Immortal Beloved

by C. E. Murphy

  “How could you do that? How could you dishonor my mother that way?”

  Methos made a moue, shaking his head. “Minyah was a friend of mine. It’s possible she knew more about me than anyone else ever has. I can’t afford that knowledge to be public, even to as select a public as the Watchers. I’ve worked very hard for a very long time to make myself an unknown quantity. Believe me, hiding some records is not a particular transgression on the list of things I’ve done. You may not approve, but it’s been very successful.” He set his beer down, looking at Ghean. “In fact, the only person who’s been more successful in hiding her existence for the last five millennia is you. How is it you’re alive, Ghean?”

  Ghean glanced at Joe and Duncan. “How far in the story had you gotten?”

  “You’d just forgiven me for being Immortal. Right after you stopped me from taking Aroz’s head.”

  “Oh.” Ghean pursed her lips, and stood to go into the kitchen. She returned a few moments later with more beers, which she handed out before sitting down again. Twisting the top off her bottle, she made a little toast to Methos. “There’s a lot left, then.”

  Chapter 11

  Atlantis rose out of the waves, a bleak obsidian castle. Jagged mountains swept down to the water, waves beating an endless tattoo against stone worn smooth from the ocean’s eternal beat. Far above the sheer edges of stone that met the water, trees clustered along the mountains, rendering the sharp lines just faintly blurred with green softness.

  Tiny ports circled the islands, wherever there was beach instead of mountainside meeting sea. Small fishing boats went in and out of the ports, providing Atlantis with its staples of life. Villages scattered up through the mountains at each port, nestled into protective valleys. In a few places, roads were visible, spidering towards the main city, mountainside barely scarred with their passage.

  Methos leaned on the railing of their ship, hands clasped loosely over the water as he looked up at the legendary island. The ship’s captain had announced his sighting of Atlantis at mid-morning, and since then, the slender Immortal had been on deck, watching the island as they approached and circled around it. A glance at the sun told him it was a little after noon now.

  Ghean came to his side as he looked back towards Atlantis, and smiled at him. “The main port is around the next curve,” she assured him. “We won’t have to wait much longer.”

  “How can you tell? One mountain looks the same as any other to me.” Methos gestured at the craggy, weather-beaten stone a few hundred yards away.

  “I’ve made this journey since I was a little girl. Before my father died, he used to test me on the different ports, to see if I could pick out details to distinguish them.” Ghean leaned against the rail next to Methos, pointing towards a copse of trees that hung precariously out over the water, growing nearly parallel to the sea below. “Those trees are how I know Atlantis is around the bend. It’s the only place on the island they grow like that.

  “Father used to tell me a story about them. He said that when Atlantis was young, it was a flat island, good for farming. Storms seemed to pass by, and the ocean never rose up to drown the land with salt. In those days we kept watch for enemies who might come by sea, and each person on the island helped to keep watch. One day a young boy who was supposed to be watching from this part of the island, to the west. But he was very vain, and instead of watching the sea for enemies, he watched it for his reflection, admiring himself.

  “A fleet of ships came, and because he was so intent on seeing himself in the seawater, he did not see the enemy ships. Atlantis’ gods, who had never come down from the skies before, came down that day, to save their favored people. They saved us from certain destruction by raising the land into mountains and only a few difficult ports. To punish the boy for his carelessness, they changed him into that stand of trees, destined to always look into the waters and never see his reflection again.”

  Ghean smiled up at the trees as the ship passed under them. “I always felt badly for the boy. I can’t imagine Atlantis being as beautiful as it is, if it were flat land. I never thought it was very fair of the gods.”

  “Your people have kind gods,” Methos said. “Most gods would have let the enemy overrun the island and destroy most of the people, to teach the boy a lesson.”

  “Maybe it’s because our gods are kind that we’ve created a civilization unlike anyone else’s.”

  Methos smiled. “Possibly.” The ship banked hard to starboard, swinging around an outcropping of rock at remarkable speed. Methos glanced up. “Good gods.”

  Ghean looked up, grinning. “I told you they were,” she said smugly. Methos shot a glance at her, then laughed, looking back at Atlantis’ main port.

  The harbor itself was vastly larger than any of the others they’d passed by. Ships of varying sizes and shapes rested in docks or sailed free, some with a multitude of sails curved to catch the wind. Methos stared at one of these with fascination as it swung closer to their own ship. A dozen sailors traversed the deck and masts to better use the wind.

  Three masts! It’s actually got three masts! Methos leaned further over the railing, squinting against the sunlight on the water to get a better glimpse yet. He cast one glance back over his shoulder, at the single mast on the ship he sailed on, and laughed. And I was impressed with this one, he thought, returning his attention to the three-masted ship. A sailor on the other ship caught his intense observation and grinned, lifting a hand to shout a greeting across the water at the arriving ship. Methos lifted a hand in reply, continuing to study the vessel until it was past. Then, reluctantly, he tore his gaze away to examine the rest of the port.

  Triremes, their dozens of oars pulled up to keep them from rotting in the water, far outnumbered the sailing ships. Smaller vessels, little more than rafts, piloted by children, zipped between the larger ships, skipping over whitecaps brilliant against the glowing blue harbor water.

  Methos laughed, nodding towards an area cut off from the rest of the harbor by blocks threaded together with rope. “A swimming area? In the middle of your busiest harbor?”

  Ghean smiled, watching swimmers in the water. Most were children, but a few were clearly adult-sized, and the occasional shout of glee mingled with the general cacophony of the port. “Nearly all Atlanteans learn to swim at the same time they learn to walk. There are quieter lakes on the island, of course, but many of us are fishermen. The harbor is the first place we learn to judge the sea’s mood, for swimming and sailing alike. The portmasters are convinced it saves lives.”

  Methos nodded. “It might well,” he agreed, and turned to study another section of the harbor. The smell of fish was stronger than it had been on the open water, and fishing boats offloaded their catches. Men and women both worked the boats, calling directions to each other, tossing silvery fish into totes.

  Methos took it in as rapidly as possible, watching a tote be filled and a top fastened on before half a dozen people lifted it into a cart. “I’ve never seen a port this clean. Where are they bringing the fish?”

  Ghean split a delighted smile. “We work hard to keep it clean.” She pointed to one of the smaller skiffs, captained by a young boy. “They clean up after the ships coming in from sea, to keep the harbor free of seaweed and muck. There are caves all over the mountains. The fish are brought to one set of caves that we’ve developed, to be kept cool so they stay fresher. The waste is dumped into chutes in the cave systems, like all of the sewage systems in Atlantis are. The fish caves are burned clean as often as necessary to keep the smell down. The others are burned about once a moon, to keep disease from coming up. None of it drains into the water.”

  Methos looked down at her in admiration. “What lessons there are to be learned in Atlantis,” he breathed. Finally, with a little sigh, he looked up beyond the harbor, to the mountains.

  Beyond the edge of the beach, where the mountains swept up again, lay an enormous set of gates, opened now, their doors swinging outward as if to
encourage the world to enter. Even from the distance, the craftsmanship that had gone into the gates was visible. They gleamed the silver sheen of steel, and were set into the stone of the mountains as if they’d grown there, outer edge sculpted to the curve and bump of the mountainside. The mountains themselves were steep enough that the gates, rising three times Methos’ height, would prove a nearly impenetrable barrier.

  A broad road cut into the stone rose behind the gates. Traffic, both on horse and foot, moved up and down the road, a dauntingly steep rise to Methos’ eye. Even from the water, it was possible to see rest areas carved out of the mountains, and people and carts both littered those areas, improbably small from the distance.

  “The city’s just on the other side of the pass,” Ghean said. “We won’t be able to see it at all until we’re at the crest.”

  Methos grinned at her. “Until then, I’ll have to content myself with admiring you.”

  Ghean laughed. “You are not very good at extravagant compliments, Methos. You should practice more.”

  “I will,” he promised, and bent to kiss her. The motion was checked as a warning rush of nausea ran through him, lifting the hairs at the back of his neck. Methos turned, wary, to scan the ships closest to their own. Not far away, he watched a man straighten with the same familiar expression of caution on his face. For a moment the two locked gazes across the water. Then the second man inclined his head, in acknowledgement, and returned to his observation of the port. Methos watched him for another few seconds before his attention went back to Ghean, and he kissed her, repeating, “I will,” absently.

  “Are you all right?” Worry creased her forehead. Methos nodded, looking over his shoulder as a second tingle of nausea swept over him. Aroz came up from below deck, scowling curiously at the nearby ships and less benignly at Methos himself. Methos tilted his head towards the ship with the other Immortal. Aroz grunted in reply, coming to stand a few feet away from Methos and Ghean, hands planted at his waist. Methos’ battered bronze sword hung at Aroz’s hip. Methos touched the hilt of the steel sword he now carried, and nodded at the pass through the mountains.

  “How long does it take to reach the city?”

  “Only an hour or two,” Ghean said airily. “The road looks worse than it is. Coming back down takes no time at all.”

  The ship banked again, to drift into dock. Ghean hovered impatiently at the gangplank, rising on her toes and lowering back down onto her feet until it was lowered. One of the sailors made certain it was steady, then stepped out of the way, exaggerated, as Ghean rushed down it and over the dock to the beach. Methos grinned, watching her spin wildly on the sand, and then went below to collect his journal, too precious to leave to the hands of shipsmen.

  Minyah, engaged in the same task, smiled at him as he left his cabin. “Let me guess,” she said. “My daughter is cavorting in the sand like a child released from captivity.” She arranged a satchel over her shoulder, and accepted Methos’ hand up the ladder leading to the deck. He nodded as she turned to wait for him, and the older woman smiled again. “She has done that on every journey since she could walk. I sometimes think she would outgrow it, were it not for my expectations of her antics.”

  Methos straightened, looking down at the sand where Ghean was engaged in animated conversation with a boy. The child nodded eagerly and ran off, leaving Ghean to begin her dance on the beach again. “I don’t know,” Methos said. “The celebration seems very much in her nature. She might do it anyway.”

  Minyah paused at the gangplank, watching Ghean fall to lie on her back in the sand, smiling up at the sun. “I am glad you came to an understanding,” Minyah said as she began making her way down to the dock. “I will be pleased to have you as a son.”

  “You just want to study me as a scientific anomaly,” Methos accused.

  “There is that,” Minyah replied equably. “You know these last two months Ghean has come to me, to repeat all the stories you have told her.”

  Methos laughed. “I would save everyone a lot of time if I simply told the stories to both of you at once.”

  Minyah blinked mildly at him. “An excellent suggestion.” She left Methos at the end of the dock with the suspicion that he had just been had. Bemused, he followed her, stopping on the waterfront beside Ghean.

  “We can’t go up to the city yet,” Ghean announced, sitting to stretch her legs out over the sand. “Ertros is bringing us iced coffee and chocolates to fortify us for the trip up.”

  Methos shook his head at unfamiliar words. “Coffee? Chocolates? What are they?”

  Minyah chuckled. “I am not certain they can be qualified as fortifications. They are derived from beans grown across the ocean. I think neither is necessary for survival, although they are most pleasant.”

  “Chocolate,” Ghean said firmly, “is necessary for survival. I always bring some when we leave Atlantis,” she went on, looking up at Methos, “and it never lasts the whole ship’s journey to land.”

  Methos sat down beside her. “But what are they?”

  “Sweets. At least, the chocolates are. Coffee is bitter but wonderful. Ertros is nearly as tall as I am, Mother. By next summer he’ll have outgrown me.”

  Minyah looked down at her diminutive daughter. “That is not a difficult task, Ghean.”

  “But I remember when he was born!” Ghean mock-wailed. “I’m getting old and decrepit!”

  Methos felt Minyah’s glance slide off him, and didn’t meet her eyes. “You are the freshest blossom on a young and slender tree,” he assured Ghean, grinning, and then, hopefully, asked, “How was that?”

  She clucked her tongue. “You can’t smile. Smiling ruins the whole effect. Ertros!” She bounded to her feet again, waving at the boy who made his way across the sand.

  Shaggy-haired and bare-footed, he was about eleven, and only an inch shorter than Ghean. He carried a plate of mugs, heavy clay that would stand up to being dropped. There were eight chocolates, two for each cup. “You owe me,” the boy said to Ghean severely. “It’s hot, and I ran all the way up the beach to get this for you.”

  Ghean eyed the four mugs. “It looks to me like I paid you back by buying you some coffee.”

  “It’ll do for starters,” Ertros said smugly. He handed a mug to Ghean, then Minyah, and stopped before Methos, studying him suspiciously. “Who’re you?” he demanded.

  “My name is Methos.”

  “He’s my betrothed, Ertros!” Ghean broke in. “We’re to be married as soon as we can.”

  Ertros’ expression slid from suspicion to outright dislike. “He’s awfully tall,” the boy said critically to Ghean. “And pale. What do you want to marry an outlander for?” After all, his tone said, you’ve got me.

  Methos ducked his head, grinning at the sand.

  “Well, he’s very nice,” Ghean explained. “For an outlander.”

  Ertros looked dubious, and offered Methos a mug. “Welcome to Atlantis,” he said, with chilly precision.

  Methos fought back a smile and nodded his head gravely in reply. “Thank you. I’m honored to meet a man of the island who is such a good friend of Ghean’s.” He accepted the mug, looking curiously at the chipped ice in the dark liquid. “I’ve never had coffee before,” he confessed to Ertros.

  The boy puffed up visibly. “Real Atlanteans drink it all the time,” he said loftily, and took a swig from his own mug to prove it.

  Methos took a more cautious slip, aware of the anticipatory eyes of all three Atlanteans on him. The chilled liquid was considerably more bitter than he’d anticipated, from the slightly sweet scent of it. After another two slightly tentative slips, he slowly nodded his approval. “I think I could get used to this coffee.”

  Ghean beamed, clearly pleased. “Now a chocolate,” she proclaimed, and broke one of the pieces on the tray in half to pop in Methos’ mouth. Bittersweet richness coated his tongue. For several seconds he didn’t move, letting the bit of chocolate melt in his mouth. Then, in sheer disbelief, he stare
d at the mug of coffee. “They’re made from the same thing?” He took another sip of coffee, trying to discover a similarity in the flavors. “That’s wonderful.”

  “No,” Minyah laughed. “I spoke poorly. Two different beans, from over the ocean. The chocolate comes from one called cocoa, which has many other uses, and the coffee comes from one called coffee.” She paused. “It is not,” she added, “a very original title.”

  Methos laughed, sipping at the coffee again as Ghean continued to beam at him. “I think he’ll fit right in here, don’t you, Ertros?”

  Ertros scowled. “I guess.”

  Several minutes later, Minyah sighed contentedly over her mug. “We should begin the journey up to the city soon. A sunset over Atlantis would be an admirable way to introduce Methos to our home.”

  “Is that your way of saying you’ve finished your coffee?” Ghean asked, teasing. Minyah nodded, unflappable.

  “Ah,” Ghean said, in a precise mimicry of her mother. “So I was right. That is always satisfying.”

  Minyah laughed. “Insolent daughter. I will forbid your marriage and betroth you instead to a toothless old minstrel who must sing tales of woe to earn his daily meals.”

  Methos sucked his cheeks in, crumbling in on himself to appear smaller, and climbed to his feet to totter uncertainly towards Minyah. “Will I do, madam?” he creaked. “For such a fair prize I will sing my best songs, though I fear my voice is not what it once was.” He blinked near-sightedly at her with eyes suddenly gone rheumy and watery.

  Minyah, unnerved, stepped back from the approaching Immortal, stilling herself after one pace. Her usual composure reasserted itself as she lifted one eyebrow. “How extraordinary,” she murmured. “Despite the grain of your skin and the color in your hair, I see an old man.”

  Methos pushed himself up straighter, a hand at the small of the back to suggest stiffness. “Not so old!” he said in the same raspy tone. “Young enough to get a fine child on that impertinent daughter of yours, to care for us in our old age!” He thumped an imaginary stick in the sand. Ertros jumped slightly, then looked abashed, casting a glance to see if Ghean had noticed his slip.