Disclaimers in part 0 ------------------------------ He swore and looked at Methos. Eyes wide in alarm, Methos raised his voice over the thudding tympani of rain on leaves, "She said she'd go to the road. What about your car?" "C'mon." Duncan raced downhill, not caring if he slipped, the curtain of rain making the terrain look more gray than he remembered. He burst from the forest slightly uphill of his car. One glance at its extreme list told Duncan his car had been hit too. But where were Cassandra and the kids? "Where's your car?" he asked, fighting panic. "You were following me." "It's around the bend. Maybe they didn't see it." Methos took off down the road, and Duncan followed. Methos had made some perfunctory attempt to use shrubbery to disguise the car, but it, too, had had its tires slashed. They stood in silence, rain pouring down, staring at the disabled vehicle. A car rumbled by in low gear. Duncan realized it was the first car he'd heard. "Could they have gotten a ride?" he asked. "With twelve kids?" Methos replied. "There's almost no traffic here, and these assholes were close. What would she do?" "You think the tires were already slashed when she got there?" Methos nodded, causing drops of water to flick from the end of his nose. "Otherwise, we'd see bodies. I'm sure these guys want to kill those kids. Besides the racism, they can identify them." What would she do? Cassandra probably knew the region, since she'd retreated here. Duncan looked around at the looming trees and towering crags beyond, now shadows in the rain. He found himself thinking of the magic powers his child self had believed the Witch of Donan Woods possessed. She could turn into a white wolf, could make her home invisible, and had prophetic dreams. The Voice had turned out to be real, but she'd never really told Duncan if his memories of her other powers were accurate. His roving gaze locked on the rocky pass between two high and nearly inaccessible peaks. Beyond them, his sense of direction and his memory of the map told him, would be a fairly major highway and the Pique river, a popular recreation waterway. "She'd take them through the most difficult terrain, because that's what they wouldn't expect. There." He pointed. Methos looked, then sank onto the muddy shoulder, his arms resting on his bony knees. "Ah, shit," he exclaimed. "What's the matter with you?" Duncan asked, impatient to get going. Those children were in real danger! "I'm tired, that's what!" Methos yelled at him like a cranky child. "I was hoping for a steak, a good fuck, and a warm bed, and now we have to go all Sound of Music. Damn it." Furious again, Duncan seized the bag of blankets. What a self-centered bastard! "Then stay here! Who says we need you? Stop the next car and go for help." He strode away. Actually, a calmer voice in his head said to him, that was a good idea. Behind him, Duncan heard the man get to his feet. "No can do," he said, coming up alongside Duncan. "Yes, you can! Stay here and go for help with the next car." Duncan began to jog, and looked in vain along the highway for a car. A good fuck, indeed! "You are not going back to those kids without me." Methos jogged right with him. "Why the hell not? I don't want you. Haven't I made that clear? We're through!" "Yeah, I got that," Methos snapped. "But what you want means nothing. I'm staying with you." Duncan stopped. "Why?!" "If you don't know, this is not the time to explain. Let's find Cassandra." Duncan punched him in the jaw. "Explain this!" he roared. The jaw made a cracking sound and Methos tumbled into the ditch beside the road. Duncan *really* wanted to stay and beat the tar out of the man, but the plight of the children was more urgent. He left Methos and headed for the mountain uplands. Behind him he heard running feet. He ducked into the forest. Methos crashed into the forest, full-tilt, and caught him from behind. Methos' fist pounded viciously into Duncan's kidney. Duncan grunted and spun in what should have been a capture to Methos' head, but the dense brush got in the way, and Duncan only managed a punch to the other man's ribs. Methos caught his wrist and twisted, forcing Duncan's face down into some brush, and drawing him forward to where he stumbled into a cluster of springy young birch. The springiness gave Duncan the idea for his next move. Anticipating that Methos would now knee him in the face, Duncan sprang off the natural trampoline, and pivoted around his own arm. It was an impressive move he had learned from Connor, but it worked better when he had somewhere stable to land and where his flying feet didn't get caught in pine boughs. He fell backward, Methos' grip on his wrist pulling the man on top of Duncan, and stabbing a lance of pain through the wrist. This was ridiculous! Blinded by branches in his face, Methos squirmed on top of him. *A good fuck . . .* Suddenly Duncan was thoroughly, breathlessly aroused. Methos' fist connecting with his jaw was a painful distraction, but, oddly, it did nothing to dispel the arousal. In fact it got worse. Duncan needed... so badly. Had he become some kind of masochist? The pain in his jaw screamed at him that it was broken, and Duncan really didn't care. He reached around the body on top of him and hugged it to him crushingly. Methos' arms were caught at a painful angle, and his violent options were momentarily limited. Duncan crushed the sodden form in his arms against his desperate groin, the pressure something of a relief. Finding sudden strength, Methos hurled Duncan from him, tumbling him against a tree. Methos was on his feet, his face unrecognizable in fury, and, positioning himself just right, he kicked Duncan squarely in the groin. Pain exploded everywhere in Duncan's body, even blinding him. Instinctively, he rolled to the side to dodge a follow-up blow, but it didn't come. He didn't hear his opponent moving, so he took a moment to recover before prying open his eyes. Methos stood before him, holding a dueling dagger at the ready. The dense trees intercepted enough of the rain that Duncan could see him fairly clearly. Even as the pain in his groin lessened, the rage he'd felt drained away. He saw some things he had not noticed before. Methos wore the same jeans and sweatshirt Duncan had last seen on him in the submarine base, and his clothes were discolored with huge dark stains. He also noticed the dagger, with its implicit threat to escalate the fight. "No swords," he croaked, his throat still constricted from the clenching his whole body had responded with. "Your call," Methos replied. The dagger vanished, and Methos turned and strode off, heading away from the highway, toward the craggy uplands. Duncan got slowly to his feet, found the bag of blankets, and followed. They traveled in silence, Duncan wrestling with anger. His immortal physiology healed quickly from the blow to his gonads, but he had to endure the painful setting and snapping of his broken jaw. He watched carefully for signs of the passage of a lot of children, or, better yet, a few men, but the pouring rain obscured any real hope of tracking anyone. At least that meant the killers wouldn't be able to easily follow the children. Eventually, Duncan passed Methos and led the way into the steeply sloping terrain. He remained confident that Cassandra had come this way, and his hope was that their hunters would waste valuable time searching the road. He winced to think of the length of time he and Methos had spent visible on that road. His thinking was just not as clear as it should be. And he was the one who had started that time-wasting brawl. He considered the other man slipping agilely through the brush behind him. He had questions burning within him. Why had Methos left Seacouver with Kronos? Why had he ever joined up with him in the first place? Why didn't he just tell Duncan an old enemy was in town? *Was* Kronos Methos' enemy? Why wouldn't Methos come away with him when they met at Elysium Church? Did he intend to distract Duncan so the others could capture Cassandra? Did he challenge Silas because he *judged* that Duncan would be the victor over Kronos, or because he *hoped* he would? Also, why was Methos following him on the road, why hadn't Methos changed clothes, when apparently both Duncan and Cassandra had had time to, and why were his clothes so blood-stained? Duncan didn't recall any major wounds on Methos at the culmination of his battle with Silas, although … his memory at that point was already fuzzy and sort of painful. That quickening … Duncan shook his head and shrugged away from the memory. There was something there. Something with a big "Warning" sign on the door, and Duncan couldn't spare the attention to go fishing around in his own befuddled head. He and Methos were both breathing heavily, now, as their hike became an ascent. Granite cliffs grew closer on either side of them. They couldn't be far. Those children surely couldn't travel very fast. Worry wormed into Duncan's thoughts. Could he have been mistaken that they had come this way? At that precise moment, he felt a new immortal presence. For once he was glad that his own immortal signature announced his approach; otherwise Cassandra might attack first and ask questions later. He slowed automatically, Methos matching him. Calling out didn't seem like a good idea, but he could see so little through the trees. "Here," Methos said, indicating a large outcrop of bare rock slightly above them and well clear of surrounding trees. Duncan scrambled atop it, slipping twice on its slick side. The second time Methos propped him behind the knees until Duncan found his purchase. Clear of trees, and gifted by a momentary shaft of sunlight through the clouds, Duncan scanned the area of the pass, and spotted movement up in the saddle between the peaks. "Okay, I see them," he said, sliding back down. "It looks like they've found a sheep trail." He faced Methos then, looking at him for the first time since their fisticuffs. Methos was completely soaked, as Duncan was, and his face looked positively haggard. "They're making good time," Methos said. "You look like hell," Duncan said. Then he was irritated at himself for worrying about a mass murderer. It took no effort at all to remember the slain settlers Melvin Koren had left in his wake. Which made him think of the slain counselors. Judging by his expression, the comment only angered Methos. Methos scooped up the bag of blankets and shoved them at Duncan. Shrugging, Duncan set off again. Maybe Methos hadn't slept. Did *I* get any sleep? he wondered. Was it really only last night that they'd all battled in Bordeaux? In a few minutes more, they reached Cassandra. The children, soaked and exhausted, were strung out along a path that made switchbacks up to the crest of the saddle. Duncan scanned them for signs of shivering, but the exertion seemed to be keeping them warm. Her auburn tresses plastered to her skull, Cassandra looked much less otherworldly than she had earlier. "Not him," she said, glaring at Methos, millennia of loathing in each word. "We need all the help we can get," Duncan replied. A little girl left the path and slid her way to Methos, who had to catch her to prevent her from slipping farther down the steep slope. "Not him," Cassandra repeated. "What's your name?" the little girl asked. Duncan thought it was the same little girl who had clung to Methos' hand, earlier. "Adam. What's yours?" Methos replied. "Sarah." She took his hand. "I'm tired." "Cassandra," Duncan continued wearily, "he won't go back and I can't make him. He can bring up the rear. Do you know the way?" "You watch him," Cassandra replied, clearly not happy with the arrangement. She turned away and continued up the trail, passing by some of the children. "This is Duncan MacLeod," she announced, gesturing back at him. "He'll help us all get home." So they continued, Cassandra in the lead and Methos and Sarah bringing up the rear. Weariness had driven the horror of their earlier experience out of the minds of some of the younger children, and they needed constant help and encouragement as the group inched over the crest of the pass. At the top, a blast of cold air hit so suddenly and so hard that Duncan decided to stay there, a hand out to every child so no one was blown from the mountain. Once everyone was safely over, he moved ahead, to the middle of the pack. He learned some of the children's names: Andre, Pierre, Jean. He learned they were all from the banlieues in Lyon, and the camp was run by a charity for underprivileged children. The trail on the back side of the pass grew treacherous. It cut its way along a cliff face, probably sure footing for goats, but increasingly dangerous in the rain. Duncan had just crossed a muddy three-foot portion of ledge trail when the children behind him cried out. He turned to see that section of the trail crumble and wash away down the cliff, before the two boys behind him, who stopped and huddled, wide-eyed. Cassandra came back at the shout and she and Duncan deliberated. At Duncan's suggestion, she pressed on ahead and positioned herself where the cliff face tapered onto firmer, more horizontal earth. Duncan heard her encouraging the children with her, the ones who had been at the head of the line, to jump the final step into her waiting arms. Duncan considered the gap in their ledge trail with concern. Besides the crumbling caused by the sheets of rain, streams of water now cascaded down the cliff and tumbled through the gap, widening it by rock-sized chunks every minute or so. If he didn't get the remaining children across soon, the gap would grow too large to cross. The edges were already treacherous. "Where's Adam?" he called to the two boys waiting nervously beyond the gap. "Get him up here for me." Pierre, to the rear of Andre, moved back around the curve and was lost to Duncan's view. Two more children inched up behind Andre, and viewed the gap with alarm. "Andre, can you step across? I'll grab you on this side." Duncan tried to sound encouraging. Andre nodded, biting his lower lip. He stretched his leg across and held one hand out. The other he placed on the muddy wall in a vain search for purchase. Trusting, he stepped out, the one hand reaching to Duncan, but as Duncan leaned out, the trail beneath Andre's feet crumbled, and Duncan had to yank the boy's arm to where he could catch him across his back. Andre scrabbled to safety on Duncan's side and looked at Duncan with wide eyes. Duncan gave the boy a squeeze. "Go down to Cassandra," he said. "Go slow. It'll be all right." The next child, Jean, shrank back from the new edge and looked at Duncan in panic. "It's all right," Duncan said. Where the Devil was Methos? It wouldn't remain all right for long. Methos appeared, sliding around the trail along the outside of the gathering children. He reached the front of the line, peered at the washed away portion of ledge, squinted up the cliff at the sheets of water, and looked at Duncan. "I hate it when this happens," he said. "Try and make yourself useful," Duncan retorted. "You hand the kids across to me before this gets much worse." Methos nodded, and put his hand on Jean's shoulder. "No!" the boy cried, and cowered against the cliff wall. "Jean, I'll catch you. It'll be all right," Duncan said. Jean shook his head. "No!" Pierre moved to stand beside Jean. "I'll go first," he volunteered. "Good lad," Duncan replied. Methos leaned out and submerged one hand against the cliff face, water streaming over his wrist. Duncan also leaned out, bracing himself, and Pierre stepped out into nothing, but supported himself for a critical instant on Methos' forearm before Duncan snatched him the remaining distance to the path. He sent the boy on to Cassandra, with an approving slap on the back. Duncan decided not to press Jean. There were other children less unwilling, and time was short. Methos also said nothing to Jean, but sent two more children across to Duncan as Jean watched. The gap widened to where the smallest children couldn't manage the step-and-snatch, so Methos scooped them under their arms and half-swung them across to Duncan as fast as possible. Soon no one would be able to stand on that portion of ledge. If only the rain would stop! Methos reached for Sarah, the last of the children, when Jean stood forth. "I'll go now," Jean announced. Duncan exchanged one glance with Methos. The distance between them gaped wider than ever, and Jean was not one of the smaller children. No help for it, so Methos lifted the boy and leaned toward Duncan. Duncan stretched to his limit, because Jean froze, refusing to allow any momentum to help him over. Duncan plastered his face and chest into the muddy, streaming cliff, in order to reach his own hand across the boy's back. Jean struggled and clung to Methos' shoulder like a drowning man to a rope. "Jean, no!" both immortals cried, as their purchase slipped from under both of them. Jean shrieked as they all scrabbled in the sliding mud for firm footing or handholds. With an immense effort, Duncan reached the boy and wrenched him loose from his slippery hold on the sliding Methos. Fighting the streaming mud like it was a treadmill, he somehow hauled himself and Jean to the tiny dirt path. Panting, he looked for Methos. Relieved of the boy, Duncan saw, Methos had also managed to climb against the crumbling earth back to his portion of the vanishing path. They were all covered in mud, the rain washing it into their eyes. Movement below caught Duncan's attention, and he saw that Jean's cries had brought Cassandra and the other children down from the trail's end and around to the cliff face twenty feet below them. Their faces appeared through the curtain of rain as they looked up. "Jean," Duncan panted, "just wait here. We'll get Sarah and all go together." One child to go. Sarah, the little girl who had taken such a shine to "Adam." Methos climbed to his feet, and lifted the trusting child as he had the others. Duncan nodded his readiness, and Methos swung her slight weight out. And dropped her. _________________________________________________________________ Don’t just search. Find. Check out the new MSN Search! http://search.msn.click-url.com/go/onm00200636ave/direct/01/