pride in the competition for her. Hers would be the highest bride price ever paid among her people. Her father would select a groom before they left the sacred place. Flirting with the white man might increase the bride price even more she smiled.
After they had eaten, Methos and Dancing Bird wandered towards the place selected for the council. Dancing Bird led him down a deer trail through the mesquite trees, next to a winding, pebble-lined stream. He felt the sacred ground before they reached it. They walked into a clearing and looked up at a mammoth granite rock that domed the area.
In the area below, the tribal elders were seated around the circle fires starting the ceremony. As the drums started, the others began to arrive at the council. Gray Owl spoke to the Great Spirits and called them to the circle fires. After his prayers the Chiefs took turns giving speeches. With only half an ear on the ceremonies, Methos watched the people around him. As the elders broke into groups to talk around the circle fires, Methos and Dancing Bird decided to climb the rock. From the top he looked at the land around them. Dancing Bird told him of the history of her people, how they had come originally from the south. They listened to the rock creaking and groaning as the huge stone cooled from the heat of the day. Singing Brook and two of the warriors, probably her suitors joined them at the top. She was laughing and encouraging them to follow her.
The warriors were not pleased to see Methos on the rock. Part of the dissention in the tribes had to do with White men and the sickness that they brought. Methos wasn't able to follow the conversation as the warriors shouted at him making angry gestures. Dancing Bird and Singing Brook spoke in his defense but it appeared they were unsuccessful in their pleas. Methos assumed a non-aggressive position with his palms up and away from his sword. The first warrior nodded acceptance of the women's arguments making the other one angry. He pushed at the first warrior who fell into the women, who fell into Methos. Pushing Dancing Bird to safety, Methos scrambled to regain his balance, he nearly had it when Singing Brook slid into him and together they slid down the face of the rock and dropped off the edge. The warriors on the top missed catching Singing Brook by mere inches.
Gray Owl looked up as he heard the shouts from the stone. He watched in horror as Benjamin and Singing Brook tumbled down the rock face. He ran with the other elders to where they had landed. Singing Brook was still alive but Gray Owl knew that she would die. He could see that she was broken inside. Benjamin had broken his neck and was dead.
Singing Brook was carried to her father's tent and Gray Owl sang his prayers over her. Methos was moved to Gray Owl's tent to prepare him for the journey to the spirit world. Dancing Bird wept as she cleaned the blood from his body and dressed him in clothes from his saddlebags. She placed his long knife in his hands and burned the sacred herbs until her grandfather could join her.
She had liked Benjamin. She heard her grandfather outside of the tent and stood to lift the flap for him. He checked the results of her labors and grunted in acknowledgement. As he sat and began the prayers to allow Methos to cross to the spirit world he looked upon the body with his inner eye and saw that the life force still glowed brightly. Dancing Bird saw this too. They looked at each other in shock as the body gasped and Methos opened his eyes.
Methos gasped air into his empty lungs and cursed in a few dead languages as he quickly sat up. He was alarmed to see that he had revived in front of Gray Owl and Dancing Bird. He waited to judge their reaction before he said anything.
Gray Owl spoke first. "You are surrounded by your spirit helper the Snake."
Thinking back to their earlier conversations on the trail Methos nodded. "I have come back from the dead many times."
"How many lives of the Snake have you lived?"
"More than I can remember. I have walked the Earth since before your people were born."
Gray Owl nodded. "This is why your life force is as bright as the sun. Are you one of the Great Spirits that comes to walk the Earth?"
"No Gray Owl, I'm just a man, just a very long-lived man. I have to leave. It is the way of my kind."
"Travel well my friend. The spirits go with you."
Methos nodded and grabbing his gear he peeked out of the tent and slipped silently out into the night. He left his horse tied at the guarded picket lines and traveled on foot. He traveled through the night only resting for a few hours at dawn. As quickly as he could he continued on his way towards the stage route he had started on all those weeks before. He wanted to be well out of the area before the Indians started to break camp and return to their homes.
He caught up with the stage in a small town called Cherry Spring. Now that the immediate need to flee the area was over, he searched his bags for his journal. He wanted to record his thoughts while they were fresh in his mind. He stared in dismay at the emptied bag. His journal wasn't there!
Back at the camp, Dancing Bird rolled up the deerskin that had covered the floor of their tent. To her surprise she saw the white mans journal. It had fallen from the pack when she had hastily searched it for burial clothes for him. She picked it up and went in search of her grandfather. He was saying a prayer for the tribe of Red Horse. So that Singing Brook's spirit could follow them home and not trapped at the sacred rock. She waited until her grandfather was finished before she presented him with the journal. He took it into his hands and stared at it with his mind's eye.
He smiled at his grand daughter. "He has left a part of himself with us. It glows with a piece of his magic. We will keep it safe for him until the magic finds him again."
Joe's Bar - Seacouver
"I fell off a cliff and had to leave in the night. Without my horse and my journal."
Duncan snorted and said, "You're stalling. What does any of this have to do the way you snuck up on me?"
"I've never read about anything about manipulating Quickenings like this in the Chronicles...you didn't alter them did you?" Joe asked getting angry.
"No Joe, I'd lost my Watcher when I left New Orleans, the city boy couldn't ride a horse to save his life. Anyway, Watchers don't talk to their Immortals remember."
Dawson couldn't miss the scorn in that statement. It had been Methos in his Adam Pierson persona that pleaded with the Watchers tribunal to 'let friendship thrive'. It was against the Watcher Oath to have contact with the Immortals. The Watchers were supposed to be a secret to the rest of the world and especially to Immortals. Joe had broken that oath when he developed a friendship with his assignment, Duncan McLeod and later when he found out that Adam Pierson was really Methos. Even worse was an Immortal hiding in the Watchers. This is what 'Adam Pierson' had been doing for ten years only recently breaking that connection.
Trying to get the ancient Immortal back on track Duncan reminded him, "the Quickening..."
"This manipulation of the Quickening is not a weapon for attack. It is strictly for self-defense."
"How do you figure that? You could have walked right up behind me and took my head!" Duncan said in a raised whisper. A glare from Methos caused Duncan to lower his voice. He looked around to make sure the few people still in the bar were not paying attention to the conversation. "I don't call that self-defense, I call that pretty aggressive!"
"It takes a lot of energy to do it. If I had taken another step you would have felt me. Not close enough to take your head and I couldn't have fought well if you had challenged me. Part of our strength comes from our Quickening. It makes us stronger than a normal human. Shielding blocks you from the Quickening power when you fight. That makes you closer to being just a normal human. Against an Immortal that would be fatal. Besides, it makes you feel like your skin is crawling with electricity. That can be pretty distracting!"
"So why would you do it at all if you can't use it to fight? Just to get close to an Immortal?" Duncan asked still trying to see what the point of this was.
"Because I became an Immortal fairly young, I'm not the biggest or the strongest. I like to look like a small fish in an otherwise big pond. Headhunters are mainly interested in the powerful Immortals. The small fish are more trouble than they're worth. Only a few actually seek them out. An Immortal is always vulnerable after a Quickening no matter what the size. Why put your head on the line for a small fish. Kalas knew I was old but he had no idea of the extent of my Quickening. To him I felt pretty weak. He gave up on me after I got him arrested. He was more interested in you." Methos sat back satisfied that he had made his point.
"You held back?" the indignant Scot asked.
"Of course I did. I meant it when I said that I didn't have the passion it would take to beat Kalas. You did. Now you're more powerful because of it."
MacLeod shook his head. "I should have known."
"You offered to fight Kalas without even asking if I could fight!" Methos growled at him. Changing the subject he said, "After my time with Gray Owl I worked on the exercises that he showed me. Now I shield my Quickening. It's so engrained in me that even dead my Quickening doesn't 'leak'. Luckily I heal and revive before my shields break down. One of the advantages of being as old as I am, I heal very quickly. I would have to be dead for several hours, with my head still attached of course."
Joe got up and locked the door on the last person leaving the bar. He brought back fresh drinks. He wanted to encourage Methos to continue talking. It wasn't often that the old man was so forthright with information. The Watcher in him was excited about the information he was getting.
MacLeod just shook his head in frustration. "All this mumbo jumbo doesn't tell me what you did. It doesn't sound like something I would use but I still want to know how it's done."
"I mean it Mac, self-preservation." Methos walked to the far side of the bar. "Tell me when you feel me." He took a minute and pulled in his Quickening again. The bar was not big enough for two large Quickenings.
Joe watched with great interest. He had never actually seen the range of the Immortal 'buzz' warning system.
Methos made small steps towards MacLeod until Duncan said, "Now."
Taking a step backwards Methos asked, "Now?"
"No."
"Okay. Now you need to close your eyes and focus your mind. When I touch your Quickening hold the feeling. Visualize it in your mind as a wall or curtain that you control. I will touch it and step back so that you can feel the difference and focus on it. Let me know when you do."
Methos did as he had said and leaned his Quickening aura into Duncan's. He closed his eyes and focused his mind on it. He repeated this slowly until Duncan finally said, "I feel something. It's pushing against me."
Encouraged Methos said, "Now when I push into it, pull it away from me."
He moved forward a fraction at a time and quickly backed away when he contacted Duncan's Quickening. He moved into it again and then stepped back.
"Can you feel that?"
"I can but I can't seem to hold onto it or make it move."
"Good." Methos said and released his Quickening again. He walked back to the table and sat down. "It isn't something you can do in one night. You did very well. Now practice that for a couple hundred years and you can sneak up on me." He glibly added.
Duncan sat down heavily. "I can see what you mean about that being tough to hold. I feel drained."
"You said you shield your Quickening. Are you doing it now?"
Methos stared long and hard at Duncan and Joe measuring them up before finishing his beer. He stood and put his long coat back on. He slipped the journal into his pocket. "Nothing in the chronicles?"
Joe nodded. "My word on it."
Holding Duncan's eyes and nodding Methos turned and walked the sixty or so feet to the bar door and stopped. "You want to know how much. I'm trusting you with my life you know..."
Standing now, both Duncan and Joe both nodded.
Methos closed his eyes and braced himself. Within a second Duncan was slammed with what felt like a bolt of lightning. He staggered back and collapsed into his chair holding his head. The noise in his head made thinking too difficult.
Joe felt like he was standing next to a high voltage fence. The hairs on his arms stood up. He looked down at the Highlander holding his head in the chair beside him.
This feeling only lasted a split second. In the next instant it was gone.
It took Duncan a moment to shake it off and he looked towards the door. Methos stood with his eyes closed. His face concentrating as he re-installed his shields. When they were comfortably back in place he took a couple of cleansing breaths and let them out again.
He opened his eyes and looked at MacLeod and Joe. His look was returned with a look of shock that made him uncomfortable. Thinking that now would be a good time to leave he turned and said over his shoulder, "Practice MacLeod. Practice." He was out the door in a flash.
Still nauseous from the force of the Quickening he had felt Duncan turned to look at Joe.
Joe could see the awe still in Duncan's eyes. Sitting down beside the Highlander he said,
"He never ceases to amaze me. He wasn't kidding when he said he was trusting us with his life."
"No he wasn't. I never imagined."
"He's like an iceberg. You think you have him figured out but you're only looking at the surface he wants you to see. I have a feeling that was just a shadow of what is beneath the surface." Picking up his drink, Joe drained it in one gulp.
The End
Just a Shadow
1 of 14
I don't own the characters, Davis/Panzer Productions does. Just borrowing them to dust them out after all these years off. This is a re-write to add more highlander background and heck, why not add some flashbacks? Thank you Laurie and Rachel for beta reading.
The Enchanted Rock is an actual sacred site located near Fredericksburg, TX
Liberal license has been taken of a legend of a Chief's daughter that fell to her death and a white man that was Reborn there.
To my knowledge, the names used for tribal members and the people mentioned to and from Enchanted Rock are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental
Animal Spirits information is from a reference site Honoring the Animal Spirits, interested? Check it out at http://www.powersource.com/gallery/objects
Seacouver
Methos stopped his SUV at the stop sign and looked down the block towards Joe's bar. Joe Dawson was a friend and one of the few people that knew that Methos was over 5000 years old. Joe was also a member of a secret Watcher society that observed Immortals like Methos. This made for an interesting friendship to say the least.
It was not uncommon for Methos to stop by Joe's bar, when he was in town that is. Methos tended to disappear for months, even years at a time. This time he had only been gone a few weeks. He smiled as he checked the time. It was just an hour away from last call. The bar would be nearly empty, just the way he liked it.
He noticed MacLeod's thunderbird parked across the street from the bar. He shook his head in disbelief. Duncan MacLeod was so predictable. Methos had cautioned the four hundred year old on this flaw but the big Scot just shrugged him off.
Methos had made a lifestyle of not being too predictable. He chose his new lives to be just different enough from each other so that anyone looking for him would have to work at it. He wouldn't even park in the same place twice. MacLeod on the other hand felt safe in routine.
With a grin, Methos made a decision and turned away from the bar. He parked several blocks away and getting out, hit the car alarm as he walked away. He headed towards Joe's bar planning his next move. The Scot would insist he show him what he had done but with a smirk he thought, that was only a tiny part of what he could do. It would be worth it to see the look on his face.
One block from Joe's he turned into an alley and stepped into the shadows. After making sure he was alone, he shrugged his shoulders then relaxed them, braced his feet slightly apart and closed his eyes. He began his focusing routine.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly he focused his mind. He inhaled and exhaled deeply several times and when his senses had intensified he felt for his Quickening, the source of an Immortal's power.
In his mind's eye he visualized it as a sparkling curtain of light that surrounded him. He saw it floating about fifty feet away. He continued his breathing exercise and each time he breathed in he pulled the sparkling curtain towards himself. He stopped when it floated ten feet from his body.
He could feel the Quickening crawling under his skin as if he stood close to a high voltage fence. Good thing his hair was cut short he laughed to himself. Otherwise his hair would be standing straight up! Looking around the alley again and seeing no one, he headed to Joe's.
Slowly Methos opened the door and poked his head inside the bar. MacLeod sat near the stage on the other side of the bar. His back was to the door while Joe at the same table faced the door. Shaking his head again, Methos thought to himself that the kid needed this reminder!
Stepping inside the bar he felt the 'buzz' of MacLeod's Quickening. For Immortals this was an early warning sign of other of their kind. Immortals may live forever but only as long as they kept their head. Beheadings were the only way to cut an Immortal off from the source of their Quickening. Some Immortals made it a lifestyle to collect the Quickening of other Immortals trying to be the strongest. Some like Methos tried to avoid this Game. He hadn't lived over 5000 years by picking fights or being predictable.
He walked quietly along the bar and stopped just far enough from MacLeod to keep his Quickening from announcing his presence. He nodded to the bartender, Mike who poured him a draft. Putting the reason for his last trip down on the bar, he patted the leather bound journal and took the beer. Smiling he turned to catch Joe's eye.
Joe caught the movement and looked towards the bar. Seeing Methos leaning against the bar drinking he raised a brow and said, "Look what the cat dragged in."
Duncan looked at Joe and asked, "Huh?" as he turned to look. Seeing the old Immortal he abruptly stood knocking over his chair.
MacLeod's look of shock was worth the effort Methos decided with a laugh. He relaxed the hold on his Quickening slowly and saw the look on MacLeod's face as it brushed past him.
MacLeod's face clouded over with anger. He stepped up to Methos and whispered in his face, "What the hell was that?"
"What was what?" He asked innocently.
Joe stood and walked to the two men at the bar. "What's going on MacLeod?"
MacLeod glanced at Joe and returned his glare to the ancient Immortal. "I didn't feel him come in. In fact I didn't feel him until I stood up."
Joe looked from MacLeod to Methos. "That's barely ten feet away..."
"Why don't we go sit down and I'll tell you." Methos picked up the book and his drink and brushed past the Scot.
Carefully taking off his coat and draping it over his chair he sat with his back to the wall and facing the door across the bar. He pointedly placed the leather book in front of himself and gestured for the Scot to join him.
Joe thought as he joined them.
His anger and alarm dissipating a little with the promise of an explanation Duncan sat next to the ancient. "How did you get so close without me feeling you?" he asked quietly.
Putting on what he thought of as his 'old and wise' face Methos leaned forward to talk quietly.
"I manipulated my Quickening."
"You can't do that, it's impossible." Duncan stated firmly.
"It is?" Methos asked, "Are you sure?"
Before Duncan could come up with a reply to his question Joe spoke up. "Let me get this straight, you made your Quickening to do what exactly?"
"A little something I learned from a Shaman while traveling through Texas." Nodding towards the book he continued, "I received a call from one of the antiquities dealers that keeps an eye out for objects of interest to me. Seems some tribal elders were having an auction to raise money for an Emergency Clinic. Among the auction items was a journal written by an English doctor that passed through the area in the 1800's. The journal was passed down through the generations and because it was appraised for a great deal, they voted to auction it off."
"One of yours." Duncan said knowing the answer.
Methos nodded.
Joe looked at the journal with great interest and with a gesture from Methos picked it up. He carefully opened it. "It's written in Latin."
"Latin, Greek, French, whatever seemed appropriate at the time. Part of why it was valued so high, seems the good doctor was a man of unusual intelligence." He smirked.
Joe rolled his eyes at Duncan.
"I'd left New Orleans after that run in with Morgan Walker but wasn't ready to give up my doctor's identity. I was moving west while practicing medicine in the small towns to pay my way."
Flashback South Texas 1809
Doctor Benjamin Adams also known as Methos took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his duster. He squatted beside his drinking horse and dipped his silk bandana in the river. Wringing it out he wiped the dust and sweat from his face reveling in the coolness of it. He looked around the riverbank to make sure there was no danger before stepping upstream the length of the reins to refill his canteen.
He had left New Orleans after that unpleasant run in with Captain Morgan Walker. When he'd left Louisiana he headed in the direction he figured the sea captain would never go, inland. He didn't feel like he was being followed but he still felt sadness over the death of Charlotte and traveling fit his mood. He had been practicing small town medicine as he headed west. He would stay for a few weeks in a town, treat the local's aches and pains and move on.
He was two days out of Austin Texas when his horse had bruised a foot on a stone and come up lame. Being close to the river he had walked the distance leading it. Scanning the area he decided to camp there a few days to let the horse heal. There was plenty of water and small game in the area to supplement his supplies and he wasn't in any hurry.
He had been following the tracks of the stage that went this way once a month. It had passed by several weeks ago by the signs. He had also seen signs of unshod horses, probably Indians. The locals told him that there hadn't been any trouble with the local tribes so he is not alarmed.
That evening he sat cooking a rabbit he had snared earlier in the day. While the meat cooked he wrote in his journal. He had been keeping journals since writing began. He had always been glad that he had, there was just too much to remember. He wrote about the things he had done and the people that had passed through his very long life. The journals were his gift to them, to make them a part of his immortality. As long as they were remembered in his journals, they would never truly be forgotten. He wanted to remember the people he had met in Austin. The bright-eyed enthusiastic newspaperman who was going to bring civilization to the west, the young blind woman that showed him that there was more to listening than just hearing, and the brave pioneer woman that was so gracefully dying of old age.
He heard a coyote yip in the dark, miles away from his campfire. Putting his writing utensils and journal away he checked the meat. After eating he tossed the bones into the fire and banked the coals. He checked his horse before covering himself with his blanket and settling down for the night. He folded an arm under his head and lightly rested his other hand on the sword hidden under the blanket.
He gazed at the stars noticing not for the first time how different they were from his early years. He couldn't remember his childhood or even his first death but he could remember taking his first head and the struggle to survive each day. He smiled as he realized that things hadn't really changed that much. He was still living day to day and off the land, even if it was on the other side of the world.
He slept lightly, alert to noises and danger. At dawn he led his horse to water and re-staked it out to graze. He wandered back to the river and bathed before the heat of the day. Keeping an eye on his camp he scouted the surrounding area. Looking for signs of game he saw a fresh moccasin print at the edge of a rock formation. He scanned the area suddenly feeling like he was being watched.
He squatted down to make himself harder to spot. He looked at the print again. It told him the owner was average height and weight, a man he thought by the width. The toe was slightly deeper and scuffed as if the owner had a limp or was an older person. He quickly set out his snares and returned to his camp using a circuitous route. He moved about his business during the day but kept a close watch on his surroundings. Late in the afternoon he collected the range hen he had caught in a snare and started cooking it. He watered his horse and circled the camp to check for any more signs of the owner of the footprint. Still finding nothing he returned to camp.
He had not been asleep for very long when he felt a tingle in his quickening. Not like the 'buzz' that he sensed with another Immortal. Grabbing his sword he rolled away from the fire and crouched into a defensive posture looking for the cause of his alarm. A short distance away he was being watched by an old Indian sitting cross-legged on the other side of his fire. Fully awake now, Methos knew the old man was not an Immortal.
"I am Gray Owl. The voices in the wind told me that you were here."
"The what?" Methos asked.
"The voices in the wind, the Spirit Helpers. They told me to come to the river and wait for you. They have something you need to hear."
"And what do these voices have to say Gray Owl?" Methos asked thinking the man was a little crazy. He kept his eyes looking around for danger still alert and ready to fend off attackers.
"I am alone my friend. The spirits surround you, what do you have to fear from an old man?" He closed his eyes and lifted his hand towards Methos.
Methos felt the tingle against his Quickening again. "What did you just do?" He asked stepping closer to the old man.
"I am a Shaman in my tribe. I see into the spirit world and I see a great light around you. I have not seen it's like before and I am an old man. What is your name?"
"Benjamin Adams, the thing you did, what was it?" Methos gave his current name rather than his real name.
"I touched your light." The old man closed his eyes and repeated his gesture.
Again Methos felt the tingle. "Tell me about the light you see. How are you touching it?"
The old man looked into Methos' eyes. "Perhaps this is what the spirits want you to hear." He gestured for Methos to join him closer to the fire.
Methos cautiously sat down out of the old man's striking distance and held his sword lightly across his knees. He looked to the old man to continue.
"Each Human being is born with a light or life force about them. As we grow older and experience life our life force grows in size and brightness. Sometimes Spirit Helpers join with us and make this life force stronger. You have many Spirit Helpers with you. More than I have ever seen how can this be?"
"I am somewhat older than I look," Methos smiled.
"You have very powerful Spirits that walk with you. I can see the Bear, Cougar, Eagle, Wolf, Coyote, and Snake."
"And what do these Spirits mean?" he asked amused.
"The Bear stands with you to give you self sufficiency so that you can stand on your own rather than rely on others. The Cougar gives you confidence and purpose so that you prefer solitude and the will to take easy prey. The Eagle gives you courage, strength and bravery while the Wolf tempers this with the instinct to go out of your way to avoid a fight. You would rather bluff or growl to scare off danger. The Coyote gives you skills as a trickster, you are amused by leading and misleading until things are not as they seem, until a lesson is learned. Lastly and most rare is the Snake. The Snake gives you his gift of shedding the old life and creating the new."
"That's all very interesting but..."
"My Spirit Helper is the Buffalo. The Buffalo gives me knowledge, so that I can honor all of the things that the Earth provides for her children. It allows me to see the spirit world."
"Tell me about touching the light."
They talked through the night. As they talked, Methos relaxed in the presence of the old man. Gray Owl showed him how he had 'touched' the Quickening. They talked and worked on this until the early hours of the morning. At dawn, Methos stretched and fixed food for their breakfast. He encouraged the old man to sleep while he took care of the horse and checked his snares. This went on for several days.
Grey Owl talked of his knowledge of the spirit world and taught Methos what he knew about manipulation of the life force. Methos talked of his travels and of places the old man would never see. By the end of the week Methos was able to control his Quickening so that, in Gray Owl's words, He didn't offend the eyes and life forces of the other 'gifted' people he might come into contact with.
Their long conversations quickly turned into a friendship and Methos stayed at the riverside longer than his horse needed to recover. At the end of the second week Gray Owl invited Methos to join him at Enchanted Rock. One of the Chiefs was asking for the other tribes to join him at the Rock for a reuniting ceremony.
They walked westward for a week continuing their conversations and practice sessions. One night when Gray Owl saw Methos pull out his journal and write in it he asked about it.
"It's called a Journal. I have been keeping one for as long as I can remember. I write about things I want to remember."
"What language is this? I can read some of the white man's English."
With a chuckle Methos answered, "This is Latin. I have learned many languages in my travels."
Gray Owl laughed, "Then now you must learn to say it in our tongue so that your words will stay true."
At the end of the week they reached Enchanted Rock. As Gray Owl had said, there were many tribes there. Gray Owl was greeted with respect and affection by the other tribes. They were suspicious of Methos but Gray Owl spoke for him and they accepted him. When they arrived at the camp of his tribe, his grand daughter Dancing Bird met Gray Owl.
Dancing Bird was in her early teens. She was plain of face but had beautiful brown eyes that saw the spirit world like her grandfather. When the three of them sat alone by the campfire eating dinner she asked in their language, "Grandfather, who is this man that you have found in the desert? His light moves like the flames in a campfire."
Gray Owl smiled. "He is working on that. He has only just learned to hold onto his light. It is blinding when he sleeps and forgets it."
Struggling to follow the conversation with the new words he had learned Methos said, "I apologize for my non-control, it is new to me."
Dancing Bird nodded. "Are you a Shaman in your tribe? You have a great power."
"I am a healer."
She looked at him closely. "I see age in your eyes but not in your face."
"I'm older than I look."
The next morning Gray Owl went to talk with Chief Red Horse who had called the gathering. Methos went with Dancing Bird and the other women and children to collect wood for the council fires. Methos asked about the reason for the gathering. She explained that Red Horse wanted the tribes to meet and offer prayers to the Great Spirit. For a year the tribes had been split into factions as a result of a disagreement among the warriors.
Midmorning they were joined by a beautiful girl. Dancing Bird introduced her as Singing Brook, the daughter of Chief Red Horse. Singing Brook had heard talk of the white man who was a healer in his tribe. Her curiosity over why the Shaman Gray Owl had brought him to their camp drove her to seek him out. She thought he was handsome for a white man. He was tall with the dark hair, prominent nose and cheekbones similar to the people of her tribe, but his piercing eyes fascinated her with their changing colors. He moved with the strength of a warrior even if he did the woman's work of collecting firewood. He also wore a long knife with an ease that said he knew how to use it. As she helped them collect firewood she flirted with him enjoying the musical tone of his voice. He spoke differently than the other white men she had met. More importantly was the way the other warriors glared at the white man as she flirted with him.
Red Horse's daughter was very beautiful and skilled at playing one warrior against the other. She took pride in the competition for her. Hers would be the highest bride price ever paid among her people. Her father would select a groom before they left the sacred place. Flirting with the white man might increase the bride price even more she smiled.
After they had eaten, Methos and Dancing Bird wandered towards the place selected for the council. Dancing Bird led him down a deer trail through the mesquite trees, next to a winding, pebble-lined stream. He felt the sacred ground before they reached it. They walked into a clearing and looked up at a mammoth granite rock that domed the area.
In the area below, the tribal elders were seated around the circle fires starting the ceremony. As the drums started, the others began to arrive at the council. Gray Owl spoke to the Great Spirits and called them to the circle fires. After his prayers the Chiefs took turns giving speeches. With only half an ear on the ceremonies, Methos watched the people around him. As the elders broke into groups to talk around the circle fires, Methos and Dancing Bird decided to climb the rock. From the top he looked at the land around them. Dancing Bird told him of the history of her people, how they had come originally from the south. They listened to the rock creaking and groaning as the huge stone cooled from the heat of the day. Singing Brook and two of the warriors, probably her suitors joined them at the top. She was laughing and encouraging them to follow her.
The warriors were not pleased to see Methos on the rock. Part of the dissention in the tribes had to do with White men and the sickness that they brought. Methos wasn't able to follow the conversation as the warriors shouted at him making angry gestures. Dancing Bird and Singing Brook spoke in his defense but it appeared they were unsuccessful in their pleas. Methos assumed a non-aggressive position with his palms up and away from his sword. The first warrior nodded acceptance of the women's arguments making the other one angry. He pushed at the first warrior who fell into the women, who fell into Methos. Pushing Dancing Bird to safety, Methos scrambled to regain his balance, he nearly had it when Singing Brook slid into him and together they slid down the face of the rock and dropped off the edge. The warriors on the top missed catching Singing Brook by mere inches.
Gray Owl looked up as he heard the shouts from the stone. He watched in horror as Benjamin and Singing Brook tumbled down the rock face. He ran with the other elders to where they had landed. Singing Brook was still alive but Gray Owl knew that she would die. He could see that she was broken inside. Benjamin had broken his neck and was dead.
Singing Brook was carried to her father's tent and Gray Owl sang his prayers over her. Methos was moved to Gray Owl's tent to prepare him for the journey to the spirit world. Dancing Bird wept as she cleaned the blood from his body and dressed him in clothes from his saddlebags. She placed his long knife in his hands and burned the sacred herbs until her grandfather could join her.
She had liked Benjamin. She heard her grandfather outside of the tent and stood to lift the flap for him. He checked the results of her labors and grunted in acknowledgement. As he sat and began the prayers to allow Methos to cross to the spirit world he looked upon the body with his inner eye and saw that the life force still glowed brightly. Dancing Bird saw this too. They looked at each other in shock as the body gasped and Methos opened his eyes.
Methos gasped air into his empty lungs and cursed in a few dead languages as he quickly sat up. He was alarmed to see that he had revived in front of Gray Owl and Dancing Bird. He waited to judge their reaction before he said anything.
Gray Owl spoke first. "You are surrounded by your spirit helper the Snake."
Thinking back to their earlier conversations on the trail Methos nodded. "I have come back from the dead many times."
"How many lives of the Snake have you lived?"
"More than I can remember. I have walked the Earth since before your people were born."
Gray Owl nodded. "This is why your life force is as bright as the sun. Are you one of the Great Spirits that comes to walk the Earth?"
"No Gray Owl, I'm just a man, just a very long-lived man. I have to leave. It is the way of my kind."
"Travel well my friend. The spirits go with you."
Methos nodded and grabbing his gear he peeked out of the tent and slipped silently out into the night. He left his horse tied at the guarded picket lines and traveled on foot. He traveled through the night only resting for a few hours at dawn. As quickly as he could he continued on his way towards the stage route he had started on all those weeks before. He wanted to be well out of the area before the Indians started to break camp and return to their homes.
He caught up with the stage in a small town called Cherry Spring. Now that the immediate need to flee the area was over, he searched his bags for his journal. He wanted to record his thoughts while they were fresh in his mind. He stared in dismay at the emptied bag. His journal wasn't there!
Back at the camp, Dancing Bird rolled up the deerskin that had covered the floor of their tent. To her surprise she saw the white mans journal. It had fallen from the pack when she had hastily searched it for burial clothes for him. She picked it up and went in search of her grandfather. He was saying a prayer for the tribe of Red Horse. So that Singing Brook's spirit could follow them home and not trapped at the sacred rock. She waited until her grandfather was finished before she presented him with the journal. He took it into his hands and stared at it with his mind's eye.
He smiled at his grand daughter. "He has left a part of himself with us. It glows with a piece of his magic. We will keep it safe for him until the magic finds him again."
Joe's Bar - Seacouver
"I fell off a cliff and had to leave in the night. Without my horse and my journal."
Duncan snorted and said, "You're stalling. What does any of this have to do the way you snuck up on me?"
"I've never read about anything about manipulating Quickenings like this in the Chronicles...you didn't alter them did you?" Joe asked getting angry.
"No Joe, I'd lost my Watcher when I left New Orleans, the city boy couldn't ride a horse to save his life. Anyway, Watchers don't talk to their Immortals remember."
Dawson couldn't miss the scorn in that statement. It had been Methos in his Adam Pierson persona that pleaded with the Watchers tribunal to 'let friendship thrive'. It was against the Watcher Oath to have contact with the Immortals. The Watchers were supposed to be a secret to the rest of the world and especially to Immortals. Joe had broken that oath when he developed a friendship with his assignment, Duncan McLeod and later when he found out that Adam Pierson was really Methos. Even worse was an Immortal hiding in the Watchers. This is what 'Adam Pierson' had been doing for ten years only recently breaking that connection.
Trying to get the ancient Immortal back on track Duncan reminded him, "the Quickening..."
"This manipulation of the Quickening is not a weapon for attack. It is strictly for self-defense."
"How do you figure that? You could have walked right up behind me and took my head!" Duncan said in a raised whisper. A glare from Methos caused Duncan to lower his voice. He looked around to make sure the few people still in the bar were not paying attention to the conversation. "I don't call that self-defense, I call that pretty aggressive!"
"It takes a lot of energy to do it. If I had taken another step you would have felt me. Not close enough to take your head and I couldn't have fought well if you had challenged me. Part of our strength comes from our Quickening. It makes us stronger than a normal human. Shielding blocks you from the Quickening power when you fight. That makes you closer to being just a normal human. Against an Immortal that would be fatal. Besides, it makes you feel like your skin is crawling with electricity. That can be pretty distracting!"
"So why would you do it at all if you can't use it to fight? Just to get close to an Immortal?" Duncan asked still trying to see what the point of this was.
"Because I became an Immortal fairly young, I'm not the biggest or the strongest. I like to look like a small fish in an otherwise big pond. Headhunters are mainly interested in the powerful Immortals. The small fish are more trouble than they're worth. Only a few actually seek them out. An Immortal is always vulnerable after a Quickening no matter what the size. Why put your head on the line for a small fish. Kalas knew I was old but he had no idea of the extent of my Quickening. To him I felt pretty weak. He gave up on me after I got him arrested. He was more interested in you." Methos sat back satisfied that he had made his point.
"You held back?" the indignant Scot asked.
"Of course I did. I meant it when I said that I didn't have the passion it would take to beat Kalas. You did. Now you're more powerful because of it."
MacLeod shook his head. "I should have known."
"You offered to fight Kalas without even asking if I could fight!" Methos growled at him. Changing the subject he said, "After my time with Gray Owl I worked on the exercises that he showed me. Now I shield my Quickening. It's so engrained in me that even dead my Quickening doesn't 'leak'. Luckily I heal and revive before my shields break down. One of the advantages of being as old as I am, I heal very quickly. I would have to be dead for several hours, with my head still attached of course."
Joe got up and locked the door on the last person leaving the bar. He brought back fresh drinks. He wanted to encourage Methos to continue talking. It wasn't often that the old man was so forthright with information. The Watcher in him was excited about the information he was getting.
MacLeod just shook his head in frustration. "All this mumbo jumbo doesn't tell me what you did. It doesn't sound like something I would use but I still want to know how it's done."
"I mean it Mac, self-preservation." Methos walked to the far side of the bar. "Tell me when you feel me." He took a minute and pulled in his Quickening again. The bar was not big enough for two large Quickenings.
Joe watched with great interest. He had never actually seen the range of the Immortal 'buzz' warning system.
Methos made small steps towards MacLeod until Duncan said, "Now."
Taking a step backwards Methos asked, "Now?"
"No."
"Okay. Now you need to close your eyes and focus your mind. When I touch your Quickening hold the feeling. Visualize it in your mind as a wall or curtain that you control. I will touch it and step back so that you can feel the difference and focus on it. Let me know when you do."
Methos did as he had said and leaned his Quickening aura into Duncan's. He closed his eyes and focused his mind on it. He repeated this slowly until Duncan finally said, "I feel something. It's pushing against me."
Encouraged Methos said, "Now when I push into it, pull it away from me."
He moved forward a fraction at a time and quickly backed away when he contacted Duncan's Quickening. He moved into it again and then stepped back.
"Can you feel that?"
"I can but I can't seem to hold onto it or make it move."
"Good." Methos said and released his Quickening again. He walked back to the table and sat down. "It isn't something you can do in one night. You did very well. Now practice that for a couple hundred years and you can sneak up on me." He glibly added.
Duncan sat down heavily. "I can see what you mean about that being tough to hold. I feel drained."
"You said you shield your Quickening. Are you doing it now?"
Methos stared long and hard at Duncan and Joe measuring them up before finishing his beer. He stood and put his long coat back on. He slipped the journal into his pocket. "Nothing in the chronicles?"
Joe nodded. "My word on it."
Holding Duncan's eyes and nodding Methos turned and walked the sixty or so feet to the bar door and stopped. "You want to know how much. I'm trusting you with my life you know..."
Standing now, both Duncan and Joe both nodded.
Methos closed his eyes and braced himself. Within a second Duncan was slammed with what felt like a bolt of lightning. He staggered back and collapsed into his chair holding his head. The noise in his head made thinking too difficult.
Joe felt like he was standing next to a high voltage fence. The hairs on his arms stood up. He looked down at the Highlander holding his head in the chair beside him.
This feeling only lasted a split second. In the next instant it was gone.
It took Duncan a moment to shake it off and he looked towards the door. Methos stood with his eyes closed. His face concentrating as he re-installed his shields. When they were comfortably back in place he took a couple of cleansing breaths and let them out again.
He opened his eyes and looked at MacLeod and Joe. His look was returned with a look of shock that made him uncomfortable. Thinking that now would be a good time to leave he turned and said over his shoulder, "Practice MacLeod. Practice." He was out the door in a flash.
Still nauseous from the force of the Quickening he had felt Duncan turned to look at Joe.
Joe could see the awe still in Duncan's eyes. Sitting down beside the Highlander he said,
"He never ceases to amaze me. He wasn't kidding when he said he was trusting us with his life."
"No he wasn't. I never imagined."
"He's like an iceberg. You think you have him figured out but you're only looking at the surface he wants you to see. I have a feeling that was just a shadow of what is beneath the surface." Picking up his drink, Joe drained it in one gulp.
The End
Just a Shadow
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