eng note: doesn't the ebola virus look at home as a glyph?

Origins
©2000 lori wright

Disclaimer:The Highlander universe is owned by Panzer/Davis. They are the ones that brought Joe Dawson and Methos to life, and I am eternally grateful. Much of this story takes place just after Indiscretions, which was my inspiration. There is a magic between these two characters that calls out for more to be written about them. So, I did. Also mentioned in the story are Cassandra and Kronos, although this is not about the Four Horsemen. Without giving too much away, it is about the origins of the Watcher symbol and where and how Kronos obtained the virus used in Revelations 6:8. The character of Dr. Serena Mandeville is a joint creation between myself and Debra. The virus story was intended for the Methos virtual season that never seemed to get off the ground.

Many thanks to my betas. First, Janeen Grohsmeyer. She read through this story many times, helping me tweak the plot, cut the extraneous, thus making it a much better. Thanks also to Kristine Larson, for going over my ancient Egyptian details, looking for flaws. And Elizabeth Grace, for doing the same with my scientific reasoning. And lastly Lisa Hughes who is my teacher. She gave it a final read through and told me to go ahead and post.

This story is also up on my web page.

Prologue

Summer of 1996-Zaire, Africa

        "What's that smell?" Methos muttered, his nose wrinkled in aversion. His elbow clipped the door as a particularly large hole swallowed one of the tires. The Humvee continued to bump down the pitted road. The map described it as a major thoroughfare between the town of Nimburu and the small village that Serena was supposedly staying in. However, Methos himself wouldn't have described it so. The road more resembled a narrow path. He had been driving for close to six hours; dirt caked his face, and sweat dripped from his body. Yet, despite all his discomfort, he was still totally focused on his objective--finding Serena.

        His tired eyes watered as he approached his destination. The stench of burned synthetic materials and decaying flesh, overwhelmed the natural odor of the savanna. He ignored the pungency of the air around him as he began categorizing the facts. There wasn't the tell-tale presence of another immortal. Serena had told him she would be here, so he should have felt something. More importantly, he didn't see a sign of any other human inhabitants. After parking by the first small building, he got out and walked through the ghost town. Charred remains of tents, huts and a few jeeps, met his eyes. He walked around a corner and saw inside one of the burnt tents. A person, or what was left of a person, was lying on a cot. The body had burned, yet Methos could tell that it had been in the process of decomposition before the fire had done its own damage.

        Fear drove him to search faster. Serena said she'd be here. The Center for Disease Control--the CDC--had set up camp in this village because the deadly diseaseEbola had invaded. The entire area had been designated as a hot zone and had been quarantined. Doctor Serena Mandeville was part of the CDC's team sent in to investigate and help the survivors. Three months ago, she had gone in, but after only a month there, she had flown back to Atlanta. While there, she had left an excited message on his answering machine. She had found a new virus, something that might be connected to another deadly plague that had ravaged ancient Greece. He hadn't heard from her since. After waiting another two months, he had tried contacting her, curious about what she had found. Her office had been closed, but her answering machine had still been functioning. He left several messages, each asking her to get in touch with him. Then several weeks later, her number had been disconnected. He had tried calling some officials at the CDC and they had given him the run-around. Frustrated and now worried, he haddecided to check things out for himself. And so he found himself here, in the middle of nowhere, poking around in a purposely annihilated village.

        'Where is she?' he asked himself as he ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair.

        Fear tickled his spine, and made his quest more urgent. He ran down the dirt roads, peering inside any buildings that were still standing. Many were empty shells that contained nothing recognizable, except for the dead bodies. He counted over twenty of them, all burned; most had been asleep in their cots. A few were inthe mess hall, and their remains, couldn't even qualify as being whole when they burned. Had they been infected with the virus?

        His internal radar searched for any sign that Serena was alive and possibly just waking up. It wasn't even uncommon to find her body burned. In fact, twice before he had rescued her and nursed her charred flesh back to health. Her quest for medical knowledge continually got her into trouble.

        Methos squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to keep his focus and not lose sight of his current objective. Her body wasn't here. *Serena* wasn't here. It must mean that she had gotten out alive and was wandering somewhere. If she had walked out, maybe she had left some kind of note for him.

        He took a long drink from his canteen of water, then he began to search within a hundred-foot radius of the camp. His exploration was rewarded when he found a tree with his name engraved in a cartouche, in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. He laughed as he imagined what Joe or MacLeod would say if they happened upon such a sight. Taking a dagger, he eradicated the cartouche, and then began digging alongside the tree. A foot or so down, he found a nylon backpack filled with a collection of notebooks and journals, all in Serena's handwriting, and written in a mixture of ancient Greek and English. He stuffed the books back inside and jogged back to his Humvee. Serena was alive and now all he had to do was wait for her to contact him to retrieve her books. He didn't think she'd go very long without wanting them back. She never had before.
 

       
Chapter 1

 The Present Summer of 1999 - Paris, France

        Joe Dawson sat at his computer in stunned silence, staring. His screen featured a digital representation of a wall, found in a newly excavated tomb, located in Lower Egypt. The wall contained pictures and hieroglyphics from top to bottom. On the top line in the wall, the Watcher symbol had been engraved alongside three other glyphs, making up a cartouche. Joe ran his finger along the screen, trying to soak up the essence of what he was seeing, and thus its meaning. The letter accompanying it was short and to the point. "All Watchers with any experience in Egyptian hieroglyphics are to contact Marcos Giamos, an archeologist with the Supreme Council for Egyptian Antiquities." Joe had met Marcos once, several years ago, and liked the man.

        What a find this was! Joe couldn't get over it. The tomb had to be several thousand years old. As soon as that thought occurred, another followed quickly in its wake. Methos! The old man probably read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. All Joe had to do was get Methos to interpret it for him, assuming he could talk him into it. However, Joe knew that getting the *truth* out of Methos was easier said than done. But he couldn't leave this alone. His amazement turned into a need to be included in the discovery. Maybe the Watcher down in Egypt would accept his help. It was worth a shot. He sent the e-mail message, hoping for a reply. Later that evening he received a phone call.

        "Joe, what a pleasure to hear from you."

        "Yeah, you too, Marcos. Tell me more about this Watcher hieroglyphic?"

        "Well, carbon dating puts the tomb at around four thousand years old. We've got experts trying to decipher the symbols, but they don't know anything about the Watchers. Unfortunately, I'm the only Egyptologist the Watcher organization has."

        Actually, there had been another Egyptologist in the Watchers, Joe thought to himself -- Adam Pierson. Just because Adam had cut ties with the organization a few years ago-- well-- actually they had booted him out after the Horsemen incident. They probably wouldn't condone his participation now. The tricky part would be getting Methos to agree to translate and then let Joe inform the Watchers what it all meant. Tricky, what an understatement.

        "I'd like to help. What can I do?" Joe asked, trying to think of a way to have himself included in the investigation.

        "I don't know, Joe. What we need is Methos." Then Marcos laughed sarcastically.

        Joe startled at hearing his thoughts echoed by Marcos. "Too bad we can't just call him up. Or put an ad in the paper."

        "Like 'ancient one wanted'," suggested Marcos, laughing again.

        Joe laughed in return, then said, "Keep me informed."

        "I'll send you the pictures from all three of the walls," Marcos said. "Show them around up there. Maybe someone will have a clue."

        "Thanks, Marcos. I'll be sure to do that."

        Joe hung up still feeling disquieted by the discovery. What did it all mean?

        The next day, Joe received an e-mail attachment filled with pictures from the unearthed tomb. He took the zip disc to headquarters and made large laser copies of them. He spread them on a table and shared them with the regional coordinator. Neither man could make headway.

        "I'd like to know what else they found in the tomb," Louis commented.

        Joe nodded absently; his gaze locked onto a particular picture.

        Louis logged on and typed in a few things. "Let's see," he read aloud. "Look at this, they found a mummy inside it. You didn't tell me that."

        "Marcos didn't mention it."

        Louis continued reading. "Carbon dating places it at around four thousand years old. They took x-rays of the mummy. The body was male and had beendecapitated."

        "Decapitated?!" Joe interrupted. "Could he have been immortal? Maybe an ancient Egyptian Watcher buried him, then wrote his chronicle on the wall."

        "Good possibility. Look, they've been able to translate a small portion." Louis got up from the computer and walked over to the pictures. He gazed at them for a minute and pulled out one. "Here. They said that this small portion says, 'large harvest'. This one says, 'spirits smiling' or 'the gods are happy'." Louis pointed to athird portion. "And this says, 'good flood'."

        "Jeez, is there any such thing as a *good* flood?" Joe asked taken aback by the term.

        "I don't know. I think I remember reading something about the Nile flooding each year. That's how the Egyptians irrigate their crops, but I'm not sure."

        "Anything else?"

        Louis went back to the computer. "They've brought in experts from the British Museum and from Chicago. The Egyptian Antiquities people are in charge, so far. Let's just hope it stays that way."

        Joe nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we wouldn't want to lose our contact on the inside." There was a suppressed excitement building inside him. For some reason he felt that this find was going to answer a lot of questions. Maybe even tell them the origin of the Watchers. The oldest chronicle in the Watcher's possession was written thirty-two hundred years ago. This was almost a thousand years older than that.

        
Chapter 2

I

        Methos crept into the Paris Shakespeare and Company Bookstore. His flashlight beam bounced off the old books still decorating the shelves. There was a small part of him that cringed at the abandonment of all the work that Don had put into his place. Yet, another, perhaps more selfish part was glad that his own hiding place had yet to be tampered with. He found the hidden lever that triggered door mechanism and, voila, the staircase to the basement.

        After several months of hard work, he had finally set up a link to the Watcher main frame. Finding Serena had become an obsession. Having helped Dawson save his daughter, Methos had been reminded once again how important family was. His family consisted of MacLeod, Dawson, Amanda by default, and Serena. Serena had been a part of his life, since the beginning of his memories. They might go years or decades without speaking, but once together, it was as if they had never been apart. Methos had waited three years for her to contact him, and now he was tired of waiting. He wanted to know where she was, and what happened.

        Hacking into Joe's personal account wouldn't work this time; the old Watcher would ask too many questions. Methos was afraid of the vulnerability he wouldreveal by acknowledging Serena's existence to Joe. The thought that Methos could be so attached to another ancient immortal would astound his mortal friend. Methos enjoyed being the self-absorbed man of mystery. Why spoil a good thing? Besides, he didn't want Serena to learn about the Watchers. He had worked very hard through the years keeping that information from her. At first he had been afraid that she would corrupt their purpose and make it one devoted to science. Now, it was a moot point. He wasn't altogether displeased with they way the Watchers had evolved.

        He logged on and searched all African entries, only to be dismayed at the quantity of messages dealing with some old tomb that had been unearthed. "Just what the world needs," he thought sarcastically, "another mummified body to put in some museum." He skipped over those and concentrated his efforts on sightings of both unknown and known immortals. When the Ebola virus had ravaged the camp, Serena's current Watcher had perished with the others. Since then, no one had been assigned to take his place. Serena was listed as missing.

        Methos spent an hour at the computer before he accepted the hopelessness of it. The Watchers didn't really know who Serena Mandeville was. They didn't place much importance on her as a real contender for the Prize and she wasn't active in the Game. As a consequence, when she had disappeared, no one was given the task to find her. When she resurfaced, that would be time enough to assign her a new Watcher. He laughed at the meager bio they had for her. First death wasn't recorded, but the first head they had her take was during the Crimean War, back in 1846. Each incarnation lasted a little over two hundred years, but now with computers, she'd have to change identities more often, as would he.

        Thoroughly discouraged at his lack of success, Methos turned off the computer and sat back to think. This was getting him nowhere. He had read her journalscover to cover and they hadn't yielded any clues either. There was only one thing to do. He'd have to go back to Africa and look for her. He'd start with Egypt, since the Nile had always been her home. With the trail cold in Zaire, that was the best place to start. He packed a few clothes in a duffel bag, and was ready to go.

        Or almost. Before he left, he'd have to stop by Joe's bar. Methos wasn't sure how long this quest would take him, but he was determined not to quit this time until he found her. He owed it to his friend, Joe, to tell him that he was leaving and wasn't sure when he'd be back.

        Since it was late at night, the place was filled with patrons. Methos took a meandering path through the crowd, and found his way to the back office. He knocked on the door.

        "Yeah, come in."

        Methos laughed to himself as he heard Joe mutter some profanity under his breath. Something had the Watcher uptight, and Methos didn't want to know about it. All he wanted to do was deliver his message and be on his way. He was *not* going to be suckered into another one of Joe's adventures.

        "Hello, Joe."

        "Methos, am I glad to see you."

        Joe's effusive hello put him on guard. "I just stopped by to say good-bye. I'm heading off to Egypt."

        Joe's eyes narrowed. "You are, huh?"

        Why was *he* so suspicious? "Yes, I just wanted you to know."

        "Why are you going?"

        Methos stiffened. He couldn't tell him the truth. "Oh, to get some sun, rest a bit, maybe see the pyramids again. I usually try to see them once every hundred years or so."

        "And this seemed like the perfect time to go traipsing across the desert?"

        "Yes, it did."

        "You know, I've never been to see pyramids. Maybe I ought to go with you?" Joe's voice was too casual and Methos' suspicion sharpened.

        Methos schooled his features not to reveal what was going through his mind. "I don't think that's a good idea. The bugs are terrible, the heat unbearable, and the beds are lumpy."

        "Can't be any worse than 'Nam."

        "My plane leaves in two hours."

        "I can pack fast."

        Methos felt himself begin to panic. Joe would weasel everything out about Serena. His eyes had that suspicious look. The man appeared determined, too. Methos'mind spun, searching for some deterrent that would work with his nosy friend.

        Joe came out from around his desk, and looked pointedly at the duffel. "I see you're already packed. Let's just stop by my place and I'll throw a few things in a suitcase."

        Much to his chagrin, he couldn't find an adequate excuse. "Fine," he said gruffly.

        Methos caught Joe's triumphant grin before the mortal turned and quickly ambled out of his office. Methos shuffled behind, trying to figure out how he could have prevented this from happening. Had Joe really outmaneuvered him, or had he let himself be persuaded? He refused to think about either possibility; both were equally disturbing.

II

        Joe settled himself into the airplane seat and waited for the flight attendant to start giving the last-minute safety instructions. The old immortal had bought both tickets, and in first class. Methos had said that he never traveled in less, and who was Joe to argue? Hopefully after a few beers, his tongue might loosen enough toreveal something of what was going on. It was extremely coincidental that both of them had interests in Egypt. Could the ancient immortal have gotten wind of the tomb? Did the find make him nervous enough that he had to check it out in person? That place was important, Joe just had to figure out how.

        The engines roared, and the plane took off into the Parisian skies. Methos had his eyes closed yet Joe could detect the stress around them. Methos' hands were clenched around the armrest, and if Joe didn't know better, he'd swear the man was afraid of flying. Yet he knew that to be untrue, since they had flown togetherbefore and Methos had never shown any anxiety before.

        As the plane leveled off, Joe turned to Methos. "I know we're flying into Cairo, but where are we going from there?"

        Methos opened his eyes and for a flash, Joe thought he read pain. Maybe Methos had a headache. "We're going to drive down to Quenta, Methos answered. "From there, I don't really know yet."

        Very close to the tomb site. "Are you going to meet someone there?"

        "With luck," Methos paused and continued tiredly. "But I don't expect to."

        Methos was talking in circles.

        "Are we staying overnight in Cairo?" Joe persisted.

        "Only if you need to. I plan on renting a car and starting immediately."

        "If I hadn't come… No, never mind."

        "Joe, you're here. Drop the subject. I'm going to get some sleep, since I'll be the one driving." Methos made a big production out of reclining his seat, finding the right position and then closing his eyes.

        Joe fumed silently at the brush-off. Methos didn't want to talk, well fine by him. Maybe he'd catch up on his sleep too.

        III

        Methos and Joe crossed the Cairo terminal towards the car rental area. Methos had gotten some sleep after Joe had abandoned his twenty questions' game. He hoped that Joe had slept, too. The trip wouldn't be easy.

        The girl behind the counter smiled as she filled out her portion of the forms. "Will your friend be driving also?"

        "No, I-" Methos began.

        "Yes, I will." Joe interrupted.

        Methos shot him an irritated look.

        "Hey, old man," Joe said cheerfully. "You might get yourself in trouble."

        "Trouble?" Methos' eyes darkened further, radiating danger.

        "The way you demolish a bar's supply of beer just might leave you in need of my services."

        Methos grunted in disgust. No matter how much he tried to intimidate Joe, the man didn't cooperate. Then he smiled inwardly, careful not to let his amusementshow. "All right, put his name on the form," he told the woman.

        As he started thinking about it, he realized that maybe it *was* a good idea. That way, when he took off in the desert, Joe would have some form oftransportation. He'd have to get something a little more sturdy anyway. He absently signed the forms and handed over his credit card. She directed him to where their car would be parked.

        "Are we going all the way to Quenta, today?" Joe asked as soon as Methos had cleared the airport and found the road heading south.

        "No, we'll have to break up the journey. Asyut is around 300 kilometers from here. We should spend the night there and continue the next morning. Think you can handle that long in the car?"

        "I can manage."

        Methos smiled at the man's determination.

        "So, this person you're hoping to see, are they dead or alive?" Joe asked.

        Methos stiffened, and answered without thought. "She had better be alive." Shit, a surprise attack. He had revealed more than he intended. Now Joe would never quit the interrogation.

        "She?" he asked with a sly grin and his eyebrows rising and lowering with exaggerated precision.

        "I don't want to talk about it, Joe. Look at the scenery. Maybe you'll see some Nile crocodiles."

        "Is that a threat?"

        Methos smiled maliciously.

        "You're a bit sensitive about this woman," Joe continued undaunted. "Is she an *old* friend?"

        "Yes, a very *old friend*. Now, let me drive in peace."

        Joe was quiet for all of about five minutes. "You don't know if she's alive or dead. That must mean you're going to some old hang-out of yours and hope that she's gonna be there. Right?"

        "No."

        "She's leaving you a note?"

        Damn, he was getting close. He refused to acknowledge Joe's questions with answers.

        Another ten minutes lapsed before the next round. "When was the last time you saw her?" asked Joe.

        "When they built the Aswan Dam."

        "What happened?"

        "Parasites. One of her specialties."

        Methos thought back to that time. Serena had been so eager to go and help. Many children had died because of the shortsightedness of the engineers who had planned the construction of the dam. Lake Nasser had become a breeding ground for Schistosomes, a kind of worm that can invade right through a person's skin, and go directly into the bloodstream. Of course, they didn't know at the time what caused the disease, only that it killed.

        "Methos?! You sleeping or something?"

        "Or something."

        Joe took the hint and was quiet for over thirty minutes. "So, it hasn't really been that long. What makes you think that's she's missing now?"

        Methos didn't want to answer. He still felt too raw to even talk about the burnt camp. How could he explain to the Watcher that she had somehow disappearedand the only thing left was a torched camp, whose inhabitants had apparently died of Ebola or were burned to death? Plus, he didn't really know if the fire happened before or after Serena had disappeared. The immortal stared straight ahead, not saying a word.

        The kilometers rolled by. Joe had his eyes closed, but Methos didn't think he was really sleeping. The wheels going around and around in the Watcher's mind were evident by his stiff posture and his infrequent mumblings.

        It was close to dinnertime when Methos pulled into Asyut. He navigated the streets to find a hotel close to the southwest part of the city. After dinner, he planned on getting some sleep and then slipping out in the middle of the night to check out a small village about thirty kilometers due west. Serena had ancient ties to theplace and if she were hiding on purpose, she might hole up there. He had to check, alone, without Joe.

 IV

        Joe woke suddenly the next morning. He gazed for several minutes at the clock before the disorientation left and he realized that it was past nine o'clock. Methos had made a point of impressing upon him the need to hurry. The immortal had even gone to bed before nine. Joe figured that it meant that they would have an early start. Why hadn't Methos woken him up before this? What was going on?

        A premonition assailed him. Methos had skipped town. He was famous for his disappearing act. Joe called down to the front desk. Yes, there was a message for him. After showering and getting dressed, he went downstairs to retrieve the note.

        The concierge handed him an envelope. Stepping back, he ripped it open and read the message.

        Joe,

        Left early to check out some things. I'll be back around lunchtime. Be packed and ready to go.

        Ben

        Joe laughed as he came to the name "Ben". When they had checked in the night before, he was surprised to find that Methos had documents that showed his identity to be Dr. Ben Adams. It was strange to think of him as Benjamin Adams. When they first met, his name was Adam Pierson. It was several years later that he discovered that his real name was Methos and that he was the world's oldest immortal. Now, Joe was beginning to learn the many aliases' Methos had used throughout the years. However, it still felt odd to see the name, Ben, written so casually.

        His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. Breakfast was what he needed. Smiling at the concierge, he turned and made his way to the small restaurantattached to the hotel. Fortified with a large meal and coffee, he returned to his room. Digging around in his suitcase, he found the phone number of Marcos Giamos, the Watcher Egyptologist.

        "Hey, Marcos. It's Joe Dawson."

        "Hi Joe. Calling to see if we've made any headway?"

        "Actually, I'm in Asyut."

        "You can't stand not being involved, I bet," Marcos said, laughing.

        "Something like that. I'm on my way towards Luxor, and I would like to see the tomb. Is it possible?" Joe asked.

        "I'm sure I can manage it. Give me a day to go through some channels. Why don't you give me a call when you get in?"

        "Sure. Learn anything new?"

        "We're making some headway. On the wall closest to the entryway, we've been able to make out about half of the glyphs. There's a picture of a man and womanand many children. The writings detail the life of an important farmer."

        "Wait, many children?" Joe asked, puzzled. "I thought the body was decapitated?"

        "It was. I'm not saying that the writing on the wall is the life story of the dead person. We don't know if there's even a connection between the two. Listen, this is really hard on the phone. Why don't we wait 'til we get together and then I'll fill you in on the rest."

        "Looking forward to it."

        Joe hung up, wondering if he was going to have to make his own way down to Luxor. It wasn't noon, yet, but close. He started thinking about Methos and this mysterious female he was looking for. In the few years that they had been friends, he had never seen Methos worried. He wore his calm like a protective blanket, covering up all his thoughts and feelings. But, that wasn't strictly true either. When Methos had met Alexa, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. His joy and his grief were plain to see.

        A knock sounded at the door. "You awake, Joe?" Methos called.

        "Yeah, I'm awake," he muttered irritably, as he stood, weaving a little on unsteady feet.

        Methos strode in through the partially opened door. "You packed and ready to go?"

        No, "Hello." No, "How did you sleep?" In fact, as Joe took a good look at his friend, Methos looked a little haggard. "You want me to drive?"

        A semblance of a smile shadowed Methos' face. "That would be nice."

        "You going to tell me where you went?" Joe asked.

        "No, I'm not. I will tell you that I learned nothing."

        Aha, an excuse for his lousy mood. "What time did you leave?"

        "About three."

        Joe pointed out his cases, Methos picked them up, and they both left the room. They checked out of the hotel with little fuss, and soon were on the road. Methos pulled out a map and studied it for awhile. "We've got about two or three hundred kilometers to go 'til we hit Quenta. We'll stop there."

        "What's there?" Joe asked, hoping that maybe this time he'd get a direct answer.

        "Another place to check."

        Methos folded his map and shoved it into the glove compartment. Folding himself into the seat, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. A few more hours and then the traveling would be over. If Methos decided to go further, Joe had to decide if he was going to follow him, or stay at the tomb site. There were pros and cons to both sides. He really wanted to see the tomb, but he also wanted to be near, when Methos found this woman. He could tell by the old immortal'sevasions that this woman was unknown to the Watchers.

        They traveled several hours in silence. Joe concentrated on the road, while Methos slept. The old immortal started to get restless. He fidgeted in his seat, and started murmuring in an unknown language. His mumbling grew more frantic, and then he sat up straight in his seat, gasping for breath. Joe turned his eyes from the road to his travel companion, and then back to the road, repeatedly.

        "You okay? Must have been some dream."

        Methos muttered something incomprehensible.

        "Listen, buddy. You better talk in English, or I'm lost."

        The immortal gave him a weak smile. "Sorry, Joe. I guess I'm still out of it."

        "You going to tell me what that was all about?" Whether the dream had knocked him off balance, or he was just in a charitable mood, Joe didn't know, nor care. All he cared about was that Methos started to talk.

        "I was waiting for Rena."

        "Who?" Joe interrupted.

        "Serena Mandeville. Remember when I told you that I was living in the southern States during the early 1800's?"

        "Yeah. That's where you met Walker."

        Methos gave him a condescending smile. "That's right. Eventually Serena found me and drafted me into her cause." Methos' voice wavered and then hung at the end of the sentence, his mind lost in his memories.

---

        Summer of 1829

        Methos kneeled on the dirt floor. A black man was lying face down upon a pile of straw, exposing deep, bloody welts on his back and legs. Using a clean cloth, Methos dipped it into fresh water and gently dabbed the welts. Back and forth he went, soaking up the dried blood and dirt, 'til the water was red. The man flinched, yet made no cry. Whether it was to protect them from discovery, or the man's pride that kept him silent, Methos didn't know, but he was thankful all the same. The man's wife stood against the wall, silent tears falling from her face, as she clutched her three young children to her side.

        The tingling sensation that heralded another immortal, made Methos stand up abruptly and go to the door. The wife stiffened, her knuckles white against her children's dark skin. The man's face held a grimace, no doubt worried over his own vulnerable position. Methos' sword was still in its scabbard, but he held onto the hilt in readiness.

        A knock sounded, and a woman's voice followed immediately after. "Open up Benjamin, I've come with the salve."

        Relaxing, he opened the door and Dr. Serena Mandeville swept in, carrying a basket covered with a dun-colored cloth.

        "How is he?" she asked, bending over to look at the injured man.

        "Not good," Methos replied, closing the door behind her.

        Serena took a jar of ointment out of her basket. "Put this on it."

        Methos looked at the concoction skeptically, "This isn't some new remedy you suddenly decided to test, is it?" She was continually finding new ways to mix herherbs and oils to fight infections. Some even worked. Others didn't.

        Serena narrowed her eyes. "It's safe."

        Methos shrugged and began applying it to the wound. "What took you so long anyway?" She had been gone for six hours. There had been faithful promises thatshe only needed two to fetch the needed remedy, yet she had been gone longer.

        Serena acted like she was ignoring his question. She went over to the small wooden table and sat down her basket. Slivers of moonlight sneaked through the wall's cracks vying with the lone candle as the source of light for the occupants. Reaching into the basket, she pulled out a jar and several rolls of clean linen. The sniffles of the slave children and their mother filled the silence.

        "Did you hear me?" Methos asked impatiently, looking up at her while she was concentrating on her task.

        "I heard you." She opened the jar and spread some of the greasy gel onto the linen.

        "This smells horrible," he said wrinkling his nose.

        "But it works," she responded plainly. Abandoning the make-shift bandage for a moment, Serena reached into the basket and withdrew several pieces of hard candy and then brought them over to the children, who smiled meagerly. Then she carried the bandages over to the patient.

        "You didn't answer my question," he said wiping his wet hands on his pants. "Please, don't tell me it was a man."

        She grinned, "Actually it was. Jealous?"

        Methos snorted. "Depends."

        She turned her attention back to the man still lying on his stomach. "Sit up," she commanded. Conditioned to obeying when direct orders were given, he used his hands as leverage and pulled himself up into a kneeling position. His eyes squinted in pain, but no sound left his lips. With deft movements, Serena and Methoswrapped him up first with the coated bandages and then some dry ones. They rolled the linen back to front, working together with practiced ease. Glancing idly at Methos she continued their conversation. "I assure you that I could never bring myself to think of Mel with any degree of fondness."

        Methos' eyes narrowed. "Mel?"

        Serena nodded, checking her work. "You were very brave," she told the man. He lay back down and closed his eyes.

        Methos was still mulling over what she had said. He knew that she liked to tease him. They hadn't been lovers in centuries, yet both took wicked enjoyment in telling the other of their liaisons. However, this wasn't the time for that kind of thing. They had slaves to heal and plantation owners to avoid.

        "Melvin Koren ... I think you know him."

        "I had heard something about that name being the latest in a line for…" His face paled and he stiffened as realization hit. Kronos? Oh God! "He's really here?"

        "It's him. The scar across his face doesn't lie"

        He unconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword. "Does he..."

        "…know that you're here?" she finished for him. "No. I was making my way through town when he accosted me. With his gun to my side, he asked me to patch up one of his ruffians."

        Methos crossed his arms. "Did he mention me?"

        "In passing."

        Methos was getting impatient. "Is he still around?" He needed to know if he should be high-tailing it out of town. It was an unlikely coincidence that Kronos just happened to be in the same town as he and Rena. Was Rena now being followed?

        The slave-woman said something in a language he didn't understand. Serena answered in the woman's native tongue, making her eyes widen with surprise andhappiness. Serena turned and glared at him as she took another jar out of her basket and handed it to the woman.

        His nervousness was becoming apparent to the slaves. "We need to go before someone catches us here," he said referring to Kronos, not the southern aristocracy.

        Serena clutched his hand, giving him a soft peck on the cheek. "Thank you."

        He was perplexed. "For what?"

        She rubbed his fingers. "For being here for me. I am grateful."

        She spoke some last minute instructions and gathered up her things. Methos clasped her hand, led them out, looking both ways. After they were safely in the shadows, Methos whispered. "You sure he had no idea I was here?"

        Serena nudged him. "Would I lie to you?"

        Methos squeezed her hand, no hesitation in his answer, "No."

 

---

        The Present

        "Have you spent most of your life running from Kronos?" Joe asked, maneuvering the car around some sort of amphibian crossing the road.

        "Avoiding, Joe." He was scowling.

        "Whatever. Sounds like your friend wasn't really too keen on Kronos either."

        "That's true."

        "So, she's a doctor," Joe said gently.

        "Yes," he answered, then laughed. "Joe, she personifies healing. Nothing in her life exists except it."

        "And you. You must be important to her, if she's this important to you."

        Methos arched his back, trying to get his blood circulating again. "Only because I shared her obsession with her."

        "Is that why you went to that medical school in Heidelburg?" Joe asked, taking a quick peak at him before redirecting his eyes towards the road.

        "Yes. She wanted to go, but women weren't allowed. So I went, brought the books and notes home to her, and we'd both study. It was the only formal education,sort of, that she's ever had."

        "Even now?"

        "She's way past going to school. She has fake papers that show her Ph.D., and M.D., and has made quite a name for herself in the scientific community."

        "How does she retain her anonymity?"

        "She'll publish under her assistants' names, change countries, get lost in some third world country, you know, that kind of thing."

        "And we don't know about her?"

        Methos smiled humorously. "I'm sure you've got her in your books in several places, but don't know that all the entries are the same woman."

        Joe couldn't wait to scour the database and look for her. He might even get the chance to meet her. That pleasure was one he eagerly longed for. Silencedescended in the car. Joe could tell that Methos was still thinking about her. His eyes were closed, but every so often the corner of his mouth would twitch as if a smile was ready to emerge. His own thoughts kept going round and round. It only made sense that if she was a healer, and that old, then Serena might knowCassandra. Cassandra was supposed to be a healer, too. Curious to hear more, Joe brought the subject up again.

        "Was this Serena part of the Horsemen?"

        Methos turned incredulous eyes on him. "No! When I rode with them, Serena was … uh … Kronos … uh … they didn't get along."

        Boy, did that get a reaction. "Didn't get along? Kronos didn't like her?" he asked slyly. From what Methos had told him moments before, Kronos seemed to respect her doctoring abilities enough to force her to treat a companion.

        "I never really told him about her, until Cassandra left."

        Joe's pulse quickened. "The two women know each other?" Aha! He was right.

        Methos sighed. "I asked Rena to be Cassandra's teacher."

        Joe could hardly sit still. He shifted in his seat, which caused the car to speed up. With a smile of apology, he let off the gas.

        Methos shook his head and smiled. Then his face sobered and he took a deep breath "Kronos sent us all out to look for Cassandra. He was furious that she had gotten away."

        "Kronos never knew that you let her?" Joe interrupted.

        "No, he never knew that."

        Methos was quiet. Joe waited patiently for him to continue, but he just stared straight ahead.

        Joe prodded. "So, how were you able to introduce the two women? If I remember right, Cassandra wasn't your biggest fan at that point." Joe laughed inside at his understatement.

        Methos took a deep breath. "I didn't exactly introduce them. To this day, Cassandra doesn't know that Rena and I are…" Methos stopped speaking again.

        "Are what?"

        "Family." Methos paused, and his eyes lit with pleasure. "After Cassandra left, I sent one of my slaves into Egypt to get word to Rena that I needed to see her. Rena came, the slave didn't." Methos had a far-away smile on his face.

        *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

        Bronze Age-Libyan Desert

        Methos didn't know exactly why he was here. When she had left him, Serena had made it quite clear that she didn't want to see him as long as he remained with Kronos. Methos knew she didn't fear Kronos, in the way someone normally would. Serena saw Kronos as more of an oddity and something that was offensive. His lack of real purpose, except to terrorize, was something she didn't understand. Everyone should have a reason for being; hers was to heal, while she believed that Methos lived to study. Kronos existed to kill and to become the most feared warrior in all the land. She scoffed at this meager ambition.

        Methos had sent his slave Kyhos, east to Egypt. He knew he'd never see the slave again. But he promised to not hunt the slave down if Serena came back to meet him. It seemed a fair arrangement. Methos had seen the way that Kronos had been eyeing Cassandra, and thought that maybe Cassandra would be better off with Serena. Unfortunately things went out of his control sooner than he had imagined.

        The meeting place wasn't a 'place' at all, actually. It was a small oasis near where the Horsemen were camped, but far enough away from Kronos and the others to have privacy. The water had dried up several months ago, which left little reason why anyone would want to visit it. Methos leaned against his horse, his armscrossed, looking at the sun. His message to Serena had stated that he would wait each day when the sun was halfway down the west sky. It was getting past that now. He was about to mount up and leave when he felt a presence wash over him, like fingers prickling his spine. He squinted through the sun's rays towards the horizon and saw the silhouette of a horse and rider approaching. The person was garbed in long, flowing, white linen from top to bottom, to reflect the searing sun. He pulled his sword. The horse looked familiar, but it was safer to be on guard. As they got closer, Methos recognized Serena's face, and relaxed.

        She stopped short, not dismounting, her blue eyes darting around them, surveying their surroundings like the consummate warrior she was. She pulled thecovering from her face and looked down on him. "Did Kronos let you out to play?" she asked disparagingly.

        He ignored her remark and grabbed the halter of her horse. "I have to talk to you; it's important."

        She dismounted, her feet making barely any noise in the sand below. She stretched, "What is so important that I had to ride so urgently across the desert?"

        Methos crossed his arms, arrogantly. "I want to ask you a favor."

        Serena snorted. "Oh, really?"

        Methos sighed, "I know you aren't happy with my choice in brothers, but that doesn't change what has passed between us."

        She removed a cask of water and sipped some of the precious liquid. Pulling her hood back she brushed some dust from her hair. "What is it, Methos?"

        Methos restrained the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her for her impudence towards him. He had gotten used to a great deal of fear and respect with the Horsemen and he wasn't used to this kind of attitude. "There is an immortal, a woman. She needs a teacher."

        Serena pulled out a rug from her pack and stretched it on the ground, taking a seat. He reluctantly joined her on the ground.

        Serena looked up at him dispassionately, "A cast-off?"

        Methos flexed his jaw. "Run-a-way slave." He rose, her eyes following his movements. "She escaped from us after plunging a knife into Kronos."

        "That took courage." Serena smiled appreciatively.

        Methos ignored her comment. "She set off across the wastes. I want you to find her."

        Serena leaned forward on her hands. "You want her back?"

        "No!"

        "Not fond of you, is she." Serena laughed.

        "You could say that."

        "Does she have any idea of what she is?"

        Methos shook his head, "No."

        "You didn't feel it was *necessary* to inform her?"

        Methos sneered slightly, "It wasn't part of my master plan, no."

        Serena sighed. "Controlling people does not always bring security."

        Methos deliberately misunderstood. "I was content until Kronos decided he wanted her , too." His defiance gave way as he remembered that he was asking her a favor. "Will you take her on?"

        "Yes."

        "Don't tell her that you know me."

        "No reason to," Serena agreed.

        Their horses started dancing and snorting. This was soon followed by the thunder of hoof beats in the distance, and then the tell-tale presence of another of their kind.

        Serena jumped up quickly, pulling her sword. "I thought this was a private meeting!" she hissed.

        Methos pulled his sword. "It was supposed to be."

        Serena spun around, keeping the intruder in her sights as he circled around them. Kronos dismounted then strode forward, his eyes scanning over Serena, thendarting to Methos. "What is this, Brother?"

        Methos, uneasy at Kronos finding him here, moved closer to Serena. While Serena had

        known of Kronos for years, Methos had kept *her* a secret from Kronos. "Nothing,

        Kronos." He had no intention of sharing this woman with him.

        Kronos met Serena's steady gaze and cracked an evil smile. "Secret rendezvous with unknown immortal women are far from *nothing*, Brother."

        He moved towards Serena, and with catlike reflexes she moved back. Kronos fingered the hilt of his sword and Methos swallowed hard, his mind racing to think of a plausible reason for this meeting.

        Kronos continued his verbal attack. "I had sent you to search for Cassandra, and then followed you at a safe distance, of course. And look what I found. Not Cassandra at all." Kronos, obviously tired of words, pulled his sword.

        Methos yelled, "*No*! This is my business. Leave us!"

        Kronos spun on his brother, his eyes blazing. "There is no such thing as *your* business. We share everything, or have you forgotten?"

        Without losing momentum, Kronos spun again slashing his sword at Serena. His eyes widened in amazement as she stopped its chop, her strength more than herphysical appearance suggested.

        Kronos smiled, "Well, well Brother. Your *business* fights well."

        Methos wanted to intervene, but Kronos had challenged her, and even a Horseman didn't break that rule. Methos knew that Serena could protect herself, but fighting with

        Kronos was a different story. Serena was honorable; Kronos was not. Methos grabbed her horse, keeping it ready for her escape.

        The fight began. Serena was holding her own, but Kronos' ire rose at her skill. Serena's proficiency was not in her strength, but in her quickness, her agility. Kronos jabbed at Serena and she moved out of the way, lowering her sword hilt on his arm, knocking him forward, off-balance. She grabbed a dagger from under her cloak, ready to plunge it into his heart. But Kronos was prepared for that move and shoved her backwards, knocking her against her horse. Serena, taking stock of her chances, dove under her horse and mounted from the other side, pulling it around. Methos backed up so he wouldn't get run over.

        Kronos yelled, "Running away?"

        She yelled back, already galloping, "Live, grow stronger, fight another day!"

        *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

        The Present

        Joe let the conversation drift to an easy silence. He had been given a lot to think about. There were more questions; hell he always had more questions, but his companion looked wrung out. Joe had been very lucky this trip, two stories from Methos, and one of those had been about Cassandra's teacher. Joe couldn't waitto meet this Serena. The miles sped by, and soon signs of civilization became more apparent.

        Methos directed him to a very posh hotel, where a valet parked their car. A bellhop took command of their luggage. Methos went over to the front desk tocheck-in and then the bellhop showed them up to their room. This time they had a suite, containing a kitchenette, bathroom, a common room and two bedrooms. After the bellhop had unloaded their belongings, Methos pressed some bills in his hand, which made the man smile in gratitude. Joe was veryimpressed with both the service and the fact that Methos was paying for it all.

        "Joe, pick a room. I'm going to shower and then we have to sit and plan."

        "Plan what?" he asked curiously.

        "What you're going to do while I'm gone."

        "Back up, buddy. You're gonna disappear on me again?"

        "I have to. I need to check a place deep into the desert, and I don't want you coming with me. I'll be walking miles on foot through sand and bugs. I'm sorry, but this isn't negotiable."

        Joe recognized the stubborn glint to the immortal's eyes.

        Methos continued. "If I do find her, I promise to bring her back."

        Joe could tell Methos was serious about this. With a resigned shrug, he asked, "How long will you be gone for?"

        Methos visibly relaxed. "Three days, or maybe longer. I haven't traveled that way in several centuries. Things have a way of changing," he responded with a chagrined expression.

        Joe laughed. "You mean you might get lost."

        "Yes."

        "Don't you worry about me. Maybe I'll do the tourist thing. I'm sure there's lots of tombs and stuff around here that'll be interesting."

        "Good idea. Take one of those tours that'll show you the Valley of Kings."

        "Any friends buried there?" Joe asked.

        A shadow crossed his face. "A few."

        "No problem. I think I will go there. You just look for your friend and I'll be waiting here for you when you get back."

        "Thank you, Joe." A tired smile of appreciation fled across his features. Methos picked up his duffel and went into the bathroom.

        Joe opened the door to one of the bedrooms and went about unpacking. When Methos finished cleaning up, Joe took his turn. When he came back out again, a full table of food was spread out in the common room, and Methos was busy eating.

        "I wanted to wait, but the smell was driving me crazy."

        Joe sat down and piled food on a plate. They ate in silence. Methos finished first and began to outline his plans for the next week.

        "I registered in the Ben Adams name here too. If Serena happens to be somewhere in town, it will be name she'll recognize and she'll come here to find me."

        "You don't think that'll happen though."

        "No," Methos agreed. "She didn't find us in Asyut, so I don't have hopes that she'll be here. My guess is that she's buried herself in the desert waiting for me to find her."

        "A regular damsel in distress."

        "Or just in need of an alternate identity."

        "You've brought one of those with you?"

        Methos turned his inscrutable eyes on him. "Of course."

        Chapter 3

        I

        The next morning when Joe woke up, Methos had already departed. After dinner, the night before, Methos had gone out to get supplies and Joe had taken the opportunity to call Marcos and arrange a meeting for the next day. The Egyptologist had gotten permission and all the papers in order for Joe to come to the site. Joe went to bed excited about what he would see the next day.

        Joe ate some breakfast and went down to the lobby to wait for his friend to arrive. He bought a newspaper and sat in one of the chairs and alternated between reading and watching the people around him. This was one of his favorite past-times. People of all creeds and color walked through. The only common denominator was their affluence. Thirty minutes later, Marcos arrived and they left for the tomb's site.

        Marcos' car came to a halt, and Joe found it difficult to move. The panoramic view spread out before him left him both motionless and speechless. Walls of naked rock rose out of the ground and towered two or three hundred feet towards the sky above the river. Marcos held the door open so Joe could leave the car and take a long look around him. Slowly, Joe maneuvered out of the car, and then stood leaning against it. They were on the east side of the Nile, on a high cliff, overlooking the valley. Marcos handed him a pair of binoculars so Joe could get a more detailed view. Much of what he saw were merely holes within the rock,evidence of long-past excavated tombs. Entrances, which led deep into the rock, were outlined in hieroglyphs and fragments of what might have been imposing statues. However, clustered periodically along the cliffs, impressive pillars demarcating more tombs were still standing proudly, unmarked by the passage oftime.

        "The Valley of the Kings," Marcos whispered reverently.

        Joe nodded, still unable to articulate what he was feeling. His friend continued to identify some of what they were seeing.

        "The largest one, over there, is the temple of Queen Hatshepsut. She died around thirty-five hundred years ago. Believe it or not, she was considered a New Kingdom queen." He was quiet for a few moments. "You can see the tomb of Nakht, and there," he turned Joe into another direction, "is the vizier Dega's."

        "There are so many," Joe muttered.

        "Over sixty. Kings, queens and their nobles were all entombed in this one location. What makes *our* tomb so interesting, is that we believe it is older than any of these that you see before you."

        "By how much?" Joe asked.

        "Maybe five hundred years? Maybe more. Would you like to see it now?"

        Joe nodded, still gazing out of the binoculars.

        "Over to the south, do you see that cluster of tents? That's us."

        Joe handed the glasses back to Marcos and they both got back into the car. "Have you made any more progress on the translations?"

        Marcos answered. "Dr. Tetrault is positive that the wall is covered with numerous biographies. What we used to think was just a story of one man's life, may turn out to be several lives. The walls are divided into about six sections. Each of these sections contains their own story."

        "What about the dead man? Which story is his?"

        Marcos shrugged his shoulders. "We can't even translate one complete story yet. We have a few words, and the fact that one of them, at least, is about a woman."

        "Anything about freak lightning on a cloudless day?" Joe asked, tongue-in-cheek.

        Marcos laughed. "No. Nothing like that."

        "What does this Dr. Tetrault make of our Watcher symbol?"

        "He thinks it's part of a name."

        "The name of who?"

        "Whoever one of the biographies is about. He thinks that each story is preceded by the person's name and then the story begins. Our symbol leads the fifthbiography."

        Joe felt shivers of excitement ripple up his back.

        They drove to the bank of the Nile and had to take a ferry across. The trip was relatively short, but Joe felt the time drag, he was so impatient to see the tomb. The ferry was cluttered with tourists, all eager to see the ancient temples. His cane tapped rhythmically against the boat's floor.

        As the ferry docked, Joe and all the tourists returned to their cars and started the slow disembarking. Marcos drove straight to the location of the tomb. They were stopped once by some guards, who waved them through. The road caused the car to lurch repeatedly, but finally Marcos parked the car. Joe popped a few Ibuprofens, because he knew walking on the uneven ground was going to cause him considerable pain. Then he exited the car, eager to see the inside of the tomb.

        The place was still in the process of excavation. Mounds of dirt were piled everywhere. Stations were set up with people sifting through debris that might be of importance. Marcos bypassed them all and led Joe directly to the wall of rock. It wasn't until they rounded a corner made by a jutting boulder, that Joe was ableto discern the entrance. It was camouflaged by the shadows made by jutting rocks.

        Gas lanterns and battery-powered flashlights lighted the inside. The tomb consisted of one chamber, or at least that was all that had been found so far. Three of the walls were covered in hieroglyphs, just as Marcos had said. Joe couldn't determine that the words were actually divided into six separate sections, they looked like one big run-on sentence, punctuated with a few pictures. Three men were working on tables piled high with books. Marcos went over to one man,whom Joe presumed to be Dr. Tetrault, then both came over to him.

        "Joe, this is Dr. Philippe Tetrault, the man in charge of this find. Phil, this is Joseph Dawson, a friend from school, who happens to be very interested in our find."

        "Pleased to meet you, Dawson," he said with a very thick French accent. "American?"

        "I'm living in Paris, but yes, I am from the States."

        "Think of yourself as an amateur Egyptologist?"

        Joe chose to ignore the condescending attitude by the professor. "Very amateur, sir."

        "Proceed, Marcos," the professor said, then he walked back to one of the tables.

        Joe turned once more towards the walls. He studied each hieroglyph with fascination. He wanted to memorize each one and question Methos about them later.Maybe if he left some of the laser prints that Marcos had sent lying about, he could trick the old immortal into revealing what they meant.

        Then Joe saw it, the Watcher symbol. His eyes widened in shocked wonder. Hands, of their own volition, rose and caressed the symbol. Fingertips ran delicatelyover it, tracing the circle and the 'v' in the middle. A million thoughts ran through his head, yet they were all incoherent. It was so old. Was it possible that the Watchers were five thousand years old?

        Marcos stood looking over his shoulder. "You know," he whispered in reverent undertones, "writing itself started a little over four thousand years ago. Maybe theadvent of writing is what spurred our origins."

        Joe nodded. "Could be." His hands ran down the length of that particular story. "Has any more been deciphered?"

        "Over here." Marcos led him to a tent, set up just outside the tomb.

        Several large pieces of paper were strewn over the top of a table. They contained charcoal rubbings of the hieroglyphs, with English translations written over some of the glyphs. Rectangles were drawn about groups of glyphs, so that the individual biographies could be distinguished. The words that had been translated were mostly nouns: cows, corn, papyrus, flax, and family-related words, mother and father. He had to agree with Marcos, the translated words did seem to indicate a general biography.

        The first cartouche was a big hieroglyph, the symbol of the Nile was pictured along with something that looked like a plant. The translation said that it was a story of a man who lived next to the Nile. He grew flax, harvested it and traded it to the king. Joe could agree with Nile and flax, but where they got the harvesting andking from, Joe couldn't fathom. Then he laughed to himself; that's why they were the experts.

        Joe sifted through the numerous sheets until he came to the one with the Watcher symbol. This one also had a few of the words translated. This man or womanwas a traveler. There didn't seem to be any gender distinction in any of the words. In several places the word "scroll" was written, but no other translations flanked that word.

        "Marc?" Joe turned to his friend. "Is there any evidence that this whole tomb was written by the same man, in the same time period? Or could it have takenseveral centuries to make, or maybe several people worked on it and finished it in, say, a year?"

        "Good question. We don't know. All the symbols look the same, but I don't know if that's equal to a handwriting analysis. As for the time, geologically, it was all written at the same time."

        "Meaning all in the same century," Joe muttered sarcastically.

        "That's right. At thirty-six or so hundred years ago, you can't differentiate one decade from another, except by artifacts or something like that. Once we get all the hieroglyphs deciphered, we'll know more."

        "What artifacts were recovered?"

        "The usual. Pots of grain, jewelry, things the dead person would need in the afterlife. The jewelry isn't especially creative or expensive. I can't even say that this man was wealthy or not."

        "Seems to me if he's in a tomb, he can't be the run-of-the-mill servant?"

        Marcos shrugged his shoulders.

        Joe had to be satisfied with that answer. They stayed for another hour and then Marcos told him that they had to leave. Joe reluctantly took a last look at the walls, and followed his friend out. They made their way to the car and got in.

        "You know, I forgot to ask you about the body. Where was it?" Joe asked.

        "They removed it. It's in Cairo, undergoing testing."

        "Jeez, I hope it's not an immortal. Wonder how an immortal mummy differs from a mortal one, and how they'd interpret it?"

        "Don't know," Marcos answered "But, the fact that it was decapitated, doesn't mean that it was an immortal corpse. I especially looked for a sword, and didn't find one. They're going to bring in one of those echo machines. By testing the walls, they're going to try to locate some new chambers by the hollow sound they make."

        "Like a sonar thing they use in the oceans?" Joe asked.

        "Something like that."

        "You think they might find a sword if they dig through the rubble? Maybe it's just buried in the dirt and rock."

        "I would think that an immortal would have a great need of a sword in the after-life. If he had been immortal, they would have buried the sword close to his hands," Marcos suggested.

        "Not if he had already lost his quickening. They probably considered him mortal, at that point, and he only needed things like food and clothes," Joe insisted. "Or maybe in the after-life there was no distinction between mortal and immortal. There are only souls looking for whatever souls look for when their earthly body is dead."

        Marcos waited his turn and drove onto the ferry. They suspended conversation for a bit as the fee was paid. Once they had safely parked, Marcos turned to Joe. "You know what I really think?"

        Joe looked at him with anticipation.

        "I think he was a Watcher, and he recorded his chronicles on those tomb walls. Paper was scarce, and everything was written in stone, so to speak."

        "But, why did he lose his head?" Joe kept on. It didn't make sense that a Watcher would lose his head.

        "He got too close to his assignment."

        "Assignments," Joe reminded him. "There were multiple biographies."

        "Or multiple life-times. What if each immortal had their own area, where successive Watchers wrote their chronicles? Then, when-"

        "That's perfect," Joe interrupted. "And then when they died, they were buried in the tomb, by their current Watcher. That makes the most sense. Whoever made that tomb, did so with love and respect. What if we've stumbled on the first immortal library? Each story is about the same immortal, written by different Watchers." Joe's voice rose in his excitement. "Then, when the immortal lost his head, there was already a resting place waiting for him. I like this theory."

        "So, why wasn't there any space left? Who knows when an immortal is going to die? How did the Watchers plan it so carefully that they only wrote as many chronicles as they needed? What if the immortal had lived longer? Where would the rest of the story gone?"

        Joe didn't know what to say. Marcos had made a valid point.

        The ferry reached the other side and soon they were zooming back to the hotel. There was so much to think about.

        II

        Methos stopped the Humvee near the outcrop of trees. The village of Niateth was about five miles away. Grabbing a pack, a canteen, and his robes, he closed and locked the doors. Draping the robes around him, desert style, and hiding both the canteen and pack inside the folds, he set out in the direction of the village.

        He trudged for about an hour over rocky terrain, which was interspersed with sand. A particular cypress tree caught his eye. It was much larger now, he thought. Then common sense returned. There was no way one tree could have lasted four thousand years. Yet the tree looked familiar, and the memories associated with it rushed at him like a tidal wave. Leaning his back against it, he slid down, drinking thirstily from his canteen. Voices, long dead, echoed in his mind. He shook his head in vain, trying to silence them.

        "Methos!" they called.

        *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

        2342 B.C.E, Egypt

        Methos stepped out of the barge, glad to have his feet on solid ground. The star, Sopdet, had appeared in the heavens some days ago, which told him that it was time to return home. If he wanted to traverse the Nile, he had better do it before it began to rise, and travel became treacherous. The world had cycled three times since he had last stood on the Nile's bank, gazing at the village of Nebeseyet, his home.

        His thoughts were interrupted by the awareness of another immortal close by. Methos clutched the wooden shaft of the dagger, which he carried within the folds of his calf-length linen kilt. His eyes searched with deadly calm. He was hoping to see a friend, but fully prepared to fight an enemy. A smile lit his face and hisshoulders relaxed as he fastened his gaze upon a woman leaning against a cypress tree. His dagger was forgotten as he reached out to embrace the woman who had been both a lover and a sister to him.

        "Rena, it is so good to see you."

        "I too am pleased to see that you still have your head." She smiled fully. "Hunro arrived yesterday; Pendua the day before. Aaepehty's been here for at least three of the moon's cycles."

        "And you?" Methos asked.

        "Shortly after the last full moon. We were beginning to worry that you weren't going to appear."

        "I was delayed in Thebes."

        "What was her name?" Rena asked, as she stepped out of his arms.

        Her eyes flashed, but Methos couldn't tell if she was mocking or chiding him. He replied seriously, "The Pharaoh had heard that I had just arrived from the east and demanded a meeting."

        "That must have made you feel important."

        He glared at her. "I do *not* like to call attention to myself. Now if only I can find the miscreant who informed on me."

        Rena laughed delightedly. Methos continued to scowl.

        "Have there been many changes since I was last there?" Methos asked Rena as they meandered down a dirt path towards the village's center.

        "Merisu has decided to be a priestess."

        "She wants to serve the gods?"

        Rena shrugged her shoulders. "Merisu wants to make her own decisions, not follow the path chosen for her by her father, Hekanakht."

        "He just wants what is best for her." Methos paused, "And that is?"

        "Marriage, and more children to work the fields."

        The two immortals drifted along the path in silence, each lost in thought. Methos knew that Merisu was a headstrong girl, and that his friend, Hekanakht, would have problems with her until she married and settled down. It would be interesting to see how this conflict resolved itself. His friend was a wise man. Of the six immortal friends, Hekanakht was the only one who preferred the domestic life. He had married Iutenheb, a woman whom had been raised as a sister to him. They had then drifted from one kind of life to another when their father had died. Unable to give his wife children, they agreed that she should go to the temple and askthe priests for help. Hekanakht knew exactly what would happen. The gods would act through the priests and answer their prayers. They both rejoiced when she was given four fine sons and a daughter, which he accepted as his own. Several cycles ago, Hekanakht had brought home a sixth son from the slave market. Thisone was destined to become immortal, but only the immortals knew that fact.

        Hekanakht 's entire family knew about immortals. Hekanakht had not kept it hidden from his wife or his children. However, they were only aware that he couldn'tdie. They knew nothing of the Game, or that immortals could die if their heads were separated from their bodies. Since beheading was a common punishment by various Pharaohs and other monarchs, most immortals tried to stay out of political turmoils. Hekanakht's family were all very careful to keep it a secret fromothers.

        Methos and Rena walked hand in hand through the village's center. Hekanakht's land lay just north of the village, and stretched from the Nile's bank all the way to the desert's sand. There was a dock south of the village where all barges tied up. Many people stopped to say hello as they passed certain shops. Methos was kind to them all, asking about their families, even though he was impatient to see his friends.

        As they finally reached the group of houses that constituted Hekanakht's estate, the combined presence of so many immortals made Methos stagger. Since hislast visit here, he hadn't encountered so many at one place. He blinked his eyes, trying to overcome the dizziness, when the door burst open.

        "Methos!" Hunro exclaimed. His youthful expression belied his three hundred years. His stocky build seemed to be enhanced by the tunic gracing his body."You've come. Pendua wagered us that the new Pharaoh had forcefully enlisted you in his new army. I disagreed. If he had been looking for warriors, he would have picked me first," Hunro bragged.

        Pendua stood next Hunro echoing the joy at Methos' arrival. His slight build didn't seem adequate to have enabled him to survive for more than a few years, yet he was almost seven hundred. His coloring was light, a deep contrast to Hunro's, yet almost matching Methos. Two fair men in a sea of dark-skinned people.

        Methos scowled. "I have just escaped an inevitable war. I am pleased to find that this part of the world is enjoying peace for a change. I have no wish to be enlisted into anyone's army."

        "What war did you escape?" Hunro asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

        "Sargon is ready to invade Mari. Since I've spent longer than an earth's cycle there, I know that they'd expect me to fight on their behalf."

        "Methos, you hate fighting on anyone's behalf, even your own," Pedua answered knowledgeably.

        The three men laughed, and Hunro dragged Methos inside. Rena took Methos' bundle for him. He turned to give her a thankful smile, as the four of them walkedinside the hut.

        Aaepehty was sitting upon the floor, writing upon a piece of papyrus. He looked by far the oldest of all of them present, yet he was not. His graying hair was abundant upon his ebony head. His skin color was very dark, a heritage from the deeper, southern part of the world. He looked almost as out of place as his light-skinned friends. He looked up and gave Methos a smile of welcome. "Greetings, brother. We have much to discuss of our travels. I am just writing down alittle of what Pedua has been telling me."

        "Can't your silly journal wait?" Hunro admonished.

        Pedua thrust a jar of beer into Methos' hand. "He needs nourishment for his body, before he tells us his tales."

        Methos nodded and drank fully. "No one brews beer like Hekanakht." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then held out the jar to be filled again. "I find myself overcome with thirst," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

        Rena nudged his arm. "I'm going to find Iutenheb and Merisu."

        The men nodded absent-mindedly as she left.

        "Where's Hekanakht?" Methos asked as he finished his second beer and plopped down beside Aaepehty.

        "Negotiating with the high priest. Merisu wants to join the temple and become a priestess. Larose wants her for a wife."

        "Who's Larose?" Methos asked.

        "He's a scribe at the temple. I've met with him several times comparing some scrolls and such. Our philosophical discussions have led me to believe that he is a learned man and an excellent husband for Merisu."

        "What does she want?"

        Hunro interrupted. "She wants to be free of men." He nodded towards Pendua. "Especially him."

        "Who, me?" Pendua asked sarcastically, sporting a grin. "It's not my fault that she can't take my teasing."

        "If she hadn't been Hekanakht's daughter, you would have bedded her by now and gotten her out of your system," Aaepehty retorted.

        Pendua nodded wryly.

        A commotion at the door made the immortals turn their heads. Three young males, one a pre-immortal, came charging in the room. Two of the three looked similar, announcing to everyone their sibling relationship. Their ages were only a year apart, with Snefru almost ready for his manhood ceremonies.

        "Is it true? Is Methos finally here?" The youngest of the three asked. His appearance spoke of Hebrew origins, yet none of the others treated him as a slave. He was their brother, just as their father, Hekanakht, considered his immortal friends with their diverse heritages brothers, also.

        Methos rose to his feet, smiling indulgently at the youngest member. "Yes, I really am here, Dakrumah."

        The boy went into his arms for a hug. At nine, he was allowed childlike actions. The other two held back, but they grinned widely.

        Methos turned to Snefru, "Where are your parents?"

        "They're arguing about Merisu. She says they're interfering old fools and they call her an ungrateful child. You could hear them all the way to the river." As the oldest son, he took great pleasure when his parents were mad at his younger sister.

        Methos sighed contentedly. It felt good to belong to a family.

        The next night, Iutenheb had a feast prepared in honor of her husband's friend's. For hours they all talked, ate and drank. Course after course was served,punctuated by large belches, rowdy laughter and good-natured teasing. Many of the farm workers joined the family in the festivities. Long after the sun had disappeared under the horizon, the revelries continued. One by one, the guests left, and only Hekanakht's immediate family and his friends remained. The jars of beer and chalices of wine never went unfilled, until they all fell asleep upon one another. When the sun peeked up in the eastern sky, they were all deep in slumber.

        Aepehty was the first to awaken. He took the slightly smoldering embers and coaxed a blaze from them. He sat by the fire feeding it, waiting for the others to rouse themselves.

        Methos opened his eyes and stayed still watching his friend. Aaepehty was the only other immortal Methos had ever met who seemed as interested in learning as he was. Many chided him, telling him that fighting was what immortals did to stay alive. Methos agreed with that theory, but knew that to really live, one had to grow intellectually. One needed to understand the world around him, so that one could foretell what might happen next. To be a master of seeing many paths of actions and consequences was his secret dream. In order do this, one had to have a varied life of experiences, and be able to read what others had done and seen.

        Aaepehty's eyes collided with Methos'. "I see you're awake?"

        Methos got up and went to sit next to the fire. "So, what is this journal Hunro mentioned the other day?"

        "On my travels I encountered a scribe in Memphis who has been keeping a personal journal all his life. He recounts what happens in the temple, and at home. It is a rich volume that says a lot about his life. His dearest wish is to be buried with this collection so that in the afterlife he won't forget anything that's happened tohim. I find this concept fascinating.

        "We immortals live a very long life, and the longer we live, the more chance we have of forgetting things that we've done and experienced. I intend to start a journal of all *our* experiences. I especially would like to keep track of the immortals we see, and those that we kill and those that we befriend."

        Methos grew excited at the idea. "We already meet regularly after three earth cycles. Your intention is to keep a written record of everything we see and do and every immortal we happen to meet?"

        "Yes," Aaepehty answered. "I could use some help."

        Methos drew his eyebrows together. "You want me to learn to write?"

        "During the time before we meet again, learn to become a scribe. You already know a little how to read, so it shouldn't be too hard to learn the art of writing. You are more perceptive of things around you than any of our friends. Think of the contributions you can make."

        "I like this idea. Possibly Larose can help me to gain access to the place where scribes go to learn this art."

        "Larose is a good man and will make Merisu an excellent husband. Hekanakht will win this battle of wills, and Merisu will thank him eventually."

        "We will have to tell him about us after they are married and settled," Methos added, not really sure if the scribe could be trusted. As Merisu's husband, it would be difficult to keep it a secret.

        "Hekanakht agrees with you, as do I. As a scribe, it will become helpful to us if we could rely on Larose to keep our scrolls safe. I do not trust the temples, because gods grow in and out of favor with the wiles of the current Pharaoh."

        "We need a cave in the hills over there," Methos suggested.

        "Yes. We could dig out a large hole and bury the papyri in a bronze box. No one would try to find a box of writings when it's buried in a mountain of rock."

        "This is an excellent plan, Aaepehty. Let us get started with my tales."

        Sitting by the fire, with all their friends around them, Methos began his tale of Mari, Sargon, and his own rush to get out of the country before the Akkadian invasion.

        *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

        Present Day

        Methos stood up, and found his face streaked with tears. He hadn't had this particular memory in centuries, or even longer. He had forgotten about Aaepehty andHekanakht and the rest. He looked across the Nile and wondered if the original bronze box was still there. Had the tomb been defiled yet?

        He shook his head, clearing it of nostalgia. Serena should be his main concern. After he found her, they could go walking down memory lane and find the scrolls containing their early lives. For now, he would check Niateth, the newest name for the village he remembered as Nebeseyet.

        III

        Joe was bored. He had spent the better part of the day in his room pouring over pictures, books, and notes that Marcos had given him. He couldn't really help them in their excavations, nor in deciphering the glyphs. Feeling useless, he went down to the lobby, bought a USA Today, and settled in to people-watch. Skimming the front page, he happened to glance up as an older gentleman came in. The man was barking orders left and right in some Arabic language. The hotel personnel were tripping over each other to accommodate him.

        Sliding in behind him, almost invisible to the casual observer, was a woman. She had dark hair, swept back in a scarf. She didn't carry any luggage, just a small purse. Her clothes were European, with an Indian flavor. A large silk shawl covered her neck, and a few wispy strands of her hair poked out of the scarf. Her destination was the main desk, but she seemed to walk towards it slowly, as if waiting for the belligerent gentleman to finish his business. Many of the peoplebehind the desk were dealing with him, but somehow the woman found someone to answer a question. Joe sat up straighter, when the clerk pointed straight at *him*.

        The woman strode over to him. As she got closer, Joe was able to see her features more clearly. She wasn't very tall, maybe five feet two at most. Her skin was dark, speaking of southern Europe rather than African descent. It was her eyes that caught and held his attention. They were an electric blue and seemed to penetrate deep inside whoever she was looking at.

        "Pardon me, monsieur. They said at the desk that you checked in with a Dr. Ben Adams?" she asked in flawless French.

        Joe struggled to a standing position. His clumsiness seemed to triple in her presence. "We got in the day before yesterday," he answered in French.

        She switched to English. "You're American." She sounded surprised, yet pleased.

        "How did you know? I've been living in France on and off again for years. I thought my accent was pretty good."

        She smiled, but anxiety seeped through. "Is Dr. Adams here?"

        "Are you Serena?"

        "I am."

        Joe felt the ripples of excitement start from his gut and travel to his shoulders. He suppressed the visible quiver, and held out his hand. "I'm Joe Dawson. Ben and I traveled together down from Paris. He's off in the desert somewhere looking for you. I was told to keep you here until he returns tomorrow." Joe hoped he'd beforgiven for stretching the truth. "We have a suite here, and you can move your stuff into his ro