Highlander: The Immortal Quickening

[Maid of Marvels]

Sam Curtis

Closed? He considered the issue... closed?!? Sam struggled to keep her temper at bay, though she well knew it flared dangerously close to the surface. "How... magnanimous of you, Aidan. I see that you haven't changed much over time. Cold-hearted as always."

She turned her attention to soaping a washcloth, applying the creamy lather to her leg which she had propped against the faucet. He left her for dead and had the unmitigated gall to tell her now that the issue was closed? Sam bit her tongue, both relieved and agitated by the sound of his quiet footsteps as he exited the room. "That's right," she grumbled under her breath, "Run away... again."

"Excuse me?"

Sam turned her head quickly. Aidan hadn't left after all, he'd merely gone into the other room for a chair. She eyed him truculently as he spun it around and lowered himself, leaning on the back in what appeared to be one smooth motion. His movements, much like his emotions had always been parsimonious, she thought, refusing to allow those other antipodal reminiscences to surface.

"I said... Run away again," she hissed, scrubbing at her skin as though it would cleanse her of the memory.

"Run away?? I have never run away. You, on the other hand... "

She bounded to her feet and turned to face him, hands on her hips. Sparks flew from her eyes as vitriol dripped from her tongue un. "Don't you turn this around, Aidan. Has your memory deteriorated with age? You left me for dead, damn you! Or did you send them after me? Is that it?"

Stepping from the tub, Sam stood before him as he rose, her fingers twitching dangerously close to her sword. "How dare you come here and say that the matter is closed! It will never be closed."

Aidan's eyes bore into hers, narrowing dangerously, though his body language showed no sign of tension, which only served to fuel her temper even further. Pushing past him, Sam stormed out of the bathroom calling over her shoulder. "Do you remember this place, Aidan? Do you? Do you remember this room??"

Sam could sense his proximity as she pushed aside an ancient chiffonier, but she didn't turn. Pulling back the corner of the worn carpet, she bent to prize up the loose floorboard beneath and pulled out a box. Trembling with anger and indignance, she spun around and shoved it at his middle. "Do you remember this, Aidan? Do you??"

 

[LongshanksSierra]

Aidan did not look at the box, merely returned Sam's gaze, although without the fury she displayed.

"I remember girl," he said slowly. "I'm surprised you didn't sell them after all the work you did to get them."

Her eyes blazed again, her nostrils flaring in fast and deep breaths. Her chest heaved as pearls of beaded bath water trickled down her skin, flashing memories of...

But that was the past.

"Sell Them!?!" Her voice raising a few octaves. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and her arm holding the box flexed as if she might make to throw it at him. "How dare you!" her lips formed a near snarl. "How dare you!"

"I've dared many things in my days," he kept his voice low and even. And even though she could have easily drowned him out, she always seemed to manage to hear him. Even if she refused to listen. "And as you are always so fond of reminding me, they are considerably more than yours. It has not, however, affected my memory. Whatever trouble you experienced here, it was your own doing. Not mine." She had conveniently left out the men who had come and kill him. Although it was odd she had not taken the figures with her. Guilt perhaps. She was always ruled by her emotions, whatever they happened to be at any given moment.

"AIDAN!" she began, "You are the most..."

"Perhaps," he said stepping around her and heading towards the door, "We should continue this conversation when you've learned to harness you emotions." He shrugged slightly, "If you ever do."

The box came whistling through the air.

Aidan reached out and plucked it in mid-flight before it could smash into his head. The loud Smack left a stinging sensation in his palm. After a moment he set the box down on an end table by the door. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, she stood there with her chin out, defying him to lash out at her. He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek. But it had been she who had always chosen the hard way to do things.

 

[Snow-Guy]

Judas Iscariot

"Zayn ba ayn, chel'at ha'min ha'enoshi" Judas was not in any mood to be accosted by beggars, and in the highly probable case that Bolivian beggars don't understand hebrew (a dick in your eye, scum of the earth), the force with which he shoved one of the more persistant beggars into a wall made his message quite clear.

"Understand? No money!" He yelled at the dispersing crowd of indigents in slightly accented English. That he was Jewish was obvious for anyone who looked, dark hair, dark eyes, brown skin, big nose, the accent just gave away that he was Israeli, and not one of those soft American Jews.

If you were an immortal, you could probably tell that Judas was one of your own kind, otherwise, he is just another Israeli guy in his mid to late twenties fresh out of university and military service, travelling the world.

Thinking of Immortals, there were plenty hanging around this shithole of a town. Judas sighed and checked his weapons. Personally, he didn't really care too much about cutting people's heads off, he'd done plenty of it in his time. But, there were a lot of crazies getting eternal life these days. The orientals especially seemed to think that life revolved around the sword.

Judas remembered his first sword, a clunky bronze thing that you had to pretty much beat people to death with. It bore about as much similarity to the beyond-razor-sharp titanium composite blade in his duffel bag as, well, he did to the boy who was given the sword and the simple instruction, "don't die, and if you have to, take as many of them with you as possible" If only his father knew how well Judas had followed his advice.

As useful as a sword was, technology had moved on since then. During his last stint in the IDF, Judas had aquired several high-tech toys. If you faced many enemies, you needed to have the best weapons possible. You also needed to be better trained, more ruthless, and determined to sell your life dearly. It was a lesson he had learned along with the tribes of Israel, he'd done his bit to teach it to the state of Israel too, one of the few things in his lifes he could feel proud of.

It must be the heavy immortal presence, usually he wasn't so introspective. The contents of the leather drawstring bag around his neck were weighing on his mind. Thirty pieces of silver. An unwelcome reminder of his biggest failure, perhaps one he could never atone for.

 

[Anam Cara]

Marie Summerlin

The sensation of a hand against her face and the sound of her name being spoken jolted Marie Summerlin upright, her eyes wide with terror as her mind was flooded with fragments of her last conscious moments. The bright glint of a knife at her throat... Pressure... Her mouth opened to scream, only to be muffled by a hand and the voice again... "Hush. Hush, Marie. You're safe. You're safe."

Marie's eyes darted about wildly, as she struggled to remember... Willed herself to make sense of it. The men... their voices, dangerous and threatening... hands that held her still... She could swear... It was craziness!

"They're gone," the voice said simply, quietly. "You're safe."

Nodding her understanding, she felt the grip against her mouth ease and finally slip away completely. Then and only then did she turn to look at the person who had so obviously saved her... life? No, that wasn't right, was it? Marie's mouth opened again, but this time he didn't cover it as she made no sound. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she buried her face in her arms and began to sob.

His arms encircled her gently, though he didn't speak until her tears had been spent. "My name," he said hesitantly, "is Thomas Shining Turtle. We have to leave here. Go somewhere safe."

"I have a place. Not far maybe from here. I'm Marie... " Suddenly remembering that he had spoken her name, she stared at him closely. "How did you know... " And then the other shoe dropped. "Thomas Shining Turtle? It can't be... I know who that is. It's... impossible."

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas

The Shoshone took a breath, trying to prepare both himself and her. He'd been through this before a time or two, and it was never easy. His own first rebirth had been pretty nasty, but he'd survived it. And, if she was who he guessed her to be, she had enough stamina to recover without throwing a fit about being alive.

"Not impossible. Just improbable." He looked about, then looked her square in the face. "The short version is, yes, I am that Thomas Shining Turtle. Really. And you would be the, what.. " he tried to run the numbers quickly, basing her apparent age against when Marie had passed. "Well, the several times great grand-daughter of a woman I once knew." He dug through his pockets, and pulled free the locket, undoing the clasp quickly and passing it to her with the picture exposed. "This woman."

He allowed her a moment, then stood, trying to come up with a way to better cover the visible blood on her. "How far would your place be?"

 

[Anam Cara]

Marie

Marie held the locket in her trembling hand, her eyes bouncing between it and Thomas. "Wh-where did you get this?" she whispered. "It... I... " she didn't understand anything right now. Except maybe getting cleaned up and back to the hotel. Where had all the blood come from???

"It can wait," she interjected when Thomas started to reply. "Near the University. But... " she held out her hands in a helpless way that silently reminded him of how she would appear to anyone they ran into.

"Spit."

At first Marie didn't understand, but did when she realized that he was holding out a handkerchief and meant to wipe some of the blood off her face with it. After a good deal of repetition and some rough scrubbing, Thomas finally seemed satisfied. "Here," he said, shrugging out of his jacket. "It will cover the rest."

Accepting it with a nod, she turned so he could help her get it on. "Now we can go. You know the way?"

Marie nodded, taking her pocketbook when Thomas picked it up from the ground. "Quite an ensemble," she quipped half-heartedly. If it wasn't all so frigging weird, she'd have laughed out loud.

They walked in silence, Marie lowering her head when anyone else drew near and Thomas moving closer. It seemed forever before they finally walked into the lobby of the hotel. "You have your key?"

Rumbling through her bag, she pulled it out. "Here."

"We'll take the stairs."

Two flights up and they were there. Marie shaking as she shrugged out of the jacket and headed for the bath. She needed to get the blood off and find out if she needed any stitches.

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas

Taking a moment, Thomas walked about the room, his eyes flashing as he took it all in. Not that there was much to take in, it was one of those rooms that screamed student. And not just due to the proximity to the university. It was moderately priced, close to the business districts, the various modes of transportation, the market place, the limited advanced technical trappings, and within easy walking distances of several touristy sites.

Her belongings didn't say much to him immediately. Basic, fairly chic (not that fashion was a strong point in his life), functional enough to survive third world baggage handling standards, non-descript enough to be ignored by the greedy and shifty. In fact, if it hadn't have been for the trio of red ribbons tied to a handle, and a zipper pull straight out of the Swiss Army catalog (thermometer on one side, compass on the reverse, slide out luggage tag and barcode for tracking the item), it might have been something he himself might have considered using. He considered the name on the tags for a moment, then let them drop. Part of him suggested pulling open her bags and sorting through her belongings, but he fought that impulse. He had several reasons to suspect her of being some sort of plant by the person or persons playing with immortals here in Bolivia, but he also knew that there was little reason to believe them.

He could hear her in the bathroom, strangled cries as she tried to understand where the blood had come from. She was already running multiple scenarios through her head, maybe one of the bad guys or the other, or both, bleeding over her somehow. Or, once she'd realized that they were hardly likely to have the ability or reason to have bled on her, she'd move to him. A bit more work there, but nothing that he couldn't disprove easily enough. And that left... who?

A stranger? Someone not in the area during her moments of lucidity? She'd pass over it quickly enough. So, who did that leave?

Checking to make sure that the door was closed and secured, he leaned against the wall outside of the bathroom, and closed his eyes. Spirits, even her voice sounded like hers . He could easily let his mind drift, and imagine that he was back with her, living in that simpler time.

But that wouldn't be fair to Marie, his Marie.

No, no longer his. He'd allowed her to walk away, to find her future. To have a husband that would age with her, would go through the same problems and trials with her, to have the children that she so desperately had wanted to have.

Of course, this Marie couldn't be a blood relative, but she certainly could have been her twin.

Sometimes the Old Ones just had to have some fun with him.

"It's yours." He allowed a moment for her to offer some protests, then repeated himself, only with some expansion on the idea. "The blood. It's yours. Not from the men that attacked you, not from me, not from anyone else that you didn't see. It's yours. Which we need to talk about." He knew that the best way to get her past the initial fear was to get her to talk, even if it wasn't about the real issue.

"So, what are you doing in Bolivia?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sam Curtis

Sam stared into Aidan's eyes defiantly, refusing to look aside. How could he think that she had betrayed him? It had been him... him!

The figurines had been stolen centuries before, Aidan had told her, and he'd sworn to find them and return them where they belonged. The "why" he hadn't explained, but it had taken many years, a great number of miles and a lot of palm-greasing to locate the set of delicately carved jade animals in the most unlikely of places -- Potosi, Bolivia.

When he told her that the deal had been struck and the exchange was to be made, she offered to accompany him. Aidan, however, hadn't showed up though an immortals intent on killing her did. The duel had been grueling, but Sam had survived, searching for and eventually finding the man who had the figurines after he ran off.

Returning to Aidan's home, she learned that even the servants had no news of him. Confused and angry, Sam had simply gone upstairs to her room -- this selfsame room she stayed in now that the building had become the Hostel Colonial -- and left the box of figurines for him in the hidey-hole before packing and leaving Potosi for what she believed would be forever. Aidan had obviously turned on her, though she still, even now, didn't understand why.

Shivering, Sam searched Aidan's eyes for a sign of remorse or at least recognition of the memory she'd tried to share with him just now. "Aidan," she whispered. "Why? Just tell me why."

 

[LongshanksSierra]

Why?

Was he still supposed to be the teacher? After all these years?

It was Sam who had brought about the end of their time together when she had stolen the figurines, and left him to deal with Immortals who had tried to ambush him on the way to the meeting. He didn't know if it had been intentional or not, but the root caude had undoubtably been a momentary impulse of hers. It was her greatest weakness. The passion that gave strength and speed also robbed purpose and balance. This was his last and final lesson to her, and the only one she would have to come to on her own.

"Why," he said aloud. "I can not answer. You already know. You always have, you've just never been able to hear it. You must learn to listen here," he said pointing to her temple with two fingers. "And here," he said touching her breastbone lightly in the same manner.

Accusation. Demand. Fire. They all still burned in her eyes. Her greatest weakness had also turned out to be his. It was that quality about her that had drwan him to take her as a pupil when he hadn't done so for centuries. It was that zest that had ultimately made him give in to his feelings for her when they moved beyond pupil and master, and into partners. He had failed her once, he would not do so again.

"I will not answer this one for you. You can only accept this when you discover it on your own."

 

[Anam Cara]

Marie Summerlin

Marie watched the water, which had taken on a decidedly pinkish cast, swirl down the drain before rinsing the tub and filling it back up. She'd gotten most of it off of her body and out of her hair, but she needed to be certain. Truth, she doubted ever seeing that much blood on someone who was still alive...

"It's yours," he had said. But how could it be? There were no marks on her body to indicate where the wounds had been. He obviously knew something... maybe a lot of things. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped on her bathrobe.

"So, what are you doing in Bolivia?"

She opened the door and stepped in front of the man who had declared himself -- impossibly so -- to be Thomas Shining Turtle. "Don't you know?" she demanded. "You had my locket."

"Your locket?" he asked quietly. "It was Marie's... "

"Yes. She was my great-great grandmother. Now tell me what you're doing with my locket."

"I bought it from a kid in the plaza this morning. I... "

Marie walked across the room, settling onto the edge of the bed and motioning for him to sit in the chair nearby. "Look, Thomas Shining Turtle -- or whoever you are -- that locket was stolen from me last year in the States. As to what I'm doing here, I got a letter with a photo of that same locket telling me that I would find it here in Potosi."

"What I found was a bunch of thugs who attacked me and... well, I don't know what they did exactly. Then there was you. And my locket."

Marie took a deep breath. "If you are Thomas Shining Turtle, you would be almost two hundred years old. Do you see my dilemma?"

"Older," he mumbled.

"What? Older!! What the hell is going on here?? I know I'm not crazy, dammit." She shivered, a weird sort of tingling coursing through her as Thomas walked closer and sunk into the chair.

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas

"Far older, I'm afraid. I'd love to give you an exact age, but one of the joys of the American expansion during the Indian Wars era was that anything resembling a calendar was outlawed. Tribal history and event dating was completely reduced to "in the time of my grandfathers...". I can tell you that I was around when the first white men began showing up, trading guns and gunpowder for animal skins and women. I can remember meeting with French traders, British trappers, Spanish soldiers, even Dutch slavers. I've been on every continent of this world, I've travelled by just about every means possible, from hiking to horseback, canoe to tramp freighter, wagon to jumbo jet. I've seen the sunrise from the barest reaches of the Great Divide, I've watched sunsets from the Australian Outback. I've seen the world change. In that time, I've been a hunter, a writer, a priest, a soldier, and a student, among other things. I've seen children born, I've buried friends and enemies. And, for a time, I shared all of it with your great-great grandmother." Thomas motioned to the locket.

"She was a special woman. She knew my inner-most secrets, she taught me as much as I hope I taught her." He briefly thought back to that horrorific first meeting, of her screaming at him as they thundered along.

"Okay, let's give you something to somehow authenticate what you know of this. You've got a family legend about this crazy Indian that made a promise to your family. Any descendent of Marie can ask him for aid. Money, advice, a place to sleep, a friendly ear, even something more, if the situation calls for it. You've got a.. " Thomas narrowed his eyes, trying to sort out the family line in his mind. ".. a cousin, I'd guess. A couple of generations back. Made his money in the railroads. Giorgi Donovan, went by the nickname Joe. Lived out west, trying to play engineer on the Central Pacific. For some reason, his runs had a lower number of engine issues, fewer boiler troubles, not so many raids by the locals on his loads. I didn't know anything about locomotives, but I did know that the water in the area wasn't any good to drink, and figured that it was probably no good for the trains, either. We found a couple of clear springs and stockpiled water for him. Kept the young toughs from hitting his train. In return, he occasionally lost some cattle from the roadcrew's food train, and he promised to take his pay with him, not blow it in the Hell On Wheels that moved ahead of the rail work. Or how about your great-aunt Lizette, who wanted to study in Paris, back when Adolph was starting to look westward? No matter what anyone said, she needed to be there. And when the troubles started, and she didn't want to stay, but was afraid to risk the submarine threat with an ocean voyage, she mysteriously kept getting packages of canned food and goods she could trade for what else she needed. Ended up staying overseas to the end of her days, sending her family pictures of rolling hills and ocean vistas, married and working at a minor little vineyard in Italy, fat and happy, eight kids, barely able to remember how to speak English, but fluent in French, Italian, Greek, and guilt. The last time I saw her, she chewed me out for not being married and cranking out grandchildren. She died surrounded by a family that never saw America. Or perhaps Benny, who wanted to go to South America with the press corps during the late seventies? Decided that the American press system was what should be seen everywhere, even if it meant pissing off the various military powers that all believed in "history is written by the winners". Disappeared into a little known Argentinean prison for four months. Lost an eye and a finger for his troubles. But, lo and behold, he's suddenly freed by "persons unknown". Hauled back to the states on a freighter, dumped off in New Orleans with a great story, a wallet full of small denomination bills, and a new respect for the new world order. Died just after the fall of the Soviet Union, teaching newly formed countries how to set up a free press. I could get him out of one prison, but I couldn't be there for a back-country sniper with a wish for the old days of Stalin and Kruschev."

Thomas sat back, his face impassive as he allowed her to take it all in.

"So, if I may ask, how did you come into possession of the locket? Your great great grandmother took it to the grave, as I remember."

 

[Snow-Guy]

Thirty pieces of silver. Someone was fucking with him. Whoever sent the package obviously had a high opinion of themselves. That didn't narrow it down much among the Immortal population. But whoever sent a FedEx box with 30 carefully preserved Roman coins and a map of Bolivia obviously knew too much. Judas had a couple of ideas who was trying to provoke him, and thought about his situation as he walked to the best hotel in town (for what little that award was worth).

You think that you're the lion and that I am the lamb, putting my head right into your den. I spit in your face and call it rain. This is not The Gathering, so you are a fool for bringing so many Immortals together. Let us live our lives, and you might live yours. But I shall look forward to killing you, whicever one you are.

Judas walked into the hotel, and took in his surroundings. He was pretty sure he knew the person coming into the lobby from the rooms. Was he right? Would he be recognised?

 

[voyager102]

Marus Al-Jaheen

The big man acknowledged the brief nod in his direction, and stepped forward, his papers ready in one hand, his carrybag ready to be inspected. He'd cleared one level of airport security, his passport and ticket only receiving the briefest of inspections. They always did, since he kept the paperwork in exquisite condition. Of course, having a few bills tucked into the passport never hurt, especially if he didn't find reason to notice their disappearance when he took the booklet back into his possession.

The bit of bribery wasn't necessary. He wasn't truly an illegal, he wasn't a wanted criminal, at least in this country or identity, and he could easily pass the regular background checks that these countries offered. However, he was a male of Middle Eastern descent, and that alone was usually enough to cause friction with security types in this day and age.

He did look like a person to not mess with. Big, dark skinned, a full beard, and the features that marked him as any of a couple of dozen nationalities known for their radical views about vengeance and the words of Truth. He could have passed for a man of faith, a warrior, a pirate, or an actor trying to play any of the above. He'd done most of it, and more, and was ready to do what he had to in order to fulfill an old promise. Plus, as he knew he was about to have to explain, yet again, he had full reason to scare them all.

The security guard leafed through his carrybag briefly, then pointed to the two packages from the luggage cart, checked in baggage with his own luggage tags (name on one side, emerald palm tree on the other), and yellow strips added to the handles. The strips weren't his, but he already knew what they represented. Even as the guard hoisted the longer one up and tapped at the locks, he passed over the second set of security papers. With a short sequence on the combination locks, he opened the case to reveal what had alerted security.

A wicked desert saber, double curved in the old style, encased in a tight scabbard of his own design. A Japanese fighting chain, complete with one weighted end and a vicious sickle on the other. And, a Browning pistol, complete with specialized holster, extra magazines, and maintenance kit.

"Bodyguard. I'm a bodyguard." Marus pointed to the various permits and licenses in the guard's hand, papers that allowed him to carry weapons across international lines without serious incident.

Actually, he was far more than that, but the other professions would do little to allow him to carry these items, not without serious incident.

Outside the airport, he signalled for a taxi, then loaded his equipment himself. he spent the ride trying to adapt to the thin air, allowing himself to enjoy the scenery as he passed. Not too unlike the lands he had come from, the place he called home, the ideal that lived within his memories.

Recognizing the change in the driver's manner, he began readying himself for his disembarkation, pausing only long enough to pull a picture from a slit pocket in his robes. A street scene, old style buildings, a bit of a billboard showing a somewhat recent movie advertisement, and a clear image of a man, tight faced and Asian, his eyes glaring out as if he could reach out of the photograph and attack his viewer.

"Time to settle old scores..."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sam Curtis

The sudden revivification of the confusion, hurt and anger Sam had fought so hard to suppress was threatening to incinerate her and here he was telling her that it was for her to discover the answer. How? How could she discover what was in his mind the day he'd betrayed her? Truth, this made no more sense two hundred odd years later than it had the day it happened.

Unable and unwilling to lower her gaze from Aidan's, Sam sagged under the weight of the impossible task he had set before her. She'd tried to send Aidan a link, but time and distance both had obfuscated any bond they'd once shared. Surely the fact that the figurines were still where she'd left them had to justify her own fidelity?

With her hands turned palms up, she held them out toward the man who had once been everything to her. "You left me to die, Aidan. Those men... The only thing I knew to do was to bring the jade back here and leave."

 

[Anam Cara]

Marie Summerlin

Marie pulled the bathrobe tightly around her body as if it would somehow protect her, not so much from Thomas' recitation of little-known facts involving her family history, but from the incredibly irrational implications stemming from his knowledge. By the time he had finished, she had covered her mouth with her hand to hold back a scream that was so dangerously close to bursting free.

"So, if I may ask, how did you come into possession of the locket? Your great great grandmother took it to the grave, as I remember."

The young woman blinked and blinked again. At last! Something she had an almost logical answer for. "She had a daughter," Marie began.

"Amanda."

"Yes... Amanda," she sighed. "She kept diaries. I have them. And letters, too. It seems the women in our family were big on recording the events of their lives. And the lives of others in the family as well."

Thomas nodded, as if this, too, was not new to him.

"It seems... " Marie was almost gulping for air. "The undertaker was not the most honest of men. It was returned to the family some years later and has been handed down to the eldest daughter in every generation... When there was one. I don't know if others wore it. I did. Until it was stolen."

She shrugged then. Not because it was a casual subject, but because it was the only thing she could think to do besides scream. Every nerve in her body was as tight as a drum and ready to snap.

Thomas noticed the panic surging through her and sat up, placing his hand on her knee. "You know the truth of this," he commented simply.

Marie nodded. "In the diaries. There was always a chance, they said. But I had long discounted it -- or at least figured that it would fall to one of the men. I never thought... I never... " She looked into his eyes, pleading. "Why, Thomas? Why... me?"

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas

"Why, Thomas? Why... me?"

Thomas stopped, his eyes darkening as he considered the question. The greatest of the questions, the most common, always asked question. The one that everyone asked, even long after they had started to reconcile themselves to this existence. He'd asked it several times himself, asked the Spirits, asked the crazy man that had trained him, even had asked Ira, for all the good it had done him. No matter how long an Immortal seemed to live, no matter what they did, no matter how they rationalized this oddity to human life, they all asked this question. Unfortunately, they also had to settle for the one answer that he'd ever gotten.

"Honestly, Marie?" He opened his hands, making the universal gesture for "Ask The Universe". "I don't know. None of us do. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason for it. It's not like there's a birthmark on us or announcement from the heavens at the arrival of an Immortal." He paused again, trying to find the kindest way to reveal even more to her, without completely scaring her. "I can tell you that it's nothing you've done, or anything that we can tell of some outside influence. We seem to simply be dropped onto this earth with the potential for immortality, and some partial few of those actually attain it, for what it means."

Thomas found himself again caught in her eyes, scared by how much she looked like his Marie. How much she sounded like her, and had so many of the little mannerisms. There were differences, but minor ones, little things that set her apart from the lady that had so changed his life.

"Look, I can teach you about these things, if you wish. Or I can put you in contact with someone else that can. But you will need to learn some things about your new life." He considered for a moment, then cocked his head. "You said Marie kept a diary about us. How much did she explain, no matter how bizarre it sounds?""

 

[voyager102]

Marus Al-Jaheen

Entering the new town was a relief. It had taken him a bit of time to track down the information necessary, information costing him a fair amount in bribes and appreciative considerations to those people in the know. Of course, he'd done this before, perhaps not here, but in other places around the world. His target had been a thorn in his side for long years, but was apparently suddenly leaving himself open for a final battle.

Okay, another one. Hopefully, the final one.

The hotel wasn't much, but it was better than some places he'd lived. He'd been distracted, though, almost as soon as they crossed into the city limits. Electrical surges coursed through him, warnings that he wasn't the only member of the Undying here. Actually, unless someone was circling around him at great speed, there were several of his brethren here in the area.

Now, to start the search in earnest. Two days had allowed him to develop a sense of familiarity with the area. If only his target would attempt to make his presence clear.

He walked into the hotel's lobby, his robes covering his weapons. Even with some of their odd shapes, he had learned long ago to disquise their forms under his clothing, and traditional loose robes were almost perfect for this. And, apparently, a good decision. Waves of energy rolled over him. The strength of the impulses indicated close range, a warning, but not so much to fear. They were in public, and no formal declaration had been made.

Calmly, he turned about, searching for the person that was watching him.

 

[LongshanksSierra]

Left her to die? Perhaps he had after a fashion. He had left rather abruptly after the battle with the men who had ambushed him. But Sam had brought that one on her own head. Why could she never accept responsibility for her own actions? He had tried to finally force her into that lesson by leaving. Two hundred years and she had not come to terms with it. Neither had he really.

Her mind seemed closed to him. Her eyes had once been an open book, now it was as if looking into a smoky mirror.

She looked so... tired... at the moment. It did not suit her at all.

"This is not something that is above your skills. Or your knowledge. You were always fighting against yourself. Blocking your own progress." He shrugged. "Perhaps I did not make this clear. If you want, I can try to help you see this." She was looking at him strangely. "But I can only show you a path. You will have to walk it."

Her eyes held a question this time, but he couldn't decipher what it was.

 

[Anam Cara]

Marie Summerlin

"Look, I can teach you about these things, if you wish. Or I can put you in contact with someone else that can. But you will need to learn some things about your new life."

Marie barely had a chance to consider the implications of Thomas' offer when he was asking her something about the first Marie's diary. Or maybe it wasn't exactly something else, more like it all connected somehow.

"Bizarre? It read like sci-fi and fantasy mixed, Thomas, but her story never faltered, never wavered. She was consistent throughout and the diaries and letters of the others who followed bore it out, much as you mentioned earlier. Somehow, though... Somehow I never doubted a word of what she said."

Marie paused to speculate on what she remembered of the diary. "It's been a long time since I read it, Thomas. She killed you, didn't she?"

Thomas held up his hands and shrugged, nodding his head.

"But you didn't die. The same as I didn't die." Marie paused, then added, "She loved you very much, you know, and she hated growing old without you."

She hadn't said anything that Thomas Shining Turtle didn't already know. In fact, Thomas had been explaining in his own way by making her recollect what she'd read in the diary. Placing her feet on the floor, Marie stood and held out her hand. "I don't really understand, you know. Maybe someday I will... But in the meantime, I don't want to learn from a stranger, Thomas, if that makes any sense." She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Please?"

 

[stalwartone]

Thomas Shining Turtle

Thomas nodded, his mind still jumping back and forth between two women, one physical and present, the other a memory and yet spiritually present. No woman had ever been as much a part of his life as the lost Marie.

"All right. Basic Immortality 101. Let me give you a quick short form introduction to your new life. As of now, you can be shot, stabbed, burned, poisoned, crushed, any sort of horrific death, and you will recover. You'll find that you also heal very quickly from much more minor wounds. You can't drown, in fact with practice, you'll be able to breath underwater, after a faction. However, your new life doesn't include certain recoveries. You can't regain lost limbs. And, if you lose your head, you're finished. Your new life is courtesy of an energy force that we don't completely understand, called the Quickening. Think of it as your super battery and in-built warning system, all in one." He held out a hand, then began running it up and down in the air, wiggling his fingers.

"You feel that faint electrical surge? You're feeling my presence. Whenever you get into the close proximity of another immortal, you'll feel that. Basically, it keeps things fair. No ambushes, no sneak attacks, no surprise backstabbings."

He dropped the hand, smiling faintly. "Another minor thing to consider. If you get killed again, you return to life, sometimes completely healed, sometimes in mid-healing. And, if the death was unusually nasty, such as fire or explosion, you will return to the appearance you have now, in regards to skin tone, muscle tone, body fat level, and hair length, style, and color. Your hair will grow normally, you'll react normally to what and how you each, you can grow out your nails as much as you want, but one nasty turn, and this is how you'll look. Of course, you don't age. And, as I'm sure you got from the diaries, you can't have children." He dropped his head, remembering the long talks he had had with her ancestor.

"So far, so good?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sam & Aidan

Sam was even more confused now than she had been. How could Aidan not know what she was referring to? It had been him. Hadn't it? Was it possible that she had been wrong? Two hundred years worth of wrong? And what of him? What was it that he believed she had done?

"Aidan... " she began quietly. "I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. You can show me the path, but I think that both of us need to see what is there."

No matter what he'd done or she believed he had done, her feelings for him had never wavered, and that's what hurt the most. Gazing up into his eyes, Sam impulsively traced Aidan's jawline with the back of her fingers without thought to her action. Startled and embarrassed when he caught it in his own, she was even more surprised when he turned it toward his lips and kissed her palm.