| The River
Part Nine: Mont Blanc The cessation of motion was what woke Methos, that and Ash folding down the backseat with a thump. They had reached the town of Le Fayet and were parked in front of the tram station. Ash got out of the car and leaned back in, talking to Joe through the open window. They were consulting a map, discussing a rendezvous point, finalizing plans. Ash said, �I�ll call you when we reach the tree line, from there it should take about an hour to reach the road, but my estimate could be off, if it takes longer I�ll call you again.� Methos was glad they were distracted; it gave him a chance to adjust himself, unnoticed, under cover of his long coat. Ash went on, �There�s a prepaid reservation in your name at the Hotel Terminus Mont Blanc. It�s just down the street, so it�s convenient. You should rest; you�re going to have to drive all the way back in six or seven hours.� Then she turned to Methos, �Well, are you ready?� �Just a second, I�d better leave my sword.� Methos slid it under the seat, got out of the Jeep and followed her into the tram station. They rode in silence up the mountain to the Nid d� Aigle stop, where they got off. They went into a sporting goods store, bought ski coats and pants, gloves, climbing boots, two heavy arctic sleeping bags, rope, and a large, round metal sled with multiple handles cut into its edge. They changed into the ski clothes before leaving the store, piling their other clothes on the sled, lashing them down along with the sleeping bags, then attached a loop of rope to one of the handles of the sled to tow it by. It was full dark, there was only a quarter moon and it was simple to hike up the glacier, pulling the sled behind them, taking turns, not talking. It might have been easier for Methos to talk, to chase the memory he woke with, it had stirred up so many ancient emotions, love, lust, grief, guilt. The memory of touching Aren, of possessing that golden body, and being possessed by it. �Damn it, Methos, stop it! You�re obsessing over a boy who�s been dead for two thousand years, a spoiled, petulant brat who nearly got you killed, who did get Ash killed.� But the memory remained, indelible, Aren, laying on the couch, his eyes like dark pools, his skin, so smooth under Methos� hands and lips, his body welcoming him into its hot tightness. Methos had been on top, but it was Aren who was dominant, the way Aren used his muscles, shifting, tightening, stroking Methos from the inside in a way he had never felt before, had never even known possible, and driving him completely insane with the sensation. Methos had been unable to stop, coming so hard and fast it was as if he had no control at all. Then Ash had joined them, touching, kissing, Methos made love to her, at Aren�s insistence, and found that she knew the same trick, although in a different location, her muscle control was incredible, and there was more. They had been well trained in all aspects of sexual pleasure. The three of them had made love all night, he couldn�t remember how many times, in how many positions or permutations. Aren and Ash had responded with equal abandon, demanding more, almost insatiable. It was still one of the most memorable nights of his life. �And one you should put out of your mind, walking is getting painful, you old fool.� To distract himself he said, �Ash are you sure you know where MacLeod is?� �Yes, I watched him through binoculars. It�s not much farther, in that valley ahead.� The silence fell again, and Methos tried another question. �So tell me what you�ve been doing these last hundred years.� �I drift from place to place. I fight any Immortals I come across. I keep hoping to find one good enough to kill me, but they always fall for the feint and the second blade. You know how it is, no matter how I feel, once the fight starts I put on a good show. What else would you expect from a trained killer?� Ash sounded bitter. Methos stopped and took her by the shoulders. �Ash. It wasn�t your fault. I�ve been telling you that for two thousand years. It wasn�t your fault.� �That�s easy for you to say. You didn�t kill him.� �You saved him from agony.� Methos was trying to reach her, but that glass wall was down, thick, impenetrable. She wouldn�t meet his eyes. Methos could see that he was just driving her further away. He let her go, sighing, and they descended into the valley. They started walking a grid pattern, searching for MacLeod�s Quickening, faint in death, under the snow. Within two minutes Ash had fixed on a spot, waved to him, and Methos went to her. He felt it too, MacLeod�s familiar signal, but weaker than he had ever known it. Ash crouched down, used a fist to break the frozen crust of ice on top of the softer snow, then scooped it away with gloved hands. Methos joined her. �He shouldn�t be too deep, it�s only snowed once since he buried himself,� Ash said. They found Duncan three feet down, curled in on himself, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his hands in loose fists. There was frost on his hair, silvering the darkness, and his face was far too white in the faint moonlight, but the expression on his face was clear. Peace, but with an overlay, a superimposition of pain, and the sight of it seemed to break something in Methos and strike him into silence. Ash spread out the sleeping bags on top of the sled, one on top of the other, then they lifted MacLeod onto them. Ash carefully wrapped Methos� long coat around Duncan�s head and neck and her suede jacket around his hands. His frozen body was dangerously fragile, so brittle that fingers could easily break off, and she wanted to protect his hands. They zipped him into both bags, one inside the other, and then carefully tied him down. They worked rope through all the handles of the sled, making two loops about six feet long, each loop�s strain spread between multiple handles for safety. Getting down was far more difficult than getting up. The trip was much longer; they had to walk to the closest road. It took both of them to control the sled on the down slope; several times it sank in snowdrifts, and once it almost got away from them on an icy stretch, terrifying Methos with visions of it flying down into rocks, and Duncan�s body shattering like crystal, broken beyond all hope of healing. They were finally below the tree line, and Ash called Joe. They reached the road, but stayed back in the scattered trees, out of sight. Methos had turned inward; the sight of Duncan�s dead face had hurt so deeply, even knowing it was not forever, it wounded him. Or was it the echo of another white, dead face, one that was forever? They heard a car in the distance, and Ash walked to the road. It was close to three A.M, on a remote mountain road, there were few cars. The car was Joe�s; he pulled over to the shoulder near Ash. She went over, Joe rolled down the window and said, �The cargo door is unlocked. You know, it�s lucky I bought this thing to transport supplies for the bar.� �Call it fate.� Ash smiled. Ash went to help Methos; he had started down to the car as soon as he had been sure it was Joe. He wanted off this mountain, he wanted this to be over; he wanted Duncan back, breathing, more than anything. They lifted MacLeod�s body, sled and all, into the back of the Jeep. Methos climbed in after, and lay next to him. He wanted to be near Duncan, despite the cold that seemed to radiate from him. Ash got in the front. Joe looked at her, his expression a silent question, and he glanced at Methos. A wordless communication passed between them as Ash shook her head slightly and looked worried. She turned in the seat and looked behind her, at Methos. �Are you all right?� �Yes.� Methos sounded as if he didn�t want to talk. �Are you sure?� Something had changed in her voice, it was deeper, softer, and Ash was trying to catch his eyes. �Yes, damn it! Let�s get out of here.� He met her eyes and they locked. �Are you tired, Methos?� Even deeper, and softer, holding his gaze. �Yes.� Methos suddenly sounded different, almost dazed, and his face had relaxed. �Then go to sleep, �Thos.� Ash�s voice was at its deepest, with that velvet-stroked-backward tone, and her eyes were compelling. �You will sleep all the way to Paris, then you will feel better.� �Yes.� Methos answered, then settled himself down, closed his eyes, and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Joe had witnessed the entire procedure. �What the hell�� �Don�t freak, Joe. It�s just hypnosis, and the old man�s always been easy to induce, particularly when he�s tired or troubled. I wouldn�t harm him. He�s been in a bad way since he saw Duncan, I thought he could use some rest.� �Don�t tell me, I�ll bet you learned hypnosis from Anton Mesmer himself.� Joe put the car in gear, turned it around, and headed back to Paris. Ash smiled. �Actually, I taught it to him.� �And where did you learn it?� �Ah, centuries ago, in a land far away, hidden in a sacred cave...� there was amusement in her voice. �Quit pulling my leg, it�ll come off.� Ash started to laugh, tried to stop and couldn�t, it kept bubbling up again. Joe realized he had never heard her laugh like this before, and that he liked it. Then he had another realization. �Hey, you used it on me that first night, didn�t you?� Ash casually dismissed it. �That was just a little push, not the real thing. All it did was make you tell me a bit more than you would have otherwise.� She looked back at Methos. �That�s the real thing. God, I wish I could sleep like that.� She wasn�t laughing now. Joe cleared his throat, then said, �Is that why you get high? To sleep?� �You�re very observant.� Ash said, cautiously. �It�s heroin, isn�t it?� There was no condemnation in his voice. �Is that a lucky guess, or have you ridden the white horse?� Joe shook his head. �Not personally. How long have you been using?� Ash stopped being flippant. He already knew, what was the harm in telling the truth? How long had it been since she had talked to someone and actually shared anything of herself? She decided to risk it. �When was morphine discovered? That�s what I started with. That�s why I ran from Methos, that time in Paris. I was truly strung out, hooked; only I didn�t know those words for it. I was shooting up three or four times a day. I was afraid he would find out.� �Why?� �Never show weakness to a potential opponent.� Her voice was cold. Ash looked at him and said, �When you become a gladiator, you swear an oath. Uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque neccari. The gladiator�s oath: I will be burnt with fire, bound with chains, beaten with rods, and killed by steel. Those trainers didn�t fuck around; I have the scars to prove it. It�s hard to fight that kind of conditioning, especially when it keeps you alive.� After a moment she said, �Did you tell him?� �No, and I won�t. You�re not using every day now, are you?� She could hear the concern in his voice. Ash shook her head. �No, I stopped that a long time ago. Now I only give in when I can�t take the insomnia any more, or when something makes me want to fall off the edge of the world.� She sounded unbearably sad. �Where do you go when you give in?� �Hotels. I�ve lived in hotels for years.� �That�s not very safe. You could be killed.� �I�m not easy to find.� �Next time, come to my place. Stay in the guest room. You would be safe there.� She looked at him in surprise. Why should he offer her safety? He had only known her for a total of a few hours; he hardly had reason to care about her. Yet there was that concern, and she surprised herself by saying, �All right, Joe, I will.� After a moment, she added, �Of course, you know there is no such thing as safe, not anywhere.� �I suppose you�re right.� Joe reluctantly agreed. They went on in silence. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
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