HA SATAN (THE ADVERSARY): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro Story 11/12
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Tue, 17 Sep 2002 13:58:52 -0400
HA SATAN (THE ADVERSARY)
An Elena Duran-Corazon Negro Story 11/12
vmoreau@directvinternet.com & divad72@prodigy.net.mx
After dinner -- a hot, filling stew, freshly -- made bread, and a Highland
specialty, haggis, washed down with fine merlot, the group sat around the
dining room table, each with a glass full of very excellent whiskey in front
of them. The blazing fire in the fireplace provided the only light, and
outside the house were the sharp tips of the trees with its vaporous clouds
and tiny cowardly stars.
Zarach had hardly spoken during the meal, contenting himself to listening.
Now in the aftermath, they decided to get a few hours' rest after their
discussion, which would probably take them well past dawn. The MacLeods,
Cassandra, Corazon Negro and Elena were going to camp out in the heated
exercise room above the barn.
"Take my bedroom," Connor had graciously offered Zarach. "You look like
you've had a rough night." Then Connor had allowed the others to choose
which room they wanted to sleep in, and they had gone to put their various
suitcases away before returning to the dining room table, while Zarach
waited.
"An Iranian prince and an Egyptian god," Connor had whispered, but Zarach
heard. "They can fight amongst themselves for the best room. Not to mention
the original Cain from the Bible," Connor had continued, glancing at Zarach
and sounding a little skeptical. Looking at Corazon Negro and Elena, he
said, sotto vocce, "I can hardly believe all this."
Zarach was following their conversation very closely, even though his eyes
were still closed. What these young ones thought was important. He sighed
and listened to them in polite silence as he felt his energy returning. He
could feel the usual Immortal strength upon he'd always counted since the
night of his first death.
Elena said, "Look, I don't know all the powers Lilitu has."
Zarach felt, in his bones, Connor's inward shudder. Corazon Negro had told
him that, even without being physically present, Lilitu had seduced MacLeod,
possessed him, succeeded in re-awakening the Kurgan within, and the Kurgan
had almost decapitated Corazon Negro. And Zarach believed him.
Zarach opened his eyes just in time to see the elder MacLeod share a glance
with the Aztec. And Zarach could read into the Highlander's gaze. Lilitu
still scared him. Welcome to the club, he thought.
"But I can give you an idea of her malevolence," Elena continued. "When we
chased one of her minions, a Voodoo priestess named Dominique Valdemort, to
Haiti, we were attacked by a large group of totally crazed 'zombies.' Well,
they were Immortals whom Lilitu had killed but not decapitated, and had
buried in a cemetery on the island in metal coffins-four hundred years ago!"
"Christ!" Duncan said. "Four hundred years trapped in a box underground?"
Cassandra shuddered. "Are those Immortals finally dead?" she asked.
Corazon Negro nodded. "Zarach here took care of that."
Elena's voice flew over the table. "Tell me, Connor MacLeod, that for once
in your life you were glad to see me," she challenged him.
"He, he," Connor laughed. "I 'was' glad to see you... and your friends,"he
countered.
The joy came back to Zarach again as it had when he looked at Elena's face.
Even now she could make her little jokes and share them with those she
loved, and Zarach could feel her love for the MacLeods, for Cassandra, and
of course, her passion for the Aztec. Zarach felt no sorrow as he did when
he thought of Methos -- just joy, impersonal and transcendent. A reason to
remain alive. It occurred then to Zarach that he wasn't very good at
bitterness or regret, that he didn't have the stamina for them, and that if
he was to recapture his dignity, he had better shape up fast.
A little laugh greeted him, friendly, unobtrusive; a little drunken maybe,
the laugh of the fledgling Duncan, dark warrior in Gaelic. Zarach smiled in
acknowledgment, darting a glance at the amused one, the younger MacLeod,
everyone's white knight, always ready to fight for a good cause.
After a moment the others returned. Myrddin was delighted with
sixteen-year-old Sara MacLeod's bedroom, especially the black ceiling with
glow-in-the-dark stars, and said so, bringing a smile to Zarach's face. As
they made themselves comfortable and picked up their whiskey glasses, Zarach
quickly surveyed the others who were gathered around the oval table. To his
right and some distance away sat Cassandra, with her red hair in a
braid down her back and her green eyes full of undisguised anguish; it
struck Zarach how different were Cassandra's green eyes from Lilitu's. In
Mother's, there was no distinct circle of black around the iris and, indeed,
the pupils did not stand out so clearly as in Cassandra's. Nevertheless,
Lilitu's eyes were beautiful-but deadly.
Beside Cassandra sat Myrddin, unguarded and passive as always. His ruddy,
bearded face shone by the light reflected from the fireplace and his long
gray hair whipped across his broad shoulders. He was staring at Zarach
mutely as if in scientific inquiry or worship or both. Zarach looked at the
Wizard, and Myrddin's eyes were filled with the light from the nearby
inglenook. Whereas Myrddin had something of a mild challenge in even his
most casual expression, his eyes were patient, restful, like the eyes in a
painting, fixed and reliable.
Then came Elena, her rippling black hair free over her shoulders, with her
black patch covering her right eye, high Indian cheekbones, and her face as
beautiful as ever. Corazon Negro sat to her right, looking composed and
proud. Zarach had been amazed at Elena's obvious pleasure. Nothing about
Elena was simple precisely because everything with her was; Zarach knew that
she was not so ancient as to be divorced utterly from the common expression
of tender emotions, except perhaps by deliberate merciful designs, like
when she had locked herself in that convent in Peru. And as for Corazon
Negro, the new Dreamer-the serious expression on his features, as always.
On Zarach's left sat Heru-sa-aset, the forgotten Egyptian demigod-prince,
with a strong chin, hawk-like nose, shaved head, and skin the color of
molten bronze. His eyes blazed with intelligence. He was the one who gave
his name silently and freely. Zarach had always found it difficult to take
his eyes off this one, another of his Immortal disciples; the one who never
questioned.
And next came Aylon, shaggy and unkempt as always, who had taken the chair
on Heru-sa-aset's left. Wearing black robes that made him look like an
ancient terror from the past, his eyebrows showed the frustration on his
bearded face, whose cheeks were decorated with bizarre ritualistic blue
tattoos. Even sitting, at rest, he was a huge, fierce-looking man. Zarach
shuddered inwardly as he remembered this Immortal's great powers, his
eternal anger, and of the wisdom he seemed to possess.
And after him came Connor, gaunt and sturdy in appearance, who in spite of
being the more cynical and caustic of the Scots had been unfailingly
gracious to Zarach since the first moment they'd met barely two hours
before, sharing his home with Zarach. With all of them. The light of the
fireplace clung to Connor's golden eyebrows and darkened the curling
eyelashes around his cobalt-gray eyes. There was something altogether more
Nordic and icy about Connor that there was about Duncan, whose hair was
black. In Connor, Zarach saw the sunny skies of the Highland wilderness,
eyes of steady radiance, which rejected any outside color, perfect portals
to his own most constant soul.
And beside Connor was Zarach's beloved Methos. He loved Methos, loved his
lean graceful movements, and the way in which he responded wholeheartedly to
things, or not at all. This was Methos, this was his son Kadosh, the child
thirsty for answers since the first time they had met more than seven
millennia ago.
Each of them was magnificent in their own way. The fact was, Zarach had
never laid eyes on such an assemblage-a Gathering of Immortals of all ages
from the youngest to the most ancient; and each endowed with powers and
weaknesses. For a moment, they reminded him of a time long gone, a time when
Immortals used to live without the Game; a time before recorded history,
when all of them used to live in harmony and when they weren't feared as
demons.
Those were Zarach's dreams. And sometimes, dreams are the only thing you
have to get you through, he thought. But he knew that right now, they had
more urgent things to worry about than the hurt feelings of a
twelve-thousand-year-old man. Soon, an army of the devil itself would be
massing outside the inner gates of their souls.
Aylon rested his hands with fingers folded on the polished wood before him.
He bowed his head as if collecting his thoughts to begin. "We are the last
hope for this world," he said and then paused.
A ripple of silent confusion passed through the others, but Zarach raised
his two-colored eyes. "Yes," he answered soberly. "We are the only ones left
who count." He paused as if to let his words have their full effect. His
two-colored eyes gently took in the complete Gathering. "Far off," he
continued, "there are others-old ones who choose to remain apart. Or those
she hunts still, who are doomed. And all the youngest ones, the ones she
doesn't see as a menace for her plans. But as you said, Aylon, we are what
remains in terms of destiny or decision."
"God help us," Elena whispered. Her voice was sharp, full of emotion. She
looked at the others, fearlessly but desperately.
"God is with us, Elena," Myrddin spoke, his voice deep and unhurried. "But
Lilitu's shadow is also above us."
"And where is she?" Heru-sa-aset asked.
"We don't know. She is blocking the Dream right now," Corazon Negro murmured
softly. "However, we must find her to destroy her," he finished coldly.
Connor MacLeod stood abruptly, his hands clenched in fists of impotent
anger. "And just how are we going to destroy her?"
"Just as Ramirez and Nakano used to say, the way to destroy all monsters:
with heart, faith and steel," Zarach whispered it aloud softly.
There was a protracted silence. All present had known, in some form, their
destinies. Zarach felt it like a soundless vibration. He felt spasms in the
tiny nerves inside his body. He bent forward slightly, folding his hands
before him on the table. He looked at his hands and thought of the phrase
'not made by human hands'. He knew what this meant; even though every time
he ever heard the phrase said with emotion it had to with what had come from
his hands. "Myrddin, what can your encyclopedia tell us?"
Myrddin was looking at him in the strangest way, as if Zarach were a mystery
to him. Then the Wizard looked at the others. "I've been searching for her
by any source available. I searched through Europe, through Asia, through
the southern jungles and the frozen lands of the north. Beyond the one
incident in Australia, nothing, not a single clue."
At the mention of Australia, Connor MacLeod made a pained sound, like a
growl. Before he could say anything, Myrddin added, "I've been keeping up
with news from Australia. I am confident she's gone from there by now."
Apparently appeased, Connor sat down heavily. Silence followed. All eyes
were fixed on Myrddin. Zarach was quietly stunned. He feared to be the one
to speak again, but this was more than he had imagined and the implications
were now entirely clear. "Search in your database again, brother, and search
the Web. Search for a place called Nod."
"The Wastelands?" Aylon questioned. "Such a place ceased to exist millennia
before the Ancient Gathering was formed."
Zarach sighed. "I know, but Mother was born in there as a Princess of the
ancient world. It was there where all started for her. And she always liked
the name."
Myrddin reached down by his feet and grabbed his computer, which he kept as
close to him as other Immortals kept their swords. Opening it on the table,
he tapped in the data. A hush fell. All waited with respectful patience.
After a minute, the Wizard shook his head. "The same. No such place exists
nowadays."
After another minute of silence, Zarach nodded, as if receiving an inner
revelation. "Where is the Hunters' main stronghold?"
"On an island in the Pacific Ocean," Methos answered.
"There are hundreds of islands there," Duncan spoke for the first time.
"Maybe thousands."
"Then, we must search all of them. I bet my soul one of them is called Nod,"
Zarach responded, his smile a little dry, his eyes a little sad as he
lowered them as he felt a dozen eyes openly burning into him.
"You're worried about something else, I bet," Methos said with studied
casualness.
Zarach pondered this for a moment. "Lilitu is very powerful. Make no
mistake. We are standing against the most powerful Immortal ever. No one in
the past has had her powers. Not even an army made up of dozens of Kurgans,
Kalas, Kanes and Kronos. They were all but puppets next to Lilitu. Whatever
you feared in the past, fear the worst right now. She is as intelligent as a
demon of fable, but not as benevolent."
They looked at one another, and Zarach was surprised at the feeling in their
expressions. They seemed altogether human and passionate, and he could
scarce believe the despair with which they endured.
"Please, listen to me," Zarach continued. "I have only a tenuous
understanding of what I'm about to say, but it's most important." He seemed
on the edge of total despair.
The others seemed at once animated and humble, sitting upright in the
chairs, urging him to go on. Duncan took another swallow of his Scotch, and
Elena pushed her glass away.
Zarach sighed and spoke. "We are creatures of this earth, in someway. We are
Immortals, just as Lilitu. But we are material. Indeed, we are richly
entangled with Homo sapiens. Whatever force inhabits our bodies, governs our
cells, enables us to live and heal-whatever power does all those things
could be mindless and might be as well be nameless, insofar as we know. You
do agree on these points."
"I do," Methos said, obviously eager for Zarach to continue.
"What Lilitu does is magic. It is from another realm," Zarach said quietly,
but there was an edge of steel running through his words.
Cassandra was taken aback, but fascinated. "We can make magic too. Our
simple existence is magical. And we have powers mortal men can just dream
about," her green eyes grew darker; her voice took on a note of pain.
Zarach knew better than that and could tell she did too. "You know that our
powers are shared by some mortals. The ability to read minds, to make fire
with just one thought, to move objects with a simple wish, to implant
thoughts as well. Even the Voice and the capacity to control animals -- they
are nothing new. Some humans can perform such acts. We've only had the
benefit of a longer life to expand our skills." His eyes were frank, his
words brutally honest as he eyed the others.
"What is your point?" Aylon asked intrigued.
Zarach's expression didn't change. "The Realm of the Dream is magic, and so
are its manifestations. And Lilitu controls that sphere almost at will."
All of them absorbed these words respectfully and remained silent.
Zarach continued. "I don't say that all these magical elements are equal.
What I am saying is that what they have in common is that they are divorced
from materiality, unconnected from the earth, if you will, and from the
flesh. Of course they interact with matter. They interact with the flesh.
But they partake of the realm of pure spirituality where other laws-laws
unlike our physical earthly laws-might exist."
"I see," Connor said. "You are warning us that this woman can do things that
will destroy us Immortals as easily as they might annihilate mortal men," he
looked at Zarach and felt something strong stir within him. "I know, because
she-did that to me years ago. Somehow, she resurfaced the Kurgan inside me,"
he admitted.
Connor's words saddened and disturbed Zarach, and he could tell by the
shadows that came over the Highlander's face that his words had somehow
struck a chord within him. Zarach looked away and blinked hard. "Yes, that's
what I mean," he answered, matter-of-factly. "However, Lilitu may do more
than simply destroy us. We must approach her and what she could do with the
utmost respect."
"Do you believe in God, Zarach?" Elena suddenly asked, her voice tight.
"I think so," he answered, his laugh was mirth-free. "Indeed, right now I'm
ready to believe anything. What's the point of hiding it as if it were an
unsophisticated or foolish frame of mind?"
"Then you do indeed have a great respect for Lilitu and her magic," Corazon
Negro said wearily.
"I'm her Immortal adopted son, and we all know what she is capable of. Right
now, she wants to destroy all-powerful Immortals. If the entire world is
engulfed by fire in the process, that would matter little to her," Zarach
said thoughtfully and without judgment.
Aylon rose from the chair, looking altogether restless, and went to the
window to look out through the lace curtains.
Zarach's words had cut all of them to the bone, and he knew it. Zarach, the
one who had buried hundreds of Immortal martyrs to the cause of this war.
The one who had witnessed the trail of the dying, the mutilated, and the
violated left in the Headless Children's wake. Even now, he could almost
hear their voices begging him to help them, just as Naema had done before
Methos beheaded her.
Zarach shook his head and rose too. A long interval occurred during which he
went quietly up to Aylon and laid his hand on his shoulder; to let him know
in his way that he respected his pain. Aylon didn't acknowledge this tiny
intimacy.
All eyes were fixed on Zarach as he returned to the table. Then he sat and
began again, his words seemingly spontaneous, though they came slowly and
were carefully pronounced. This time, he seemed not sad, but eager to
reexamine what he meant to say. "Myrddin," he said looking at the Mage. "I
know my Immortal son Quetzalcohuatl told you long ago his last prophecy
about Lilitu. Am I right?"
Myrddin looked at Zarach and nodded. "Yes."
"Tell us about it," Zarach asked.
Myrddin looked at the others with grave concern. From memory he intoned,
"Tremble, O you children of Time, because the Mother of fear is coming, with
her lessons of madness and her hands full of blood. She comes to make the
world anew, and her path is in pain and horror, because the truce is over,
and her demons are free."
All their feelings slipped away, and their blood turned to ice. Well, that
certainly put a whole new spin on everything. After a moment, Myrddin
continued. "Weep, O you children of Immortality, for your lives shall be as
shells broken by the lighting of each new world, for your Gods are a lie and
their promises are empty rags. A storm of lighting is coming, and Lilitu is
riding the thunder."
Myrddin stopped and looked at Zarach, who sat with his hands folded before
him on the table and his two-colored eyes down. It seemed he was deep in his
recollection of his memories, but they didn't seem to console him. Then
finally he looked to Myrddin in acknowledge. The Mage seemed dazed and full
of questions. But he didn't ask them. His eyes passed over the others,
acknowledging their glances as well. "Is that all?"
"Yes," Myrddin answered. "Later Quetzalcohuatl told me about the prophecy of
the Black Flower."
Zarach closed his eyes for a moment. He touched the lids with his fingers,
and then gazed up at the others, as they waited, each in his or her own
thoughts and considerations, each of them reluctant to believe they had no
chance against Lilitu.
The young ones were drawn and weary; Duncan's rapt expression had changed
little. Connor was gaunt, and the need for knowledge was hurting him, though
he paid it no mind. Cassandra was reviving old fears, fears she had thought
dead since Roland's death. Elena took Corazon Negro's hand and squeezed it,
as though to get strength from that touch, and Heru-sa-aset and Aylon
remained in silence.
Methos rose and moved to the far window next to Aylon as the others slowly
left the room. It was as if Lilitu's presence were with them. And what
affected them most deeply was the evocation of Myrddin, and the hatred they
all felt for Lilitu.
And Zarach felt that hatred too, but he felt more strongly than ever that he
should have brought this nightmare to a close while he'd had the power to do
it. But Lilitu was not a Goddess! And none of them wanted to die more than
Zarach did!
Yet Quetzalcohuatl's prophecy seemed to confirm the hopelessness of it all.
What had risen when Lilitu stood up from her grave? What was this being that
had them in this way? Zarach could not image. We change, but we do not
change, he thought. We grow wise, but we are fallible beings! We are only
human for however long we endure; that is the miracle and the curse of our
lives!
Zarach looked again at the Ancient Gathering as they walked out of the room.
Was it possible that he loved as strongly still as he hated? That in his
great humiliation, clarity had escaped him utterly? He honestly didn't know.
And he was tired suddenly, craving sleep, craving comfort; craving the soft
sensuous pleasure of lying in a clean bed, of sprawling upon it and burying
his face in a pillow; of letting his limbs assemble themselves in the most
natural and comfortable position.
Like in a dream, he heard Elena whispering to Corazon Negro, her voice
almost broken. Zarach raised his two-colored eyes just in time to see Elena
run out, through the kitchen and out the door of the house, the Aztec
following her. There were so many words of comfort tumbling through Zarach's
mind, but they all seemed poor and stiff.