Quest, Reversal In Time

Quest, Reversal In Time

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: PG-13, slash

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

Summary: Duncan takes a walk.

Disclaimer: HL & its characters are the property of Panzer/Davis.

A/N: Again, I apologize for this chapter taking so long. I do appreciate each one of you who are taking the time to read this saga. I hope you are enjoying it.

fr

Chap19

Spirit Guide

Other forced pleasantries were foregone as the Toltecs were invited to eat and rest. They would meet for a formal conference the next day. Owl invited their visitors into the kiva and several women brought fand and drink to them. Rising Star herself provided Quetzalomeyocan, her husband and Mica nourishment. When she was finished, she and the other Catori women ascended the ladder, leaving the kiva.

The shaman's eyes followed her departing figure. He was impressed with the young woman's beauty and sensuous shape.
Ah, if it weren't for Pahana, I would take his woman for my own, he mused.

Duncan, who sat beside him, had followed his gaze and knew what the Toltec Immortal was thinking. "She is mine. You will stay away from her," he ordered in a low, deadly voice.

"And who will stop me?" the shaman baited, "You? A lowly priest whore?"

MacLeod's face purpled with rage, and he started to rise and challenge his adversary, but he then felt Methos' hand on his shoulder.

"Not now, not here, Pahana," Methos quietly urged, "There'll be time enough for that later."

The Highlander didn't look his friend's way, but merely jerked his head in a savage nod and settled back down. His ebony eyes flashing, he furiously murmured, "I belong to noone, especially not to you, you Toltec scavenger!"

Quetzalomeyocan's boring gaze leveled upon the younger Immortal, keeping his true fascination of the youngster hidden.
He probably doesn't have any idea just how beautiful he is when he's angry. Perhaps I'll keep him after all, as my personal slave when I take him home. Aloud, he warned, "I claimed you, conetl (child), from the first. I may do with you as I please."

Methos now intervened and with a menacing glare rebuked the shaman, "No, you won't, Quetzalomeyocan! I claimed him first! You have no right to him!"

Duncan was livid and leaped to his feet, shouting, "I am my own person! I own myself! Not you, Me--Mica, and certainly not you, Quetzalomeyocan!" With that, he stomped to the ladder and fairly flew up its steps to the outside.

The other two Immortals couldn't help but appreciate the view of Duncan's backside and its shifting muscles as he scaled the ladder. Their eyesight also beheld the kiva fire's flickering red-ora-orange reflection that danced upon the departinn's n's sweaty buttocks. The sight blew a silent, siren trumpet of desire that fanned the flames of each man's lust, causing them to simultaneously sigh in awe.

Methos lightly chuckled at their similar responses and wickedly smiled, "He is quite something, isn't he?"

Quetzalomeyocan returned the smile. "Yes, he is, Mica."

The ancient Immortal's mouth then hardened into a thin line as he warned, "He is still mine, Quetzalomeyocan. Keep away from him!"

The shaman was a bit surprised at his former priest's vehemence and said, "You truly care for him, do you not, Mica?"

Methos nodded, "I do, and I keep what is mine. Never doubt it."

The Toltec couldn't repress a shiver at the sinister threat in the mild appearing Mica.
This man is quite deadly. I always suspicioned there was more to him than he pretended, but I now think he's even more merciless than I am.

As if he'd heard the younger Immortal's thoughts, Methos said, "I am the one you should fear, Quetzalomeyocan. I always have been."

"You quite probably are, Mica," the shaman answered and candidly observed, "Perhaps I should've taken care of you a long time ago."

"If you could've, Quetzalomeyocan. You wouldn't have succeeded. Do not underestimate Pahana, however. That conetl is formidable and highly skilled. You won't have a chance if you challenge him."

"We shall see, Mica."

The others in the room couldn't hear the verbal exchanges between all two long-living men, but they knew they both could snap their necks without a thought. They wisely kept their opinions to themselves.

* * * * * *

Duncan headed for the path that would take him down to the valley floor. He needed solitude and space to sort his scattered thoughts. The star-bedecked sky reflected upon a sliver of a new moon. It was quite a different sight from what he'd grown used to, living in cities as he had for the past century. He even saw Saturn toward the west. The planet was sometimes difficult to point out due to the city lights' glare. As a result, he had just enough light to pick his way through the sagebrush and scrawny late summer grass. Emptying his mind of outside stimuli, he centered himself. He wanted to push aside his anger and frustration. He thought he'd overcome the fear, the terror, he'd felt, first with Priest and then with the Toltec shaman, but he hadn't, not really. It was again manifesting itself in the irrational ire that now filled his soul. It seemed as though he no longer was able to control his feelings and reactions. He'd always tried to maintain a semblance of composure, no matter what the circumstances. He disliked surprises and upheaval in his life and prided himself that, for the most part, he'd been able to overcome adversity. He was too strong a warrior to allow himself to appear dependent upon anyone.

So why had he succumbed to the sheriff's enforced servitude? True, he'd been quite young in Immortal years when it happened, but where was that forged inner resolve he'd always relied upon, up until then? His mind chose to obliterate the entire incident from his memory. It seemed to be the only way his subconscious could deal with the ghastly abuse to which he'd been subjected. He'd mostly succeeded until Lemuel had shown back up and seemingly eradicated his self-control overnight.

His journey back to this moment in time was to have unburdened him of the guilt and ineptitude that had evinced inside him over the past few months. He had partially accomplished his goal. He did feel better, more reconciled about it all. The anger, however, was still there. He'd realized that earlier in the kiva when Quetzalomeyocan taunted him. He was enraged at the emasculation the two men, the Toltec and the sheriff, had exploited upon him. His only outlet now, for all the embarrassment and abuse he'd received, seemed to be fury and a driving need to destroy Quetzalomeyocan before he did the very same thing to his friends here in the Buffalo Clan.

Duncan recalled an article he'd recently read before he'd come to Arizona that stated the Toltecs had migrated northwest for trade and had brought with them their beliefs and religion that dictated human sacrifice. It was thought that the Aztecs' predecessors had spurred the Anasazis, as they were called in the twentieth century, to adopt the Toltecs' gruesome practices, in direct relation to the drought that had descended upon the southwest. Unfortunately, the Catoris were merely tasting the early side effects of lack of water. It would worsen in the next decades until all these villages would be deserted, their cultural heritage lost in the sands of time, only to be speculated about and imagined in generations to come. He hated the thought of Rising Star and Owl's disappearance on the world's stage of civilizations, but it would happen, as surely as the moon would set in the western horizon in a matter of hours.

What can I do about it? Can I change the progression of the decline of the pueblo society? Perhaps not, but I can slow it down a bit by taking Quetzalomeyocan's head. I don't know if it will return me back to my time, but if it means prolonging the Catoris' lives, it will be worth it.

Duncan inhaled a deep breath through his nose and exhaled it slowly through his mouth. So many questions and so few answers. He was about to retrace his steps to the village when he spotted a man sitting on a nearby rock. The stranger had long black hair, brown eyes and a muscular build. More than any other characteristic that blasted MacLeod's senses, though, was the fact that he looked exactly like himself. It was as if the Scot were gazing upon his identical twin.

"Close your mouth, Duncan, or you'll swallow a fly," the man said with a light chuckle.

"You--you even sound like me! What the hell's going on? Am I going insane?"

"No, you're quite in your right mind, Duncan," his other self reassured him. "We are alike and yet we are different. You see, I am the real Pahana."

Mac shook his head in bewilderment. "That's not possible! You're only a myth! You aren't real."

Pahana's lips lifted at the corners and he patted the empty space beside him on the rock. "Come, sit, Duncan, and I will tell you."

MacLeod felt entranced and silently obeyed him. After he'd settled himself, he reached out a trembling hand to Pahana's cheek. He felt warm flesh; the man was real; he wasn't a dream.

"Yes, Duncan," Pahana confirmed, seemingly reading the Scot's mind, "I am alive, for now." He noticed the confounded expression on the Immortal's face and patted his hand. "I am my people's protector, their guide. I come and go throughout the centuries at will, appearing when and where I am needed."

"But, why look like me?"

"I take many forms and many faces. Your coming to this time and place was foretold many eons ago, at the beginning of time.

"Are you the one Rising Star saw, the one she thought was me?"

Pahana confirmed the query with a nod. "I came to the Buffalo Clan before you came, to pave the way for you. I was chosen as your spirit guide, your totem. My true shape is that of the bull buffalo who takes care of his herd. I protect them, Duncan MacLeod, and you from not only harm, but from yourself."

"You know my name."

"Yes. I knowrythrything about you. I have watched over you for more than four centuries.new new when Lemuel took you. I knew he would return and upset your life's balance. I was charged to enable you to find your way, not only back in time, but to help you renew your faith in yourself, as a warrior, as a protector, as a friend and lover."

"Lover?"

Pahana smiled. "Yes, your Methos is your truly destined soul-mate. You will bind with him in your own time, and each of you will help the other in the centuries to come."

Duncan's mind was muddled with the revelations Pahana was sharing with him. If he knew the past, perhaps he would know the future as well. He asked him, "Do you know when the Gathering will happen, who will win the prize?"

The Indian Shaman's face saddened, "I do, but this is not for you to know, not at the present. If I'm to share more with you, I will come to you again one day."

"You say Methos and I will be together in my own time. How will I get back to the twentieth century?"

Pahana gripped the Highlander's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "That pathway will soon be revealed to you. When it is, believe and accept it. You will return to the Hopi kin Win Walpi and Jonathan Nequatewa who awaits your return."

Duncan's doubt as to the reality of the man's words had evaporated. No one here in the twelfth century knew where his body lay, not even Methos. A calm settled over him, and a peace he'd not known in many years enwrapped itself about him. He would not just survive, but he would know happiness. He would somehow, someday, leave this Methos and return to his own beloved Methos, who awaited him in the twentieth century. A curious smile on his face, he turned toward Pahana and said, "Thank you..." His voice trailed off. The man had disappeared. It was as if he'd never been there. Yet, Duncan knew without hesitation that he had seen Pahana, the true Pahana, his spirit-guide.

Taking a couple of deep, healing breaths, he stood and retraced his steps to the pueblo where Rising Star awaited him. Just knowing that the old man would soon be his was enough for now.

* * * * * *

--TBC--