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The River

Part Twenty-Eight: Ice and Fire

Ash was on her knees, a shadowy figure crouched low against a stone wall, almost invisible in the darkness. The first thing she became aware of was the cold rain dripping down her neck. The second was the sword in her hand. The third and fourth came almost simultaneously, the wall was part of the broad curved arch of a bridge over a river and there was a headless body under there with her.

Who was he? It would come back to her, it always did. It was just that some Quickenings were more difficult to assimilate, harder to take in, and this one was complicated by a severe blackout that had left her confused. How had she come to be here? Where was she going? From somewhere? To somewhere? �For me, it�s usually from somewhere,� she thought.

Ash looked for her other falcata and spied it lying a short distance away. She got up shakily, retrieved it, and moved deeper under the arch to get away from the worst of the wind-driven rain. She found her backpack and sat down next to it, trying to remember. She was distracted by the feelings rushing through her. They weren�t hers; they belonged to the headless one. He hadn�t been particularly bad or strong, it was just that his feelings had been too painfully close to hers, a pathetic search for love he never knew how to find, and now never would. It didn�t matter anymore, he lay dead, soon to be as cold as the stones of the quay.

The quay, that jump-started her recall and her memory kicked in again. �The river is the Seine. I�m in Paris, and Duncan�s barge is just down the quay.� It was all coming back, but first she had business to take care of.

Ash laid her falcatas in a puddle and allowed the streaming rain to rinse off the blood. She checked through the corpse�s pockets, removed anything that could identify him, then dragged the body to the edge and pushed it over into the river, followed by the head. She knew from long experience that the body would drift away with the current, and the water was so cold that there would be no decomposition gasses to make it float. It might come up in the spring, but by then it would be washed clean, unrecognizable, and far from here. The head would sink into the silt, never to be seen again.

�He brought it on himself,� she thought, �I gave him the chance to call it off and withdraw, but he wouldn�t back down.�

Ash picked up her swords, dried them as best she could on her sweater, then resheathed them. She was freezing and wet to the skin, but she had no choice. She sat down in the damp shelter of the arch, struggling to remember what had led to this. It came back, slowly.

She�d left Duncan and Methos at the barge and had gone to Joe�s in search of one night�s rest. Joe had been sitting on a stool on the small stage of Le Blues Bar when Ash walked in. He was playing the guitar, eyes closed, deep in the music, the bottleneck on his middle finger giving it that shivery sound. Ash smiled, dropped her backpack on the floor by a barstool, and sat down.

After a few minutes he shifted into another tune and began to sing softly.

�No one ever loved that river, rain from the highlands, a mirror for the Cajun moon
A road without a memory of anything that started out as blue
Well you can pour me like a jug of wine into the Gulf of Mexico, honey, until the end of time
But no one ever loved that river the way I love you��

It was only when he finished that he saw her. He put down the guitar, and trading it for his cane he walked over to her with his hitching step.

She stood up and said, �That was wonderful. I always wish I�d learned to play.�

Joe looked at her in surprise and said, �Don�t tell me that in two thousand years you never learned a musical instrument.�

Ash�s eyes were sad yet cold as she said, �All I ever learned was how to make a sword sing.�

�Well I guess that�s probably more important in your line of work.� Joe looked at her speculatively and asked, �Could you come to my office for a minute? I�d like to ask you about something.�

She slung her backpack onto her shoulder and followed him to his office. Joe sat down at the computer and said, �I have a couple of pictures I want to show you.� He clicked on a folder and pulled up two photos. Both showed a man who appeared to be important, at least that was the inference to be drawn by his expensive clothes, arrogant manner, and the obviously subservient attitude of those people around him.

Joe clicked to enlarge the second picture to show someone in the background, a small woman with short curly hair, wearing a khaki colored short-sleeved shirt. There was a deep burn scar on her left arm almost like a brand, just above the elbow.

Ash smiled cynically. �So the Watchers finally caught me.�

�They don�t know anything, to them you�re just background noise.�

�And you won�t tell them?�

�I already said I wouldn�t tell them, but I want you to tell me.�

�Tell you what?� Ash�s eyes narrowed.

�This was one of three Immortals killed in the last year, and the Watchers don�t know who killed them.�

Ash dropped her pack on the floor, sat on the couch, and said, �Is that so unusual? Surely the Watchers don�t know who kills who every time?�

Joe swiveled his chair to look at her as he answered, �Most of the time, we do. And these three were killed by the same odd means. Our forensic people think that it�s two small axes, used together.� Joe seemed to change the subject. �I was researching your swords. The article said the falcata, due to the shape of its blade, hits with a force resembling an axe more than a sword. Now I ask you, do all these things tie together?�

Ash leaned back on the couch and stretched. The thought of lying crossed her mind, but she let it go. She�d risk telling him, it wouldn�t matter now. �Yes, they all tie together in a neat little package. It�s�what did you call it? My line of work. It�s what I do. I kill those who need to die for the good of everyone else.�

�And who decides who needs to die?�

�I do. I look at their contribution to the world and decide if they deserve to live. If they don�t, I kill them.� Ash met his eyes. Hers were cold, but his held concern.

�Why do you risk yourself like that?�

Ash noticed he didn�t question her right to judge. She answered him almost truthfully. �It�s what I feel I have to do.�

�You do know about MacLeod�s dark Quickening, don�t you? Aren�t you afraid of overloading? How long do you think you can go on taking in all that evil without it affecting you?�

�I never seem to overload. Maybe it�s part of my weird buzz, I don�t know, it�s as if I discharge the energy somehow.� Ash decided to confess something that had been bothering her and went on, �I know about the dark Quickening, I broke in here and read your files. I�m sorry Joe, it�s an old habit, and I didn�t know you then.�

�Well that explains how you knew your way around. I figured you�d done something like that. You must be as good with locks and computers as you are with those swords.�

�Not quite, I�ve known the swords far longer.� Ash closed her eyes.

�You look tired.�

�That�s why I�m here, I need some rest, if it�s all right.�

�You know where the guest room is. I have to go up anyway, to get my dobro. I need to practice.�

Ash stood, slung her backpack over her shoulder and followed Joe out of the office and through the bar to another door off the back hall. He unlocked it and they went up the five steps that angled oddly around a corner.

He said, �One of the things that sold me on this location was that the apartment above the bar was only a few steps up. They connected two old buildings and the floors don�t match up. Lucky for me, cause stairs are not my favorite thing.� Joe went up one step at a time. It was tricky, left hand on the stair rail, first the cane, then one prosthetic foot at a time until all were on the same step.

For an apartment above the shop it was much nicer than that brief description would indicate. The living room was large and filled with light from numerous well-placed windows, the color scheme warm browns and russets of old but well cared for leather furniture, highlighted by the deep reds of the Persian rugs on the wood floors and the mellow gold of the unlit brass lamps. It was definitely a man�s apartment, comfortable and functional. Joe went in and picked up the dobro resting against the white painted wall, then turned to go back down.

He stopped, smiled at Ash and said, �I�ll see you�re not disturbed until you want to get up. How long do you want to sleep?�

�About twenty hours should do it, say eight or nine in the morning.� She reached out, put her hand on his shoulder, and said, �Thank you, Joe.�

He put his hand over hers and said, �It�s little enough after all you�ve done. Sleep well.� He headed back down to the bar, hanging the dobro around his neck by its strap to leave both hands free to negotiate the stairs.

The guest room was simply furnished, a full bed, night table, dresser, a large armoire to take the place of the absent closet, and another Persian rug, this one a dark green. There was one lamp and one small window with heavy drapes. That made it rather dimly lit, but perfect for her purpose. It was easier to sleep in the daytime if it was dark, even with the drugs.

Ash closed the door, turned back the comforter, then undressed and sat down on the bed. She opened her pack and lifted out the carved box. She was so tired. It had been weeks since she�d slept. She felt the tiny stab of the needle and lay down to let the darkness take her.

Hours later, after the bar had closed, Joe hesitated before the shut door. The thought went through his mind that the guestroom had seen a lot of use lately. Mac had stayed here when he was too drunk to make it home but could make it up the stairs; Methos had stayed one night, and now Ash was back for a second. He turned the knob and went in.

Joe stood over the bed looking at Ash. She lay on her side, uncovered and illuminated by the wedge of light spilling through the open door. Joe was somewhat uncomfortable to see that she�d almost completely undressed. He could see her back, bare of swords or anything else, and her lacy pale blue panties. Those surprised him, he�d never seen her in anything other than plain dark clothes, and the touch of intense femininity was unexpected. He wondered why she hadn�t locked the door, then realized that after her behavior the last time she�d expect him to check on her.

Ash seemed to sense him and turned on her back, her left hand lying on her stomach. He could see her breasts, small and beautifully shaped, and he couldn�t help himself. He touched her. But it wasn�t the pink-tipped breast he touched. It was a scar six inches below, running along her left ribcage for almost ten inches. It was like no scar he�d ever seen, a strip two inches wide of shiny pinkish burn with an inch-wide line of twisted tissue in the center. He could feel it, uneven and yet smooth under his fingers. He raised his eyes to her face and was startled to see that her eyes were open.

Ash�s hand had covered his before he could pull it away. She said, �That one almost killed me. It was a slash from a trident and wouldn�t stop bleeding, so they had to burn it closed with a hot iron.� Her eyes closed momentarily. She�d been nearly unconscious, but she could still remember the smell of seared flesh and burnt blood after two thousand years. �I never liked fighting a retiarius, the trident is too long, not to mention avoiding the net. They made it hard for me to get in close enough to kill them.�

Ash let go of his hand and felt it withdraw. She pulled up the sheet to cover herself. She wasn�t easily embarrassed; she�d fought in the arena before thousands wearing nothing more than a thin sapparum that barely reached to her knees, but Joe might not be as blas�. She ran her hand through her hair and asked, �What time is it?�

�It�s one in the morning. I didn�t mean to wake you, I was just checking to see that you were all right.�

Ash smiled and closed her eyes again saying, �Good, then I can sleep a while longer.� She seemed to drift off quickly, her breathing slow and even.

Joe wanted to reach down and run his guitar-callused fingers through her hair, wanted to feel if those curls were as soft as they looked, but he didn�t dare. He�d already presumed too much. He went back out the door and closed it quietly, walked to his room and went to bed, but couldn�t sleep. His fingers seemed to remember the feel of her skin, and it kept him awake for hours.

He would have not been able to sleep at all if he�d known how close Ash had come to pulling him into the bed with her. She�d almost closed her fingers around his wrist and tugged, but had been stopped by the thought, �How can I make a place in your heart for me when I�ll leave it empty so soon?�

Ash woke before Joe, showered, dressed, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Joe woke soon after, and drawn by the aroma made his way into the kitchen in the wheelchair he used if he wanted to eat before showering, getting into his prosthetics, and dressing. He rolled into the empty place at the table. Ash poured him a cup of coffee and set it in front of him.

He picked it up, sipped it delicately due to its heat, and said, �You make good coffee.�

Ash sat down opposite him with her own cup and said, �Thank you. I learned from a master.�

Joe was about to ask her who and where when the phone rang. He wheeled over to the wall and picked up an extension. �Dawson. Yeah, I�ll be watching for him, thanks for letting me know.� He hung up, returned to the table, picked up his cup and took another sip. He looked up at Ash and said, �I�ve just been informed that an enemy of Mac�s is on his way to Paris. His name is David Keough. He has a history with Mac and is probably looking for revenge.�

�I know the type, one of the kind that harbors a grudge, but only comes after you when he hears that you�ve weakened. Not much of a threat. When does he get here?�

�He arrives at seven this evening.�

�Thanks for warning me, and thanks for the rest. I have some errands to do, so I have to go.� She went to the sink and rinsed out her cup. She touched Joe�s shoulder on her way out.

Ash left Joe and went shopping for more plain dark clothes. She dropped the bags off at the barge, finding no one home. Then she�d gone to a good restaurant and had a long lunch. She�d need the energy later.

She�d waited under the arch in the cold dusk, watching it begin to rain, and continued to wait until the buzz hit her. He walked into the light, about five-nine, dark hair, angry tense jaw. Ash walked out to meet him and asked him, �What is your name?�

�David Keough.�

Ah yes, she�d have guessed that.

�Where�s MacLeod?�

To Ash he sounded like an angry boy. She answered him, �If you want MacLeod you have to go through me.�

�He lets a woman fight for him? I�d heard he was a drunk, has he sunk that low?� Keough taunted. His voice vibrated with the sick joy of schadenfreude.

Ash turned her back on him and stepped back under the arch saying, �You can walk away alive if you walk away now.� Her voice was calm and cold.

Keough was too angry to be afraid, and this small woman was surely no threat to him. He pulled out his sword and followed her saying through gritted teeth, �MacLeod killed my woman, now I�ll kill his!�

Ash turned and smiled like a cat with a cornered mouse. �Come on then, little man!�

He rushed at her in a rage. The fight went quickly, Ash was in no mood to toy with him, and he was too overconfident, as most men who fought her were. He stepped into his death, and she was knocked down with his Quickening.

Ash came back from her recollection to find the temperature had dropped, and the freezing rain had turned to snow. She needed to get out of here, but she was slipping into the warm drowsiness of hypothermia and it seemed almost like a good idea to lie down in the snow, cuddling her backpack. The stone of the quay would only be cold for a moment, then the warmth would return. The slide into death would feel so much like falling asleep she wouldn�t mind, but the return would be painful, and she was far too vulnerable out here.

But where was she to go? Not back to Joe�s. She�d promised to go back to the barge, but with the Quickening running through her this might lead to complications she�d rather avoid. The weather only increased her problems. There were any number of places she could go but there were no taxis, there was no traffic at all that she could see, and it was no wonder. The blowing snow was reducing visibility, and the rain on the roadways had frozen into black ice. The only cars on the streets would be driven by the suicidal or stupid. She seemed to be waiting for something in the cold darkness, though she couldn't imagine what.

Duncan couldn�t sleep. It had been a good day, and he should be tired. Methos certainly was. He was sleeping deeply, worn out by the day�s activity. Or maybe it was the night�s activity. They�d retrieved Duncan�s car from storage then gone shopping, despite the December cold. They went to shops, bought exotic foods, then came home to the barge. Duncan made a fantastic late lunch that drifted into dinner, and then dinner drifted into bed where they made slow sweet love.

For Methos it had been as good as it was before Duncan fell into the pit. Even better perhaps, Duncan seemed happier than he�d been since Connor died. It showed in how he much he smiled, though the shadow of pain hadn�t quite left his eyes. Methos couldn�t help feeling that there was still something awry, but he couldn�t fathom what. He tried to relax and let himself enjoy Duncan�s happiness. It might not last.

Methos worried that Ash had disappeared again, though he didn�t voice that fear to Duncan. He knew Duncan believed she would come back. He�d even bought a daybed for the barge, he was so sure Ash would return.

Methos had wondered at the implications of that purchase. Did it mean that Duncan wasn�t even considering sleeping three to a bed? He wondered if he should invite her into their bed, to push Duncan into Ash�s arms, if only to give him the choice, if only to see if Duncan really loved him or if he was merely with him because he was all there was.

He asked himself, �You finally have the man you�ve wanted for years, why do you want to risk losing him? Or is it that you�re remembering how it felt to be caught deliciously between two people you love?�

He did love her. After all the centuries and all the pain, he still loved Ash, perhaps even more now that he knew she didn�t blame him for Aren�s death. Aren. He could still feel it, Ash in his arms, Aren in his body. Part of him ached to feel that again. But could he share Duncan? Would Duncan want to be shared? He�d fallen asleep unsuccessfully trying to figure out what to do. Now he lay still, all worries apparently lost in sleep.

But Duncan was restless. He couldn�t hear the rain anymore and told himself that he only wanted to see if it was still raining. He got up and silently went down the stairs to look out a porthole. The rain had turned into heavy snow, the kind with huge wet flakes. He watched them spin into the dark water and disappear. He felt the need to go out. He told himself it was because of the snow, he knew Ash would return, there was no need to go out looking for her. He wanted to go out in the swirling whiteness, to feel it on his face, to smell the cold of it, to hear it muffle the sounds of the city.

He dressed and put on a long gray coat. He added wood to the fire, then stood for a moment, sighed, and bowed his head. He went to a chest against the wall and opened it, taking out the katana. Its familiar weight in his hands was like a caress from an old lover, or a blow from an old enemy. He unsheathed it and put it inside his coat, fastening the strap that held it. He was carrying his sword for the first time in months. This more that anything told him how much he wanted to live. He left quietly, not wanting to disturb Methos� sleep.

That wasn�t possible. Methos woke as soon as Duncan got up, but had remained still, wanting to see what Duncan was going to do. He figured Duncan was going to the bathroom, but he looked out a porthole instead. When he dressed, Methos immediately wanted to ask him where he was going. He stopped himself. If Duncan wanted him to know he�d have woke him and told him. He saw him take the katana. That both worried and relived him. At least he was armed and could defend himself, but he couldn�t be looking for a fight.

Possibilities chased each other through his mind, the worst one being that Duncan had gone out for a drink. Or ten. He hadn�t touched the wine at dinner, hadn�t had a drink since Methos had come back, but he�d done this before, gone out while Methos was asleep, leaving him to worry. He�d stay missing for days and Methos would have to bring him home, usually finding Duncan in a miserable dive near La Place Pigalle, and in a state that required Methos to help him into the car. He listened for the car engine, but didn�t hear it. Mac was on foot, wherever he was going. There was no chance of going back to sleep now, he�d be up waiting until Duncan returned, if he returned.

Methos threw off the covers and got up, shivering despite the newly built-up fire. It had gotten much colder, and he wrapped his body in a warm robe. He began to feel that something was terribly wrong. He put it down to his own paranoia, pushed it aside, and went to the same porthole Duncan had used. He looked out into the flying snow, wondering, �What could have driven Duncan out into that?�

Duncan couldn�t have answered that question, he only knew he needed to go look under the arch, despite the snow and the rain that had frozen into a thin sheet of ice. The ramp was treacherously slippery and Duncan had to put his feet down slowly and test each step, even though he�d worn his non-slip boots. If the river had been lower the angle of the ramp would have made it impossible to walk on it without sliding, but it was almost level. The quay was easier going. The rain had slipped into the crevices between the cobblestones and frozen there. It left the tops bare of ice, and the wind had swept away the snow.

Duncan was feeling strange, and the strangeness increased with every step. Despite that fact that he couldn�t stop. He told himself it was disorientation caused by the flying snow, but there was an odd pressure in his head that he was sure he�d felt before, though he couldn�t remember when. He stood in the peculiar reflected light of swirling whiteness. The black mouth of the archway stood open. He stepped into the darkness, and felt her.

Ash had sensed him coming but there was nowhere to run or hide. He was standing still to wait for his eyes to adjust to the relative gloom, and all she could do was wait for him to find her. She�d hoped there would be more time, time to strengthen MacLeod before the last terrible blow, but it wasn�t to be. All there was now was this one hanging moment for regret.

It would be over soon, two thousand years of loves, losses, regrets. The only other way was impossible for her. There was only this, she knew that and was reconciled to it. It was the only way to save him.

She reached for the sword of her previous opponent and stood to face her last. The black suede jacket was stiff, almost frozen, and difficult to remove. Ash hoped Duncan�s eyes hadn�t adjusted yet, and that he wouldn�t hear the crackling of the leather over the wind. He moved suddenly. Ash braced for the attack, her mind racing with the thought that she wasn�t ready, but Duncan merely bent and clutched his head with both hands. She had time to taste the wind-driven snow on her lips.

There was one last possible way to stop this. Ash tried it. �Fight him, Donnchaid, don�t let him take over. You�re stronger than he is, Donnchaid, fight him.� Ash�s voice rang out in all its power, the echo bouncing off the wall acting as reinforcement.

Duncan moaned, still bent, and gripped his head even tighter as if to prevent it from bursting. It hurt, the more he resisted the greater the pain became, and there was a deafening roaring in his ears. Then only the pain existed.

Ash stepped closer, startled when Duncan straightened up. He smiled at her. Ash�s eyes were long adjusted to the dark; she could see the strangeness of that twisted smile on that beloved face. She remembered Methos saying, �He�d almost seem to be someone else.� Not almost. Ash knew that even before he spoke, his lips moving in that abhorrent familiar sneer.

�You stupid little whore.� Even the voice that spat out these words was wrong, the cadence of syllables off.

�Not so stupid, I fooled you long enough!� Ash�s voice was steady, as was her hand. The long sword felt strange and oddly balanced, she was used to a very different blade, but that wouldn�t matter. She wouldn�t be fighting to win, only to put on a good show.

�Well you won�t get away this time!� The thing inside Duncan lunged for her, simultaneously pulling out the katana. Ash feinted to her right, then struck left, her borrowed blade clashing against the katana. She backed away, leading Kell deeper under the arch. He followed and slashed at her overhand, Ash dodged it and struck back, coming up to nick his cheek. He slashed at her again, enraged. Ash stepped back into disaster. She had missed the depression in the cobblestones and slipped on the sheet of black ice that had frozen there. Off-balance, she fell to her knees. She only had time to look up into Duncan�s eyes, eyes that were filled with hate and joy that was not Duncan�s. She closed her eyes and heard the blade cut the air.

The cold steel bit into the base of her neck, but the pain flared white-hot. It was only a brief flash. She was rising up and out of the body that had held her for so long, then down, her disincarnate being flowing into Duncan�s body. It was more intense than sex, a deeper blending of souls. Ash could only hope that Duncan could feel the love she had for him, and that she forgave him. She wished she could stay, but only part of her could remain here with Duncan. The essence of her must move on. But not alone.

She searched for the nucleus of shadow that was Jacob Kell. Even hiding in the darkest part of Duncan�s being his darkness was deeper and stood out in contrast. Ash wrapped that blackness in herself. Kell fought with noncorporeal teeth and claws, and she discovered that it was possible for an ethereal being to feel pain. It burned like the fire of a thousand suns, but she would not let him go. She left Duncan�s body and pulled Kell out with her, vowing to take him with her to whatever was beyond this life.

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