As William had more than half expected, within a week of Morgan moving onto the boat, the mailbox at Penwarden's door rattled in the dusk. The excitedly clamouring spaniels reached the mat only a few moments ahead of their master and sat, feathered tails wagging excitedly as they guarded the captured intruder. Martin rolled his eyes and scooted the creatures aside so that he could retrieve the envelope. It was plain, brown and backed by a hardened piece of cardboard of the type usually employed to keep the contents from bending in transit. The closure was unsealed and curious, the Immortal opened it. Out slipped a single photograph. Dated that day it had been taken in the misty half light of sunrise on the canal. A familiar bright painted boat was just slipping out of sight under the bridge. The figure at the tiller was almost hidden by the waterproof jacket she wore tucked up almost past her ears, but Martin fancied nothing would keep him from recognising Morgan, even by her mane of black curls if need be.
Unable to repress the half sigh of regret, Penwarden returned to the living room. As usual of late, Farrell had made himself comfortable with his feet up on the sofa and was pretending he hadn't noticed the twin hopeful expressions and four erect ears directed at the remnants of a sandwich on the side table. Penwarden, for his part pretended he had not just caught his friend in the act of switching channels from the Cartoon Network to BBC News 24.
"The WatchTower?" Farrell deadpanned, apparently engrossed in a report about increasing demand for solar panel installation.
"I wish". Penwarden could not keep the melancholy out of his voice and Farrell sat up sharply.
"Then what?" the older Immortal demanded to know.
"The Watcher's are keeping their promise... they've kept their distance from Morgan, but I guess this..." he proffered the envelope. "Must have been misfiled".
Farrell's eyes darkened and he snatched the delivery, almost tearing the envelope in his haste to remove the contents. His own sigh was one of profound relief. For a moment he had dreaded the worst. "This is what we wanted for her isn't it?" he asked. "To come and go as she pleased without having to rely on anyone".
"True. Though I had assumed she would... tell us when she planned to up sticks. Say goodbye as it were".
A couple of weeks later, 'December Rose' was back in her home mooring on the edge of the Marina. She was the only permanently occupied vessel in that stretch of water. Morgan was pretty much alone, just the way she wanted. It was about a twenty minute walk from the boatyard car park that gave William and Martin ample time to chat as they walked.
"I don't know why you're so worried, Old Man" muttered William. "She sounded fine on the phone. Just because she returned in the wee small hours without so much as a postcard in between the leaving and the returning then promptly asked us to visit doesn't automatically mean that disaster is in the offing".
"I know, I know... I just didn't expect a call so soon"
"We'll know in a few minutes. Look, there's the boat".
It was a warm summer evening and Morgan lay on her stomach on the cabin roof, propped up her elbows as she read. When she sensed the two older Immortals, she sat up and started to reach for the boat pole beside her as a makeshift weapon.
"Hey! It's us!" called Martin.
With a smile, Morgan sat up and shoved the e-reader into the bag that lay beside her. "Hey" she called back. "Come on over, there's beers in the cooler".
Farrell hopped nimbly over the gunwhale and onto the stern deck. Penwarden was slightly slower. Without a gangplank in place there was a two foot gap between the shore and the boat. He took a deep breath, stared resolutely forward (not down) and stepped. Feeling the solid deck beneath his feet he had to force himself to inhale slowly and naturally. His student shot him a private wink and proffered a bottle of beer.
"Cheers"
"Cheers" Martin accepted the bottle and the opener and broke the seal. Before long the three of them were swigging contentedly together as the sun went down.
"So why the night time flit and sudden urgent call?" William asked eventually as he helped himself to another beer. Martin shot his friend an irritated look that did nothing to persuade the former Parliamentarian to retract the blunt question.
Morgan shrugged slightly. "Wanderlust" she answered cryptically. "It felt like a good day to go, so I went as soon as it was light. It was hardly a night time flit".
"Point taken. But the boat handled well? Everything's ok?"
The younger woman paused to take a swig of beer. "It's fine..." The silence seemed to drag out before she reached into her bag and pulled out a folded newspaper. It was from a town a few miles downstream and was several days old. "Page six".
Penwarden took the paper before Farrell could grasp hold of it. He shook it out and flicked past several articles of little interest beyond their examples of small town journalism before he found what Morgan meant. It couldn't be any other story. New Church opens social club in deprived neighbourhood he read. Beneath the headline, a photograph illustrated the piece. Martin set his teeth even as his lip curled into a snarl of anger.
Farrell snatched the page. "Ziegler!" he hissed.
"You're coming home with us" Martin informed Morgan. "I won't risk him finding you alone again".
To his surprise, the younger woman shook her head, clenching her fists so hard that her rings cut into the flesh below her knuckles and the joints themselves turned bone white. "I am done running!" she declared. "I want him dead!"
"As do we". A young man stepped out of the dark undergrowth that bordered the towpath. As usual, the novice watcher clutched his birdwatching book and wore binoculars around his neck. Ben held his hands up placatingly as 'his' Immortal started to her feet. "But he's older than Farrell and Penwarden together. I can help you acquire the information that you need to find him, but I'm not eager to be reassigned. In fact, I'd rather hoped to make you a lifetime case study". The Watcher, Ben, offered a weak smile.
"So the little man has grown up" Penwarden tousled the boy's hair. "Doesn't change things though.
He is right Morgs, listen to him!"
Doyle hesitated and Farrell grasped her hand. "None of us want to lose you. There's no shame in letting Martin or I dispatch the vermin for you".
"No" she shook her head to reiterate the point. "You can't take that evil into yourselves. I've seen it already inside myself and beaten it. He can't do anything more to me now".
"Morgan... please... if you must do this, then fight with your mind and not with your heart!"
Morgan slipped her hand from Farrell's and put an arm around the shoulder of each of her Immortal friends. "Don't worry. I have no intention of building my pyre just yet".
Martin reached out and caressed her cheek briefly and lightly. "I know you can do this... but whatever happens, I want you to know that you've made me proud of you. You're the daughter I've never had".
"Oh for Pete's sake, Royalist!" William rolled his eyes. "Spit it out, we don't have all night".
Diplomatically ignoring the older Immortal's interruption, Martin gathered his thoughts. "What I am trying to say is... I... I love you. You have taught me as much as I have endeavoured to teach you, if not more. When this is over, we're going on holiday, so please don't make me lose the deposit". He hugged his student tenderly, ignoring her surprise as he laid a light kiss on her forehead.
"If only I were two thousand years younger, you know you wouldn't stand a chance" Farrell declared as he wrapped his arms around Morgan and gave her a bearhug that lifted her off her feet.
Ben gave a wavering smile but his eyes were filled with worry. "Just come back... Please"
As she looked at them, Doyle found herself blinking hard in a futile effort to stop the tears. "Stop waxing lyrical you pair of doofuses!" she scolded as she wiped her eyes fiercely. "I just want you both to know... how much I care about you". She glanced at Ben and flashed her wicked, lop-sided grin. "So you'd better go buy new batteries for your dictaphone because I've too much to survive for!"
"Guess I'd better buy in bulk then". The Watcher extended his hand. "I'm sorry for being such an ass when we first met. You are a strong person and I'm proud to be your Watcher".
The Immortal woman blushed furiously. "I'm not so certain you were the one who was being an ass. I haven't been exactly fair on you".
"Never mind. Just send him to Hell, Morgan!"
"She smiled and glanced back at Martin. "It's time to stop being afraid".
Martin nodded. "Do what needs to be done and get the hell out of Dodge". As Morgan turned away, his smile faded and Martin faced his two companions. "I feel a Star Wars quote coming on".
"Oh, and which one might that be?"
"I have a bad feeling about this".
Morgan was well out of earshot by now and Farrell frowned. "You'd better explain yourself, Royalist".
Ben looked between the two older Immortals, anxiously. "She can beat him... right?
"Well yes, she can, but if he manages to wind her up, she may lose control and with control goes focus. With focus goes your head".
Farrell massaged his throat thoughtfully, remembering Morgan's temper unleashed under the power of the dark Quickening. "Like a bull in the ring".
The Watcher frowned to himself as an idea began to form in the back of his mind.
"I don't like the look on your face, Junior. If you're thinking she'll fight better because she's angry, you're wrong. Movements become wider and sword control will go out of the window. A Dark Quickening gives your anger something of a boost and directs it to the nearest person. Imagine a thousand plus voices all egging you on to hurt, destroy and kill! Normal anger is just to scattered to be of any help. She would just leave herself open".
"I understand, but... what if someone where to stop her getting angry".
"Well then, she..."
William interrupted Penwarden's reply. "Then her mind could focus on defence and attack. The moves would be precise and fluid, as we have seen her fight before. She's a natural with a sword. Hang on! I think I know where you're going with this!"
"The Watcher reached into his pocket" She's a good person. I don't want an evil creature like that to be the end of her".
"What have you got there! If it's a gun, you should know better. We cannot interfere and you can only watch!"
"I'm going to watch. Up close. Don't try to stop me".
Farrell and Penwarden exchanged looks briefly before following him. "If we're going to Hell, we may as well have the whole package tour".
The two Immortal men heard nothing from Morgan for the next several days. The phone remained silent and no note slipped through the door. As darkness fell on the sixth day, Cromwell and Fairfax flew at the back door, snarling and hollering for all their little canine voices were worth. Martin was about to scold them for making a fuss when he heard the tentative tap on the glass. William Farrell had practically moved in during the Dark Quickening incident and showed no inclination of leaving. The older immortal now moved stealthily towards the back door. He shook his head. No Immortal Presence. With a good dose of caution there was little to threaten either of them. Farrell opened the door and glared out into the dusk at the young watcher who was doing his best to be inconspicuous as he awaited an answer to his summons.
"She's gone" he blurted as soon as the door closed behind him. "She found out where he lives and left about half an hour ago... If you're quick you might be able to catch up".
"Just how do we..."
Ben lifted a hand, cutting off Penwarden's protest. "I bugged her satnav". He proffered a tablet pc with a map application currently running. On screen, a red dot flashed as it progressed along the country roads. "It's got a limited range though so if you're going to find her, you need to leave now!"
Morgan stepped silently up the staircase of the large house in the neighbouring village. Her sword was drawn, the blade gleaming blackly; her focus was centred and determined.
"Well now. You took your time. Any longer and I was going to send a formal... invitation". Ziegler's face was invisible in the darkness apart from the spark in his eyes that reflected the spark on his blade.
"You host the worst parties on the face of the planet. And your hair is a crime against fashion sense, so I probably wouldn't have RSVP'd anyway".
"So the little girl has grown a sense of humour. Miss me? I've missed you, you know. Now, are you going to come out and... play?"
The voice that replied was flat and emotionless. "I'm going to kill you and dance in your blood".
Ziegler let out a derisive chuckle. Good, good! Now you have spirit. Last time you were broken... pathetic, wretched... easy!"
Morgan tightened her grip on her sword. "Shut up and fight!"
"Fight? I was rather hoping for a starter before we moved on to the main course" he licked his lips, wolfishly.
Morgan shook her head. "I find a starter spoils one's appetite for desert".
"If you want to die so much then I'd better put you out of your misery". With that, he brought his sword up, ready in anticipation.
"Sure you will".
His attack came slightly more suddenly than Morgan was prepared for and she was forced to vault over the banister, to the ground floor about six feet below. However, Ziegler was not prepared to lose his victim so easily and aimed a brutal cut down towards her head; which forced her to block high. He disengaged and followed her over the banister. She held her blade firmly, keeping Ziegler at greater than arm's length. "Nasty scar" he purred silkily as he eyed her throat. "How on Earth did a precious little thing like you come to have a brand like that?"
Morgan bit down on her response as she tracked his movements with her eyes, searching for a weakness that could give her an opening to attack; just as Martin had taught her. Her foe aimed a cut across at her right shoulder, she parried to the left, struggling against brute strength. Ziegler changed his tactics, turning his sword in an attempt to encompass Morgan's and trap the guard. He was moments from disarming her when Morgan dropped her sword to the vertical, freeing it from the huge kriss blade that Ziegler weilded. He growled in angry response and responded with a rapid fire sequence of cuts and beat attacks. He was much taller than she; with a greater reach and a much longer sword. This meant he had the advantage; Morgan knew she had to close the gap and make him work in her sphere where he couldn't use his longer reach against her. The force of his blows jarred her wrists and exhausted her arms. Inexorably slowly, his sword pushed against hers, pushing it further and further, forcing her defences open and exposing her vulnerable neck for a backcut. However, Morgan had learned some tricks since their last encounter; one of which was ideal for the situation that she had allowed him to push her into. She knew she could never push his sword back in a show of brute strength, the only option was to get hers free. She began to turn her blade inwards towards her own body, before flicking it clear of the tip of Ziegler's. The sudden disappearence of resistance to his pressure threw the man off balance and sent his sword off target. Morgan's blade dropped naturally into line with his throat and she lunged!
Ziegler looked mildly surprise at this turn of events. His eyes turned downwards as he tried to see the length of steel that had skewered his throat. There was a clatter that heralded the kriss blade falling to the ground from his hand. He could do nothing but gurgle as his legs buckled, leaving him hanging on Morgan's sabre like so much meat. Gradually she let the blade dip, allowing gravity to do its' work. Blood gurgled out of Ziegler's mouth and he could only stare helplessly at her, bemusedly trying to work out how such a snivelling, weak piece of shit that he had taken pleasure in torturing and degrading had come to this point. The pain increased; it felt like the wound was being torn open. The Eye of Fortune stared glassily at him, moving as her wrist moved and shook the beads and silver links of her bracelet. Morgan twisted her wrist back and forth, slowly allowing Ziegler's body to slide to the ground. She said nothing, just stared at him as she flexed the fingers that held her sword. Wordlessly, she shifted her grip to a two handed one and swung hard.
For eternal long seconds, the silence was deafening. Morgan stood in the midst of the bloody mess, exhausted and trembling. Then the wind began to stir, it whipped around her like a hurricane as the smell of ozone rose. Lightening tendrils crept across the ground from the decapitated corpse. She screamed as they struck her, driving the knowledge and memories deep into her very bones. It hurt; God how it hurt! The pain drove her to her knees and she knew everything that Ziegler had ever done; to her and countless other women and social misfits throughout his long life. She saw it all and she wept.
Outside, the wind died down and the maelstrom of the Quickening faded from the minds of Martin and William. One distinct Immortal presence was left. Martin lowered his head and closed his eyes as he let out a heavy sigh that his friend interpreted as regret. Penwarden had spent so much time with Morgan that he knew her Presence intimately, while William did not. Farrell reached inside his coat and firmly gripped the hilt of his sword. "I'll take him" he said determinedly. He drew the blade out as a figure came towards them, out of the darkness. Martin put a staying hand on his arm and he took a second look.
She didn't stop when she reached them, not even to acknowledge that they were there. William started to call after her; turned to follow but Martin shook his head. "Let her go" he advised. They both watched silently as Morgan disappeared into the night.
"You think she'll be alright?"
"I think she's going to be fine".
"What if she doesn't come back?"
"She will. When she's ready".
Three Months Later...
The early spring sun shone through the window of Martin Penwarden's office and the first warm breeze of the season stirred the curtains, bringing with it the sound of birdsong and the scent of the nodding daffodils that were bursting through the earth below the window. His pen scratched against the paper as he transcribed the shorthand notes from a patient consultation. A few inches from his elbow, a pair of shoes rested comfortably on the desk. "I'm bored!" Farrell whined. When Martin didn't answer, he wadded up a ball of paper and aimed it at his former student's head, bouncing it expertly into the waste paper bin.
Half a dozen of these missiles later, something stirred in the back of his mind and a third Immortal presence made itself known. Martin was apparently engrossed in his work and didn't look up. A tap came on the door and it opened slowly, almost cautiously. Farrell couldn't help but jump to his feet when he saw who it was. Penwarden, for his part did not react.
"Martin?"
Finally he looked up. "Welcome back Morgan" he smiled. "How are you doing?"
"God, Morgan... kiddo... we've missed you!" Farrell all but bearhugged her. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I needed to be alone for a little while... Martin, do you have a few minutes?"
"It's probably not a good idea, we're practically family after all. I know a great psychologist at the hospital you could speak to. He's a friend of mine, I'm sure he could fit you in.
"I don't want to speak to you professionally. I just wanted to give you something" she drew a flat wooden box from her coat and placed it on the desk in front of him. "You've been a very patient customer."
Martin drew the box towards him and regarded it curiously. The polished surface gave nothing away as his hand manipulated the brass catch. He opened the lid and let out a gasp. Nestled inside protective foam was the action figure he had asked Morgan to find on their first meeting at her shop in Vancouver. He had expected, at the most, a slightly scruffy much played with example of little R2-D2, but not this! The action figure was in mint condition and what's more, still attached to its' sales card and encased in the original plastic bubble. The man's mouth dropped open. "Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Don't ask, won't tell" Morgan replied cryptically. "No... you aren't paying me for it. You've done so much for me, can't I give you this small gift?"
"I guess... just this once..." he smiled and was gratified when that long awaited upturn of the mouth crept onto his student's face and stayed there. At once her face seemed brighter, her eyes shone and her cheekbones flushed ever so slightly. She looked like a different woman both without and within. Martin stood and grasped her hands and Farrell threw an arm around her shoulders. Without warning, she turned and hugged them both fiercely. "Thank you!"