EHYEH-ASHER-EHYEH (I AM THAT I AM): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Wed, 25 Sep 2002 12:58:03 -0400
Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh (I am that I am) 32.0/34
Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx
Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com
Cabin in the Pampa on the Duran Estancia, near Las Flores, Argentina
March 30, 2013
The blackness seemed to swim, then it began taking on form, taking on
shapes. Corazon Negro organized the shapes, pushed the blackness into
patterns, then searched for the light.
"Can you hear me, my love?" a familiar voice said.
So he moved that way, organizing, shaping as he went.
"My love?" the voice said again.
He followed. And after what seemed like a short time, in a place where time
didn't seem relevant at all, Corazon Negro saw a dot of light in the far
distance.
"Hear me," the voice said. "Come back with me."
The light grew as Corazon Negro focused on it, until finally it surrounded
him, flooding into his mind, his conscious thoughts. So he opened his eyes.
"Welcome back," Elena said, smiling down at him.
Corazon Negro let himself a smile. He felt surprisingly refreshed, almost as
if waking from a long nap.
"I was worried about you," Elena whispered.
"Never more, my love. Never more," he answered, taking her hand and
squeezing it. Then he remembered what had been going after their battle
against Lilitu inside the Dream. "Is she...?"
"Dead," Elena finished, smiling. "The Ancient Gathering is here. But . the
price was high." She stepped aside and looked over her shoulder.
Corazon Negro looked around. They were inside the little cabin, and he could
see Zarach on the sofa across the living room, totally inert. The others
were all around him, their faces sad.
Methos, sitting next to Zarach, holding his father's hand, explained in four
short words: "He is not healing."
Corazon Negro nodded, and then took a deep breath. "I think I have some
catching up to do."
"And resting," Elena said.
"That, I've been doing," Corazon Negro whispered. "I think I have enough
energy for a story before my next nap."
Elena laughed softly, wistfully, and pulled up a chair. But it wasn't her
who told him the tale; that came from Methos, Heru-sa-aset and Myrddin at
first, and finally from Aylon, who had been in the cave with Zarach, in the
maw of the monster.
"After that, I don't know what Zarach did," Aylon finished. "Except that he
killed her-he defeated her. And now."
Corazon Negro knew it all, and he was prouder of being part of the Ancient
Gathering than he ever could have imagined being. But as he looked at
Zarach, he thought, oh yes, the price was very high. Extremely high, indeed.
========
A WORLD WITHOUT END
"And there shall be no night there,
and they need no candle,
neither light of the sun;
for the Lord God giveth them light:
and they shall reign for ever and ever."
Revelations 22:5
The Revelation of John
Duran Estancia, near Las Flores, Argentina
April 20, 2013
They spent three weeks in Elena's estancia-hoping, praying, waiting for
Zarach to recover-surrounded by the wide-open southern landscape. They'd
told their stories to one another, and their narratives filled the air like
so many songs from the past. But even as they tried to calm their souls,
they knew one by one they should soon move away.
In the estancia, the Onioco family was more than happy to welcome them.
Elena's relationship with the Mapuche Indio family called Onioco went back
to the time her father, Don Alvaro, had made a pact of mutual help and
protection before Elena was even born.
Long summer days passed, and Zarach showed no sign of progress.
"What about our marriage?" Corazon Negro asked Elena. "Now that Lilitu is
dead ."
"Her after-effects are still with us," she answered, shaking her head. "Look
at Zarach." She could remember when Corazon Negro had lain in that very bed
in her bedroom, catatonic, like Zarach was now. Maybe all he needed was
time. "I was hoping he'd be the one to give the bride away," she whispered,
almost to herself.
Corazon Negro took her hand and kissed it. "Whatever you decide, mi vida.
But there is another man to consider."
They were sitting outside, drinks in hand, watching the water from the
marble angel pour into the courtyard fountain of the estancia, exactly as it
had for centuries. Now, with this evil taken care of, at last there was a
chance the estancia would continue for more centuries.
"There's always another man to consider where Elena is concerned," Connor
said from where he had come up behind them with his usual silent tread.
Elena turned in her seat and gave him a mock dirty look. Since their
alliance against Lilitu, her friendship with the elder Highlander had
improved somewhat, but old habits died hard. Studying his face, she decided
he was not trying to be insulting, this time. "I mean my husband," she said,
deciding to trust him.
"Husband?" Connor countered, obviously intrigued. He sat in one of the
chairs, a glass of tawny port in his hand, and looked up at the moon before
settling down to give the couple his full attention.
"I was married in 1863. Duncan knows about him. I thought Gordon had been
killed by Hunters, but he was alive as of 1985," she explained. Alive
enough to help her find and get a catatonic Corazon Negro out of Mexico
right after Lilitu's killing on Holy Ground had caused a devastating
earthquake.
Connor shrugged. "Call him," he suggested.
"I have," she countered, surprising Corazon Negro as well. "He'd like our
marriage annulled before I marry someone else. And he'd like to be at our
wedding, querido," she said to the Aztec. "He arrives tomorrow."
"So . the wedding is on?" Connor asked.
It was an innocent enough question, but Elena knew Connor was always looking
for a way to protect his beloved Duncan, and it was a well-known fact that
the younger Highlander still loved Elena. "Duncan has agreed also," Elena
stated.
"Did he have a choice?" Connor countered.
"Let us not argue," Corazon Negro put in. "As long as the Ancient Gathering
is here, we might as well marry. I'm sure Zarach would agree, too."
"Saturday," she said, standing. "I'll get the arrangements started--you let
everyone know," she told her beloved.
========
As the estancia was getting ready for the Senorita's wedding, it was quietly
decided that Myrddin would be the one to take Zarach away. No one knew
where, though the Mage had promised to inform them as soon as Zarach was
protected. After all, Holy Ground was a better place now that Lilitu was
finally dead. Even Methos didn't know, though he'd promised to meet the
Druid in England as soon as he was finished in Argentina.
All of them had made the promise of never to be isolated from another one so
much; from now on, they had ways to find each other, no matter were they
might travel. On that vital point everyone had agreed. Even Methos, the
loner, the wanderer, had agreed. Nobody wanted to be lost in time again.
And Zarach? Would they see him again? He was still in coma. Would he ever
sit with them around a table? Methos had laid eyes upon Zarach many times
after that terrible night when he had killed Mother. But the pain had been
suffocating, as if his lungs were being dried up. Zarach's body position
hadn't changed in several days. He lay as he had had all along, on the bed
inside Elena's room. On his side, his hands were slack-the fingers of his
left hand touched the sheets lightly, as if with a purpose. The fingers of
his right hand were curled, making a little hollow in the palm where the
light of the window fell, and that too seemed to have a purpose-but there
was none. His face had no expression except for his eyes; two orbs of
different colors-the disconcerting blue on the left side, and the brown one
on the right-still reflected intelligence as he stared defiantly at
infinity.
Methos didn't know what Zarach's thoughts were; only that the pain in his
own heart seemed unbearable. Finally, when Myrddin suggested that he would
take care of Zarach, Methos' pain had been finally loosened, like a moan
coming out of him.
Methos was glad when Myrddin and Zarach were gone because it meant that they
all would be going as well. Methos didn't care. His sojourn there had been
agony, though the first few days after the catastrophe had been the worst.
How quickly the bruised silence of the others had given way to endless
analysis, as they strained to interpret what they'd seen and felt. How had
the thing been transferred exactly?
Methos couldn't bear to listen to them; he couldn't bear their constant,
obsessive curiosity: what was it like with Zarach? What was happening inside
his silent mind? Methos couldn't get away from them either; he certainly
hadn't the will to leave altogether; Methos trembled when he was with them;
trembled when he was apart.
How often they had pondered the irony that Zarach had killed Mother in the
end. Had any of her survived in Zarach? That was what they kept wondering.
They all knew about Dark Quickenings, and several of them had felt them. Had
her soul survived, or had it been destroyed at last when her brain was torn
loose?
Sometimes in the dark Methos awoke certain Lilitu was right there beside
him, no more than an inch from his face; he'd feel her again; her arm around
him; he'd see the green glimmer of her eye. He'd grope in the darkness and
find nothing.
How could they know? The only truth was they remained Immortals; they
remained frightened; they remained anchored to what they can control. Maybe
it would all start again; the wheel would turn; they were forever; because
there were no others, although the new Ancient Gathering had triumphed.
========