By Kelly Stewart
A light haze had fallen over the quieting city of
Seacouver as he heedlessly strolled down the street. Above, very few stars were visible. Rain was in the forecast. When was the last time he had gazed up at the stars to
ponder the mysteries of his life? Not so long ago. It was
nearly an everyday occurrence. But tonight, he wasn't in the
mood, just out to make a run for a drink.
The breeze was nippy so he pulled his longcoat slightly
tighter against himself and listened to the many sounds of the
city. There were the sirens of ambulances, an occasional car
horn, and the scurrying of pedestrians as they made their way
home before the storm. For what reason he was unsure of, this
notice lowered his spirits. He seemed to have been in that sort
of mood all day as if he could sense that something was destined
to happen to alter his time of seclusion.
Of course going to Joe's wasn't really keeping him
secluded. A drink with his friend and former fellow Watcher seemed to be the remedy he needed for this gloomy day. Good
conversation, perfect atmosphere, and great beer were what Joe
always had to offer, and he found himself picking up his pace to
reach those qualities.
Nearby, a scream, laced with terror and agony, pierced
the air. It couldn't have been but a few blocks away. The
anguish it possessed halted his excursion. Someone had been
placed in dire straits and requested the assistance of
another.
Once, some time ago, he would have done just that, run to
the rescue. The memory tugged at his heart, causing him to long
for the days when he was championing the honor of others. There
was no feeling in the world that could compare to that of being a hero, laying your life on the line for the sake of another.
"Oh brother," he sighed and continued on his usual route
ignoring the cry that had obviously been meant for help. So long since that time, he had spent his life running to save his own hide that he had now learned what surviving entailed, and it
didn't include risking your neck for some hapless stranger.
The scream sounded again, much louder for he had gotten
closer. And then it hit him; that recognition that seized his
whole being from head to toe, tingling in his fingertips and
causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise. There was
another around that block, one he couldn't ignore for he himself had surely been noted.
You could run, the voice from deep within warned, the
one he had usually obeyed for his entire existence, but something about that tingling roused his curiosity. Every immortal had their own signature, and if he had ever come across them, he would recognize it. But this one was different. It was foreign yet somewhat familiar, like he had once come in contact with this one.
In one swift motion, his sword was unsheathed from
underneath the coat and he was around the block. What he saw
caused his jaw to drop.
It couldn't be her. She was long dead and never would
experience the new dawn of life. But he was almost certain it
was her, right before his very eyes. Her assailant proved to be who he had felt, and he too appeared oddly familiar with wavy black hair and stout frame.
"Hey!" Methos shouted above the woman's screams. He could think of nothing else to get the other immortal's full attention.
She did not once cease her struggling to be free of her
attacker as he looked up and grimaced at what he saw. His guard
down, she broke free and scurried in Methos' direction. One look at the upraised sword, and her feet halted. She was trapped.
"So, we meet again," the mugger growled from behind her.
Light brown hair, caught by the breeze, whipped around
her frightened eyes. She was there, not in body, but in soul, he knew it and could feel it. Her spirit reborn once again fleeing the destruction that had fallen upon everything and everyone they had loved all because of what they could not prevent.
His enemy, for what else could the other immortal be by
the expression in his gray eyes, made no move for a sword if he
even carried one. The foreign immortal opted for words instead.
"Do you know how long I've searched for you, and now when I
wasn't even looking, here you appear."
The voice was astoundingly familiar, perhaps free of
accent and dialect, but same tone. Methos racked his aged brain
for an answer but could come up with none. Perhaps this memory
belonged in the portions he had done his best to forget.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten?" It was as if he could
read his mind. A wicked smile graced his face. "I've never
forgotten what you did."
"A name would be nice," Methos demanded in a neutral
voice. Some part of him did not want to frighten the lady more. She must know she was safe near him.
This thought confused him a moment. Since when was he
worried about another's safety? The last good deed he had done
had been for MacLeod, but he usually could take care of himself.
It was very rare for him to make such a dramatic step toward
that trait that had once cost him and others dearly.
Thunder rolled in the distance, and it was then he knew
the identity of his adversary. A brief moment of horror struck him. "Gareth?"
"Don't sound so welcoming," the black-haired opponent
crowed. "But I do go by Garret now. Much more modern, don't you think?"
"I don't think it matters what I think. What are you
doing here?" Methos demanded. His stance widened, preparing for
the battle he knew was coming, one he knew he couldn't avoid.
"How about we talk about it some other time," Garret
suggested and started to back away. "I believe you've got some
explaining to do." He pointed to the woman who was exchanging
startling and confusing looks between the two.
That one second he spent glancing at her was all his foe
had needed. Garret was gone, vanished into the night. As he
himself had done so long ago.
Replacing the sword in its hiding, he made a move toward
the terrified woman. She backed away. "No," she whispered,
escaping past him in the opposite direction of where she had
previously been taken hostage.
He followed, but not at such a fast pace. Her energy
must have been exhausted on her struggles because her petite
frame did not take her very far before he could catch.
"Please, I promise I won't hurt you."
With her back against the wall of a building, she
shielded herself with her arms. When nothing happened, she
opened her eyes to reveal a startling blue he had only been
blessed to witness once in his lifetime. Here they were again.
"Guin?" he whispered.
Eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Do I know you?"
Breathlessly, he replied, "Once, many lifetimes ago."
This caused her to inch away. "No, I'm sorry if I've
frightened you. You look so familiar, but I'm sure I've never
met you," he assured her.
"Then how did you know my last name was Guinn?" she
demanded. "Are you and that...that...goon in some type of scam together? I can scream again and someone will come."
"Don't be so sure. Who came to your rescue the first
time?" He watched her expression closely. Fear still dwelled in those blue depths.
"Who are you?"
Methos swallowed hard. Why was this decision so difficult? Real name, fake name, what difference did it make? But it made all the difference in the world. "Adam Pierson. I'm not from around here, as you probably already deduced."
"No one around here carries a sword under their coat,"
she bravely retorted, some of her trepidation fleeing with the
breeze. Delicate brown curls still swirled around her lushly
lashed eyes, and he wanted to reach out to caress his cheek with
them, but he held himself back.
"No, you're right. Habit I picked up back home in
Europe." Sarcasm was his specialty, but at the moment, it had no effect on her. "Look, I would be the last person in the world to hurt you right now. I was on my way to a friend's place. Let me take you there so you can call someone to pick you up."
She was already shaking her head.
"Fine," Methos spat. "Don't say I didn't try to help.
Blasted honor."
The last was mumbled, but she caught it. "Honor?"
It was his turn to be bold. "Something I've buried deep
down inside, but you seemed to have some cause to resurrect it."
"Me? Is it because I remind you of someone?"
"No, that's not it at all," he mumbled and began on his
way again, in a hurry to distance himself from a bad memory.
Methos made it halfway down the block when he heard her
footsteps. "Wait. I guess I really should thank you. He tried
to kill me."
Abruptly stopping to turn to her, he asked, "Do you know him?"
"Never seen him before. He came out of nowhere. I guess he followed me for a while and then he just grabbed me and tried to strangle me." Tears filled her eyes at the memory. "Do you know him?"
Methos discovered he could not lie to her. Everything he had ever stood for flew out the window when he gazed upon her delicate features and probing blue eyes. No doubt in his mind, she had to be the reincarnation of the one true love of his life. "Yes, I do know him. I met him a long time ago. He seems to have some type of grudge on me, but I'm not exactly clear on what it is." He paused to allow the emotions gripping his soul to soak in. "But I'm in no way associated with
him. I won't hurt you. Let me help you." Four words he never imagined himself ever saying again.
One look in his eyes told her she could trust him.
"Kiernyn."
"What?"
"That's my name, Kiernyn Guinn, but you already knew my
last name."
Methos shook his head. "No, I don't know where it came
from. But Kiernyn is a beautiful name. Will you let me help
you?"
"Yes, Adam. Where are you headed?"
"Actually, I was on my way to meet a beer."
The older man behind the bar looked up with a smile of curiosity as they came in. Kiernyn shifted nervously beside Methos. "This is my friend's place, Joe. He's as harmless as anyone can get."
At that remark, the older man had stepped out from behind the bar revealing his handicapped state. "That's your friend? Joe Dawson?"
Methos eyed her inquisitively. "Don't tell me you know him."
"I've met him once," she replied as they approached. "My brother plays the blues and had him over to hear the band."
"Small world," he mumbled but in relief. All her fear from earlier had finally vanished.
"Hey . . . " Joe's voice faded out, and he raised his eyebrows. "Adam?"
Methos nodded. "Hey Joe. This is Kiernyn whom I believe you already know."
Joe peered at her a moment. "You're Kevin Guinn's sister, right?"
Kiernyn laughed gloriously. Every nerve in Methos's body quivered at the sound. "I'm surprised you remembered. It's been over a year."
"My bones may be old, but this brain is in top condition." He extended his hand and she readily accepted his greeting. "So, you know Adam?"
"Well, actually we just met," Methos broke in, trying to clear his head of his wandering thoughts. "She ran into a bit a trouble, and I just happened to be around the block."
"He came to my rescue," she leaned forward and whispered to Joe. She glanced back at Methos as if to tell him his secret, most likely his sword, was safe with her. "I was on my way home, but do you mind if I use your phone? I'll call Kevin to come pick me up. It's starting to rain."
"Sure. Tell Marla at the bar," Joe waved in that direction.
Once she was off, Joe quizzed Methos. "Rescue?"
"It's not what you think," he assured his confidant. "I need you to do some checking for me, on an immortal named Garret. He was attacking her."
"Garret. Doesn't ring any bells, but I'll see what I can find. How did you come up on them?"
Methos gestured to a table and Joe followed. "I was on my way here. I'll tell you Joe, if I hadn't had felt him, I would have left it alone."
"Did she call for help?" Joe's face was distorted in concern.
"Of course she screamed, but how many muggings go on every day? No one can save ‘em all. I'm not MacLeod."
"Oh yeah. I forgot. No code, no honor. Fend for yourself."
"That's right. But I had to see. Somehow, I was drawn to him. Usually I turn the other cheek. He said he was looking for me."
"Did you recognize him?"
"No," Methos lied. "Of course, who's to say I've never come across him in the last couple of millennia."
"I couldn't help you there. So what is it with her? Don't try to cover up. I saw that look you gave her when she laughed." Joe set his elbow on the table and waited for an answer.
Methos frowned and glanced at Kiernyn over at the bar. "I need a beer."
Chuckling, Joe waved to one of the waitresses. "Just like you. Avoid revealing your true feelings. Sometimes I think that deep down inside, despite all the hard times you've faced and the terrible wrongs you've done, that there's a side to you that's almost knightly."
Methos snorted at that remark. The waitress arrived and he ordered his beer. "Make it two," Joe called to her. "I have a feeling I'll get it out of you tonight, one way or another."
"And what, I pray, might that be?"
"Come on, man. You know what I'm talking about. You, helping Kiernyn, bringing her here. It's not like you. What gives?"
"I told you what gives. He was immortal, and he was looking for me. What am I suppose to do with her when she sees me with my sword?" Methos questioned. "Leave her on the street? What if she called the cops? I don't need a mess on my hands right now. I just want to be alone."
Joe nodded. "I see what you're saying. You just don't want to admit you've got a soft side." Methos opened his mouth to protest, but Joe stood up before he could get a word out. "I'll go see what I can find on this Garret."
The waitress returned with the beers just as Kiernyn approached. Joe ushered her to his chair. "Have a beer, on the house."
"Thank you," she gushed.
Joe hobbled back to the bar and disappeared behind a door. Methos, finding himself at a loss for words, kept his eyes on the band. Kiernyn sensed his uneasiness. "Kevin's on his way."
Methos nodded but still said nothing. "Why did you say I looked familiar to you? Who do I remind you of? Was it someone close?"
Blue eyes met his with such boldness, he almost came out with it. "Just someone I knew a long time ago, but she's dead now."
"Was her name Guin?"
He nodded and took a swig on his drink. This was not a memory he wanted to relive. "Are you going to be all right?" he changed the subject.
Kiernyn knew he was doing just that. "Yeah, I'll be okay. I just won't walk home at night anymore."
"If I were you, I wouldn't walk home during the day either. Call a cab. It would be safer."
"What does he want?" she wondered out loud.
Methos gazed at her lovely features, recalling the many times he had gazed upon such similar ones and found himself wishing she really was who she resembled. "It's a long story, and I'm not even sure if I know I'm correct. I'm guessing I pissed him off one day, and he swore I would pay."
"I don't think you're telling me everything."
"Great, now I've got two of you on my case," he muttered and downed the last of his beer. He motioned to the waitress for another. "I assure you, he won't bother you again."
"What are you going to do? Call the police?" she asked.
"Don't worry your pretty little head over it. Something will be done."
Joe returned after getting a tip on the latest action. He witnessed the exchange between Methos and Kiernyn as he neared, and could almost see the sparks flying. "What's new?"
"Nothing," Methos grumbled, quickly returning to his foul mood he'd been in most of the day.
"He said he knew the guy that tried to kill me. I wanted to know what he was going to do? I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Adam, or anyone else for that matter. Call the police."
"They can't do anything about him. He'll probably just go away, so don't worry. He's still an immature child at heart, wanting nothing but to play."
She did not want to leave it at that, but she noticed her brother come through the door. Kiernyn stood. "Thank you again. If there's something I can do . . . "
"No," Methos interrupted her. "Go home, and be safe. That's all you can do."
With a nod, she said goodbye to Joe and left with her brother. Joe's eyes were wide with astonishment. "What happened here? And I thought you said you didn't know him."
"She started asking too many questions," he explained. "It's best to make her think I'm a grouch so maybe she'll leave me be."
"Think you're a grouch," Joe shot back. "Now, what do you really know about this guy."
"What'd you find out? And no 'I asked you first'."
Joe sighed. "Sometimes, you're a pain in the ass."
"Sometimes I have to be. Now, what'd you discover?"
"This guy, Garret, has been around for a long while. He dates back fifteen hundred years, but no one's sure if that's when he was born again. I'm surprised you never ran across his file when you were in the organization. He's had an active one for quite some time."
"Must have skipped over it," Methos stated and started on his new beer.
"So, now it's your turn. What do you know about him? Why's he after you?" Joe demanded.
"Oh, maybe because I killed him and then his body was burned," Methos offered with a sarcastic smile. "Maybe that did the trick."
"Jesus, man. When was this?"
"A time I don't care to remember, and no, there's no record of it so don't go researching. Only a few select know of it."
"Watchers. Which ones?"
"Immortals," Methos corrected.
"What do you mean?"
The band concluded their show and applause roared around them. Methos did his best to ignore the demands Joe was laying on him, but the old man would not give. "If I tell you, which I don't really want to do, you can't report it."
"Is the reason something I shouldn't ask?"
"You'll find reason enough once you find out," Methos assured his companion.
Joe nodded and took that to mean that at closing, he would hear the tale. The time was drawing near, since the customers were leaving after the show and trying to beat the storm. "Don't go anywhere."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Five beers and a half hour later, Methos was perched on a stool at the bar, waiting for Marla to clear out. Joe called goodbye to her, and settled down behind the bar. "Whenever you're ready."
With a sigh, Methos set his coat aside and leaned on the bar. "Don't remember the exact year, but it was over fifteen hundred years ago. I was wandering at that time. I was somewhere in England, I think. It's been so long, and I've tried my best to forget it."
"What happened that made you want to forget it? Not another Horsemen incident?"
"No, nothing horrible like that, yet nothing so grand," Methos continued. "I was searching for some place to settle, to be alone. I wanted to be where no one would bother me, where no one could find me. But before I found that place, I stumbled on someone who I now wish I would have never met."
He paused a moment to take a drink. It appeared he desperately needed it. Whatever the story was, it pained him to recall it. But he had offered to tell, and Joe was not going to allow the opportunity to pass.
"He was a warrior, in armor and sword. I guess he had fallen from his horse and down a cliff. I was in the stream below a great hill when I found him. Landed on some jagged rocks, and they'd penetrated the armor.
"It wasn't a pretty sight. I knew he was going to die. I wasn't even going to stop to try to help him, but he cried out. He said I bore the face of his successor, and that I must fulfil his dying wish. That caught my attention. It was a time that I believed in foreseeing the future, and I thought he might be one that could do just that.
"He begged me to bury him in an unmarked grave. He said he couldn't bear the thought of everyone knowing how he died an embarrassing death. And he asked the unthinkable of me."
Pausing once again to take a drink, Methos glanced at his watch as if to say he had somewhere else to be. "What did he ask?" Joe questioned impatiently, like a child too anxious to wait for the ending of the story.
"The warrior asked me to take his place, to assume his identity. He was on his way to a kingdom to serve the noble king. Those were his words. Of course, I didn't want to, but he insisted that I must. It was my destiny, he said. But I kept insisted that I could never be someone I wasn't. He said that inside my soul, I was everything he had represented and more.
"Joe, you know how corny that sounds, and I was thinking that exactly. How could anyone know what I'd been through? But he continued to insist that it was my destiny until he took his last breath."
He stopped again, and caught Joe's puzzled eyes. "Before he died, his last words were ‘Make the journey for me, live my life. 'Tis all I ask.' I asked him where his journey led, and he replied ‘Camelot' and died."
"Do you mean to tell me he was going to serve King Arthur?" Joe was amazed at the information.
When Methos nodded, he asked, "Who was he? I thought Arthur was a legend."
"The warrior never told me his name, but I searched through his belongings and discovered an inscription on the back of his shield."
His glass was now empty and he stared into it, trying to group his thoughts and push away the tide of emotions threatening to flood over him. "The inscription read ‘Seeker of virtue, defender of the weak. Lancelot du Lock.'"
