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Fic: Secret History (4/6) (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, Part Three.
Santorini, 1995 CE
Beneath Alexa's bare feet, the sand was cool, almost cold. Adam's arm around her shoulders was warm. She leaned into his body, looking out over the sea where the first light of dawn glimmered on the horizon.
"Do you think this was really Atlantis?" she asked him, remembering something the tour guide had said.
Adam laughed softly. "No, Atlantis was further west…according to Plato. Not in the Mediterranean. Some of Plato's descriptions of Atlantis, and a lot of the legends are about this place, though. A beautiful island destroyed by a sudden cataclysm."
"I can't imagine what it must have been like," Alexa sighed.
"No? Let's see what we can do about that." Adam moved behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her around to face the island.
She loved this. Adam had such a talent for bringing these dead places to life. She had told him he ought to write a book but he just laughed and said he was an academic, not a novelist. He pointed to the inside of the island caldera.
"All that water is the caldera of a volcano," Adam said. That much, Alexa already knew. "She's been dormant for thousands of years, but the last eruption was massive. It destroyed most of the island and, according to modern research, changed the climate throughout the Mediterranean Basin and the Middle East." He was holding her from behind, one hand around her waist. With his free hand he gestured upwards into the sky. "Now imagine that instead of all that water, there's a mountain above us. It's very high. From this angle we would be able to see the flattened shape of the peak. The top of the mountain is very steep, bare rock. Lower down the slope is gentler and very green. Over there…" He pointed toward his imaginary mountain, "…stood the city of Kalliste. At the highest point in the city stood a temple and below that, stretching all the way to the shore, were the homes and businesses. They were an advanced civilisation…we've discovered they had running water in their homes, a version of central heating fed by the volcanic springs, a sewer system throughout the city…it must have been a lovely place to live."
He sounded so nostalgic. Alexa turned in his arms to look at him. "How long ago?" she asked.
Adam's eyes were closed as he considered the question. "Three thousand, six hundred years ago. Give or take." He sighed, opening his eyes and looking upward as if he could really see the mountain he described. "It was a wealthy, vibrant community and in the space of a few days, it was obliterated."
Alexa frowned to see the faraway look in his eyes.
"So much death…" he whispered.
"Thousands of years ago, Adam. Why is it so real to you?"
He hesitated for a long time before answering. "I don't know, Alexa." He blinked a couple of times, visibly shaking off his mood. "Maybe it's because they were truly destroyed. Throughout history there have been cities and civilisations lost to war or natural disaster. The Roman Empire. The Aztecs. Cities like Troy and Pompeii. But they live on in history. We know about them: who they were, what they believed, even the foods they ate. The people who lived here on Santorini thirty-six centuries ago are lost. We have a few writings that no-one can read, some ruins and artefacts but nothing that truly tells us who they were. We don't even know what they called themselves, so we name them Minoan, after a king who ruled two hundred years after they were wiped out."
"Maybe," Alexa suggested playfully, "you were one of them in a previous life."
It didn't lighten the mood as she hoped. Adam frowned, his eyes darkening for a moment. Then he smiled, but it seemed forced. "Stranger things have happened," he answered.
Athens, 1995 CE
Alexa had become used to Adam's body beside her in bed. When she woke alone, the bed beside her felt cold. A glance at the clock told her it was 3:20 AM…so where on Earth was Adam?
She sat up in bed and saw a light beneath the bathroom door. She smiled to herself and slid out of the bed. She belted her robe as she walked toward the bathroom, hoping to surprise him.
"If he went after Ryan, what's going to stop him coming after me if I get in his way?"
Alexa stopped at the sound of Adam's voice. There was a silence, then:
"You don't know what you're asking…maybe. Probably, but I really don't want to find out."
She had never heard Adam like this. He sounded scared…terrified.
"Yes, I trusted Darius, but it's a theory, man. It's a hell of a long shot…"
Alexa pushed open the bathroom door.
Adam was sitting on the floor next to the bathtub, wearing only boxer shorts. The telephone cord was stretched across the room like a barrier. He looked up as the door swung open. The look on his face she never wanted to see again. "I'll call you back," he snapped, scrambling to his feet. He hung up the phone quickly and turned to her, saying nothing.
"Adam, what's wrong?" she asked nervously.
He came toward her, lifting a hand to touch her face gently. "How much did you hear?"
"Not much. That is…I heard your voice…" She was lying. She didn't even know why she was lying.
Adam kissed her, stroking her hair. "A friend of mine is in trouble. I didn't get all the details. I'm going to have to call back."
"What friend? What kind of trouble? Adam…"
He held her face between his hands, gently. He looked stricken. "I can't tell you. Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I can't."
"But…"
"Please!" He was still holding her, his lips moving over her forehead, her eyes. "Alexa, please go back to sleep. This is something I need to deal with on my own."
"But…"
"Please, my love. I need to finish that call."
It wasn't enough. Why was he so frightened? Reluctantly, Alexa nodded. "I'll go back to bed, but I won't be sleeping. I'll wait for you.
Adam nodded. "Okay." He walked with her to the door. "I won't be too long."
The bathroom door closed behind her and she heard the click of the lock. Alexa drew her robe tightly around her, feeling cold suddenly. Slowly, she walked back to the empty bed.
Kalliste, 1628 BCE
Methos turned the bronze dagger over in his hands. The sharp blade sliced into his skin; he watched the blood flow and fall, watched his skin heal. He sheathed the dagger in his boot. "You want a battle."
"Of course I do!" Kronos declared. "Don't you? Methos, I know what you are. You can fool these mortals, but not me."
A smile played at the corners of Methos' mouth. He turned back to Kronos. "Why don't you tell me what I am."
Kronos' eyes narrowed. "The Keftians worship you, General. The man who single-handedly saved them from disaster two generations ago! The Akhaiains hear the same stories and they fear you. You have power here, Methos. And you let them kill her!"
There was just enough truth in that to hurt. With an angry cry, Methos launched himself at Kronos. His hands locked around Kronos' throat and they crashed to the ground together. Kronos struggled and they rolled over and over in the dust. Methos squeezed tighter. He heard Kaspian shouting his name. He felt Kronos' strength begin to fade and released him, thinking he had made his point. Kronos started to laugh. Methos struck him across the mouth. Kronos struck back.
They came to their feet, still trading blows, but there was a different character to the combat, now. Neither man was trying to hurt the other. They were testing each other, looking for strength and weakness. Methos knew instinctively he couldn't allow Kronos to best him, even in mock-combat. The next time Kronos struck him, he allowed the blow to knock him down, because that freed him to reach for the dagger. As he rolled and sprang up, the dagger was in his hand. He lunged, twisting the blade as it cut into flesh.
Kronos didn't even cry out. His hands closed around Methos' wrist, slowly pulling him, and the dagger, from his body. Methos struggled to retain his hold on the hilt as Kronos forced the point of the dagger toward Methos' chest. Methos shifted to get some leverage and brought his knee up, hard, into Kronos' groin. That did it. Kronos shouted with pain, releasing Methos' wrist. Methos kicked out again and Kronos fell.
Methos bent down and grasped Kronos by his hair. He jerked his head back and pressed the bronze blade against Kronos' throat, drawing blood. "You're lucky this is holy ground. Get up."
Kronos was grinning as he got to his feet.
Methos watched him warily. "Listen to me. I have no interest in chaos. I want revenge. I want terror. We could ride into the city today and kill a lot of people. The wrong people."
Kaspian's eyes were narrow. "You have a plan, Methos?"
Methos pointed to the still-smoking volcano. "She's going to erupt soon. But not today. And there's another reason to wait." He looked at Kaspian. "You've forgotten what day it is, Kas."
Kaspian shook his head. "What day?"
"Tomorrow," Methos announced to them both, "is the Day of the Dead. The people will gather at the temple for their loved ones and the ceremony begins at noon. Outside the temple."
Kaspian laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "You want the priestess."
"I do."
"Then we wait," Kronos agreed. He looked at Methos and their eyes met. His look was a challenge and Methos met it, idly turning the dagger in his hands as they stared at each other, a silent battle of wills. Finally, Kronos laughed, breaking the tension between them. Methos nodded, still wary. Something had been communicated between them…he just wasn't sure what it was, yet.
Silas had been silent throughout the exchange. Indeed, he had said very little since they left the ship. He stood and walked away from the three of them, gazing up at the volcano. The wind was changing, and would soon send the ever-growing plume of ash in their direction.
Methos watched him for a few moments, then moved to his side. "Everything okay?"
Silas didn't answer.
"Whatever happened on Yasir's ship…it's over. He's gone." The words were a shot in the dark. Methos didn't know anything about Silas, only that whatever Yasir did to him had frightened Silas…and in truth frightened Methos, too.
There was still no answer.
"You survived, Silas."
"Survived," Silas repeated. "I want to fight."
"You'll fight. Tomorrow you'll get all the fight you want." He clapped a hand on the man's shoulder, meeting his eyes for a moment. "Tomorrow," he said again and was rewarded with a light of anticipation in Silas' eyes.
"Is this what you had in mind?"
Methos smiled. "Oh, yes. I'm impressed, Kronos." He hadn't seen a weapon like that axe since the last war. He ran his thumb along the edge and passed the axe to Kronos, exchanging it for the sword. It was damaged in his fight with Yasir, but the repairs looked good. He swept the sword through the air a few times, testing the balance and strength of the blade.
"It'll hold," Kronos told him.
"It will need to," Methos answered.
Kronos grabbed his arm as Methos pushed the sword through his belt. "Just remember you owe me."
Methos stared at him, feeling something in that gesture. "If we live through tomorrow, Kronos, I'll owe you whatever you ask."
"Yes. You will."
Methos looked toward the volcano. Ash covered everything: his hair and clothing, the axe in Kronos' hands, the ground around them and the horses. It was hard to see through the eerie rain, but he thought the cloud had stopped rising. Certainly the fall of ash seemed less. Kalliste was buried in the stuff; a grey world that matched Methos' mood. But this was only the beginning. If it worried him, the knew the effect on the Keftians would be so much greater. Their Lady was angry; they would be afraid. It would serve Methos' purpose well.
Was it Bethia's anger he felt? For a brief moment, gazing up at the volcano summit through a rain of ashes, he wondered at himself, at what he was planning to do with these three men. Vengeance was her way, not his. He shook his head. It didn't matter.
Methos remembered Teryssa's spectre, her vision of him as Death. Today, at noon, he would make her nightmare come true.
"Bethia, have you ever been back there?" Methos asked her. He ran the sharpening stone slowly down the blade of his sword.
Her eyes became hard. "Do you know what they did to me?" She held a knife in her hands, turning it over and over.
Methos nodded gravely. "I know. Perhaps not all of it, but I saw how you died."
"Then why ask the question?"
"Because you brought it up." He set the sword aside to concentrate his attention on her. "Bethie, I have my share of bad memories. I thought you wanted to talk about this. If you don't, then don't."
"I went back," she said, raising her chin defiantly. "As soon as I had the chance."
"And?"
"And I found them." The knife she held slipped, cutting into her palm. Bethia didn't seem to notice.
Methos did. He reached across and took the knife from her hand. He brushed the healing wound with his fingertips. "An eye for an eye, is that it?"
"When I was little, they taught me vengeance belongs to God. I gave God his chance. What he left behind…that was mine."
The horses were scared. Methos had trouble controlling the gelding he rode as he led them into the city. The streets were quiet. There had been some attempt to sweep away the ashes and their horses' hooves echoed off the walls.
The Day of the Dead was one of the major events in the Keftian year. Every adult Keftian would visit the temple at some point today, and most would gather for the noon ceremony. Only the Outsiders might stay away, though Methos suspected the wise Outsiders were already off the island.
He led them to his villa first…what was left of it. The building was a burned-out shell. Methos told them to wait and walked alone through the open gateway. Grey ash covered the burned timbers of his former home. He saw no sign of Bethia's body, or the man he had killed. He stepped over a fallen beam to the stairway and climbed up to the bedroom he shared with Bethia. There was only one thing he wanted from the villa. The rest was the corpse of a life he was leaving forever.
The bedroom was black with soot. The floor was unstable and he moved gingerly across the beams. He found Bethia's chest. The outside of the chest was blackened but it was intact, and when he lifted the lid the contents were almost untouched by the fire. He found her bow but left it where it lay. He was looking for her mask. She had taken the mask from an immortal she killed; a piece of stiffened black leather moulded to the head, which covered the upper half of the wearer's face, leaving only the mouth and chin visible. He remembered her wearing the mask when they fought together in the last war. He remembered the fear she inspired: masked, mounted on a horse with a weapon in each hand, she had been a demon to their enemies…beautiful to him.
Methos pushed his hair back from his face and put the mask on.
Outside the ruined villa, Methos mounted his horse and signalled to Kronos. The plan of attack was Methos' but they had agreed Kronos would lead them into the plaza. Control of the horses was going to be a challenge and Methos remembered Kronos riding to his rescue during the earthquake; no other horseman he knew could have such complete control over his horse.
Kronos led them through the deserted streets until they were near their destination: the temple plaza. As they neared the plaza Methos held back, watching Kronos. His instincts about the man had been correct.
There were a few people in the approach to the plaza: those who were late for the ceremony, or perhaps people who could not fit into the main square. Kronos slowed his horse, turning in the saddle to look at the others. He was smiling when he met Methos' eyes, blue eyes glittering. Then he wheeled his horse around and rode full-tilt into the crowd ahead, shouting a war cry. He killed as he rode, his sword flashing in the noon sun as he raised it.
Silas and Kaspian followed Kronos' lead. Silas carried a heavy studded mace, a weapon fitted to his size and obvious strength. The weapon was heavy, but Silas wielded it as if it weighed nothing, smashing through the people around him. Kaspian carried the war axe Kronos had found for him. It was a big, double-headed axe, not a weapon Kaspian had trained with much. Yet he handled it with great skill. He struck on both sides of his horse, anyone within reach of his weapon. The axe maimed more often than it killed, but that was good. The cries of pain rang in Methos' ears. Methos rode at the rear. His sword was in his hand, but he had no need to kill. Not yet.
Kronos slowed his horse, waiting for them to catch up with him. Methos looked ahead to the temple plaza. It was a perfect corral. There were only two exits: into the temple itself, and today the bronze gates were closed, and the archway where the four immortal horsemen were gathered. His eyes searched the area near the temple gates and he saw Teryssa and her attendants. He nodded to Kronos.
Kronos kicked his horse into motion and the real killing began.
Panic heralded their arrival in the plaza. They split up as they rode into the square. Silas rode with Kronos through the centre; Kaspian and Methos each took one side. One man, braver than many, tried to grasp the reins of Silas' horse. He died instantly under Silas' mace, blood and brains spattering the horse's neck. Methos heard Silas laugh and then he raised his sword, charging into the crowd.
It was too easy. Panic spread through the crowd. Screams filled the air around them. Blood stained Methos' sword. He drove his horse through the people, focussed single-mindedly on the temple gate. Men and women fell beneath his sword and beneath his horse.
Teryssa knelt, weeping, beside the body of one of her priestesses. The ceremonial gown was dusty and torn; her headdress was gone and her hair loose about her face. The gown was one Methos had seen many times before: a many-layered skirt with a tightly-laced bodice that left her breasts bare. There were serpents painted on her forearms, twining about her wrists.
Teryssa screamed as he bore down on her. There was no recognition in her eyes. One of the priestesses attending her tried to block his way. Methos cut her down, a single sword stroke across her throat. Her eyes met his as he struck. Distantly, he recognised her, but though he must have known her name, he couldn't remember it in that moment. He sheathed the bloodied sword, reached down and grasped the front of Teryssa's ceremonial gown. He dragged her struggling body up to his horse, laying her across the horse's shoulders in front of him. She screamed for help but no one heard her over the din.
Methos turned his horse, looking for Kronos. From the centre of the plaza, Kronos raised his sword in salute. Beside him, Silas rode down on a woman, one of the last left standing in the plaza. She was blocking his way to someone else; Methos couldn't see who it was. Silas raised his mace and seemed about to strike, then Methos saw him lean down and grab the woman, dragging her up to his horse as Methos had taken the priestess. Silas handled the struggling woman with practiced ease.
"Time to go!" Methos shouted to Kronos. Kronos whirled his horse, leading them out of the plaza.
Following the plan, they rode along the coast to where the ship was anchored off-shore. Teryssa had stopped struggling by the time Methos reined his horse in at the water's edge. He lifted her down with some care; for the time being he wanted her in one piece and the priestess was, after all, quite old.
"Why not just kill her?" Kaspian called to him, bringing his horse alongside Methos.
"I want her alive," Methos told him.
Teryssa looked up at him defiantly. "Who are you? What are you?"
Methos shoved her toward Kaspian. "Take her to the ship."
If Teryssa recognised Kaspian, she gave no sign of it. Methos watched her struggle with him, trying to see Kas through her eyes. Fresh from battle, his hair and clothing covered with blood, the axe still in one hand, he didn't look much like himself.
Silas joined Kaspian in the boat, dragging his prisoner with him. Teryssa wasn't struggling now, but the other woman was. She was rocking the boat. Kaspian shouted something Methos didn't hear and Silas hit the woman, hard. That ended the struggle. Kaspian pushed the boat out to sea and grabbed an oar.
It left Methos alone on the shore with Kronos. "We'll have to leave the horses," he said casually.
"We can steal more."
Methos looked at Kronos. The immortal's eyes were bright with excitement. There was blood spattered across his face and clothing. He was breathing hard. He spread his arms wide, laughing exuberantly. Methos pushed back his mask.
Kronos met his eyes. Methos caught his breath. He felt the same thing Kronos felt: alive! More alive than he felt even in Bethia's arms. They both moved in the same instant, reaching for each other. Methos tore at Kronos' clothing, leather and cloth ripping beneath his hands, even as Kronos ripped the shirt from his back. Their coupling was rough, frenzied. When it was over, Methos lay beneath him, suddenly grateful for the warmth of another body, for the illusion, if only for a moment, of something that could stop the pain. It was then he opened his eyes, looking up at the volcano towering above them.
"Time to leave," Methos said firmly.
"Afraid they're going to come after us?" Kronos sneered.
Methos stood, fastening what was left of his clothing. "They are nothing to fear, Kronos." He looked up at the mountain. "That is. I've been close to an eruption before. Immortal or not, if we're still here in a few hours, we'll be dead."
They scattered the horses and headed out to the ship.
A quick fuck meant nothing. Death, in battle or in single combat had always aroused Methos and he had sent many to their goddess this day. Kronos and he were the same, at least in that one way. But it was a mistake to show Kronos anything he might interpret as weakness and letting Kronos fuck him just might fall into that category. A worry for later.
Methos reached the deck and pulled the mask back into place. He looked for the priestess first and found her unconscious, left in a heap on the deck. He picked up a rope, tossed it over his shoulder and grasped the back of her gown, dragging her to the mast. Kronos followed him and took the rope, helping Methos tie the unconscious woman to the mast of their ship.
Kronos lifted Teryssa's white hair away from her face, revealing the bruise on her temple. "An interesting choice of paramour," he commented.
Methos finished fastening the rope. "I'm not going to fuck her," he said.
"Then why bring her here?"
"Vengeance," he answered shortly.
A thunderous roar split the air. Methos whirled to face the mountain. "We've stayed too long. Weigh anchor, Kronos. I hope you know how to sail." He shouted for Kaspian and began to raise the sail.