Date: Tue, 8 Mar 1994 18:08:18 -0700 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Robin Fingerson Subject: Here we go: PROMISES TO KEEP (1/3) This is my first attempt at writing fiction (hey, I usually write user documentation...) and I've been holding on to it until this list started up. So, I will appreciate any an all comments/criticisms/gripes/whatever before the second 'chapter' Ok - here it is, part one of three. Let me know what you think. (-: Be gentle.... Robin robinf@pvi.com _________________________________________ "And Promises to Keep..." Duncan stood in the center of the darkened gym, sweat covering his bare chest as he moved through the precise motions of the long kata with a singularity of purpose that few could achieve. Trembling slightly with the strain, he moved smoothly through the sequence and finally knelt in the center of the mat, eyes closed. He had taken a life today, an old friend, and it added to the weight of the many people he had lost in his lifetime. Mortal and immortal alike passed through his life like smoke. as ephemeral as dreams. It never got any easier, and he never forgot. There had been few times in his four centuries that he had considered his own death. With the Gathering so near, faced with friends turned enemies, he almost wished for an end to it all. Wished the Gathering would sweep upon them, so he would no longer have to look over his shoulder waiting for another immortal's challenge, or distance himeself from the mortals in his life to protect them. The dull pain of loss he felt for Tessa became a pinpoint of agony each time he saw Richie, the rage he felt was almost frightening. He had grown careless, taken risks just to feel that glorious rush of fury, to feel _alive_ again. He was afraid of what that rage could push him to do, if he'd be able to control it or become like so many others of his kind : a remorseless, dedicated hunter. Since Tessa had died, he had flung himself back into the Game, but he hadn't counted on the friends he would have to face in their dwindling numbers as they fought for the Prize. He pushed the thought from his mind, concentrating on control he fought so hard to maintain. He sensed the presence of another immortal long before he heard the footsteps on the concrete stairs, the buzz at the edge of his senses drawing his attention. Upstairs, Richie would feel the presence, too, and Duncan hoped he had enough sense to stay out of sight. A quick glance revealed his katana in it's sheath on the wall, out of reach. Breathing deeply, he waited for the immortal to enter the gym. The sensation became stronger, a pounding that ricocheted through his mind. He closed his eyes wearily. Averroe pushed open the double doors and stood in the dark hallway, watching the smooth rise and fall of Duncan's shoulders. Even in the chill of the room, he was covered in sweat, his hair in a damp ponytail across one shoulder. She pulled of her leather gloves and tucked them into her belt, tied her hair into an unruly knot, her preparations calm and deliberate. . A feral smile lit her features as she stepped through the door. This would be easier than she thought. Duncan heard her tall boots clicking on the gym floor as Averroe walked up behind him. She stopped, watched the muscles in his back tense as he fought the urge to turn and face her. Refusing to move, Duncan said quietly, "If you've come for my head, you'll not be getting a fight tonight." His voice was flat, but she could hear the depair in his tone. He would be an easy target, burdened with the weight of his memories. "Bad manners, Highlander" she said derisively. Duncan rose to his feet smoothly, and turned to face her. "I've been waiting for you. " He stepped back two paces, and turned to grasp the katana, the whisper of steel grating unnaturally in the silence. He held it almost casually, the blade nearly touching the floor, waiting. Averroe smiled, and slipped her long coat off her shoulders. It fell in a heap behind her and she kicked it out of the way. From a long sheath between her shoulders, Averroe drew her blade, a slightly curved sword with a simple guard. The blade gleamed liquid in the dim light as she spun the blade effortlessly. She bowed, and he returned the salute. The challenge was ritualistic and formal, words were unecessary. Each knew the rules and was prepared to live or die by them. She smiled again, almost mocking. Duncan's face was blank, devoid of emotion as he studied his opponent. Tall, and too hard to be beautiful. She hadn't changed much in three centuries, but none of them really did. Averroe shifted her weight with a peculiarly feline grace that he remembered very well. "So you've come." he breathed, "I didn't know if you would." "You have a short memory, Duncan Macleod. I always said I would come." He continued to watch her impassionately. She slid forward gracefully, a tentative thrust with her blade. He stepped back. Averroe grinned, a predatory snarl intended to provoke him. "Coward." They came together in a crash of steel, slid apart like quicksilver. Averroe's gold eyes never left his darker ones, and they crouched, circling in a graceful parody of a dance. Duncan lunged at her, the katana sweeping an arc that barely missed her belly, and Averroe responded by flicking the tip of her sword at his side, touching skin and drawing a thin point of blood. He retreated quickly, a grim smile widening on his face. With a snarl, they clashed again, the blades sweeping in a flashing arc of screaming metal that seemed to hang in the cold air like lightning. The tip of her sword wove through the flickering steel, barely missing his face, and Duncan twisted away. When he turned back, Averroe cracked the pommel on his chin. Duncan staggered back off the mat. A slow trickle of blood ran from his lip and he pulled is free hand across his mouth angrily, tasting blood. "Sassenach! " she spit out scornfully. "You're getting clumsy." "And you're getting old, Averroe." Duncan gritted harshly, reaching forward. His blade slipped down and slashed across her thigh. A dark gout of blood ran down her leg and pooled on the floor. The sheen of blood on his katana snapped him out of his lethargy. He attacked again, advancing aggressively. Averroe's parry was rough as she tried to find her balance on the other foot. But her longsword was there, blocking him. "Better. But you'll have to try harder than that." she said, a touch of laughter in her voice. "You've been out of the game too long." Richie appeared at the top of the staircase, staring down at the pair as they spun. The sensation of Averroe's presence was almost painful, a pounding pain between his eyes. The sheer power of her immortality was oppressive; it locked his breath in his throat as if he had been plunged underwater. He imagined that he would have sensed Darius this way, had be been able to. There was blood everywhere. He vaulted the railing and landed on the gym floor. Duncan and Averroe noticed him at the same time. Richie stood just out of range, looking for something to use as a weapon. Duncan turned his head slightly, keeping his gaze locked on Averroe, and growled, "Stay out of this. " He repeated his warning, finally looking across the gym, and received a slash on his forearm for his trouble. Richie knew the rule: one on one. His presence would distract the two fighters, and it could get his friend killed. "Dammit - get out!" Richie backed out of range, watching as they lunged and parried. They fought with the same strange style, a conglomeration of eastern and western technique, and neither seemed to have the upper hand. This was deadly serious - and they were evenly enough matched that Richie began to fear for his friend. He had seen Duncan fight many times, always with a distinct advantage. Now, Richie couldn't tell if he was holding back or if this woman was a serious threat to him. Again, Duncan lunged at Averroe. The whole scene seemed to be played out in slow motion, each crystalline second stretching interminably to the next. The tip of her blade dropped two inches, and the blow sailed harmlessly past. Expecting resistance, Duncan overextended and she swung her booted foot behind his knee. punctuated it with a back handed blow that snapped his head back. He dropped to the mat, the katana spinning from his hand. Time accelerated to hyperspeed as he hit the ground. Blindingly fast, Averroe was beside him, her booted foot on his chest and her sword poised above his neck. Duncan stared up at her, unblinking, as her cat-like eyes bored into his. Averroe could hear his breath rasping in the complete silence, and the hard pounding of her own heart, could taste the coppery flatness of blood in her mouth. Richie started to move forward, and Averroe's head snapped up like a lioness disturbed at a kill. "Get back!" she growled. He stopped, taking in the frozen tableau with horrified eyes as she held the blade to Duncan's throat, not muscle moving as she poised over the fallen man. "Well, Highlander. Is this what you want? If you want to go on like this, I can end it now. " Her voice was an agonized whisper. She waited for Duncan to respond. He was silent, his face drawn in pain. The blade of her sword drew a thin line of blood on his neck, shimmered as a tendril of the quickenings fire snaked up the blade. She repeated, in slow clipped syllables, "Do you want to die?" Her eyes were anguished as she raised the sword over her head, ready to take his head. "Very well. " Averroe drew a deep breath, "there can be only one." Richie rushed forward, yelling, as the sword began it's downward swing. "No" Duncan finally said, and the sword stopped a centimeter from his throat. The blade hovered there, completely motionless as she searched his face. Suddenly Averroe flung the sword away from her, it clattered on the concrete with startling loudness. She brought a shaking hand to her face and walked away stiffly. "Gods, Duncan! I thought you were going to make me do it." she said in a strained voice that cracked through the silence. Duncan pulled himself to his feet slowly. Averroe flinched away from his outstretched hand. "I'm sorry about Tessa. But I couldn't let you go on as if you were dead, too." "Who told you?" "Fitz found me in Egypt. He was worried about you. Worried that you were going to start taking chances and get yourself killed." "You know better than that, Averroe." She didn't look at him, but her voice snapped out like brittle glass. "It didn't stop you from doing it. Starting to think that just once, you could let your guard down and it would all be over. No more jumping at shadows and looking behind every door" "It's harder to do than it sounds." Duncan said finally. "You had us all frightened. " she continued. "I frightened myself." "We all live with memories, Duncan. What happened to Tessa had nothing to do with you being immortal. Nothing to do with the gathering or the game. It would have made no difference had you been there. Two minutes later it coud have been the next block down. You couldn't have stopped it." "I know." Averroe finally turned to her friend, her head against his chest, sighing. She didn't cry. She had lost the ability centuries ago. Richie looked from one to the other, the tall highlander still clad only in his loose pants, the dark haird woman with striking gold eyes beside him. "Dammit, Mac!" Richie swore, "How in the hell was I supposed to know you guys weren't serious?" "Don't assume that we weren't." Averroe said bluntly. "It was very serious." "You were going to kill him." Unbelieving. Those gold eyes locked on him with a ferocity that was almost physical. Richie stepped back despite himself. "Yes. If I had to. If it was what he wanted." she said. "It was a promise I made to him a long time ago." The younger man turned to look at Duncan, who nodded. Abruptly, Richie sat down on the long metal bench and put his head in his hands. "I feel ill." he announced finally. Duncan thought briefly of Michael, how he had begged to die. His quiescence as Duncan had brought the sword down in it's killing arc. How in the end it had been the most merciful thing he could do. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life. Only Quentin Barnes had allowed him play through the final act. It had taken a strength of will he had never mustered for Averroe to come here to fulfill her promise of so long ago, to take the life of a friend. Averroe pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and gathered up her long coat. Wiping the blade of her sword she slid it back home in it's sheath. Tucking the leather scabbard behind her by it's loops she headed towards the door. "You're not leaving?" Duncan said, padding across the floor to catch her. "I can't stay, Duncan. Two of you is bad enough - I could sense you for blocks. I don't think any of us want more attention. Not with the Watcher's in the city. " end of part one =========================================================================