Date: Fri, 17 Nov 1995 13:02:44 +0000 Reply-To: Vasna.Zago@COLORADO.EDU Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Vasna.Zago@COLORADO.EDU Subject: The Gift 4/4 The Gift part 4 of 4 Marie lay curled against Duncan's side on the couch, her eyes half closed. The rain had turned to snow and made patterns on the windows, distorting the view outside as one of Chopin's piano etudes played softly in the background. The music increased her feelings of contentment, but unsettled him. His arm was around her and for the first time in a long time she felt incredibly peaceful. She could hear the dull thudding of his heart against her ear, and felt the movement of his chest as he breathed. His sweater felt warm and scratchy against her cheek. It was odd, she thought, now that he had agreed and her goal was nearly accomplished, how everything was imbued with a startling clarity. She felt as if she could hear the great iron bells on the ships at sea; clanging in the dark mists as they sailed through the night. She thought she could hear the corn rustling and growing far away, rising from the depths of the rich earth, the sweet pollen falling endlessly on the upturned ears as it had done since the ancient days. She watched in wonder at the creation of the stars, coalescing from glowing bits of cosmic dust in distant nebulae. She was amazed to find a single tear rolling down her cheek, and tasted the salty lamentations of all those who had ever wept, bitterly or hopelessly or with numb acceptance, over the loss that accompanies life. In harmony with the terrible and majestic dance of life, she felt it's rising and falling, and realized that it bore a marked similarity to the rhythm of Duncan's breathing. Marie ran a hand over his thigh, noting with detachment how beautiful he was. He looked down at her and smiled sadly. "Why did we never become lovers, Marie?" She stretched and laughed. "Because you were busy sleeping your way across two continents! Honestly though, Duncan, I think I much prefer friends to lovers. There's such a relaxed comfortableness about old friends. I've had my share of male and female lovers through the centuries, you know, but I always seem to gravitate towards women." She picked up his hand and placed it against hers, comparing the two. "Don't think I haven't been tempted, though. You are rather attractive." A silence fell between them. He wondered if she had fallen asleep. "Stop preening, Duncan," she remarked, amused. *************** A soft snow was falling as they walked out to the woods, coating the trees and ground with a dusky whiteness. Their breath made plumes of mist in the cold air. "Are you sure about this, Marie?" Duncan asked. "It's not too late, you know. We can..." His voiced cracked and trailed off. Marie stopped and turned. He looked troubled and unsure, and she touched his face gently, wiping his tears away. "Yes, dear, I am sure," she replied as she embraced him. "You are taking me to Anna." He drew his katana as she knelt down. "Good-bye, my love," he whispered. With a breaking heart and a swift stroke, Duncan ended the immortal life of Marie Darrow. *************** As the first wave of energy collided with his body he was immersed in the swirling cloud of thoughts, feelings and images that had been Marie's experience. Wave after wave of energy tore into him, racking his body. In the agony of the quickening, he looked into the deep, beautiful eyes of Anna and, recognizing her nobility and gentleness, understood the soul connection between the two women. He experienced her death as Marie had, and it was with grief and shock and rage that he felt Marie take up her sword and begin her years of slaughter. Endless fields of blood stained his vision and sent him reeling with confusion and sorrow as dark mists curled around him. As the terror ebbed and numbness followed, emptiness consumed him. Then, just as the dawning sun shatters the shroud of night, a warmth began to course through his body. As the essence of her life collided with his, a feeling of peace grew slowly within him and deepened rapidly, opening his heart. Finally, torn between gratitude and grief, he sank to his knees in the drifting snow, bowed his head and wept. *************** Richie pounded on the door. "Open up Mac! I know you're in there!" There was no answer and he kept knocking. "Don't make me break this door down." After a long pause the door unlocked but didn't open; Richie pushed on it and peered inside. Duncan was standing with his back to him, head bowed, and when he raised it up to speak, it was obviously with great effort. "Hey, Richie, how's it going?" Duncan said, attempting a smile. "What's up, Mac?" Richie responded suspiciously. "Nothing," Duncan said flatly. "Nothing, eh? If it's so nothing, why haven't you answered the phone in three days?" He casually strolled around to look at Duncan and tried not to show how surprised he was at his mentor's appearance. Duncan's eyes were red, he had at least three days growth of beard, and he looked exhausted. "I'm just a little tired, Richie, that's all." Duncan said evasively. "Yeah, right, hey, well I can understand that," countered Richie. "You've probably been resting so much *not answering your phone* that it's tired you out." "What do you want, Richie?" Duncan asked. "I'm not in the mood to talk, so if you want something, speak up. If not, get out." "Whoa, Mac! Okay, okay, I'll tell you what I want. I want you to tell me what's going on. You look like crap." Richie crossed the room and sat on the sofa. "You're obviously in here hiding from something or someone. Spill it. I'm not leaving until you tell me what's up." Duncan looked around the room and sighed. "I met an immortal the other day and I'm just having a little trouble with it, that's all. No big deal." "Who was it?" "A friend." "I can guess that much. A 900-line psychic could guess that much. Tell me more. Was it a tough fight?" Duncan sat down across from Richie and looked at him. He was so young. A vision of how Marie had felt about Duncan in Italy all those years ago crossed his mind. "Her name was Marie Darrow, and there was no fight." Richie whistled. "Marie Darrow? She was pretty old, huh? But I thought she had dedicated her life to helping mortals. Did that change? What, did she cross the line or something? Wait, what do you mean there was no fight?" "She didn't cross the line, Richie. She said she was tired of living and wanted me to..." Duncan shrugged, finishing the sentence. "And you did it? Jesus, Mac!" Richie burst out, astonished. Duncan winced and turned away, visibly agitated. "Wait a minute, wait just one minute." Richie's brow furrowed as he tried to work through what he'd heard. "There's something missing here. I've never seen you quite this upset before. Why do you feel so guilty?" "I DON'T!" Duncan yelled. "I just did what she asked!" "Well, you're certainly *acting* guilty," Richie said softly. "It's written all over you. Okay, so she asked and you agreed. Why didn't you just say no?" "I've been wondering the same thing myself," Duncan answered. Richie continued to think. Suddenly, his face lit up as he came to the answer. "So, wait. Marie Darrow? She was like, 800 years old, wasn't she? It must have been a pretty outrageous quickening, huh, Mac?" "Yes, it was, Richie. Your point?" "Well, I'm just thinking, for myself, you understand, that if a really powerful immortal with tons of knowledge and experience offered his head up to me on a plate that it might be kind of hard to resist, wouldn't you say?" "I guess so." "So it might appear, for myself, you know, that I was actually *getting* much more than I was *giving*, in a manner of speaking." Richie paused. "Man, no wonder you feel guilty! She made you an offer you couldn't refuse, didn't she, Mac? "Yup. That's it," Duncan responded, shutting down completely. "And you're pissed because she basically bought you. And you found out what your price is." "Thanks for pointing that out, Richie. It's great to have friends like you. I feel much better. So," Duncan said, standing up, "now that we've got that clear, you can go." "You are a son of a bitch to get stuff out of, Mac," Richie parried, not getting up. "And I'm staying for dinner. Didn't I tell you?" *************** "Hey, Mac! Wake up and come look at the sun," Richie exclaimed. The morning light broke through the window as he opened the blind, falling directly on the prone body of Duncan, who lay on the sofa, his arm over his eyes. A small moan emerged. Richie went over and shook him. "C'mon! Rise and shine," he said, grinning. "Touch me again and I'll kill you," muttered Duncan. Sitting up and squinting against the brightness, he groaned, bowed his head and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Staggering to his feet, he tripped over an empty bottle of brandy which rolled with amazing loudness across the floor before bashing against a table leg and spinning to a stop. Duncan disappeared into the bathroom while Richie returned to looking out the window, sipping his coffee, and humming in a pleased way to himself. "You gonna live?" Richie asked when Duncan returned from the bathroom and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I think I will," Duncan replied, stretching as he looked out of the window at the sun on the world below. "But I'm never drinking brandy again, as long as I live." They both froze as they became aware of the presence of another immortal. "Who's that?" he said, stabbing a finger at a tall, thin, dark woman standing by the lamp post across the street. She was wearing jeans topped by a thigh length camel colored wool coat, a scarf around her hair and dark glasses. Her collar was turned up against the cold. "How should I know?" Richie responded, pushing Duncan aside for a better view. "She just showed up." The woman looked up at the window and saw them. She pointed a finger. "Me?" Richie said, tapping his chest. "You want me?" The woman shook her head and continued to point. "I think she wants you, Mac. Though why I wonder I don't know. *All* the woman want you." Duncan looked out of the window and the woman nodded. "Why do I think this isn't good?" Richie said to the air as he turned around. Duncan was already putting on his trench coat and picking up his sword. "Stay here, Richie, no matter what happens." Duncan said sternly. "Sure Mac, whatever you say," Richie answered. *************** Duncan crossed the street to where the woman was standing, a chill wind ruffling his hair as his head began to pound. Whether it was from the cold, the hangover or the presence of the immortal he wasn't sure. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the cl-" "I know who you are, you son of a bitch," the woman responded, punching him hard enough in the chest to send him staggering back a few paces. "You killed Marie." "Let me explain," Duncan began, spreading his hands. "I don't think I'm interested in any explanation you might offer." "I didn't kill her!" he said. "You didn't take her head?" The woman took off her sunglasses and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. She was stunningly beautiful. "Well, yes, I did, but it wasn't like you think," Duncan answered lamely. "She asked me to, Maya." "You lie!" she spat. "I'm not your enemy," Duncan said, struggling to keep his composure. "The hell you're not. I'm going to take your head the way you took hers, you bastard," Maya hissed. "Since she gave me hers willingly," Duncan responded, growing angry, "I don't think it will be quite the same." "One hour," she snapped. "The clothing warehouse by the docks." Duncan sighed and bowed in acquiescence. He really wasn't up for this. As Maya walked off, Richie snuck out from a nearby doorway. "Hey, Mac, I think we need to talk about this." "I thought I told you to stay!" Duncan said. Richie smiled. "Uh, Mac? Can we talk? I can't let you do this. You're off. You're feeling too guilty over this Marie Darrow thing, you haven't slept in three days and you're hung over. Let me take this one." "You know I can't do that, Richie," Duncan answered. "It's my fight." "Dammit, Mac," Richie said helplessly. "Stay here," Duncan commanded. "Do *not* follow me. I mean it." "Right, Mac. Sure thing." Richie nodded. *************** From the moment their swords first met, Duncan knew he was in trouble. It wasn't that she was that much better as a fighter, but Richie was right, he was off. Way off. Actually, she was pretty damn good, he thought, as they exchanged opening maneuvers. As Maya warmed up her tactics changed. She became more aggressive and began to advance steadily, raining sudden and swift blows as he, surprised, tried to deflect them. Suddenly, her sword danced and sliced into his upper left arm, leaving a crimson stain. Pain shot up to his shoulder; his eyes widening in disbelief. He returned the volley, and for a moment thought he might be gaining the advantage. Then, with a shock, he realized she was letting him advance so that she could gain a better position. He changed to a defensive posture, trying to buy some time. He cursed under his breath, wishing his head were clearer. A slow smile crept across her face. Maya spun and kicked, landing a blow on his chest; his head snapped around as he crashed into some boxes before hitting the floor. Her sword flashed again, slicing into his leg. He fancied he saw fire licking the edge of her blade, the flames making wicked gibbering sounds of delight as his blood began to flow freely. He shook his head to clear the image, and twisted out of range before she could land another blow, but his brain began to shut down. She leapt forward and bashed the side of his head with the pommel of her sword, and he fell to the floor, dizzy. He struggled to his feet, weaving, trying to regain his stance. He started to panic as he realized she was circling him like a shark, tireless and focused. She began to beat him into a corner, raining blow after blow. He thrust wildly, nicking her leg, causing her to fall off balance momentarily and buying him a few precious seconds. She rallied quickly, though and returned to her relentless onslaught. Driven into a corner with nowhere to go, Duncan began to think the unthinkable. Could he lose? Was it possible? Fear made his thoughts wander, distracting him from the fight. She had the glow of the predator in her eyes, as if she could smell death. Suddenly, her blade flashed, laying open a gash clear to the bone on his sword arm. His katana, slippery with blood and sweat, fell out of his hand and landed with a clang on the concrete floor. He bent over, screaming with agony as he attempted to protect his injured arm. He tried to level a strike at her with his good leg but she evaded it easily. She kicked his sword away as Duncan's knees buckled. He sank to the floor, defeated. The pain was unbelievable. Somewhere in the haze of his thoughts, Duncan was glad that Richie was not here to witness his final humiliation. "Are you ready to die, Highlander?" she asked, raising her sword for the killing stroke. "Do it," he said, shutting his eyes. Tired. So tired. An image of Tessa formed in his mind; she was beckoning to him. Amazingly, a feeling of relief began to grow inside. No more Game. No more pain. No more loss. Soon he would feel her arms around him. He bowed his head. "For Marie!" exhaulted Maya. "There can be only one!" The last thing Duncan heard was the singing of the blade as it began it's inexorable descent. *************** Blackness. Blackness and pain. "Hey, Mac," Richie said gently. "Wake up. C'mon, big guy, we gotta get out of here." Duncan surfaced to consciousness and opened his eyes. His head was splitting. "I'm alive?" he wondered. "You're alive," Richie responded. "It's a miracle," Duncan said, wincing, as he hauled himself to a sitting position. "Why didn't she take my head?" "I suspect you'll find out when you read this," Richie answered, picking up a letter that was on the floor. "She threw this down right after she bashed you on the head. Then she just walked out." Richie helped Duncan to his feet and put an arm around him to steady him as they made their way to the car. Duncan stopped and looked at Richie. "I thought I told you not to follow me," he said, trying to keep the gratitude out of his voice. *************** Back at his apartment, Duncan had changed clothes and washed the blood out of his hair. His head was still tender where Maya had knocked him unconscious, but it would be fine by morning. The cuts had already healed. He wondered how long it would take his ego to follow suit. Pouring himself a cup of hot chocolate, he sat on the sofa and looked for a long time at the letter. It was folded and sealed in the old way. He opened it and read. December 27th Manaus, Brazil My dearest Duncan, I hope you can forgive me one more time. You know how I've never been able to resist teaching you a lesson. You have been a stubborn student all these years, but I have a strong feeling that the lesson was fully learned this time. Maya lies asleep in the next room; she cried herself to sleep tonight. I have upset her. She promised not to take your head when the two of you meet; she will keep her oath, but she's angry with me. She tried to talk me out of what I am going to do; by now have already done, but she agreed in the end. She could never resist the temptation of beating a man in hand to hand combat. I think there's a little Amazon in all women, Duncan. Just a tidbit for the future. Soon I will go to her, for the last time, and draw my hand across her brow and hold her in my arms. We will make love and it will comfort her, but I do not think it will comfort me. Tonight I will dream of Anna and the way things were when the world was young. I am not afraid of death, Duncan; I made my peace with God many years ago. I will miss the dew on the morning, and the sound of the wind in the trees, and the laughter of old friends, but now I have you to keep these things alive for me. Yesterday a small bird flew into my house. By the time I found him, his breast was bloodied where he had beaten himself against a window trying to get out. I bathed him - how tiny he was! - and put him in a cage and murmured songs to him. He was unhappy; I could tell; he neither returned my song nor moved. So, today, I took him from his cage and released him to the wind. He took off, straight and true, and how my heart sang to see him go. But as I watched, a hawk descended and snatched him in his talons, crushing the life from him. What should I have done, Duncan? Was it more merciful to keep him in the cage until he died of sorrow? Maybe it would have been. I like to think that he found his freedom in the claws that took him from this world. Perhaps he is waiting on the sweet shores of the blessed isle, beyond the timeless sea, waiting with Darius and Fitz and Tessa and I, waiting for you to join us. We are not impatient, for we have more time than you, so we join hands and sing the songs of the future and know, when the Game is won or lost, that you, beloved, will come home to us. Eternally yours, Marie *************** Duncan refolded the letter and got up, carrying his hot chocolate to the kitchen where he poured it down the sink. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out a new bottle of brandy and began to break the seal. The End =========================================================================