THE LAMB
Fairhill Academy, Ohio River Valley, Winter 2050
"The head's the tricky part," Duncan explained to the watching students. He took firm hold and pulled. With a soft squelching pop, the nose came loose, and then the skin separated from the carcass. The raccoon pelt hung inside-out and limp from Duncan's hand. Blood dripped slowly onto the snow, and steam rose in the cold air.
Three of the students stepped back with "ewws" of disgust. Jero and Tomas stepped forward, bending a bit to see better. "What will you do with it?" asked Jero, a lanky girl of fourteen. Tomas was, as usual, sticking his tongue in and out of the gap where his two front teeth had recently been, but watching everything with intensely curious eyes.
"This makes stew," Duncan said, holding up the skinned carcass. Raccoon wasn't the tastiest of dishes, but food was food. "And this makes a hat." He held up the skin. "But first, we need to clean them. Take out your knives."
They set to work: gutting and cleaning and scraping. They were almost finished when Duncan sensed another immortal. Even after eight months of living with Connor and Gregor and Ceirdwyn on a few acres of ground (holy though it was), Duncan reacted automatically: alert almost to the point of tension, aware of all weapons close to hand and the weight of his sword by his side, and scanning the area for threats.
On the far side of the central courtyard, between the academic hall and the gym, he saw Ceirdwyn. Walking next to her was a dark-skinned man Duncan didn't know. The man had his hands in his pockets, but his head up, his face was intent, and his eyes were scanning for threats. Ceirdwyn said something, and the man nodded then gave Duncan a friendly wave. Even from this distance, Duncan could see the man's wide smile. Duncan waved back, and Ceirdwyn and the newcomer went into the academic hall, where Ceirdwyn had an office.
"Let's get this finished," Duncan said to the students. "It'll be dark soon." And he wanted to meet the new immortal.
"Baden was our first adult student," Ceirdwyn explained as she performed introductions in the staff lounge before dinner. She set the tray with glasses next to the bottles on the carved oak sideboard, and the motion set the looped braids of her dark hair swinging, just above her shoulders.
Duncan hadn't seen that hairstyle on her before. The braids were neat and controlled, yet feminine, and the loops added a touch of playfulness. It suited her.
Gregor and Ceirdwyn poured out the drinks and passed them around, and Duncan half-closed his eyes as he settled back in the armchair near the fire with a whisky in his hand. The scent was sharp and spicy, with a hint of lemon. The first sip mingled bitter and sweet with flavors of coffee and orange marmalade, and the familiar bite on the lips and tongue. He sighed contentedly then lifted his glass in a silent shared a toast with Connor, who was standing near the window, and then toasted Ceirdwyn, too. She smiled back as she poured her own whisky to drink.
Zachary, in his customary corner near the bookshelves, sipped moodily at his gin and tonic. Baden, like Gregor, was drinking his vodka neat. Duncan checked out the newcomer, up close this time. Baden was about the same build as Connor, but looked about forty. The tight black curls of his hair were going gray on the sides, and not all the wrinkles around his brown eyes were from laughing. He was half-sitting on the arm of the leather sofa, one knee bent and his foot propped up high.
"We were still getting settled at this school," Ceirdwyn said, spreading her skirts out with one hand as she sat on the chair opposite Duncan. "When Baden took over the kitchen, he made the best pineapple upsidedown cake I'd ever had."
"Had to pay you back somehow," Baden replied, smiling cheerfully. "Especially after you taught me how to really handle a sword, even like this." He held up his right arm, which ended in a prosthetic hand. The scars showed stark and pale against the ink-black skin, halfway between elbow and wrist. "This works fine," he said, clenching his artificial fingers and then wiggling them one at a time, "but it's still a damn good thing I'm a leftie. Just that saved my head a time or two."
In the corner, Zachary nervously set to work polishing his glasses with a handkerchief. Eight years ago, Ceirdwyn had advertised for a math teacher, and a forty-one-year-old pre-immortal had applied for the job. Ceirdwyn had taken him on as teacher and then as student, warning him of what was to come. Zachary was trying, but he had no aptitude for swordwork, and he was terrified of getting into the Game. And he wasn't getting any younger.
Duncan resisted the familiar impulse to take those glasses away and instead asked Baden, "How'd you lose the hand?"
"Got it shot up pretty bad in Iraq, so the docs had to take it off. My second tour. Guess that would have been …" He stared up at the ceiling to count. "… forty-three years now."
"Marine?" Connor guessed.
"Ooh-rah!" Baden confirmed proudly.
Duncan wasn't surprised; warrior attitude didn't come about by chance.
"How many students have gone through the school?" Baden asked, turning the conversation away from himself.
"Seventeen have graduated, and we have files on another thirty-one," Gregor replied. "Twelve have become immortal. Though we're almost certain that two of them—and three pre-immortals—are buried in the ash."
"Damn," Baden swore. "Are they alive under there?" Then he went grim as he thought it through. "I hope not."
"You stay dead if there's no air," Duncan said, remembering what Methos and Nefertiri had said about being buried.
"That's right," Gregor confirmed.
"I had a friend who was buried by Mt. Vesuvius," Ceirdwyn said. "She said she didn't remember anything until they dug her out seventeen hundred years later, when they started to excavate Pompeii."
"Still…" Baden shook his head. "Hell of a way to die, especially the first time. Hey, is Preston under the ash?" Baden asked Gregor, sounding more eager than worried.
But Gregor shook his head. "Preston became an immortal six years ago, and he was living in New Jersey."
"Damn."
"Another student," Ceirdwyn explained to Connor and Duncan and Zachary.
"I should have killed him before he left here," Baden said.
"He was sixteen, and he didn't even know how to use a sword," Ceirdwyn reminded Baden sharply. "And he had no idea he was an immortal."
"I would have told him," Baden said with a display of affronted innocence then added to himself, "Just before I cut off his head."
"What's wrong with Preston?" Zachary asked.
"He's a little shit," Baden replied succinctly.
"He was a bully," Ceirdwyn admitted. "And he had a temper. But many people do, especially when they're young." She looked at Baden to say, "You did."
And people change. Duncan knew that well. Besides, you couldn't go around beheading unarmed teenagers just because they were obnoxious.
Ra'el pushed open the door, and that conversation died. Her cheeks were pink from cold and her short red hair had been ruffled by the wind. Her glance swept the room, checked at Baden, then focused on Gregor. "Tomas fell out of a tree and broke his arm," she announced.
"Badly?" Connor asked immediately, but he didn't sound surprised.
Duncan wasn't either. Tomas had needed stitches the month before. Last summer, he'd nearly burned down a building with a magnifying glass. Then there had been that time in the barn… Connor generally referred to Tomas as "that little scamp" but always with a fond and rueful grin. Tomas followed Connor around like a puppy. They were good for each other.
Ra'el shook her head. "Simple fracture, left arm."
Gregor sighed but set down his glass on the sideboard then picked up his coat. Ceirdwyn handed him the black medical bag from the closet. She had already dressed for outside. "Want help?" Duncan offered.
"Thank you, we'll be fine," Ceirdwyn said, and she and Gregor left the room.
Ra'el had now zeroed her attention on Baden, and he got to his feet as she strode over to him. "I'm Ra'el," she announced, holding out her left hand. "Stef and I are Guardians here."
"Baden," he replied, with a glance and a grin at the proffered hand before he shook it heartily. Her answering grip was equally strong, and they were both regarding each other with appreciation when they let go. "I'm an old friend of Ceirdwyn's," Baden explained.
Ra'el looked over at Duncan and Connor and then back to Baden. "Another old friend?"
"Well," Baden drawled, "not that old." He winked and she laughed, and they agreed to "see you around."
She turned, spotted Gregor's abandoned drink, and wordlessly claimed it for her own. As she put down the empty glass, she smiled at Duncan. "See you at nine?"
"Nine it is," Duncan agreed, as he had many times before, and she left with a banging of the door.
Baden lifted an eyebrow as he sat down in Gregor's former chair. "So… I take it she's taken?"
"That's for Ra'el to say," Duncan replied. "She's her own woman."
"So is Stef," Connor put in, though not—Duncan knew—from direct experience. When he and Connor had arrived at the school eight months ago, Stef and Ra'el had both been warmly welcoming. Connor had politely ignored their overtures, and then turned down a delicately worded but unmistakable invitation to Stef's bed.
Duncan had been startled into asking: "Are you and Cassandra being exclusive?"
"No."
Duncan had watched as his silent kinsman left the dining hall. "He's grieving," Duncan had told the two women later. "He lost one family member in the London bombing, and then another a few days later in the ash. " And Duncan suspected that something had gone wrong—again—between Cassandra and Connor. Since they'd gotten word of the volcano, Connor hadn't mentioned her at all.
Probably Cassandra, like Chelle, had told Connor that looking for John was a hopeless quest. Duncan had long ago learned to give Connor the time and space he needed to figure things out on his own. This century, Connor had gotten better about returning that courtesy.
"Connor doesn't want to talk about it," Duncan had warned Stef and Ra'el. "So it's best to leave him alone. He just needs time." And to keep busy. Teaching was good for Connor, and so were the kids.
"Do you need time?" Ra'el had asked with a directness that was charming with its enthusiasm.
"I have all the time in the world," Duncan had replied with a grin, since Elena and Amanda and Kate were half a world away, and Ceirdwyn was with Gregor now. That night Ra'el came to his room. Stef appeared a few weeks later, though never both at the same time, no matter what Connor might think. Nor were they Duncan's harem; he rather got the sense that they were the ones taking turns with him. He didn't mind. It was fun, it was friendly, and they were lovely young women.
And if Ra'el or Stef—or both—decided to visit Baden now, Duncan had no expectations and no claims. "It's their choice," he said to Baden.
The younger man nodded, looking thoughtful, then asked, "That 'old friend' comment… She knows, right?"
"No," Connor replied. "Ra'el and Stef have been here only eighteen months, and we're careful."
Baden raised both his eyebrows this time then gave his attention to his drink, finishing half of it. "Good stuff," he said, tilting his glass and holding it up high.
"Saved just for special occasions," Duncan replied.
Baden acknowledged that with a pleased nod, but then his mouth twisted in a frown. "Getting hard to find, I know. Like a lot of things. How's the school set for food? Ceirdwyn still stockpiling in the basements?"
"Yes," Zachary said, speaking up for the first time. "By my calculations, we can feed everyone for two years on basic rations, factoring in body mass and caloric requirements, including the growth of the children here now. I've recommended we supplement by hunting and growing as much as we can. With such supplements, and on three-quarter rations, our stores could last nearly four years."
Baden blinked a little, so Duncan explained, "Zachary's the math teacher here. And the school's bookkeeper."
"Glad to have you," Baden said then added a wry grin. "Means I don't have to do the numbers."
"You like math?" Zachary asked, perking up.
But Baden shook his head. "Artillery calculations and poker odds are about as far as I go. Hey," he said suddenly, "maybe we can get a game going? Once a week?"
Zachary looked nervous again. Connor's discreet smile was wolfish. "Sure," Duncan said. "Ra'el plays. Gregor can, but he's not keen on it."
"Ceirdwyn is," Baden said. "And Sarge likes a good game."
"Sarge?" Connor questioned.
"Staff Sergeant Turner," Baden explained. "Due here any day now, so Ceirdwyn says. On my first tour, Sergeant Turner told me that if I ever woke up one day wondering why I wasn't dead, I should call. I thought it was just some weird counseling shit, you know, but then twenty-two years ago, I woke up on the flight line during an air show after a stunt plane went down, covered in blood, and wondering why I wasn't dead. So I called, and Sarge told me what was what. Gave me a place to live for the next three years and taught me a lot." He regarded his glass thoughtfully, tilting the clear liquid this way and that. "Saved my life."
Baden finished his drink as Duncan shared a glance of memory and understanding with Connor. Zachary was polishing his glasses again.
"Then this place opened," Baden said, "and Sarge brought me here."
"I'd like to meet him," Duncan said.
"Oh, hey, no," Baden said. "Sorry. Not him: her. Sarge's first name is Chelle."
"I never imagined Chelle would spend twenty years in the Marines," Duncan said to Connor that night after dinner, as they stood on the gym rooftop, looking at the stars. "Or become a doctor." Baden had talked about that, too. "Did you?"
Connor shrugged. "Don't know her."
"I guess I don't, either," Duncan admitted. He'd watched her grow up from afar, and he'd seen her the first week after she'd died, but that had been fifty years ago. There'd been that brief meeting on the road in Texas, but by the time Connor and Duncan had arrived at the school last spring, Chelle had already left. She'd brought Jero with her in October, stayed for three days, then left again.
"Explains her attitude," Connor observed. "And her mouth."
"She talked like that when she was fourteen," Duncan said wryly. He tilted his head to look up at the sky. The stars were beautiful tonight. The ash wasn't as bad in the winter, and light pollution was nearly gone, save for the glow of the town to the north. Even the Milky Way was almost visible. The winter night was silent except for the long rows of egg-beater style windmills on the roof, humming away in the frigid breeze.
A few moments later, a meteor traced a streak of brightness in the south. A little after that, Connor said, "Spaceship. Just below Orion's belt."
Duncan wondered if Methos was up there already, and how far he would go. "It's a big universe, MacLeod," Methos had said as they drank beer in the bar, that night before the Phinyx bombing. "And who better to explore it than us? Long trips are not a problem, we don't require medical attention, most of us past a hundred or so have good survival skills… It's a great adventure."
"Adventure?" Duncan had repeated dubiously, surprised to hear that from Methos. "Don't adventures leave you hungry, cold, and dripping wet?"
"Not if you do them right." He'd turned serious then, even a bit wistful. "I took Alexa to see the world. We had great times."
"Adventures," Duncan had prompted.
"Adventures," Methos had agreed. "She said she'd always wanted to see other worlds, too, not just this one." He'd sipped his beer and explained, "She was a Dr. Who fan. And Star Trek. Lots of sci-fi."
Duncan stared up at the spaceship that could take people to the stars. This science wasn't fiction anymore.
Below, a bell started to ring in the octagonal central courtyard outlined by the four halls of the former convent. Duncan thought it might be Isdra pulling the rope. By the time the seventh and final peal rang out, students and teachers had begun to emerge from the gym, the dining hall, and the academic hall, all crossing the courtyard to the dormitory. Even teens went to bed early when there were no lights to be had. They'd be up early, too, an hour before dawn. Sunlight was not to be wasted. Duncan had forgotten how right that daily rhythm felt. And how good it felt to make what you needed, instead of buying everything from stores.
"It's good to do real work again," Connor said, apparently thinking along the same lines. "And to teach it to the kids."
After the volcano, Ceirdwyn had shifted the curriculum from academic to practical. She'd stopped teaching Latin and literature in favor of how to make soap and candles and jam—practical skills. "Life skills," she said. Gregor was teaching medicine and horticulture instead of geography and history, and the flower beds in the meditation garden had been planted with vegetables and herbs. Connor was teaching applied chemistry in the blacksmith shop and in the pottery shed, and both he and Duncan taught hunting and tracking. And all four of them, along with Ra'el and Stef, gave lessons in how to fight.
The kids didn't mind. Most of them liked getting their hands dirty, and fighting was (so far) fun. They'd learned to cast stones with slings and shoot arrows with bows. And fencing, of course. Some of the older kids had swords, and nearly everyone walked about armed. That felt good, too.
"They learn quick," Duncan said then added thoughtfully, "It's different, teaching pre-immortals. I never thought I'd see fifteen together."
"Sixteen," Connor corrected.
"Right," Duncan agreed. He'd forgotten to count Zachary. "How do you like it here, living like a tribe, together with a common language?" Duncan asked, for Connor had spoken of that, almost two centuries ago.
But Connor shook his head. "It's good, but it isn't home."
True. Ceirdwyn was a gracious host, but Connor and Duncan both had other places they wanted to be, and other people they wanted to be with. "Want to leave?" Duncan asked.
Connor looked up at the stars then sighed. "Not just yet. Even with Gregor to help, Ceirdwyn's got her hands full here." He stretched, arms overhead and spine cracking, then grinned. "So do you, with Ra'el and Stef. Unless Baden starts to help."
"Or you?" Duncan ventured.
"No."
Duncan had heard that "no" many times before. There was no arguing with it. No arguing with Connor. Sara and John had died fifteen months ago, and Connor was still shut down, still healing. But he smiled more often, and he even laughed sometimes. Tonight, he'd talked about the future. Connor was starting to cope. Duncan knew the signs.
"I've got the watch from midnight to four," Connor said, stretching again and yawning this time. "Then fencing lessons at six and a batch of rocks to heat treat tomorrow. I'm off to bed."
"Me, too," Duncan agreed. He looked up at the stars once more before following Connor down.
A few weeks later, Duncan went to ask Ceirdwyn about the spring planting. He found her in the kitchen garden, sitting on a bench in patch of sunshine, underneath the still-bare fruit trees. Next to her sat a girl with dark, wavy hair wearing a purple coat. She looked to be about nine years old, and she sat with her back straight, her ankles neatly crossed, and her hands quiet in her lap. She turned her head at his approach then stood, but kept her gaze on the ground. Duncan hadn't seen manners like that in an American child for nearly a hundred years.
Ceirdwyn stood too. Her hair was loose today, rippling over her green and blue jacket. "Duncan, this is Terah. Chelle brought her in this morning."
"Good to hear Chelle's back," Duncan said. He wanted to talk to her. Then he looked at the girl, who was still being shy. "And it's good to see a new student," he said with approval. The girl looked up then, dark eyes large and searching in a dusky oval face. Terah was a pretty girl; she'd be a beautiful woman someday.
"She's already one of us," Ceirdwyn said, in a voice of quiet warning.
Duncan's welcoming smile faltered, and he looked at Terah anew. She would never be a woman, and she'd lost all chance of being a girl.
"She's been an immortal for five years," Ceirdwyn added.
Still a young one, both in body and mind. Still in need of help. Duncan extended his hand and smiled. "Pleased to meet you, Terah. I'm Duncan."
"Duncan," she repeated, laying her small hand in his, light and delicate as a kitten's footsteps. She smiled back, shyly at first, then with a touch of joy. That faded as she confided, "My daddy just died."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Duncan said gravely.
"Are you going to be my daddy now?"
"Um," Duncan began, shooting a glance at Ceirdwyn but finding no help. She looked taken aback, too.
"I promise I'll be good," Terah said earnestly. "My daddy taught me how." Then her gaze dropped again, but not to the ground. She was staring at his crotch, and the tiny pink tip of her tongue was sliding along her lower lip. Duncan pulled his hand away and stepped back, just as Ceirdwyn let out a quiet hiss.
"I could make you happy," Terah said, looking up at him with beautiful doe eyes. "I could be your little girl. Forever."
That night, just before dinner, the adult immortals and Zachary met in conclave in the staff lounge. Ceirdwyn seated herself on the sofa facing the fireplace, with Gregor at her right hand. Duncan and Baden took the pair of chairs to her left, and Zachary went to his corner near the books. Connor locked the door.
"Chelle?" Ceirdwyn prompted.
Chelle was standing in front of the cold fireplace, feet apart and hands behind her back, like a soldier at parade rest. She took one breath and began. "Four days ago near Dayton, an immortal using the name Marcus Dernhelm challenged me. Afterwards—"
Duncan translated silently: After she had chopped off his head.
"—I went to his house, a place way out in the woods, a mile off the road."
"How did you know where he lived?" Zachary asked.
She turned her head to look at him. "His address was in his wallet."
"You stole his wallet?" Zachary said in surprise.
"I took it," she corrected. "Makes the body harder to trace, makes it look like a robbery. And cash is always good. Plus, immortals can have pets. I won't leave them to starve." She faced front again. "At his house, I sensed another immortal … Terah." Chelle took another deep breath. "She'd grown up in the house with only Marcus. No school. Never even met any other kids."
"She does have beautiful manners," Baden observed.
"Yes," Ceirdwyn agreed dryly. "She has been exceedingly well-trained."
And not, Duncan knew, only in politeness.
"I thought, living out in the woods, that Marcus had been trying to keep her safe from other immortals," Chelle said. "She obviously couldn't live on her own, so I brought her here."
"And you didn't notice anything odd?" Duncan asked incredulously.
"The house seemed normal. She seemed … weirdly naïve, but she'd grown up alone. Plus, I had to tell her that her father was dead then haul her through the woods in the cold. She cried a lot; she didn't talk." Chelle shrugged. "And Terah never came on to me."
"She's been trained to pleasure men," Ceirdwyn said. At her nod, Chelle sat down in the wingback chair closest to the fireplace, and Ceirdwyn picked up the tale. "Marcus killed her on her ninth birthday, though Terah doesn't realize that. In her mind, he gave her a magic potion, she went to sleep, and when she woke up, he told she would never grow old, just like him. The magic had worked, and she could be her 'Daddy's little girl.' Forever."
"Bastard," Connor swore, while Gregor shoved himself upright then walked to the wall of windows, his back to the rest of the room.
"The sexual relationship started that night," Ceirdwyn said.
"Happy fucking birthday," Baden muttered.
Duncan swallowed hard, but the foul taste in his mouth didn't go away.
"That was five years ago," Ceirdywn said. "As far as Terah knows, her life was normal. She loved her daddy, and he loved her. He kept her safe; she kept him happy, and she wanted them to be together forever. She never saw anyone else. Except …" Ceirdwyn pressed her lips together but went on. "Sometimes, he would bring one of his friends over. To play with her."
"Marcus shared her?" Baden asked in surprise.
"Marcus sold her."
Gregor, pale and pacing near the window, cut loose with a string of invective in Polish. Duncan briefly closed his eyes.
"Tell me," Connor demanded of Chelle, "that Marcus suffered before you took his head."
She met his stony gaze with one of steel. "It wasn't quick."
Zachary came out from his corner to stand next to the empty chair. "So, what can we do to help?" he asked plaintively. "Terah's just a little girl."
"No," Duncan had to say. "She isn't. Terah is a child immortal."
"She never even had a childhood," Zachary shot back, standing up for the young and the helpless, as he usually did.
"That's true," Ceirdwyn agreed quietly. "And so this is even more tragic."
"What do you mean?" Zachary asked, but Connor was staring through his reflection in the window to the darkness outside, and Ceirdwyn was staring at the ashes in the hearth, and Duncan didn't want to mention Kenny or the toddler Deirdre or the infant that Connor had had to kill. Zachary asked again, his voice rising. "What do you mean?"
Ceirdwyn went to him before saying, "Even child immortals who had normal upbringings usually don't … age well."
"She's only nine," Zachary said.
"Fourteen," Connor corrected.
"That's still young," Zachary retorted. "Younger than some of our other students, and Terah's had a horrible life so far. So, we have to help her."
"Right," Baden agreed with a nod, and Chelle's eyes were hopeful.
Duncan knew the feeling. He wanted to help, too. Maybe Terah could learn. Maybe she wouldn't turn out like Kenny had.
"Terah deserves a chance," Gregor said.
"Yes," Ceirdwyn agreed, though her eyes were troubled. "She does."
Later, Duncan spotted Chelle in the dining hall, eating a solitary dinner at a table near the kitchen. He made his way around noisy groups of students, nodded to the other teachers, smiled at Ra'el, then took the chair across from Chelle. "Rough trip, eh?"
Chelle wrinkled her nose. "Not great. Besides whacking Marcus, the primmie I'd set out to find wasn't there anymore, and I had detour a bunch since roads were blocked and bridges were out. Ran into bandits a time or two."
"Sounds like the Highlands," Duncan observed.
"Scotland? Or Afghanistan?" she countered.
"Both," he agreed then used that opening to ask, "So, when did you join the Marines?"
"April 1995. Two weeks after Amanda left."
Duncan frowned in confusion. "Amanda told me you were with Ceirdwyn."
"Right." The word was clipped to shortness, and Chelle pushed her empty plate aside. "April Fool's Day, I wake up to find some cash and a note that says: 'Dearest Michelle, Sorry, must fly! Rent's paid up until the end of the month. Call Ceirdwyn; she can help. Love and kisses – Amanda.' But when I called Ceirdywn's number, it was disconnected."
Duncan thought back and put together the timeline. "Ceirdwyn's husband had just been murdered," he explained. "She must have moved."
Chelle acknowledged that with a slow nod. "Next I called your number. The woman who answered said you were dead."
"That was Anne," Duncan said. She'd told him she'd spent hours in his loft, listening to music, remembering …crying. She hadn't known—yet—that he could revive. But Chelle had. "You know that doesn't mean—"
"She said Kalas killed you," Chelle broke in.
And that was Richie, telling Anne things she didn't need to know.
"Amanda had talked about Kalas, too," Chelle said.
"I bet," Duncan muttered. Amanda had broken Kalas out of jail that year.
"I thought Kalas had taken your head," Chelle said, shrugging a bit as she picked up her mug of chicken broth. "Anyway, there I was: eighteen years old, no money, no friends, no skills or education, no job or place to live… So I joined the Marines. They gave me room and board, clothes, a paycheck. Plus they taught me how to use a rifle, some hand-to-hand, how to lay down fire and blow shit up. Good stuff to know."
She set down her mug and looked directly at him, her delicate features eternally soft with youth, her gray eyes once again like polished steel. "And they taught me that you never leave anyone behind."
Damn it, he hadn't left Michelle behind. He'd left her with Amanda, and then Amanda had (or so he'd thought) handed her over to Ceirdwyn. Duncan hadn't checked up on that, though he'd meant to. But he'd been busy with Kalas and the Watcher mess and the Dark Quickening mess, and then the Horsemen had blasted through, and after that he'd had to save the world. "Chelle—"
Jero and Isdra arrived at their table, nodding as they took the seats at the far end, then chatting merrily about a dissection they'd seen Gregor perform.
"I'm finished," Chelle said as she stood, and Duncan followed her outside.
In the kitchen garden, softly lit by moonlight and just beginning to stir with spring, she started walking, but he stepped around and blocked her path. "After my first death," he told her, "I went two and a half years before I even met another immortal. I had no idea what had happened to me."
Chelle looked up at him, but now her eyes were gentle. "That must have been hard."
She actually sounded sincere, instead of sarcastic. "Yeah," Duncan agreed, with a clearing of his throat. He'd been homeless, clanless, friendless, fatherless. Even now, he still didn't like to think about those days.
"Thank you," she said, and she briefly touched his forearm. "For watching over me when I was young, and for helping. It's important."
And now she sounded truly grateful. "You're welcome," Duncan said, and they smiled at each other before they started walking. As they reached the row of fruit trees, he asked the question he should have asked months ago: "So how did you meet Ceirdwyn?"
"In a New Washington hotel in 2015." She shrugged. "We met, we talked, we didn't kill each other."
Duncan had to grin at Chelle's summary of the immortal greeting ritual.
"It was a good meeting," Chelle continued. "We went back to her place in Chicago for a while, and we talked a lot about starting a school—this school." She waved her hand to encompass the buildings and the grounds. "There's a lot to learn about being an immortal, and good teachers are hard to find."
Duncan couldn't argue with that.
"Plus, the traditional one-on-one student/teacher thing doesn't always work out too well."
Duncan couldn't argue with that either.
They were nearly to the dormitory when Chelle asked, "Do you think Terah has a chance?"
"You've given her a chance," Duncan said. Even if only for a little while.
Chelle nodded, part relief and part determination. "I couldn't leave her behind."
Spring came late that year, cold and wet. Summer came hard, hot and dry. Crops withered in the field, and in the orchard trees dropped unripe fruit on the ground. The vegetables in the greenhouses, irrigated with filtered water, did better, and Duncan taught the children to hunt rabbits and squirrels in the woods. Sometimes they returned triumphant with meat for the stewpot, as he and his cousin Robert had done centuries ago. Even so, Zachary made lists and calculated calories and frowned.
And when he heard Gregor asking Connor if they could work together to search for the quickenings of more pre-immortals, Zachary frowned. "If you do find more students with this 'quickening radar', and you manage to bring them here, what will you feed them?" he asked bluntly. "And don't forget: sometimes their parents tag along."
"That's not so bad," Baden said, shuffling the cards for the weekly poker game. "Sally's mom is great."
"Yeah, but remember Toby's dad?" Chelle said.
Baden wrinkled his nose then gave a final flourishing shuffle before straightening the pile. Duncan cut the deck and slid it back to him.
"Zachary's right," Ceirdwyn said, as she sorted her chips by color. "We have enough people, and travel is getting worse. They'd be in danger just getting here. It's best they stay where they are."
Zachary nodded and muttered, "Good."
"But we could still look for them," Chelle pointed out. "Or for something." She turned to Connor. "Would you teach me how to work this Cerebro Q? I want to learn."
Her face was intent instead of smiling, and Duncan knew she'd picked the right approach. Connor preferred serious students to flirtatious ones.
Sure enough, while Baden dealt the cards, Connor gave her a look-over and then gave her a nod. "We'll try." He glanced at Baden and Gregor and warned them all: "Not many can." As he gathered his cards he added, "But don't call me Professor X."
"No," Chelle agreed, with impudent thoughtfulness. "Too much hair. And not enough brains." Connor simply looked at her measly pile of chips then at his four stacks. In answer, Chelle looked at Ceirdwyn's six. "Ceirdwyn is Storm," Chelle decided, "goddess of the elements. And you're Cyclops," she told Duncan. "Straight-laced but dangerous, and a leader of the team."
Not totally inaccurate, though Chelle seemed to think he was more straight-laced than he really was. As Duncan tried to remember what mutant power Cyclops had, Baden leaned over and confided, "She named me Forge, right after I started calling her Shadowcat." He grinned at Chelle as he said, "Since 'Sergeant Turner' was known for walking through anything and coming out unharmed."
Chelle wrinkled her nose at him then looked back and forth between the two non-poker players. "I'm not sure if Gregor or Zachary should be Hank McCoy," she mused.
"I'm definitely not Beast," Zachary declared. "But this place is definitely a school for mutants."
"Quite possibly true," Gregor said then opened his book. Zachary retreated to his corner chair.
Before Duncan picked up his cards, he asked, "Who's Connor?"
"Oh, right." Chelle gave Connor the same kind of look-over he had given her. He ignored her and studied his hand, poker face in full force. Chelle turned back to Duncan and smiled cheerily. "He's Wolverine."
The next day, Ceirdwyn placed Terah in the primary group with Tomas and two others children. Stef taught them to read. Zachary taught them math. "That bastard Marcus never even taught Terah to add!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "But she's bright. She's learning fast."
She did, and that was good, because she had a lot to learn. Duncan had avoided her at first, as had all the men, but Chelle or Ceirdwyn coached Terah every evening in basic behavior, and the other students swiftly taught Terah how to share, how to tease, and how to play games.
The days grew longer and the weather warmer, and one summer afternoon at the creek, the students begin splashing each other and then pelting each other with mud. Terah was right in the midst of it, strands of dark hair plastered across her face, hands filthy, and shrieking with the rest of them in excitement and joy. Just like any child.
"She looks happy," Duncan said.
"She does," Chelle agreed, looking happy too. "She's having a good day. And the bad ones aren't as often." But then she bit her lip and admitted, "I wonder… She's fourteen, and she still likes pretending to be nine. But when she's thirty-four? Or a hundred and four?"
"My mother used to say, 'Don't borrow trouble from tomorrow'."
"We've got a lot of tomorrows," Chelle replied.
"Maybe, maybe not. But just like everybody else, we live one day at a time. And today's a good day."
"So, we should 'don't worry, be happy', huh?" Chelle said, quoting a song from seventy years ago.
"Carpe diem," Duncan agreed then grinned and invited: "Want to go play in the mud?" Chelle laughed, and they joined the kids in the mudhole. Afterward, everyone went swimming then set to work picking tiny blueberries from the bushes on the hill.
Duncan's pail was half full when Connor sprinted past, peeling off his shirt as he ran by. He tossed that aside into the dirt and kept running. His holster and sword belt came off next, though he set his weapons on the ground as he ran instead of tossing them.
"I think someone's in the creek," Jero said, stretching up on her toes to see better.
Duncan ran. He was nearing the shirt when Connor dove into the brown water, the deep swirling part where two streams converged. Just downstream, a dark head went under and disappeared. Duncan grimly picked up Connor's sword and stunner and kept going, his feet slipping a bit on muddy patches. Behind him, he heard a couple of students making their way down the hill.
Just as Duncan reached the creek, Connor came up with a spluttering Tomas. The boy held on as Connor angled for shore, skirting the rusty skeleton of a car and a tangle of logs. Duncan met them at the bank. He held onto a branch as he reached out and lifted a dripping Tomas by the collar. Duncan gave him a quick going over. The boy's arm, healed from its break, was bleeding from a deep scratch, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.
"Is he all right?" Terah asked as she and Jero arrived, panting a bit.
"He'll be fine," Duncan said. "Right, Tomas?"
Tomas nodded vigorously, spraying drops of water about.
Connor was still in the creek, and Duncan pushed the tree branch down for him. Connor grabbed it and clambered out the water and up the bank. He was muddy, wet, and streaked with blood, some of it from the boy, but most of it his. He was also grinning exuberantly. "You look happier than a wallowing pig," Duncan observed quietly. "And about as clean."
Connor laughed as he shook off water like a dog. But he sobered as he buckled on the weapons belt that Duncan handed over, and Connor's face was completely stern when he walked over to Tomas and asked, "What's the rule about the creek, Tomas?"
"Don't go in the creek alone," he said in a small voice, staring at the ground.
"It's 'Don't go near the creek alone'," Terah corrected, sounding exactly like a bossy older sister.
He looked up from under a thicket of dripping hair to protest, "I wasn't alone. Everybody was right here. And I wasn't going to go in. But when I threw my stick it went too far, and it was just a little close to the water and everyone was busy picking berries and the branch I was hanging onto broke, and then I was trying to swim and—"
And he would probably have drowned if Connor hadn't hauled him out.
"—then you pulled me out." Tomas was looking up at Connor with an adoring—and adorable—smile and with hero-worship in his eyes.
Connor still didn't smile. He reached into his back pocket to pull out a pale stave of holly, carefully peeled of its bark and carved painstakingly, if crudely, at the base with runes. "This stick?"
"You found it!" Tomas crowed in delight, but when he reached for it, Connor held it away.
"It's just a stick," Jero said in disgust.
"It is not," Tomas protested.
"It's a holly wand," Terah explained. "I have one, too. Tomas helped me make it."
"Like Harry Potter's wand?" Duncan asked. When he and Connor had first arrived at the school, the kids had been running about waving sticks at each other and yelling invocations in Latin. Fairly good Latin, too—Ceirdwyn had taught that class. But she hadn't taught Latin lately, and these days the kids went armed with stones and bows and steel.
"Not Harry Potter's wand," Tomas said patiently. "Rhianna's wand, like the one she used to enchant the wild boar and lead it to the sacred pool where it ate the hazel nuts and then it could talk and it helped her lead her tribe to victory in battle, only during the fight it was wounded and it died, and she carried its heart's blood back to the sacred pool and poured it in—"
Duncan wondered if Tomas was going to pause to breathe any time soon.
"—ever after the rocks around the pool were red and the water steamed, even on snowy days, and the hazel trees grew all around, and if you ate the nuts you would be wise too, save that the pool is hidden from the eyes of men, and so no one can ever get there, except for the maiden Rhianna who lives in the forest forever, along with the spirit of the boar." He looked up at Connor. "You know. The story you told last winter, when we built a fire and it snowed."
Connor cleared his throat. "Yes. I know that story."
Duncan had never heard it before.
"Please, will you tell it to me, too?" Terah asked. "Tomas already did, but—"
"—but I forgot some parts," Tomas interrupted, and Duncan watched with hidden amusement as she narrowed her eyes at him until he mouthed an apology. Terah had taken the rules of conversational etiquette to heart.
"Another time," Connor promised her then simply said, "Tomas?" and waited.
The boy sighed with contrite—and dejected—resignation. "I shouldn't have gone in the creek," he admitted, as if reciting a lesson. Apparently, they'd done this sort of drill before. "Anywhere near the creek," he added hastily before Terah could speak. "And not alone."
"And if you had been alone?"
He stared at the ground. "I might have drowned?"
"Yes," Connor replied bluntly. "You would have."
"And then I'd be dead," Tomas said then continued softly, his eyes unfocused, "Like those men Chelle and I saw in the Missippippi River on our trip here, all puffed up and black and their faces melted away."
Connor and Duncan had seen their own share of corpses on the trek east. And some since. Tomas's body wouldn't have decayed, of course; he would have revived. But he was only six years old.
"I'm sorry," Terah said.
"For what?" Duncan said in surprise.
"I should have been looking after Tomas better … and all the young ones," she said earnestly. "Ceirdwyn says they're our little brothers and sisters, and we always have to take care of them."
Duncan hadn't realized Terah had taken these rules to heart as well.
"Yes, we do," Connor agreed with an approving nod. "Right now, we need to pick berries."
As the five of them walked away from the creek, Connor said to Tomas, "I'll keep the wand for you … until the next winter campfire."
"Winter campfire! But—" Tomas looked up at Connor and Connor looked down at him, and then Tomas went silent and trudged up the hill, his head down, his shoes squelching with every step.
Duncan knew what it was to be quelled by a Connor-look. And no doubt Tomas was in for more Connor-discipline, too. Lucky boy. It might just keep him alive.
"It's all right, Tomas," Terah whispered, taking the boy's hand in her own. "You can share my wand."
That night for dessert, everyone had a piece of blueberry pie, and Ceirdwyn said if they picked more berries tomorrow they could make jam.
"My favorite," Zachary declared. "Especially on a winter morning. It's the taste of summer in snow."
"Then we'll save some for the first snowfall," Ceirdwyn promised him.
"I'll be first in line," he replied cheerfully.
But he wasn't. Six weeks later, at the end of September, Zachary went to the barn, rigged up a guillotine from the blade of an old plow, and cut off his own head.
Continued in "Something Wicked", in which a darkness comes
Thanks to KitElizaKing for reminding me about getting buried by volcanic eruption