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Duncan reached over the stick shift of the old "T" and waited for Anne to place her hand in his. "I understand, Anne," he said, blinking and trying to clear his head on the predawn drive back from the house he'd refurbished for Anne and the baby Mary, in the days before he reentered the picture.Anne was in no mood to talk, but she did give him her hand and they drove silently through the lightening dark towards the gaudy scape of Couver.
Duncan made it past the place where Ram had died in the collision with the schoolbus. One of the times that Ram had seemed to die. It was so hard keeping track, but this latest "death" had been the worst, if only because she was still alive, still within reach physically in the body of Malak. Ram had come back to them from many more horrible places than the fourth floor of his dojo on Cambie Street. Duncan had every hope she would prevail again. With the Three Powers of Grace, and Cassandra, and Lucille, how could she not?So Duncan amused himself this silent morning with thinking how he would deal with whatever complexities would accompany Ram's return. She had accepted his proposal of marriage six months ago. She was the mother of his son. This woman beside him had made it all too clear that while she and Duncan were a true family, that their blissful days of loving tosses in the hay were memory only. Which was why he was returning from Anne's house and the children, rather than a night of mad passion at Lucille's penthouse apartment.
Oh, they'd gone to the Couver Towers, had a lovely dinner catered to the room. They'd gotten past one bath each.
That should have been the first clue, Duncan thought. "I need to take a bath alone," is not the preface to a romantic tale in anyone's book. But he had written it down to bride night shivers or some such and been content to wait his turn in Lucille's truly wonderful palace of earthly delights.
They had actually made it into bed together, but by then even Duncan was realizing that something wasn't working. But his body hadn't much cared about the particulars, the subtleties. It never did, being more simply satisfied in any number of less-than-perfect situations in Duncan's long past. He couldn't be faulted for trying to recapture whatever fragile magic had once existed between them.
He couldn't actually remember what had set them off, some endearing little maneuver, which might have left them breathless in another circumstance, started Anne giggling and then laughing and then rolling, with Duncan's hilarity following immediately. The relief was so blessed for both of them, they knew immediately that this was never going to happen between them again, or at least, not for a long time.
Anne had said, "I miss the children."
And Duncan had said, "Let's go."
Neither of them had really said another thing all the way out to the house, where Mrs. Lindsey wondered why they'd come home when they were supposed to be in Couver for the night. Wordlessly, they crept to the nursery door and peaked in on Sean with his knuckle in his mouth like his mom, and Mary with her proclamation tightly in her little fist. They held each other and watched their children sleep and never wondered that they felt so complete.
Grace met them at the door to the dojo, "Duncan, Adam has left."
"Left?" Duncan asked, "Where?"
"We don't know. He has simply run away. He started to write a note, but threw it in the trash," Grace reached into her pocket and brought out a folded page of paper that had been crumpled and then smoothed. "Here," she said softly.
Duncan took the page as Anne worked the lift buttons.
He opened the page carefully and then dropped it. "How?" was all he said.
Grace settled fluidly down in something of a deep curtsey, retrieved the page and stood again. "Cassandra found the box," Grace shook her head, "she wasn't thinking or she thought he couldn't work the locking mechanism on the box, or she was just flustered because she had let slip that Malak and Ram were the same..."
Duncan groaned. "And all of you read this?"
Grace lifted her head, exposing the swan whiteness of her throat to him. "Yes, Duncan. I thought it was beautiful."
Duncan looked at her sideways. "Whatever. When did he leave?"
"Sometime between midnight and this morning," Grace replied. "We thought he was exhausted from the trial, the hearing, and that he had merely fallen into deep sleep and not come down for his shift. We thought it a kindness to let him rest and we were not too tired."
"I have to go," Duncan said to Anne and Grace.
"But--Malak--Today is--" Grace began.
"I can only get one friend out of hell at a time," Duncan barked back.
"It is that serious?" Grace asked. "Oh, Duncan, I am so sorry."
"So much for trying to have one single night's peace or pleasure," Duncan looked at Anne. He hadn't meant to be cruel, but he felt so thoroughly awful in that instant, it couldn't be helped.
Anne took the hit like a man, without flinching. Grace opened the lift for her and they were saved from any more such bitter farewells.
"He is only beginning to come out of the drugs," Grace explained as they passed the fourth floor. "And he has been tended to and securely restrained, just in case. We have time for breakfast and coffee and," Grace smiled and sighed, "conversation, I suppose you could call it."
Anne laughed, "Oh, I'm in the mood for a good dissing with the girls."
"Exactly," Grace smiled. "And here we are. Let me introduce you."
Cassandra hardly waited for her introduction. She disappeared into the bathroom, mumbling something.
"Hi, Lucille," Anne held her hand out.
"Oh, that's right, you two know each other," Grace commented.
"Damn straight, girlfriend. In this rare group the mortals have to stick together! Don't bother about Cass," Luz added, "she's just nervous about this thing with Malak. Where's Dunk?"
Anne sighed and shrugged, "Grace told him about Adam and he was out of here like--" Anne flipped through her file of fav Luz-isms, "like a duck on a June bug."
Luz was obviously flattered. Grace laughed aloud.
"Breakfast is served," Grace called them to the table. "Should I tell Cassandra?"
"She won't eat when she's this afraid," Luz explained.
Anne reached for the pastries. To hell with the waistline. "And you aren't afraid?"
"Of course I am, but I have the constitution of an old bearded billy."
"Goat," Anne supplied for Grace's benefit.
Grace passed the corn porridge, or Lucille's equivalent of the dish. Luz called it "grits." She pushed her plate away and retrieved the thick book of the notes she'd taken since she had started this journey from Africa, three days earlier. "I have some questions you might help me clarify, Ladies."
"Shoot," said Luz as she added a pat of butter and a bit of parsley to her grits, then dirtied the whole dish with black pepper.
"Oh, yes," Grace stopped staring at the grits and went back to her notes, "The People, whom we've been calling the Danae, predate or codate humanity. About five thousand years ago, the female form of the man, Malak, downstairs, delivered a half-human, half-Danaan, whom we know as Dr. Piersen, Adam, who was known then as Methos."
Anne chewed very quietly. She could never get Duncan to tell her anything much about this. Obviously Grace thought she already knew. Who was she to interrupt?
"Through the intervening time," Grace continued, "the Danae have continued to breed, first with humans, then exclusively with the Immortal offspring of these unions in later times. The current Immortals, with two notable exceptions, are all a majority of Danaan genetic heritage."
Anne bristled at her children being referred to as exceptions, however notable.
"Excuse, me Anne," Grace apologized though Anne had said nothing, "I forget my manners."
"As if," Lucille commented, building herself another plate of grits, parsley, butter, and pepper.
"With the two exceptions excluded," Grace continued, "all the Immortals have been sired by Immortals on Danae in female form...as was the case with Sean."
Lucille looked up, "Then who is the other exception?"
Grace smiled, "I would rather not say. That child is no longer living in any case. Marak," Grace hurried on, "is Mary's father. He is also Malak's/Ram's brother. Duncan is a half-brother to these two."
"Oh, that's as clear as a bayou," Luz snorted.
Anne suddenly put all the facts together, "Do you think Sean is at risk because he is the product of a brother and sister?"
"I am sorry, Anne," Grace touched her arm. "I thought you knew this already."
Anne shook her head. "I think Duncan must be worried about this. The way he is so over- protective about the infant, like Adam, as if the two of them knew something but weren't saying."
"We had enough trouble with Mary," Anne breathed out slowly.
"Well, Anne," Grace said softly, "That is what I wanted to ask you about. The medical records are nearly unintelligible, because of all the over-diagnosis that was going on. I was hoping you could tell me what happened."
So, over the last of the pastries, some really fine chocolate coffee blend, and no grits at all, Anne told them the story of Mary's transformation to mermaid and back again. She tried to stay objective and unemotional in the reporting, but by the time she was done they were all weeping. Not excluding Cassandra who had been listening at the door and came out to join the gathering in of one New Power.
Grace considered, then rejected, telling Anne of her very special status. She thought better of disclosing what had happened the last time a Danaan male had sired a son on a human woman. To what purpose? And it was so long ago, Grace thought, I was not even alive yet.
Duncan wished he could credit his excellent sense for having found Adam so soon, but it was only luck. Clueless as to where the Oldest Immortal would rabbit to, Duncan had gone to ask if Joe Dawson could help.
Lo and behold! One unbelievably drunk old immie poured across the back booth of Joe's bar.
Dawson had returned to his post behind the bar after letting Mac in and locking the door behind him. He had been in the midst of setting up for reopening the next week. The bar had been closed through the depositions and hearing, just to obviate the risk of any incidents that might be used against them.
Joe had just tilted his head toward the back booth and said nothing, just returned to his ordering and tidying and bills. Joe never was an exuberant talker to begin with, but since Malak's tragedy he had become silent as a monk. He hardly made a sound any more, except for singing with the band. His blues' renditions were becoming better than wonderful, which was doubtless not a good sign, but it blessed a great many listeners with troubles of their own.
"Good morning, Adam," Duncan pulled up a chair, turned it around and straddled the back.
Adam struggled around for his sword and came up with a fork that had fallen off the booth table into his pocket.
"Well, I can appreciate the metaphor," Duncan began gently, "But I am going to get bored holding still long enough for you to take my head with tableware."
"Shad the fork up!" Adam slurred, witty to the last.
Oh, dear, Duncan thought. It was hard enough to talk to Adam when he was sober.
"Empty," Adam proclaimed to the empty bar in desolate tones.
"Well, you look full as a spring cistern to me, friend," Duncan commented.
Adam snarled so hard, the bridge of his expansive nose tucked down, "Glass," he growled, then "Keep!"
Duncan patted Adam's arm, "Don't fret, Adam. I'll get it."
Adam stared at the place on his arm where Duncan had laid his hand. He spit on the place and turning his arm over, wiped it on the table.
"Joe, can I bother you for some coffee?" Duncan asked.
Joe reached far into the cash drawer and brought out the chloral, shaking it in Duncan's face.
"Thanks anyway, Joe," Duncan shook his head. "Just coffee will do."
Bringing the coffee back, he slid cautiously into the bench on the other side of the table. Probably wasn't a good idea to set himself within aim of those long legs, but couldn't be helped. He pushed one of the mugs towards Adam.
"zsis?"
By which, Duncan took him to mean, "What is this?" So he answered, "Coffee."
And for which kindness, Duncan was scalded scalp to lap, though there was mercifully little of the steaming brew that made it down that far. "Happy?" he asked when he could stop clenching his jaw against the pain.
"Extrubidently," Adam replied. "Sinsticious, brabesdolutely."
"And how are the little mome's wraths doing these days?" God, a drunk linguist yet, who could tell?
"Adam," Duncan ignored the squishy sensation as he shifted on the bench, "I need to speak with you, to explain..."
Adam squinted his green eyes and his hand darted for the other cup.
Duncan's reflexes decided for him. Without thinking, his right hand beat Adam's to the mug and dowsed the drunk with a reciprocal scalding wave. Adam threw himself out of the booth, screaming and rolling around on the floor.
Duncan noticed that the coffee had sobered Adam up quite a bit, even if not in the recommended application.
"You guys see that the door's locked. I'm outta here."
Both heads whipped Joe's direction, "He speaks!"
Joe waved his hand, palm down, as if he were asking an audience to stop applauding. He smiled, or the quirky, sad grin he'd acquired of late and walked out the front door.
"You know, Adam," Duncan said when Joe had gone, "for a masochist, you have a remarkably low tolerance for pain."
Adam's bright eyes flared and he came up off the floor in a leap that sent him straight on top of the Highlander.
Or would have, had Duncan stayed where he was. The Scot was already under the table out the other side and on his feet several paces from the booth by the time Adam landed, in heap between the bench and the booth table. Quick as thought, Adam reached for his sword and advanced on Duncan.
MacLeod bent over double laughing. "I don't even want to know what you intend with that."
Adam looked at his hand. Not his sword. Seemed to be a spoon this time around. Damn.
Adam dropped the spoon and charged on the Highlander with his bare hands and all the fury and rage in his whole tall frame. Duncan stood his ground this time and did his best not to hurt his very drunk, very angry friend. Sooner or later, Duncan reasoned, even this son of Chaos must tire.
Even drunk, Adam was in fine enough shape to make it later, rather than sooner. The hour was half gone before the blows, and bludgeonings, and throws even slowed down a bit, let alone stopped. The bar looked like the aftermath of a hurricane or some similar act of God, though it was more a godless occupation had rendered it so.
At last, they were both apart, leaning against the sundered furniture, gasping.
"What," Duncan gulped. "Have I done to make you so angry?"
Adam fought for his breath, "You, you, lied to me!" he wailed.
"Yes," Duncan answered.
"You said Ram was dead!" Adam lowered himself down to the floor and leaned back against one of the pipes in the wall.
"Yes."
"You, you pretended to love me," the sound of this last exclamation echoed round the room like the cry of a lost child.
"Oh, no," Duncan pushed away from the opposite wall and strode towards Adam. When he reached the Eldest Immortal he picked him up by his shoulders, ducked the blows that followed, and twisted one long arm up Adam's back to his shoulders, hooking two fingers of the same grasping hand over the collar of Adam's shirt.
With this unconventional but effective one-handed hold on the furious Adam, Duncan righted one of the tables and bent him over it. "I am not going to lose you because of a technicality," he roared.
"What?" Adam murmured, his face smashed into the table.
"You heard me," Duncan reached around to the buckle at Adam's belt, "I am not going to lose you."
"Wait!" It suddenly occurred to Adam what might be going on here and he wasn't amused.
"Wait?" Duncan roared back, "for what exactly, Dear Adam? For you to run away again and break my heart?"
Adam really tried to make the words make sense. The fog of his drunkenness and rage would not let him think. The fingers at his trouser button made it impossible. He heard the zipper start to rip.
"No!" Adam screeched.
Duncan let go Adam's wrist, let the arm straighten down and flipped him on his back on the table, a leg dangling off either side of Duncan's waist. Duncan leaned forward over Adam and pinned his shoulders beneath his strong, broad palms. "No?" he asked.
Adam closed his eyes, "No."
"Such an ugly word, Adam. What does it mean?"
"You just lied to me a little bit," Adam was so scared, all he wanted was to roll off the table and crawl away into some dark corner.
"All I didn't do that night, Adam, was fuck you," Duncan was beyond putting kind words to this. "And I will be happy to correct that omission, here, now, upside down from the new chandelier, if that suits you," Duncan paused, he hadn't embarrassed himself enough to blush in a good long time. "Course I hope you'll burn the negatives."
Adam laughed. Duncan felt it through the lean man's shoulders, more than heard it.
"Maybe not the chandelier tonight, Darling," Adam said, but his heart wasn't in the quip. "How can you love me? How is it possible?"
It was almost as if a physical blow had hit the base of Duncan's neck and he couldn't speak for a moment as he realized what Adam was asking, what he was saying in the asking. "How can you love Sean? How is that possible, when he shits all over you soon as look at you and bites you in the tit if you're not paying careful attention?"
"Oh," said Adam. "Oh."
"You silly old man," Duncan said as lightly as he could, given the sudden weight in his chest where his heart sat leaden. Then he slid his hands around the shoulders and lifted Adam to him. "I never pretended to love you. I only pretended I knew how to tell you in a way you would understand."
Then he kissed the old man, slowly and with all the tenderness that was in him.
And Duncan hoped the thought would not get lost in one of Adam's very complicated translations.
"Good morning, Ladies," Joe's burnished tones floated into the loft. He'd called up from the office phone, something he'd learned long ago, given Duncan's active...well, he'd learned not to drop in unannounced.
The Three, now Four Powers, followed Grace's lead and rose as one to greet him.
Which made the old blue's man charmingly flustered and terribly flattered all at the same time.
Grace spoke first, "I was so happy that you changed your mind about coming this morning."
Lucille pulled out a chair at the table for him. Cassandra went back to sulking, seated on the wide bed, brushing her hair. And Anne poured the coffee as they settled in for more gossip.
"Well, Grace," Joe ducked his head, "Given the alternative, I'd much rather be in gentle company this morning."
Cassandra stopped brushing.
"Adam came by my place early this morning, got stinking drunk, passed out in one of the booths, and woke up just in time to challenge Mac with a fork," The way Joe said it, it sounded like an older version of rap called, "walking blues." Film noir sax blowing blues about sadness and violence and the dark humor of the damned.
Cassandra started laughing.
"He thought it was his sword," Joe explained. "But of course, I lifted his sword the minute he passed out."
Grace gave him her signature pat of approval for being so sensible. Joe would have wagged like a puppy had he the tail to do so. He'd only met Grace yesterday while everybody was off at the hearing, but he was already so thoroughly charmed by the woman that he'd started talking again just to practice should the need arise.
Anne and Lucille noticed. A blind man would not have failed to.
Cassandra hissed or coughed and went back to brushing her hair.
Lucille returned to the topic at hand: the charisms of the two groups, Immortals and Danaans. "So, both of them have regenerative capabilities that prolong life?"
Joe sipped his coffee and watched himself sitting there in the sun rays amid this garden of delightful women, a vision of heaven if ever.
Grace's voice wove through the loft as she explained again for Joe's benefit, "In some ways the Immortal offspring of the Danae are stronger than their mothers in that regard, because the regeneration is automatic. It seems to occur, even when the Immortal is dead."
"Except in the case when the brain is no longer connected with the rest of the body, as in the beheading, then the power responsible for regeneration is released, in a burst of heat and light and energy seeking out the nearest viable and responsive flesh, another Immortal, whom it wounds and heals simultaneously in what we refer to as the Quickening," Grace paused and sipped her coffee.
"With the Danae this regenerative ability is quite different from the little we know about it," Grace looked at Joe as if he might continue the narrative. When he didn't she went on, "Their whole physiognomy seems to be a construct of their personalities, their wills."
"I still don't understand," Anne interjected.
"If you are Danaan, then what you see is what you get," Lucille explained.
"Humans look sad when they feel sad," Grace continued, "A Danaan would become a tear."
"I exaggerate, of course," Grace added, "but that is the general notion. Mary got fascinated by the carp in the pond at Stanley and the next thing that happened was she became the object of her fascination."
"No," said Joe, putting his cup down. "Excellent reasoning, Grace, but not true."
Grace beamed as if just his entry into the conversation was the highest compliment.
Joe took a deep breath. "Malak was a little nervous and quite talkative that...last night. I encouraged the conversation, as much to calm him as to really listen, but what he told me soon had me asking questions and if I can believe what he said, then your description of Mary's malady is not correct."
Cassandra came over to the table and sat down.
"When the Danae are children, they exist as merbabies, what Mary became. They ascend to what Malak called mandragor, the human form, at the end of the first decade, then they mature in a form like ours until the third or fourth decade, always as males, then they ascend to other forms after that according to their...mmm...I suppose, their personalities and mood."
"What forms?" Anne asked a little too insistently.
"As I understand it," Joe wondered about saying this, but truth will find its solace, "All the mythical beasties of our legends and religions are based on the Danae."
"Some of them are wolves, felines, bears. Some are horses, deer, rams. Some are sea creatures. Some are birds, phoenixes, biblical eagles. Some are...other things," Joe cleared his throat. "Five general categories, five names I don't remember and then," he thought a moment. "All of them share one form that lies somewhere between a human and a bird."
"Angels," said Grace.
"Bears," said Anne, who missed her own bear very much.
"Wolves," said Cassandra.
"Yes, Cassandra," Grace stroked the witch's forearm. "That is your very special inheritance that you share with the Danae. You and Mary are unique in that way."
"What other forms?" Anne asked Joe.
Joe was mid-sip and nearly choked. He put his coffee back down. "Dragons," he said.
Anne gave a tiny cry, more like a whimper, and passed out cold, sliding to the floor in a senseless heap.
"I wouldn't want you to take this the wrong way, Adam," Duncan steered the T-bird south. "But if you throw up in my car one more time, I'm going to make you walk to the dojo."
Adam weakly muttered something unintelligible from the back seat.
"And that won't mean that I don't still love you, dearly, Adam."
This time the answering murmur, while no less understandable, was definitely more animated and energetic.
"Then you better stop the car," Adam repeated.
Duncan pulled over, helped the Oldest Immortal out, and held him round his waist while he spewed like a new sailor. Poor Adam. Duncan wondered that someone driving by would think the two of them had been in a bombing at the very least. Their clothes were torn and bloodied. Their faces still smeared with dirt and more blood. It wouldn't look at all like the glorious reconciliation of two hearts. Surely not with Adam retching like a poisoned dog.
"I can do this by myself," Adam stopped gagging.
"But it's so much more fun with a friend to help," Duncan commented.
Adam stood up slowly, taking inventory. No, he was really done with this round. "I don't think I like this new version of Duncan MacLeod, the jolly father edition," Adam grumbled as he got in the passenger seat and they drove on.
"You love me," Duncan reminded him, "You said so under oath, in court, for all the world to hear."
Adam would not let himself be so easily bested. "I said a lot of things."
"I know, Adam," the Highlander's voice grew somber and serious, too much the old voice. "And I hurt more than I can say at how much you went through to do that for me. I never should have allowed it and I hope you can forgive me."
Adam settled back against the seat and crossed his arms over his roiling guts, "We're not going to get all mushy around each other now, are we?"
"God forbid," Duncan turned the car onto Cambie and parked in the alley.
"I take it I get a raincheck on that chandelier offer," Adam joked as they approached the dojo.
Duncan stopped, mid-stride. He knew Adam was joking, but he used the moment to another advantage. "I am here," was all he said, but it stopped Adam cold in his tracks.
"You know," Adam hurried into the dojo, to catch up with him at the lift. "You keep saying things like that and I'm going to be tempted to take you at your word."
Duncan reached for his own belt and started to unbuckle it.
"I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Sheesh!" Adam shook his head all the way up to the fourth floor.
"Sorry we're late, Ladies," Duncan said brightly as they disembarked on the fourth floor.
Cassandra took one look at Adam and burst out laughing. It was a shrill sound at the edge of hysteria.
"Dr. Piersen," Grace greeted him, "Perhaps you'd wish to go upstairs and refresh yourself with Mr. MacLeod here before we begin?"
"And a sheep dip wouldn't be uncalled for either," Joe's husky tones added.
"Come along Adam," Duncan said, "I can see we misunderstood this as being an informal affair." He offered his elbow to his friend.
Adam played along, hooking his filthy hand under Duncan's arm, "Black tie, white tie, I always get those confused."
They stepped back onto the lift and disappeared.
"Before they return," Grace redirected Anne and Joe's attention while Luz went over to do what she could to keep the witch in one piece. "We need to remind ourselves at all times that while we have done everything possible to ensure safety, both Malak's and our own, still this is a dangerous endeavor. We must be alert and careful. Just think before you act." Grace sorted through the table of loaded syringes.
Joe thought a moment about what he wanted to say. He hadn't really lied to them, but it was something he had kept to himself, as much because he didn't want to believe it, as to keep all his friends in the dark. "Grace?"
"Yes, Joe," she answered on her way for one last assessment of this very strange patient, still seemingly asleep.
"Have you considered Alexa Kuehl?" he asked.
Grace turned and walked over to stand in front of Watcher Dawson, seated in one of the half-dozen chairs they'd brought down for this session. "Cassandra told you about all the blood I've been drawing from Malak?"
"Never!" the witch snapped.
Dawson just stared. "What?"
"You mentioned Adam's wife, the mortal with the terminal illness," Grace explained. "the same woman whom Ram had healed and who has by some mechanism attained most of the regenerative powers of an Immortal. I thought..." Grace hesitated.
"You know!" Joe gasped. "You know about the blood!"
"Soma has been know for thousands of years, Joe," Grace tempered her tones to calm his.
"Soma?"
"The Elixir of Life, an ancient concept, akin to the fountain of youth, the blood of the everlasting covenant, other beliefs," Grace watched the Watcher's face pale. "It is said to made of cinnabar."
"A red rock?" Joe asked.
"Well, a lot of your 'red rock' has been crushed in an attempt to make the elixir, whole catalogues of alchemy abound, but no, not the rock. It is the name of the rock."
Anne interrupted, "It means dragon's blood."
"Yes, Anne," Grace said kindly. "How do you know about the blood, Joe?"
Joe shrugged as all their lovely eyes turned their stark light on him. "It was an accident. I shot Malak and got splattered in the face. He explained why I couldn't get drunk after that."
"You never told me about not getting drunk!" Lucille piped up.
Anne staggered to her feet, "I, I...this is too much. I feel too, too," Anne started to walk for the lift, but Lucille intercepted her.
"Oh, Annie, you will get used to it, in time," Lucille's warm hug was inadequate to Anne's anxiety.
"I'm, I have to...I feel like I'm dying, like I have a cancer and all the rest of you are healthy!" Anne was very close to hysteria.
Lucille's lush voice washed over her, "Annie, Annie, consider yourself in remission forever."
"What!" Anne jerked away. "What have you done?"
Grace stepped up, "In the coffee, Anne. You agreed to help with Malak. We could not take the chance you would be killed...and I thought you would want to be there for Mary."
"This isn't happening!" Anne screamed, at a pitch somewhere above high C over impossible.
"Luz," Grace nodded.
Lucille grabbed Anne from behind as Grace gathered up one of the syringes and wasted most of it in a fountain, leaving behind just the dose she needed. "This will help, Anne," she spoke quietly to the screeching woman, then drove the needle into the near deltoid and delivered the sedative.
Anne faded just as the duo of Mac and Adam returned. Duncan lifted his wife up in his arms. "What happened?"
"Some Awakenings are more violent than others," was all Grace would say by way of explanation.
Joe expanded the information, "We drank Malak's blood in the coffee. It's how Alexa became Immortal, how she stopped dying."
Duncan did not know what to ask first. He turned and walked back into the lift to lay Anne down on the bed upstairs.
"So Mother let Alexa drink her blood?" Adam asked. "Now there's a lovely image. Yum. How is it you're taking this so well, Watcher Dawson?"
"Because I was already Immortal, or whatever this is," Joe answered, "Don't look for me to start taking sword lessons, though."
"That's a relief," Adam laughed.
"Or even going a round in the coffee tossing competition," Joe added.
Adam ducked his head.
With Anne sleeping upstairs and Duncan brought up to speed on his wife's new situation. Grace explained that they were going to lighten Malak's coma--ironically, by sedating him--and that then Cassandra was going to briefly enter the man's vision, hallucination.....hell, or whatever, to do reconnaissance so they could have a better idea about how to cure him.
"But if you are going to wake him with drugs," Joe asked, seated by Adam far across the room from Malak's windowside bed, "Why not just wake him?"
Adam rocked his chair back, "He doesn't wake up, Joe. He just gets violent and starts manifesting the torments. That's why we had to put those in," his long finger pointed to the ceiling and the sprinkler system there. "We had a few fires here."
Joe scratched his silvered beard, "I don't--"
Adam rocked forward and spoke almost in a whisper. "Joe, this is Hell, if you just let it happen and don't ask it to make sense, then it won't make you crazy. Hell, Joe, people burn in Hell. Malak burns sometimes. All right?"
Joe thought he would be ill and he wondered if it were such a good idea for him to be here after all, but he owed it to Set, to Ram, to Malak. "I know you had the fires," he whispered, "I just thought Malak was turning into a dragon and flaming the loft."
"That's what the shackles are for," Adam answered. "Something about iron around their wrists and neck, keeps the Danae from shape-changing."
"Oh, I see," Joe said hollowly. He liked his dragon image much better. Immolation had not occurred to him. Dear God, burning alive!
"Gentlemen," Grace chided them gently, "We need to begin. We need your full attention."
Adam and Joe complied.
"Cassandra," Grace called to the witch, standing with Lucille at the window on the other side of Malak's bed. "You tell us what you need and when you want me to start bringing Malak out of this stupor."
The tall, dark maned woman was not very far from Anne's state of hysteria, despite Lucille's diligent support. "I can't do this alone," she said, "I need someone to go with me."
"All right, Cassandra. I will go with you, but then we will have to wait for Dr. Lindsey to recover or--" Grace began.
"No," Cass barked. "Him!"
Duncan jerked his head up. He'd been standing quietly at the head of Malak's bed, the headstead removed, just waiting in case he was needed to restrain the Danaan. He hadn't considered he would have any more complicated part in this. "Why me, Cassandra? I know nothing about--"
"Twice," Cassandra said. "You have been dream-dancing with this drake twice."
Duncan tried to think what that would mean. If she meant sex, then she was way shy on the count.
"When you got your hair cut," Cass prompted. "When you were Cronos and ravaged Methos," she added.
"Bloody Hell!" Adam's voice exploded from across the room, "Is there just any little thing about me you harpies do not know? Am I just to be prurient fodder for all your overblown imaginations? Is there just any other intimate bit of my life you'd like to strip naked? Is there--"
Duncan's right hand wandered to the buckle on his belt and Adam halted his diatribe. The Powers noticed, one and all, but not one understood the gesture and its power over the Eldest Immortal.
"Point taken," the surrender sounded softly from the far shadows and Adam said no more.
Grace wondered if Duncan had beaten Adam with that belt, but she hardly thought that was possible.
"I will do what I can," Duncan turned them back to the problem at hand.
Cassandra arranged two chairs, either side of Malak's bed, even with his chest. She indicated Duncan should take the chair on Malak's right side, away from the window. She sat down in the other and reached for Duncan's hands, holding them in fists over Malak's heart. Then Adam took Duncan's place at the head of the bed, Grace injected three syringes, in rapid succession...
...and they began to go to Hell.
Cassandra lifted her head from the table and recognized the old Watcher's bar, empty except for the man seated opposite her, unconscious or sleeping. "Duncan," she called in a voice laced in dread.
Duncan shook himself awake. "Wha--?"
"We're there, Duncan," Cass whispered.
"Where?" Duncan looked around and tried to remember what he was doing in Joe's bar with Cassandra. He didn't feel that drunk, but he must have been.
"Just listen to me," Cass continued, "You must be very careful. Stay closed and apart from all that you see, or this will trap you."
Way drunk, Duncan amended. Some celebrations are so thoroughly done they evaporate from your memory the moment they are finished.
She reached across the table and slapped him hard. "Duncan!"
"What?" Duncan rubbed his cheek.
"Remember Malak?"
The Highlander's misty moor retreated from his sensorium and he came entirely awake. In the next moment, he was laughing. "Right, and Hell is Joe's bar. What kind of trick is this, Cass?"
"You listen to me, you celtic sheep brain! If Hell were exactly as described it wouldn't have the effect it does."
"Which effect is?" Duncan asked and got up to hunt behind the bar.
"The end of all hope," Cassandra said dimly.
"Well, here's to Hell," Duncan poured himself a shot and lifted it in a toast.
Cassandra hadn't understood what he was doing. She looked up suddenly, "Noooooo!" her scream froze his blood and he put the glass down.
"What?"
Cassandra rushed to Duncan's side. "This," she said, putting her cool palm against his temple.
As Duncan watched, the shot glass lost its transparency and turned into a cup of pitted iron, thick-rimmed and bowl-shaped. Within the iron bowl lay a golden surface that bubbled and spit. "What is it?" he asked. It was then he noticed his hand was burnt badly, blistered and black.
"Bronze, I think, molten bronze," Cassandra replied breathily.
"I almost drank that," Duncan whispered rubbing his stinging hand. He could not imagine the pain that would have caused. "I would have burned my throat," he said.
Cassandra grimaced. "and your stomach..and that's all before the bronze sets up in one long, sharp and spiked weapon to cut you to ribbons from the inside until you are opened and it is removed."
"Dear Lord," Duncan gagged. "How could you know what is safe to drink?"
"I have been trying to tell you, Duncan...this is Hell. Nothing is safe. There is no 'safe,' No Hope! This is HELL!"
"But what do you do if you are thirsty?" Duncan asked.
"You stay thirsty," Cass answered angrily. "I don't have time to explain this, point-by-point. Just don't involve yourself in anything here, neither in the flesh or in the heart. Understand?"
"Yes, Cassandra," Duncan answered patiently, "You were the one who asked me to come with you. Why was that?"
"I forget just now," Cassandra was obviously busy with some other thing, "Comic relief perhaps."
"Shouldn't we find Malak?" Duncan asked.
Cass sighed heavily, a sound like the winter wind over a troubled shore, "This is Malak!"
Duncan began to experience his own bit of hellish torment, a sizable headache at both temples. It was not helped by the pounding drums of some parade coming down the street outside, or Cassandra, slapping him again, and dragging him to the door. "Be absolutely still, Duncan," she hissed and opened the front door to Joe's bar a tiny crack.
Through the crack, Duncan could just make out the front of the column marching down River Road in front of the bar. There was a sound like a shrill whistle and the band leader, in full military regalia, turned and halted the column, saying something Duncan could not hear. The drums stopped and the leader raised his hands, but the expected blare of shimmering trumpets and other brass did not ensue.
Instead, the column broke ranks and charged the leader. Not the leader, Duncan corrected his assumption. They had been driving the man down the street. Not a whistle, he thought, but a scream. Not drums but their fists upon their monstrous chests. Duncan watched in horror as Malak went down beneath the horde of creatures, screaming and pleading.
They, whatever they were, demons, Duncan thought disconnectedly. They literally tore Malak apart consuming his flesh, but leaving him alive, howling and moaning and whimpering until they tore his throat and he made no more sound other than the ragged gasping and gurgle, the labored rise and fall of the bare bones and muscles that had used to be his chest, the shattered white bones, cleaned and picked, that use to be his face, his eyes.
The fiends shuffled off towards the river and left the gasping carcass like ghastly roadkill in the center of River Road.
Duncan threw open the door. He could at least end this agony. Cassandra stopped him.
"But he's still alive," Duncan pleaded.
"And so he has been these hundred days, Duncan. And so he will be unless we leave this place and make a plan to free him. I have one more thing to do. Duncan!" Cassandra slapped him again. "Just don't look!" She dragged him down the street where the demons had gone.
Duncan reached for his sword. It wasn't there of course.
One of the demons had held back from the hideous parade, had turned and walked back towards them. It was an enormous creature covered in deep burgundy and black fur, with a broad snout and very large white fangs, now blooded. It wiped its large maw with a taloned paw as it approached.
"I call for justice, Marak," Cassandra said with a false bravery.
The pseudo-bear lowed like a calf.
"Your daughter's life preserved. You owe him this," Cass' voice shook but she did not retreat in the face of this monstrous ursine demon.
A low rumble started in the great throat, preparatory to a roar.
Duncan stepped in front of Cass. "Brother," he said boldly to the bear.
A paw twice the size of Duncan's head raised to strike, but the Highlander stood his ground.
"You are trapped here with Malak, because of the Quickenings," Duncan continued.
The demonic face pressed forward, nearly touching him. Duncan could smell Malak's flesh and blood with each exhalation of the Beaste. "You can be free, all of you, if you help us redeem your brother...my brother," he added.
The gigantic head tilted down and the full glare of the flaming eyes bore onto Duncan like a furnace.
"Ram did that with my Quickenings, as many as yours. She could free you likewise," Duncan said calmly, feeling, the witch at his back, the Beaste before him, like the blue plate special club sandwich.
Which feeling was immediately magnified as the paws pressed his head between them and took Duncan out of the world, out of Hell, into absolute darkness and senselessness...
Some other Duncan remembered the last vision he'd had with Ram when she took his own demons and left him Sean Byrnes. Some other Duncan screamed in terror and pain as his skull was crushed to dust. Some other Duncan heard the Bear say, "It will be considered."
Some other Duncan lay in Adam's arms, wailing and screaming and weeping.
Anne lifted out of the chemical haze to the sound of Duncan's screams. She would not have known it was him, would not have thought him capable of making such sounds, except they were interspersed with loud ravings in his signature soft burr. This whole place was a madhouse!
And if Duncan had succumbed, what hope for her? This was worse than the E.R. on a Friday night!
The moment Anne thought this, she found her context, the realm and domain of her power, which being the case, all other things fell naturally into order. She rushed, barefoot to the spiral stair and sailed down into Hell.
Dr. Lindsey started to triage the moment her feet hit the cold tile of the fourth floor. Cassandra blathering with Lucille by the window. Duncan, still howling, in a heap on Adam's lap on the floor by the bed. Grace at the bedside with Malak, unable to move, she was so horrified.
Got it! Anne had the plan. She first rushed to Cassandra, peeled her out of Lucille's arms and ushered her speedily, sputtering and spitting, over to Joe Dawson, seated, rocking in the shadows. Cassandra, she dumped in the empty chair beside him. Joe, she shook.
"Medic Dawson," she called, "blubber later. Wounded incoming!" Anne lifted his hands and set them on Cassandra's lap.
"Witch!" she whispered close to Cass' ear, "He's really hurt. Help him."
Back to Grace she sped. "Doctor, how's the Valium labeled?" she spun Grace away from the bed and the carnage there. "Doctor!"
Anne shook her head. Grace was far gone and she couldn't take a chance with Duncan getting a stimulant. "Sorry," she apologized and smacked Grace so hard her head snapped back.
"Valium!" Anne demanded.
Grace said only, "Oh?" then she put her fingers, index and middle, splayed before her face.
"Thanks," Anne roughly deposited Grace sitting on the floor, propped up against the brick wall some distance from the bed, facing the lift. "Try to focus," she called back as she dived for the table and the "V". Duncan really had a set of lungs on him. Things would be a little easier all around when she got him shut up.
Anne counted the cc's, wasted a third, and approached Adam, "Hold him still."
Adam just looked up at her, "Lady, if I could--"
"Do the best you can," she said.
Adam threw a long leg over the Scot's wide chest and Anne hit a large vein in his upper arm, pushing the med as fast as she could before his thrashing took them out of the vein. Five, four, three...
The horrible noise stopped and Adam breathed deeply, "Thank you."
Together, Adam and Anne dragged the brawny Highland son over by Grace where they propped him up beside her. Anne took a small digital timer out of her pocket and keyed in some numbers.
"Grace? Grace!" when Grace nodded, Anne continued, "Every time this goes off," she showed Grace the timer, "rouse him until he's breathing deeply." Anne showed her how to shut off the beep after each cycle. "Got it?"
Grace nodded, shivering. Anne added that to the list and looked over to reassess the witch and the Watcher. Okay.
"Lucille?" Anne called as she and Adam returned to Malak's bed. "Honey?"
Lucille turned shakily, back from the window, keep her eye level above the bed.
"We need all the towels in the place, basins, lots of warm blankets, coffee. Can you do it?"
Lucille nodded bravely.
"We need them really fast. Okay?" Anne wanted to hug her but she'd have to lean over Malak to do it and that was out of the question. Besides, it would only encourage Lucille to break down and they didn't have the luxury.
Lucille dashed up the spiral stair as if a demon followed after, or only the memory of one.
"Well," Anne looked at the Oldest Immortal, "You up to this?"
Adam nodded and smiled at her, "I am at your command, Lady."
Anne turned her full attention to the thing that might have been Malak which lay like knacker's renderings on the fouled and blooded sheets. She took the whole thing in evenly, letting her mind work it's own order on the scene as if it were a grade eight trauma and not...whatever this was.
Adam took his place on the opposite side of the bed, by the window. He waited for Anne to lead, amazed at how well she responded to catastrophe.
"Let's start with how much of this we need to save," Anne began.
Adam did not understand.
"Look, you are the expert, Dr. Piersen. Does he just recreate new tissue, or do we have to keep all the old stuff together in rough approximation of its original positioning."
"I'm only guessing," Adam qualified the answer before he gave it, "but it seems to work if the major portions stay. Anything smaller than two inch square, we can toss."
"Okay, next question," Anne pulled on some non-sterile gloves and handed two to Adam, "Is it, um, all here?"
"Yes, I think so," Adam replied. He handed the gloves back to Anne, "Unless you've got a nine and a half, or a ten there, they won't fit."
"Sorry," Anne rustled over the table, gathering this and that, "No big paws gloves I'm afraid."
"That's okay," Adam said, "They're a relatively new invention anyway."
Anne threw the various supplies down on the bed and glared at him as if her eyes were cauteries, "I know your happy little asides about how you were there when the world began. I'm not interested. I'm so not interested in fact, that if you do that again," Anne's strident little soprano had some deadly force to it, "Then you surely won't be there when the world ends."
"I take your meaning," Adam said very carefully.
"All right, then," Anne opened the packs, sorted the kellys, brought out a sterile basin for disposing of the smaller bits, and generally prepared to do a post mortem in reverse on Malak's torn carcass.
It was entirely fascinating, a three dimensional puzzle of incredible complexity, and an excellent anatomy lesson. Even Adam was drawn into the intriguing endeavor and all its singular problems. They'd tended to Malak in all sorts woundings and dismemberments, burns and so forth, but never before had he been quite this....disassembled.
The major lobe of the liver made it into the abdominal field in Adam's large hands.
"Where on earth did you find that?" Anne commented in amazement. She had started to close the abdomen and couldn't locate most of the liver.
When Adam didn't answer, Anne looked up to see he was staring over her shoulder.
"Do you really want to know?" he warned.
Anne looked behind her to see Dawson and Cassandra gone and Grace sipping tea with Lucille, wrapped in a blanket, and Duncan still out, bundled in many blankets and quilts, snoring peacefully. "How long have we been at this?" she whispered.
"Hour and a half and change," Adam replied. "Under the bed," he answered her other question. "If we can get finished here, I'll tote Mac upstairs and get him to bed."
"Couch," Lucille corrected. "We have dibs on the bed."
"I see," said Adam and lifted the lateral remnant of integument for Anne to clip the abdomen closed.
"No, Sweet Cheeks," Lucille never looked up. As far as she was concerned they were on another planet, speaking the longest of distances. "You don't understand at all. And I should think you would be the last person to make scandalous assumptions."
"Kaboom," Anne commented quietly.
"And on that note," Adam sloshed his hand in the clean water basin and grabbed for a towel. "I have just enough time to settle Duncan in upstairs and get Dawson back to the bar before Malak here wakes up."
Anne stepped back. They'd done the best they could. She threw a clean sheet over the whole mess and sat down, letting the weariness claim her.
Adam lifted Duncan over his shoulder with surprising ease and strode to the lift, Grace and Lucille in tow.
Then Anne was by herself in this bedlam address, with only the corpse on the bed for company. With nothing else to do, she began to get afraid. How could they do this to her? To abandon her to this monster?
Clink, clink. Footsteps echoed down the spiral stair. "I heard you," Cassandra's dark voice had never sounded so welcome to Anne.
"I would not let you suffer alone after all you have done," Cassandra glided over and twined her sinuous arms around Anne. "I know how much that hurts."
Anne wiped her eyes, feeling suddenly foolish. "Thank you, I--"
Cass' fingers brushed her lips, stopping her words.
The witch reached out her hand and they walked over to the window, basking quietly together in the warm sun rays, thawing out and coming back alive.
"What was it like?" Anne asked finally. "What is hell like?"
Cassandra looked out the window at the seaside burg she had always loathed. She started to answer, but all she could do was laugh.
"Duncan?" Anne sat on the floor next to the couch and tried to rouse the sleeping father of her children.
MacLeod stirred, rolled towards the couch back and returned to snoring. The Valium should have worn off by now, but he was clearly exhausted.
Anne gave up and joined Grace at the table where a late lunch lay untouched. Cassandra and Lucille were down with Malak finishing the cleanup now he was whole again, unmarked, unchanged, all the kellys popped off and the sutures rejected. They'd actually had to rush Grace down to push her majic meds to keep him from tearing up the bed. It had been a struggle to secure the chains and get him injected. Anne had stopped wrestling with any preconceived notions about what was possible and what was not. Just easier that way, she had decided, just let it happen and sort it out later.
Mary could not possibly be a dragon. Anne still couldn't say why that particular possibility had made her faint. She rather suspected it was all the madness they were spouting in the time before that. Mary had been ill. She had been healed. She would never be ill again. It was the only way Anne could think about this. And the other thing about the dragon's blood in the coffee was just a lie to make them all feel equal to the Immortals with whom they were working, something gracious and compassionate from Grace's gentle heart no doubt.
"Grace?" Anne poured some tea and reached for the honey.
"Yes," replied Grace, still in something of a daze.
"Are you all right?"
"I should not have let them do it," Grace said quietly. "They were all three so badly hurt because of it."
"Duncan is only tired, Grace. Cassandra seems all right, and I think Malak will suffer more if something isn't done," Anne knew that reason and insight were no fit cure for sadness, but it was all she had to work with.
"Thank you, Anne, but I know what I have done," Grace sighed. "I would like to think my motives are pure, but I begin to wonder."
"Grace?"
"I would like the killing to stop, Anne. Maybe it will now. I would like our race and the race of our forebears to benefit the mortals of this world, to ease their pain and illness and violence. And I would like the hiding and the lying and the loneliness to end. Peace, Anne, I want peace for myself and for the whole world." Grace shook her head as if this were ridiculous.
"There is no purer motive, Grace," Anne wished she could say something wonderful, like Lucille or Cassandra or Grace herself, but hers was a power of healing, simples and herbs and banalities and such.
"I think you should rest, Grace," Anne said when the long silence began to distress her. "I'll clean up here."
Grace agreed and settled herself on Duncan's wide bed, pulling a throw over her, convinced she'd only be napping for a short time. Anne cleared the table and put all the lunch away in saran wrap and plastic ware for later. Up to her elbows in suds and the dishes that had soaked since breakfast, Anne settled into a more orderly frame of mind. They would "debrief" the reconnaisance team as soon as they'd had some time to recover, then they'd come to some judgment in the matter, whether to terminate Malak or try to cure him. If the latter, then they would have to formulate a plan with the best chance for success with the least morbidity involved, weigh the options, and go. Either way, this would all be over in the next day or so, and things could start to settle down to normalcy again.
Duncan and the family could live under one roof, probably with Odd Uncle Adam in the spare room, and Aunt Lucille over for Sunday dinner with doting Grandpa Joe. Mother would move in with them in the house out of town and all the trouble with the hearing would blow over. They'd have to add onto the house, two bedrooms and a rumpus room, where they could hold plenty of rumpuses......eeek!
Duncan's hands were suddenly around her waist, well, what would have been her waist had she been two and a half feet taller. "Mmmm," she said and her head lolled back against his chest. "Are you feeling better?"
"I could feel even better," he teased, nuzzling through the back of her hair, nibbling on her neck, just at that very place where.....
"I thought we talked about this," Anne protested feebly.
"I want to reopen the discussions." He seemed more bent on reopening her blouse.
"Duncan," Anne hissed. "Grace--,"
"Is sound asleep," Duncan finished for her, "but just in case." He bumped her knees out from under her and swept them both to the floor, completely out of sight from the bed, behind the kitchen island. "Now if we both promise not to yodel, I think Grace will be none the wiser."
Anne hardly ever had the luxury of being giddy.
"Mmm," Duncan murmured, "there is just something about the little woman doing the dishes that drives me wild."
Too bad for Duncan, Anne still had the sponge in her hand. Thwack. "I'll 'little woman' you!"
Too bad for Anne, Duncan found the wet soap on his face even more arousing.
And too bad for them both that Odd Uncle Adam should arrive back from the dojo at just that moment.
The sun was down and the Seacouver skyline lit up in full display, watching its own reflection in the bay waves of the harbor. The lights were out at the dojo on Cambie Street except for a soft glow in the topmost floor where the newly formed MacLeod Reconstruction and Salvage Team held its first, and hopefully, last meeting.
It wasn't so much called to order as wandered into after supper. Everyone's appetite had returned after much rest and distance from the morning's trek to Hell. The shifts watching Malak had been pure, blessed boredom, thanks to Grace's marvelous medicines, just cleaning and feeding and watching.
Duncan had sent Anne to stay at the bar with Joe and Lucille, where Mrs. Lindsey brought the children and that part of the family would eat supper and spend the night together, away from this madness. Which left Duncan and Adam, Grace and Cassandra, to discuss and decide and deliver whatever judgment they made this night.
"I think," Adam began, "That we should do whatever we decide, tonight, that Malak be back or gone by morning. It will spare the others to present them a fait accomplis when they come here tomorrow. I think we can all agree they cannot stand another such course as we have done today."
"I know I can't," Cassandra looked at each of the three in turn. "I cannot go back," she announced.
"Cass," Grace chided gently, "How can we do this without you?"
"I can send Duncan," Cass answered, "but I cannot go back myself."
"I can go," Adam unfolded his graceful fingers over the table top like a recumbent spider. "I know the way to Hell."
The other three team members stared at the Oldest Immortal. Adam did not look up from contemplating his hands, but he answered their silence, "I used to go there from time-to-time with Mother. I thought it was a punishment, and perhaps it was, but now I tend more to think it was a way to grow stronger, to become unattached to the world, to make me safe, to keep me apart. It is quite an excellent lesson for acquiring a certain," he paused, reaching for a word which would be exact, but he could not find one in this language, so he settled for, "a certain distance."
Duncan could not speak to all that Adam had said, to all that it meant, to how many questions about himself had just been answered. Another time, Adam, Duncan thought, if we live through this, we will speak of this at length. He thought less of Ram in that moment than he ever had since first he met her. But the time growing so short, he said instead, "Why did you say nothing before, Adam?"
"It is not a place, you know," Adam had great difficulty saying any of this, "it is a process, a way of being, being dead." He shook his head, absolutely frustrated by his paucity of words and plethora of feelings. "In simple terms, it may do no good to free Malak at all. It may very well be too late already. There may be no way..." He didn't want to say it, he didn't want to think it.
"Too late? It has only been three months, Adam," Grace protested.
"How long were you and Cass in Hell, Duncan?" Adam asked.
"Several hours, at least three," Duncan looked at Cassandra. The witch nodded agreement.
Grace gasped. "Oh," she said "I see."
Duncan cocked his head towards Adam.
"Two, maybe three minutes, Duncan," Adam answered. "Which extrapolates to something at five years for Malak. Do you really think there will be anything left to salvage?"
"God, but you are a cold bastard!" Duncan couldn't stop himself.
"I have asked you with great care and all the reason I could bring to bear, I have begged you to kill Malak. What did you think I was saying all that time?" Adam asked.
"No, no, Adam. I am asking why you didn't go save him to begin with?" Duncan stood. "Why?"
"Because I was too afraid, Duncan," Adam finally lifted his head from staring at his hands and looked him straight in the face. "My mother is very powerful. She has built this hell. It is in a very real way, Ram herself. I ended my life the first time under her knife. I could not make myself repeat that through all eternity, which surely would have happened had I gone after her."
It occurred to Duncan that Adam had known all along that Malak was Ram. "When did you actually first know that Malak was really your mother?"
"Always," Adam answered softly, "always." He laid his forehead down on his hands. "The same way that Malak has always known he was Ram. It was just that neither of us could admit it without being destroyed."
Duncan laid his hands on Adam's shoulders, "Tell me you are not going to go veggie on us." Despite his efforts to make the comment funny, it sounded like a plea.
"No, Duncan," Adam looked up and back, "You pretty much scared me back to life over at Joe's, right about the time my anger deserted me."
"You can let go now," Adam added. "You did say we weren't going to get all mushy about this."
"I had no idea," Duncan was supremely grateful he had not known just how much was riding on their reconciliation. He never would have had the courage to pursue Adam as roughly as he had. He squeezed hard and released Adam's shoulders. "Thanks for staying."
"It's not like you gave me a choice," Adam laughed.
Duncan returned to his seat. "Well, we've at least made one decision. Adam will not be going."
"Probably just as well," Cass commented. "What Adam says about Malak, Ram being lost already. It must be true, Duncan. She cannot have any connections to the world left."
"I don't know what you mean," Duncan tried to set aside his sadness about Adam long enough to come up with some way to save his mother.
"I tried to explain this to you while we were there," Cass began, "We are connected to the world by its pleasures. Lucille could explain this better than I, but--We open ourselves to the people we love, to the sensations which satisfy and please us. For example, you were thirsty, you poured yourself a drink."
"Yes?" Duncan still did not understand.
"If you had drunk the molten bronze, you would be hesitant to drink again, no matter how thirsty you were."
"Yes."
"If that happened to you every time you drank, hundreds of times, I could bring you out of hell this instant and you probably could never look at anything to drink again. You would always be thirsty for the rest of your life," Cassandra waited for Duncan to follow.
"So I'd eat a lot of sherbert," Duncan said, "but I'd still be free."
Cassandra's head slumped forward on her slender neck. "I give up."
Duncan shrugged his shoulders, "I guess we're decided. Let's go."
"Bring Malak up here," Grace said.
"Why?" Duncan asked.
Grace just smiled, "I'm sure I wouldn't want to waste your time with any more explanations, Duncan. Anymore than you want to waste our time with input, or arguments, or voting."
"I think I'll bring Malak up here," Duncan said, warrior enough to know when he faced an impossible foe, at least in matters temporal.
"Excellent idea, Mr. MacLeod," Grace agreed.