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Fic: Secret History (3/6) (Adult)
SERIES: Secrets
RATING: Adult
FANDOM: Highlander
CATEGORY: Drama, Episode-based
PAIRING: Methos/Alexa, Methos/OFC, Methos/Kronos.
SUMMARY: Set between Something Wicked and Deliverance. After MacLeod’s dark quickening, Joe calls Methos for help. Methos remembers his darkest past.
WARNINGS: It says Methos/Kronos up there, right? That should be all the warning you need :-).
NOTES: This is not a WIP. I'm posting one part each day to give me time to get the last part proofed etc. If you prefer to read all the parts together, it'll be on my website this coming weekend. The Secrets series is a Methos/Joe romance, but each part except the last can be read as an independent story (at least, that's the plan). The M/J action in this one is all friendship; the bulk of this story is the flashback.
Links to Part One, Part Two.
"Did you sleep at all?"
Kronos' voice broke into Methos' reverie. "A little," he answered shortly. "Not much."
"You still don't trust me, do you?"
"Is there some reason I should?"
"Your woman wasn't the only immortal killed last night, Methos!" Kronos said harshly. "If we want to survive, we are all brothers today."
Methos shook his head. "All of us, but one." He looked directly at Kronos.
"I saved your life last night! What more do you want?"
Methos turned away from him. "My life was destroyed last night." It was only as he spoke that the reality hit him. It wasn't just losing Bethia…he had lost everything now. His home and his wealth, his place in this community. Everything.
"Your life?" Kronos clapped a hand on his shoulder, forcing Methos to face him. "You are immortal!"
"So was Bethia!" Methos' shout carried. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Kaspian walking toward them.
Kronos' hand still gripped his shoulder, painfully tight. "Then take your revenge, Methos," he said urgently.
"Oh…I intend to." Methos raised his eyes to Kronos'. "Now take your hand off me before you lose it."
He walked away when Kronos released him, and kept walking to the edge of the cliff. He looked down. The sea below was eerily calm.
He had barely escaped with his life. He had no weapons, and now he owed his life to the man he suspected had committed the murders that began this. He glanced over his shoulder to Kaspian. A quick look was enough: Kaspian was as unarmed as he. Methos couldn't challenge Kronos now.
At least…not with weapons.
And it was true, Kronos had saved his life last night. For reasons of his own, no doubt, but their purposes might work in tandem…for a time.
"Kronos," he said, turning to face the immortal again. "Bethia died because five mortal women have been murdered," Methos said, his voice cold. "I don't know who stirred up the riot last night, but I do know that whoever killed those women is partly to blame. And I know that person is one of us." He looked directly at Kronos. "You asked what you have to do for me to trust you. Tell me you know nothing about those deaths."
"If you don't trust me, why would you believe a denial?"
Methos noted the evasion, but said nothing.
Kronos' eyes never left his. "I haven't killed anyone since I came to Kalliste. But to tell you I know nothing…Methos, are you certain it was an immortal?"
"Absolutely." Methos didn't explain. Five women, all from Kalliste, all killed outside the city walls, and therefore away from the temple's land. Two of them found on the beach, two near the walls, but they hadn't died there. All killed with an axe, or a sharp sword, in a land where such weapons were conspicuous. The third death had been witnessed - two people saw a hooded figure leap from the cliff. It happened at low tide; the man who leapt should have been killed, or at least gravely injured, on the rocks below. But no body had been found. Circumstantial evidence, all of it. Methos found it compelling. He told Kronos none of it.
Kronos hesitated, looking out to sea. "Then…I may know who you're looking for."
Kaspian rounded on them both. "You know? Kronos!"
"There's a ship moored off the eastern cliffs. It has a crew of three: the captain is immortal. I came to Keftiu to find him. The reason isn't important now. I discovered the ship yesterday; I was coming to ask for your help, Methos, when I found that crowd at the temple."
"Why are you so sure it's him?" Methos asked, still suspicious. If Kronos wanted this captain, Methos was sure he was capable of lying about this.
"When you see his ship, you'll think so, too."
Kronos' cryptic statement made sense when Methos saw the ship. She was barely seaworthy, anchored about a mile out to sea. Even from the distance, her purpose was clear. She was a slaver.
As his eyes focussed on the deck, Methos saw more. Chains, a cage, an odd bench…tools of a trade Methos was familiar with. He had owned slaves in the past, and had no moral objections to the institution. Any stable and wealthy society owed its stability to ownership of slaves. But slavers often enjoyed their trade too much, and this ship said a great deal about her master.
An ironic smile touched his lips briefly. It seemed there was a first time for everything: he agreed with Kronos.
"Kronos was right," Kaspian said, voicing Methos' thought.
Methos nodded.
"Do you want to go to Priestess Teryssa? She will give us a ship."
Methos frowned, staring at Kaspian. Did the boy not understand? "No," he said firmly. "This is immortal business now."
Teryssa was as guilty as the master of that ship out there. The riot began at her temple. The crowd would have listened to her; she could have prevented Bethia's death if she had tried. Teryssa could have bought him time to seek the real killer. She had chosen not to…because of a childish dream.
Now, Methos would repay her with her worst nightmare.
"But this is holy ground," Kaspian pointed out.
"The ship isn't. We'll wait until after dark." The ship's captain would feel them coming, but darkness would give them a slight edge.
They began to walk away from the edge. There were some bushes a short distance away; that would be adequate cover until dark.
"Methos…"
"No," Methos interrupted, knowing what was coming. "It's my fight, Kas."
"She meant just as much to me."
"I know. But you've never fought an immortal - not to the death. You've never taken a head. Kronos said this man is old. You won't be strong enough to take him. I am."
He lived to regret that boast.
"How about some wine?" Methos suggested. He managed not to laugh but couldn't suppress a smile at the look Kaspian gave him before he went to get the wine. Kaspian was almost thirty years old, but he seemed as eager as a teenager today. Methos enjoyed teasing his son, but perhaps it was time to stop. The lad was so excited he could barely stand still.
"Well?" Kaspian demanded as Methos took a cup of win from his hand. "What did they say?"
"Let's sit down, Kas." Methos led the way to the table and waited while Kaspian sat. "You were raised here, Kaspian, but you weren't born here. They still consider you an Outsider."
His face fell. "So they said no." He pushed his hair back with both hands, revealing the fresh tattoos on his scalp.
Methos shook his head. "They also know you're the best hunter on the island. Kas, they said yes."
"Really?" He was a little boy again, all shining eyes and smiles.
Methos nodded, but added, "There's a condition, Kaspian. They can't stop you from competing: there isn't actually a rule forbidding it, you're just the first Outsider for a long time who has wanted to. But you are an Outsider. If you win, you will have to nominate someone else to take your place for the ceremonies. You can't enter the sanctum."
Kaspian frowned. "So I can risk my life for them, but their goddess doesn't want me?"
"That's right. I'm sorry, Kas. I did everything I could."
Kaspian poured a cup of wine for himself and drank. "I'm not sorry. Methos, I don't care about their goddess. The only gods I believe in are the ones I see. I want to compete. I want to win."
"Then you have what you wanted," Methos told him. He could see Kaspian's disappointment. It was unlikely to be the last time. It was hard, being different. The tattoos, the Games: they were all Kas desperately trying to fit in to a society that rarely accepted Outsiders.
But Kaspian was all smiles again. "Yes! I have what I wanted."
Methos did laugh, then. The lad's enthusiasm was infectious. He drained his cup quickly, wondering if Bethia would make it back in time to watch the games. Kaspian would be so happy if she was there, too.
"Well, if you're going to win," Methos cautioned him, "you need to start practicing. There's more to the games than throwing spears, you know."
It had been harder than Methos admitted to persuade the elders to allow Kaspian to compete in the annual games. The "prize" was a place in the ceremonies that followed, and the ceremony always took place in the temple. Since the inner temple was forbidden to Outsiders, few even offered to compete: there was little point. Kaspian had wanted this badly, though, so Methos had tried for him.
The games tested many skills, from hunting skills to craftsmanship. Kaspian was a talented metalworker, and Methos had made sure he had learned all the skills of a warrior. He was acutely aware of Kaspian's latent immortality. If it ever happened, Methos wanted the young man he thought of as a son to be prepared for the life he would have to lead. He and Bethia had never hidden their immortality from him, but Kas didn't know he shared it. Bethia wanted to tell him. They had argued about it many times, but she deferred to Methos' judgment while Kaspian was young. Now, though, Kas was a man, and Methos wasn't so sure. Perhaps he did deserve to know the truth.
Methos lifted the sword he held, testing the balance again. His own sword was lost in the ruin of his home. He had borrowed this from Kronos.
Kronos… Had he misjudged the man? Methos knew very little about him; truthfully he had avoided him. He knew Kronos was interested in Bethia, and he had been jealous. He didn't think his distrust of Kronos had been based solely on jealousy. Bethia hadn't returned his interest, and it certainly wasn't the first time another man had been attracted to her. Any man with two eyes and a cock would want her. No…it was something else. Methos trusted his own instincts about people and his instinct told him Kronos was a killer. There was a threatening undercurrent in his habitual sarcasm, a sense of violence simmering beneath a false face. Why the masquerade? Because Kalliste was holy ground, perhaps? Either way, Methos knew Kronos was exactly the kind of man he wanted at his side now.
Kaspian was another matter. He wasn't a killer. He had the skills to do it, but rarely the inclination. Yet Kaspian, not Kronos was at Methos' side today. Kronos, of the three of them the least known in the city, had returned there, to seek the things they would need for the next part of Methos' plan. Kaspian could have gone with him, but wanted to be here, with Methos. He knew that vengeance had been Bethia's way. Methos didn't think Kaspian wanted vengeance for himself.
It wasn't the best attitude to take into battle.
They watched the ship all afternoon. In the east, ash was still rising from the volcano, and there was a constant rumbling from the earth. The wind would change before nightfall, and the whole island would be covered with ashes. But ashes wouldn't be too bad compared with what was coming.
If Kronos' information was accurate, there were three men on board the ship, but all afternoon Methos saw only two. He couldn't figure out what the ship was doing at Kalliste: they couldn't buy or sell slaves here. The nearest slave market was at Melos, a half-day's sailing from Kalliste. If their plan was to take slaves by force, why the murders? The ship seemed to need repair, a sail was badly torn and part of the rigging was damaged, but the best place for repairs was Knossos, on the next island. No…for an immortal ship captain to moor so close to holy ground, he had to be hiding from someone. Or waiting for someone.
At dusk, Methos led Kaspian along the cliff to a fishers wharf. They took a boat from the wharf and rowed out toward the ship, trusting the cover of darkness. Methos was alert for the first whisper of an immortal presence. As soon as he felt it, he stopped rowing and passed the oars to Kaspian.
"Kas, stay in the boat and keep it moving. Circle the ship if you can. I'm going aboard."
Kaspian nodded. "I'll wait, but I'm not staying here all night."
Methos understood. "Wish me luck." He slipped silently over the side into the water. It was cold. He swam to the ship as quietly as he could. It was almost fully dark now; a light aboard the ship guided him. He could hear the waves splashing against the hull, and the sound of Kaspian's rowing. Using Kaspian was a poor decoy, but it was the only one he had. Yasir - that was Kronos' name for the ship's immortal Captain - would unquestionably feel them near. He might not realise there were two of them, or that they had separated. The sound of Kaspian's oars would draw his attention. If luck was with them, it would allow Methos to get aboard in secrecy. After that…
Reaching the hull, Methos found a handhold and began to climb. Above him, all seemed quiet. He reached the deck. He was wet and cold, a little tired from the climb but they were minor discomforts, barely noticed. He drew his sword.
"Who are you?" The shout rang out in the silent night.
Methos turned toward the sound. Light came from the moon, and from the open cabin door…that thin light blocked by the figure of a man. The man Methos had come to kill.
Yasir was tall and dark skinned. He carried a large axe in his hands. That was all Methos had time to see before the immortal stepped out of the light.
"I am Methos," he said. The ancient, ancient challenge.
No further word was needed; they both knew their Game. A sword was a poor weapon against an axe but Methos was skilled. His enemy was stronger then he, but Methos was faster. The darkness was an ally and an enemy both. Methos' real advantage was his anger. It gave him focus and determination. This was for Bethia.
He blocked a blow with his sword and instead of resisting the impact let it knock him down. He rolled beneath the next blow and sprang to his feet at Yasir's back. His sword found flesh and he heard the man grunt with pain. All he could see was the immortal's silhouette. Believing he was wounded, Methos raised his blade again. He began to bring it down, a decapitating blow. The axe slammed into his chest, rending flesh and bone, cutting into a lung. The pain was horrific. Methos' legs buckled and he fell, the sword forgotten.
For the second time in as many days, Methos looked death in the face. He felt the darkness closing in, the agony of his wound fading as death claimed him, and he knew that the next blow would be the end.
And then, in the last seconds before he died, he saw something strike his enemy in the chest. Heard Yasir cry out. Saw him fall to the deck.
That was all he knew.
Kaspian waited until he heard the combat begin, then turned the little boat toward the ship. He knew ships; this one wasn't so different from Keftian vessels and it was easy to secure the boat then climb aboard. He had no need for caution; Methos was fighting. Kaspian carried a knife but no sword. His weapon of choice had always been a spear: lance or javelin, he was equally skilled with both. Neither was a usual weapon for an immortal, but they worked for him.
Kaspian knew the rules of immortal combat. He knew he shouldn't interfere. His eyes were well adjusted to the night and he watched the battle tensely. A sound behind him made him whirl and he saw another man. He grabbed the spear from his back, reversed it and struck out with the wooden end. The man went down, collapsing in the cabin doorway, unconscious but alive.
He turned back in time to see Methos fall. As the other immortal raised his axe, Kaspian reacted instinctively. The "rules" were forgotten: he acted to protect his father. He turned the spear in his hand and cast it. Kaspian was a champion, and even in darkness his aim was perfect. Both the axe and the immortal who wielded it fell.
He hurried to Methos' side. Moonlight glinted on the head of the fallen axe.
Kaspian lifted the axe.
He knew the rules. He knew what he had to do. He had killed before, in the sea battle that marked his true passage to manhood. He remembered that battle with horror.
Before he could change his mind, he raised the axe and brought it down, severing the immortal's head with a single stroke.
The air crackled with energy. Methos revived with the familiar pain as air seared into his empty lungs. He scrambled up, reaching for his weapon. Lightning streaked across his vision.
"Oh, Lady, no! Kas!"
Lightning illuminated the scene and it was obvious what had happened. Methos watched the quickening take his son. Only when the fire died away did he approach Kaspian.
Kaspian. His son…his friend. Kas was on his hands and knees, his head hanging down. When Methos came near, his head jerked up. Methos couldn't see Kaspian's face, but he read fear in the movement.
"Kas, it's me," he said softly. "Do you know who I am?"
"M-methos."
"Are you alright?" Methos knelt beside him. "Kas?" A first quickening was always disturbing and Kaspian had lived on holy ground since he became immortal. Methos had tried to prepare him for this, but he knew it wasn't possible to be truly prepared for the first. His own first quickening had been…terrifying.
The air around them still felt strange, as if the quickening was still going on. Kaspian hadn't moved. His breathing was laboured.
Methos reached out to him. "Kaspian, don't fight it. What you're feeling is normal, for us."
"Methos…" Kaspian's voice sounded odd, deeper than usual, "…there's another immortal on this ship."
Only when Kaspian said it did Methos become aware of the nagging presence he, too, felt. He stood quickly, looking around the deck. There was no one else. Whoever he could feel must be below decks. The potential danger seemed more immediate - not more important - than his concern for Kaspian. Methos headed toward the cabin light. In the doorway he saw the body of a man, a mortal. Methos ignored him and entered the cabin. He found the lamp and picked it up to light his way, following the presence down into the bowels of the ship.
The lower deck had been divided into sections along the length of the hull. There was no central corridor, just connecting doors. He opened the first, finding more evidence of the ship's normal occupation, but nothing alive. Approaching the second door he smelled blood. He didn't think the smell was coming from above. He frowned to himself. Blood wasn't unusual on a slave ship, but there shouldn't be slaves aboard. He stood still, one hand on the door, listening.
He heard Kaspian moving on the deck above him and the waves breaking on the hull. The movement of the ship was becoming more pronounced, the waves growing higher. He pushed the door open and went on.
The next door stood ajar, and there was light on the other side. Warily, Methos approached the door. He threw it open, holding the lamp high. He stopped. He had found the other immortal.
The man was naked, kneeling on the ground, a bloodstained cloth in his hands. There was no immediately obvious source for the blood…was it his? As he knelt it was hard to tell, but the man looked big: heavyset and muscular. Yet the look on his face as Methos entered the room was pure terror. He saw Methos there, and looked down, his expression resigned.
The sword in Methos' hand felt heavy. He had come here to kill. Looking at the man he had found, death might even be a mercy. Methos couldn't do it.
He wasn't sure how long how stood there, staring at the immortal prisoner. It ended when Kaspian appeared at his shoulder. Methos turned to him, but said nothing, silenced by the look on Kaspian's face.
Kaspian pushed past him into the room. He still held the axe, but clearly had no intention of using it. He stood, looking down at the naked man. He said, "Are you Silas?"
"Who's Silas?" Methos blurted.
"I am," the man said hoarsely, and Methos pitied the sudden hope in his eyes.
Kaspian answered, "He's Kronos' friend. His brother, Kronos said."
Kronos? Methos wasn't prepared for that. What was happening here that Methos didn't know about? How was Kaspian involved?
And there was that word brother again. Methos understood brotherhood among warriors, but the Game made it a rare thing to find among immortals. Immortals could be friends, even lovers, but brotherhood - as Methos understood it - was something more, a far deeper bond. Or did the term mean something different to Kronos?
Methos looked again at the two immortals. If this man Silas mattered to Kronos…well, Methos owed him. "Is there anyone else on board?" he asked quickly.
"No," Kaspian told him.
"Take the lamp and stay here with him. I'll find him some clothing. We'll have to stay aboard until dawn."
As Kaspian accepted the lamp, Methos hurried out of the room. There was still something in Kaspian's voice he didn't like. He had bought himself a little time. Methos returned to the first cabin, where he found a second lamp. Heading for the deck, he slipped on the wet planks by the cabin door. Regaining his balance he looked at the still body of a man partially blocking the doorway. He hadn't paid attention to it before, but he was sure there hadn't been this much blood. He looked down at the body, the man lay face down, and was naked from the waist up. In the flickering lamplight Methos saw a fresh scratch on the man's back. He used his foot to turn the body over. The reason for all the blood became clear quickly: the man's throat had been cut, a single, clean stroke of a knife.
Kaspian?
Methos remembered when Kaspian returned from his first sea voyage. He was mortal then, and very young. Kaspian had been eager to sign aboard the ship, and Methos had encouraged him. But the ship was raided at sea and Kaspian fought his first battle. By all accounts he fought well - Methos had taught him to handle himself - but when he came to Methos Kaspian hadn't been proud. He had been devastated.
If this death was Kaspian's work, the boy had changed far more than Methos realised. Perhaps that was it. His recognition of Silas said a great deal, too. Kaspian was certainly under no obligation to tell Methos who his friends were, but it bothered Methos that Kronos was one of them.
Methos moved further across the deck to the body of Yasir. A spear protruded from his chest; the shaft had passed right through his body. Methos vaguely remembered something hitting Yasir when he had been about to kill him.
Kaspian had interfered in single combat between immortals. Methos would have to talk to him about that…but the talk would have to wait. Methos threw both bodies over the side of the ship, then headed back into the cabin.
As he once again passed the bloodstain on the deck, Methos wondered, when did Kaspian change so much? Why had Methos not noticed?
The night was warm, but Methos shivered.