DISCLAIMER:
The concepts of Immortality, and the characters used in this work are from HIGHLANDER: THE SERIES which is the property of Davis/Panzer Productions, Inc., Rysher Entertainment and Gaumont Television, and are used without permission. This is an amateur publication intended solely for the entertainment of its readers. No copyright infringement is intended.
Some lyrics from LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH by Vince Gill have been quoted in this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Permission is given to distribute this work, including hard copy, as long as all disclaimers, notes, and my name and address are included. Just let me know where you are putting it and make no money from it. Please do not publish in any fanzine without my consent.
The story takes place in series time after the "The Colonel". I attempted to stay strictly within the confines of fact presented in all episodes prior to that one. However, events that occur later in the series and what I've done here don't mesh so I guess this an alternate universe.
CREDITS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:
I want to thank all the people who edited "Their Spirits Live On" and helped me with suggestions and technical advice. Those people are: Michele Martin, Todd Andrews, Russet McMillan, Helen Keckler, Sonja van den Ende.
Duncan MacLeod closed his book and placed it on the table. He couldn't concentrate and had been reading the same passage over and over for the last half hour. It was Christmas Eve and he was alone. Being alone wasn't unusual for him, but this year the holiday season seemed more lonely than any he had experienced in his whole long life.
MacLeod touched one of the speed-dial buttons on his phone. After several rings he again heard Connor's machine and he hung up without leaving another message. Connor often traveled, so Duncan wasn't really surprised when he got no response, but tonight Duncan wanted to talk to a friend and his elder kinsman had come to mind.
Picking up his personal phone directory to try another number, the letter fell out, landing on the floor. He stared at it, willing it and its message to disappear. As he retrieved the envelope, he studied the French postage stamps. How could such beauty bring such horrible news?
After Paolo's brother was arrested, Ceirdwyn had taken young Paolo under her wing. Duncan smiled to think of how maternal the Celtic warrior had become. She told him Paolo had resisted her attempts to help him at first, but they both needed someone and soon had a growing friendship. The child filled an empty spot in her heart and gave her the taste of life she needed to ease the pain of losing her mortal husband.
The letter from Paolo had arrived yesterday. It told how he had gone to Ceirdwyn's house for dinner and found the place in a shambles with broken glass everywhere. There was a large pool of blood at the base of the stairs, and Ceirdwyn had disappeared without a trace. The street smart kid found Duncan's address among Ceirdwyn's things and then cleared out. At the end of the letter Paolo said he was going to leave Paris and live with a distant cousin.
Duncan called Maurice as soon as he got the letter. The Frenchman told him that in the two weeks since Ceirdwyn's disappearance, the police had no clues about what happened. That didn't surprise MacLeod because Immortals were good at covering their tracks. But Duncan knew what it meant. If Ceirdwyn had taken a head, she would never have left the mess in her house for Paolo to find and she wouldn't have had to disappear. His friend was dead, and her Quickening had been taken.
MacLeod thumbed through the worn pages of the directory. He had tried finding Amanda off and on for several weeks with no success. He glanced at her trunk sitting against the wall and wondered why she had not called him. When she had left after the incident with Killian she told him she would send for her things when she got settled. Trying a couple of the numbers with no success, he threw the book on the table, picked up his coat and sword and headed out into the night.
The air was calm and cool, but not bitingly cold. MacLeod headed down the almost empty street with no destination in mind. He was startled when a young couple bumped into him as they rushed past. They ran up the steps of a Catholic church and as they opened the doors, MacLeod heard the uplifting sounds of a chant being sung.
MacLeod's eyes rested on the cross at the front of the church. He could still feel the scorched cross from the end of Paul's rosary in his hand. It had been less than a year since his friend, Brother Paul, and his choir of monks had come to the city for a performance at Vanderbilt Hall. MacLeod had met the friendly monk in Europe around the middle of the seventeenth century and was quite surprised he had ventured off holy ground for the singing engagement.
Paul was dead, killed by Kalas out of revenge and hatred. MacLeod shook his head to rid himself of the unhappy memory of Kalas, an Immortal who had so drastically changed his life. He left the church and the memories.
MacLeod had been walking about ten minutes when he realized it had begun to snow. Pausing to watch the snowfall that was a rarity in Seattle, MacLeod thought of the battlefield during the Napoleonic wars where he had first met Darius. The former warrior, who became a priest, had made MacLeod see that the wars of mortal man were not really something he should join. For the most part after his year with Darius, MacLeod had avoided getting directly involved in fighting mortal conflicts. There was no question his friendship with Darius had changed MacLeod forever.
Darius was dead now, killed on holy ground, in his own church, by mortals. He should have been safe. Instead, his two-thousand years of wisdom and knowledge were lost forever. MacLeod looked up into the snow and spoke softly. "You were so wise and you taught me so much. You weren't supposed to die."
MacLeod walked on.
The men who beheaded Darius were Watchers. No, Joe would tell him, not Watchers, Hunters. The radical splinter group of the ancient Watcher organization felt all Immortals were an inhuman evil that must be eradicated. But MacLeod knew they were wrong. His life might be longer, but it was no less human than the Hunters who wanted to kill him. He laughed and cried, felt joy and pain, made love and war, and had friends and enemies just like the next man.
Even though MacLeod had killed Horton, the leader of the Hunters, he wasn't convinced that was the end of them. Horton had threatened that if he was killed, others would come to continue what he had begun. MacLeod glanced over his shoulder. With an Immortal at least he could sense the potential danger. Now he had to think about mortals also coming after his head.
Several more minutes of aimless walking brought MacLeod into a more lively section of town. He heard a raucous Christmas celebration going on inside a tavern. With sudden recognition, MacLeod realized he was outside "Joe's" bar. Only it wasn't "Joe's" anymore. The neon sign on the side of the building now said "The Blue Banjo". MacLeod wondered when Joe had sold out. Was he even still in the city? Had he asked to be re-assigned to another region to watch another Immortal?
Joe and MacLeod had become tentative friends after the incident with the Hunters. In the succeeding two years their friendship grew and they defied all the rules that said Watchers and Immortals could not be friends. But the arrival of an Immortal named Cord, a man to whom Joe owed his life, ultimately ended MacLeod's friendship with the Watcher. Joe had pleaded with MacLeod to let Cord live and that moment of compassion allowed Cord to kill Charlie DeSalvo.
During the time MacLeod and Charlie worked together in the dojo, Charlie began to realize there was something different about MacLeod. Now, MacLeod wondered if not telling Charlie about his immortality had cost the mortal his life. Even in the last days, MacLeod had not explained to Charlie why he couldn't kill Cord and why he shouldn't try. Maybe if MacLeod had said something sooner, he could have saved Charlie.
MacLeod walked away from this place where one friend died in his arms and another friendship was irrevocably broken. Amanda had tried to get him to reconcile with Joe, but it just hadn't been possible. After their one meeting in the bar, they agreed the separation was best and had no more contact. Under the circumstances, MacLeod understood why Joe left without even saying good-bye. This was another friendship lost because of his immortality.
MacLeod looked around trying to spot his Watcher but saw no one. That really didn't surprise him because they were good at hiding. MacLeod sighed. It was a night to be home with your family so maybe the Watcher was taking the night off.
The image of a family gathered around a Christmas tree made MacLeod think again why he was wandering the snowy streets. In his four-hundred years of life he had spent other Christmases alone, but more often he was with friends, sometimes other Immortals and sometimes mortals. The holiday celebration had changed throughout the centuries, but the feeling of love and companionship with friends was an eternal constant. This Christmas those feelings were missing. He was completely alone.
As he waited on the crosswalk light to change, MacLeod heard "The First Noel" coming from the radio of a car stopped at the intersection. Noel. That was her name, Tessa Noel. He and Tessa had lived together over thirteen years and those were some of the happiest he'd spent with any woman, mortal or Immortal. MacLeod almost smiled as he remembered Tessa's consternation at his ability to find perfect gifts for her. She never felt that what she gave him was good enough, but just being with her was a gift in itself. He treasured every Christmas, every moment, he had with her.
A stab of pain like being impaled on a sword gripped MacLeod. Tessa had been dead for almost two years but it felt like only yesterday that he had found her on the street, shot to death by a crazed junky. She would not have been in that neighborhood and become a victim of the random violence if she had not been kidnapped by a Hunter to be used as bait to draw MacLeod into a trap. Ultimately, it was his immortality that had caused her to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and she died because of it.
MacLeod closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. In his mind he saw Tessa when he first told her of his immortality. Instead of being frightened, she was concerned about how lonely he was because everyone around him died while he continued to live. The tears came unbidden and rolled down his cheeks. Several moments passed before MacLeod wiped his face with his hands and walked on.
The snow was getting heavier and a brisk wind was driving the icy flakes into his still moist skin. MacLeod decided it was time to return home but when he turned a corner, he found himself face to face with a scene that again stirred painful memories.
A flame burned and sputtered in an open barrel and several people stood around it trying to keep warm. During his lifetime, MacLeod had sat beside many campfires to ward off the chill of night, but as he stared into the flames he remembered sitting in front of a fire with Mei-Ling Chen.
Mei-Ling had been a teacher and very good friend. The news of her death had caused MacLeod to walk away from his life with the sword for a short period of meditation. But the pain of another companion dead stayed with him. Mei-Ling was not killed in battle. She had been unable to defend herself and her loss burned deeper because she was killed due to the direct interference by a mortal, one of the Watchers.
MacLeod backed away from the disturbing memory and stumbled against the large plate glass window of a motorcycle dealership. When he turned and saw the display of bikes inside, he immediately thought of Richie, the young, rambunctious Immortal he had taken in and trained. MacLeod had last seen his friend on Thanksgiving. They had spent the whole day together, training in the morning, eating a large dinner in the loft, then talking late into the night about women, life, women, immortality, women, bikes, women, death, and women. Richie's hormones always seemed to keep his mind on members of the opposite sex.
A fierce anger swelled in MacLeod's chest as he thought of one particular woman. Felicia Martins had been waiting for Richie to return home that night. MacLeod always wanted to believe that Richie had put up a good fight, but he couldn't help wondering if his own reluctance about killing women had tainted Richie's resolve to defend himself against the female Immortal. MacLeod placed his hand on a poster in the window. It was of a souped up Harley, the kind of bike Richie had talked about owning someday. "I miss you my young friend."
The searing memory of his last meeting with Felicia tore through MacLeod's brain. She had come to the empty dojo around noon on the day after Thanksgiving. When MacLeod sensed another Immortal he stopped his kata and turned expecting to see Richie. The sight that greeted him chilled him to the core of his soul.
"Well, Highlander," Felicia snarled and tossed Richie's rapier at MacLeod's feet, "your pup gave me a little jolt but his head was hardly worth taking."
"What have you done?" MacLeod asked as he picked up the Spanish sword.
As she unsheathed her own weapon, the cat-like woman grinned. "I did the same thing I always do. I cut away a man's support and watch him crumble. No Richie, no Amanda, not even that mortal, Tessa, is with you any longer. You're alone now, Highlander and I'm going to take your head."
MacLeod's mind was reeling and he barely managed to block Felicia's first blow. Richie can't be dead, he thought. I saw him just last night. Though MacLeod's mind wasn't on the battle, his reflexes and natural skill kept Felicia at a distance, but she was gaining the advantage. A solid strike that opened a bloody gash in his side brought MacLeod out of his fog.
Felicia sensed the change in MacLeod. He was now fighting like a demon possessed. There was no question the man was good, but she knew she could take him. She'd done it before with larger and stronger opponents. Felicia saw the move coming that MacLeod had used against her before, and blocked it expertly.
"That won't work a second time, MacLeod. I wasn't born yesterday."
"Maybe you weren't, but neither was I," MacLeod said as he locked his sword hilt against hers. With a swift upward pull, the weapon came out of her hand and flew across the room. MacLeod raised the rapier for the killing strike at her neck.
Felicia did a back-flip and ran towards the door. "Another time, MacLeod." With a glance at her sword and coat left on the floor, she slipped away.
MacLeod followed but stopped at the top of the landing when he saw her rush into a group of boisterous young men who were passing. She turned and smiled cunningly. "Thanks for the party, MacLeod. I'll be back." She said something to the young man who was holding her and they stopped as she walked back to stand at the bottom of the dojo steps. "I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier, but you won't be seeing Amanda again either."
Glancing at the group of mortals just a few feet away, MacLeod hissed his question in a loud whisper. "Did you kill her too?"
"No, but I know who did."
MacLeod started down the steps.
"Not in front of mortals, Macleod." Felicia ran back to the waiting young men and disappeared around the corner.
MacLeod let his hand drop from the glass. "Woman or not, if she ever crosses my path again I will take her head. That's a promise, Richie. Against my better judgment I let her live because you asked me to, and now you've paid the ultimate price." He took several deep breaths to control his emotions and walked on into the silent night.
As he continued on his solitary path, it wasn't visions of sugar-plums that danced in MacLeod's head, but visions of Amanda. He didn't know if Felicia had told the truth about her, but he was concerned at her absence. Sometimes he didn't hear from Amanda for decades, but in recent years she had been with him frequently and to suddenly disappear seemed odd.
Amanda had been a thorn in his side for almost as long as he had been Immortal. He didn't know why they were such good friends since she usually managed to get him in trouble, but Amanda always seemed to be there for him when he needed comfort. She could make him laugh when there wasn't much to laugh about. In an odd sort of way he knew they loved each other.
MacLeod stopped and stared at a child's snowman standing silent sentinel in a yard. The pipe stuck into the misshapen face of the statue of snow was just like the one Fitz smoked. Hugh Fitzcarin had been one of MacLeod's best friends and every time they were together, except the last, had been good times. MacLeod shut his eyes against the memory of Kalas taking Fitz's head. The one-on-one rule meant all MacLeod could do was stand by silently and watch his friend be killed.
The pent-up rage released itself as MacLeod slammed his fist into the mid-section of the snowman. Its head teetered for a moment, then fell to the ground. MacLeod sank to his knees in the snow and then sat back on his heels. He looked at the snowman's head, shut his eyes, then threw his own head back and screamed, "No!!!" in an animal-like, primal voice. He didn't move for almost a minute.
When MacLeod finally opened his eyes, his gaze fell on the decapitated snowman. "Now you've started beheading defenseless snowmen," he mumbled to himself. "What does that say about you, Highlander?"
As MacLeod began trying to repair the damage he'd done and replace the head, he heard a woman's voice. "Are you all right mister?"
MacLeod saw a young native American woman standing behind him with a blanket drawn around her shoulders. A boy of about six peaked out from behind her legs. In the dim light coming from the open door of the house, they looked a lot like Little Deer and Kahani.
It had been over a hundred and twenty years since his adopted family was massacred, but he still felt their loss. MacLeod had been at peace for the first time he could remember while living with the Lakota Sioux tribe. He was out of the Game, and he and Little Deer were happy together. Her son was the child MacLeod knew he could never have, and he loved the boy as his own. They had been killed and he had been unable to do anything to stop it.
"Mister, I heard you scream. Are you all right?"
The woman's voice brought MacLeod back to the present. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." MacLeod struggled to his feet, lifting the head at the same time. "Mr. Snowman here just had a little accident." He put the head in place, then arranged the eyes, nose, and mouth. As he picked up the pipe and pushed it into the snow, he said quietly, "Good-bye, old friend."
"What did you say?" the woman asked.
MacLeod grinned at the boy who continued to stare silently from his hiding place. "I just said, 'Now you're okay, old friend.' He is your friend, isn't he?" he asked the child.
The little boy nodded and clutched his mother's leg tighter.
"Merry Christmas," MacLeod said, as he started down the street. After walking several more blocks, MacLeod felt the cold start to seep into his bones and he looked around for a place to get warm. Most businesses were closing early tonight, but he saw a tavern up ahead that still had its lights on.
He went inside, sat at the counter and ordered a drink. While waiting to be served, Duncan watched a group of young college age men laughing and joking. When one of them threw a can of beer at another, Duncan remembered the first time he met Adam Pierson. The man, a Watcher, was also the five-thousand year old Immortal, Methos.
The package arrived on Halloween and Duncan knew Kenny planned the timing intentionally. Inside was Methos' completely clean Ivanhoe sword and a note from the eight-hundred year old Immortal who was stuck in a ten year old body. The note said: 'Trick or treat, MacLeod. I have been taking all kinds of "treats" since I left you. Imagine my surprise when I found out Adam was a friend of yours. Adam was so trusting, and always had those headphones over his ears. He was easy. Kenny'
MacLeod had only known Methos for a short time, but they had become good friends. For him to have died at the hands of that conniving little bastard was obscene. Duncan turned away from the sight of the young men as the bartender placed the shot glass on the bar.
The man walked away, and MacLeod took a swallow of his drink. He knew immediately it wasn't the single malt he had ordered. It was a good, though not great, French cognac. MacLeod swirled the glass and remembered the last time he'd seen his friend, Segur.
MacLeod hadn't been much over a hundred when the two of them were last together. They had just buried a friend, a man MacLeod had known from his birth until he was old and gray, and the death was pressing in on MacLeod. Segur told him the loss of the people close to them was the price they paid for their immortality.
MacLeod stared into his glass and spoke to himself. "Segur, old friend, you told me I'd have a long time to get used to losing people. Well, it's been another three-hundred years and it hurts just as bad now as it did the first time."
As he swallowed the last of his drink, MacLeod shut his eyes against the memory of the bottle of cognac Richie and he had shared. When Segur gave it to him he said it was the finest cognac in all of France and they would drink it together. But Segur hadn't returned from his battle with Martin Hyde. And now they were both gone, the old friend and the new friend, and MacLeod was drinking alone. He got up and almost ran from the tavern. Once outside he drew in a long, deep breath of the cold air.
MacLeod started across the street without looking. The sound of a bus horn caused him to jump back onto the sidewalk. As the vehicle passed within inches of him, he glanced at the billboard on its side. On one end was a picture of two identical young women and on the other end was a picture of two identical young men. In the middle it said "Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun with DoubleMint Gum".
Doubles, two that are the same, yet different, two sides to the same coin. The two faces of MacLeod's good friend Michael Moore and his evil alter ego, Quentin Barnes leaped into MacLeod's mind like the twins on the billboard. As he watched the bus disappear into the night, MacLeod remembered the last time he had seen his friend.
Michael was dead now...killed by MacLeod's own hand. MacLeod had promised Michael he would stop Quentin Barnes and he had kept that promise but he would forever live with the sight of Michael dead at his feet. Facing the death of a friend was always difficult, but to kill a friend caused a deep pain that never disappeared.
MacLeod knew the pain all too well, for there had been others. The image of Brian Cullen, the way he had been before the drugs, came into focus for a moment. The deaths of Gabriel Piton and Tommy Sullivan had also been hard. Even though the men had changed, MacLeod still considered them friends and felt their loss. Killing someone evil like a Kern or a Kalas was easier than taking the life of someone you knew for centuries and called friend.
Shaking off this latest memory, MacLeod decided to head back to his loft when he felt another Immortal. Looking around, he located the man coming out of the park. They soon stood face to face under a street lamp. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. I have no fight with you tonight."
The other man held up his hands to show he bore no weapon, then slowly put one of them into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small crystal on a necklace chain and held it so the light reflected off the stone. "My name is Pierre LaSalle, and I think you'll recognize this."
MacLeod put his hand on the hilt of his sword. "That belongs to Amanda." Even though he knew the answer, MacLeod had to ask, "How did you get it?"
LaSalle placed the crystal back into his pocket as he pulled his sword. "She didn't let go of it without a fight, I'll tell you that. Her Quickening was quite powerful, for a woman."
MacLeod had the katana out and blocked the first move made by his opponent. The two men circled warily, exchanging blows faster than the eye could follow, with neither man gaining any advantage. MacLeod thought about how he'd never see Amanda's mischievous smile again, and attacked with a renewed vigor. His relentless advance pushed the man back into the darkened park.
MacLeod's blade struck home against LaSalle's upper thigh, opening a large wound. MacLeod ducked and rolled just as the other man's sword swished through the air where his head had been. MacLeod was back on his feet quickly and raised the katana to strike at his opponent's neck. LaSalle twisted to the side and partially blocked the swing so the katana only sliced his arm from shoulder to wrist. The force of the blow knocked LaSalle to his knees, but he kept a grip on his sword. He held it in both hands with the point upwards staring into the face of the man above him.
MacLeod advanced again and swung. LaSalle thrust upwards with his sword, but his attempt at stopping the blow fell short of its mark. Just before MacLeod brought the katana down, removing LaSalle's head from his body, the other man's sword impaled MacLeod's chest.
MacLeod stared at LaSalle's sword, then pulled it out of his body as the Quickening struck him with its full intensity. Several of the street lights burst, some of the trees in the park caught fire, and the Christmas lights strung along the park buildings popped one at a time. Finally all was still as the energy transfer was complete.
MacLeod searched LaSalle's pockets until he found Amanda's necklace, placed it in his own pocket and staggered to his feet. MacLeod knew the wound in his chest was bad, probably fatal, and he didn't want to be in the park, dead or alive, when the police showed up. He made his way into an alley a few blocks away before he collapsed into some empty boxes and died.
"Hey, Sammy, look here."
"What?"
"There's a guy in the alley."
"So. There's always some drunk passed out along here. You're supposed to be looking for a house to knock off. We need something to sell really bad."
"But Sammy, this guy's not a drunk. See those clothes and that watch. He's a rich dude."
Sammy stopped and looked at the man lying among the boxes. He pulled his gun from his belt, then kicked the man's foot. When nothing happened, he motioned to his younger brother. "You get his wallet and watch. See if he has any rings, too."
Billy opened the man's coat then stepped back in surprise.
"What's wrong now," Sammy snarled.
"Look...look at that."
Sammy moved so he could see better and saw the dim light reflect off from a sword.
"What is it?" Billy asked.
"It's a sword, stupid. Don't you know anything?" Sammy used his gun as a pointer. "Take it too. We should be able to get a few dollars for it."
Just as Billy leaned over the still form again, MacLeod took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He reached up and put his hand around the boy's neck. "I don't think you want to do that."
"Let go of my brother!" Sammy shouted.
MacLeod looked around the boy he held, who couldn't be more than ten, and saw a boy of about fourteen pointing a gun at him. "You two just leave me alone and no one will get hurt."
Billy struggled in MacLeod's grasp.
"Let him go I said!" Sammy waved the gun defiantly.
Their Spirits....Continuation
Please feel free to e-mail the author at burton_e@ykm.com with any questions or comments.
Get your own Free Home Page