EHYEH-ASHER-EHYEH (I AM THAT I AM): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Wed, 25 Sep 2002 13:17:37 -0400
Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh (I am that I am) 33/34
Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx
Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com
Vienna, Watcher's Headquarters
April 23, 2013
Joe Dawson left the elevator in the hall. He moved his wheelchair to the
left and headed for the door at the end of the hallway. Beyond it was a room
in which he had spent much time over the last days. Once in front of the
gate, he moved his wheelchair up to a panel positioned at his eye level
beside the door. The screen lit up, registering his presence, and he let it
scan his eyes and forehead. A measure to keep out those who shouldn't have
access to this chamber. When it cheeped OK he punched in the access code.
The security computer cheeped again, confirming he had clearance for that
floor, and a moment later the security computer recognized him and the
massive door clicked loudly, and then started to open. In the next days
Voice Recognition technology would be added to security.
Then something strange happened. For a brief moment all the lights in the
building went out. Even the little red emergency lights near the floor were
gone. Joe blinked in the total darkness. There'd been a few brownouts and
even a blackout or two in the city in the last couple of days, but Watcher
Headquarters had its own generators. Several of them. In several different
places on the grounds. They couldn't all have gone bad, just like that.
After a moment, the lights returned as if nothing had happened.
Joe frowned. He wasn't superstitious. Then again, too much had happened in
the world the last month. He moved his wheelchair and entered the room. For
a moment, he scanned the area. It was an impressive chamber; groaning
bookshelves covered all four
walls. The scrolls and books were the Watcher's chronicles. The thousands of
volumes were arranged, as possible, like in any library, by date, and,
within each section, by author and character. The smallest of the four walls
was devoted to the first fifteen chronicles the Watchers knew about
nowadays, with many of the texts in Sumerian or Sanskrit. Pressing a button
on his chair, Dawson advanced toward the smallest wall.
Once there, he took the scroll of the Seventh Chronicle, the one that had
been written in Akkadia. Years before, Don Saltzer and Adam Pierson-alias
Methos-had translated the cuneiform volume. Dawson touched the scroll with
religious respect, as if afraid to break it out with his touch.
Dawson was still in shock because of the recent events all around the
world-and he still didn't understand all of it. Some words could not be said
aloud. Even the thought of them sent disturbing ripples through the world of
umbra, the place of magic and legend-no, the Dream-he corrected himself. As
far as he knew, such a place had been uttered a few days ago.
>From his pocket, he took out the e-mail intercepted by the Watchers in
Europe. Dawson fumbled and shivered as if someone were walking upon his
grave. He covered the lapse in his thought with a weak fit of coughing,
taking the opportunity to gesture for another good will. Someone had poked
the fire back into a more welcoming blaze, sending shadows scurrying for the
corners of the room. Chairs were hastily shifted to make room for the
storytellers closer to the hearth.
Dawson was having none of it. When he was again suitably fortified against
the chill with a long draught, he waved aside their fussing in mock
resignation. "Worry a body to death with all this mothering. Haven't needed
anyone to wipe my nose for the past seven decades," he murmured, feeling the
legend rising up against his approach. This was the
trickiest part of the whole endeavor. Story, a real story, had to be coaxed,
courted, finessed. He had the uncomfortable suspicion that this
chronicle-its mysteries included-was lying in wait for him.
Among the Immortals, now he knew, they were still extremely ancient,
extremely powerful figures from the past among humankind. Beings like
Lilitu; She Who Belonged to the Night had been one of them. Zarach Bal-Tagh,
called the Son of the Endless Night, was another. Days ago, for the first
time in more than twelve-thousand years, they were present, in mind and
body, fighting against each other to rule the world.
Now Dawson knew there had been many whispered tales but few facts available
about the mysterious duo. Many legends spoke of how Lilitu and Zarach
unquestionably had walked the earth, but yet none admitted having met
either. Dozen of stories circulated about their involvement in the Game, the
eternal war waged for control of the human race, but no actual proof of
their involvement could be found. There were legends, but no one could
separate myths from reality.
According to the storytellers and scholars, the pair had been part-of even
the founders-of the group called Ancient Gathering, an assembly of seven
Immortals who had ruled the earth twelve-thousand years before from the
Garden of Eden, the mythical city of Mach'azareel. But even then, both
Lilitu and Zarach had been consumed with the desire to rule the world. They
had been mother and son, master and protege as well as lovers. That too was
part of the legend. Working together, using their powers in concert,
they had constituted perhaps the most dangerous Immortals ever to walk the
earth.
Lilitu was the schemer, the plotter, and the seducer. The daughter of the
king of a vast and prehistoric megapolis, she was in life and then in
Immortality the most beautiful woman of the primordial world. Why not? She
had been known as Lillake, later as Lilith, first wife of Adam, mother of
demonkind in many legends.
Zarach was the hunter. None knew his true age or history, even when some
facts pointed him as the mythical Cain from the Bible. Now, thousands of
years later, the Son of the Endless Night still roamed the earth.
She Who Belonged to the Night and the Son of the Endless Night, they were
among the earliest Immortals, dating from before recorded history, they were
gifted with incredible, vast and terrible powers. Ambitious in life, they
were no less rapacious in Immortality. No Immortal had been immune from the
duo's treachery and duplicity in ancient times.
Lilitu and Zarach-their names were linked forever now in the mythology of
the Immortals. Theirs was a love that transcended time. However, such
powerful beings, no matter how deep the ties that bound them, could not
coexist in harmony. Each dreamt of absolute control of humankind and
Immortals. Lovers became rivals and, over the millennia, rivals became
enemies. Afterwards, like so many others of the original Ancient Gathering,
with the fall of the Garden of Eden, they vanished into the dark sea of
legend.
Dawson sighed. It was not a pleasant thought.
For more than twelve-thousand years, handful members of the Ancient
Gathering had been engaged in a struggle for control the world. They called
it the Game. But though they controlled forces beyond belief, few ancient
ones cared to risk their survival in actual combat. Instead, they conducted
their secret war through pawns. Using their awesome powers, these Immortals
had deceived the unsuspecting younger ones into
fighting their battles. The Game was a complex, multiplayer chess game with
the world as the Prize.
And Lilitu, in one guise or another, had been participating in the contest
for millennia. She had experience manipulating the pieces on the game field.
Strangely enough, she also might be a puppet of yet an even more powerful
schemers never crossed her mind.
Now she was dead. Or so Dawson hoped. With a deep breath, he read the
e-mail.
-Original Message-
From: Amy
To: Joe Dawson
Subject: E-mail I told you about
I'm resending to you the strange e-mail we intercepted in Scotland. I don't
know if it has some relevance. However, according with your suspicions, I
think you're going to find it very interesting. Still want to see me
tomorrow?
Amy
-End of Message-
After reading the first part, Dawson sighed even deeply. The pace of events
had simply spiraled out of control for the Watchers, now he knew, much of
that was his own fault. There was a danger in pulling strings without
knowing exactly were they were attached. He tried to bury such thoughts and
stretched his spine. For a moment, he'd though perhaps that he felt the tug
of strings of which he was not the master. Then his gaze flew over the next
part of the e-mail.
-Intercepted Message-
From: Unknown
To: Unknown
Subject: Beloved
My beloved Zarach Bal-Tagh,
How can I describe to you my feelings upon hearing from you again after so
many years? Words are rough clay vessels that tend to crack when filled with
such emotions-emotions that run deep and span lifetimes. I had thought you
lost to me for all time.
To learn that you are not only alive, but still plotting against me! It is
altogether too much to hope for. It is almost better to believe this all
some cruel joke or perhaps a cunning trap. Between truth and treachery, the
latter is much the more constant mistress. She never strays far from my side
these last nights. I must confess.
But your hatred gives me cause of hope. I had almost forgotten what a fierce
and terrible thing your hate is. This is another debt I will have to repay
you when we meet. Ah, but what am I saying? We both know that such a meeting
is nearly impossible. As you have pointed out, your mere proximity places me
in a rather precarious position. You cannot venture so deeply into my
hostile territory. If you were to attempt it, all of my love for you would
not be enough to shield you from the consequences.
No, for the present you must lock away your hatred toward me in the secret
places of your heart and make fast the door. If you will only keep faith a
while longer, I will come to you, whatever the price. You may rely upon it.
I am not so vain, however, as to believe you have come all this way-across
the intervening oceans of time-merely to look up an old lover. I fear your
very presence bodes ill for the doves among us.
Have no fear, your secrets are safe with me. I mention this only in the
foolish and sentimental hope that perhaps once you have loosed your hawks,
we might arrange a rendezvous under the flag of a parley. You see how
eagerly I embrace any pretense that might bring you to me once more. I am
almost shamed by the fierceness of my desire to hold your heart with my
hands, literally.
Ah, soon my beloved. Keep your secrets safe a little while longer. What are
a mere few days to us, who have measured our loss and longing in millennia?
With each passing day, the anticipation of our reunion consumes me. My
beloved, every moment we are apart devours me. Why must you torment me so?
You know that I have given into your keeping the keys of my dark soul. There
is nothing I can deny you. So, if you must come, bringing fire and the sword
into the secret places of my heart, come quickly. Better to yield to such
arms as yours, than to fend them off.
How anxiously I await your presence, you whose name has so long been carved
upon my heart and in the history of mankind; you whose thoughts I know
better than the reflection of my own face in the mirror. My greatest
fear-which, judging by your angry thoughts seems justified-is that you might
mistake my intentions. You must know, though it seems you do not, that I
value your courage purely as agent of verisimilitude, that through your
feelings I might believe myself closer to your soul and, by extension, to
your Quickening. You have got to discern, though you hurl your accusations
at me, that it is the wolves at the door-the Ancient Gathering-not I, baying
for more. They, even among your own esteemed lineage, are the ingrates, the
feckless purveyors of incaution. You should recognize that I, above all
others, wish to see you come to no harm at the hands of the Ancient
Gathering.
Rest assured that I bear you no ill will despite the injuries inflicted upon
me and mine. Doubtless they arose from misunderstanding, for does not
jealousy flourish when Immortal hearts are separated from the heads? Know
that I forgive your every transgression, that I hold you still in as high
esteem as any cherished son or dear pet.
I find your war in good order and commend you for being alive after so many
sunsets. There is no step I tread, no sight I behold, that does not usher
though of you to my mind. Fear not that you will lack reward for your
sojourn among the infidels. No good deed goes unpunished, or so the wits are
not wont to say. For now, however, I languish in your absence, wishing only
that I might lay hands upon you. I wonder, in the end, which of us is going
to win? Never mind, either way, our bonds cannot be destroyed. Is it not so,
my
beloved son?
But tell me something I cannot see inside your heart: when you are alone, in
the middle of the night, does not it ever shake you the thought that
someday, the world will know about you? About me? About all of us? And that
maybe the mortals will come for you? Of course, I feel a great swell of pity
for the poor bastard who comes for you looking for trouble. But then again,
this is a war, I hope you realize. But make no mistake, my beloved; this is
not a war against me, my child. It never was against me. Stop looking for
hope, my son. There is none left. This has been always our world, not
theirs.
I remain your humble and gracious master for all eternity. Black kisses.
Naamah-Zmargad-Aisling-Lillake-Lilitu
-End of Message-
Neglected, the e-mail fluttered loosely in Joe's hand. His gaze was distant,
staring at some imaginary point in the distance. A strange feeling crossed
his heart. Somehow, he knew it wasn't over. He needed some answers. But no
Watcher had written of what went on either in the so-called island of Nod or
in Elena Duran's estancia, much to Dawson's disgust. For all the efforts of
the Watchers, there would always be holes in the Chronicles, so long as they
remained in secret, held themselves aloof, they would never be entirely
successful. But it came with the territory.
But maybe he was lucky, he realized suddenly; he could always ask Duncan
what had happened the last days. If the younger Highlander was so inclined,
he might even tell him. He had some interesting conversation in front of
him, Dawson thought. Taking the phone, the Tribune dialed Duncan's number.
A sharp ring broke the silence of the room. "Enter," Joe called putting the
phone aside, allowing his displeasure not to be apparent in his voice. The
ring shouldn't have come.
Amy stepped demurely into the room. She was a mature woman now whose
features still betrayed the torment of knowing the man in front her was her
natural father. "Hello, Joe."
"Please," Joe said, his voice calm now. "Sit."
"Did you read the e-mail I sent you?"
"Just now," Joe handed the letter back to Amy. "Doesn't look like these
Lilitu and Zarach get along very well-got along very well. There seems to be
a mocking tone in it. We can't mistake it for true affection. I think it's
not
anything else than pure spite."
"Not surprising," Amy said. "From all we know about these two now, they
don't exactly inspire intimacy."
"True. Apparently with good reason."
"How'd the Watchers take it?" Amy asked, unable to resist anymore.
"As always," Joe quickly responded.
Amy chuckled but didn't torment her father further. Then she grew serious.
"I know you pulled back our lines as tight as you can make them. These last
days, the Immortals, I mean, they were for real, right? Their Game, I mean."
Joe was looking over some notes, a list of patrons. Several of the names
were recently crossed off. "I don't know for sure," he said, then studied
the list more closely, tallying the numerous crossed-off names, and counting
the few that remained. Many of those marked out, he knew, had already
fallen. Some had likely seen an opportunity to save themselves and stolen
off into the night. How many? It was impossible to know for sure.
"This time was close, wasn't it?" Amy asked again, reaching for a cigarette.
"We knew from the start that someday it would be," Joe answered, still
looking at the list.
"You'd been planning on having the Macleods available to help, hadn't you?"
Amy asked, and then lit up, took a deep breath, then shrugged.
"Plans change," Joe responded. "We'll do what we can. It's all about timing.
We need to find this Zarach. How about things on your end?"
Amy nodded. "Everything is prepared."
Joe nodded solemnly. "Good. Because if things weren't ready... well, there
wasn't any point thinking about that right now. However, we need to know.
Apparently, we Watchers know just the barest inkling of the truth about the
Immortals. Their deepest secrets are still hidden, and I want to know."
Amy jiggled gravely this time. "It shall be as you say. Don't worry, we will
know the truth soon. You can count on that."
========
Western Argentina, near the Andes foothills
April 25, 2013
The light had started to die like a heavenly mantle. Soon it would be night.
The clouds had completely covered the mountains.
They were standing at the east side of a long hill, with knee high grass,
and the cliffs extended westward to the cloudy horizon. The dying sun
projected shadows above the earth. In the north rose a group of mountains,
high as the sky, and wide valleys flourished around the creation. The valley
was a land of epic beauty. Green mountains sat beneath a glowering cloudy
sky fringed with pink and purple, as if the clouds were too small for the
earth under them.
Maybe tonight wouldn't be a serenade of stars, singing white inside the
silence of an endless black firmament, but that didn't matter to them. Like
Gods' monuments, Elena and Corazon Negro watched the valley below them.
Today they watched the sunset with new eyes. Even when the setting sun
seemed to die, even when the sky seemed to be bleeding, they weren't afraid,
because for the first time in so many sunsets, the black curtain of the
night wasn't a promise of dark creatures and hidden agendas. There was no
more reason to fear the darkness, not anymore. The world was at peace, and a
soft breeze caressed Elena and Corazon Negro's hair. The Aztec's eyes sought
Elena's single eye and held it in silence for a while...
Elena smiled at him. "What?" she asked seeing his leopard eyes. "What are
you thinking?"
"About you, of course," he said softly.
"We are finally married," she whispered in soft voice, pressing her body
against him. "Are you happy?"
"I am. I love to sleep with you, my love, just sleep, lying beside you. I
love your warmth, your softness, and often I hope morning never comes..."
"What's next, my love?" Elena liked the sound of his voice, calm, passive,
new.
He looked toward the horizon, and saw the black clouds gathering, looming,
and roiling in the distance. "A storm is coming, but we'll live day by day,"
Corazon Negro whispered in her ear.
Elena pressed harder on him, enjoying his touch. "Yes... many storms will
come. But those are new stories, and we are at the end of this one."
"And the beginning of another?"
She hugged him. "Yes, oh yes," she whispered into his grasp, and kissed him,
deeply, passionately. "My love?" she asked instants later.
"Tell me."
After a long silence, Elena raised her eye to him and finally spoke,
searching his face with love. "When we were inside the Dream, what did
Lilitu mean when she said to us that we have lost?"
Corazon Negro shook his head. "Lilitu spoke of an ancient foretelling...
that great evil will come, always, under many shapes." He made a pause, as
if hearing something Elena couldn't. "I heard a similar story from
Quetzalcohuatl, more than a millennium ago. Such prophecy still chills my
blood."
"Do you think we Immortals will learn someday?" Elena inquired, looking for
hope.
He sighed softly. "Why not? We are fantastic beings, my love. We are capable
of imagining wondrous dreams, and we are able to conceive the worst
nightmares. Now the era of Aquarius is beginning and the Dream is finally
closed, even for me... for us." He paused, took a deep breath, and then
continued. "The future depends on us. We Immortals must cling to the light.
The light is our strength and our ally. With the light of the Dream we will
stand forever. We must remember where there is light, there can be no
darkness. I just hope that one day we can understand that we don't need to
kill each other for the Game... let's pray our race remains, never to
disappear..." Corazon Negro ran his fingers through Elena's hair, feeling
its softness.
"Years ago, when we buried Quetzalcohuatl, you said something like that,"
Elena whispered, raising her eye to his face, listening to him, and enjoying
Corazon Negro's hand caressing her hair. "You said that maybe someday there
wouldn't be anything left to show the world that we Immortals ever existed."
"Yes, I did," he said smiling. "But maybe I was wrong. Maybe one day mortal
men will know about our race."
"Or maybe not," Elena commented sadly. "Even now that Lilitu is finally
dead, the damage has been done. Her Game still exists. I have the feeling
that too many Immortals will always believe that in the end, there can be
only one. I fear the carnage will endure. Lilitu drove us inside a ceaseless
fight to survive, and it's lasted too many centuries. Her battle was a
struggle that knew no boundary of time or place. Maybe in the end, she
triumphed after all."
Corazon Negro nodded and then smiled openly this time. "No, it's not a
mindless, indifferent, blind universe, Curi-Rayen. It never was. Lilitu
lost; she failed in the end. There's still life everywhere, in heaven and on
earth, in the sea and in the stars, even in the darkest part of our Immortal
souls. And I know it is there that the Dream burns brightest. For the
moment, nothing else matters."
Elena smiled and kissed him, long, tenderly, with warmth.
"Netzyoltilana cihuatl," Corazon Negro said to her in Nahuatl.
Elena knew that phrase. "I love you too," she responded. "Forever." Then
they both turned to see the twilight. For an evanescent instant, looking
into the horizon, they thought they saw faces dancing in the black
clouds-Darius, Quetzalcohuatl, Nakano, Ramirez, Roderigo Rubio and other
faces neither of them recognized.
"Look at them," Corazon Negro whispered. "They are the witnesses of this new
world without end."
Elena's eye narrowed, trying to hear what the shapes were saying; they were
ephemeral, and spoke only to the shadows of the sky, and then disappeared
altogether.
"In otin ihuan in tonaltin nican tzonquica-here end the roads and the days,"
Corazon Negro whispered gently, making a deep bow toward the firmament.
It made Elena a momentarily sad but then Corazon Negro took her hand, taking
her back close to him, back into their circle of love. What was to become of
them? She didn't know. But one thing was clear in her soul: new challenges
were ahead. Life with Corazon Negro would never be dull. But there would be
no trouble today and certainly not tomorrow-God was at least that merciful.
He kissed her again, and the world around them ceased to exist. Yes, she
decided, they loved each other, and they would enjoy their love as long as
they could.
Nevertheless, above Elena and Corazon Negro, in the not-so-distant
horizon-in the near future in fact-a new tempest was taking form. But
whatever troubles, even tragedies, might lie ahead, they were part of
another story.
THE END
March 3-September 9, 2002
Florida-Mexico
========