Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:52:01 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 20 of 20 < < < < < > > > > > A hand clasped Richie's, pulling him out of the fog. Once on solid ground, he observed his rescuer. Tall, dark haired, the man sported a goatee, as well as a solid set of muscles, bursting from the sweats he was wearing. The man smiled, continuing to grasp Richie's hand. "You have made it." Richie looked confused, trying to place the man. "Have we met before?" he hesitantly asked. That caused the man to smile wider, adding his other hand to the handshake. "But of course. I am Phillipe," the stranger announced, a hint of a French accent slipping through. He seemed taken aback at Richie's continued look of confusion. "Phillipe Devereux...? How quickly they forget. I taught you your first kata? In the desert?" Richie looked more confused, pulling his hand away. "But... you're in my head," he said. "And so are you." The man gestured around, Richie noticing for the first time he was standing in a town square, a crowd of people surrounding him. Turning around, he was surprised as a woman, young and pretty, jumped in his arms, lips firmly on his. Her body was warm against his, her only covering a simple shift of white cloth. When she came up for air, she climbed off, standing no taller than Richie's chin. He noticed white flowers weaved into her hair, smiling fresh. "Es?" the redhead ventured. Another kiss confirmed it. People were all around him, congratulating him, slapping his shoulders, grabbing his arms. He thought he caught a glimpse of black leather, and Gregor's head, as Phillipe warned them away, giving Richie some much needed space. He was about to hunt for Gregor as a train whistle cut through the air, all the people turning and facing the station as an old time train pulled up. The engine gave a wheeze, sending steam billowing as it ground to a halt at the station. Trailing behind the wood bin was two passenger cars, with a red caboose bringing up the rear. Dark shapes moved inside, most heading toward the front as the locomotive stopped. The small bell clanged behind the engine stack; a larger, booming sound echoing a reply from a church steeple barely visible over the closer buildings. From the station came a middle aged man, fiery red hair burning in the sunshine. Wearing shiny armor, he had no difficulty running to the statue in the center of the square, climbing up the pedestal until he stood next to the horse and rider. Richie could barely make out his words, something to do with having come again. Most of the crowd ignored the fellow, turning back to the station as more people came out. They came in twos, threes, finally blooming to ten or so at a time. Many were warmly greeted by the crowd milling in the square. Others hurried away, like wounded animals. They glared at the group around the statue, faces etched in hate. Richie took the time to find Gregor in the crowd, catching up to him as a woman, also a redhead, arrived from the other direction. "I think we need to go get him down," she was saying to Gregor, indicating the man still yelling from the statue. Gregor turned and smiled at Richie, helplessly shrugging as he left with the woman. Richie almost followed, but someone had placed their hands in front of his eyes, standing behind him. "Do I get a clue?" Richie asked, feeling the man's hands, supple and dexterous. A laugh was his first clue, a deep baritone, no accent. "Are you... bigger than a bread box?" "No, but I did spend thirty years in one..." Richie whirled, face to face with Michael Moore, round spectacles and bowler. The redhead flinched, pulling away until Michael grabbed his arm. "It's all right, Richie. Quentin's not a part of me any more." The doctor threw his hat in the air, surprised that it landed on the statue's head. "Well, that's a relief," Richie replied, calming down. "Getting pummeled isn't my favorite activity." He turned his head, feeling another hand on his shoulder, realizing the buzz he had lived with for decades was gone. There was no warning as he stood in the largest gathering of Immortals. A voice spoke, the accent something he had lived with even less time, but infinitely more welcome. "Then what was, little thief?" Connor MacLeod asked, his smile beaming brightly. Richie suddenly hugged him, almost in tears. "Now, Richie," the Highlander said as the redhead finally pulled away, "I wasn't gone *that* long..." Richie punched him in the ribs, still not releasing his other hand from around Connor. "That's not funny, not at all." He sniffled as the taller man laughed, holding his hand out to Michael, introducing himself. Wiping his tears Richie took a gander at the kilt Connor was wearing. "Oh, God, 'loud MacLeod'. Turn it..." Before he could finish, another body pounced on Richie's other side, entwining himself. "Now that Arthur's been stuffed in the broom closet, so to speak, maybe we can get back..." The photographer was interrupted as the redhead he was with earlier shoved into the huddle, connecting herself with Gregor and Michael. The knight cleared his throat behind a leather gloved fist. "May I introduce Rebecca Dupre, 'Gwen' to her friends... and lovers." The lady graciously nodded, her tresses shimmering in the sun, highlighted by the green gown she wore. "Gwen, this is Richie, Connor, and Michael..." He was once more interrupted as a dark haired woman shoved her way between Connor and Michael. "You wouldn't believe how friggen hard it is to find you all." Amanda flashed a smile around the circle, frowning at Rebecca's disapproving face. "Oh, pooh. We're all family here..." "What's this about family?" Duncan asked, barreling between Connor and Richie. The younger Highlander looked as healthy as the night Richie met him. "You look... a lot better, Mac, I mean..." Richie said, as Fitz slid in by Michael and Amanda. Duncan just rolled his eyes. "Good skin, you know. It..." he began. "...RUNS IN THE FAMILY!" everyone yelled. The group was reduced to laughter as Grace slid her way in between Duncan and Richie. The noise around the circle quieted, Richie noticing Phillipe on the statue, motioning for silence. The Frenchman smiled as everyone turned and faced him. "I know this is exciting for all of us..." Murmured words of agreement wove through the crowd. "But Mamie says to tell you the food is ready in the Town Hall, and if you let *any* of it get cold, well... she *was* the only one of us to use a meat cleaver as her weapon of choice. So why don't you find a new arrival, and show them where we party at." The noise from the crowd grew to a deafening level as everyone started talking at once. Richie watched Gregor and Rebecca move off arm in arm, gossiping animatedly to each other. Fitz offered both arms gallantly to the two other women, both graciously accepting. Richie turned to Duncan, noticing he and Michael were lost in quiet conversation, things their abrupt parting had left unsaid. In moments, the square was deserted, except for a lone person resting against the statue's pedestal. As Richie drew closer, the long scar on the man's cheek loomed. "Well, boy," the lawman drawled, "I didn't think you had it in you. I was... surprised." Richie leaned back against the pedestal next to Mako. "Thanks. Where the hell have you been hiding?" The balding man laughed, his gravelly voice as familiar to Richie as his own. "Here and there. Nice place you got." "So, here we are. When does Miss America come out in a bikini and hand me my prize?" Richie noticed the clouds didn't move, even though a stiff breeze was blowing, ruffling the flag atop the building across the street. "At this point, I'd settle for Ursa in a bath robe." Mako pointed, his arm crossing Richie's view. "I think that man there can help you." Richie turned his head, spotting the figure standing next to him... < > < > < > < > < > < > < > < > < > ...on the plain of white. No horizon, no shapes, just the two of them. The gentleman had his gray hair pulled back, reveling the hawklike face. Pompously dressed, immaculately tailored, he wore enough jewelry to dower the Queen of England. The man bowed, scraping the surface they stood on with his hand, a court bow like none other. "I am Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, at your service, otherwise known..." "...as the Green Knight. I already know this story," Richie added, crossing his arms in exasperation. "Tell me something new." "I was going to mention being Chief Metallurgist, but you want something new." The Egyptian collected Richie with his arm, walking the redhead across the featureless space. "I am a Guide. Specifically, your Guide." "What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asked, surprised as the other stopped. A voice sounded behind him, making his spin. "It means, young lad, that Ramirez will help you as you go on." For a second, Richie thought the newcomer was Joe, but this man had no injury. He looked ageless, and something sparkled in his eyes. A brief flash from what was left of Arthur whisked by, a name. "Merlin," Richie announced. The man bowed also, grinning. "And what are you doing here? I seem to recall that you aren't an Immortal." "I am the Judge, Master Richard. I see to it that you are declared the legitimate winner." The mortal wizard approached, forming the third point of their triangle. "I know what you're about to ask," he said, holding up a hand as Richie opened his mouth. "No, I did not 'rig' it so that you would be the last. In truth, this Game was one I did *not* play in. Just observed." *Click* went Richie's brain. "Like the Watchers." Merlin grinned. "My descendent did quite a job, didn't he?" With the sound of a rushing wind, a rectangle of light appeared, almost a doorway in this continual nothing they existed in. From the light came a voice, booming louder than Richie could have imagined. "IS THIS THE CANDIDATE?" Merlin and Ramirez moved to flank Richie. "It is," answered the wizard. "HE HAS PASSED THE TEST OF COMBAT?" Merlin nodded once. "He has. I affirm the victory as Judge of the contest." "HE HAS BEEN PROVIDED A GUIDE?" Ramirez in turn nodded, "He has." "IS THE CANDIDATE READY FOR THE TEST OF CREATIVITY?" Richie turned to Ramirez. "What's that?" Ramirez took a moment, looking deep within the young Immortal. "Your reward, the Prize, is to pass beyond. The next step is to use that which you have collected, all the knowledge, power, and understanding you have received." Ramirez looked behind. "All that they are, and were, are yours. Now it is time to apply it. Another test." "What if I fail?" Richie asked. Merlin turned the redhead around. "No less than what you have already. The Prize is a chance, a chance only you may take." Richie looked behind. "What of them?" The other two turned to look back as well, the faint outlines of a town square visible in the haze. "They rest," Ramirez answered. "Do not worry, lad. They will always be a part of you. And at some future point, they will be there to help you." Richie faced front, absently straightening the black leather jacket he suddenly wore. "I'm ready." "THEN PASS THROUGH," the voice intoned. And Richie, followed by Judge and Guide, stepped through the doorway, as everything exploded into light... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Comments, Please! to... Hobert@aol.com Praise God Almighty, I'm free at last!!!! Special thanks to Marla, Stephan, Bob, Rikie, Claire(!), MaryAnn, especially everyone who encouraged me. I didn't quite know what was happening when I started in May (certainly ending up HERE was a surprise) but it's been a blast. Thank you for your patience, I hope you feel it was worth it. And look for more stories under the title 'Possibilities:' throughout the season. Oh, and one last thing... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * EPILOGUE ---------- It was dark, and empty. Nothing existed except a rotted ball of dust. No sound, no laughter, no tears, no joy, no pain. The mass of dust sat, and waited, time having no meaning in this never changing place. Silence lacked meaning, here where sound never was. Where nothing ever was. A door opened, if you could call it that. Like a person entering the closet, light blazed forth, illuminating the dark. With a rush, sound, love, youth, red, life, pain, anger all exploded, filling that which had not been. The dust was displaced by the sudden presence, moving outward in all directions from the light. "BEGIN" came a voice, the nothingness trembling at the power of the word. And as the void grew smaller, as the light ignited, as everything suddenly *was*, a soft sound grew, following the dust ever outward. A wordless song, humming, until words began in this place of beginnings. "Hush little baby, don't say a word..." =========================================================================