The Quickening Lyric Wheel "Of Books and Swords" And the Lyric Wheel strikes again! Thanks to Athena for an interesting set of Lyrics. As always, not mine, no money, darn it, and I don't think I'll return them either <G> As it turns out, the plot bunny that grew under the bed was playing with the cats and it looks as though this is only part one. Feedback is always welcome. The auction was crowded. Not all of these people were buyers. A lot of the people had come to gawk. I examined the catalogue again. There were a couple of books I was bidding on for clients but the item I really wanted was a small trunk that appeared to be locked. At least, I hoped it was still locked. Mark was the last of the Fords in the direct line. The money and stocks had been left to various charitable groups. Another group was to get the house and land and my money was betting that the developers would be digging before the last customer disappeared. His relatives didn't want the antiques, paintings and books their uncle had loved so well. Profits from the sale would be divided between the Trust and the cousins. The family was going to get the old man's money one way or another. There was a murmur at the edge of my consciousness. Immortal… Well, not likely that a challenge would be called here and I was parked far enough away that I could get out of there fast if I needed to. The sensation faded, but there was no sense in taking chances. I went to my seat, fully alert to any hint of a presence. People from the auction house were bringing out part of the collection of antique weaponry. I had given the swords a coursery look. Professional interest… Then I was caught by sudden raw, sorrow. The piece the auctioneer was unwrapping was a dragon headed katana. He set it out for display. Mac… Could he be dead? He certainly didn't give up the katana willingly. No one had seen him for over 50 years. I still checked Watcher reports on a regular basis, hoping that he'd been spotted in the Northwest or Paris. I'd been to Scotland half a dozen times, telling myself that I was just checking on the youngster. I lied. I flipped the pages; how the hell had I missed it? Miscellaneous swords, believed to be 16th and 17th Century, no pictures available at press time. I wanted to go up and look. These days no one admitted to liking weapons which explained why they were being brought out first. The bidding started and the first few went for small amounts, certainly less then their first owners had paid. I was trying to decide if I wanted to buy the damned sword when I felt that tingle again. It grew stronger and against my better judgment, I turned in its direction. His topcoat was creased as though he'd been sitting
in it for a long time. Glasses shielded the dark eyes, the lenses
darkening as he moved into the sunlight. There was gray in his hair.
He held his shoulders slumped and walked with a slight limp. His voice hadn't changed, but it was shaking. "Mind if I sit down? I hope you aren't bidding on that sword." "Well, I was, but it seems there's another buyer with a better claim. Go for it." He nodded and gave me a small smile, like a baby with a gas pain, I thought to myself. The basket hilted rapier was bid on and sold to another dealer-again, very cheap. Now the katana came up. "And now what am I bid for this fine example of the art of Japanese sword making. I am assured that it dated prior to 1800 and is in relatively good condition." A couple of desultory bids came in and I could see Mac's face tighten. He signaled the auctioneer. Only one of the other bidders continued but he had no real interest and the sword was MacLeod's again. He sat rigidly still, barely moving as the auction
proceeded. I managed to get the books I wanted and bid successfully
on the trunk. He nodded again and I saw his hand shake as he got his wallet out to pay the clerk. It took a while to complete the paperwork and then we walked on over to the parking area. "You look like you had a rough night, Mac." Suddenly, I realized what was wrong. "A Challenge?" He nodded, almost stumbling over a fresh rut in what had been an elegant lawn. "If there's still a gardener, he 's going to be seriously pissed off." I looked at the chewed up lawn, "It's a mess all right. I'm much further back. He still wasn't looking at me, but at least he answered, "Mine's not so far. What should I call you?" "Joseph Pierson, Evaluations, Appraisals and Acquisitions" The low chuckle almost made me forget we were in public. We approached a ten-year-old Jaguar. Mac always had liked classic cars. We both got in the car and he carefully maneuvered the Jag over the ruts and pulled up next to my quarter-ton truck. "Want to follow me, Mac?" "Alright. Where are we going?" "There's a nice quiet place over the bridge in Windsor. That suit?" It only took a minute to get the books and the trunk locked in the compartment behind the seats. I signaled him to follow and started off, only now allowing myself to feel the shock and the joy of seeing him again. Boy, have I got some questions to ask you, McLeod, starting with where the hell have you been and why the elaborate disguise. There was very little traffic and we made good time. He parked his care beside mine and for a moment, I was back in Seacouver, ready to see how high I could run my bar tab. Joe'd loved the game. Gone now… Once we were settled in one of the back booths with drinks, I looked him over more carefully. The suit was well cut, had to be to fit his broad shoulders. Dark blue looked good on him. The white turtleneck set off the tanned face and I was looking as though I'd been starved for all those years and just sat down to a banquet. He colored slightly, "I feel like a side of beef." "Well, it's been a while and the hair…" "Had to make sure I wasn't noticed." "Where are you living now?" He shrugged. "I'm ready to move on. I left the house this morning, I only stopped to get the katana." "How did Ford happen to have it?" "About ten years ago, I met one of his grandnieces. Janet was heading a committee sponsoring an art exhibit at the Detroit Art Museum. She was funny, and bright and something of an artist herself." Dinner interrupted him and I waited until the waiter left before commenting. "Was she blond?" He looked startled for a minute. "Yes, and before you ask, yes, maybe I was trying to find Tessa again, but I really enjoyed her company. We'd been seeing each other for about six months when she invited me to a Christmas Party at her uncle's house. "The party was one of those huge, noisy affairs with too much food and too many drunks and we'd decided to leave when I suddenly felt another Immortal. "We'd been walking, talking about the artist colony she wanted to set up in Sedona and how to tell the genuine artists from the gifted freeloaders. "Too bad she couldn't do it. You both would have loved that area." "Adam sorry, Joseph, I really did try to walk away. I didn't want her involved and certainly didn't want a light show out there. Carmichael had been drinking and wasn't willing to compromise. I offered to meet him somewhere else, but he wanted it now and he wanted it here. Mac looked into his drink. I could see that tense jaw, feel him trying to get control back. "I told her to go back to the house and not to come back until I came for her." "Did she go?" "Oh, she went, only to come back as the fight started. She had a gun. I swung at Carmichael but my foot slipped on the grass. She came running over to help me up. He stabbed her and ran." I winced. He closed his eyes. "The ambulance came and her mother shoved me out of the way. Her blood was all over me. Her brother came running in with the katana and screaming that I'd killed his sister." "And you ran?" I waited for him to answer, but he said nothing. "So did you find Carmichael?" "I followed him for months. Then I realized he'd want to try for me and I built another identity, Ryan Richardson. I got my Real Estate license." "Good cover. Real Estate agents can go everywhere." He almost smiled at that, "I'm so glad you approve." "And he finally showed up?" "He broke into the house last night and was waiting for me when I got home from meeting with a client. He started swinging and there was no way I was going to chase him for another ten years." "So you killed him." "The Quickening was horrible. It burned me from the inside out. I kept getting flashes of things. I couldn't really grasp them; I was too concerned staying on my feet. My skin felt like it was being flayed off and salt rubbed in the wounds. I could hear people screaming and him laughing." Well, that explained why he was so quiet. "Sandpaper rubbing every muscle raw?" "Yeah, still is. This one is more painful the any I can remember. I know I've healed, but I still feel raw, like I have blistering burns just under the skin. My chest and back are just as bad." "How did you cover your tracks?" "The Quickening started several fires. The
roof was cedar shakes, so I put one of my suits on Carmichael and
shorted the lamp to start another fire." Mac's voice was low and rough. "We were close enough in size and I hoped that they'd just accept that the body was mine. The fire department would take a while to get there. It would look like a short in the wiring had caused it. There was nothing to indicate that I was anything but a fairly successful business man." "You weren't living in town, I take it." "No. My place was half a mile from the nearest house. I'd kept that Jaguar in a shed. I don't think anyone saw me leave." I finished my drink. "Where to now?" He looked miserable. The tremors hadn't stopped, "Other than, away from here? I don't know. This Quickening is distracting me. It's hard to make any plans." "Are you really attached to the Jag or could you stand to leave it on the street somewhere?" "You mean come with you?" I could almost see the question marks. "You're an old friend who's coming up to BC to take a partnership in my business…" He was rubbing his temples, "Are you always plotting, Methos? Not that I'm complaining, mind you." I was quiet for a moment. I wasn't too sure how to approach him after so long. "Maybe I just don't want to wait to see you for another fifty years. Give me an inch and I'll make the best of it." "Methos, " his voice was barely audible. "We've sown the wind it would be nice if we could reap something besides the wild wind…" I looked up, but the smile on his face told me he wasn't angry about it. "Let's find a nice quiet motel for tonight. We have time to get you over the shakes before we drive on." He finally looked directly at me. "I've missed you." I left cash on the table and we walked out together. "Let's stop at the store and get you some shampoo. The gray hair makes me nervous." Mac laughed quietly and I knew things were going to work out. REAP THE WILD WIND
(Ultravox) ---------- Reap the wild wind A finger points to show a scene You take my hand and give me your friendship
A footprint haunts an empty floor Oh desolation where I once lived You take my hand and give me your friendship Reap the wild wind You take my hand and give me your friendship
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I
didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him. Slowly he made his
way through the crowd until he was even with the row where I was
sitting. 
People
were leaving now and I turned to him, "Mac, want to get a beer
after we wrap up here?"