Elena's Journey
by Vi and Parda - October 2011
The story starts just after this table of contents.
1. Going Down - Elena's life is over
1. Darkness - On the run in Minorca
2. Day - visiting with Cassandra
3. Chance Encounters - meeting the MacLeods
4. Challenges - sparring with Connor
5. Coming Up - bringing up the plane
6. Moving On - saying goodbye
7. Letting Go - rendezvous with Duncan
8. Outback - going walkabout
9. Beginnings - getting a job
10. Racing Time - at the riding stable
11. Reaching Back - talking with Marcellino in Rome
12. Incalzando - visiting old friends in London
13. Del Capa al Coda - taking care of an old enemy
14. Searching - finding Duncan again
15. The Home Stretch - going home
Prologue - Going Down
Saturday, 9 January 2044
Twenty-five hundred meters above the Mediterranean Sea, the small plane's engines sputtered, coughed, and died.
Elena Duran-Ponti removed her headphones, and in the unnerving silence she heard Lorenzo mutter, "Cazzo."
Elena looked at her husband sharply. She'd never heard Lorenzo use that vulgar word in front of his mother, who was sitting just behind him in the four-passenger plane. As he turned back to look at the old lady then smiled weakly at Elena, the silent plane started a downward glide.
After he tried and failed to restart the engines, he said calmly, "Declare an emergency." The numbers on the altimeter flickered, getting faster and always going down.
The notes of Rachmaninoff's second piano concerto, soulfully played by Maestro Jardine, still came faintly from the discarded headphones as Elena picked up the plane's second headset and slipped it on. She pressed the radio's button for the emergency channel and spoke clearly into the mike. "Mayday. Mayday. Mayday," she said then gave their plane's call-sign and added, "Engines failed. Three onboard." They hadn't yet reached the Balearic Islands, but she wasn't sure how far they'd come. "Heading west. Landing on water between islands of Cerdeña and Menorca. Mayday."
"Set the transponder code to 7770," Lorenzo said next. "That will help them find us."
As she worked that device, a voice in her headset said calmly, "Understood. Sending help."
Elena peered ahead but saw only clouds. Maybe they were close enough to Menorca to land there, maybe on one of the beaches or close to shore. And there was an airport at the southern tip. Although there were no engine sounds, the rush of the wind enveloped them. The altimeter showed 1725 meters… 1721… 1716…
They broke cloud cover and she hoped… but all she could see was the unforgiving, cold, blue waters of the Mediterranean. At least there weren't too many waves. Not too many. Maybe they could land on the sea. Lorenzo was a good pilot. Maybe—and maybe they would crash, their plane would break up then sink, and the water was cold, and they were very far from any shore.
Damn. Nearly thirty-nine years. Elena had been with Lorenzo longer than with any other man, except for her own Immortal father. And they had been good years, too, full of laughter and dancing and loving and horses and yes, some fights, a little infidelity on his part, but a wonderful grown son who was healthy and—
"Lorenzo?" Gina Ponti's question was calm. Elena had never seen her mother-in-law lose her poise. Signora Ponti was a true aristocrat and proud of it.
"Mamma," he answered and spared her a backwards glance. He pointed with his chin, and Elena took three flotation devices from the side compartment then handed one back to her mother-in-law. "Please put that on," Lorenzo said.
"And please fasten your seat belt," Elena added, already putting on her own life vest.
Gina Ponti sat back with a sigh. She looked out the window at the approaching sea and squared her shoulders. "Does it matter?" she mused. The altimeter read 1019.
But he was already trying to start the engines. Again. The fuel gauge read past the half-way mark, so that wasn't the problem. The engines simply would not start. "I have no power," he said in frustration, then turned to Elena with a smile that was too bright. "Remind me to fire my airplane mechanic."
Elena held out Lorenzo's life vest, but now he was concentrating on landing the plane, his feet working the pedals, his hands on the yoke. Their flight instructor had said the way to land a plane was to make a controlled descent, slowing down gradually and leveling out just above the surface, until the wheels touched down on land. In other words, Elena thought, try to keep from landing as long as possible.
Land was the operative word. This was not land. They were not landing. They were ditching. Lorenzo obviously knew that too. "God help us," he whispered.
She touched his arm. "Querido."
Lorenzo smiled at his wife, a real smile this time, his own loving smile. "Tell Marcellino that I love him, and I approve of his fiancée."
"We'll both tell him," Elena said firmly.
"You were always my favorite," Gina said to her son.
"I know, Mamma," he answered his mother.
"Elena," Gina murmured.
Elena nodded at the old lady. If not real love, there was affection and respect in Elena's look. "Please put on your life vest, Mamma. And put your head down, between your knees. It's the safest way." She felt like a flight attendant.
And there were more duties to perform. Elena took off the headset and started gathering all the other loose items in the cabin: a pencil, her headphones, a bottle of water, Lorenzo's sunglasses. She stowed them all in the side compartment and latched it then pulled her seatbelt tight.
"Ti voglio bene, Mamma," Lorenzo said, looking over his shoulder quickly. His mother smiled at him then crossed herself and started praying softly. He turned his attention to Elena. "Te amo, mi amor," he said in Spanish, Elena's native tongue.
"Mi vida," she answered, wishing she could take his hands in hers, but he was still busy with the controls, trying to align the plane with the directions of the wave yet still keep their descent slow, so she settled for squeezing his arm. The altimeter showed 632.
Lorenzo, busy with flying, would not be able to assume the safe position, and he had no life vest on. Neither did the old lady, who hadn't put hers on, who hadn't put her head down, who was over eighty anyway. She'd never done anything Elena asked, and was not going to now, either. And it was the new year; the water was freezing.
Elena had the best odds, if any, of surviving the 'landing'. But Lorenzo, now semi-retired, still kept up his horseback riding, his weightlifting. Although his blond hair had turned to a golden ash color, he was still strong and virile at sixty-one. There was a chance he might live. Even Gina could survive. Help might arrive in time to pluck them from the frigid water. God was good, He was merciful. Of course He had His plans, and in His plans people died, but Elena could still pray, she could still hope. Her faith had always been all about hope.
"Ayudanos, Dios mio," she whispered then said to her husband, "If… I will never forget you or stop loving you, Lorenzo," she told him, not even knowing if he heard her, he was concentrating so hard on putting the plane down safely, on trying to keep his family alive.
The altimeter showed 92 meters… 67… 45…
At least we had a good family Christmas celebration in Rome, Elena thought, glancing at the antique emerald bracelet Lorenzo had gifted her on Three Kings Day. She and Lorenzo had celebrated their thirty-eighth anniversary, and their son had announced his engagement. Elena actually liked this girl. Elena sighed then leaned forward and tucked her head down.
The plane hit the water, skipping once, several times, like a rock along a pond. She lost count, she struck her head, the whole plane was shaking, something broke in her hip and she moaned. They hit the water again, harder this time. The plane nosed into the water and the tail rose precipitously, dangerously. Something hit her on the head as the plane shuddered then came to a halt, nose down, rocked slowly by the waves.
Chapter 1 - Darkness
Akademie der Sankte Hildegard, Austria
"Let it ring," Connor murmured when the phone starting buzzing, and placed a drowsy yet still delightful kiss behind Cassandra's left ear, his beard tickling her neck.
"If I didn't want to answer it," Cassandra told him, as she turned to face him then placed her finger on his lips, "I would have turned it off when we went to bed." She usually did; she'd been awakened too many times by people who forgot about time zones. But ever since Duncan had sent word early on Saturday afternoon that Elena's family plane had gone down in the Mediterranean, Cassandra had been hoping for a call.
Connor rolled over on his back with a sigh, and Cassandra checked the time as she reached for her phone: seventeen minutes after midnight. Nearly thirty-six hours since Elena's plane had gone down. The caller ID read "Estación de Autobuses de Mahón," and the bus station netport was voice only, no vid. "Laina Garrison," Cassandra said into the phone, giving the name she used in her current job: music teacher at a girls' boarding academy.
"Cassi?" said the voice on the phone.
"Elena! Thank goodness," Cassandra said with a surge of relief. The lights of Menorca's capital city of Mahon made a good beacon in the early winter darkness; Elena must have followed them in to shore. "She made land," Cassandra said to Connor, then went back to the phone. "How are—?"
"Who is with you?" Elena interrupted.
"Connor," Cassandra answered. Elena should know that.
"Oh. I—" Elena's voice shifted to an urgent whisper: "Cassi, I'm being hunted. Un condenao pelon."
Cassandra closed her eyes, her lips tightening in frustration at that bloody game. Either Elena had been monumentally unlucky in her place of landfall, or (more likely) this bald Immortal had heard of the plane crash and come hunting, like a shark following bloody chum. And he might not be the only one.
"Cass," Elena said, her breath coming quickly, sounding near panic, definitely afraid, "I can't—" Her laugh sounded more like a sob. "I survived the plane crash and the water, but I may not survive the night."
"Si, viviras, Elena," Cassandra said firmly, speaking in Elena's native tongue and layering overtones of reassurance onto the words to calm and encourage her friend, because Cassandra was not going to lose anyone else to that pointless game, especially not this way: vulnerable, grief-stricken, defenseless. "Elena, os sabeis cuidar muy bien."
Connor pushed himself up on his elbows at that, and Cassandra placed the phone between them so that he could hear, too.
"Si," Elena said, already sounding calmer. "Lo se."
"Mahon has quite a few sacred buildings," Cassandra told Elena, reminding the younger woman of a way to take care of herself. "There's a Gaian Temple to the south, and Santa Maria is near the harbor. Can you see any spires or towers from where you are?"
There was a long silence then Elena said, "Cassi, I hate to run."
"Atta girl," Connor murmured under his breath.
Cassandra shot him an irritated look. Foolish bravado led to death. "Regrouping is not running," Cassandra told Elena firmly. Then Cassandra suddenly realized that Duncan would be spending the night in Mahon, after having searched the sea all day. He would help. "Elena, if you—"
"He's here," Elena interrupted and clicked off the phone.
Cassandra knew better than to press call-back. Elena didn't need the ringing of a phone to give away her position right now. Still, Cassandra glared at the phone in her hand, angry mostly at the Game and the Immortal hunter, but angry with Elena too. She should have gone to Holy Ground immediately. Foolish girl!
"She's having a bad day," Connor observed dryly.
"Yes, she is," Cassandra agreed, realizing how misplaced her irritation was. Getting cutting off in mid-sentence always annoyed her. Cassandra shook her head, then breathed out slowly and let the tension and the anger go. The game was the game, and there was nothing to be done about that. And Elena was Elena; her bravery and her stubbornness were part of her charm, and they had served her well for more than four hundred years.
She and Connor were alike in that, Cassandra thought fondly, though Cassandra would not tell either of them so.
"And she probably doesn't have a sword," Connor added, with his unique snort that combined understanding, resigned acceptance, and irritation all in one. "Call Duncan," Connor said.
Cassandra nodded; she had already turned on her phone. But Duncan didn't answer.
Mahon, Isle of Menorca
When Elena had felt the approach of that damn bloodhound Immortal who'd been hunting her relentlessly for the past two hours, she had turned off the phone and left the bus station, walking rapidly past the array of statues that decorated the deserted plaza, shivering with the cold that had seeped into her bones during those hours in the dark waters of the Mediterranean. She crossed the street to reach a park with a grove of trees that provided some cover then paused there in the shadows, listening, waiting, hoping…
Then she heard the footsteps.
Dios mio, he was so close! Elena had a moment of blind panic, her muscles tensing to run, just run. But she didn't, and the footsteps stopped; then she heard voices: two men.
He was talking to someone. A reprieve. She had to get away. Holy Ground was a good idea. Elena was scared; this Immortal might have made a special trip to the island of Menorca just for her head. He was everywhere at once, she couldn't seem to lose him, and she wasn't ready to fight him. She wanted to just make it stop, even for a few days, so she could 'regroup.' But it wasn't going to happen. The game wouldn't stop just because she was grieving, because she didn't want to play, because she felt so alone.
She'd meant to call Cassandra from a hotel as soon as she got to Menorca, but then this persistent Immortal with the chilling eyes had appeared, right in the lobby, and there had been no time. Now that it might be too late, Elena had called to let Cassandra know…. well, maybe to say goodbye.
So. Her choices: Keep running. Holy Ground. Or face this bastard who was hunting her.
Elena knew what her father would say: "!Fajate, Elena!" Fight! She shouldn't have come to the capital, but she knew why she had come; the people. She needed to see them, to hear them talking, singing, laughing; she needed to smell them, because nothing in her long life, she had recently discovered, was more lonely than floating out at sea, in a life vest, in pitch darkness, alone.
But there were too many people, and reporters, all looking for a story about the Pontis. She should just have gone west toward the airport. Damn it, Lorenzo! She sobbed softly. You landed that plane! On the sea! It should have worked. You should be alive! We should both be home right now, snuggling in bed. She shivered, hugging herself then realized how vulnerable she was. Her enemy was still nearby, and she wasn't thinking clearly, coherently. It was going to get her killed. And she absolutely wanted to live.
Holy Ground. Everybody went to Holy Ground at some point. She had, many times. No shame in that. She moved silently through the trees, blessing the city fathers for their urban planning, then crossed a narrow street to reach a boulevard that provided a better view—and, unfortunately, a blast of icy winter wind. Elena ducked into a doorway and peered around the corner. Down the hill, close to the harbor, she could see a tall octagonal tower topped with a cross. She'd find safety there. And comfort. Maybe there was a priest she could talk to. Sanctuary. It was a good thought.
But for how long? An Immortal could stand outside a church forever, patiently waiting, keeping her trapped inside. Helpless. Afraid. Waiting to be beheaded.
No. But she could not fucking fight. Could not.
She had escaped from a watery grave with her sword. It was there to be used. She drew it; it felt good, right, in her hand. But she couldn't use it. She… Not now. !Dios mio! She took a few deep, calming breaths, centered herself, made her decision…
Then, from the grove of trees, she heard the unmistakable clang of swords.
More than one Immortal then; two had come for her. And they'd met each other. Maybe it was a coincidence or God's providence. Elena didn't care. They were fighting, and this was her golden opportunity to simply leave. Cassandra would leave. So would Methos—
But then Elena remembered her duel at a Paris airport; Methos hadn't left then. He'd gone towards the sounds of the swordfight, he'd helped her when Simms had eviscerated her, stayed with her while she died then came back. Even Methos. And Duncan MacLeod wouldn't leave. Neither would Connor MacLeod. Or Miyu, her aikido sensei. Elena shook her head.
Steeling herself, keeping her sword in front of her in a classic defensive position, led by instinct and habit, maybe even gutsiness, she went back to the park towards the swordfight, away from the safety of Holy Ground.
They were very close. She knew they could certainly sense her. But she also knew, from long experience, that in the middle of a fight they wouldn't—couldn't—pay attention to another Immortal.
In the shadows under the trees there was very little light, but she could just make out their silhouettes. She took one glance around then moved behind one of the biggest trees, replaying what she'd just seen. Two men, one clearly bigger, broader. The bigger man, his shoulders, his body language, his grunts of exertion as he fought, he was clearly, oh, so definitely, Duncan MacLeod. Duncan! !Madre de Dios!
Elena Duran-Ponti had been cold for the last two days—first in the freezing waters of the Mediterranean, then in the frigid tramentana winds over Menorca, which seemed to penetrate the woolen coat she'd bought and all the layers underneath. A minute ago she thought she'd never be warm again.
Now, as she pressed herself against the rough trunk of a tree, she felt a heat begin under her belly and spread like fire, up her body then down to her toes. "!Ay, Lorenzo!" she gasped in dismay. How could she? How could she feel this need, this… lust… from just seeing, just looking at Duncan MacLeod, with her beloved Lorenzo so recently gone?
So what if Duncan had come to find her, to help her, and was now fighting for her. She still shouldn't…
Damn, after so many years, decades, he was still there, loving her! The heat she felt was joined by guilt, betrayal, self-disgust—and at that moment she realized the noise had stopped and the fight was over.
Duncan! she thought, worried now for him. What if… She chanced another quick look around the tree. Duncan was facing away from her, braced to receive the Quickening, his katana held high. He'd won; !gracias a Dios! But after he took the Quickening… he would be oh so ready and she…
She had to leave. Now.
Elena ran. She hadn't been ready to face an Immortal enemy, but she could have done it, if she'd absolutely had to.
But she absolutely couldn't face Duncan MacLeod.
Akademie der Sankte Hildegard, Austria
Connor's phone began buzzing at 2:27 in the morning, and both he and Cassandra woke immediately. "Who is it?" she asked, sitting up and pulling the blankets with her.
He glanced at the ID display. "A hotel with a Spanish name." Connor clicked the phone on and said, "Hello."
"Connor," came the familiar tones of his kinsman.
"Duncan," he replied, and one small knot of worry deep inside him untied. Beside him, Cassandra let out a slow breath. "Elena made land," Connor said immediately, knowing Duncan would be worrying about her.
"Thank God," Duncan said with relief then added with the emphasis born from recent personal experience, "That water is damn cold."
"We've been trying to call you," Connor told him.
"My phone got fried," Duncan explained.
"Ah." Quickenings did that to electronics. Connor wondered who it had been, but it wasn't smart to ask for names on the phone, especially not the name of a person whose body the police were likely to find. Duncan would let him know later.
Duncan snorted in disgust. "He told me that since he got to the island first, he had priority."
Cassandra and Connor exchanged glances at the arrogance. Well, that Immortal wouldn't be claiming anything now. "Bald?" Connor asked.
"Yeah," Duncan replied, and the word ended on a questioning note.
"Elena called just after midnight," Connor explained. "She told us she was being 'followed' by a pelon. There could be others," Connor warned.
"I know," Duncan said grimly. "Where was she?"
Cassandra held out her phone, showing Connor the ID. "She called from Estación de Autobuses de Mahón," Connor told Duncan.
There was a pause, then Duncan said carefully, "I'm surprised we haven't run into each other yet."
Connor translated that to: Elena and Duncan and this pelon had all been at the bus station (site of a recent killing), but Elena obviously hadn't gotten close enough during the fight or afterwards to realize that one of the Immortals she was sensing was a friend. "I think she's defenseless," Connor said, using that bland word in place of "sword" or "weapon", since those would trigger alerts in the scanners.
Duncan cursed softly. "I'll find her."
Cassandra held out her hand, and Connor gave her the phone. "Duncan," she said, "stay in touch. Elena should call me soon, if she's all right. I'll tell her the name of your hotel."
"Thank you," Duncan said then ended the call.
As Connor took the phone back, he asked Cassandra, "You think Elena will call you? Or anybody?"
Cassandra replied grimly, "She'd better." At Connor's small grin, she demanded, "What?"
He shrugged. "This reminds me of staying up late with Alex when the kids were teenagers, waiting for them to call or come home."
Cassandra's smile mingled amusement and weariness. "I'm too old for this."
"So are Duncan and Elena," Connor retorted.
Continued in Chapter 2 - Day, wherein Elena shares her story
Translations (Spanish and Italian):
Ti voglio bene and te amo – I love you
Mi amor and querido -beloved
Ayudanos, Dios mio – God help us
Un condenao pelon – a damn bald man
Si viviras – yes, you will survive
Os sabeis cuidar muy bien – you know very well how to take care of yourself
Lo se – I know
Dios mio, madre de Dios, gracias a Dios – My God, Mother of God, thank God
For more stories with Elena, look for Vi Moreau on the web, or read these stories on Parda's account on Fanfiction DOT net.
- Invisible Darkness - With the help of Methos, Elena examines her conscience
- Hope Remembered III: Confidante - Elena and Cassandra compares notes on Methos and both MacLeods
- Hope Triumphant II: Sister (Chapter 2 "Dramatic License") - Elena and Cassandra go on a cruise
- The Only Game in Town - Elena goes hunting in Connor's hometown
Del Capa al Coda