Same disclaimer.
***
"Now I know why this place is called the Death Frontier," Richie grumbled.
"Few ever survive traveling through here, Richie," Rose replied. "No one would expect a thriving town dead center in this desert."
I was still getting used to the changes in Rose. When I'd first met her, she was a cold-blooded killer who would as soon cut someone's throat as look at them. Now, reunited with her fiancé, Zieg, the change was remarkable. She was actually being friendly with the rest of us; I'd even caught her joking with Meru, which would have been unthinkable just a few days earlier.
"Emphasis on 'dead', Rose," Methos put in. "It's a good thing we brought plenty of water. Dehydration is not a pleasant way to die."
We made camp shortly thereafter.
"Zieg…" Haschel trailed off, then visibly braced himself and continued. "Dart said his mother was named Claire. My daughter, who ran away more than twenty years ago, had the same name. Was Dart's mother…?"
"From Rouge? Yes," Zieg said.
Haschel sighed. "Then my search is over."
"I'm sorry, Haschel," Rose whispered.
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You had no choice."
I sprawled on my back, staring at the sky. Haschel is Dart's grandfather. Rose and Zieg fought in the Dragon Campaign. Dart is Zieg's son. Everyone seems to have a connection to Dart, be it friendship or something more. I glanced briefly at Shana. She's obviously in love with our fearless leader.
"Um, Ray?"
I turned my head slightly. "What's up, Miranda?"
"I wanted to ask you." Miranda hesitated, then took the plunge. "How did you become Immortal?"
"Yeah! I wanna hear it, too!" Meru piped up.
"I as well." Albert, no surprise.
"Alright." I gazed off into the distance. "Rose has heard the basics, and of course Mac, Richie, and Methos know the whole story." I nodded to them. "It started about eight months ago…"
***
[Chicago, Illinois, eight months earlier]
***
My eyes snapped open and I gasped. My first impression was that I was lying on a table, my second was that my clothes were missing. What the? Where am I? My last memory was of searing pain as a knife stabbed into my heart. I should be dead. I quickly examined my chest. No wound. Not even a scar, or any other mark. What is going on here?
I heard a door open behind me. "Poor guy. Knifed to death, no family." A female voice, fairly young. She came into my field of vision, saw that I was awake, and let out a piercing shriek. "But…but…you're dead!!"
I pushed off the table, careful to keep the sheet. "Not quite, sorry." I still had no idea what had happened, but I knew that waiting around wasn't the smartest thing to do. "Would you happen to know where my clothes are?"
Speechless, she pointed to a nearby drawer, then ran, screaming.
"Guess she's not used to the dead waking up. Oh, well. Not my problem." You might question that little wisecrack, but it was my way of staying sane in the face of something which, on the surface, was flat out impossible. I swiftly got dressed and made good my escape.
***
[Seacouver]
***
Three days later, I found myself in the Pacific Northwest, complete with fake identification. (Illegal, I know, but I had no choice. It's amazing what you learn from a life on the streets.) Seacouver was much more to my taste than Chicago: smaller, and more rain. (Another oddity on my part, but isn't everyone a little strange, when you think about it?) For reasons I never quite figured out, I turned down a small alleyway. It was then that I felt the Buzz for the first time.
I can't really describe the sensation to anyone who hasn't experienced it. The closest comparison I can think of is a headache that doesn't actually hurt, almost a throbbing.
While I was still trying to figure this out, a deep voice spoke behind me. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
I slowly turned, and found the speaker mere feet away. You guys all know what he looks like, so a description would be redundant. MacLeod held his sword at the ready. "My name is Raymond Belmont, and is there a reason you're pointing a sword at me?" My voice shook despite my efforts.
MacLeod looked me over, then slowly lowered his weapon. "I thought you were after my head, but it's pretty clear you don't even know what you are."
"What I am? What's that supposed to mean?"
He shook his head quickly. "Not here. Come with me, and I'll explain."
I didn't know why, but I knew I could trust him. "Alright."
MacLeod took me to his home, right above a dojo he'd purchased two years earlier. "Have a seat. You drink?"
I shrugged. "I have an occasional beer."
"Coming right up." He tossed me a can, took one for himself, and sat down. "Do you remember something bad happening recently? Something that should have killed you, but didn't?"
I sipped once. "Yeah. Some thug knifed me in Chicago. I woke up on a table in the morgue, wondering why I wasn't dead. Three days ago, it would be."
MacLeod then dropped a bombshell. "You were dead. You were dead, but you came back."
My eyes widened. "Say what!? Could you run that by me again?"
"You're an Immortal, like me. You won't age anymore, and the only way you can permanently die is by beheading." He chuckled at my expression. "That's why I carry a sword around. If someone tries to take my head, I need to be ready to fight."
I frowned. "Maybe I'm dense, but why would someone want your head? Do you have a price on your head or something?"
MacLeod sobered. "It's because of the Game, Ray. Now that you're Immortal, you need to learn to fight. If you don't, you're doomed."
"What's the 'Game'?"
"It's basically a series of duels to the death. When one Immortal defeats another and takes his head, he absorbs his enemy's power through the Quickening. According to legend, we have to fight until there's only one left. The last one will receive the Prize, though no one knows what it is. Some believe that the time of the Gathering, where a lot of us go at it at once, is already here, others think it'll be a while yet."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think? Do you believe in it at all?"
He hesitated. "You know, I'm not quite sure anymore. I used to, certainly, thanks to my cousin Connor, but I'm not certain anymore. Probably not, come to think of it. It'd be nice if it was a myth; there are plenty of Immortals I have no desire to behead. That's why I only fight if I'm challenged."
I nodded. "Besides, how can there be only one if so many of us are born all the time?"
"Good point." He glanced out the window; it was starting to rain. "That doesn't really matter at the moment. I can't force you, but you need this if you're going to survive. I can teach you."
I smiled. "Thanks. I really appreciate it, you going out of your way for a guy like me."
MacLeod laughed. "Not the first time. One of my closest friends used to be just a street kid. You'll meet him soon enough." He stood, draining his beer. "You can stay here for now. We'll get started in the morning."
***
As you are all aware, I have always been a morning person. This proved to be fortunate, as Mac got me up at about 5 A.M.. "Time to get up already?"
"Got to start early." The Highlander grinned. "What, you aren't ready?"
I shot him a dirty look. "Oh, I'm ready. Give me ten minutes, and I'll be good to go."
"Right."
Mac's idea of exercise for a newbie Immortal would put a Marine drill instructor to shame. Start with a fairly extensive warm-up, add a five mile jog, most of it in the park, and finish up with a rough-and-tumble bout in the dojo.
All before breakfast.
I collapsed into a chair, gasping for breath. "Yeesh, Mac, you call that exercise!? I'd call it just shy of torture."
The older man wasn't even winded. "Sometimes a fight comes down to who has more endurance."
I shook my head. "And here I thought I was in good shape."
"You're just getting started." MacLeod glanced at a clock. "We'll start sword work this afternoon. Richie and Joe are coming about then."
"Who're they?"
"Richie Ryan is the Immortal I told you about last night, the guy who grew up on the streets. Joe Dawson is a member of an organization called the Watchers. They watch our lives, wanting to know the truth about us."
I mulled this. "Can't blame them, I guess. How'd you meet this Dawson?"
Mac's eyes got a distant look. "A friend of mine was kidnapped and nearly killed by renegade Watchers a couple years back. I met Joe while investigating it."
"Interesting."
MacLeod got up and retrieved a large case. "In order to learn sword work, you need a sword." He opened the case. "Pick one."
I reached in and lifted a slightly curved Japanese blade. "I think this one will do." It was an elegant weapon, a silver blade with an intricately carved black handle. "It's beautiful."
Mac smiled. "Take care of it, and it will take care of you." He drew his own blade. "Mine is a similar design, so I'll be able to teach you the same style."
I grinned. "What are we waiting for?" I froze when the Buzz hit me. "Someone's here."
The older man shrugged. "Probably Riche; I guess he's here early."
Richie Ryan was waiting for us when we came down the stairs. "Hey, Mac, Joe told me you've got a new Immortal here."
MacLeod introduced us. "Ray Belmont, meet Richie Ryan."
I shook Richie's hand, smiling. "Pleased to meet you."
He grinned. "Same here. Got knifed?"
"Yeah, in Chicago." I shrugged. "Had to happen sooner or later. I may be young, but I've been around a bit. Almost got myself killed in Greece, of all places. Before you ask how I could have managed that sort of trip, I should say that I briefly had a job with an airline. I quit a month later."
"Lucky you," Richie said with a slight wince. "I grew up on the streets, then got shot by a thug." He and Mac exchanged a brief glance.
"Well," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "I'm supposed to start sword training, so why don't we get to it."
"Right." Mac accepted the change. "First of all…"
The next three hours were spent going through the basics: foot posture, guard positions, shifting between defense and attack, holding the sword just right, nuances I had no idea existed. It helped that I was a quick study, otherwise it would almost certainly have taken much longer.
"You've got talent," MacLeod commented. "Not many pick up the basics that quickly."
"I've always been fascinated by swords," I said, sheathing my weapon. "I've read everything I could get my hands on."
"So this is the new Immortal," a new voice said. A tall, bearded man with a pair of artificial legs limped his way over.
Mac clapped him on the shoulder. "Didn't hear you come in, Joe. How much did you see?"
"Enough to know this guy's going to be trouble to anyone stupid enough to take him on." He turned to me. "I'm Joe Dawson, from the Watchers. Mac told you about us, right?"
"He did indeed." I leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "Right before he sliced me up."
Richie laughed. "At least he didn't beat you up."
"He did that, too." I shook my head. "Any other visitors for today?"
"Adam Pierson's coming tomorrow," Dawson replied. "Didn't say why." He looked at me. "He's an immortal Watcher. Joined about ten years ago, trying to stay out of the game."
I frowned. "If he's trying to hide, why tell me?"
"You'll be able to tell he's Immortal right away, remember?" Joe chuckled. "Besides, I think he'll like you."
"You got some news, Joe?" Mac asked.
"Yeah." The Watcher carefully sat down. "Heard about a nasty Immortal in the area, name of Ishmael bin Shakr." He gave me a measuring glance. "He's an Arab with an attitude problem, and despite being a hundred and fifty years old, he's not that good. You shouldn't have any trouble if you run into him."
"Thanks, I think." I pushed away from the wall. "Here we go again."
"I think we should call it quits for today." Mac stretched. "Can't do too much at once."
***
I trained with MacLeod for six months. Two days after showing up in Seacouver, Adam Pierson told me his real name: Methos. When asked why, he only said he had his reasons. I think one reason he didn't give details was an enjoyment of confusing others.
Anyway, there is only one more event prior to my arrival here that is worth noting. A week after I left MacLeod, I was walking in a thick fog, when I abruptly felt the Buzz. I drew my sword at once. "I'm Raymond Belmont. Show yourself."
A tall, dark man stepped into view. "You won't need that," he said, eyeing my sword.
"And why is that?" I asked, not believing him for an instant.
The man held open his coat. "I stopped taking heads a long time ago. I don't even carry a sword anymore."
I was still suspicious, but he was clearly unarmed. "Who in blazes are you, anyway?"
He smiled. "The oldest of us still alive. I am Methos."
Yeah, and I'm a dolphin. "Indeed. Why would a five thousand-year-old Immortal be without a sword except on holy ground?"
"Why not?" "Methos" was eerily calm. "Do we really have to fight?"
"I don't believe in the Game, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid," I said coldly. "I'd prefer to keep my head."
"What if there were a way to stop the killing?" This guy was starting to get on my nerves. "What if all Immortals could exist in peace?"
"Were you born that stupid, or did you have to study for it?" I stepped forward. "As long as even one of us is hunting others, we have to be ready to defend ourselves. If you can't see that, then you are the biggest idiot I have ever met." With that, I spun on my heel and walked into the mist.
***
"…and that's all there is to tell," I finished. "Rose saw my first battle, so she can fill you in on that one. She probably remembers it better than I do anyway."
"One thing, Ray," Methos said. "I told you who I am because I knew I could trust you. I don't do that lightly."
"Thanks." I yawned. "If there's nothing else, I'm going to sleep."
Miranda had one more question. "What are you going to do, when this is all over?"
I shrugged. "I thought I'd settle in Deningrad. It just seems like a nice place."
She smiled. "I think that'd be great."
Am I missing something here? I dismissed that thought with another shrug. "Glad you approve. See you guys in the morning." I stretched out and fell asleep almost instantly.
***
Author's note: Only a few more chapters to go. Next, the gang goes to Ulara. Not much else to say, except thanks again for the reviews. D.S.
