Date: Tue, 22 Mar 1994 21:37:14 -0600 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Alejandro Melchor Lombardo Subject: FIREBORN_II_[Part_1] First of all, I want to thank those who sent their comments on the first installment of Fireborn; they were greatly appreciated, this is the second adventure of Jorge De Aragon, where more of the Curse is revealed, as well as his much self-reviled human side. ----- CHRONICLES OF THE FIREBORN ----- II. VENI, VIDI... (Part 1) Michael Cunningham was uneasy, his fingers fidgeted with the telephone cord as the tone thumped against his already frail nerves. "Bueno?", answered a raspy voice acroos the long distance connection. "Doctor De Aragon?", he asked. "Yes, it's me, Michael. Have you got something for me?" "Er, yes; I am scheduled to execute an immortal the day past tomorrow". "Where?" "El Paso, Texas; it's on the border with..." "Ciudad Juarez; I know", the voice interrupted, sending shivers along Michael's spine, "thank you for the information, Michael. Stay in touch". The line went dead. Michael carefuly put the phone down and cried; he could feel De Aragon's presence in his mind and knew that it would be there until he died or went mad, whatever happened first. On the other side of the line, Doctor Jorge De Aragon was making plans, anticipating possibilities and pondering the recent past. The Hunters, the splinter group of Watchers bent on the assassination of all immortals, had tried to off him, mistaking him for one of those misterious people. "Just because I happen to be...what?...a couple of thousands years old?", he grumbled as he rose out of bed, it was still dark; dawn would not come soon but neither would sleep, so he went to the kitchen of his apartment in Delegacion Tlalpan, a division of the mammoth City of Mexico. He served himself from the coffeemaker and sipped on the hot liquid as he sipped on his memories. The air was clean and cold, his powerful wings beating rithmically as they kept his scaled body airborne; against all caution, he had disobeyed the Elders of his Lair and went out to the world, a young dragon full of power. He was not called Jorge De Aragon then; his name was unpronuntiable to the human tongue and held power beyond imagining. He gazed at the world below him and laughed at the pure joy of being there; he torched a patch of trees with his fiery breath and used the sudden thermal current to rise higher in the air. The loud ring of his clock returned him to his human truth and reminded him of his human life. He threw the cup he was holding against the wall, where it bounced, rather than break. He was not superstitious; but he was no sceptic either. "Time for class", he told himself, giving his red-brown hair a half-hearted brush and putting on the same clothes he had worn the day before. As usual, his day was a living hell, trying to convey the knowledge of ages past to the unwilling minds of his students. "Yes, profe", a young girl interrupted his lecture, "but the Bible says that..." "What the Bible says, Jessica", he interrupted in turn, "is irrelevant to this class; we are discussing the history and cultural values of the Aztecs; not religion". He supressed a laugh at the shocked face of the girl, she was a perfect example of why he hated the general courses such as this one called "Valores socioculturales de Mexico y Latinoamerica", a long name for a short course that the students pragmatically refered to as "Humanities II". This kind of courses was open and mandatory to all students of the ITESM system, regardless of their levels of interest. He much prefered his lectures to the students of Medieval Literature. "Profesor", asked another girl; one that actually _knew_ what she was asking about, "regarding the imagery of Quetzalcoatl, do you think that it can be used to prove the existence of Atlantis?" "Excuse me?", De Aragon was highly amused. "Yes; I mean, Quetzalcoatl is the feathered serpent, a clear dragon motive; such motives are found across most ancient cultures, such as the chinese, the..." "I know which ones, Claudia, thank you, and no;", this time, Jorge's smile had a twinge of sadness, "it doesn't prove nothing save that dragons possibly existed". After announcing to his class that he was to be absent from the city due to academic business, he quickly grabbed his already made luggage from his office and called a cab. "Sorry, sir", the clerk at the airport told him, "but there are no seats to Ciudad Juarez until tomorrow". "But I want to leave today", Jorge said as his eyes fixed on those of the clerk, "and I _will_ leave today". "Maybe...there is...something", she said and typed at her computer. "Look," Jorge pointed, "there's a seat". "But it's taken!". "No; it's not. Look again" "Yes...you are...right. I...am sorry". "Don't be, girl; it's probably a system crash". Of all the little pleasures that modern life spared him, one of the most useful were computers. De Aragon greatly enjoyed the machines' high susceptibility to his limited reality warping powers. He looked at his ticket and smiled, remembering the number of hidden operations he'd made at autobanks without ever having a credit card. He ordered some water at the waiting lounge and concentrated; he focused on the image of Michael Cunningham, the Hunter whose life he had spared in exchange of service. "I will arrive at 6 P.M. at Juarez Airport, I will cross the border on foot at the downtown bridge; meet me there". He opened his eyes, relying on the man's own fear to keep the link to his mind untouched. At last; he was going to meet one of those immortals. He had traveled in planes before, but this time the huge airliner seemed to take great pains in showing him that, despite it's bulk, it could fly, and he could not. But he remembered the feel of lightning-ridden clouds, the thrill of thunder below, instead of above. He'd been away from the Lair for over a week, and was preying heavily upon the countryside. He was feeling the raw power of the storm throughout his body, of all he could recall, never in his life had such power cursed through him once again. He noticed that several bolts of lightning were converging on a mountaintop, and headed there to investigate. He was welcomed by the most unlikely of sights: that of a man trapping lightning in a wooden pole. "You have come, great lizard", the man addressed him. "Who are you?", he said as he perched nearby, sputtering the primitive human language the man had used. "I go by many names, but that is not the issue". Wise, thought the dragon, he wishes not to reveal his Name to me. "And what might the issue be?", the young dragon asked curious, this was the first human being not to run in fear on sight of him. "The issue of what you can do for me". "You dare!" he laughed, small flames licking his lips. "Oh, yes; and you better answer to my request or the consequences can be...unpleasant". "Ha, ha!, unpleasant for who, manling?" "For us both; you would die, and I wouldn't have my pint of dragon's blood". "You want a pint of my blood", he said a little worried, "for what purpose?" "That, I won't tell" "YOU WILL TELL ME", he roared as his red-glowing eyes searched the man's mind. "Im...Immor...tal...GET OFF MY MIND!" The mental backlash was more harmful for the man than for the dragon but, nevertheless, Jorge was dazed and surprised that a human could resist him, but not as surprised as when he was aware of the man's purpose. "Immortality is not for your kind", he roared angrily, advancing upon the tiny figure. Even if he was a dragon of lesser rank, Jorge had known that his Kin were guardians of a great secret; he didn't yet know what, but it was something only the greatest of beings could possess. "But I want it!" the man shouted while pointing his pole, and all the lightning it had trapped was released in the young dragon's direction. Thunder boomed and shook the plane's windows, and Jorge woke up suddenly, the stewardess was announcing that the landing was being delayed due to the weather. Damn, damn, damn, he thought. He felt no obligation on punctuality regarding the Hunter, but if the fool decided to depart, De Aragon would miss the chance of meeting the immortal. Before the Curse he was able to shift his body through space, that's how his Kin entered and left the Lair, but now he was constrained by the comings and goings of human transportation. The delay was not too long, and he was able to cross the border, he got past the checkpoint by locking eyes with the american officer and making his own presence to be forgotten. He wanted his belongings to remain unmolested by customs officers. He saw the Hunter inside an old car, parked and doing his best to remain inconspicuous. He was succeeding. Jorge tapped on the driver's window and Michael almost hit the ceiling. Almost trembling, the Hunter unlocked the copilot's door just before Jorge entered. "Did you...er...have a nice trip?", Michael asked. "No", Jorge answered just for the joy of tormenting his victim. "Eh; I'm sorry". "Just take me to the immortal". "Yes, yes", Michael started the car and headed for the freeway. Neither spoke in a while, and little beads of sweat adorned Cunningham's brow. Jorge saw this and was disgusted by the man's lack of willpower. "You shouldn't be so scared, Michael; I said I was not going to kill you and I won't", he said, and he wasn't lying. Something that he had clinged in the years following the Curse was his word. The sacredness of his oaths was all that remained of his draconic self, and it was that that allowed him to stay sane; his ferocious honesty an excuse and proof that he was still Man's superior. "You...killed my friends". "They were trying to kill me; it was self-defense". "They had families..." "Don't try to take me along on your guilt trip, Michael, you call yourselves Hunters; respect, then, the Hunt. By hunting the immortals you risk your life and should be prepared to loose it". Michael was silent. "It wasn't your fault, either.", Jorge said in a gentler tone, "They were reckless and I proved to be better than them". "You don't feel anything for their deaths?", at last, Jorge heard defiance in the Hunter's voice, "No remorse?" "No". "You are a monster. We are right, you should all die". A monster; perhaps he was one. "I told you once: I am not human; your morals don't apply to me. If I was the monster you claimed, you would be dead; as your wife". "How do you...?", Michael almost loses control of the car. "I linked with your mind, that's why you knew I was arriving". "But you phoned me!" "No, I didn't; your little rationalizing mind convinced you that I had phoned". The Hunter went quiet again. "Believe me, Michael; as I hold power over you, you hold power over me: I am bound by my word not to kill you and now I bind myself further by swearing that I will not harm you nor your wife". Michael stared wide eyed at Jorge, not wanting to believe. "I don't expect your trust; I just want you to stop quivering like a giant pile of jell-O". Michael chuckled in spite of himself, Jorge just reclined his head and said: "Wake me when we reach the immortal". His great body was singed where lightning had struck, but he was still alive and very, very angry. The wizard saw his smoking staff and turned his head to look at the dragon rising on his hinder legs and rearing his head, where a loud intake of air could be heard. "You should be dead! Dead! DEAAIIIIAAARRRGHHHH!!!" Jorge had leaped and impaled the man on his talons, lifting the squirming body to the height of his eyes. "It is you who will be dead!", the words could still be heard through the bubbling and cracking of the dragon's inner fire. The fire was released in a loud explosion of fiery hate; of the wizard, not even the ashes remained. Still furious, Jorge sailed the wind; in his weakened state, the thunder brought no joy but rage, a rage that was loosed on many of the villages the dragon found on his flight. "Doctor, wake up". Once again, Jorge rose from the pit of remembrance. "We are here". "Where else could we be". "I'm renting a room across the street, we can watch from there". They entered a small building and climbed to the third floor. De Aragon checked with his mind for more Watchers or Hunters, but none were around. Michael handed him a small telescope. "It's the one on the counter", he said pointing to a cafeteria. Jorge looked and assessed: a lithe body, strong movements, eyes of a murderer. "At last..." CONTINUED... =========================================================================