Date:         Fri, 17 Mar 1995 00:48:35 -0800
Reply-To:     Noah Johnson <streak@WELL.SF.CA.US>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Noah Johnson <streak@WELL.SF.CA.US>
Subject:      Excerpts From The Diaries Of Methos Part One

Part One of what may wind up being a long series, depending on how
long my interest holds up.  Feel free to do other excerpts, it's a
long diary.

EXCERPTS FROM THE DIARIES OF METHOS
By Noah Johnson

This story is copyright 1995, by Noah Johnson.  Permission is given to
reproduce it, in its entirety, and including this notice.

April 11, AD 537
[Translated from the Old English]
Arthur lies dying.  The bastard Mordred slew him on the field of
Camlann yesterday.  The battle was the same as it always has been, but
for two things.  The king who fought was of a breed I have seen but
rarely, and the sword he wielded was of a breed I have never seen.
Caliburn will be mine.  Arthur has commanded that it be returned to
the supernatural world whence he acquired it, but such a blade will
not be lost to mankind if I have say in the matter.  Besides,
supernatural is one of the words that has been used to describe me, so
in a manner of speaking I have a right to it.
_Later_
Merlyn seeks to deny me the sword.  He says that his creation has
fulfilled its destiny, and may now depart the world with the king he
forged it for.  I argued with him, saying that such a blade deserves
an eternal legacy such as one of our kind could give it, but he is
adamant.  They may call him a wizard, but I know better.  He is but a
man.  Immortal, and a swordsmith without peer, but no spellworker.  I
believe now that no such exist.  I suspect that he has begun to
believe the stories they tell about him; this cannot be a good thing.
I will have Caliburn, Merlyn or no.

April 12, AD 537
Merlyn is dead.  This morning I claimed Caliburn from the lakebed
where that doltish soldier threw it, though it took me many hours and
three drownings.  It is truly a blade worthy of eternity.  It weighs
seemingly nothing in the hand, with an edge keen enough to cut a
thunderbolt in two.  I have seen Merlyn split a stone with it, and
Arthur cut through men's shields.  Who can say what it will do in my
hands?
As I pulled myself, wet and weed-draped, from the water, I felt Merlyn
approach.  He was furious.  He said that no century-old upstart
wouldtake the blade.  I told him the truth about me.  He did not
believe me.  He drew his own sword, another of his fantastic
creations.  It proved to not be the equal of Caliburn.  I did not
relish his Quickening, though he brought it on himself.  I never
wanted to fight him, but he made a sacred cow of the sword.  One of
the things the years have taught me is never to hold anything too
sacred.  It will only hurt you in the end, and limit your mind along
the way.  I am sorry that he had to die.  Still, there can be only
one.  I know that better than any.
The sword is truly the stuff of legend.
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