Quest, Reversal In Time

Quest, Reversal in Time

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, Slash, m/m, both consensual and nonconsensual, lang, D/s, violence

Key: ****** Scene change,
Italics Thoughts

Summary: Duncan witnesses the steps toward the upcoming sacrifices.

Disclaimer: HL and its characters are owned by Panzer/Davis. I receive no monetary recompense.

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is late, but the subject matter itself is so intense, it's difficult for me to concentrate on it for any length of time. It has been almost three years since I originally wrote this story. Strangely enough, the same difficulty I had with the original writing of the sacrificial scenes, I've also experienced in its rewriting. I certainly didn't expect it; I'd thought it would be easier. How a human being can commit the atrocities the Toltecs, Aztecs, Mayans and others did, I cannot fathom. Sadly, they weren't the first, nor will they be the last.

fr

Chapter 13

Food for the gods.

MacLeod awakened and stretched. Glancing through an open window, he saw by the sun's position that it was midmorning. He'd splashed his face with water and donned a clean breech cloth just as Methos walked into the room. "Good morning, Mica."

Methos briefly nodded and uttered one word, "Come."

Duncan frowned and thought,
Now what have I done?

Once the two Immortals were in the street, Duncan watched a line of men, women and children dressed in white vestments being prodded along the street by Toltec warriors. Each of the previous four days, he'd seen them displayed in the same manner, first wearing red, then white, then red and yesterday again wearing white. Duncan knew they were preparing them for the sacrificial rites because it had been the topic of conversation for all the Toltecs.

Today, Methos took him to see the captors' dance. Just past the noon hour, each warrior who'd taken one or more of the enemy covered his arms and legs with white turkey feathers. They carried their shields on the left arm and a rattle stick in the right hand. Then, the captors danced the captives' dance. After it was completed, each warrior led their captives away.

Mac asked Methos, "Where are they taking them?"

"To their homes."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later."

* * * * * *

Duncan was interested in the proceedings and upon their arrival back in Methos' quarters, he asked him some questions. "Why did the Toltecs take them to their homes if they are to be killed tomorrow?"

The ancient Immortal poured some wine into a cup and offered it to Duncan before answering. "The captor is to hold vigil over his captive all night tonight. Then, at midnight he will pluck some hair from the crown of the captive's head and place it before his hearth. He will then fast until after the ceremony tomorrow."

The Highlander absently picked at the breech cloth covering his groin. "What will happen then?"

Methos answered in a quiet voice. "Tomorrow, on feast day, the captives' bodies will be painted with liquid tar in stripes. This denotes that they are the ones who will die. Then, they will be flayed, whipped, and given the names 'Xipeme' and 'Tototecti.'"

"What next?"

Methos sighed. "Then they will be taken to the Temple of Darkness. There, Quetzalomeyocan and I will remove their hearts and some of their blood and offer it to the gods. The captor will then take his captive's blood and daub the lips of all the stone images of the gods on his house."

MacLeod swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. "What do they do with the bodies?"

"The bodies will be claimed by the warriors and their skin stripped off. The corpses are then cut up and a piece added to a bowl of stew made from dried maize. The families will eat the stew but the captors themselves are not allowed to do so."

"What will they do with the skin?" MacLeod asked, his melodic voice barely audible.

"The warriors will wear them for one day. The skins will then be passed to each tribal member so that they, too, can wear them for a day."

MacLeod's already pale face turned ashen. Rising quickly to his feet, he rushed over to the chamber pot and vomited everything he'd eaten that day. Methos dipped a cloth in a nearby water jar and wiped off his mouth and face. Mica then held him in his arms until he at last dropped off to sleep.

* * * * * *

While it was yet dark the next morning, Mica stooped to caress the handsome man's luxurious hair and pressed a soft kiss to torneorner of the sleeping Immortal's lips. He watched Duncan smile in his sleep and instinctively turn toward him. Methos wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve this man's adoration. Quite frankly, it frightened him. He'd always prided himself upon his independence and isolated life. Not since Kronos and the reign of the Four Horsemen had he been attracted to another Immortal. Heaven knows, the two of them, Kronos and Pahana, were as different as day and night.

Methos heard a rap on the outer door of his chamber and turned that way.

A young trainer priest asked, "Holy One, did you wish to check the sacrifices before you dress in your robes?"

"Yes, thank you."

He left the Scot and quickly descended the stone steps that led from his palace apartment. This would be the final day of the festival, the day of the captives' ritual deaths. The king had delayed the ceremony awhile when one of the other warriors and a group had captured yet another small band of Chichimecs. He'd decided that both groups would be taken care of on the same day. Therefore, the sacrifices had been delayed until now. Mica was in charge of finalizing the preparations, and had planned to bring Pahana along, but he'd been asleep and Methos hated to wake him. There would be time enough to get him later on.

Methos mentally paused. Since when did he think of others before his own needs? He'd always taken care of himself first and everyone else could fend the best way they knew how. How was it that this youngster was not only bringing contradictory thoughts to his mind, but he was acting upon them? It didn't make sense. He didn't need anyone but himself for a very long time. Nor was he going to change either, certainly not for an ignorant youngster. With that thought, he hurried up the temple's steps.

His swift steps carried him across the street and up the many stone steps of the main temple. He thought of the hundred or so slaves awaiting execution.
Thank God, there aren't many of them today, he thought.
These ceremonies take all day when there is a thousand hostages.

* * * * * *

Quetzalomeyocan watched Mica's departure and knew the white slave was now alone. He wouldn't have a better opportunity to indulge in the beautiful Immortal's talents one last time before he, too, met the sacrificial knife. Mica didn't know of his plans, but the shaman wasn't about to let the slave get away. His heart would be the most holy of all the day's captives and prove to be the greatest blessing to himself.

Glancing at his body servant, he ordered, "Take four men and bring the white slave to me."

The Toltec's black eyes narrowed but he silently obeyed his superior. He knew Mica would be highly displeased and hoped that the pale Shaman wouldn't take the life of a slave who'd merely done his master's bidding.

* * * * * *

Duncan was aroused from his dreamless sleep by five Toltecs who dragged him to his feet and over to Quetzalomeyocan's private room. One of the guards shoved him to his knees in homage to the highest ranking Warrior Priest.

Seeing the sadistic grin on the Indian Immortal's face, Duncan cursed, "No way, you son-of-a-bitch, no way!" He tried to fight back and stand, but his head was jerked back when the Priest yanked a handful of long hair to force him into submission. Duncan inadvertently shivered.

Quetzalomeyocan whispered in his ear, "You have evaded me since you've been here, pretty one. Mica wishes to prevent my further sampling of your treasures." The Toltec bent closer and licked a streak along Duncan's cheek. "I will take what I want and no one is here to stop me." He ordered the guards, "Place him across that stone."

MacLeod, determined that the huge Immortal would not take him without a struggle, wrestled with the Indians holding him. He managed to get a foot free and kicked the closest one in the groin. That one doubled over in pain, but another one replaced him. Mac stepped back, got his balance and chopped the second one in the throat. When the man fell back, gasping for air from a crushed windpipe, the Highlander wheeled to his left and executed a roundhouse kick that knocked the third guard onto his back.

Quetzalomeyocan saw that the white was rapidly getting the upper hand, despite him being outnumbered five to one. So, he picked up a large cand and brought it down on MacLeod's head, catching him on the left side of the forehead. Duncan dropped to the earthen floor, blood gushing down his face and head from the nasty wound.

Two of the Toltecs who'd recovered hauled the limp body to the slab and dropped him onto it on his back. They then tied his wrists and anchored them to a stake above his head. His legs were then separated and bound, thus preventing any movement.

Quetzalomeyocan dipped a gourd in a pail of water and splashed it on the unconscious Immortal. Duncan woke and commenced jerking his wrists against his bonds.

"It will do you no good, Pahana," the Toltec Immortal grated. "I have you now, and Mica will not rescue you."

MacLeod rubbed his blood splattered face on his arm and spat back, "If you do take me, it won't be easy and you'll never have my permission!"

The older Immortal laughed evilly. "Whoever said I needed your permission, little one?"

Quetzalomeyocan ordered one of the guards to gag Pahana as he opened his breech clout and freed his firm cock.

Duncan hadn't expected the Immortal to grease himself and he didn't. He couldn't repress a muffled scream when Quetzalomeyocan rammed his sex deep within his ass.

MacLeod vainly tried to focus his mind on Methos' body and the peaceful calm of the forest they'd visited each day, but he couldn't. His overloaded brain grasped a single plea,
Please, God, help me through this. Please help me get through this! Duncan had never felt so helpless in his life, not even when Lemuel Priest had abused him.

He heard the Immortal's grunts and felt his hips and groin pound into his own abused buttocks. Mac closed his and and unlike Lemuel, the Toltec didn't demand that he open them. He'd been given the privilege of not having to look at the leering faces of Quetzalomeyocan's and his personal guards.

The Shaman finally spilled his seed, and Duncan let his head sink back against the stone slab in exhaustion. He was also grateful that the Immortal didn't allow his men to have a turn with Duncan. Again, he'd been spared.

Duncan vaguely heard the Warrior Priest tell his men to clean him up and take him back to Mica's quarters. The Scot did not resist when Quetzalomeyocan's men instantly obeyed him. Duncan was sound asleep before the men left Methos' room.

* * * * * *

Methos had no inkling of the Highlander's fate. He went from house to house, checking those chosen as an offering to the Toltec Gods, in exchange for a profitable season of crops and good health for the coming year. The sounds of the lashes striking bare flesh filled his ears, and he couldn't help but flinch in remembrance of his own whipping long ago when he'd fimet met Kronos.

As the Immortal looked in the black-striped faces of the condemned, he was reminded of the villagers he and his Horsemen Brothers had pillaged. They, too, had hopeless, yet pleading, black eyes. Some accepted their fate and were prepared to die, but others, those that loved life and were petrified with fear, wordlessly begged to be spared. Metdidndidn't know how much longer he could do these dastardly deeds, nor remain here in Tula, not after he'd met Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

"Mica, how are you this fine Feast Day morning?" Quetzalomeyocan, ady ady in his richly adorned, feathered cloak and headdress asked.

"Fine, and you?" Methos replied, frowning at the smug look of conquest on the Toltec's face.

The Warrior Priest's wide smile broadened even further. "Very well indeed. I am looking forward to this afternoon's festivities." Quetzalomeyocan's black gaze swept Methos' form. "You do not have your robes on, Mica."

"Yes, well, I was just heading that way," Methos caustically retorted and left to return to his room to dress.

Walking through the door, Methos immediately spotted MacLeod's abused body and cursed, "Damn that bastard!"

He called out for one of the novice priests and ordered him to bring water and cloths. Methos turned Duncan onto his back and brushed a strand of dark hair out of the younger man's eyes. He accepted the bowl of water and cloth the the mortal and dismissed him.

As he cleaned the blood from between Duncan's legs, the youngster awakened. "Methos? Is that you?"

"Yes, Love, it is me." Methos washed Duncan's face and lifted his head up into his lap. "Tell me."

MacLeod shifted his buttocks and groaned. "Quetzalomeyocan, of course." He then sat up, drawing afromfrom the ancient's embrace. "I can't stay here any longer, Methos. I have to escape."

"He will follow."

Mac nodded, "Maybe, but it's a chance I'll have to take."

The elder man shrugged a shoulder. The boy's mind was made up. Still, they had to wait for an opportune moment to make their break. Methos knew his own mind had just been made for him. He would go with the big handsome Highlander.

* * * * * * *

--TBC--