Two hours later, John had said hello to Duncan's Uncle Pukey three more times, and as he continued to work out, he found that despite what his body told him, he was able to consistently push himself much further than he could have imagined. Not that it didn't really, really suck, but John began to realize the possibilities of having a body of an Immortal.
Finally, Duncan decided John had had enough for one day. "Time for protein smoothies," he announced, leading the pair upstairs into his living quarters. The wide open area boasted industrial loft ceilings, plenty of windows, and a living space subtly divided into a kitchen area and a comfortable living space that was pleasantly cluttered without being messy. Throughout the area, Duncan's preference for natural materials over synthetics was clear: barely finished woods, brick and stone were prevalent throughout, and metal, glass and plastics were used only when absolutely necessary.
Still, the kitchen was clearly equipped with the latest professional-grade equipment. Efficiently, Duncan moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a selection of berries, melons and fruits and began cleaning and cutting them. "How fast you heal," Duncan noted, "depends on how nourished you are. If your body can't find the raw materials it needs to regenerate damaged tissue, it will cannibalize your muscle mass, and that takes longer." That said, he quickly started putting sliced fruit, yogurt, and whey protein powder into a blender. Looking at Cameron, he asked, "Would you like one?"
At her nod, Duncan added more to the blender. "How potent is your healing ability?" Cameron asked.
"You've seen it yourself," Duncan said calmly. "We can heal from fatal bullet wounds in minutes. Cuts that would normally require stitches heal up in seconds. I've never tried this, but I'm told if someone cuts a limb off and we reattach it in time, we can even heal from that—though if we lose the arm, it won't regenerate.
"Just about anything—except decapitation, of course," Duncan said.
"This is why that guy had a sword. He wanted to cut my head off?" John asked.
"Yep. And that's why you'll learn how to use a sword," Duncan said.
"But I don't want to decapitate anyone," John insisted.
"Other Immortals will come for your head whether or not you want to or not," Duncan insisted. "And they'll generally be using something nice and long and sharp, like a sword."
A troubled look came over Cameron's face as John asked, "But why? I've never even seen the guy, what's he got against me?"
"Probably nothing," Duncan said. "But when an Immortal takes a head, he gets his Quickening. That lightning that blasted through you after Cameron swung that sword," he explained. "It makes you more powerful. And some Immortals get addicted to the rush," he noted. "How did it feel to you?" he asked, observing John carefully.
"It just hurt. And I saw … things he'd done. Horrible things," John said. "He wasn't a very nice guy."
"Yes," Cameron said emotionlessly. "He killed for pleasure. I saw him slice open a man's chest and desecrate the body by pulling out his lungs."
"The blood eagle," Duncan muttered as he looked sharply at Cameron. "You saw these visions too?" he asked.
Cameron looked at him oddly. "Yes. Is this unusual?"
"Well, yeah. Generally, the Quickening goes to the nearest Immortal—which is usually the one who did the … decapitating, but not always. That's how I knew you might be different from the average human. It shouldn't have touched you, but it did.
Frowning thoughtfully, he asked, "Cameron, how strong are you? How much weight can you generally lift?"
"I am capable of lifting up to 2,138 pounds from a resting position on the ground," Cameron replied. "Why?"
"If you absorbed part of a Quickening, I'm just wondering if you got any stronger as a result. It might be worth looking into," Duncan said. "Anyway, drink up. This should hold you until I get lunch on the table. And then you," he said, pointing at John, "need a shower. Towels are in the cabinet right outside the bathroom."
Cameron watched as John gathered his street clothes and went into Duncan't bathroom to shower and change. As soon as the door shut behind him, Cameron turned to Duncan, an intent look in her normally trusting brown eyes. "You said other Immortals would come to try to kill John," she said.
Duncan nodded as he took out a few hunks of cheese and began shredding them. "A lot of us," he said, motioning to himself to show that he was referring Immortals in general, "occupy our time by trying to get to rediscover the world as it evolves. Meeting new people, falling in love, learning new things, whatever might help us stay connected with life. We fight only when we have to: for survival, or revenge, or justice.
"But some Immortals get addicted to the Game. They love the thrill of the hunt. The pursuit, the combat. Most of all, they get addicted to the Quickening and the power it brings. They actively seek out heads to take," he said. "If John keeps a low profile, most Immortals will leave him alone, but the hunters will just see him as easy prey. Sometimes, I'll go years without a challenge—or even seeing another Immortal. But sometimes, they'll just cluster up and I'll have one every week, it seems like."
"I will hunt down other Immortals first, then," declared Cameron resolutely as a look of surprise appeared on Duncan's face. "The best way to ensure John's safety is to take a proactive approach and eliminate all potential threats."
"No!" Duncan blurted out, panicked. "You can't!"
At Cameron's inquisitive stare, Duncan stammered, "It'd draw too much attention. If Immortals started involving others in the game, then everyone would start to do it. One-on-one fights are already hard to keep a secret from everybody. Imagine what would happen if they turned into melees or full scale brawls and battles. Humans would hunt us all down, and John would be exposed!"
"Oh," said Cameron, her face going blank. "Thank you for explaining."
Relieved, Duncan started chopping vegetables as he asked, "Besides. By the time I'm done with him, John will be able to take on his own challenges just fine on his own, don't you worry."
Cameron looked down. "And then he will no longer need me to protect him," she said softly.
As John showered, he was amazed at how good he actually felt. There was a point in right at the beginning where his muscles had seized up with soreness, but it passed quickly and now he actually found himself alert, more energized, and relaxed. As he walked out, towel draped around his neck, he overheard Cameron's last remark. Frowning slightly, he walked up to the kitchen counter.
Pretending he hadn't heard anything, he said, "So. What's for lunch?"
"Quiche a la Macleod," Duncan said proudly. "With cheese, broccoli, and smoked salmon."
"Quiche?" John asked, doubtfully.
"Yes, quiche," Duncan said sternly. "What's the problem?"
"Isn't that … kind of … you know, 'euro'?" John said as he motioned with his hands to indicate air quotes, though he had originally intended to use the word "girly" instead.
Duncan looked at him flatly. "And what's wrong with that? I am from Scotland, you know. That's part of Europe."
"No!" John. "That's not what I meant. I meant that quiche is kind of girly. I mean, well, don't they say 'real men don't eat quiche'?"
Now both Cameron and Duncan were staring at him dangerously, and John started to sweat and wither under the combined weight of their gazes.
"Erm, that is, I mean, uh … Quiche! Yum! Sounds delicious! Can't wait to try some!" John said, forcing a brittle brightness into his voice.
"That's what I thought you said," Duncan said as he began beating some eggs together. "Honestly," he said, looking at Cameron, "HE's going to lead humanity?" And he turned away to the stove, shaking his head.
Cameron stared at John a little longer before she let a small smile grace her beautiful face. She reached over and punched him lightly in the arm before turning to watch Duncan complete his cooking.
Author's Note:
"Uncle Pukey" is a variant of a 'friend' that frequently visits people who do an intense workout regimen known as "Crossfit." I highly recommend it.
The "blood eagle" was, according to some historians, something that Vikings actually used to perform--usually to criminals, but sometimes as an act of torture.
For those too young to remember, "Real Men Don't Eat Quiche" was the name of a book published in the 1980s that satirized cliched, stereotypical images of masculinity and manliness.
Finally, thanks to all who have read and reviewed this and other stories I wrote! Much appreciated ...