The Kurgan sat behind a tree in the cemetery. He had tracked the
Highlander for a long time and knew the young one would show that night.
MacLeod came, but he was not alone. There was a woman with him, dressed in
a man's ragged clothing. She was beautiful, despite the rags, and seemed
strong for one of her sex. More importantly, the Kurgan knew she was an
Immortal. This bothered him. As powerful as he was, he didn't know if he
could take on both of them. He'd have to change his plans.
The Kurgan watched the two walk the path. They stopped just within earshot.
"There's another here," MacLeod said agitated.
"He'll be no trouble. It is holy ground," the girl replied. Her voice shocked the Kurgan. It was low, powerful, commanding. She might prove fun to put down.
"Why did you bring me here," she said after a short silence.
"I come here often for a bit of peace," MacLeod sighed. "But it seems that has been shattered."
"Go," the girl ordered. "Find your peace elsewhere, Connor. Let me meet this hidden Immortal."
To the Kurgan's surprise, MacLeod did so.
"Farewell, my friend," the Highlander said before leaving. "I'm quitting this city for good tomorrow. Depending on tonight's activities, I may not see you again."
"Trust me, MacLeod. You've not seem the last of this old maiden," the other laughed.
The Scotsman smiled and the two embraced like old friends. Then MacLeod was gone, leaving the girl alone in the dark graveyard, within the clutches of the Kurgan. He stepped out from behind the tree and moved toward the lone figure.
"Do you make it a habit to hide in the shadows, or it this a special occasion," the girl asked without looking at him.
"I came looking for MacLeod," he replied.
"You just missed him," she snickered.
"But I did find you." The Kurgan wanted her to look at him.
"Lucky me."
"So, you're the Highlander's new woman," he smirked.
She spun toward his quickly. "I'm no one's woman," she said forcefully.
"Hmmm," he growled, as he looked her over.
"You must be the Kurgan," she said, crossing her arms before her chest.
"How did you guess," he asked only slightly surprised.
"Those who survived you gave good descriptions."
"If they were so good," he took two of his long strides to stand before her. "Why aren't you trembling?"
"Because I don't fear you," she replied calmly.
He grabbed her elbow and pulled her within inches of his body. He bent forward slightly to bring his face close to hers.
"I could drag you off this land. Take your body and your head. It would be easy," he menaced.
"Rape me if you will," her voice darkened. "Kill me. Bring the Gathering one head closer. I would have my revenge. Unlike the others you've killed, my memory would haunt you forever."
"And why is that," he asked, though he plainly felt the truth of her words.
"Because I'm something special."
"Willful witch," he snarled and began walking away from her.
"Were I a real witch, I would cast a couple spells on you," the girl called after him.
The Kurgan stopped in mid stride. "And what would those be?"
"The first would be to learn your name. Maybe not your birth name, but something to call you besides Kurgan."
You can call me Viktor," he said slowly.
"That name suits you," she said lightly. "But perhaps not forever."
Viktor turned around to look at her. "And that second spell?"
"For you to tell me your story."
"I thought you said you've heard my stories."
"I've heard stories of you, but not your story. I believe every man, mortal and Immortal alike, must share his story with at least one person. I seem to be the only one that wants to hear yours."
Viktor raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't want to tell it?"
"Come back to this place tomorrow evening. I'll be waiting for you on one of the tombs," she said, ignoring his statement, and began to leave.
"Wait," he called, realizing things hadn't gone according to his plan. Nothing ever did. He waited until she turned to continue. "I gave you a name for me. Give ma your name."
"Call me Eve," she said, walking away.
The Kurgan returned the next evening after the gates had closed. He lost track of the Highlander the night before and now MacLeod was gone. He wasn't on a schedule any longer; why not see the girl again. He went to the tomb he knew she was in. The entrance opened as he stepped before it. Eve slid the door closed as he went inside.
"I knew you would come," she said matter-of-factly.
Viktor looked around at the coffins. "You would desecrate such a holy place?"
"Death bothers you doesn't it?"
"I've killed many, Viktor said dismissively.
"Killed, yes. But death isn't necessarily the same thing. Natural death, that which isn't done by man, beast, or blade, but by pestilence, age, and decay, that bothers you."
She sat down on the ground and beckoned him to do the same. "Please, make yourself as comfortable as possible."
He pulled out his blade and placed it beside him as he sat before her. He put his back against the wall and draped his arms over his raised knees. "You have a strange philosophy, Eve."
"Well, I'm a strange woman, Viktor," she smirked. "But that's not why you're here. You're here to tell your story."
"What is there to tell," he asked somewhat wistfully. "I was born long ago. I've lived many lifetimes. That's all there really is."
"You speak too broadly. There must be more details to your life," she coaxed. "I've been told you're the perfect warrior."
"Who's told you that," he smirked.
"No one of consequence now," she sighed, clearly annoyed. "The point I'm trying to make is that you weren't born the perfect warrior. It's the experiences you go through that make you who you are. Tell me those experiences."
Viktor looked quizzically at the girl in front of him. "Fine," he conceded. "But you may not find it very interesting."
"You'd be surprised," smiled warmly.
So, the Kurgan told his story. From his birth and short childhood on the Russian Steppes; his warrior training; his Quickening; his subsequent beheadings; everything that made up his life was told to the girl long into the night.
She had sat quietly listening, coaxing him when he occasionally lapsed into an awkward silence. She lit a lantern when it became very dark and settled down beside him in the light.
He turned to her when he had finished. "And now I'm sharing my story with a very strange woman."
"A fairly good story," she remarked.
"I supposed," he said quietly.
"It could've used one thing though."
"And what might that have been," he asked curiously.
"It had everything but romance," she scoffed. ""What the story needed was the love of a good woman."
Viktor was about to reply to that when Eve said, "But now you're done telling the story. And now you can take my head."
He was a little shocked. That entire evening he had talked of death and killing, but the thought of killing her never crossed his mind.
"No, I can't," he rasped, as if the words felt strange in his mouth.
"Oh, right," she said innocently. "Holy ground. Well, when I leave..."
"No, I mean," he interrupted, placing a hand tentatively on her thigh. "You were wrong earlier."
"What," she asked, looking at his hand as it slowly moved back and forth.
"I didn't come here to tell my story," he whispered. "I came here because of you."
He leaned in close to her and kissed her neck gently. His hand moved higher up her thigh.
"So, you're taking a rain check on that killing," her voice tried to remain strong, but wavered slightly.
He brought his face level with hers and put his free hand on her cheek. "If any one takes this head, it won't be me."
He kissed her and she leaned into it willingly. Viktor was a bit startled when she put her hand on his shoulder and started pushing him back into his sitting position. His surprise melted when she swung one of her knees over his body and replaced her lips over his.
They separated long enough to pull their shirts off each other. He ran her fingers down her bare back as he kissed her neck and chest. Then he slid his hands under her thighs, and, with a great show of strength and agility, lifted her with him as he stood.
He climbed atop a nearby sepulcher, slowly laying her back on the cool stone. He backed away from her and began to gently pull her pants off. "These need to go," he growled lightly.
He took his own leggings off before settling between her legs. Their lips met again as he gently slid himself into her. She turned her head slightly, breaking their kiss, as she bit her lower lip from the pressure.
He lavished kisses on her face and neck and shoulders and breasts and any where else convenient to his position. He ran his hands over her quickly dampening skin as he pushed deeper and deeper within her. They moved together for some time; their movement becoming erratic and their breathing labored. After what seemed like an eternity, Viktor's muscles tightened suddenly and he released himself inside her.
He remained where he was for awhile, getting his breathing and everything else under control. Then he looked down at the small, beautiful Immortal underneath him. Her eyes were closed and he brushed away some stray locks that had stuck to her damp skin. Her eyes opened and he held her gaze for a few seconds before pulling away from her.
She stayed still for a moment or two; her breathing almost imperceptible. She rolled on her side away from him and reached down toward the floor. As if by magic, she produced a large blanket that covered them both.
He didn't stare at her back for long before sliding closer to her. He put an arm over her waist and pulled her back firmly against his chest. He took it as a good sign when she settled against him easily.
He kissed her shoulder a few times, then whispered, "Eve?"
"Yes, Viktor," she said a little breathlessly.
A few more kisses to the crook of her neck and he said, with one of his very rare, purely happy smiles, "Tell me your story."
The Kurgan watched the two walk the path. They stopped just within earshot.
"There's another here," MacLeod said agitated.
"He'll be no trouble. It is holy ground," the girl replied. Her voice shocked the Kurgan. It was low, powerful, commanding. She might prove fun to put down.
"Why did you bring me here," she said after a short silence.
"I come here often for a bit of peace," MacLeod sighed. "But it seems that has been shattered."
"Go," the girl ordered. "Find your peace elsewhere, Connor. Let me meet this hidden Immortal."
To the Kurgan's surprise, MacLeod did so.
"Farewell, my friend," the Highlander said before leaving. "I'm quitting this city for good tomorrow. Depending on tonight's activities, I may not see you again."
"Trust me, MacLeod. You've not seem the last of this old maiden," the other laughed.
The Scotsman smiled and the two embraced like old friends. Then MacLeod was gone, leaving the girl alone in the dark graveyard, within the clutches of the Kurgan. He stepped out from behind the tree and moved toward the lone figure.
"Do you make it a habit to hide in the shadows, or it this a special occasion," the girl asked without looking at him.
"I came looking for MacLeod," he replied.
"You just missed him," she snickered.
"But I did find you." The Kurgan wanted her to look at him.
"Lucky me."
"So, you're the Highlander's new woman," he smirked.
She spun toward his quickly. "I'm no one's woman," she said forcefully.
"Hmmm," he growled, as he looked her over.
"You must be the Kurgan," she said, crossing her arms before her chest.
"How did you guess," he asked only slightly surprised.
"Those who survived you gave good descriptions."
"If they were so good," he took two of his long strides to stand before her. "Why aren't you trembling?"
"Because I don't fear you," she replied calmly.
He grabbed her elbow and pulled her within inches of his body. He bent forward slightly to bring his face close to hers.
"I could drag you off this land. Take your body and your head. It would be easy," he menaced.
"Rape me if you will," her voice darkened. "Kill me. Bring the Gathering one head closer. I would have my revenge. Unlike the others you've killed, my memory would haunt you forever."
"And why is that," he asked, though he plainly felt the truth of her words.
"Because I'm something special."
"Willful witch," he snarled and began walking away from her.
"Were I a real witch, I would cast a couple spells on you," the girl called after him.
The Kurgan stopped in mid stride. "And what would those be?"
"The first would be to learn your name. Maybe not your birth name, but something to call you besides Kurgan."
You can call me Viktor," he said slowly.
"That name suits you," she said lightly. "But perhaps not forever."
Viktor turned around to look at her. "And that second spell?"
"For you to tell me your story."
"I thought you said you've heard my stories."
"I've heard stories of you, but not your story. I believe every man, mortal and Immortal alike, must share his story with at least one person. I seem to be the only one that wants to hear yours."
Viktor raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't want to tell it?"
"Come back to this place tomorrow evening. I'll be waiting for you on one of the tombs," she said, ignoring his statement, and began to leave.
"Wait," he called, realizing things hadn't gone according to his plan. Nothing ever did. He waited until she turned to continue. "I gave you a name for me. Give ma your name."
"Call me Eve," she said, walking away.
The Kurgan returned the next evening after the gates had closed. He lost track of the Highlander the night before and now MacLeod was gone. He wasn't on a schedule any longer; why not see the girl again. He went to the tomb he knew she was in. The entrance opened as he stepped before it. Eve slid the door closed as he went inside.
"I knew you would come," she said matter-of-factly.
Viktor looked around at the coffins. "You would desecrate such a holy place?"
"Death bothers you doesn't it?"
"I've killed many, Viktor said dismissively.
"Killed, yes. But death isn't necessarily the same thing. Natural death, that which isn't done by man, beast, or blade, but by pestilence, age, and decay, that bothers you."
She sat down on the ground and beckoned him to do the same. "Please, make yourself as comfortable as possible."
He pulled out his blade and placed it beside him as he sat before her. He put his back against the wall and draped his arms over his raised knees. "You have a strange philosophy, Eve."
"Well, I'm a strange woman, Viktor," she smirked. "But that's not why you're here. You're here to tell your story."
"What is there to tell," he asked somewhat wistfully. "I was born long ago. I've lived many lifetimes. That's all there really is."
"You speak too broadly. There must be more details to your life," she coaxed. "I've been told you're the perfect warrior."
"Who's told you that," he smirked.
"No one of consequence now," she sighed, clearly annoyed. "The point I'm trying to make is that you weren't born the perfect warrior. It's the experiences you go through that make you who you are. Tell me those experiences."
Viktor looked quizzically at the girl in front of him. "Fine," he conceded. "But you may not find it very interesting."
"You'd be surprised," smiled warmly.
So, the Kurgan told his story. From his birth and short childhood on the Russian Steppes; his warrior training; his Quickening; his subsequent beheadings; everything that made up his life was told to the girl long into the night.
She had sat quietly listening, coaxing him when he occasionally lapsed into an awkward silence. She lit a lantern when it became very dark and settled down beside him in the light.
He turned to her when he had finished. "And now I'm sharing my story with a very strange woman."
"A fairly good story," she remarked.
"I supposed," he said quietly.
"It could've used one thing though."
"And what might that have been," he asked curiously.
"It had everything but romance," she scoffed. ""What the story needed was the love of a good woman."
Viktor was about to reply to that when Eve said, "But now you're done telling the story. And now you can take my head."
He was a little shocked. That entire evening he had talked of death and killing, but the thought of killing her never crossed his mind.
"No, I can't," he rasped, as if the words felt strange in his mouth.
"Oh, right," she said innocently. "Holy ground. Well, when I leave..."
"No, I mean," he interrupted, placing a hand tentatively on her thigh. "You were wrong earlier."
"What," she asked, looking at his hand as it slowly moved back and forth.
"I didn't come here to tell my story," he whispered. "I came here because of you."
He leaned in close to her and kissed her neck gently. His hand moved higher up her thigh.
"So, you're taking a rain check on that killing," her voice tried to remain strong, but wavered slightly.
He brought his face level with hers and put his free hand on her cheek. "If any one takes this head, it won't be me."
He kissed her and she leaned into it willingly. Viktor was a bit startled when she put her hand on his shoulder and started pushing him back into his sitting position. His surprise melted when she swung one of her knees over his body and replaced her lips over his.
They separated long enough to pull their shirts off each other. He ran her fingers down her bare back as he kissed her neck and chest. Then he slid his hands under her thighs, and, with a great show of strength and agility, lifted her with him as he stood.
He climbed atop a nearby sepulcher, slowly laying her back on the cool stone. He backed away from her and began to gently pull her pants off. "These need to go," he growled lightly.
He took his own leggings off before settling between her legs. Their lips met again as he gently slid himself into her. She turned her head slightly, breaking their kiss, as she bit her lower lip from the pressure.
He lavished kisses on her face and neck and shoulders and breasts and any where else convenient to his position. He ran his hands over her quickly dampening skin as he pushed deeper and deeper within her. They moved together for some time; their movement becoming erratic and their breathing labored. After what seemed like an eternity, Viktor's muscles tightened suddenly and he released himself inside her.
He remained where he was for awhile, getting his breathing and everything else under control. Then he looked down at the small, beautiful Immortal underneath him. Her eyes were closed and he brushed away some stray locks that had stuck to her damp skin. Her eyes opened and he held her gaze for a few seconds before pulling away from her.
She stayed still for a moment or two; her breathing almost imperceptible. She rolled on her side away from him and reached down toward the floor. As if by magic, she produced a large blanket that covered them both.
He didn't stare at her back for long before sliding closer to her. He put an arm over her waist and pulled her back firmly against his chest. He took it as a good sign when she settled against him easily.
He kissed her shoulder a few times, then whispered, "Eve?"
"Yes, Viktor," she said a little breathlessly.
A few more kisses to the crook of her neck and he said, with one of his very rare, purely happy smiles, "Tell me your story."