BIRTHRIGHT
MacLeod Farm, Highlands of Scotland, 23 December 2046
"Happy birthday, Sis," Colin greeted Sara when she came into the farmhouse kitchen.
"Happy birthday, Bro," Sara replied, and she hugged her twin hard. He picked her up, of course, and she squeezed him hard and he squeezed back, until neither of them could breathe. Then they each relaxed their hold and just stood there for a moment, heads on either others' shoulders, eyes closed.
"I've missed you," she told him.
"Same here." Colin let go and asked, "Ready to be fifty?"
"Ready or not, here we come," she replied. She didn't feel older or different, just a little stiff here and there sometimes. Though her hair—and Colin's—had gone grey years ago. The farmhouse didn't look any different either, except that Oona had painted the kitchen pale green last summer and gotten a new stove. The clock Colin had made at the age of twelve still hung near the door. The long wooden table was the same one they had grown up with. Sara ran her thumb over the initials carved into the wood: JBMcL, just as she done for as long as she could remember. Dad had been upset with John for using his knife that way, which was why she and Colin had carved their initials on the underside of the table, where no one could see. It was still dark outside, this early in the morning, but the room was warm and the coffee smelled wonderful. It was great to be home.
"I'm glad Dad will be here today," Colin said.
"Me, too," Sara agreed, even if they were going to a clandestine gathering on the hillside late at night with just the three of them, instead of at the house with the rest of the family for presents and cake. But she'd see him later this week; he was staying at an inn a few valleys over, and Cassandra would be joining him tomorrow. Sara and Colin were planning visits on Christmas and to wish Dad happy birthday on New Year's day.
Sara also got to spend her birthday and the holidays with her twin and her children, for Alea was due to arrive today, and such a visit was wonderful beyond words. "Ready to feed the horses?" she asked cheerfully, and Colin grinned back as they grabbed their coats and headed out the door.
The barn was the same as she remembered, and Colin's four horses were stamping in their stalls, eager for breakfast, of course. She and Colin worked together with little need of words, then took the horses to the pasture. "The bay looks fast," Sara said, as they leaned on the fence and watched the horses graze.
"She is," Colin said. "Bouncy at the trot, though."
"Did you just buy her?"
"Got her in trade," Colin answered. "We do a lot of that here."
"Bartering?" Sara asked in surprise.
"Money's scarce," he replied with a shrug.
"Trade is more efficient on a larger scale, instead of just locally," she pointed out. "And money is more flexible and more portable than chickens or horses."
"Too portable," he said sourly. "It went to the banks; hardly any came back here. After the last financial collapse, there's not many willing to trust in the promises of governments and economists. We have local scrip; it works as money."
"Who backs it?" she asked, intrigued.
"We do," Colin said. "We use it with people we know. And trust," he added pointedly.
Sara nodded. "Money doesn't work without trust."
"And trust needs honor. Maybe if more economists and governments and bankers remembered that, we wouldn't have the problems we do."
"Even if people were perfectly honest, we'd have problems," Sara said. "The global economic system is too big, too complex, and too chaotic to work smoothly. Periodic doubling makes-"
"Stop," Colin told her, holding up a hand. "You do the math, I do the farm, remember?"
"I remember," she said, and they shared another smile before turning to watch the horses again. Streaks of pink touched the sky above the stark grey rock of the hills, and the eastern sky glowed. The wind blew cold, a fresh breeze off the silvered ripples of the loch far below. Sara breathed in the smell of home.
"Do you remember," Colin said, "when you told me you were going to travel the world as an international economist, and I told you I was going to stay here at the farm and be a veterinarian, and you asked: 'Don't you want more?'"
Sara had to smile. "Yes. And you answered: 'Isn't this enough?'" Had it really been thirty years ago? "Has it been?" she asked, turning to look at him. "Enough?"
"Yes." His answer was steady and clear. "We're happy here, and we do good work. And I like the quiet."
"I haven't heard a car all morning." Just the wind, and the occasional cry of a hawk wheeling high above.
"Yes, that," he agreed, "but also in here." He laid two fingertips just above his eyebrow. "I can handle villages, even towns, but cities drive me crazy."
"You hear people?" she asked in surprise, for his talent had always been with animals, except that time Dad had taken a head when she and Colin were sixteen. Colin had said the immortal quickenings were like psychic screams. He'd moved out and gone to live with John for six months, until it had quieted down.
"Nothing specific," Colin said. "Just noise. Like static." He grinned at her. "So don't worry; I can't read your thoughts. No more than usual, anyway."
"Twin," she named him, and he took her hand in his, like always, and they stood together, side by side.
"How about Alea and Will?" Colin asked. "Do they sense anything?"
"Nothing with Alea, and she's almost twenty. I don't think she ever will. But Will's always been… perceptive, and he'll be thirteen this next year. I'm watching him for dreams. Cassandra said those mobile sculptures he makes have power. How about your son, Graham? He's seventeen."
"He's got a knack with animals that's uncanny, but then he's grown up with them. And he's good at finding things. I'm going to ask Cassandra to talk with him while she's here."
"Good idea," Sara agreed.
"So, how about you, Sara?' Colin asked. "Any dreams lately?"
They always used to share their dreams. "No," she had to tell him then admitted, "Not in years." She sighed and looked out over the loch. "I haven't heard anything since I was pregnant with Will. Not even trees."
Colin tilted his head as he looked at her, his brow furrowed with the same quizzical expression he'd had since forever. "Have you listened?"
Sara began listening. To the wind, to the sky, to the trees. To her son.
"I like it here," Will said to her the day after Christmas. "Graham is great, and Uncle Colin and Aunt Oona are, too. And having horses, and all the animals… That's brill. I wish I didn't have to go back to that school in Edinburgh."
Sara thought about that for barely a moment then said, "You don't." After a talk with Colin and Oona, she and Will moved to the Highlands in January. Will took Sara's old room in the house, right across the hall from Graham. Sara took the guest cottage, for even though she and Oona got along very well, Sara knew better than to intrude in another's woman's house. And she couldn't live that close Colin; they got into each others' dreams. Will started school in the village, helped Colin with the veterinary chores, and rode with Graham every day. Alea continued at university in Edinburgh and visited when she could.
Sara kept busy helping with the farm chores, both in the house and in the barn, and she kept listening, every day. In the dark of winter, she finally heard the heartbeat of the rowan tree, slow and steady under her palm, a deep-voiced singing in her ears. With the awakening of the spring the daffodils trembled and bowed before the wind, a shimmering torrent of gold and yellow and white on the hill, and Sara climbed to the top to her mother's grave. "Thanks, Mom," Sara said, for her mother had planted these flowers decades before. Sara lay on her back on the cold wet earth and opened her mouth to catch the raindrops on her tongue.
Her first dream came with the summer, a dream of smoke and fire and wind, then darkness.
"That doesn't bode well for the picnic," Colin said when she told him in the barn during morning chores.
"It wasn't here," Sara said. "It wasn't yet. We'll be fine."
"Good," he said, the word turning into a grunt as he hauled a bale of hale from the stack, and Sara returned to mucking stalls.
At noon, Sara and Colin drove two cars to the train station to pick up most of the incoming crowd: John and Gina, bleary-eyed from jet lag, and Duncan, Cassandra, and Dad.
"I'm glad we can come to the farm," Duncan said as they loaded luggage into boots. "Now that Oona knows about immortality, it's only the younger set we have to hide it from, and Alea, Will, and Graham already know us as Mike, Laina, and Justin."
Dad was grimly silent, without even a snort, though a quick glance showed a dangerous nostril flare. "Oona figured it out on her own, Dad," Sara explained, as she had explained a few months before.
"Just like Sara and Colin figured it out on their own, Connor," Duncan chimed in.
"Sara overheard a conversation between Methos and Cassandra," Dad replied. "A careless conversation," he added pointedly.
Mom had been in that conversation, too, but Sara didn't mention that. "There were other clues, Dad."
"Lots of them," Gina added. "I was surprised when John told me, but not totally in shock."
"Oona's smart, and she's not blind," Colin said in stout defense of his wife.
"Or deaf, obviously," Dad returned, still in snark mode.
Sara caught her brothers' eyes and the three of them fixed their father with the Just-about-done-putting-up-with-this-nonsense stare. Mom had used that stare to great effect, both on them and on Dad. Sara remembered it well: a small tilt of the head, a slight lift of the eyebrow, and a quirk to the mouth that hinted at amusement worn very thin.
It worked every time. Dad turned to Colin, smiled for real, and repeated Duncan's earlier words: "I'm glad we can come to the farm."
Colin nodded and smiled back, giving the lid of the boot a slam. "It'll be good to have you all home."
Later that afternoon, Alea arrived, a tawny-haired friend by her side.
"This is Ranie from school," Alea said. "She'd never seen the Highlands, so I told her she had to come." Graham, taking his host duties seriously, especially when a pretty girl was involved, immediately offered to show her around, and the "younger set" headed off for the barn, leaving peace and quiet behind.
"So what's new in the Highlands?" John said, as the "older set" lounged in the garden with drinks in their hands.
"We're going to build a new barn," Colin said.
"Philippa Barton—she and her family moved here two years ago—is helping to design it," added Oona. "I think her daughter's sweet on Graham. She's sixteen."
Sara was definitely not going to mention her own friendship-becoming-a-flirtation with their neighbor Tom Bowyer, so she said only: "I'm helping teach karate at the village dojo. What's new in Colorado?" she asked in turn, and John and Gina spoke of gardens and retirement plans and wedding preparations for their daughter, Cynthia, who was twenty-nine and getting married next year. Their son, Dave, was thinking of running for town council, and maybe Congress in a few years time.
"Dad, Uncle Dunc?" John asked next.
"I'm moving to Argentina this fall," Duncan said.
To be with Elena again, no doubt. Sara wondered just how long that would last. She gave it, at most, three years.
"I'm moving to Sheffield," Dad said. "To study metallurgy at university there."
"Oh," Sara said in surprise. "I didn't know you were leaving St. Hildegarde's."
"Five and a half years is enough," Dad replied.
"For me, too," Cassandra said. "I've a consulting job in Stockholm. I start there next week."
"Oh," Sara said again, even more surprised, and looking back and forth between the two of them. Dad and Cassandra weren't even sitting next to each other. Sara hadn't thought much of it when everyone sat down, because there'd been such a crowd and not quite enough chairs, but if they were breaking up—
"We're fine, Sara," Dad reassured her.
"We just want to do different things right now," Cassandra said.
Duncan was nodding, and John and Gina exchanged a long glance followed by pensive smiles. Sara could understand the need for space in a relationship; it was just odd to see it done so … civilly. But when you had centuries, what was a few years, or a decade or two, apart?
"Here they come," Oona announced as the four young people traipsed across the field. "Time to bring out the food!"
After the picnic, they played a cut-throat game of croquet (Dad laughed evilly every time he sent Duncan's ball out of bounds); then Graham suggested (mostly to Rani) that they ride horses across the fields.
"I'd love to, but I shouldn't," Rani said. "I'm pregnant."
"Oh," he said in blank surprise then recovered enough to say, "Congratulations."
"Thank you." She smiled, looking very pleased with herself. "A group of us have been trying, and I'm the third one to catch."
Sara barely stopped herself from asking Alea if she was trying, too. Or if she had been the first or the second to "catch". She'd talk to her daughter later. Very soon. From the looks flying around the circle, Sara knew that she wasn't the only person interested.
Gina broke the silence by asking carefully, "Are you and the father living together, Rani?"
"Oh, I haven't picked a father yet," Rani said.
John's eyebrows drew down in heavy disapproval. "Seems to me you have."
Rani looked startled then angry. She started to reply, but Alea touched her arm, saying, "I think they do it differently in the States, Rani. Uncle John, over here when a woman doesn't already have a husband, if she gets pregnant then she starts looking for a fellow who'll make a good dad."
"It's a real honor to be asked," Graham put in.
"We used to look first, then get pregnant," Gina said.
Sara was pretty sure Gina had meant it only as an observation, but Rani took it personally.
"Getting pregnant was easy back then," Rani flared. "I'm lucky to get pregnant even this once, and hardly anybody goes full term. I've already helped five of my friends when they've had miscarriages, and every day I pray to the Lady that they won't have to help me."
"The sterility plague has been devastating across the globe," Cassandra said, her voice calm and reasonable, and people settled back down, nodding a little. "People deal with it in different ways, trying to do what's best for the children." She smiled warmly at Rani. "As you are."
Rani sat back, apparently mollified, and crossed her arms.
"I was pregnant when I first heard about the plague, thirty years ago," Gina said to Rani. "We were lucky and didn't know it." She turned to Sara and Oona. "It caught both of you."
Sara nodded. "I had three miscarriages before Will was born." She smiled at her son, her miracle child, but he was scowling a little in embarrassment, so she turned away and didn't give him a hug.
"We stopped trying for a second after a few years," Oona said.
"Is the plague getting any better?" Duncan asked Cassandra.
"No, but it's not getting worse. The birth rate seems to have settled at eight per thousand. The population was stable at seven billion for the past thirty years, but of course, the average age has been increasing, and so the death rate is too. Lately, fevers have been sweeping through nursing homes, so the death rate has increased for the cohort of people over seventy. World population will probably drop to five billion over the next fifteen years."
"Two billion people are going to die?" Will asked.
"Seven billion people are going to die," Colin answered easily. "Eventually. It's how it's supposed to be." He turned to Rani and asked cheerfully, "When's the baby due?"
"Are you in the group trying to get pregnant?" Sara asked Alea as soon as they were alone, walking to the stables. She didn't ask if Alea were already pregnant, because Sara knew Alea would have told her that right away.
"No," Alea said, and Sara let go of a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Then Alea added, "Not yet," and Sara took another breath in. "I wanted to talk to you first," Alea said.
"Thank you," Sara replied, reaching out to her daughter, so that they walked hand in hand. "I'm really glad you and I can talk."
"I'm really glad you listen," her daughter said. "Some of those moms…" She shook her head. "So?" she prompted. "What do you think?"
"You're sure you want a baby?" Sara asked.
"Yes, which means I should start now. My age-group has high fertility, and if I do manage to get pregnant—and most girls don't—I can go back to school later, when I'm old, like thirty or so."
"Right," Sara said, keeping her face straight.
"And we have money, plus of course there's the child allowance from the government. They just upped it again. That'll be all right."
"What about someone to be the father? Have you thought about that?"
"Or course! I plan to ask Sensei Justin. I was going to ask Sensei Mike, but he'll be busy with school for years. They're both great guys."
Sara found herself opening and closing her mouth, swallowing each and every phrase. What could she say? They're too old? One's my uncle and the other is your grandfather? People hunt them with swords? She settled for, "They have girlfriends."
"But not wives. And anyway, even if the guy has a girlfriend or is married, he can still be the father. We don't have to share a house; we could live next to each other." She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "Living here would work, with Uncle Colin and Graham. Or even Will, once he gets old enough. It might take me years to get pregnant."
"Living here sounds like a really good idea," Sara said. Much better than with either of the "sensei". Next question: "What about the biological father?"
"I was thinking of starting with a sperm bank," Alea said. "Like Grandma did to have you and Uncle Colin. The success rates aren't as high as with live fertilization, but I don't have to worry about disease or about how to actually meet the guys."
"Very reasonable," Sara had to say.
"That's how Zizu got pregnant, since she already had a boyfriend and he wasn't keen on her stepping out. She lost the baby at eleven weeks, though."
"I'm sorry," Sara said, and she meant it. She could still remember—would always remember—the fierce cramping and the stains of bright blood, and the bitter tears of lost hope. She also remembered the endless medical procedures with Will. "Alea," Sara said, "it's not supposed to be this complicated, you know. Yes, it's important to have a baby, but don't forget to fall in love, to have fun, to enjoy each other."
"Don't worry, Mom," Alea said with a grin. "There is no way I'm going to forget that."
Sara decided she didn't need to give Alea any more encouragement there.
Finding room for everyone to sleep that night was easy, once Duncan announced he was sleeping outside under the stars and the four youngsters said they would, too. John and Gina opted for the downstairs guest bedroom in the house, and Colin and Oona had their regular room, of course, where Mom and Dad used to be. Dad and Cassandra were to sleep in the cottage, a place with fewer memories, while Sara spent the night in her childhood room, now decorated with Will's many collections of "precious stuff."
Sara opened the window, the better to hear the wind, then drifted off to sleep in the long twilight of a summer evening. She dreamed again that night, of smoke and fire and flames, and when she woke, for a moment she couldn't breathe and she was in darkness even when she opened her eyes.
Colin didn't share the dream, and Cassandra had nothing insightful to offer. "Use one of Will's shambles," she suggested.
"Like a dream catcher?" Sara asked. She'd slept under three of his shambles last night.
"No, while you're awake. Hold it in your hands and look. Or close your eyes and feel. They work in different ways."
Sara tried, but saw nothing and felt nothing. Neither did Duncan or Colin or Alea. Dad tried, and came away thoughtful. Graham looked surprised and stared at it some more. Cassandra nodded with satisfaction. Will just shrugged and said, "They're like windows. I can't open them yet, but I will."
Sara couldn't see out those windows, but she had other ways: dreams, trees, portents, and whispers in the wind too long ignored. So when a shadow rippled over John's face from a passing bird, Sara said, "Stay here, John. You and Gina. Come live in the Highlands."
"I've missed it, that's true," he said, turning to look at the hills and the sky. His hair was totally white now. "I'll talk to Gina," he said finally. "But even if she says yes, we can't move until after our daughter's wedding next summer, of course."
"Of course," Sara agreed. When John and Gina were ready to go, Sara drove them to the train station and hugged them goodbye. Soon, all the visitors were gone, and the farmhouse settled into its summer routine.
Sara took to sleeping outside that summer, under the stars, opening herself to the dreams. In the winter, she walked for miles every day. In the spring, she once again laid her hand on the trees. So when Alea called in April to say that she was pregnant, Sara wasn't surprised. "She'll have red hair," Sara told Alea. "She'll be born with the snow."
Will's children would be many, Sara knew. She'd seen the endless line walking over a mountaintop, passing between the solstice stones. She mentioned that to Cassandra on the phone, who looked very pleased. "Anything about Graham?" Cassandra asked.
"Nothing in my dreams," Sara said. "But he and the Barton girl have been spending a lot of time together."
"Good," Cassandra said with a satisfied nod. "And how are you doing, Caorran?"
"Better. I needed the quiet time." And the not-so-quiet time. Tom and she had finished flirting and moved on to the fun stage. He'd slept over three times this week, and she'd be spending tonight with him.
"Yes, we all need to recharge," Cassandra said then added something about her time as a music teacher in Austria and how relaxing that had been.
Sara nodded politely, banishing thoughts of the various "recharging" and "relaxing" that she and Tom might do, and paid attention to the conversation she was having now.
"Are you going to the Phinyx reunion in October?" Cassandra asked next. "It's in London this year, not too far."
"Yes, I know. Alea asked me to meet her there, and to do some sightseeing and shopping before the baby comes, and Dad said he'd be in London for a conference on space exploration that week, so I'm bringing Will, too. He and I will be arriving on the sixteenth."
"Then I'll see you there," Cassandra said cheerfully.
Sara suddenly realized that "you" didn't necessarily mean everyone, and she wasn't sure what was going on between Cassandra and Dad these days. Maybe Dad hadn't even told Cassandra he'd be there. Maybe Cassandra hadn't told him. "Are you two—"
"Connor's been busy," Cassandra replied. "And so have I. But I was going to send him a note soon." She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Caorran; we're fine. Even if he's bringing a lovely graduate student with him that weekend, or if he's flirting with girls at all the parties at university or if he's sleeping with one—or more—of his professors, we'll be fine."
Sara had come to terms with the idea of her daughter having "a good time" at university. She wasn't as easy with the idea of her father doing the same.
"Any more dreams of the smoke and the fire?" Cassandra asked.
"No," Sara said. "Not for a while. Neither has Colin."
Cassandra pursed her lips but then gave a tiny shrug. "Many dreams take a long time coming true."
"Let's hope this one does," Sara said. "I'll see you in October, Cassandra," Sara promised, and then they said goodbye.
Will burst into the cottage, dropped his schoolbag, and grabbed an apple from the bowl. "Are we riding today, Mom?" he asked, already munching away.
"Of course!" Sara replied. They put on riding boots, went to the barn and saddled the horses, and with fifteen minutes they were riding across the fields on a brisk spring day, playing follow-the-leader and racing here and there. At the top of the hill, Sara signaled Penny to halt, and stood up in the stirrups to stretch her legs and look around. A rare beam of sunshine sliced through the clouds and set the loch aglow. To her left, the daffodils nodded gently on the cemetery hill, and the wind carried the flowers' sweet scent through the air.
Soon, Sara thought, I'll bring my granddaughter here, and Will's children someday, and when they're old enough, I'll teach them to ride horses across the hills. Together, maybe, we'll be able to listen to the heartbeat of trees. "And so that's good," she murmured to herself, with a phrase she had used since she was a little girl, counting up the good and the bad.
The sunshine was gone now and the air was chill. Sara shivered a little in a sudden breeze that set the daffodils to dancing around the graves. She urged Penny to a trot and went to join Will.
Next: The MacLeods gather in London, and Methos returns