EHYEH-ASHER-EHYEH (I AM THAT I AM): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Sat, 21 Sep 2002 12:07:34 -0400
Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh (I am that I am) 9/34
Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx
Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com
The warmth of the fire was gone. A fierce chill gripped Elena's soul. Her
very core felt cold and dead.
She reached toward Corazon Negro for comfort. She fled from the cold, from
the hopelessness. Thankfully, she found some warmth within the Aztec's arms.
But still she could not completely shake the cold that gripped her.
"It's done," Corazon Negro announced to the others. The smoke was gone
completely. "What was concealed and undone, is whole. The two made one
again."
After a while, Zarach sighed. "You are the Dreamer, Son of the Wolf," he
said looking at the Aztec. "And the Ancient Gathering will follow you. What
next?"
At that precise moment Myrddin announced, "I found Amanda. She is in Dijon,
France."
"Contact her and bring her as soon as possible," Corazon Negro said. He
looked at Heru-sa-aset. "Tell me, Prince. Is your jet ready?"
Heru-sa-aset smiled. "Always."
"Good," Corazon Negro nodded. "We are in a hurry."
========
Amanda had let her hair grow and colored it a deep burgundy color, which
clashed with Cassandra's red mane. Amanda pushed her hair out of her face.
"I 'knew' something weird was going on, and that it had to do with
Immortals!" she said excitedly. "So all these terrible natural disasters are
being caused by Immortals being killed on Holy Ground?"
Zarach nodded.
"And the person responsible-'one' Immortal? A single woman?" she asked
skeptically.
"She is the mother of evil," Zarach explained again.
"She's 'your' mother, Zarach," Amanda said.
"Yes. Now will you help us? Remember-"
"I remember I owe you," she interrupted in a huff. It had taken the
persuasions of Zarach, Myrddin, whom she had met in ancient Britain, Methos
and both MacLeods to convince her that this was real. "One lone woman
kicking everybody's butt!" she exclaimed, amused, glancing around at the
group of Immortals sitting around Connor's fireplace. "How about that! So
much for you macho men!"
Aylon shook his head, but a glance from Zarach kept him from saying
anything. The Arab got up and left the room angrily. Oblivious, Amanda
glanced at Cassandra, who was meekly waiting. "They're just kicking you out
and you're not going to contest this?" she asked the witch.
"I'm in special danger; plus, I'm dangerous to them," Cassandra answered.
"Because ...?"
"Because she's vulnerable to Lilitu's influence," Zarach said.
"And I'm not?" Amanda tested.
"Not 'as' vulnerable," he answered.
"But I am vulnerable of having my head cut off," she retorted. "And
apparently Holy Ground is no longer a protection."
"We hope to keep Lilitu too busy to attack you both. Besides, she will
attack us, the Ancient Gathering. We are her main goal. I think you two will
be safe," Zarach continued, but his patience was wearing thin. They were all
packed and ready to go to Mexico as soon as Amanda and Cassandra left.
"I'm also vulnerable to the Voice," Amanda continued. "Cassandra-if you use
the Voice against me..."
Cassandra shrugged, unable or unwilling to promise she would not use the
Voice.
"Amanda," Duncan MacLeod said in that exasperated voice he used every time
Amanda refused to see what he considered to be the reasonable path.
"It's very simple, Amanda. Yes or no?" Methos asked directly.
"Of course I'll protect my good friend Cassandra," Amanda said, smiling
charmingly. "It'll be fun, just the two of us girls. Think of all the
trouble we can get into before the world ends-hey, unless you want to join
us, Elena."
"Love to. Can't," Elena answered truthfully.
"Yeah. You want these scrumptious men all to yourself," Amanda said,
studying them all in turn.
"I don't think where we're going it will be much fun, Amanda," Elena said,
"even with all these 'scrumptious' gentlemen." Then she came close and
hugged both women. "Vayan con Dios," she murmured.
Amanda nodded ruefully. "I'll take all the help I can get."
========
Moscow, Russia
March 27, 2013
Vlad laid back in his chair behind his mammoth desk of cherry wood. His
phones were organized again, and while the day before he had sat at this
very spot, in irritation receiving phone calls, he was now equally upset at
the lack of one.
Two Immortals stood stiffly before Vlad, waiting for him to speak. They had
been motionless and silent for the last thirty minutes. Eyes closed in
contemplation, the Voivode had yet to say a word to either of them. Vlad
liked keeping his underlings in suspense, almost as a form of torture. It
put them on edge. He preferred his subjects nervous-they were easier to
manipulate.
Carradine was short and squat, with wide shoulders, dark hair and a swarthy
complexion. His flat, unimpressive face disguised the mind of a master
schemer. Before becoming an Immortal, he had owned one of Italy's largest
banks. Possessing a sardonic sense of humor, he liked telling associates he
had been a killer long before he was eternal.
On his right was Davanzati. A massive Immortal, nearly seven feet tall and
weighing over three hundred pounds, he exuded brute strength. Thick
cheekbones, a prominent nose, and a massive forehead made his face appear as
if it were cut from granite. The cut of his expensive suit could not hide
the huge muscles of his chest and arms. Before his Immortality, Davanzati
had been a
killer, a mercenary, and a murderer for hire. As a member of the Headless
Children, he remained true to his original calling.
Both Immortals were extremely dangerous. Each had his own specific strengths
and weakness. They served Vlad well. But in the underground of the Voivode's
activities, sometimes service was not enough. And Vlad knew it.
The wall behind Vlad gave the two Immortals something to contemplate while
they waited. A massive broadsword hung there. Vlad knew there were rumors
among the rank and file of his organization that he had used this weapon
during his violent rise to leadership within the Mafia in the Middle East.
Some claimed that he was the finest swordsman in the world, a ruthless
fighter without mercy or forgiveness. The rumors were all true. He had
started many of them himself. While others might rule through cunning or
politics, he maintained absolute control of his brood through terror.
Vlad drummed his fingers on the arm of his high-backed wooden chair-the
action was partially an indulgence of habit, and partially calculated to
irritate his audience. He knew them well, though often he wished them to be
different than they usually were.
"Tonight, I will be leaving this citadel for the first time in decades to
answer Mother's call," Vlad declared, finally deciding that the pressure had
built to the point he desired. His voice was mellow and easy, betraying no
emotion. He wanted the pair to relax, but not too much. "Lilitu is gathering
the most powerful Immortals to her side. I go as the leader of the Mafia and
as an elder of the Headless Children. The time for the last Gathering has
come, so, the Endgame is at hand. As you are well aware, this task is not
without risks."
Opening his eyes, Vlad let his gaze travel back and forth between his two
lieutenants. "Mother has risen to claim her rightful place as the new
Goddess. Even as I speak, she is killing the last Immortals who could foil
her plans." A sinister smile appeared on his face. "No one is safe now, not
even on Holy Ground."
He paused, letting the full impact of his words sink in. After him, these
two Immortals were the most powerful bosses in his Mafia. They were smart,
brutal, and very determined. If he were to be destroyed, one or the other
would assume control of his organization. "For millennia, the Ancient
Gathering has sought to destroy Lilitu to avenge the death of the original
ruler of the Immortals. They are relentless, ruthless and obsessed with her
destruction. Lilitu will never have peace until they are wiped out of
existence."
Vlad smiled. His two assistants, not sure where he was going with this,
nodded and smiled as well. "Lilitu has told me about her plans to acquire
global control. Fate at long last has delivered her enemies to her. I fully
intend to help her in this holy war. I fully intend for them to meet death
forever-preferably by my own hands."
Vlad laughed; an eerie mocking sound that seemed to fill the room.
"Destroying the Ancient Gathering is a pleasure I have anticipated for
centuries, since Zarach destroyed my reign 500 years ago. I hope to make his
death an extremely painful and extended one. Revenge is sweetest when
savored slowly."
He saw no reason to mention his own plan to destroy Lilitu afterwards. Vlad
was no fool. For some reason, he felt confident that he could destroy first
the Son of the Endless Night in a fight. However, he also recognized the
fact that the slightest mistake in such a battle could mean his own end.
Recently, Naema, a powerful original member of the Ancient Gathering, had
underestimated Zarach's skill. It had been her final error.
Killing Zarach first, no matter how powerful an Immortal he was, seemed much
safer for Vlad than confronting Lilitu. He planned to let Mother rid the
world of the ancient ones first. It was a task that surely would exhaust
her. Then Vlad plotted to kill Zarach, and with his powerful Quickening, go
against Lilitu. It was a bold plan, indeed, and a very risky one to say the
least, but Vlad didn't care. As in Faust, the deal with the devil had been
made in blood and was already signed and sealed. It was going to be Kramer
against Kramer. But he and Mother were allies, for now.
Vlad rose to his feet. "It is possible," he declared solemnly, "though
unlikely, that I will not survive this encounter. If so, one of you will
rise to the position of Voivode-warlord-of our brotherhood." There was no
longer any humor in his voice. It was time to offer the ultimate gift. "Will
it be you, Carradine? Or you, Davanzati?"
Neither Immortal said a word. They seemed unsure of what their leader
expected them to say. Cautious, cunning men, they guarded their inner
thoughts carefully. Speaking out of turn was risky and neither Immortal
believed in taking unnecessary risks.
Each had belonged to Vlad's organization for more than two centuries.
Carradine was the more devious of the two. He specialized in extortion and
blackmail. Davanzati, who often had difficulty controlling his homicidal
urges, handled murder and assassination. Both possessed the necessary skills
to run the organization. Individually they schemed in secret for such an
opportunity, recruiting less powerful members of the brotherhood to their
cause. Neither was foolish enough to openly challenge Vlad, who ruled with
an iron fist.
"Well?" asked Vlad, his voice louder. "Which of you is it? Who will be my
successor?"
"I-I am the one, my prince," said Davanzati, surprising the Voivode. Vlad
had been sure that Carradine would speak first, and Vlad did not like to be
surprised.
"No," said Carradine immediately. He stared at his greatest rival in
disgust. "My name is respected throughout Europe. I deserve to rule."
"My name," said Davanzati, turning to face his companion, "is whispered in
fear across the continent. Respect means nothing without dread."
"You," said Carradine, his lips curling in a sneer, "are an animal and a
fool. You cannot control your own desire to kill. Under your rule, the Mafia
would cave in and collapses like the husk of the Titanic, a beached whale, a
rotting tree."
Davanzati snarled, his hands curled into claws. "Your head is mine," he
declared, his face a mask of hate.
Carradine laughed. Though a foot shorter than Davanzati, he did not appear
concerned. Instead, he looked to Vlad. "My prince?"
"Two rivals for the leadership would tear our brotherhood apart," said Vlad,
stepping away from his desk. "Before I leave, there must be a clear
successor. Fight to the death. Whoever survives is my choice."
Howling with bloodlust, Davanzati took out his sword. His blade swept
through empty air, as the other Immortal ducked the oncoming attack from his
rival. Carradine's blade hit Davanzati in the back. Hard.
Davanzati shrieked in unexpected pain. Immediately, he drooped to the floor
and rolled, pulling his tormentor with him. Carradine had speed but
Davanzati knew the tricks of gutter fighting. They scrambled back and forth
across the floor, gouging and wrenching, each trying to tear the other
apart. Immortality meant nothing. The two were equally matched in offensive
and defensive strength. It was a battle of Davanzati's raw strength versus
Carradine's speed and skill.
Vlad watched with the casual interest of a spectator at a horse race. It
mattered little to him who won or lost. The ultimate prize went to the
winner. The Voivode had no favorite.
Bellowing like a wild animal, Davanzati struggled to his feet. On his back,
his blade crusted, was Carradine. The smaller Immortal's legs were locked
around his rival's waist, securing his position. If Carradine could snap
Davanzati's spine or neck, the fight would be over.
Reaching up, Davanzati grabbed Carradine's legs. With a hard jerk, the big
Immortal broke the grip around his waist. Savagely, he tried to mangle the
extended limbs of his enemy, but Carradine wrenched away before any damage
could be done, taking his blade with him.
Nimbly, the smaller Immortal drooped to the floor and seized Davanzati by
the ankles. Wrenching with all of his strength, he sent his opponent
staggering. Without pause, Carradine lunged upward, butting his head into
the small of Davanzati's back. Caught off balance, the huge Immortal crashed
face first into the brick fireplace with stunning impact. Davanzati didn't
move. Weird babbling noises came from his throat.
Vlad was impressed. He had never realized Carradine possessed such keen
fighting skills. Killing mortals were easy. Destroying Immortals was not.
With a determined expression on his face, Carradine stepped forward, ready
to finish the battle. Stone ground against stone. Davanzati, his eyes
glaring madly, whirled around. The big Immortal's nose was broken, squashed
flat against his face. His jaw slanted at the wrong angle and a sliver of
bone protruded from his left cheek. The strange sounds came from his smashed
larynx. It didn't matter. What counted was the heavy sword he held in his
hands.
Davanzati's arms swung in short deadly arcs aimed directly at Carradine's
head. The short Immortal, unable to change direction, desperately attempted
to duck out of the path of the blade. He only partially succeeded. His left
shoulder absorbed one blow, but the other block slammed into the right side
of his skull with deadly impact. Shrieking in pain, he collapsed to the
floor at
Davanzati's feet.
With his head bobbing up and down like that of a toy doll, Davanzati
half-knelt, half-collapsed in front of his enemy. Mouthing guttural noises,
he raised the sword high into the air. The action left his neck exposed and
unprotected. That was all the time Carradine needed. The short Immortal
wrenched his blade with his entire strength into the unguarded flesh.
"Die, you bastard!" cried Carradine as he jerked the blade in a fierce
ripping motion across the other's throat. Made of the finest steel in the
world, the sword sliced easily through skin and bone. There was no escape.
Like a piece of rotten fruit, Davanzati's head toppled off his huge body.
The big Immortal's eyes were still wide with astonishment and horror when
his skull crashed face first onto the floor and the Quickening began.
The rays filled the room invading Carradine's being. His cries of pain did
not disturb Vlad, who stood motionless watching the light show.
When the Quickening ended, Carradine visibly tired, pushed the decaying
corpse of his rival to the side with a curse. Shakily, he climbed to his
feet. His right ear was gone, and part of his skull was smashed to a pulp,
but it didn't matter. Time healed such wounds. He had survived and Davanzati
was in hell. He stood before his master, quivering and exhausted.
"A splendid fight," said Vlad smiling. A self-satisfying smile. He had
planted the bait and seen them both bite. In his hands rested the massive
Toledo broadsword from the rear wall. "I made the correct decision. Leaving
you behind in this fortress to plot against me while I traveled to meet with
Lilitu would have been a terrible mistake."
Carradine's hands were just rising in protest when the blade of Vlad's sword
separated his head from his shoulders.
"Trust no one," said Vlad, addressing the headless corpses of his two most
dangerous assistants as if they could still heed his advice. "Especially
beware of those who might thrust a blade in your back."
He laughed as the Quickening flew toward his body. In just instants, he saw
his beloved Carpathians, his life as a warlord against the Ottoman Turks,
and he felt the pleasure of torturing innocent people. Very soon, that power
would be his again.
When the Quickening was over, he looked over to where his former assistants
lay. "You fools assumed I cared who succeeds me as leader of this
brotherhood. The Mafia mattered nothing to me. My only concern was ensuring
that no potential rivals arose during my absence."
Vlad walked over the rubble of what had once been his elegant office. No
matter-material things could be repaired or replaced. He went to the
headless body of Carradine. Savagely, he kicked the decaying torso of his
former lieutenant. He despised stupidity. "A strong leader remains in power
by destroying any possible rivals before they become too ambitious. It is a
wise philosophy. Over the past centuries, it has served me quite well."
The two corpses at Vlad's feet bore mute testimony to the truth of his
words.
========
Island of Nod
Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean
March 27, 2013
Livia surveyed the conference room with a critical eye. Perfect. Still, she
seemed somewhat preoccupied as she went on about her ritual-shifting a place
card here, removing a piece of chipped crystal there, plucking out an
ill-concealed listening device. Absently, she corrected for a half-dozen
subtle but potentially disastrous breaches of etiquette and precedence. She
was painfully aware of just how little it could take to transform this
Headless Children council into an uncontrollable raging maelstrom-and how
vulnerable she was personally.
She completed one full circuit of the prodigious conference table and began
again. The fingertips of her right hand trailed along the surface of the
roughhewn table as she went. The touch was reassuring.
The great circular table had an additional weight of tradition and history
about it. The piece had been brought in, at considerable expense, from a
private collection in Macedon. It was undoubtedly a forgery, but it was a
forgery with a history. And that made all the difference. Like its legendary
predecessor, this round table was intended to forestall the endless
posturing and power that might otherwise arise in such an assembly of proud,
arrogant, conceited and temperamental Headless Children as each vied for a
place of honor at or near the table's head.
Livia smiled at the thought. It was not only that the table had no head. It
was the whole damnable assembly. She was aware that only Lilitu's power had
compelled the factious Headless leaders to follow this Game. Livia herself
had spent a good deal of her energy and efforts in planning this event
simply to ensure that she would not be among those torn to pieces during
Mother's rebirth. The gathered Headless Children, however, were an even
greater uncertainty. Drawn from all ages, these mercenaries gave allegiance
to none and feared only Lilitu-the one who had earned such respect and such
reverence through trials of fire, brawn and sword.
In less than an hour, Livia realized, this conference room would be filled
with the clamoring throng of the most ruthless tyrants, oppressors,
marauders, predators, fanatics, Mafiosi, serial killers, warlords and
murderers who had been gathered in one place since-well, probably since the
onset of the First Crusade.
Livia's thoughts only reluctantly returned to the present century. This
ultimate assemblage would be convening those chosen and handpicked by Lilitu
herself, the pride of the Headless Children-the elite of the elite. All
those who could command a following of at least a six Immortals would be on
hand to strike a blow against the hated Ancient Gathering.
Livia surveyed the board with a hint of satisfaction. A vibrant red apple
atop a decorative fruit bowl immediately arrested her gaze. Aside from the
candle flame, it was the only spot of color in the room. All else was decked
in subtle and varied shades of gray.
"Missed that one," Livia mused aloud.
"Some say it was I who gave a fruit like that to Eve," came the replay.
"Very romantic, but not quite true. Surely it will not be necessary for my
guests to keep up the appearance of eating on such a grand occasion."
No matter how many times it happened, Livia always found herself startled at
the transitionless appearance of Lilitu. One moment she was not there, the
next she was-speaking, taking, touching. Her ethereal appearance gave her an
almost ghost-like quality.
Livia turned quickly, but no so quickly that Lilitu had not already taken
her elbow to usher her to her chair. The sensation was not unlike sawing
through bone. Livia disengaged her arm as politely as she could manage and
took her place at the table. "No, more likely the apple conceals some weapon
or perhaps even an incendiary device."
"Ah." Lilitu replied with escalating interest. There was a flutter of a
breeze and a shadow seemed to break away and stretch toward the apple.
Suddenly, a brilliant flash illuminated the room. Tatters of shadow streaked
in all directions and then fell to the floor in a gentle rain of scorched
confetti. The explosion of light and its aftermath were accompanied by a
complete and unsettling
silence.
Livia settled back in her chair. There were no further stirrings, no further
signs of color, of vibrancy around. She resigned herself to wait, as she had
learned to do while still a mortal, while still Caesar's wife.
"A most excellent incendiary. Yes, quite satisfactory. Don't you think?"
Livia had expected the voice to come from one of the corners of the room,
where the shadows had fled. She was disappointed as the form materialized
directly before her, standing atop the table. What Livia saw was the vivid
image of Venus.
Livia made a low bow, trying to appear unruffled. "Mother."
The shape before her fluttered excitedly. "Is everything in place?"
"Yes, of course, as you can see for yourself. Your Endgame will be something
talked about for generations to come. If we don't all kill each other
first."
"You won't kill each other first. Trust me," Lilitu's shade replied. An
uncomfortable silence fell in the shadowy room. It was Lilitu who broke the
stillness. "You fear that my Headless Children will not put aside their
differences, that they will not follow my lead."
"I fear," said Livia, "that we shall bring down upon ourselves the bloodiest
war that has ever ravaged the Headless Children."
"Ah, but you have gone to such great pains to ensure that this does not
happen," Lilitu soothed. "Look around you. All is in order. Everything is in
its proper place." The figure cast an admiring eye over the precise
arrangements. It paused, its shadowy hand eclipsing Livia's face. "Death to
the mortal world," the shadow commented ruefully. There was a sudden dank
chill in the air, which might have been a sigh.
"We shall not fail you," Livia said almost in a whisper.
"For your sake, I hope not," Lilitu replied. Then her figure disappeared.
With that, Livia's features became passive again. Slowly, she rose and
walked toward the door. She could not resist taking one last long look over
the room. Then, with mingled satisfaction and resignation, she reached out a
sure hand toward the table and took a single step sideways into darkness. A
world filled with shadow and with moonlight with the trappings of Lilitu's
Endgame.
========