Chapter Twelve

... and Trust

Strathclyde, 864 c.e.:

Instead of returning to their home in Strathclyde, Methos thought it best that Sir Edward Gray and his wife just vanish, at least for now. Aella was still far too fragile and far too emotional about her experience to be around other people. Also, there was much he now needed to teach her... things that would make no sense to their servants.

He found an overhanging rock ledge in a high mountainside that faced east. It might have served as a cave once; it was big enough to shelter the two horses they had taken with them. They could build a fire there and he could train Aella in peace, and without fear of interruption.

Methos had also retrieved the great sword he had carried for decades before they had left the bodies of the outlaws to the ravens. They had all they would need... for a while.

He taught her to walk and move so that she would seem almost invisible to the attention of others... as if she were someone of no importance. He taught her how to change her appearance, even the apparent size and shape of her body. He taught her how to read the land, to watch others as she always had, but now with an even more critical eye. He taught her to carefully consider actions and reactions. He taught her how to find another immortal and how not to betray herself when she did so. He taught her to watch what she said when meeting another immortal, so that the other would learn nothing about her. He taught her how to become mysterious. He taught her never to offer information... to change her name.

"I suppose..." Aella said when Methos taught her the last, "that Edward Gray is not your real name."

Methos smiled at her and said nothing.

She nodded back in understanding.

"But," he offered, "I will always be Edward for you."

"No..." Aella sadly shook her head. "Sir Edward Gray is dead. I do not know who you are."

"You will have to call me something."

"Whatever name you choose then, it matters not, does it."

Methos sadly agreed.

Most importantly, he taught her to fight... he taught Aella the skills she would need if she wanted to survive. Day after day, he put her through the paces as mercilessly as Aja had once insisted he learn symbols written first in wax and then in sand. Aella learned to thrust, parry, and disarm. She learned to move... she learned to use her clothes, her cloak, her hair, and her body, as well as whatever was around her to help in the fight. Her small stature could still be an advantage. She could get in close to her opponent. She could move beneath the thrusts of many of them. Methos feared, though, that it was all in vain.

Try as she might. She had little knack for this. Time after time Aella landed on her back in the dirt as he rained down blows upon her. Methos was not gentle. The opponents she would one day have to face would not be gentle either.

"Anticipate!" he yelled at her. "Watch for the unexpected!"

She would stand again and try again and land in the dirt face down. Gradually, though, the more Aella practiced, the more he pushed at her, the more he tested her against some of the best moves he had in his arsenal, she began little by little to improve. She still lost... but not as quickly.

During the entire training, she only tolerated his touch when absolutely necessary. They had argued about it. He had to touch her to show her how to hold the weapons. She did not want him that near. It was the first real fight they had ever had. Afterwards Aella had agreed, but she had stormed through the nearby bushes, whacking at them as if each and every one of them was an outlaw she would kill... or Edward himself for deceiving her about his nature... about her nature. Methos did not care which. Her anger right now made her want to survive. And he wanted her to survive. Later, he knew she would have to learn to control it... to use it to her advantage.

And, as Methos observed, Aella was approaching this the way she had approached reading or their lovemaking... with a singleness of purpose that drove everything else from her mind. Even when he called "Enough for today! " ... she still practiced. One day he saw her move in a way reminiscent of her dancing. After that she slowly began to improvise her movements with a better grace. Their sparring matches lasted minutes, not seconds.

One day after disarming her, Methos tossed Aella the great sword and indicated she was to use that next.

"Why? It is too heavy."

"Because in a battle you may lose your weapon and need to use your opponent's. Now come at me."

Aella lifted the sword and attempted one of her moves. The sword drug into the ground. She stopped and weighed the sword in her hand, noting its balance and feel. It would take her two hands to wield it. She shifted her position and tried again. Again she failed. It took most of the day, but by the end, she was moving it as if she had always wielded it. Then Methos took it from her and returned her long knife. Aella hefted it like a familiar friend, then swiftly attacked him with a wicked laugh, wielding it with a grace and lightness he had once thought she would never get. He almost let her win... there was so much joy in her face during that fight. She had had so little joy in the past few weeks.

Days passed. Aella was up at dawn, seeing to the horses, fetching water, gathering wood. The cooking she left to him. At night she slept near the fire on the far side, away from him. Methos slept back in the shelter, near the horses. He needed her to stay and learn, so he acquiesced in her arrangements. They were no longer man and wife... they were teacher and student. That was all Aella wanted. That was all that was important. So, that was all there was.

Late one afternoon just as evening was drawing to a close, Aella landed once more face down in the dirt after a match. She quickly jumped up and swatted away with her knife as if trying to figure out just what had gone wrong that time. She paced back and forth... mumbling to herself and swinging the knife. When she was ready, she came at him again.

This time she moved as if in the dance itself. Twisting, turning, slide left, right, shift positions, shift weight. Only they weren't the steps they had danced... the ones that matched the symbols he once had learned. These were new... and old at the same time. She had turned them on their side, or inside out... or upside down. She stepped in an ever-increasing fury of motion.

The great sword was suddenly ripped from his hands; as she slid a foot behind his, Methos quickly found himself on his knees! Twirling in the air, the great sword came down hilt first into her waiting hand. She hefted it suddenly and he found himself caught between the long knife on one side of his throat and the sword on the other!

Aella's eyes flashed in triumph. Methos raised his chin, closed his eyes, and waited. When nothing happened he opened his eyes, he could still feel both blades at his neck.

She regarded him evenly, almost calmly... thoughtfully. Aella cocked her head to one side as though listening to something. She glanced at the blades in her hands then lowered them and backed away.

Methos could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. Aella tossed him the great sword and then turned and walked away quietly.

Methos caught the sword, grateful it was once more in his keeping. Then he looked at her. Time for the final lesson.

He lunged toward her with sudden speed, disarmed her quickly and with the sword horizontal across her neck backed her against a dead tree! "You made three costly errors! One, you did not kill me when you had the chance! Two you trusted me and gave me back my sword! Three, you turned your back! Remember Aella, there can be only one!" He pushed the sword harder against the edge of her neck.

She gasped in terror. Her eyes widened fearfully. He held it there a long time. Then he released her. He backed away from her and, picking up her long knife, threw it into the dirt at the edge of the camp. Still backing away, he sat by the fire with the sword still in his hands. He watched and waited.

Aella continued to gasp and rubbed her neck all the while glaring at him. Finally she spat out, "So this is how it ends... teacher kills student or student kills teacher?"

"Always... sometimes. Sometimes friend kills friend... enemy kills enemy... lover kills lover. In the end, Aella, there can be only one."

She nodded and came to the fire and sat clutching her knees. She said nothing else but sat and stared into the flames. Her face bore a haunted expression.

After a while, Methos rose and went to his bed. The great sword was well within his reach. He flung his cloak about him and turned his back on her... but every sense he had was aware of her and every move she made.

Aella did not move for the longest time. Finally, she stepped over to the horses to set their feed bags and checked their straw. She cooed at them, laughing and whispering as she always did. Always the healer... always the one who knew what others needed. Finally he felt her come to stand over him. He clutched his sword... ready to respond.

He heard her take a deep breath and then heard the rustle of her clothes as she removed them. She lifted the cloak and crawled in beside him. He rolled onto his back and gazed into her sad green eyes. She leaned in to kiss him ever so gently... her hands began to fool with his clothes... getting them out of the way.

He turned to her... eager to respond to her kisses... her caresses. But he let her lead the way. If before, there had always been a gentle playfulness in their love... this was different. This was two people desperately trying to merge... one into the other. Each one attempting to somehow become the other... two who were alone attempting to become one. At last they both slept. For Methos... it was the first night in many nights that he at last felt some measure of peace.