HA SATAN (THE ADVERSARY): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro Story 7/12
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Tue, 17 Sep 2002 13:36:25 -0400
HA SATAN (THE ADVERSARY)
An Elena Duran-Corazon Negro Story 7/12
vmoreau@directvinternet.com & divad72@prodigy.net.mx
The Berserker slashed wildly at Cassandra's head. The blade was neatly
deflected by the blur of the Priestess' sword. It had been a long time since
she had taken her sword out in battle, because she generally used the Voice.
However, like all Immortals, she had lived with her weapon for centuries,
sleeping and eating with it until it became a natural extension of her arm,
and the patterns long ago ingrained in her mind and her muscles returned to
her at its touch. Cassandra felt rusty, but she was not overmatched. She
was, however, soon to be outnumbered.
She turned back the first man's attacks, blocking thrusts that would have
killed a lesser fighter. The Berserker swung one more time, and their two
swords locked, hilt-to-hilt. The two fighters faced off momentarily in a
test of strength and will. His eyes were wild, and Cassandra knew that she
would need a miracle to win this fight.
She looked with horror as another Berserker ran toward her. She slipped
under the first attacker's guard and hit the second hard in the stomach with
her shoulder, doubling him over. His sword freed, the first opponent swung
for her head, but Cassandra managed to dodge at the last second.
The Berserker's sword bit empty air. Screaming, matching their howls, she
unleashed a flurry of blows that the Berserkers, surprised by Cassandra's
sudden aggression, were hard-pressed to beat back. However, a third man
joined the fray, coming up behind her. She parried a blow from him, then
managed to injure one of her opponents, scoring first blood, almost but not
quite slicing off the Viking's arm. Her opponent switched his sword to the
left, and as she turned back, a searing pain blossomed in her chest. She
staggered back, falling against a tree, unable to breathe. Dropping her own
sword, her hands clutched desperately at the ax of the third Viking, which
was buried in her chest.
The Berserker had a look of grim satisfaction on his face. The second man
moved forward toward Cassandra, his sword at the ready.
"Goddess!" she called out. It was over. The pain was horrible, but it would
soon cease, and she tried to see past her opponents to find out how the
MacLeods were faring. But in the middle of her agony, Cassandra sensed that
another Immortal had arrived. A powerful presence invaded the surroundings.
Like a black shadow, a dark figure appeared beside her as she fell onto her
back. The next thing Cassandra saw was a huge curved sword stopping her
enemy's blade centimeters from her neck. It was wielded by a man dressed
entirely in black Arab robes with blue ritualistic tattoos all over his
bearded face. "I will protect you now," he promised her, and then the
darkness took her.
========
As Connor parried the first bear-beast's sword thrust, two others came up,
screaming battle cries and flanking him. Their frenzy had not rendered them
unable to fight, Connor noticed, as his opponent's ax buried itself in the
tree trunk Connor had ducked behind. Connor lunged, his sharp katana slicing
the man trying to get his ax loose -- and cutting off the forearms of the
Berserker, who screamed in agony and fell to his knees. But even as that man
was cut down by one of his own, he was also replaced by another, and during
the furious exchange of thrusts and parries his three bigger opponents
forced him back, step by step. The blades rang against each other, the
clashes almost forming a rhythmical sequence, begging for other instruments
to join in.
In the nearby slight depression in the ground Connor stepped back into a
small a pool of water, and he fought to keep his balance against the
onslaught of heavy blows that rained on him from all sides. Dimly he sensed
other Immortals entering the area, which meant even more mad Vikings. Great!
His feet slid as he skated back and forth, ducking, weaving, blocking almost
every attack but getting cut once, twice, and he leaned back for
support on the huge standing stone behind him.
The Berserkers, seeing that the Highlander was in trouble, redoubled the
ferocity of their attack, salivating with anticipation. Suddenly, Connor's
feet went out from under him and he half-slid down the rock behind him. The
nearest Berserker gave out a yell and raised the heavy sword above his head.
========
"What was that?!" Elena asked, hearing wild cries and roars. "It sounds like
wild animals!"
"Those are men acting like wild animals," Corazon Negro answered as he
negotiated the Jeep through the woods on non-existent roads. "The Headless
Children are here ahead of us. Let's hope we're not too late," he whispered,
pressing down on the accelerator. He was gripping the wheel, while the other
three Immortals, in spite of their seatbelts, were holding on for dear life.
"We'll either watch these Highlanders fight, help them, or avenge them,"
Heru-sa-aset said simply.
Elena had suggested they go to the cottage of the 'witch' of Donan Wood.
Elena knew from Myrddin's computer that Duncan had arrived in Scotland, but
why? Was it just a visit, or did the MacLeods know something? She'd lost
touch with the Highlanders since she'd been in the convent, but she still
knew where Connor's farmhouse had been near Loch Shiel. When they found it
empty, suitcases gone, they guessed Connor's family had escaped. Good. But
where were the MacLeods? On a hunch, she suggested they check the ruined
cottage, and as they drove closer she felt the unmistakable presence of
several -- many Immortals! It was nice to be right for a change. "Faster!"
she urged impatiently, leaning forward in anticipation.
After a few minutes Myrddin called out, "There! In the trees!" pointing, and
the Immortals looked to see one of the MacLeods-- my God, it was Connor! --
withdrawing under the blows of 'three' opponent's weapons. She unhooked her
seatbelt and leaped out of the still-moving Jeep, rolling to her feet
running as soon as they hit the ground. She then drew her sword, noting that
other fur-clad Immortal warriors were catching up with the battle. So much
for one on one, she thought bitterly. Duncan was far away, at the other end
of a pond -- but dammit, she could reach Connor! As she ran, she noticed
that Heru-sa-aset, holding his sickle-like Egyptian sword, was rushing past
her, heading towards Duncan.
========
As Connor stared at the sword raised high above him, he heard a woman cry
out, "!No, pendejos, que no los van a matar! !Santiago!"
Connor recognized the voice and the battle cry. He hadn't seen Elena Duran
in a decade, but knew she was a friend, which she proved by putting her
sword into his would-be killer's back. The tip came out his opponent's chest
like the creature from the Aliens movies, spraying Connor with Viking blood.
"What kept you?" Connor asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the
world for Elena to be in Donan Woods in the Highlands of Scotland. And she
wasn't alone, either; behind her he spotted Corazon Negro and one other
swordsman.
"These hills all look alike," Elena groused, pulling her weapon and most of
her opponent's lungs out with a lurch and parrying a thrust from the second
Berserker.
Smiling slightly, Connor turned to his third opponent.
========
Suddenly, Duncan wasn't fighting against three Berserkers anymore. As he
remembered, Corazon Negro didn't like Europe -- but, incredibly, the Aztec
was
here now, slicing one of Duncan's Vikings almost in two with his Maquahuitl,
and another unknown Immortal took Duncan's third opponent. This left Duncan
facing Wulfson, who lunged at him with a roar. The two men grappled, falling
together to the ground.
Frantically holding onto his katana as they rolled down into a shallow pond
in the hollow, Duncan felt some of his ribs snap like dry wood with the
weight of the larger man on top of him as he landed on some boulders at the
bottom.
"Uh!" he said, struggling to his feet and twirling to see where Wulfson was.
Wulfson was on top of him, trying to impale him from behind, and only
Duncan's quick dodge kept him whole-for the moment. Face to face with his
opponent again, Duncan painfully lunged to his left; then, when Wulfson had
committed himself, Duncan came back to slash to his right. The Berserker,
overbalanced, got a neat slice down his cheek, courtesy of a Masamune
katana.
In spite of his size, Wulfson was quick, also cunning and totally fearless.
Centuries of practice and a longer reach enabled him to get past Duncan's
guard more than once, scoring a jab to already-damaged ribs and a slash
across the Highlander's abdomen. Duncan sucked air and pounded on his
katana, moving back out of Wulfson's reach for a brief respite, then
attacked again. But the battle-ax was there again, deflecting the smaller
blade, and the Viking twisted out of Duncan's reach.
Wulfson circled to Duncan's left, trying to thrust in behind his blade, but
the katana that had saved Duncan's life more times than he could remember
was already there, and the ax blow slid down its length. Duncan pressed with
a flurry of blows-hip, head, head, thrust to the chest-that drove Wulfson
back, only to have the Viking strike back harder at Duncan.
For a man in the midst of a Berserkergang frenzy, he could still fence quite
well, Duncan acknowledged, as Wulfson feinted at Duncan's legs, drawing the
katana down, then moved up to attack Duncan's neck to lure the katana into a
defensive position perpendicular to Duncan's body. Quickly, the Viking
slipped inside the Scot's guard, and, catching the blade and putting all his
weight and strength behind it, pushed the sword tip into the muddy ground.
Wulfson jumped back quickly and swung before Duncan could raise his sword
and caught the Highlander across the right arm, a wicked slash that severed
tendons.
Duncan spun away, howling in agony, just managing to take his weapon into
his left hand. Fortunately Duncan had done a lot of left-handed practice for
just such an occasion. Holding his damaged arm close to his body, Duncan
spun the sword expertly in his hand to show Wulfson he had gained no
advantage, then attacked aggressively.
They splashed back and forth in the shallow pond, with Duncan now on the
offensive. Again and again, Wulfson found himself forced to retreat. With a
roar and a mighty slash of his sword, Duncan locked blades with the Viking
and pressed him back.
Wulfson regained his balance and stood his ground, battle-ax ready, waiting
for Duncan's attack.
Duncan came at him, to the head, to the gut, to the shoulder. The Viking was
tiring, thank God, and no longer quite quick enough-Duncan sliced him
painfully across the collarbone. He roared with pain but did not retreat,
and Duncan was right there with him.
As Duncan swung again, Wulfson ducked and came up under Duncan's guard. He
pressed in close and shouldered Duncan, who staggered back. Duncan could
feel Wulfson's rancid, panting breath on his face, and as the Viking pulled
back and raised his ax over his head, Duncan realized this was his moment.
Moving close, toe-to-toe with his enemy, Duncan dropped his katana. In a
move from Nakano, taught to him by Connor and perfected in Aikido practice
with Elena Duran, Duncan reached for Wulfson's wrists as the ax came down.
He pulled down, using gravity and his own weight and strength, as well as
the force of Wulfson's downward swing, twisting the wrists painfully and
turning his own body just so, twisting the ax out of the Viking's grip and
flipping Wulfson over. Disarmed, Wulfson landed on his back but was already
sitting up with a roar of rage as the Highlander finished his turn, swinging
horizontally. He neatly decapitated the Viking while crying out, "MacLeod!"
As Wulfson's head fell heavily to the ground, Duncan, exhausted and panting,
lowered the ax to the ground with a thump and waited numbly for the
Quickening, hoping there would be no other opponents, and murmuring, "There
can be only one."
========
Everyone's eyes were drawn to the younger Highlander's Quickening as Elena
realized the dozen or so fur-clad attackers -- they really looked like
Vikings from the history books, some of them even wearing horned helmets! --
had been cut down by the arrival of the 'cavalry.' It was good to be part of
the cavalry, good to be even a small part of fighting the good fight!
She walked freely now among the corpses, holding onto her side to staunch
the blood from a savage thrust, remembering what it was like to be part of
an army. And now, for the first time in her life, she understood Corazon
Negro and his ancient way of life, being the 'general' of a great army. She
began to feel the battle 'thrill' draining away, and when the waves of
profound exhaustion that always followed bloody combat hit her, she let her
sword swing down at her side. Pretty soon they'd have to start removing the
heads of the Headless Children, she realized, and she wasn't looking forward
to that-then she saw Corazon Negro yelling at her.
"Behind you!" he screamed, running towards her.
Instinctively Elena turned, swinging horizontally, sweeping across and
slightly down as she decapitated the Berserker who would have cut her down
from behind. She sprang back right into Corazon Negro, away from the gout of
blood as the Viking's head fell one way and the torso another. The Aztec
held her against his chest with his left arm, his Maquahuitl still dripping
gore. "Are you all right?" he asked her.
Her sword slipped from her hand. "Yes," she whispered. "But the Quickening.
I don't want it. It might be . Just stay with me ..." she asked him. She had
no more
strength, not even any breath left to talk.
"I'm with you, my love," he said smiling. The air around them begun to burn
as the first lights of power flew toward Elena.
Corazon Negro kissed the top of her head, and one more time, just as they
had half a millennia ago, they shared the Quickening. But this time, there
was no pain, even when they felt their flesh burning, even when the sparks
of power rose around them. The deepest love filled their souls and bodies.
The Viking's spirit did not challenge them one iota-instead, they held onto
their searing core of self-belief, their conviction that they could vanquish
any of Lilitu's forces no matter the odds. It was a spiritual, moving
moment, and Elena barely noticed Connor MacLeod as he decapitated the dead
Viking lying at his feet.
Aylon, along with a revived Cassandra, came closer to Heru-sa-aset and
Myrddin. She recognized the Wizard from a previous meeting, and nodded at
him, then turned to her rescuer. "Who are you?" she asked him.
At the same time Aylon said, "I guess our young friends are doing the right
thing. We should do the same and finish these bastards."
"Agreed," said Heru-sa-aset. To Cassandra he said, "Let's leave the
introductions until afterward, shall we?"
Cassandra nodded, moving away, unwilling to take any Quickenings unless she
had no choice. She joined Myrddin to watch.
Within moments the Highlands of Scotland at Donan Woods were filled with an
endless symphony of lighting.
========
Connor collapsed onto the cold ground, too weak to even stand. For a while
his breath came in short spurts, thinking that timing is everything. He saw
that Elena Duran, although wounded, was talking softly to Cassandra and had
just turned to Duncan. Elena and Duncan had some issues to resolve. In the
meantime, Connor had a few... questions. So he got to his feet and turned to
the only other Immortal he knew in this group of rescuers.
"So, Corazon Negro," he said, eyeing the bloodied Aztec curiously. "It was
nice to see the cavalry," he thanked the other man mock-resentfully, "but
how did
you know to come? No, let me guess -- Lilitu again, and you had a dream. But
why are these Berserkers here? And who are these..." he waved his hand
toward the others, "...gentlemen?"
"Brother," Corazon Negro said breathing hard, trying to catch his breath
leaning his hands on his thighs. After a long moment he straightened up. "It
is Lilitu, of course, but many things have happened since we last spoke." He
paused, then added, "You're not going to like it."
"I already don't like it," Connor snapped.
========