Another crossover!
Fandoms: Highlander/Heroes
Story: The Sounding of a Trumpet
Title: In the Beginning
Rating: PG
Characters: Adam, Methos
Pairing: None yet, eventually Adam/Methos.
Disclaimer: I do neither own Highlander the Series nor Heroes. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Note: I'm having so much fun writing this story, so please, somebody read it. ;)
The sounding of a trumpet
Prologue: In the Beginning
Two days after he had received the call he arrived in Japan. As so many times before, he was shocked to learn about the death of someone he loved. It had happened countless times over the course of five thousand years but it still hurt every single time anew.
He had not seen Kamiya Shoko in thirty years - though there had been frequent letters and the occasional phone call - but that she still listed him as one of her closest friends touched him. He had loved her once. In her twenties she had been a beautiful woman with skin the colour of almonds and hair as dark as sin and shiny as silk. Of course, he had to leave her in the end. She had not wanted to leave Japan, where their love had been frowned upon at the time, and she had also longed for children of her own, a wish he could not grant. Nevertheless, they had stayed in touch and he had congratulated her when she married and became the proud mother of a sweet daughter and two sons.
Now she was dead and there would be no more letters. He would miss her subtle humour and her kindness. Like so many others she had never known his real name.
***
The funeral was set to be in the afternoon and Methos woke up just in time. There wasn’t only the jet-lag to blame, he had been drinking a bottle of sake in Shoko’s honour the night before. Make that two. A pity that even immortals suffered from hangovers. If he had made it through one more bottle he would have died from alcohol poisoning and woken up right as rain. The look into the mirror told him that he looked like he felt and the only thing he could think of to banish the cobwebs from his mind was a cold shower. With a sigh of resignation he turned the water on and stepped into the shower. The icy cold water thrilled every fibre of his body and set his nerves on end but he was wide awake when he stepped out. He brushed his teeth and drank a glass of water with two Aspirin in it. Quickly, he dressed in the expensive suit he had bought in Paris before his departure. Adam Pierson did not own anything so costly and proper and he had charged it to the credit card of his alias Mathew Jameson.
When he arrived at the cemetery he discovered that he was not the only gaijin. A young woman resembling his Shoko in an uncanny way and shaken with grief was supported by a handsome and very tall blond. The wheel of fate had a dark sense of humour after all.
He would not stand with the family and friends because he wasn’t either. He was a young stranger in an expensive black suit who had written a polite letter informing Shoko’s eldest son that his father was bedridden and would not be able to attend the funeral, not to mention come and see the deceased in her shini shôzoku before the cremation. So he made his way over to a shallow bank, just near enough to listen to the service.
At first he thought it was an animal in pain but then he realised that he could make out words like ‘help’ and ‘goddamnit’. English words. Methos looked around and did not spot anyone. None of the other people present seemed to hear the voice. He stepped down the other side of the bank. It was clearer now. A male voice, weak and hoarse from screaming, but decidedly human; a man screaming for his life. Methos shuddered despite the warm autumn day. He knew what he was dealing with now, had experienced it several times himself. Being buried alive was one of the most horrible experiences of his long life and something he did not wish on his worst enemy. Well, apart from Kronos, but that had been long ago and a necessary evil. Silently, he asked Shoko for forgiveness and followed the voice. His steps were almost soundless on the soft grass. A bird sang. It was most surreal.
In the middle of a family burial place he discovered the source. The muffled cries were becoming louder now. Awful memories flashed through his mind. Methos looked around. He could not start digging up a grave in broad daylight, especially not if the man down there was one of them. He did not feel his immortal buzz but this could have many reasons. If he was one of them. The grave wasn’t yet covered with grass but it was not fresh either. Whoever was down there had been buried for a few weeks. No mortal could survive this.
“Whoever you are, hang on,” he whispered. “I’ll be back.”
***
The sky was covered with heavy clouds and no moonshine lightened the darkness. This would make things harder and easier at the same time. Methos would have to use a lantern but hopefully nobody would spot him in the starless night. After packing some light food and two bottles of water into his rucksack, he sneaked back into the cemetery unseen and armed with a shovel and his sword. Better to be prepared for everything.
Apart from his breathing, his footsteps and the occasional clang from shovel against sword, there was no sound when he arrived at the grave. Either the man had died or fainted from exhaustion. Methos stashed his coat and rucksack behind a tombstone and started to dig. The soil was astonishingly hard and firm and it took him over two hours to reach the coffin. To make matters worse it started to rain.
“Perfect,” Methos snarled through gritted teeth. His arms burned and his back ached from the exertion. The man down there had better be grateful. With a screeching noise the shovel finally met the metal coffin. Another thirty minutes went by until the whole box was freed from the earth and laid open. Hands muddy, Methos reached for the lantern to get a better look. He gasped at the sight in front of him. Whoever had buried the poor bastard had known exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t a tomb, this was a prison. The coffin was firmly locked. Bugger it all. Methos was annoyed; he had not brought any tools, something which Amanda would find highly amusing. But then...
He frowned down on the metal coffin. Back in the good old days people had been buried wrapped up in linen or at least laid to rest in a wooden coffin. Provided that the person inside was immortal, metal made sure that he could not get out, ever. And someone thought that the man inside deserved this fate. Maybe he should get the hell out of there and forget about his find. Ignoring the water running down his face, Methos stared at the box he had just dug out. No, nobody deserved this; not the silence and the oppressing darkness; not the hunger and the thirst; not the claustrophobia and the hallucinations. Dying in a coffin was not easy. One suffocated a few times and died of thirst and madness in-between before starving on top of that. Methos sighed. Shamefully unprepared as he was, there was no way he would get the coffin open. He would have to leave and get proper tools.
***
Explaining his dirty and sweat- and rain-soaked attire was not too difficult. He surprised the shop owner with his flawless Japanese and a convincing lie about his car being stuck on an unpaved road outside the city did the rest. He purchased a hammer, a battery-powered screwdriver, which was harder to explain, a robust pair of gripping pliers and a pack of batteries. Thank gods for credit cards and gullible and overworked staff. He was pretty sure that any odd American would have taken him for a mad serial killer about to mutilate his latest victim. Well, desecrating a grave was so much more acceptable.
His luck held on the way back, though he almost ran into a group of drunken teenagers. It was extremely fortunate that the graveyard lay in the outskirts of Tokyo; when he arrived at the open grave it lay in silence, still. What if he had been wrong and the man down there had been mortal? Methos did not kid himself; he would not have wasted his time if he had believed that to be the case. Mortals died all the time, no matter how much he cared for them.
“Let’s get to it then,” he said aloud and took the screwdriver out of the plastic bag. In the light of the lantern he fumbled with the pack of batteries and pushed them in place. The noise of the screwdriver was annoyingly loud and he tried to hurry. It wasn’t easy to get a grip on the slippery coffin. Luckily, the screws loosened in no time, though he would have had considerable difficulties if he had to have done it manually. Bless the age of technology. The handles were more of a problem and it took all of his strength to pry them open. With a dull thud the coffin lid fell to the ground.
“About time,” Methos grumbled and peered inside. The man looked very young and he had obviously died of lack of oxygen, at least the last time. He was horribly thin and his face was frozen in a desperate grimace. “Well, you had better wake up from that, mate. Take a deep breath and say hello to the world.” Methos scrutinised the coffin. The silk fittings on the lid were ripped and torn. The man’s suit was bloody around the cuffs of his sleeves and so were his hands. Poor bastard. He sat down on his heels and waited.
The sudden intake of breath sounded unreal and startled him, even though he had been waiting for it. The immortal’s blue eyes were widened in horror.
“It’s all right. You’re safe now,” Methos said in what he hoped to be a soothing manner.
“Oh...oh God!” rasped the man, the terror of death still in his eyes. He had short blond hair, which was plastered to his head.
“Just breathe. You’re safe,” Methos repeated patiently. It took a few more shuddering breaths until a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks and his eyes cleared and focussed on Methos.
“Water?” asked Methos and got up, heading for his rucksack.
“Don’t leave me,” the man pleaded, his voice still hoarse. “God, I...it was dark, so dark and I called for help but no-one came.” His voice was hardly audible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Methos assured the man and rummaged in his rucksack for the bottle of water. The other grabbed it eagerly and took a deep gulp. He had been too greedy and, choking on it immediately, he coughed up water through his mouth and nose.
“Easy there,” warned Methos and the immortal obeyed, drinking more slowly. He gasped and sputtered more than everything else but the water that actually went down his throat did him good. He looked livelier already. “What’s your name?” asked Methos after a few minutes of watching him closely.
The voice was steadier and clearer now. “Adam Monroe. And thank you, I owe you my life.”
Adam, well...
“I’m Mathew,” Methos said smoothly, “and we both know that this is not true, strictly speaking. I may have spared you a long time of misery but being trapped in a coffin doesn’t kill us.”
Adam shot him a surprised look. “How did you...who sent you? The company?”
Methos did some quick thinking. Either he referred to whatever organisation buried him alive or he knew about the Watchers. Better to play dumb. “The one that did this to you? I think not.”
Adam eyed him out of his blood-shot but startlingly blue eyes, suspicion written all over his face. They were still sitting in the middle of a Japanese cemetery and dawn was fast approaching. Methos quickly checked the surroundings and then turned back to Adam, giving him his most sincere look.
“Listen, nobody sent me here. I was attending a funeral service when I heard you screaming. I could hardly start digging you out in broad daylight, so here I am, spending my night in a cemetery, desecrating a family grave. I understand your suspicions and, considering the state you’re in, they are probably justified, but we have to get out of here soon, so you had better trust me for the moment.”
After a few seconds, Adam nodded. “This may be a strange question...although, all things considered, maybe not.” His mouth was drawn into a weak smile. “Where are we?”
“We’re in Tokyo, Japan.”
“I see,” Adam said, a far-away look on his eyes, which was gone so quickly that Methos wondered if he had imagined it. “OK, I’ll trust you, Mathew,” Adam said at last. Unsteady and pale, he tried to get to his feet. Methos reached out and drew him up. They were about the same height but Adam’s clothes hung loosely around him.
“I brought you something to eat but you’ll have to chew and eat very slowly, all right?” Slowly, he let go of Adam, who wavered but did not fall. He reached into his rucksack once again and handed him a milk roll. With a slow smile Adam held it up close and smelt it, before taking a small bite. He closed his eyes and swallowed carefully.
“Now, come on,” Methos urged him. Leaving the shovel where it was, he heaved the rucksack on his back and offered Adam his left arm for support. Never his sword arm.
“You don’t happen to have a car, do you?” Adam asked as they slowly made their way toward the gate.
“No, sorry. We’ll have to get you to my hotel on foot.” Methos was not happy about that either. He hated to draw attention to himself and dragging in a man who looked half-dead did precisely that. “I told you, I am only here for a funeral.”
“Ah, it all falls into place,” remarked Adam dryly. Methos bit back a laugh. He did not want to push his new acquaintance and asked no more questions until they arrived at the hotel.
“This is going to be interesting. I booked a single and this is not the most exclusive hotel around, so they will notice. I’m sorry to say this but you look like death warmed over.”
“I see your point,” replied Adam with a grimace and looked regretfully down at himself.
“Believe me, I know how you’re feeling right now,” said Methos, ignoring the surprised look he got, “but in order to make this work you have to pull yourself together. Can you walk in on your own?”
Adam frowned at the building. He appeared weary and haggard but his body had healed to a certain extent. “Yes,” he said, determination in his voice.
“OK, put my coat on,” Methos ordered.
***
Adam looked very young and innocent as he slept soundly in Methos’ bed. The fact was exceedingly disconcerting because Methos had yet to feel his immortal buzz. Strange indeed. Methos would certainly not find any sleep while sharing the room with a strange immortal he could not feel. When they had arrived in his room, he had ordered a strong broth for Adam, who stayed hidden in the bathroom while it was delivered and who had eaten with great vigour afterwards. Methos had persuaded him to wait with the shower until the morning, since hot water would probably make him faint right away. Grudgingly, Adam had agreed and gone to sleep. Since then, Methos had been wondering how old he was and why he could not feel him.
From what he could see, Adam did not have the body of a fighter. He had a lean figure and his recovering body showed no signs of strong arm muscles. He seemed to be more of a runner, though capable of wielding a sword. All this was good news, since it meant that the man in Methos’ bed was not looking for fights, was not out for heads. Still, he had to be careful. A five-thousand-year-old head was a price most immortals would not refuse.
Methos stood up and walked over to him, having a closer look. “Who are you?” he asked quietly. Adam did not stir.
***
“God, this felt like heaven,” Adam said as he entered the room, a towel slung around his narrow hips. Methos nodded, knowing only too well how Adam felt (only that they had not had showers the last time he returned from the grave). He was almost completely healed. His skin looked healthier, his blood circulation apparently readjusted, and his eyes were lively and alert.
“Yes, a good night’s sleep, a decent meal and a hot shower do wonders,” he agreed. “Now that you’re better, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Adam tensed visibly but kept his smile. “What would that be? I can’t imagine what you would ask someone you dug out of a grave.” Methos grinned. He may not be able to trust the other man yet but he liked Adam’s sense of humour.
“You spoke of a company,” Methos started. He had been thinking about this, too. If Adam did not mean the Watchers he could be in big trouble. Another renegade organisation of mortals knowing too much for their own good, and with an unknown agenda, was exactly what Methos needed.
“I did,” Adam said hesitantly. It was obvious that he would not have mentioned it if he had been in better shape.
“I take it they know about us,” Methos went on.
“Us? Well, yes. This leads me to a question of my own. How did you know about my power? How did you know that I was immortal?” Arms folded, Adam frowned at Methos. He was dripping on the carpet but had apparently no intention of getting dressed before he received an answer.
“No mortal would have survived more than a day or two. Modern coffins are well-made and hermetically sealed. Mortals would suffocate rather than die of thirst or starve to death. The grave did not look fresh and thus you could only have been one of us,” Methos stated matter-of-factly.
Adam nodded but something about his reaction didn’t seem right. Methos watched him warily turn around and walk over to the bed, where his suit lay crumbled on the floor.
“You don’t need to wear that, you can have one of my shirts and a pair of shorts at least.” Methos got up and made his way over to the small commode next to the bed. He drew out a white shirt and a blue pair of boxer shorts and offered them to Adam.
“Cheers.” Adam took them with a nod and pulled them on without further ado. When he was finished he looked as harmless as a college student. Not that Methos fell for appearances; his favourite disguise was that of a scholar.
“When you say us, “Adam began, “do you mean that there are more people with our kind of power?”
Methos only stared at him. The man in front of him had to be younger than expected. With a sigh, he sat down on the bed. “Yes, I thought you knew. I didn’t expect you to be new to the game.”
“I’m not,” Adam replied hotly. “I’m nearly four hundred years old, give or take a few. I’m certainly not new to the game.”
Methos was stunned. This Adam was a miracle. How could he not have met other immortals by now? Was he lying to him? Or had he lost his mind in the grave?
“You’re not impressed?” Adam went on and somehow this seemed to shock him.
“No. I have friends and enemies who are much older than that. I myself am 756 years old,” he lied. The trick was to flesh out his aliases as much as possible. Mathew Jameson was one of his oldest living inventions and he worked quite well for Watchers and Immortals alike. Jameson was known to be peaceful and to avoid fights at all costs. He had amassed a considerable fortune over the centuries and commuted between London and his private island in the South Seas. He was used as a holiday assignment for burnt-out Watchers who usually sat on a yacht and watched the beach of Jameson Island.
“You are?” Adam paled. He looked forlorn, looked as if his world view had just shuttered.
Methos nodded. “Yes, but quite honestly, I can’t imagine how we escaped your notice. You must have felt us.”
Adam’s blue eyes showed only confusion. “How?”
Methos leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. This was becoming more and more curious. Adam had never felt an immortal buzz and Methos did not feel him. Could it be that he was some kind of anomaly? He had never heard of such a thing but it was not entirely impossible. But why did he say that the company knew about them? If he did not mean immortals who was he talking about?
“Adam, you have to help me out here. You have never met anyone like yourself and yet you spoke of a company who is aware of us. To be honest, I am confused,” Methos admitted. Adam gave him a long look Methos could not read.
“This may take a while,” Adam said eventually. “Would you mind if we grab a bite?”
***
“This is much better,” grinned Adam and stuffed the nigiri-zushi into his mouth. Methos sipped on his tea. They sat in a small sushi-ya near the hotel and Adam was steadily making his way through the meal in front of him. Methos only wanted a beer but, of course, they did not serve any drinkable brands. Just his luck. The place was ideal though. There was only one customer besides them and the old man was content to drink his tea and read a newspaper.
It was a beautiful day and if he had not been so tired he would have been able to enjoy it. It had been some time since he had been in Japan and he would have loved to catch up on things. And then there was Shoko’s death that still dampened his mood. The two of them had been happy once, too many years ago.
“All right.” Adam had finally finished his meal. “The company I mentioned was founded over thirty years ago with the purpose of saving the world. People with special abilities came together and tried to make the world a better place. I say ‘tried’ because the company has long become corrupted. I spent the last three decades in a high-security prison because I had not approved of the course the company was taking. I was considered a threat and locked away. Through a series of very fortunate circumstances I managed to break out very recently. Well, obviously, they caught up with me and tried to make sure that I would never bother them again.”
“People with special abilities such as what?” asked Methos.
“Regeneration, teleportation, levitation...the list goes on. I knew people who could kill with their minds, go nuclear or had superhuman strength. There seems to be a circle of some sort, since the same abilities re-emerge after a few generations. The company has kept track of every individual with special abilities they were able to locate. This is not as difficult as it appears to be, since mutated genes are hereditary. I was involved with their research and that’s why I thought I knew that apart from me and a girl named Claire there were no regenerators in existence.” Adam smiled cynically. “Consequently your revelation that there are many more took me by surprise.”
“I see,” nodded Methos. Provided that one believed in rapid and spontaneous evolution, this actually made sense. As long as Methos could remember - and this was a very long time - there had always been mediums and people with psychic powers. What if all the myths and legends about giants and monsters went back to humans with a few mutated genes? “Well, it is fairly obvious that there is no us in a broader sense,” Methos said smiling and, leaning back in his chair, he added, “I take it you were somewhat important to this company at one point.”
“I was privy to classified information, yes,” admitted Adam. “I knew about their long-term plans and, most importantly, I knew about a virus that would have wiped out over 90% of the world’s population if ever released. Fortunately, my collaborators and I managed to destroy the virus after our escape. This is for what I was buried alive.”
Excellent, another end-of-the-world virus. Kronos would be so pleased. Methos took another sip of tea to conceal his emotions. Kronos, Silas and Kaspian had had to die but they had also been his brothers for a very, very long time. Using a virus to recreate the good old days had been madness but deep down Methos was aware of the undeniable truth: he had liked the thrill. Being back with his brothers, concocting plans that really challenged his mind - it had been exciting. He gave Adam a closer look. There was a bitter streak around his mouth, which was understandable, but there was also a strange glimmer in his eyes. Adam had not told him everything, which was generally fine with Methos. Though young, the other man was no fool and did not trust easily. There was something about him that drew Methos in. Moreover, Adam was the key to a source of knowledge Methos had not known existed. These mutants were a group of people he had failed to identify for over 5000 years and he itched to know more about them. When did they first appear? How did it all start? Was Adam right or were there older regenerators, children of the millennia like himself, Cassandra and Amanda? Survival was not only based on swordplay and physical power. Keeping the mind occupied was just as vital. Methos knew very well that an immortal weary of life was a dead immortal, as paradoxical as it sounded.
“And what will the company do when they find an empty grave?” Methos asked shrewdly.
Adam grimaced as if in pain. “They will go after me and make sure that my next resting place will be more permanent.”
“Why did they not kill you thirty years ago?”
“Because I cannot be killed,” Adam said a little too quickly. Ah, so there was an Achilles heel. “Can you?”
Methos took refuge in another mouthful of tea. Smart boy; he needed to be more careful with what he divulged in front of him, even indirectly. Telling Adam about the game could turn out to be fatal. On the other hand, if he wanted to learn more about the company he had to gain Adam’s trust.
“My kind...we all take part in a game,” he said eventually.
“A game?” Adam cocked an eyebrow and gave him an inquisitive look.
“A game to the death. There are rules to be obeyed, ancient rules. We face each other in combat, hand to hand. The winner takes the loser’s life and grows stronger. There can be only one,” Methos explained darkly.
“I assume there are weapons involved,” Adam said dryly.
“Swords.”
“Ah, of course,” smiled Adam. “This must be the reason you had a sword hidden in your coat last night.”
Methos could only nod. Adam might have been half-dead but he had been perceptive. Another reason to be on guard around him. It would be so easy to wish him a good life and board the next plane, getting away from him as far as possible. But Methos had not felt so alive and curious in a very long time. There was something he knew nothing about and Adam was part of it. He was a riddle, an intriguing distraction with as many facets as a prism.
“A long time ago, I used to have a sword myself, a special sword. It was forged by the greatest swordsmith alive. A sword like no other. It changed history. It changed me,” Adam said, apparently lost in memories. Then, abruptly, he snapped out of it, his mouth drawn into a cynical smile. “The company acquired it and used it against me.”
Methos shrugged. “Swords are swords. You sound like they are the stuff of legends. Like in the local legend of Kensei Takezō a good friend told me of.” The memory was bittersweet; the friend had been Shoko.
“A sword drawn out of a field of solid ice by the hero Takezō Kensei,” Adam recollected. “Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
“Mortal sentimentality,” Methos said, running a hand through his hair. He wore it short again to look older. Continuing his work for the Watchers was only possible because he had taken a research post in a rather remote and insignificant archive in Brittany and changed his looks somewhat a few years back. Mortal sentimentality indeed. It would soon be time to move on. “If you live long enough you can watch metal rust and the best swords crumble. Nothing is forever.”
Adam’s eyes lit up at that. “I’ve never thought it possible to actually meet someone older than me.”
“Only by a couple of hundred years,” Methos replied quickly.
Eagerly, Adam leaned forward. “How old are the eldest among you?”
Methos made a discarding gesture. “A few thousand years, I guess. There are myths but one hardly ever meets someone older than a millennium.”
“And they never despaired of what they saw? The never-ending wars and plagues, the insanity of it all. Haven’t you?” The glint in Adam’s eyes lightened up his features and he looked as if the topic meant a lot to him.
“We all have to go through our angry adolescence,” Methos said carefully. He now recognised the look on Adam’s face because he had seen it before, a long time ago, when mirrors were still made of sanded copper.
“Angry adolescence?” asked Adam incredulously.
“Well, yes. Thoughts of grandeur and superiority based on our prolonged existence. World weariness and despair at the misery around us. Been there, done that.” It was Methos’ turn for cynicism.
The glimmer in Adam’s eyes died and something like defeat flickered over his face. It was gone in an instant and all that was left was a youthful-looking immortal with big blue eyes and a hesitant smile. Methos heart ached at the sight of him and he did not want to think about the why.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said after a few more seconds. “Being trapped in a coffin certainly causes dark thoughts and fuels the desire for revenge. I’m grateful to you, Mathew, I really am. I didn’t want to spoil the day.”
“You didn’t,” Methos assured him, pushing his chair back. “But we should get you some new clothes and a hotel room of your own. Ready to go?” He had made up his mind. As likeable and fascinating as Adam was, he could not risk being around him. Checking up on people with special abilities would be more difficult without Adam but not impossible. So Methos would assist him to get back on his feet and tomorrow he would catch his flight, just as planned. Yes, that was what he was going to do.
tbc
***
Immortals love feedback.
***
Story: The Sounding of a Trumpet
Title: In the Beginning
Rating: PG
Characters: Adam, Methos
Pairing: None yet, eventually Adam/Methos.
Disclaimer: I do neither own Highlander the Series nor Heroes. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Note: I'm having so much fun writing this story, so please, somebody read it. ;)
The sounding of a trumpet
Prologue: In the Beginning
Two days after he had received the call he arrived in Japan. As so many times before, he was shocked to learn about the death of someone he loved. It had happened countless times over the course of five thousand years but it still hurt every single time anew.
He had not seen Kamiya Shoko in thirty years - though there had been frequent letters and the occasional phone call - but that she still listed him as one of her closest friends touched him. He had loved her once. In her twenties she had been a beautiful woman with skin the colour of almonds and hair as dark as sin and shiny as silk. Of course, he had to leave her in the end. She had not wanted to leave Japan, where their love had been frowned upon at the time, and she had also longed for children of her own, a wish he could not grant. Nevertheless, they had stayed in touch and he had congratulated her when she married and became the proud mother of a sweet daughter and two sons.
Now she was dead and there would be no more letters. He would miss her subtle humour and her kindness. Like so many others she had never known his real name.
***
The funeral was set to be in the afternoon and Methos woke up just in time. There wasn’t only the jet-lag to blame, he had been drinking a bottle of sake in Shoko’s honour the night before. Make that two. A pity that even immortals suffered from hangovers. If he had made it through one more bottle he would have died from alcohol poisoning and woken up right as rain. The look into the mirror told him that he looked like he felt and the only thing he could think of to banish the cobwebs from his mind was a cold shower. With a sigh of resignation he turned the water on and stepped into the shower. The icy cold water thrilled every fibre of his body and set his nerves on end but he was wide awake when he stepped out. He brushed his teeth and drank a glass of water with two Aspirin in it. Quickly, he dressed in the expensive suit he had bought in Paris before his departure. Adam Pierson did not own anything so costly and proper and he had charged it to the credit card of his alias Mathew Jameson.
When he arrived at the cemetery he discovered that he was not the only gaijin. A young woman resembling his Shoko in an uncanny way and shaken with grief was supported by a handsome and very tall blond. The wheel of fate had a dark sense of humour after all.
He would not stand with the family and friends because he wasn’t either. He was a young stranger in an expensive black suit who had written a polite letter informing Shoko’s eldest son that his father was bedridden and would not be able to attend the funeral, not to mention come and see the deceased in her shini shôzoku before the cremation. So he made his way over to a shallow bank, just near enough to listen to the service.
At first he thought it was an animal in pain but then he realised that he could make out words like ‘help’ and ‘goddamnit’. English words. Methos looked around and did not spot anyone. None of the other people present seemed to hear the voice. He stepped down the other side of the bank. It was clearer now. A male voice, weak and hoarse from screaming, but decidedly human; a man screaming for his life. Methos shuddered despite the warm autumn day. He knew what he was dealing with now, had experienced it several times himself. Being buried alive was one of the most horrible experiences of his long life and something he did not wish on his worst enemy. Well, apart from Kronos, but that had been long ago and a necessary evil. Silently, he asked Shoko for forgiveness and followed the voice. His steps were almost soundless on the soft grass. A bird sang. It was most surreal.
In the middle of a family burial place he discovered the source. The muffled cries were becoming louder now. Awful memories flashed through his mind. Methos looked around. He could not start digging up a grave in broad daylight, especially not if the man down there was one of them. He did not feel his immortal buzz but this could have many reasons. If he was one of them. The grave wasn’t yet covered with grass but it was not fresh either. Whoever was down there had been buried for a few weeks. No mortal could survive this.
“Whoever you are, hang on,” he whispered. “I’ll be back.”
***
The sky was covered with heavy clouds and no moonshine lightened the darkness. This would make things harder and easier at the same time. Methos would have to use a lantern but hopefully nobody would spot him in the starless night. After packing some light food and two bottles of water into his rucksack, he sneaked back into the cemetery unseen and armed with a shovel and his sword. Better to be prepared for everything.
Apart from his breathing, his footsteps and the occasional clang from shovel against sword, there was no sound when he arrived at the grave. Either the man had died or fainted from exhaustion. Methos stashed his coat and rucksack behind a tombstone and started to dig. The soil was astonishingly hard and firm and it took him over two hours to reach the coffin. To make matters worse it started to rain.
“Perfect,” Methos snarled through gritted teeth. His arms burned and his back ached from the exertion. The man down there had better be grateful. With a screeching noise the shovel finally met the metal coffin. Another thirty minutes went by until the whole box was freed from the earth and laid open. Hands muddy, Methos reached for the lantern to get a better look. He gasped at the sight in front of him. Whoever had buried the poor bastard had known exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t a tomb, this was a prison. The coffin was firmly locked. Bugger it all. Methos was annoyed; he had not brought any tools, something which Amanda would find highly amusing. But then...
He frowned down on the metal coffin. Back in the good old days people had been buried wrapped up in linen or at least laid to rest in a wooden coffin. Provided that the person inside was immortal, metal made sure that he could not get out, ever. And someone thought that the man inside deserved this fate. Maybe he should get the hell out of there and forget about his find. Ignoring the water running down his face, Methos stared at the box he had just dug out. No, nobody deserved this; not the silence and the oppressing darkness; not the hunger and the thirst; not the claustrophobia and the hallucinations. Dying in a coffin was not easy. One suffocated a few times and died of thirst and madness in-between before starving on top of that. Methos sighed. Shamefully unprepared as he was, there was no way he would get the coffin open. He would have to leave and get proper tools.
***
Explaining his dirty and sweat- and rain-soaked attire was not too difficult. He surprised the shop owner with his flawless Japanese and a convincing lie about his car being stuck on an unpaved road outside the city did the rest. He purchased a hammer, a battery-powered screwdriver, which was harder to explain, a robust pair of gripping pliers and a pack of batteries. Thank gods for credit cards and gullible and overworked staff. He was pretty sure that any odd American would have taken him for a mad serial killer about to mutilate his latest victim. Well, desecrating a grave was so much more acceptable.
His luck held on the way back, though he almost ran into a group of drunken teenagers. It was extremely fortunate that the graveyard lay in the outskirts of Tokyo; when he arrived at the open grave it lay in silence, still. What if he had been wrong and the man down there had been mortal? Methos did not kid himself; he would not have wasted his time if he had believed that to be the case. Mortals died all the time, no matter how much he cared for them.
“Let’s get to it then,” he said aloud and took the screwdriver out of the plastic bag. In the light of the lantern he fumbled with the pack of batteries and pushed them in place. The noise of the screwdriver was annoyingly loud and he tried to hurry. It wasn’t easy to get a grip on the slippery coffin. Luckily, the screws loosened in no time, though he would have had considerable difficulties if he had to have done it manually. Bless the age of technology. The handles were more of a problem and it took all of his strength to pry them open. With a dull thud the coffin lid fell to the ground.
“About time,” Methos grumbled and peered inside. The man looked very young and he had obviously died of lack of oxygen, at least the last time. He was horribly thin and his face was frozen in a desperate grimace. “Well, you had better wake up from that, mate. Take a deep breath and say hello to the world.” Methos scrutinised the coffin. The silk fittings on the lid were ripped and torn. The man’s suit was bloody around the cuffs of his sleeves and so were his hands. Poor bastard. He sat down on his heels and waited.
The sudden intake of breath sounded unreal and startled him, even though he had been waiting for it. The immortal’s blue eyes were widened in horror.
“It’s all right. You’re safe now,” Methos said in what he hoped to be a soothing manner.
“Oh...oh God!” rasped the man, the terror of death still in his eyes. He had short blond hair, which was plastered to his head.
“Just breathe. You’re safe,” Methos repeated patiently. It took a few more shuddering breaths until a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks and his eyes cleared and focussed on Methos.
“Water?” asked Methos and got up, heading for his rucksack.
“Don’t leave me,” the man pleaded, his voice still hoarse. “God, I...it was dark, so dark and I called for help but no-one came.” His voice was hardly audible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Methos assured the man and rummaged in his rucksack for the bottle of water. The other grabbed it eagerly and took a deep gulp. He had been too greedy and, choking on it immediately, he coughed up water through his mouth and nose.
“Easy there,” warned Methos and the immortal obeyed, drinking more slowly. He gasped and sputtered more than everything else but the water that actually went down his throat did him good. He looked livelier already. “What’s your name?” asked Methos after a few minutes of watching him closely.
The voice was steadier and clearer now. “Adam Monroe. And thank you, I owe you my life.”
Adam, well...
“I’m Mathew,” Methos said smoothly, “and we both know that this is not true, strictly speaking. I may have spared you a long time of misery but being trapped in a coffin doesn’t kill us.”
Adam shot him a surprised look. “How did you...who sent you? The company?”
Methos did some quick thinking. Either he referred to whatever organisation buried him alive or he knew about the Watchers. Better to play dumb. “The one that did this to you? I think not.”
Adam eyed him out of his blood-shot but startlingly blue eyes, suspicion written all over his face. They were still sitting in the middle of a Japanese cemetery and dawn was fast approaching. Methos quickly checked the surroundings and then turned back to Adam, giving him his most sincere look.
“Listen, nobody sent me here. I was attending a funeral service when I heard you screaming. I could hardly start digging you out in broad daylight, so here I am, spending my night in a cemetery, desecrating a family grave. I understand your suspicions and, considering the state you’re in, they are probably justified, but we have to get out of here soon, so you had better trust me for the moment.”
After a few seconds, Adam nodded. “This may be a strange question...although, all things considered, maybe not.” His mouth was drawn into a weak smile. “Where are we?”
“We’re in Tokyo, Japan.”
“I see,” Adam said, a far-away look on his eyes, which was gone so quickly that Methos wondered if he had imagined it. “OK, I’ll trust you, Mathew,” Adam said at last. Unsteady and pale, he tried to get to his feet. Methos reached out and drew him up. They were about the same height but Adam’s clothes hung loosely around him.
“I brought you something to eat but you’ll have to chew and eat very slowly, all right?” Slowly, he let go of Adam, who wavered but did not fall. He reached into his rucksack once again and handed him a milk roll. With a slow smile Adam held it up close and smelt it, before taking a small bite. He closed his eyes and swallowed carefully.
“Now, come on,” Methos urged him. Leaving the shovel where it was, he heaved the rucksack on his back and offered Adam his left arm for support. Never his sword arm.
“You don’t happen to have a car, do you?” Adam asked as they slowly made their way toward the gate.
“No, sorry. We’ll have to get you to my hotel on foot.” Methos was not happy about that either. He hated to draw attention to himself and dragging in a man who looked half-dead did precisely that. “I told you, I am only here for a funeral.”
“Ah, it all falls into place,” remarked Adam dryly. Methos bit back a laugh. He did not want to push his new acquaintance and asked no more questions until they arrived at the hotel.
“This is going to be interesting. I booked a single and this is not the most exclusive hotel around, so they will notice. I’m sorry to say this but you look like death warmed over.”
“I see your point,” replied Adam with a grimace and looked regretfully down at himself.
“Believe me, I know how you’re feeling right now,” said Methos, ignoring the surprised look he got, “but in order to make this work you have to pull yourself together. Can you walk in on your own?”
Adam frowned at the building. He appeared weary and haggard but his body had healed to a certain extent. “Yes,” he said, determination in his voice.
“OK, put my coat on,” Methos ordered.
***
Adam looked very young and innocent as he slept soundly in Methos’ bed. The fact was exceedingly disconcerting because Methos had yet to feel his immortal buzz. Strange indeed. Methos would certainly not find any sleep while sharing the room with a strange immortal he could not feel. When they had arrived in his room, he had ordered a strong broth for Adam, who stayed hidden in the bathroom while it was delivered and who had eaten with great vigour afterwards. Methos had persuaded him to wait with the shower until the morning, since hot water would probably make him faint right away. Grudgingly, Adam had agreed and gone to sleep. Since then, Methos had been wondering how old he was and why he could not feel him.
From what he could see, Adam did not have the body of a fighter. He had a lean figure and his recovering body showed no signs of strong arm muscles. He seemed to be more of a runner, though capable of wielding a sword. All this was good news, since it meant that the man in Methos’ bed was not looking for fights, was not out for heads. Still, he had to be careful. A five-thousand-year-old head was a price most immortals would not refuse.
Methos stood up and walked over to him, having a closer look. “Who are you?” he asked quietly. Adam did not stir.
***
“God, this felt like heaven,” Adam said as he entered the room, a towel slung around his narrow hips. Methos nodded, knowing only too well how Adam felt (only that they had not had showers the last time he returned from the grave). He was almost completely healed. His skin looked healthier, his blood circulation apparently readjusted, and his eyes were lively and alert.
“Yes, a good night’s sleep, a decent meal and a hot shower do wonders,” he agreed. “Now that you’re better, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Adam tensed visibly but kept his smile. “What would that be? I can’t imagine what you would ask someone you dug out of a grave.” Methos grinned. He may not be able to trust the other man yet but he liked Adam’s sense of humour.
“You spoke of a company,” Methos started. He had been thinking about this, too. If Adam did not mean the Watchers he could be in big trouble. Another renegade organisation of mortals knowing too much for their own good, and with an unknown agenda, was exactly what Methos needed.
“I did,” Adam said hesitantly. It was obvious that he would not have mentioned it if he had been in better shape.
“I take it they know about us,” Methos went on.
“Us? Well, yes. This leads me to a question of my own. How did you know about my power? How did you know that I was immortal?” Arms folded, Adam frowned at Methos. He was dripping on the carpet but had apparently no intention of getting dressed before he received an answer.
“No mortal would have survived more than a day or two. Modern coffins are well-made and hermetically sealed. Mortals would suffocate rather than die of thirst or starve to death. The grave did not look fresh and thus you could only have been one of us,” Methos stated matter-of-factly.
Adam nodded but something about his reaction didn’t seem right. Methos watched him warily turn around and walk over to the bed, where his suit lay crumbled on the floor.
“You don’t need to wear that, you can have one of my shirts and a pair of shorts at least.” Methos got up and made his way over to the small commode next to the bed. He drew out a white shirt and a blue pair of boxer shorts and offered them to Adam.
“Cheers.” Adam took them with a nod and pulled them on without further ado. When he was finished he looked as harmless as a college student. Not that Methos fell for appearances; his favourite disguise was that of a scholar.
“When you say us, “Adam began, “do you mean that there are more people with our kind of power?”
Methos only stared at him. The man in front of him had to be younger than expected. With a sigh, he sat down on the bed. “Yes, I thought you knew. I didn’t expect you to be new to the game.”
“I’m not,” Adam replied hotly. “I’m nearly four hundred years old, give or take a few. I’m certainly not new to the game.”
Methos was stunned. This Adam was a miracle. How could he not have met other immortals by now? Was he lying to him? Or had he lost his mind in the grave?
“You’re not impressed?” Adam went on and somehow this seemed to shock him.
“No. I have friends and enemies who are much older than that. I myself am 756 years old,” he lied. The trick was to flesh out his aliases as much as possible. Mathew Jameson was one of his oldest living inventions and he worked quite well for Watchers and Immortals alike. Jameson was known to be peaceful and to avoid fights at all costs. He had amassed a considerable fortune over the centuries and commuted between London and his private island in the South Seas. He was used as a holiday assignment for burnt-out Watchers who usually sat on a yacht and watched the beach of Jameson Island.
“You are?” Adam paled. He looked forlorn, looked as if his world view had just shuttered.
Methos nodded. “Yes, but quite honestly, I can’t imagine how we escaped your notice. You must have felt us.”
Adam’s blue eyes showed only confusion. “How?”
Methos leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. This was becoming more and more curious. Adam had never felt an immortal buzz and Methos did not feel him. Could it be that he was some kind of anomaly? He had never heard of such a thing but it was not entirely impossible. But why did he say that the company knew about them? If he did not mean immortals who was he talking about?
“Adam, you have to help me out here. You have never met anyone like yourself and yet you spoke of a company who is aware of us. To be honest, I am confused,” Methos admitted. Adam gave him a long look Methos could not read.
“This may take a while,” Adam said eventually. “Would you mind if we grab a bite?”
***
“This is much better,” grinned Adam and stuffed the nigiri-zushi into his mouth. Methos sipped on his tea. They sat in a small sushi-ya near the hotel and Adam was steadily making his way through the meal in front of him. Methos only wanted a beer but, of course, they did not serve any drinkable brands. Just his luck. The place was ideal though. There was only one customer besides them and the old man was content to drink his tea and read a newspaper.
It was a beautiful day and if he had not been so tired he would have been able to enjoy it. It had been some time since he had been in Japan and he would have loved to catch up on things. And then there was Shoko’s death that still dampened his mood. The two of them had been happy once, too many years ago.
“All right.” Adam had finally finished his meal. “The company I mentioned was founded over thirty years ago with the purpose of saving the world. People with special abilities came together and tried to make the world a better place. I say ‘tried’ because the company has long become corrupted. I spent the last three decades in a high-security prison because I had not approved of the course the company was taking. I was considered a threat and locked away. Through a series of very fortunate circumstances I managed to break out very recently. Well, obviously, they caught up with me and tried to make sure that I would never bother them again.”
“People with special abilities such as what?” asked Methos.
“Regeneration, teleportation, levitation...the list goes on. I knew people who could kill with their minds, go nuclear or had superhuman strength. There seems to be a circle of some sort, since the same abilities re-emerge after a few generations. The company has kept track of every individual with special abilities they were able to locate. This is not as difficult as it appears to be, since mutated genes are hereditary. I was involved with their research and that’s why I thought I knew that apart from me and a girl named Claire there were no regenerators in existence.” Adam smiled cynically. “Consequently your revelation that there are many more took me by surprise.”
“I see,” nodded Methos. Provided that one believed in rapid and spontaneous evolution, this actually made sense. As long as Methos could remember - and this was a very long time - there had always been mediums and people with psychic powers. What if all the myths and legends about giants and monsters went back to humans with a few mutated genes? “Well, it is fairly obvious that there is no us in a broader sense,” Methos said smiling and, leaning back in his chair, he added, “I take it you were somewhat important to this company at one point.”
“I was privy to classified information, yes,” admitted Adam. “I knew about their long-term plans and, most importantly, I knew about a virus that would have wiped out over 90% of the world’s population if ever released. Fortunately, my collaborators and I managed to destroy the virus after our escape. This is for what I was buried alive.”
Excellent, another end-of-the-world virus. Kronos would be so pleased. Methos took another sip of tea to conceal his emotions. Kronos, Silas and Kaspian had had to die but they had also been his brothers for a very, very long time. Using a virus to recreate the good old days had been madness but deep down Methos was aware of the undeniable truth: he had liked the thrill. Being back with his brothers, concocting plans that really challenged his mind - it had been exciting. He gave Adam a closer look. There was a bitter streak around his mouth, which was understandable, but there was also a strange glimmer in his eyes. Adam had not told him everything, which was generally fine with Methos. Though young, the other man was no fool and did not trust easily. There was something about him that drew Methos in. Moreover, Adam was the key to a source of knowledge Methos had not known existed. These mutants were a group of people he had failed to identify for over 5000 years and he itched to know more about them. When did they first appear? How did it all start? Was Adam right or were there older regenerators, children of the millennia like himself, Cassandra and Amanda? Survival was not only based on swordplay and physical power. Keeping the mind occupied was just as vital. Methos knew very well that an immortal weary of life was a dead immortal, as paradoxical as it sounded.
“And what will the company do when they find an empty grave?” Methos asked shrewdly.
Adam grimaced as if in pain. “They will go after me and make sure that my next resting place will be more permanent.”
“Why did they not kill you thirty years ago?”
“Because I cannot be killed,” Adam said a little too quickly. Ah, so there was an Achilles heel. “Can you?”
Methos took refuge in another mouthful of tea. Smart boy; he needed to be more careful with what he divulged in front of him, even indirectly. Telling Adam about the game could turn out to be fatal. On the other hand, if he wanted to learn more about the company he had to gain Adam’s trust.
“My kind...we all take part in a game,” he said eventually.
“A game?” Adam cocked an eyebrow and gave him an inquisitive look.
“A game to the death. There are rules to be obeyed, ancient rules. We face each other in combat, hand to hand. The winner takes the loser’s life and grows stronger. There can be only one,” Methos explained darkly.
“I assume there are weapons involved,” Adam said dryly.
“Swords.”
“Ah, of course,” smiled Adam. “This must be the reason you had a sword hidden in your coat last night.”
Methos could only nod. Adam might have been half-dead but he had been perceptive. Another reason to be on guard around him. It would be so easy to wish him a good life and board the next plane, getting away from him as far as possible. But Methos had not felt so alive and curious in a very long time. There was something he knew nothing about and Adam was part of it. He was a riddle, an intriguing distraction with as many facets as a prism.
“A long time ago, I used to have a sword myself, a special sword. It was forged by the greatest swordsmith alive. A sword like no other. It changed history. It changed me,” Adam said, apparently lost in memories. Then, abruptly, he snapped out of it, his mouth drawn into a cynical smile. “The company acquired it and used it against me.”
Methos shrugged. “Swords are swords. You sound like they are the stuff of legends. Like in the local legend of Kensei Takezō a good friend told me of.” The memory was bittersweet; the friend had been Shoko.
“A sword drawn out of a field of solid ice by the hero Takezō Kensei,” Adam recollected. “Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
“Mortal sentimentality,” Methos said, running a hand through his hair. He wore it short again to look older. Continuing his work for the Watchers was only possible because he had taken a research post in a rather remote and insignificant archive in Brittany and changed his looks somewhat a few years back. Mortal sentimentality indeed. It would soon be time to move on. “If you live long enough you can watch metal rust and the best swords crumble. Nothing is forever.”
Adam’s eyes lit up at that. “I’ve never thought it possible to actually meet someone older than me.”
“Only by a couple of hundred years,” Methos replied quickly.
Eagerly, Adam leaned forward. “How old are the eldest among you?”
Methos made a discarding gesture. “A few thousand years, I guess. There are myths but one hardly ever meets someone older than a millennium.”
“And they never despaired of what they saw? The never-ending wars and plagues, the insanity of it all. Haven’t you?” The glint in Adam’s eyes lightened up his features and he looked as if the topic meant a lot to him.
“We all have to go through our angry adolescence,” Methos said carefully. He now recognised the look on Adam’s face because he had seen it before, a long time ago, when mirrors were still made of sanded copper.
“Angry adolescence?” asked Adam incredulously.
“Well, yes. Thoughts of grandeur and superiority based on our prolonged existence. World weariness and despair at the misery around us. Been there, done that.” It was Methos’ turn for cynicism.
The glimmer in Adam’s eyes died and something like defeat flickered over his face. It was gone in an instant and all that was left was a youthful-looking immortal with big blue eyes and a hesitant smile. Methos heart ached at the sight of him and he did not want to think about the why.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said after a few more seconds. “Being trapped in a coffin certainly causes dark thoughts and fuels the desire for revenge. I’m grateful to you, Mathew, I really am. I didn’t want to spoil the day.”
“You didn’t,” Methos assured him, pushing his chair back. “But we should get you some new clothes and a hotel room of your own. Ready to go?” He had made up his mind. As likeable and fascinating as Adam was, he could not risk being around him. Checking up on people with special abilities would be more difficult without Adam but not impossible. So Methos would assist him to get back on his feet and tomorrow he would catch his flight, just as planned. Yes, that was what he was going to do.
tbc
***
Immortals love feedback.
***