Date: Tue, 11 Oct 1994 11:14:56 +0100 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: MB Overton Subject: "End of the Road" Part 7 (and last) Here we are. Final episode. Enjoy. (PS : I like Jacquie Groom's story as well. Just to combine two messages and save the university some costs. :) ) HIGHLANDER "End of the Road" Part 7 The two men in the car outside never knew what hit them. Duncan's unreasoning fury and Flint's general dislike of what these men had done meant that they moved with such stealth and skill that the two men barely had time to understand what was happening before their throats were cut by the doublesword and katana. Duncan felt no pride, only a kind of grim satisfaction. He would reserve his sense of completion for when he and Flint found Maire. They dragged the bodies out of the car and Duncan began to search the vehicle for any clues as to Maire's location while Flint did the same thing with the bodies. The only object in the car, though, was a torch with one battery missing. Flint's search of the bodies had also turned up nothing, and Duncan felt like screaming his anger up into the night. "Wait a minute," Flint said suddenly. "Sniff." Duncan blinked. "What?" "Sniff. Can't you smell it?" Flint sniffed. "Salty...that's brine. This car's been down by the docks somewhere." "The docks," Duncan said. He ran across the square and leapt into the Thunderbird, waiting impatiently as Flint sauntered over and started to climb in. The car's engine revved and it shot off, toppling Flint over backwards into the back seat. Duncan ignored his muffled but indignant protests as they swept onto the main route, heading for the docks at well over the speed limit. It was a good job that it was late at night, with no other cars and no police. "Grief, Macleod," Flint's voice said, and his head appeared in the car's rear-view mirror, looking hassled and irritated. "What are you trying to do, kill me?" "You'll live," Duncan said with terse amusement as the older immortal climbed into the passenger seat and strapped himself in just in time to hang on for dear life as he whirled the Thunderbird around a corner onto a new street. "I'm beginning to doubt that," Flint muttered. Duncan grinned. "I'm a good driver. Don't worry." "Says you," Flint retorted. Duncan smiled again, and then lost the smile in favour of a hesitant expression. "Flint...I'm sorry." "For what?" "For mistrusting you, believing you could do all that." Duncan paused, trying to find the right words. "I was going on my memories of your past, my past, what you used to do. You always used to leave everyone else in trouble and skip out yourself." Flint looked tired and closed his eyes. "I still do. For six thousand years I've never faced the music, as the saying goes, without trying to get out of it. In many ways, Duncan, you're twice as courageous as I have ever been, even when I was your age." For the first time, in a sideways glance as they approached the docks and slowed, Duncan saw the lines on Flint's face. Not quite age lines, but something else. Experience, possibly. Time, most likely. "You don't like this world, do you?" he asked. Flint shook his head. "No. I've never been truly happy since the British Empire started the Industrial Revolution last century. It's taken me a hundred and twenty years to get up the courage to ask someone to end it all for me." He opened his eyes. "One last act, Duncan. We find Maire and we take her head. One last act." Duncan didn't respond, because his sixth sense was reacting to the presence of a third immortal. Maire was there alright, just up ahead in a dark warehouse. Flint's eyes showed that he too had picked her up - and undoubtedly Maire would have realised that there were still two immortals coming after her, that Flint had not killed Duncan as her plan had anticipated. Duncan smiled grimly; her first mistake. He picked up the katana from the resting place and got out of the car. ... "Come on, Richie Ryan," Maire said with a tone like a mother telling an awkward child what to do. She undid some of the ropes holding Richie to the chair and jerked him to his feet with her left hand, her sword in her right. Richie had no doubt that Maire would kill him if he tried to escape, so at this point he was careful to do as she directed. They left the dark anteroom and stepped out into the only slightly lighter main part of the warehouse. The other mercenaries of Maire's were waiting there, talking in low voices. One or two dull red points glowed in the darkness, indicating some were smoking. Richie's nose caught a whiff of marijuana from somewhere. "Put those out," Maire ordered. The red points vanished. "Now listen, all of you. Macleod and Flint are here. You all take up sniper positions as we planned so you can hit them wherever they are. I don't want them to have even a scrap of cover." "And I thought immortals had a sense of honour," Richie said. Maire's sword pricked his throat. "Quiet, Richie Ryan. You speak when you're told to." Richie could have kept silent. He didn't want to. "You're just like Flint and Mac. You live the same. Act the same. Meet them one-on-one like you're supposed to. What sort of a win is it if it's done by cheating?" "A safe one." But he could feel Maire hesitate. He pressed home what he hoped was his advantage. "You can meet them now, properly. I don't know what's going on between you guys but you don't have to cheat. If you die fighting them properly, they'll remember you. If you die later on, they're only going to say Maire was a bitch who cheated and beat up mortals like - " Cold steel slashed across his stomach and Richie felt blood well up in his mouth. He choked and coughed and dropped to the floor with a dull thud like a sack of potatoes, blood dribbling from his mouth and oozing from the open wound in his chest. Maire glared down at the unmoving teenager and then turned to the mercenaries. "Go. Leave. You've been paid." The mercenaries hesitated and Maire lifted her sword menacingly, the blade still stained with Richie's blood. "Go!" The mercenaries turned and ran, their footsteps' echoes fading away into silence and darkness. Maire was left standing in a pool of faint moonlight from a skylight high in the warehouse roof, Richie's still form on the floor beside her. She glanced at him briefly and then turned as the doors of the dock side of the warehouse parted to reveal a single tall figure, the long blade of a katana in his hand. Someone a foot shorter joined him, a curved doublesword ready. "Come on in." Maire's voice trembled and she cursed herself for her weakness as Duncan and Flint entered the warehouse warily, looking round for any sign of a trap. Maire watched their suspicions silently and waited as they slowly made their way towards her. She hefted her sword. "Stay back, Flint. I want Duncan first." "Perhaps - " Flint began. "No." Duncan cut him off. "I want her too." He had caught side of the wounded Richie and gestured towards him. "See to Richie." Flint moved across to the unconscious (or dead? A part of Duncan's mind worried horribly) teenager as Maire and Duncan began to circle each other warily, each looking for an opening. They attacked simultaneously and bright blue sparks flew as their blades clashed with a clang of metal. Maire backed off but Duncan came on, the image of a bleeding disorientated Tessa high in his mind, the wounded Richie in the corner of his vision. He lunged forward and Maire barely parried. She ducked to one side and flipped her sword backwards in a move Duncan recognised as being one he'd taught her long ago. He parried quickly and she turned his movement into a thrust of her own, making him step back. A grim smile of satisfaction flashed across her face, replaced by total dedication as she went on attacking, back and forth, driving Duncan slowly backwards step by step. He knocked each thrust aside but Maire had grown quick over the decades since he'd last fought her, and there was no time for him to make attacks of his own. Very slowly Maire was pushing him backwards, Flint watching from the side with concern but no intention of intervening in this fight. This was their own. Maire smashed her sword into Duncan's katana with a force that jarred the bones in his arm. She swept at his legs and he barely stepped back in time, then had to bring up the katana to block a swing that would have taken his head off in one go. Effort showed in his eyes, illuminated demoniacally by the sparks from their clashing blades. Maire smirked, certain she had him now. And with that smirk something snapped in Duncan. He lunged forward and now it was Maire's turn to defend, stepping back again and again before the furious lunges of the highlander, the katana seeming to be everywhere at the same time, almost impossible for her to block. She felt desperation shiver through her and for the first time the taste of defeat flooded her mouth, the taste of loss. She flicked her sword up to meet a particularly savage attack... ...and Duncan saw, as if in slow motion, the blade of the katana sweep past Maire's sword and shear through her forearm with no more effort than if he was going through hot butter. Maire's scream of agony echoed over and over through the cavernous interior of the warehouse as her hand and wrist, still gripping the sword, tumbled to the ground. She stared at the bloody red-raw stump of her arm and was unable to stop her knees from buckling as she went into sudden shock. She dragged her eyes away and stared up at Duncan, watching her with grim satisfaction. "I'm sorry," she said. Duncan's expression did not change. "Not. Good. Enough." The katana whistled as it knifed through the air and Maire's head was separated from her body. For a moment there was total silence. Electricity and fire roared from Maire's corpse and buried itself in Duncan, ravaging through the very centres of his being. His world exploded in fire and light as the immortal woman's Quickening transferred itself, burying itself in his synapses, relining his neurons as residual electric charges earthed themselves on the floor of the warehouse in great sparks of explosions. A roaring sound filled the air and Duncan was sent staggering back as a gale of wind tore at his clothing, threatening to yank the sword from his hand. He could feel Maire's essence entering him, her entire existence merging with his - - and it all stopped. Duncan wavered, nearly fell to his knees, but stopped himself from doing so just in time. Flint was still crouched by Richie, covering his head with his arm; he knew how dangerous having an interloper immortal nearby while there was a Quickening change going on could be. The three pieces of Maire - forearm, body, head - were scattered nearby and Duncan looked at them with sadness. He carried Maire within him now, and he wished he had forgiven her in that last second before taking her head. Her essence existed inside his mind and Duncan truly understood her for the first time ever. Flint stood up. "Well done, Duncan." "Thanks. How's Richie?" "Young and strong. He'll heal." Duncan nodded and was about to examine Richie when Flint stopped him and moved him away. As Duncan watched Flint folded the doublesword and dropped it at their feet with a clang. Richie stirred uneasily at the sound but did not wake. Flint looked up at Duncan. "Time I left." Duncan didn't understand for a moment, but suddenly he did. "No. Not now, not like this. Not here. How can I take your head in a place like this?" "Because I ask it," Flint said. "Do you know something? You're the only immortal who has never - and I mean never - refused me anything. You've been reluctant, but you've never actually refused me anything. Women excepted, of course." He grinned. "And because you, of all the immortals in the world, are the one I want to take my head. Sooner or later, if you don't, my tiredness is going to get the better of me and someone else, possibly an evil someone else, will take my head. I can't have that. I don't want that at all. Please, Duncan." He laughed suddenly. "I think that's the first time I've ever said please to you and meant it, you know that?" Duncan looked indecisive. "So many misunderstandings in the past two days, Flint...can't we sort it all out?" Flint smiled. "We have done, Duncan. We have done." He pulled the collar of the shirt he wore away. "Goodbye, Duncan. Say goodbye to Tess and Richie for me too." Duncan looked at his katana. Never had he been so reluctant to own it before. He lifted it like it was a dead weight, held it behind his head for a moment. Flint closed his eyes. The katana swept round. As the body hit the ground Duncan threw the katana aside into the darkness of the warehouse. Again there was that instant of total silence and stillness. A breeze began to get up, building into a gale and then a hurricane. Flint's body glowed so brightly he couldn't look at it...and then the first blast came. It was more powerful and more incredible than he'd ever known, lifting him off his feet and tossing him like a rag doll, the warehouse lit up like day and explosions everywhere. Duncan almost lost consciousness as the world erupted in blinding white, all around him, his physical form shaken like he was in a centrifuge, overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of the Quickening which was tearing at him. He felt his personality, his very mind, shake and shiver under the onslaught as his brain was bombarded by the force of the dead immortal's essence. It went on, and it went on. Duncan hovered on the edge of insanity, battered and bruised by fields of reality that intermixed and jarred and threatened to tear him apart. Only gradually did the wind lessen, and the energy lightning of the Quickening fade in intensity and power, the details of the warehouse and of the physical frame impinging themselves on his consciousness again. Duncan was lying sixty feet away from where he'd been, his clothes ripped almost to shreds and his body a mass of bruises. He felt weak, like every single ounce of strength he'd ever possessed had been stolen from him. It was like being a newborn baby. With a tremendous effort, he managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl towards Richie. His strength was returning but it still took him nearly fifteen minutes to traverse just those sixty feet. He was just able to stand as he reached Richie, but he had to drag the teenager to a wheeled loader platform; he couldn't have carried him. Duncan pushed Richie out of the warehouse towards the car. Then he came back and arranged Flint and Maire's bodies in a pyre in the centre of the warehouse. Their swords he kept with him as he surveyed the two bodies a final time, surrounded by firewood. "Goodbye," he murmured, his voice weak and hoarse. He tossed a single match onto the wood, which he'd soaked with petrol. As the pyre began to burn Duncan left the warehouse without looking back and climbed exhaustedly into the Thunderbird. ... EPILOGUE Tessa jerked awake as she heard the door open. Her sleep had been uneasy, filled with dreams of men with machine guns and knives slashing at her, mixed in with Flint and Duncan's faces. Her eyes widened in alarm as a tall gaunt figure appeared in the doorway; then she realised it was Duncan, swaying slightly with exhaustion and shock but still there. He moved across to the bed, each step an effort, and fell onto the sheets with a murmur of tiredness. "It's over," he whispered, tenderly running a hand through her hair. "Flint?" Tessa asked. Duncan's expression didn't change from its weariness, though his eyes shone suddenly. "He's here, Tessa. I can feel him. He'll never go away from us. He's part of me now." Tessa looked at Duncan with deep, deep love. She kissed him very gently on the forehead and then allowed him to fall back onto the sheets of the bed. She knew from experience he would sleep for a long time now. And so would she. ...THE END... Please send a few comments! I'm a shy creature, I like feedback :) =========================================================================