Date: Wed, 27 Sep 1995 19:06:00 +0100 Reply-To: Sascha Regh Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Sascha Regh Organization: S.Regh Subject: From The Dawn Of Time They Came Part 4 Err, I have a bit of a problem. Must have missed the information somehow, but in what town the series actually takes place? I know it is filmed in Vancouver, but somehow I think I heard the name Seattle somewhere. Anyway, should I be wrong with Seattle, please substitute it further down with the correct name. Another thing has to do with readability. Someone complained that in the dialogues it was often hard to distinguish between the speakers. When I re- read the text, I usually put in some extra 'Y said' and 'X said's to make that easier. The alternative would be to start an extra line/paragraph for everything somebody says. I don't like the idea very much, however, if others would prefer that style as well, I will change it. I also put it that way in the last conversation in this part, since I did not want to interrupt it too much. Please let me know what you'd prefer. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- FROM THE DAWN OF TIME THEY CAME Part Four Same Time, New York Yamo went to the apartment again, carefully watching out for any signs of the Shadow. But he neither felt the Shadow near, not any quickening. Maybe the Shadow had found a trace of Connor MacLeod and had given up to look for Isis for the time being. Maybe he had found one of them. 'Hey, no need for nightmares, Yamo. Isis can take care of herself.' he thought. But he knew she was pretty helpless in the last stages of her pregnancy. Anyway, now the way into her apartment was free for him. That was, if he ever got around opening that lock. Hell, they really had improved over the last decades. He should not have stayed out of the game that long. He should have stayed in Seattle; maybe he could have gotten some information out of either Joe or Duncan once he definitely knew that the Shadow was on the loose again. He should have placed that add in The Times as soon as he had left his Indian hideout. He should open that lock now. A click finally told him he had managed that. He went into the flat. Just as he had expected, tastefully and expensively furnished. In the short time since she had come to America from Cairo she had done a good job. As usual. He came into the kitchen, and when he took a closer look at the table he saw that she must indeed have left in a hurry. On the dirty plate in the kitchen he saw mould in at least 4 different colours. Maybe he should donate it to a botanical museum. He went into the living room, that looked as if a hurricane had blown through it. Seemed the Shadow had been here already. But Isis was not in the habit of leaving notes out in the open. Not important ones, at least. He looked around for a chronic of any kind. He only found one, a 'History of the Civil War'. *The* civil war - he could remember a few more than one. Well, it was a chronic. So he grabbed a piece of paper and started to decode the message that was left in it by underlining letters. It did not tell him a lot more than he already knew. Isis was pregnant, the password for her bank account, her Internet address, her CompuServe address, (at least something useful) then the suspicion that the Shadow might be on the loose again, no word from Menes yet, Yamo was back again (he knew that much already), the address of someone who could provide papers (very useful), and as a last entry, a growing suspicion of the Shadow around. It was just like Menes not to be around when he was needed. Well, he had not been there, either. He added another entry, that he had been here, that the shadow was definitely around, although he knew not in which shape, that he had not found any trace of Conner MacLeod yet, and that he would get himself an online address as well, and post it in The Times, as usual. He left, only taking a set of spare keys he had found in a drawer. Seemed he would not be able to avoid buying a computer after all. He went to a bank to draw money. He could not help grinning when he imagined the face to the bank manager of a big and very old private bank when they received a letter that advised them to transfer a great deal of money from an account that had been opened 500 years ago and was untouched for more than 200 years. But he had to acknowledge the integrity of the bank - the money had arrived. That was the advantage of banks with traditions - they stuck to them. 'Whenever you receive a letter with a certain code, transfer money from this and that account where ever the letter says.' And the amount - well, that had been a lesson in compound interest. That was almost better than to bury treasures and dig them out again a few hundred years later. The stuff became hard to sell, and sometimes another digger had been there already. On the other hand, gold never went bankrupt, or was closed, or turned into a shareholder's company. He went into the next computer store and left it with a laptop, a lot less cash and the definite feeling that he had been duped by that smart salesman. Well, if it did not work, he would be back. Then he went into the next book shop and stood speechless in front of the seemingly endless shelf with computer books. He finally left it with a few books and the phone number of the man who had sold them and the knowledge that at least he would not sleep alone tonight. Later that night he lay in bed and smiled like a cat that had just found the cream pot. He looked down at the blond head next to him that was snoring peacefully, and he rubbed his aching wrist. Sure he had to learn about computers, and he'd better learn fast, but not on one day. Anyhow, he had managed to send a message to Isis' address - e-mail, that was called now. At least he hoped that he had sent it to the right address. Not that anybody else would be able to read it, save maybe an expert in ancient languages. He did not really understand how the message could possibly get to her when he had no idea where she was, but Jeremiah - the guy from the bookstore - had been certain about that. Well, he'd see. And now he'd call it a night. He felt a hand wandering up his legs. Oh well, maybe he'd call it a night just a bit later. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Same time, Seattle Isis lay on Joe's couch, reading a book, and the baby lying on her belly. Then she put the book aside and stared at the ceiling. He baby moved, and she looked at it. Definitely hungry. She sat up, and put it at her breast, where is started sucking. She stared at the opposite wall now. 'Isis, there is in not written down, either!' she told herself. She had to come to a conclusion what to tell Joe. Not that he knew nothing of it. After all, he had seen the baby *born*. But could she trust him. Would he not tell other watchers, or worse, Duncan. What if the Watcher was a Hunter? Admittedly, the last thought was not very likely, but it had happened before. She looked down at the baby again: "I wish I had your problems. Milk and dry nappies and dry nappies and milk. You have no idea how much I envy you." Joe walked home wrapped in his thoughts. He was more that a bit confused. Tonight he had put a glass of whisky in front of a customer who *never* drank any alcohol. He would never forget the mans look. Not to mention half a dozen shattered glasses, forgotten orders, wrong change..... When Duncan had dropped by to say hello he had stared at his friend as if he were a ghost. He just hoped that Duncan had believed him when he said he thought he was developing a flu. He was still wondering whether he should have told his friend about Isis. But then he had remembered how fond Duncan was of children, and the seemingly endless patience he had with them. He knew it was hard for his friend to come to terms with the fact that he never would have any children. Might he not, when he heard of Isis, try everything? Even an honourable man like Duncan could act out of despair. He opened the door and went in. On the couch Isis lay with the baby on her belly, shirt open to the waist. Obviously both had decided to take a nap in the middle of the baby's nightly meal. Then he saw Isis opening an eye and then the other and she said: "Hi Joe." "Hello Isis, feeling better?" "Yes, thanks. And thanks for not bothering me with too many questions today. I *was* tired. I know you must be dying with curiosity." Her stomach growled, and Joe said: "Let's make a deal. I cook something, and you tell me a story." "Now that's blackmail!" she smiled. When they had sat down for a late dinner, she began: "I am immortal, and I can have children. I fact, they are all my children - somehow" "Who?" asked Joe. "The immortals." Joe's eyes bulged, he swallowed, got it in the wrong throat, started coughing, and was pretty sure he did not look very intelligent at the moment. He was equally sure, though, that she had spoken the truth. "Right," he said, when he had caught himself, "tell me more." "It all started a very long time ago. I can't tell you exactly when, because my people had no calendar. If it was more than a lifetime ago, it was a very long time ago. My mother was a wise woman. She could call the powers." "Which powers?" "The powers of heaven and earth, fire and water. I was supposed to follow her. So I learned that. While I had very little difficulty to call the powers of the earth, the other three eluded me. I just could not master them properly. I could call them, but they did not always answer. There had never been anything like this before. I mean, either they answer or they don't. There is not 'Sometimes Yes and Sometimes No'. Either you master them, or you don't." "So what was wrong?" "Well, I had a brother. You see, the powers were not for man to handle. I mean, give a woman a knife and she will cut bread. Give a man a knife and he will cut a throat. At least that was what my people said. Actually, I found that to be true as often as not, but man have an unfortunate tendency to solve a problem with force. But be that as it may, for my darling brother the powers were something he should keep his fingers *off*. I mean, you need training to handle them. But the very same training would keep you from using them to destroy. My brother always was a shining example for that proverb, though." "Were you?" "What?" "A shining example for the other half of that proverb?" "Err.... things are hardly ever as black and white as they seem, you know. But I never made throat-cutting a hobby of mine." Joe smiled as she continued. "Anyway, the reason why I had difficulties with the other three powers was simply that he had eavesdropped when my mother was teaching me, and then he had tried for himself. He never mastered the powers of the earth, but he got some grip for the others. That was why I had problems with them as well." "The powers of the earth are the only ones who are not destructive, are they?" "Are you joking? Have you ever seen an earthquake? All of the powers can be used to build or to destroy. You can use them to follow either the light or the darkness." "And he wanted to follow the darkness?" "No, he was not fool enough for that. He wanted power. Power is not of much use when you destroy everything you could possibly rule over. Of course, that is a step into the direction of darkness, but as far as I know he never ever finally yielded to the darkness. Not that that made him a nice guy. He certainly never followed the light, either. In a spiritual sense, his life was pretty pointless. Actually, I am not sure mine makes much more sense, spiritually." "Yes, but what happened? I mean, you people were not immortals, were they?" "No, well, the time came when I was to follow my mother. It had happened before that the wise woman did not master all the powers when she took office, in fact, it took a lifetime to master them anyway. But on that day my brother challenged me. He said the office was his, not mine, since he mastered the powers as well as I did. You should have seen us, Joe. Both of us standing there, naked as we were born, painted with earth colours, screaming at each others at the top of our lungs. Not that the two of us quarrelling was something new for our people. But this time we both wanted to prove that each was the chosen one, and so we used the power. The earth was rumbling, each fire in the camp burning higher than any fire before, a thunderstorm blowing, flashes crashing down, rain pouring from the sky - what a show. And each of us calling every god we could think of to be our witness. Unfortunately, a particularly mischievous example of that species was listening. And just when I was promising my darling brother that I would follow him to the end of the earth to take the powers from him, and he shouted that I would have to take his head first, that god made his appearance." Joe somehow had a feeling that he was slowly beginning to understand. "He told us, that, since we were so serious in that promise, he would grant that to us. None of us would ever rule the powers completely until he had cut the other's head. And we would have time in abundance, since none of us could ever die before that happened. And we should wander about the earth until the feat was done. And we should never have anybody to take the deed from us, like other people. We would be on our own. That was that." Joe looked at the baby. "Yes, I know. But you know, I think that god was not all that omniscient. In our tribe it was not traditionally the child that took over their parents holy deeds, but the grandchildren. That was because if a holy task was assigned to you, that happened not before you were old. And by that time in all likelihood you children had already children they had to care for. And since the preparation for a holy task took a long time anyway, it seemed the ideal way to hand it over not to your child, but to your grandchild. I have never met any tribe that handled that in this way, so I only can assume that the god simply thought we handled that like any other." "So you can have children, but not grandchildren. That is why the others are infertile, but you are not." "Correct." "But we know the parents of some immortals. You can't be their mother!" "No, by no means all of my children are immortal. Some are, some are not. The one here, for example, is mortal. I will see her die some day. But if she has children, and those children have children, and the children of these children, they all carry to power of the quickening in them. And if the mate of any of those children, long into the future, carries the powers as well - than their child might or might not be immortal. So I was a bit generous when I called them all my children." Joe nodded, and then got up and got himself and her a drink. He could not remember when he last had needed a drink *that* much. When he came back, one question was in his mind. "But your brother. Who is he? Do we know him? Is he after you now? And when you meet him, is that the gathering?" "I think you knew him. He liked to call himself Victor the last millennia, a bit over optimistic as usual. I think you knew him as the Kurgan." "But he is dead! How then the gathering could ever happen now!?!" "Seems the gathering won't take place any more. Not if I can prevent it. You see, one thing I have learned. Life is just wonderful!" *S.Regh@puti.dinoco.de* ## CrossPoint v3.02 ## =========================================================================