Part 1 - Connor MacLeod, the Highlander, follows the Prize and voice it brings him back to Marakesh where centuries earlier he and Castagere had rescued an immortal eunuch from the clutches of the Kurgan. Watch out for the jumps into the past and back.
A - H I - P Q - Z Newest Files
"From the dawn of time we came, moving silently down through the
centuries. Living many secret lives, struggling to reach the time
of the gathering, when the few who remain will battle to the last.
No one has ever known we were among you . . . . . until now."
Opening line, HIGHLANDER, the DIRECTOR'S CUT
This story begins in the year 1985, not long after MacLeod took the
head of the Kurgan, but before the events in Highlander 3
when he actually destroyed the last immortal, Cain, and truly took
The Prize. I'm stretching things a bit here regarding the films.
It was time to leave. There was simply no avoiding it.
Rachel had long since taken over the affairs of the shop in New
York City and was doing quite well for herself. There was nothing
left for him in Scotland, he realized, and even though his
brownstone and the shop were still there and would always be there,
there could be no going back. New York was out of the question,
and Scotland was filled with too many painful memories for even
Connor MacLeod to bear. There had to be somewhere to go, somewhere
where the ghosts of those he had loved and lost would not be
following him around, haunting his every step.
As he gazed out over the choppy waters of Loch Shiele, where
he had been born and grown up so many centuries ago, his mind began
to wander again as it had been doing of late. The sweet smelling
heather was long since gone to seed, spreading its hope for a new
season and generation of the beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers that
his first wife had so loved and been named for. He thought of her,
of how she had stayed with him for so long and finally died in his
arms, lamenting the fact that she had borne him no sons. On the
heels of her memory though, came the memory of Brenda Wyatt, whom
he had hoped would soon be Brenda MacLeod. However, that was not
to be. Brenda's life had come to a sudden and unexpected end on
the rain-slickened curve of the road around the tip of Loch Ness,
where she had hoped to get a glimpse of the alleged monster lurking
there in the deeps. MacLeod smiled a wan and thoughtful smile,
then shook his head. They had questioned him for hours, about how
Brenda could have died in the horrible accident and how he himself
had emerged without a scratch. There had been no compassion for
this man who had just lost the first real love of his life in so
many centuries, but how could they have known ? No one knew.
But he did.
He was Connor MacLeod, and contrary to what Ramirez had told
him, he was immortal. The only way he could die was for another
immortal to take his head. Again, he sighed and dropped that weary
head to his knees, leaning back on a cold, large rock. He did not
understand it. Brenda was dead, the car was a twisted piece of
bloody metal, and yet he was still alive. Yet the Prize still
swirled in his head if he listened. The Kurgan, that last totally
evil immortal from the steppes of Russia, lay dead and buried as
a "Victor Kruegger" in New York somewhere, alone and unmourned as
he had deserved. For centuries the Kurgan had pursued him, and in
finally taking his head, MacLeod had - or thought he had - become
the Last and taken the Prize. Ramirez had told him, "in the end,
there can be only one." And Connor MacLeod was that one, or so he
had thought until that rainy night when the oncoming car had
slammed head-on into them and taken Brenda's life.
He was the Last, the only One, yet he still found he could
not die.
Had Ramirez lied ? Had he simply been wrong ? No, Ramizez
would never have lied to him; Ramirez, his best friend and trainer
whom the Kurgan had also taken from him so long ago. Ghosts.
Everywhere were ghosts, especially there in Scotland, his home.
When the investigation into the accident had finally come to
an end, he had been overcome by a great depression. He called
Rachel in New York once, to assure her he was not coming back, and
then tried to take his own life. Where they had mock-battled long
ago, he and Ramirez, high atop a cliff over a deep nameless loch,
MacLeod had gone. Upon this cliff where he had for the first time
disarmed Ramirez, he took a long look around and jumped. Time
seemed to stop as he fell, the rocks slowly coming up to meet him.
The pain shattered so very slowly through his body, and he found
himself conscious as he bounced up off the rocks below to arc
somewhat gracefully out over the cold, blue waters and sink to the
bottom. He lost consciousness finally, as he settled softly into
the mud at the bottom of the icy water. He had thought it was
finally over. He might even see them all again in the Afterlife.
He had been fairly certain of this, as he plummeted towards what he
had hoped to be his own death. As he fell, he tuned into the
whirlwind in his head that was the Prize, and he heard their voices
calling to him . . . Heather, Ramirez, Brenda, Castagere and all
the others.
Yet somehow, the final voice he heard was a choked and
desperate cry for help. His broken body lay sinking into the
uncaring mud, but somewhere a child was crying and the Prize
brought those cries to him with a sudden clarity and focus that he
had never before felt. MacLeod had just time enough to slip one
eye open and see the first tiny bolt of blue lightning arcing over
his shattered body as he finally passed out.
"Dammit, " he cursed himself as the darkness took him.
He awoke some time later on a rocky beach, lying on his back
in the morning sun. He was stiff and sore, but no more so than he
had ever been before when he had over exerted himself moving some
fine old piece of antique furniture in his shop. He shook himself
and sat up slowly, realizing what he had done. He gazed up at the
high cliff, and realized that - to his own horror - he WAS indeed
still immortal. He stood up, flexing his aching muscles and
testing his fully restored body. He forced the uncounted whispers
of the thoughts of every man woman and child on the Earth - which
was the Prize - back into the corners of his mind and ignored
them. The sun was up and it seemed to be approaching noon as he
started up the beach towards where he had left his new car. But
they were following him. MacLeod could feel their eyes upon him,
the unnerving gaze of Heather, Brenda . . . and somewhere in that
corner of his mind where he pushed the Prize into when he did not
want to hear it, the child.
He froze in his tracks. That one voice came to him again, and
he remembered how clear it had been as he had lain dying on the
bottom of the loch. It was a boy, somewhere, not half the world
away, crying and sobbing as if his whole world had just been
destroyed. But why this voice, and why so clear - even when he
turned "off " the Prize ?
"I know how you feel, kid, " MacLeod muttered to himself.
And indeed he did. His village of Glenfinnen had exiled him
when he had failed to die in battle, and he had spent years alone,
roving the moors until he had met Heather in a far off place and
married her. He had been deliriously happy with her, and then
Ramirez had come along. Ramirez, who would become his best friend
and teacher; Ramirez, the one who had explained to him, finally,
why he could not die and what horrors were to come. Then one of
those horrors had come in the night while he had been gone to trade
livestock. The Kurgan. Ramirez had been killed, Heather violated,
and his house destroyed. Then eventually Heather had died of old
age. So many centuries between her and Brenda. And now he was
alone again. What did the song say, he wondered ? "Just one year
of love is better than a lifetime alone ?" He considered it and
agreed, but his grief would not be assuaged so easily. Again the
child's voice came, sobbing across the miles. And he was still
immortal, seemingly unable to live and grow old, love and have
children . . . . .
He reached the car, tired from his walk and the regeneration
of the Quickening which had come to him unbidden at the bottom of
the loch. He fired the engine to life and sped back to his rented
house, hastily gathering up his things and strapping on his sword
under his long, black trenchcoat. The sword, Ramirez's own katana
blade, felt almost alive in his hand. He stared at it and
wondered; there were no more immortals left to kill, yet the Prize
whirled in his head and he was still alive. It was not over.
Something was yet to come, and since he was a rich man and had
nothing better to do really, he turned his sights upon the crying
voice in his mind. He let it fill him and wash over his
consciousness, losing himself in that painful choking hurt until
Connor MacLeod almost ceased to exist, to be replaced by a mental
entity that was part immortal man, part helpless suffering child.
He saw the face, streaked with tears. He saw the black, disheveled
hair and the worn out clothing. He saw the thin little body, much
in need of a bath, and felt the pangs of hunger tear through his
stomach. It was dark where this child was, this starving neglected
boy, and it was cold. He was alone, frightened, hungry . . . no
one loved him, no one cared. No one even knew. In all the world,
there was no one who would miss this child when he starved to death
in some dark back alleyway.
MacLeod focused on the boy's senses, bringing the Prize to
bear as he had never done before. His mind sharpened, and suddenly
the sunny afternoon of Scotland fell away to be replaced by a few
lights in the chill darkness. He smelled sun scorched sand, felt
the chill that could only be the desert breeze at night, and
realized with a shudder that he had known this place before.
"Arabia, " he whispered, returning to his senses, "Marakesh
province, western border. Damn ! "
He quickly checked out of the rental house and threw his pack
in the car. He traveled light, and went straight to a private
airfield he knew. He bought a plane with no questions asked, yet
with a few strange looks from the director of the field as he
handed him the car keys and went straight for the plane. He had
not flown in a long time, but it all came back to him as the craft
lifted itself off the ground and climbed into the perfect blue
sky. He sent his thought out via the Prize to the boy, who had
finally cried himself to sleep - somewhere, far away. "I am
coming, " he said to the sky as the plane banked away and began to
gather speed, carrying Connor MacLeod away from Scotland and
towards Arabia. It was not the first time he had gone
there . . . . .
Connor MacLeod found, the hard way, that he was simply not
meant to ride a camel. The beast was uncooperative, the sun was
blazing, and MacLeod's backside was making him wish that he had
never turned his sights towards Arabia. "What's the matter,
Highlander ?" his friend called to him from just ahead, taking a
long drink from a silver flask, "A little boom-boom perhaps to
sooth the ride ?" Then he threw his head back and laughed a rich,
deep laugh at the suffering of his friend. "Castagere, you dog ! "
MacLeod shouted, "Can you give me one good reason why I should not
take your head NOW and go back to Scotland where we ride civilized
animals ?" Castagere thought for a moment, took another drink, and
replied, "But YOU wanted to see my homeland, Highlander ! Would
you give up the wonders of Arabia when you are so close now ?"
Indeed, MacLeod had wanted to accompany his friend to his
homeland since Castagere had come to Scotland with him years ago.
There just had to be a better way to travel than on a camel. "No,
my friend, I would not, " MacLeod replied, "Are we almost there ?"
"An hour at the most, Highlander, " the black man
replied, "Then you can rest from your harrowing journey !"
"Camels, " MacLeod snorted, "Of course you couldn't be from a
port city where a new wooden sailing ship could carry us in style
and comfort, and then to a coach pulled by fine horses."
"Let the sailing ships set out for this 'New World' I say, "
Castagere answered, "Who needs it ? My homeland awaits."
"The Queen of Spain seemed interested in it some years ago, so
there must be something to it, " MacLeod replied.
"The Queen of Spain ! Now there was a challenge !" Castagere
replied, and they laughed as the city came into view. "Behold, the
wonder of my shining city, Highlander. Soon we will see to your
comforts."
They rode into the city as MacLeod looked around at the
strange sights around him. It was so different from Scotland. The
streets were hard packed dirt, and pedestrians dodged camels with
mounted riders throughout the busy streets as all sorts of commerce
was conducted around them. Everywhere, everyone seemed to have
something to do. The buildings were very tall and all capped in
strange oval spires, many of them coated in gold and shining in the
sun. MacLeod was not overly impressed with the open air
marketplace, but said nothing to his friend. This city was just a
bit too busy for him. "We will be arriving in a more settled and
peaceful area soon, MacLeod. We will take rooms for the night and
head out again in the morning for my estate. I sense you are not
long in the saddle really, " Castagere laughed as he glanced at
MacLeod's camel, unable to tell who was the more annoyed - man or
beast.
Then they both felt it.
The sense that they were nearing another immortal. The hair
stood up on the backs of their necks and a chill passed through
them. Random flickers of thought of time unending passed between
them, and they nodded at each other, drawing their swords.
Somewhere, very near, was an unknown immortal who could be either
friend or foe. These two immortals took no chances. It was a
strange sense, however, and they realized that is was no one that
they knew. "At least it's not the Kurgan, " Castagere said.
MacLeod nodded. Then an evil grin crossed the black man's
face. "You want his head, or shall I ?"
"Take care of my light work, old friend, " MacLeod smiled back.
"Odd, " Castagere murmured, "we are approaching the slave
market. I know of no immortal dealers." Then a look of horror
crossed Castagere's face. MacLeod, being from Scotland, was
unfamiliar with slavery and did not understand the look.
"Explain, " MacLeod asked.
"It could either be a customer, an immortal we have not yet
met, or worse . . . a slave."
"One of us, a slave ? " MacLeod questioned.
"It is possible. Much depends on his health and age. I have
NEVER seen it happen before, but this feeling . . . don't YOU feel
it, Highlander ? Something is not right here. Make haste ! "
Castagere ordered, kicking his camel into a run.
They rounded a corner with swords drawn, attracting the
attention of many of he onlookers at the slave block. The sensing
of another immortal was strong now, combined with pain and
suffering and the wish to die that only an immortal could
understand.
The pair then realized that people were staring at them.
They lowered their swords and tried to appear demure. They
failed.
"IF we may now proceed, " the auctioneer shouted to the crowd,
drawing their attention back to the slave block where stood the
next piece of merchandise. Castagere's and MacLeod's eyes sought
out the block along with the rest of the crowd. Presented for sale
there was a naked young man, looking not much over 20. The first
thing that MacLeod noticed was that he was racially mixed, not
quite white and not quite black either; his head was also shaved
smooth, which, to the Highlander with his own shaggy mane, was
quite strange. Castagere was not looking at the slave's head,
however. The large black man's eye were riveted on the slave's
smooth and empty groin, where there was nothing where his manhood
should have been. MacLeod saw the shiver run through his close
friend, and Castagere once more again pulled out his flagon
of 'boom-boom' as he called it and finished the vile drink off in
one long draw. The feeling of being in the presence of another
immortal was overwhelming, and both Castagere and MacLeod faced
each other, realizing that the eunuch on the slave block felt it as
well, and was indeed the source of that feeling. "Monstrous ! "
Castagere growled.
"Slavery ? " MacLeod asked.
"Eunuchs ! " Castagere retorted hotly.
"What ? "
"Dammit, Highlander. Look at his groin ! See the
ruination ! His manhood, gone, and one of US to boot ! " Castagere
raged.
It took a moment, but the idea finally came to the
Highlander. He stared at the naked slave, and the totally healed
wound there where the youth's manhood should have been. MacLeod
shivered. "Understand ? " Castagere demanded.
The Highlander nodded, his stomach turning.
"And how much am I bid for this fine eunuch ? " the auctioneer
bellowed, "He is young, healed, handsome . . . "
"Two gold pieces, " someone shouted.
"Like hell, " Castagere said, then shouted, "this ruby ! "
quickly pulling a large gem from his purse and holding it up for
the auctioneer to see. The crowd fell silent as Castagere steered
his camel up to the slave block to present the dealer with the
gemstone. Most of the eyes fell upon the Highlander, however, his
sword still drawn and his eyes dancing. There were no
counteroffers.
The young eunuch kept his eyes lowered, however, and both
immortals could feel the pain rippling off him.
"My good sir, " the auctioneer spluttered, taking the
gemstone, "he is yours."
"Take him around back, see to some good shackles and another
mount. My time is money ! " Castagere demanded.
The auctioneer nodded and pushed the naked eunuch off the
block to lead him into the building behind the stage area. He
unbound the youth's hands and placed short-chained shackles on his
ankles and wrists. Two of his employees were quickly cleaning the
eunuch up and making him ready when the MacLeod and Castagere
walked in. Castagere's face was like a an approaching
thundercloud, and the auctioneer and his employees took a few steps
back. The eunuch glanced at the strange pair who had purchased
him, shivered, but turned his gaze back down to the floor. Slowly,
the immortals were becoming used to the feeling coming off of this
pathetic young man, but the sense of him was still almost
overpowering. MacLeod realized with some degree of confusion that
the youth desperately wanted to die.
"Is he ready ? " Castagere demanded.
"Of course, good sir, " the auctioneer replied fawningly.
"Highlander, take my eunuch out and make ready to go, "
Castagere ordered, winking at his friend who immediately picked up
on that.
MacLeod took the eunuch by one arm and led him out the door to
the awaiting mounts. The youth moved slowly, his ankle chain
scraping along the ground. He glanced up at the Highlander only
once, then turned his almost-black eyes downwards again.
"Any history on this one ? " Castagere asked the auctioneer.
"Only that he comes from the far south and his tribe was more
than happy to get rid of him for almost nothing. They say he is
possessed of evil spirits and that he cannot die ! Of all
things, superstition I say ! I think it is his color really. I
knew he would bring a high price when I saw him, such a good cut
and so well healed and still a bit muscular and good looking. Most
of the eunuchs I get or make are in pretty sad shape when I sell
them, " the auctioneer stated.
Castagere nodded and turned to go, asking softly, "You MAKE
eunuchs yourself ?"
"My associate and I sometimes do if we come across a boy of
fine looks you understand, it more than triples a slave boy's
value."
The immortal grunted, and in one fluid movement that was so
fast that the slave dealer did not even see it coming, drew his
scimitar and let fly with his left arm. The auctioneer's head flew
from his shoulders to land in the straw a few feet away, and his
body fell limply to the floor.
"Dull, " Castagere observed, retrieving his ruby from the
beheaded man's pocket.
MacLeod and the young eunuch were waiting outside as Castagere
emerged from the building. The black man made his way to his
mount, glanced at the eunuch, his ankles unshackled and seated upon
a new mount, and said simply, "We ride."
And ride they did. Connor MacLeod was not happy to be back in
the saddle, but sensed some urgency on his friend's part. Once
they were stopped, but Castagere did all the talking in his strange
Arabian tongue and not a few bribes passed hands. The Highlander
began to assume at that point that something had gone wrong with
the slave dealer. It was all so strange to him, he thought, as
they rode on relentlessly towards Castagere's home. The climate,
the buildings, the people - slaves, eunuchs ?! The thought struck
MacLeod as revolting, yet it aroused his curiosity. He glanced
from time to time at the naked youth who rode beside him, saying
nothing. The eunuch never faced him, but seemed to be shaking when
the Highlander's or Castagere's gaze fell upon him. The sense of
proximity had worn down to the usual that immortals in each other's
company always felt, yet still they did not speak. The only rode
hard.
By the time night fell, they reached Castagere's home.
MacLeod gasped as he saw it. The house was huge, and the spires
reached up towards the starry sky. There were torches lit all
over, and the light gave an inviting glow. As they passed through
the gate, some servants came for the mounts and others to usher
them into the house. Castagere spoke to them in short phrases,
giving orders, sending them off this way and that. MacLeod
recognized the Arabic word for the 'boom-boom' drink of which his
friend was so fond. As he took in everything, however, he noticed
that the eunuch that his friend had purchased - this strange
immortal slave boy - said nothing. He still kept his eyes on the
ground, and followed along mutely. "Nice place, " MacLeod
commented to no one in particular.
"One has done well over the past few centuries, " Castagere
replied, "I'm my own grandson you might say, for matters of
appearance."
The Highlander grinned and took in the rooms, filled with arts
and treasures as they made their way up to the formal living
chambers. There was no conversation until they had taken seats in
a palatial room filled with rare potted plants and a huge fireplace
ablaze, to ward off the chill of the night. It was Castagere,
after having another long drink, that spoke first. "Alright,
eunuch, tell us your story and we'll let you keep your head."
The youth, still standing back and behind a divan, watching
them, raised his shaven head slowly. For a brief moment there was
a spark in his eyes, but it died quickly as he turned to the
fireplace to stare at the dancing flames. "Please, " he
murmured, "I don't care which of you does it, just do it quickly.
Maybe THAT WILL kill me. Nothing else has."
"You know WHAT you are ? " MacLeod asked softly.
The eunuch did not turn, but nodded. "HE told me."
"Who ? When ? " Castagere asked.
"I don't pay much attention to time, really. About five yeas
ago, a little longer, maybe six, " the eunuch began, "my village,
far far to the south of here, raided another. I was wounded in the
fight, run through the stomach and clubbed over the head. When it
was all over, and my fellows had returned victorious with prisoners
to sell to the slavers, they brought those of us who had fallen in
combat back for the funerary services. I was dressed and laid out,
and the next day during the eulogy I found myself alive. The
people fled in panic. Women fainted, children screamed . . . I had
no idea what had happened. It was ghastly.
"When they got the melee under control, the elders and
warriors took me to the sacred place. They stripped me and
examined me, and I was fully healed. My guts intact, my crushed
skull mended. Not even a scar. They performed rites, to drive out
the evil that they said had taken me over. The priests pronounced
me unclean and not of the 'real' world. They wanted to burn me as
a demon, but instead they threw me in with the prisoners we had
taken from the other village. After three days of starving, the
slavers came."
Castagere and MacLeod listened intently. Memories of being
driven from Glenfinnen filled the Highlander's mind. They had
called him the same, wanted to do the same, but driven him out
instead. Was it always like this ? When immortality set in, when
the Quickening hit, did one always find horror in it ? Or were
there those who explained it away or called it a miracle ? "Go
on, " MacLeod whispered, beckoning the eunuch to come and sit.
Surprisingly, he did, his shackles clinking as Castagere produced
the key and removed them. The eunuch stared at him in wonder. "I
do not want a slave, boy. I bought you because of THIS. You FELT
our approach, did you not ?"
The youth nodded. "I knew you were coming. Once, when I was
first training as a young novice warrior, I felt the same thing
from a group of slavers. There was among them a huge man, very
white, very evil with a rough voice. His eyes were dark and cold,
and he had a terrible scar on his neck. He saw me once and smiled
at me, and my blood ran cold. He came often when I was younger,
buying up the prisoners. My father was a village elder - well, my
adopted father. He told me once that a group of travelers passed
by the village. They were white men, and very fine in their ways
and looks, with many possessions to trade. The other elders asked
them if they would take a turn at the finest women of the harem to
see if the babies would be black or white. There were 10 of us
born that year, all of us looking like me, not quite either race.
We were held in high regard, actually, until this . . . " his
voice trailed off as tears welled up in his eyes. "I am sorry, I
thought I was over all this."
"One never gets over it, friend, " the Highlander
offered, "Not you, not me, not Castagere. Only someone totally
unfeeling would."
"Like the Kurgan, " Castagere said flatly.
"Agreed, " mumbled MacLeod, making the connection, yet saying
nothing aloud to the eunuch nor to his friend. His own blood had
begun to chill at the thought of the Kurgan.
"Tell on, and tell us your name, " Castagere requested.
"Ramii. In your tongue, to make it simple. I always thought
it was because of our heritage, but when I was young - I would heal
up very fast. All children hurt themselves, but I would heal
overnight it seemed. This was held as a sign, but when I returned
from the dead, I knew something was really wrong. Anyway, after
those three days, the slavers showed up right on schedule. It was
then that we were all . . . "
Again, the youth choked and Castagere offered him a
drink. "That may very well be the only other thing that CAN kill
us, " MacLeod offered.
"Lightweight, " Castagere retorted, as the eunuch took a long
swallow, coughed hard, and took yet another long drink.
Castagere beamed. "Finally, someone to drink with ME !"
The eunuch grinned, the first time any expression other than
pain had shown on his face. "If I might, could I have a blanket or
robe ?"
"Suitable attire will be here shortly, it SHOULD have been
here already, " Castagere explained, pulling a on silken cord. A
servant arrived immediately, offering apologies for not having come
sooner with clothing for Ramii. Castagere dismissed him with a
flip of the wrist that in itself spoke volumes. Ramii pulled the
robe on, tied it, and settled back on the divan, taking another
drink. MacLeod winced.
"The slavers came, " Castagere mused, "and they gelded all of
the prisoners, AND you. The elders feared you would have children
that were not of this world nor the other, am I right ?"
The eunuch nodded.
"They tied us all down to crude racks. They put pieces of
rolled cloth in our mouths to bite down on, then tied a thin,
tight cord about our manhood. We were left like that for what
seemed like hours , and when it was grown blue and cold, they
sliced it off in one pass. I had never felt such pain, even when I
had been run through in battle. I don’t know about the others, but
I passed out when I saw my own manhood lying bloody and severed on
the ground. The prisoners, they took care of, putting in small
reeds and cauterizing the wounds and dressing them. Me, they just
pulled my manhood down as far as they could stretch it all and
sliced them off. They cut me deeper than usual, hoping I would
die. Indeed, I was left tied to that rack bleeding and untended,
left to die as they hoped. I laid there drifting in and out of
consciousness, my severed manhood on the ground beside me, alone,
waiting to die. But I did not. In the morning, while the others
were moaning and a few dying, I was healed - with only minute
scarring and no trace that I had even been born a boy."
Both other Immortals visibly winced.
"Well, it would not have happened, “ Castagere
interrupted, “WE cannot have children. We cannot grow old, we
cannot die. We can be hurt, but we heal. Unless someone takes our
head, we will go on until the time of the Gathering. What they
have done to you is so terrible - in the fact that you would have
had no children anyway. All they have done is consign you to an
endless life of being an immortal eunuch. Not a position any
immortal would want to be in, " he concluded.
Ramii rose from the divan, poured himself more of the vile
drink, and began, albeit unsteadily, to slowly walk around the
room as his thoughts began to flow.
"I thought it was so, " Ramii replied, "after the cutting,
five of the prisoners died the next day. But not me. They sold me
to HIM, the tall, dark man, " He began to tremble. "My people
could not get rid of me fast enough. He did terrible things to
me, the dark man. He would tease me endlessly, touch me where I
had been mutilated, kept me at his side, always. He would keep me
naked and show me off to his friends. He made me watch as they had
women, night after night. He even let other young men of his
entourage use me for unspeakable acts. He would watch and laugh.
He used to say things like, 'just think of it, and how LONG it will
go on, how LONG you will live not knowing what it means to be a
MAN.' I then tried to kill myself, but always I would wake up fine
with HIM standing over me smiling that evil smile." He put a hand
to his groin, and took another long drink, setting the decanter
back down with a firm clunk. His hand was shaking badly. "I
realized after I cut my wrists once and woke up the next day that
he was right, I would go on forever like this. I didn't want to
believe it. I took poison to be sure, but all I did was get
cramps. The worst thing, though, was how he would put a large cold
hand on my cheek and stare into my eyes and say, ‘Hello, Pretty.’”
“Finally, I ran away. One of the women of his party and a
young man came to me in the night, I never knew their names, but
SHE - she set off that feeling that HE gave me, that YOU gave me.
She gave me a camel and some gold, and bid me ride, as far east as
I could go. But I was caught again after several months, maybe a
year. As the time passed, I became more and more obviously a
eunuch and could not hide it. Over time it begins to show, you
know. A different group of slavers found me far to the East of
here. I was bathing and got careless at a rather nice pool at a
caravan hostel. They saw me, pegged me for a runaway eunuch slave
and took me. 'If you were a free youth ,' they accused me, 'then
where is your manhood ? ' I tried to offer explanation, but the
cutting I had been given was deep, and few survive it, you know. I
was young when they cut me as well; our people train boys young to
fight. I had looks, but I was not strong enough to fight them. So
they took me and resold me. No one tried to stop them. But I was
sold again every time that I healed from a bad injury. My last two
masters were terrified of me. The first gave me over to his son, a
thoroughly debauched young man with a taste for boys and eunuchs.
He was far in debt, and one night the creditors came. I survived,
he did not, so his father disposed of me for money. I heard the
second took his own life when I recovered from a fall down the
stairs of his great house. He used me as the first man's son had
done, and could not bear the fact of what he saw when my broken
neck had reset itself by morning. I'm really not sure how many
times I've been sold. Once you stand naked and helpless on that
auction block - your mutilation there in the open for all to see -
a part of you dies, no matter what the dark man says. Parts of US
can die, I know. I always seem to bring a good price, though."
Castagere shot a glance at MacLeod, wondering if the
Highlander from Scotland understood what the eunuch was saying.
There was no doubt that MacLeod did. They both did.
The first slaver had been the Kurgan, it could have been no
one else. The description, the scar, the endless torments of
seeing him with women. The Kurgan WOULD have enjoyed that the
most, the humiliation. Both could only wonder about the woman,
however, since of neither of them knew any immortal ladies.
"Ramii, " Castagere offered, "I will keep you with me, if
nothing else for protection. You will not be my slave, but my
friend, if you choose. Being a eunuch has made you weaker than
most men, and you now have the build of a eunuch. Even dressed,
you bear the semblance. The smooth face and lack of bodily hair
give you away, as well as the general build. You must have been
young as a novice warrior, as your voice - if you have not noticed
it yourself - is not deep. You will not be safe anywhere, as the
ordeal at the hostel should teach you. What we are is immortal,
Ramii. We cannot die. This you know, and more, from the Kurgan -
the dark man as you call him. To kill one of us means taking the
head, only that - but that requires fighting with swords,
endurance, strength. These, being a eunuch, you have not much
of. I do not mean to be as the Kurgan, mocking your emasculated
state, but it is the truth that I speak. Will you stay with me ?"
"You don't want my head ? The Kurgan as you call him, spoke
of this often, " Ramii stated, his speech beginning to slur
badly, "and that someday when he had grown tired of me and my looks
faded he would take my head. From the way he talked, immortals
only seek the heads of others. When you bought me, I had so hoped
that you would." The eunuch's voice fell silent, and he turned his
gaze towards the fire. "I only wish that I could find HIM once
again, somehow, but I am too weak. And although he let me watch, I
have never lifted a sword."
The Highlander's mouth was agape. There was almost nothing
left, he could sense, of this youth; nothing but a terrible shame
and the awful longing to die. Somewhere, deep down, was a small
fragment of what MacLeod could only identify as the need for
revenge, but even that had gone cold.
"We don't want your head, no, Ramii. YOU of all people should
know what a lonely lot we are and ready to welcome a friend, "
Castagere said. "We have all lost something over time."
The Highlander got up and slowly led the now-crying eunuch
back to the divan. They sat.
"HE took a great friend of mine as well, my teacher, from me,
Ramii. Juan Sanchez Phillip Lopez Ramirez."
The eunuch glanced at MacLeod and back at Castagere. He took
another long drink, dropped the bottle of 'boom-boom', and his eyes
glazed. His shaven head tottered, his mouth fell open, and he fell
over senseless in MacLeod's lap.
The Highlander stared down at the unconscious eunuch and,
despite himself, grinned openly.
"I'd take this as a 'yes,' my friend, " he offered helplessly
to Castagere.
Connor MacLeod sighed as the plane dived down towards the
southern German airfield, much in need of fuel. He had spent the
nigh on auto-pilot, his mind and the Prize locked onto the child.
He had been thinking of Castagere, who, killed by the Kurgan not
long ago, had been his friend for so long. "Was denn ?" came the
voice over the radio. "MacLeod, ich muss meinen Flugzeug mit
dir . . . " but he was interrupted again. "Warum fliegst
du . . . " but the Highlander was in no mood for this. "Sprech
mit Herrn Stein, JETZT ! " he shouted into the mic, "sag mal, dass
Connor MacLeod bald da wird !" There was a long silence then,
simply, "Willkommen, Highlander. Mach schnell." MacLeod began his
descent, his mind wandering back to Arabia so long ago . . .
They had gone to bed that night, exhausted from the trip and
the shock of finding the immortal eunuch. Ramii's story had torn
at MacLeod's heart, and he knew that his friend Castagere felt the
same way. Much of the Arabian culture was beyond the Highlander's
grasp, the idea of eunuchism was almost there as well. In
Scotland, eunuchs had been very few and far between. Castration
had been, in his homeland, the result of battle wounds or
irreparable injury. A few of the more zealous priests, he had
heard, had chosen to be castrated, and there were rumors of paiges,
servant boys, and others who were made castrati. None of the
latter had existed in Glenfinnen, he knew, but still - the rumors
were there. Here in Arabia, however, it seemed to be commonplace
and the need for eunuchs great. MacLeod thought about it.
Certainly they would make perfect guards of the women, caretakers
of children . . . but it seemed that not only slaves were eunuchs.
As he spent the morning studying in Castagere's library, he learned
that certain military officers and officials were often castrated.
It was a punishment for rape, and sometimes for adultery as well.
It seemed strange to him, but here it was. Not to mention the fact
that the first eunuch he had met face to face was not only a
completely emasculated youth, but an Immortal as well. It was
almost staggering.
The Highlander mused on how it must have been for Ramii in the
company of the Kurgan for so long. He remembered what Ramirez had
told him once, long ago - "The Kurgan are an ancient people from
the Steppes of Russia. For amusement, they would toss small
children into pits with hungry dogs to fight for food." The Kurgan
would indeed have enjoyed Ramii's company. Making him watch as
they had their way with women, no doubt forced. Handing the eunuch
over to men who did not want women, but rather a sexless toy for
amusement. Building up the youth's hopes, then dashing them - all
the while teaching him lies about what Immortals were and goading
the youth about living forever in his present state. The fires of
anger began to burn in the Highlander, and his mind reached out to
the still-sleeping eunuch. All Immortals had the sense of each
other when in close proximity. MacLeod smiled as the first traces
of consciousness made themselves aware to Ramii. From the room
adjacent to his came a terrible groan.
"Oh, Great One, take me NOW !"
That did it. MacLeod threw down the scroll and burst into
laughter. His thoughts of taking the Kurgan's head fell away as he
went to Ramii's room to find the young eunuch sitting up in bed
with his stubbled head resting in his hands. He was shaking.
"So I was wrong. That awful drink of Castagere's can't kill
us after all, " he said.
Ramii moaned. "Not so loud, " he croaked.
Once again, MacLeod laughed.
A servant arrived and asked if everything was alright.
MacLeod caught bits and pieces of the phrase, but Ramii knew the
language well and dismissed her shortly. "Just what I need, " he
whispered, "a woman taking care of ME."
"Try to pull yourself together while I go and find our host, "
MacLeod suggested.
The eunuch flopped back down onto his pillow with another
groan.
The Highlander found Castagere in his own private study,
pouring over a mound of documents and cursing in several different
tongues at once. The black man looked up sharply, then smiled at
the sight of his friend. "And how does the morning find our newest
ally ?"
"Badly, " MacLeod answered.
Castagere laughed. "Ah, but HE drinks with ME ! What a find
he is !"
"That's IF he stays."
"He'll stay, " Castagere replied flatly, "I know he has no
desire to be a slave again."
"He wants to die, my friend."
They faced each other, the stare saying it all. They both
knew. What could they do for Ramii, a eunuch slave since late
boyhood and tormented by the Kurgan for so long ? How could they
revive the spark of life within him that all Immortals depended
upon so badly ?
"We will help him, " Castagere said finally.
And help him they did. Castagere saw to emancipation
documents for the eunuch, and to a jeweled manacle-like bracelet as
well that identified the youth as a free citizen. The Highlander
saw to his training in sword fighting, while Castagere saw to a
diet rich in nutrients that would benefit Ramii's body instead of
fattening it. It had not gone well at first; Ramii tired easily
and grew frustrated at himself. He slept a great deal, or so
MacLeod thought, and suffered from painful muscle spasms. He began
to lose weight, but his muscle tone did not seem to be building as
fast as it should have. Castagere intervened, citing to the
Highlander that he was working with a eunuch, not a man, and that
Ramii couldn't take the punishment that had worked so well for
Ramirez in training MacLeod. So, they had cut back. They settled
into a routine, and within a year Ramii looked less a eunuch and
more the fighter. They took things more slowly, and it worked.
Eunuch soldiers were not unheard of, and Ramii's early training
came back to him. He developed a style that part savage, part
Scottish, part Arabic, and altogether Ramii's own. He was deft
with a scimitar as well a long bladed European sword. He learned
to use daggers and small knives as well. MacLeod also put him to
studying , stating that his mind could waste just as his body had
in his years of captivity and debauchery. When they fought, or
when they argued finer points of academia - the spark of life was
to be seen dancing in the eunuch's eyes once more. Castagere and
MacLeod could both feel it, that sense of proximity which before
had been cold and empty now becoming warm and full. Ramii's
recovery seemed to be going well.
He looked better, said that he felt better, and soon ran out of
training partners. As his skills improved, few of Castagere's
people wanted to practice with him.
He had been amazed at first, that this strange pair wanted him
to stay not as a slave but as a comrade. He did not trust them at
first, but as they went through the routines every day of fighting,
learning, and quiet evenings simply talking, he began to trust.
His hair grew back out, and he was allowed to chose his own
clothing. When Castagere had snapped the richly jeweled bracelet
onto his wrist, the sign of his freedom at large, he had simply
dropped his scroll he had been studying and stared helplessly at
them. "It's all so different here with you, " he had stammered in
disbelief. The bracelet and the filed documents gave him the
ability to spend his leisure time in the city without risk,
although at the insistence of the Immortals he never went out alone
nor without a weapon. Time passed. He grew stronger, wiser. He
learned Immortality and its finer points from the Highlander and
Castagere, and threw away all the darkness and hatred that the
Kurgan had taught him. The weeks turned into months, the months a
year. Finally, on the anniversary of the date that he had been
purchased by Castagere - he and the Highlander had called Ramii
into the private study and presented him with his own sword. There
had been tears, but they were not tears of sadness . . .
. . . but the newest tears were. As the plane was refueled
and checked, the crying came again to the Highlander as he sat in
the office of Herr Stein at the airfield. His German was rusty,
but he took lunch with the old acquaintance and explained it to
him. Stein was one of the very few mortals alive who knew of Them;
some called them Watchers. He and MacLeod had a history, but then,
with whom that he knew did the Highlander NOT have a history ? He
explained briefly what had happened, that he was the One, and to
notify the others. Something was wrong, he didn't know what, but
the call of this abandoned child in Arabia was a part of it. He
had to be on his way, quickly, before something befell the boy that
would send Events spiraling out of control. The Prize swirled in
his Mind, warning him of this, he had told Stein. Shortly after
lunch, Connor MacLeod was airborne once more.
Ramii was sitting up in bed the next morning, admiring his new
sword. He could not believe how his life had once again changed.
He had friends and felt secure. The nightmares of the Kurgan and
of the cutting and of the seemingly endless life of humiliation and
frustration had almost stopped as well. He smiled and put down the
sword, walking to the window to draw the curtain and greet the new
day. He usually slept naked, as was most comfortable for him. The
first time he had arisen in his new room, he had pulled back from
the window but soon realized that the sill was high enough so that
no one would see his mutilation. So Ramii stood now in that
window, naked and comfortable, watching the sun rise. Then the
chill passed through him and he shuddered.
In the room next door, Connor MacLeod sat bolt upright with a
shout, sword automatically in hand with a vision of Heather fading
from his eyes as the dream died.
In the penthouse apartment, Castagere came to his feet with a
shout, sending a startled servant flying out of his way as he
sprang from his bath and went for his sword. For Castagere, this
was the absolute cap of a sleepless night. "Not in MY house !" he
shouted to the ceiling, sensing the approach of a familiar immortal.
They all met in the hall waving swords : Castagere in a brief
garment, dripping wet - MacLeod in his nightshirt, and Ramii stark
naked and obviously unconcerned that anyone about could see him in
his full eunuchism. They all paused for a moment, laughed briefly,
and went to dress as Castagere shouted for guards to secure the
estate. When the immortals met again, they were armed for war.
Someone was coming and they all had a feeling who it was.
Following their senses, they all walked slowly to the front gate to
see a mounted party of about fifteen men approaching. At the lead
was a huge man in black. The party stopped at the front gate as
Castagere's men formed up to meet them. The man in black grinned a
heartless and chilling grin.
"The eunuch !" he shouted, "Bring him to me !"
"You have no business in this house, " Castagere replied.
The Kurgan only grinned. "You have my property there,
Castagere. Give me the eunuch and keep your head. Even the
Highlander can keep his head today - I am generous !"
Ramii stepped forward. A year before, the very thought of
this man would have sent him crying and curling up in ball, shaking
and in fear of what they were going to do to him next. But no
longer. Ramii had changed. He felt ready. His two immortal
friends glanced at him and then at each other. All three faced the
Kurgan with Castagere's guards. "You cannot take us all, " Ramii
stated, "and if you want ME, you can come and try to take me !"
Again, the grin. “Hello, Pretty, “ the Kurgan greeted him.
For a second, Ramii's blood ran cold as memories of debaucheries
came back to him. He remembered the slanders, the men, the
torments the Kurgan heaped upon him. And then the eunuch smiled.
The Kurgan's grin faded.
"So be it, " he snarled, drawing his own terrible
sword, "There can be only one - and it will be a man, not a
eunuch !"
Castagere shouted to his guards and the battle exploded. Men
and Immortals ran and hacked at each other. Many of the guards
fell, the Kurgan and his party seemingly impenetrable. It hit the
three Immortals almost at the same time as they fought - that they
had not only sensed the approach of the Kurgan but someone else as
well. There was a strange Immortal in the group, but Ramii thought
that he had sensed this mind before. Time seemed to slow down as
the battle raged. Soon the ground was covered in blood and Ramii
found himself in an altered state of consciousness. He ran one of
Kurgan's men through and pulled his sword only to spin around to
dodge a swipe at his head. Almost without thinking, as he ducked
down, he brought his curved Arabian sword up and into the groin of
his attacker and split the man halfway up the middle. There were
more of Castagere’s people coming from the complex, all of them
wielding weapons of one kind or another. The Kurgan was busy with
the Highlander and Castagere, and to Ramii's surprise, most of his
remaining party suddenly broke and fled when confronted with the
advance of the strengthened household guard. Ramii caught a
glimpse of a few of them fleeing, the looks on their faces saying
it all. They were willing to travel and fight a bit for money, but
when it came to bleeding and dying, they ran. Wielding a few deft
strokes here and there, Ramii took down the remaining mercenaries
and turned to see Castagere’s guardsmen trying to separate the
brawling trio of Immortals. With a shout, Castagere called them
off so that only the Immortals remained.
They faced each other. A crowd had gathered, some of the
Kurgan's men in it.
It was the Kurgan who spoke first, stepping back from the
fight. "You have trained the pretty little one well, " he snarled.
"Do not underestimate him, " MacLeod replied, "The fires burn
within him once more !"
The Kurgan laughed, a soulless chilling sound. "For all the
good it will do HIM to burn. I am sure he burns, alright, but
there's nothing he can do about it - IS THERE, eunuch ?" he
shouted, turning to face Ramii.
"It won't work anymore, Kurgan, " the eunuch said.
The three of them faced their common enemy and advanced, their
swords all dripping blood.
The Kurgan turned to look into the crowd and one set of eyes
locked on to his. Ramii felt her. He knew her ! It was she who
had set him free. He stared at her and remembered, fighting to
keep his mind on the fight at hand and off of the thoughts that he
could do nothing about.
It was she . . . and she was still with HIM. She stepped forward,
drawing a European style sword. "The men have fled and now only WE
remain, " she said to none of them in particular. "It was a
mistake I made years ago, you know. Kurgan almost took MY head
when he discovered, some months later, what had happened. Did you
know, Ramii, that in my setting you free, I doomed another dozen
boys to the gelding knife in an attempt to replace you ? "
They stopped their advance, their eyes falling upon the
beautiful woman now at the Kurgan's side.
Ramii stared, feelings and emotions rising within him. But
something was different; he realized that he had been a eunuch for
quite some time. There were feelings indeed, but not 'those'
feelings. He gripped his sword and faced her. She smiled at him.
But it did not work. Instead of distracting the eunuch, she
had only enraged him further. More boys subjected to the knife.
More lives ruined. Slaves ? Sex toys ? Who knew ? Did they do
to them what they had done to him ? Ramii did not know. He could
also not care. There was nothing he could do for those boys and
their lost manhood, but there was something he could do about the
future. No more. This woman, bound to the Kurgan however she was,
would not make another mistake. Had her heart been in the right
place, or had she known ? Had she known this ancient Immortal
Russian would demand more eunuchs to replace Ramii ? What HAD she
been thinking ?
Yet it didn’t' matter. She took a step forward. "Do you
still feel for me like you used to, when we first bought you,
Ramii ? You used to cry on my shoulder at night, sometimes . . . "
She never finished the sentence.
The enraged eunuch lunged forward, taking the Kurgan by
surprise and driving his fist up into the Russian's balls. The
huge man groaned and doubled over as Ramii hit him across the back
of the neck with the butt of his sword and jumped on him. "One
advantage of being ME !" he shouted as he turned and threw a glance
at the startled Highlander and Castagere. His arm swung so fast
that there was no time to react. She didn't think to 'turn off'
her wiles and cloying ploy. The pain was simply not there in Ramii
and it didn't work. He had wanted her, numerous times. He HAD
cried more than once. He had listened to her mock-compassion over
his being such a beautiful boy but a eunuch as well. Now he
fought. His arm swung down in a graceful arc, the sun reflecting
off of his blade’s tip, and her smile didn't even have time to fade
as her head flew from her shoulders.
A collective gasp came from the crowd. The few remaining men
of Kurgan's party fled.
A terrible calm then came over the crowd. Some looked
skyward. Others looked at each other. Still more broke and ran.
MacLeod and Castagere bowed their heads and lowered their bloody
swords. The Kurgan groaned, but did not rise. The sky darkened.
The early morning sunlight dimmed somehow, and there was a sound of
thunder. Then, from a seemingly clear desert sky, a huge bolt of
blue lightning shot down to catch Ramii's sword as he jerked it
aloft. "There can be only ONE !" the eunuch screamed as the bolt
struck home.
The woman's headless body was floating about three feet above
the ground, sparks flying from it. The crowd was silent. The
Kurgan had fallen into total unconsciousness as the Quickening,
Ramii's first, struck him full force. His slim body shook and
shivered as bolt after bolt of the Quickening struck him,
strengthening him, empowering him. MacLeod and Castagere knew it
well, but for the Immortal eunuch, it was his first. It went on
and on. He felt so much. He knew so much. All she was - all
those she had killed - he now was. He knew them, he was them.
Their memories and thoughts and dreams spun through his mind,
combining with his own. As with each Quickening, when it came to
an Immortal, it left a new and improved Immortal in its place.
And then it was over.
Ramii dropped to his knees, shaking. MacLeod and Castagere
came to him, took him by the arms and led him back inside. They
did not stop to consider the Kurgan. The young eunuch's head was
nodding limply on his shoulders as they half dragged him along.
Castagere ordered his guard to call the authorities, and arrest the
Kurgan. Looking back, MacLeod sensed that he was making a mistake
by letting him go but something told him to leave it. Ramii was
more important now. As they entered the house, Castagere motioned
to look back and the Highlander saw the inert form of the Kurgan
being chained and dragged off. He would suffer in prison for
possibly centuries or until another Immortal found him . . .
"Ah, yes, he suffered, " the Highlander said aloud as he
cruised over the Mediterranean at several thousand feet, "But
somehow he got out again to come looking for us . . ." The
plane's engines whined softly as MacLeod tuned into the Prize and
to the voice of the crying child. He was only a few hours away
from Marakesh.