UNTIL THE END OF TIME: An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro Story by Vi Moreau & Julio César Florida-México 30-August-2001 For those who have been following the Corazón Negro saga, which began for Elena Duran when she killed her first Immortal in the seventeenth century in Argentina, here is where the universes diverge. In the other universe, Elena goes into a convent for almost ten years, and then-you'll just have to read and see what happens! In this universe, after six years in the convent, Elena sees again the true love of her heart, the man she has adored for four centuries, the Aztec Immortal Corazón Negro, a product of Julio César's extremely fertile and prolific imagination. And then-well, the world's safety is at stake. As usual, the canon Highlander characters: Duncan MacLeod, Connor MacLeod, Methos, are not ours and we are not making any money by using them, without permission as it happens. We are just enjoying their existence in our Highlander universe. The other Immortals, as well as the mortals, belong to the authors of this tale. I, Vi Moreau, dedicate this story to our good family friend Sue Register Smith, whose constant, contagious laughter will always be remembered by those who loved her. I will miss you, Sue. I, Julio César, want to acknowledge and express gratitude to all the readers who follow our stories, because they demanded that Elena Duran and Corazón Negro should stay together. For them, we wrote this tale. Special thanks to our beta reader Robert Sacchi, who always comes through for us. If you like what you read, please let us know! Thank you. UNTIL THE END OF TIME: An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro Story 1/4 By Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com and Julio César divad72@prodigy.net.mx Duran Estancia, near Buenos Aires, Argentina November 3, 2013 "I am sorry, Corazón Negro. I cannot tell you where Senorita Duran is," Juanito Onioco stated. The Aztec Immortal lowered his head. He'd come a long way to visit a woman he still loved with all his heart, but had been forced to leave for other, more pressing considerations. In that time, he learned from Juanito Onioco, the foreman of her estancia in Argentina, that Elena had left her home. Corazón Negro had not been present when Elena had been captured, tortured, half-blinded by a maniac Immortal, although he felt her pain inside his Dream. He had not been present when Duncan MacLeod had decapitated Elena's Immortal son. And he had not been here to help her when she had decided to lose herself, to withdraw from the world. Corazón Negro had missed all of this-and had even missed the death and burial of the kind and loving old lady he called 'Mama,' Carmela Onioco. Now Elena was gone, and he had no idea where. As if reading his thoughts, Juanito sighed. "I can tell you that she's safe on Holy Ground. I hope that will ease your mind, Corazón Negro, because she particularly asked me to tell no one of her whereabouts, and I cannot break her confidence." "I understand, hombre," Corazón Negro replied. "I will not ask you to betray her. But I intend to find her and tell her I still love her. And I am very sorry about the old woman. I will visit her gravesite, if you will permit." "Of course," Juanito answered. "Be my guest." Nodding, Corazón Negro went to the small burial plot behind the little chapel at Elena's estancia, the place where so many Oniocos were buried over the centuries. Beyond the small metal gate was the silence of the graves, broken only by birds tweeting from time to time from their perches on the low stonewalls that surrounded the consecrated camp. Inside the graveyard itself an aura of peace permeated the tombstones as he walked among them. In a place of honor in the corner was a grave he never failed to visit, the grave of Elena's father, Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte, an Immortal Corazón Negro had only met once in 1642 but for whom he had felt respect and affection. The Aztec stood for a brief moment in front the grave, presenting his salute. Then he walked on. Although the place was dedicated to death, it was filled with life. The grass was thick and verdant, and the flowers placed on the graves had been taken from the many carefully tended flowering bushes that lined the inside of the stonewall. The scent of jasmine and roses filled his nostrils, and he took it into his body like a drunkard took a drink, as if he needed it to survive. He easily found the grave he was looking for-Carmela Onioco was buried with her husband on one side and her children, Carlos and Esperanza and their families, on the other. Late one night many years ago, Carmela had confessed to Corazón Negro that she had always regretted having outlived her only two children, but that she was particularly proud of her grandson, Juanito-and with good reason, Corazón Negro thought. Corazón Negro went to stand in front of the simple grave in the heat of the afternoon. His long black coat covered him down to his ankles, and his straight black hair fell gently to the middle of his back. He closed his eyes and remembered the old woman's many kindnesses to him and to everyone she touched. Slowly, Corazón Negro opened his eyes. His eyes burned like coals, and a single tear ran down his right cheek. He wiped the tear with a soft movement and sighed as he read the words carved in the headstone: Carmela Onioco Beloved mother and trusted confidant 1916 - 2008 >From inside his long coat, he pulled an old drawing out, then carefully unfolded it and placed it on the grave, holding it down with a rock against the wind. The drawing was a representation of the night sky. "I've been keeping this right here, next to my heart," he said softly, "where you have been also, Mama." He sighed once more. "Four hundred years ago, your ancestor, Joaquin Onioco, drew this for me, and now I deliver it to you." He raised his face toward the red sky above him. "I can remember the moment clearly. The sun was going down, just like it is now. I told Joaquin he should be a great man so that his father and his grandfather, watching him from the stars, would be proud of him. And so would I." Corazón Negro knelt down to clean up the grave with his bare hands. "I'm here now to thank you for all your kindness and love to me through the years, Mama. I'll never forget you." Closing his eyes, Corazón Negro softly whispered in Mapuche. "Vill ni piuque meu manumeimi, vill antu mo cai manumaemi ta mi cume duam." (1) (Mapuche: I thank you with all my heart, every day I should thank you all your blessings). It was so hard burying the mortals one loved, and even harder living on afterwards. Alone. He stood up in silence and bowed toward the tomb one last time. At that moment, he felt himself being watched. His head turned slowly, a calm expression on his face. Ten meters away stood a woman, observing him closely. She was mature and pretty, not older than forty. Her black hair framed her face, and two condor feathers were tied in her hair on the left side of her head. She was dressed in jeans, a multicolored shirt, and riding boots, and wore a trariwe (2) (Mapuche: Type of women's belt) around her waist. Her fingernails were long, witnesses to her power and authority. Any other man looking at her would assume she was simply a pureblood native. But not the man who was watching her now. He could see the way the holiness moved around her, like a white mantle of pureness. Around her shape, everything was peace. "Carmela will always be with you," she said with a melodic voice, walking fearlessly toward him. "Do I know you?" The woman smiled with pleasure. She stopped a few steps from him and said, "Generation upon generation, my family have known you, Son of the Wolf." Corazón Negro's eyes narrowed-his name was not exactly well known-and he studied her closely. Her smile widened. "Oh, yes. You are the warrior whose name had been heard on this land for more than a thousand years. You are one of those who cannot die. You are Corazón Negro." Corazón Negro lowered his gaze, nodding in understanding. This woman was a Machi (3) (Mapuche - Mapuche priestess, physician, prophet, seer). Within the Mapuche tradition, the power of the Machi's family was passed down from mother to daughter. It was their way of life-the way the endless circle of life and Power was manifested within the Mapuche tribe. The woman in front of him was surely the granddaughter of the Machi killed by Lilitu twenty-six years ago. "You know my name, and I know who you are. But I don't know your name," he said softly. "I'm Josefina," she answered him simply. "I've dreamed of you many times." She stepped closer to Corazón Negro. "Last night I dreamed about the end of one story, and the beginning of another. The darkness was met by the coming of a great warrior." She tilted her head and looked him up and down. "You look taller in person," she opined. Corazón Negro smiled. The old Machi, the one he had met, also dreamed often. It was their way of seeing the truth. "What else did you dream?" he asked her. "I dreamed about a coming war. My soul was the battlefield where old beliefs clashed against new ones. But this time, the war wasn't one against one. Six more of your kin were together, facing the bringer of death who opposed you. I clearly saw two armies: a dark one, terrible and deadly, against a light one, shining like the stars, filled with life, fighting bravely-and you were leading this army of light." Corazón Negro sighed, obviously troubled. He looked at the Machi, who continued. "I saw you commanding this army against the darkness." She moved close enough to touch his face with her soft hand. "You don't know me," Corazón Negro said, touching her hand on his cheek. The Machi's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I know you well enough to know that you're searching for the Black Flower again. I know that legend." Taking a deep breath, she said, "The Black Flower is gone." Corazón Negro lowered his face in shame. "Do you know where she is? Juanito Onioco seems to be the only one who knows, and he would not tell me." "I know she is mourning the deaths of her loved ones." The Machi caressed Corazón Negro's cheek one more time, gazing into his dark eyes. "She's lost, and is looking for guidance on Holy Ground. I believe she would want to see you; needs to see you. I know where she is, but I can't tell you." She removed her hand and urged him, "Go now, Son of the Wolf; go to her. Go north and search for her as you once traveled south and searched for her. Find her and settle your common unfinished business." "Thank you." Corazón Negro said to her, not too sure of her words. He turned around and started to walk toward the graveyard gates. Behind him, Josefina, the Machi, smiled. ======== A restaurant in Lima, Peru November 10, 2013 The legend called Methos nodded at the man in the doorway and watched the other Immortal cross the restaurant with confident tread. Methos had left a phone message indicating the hour and the place. Surely Corazón Negro was more at home here in Latin America than anywhere else, as he looked like one of the Aztec gods immortalized in the few remaining original statues. Methos idly wondered if Corazón Negro had actually posed for any of them, but his thought was interrupted by the other man's arrival at his table. "Please sit down, amigo," Methos offered. Corazón Negro studied the older Immortal for a moment before saying, "How are you, brother?" "Some things never change," Methos answered, gesturing to the waitress. "Although you look different-more mature, somehow." He twisted his head a little and added, "Older. The result of Zarach's company, I guess." Corazón Negro shrugged and smiled. "It is not the age, but the knowledge," he began, and was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress. "Otra cerveza para mi amigo, y el menu, por favor," (1) (Spanish: Bring another beer for my friend, and the menu, please) Methos said in nearly flawless Spanish. As the waitress went off, the Aztec said, "You told me you had information on Curi-Rayen." Methos put down his beer bottle and frowned a little. "I can't believe you still call her by that name; and that after all this time, you're impatient. She's been in the convent for over six years." "So I've been told-but not where," Corazón Negro said. "I was hoping you had that information." Methos' eyes narrowed. "Do you know what's happened to her recently?" "I know she lost her eye to a vicious Immortal. I also know she lost a good, faithful mortal friend, Carmela Onioco. She lost one of her Immortal friends, a Mexican woman named Maria Feliz, and she lost both her son Stephen and the man she loved, Duncan MacLeod, in one single fateful day. So many losses so quickly-I can only imagine how much pain she must be in." "Zarach keeps you well informed," Methos replied, considering. "But I wonder if a visit from you will do her any good." As he said this he noted the pain in Corazón Negro's eyes. "I would never deliberately hurt her," the Aztec replied, "and she knows this." Methos leaned forward. "What she knows is that you haven't been there for her, Corazón Negro. I have been married many times and can assure you women are notoriously reluctant to forgive men who abandon them." Corazón Negro's dark eyes blazed. "I am aware of my actions, and need no reminders, Methos. I'm currently searching for her to see if I can do anything for her." The Aztec paused, sighing. "I also need to say goodbye to her." He shook his head, and then added, "If you will not tell me where she is, then allow me to continue my search without further interruptions." "Goodbye?" the older Immortal asked, getting right to the crux of the matter, as usual. "As you say, I do not believe she will forgive me; nor do I think she will forgive Duncan MacLeod for killing her son." "Probably not," Methos agreed. Then, he nodded in understanding, a spark of surprise in his amused eyes. "The Ancient Gathering is ready to go against Lilitu," he commented. "After all these years of training, you're finally ready. But the real reason you want to say goodbye to her is that you're thinking perhaps you're going to die." Methos drank from his beer, thinking. The waitress came and delivered the menu. Once the girl left, Methos turned to Corazón Negro and nailed him with his gaze. "What are your feelings for Elena?" he asked bluntly. The Aztec raised his eyes. "I've always loved her, and I always will, old man. You know that." Corazón Negro's eyes burned like charcoals. Methos smiled. This is what he wanted to know, how much fire the Aztec had, how much the Aztec Immortal really wanted to see his former lover; how much he still cared about her. Corazón Negro had risked his life for Elena Duran many times over, beginning with the first time they had met. While they had been lovers, he had been faithful and attentive, had moved heaven and earth to keep her alive. He had even defied the Immortal rules of combat to save her. Even broken and silent as she was now, Elena Duran, the Black Flower of the Mapuche tribe, had always been strong. She was a woman one either loved or hated-there was no middle ground with her. Although he'd known something about her before they actually met, the first time Methos had seen Elena was still fresh in his mind. ======== The Sorbonne in Paris 1995 Elena Duran is quite beautiful in person-and also quite predictable. He bows and says, mockingly, "You're wondering what my Quickening would be like, and even thinking I don't look so tough, so how can you go about taking my head." To her credit, she does not protest nor deny it. Instead, she retorts, "And you're thinking that you're much too clever and quick to be taken, especially by a mere woman." "I gave up the idea that women were the weaker sex centuries ago! As a matter of fact, I believe the female is the deadlier of the species, and if I'm any judge, you are a particularly dangerous specimen."