The cold, damp forest of the Pacific Northwest faded around Jim as he followed the sound of his guide's heart. That too, disappeared, and the sentinel found himself in the familiar jungle setting of his spirit visions. A low-pitched snarl caught his attention, and he glimpsed the dark, powerful form of his spirit guide disappearing into the trees. Without hesitation, he followed, the cat leading him to a place he never wanted to see again, the temple of the Sentinel in Sierra Verde.

The black jaguar leapt effortlessly up the stone steps, looking back over its shoulder at Jim before disappearing into the ancient ruins. The sentinel stood at the foot of the steps, a growing sense of unease settling over him. He did not want to go back in there. Images flashed through his mind, memories of Alex drugging him, of being helpless, paralyzed in the pool of water. He shook his head to clear it. No, he was not going in there.

Turning to go back the way he had come, Jim found himself face to face with Incacha. The Chopec Shaman didn't say a word, didn't appear to move a muscle, yet each time the sentinel tried to walk away from the temple, he was simply there. After several futile attempts to escape his destiny, Ellison sighed and turned back toward the ruins, climbing the steps to the entrance. Breathing deeply to calm himself, he noticed the unusual odor of burned feathers. He looked back at the forest, seeing nothing but vegetation and lazily drifting tendrils of mist.

Shrugging, he entered the temple slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. A rumbling growl alerted him to his spirit guide's presence, and he followed the animal as it wound its way through the maze of corridors. The cat disappeared around a corner, and, rounding it, Jim discovered he had been led right to the sensory deprivation chamber, or whatever the ancient ones had called the small room with the two geo-thermal pools.

His guide was no longer in sight. "I don't care what you want, cat, but I'm not getting in the water," he muttered.

Grr-ow-rowr!

At the sound of the snarl, the sentinel turned back toward the pools, watching in horror as a golden, black-spotted jaguar emerged from the water, the droplets of moisture rolling off of it effortlessly, leaving the fur dry and unruffled. It growled again, the feline features appearing to be laughing at him.

"No," Jim whispered, "you can't be here. You're dead, killed four months ago in a fire at the sanitarium in Mexico…."

The spotted jag roared at him, its coat beginning to shift and change, golden fur becoming golden flame. The fire consumed the cat, growing and growing until it filled the room, forcing Jim to back toward the door to avoid getting burned. The swirling, dancing colors mesmerized him, red, yellow, orange, white, all running together, twisting and turning until a new image was formed…a huge, burning bird of flame. Its piercing shriek deafened him as its brightness blinded him. Squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears, the sentinel dropped to his knees, overwhelmed.

Dee straightened, shaking the cramps out of her hands and drawing in a deep breath. She felt Blair's hopeful eyes upon her. Giving him a tired smile, she said, "I'm not finished by a long shot, but the neck injury is healed." Stretching, she glanced up toward the top of the ravine, catching a glimpse of her partner's face as she spoke with Simon. //I may need your strength, Pajara.// She gazed at Blair a moment before she turned her attention back to Jim. //And yours, Lobo.//

Concentrating once again, she spread her hands over the sentinel's torso, preparing to work on his internal injuries.

Megan pulled her arm out of her captain's grasp. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir," she replied calmly. The look on her face dared him to question her further.

Simon leaned over the side of the ravine again, calling down to the trio. "Sandburg! Search and rescue should be here in 30 minutes!"

He started to move away, but something about their positions was familiar. He flashed back eight months to the grainy black and white images from a convenience store security camera. Only the body on the ground hadn't been Ellison, it had been Sandburg, bleeding from a point-blank gunshot to the chest. Diandra had been in the same position then as now, bent over the injured man, her hands outstretched.

Simon took a startled step backwards, lost his footing in the mud, and fell on his ass. Daryl was beside him in an instant, his hand on his father's shoulder to steady him. "Dad? What's the matter? Are you okay?"

"She's healing him…" he whispered, "like she healed Sandburg…"

The Aussie squatted next to him. "Like she healed me." Both Banks' heads swiveled in her direction, and Megan found herself being interrogated by two pairs of dark eyes.

As quickly as the sensory assault had begun, it ended. Ellison opened his eyes slowly, his hands dropping to his sides. He was no longer in the temple, but outside of it, in the jungle. His throat felt raw, scratchy, and he coughed, then took a deep breath, breathing in the heavy scent of smoke and--gagging, he scrambled to turn down his sense of smell--burned flesh.

Once again Incacha appeared, this time gesturing for the sentinel to follow him. Jim did silently, knowing that the Shaman would speak when he was ready. The trail they walked wound through the trees, and the further they traveled, the worse the devastation became. Vegetation was charred; trees were scorched.

No sound reached the sentinel's ears. The voices of the rainforest's denizens had all been silenced. Finally Incacha came to a stop at the top of a rise, lifting one arm and pointing out over a small valley. Forcing himself to look, Jim quickly tore his eyes away from the sight. There was literally almost nothing left. The blackened skeletons of trees rose from the charred, smoldering ground, reaching their bare limbs to a smoke darkened sky.

A high, keening cry pierced the air, and Ellison looked up to see a red falcon soaring slowly over the valley, riding the warm, rising air in a giant spiral. He turned back to Incacha, his insides clenching with dread.

"Follow the Falcon," the Shaman intoned, then faded from sight.

Ellison faced the valley again, every muscle in his body screaming at him to run in the other direction. Clamping a tight lid on his senses, and his emotions, he began to descend the hillside.

Goddess, she was tired. Closing her eyes, Diandra straightened, swaying dizzily. She wondered if it was possible to give too much energy, to so completely drain herself that she "died". Guess we'll find out, won't we? Shaking her head to clear the fuzziness trying to overwhelm her, she forced her eyes open again, focusing on the last of her self-appointed tasks, Ellison's broken leg. Centering herself, she pushed…and nothing happened.

That answers that question, she thought. Let's try something different. She concentrated on the connection between herself and her companion, thinking she might be able to use it to draw the energy she needed from the other woman. Again, nothing. Megan was either too far away, or physical contact really was necessary for that trick to work.

Damn it. It was a compound fracture, one end of it breaking through the skin, and much too close to his femoral artery for her comfort. One tiny slip by the rescue team she could sense on the edge of her hearing, and he would bleed to death in seconds.

Blair's hand settled on her shoulder. "You okay, Dee?"

She glanced over at him. "Yeah, just really tired. Hang on to me for a minute, would you? I need your help." Opening herself up to him, she felt his brilliant power, and once again was reminded of how unique the Guide/Shaman was. Not for the first time she wondered if she could teach him to heal. Then, setting all other thoughts aside, she took hold of that power, letting it flow through her, as hers had once flowed through him, sending it out through her hands, repositioning the two halves of the bone and knitting them together. She heard Blair's startled gasp as he felt what she was doing, but he held fast, his fingers gripping her shoulder, daring her to make him let go.

Feeling the last of the wound close, Dee shut the connection down, the guide's hold on her the only thing keeping her upright. "'Tis done," she managed to breathe before darkness claimed her.

"Dee? Oh, shit, Dee!" Blair caught her as she toppled over, his hand going automatically to her throat for a pulse. There was none. It'll be okay, he told himself. She's just taking a little rest, she'll be right back…and Jim was still out of it, too, damn it… "Jim, man, follow my voice back. It's okay, everything's going to be fine. It's safe to come back…" His sentinel took a deep breath, blinked once, then his eyes closed, and didn't reopen. Blair hoped that was a sign he was just unconscious.

The sound of boots scrabbling for purchase on stone caught his attention, and Blair looked up to see a paramedic descending the side of the ravine on a line. He reached the bottom a few seconds later, and unclipped the line from his belt. "Hi," he said, "my name's Bill. Can you tell me what happened?"

Blair briefly explained about the fall that Jim had taken, as Bill went to work on him, checking his vitals, being careful not to move him. Satisfied that Jim was okay for the moment, the EMT turned his attention to Diandra, still being cradled in Blair's arms. "She fall too?" he asked.

Blair shook his head, not sure how to explain her condition. Come on, Dee, you can come back any time now, he mentally pleaded. Bill took her from Blair, laying her out on the ground, searching for a pulse, his expression changing fractionally when he didn't find one. He spoke rapidly into his radio, and within seconds two more technicians were coming down the cliff face.

The guide was pushed aside as the team went to work, starting CPR on Dee, one of them monitoring Jim while waiting for the rest of the rescue workers to finish setting up the apparatus needed to send a stretcher down.

Megan's calm veneer had vanished when the news had come over the rescue team's radio about a female in full cardiac arrest. It was all Simon and Daryl could do to hold her back as the stretcher cleared the top of the cliff. She struggled in their arms as the EMTs continued to work on Dee, her pleas for her champion to come back heartbreaking. The tech shocked her twice, and was leaning in for a third attempt, when a rush of air filled the Immortal's lungs and her eyes snapped open. Her hand shot up, her fingers closing on the throat of the hapless paramedic.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, Jim paused to get his bearings. The falcon still circled, pinpointing an area that the sentinel estimated to be the center of the valley. He began to walk in that direction, his feet stirring the ash that covered the ground, sending it up in tiny clouds that irritated his throat and sinuses. He had everything turned down; the smell, the sense of death was everywhere, and yet he had seen no sign of anything other than the scored ground, and the blasted trees.

His attention fixed on the red raptor, his foot snagged on something, and he stumbled. Curious, he dropped to one knee to examine the object that had tripped him. Brushing away the soot, he quickly uncovered a sword, but to his surprise, it was not Diandra's familiar katana. It had a long, flat, double-edged blade topped with a straight, metal cross-piece, the handle wrapped in well-worn leather. It took him a second, but he recognized it as a claymore, the primary weapon of the Scottish clans. That bit of trivia triggered the connection for him, and Jim remembered where he'd seen it before: on a previous trip to the spirit realm, strapped to the back of a kilt-wearing Megan Connor.

Dread kicked him in the gut, and he rose unsteadily, the sword dropping from suddenly lax fingers, the smell of burnt feathers overwhelming. He staggered forward, half-running, wanting to escape whatever was waiting for him. Instead he ran right into it.

The broken, tortured body of a large bird lay in a twisted heap on the ground, black and white feathers still faintly smoking. "No…no…" the sentinel whispered, then ran on, unable to stand the sight any longer.

"Dee! Dee! Let go!" Her companion's voice swept away the cobwebs in her mind, and Diandra released her grip, vaguely aware of a form falling away from her, the sound of choking quickly relegated to background noise.

Her partner's touch grounded her, and she tried to sit up. Bad idea, she realized, as someone was trying to rip her scalp off from the inside.

"Take it easy, lady," Megan said quietly. "You were out for quite a while."

Out? What? She looked up into the Aussie's concerned eyes. Dead? She'd been dead? Guess that answered her question from earlier. It was possible to cross the line, to give too much. "Jim, how's Jim?"

Megan knelt next to her, glaring at the EMT who looked like he was considering checking Dee's vital signs. "She's fine!" she snapped, and the man scurried away. "I don't know how Jim is. They're bringing him up now. How are you doing?"

Dee brought a hand up to her head, trying to stop the pounding. "Not good. Having my head taken sounds really wonderful right now…"

"That bad, hmm?" Megan's fingers moved to lightly massage her temples. "Take a deep breath, slowly, that's it. And let it out, letting all the tension and the pain go with it. And again…"

The Immortal tried to follow her partner's instructions, but she was distracted by the sound of Blair being hauled to the top of the ravine, followed more slowly by Jim. She watched as Jim was carried up the trail, strapped to a backboard. Blair crossed to where the champion and companion sat, bending down to brush his hand over her shoulder.

"You okay, angel?"

"Been better," she replied with a grimace. "You going with Ellison?"

"Um hmm, there's room for me in the chopper for a change." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, Dee."

She leaned her cheek against his for a moment. "Anything for you, Lobo," she whispered.

Blair kissed her again softly, then turned to Megan. "Get Simon and Daryl to help you get her up to the cabin and into some dry clothes. Try and get some soup in her if she can keep it down. The best thing for her is rest."

Dee shook her head at his words, and almost screamed at the agony the motion caused. He slid his arms around her, holding her until the pain lessened. "Can't stay here," she mumbled against his chest. "Need to be at the hospital, in case Jim needs me, needs us." She squeezed Megan's hand.

"Okay, I don't like it, but you may have a point. I brought Jim out of the zone, but he didn't regain consciousness." Blair released her and stood up. "I'll see you when you get there, okay?" Caressing her face one last time, he turned and headed toward the waiting helicopter.

Megan saw Simon standing a few feet away, talking with one of the rescue squad. "Simon! Can you give me a hand?"

Webmaster: PJ Browning