Chapter VII: The Gathering
Three days later.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but... you are better off dead."
Consumed by pain, Connor MacLeod spoke at the grave of his beloved adoptive daughter Rachel Ellinstein. It was a cloudy chilly night, and it was threatening to rain. In his right hand was a lantern he had stolen from a warehouse. In his left, a flower he had picked from a garden. He placed it by the grave and raised his head, feeling the premonition. Someone was there, someone with a very long life.
He opened his shabby, worn-out beige mackintosh and produced his thousand-year-old katana as the sight of his own breathing blurred the view. The beacon began to search for whoever was out there. It glided through graves and tombstones until it landed on a still pair of legs ahead of him. Connor slowly directed the light up through the body of that immortal. A very interesting female figure... a blonde, wearing a loose raincoat, and a strange expression in her face, one that was halfway between fear and defiance.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"My name's Kyra."
Connor had heard about her. First from his mentor Ramirez, who regarded her as a divine warring beauty worthy of being known not as a Spartan, but as a Spartiate. Then from Duncan, who was neither as poetic nor as focused on her fighting skills. Both opinions had one thing in common: she was indeed attractive.
"I'm Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."
She began to approach silently when she halted, startled by the same thing that startled Connor. More immortals were joining the reunion. Kyra opened her raincoat and revealed an ancient Spartan sword.
"One can never be too sure, even here." She commented acidly.
"Bravo!" Someone applauded. "Truly remarkable words, Kyra. You haven't lost your wit, my goddess of the war!"
Connor stared at Kyra, on whose face a tiny smile was forming. He pointed the light ahead of him where he made out a familiar figure. A longhaired man, dressed in black, and covering his face with a cap and glasses, all of the same colour. He was standing by a grave with a large and expensive tombstone that included a small gargoyle, which he was holding as if it were a buddie. Kyra slowly joined that figure and Connor's face frowned in recognition as she embraced that man.
"Thought you were dead." She said as she pecked him on the cheek.
"I am still alive!" The man said as a second-rate theatre actor, solemnly overacting his words.
"Straight from the hills of Zeist." Connor remarked.
"Hello, MacLeod. It's been... a long time." Katana offered his hand at the Highlander. Connor eyed him with distrust, then focused on the hand. He stretched out and shook it. "What is it, a high school reunion? Everybody is here!" Katana commented with a broad smile as he looked with his eyes for the new buzzes that were felt.
"The more the merrier..." Connor uttered cynically.
"You haven't lost your sense of humour, MacLeod."
In the stillness of the night, the dim cry of the grass being stepped on could be heard. They turned to face the approaching image of a hooded man, wearing a brown robe. At his right, a small boy was traipsing with fear in his eyes. Connor recognised the young Kenny. But who was the other man?
"So here we are." The hooded man spoke. Only his mouth was at sight. "After four hundred years, you and I, Connor MacLeod, meet again."
"Who are you?"
"Oh, Connor. We were friends, remember? But we were both so new at the Game... you probably did not even realise I was into it too." The hooded man removed the hood, and Jacob Kell glared at the other Highlander, who stirred at the sight of his former friend. "But I've been there all this time. Studying you, following you. Stripping you of all your beloved ones. Like your sweet mother.
A flash of a woman dying at the stake, fire consuming her, in Glenfinnan in 1555 hit Connor.
"Sarah Barrington.
The image of a red-haired woman hanging without life from one of the trees of a British estate in 1803, being mourned by her husband and two children unbalanced him more.
"Brenda Wyatt.
Connor remembered Scotland in 1987. Having believed himself the last immortal, he had panicked upon the faintest presence of an immortal before a car driving on the wrong side of the road hit the car where he and his wife were. She died instantly, he survived and his wounds healed before her, enhancing the horror he felt upon her departure to the afterlife.
"Rachel Ellinstein."
The memories of the explosion of his antique shop in 1992, which took the life of his sweet adoptive daughter, were the last straw. Connor stood in a fighting stance, his katana over his head targeting at Kell as his left hand worked as an aim.
"This is no time for personal vendettas." Kyra stood between them. "You have a name?" she demanded.
"I'm Jacob Kell."
At the mention of the name, Connor could see how her face stretched in anger. She approached swiftly and punched the bald man, whose head simply jerked back with a cynical grin.
"You son of a b... you've broken the Rules!"
Kell smirked at that as he wiped the blood off his face. Katana scrutinised the young boy. Kenny eyed him with defiance in his eyes. The former general smiled. This kid was strong, very strong, despite his looks. However, he appeared to be, like everyone else out there, appalled by the revelation she had just made.
"So here we are." Katana said. "The last princes of the universe. Fighting for survival like never before."
"Indeed." Kell commented. "But the question is: what do we do?"
"We team up." Connor said moving to the middle of them all. "I've been given inside information. They can be brought down. It won't be easy, but it is possible."
"And why should we trust that information... or you, MacLeod?" Kenny challenged.
"Because, little punk, the Watchers who gave it to me died to keep my pretty head above my shoulders." Kenny was taken aback by that. "And why should we trust YOU? You, of all people. You've taken the heads of many immortals by treason." Kenny dared not speak. "But again, why should we trust Jacob? If she's right, he's broken the Rules, so he's capable of anything. Or why should we trust Katana?" Connor began to gesticulate. "He's power-lust itself. Or why should I trust Kyra, whom I never met?"
"What's your point, Highlander?" Kyra moaned.
"My point, lass, is that we have to trust in each other. One simple reason: there's nobody left. We can run and hide, but they'll eventually find us. Or we can stand up to them. I'm not saying we will all make it out of here with our heads above our shoulders, but remember: they are shot and they die. Their bones break and don't heal." Connor notched down his voice as it went graver. "Together we might succeed where alone we would fail."
Silence was all that was left. After some moments during which everyone stared silently at the ground, Katana nodded approvingly as he stiffed up his lower lip. "I only hope this is not what you told the Zeist rebels..."
"Heh heh. No." Connor replied gaily. "I told them you were a pansy ale." Katana grinned at that reply.
"Fine for me. I'm in." Kyra drew out her sword and placed the tip of it on the floor.
"War is always a thrill. Especially with my goddess." Katana produced a peculiar broadsword and put the tip of it by Kyra's.
Connor joined his to theirs. He glowered at Kenny. The little blond boy hesitated. Having spent some time with Kell, he had been mentally bombed with all his chatter about revenge against MacLeod. But on the other hand, the Highlander was right. Besides, Kell was soured for something that was four hundred years old! He drew out his minute sword and put it with the others.
"Jacob Kell." Connor spoke. "This is beyond you and me now. If we make it to the very end, we will settle it in the proper way. In the meantime, no back-stabbing or treason. Right?"
Kell's mouth stretched into a grin. He produced his sword and positioned it with the others.
"I can play by that, Connor." Kell's grin turned into a growl. "But when it's over, I'll see to your death."
"Ooh. How exciting!" Connor mocked with a smile. The others laughed while Kell gritted his teeth, finding himself the fool of the party.
"Well, lady and gentlemen." Katana withdrew his weapon. All the others did the same. "Where to now?"
"There's a place we might find useful." Connor waved at the others as he moved away and out of the cemetery. Kyra grabbed Katana's arm and both followed. Kenny stood by Kell, staring into Jacob's face. He could see bitterness and rage struggling inside of him.
He began to move, silently imploring to whoever was governing their designs that Kell played with them. For if he didn't, he might be a hindrance that would have to be dealt with. But dealing with him would make things easier for the Watchers... as not dealing would.
