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Quest, Reversal In Time	By : highlandgirl Category: G through L > Highlander Views: 1888 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Quest, Reversal In Time

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, Slash, m/m, D/s, Oral, N/C, lang

Key: ****** Scene change, alicalics Thoughts

Warning: Vivid rape scene. If this disturbs you, please do not read it.

Summary: Duncan is to be a special guest at a Toltec ritual.

Disclaimer: HL and its characters belong to Panzer/Davis. I am not monetarily recompensed for this effort.

fr

Chapter 11

Mirror That Smokes

Methos paused upon reaching the top step of the Pyramid of the Dark. He thought he heard something, but Quetzalomeyocan who stood near the sacrificial alter, called to him. Methos approached and found out that he wanted Methos to attend a council meeting later that day. The ancient absently nodded. He, the shaman and a few men had returned the night before from a raid. They'd brought thirty hostages, comprised of men, women and children, with them from a small seaside village. The shaman was planning to sacrifice them during the full moon festival which would begin in three days.

Blood would once again flow in Tula. As they made plans for the festival days, Methos now found the entire affair to be a bitter herb to swallow. He realized that the sacrificial murders mattered to him. In the thousand years he rode with Kronos, Silas and Caspian, he had willingly participated in the slaughter, raping and pillaging of literally thousands of innocents. Yet, even at their worst, The Four Horsemen's acts did not compare to the horrendous task he, Quetzalomeyocan and the other priests routinely performed. The holy men sliced open their captives' chests, ripped out their hearts and then cut off their heads. Sex or age mattered not to the blood thirsty Toltecs. All of the hostages they'd brought back with them would forfeit their lives to a pagan deity that did not exist.

As he nodded farewell to Quetzalomeyocan, Methos shuddered. It dawned upon his consciousness that he would soon put Tula and the Toltec civilization behind him. He was ready to withdraw and leave it to its destiny, whatever that might prove to be. Then he paused and silently pondered,
Where are these bizarre thoughts coming from? I've never felt such misgivings before now. I haven't, that is, until a certain white Immortal appeared in Chaco Canyon, waving his attractive ass under my nose.
That little wanton brat!

Which reminded him, he hadn't checked on the younger man last night due to the lateness of the hour. He supposed he should do so now. As Methos' thoughts swirled around in his head, he again heard the noise he'd ignored a short while ago.

"Methos! Please, help me!" MacLeod yelled, still in the throes of his nightmare.

"Pahana," Methos murmured.

Identifying the agonizing scream, he did not hesitate to pound his feet down the stone steps to the slave quarters, inwardly dreading what he would find. He rounded the corner and stormed into the niche, only to abruptly halt in his tracks. The sight he viewed caught his breath and made him want to gag. The lad's hands were tightly bound to a stake in the ground, his wrists torn and bleeding. His legs were spread-eagled and elevated, causing his buttocks to dangle in the air. Blood was everywhere and still leaked from his dilated anus. The puddle on the cavern floor beneath the exhausted man was massive, a mute testimony that the previous rapist had punctured his channel and left him without a second thought.

Methos slipped out of his cape and threw it over the blood. He then focused upon the man himself. Pahana was asleep, but his head thrashed and his eyes continually rolled beneath his closed lids. He was in the throes of a savage nightmare and continued to beg Methos to help him. The younger man intimately knew him or he wouldn't be begging for his help. "He knows me, but from where? Who is he?" Methos couldn't recall seeing him before their first meeting in Chaco Canyon.

Mica flipped out an obsidian knife and easily slashed the ropes binding Pahana's wrists and ankles. He caught the feet and lowered them to the ground, then moved up to cradle him in his arms. Brushing back the sweaty hair, he whispered soothing words in his ear. He gazed at the pitiful sight and pressed his lips to the heated cheeks and forehead. It took several moments, but the youngster at last quieted in the ancient's embrace.

A pair of exhausted brown eyes soon batted open. It took him a while to focus his hazy vision. When he saw a pair of concerned hazel eyes, he raggedly whispered, "Methos?"

"Yes, Highlander, it is me. Rest easy, conetl, child. I am here; you are safe."

After a few more reassurances, the sweet doe eyes again closed and the younger Immortal was gifted with a dreamless sleep.

* * * * * *

Duncan gradually awakened. It was as if his senses stirred one at a time. First, his ears picked up even respirations and the thumpty-thump of a heart beat. Then, he felt breaths blowing onto the top of his head and ruffling his hair. Next, he had a pleasant sensation of his right nipple being crushed beneath a strong, smooth chest. Mac was then aware that his legs touched a muscular thigh and leg that was draped across him. Instead of feeling trapped, however, MacLeod snuggled even further into the comforting warm embrace of the world's oldest Immortal.

The tease of a smile played with the right corner of his mouth, his lips rested against a slender throat. Duncan took advantage of its position and nibbled on Methos' pulse point. His smile spread further when his seeking lips palpated a subtle increase in the ancient's heart rate.

Content for the moment to keep his eyes closed, Duncan inhaled the other man's entrancing aroma. It was a combination of freshly cooked beans and the musky incense continuously lit throughout the temple. More than any other fragrance innate of this Horseman though was one of hot, sun-baked, desert sand dunes and oases. This was Methos. A Methos Duncan had not as yet been introduced to. He had to admit to himself that he was fascinated with the enigma, the changeable intriguing myth of the eldest Immortal.

MacLeod, at that moment, was so attune to the man beside him that he immediately sensed Methos' awakening. MacLeod's velvet ebony eyelashes batted open to reveal a pair of drowsy eyes. The two Immortals interchanged a prolonged, penetrating gaze.

At last, Methos spoke. "Who are you, Pahana? Where do you come from? Where have I met you before?"

Duncan's chestnut eyes blinked, but their owner did not respond to the ancient's questions. Methos slowly drew away from their embrace and sat up, locking his arms around his bent knees. He did not deviate his vision from the lovely Immortal stretched out beside him.

"What are your nightmares about? Who is Lemuel Priest and what has he to do with me?"

MacLeod emitted a whispery sigh. Then, he, too, sat up and assumed a lotus position, his sex tools hanging half aroused between his folded legs. "Someone I once knew," he finally answered.

"He raped you."

MacLeod dropped his head and allowed his shoulder length hair to shelter his embarrassed face from the elder Immortal's searching eyes. "Among other things, yeah," the husky baritone voice admitted.

"What is your true name, Highlander?" Methos again probed.

For some unknown reason, MacLeod could no longer deny himself. He lifted his proud head and in a strong voice averred, "MacLeod. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

Methos vaguely shook his head negatively, the name was not familiar to him, but he would never forget it. "No, I would remember a beauty such as you."

Their conversation was interrupted by a Toltec's approach.

"Mica? Quetzalomeyocan wishes you to join him at the palace."

Without looking at the shaman's messenger, the Horseman replied, "I will be there." Lithely standing up, Methos leaned over and kissed the top of the Scot's head. "We will speak later."

Duncan held up his now unfettered wrists. "You don't intend to tie me again?"

A curious half smile formed upon Methos' lips. "No, you won't go anywhere, not without me." And with that smug self assurance, he turned and wound his way up the passage to the surface.

* * * * * *

Methos' ground-eating strides quickly brought him down the pyramid's high flight of steps and over to Tezcatlipoca's palace, Quemado. Entering the palatial residence, he ignored the guards at the entrance and wound a path through its atrium. Palm trees, cedar, cypress, pine and oaks were in abundance in the almost two acres of garden. The screeches of egrets, tanagers, macaws and other varieties of tropical birds were, for the most part, ignored by the ancient as he traveled through the jungle area built specifically for the Toltec ruler. The tall, slender Immortal did pause when a Quetzal bird swooped down near him and ruffled his green and crimson feathered breast. The bird's unique cries reminded him of those of a young Immortal who lay inert, deep below the Pyramid of the Darkness. Methos continued on his way.

Two Toltec guards snapped to attention and opened the double doors leading to the smaller of the three great halls comprising Quemado. A Chacmool image commanded one side of the large room. Low benches extended along the interior walls with projected thrones at the midpoints where the priests stood. At least a dozen or so columns supported a flat wood and masonry roof. The plastered walls were covered with brightly painted murals of their two main gods, Quetzalcoatl and Titlacahuan. Methos had frequented the palace numerous times over the past dozen or so years. So much so that its beauty and grandeur went unnoticed.

He did stop, however, when he approached the huge central sunken light well commanding the center of the mammoth hall. Sitting cross-legged on the adobe floor in front of what looked like a sand box sat Tezcatlipoca, the Toltec chieftain. His cool, black orbs lifted from what sufficed as a regional map.

He beckoned the new arrival with, "Ah, Mica, come in. Quetzalomeyocan and I were studying the latest reports of the Chichimecas' location."

Mica bowed low before the monarch and exchanged a nod with the shaman. "Forgive my lateness, Your Majesty. I needed to check on a newly acquired novice."

The Toltec's eyebrows lifted. "The white who is like you?"

Mica nodded.

The monarch's bejeweled left hand stroked the Quetzal feathers of his robe. "I must check this one. I have heard he is pleasing to the eye."

Mica suppressed a grin. "Yes, Tezcatlipoca, he is that, but he will need much training."

Quetzalomeyocan finally glanced up at the newcomer. "I'm sure he will be skilled under your tutelage, Mica." The Immortal shaman, with an evil smile, looked toward his sovereign. "Pahana has the body of Quetzlcoatl, Highness."

Methos kept an impassive mask on his face but was inwardly seething. The Toltec Immortal had an ulterior motive. Quetzalomeyocan never said or did anything without a reason.

"Bring him to me tomorrow, Mica," the ruler ordered.

Mica nodded but interjected, "Sire, we are having the Toxcatl festival tonight in the great hall below the Dark temple. I had planned on using Pahana as one of the novice priests." Methos did not want the Highlander to be seen above ground any more than necessary.

Tezcatipoca's lips lifted into a half smile of desire. "Yes, Mica, that is even better. Now then, in regards to the reason why I sent for you." The Toltec shifted his focus to an early form of sand painting. The two Immortals descended the three steps and joined him on the cool floor.

Pointing toward a crude outline of what one day would be known as Mexico, he glanced toward Quetzalomeyocan. "On your trek from Chaco Canyon, Holy One, your party ran into some Chichimecs at the Big River, did you not?"

"Yes, but it was only six warriors; they must have had a camp nearby." Looking toward Mica for confirmation, he added, "But, I do not think we have to be concerned about them just yet."

The monarch glanced up at Methos. By doing so, he failed to notice the jealous frown that marred the other Toltec's craggy face.

"What are your thoughts on this matter, Mica?"

The former Horseman smothered a grin at Quetzalomeyocan's envy and leaned closer to the primitive map. Pointing toward the mountains north of the city, he said, "I am not sure I agree, Tescatlipoca. The Chichimecs that jumped us were carrying water pouches. It was as if they were preparing for a journey. I think they stumbled upon us by accident."

"A journey here, do you suppose?" the mortal asked.

Methos shrugged his deceptively slender shoulders. "Perhaps."

"If they are planning to attack us, we shall have to make ready. Meanwhile, our Toxcatl Ceremony will begin tonight. We will pray and then sacrifice the hostages in three days."

* * * * * *

Methos remained secluded in the ruler's meeting for over an hour. The Toltecs' meticulous measurements not only of the stars but of time itself never ceased to amaze him. Their race was comparable to the learned Chinese and so far removed from the Europeans who were enmeshed in the dark ages.

When he was at last freed to his own devices, he headed for the Temple and the adobe steps that would leading him to Pahana. He reentered the cubicle and was pleased to see that the conetl was still asleep and wrapped in master's robe until only his long, curling hair was visible.

Mica couldn't help but smile. MacLeod resembled a child more than ever before. He knelt down and delicately relocated an inky tress behind the sleeping man's right ear. He then leaned forward and suckled the Scot's ear lobe.

The priest trailed a progressively warming path of feather light kisses along the white man's neck and to his pulse beat of life. He smugly detected an alteration in Pahana's breathing as he did so. Looking up, he saw a pair of half lidded, brownish gold ones.

"You came back," Pahana's sleep fogged voice whispered.

Methos pulled back and grinned. "Did you doubt that I wouldn't?"

Duncan barely shook his head. "No, you always come back."

The ancient abruptly sat up. "There you go again. You talk as though we are friends or. . ."

"Lovers?" Mac raggedly answered. "We've been, ah, both, one time or another."

"But, how?" he demanded. "I've not seen you before, MacLeod. You are unforgettable."

Duncan sat up and wrapped his arms about drawn up knees. "It's a long story, Methos, one I can't share, at least not yet."

The Toltec priest's handsome face melded into one that was very familiar to Duncan MacLeod, one of puzzled indifference. Duncan loosed his arms and allowed himself to be enfolded into Methos' embrace. The priest lowered both their bodies onto the earth as he drank in the alluring sight of the naked Immortal.

After a moment or two, Methos' mouth tilted and consumed his captive's mouth. The older man's tongue plundered each crevice, every tooth, before it battled with MacLeod's .Their oral swords twisted and contorted around the other one until neither Immortal could tell where his own tongue began or ended. Pahana sucked Mica's lower lip until it too was as puffy and bruised as his own.

At the end of their breathtaking kiss, both men separated their heaving chests, partially for strength but mostly from the rising passion building within them. It was in the moment's panting respite that the ancient unwaveringly averred, "You will tell me everything, Pahana, sooner or later."

Mac grinned and quipped, "I always do, but not right now, okay?"

Pahana pulled himself up and covered his lover's left nipple with his heat radiating mouth. He first rolled his tongue around and around the tiny nub before grazing his teeth across its slitted end. After long ministrations to that one, he switched to the other and paid it just as much attention.

Methos groaned and flexed his back muscles, propelling his chest forward to enable the younger man access to him. He writhed helplessly as the Scot's lips at last deserted his breasts and focused upon the ancient's navel.

Mac grinned at his lover's reaction. He did not tarry and worked lower in a scorching descent to the Horseman's fully engorged penis. MacLeod was used to being the dominant lover with Methos passively lying back and enjoying MacLeod's erotic gifts. This Methos, this Mica, however, was not content to be a submissive partner. To MacLeod's delight, he found himself rolled onto his back and an enervated Methos devouring his nipples and weeping cock.

The sensations coursing through Duncan were so numerous and simultaneous that it was all he could do to just hang on for the ride. Methos' hand encircled his shaft, rubbing and smoothing it as a potter would a wad of clay until he approved of its shape and consistency. Only this potter wasn't content until he'd swallowed Duncan'd and and laved his torrid tongue around it. The younger man felt himself edged to the brink of ejecting his essence, only to be drawn back by his lover's hand tightening around its base. He endured the unfulfilled needs until Methos had him begging and pleading for release.

Mica smiled around the youngster's rigid cock but held its base firmly to thwart any release. He knew could lie beside this beautiful man and watch him writhe in sexual need all day. Yet, his own readiness was, by now, so acute that he wouldn't last any longer. Methos relented and allowed the Highlander to empty his contents into his awaiting mouth. The ancient drank as though Pahana were a well and Mica had just found it after a dry, parched journey.

When he was through, Duncan sprawled bonelessly in his lover's arms, his senses dimmed and his muscles spent. He started to sit up but was eased back down. He felt his legs parted and lifted up onto Mica's shoulders. Duncan hadn't the energy to neither help nor hinder his lover, and he smiled in anticipation as his buttocks were hoisted onto the older man's thighs. In his twilight of wakefulness, he then felt a finger delve into his innermost region. Another was added and yet another that massaged and tormented his prostate. The Scot felt jolt after jolt of pleasure streak through his love-exhausted body. Unbelievably, he felt himself engorging yet again.

Methos stroked MacLeod's inner depths until he was in pain from his chosen temporary abstinence. He smeared a swath of Duncan's cum onto his own length and positioned it at his entrance. Mica covered his groaning mouth with his own as his own weeping length simultaneously surged into the hot depths, not stopping until he was completely buried within the willing body.

For once, thoughts and memories of Lemuel Priest and the sick abuse he'd forced upon the Scot was overwhelmed. Mac's discernment and entire being was centered on the handsome young appearing old man that had succeeded in capturing his heart, soul and body. It merely took a few hard thrusts until he felt Mica's body fluids ejecting inside him. Roaring with delight, Mac felt himself once again splash his semen onto his lover's lower abdomen.

Mica collapsed onto the exhausted Pahana, both men temporarily blacking out. It was the older man who aroused first and readjusted himself until he lay alongside MacLeod. Together, they drifted into a sated sleep.

* * * * * *

Much later that evening, two women bathed the two Immortals. Methos lay stretched upon a rock bed, enjoying the cool cloth a black-eyed priestess was using on his chest and lower abdomen. It would be awhile before the Toxcotl ceremony would begin. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the attentions.

Duncan was not accustomed to being bathed by another person and kept grabbing the young girl's hand who attended him when she strayed to his genitals.

"Relax, Pahana," Mica chided. "Enjoy it, besides, you have no choice."

MacLeod debated several seconds of whether or not to fight this withdrawal of his personal privilege, but in the end, he sighed heavily and spread his arms and legs wide for her to bathe him unhindered.

* * * * * *

Mica donned his best robe that was covered in white egret, flamingo and quetzal feathers. Tying the laces loosely around his sun weathered neck, he adjusted the short white tunic covering his hips. Satisfied with his appearance, he gaze upon the vision of loveliness Omah had created.

Pahana's body glistened from the oil applied on his skin. He wore a single gold arm band on his left arm and a Quetzal feather secured to another gold one on his other arm. Around his neck dangled a medallion with the image of Titlacahuan emboldened upon it. His loins remained uncovered except for a single band of leather which had been snugly tied around the base of his testicles. It was attached to another one that had been wound around the root of the aroused sex.

His oiled hair lay shining around his bronze shoulders, thus projecting Pahana into an image of physical perfection. After Pahana was initiated and inducted as the embodiment of their God of the Darkness, he would serve as the human replica for one year. At the end of that year, he would be sacrificed and another chosen. Methos brows narrowed at that thought
. I do not intend to allow that to happen, he vowed.

He looked again at the uneasy Highlander and nodded his reassurance. He then silently led the way deeper into the cavern until they arrived in a grandiose room in which the Toltec God's Image was kept.

can can had no idea what awaited him in the room. He'd been subjected to so many diverse experiences since his entrance into this long ago time period, that he'd thought it to be a simple religious rite. He was unprepared for the scene he now beheld.

The Toxcatl ceremony was held in the furthermost chamber of the extinct volcano. A six foot alsat sat near the far wall of the room. Upon it was a wooden pedestal which held a massive, obsidian carved statue of Titlacahuane Whe Whose Slaves We Are.' Ordinarily, a curtain secreted the God from view to all but a few select priests. Because of tonight's festival, however, the cover had been pulled aside to reveal the 'Mirror That Smokes,' another of the deity's numerous names.

The idol itself had been painstakingly carved from volcanic rock and polished to an almost blinding sheen. Its forehead, nose and mouth were painted a human Indian color. An intricate lip plug of a transparent, pale green beryl was attached to a green feather adorning its mouth. It had a large gold medallion hung about its neck that was similar to the one now adorning Duncan's. Two gold bracelets were placed on each carved arm similar the smaller replicas on Mac's.

A fan of blue, green and yellow feathers surrounding a plate of gold was in its left hand. The gold plate had been polished until it, too, gleamed as though a mirror. Titlacahuan watched every person's behavior through it. Clutched in its right hand were four arrows symbolizing its punishment of men's evil deeds. In addition to all of that, twenty gold bells were tied around each of its ankles, with a deer hoof bound to his right foot. This represented his swiftness and agility.

Upon the walls and doors were positioned hundreds of candles and torches. The lighting leant an eerie, shadowy atmosphere to the pagan chamber, reminding Duncan of some of the scenes from the 'religious' movies of the nineteen fifties and sixties.

A single area that MacLeodhad first missed was a flat, bed sized table a few feet off the ground. It was covered with feathered robes of every color of the rainbow. At its far end was a torch that sat in a golden receptacle and on the other was an altar with various oils and fragrances that wafted up into his nostrils. Just behind the altar was a pit in which a fire burned brightly. Duncan hated to think what that was for.

Methos took a position on the right side of the idol while Quetzalomeyocan stood immobile on its left. A dozen or so other priests similarly garbed stood beside the Immortal priests. When Duncan was led into the room, the Tos' bs' black eyes widened at the glistening, sleek and captivating body of Pahana, the soon to be 'living Titlacahuan.'

All was in readiness. The only other expected person was Tula's reigning monarch, Tescatlipoca. In but a moment, he arrived to begin the ceremony. All his subjects bowed low to the ground in obeisance as their leader. He nodded his head in recognition, but his breath was then literally stolen when he observed the stunning vision before him. He had heard the new captive was handsome, but he'd had no idea the long-lived man was as ravishing as he was. He would have this slave's body for himself this night, right here before his subjects. This Pahana was the epitome of Titlacahuan himself.

Quetzalomeyocan's brows knitted together in consternation at his king's reaction to the pale one known as Pahana. He would have liked to delay their meeting until he himself had another opportunity to indulge in Pahana's sweet nectar. If Quetzalomeyocan did not know him better, it was almost as if Mica wanted their king to know of the slave and thus prevent his possible disappearance into Quetzalomeyocan's menage. Other comely slaves had been drafted to duty in his household, to remain until their demise. He would need to keep a closer vigil than he'd previously done on this old one who'd ingratiated himself into Toltec society.

Most of the chants and prayers went over Duncan's head. Precious oils were daubed onto the idol's body as more prayers were said. MacLeod tried to ignore the leers he was receiving from everyone assembled in the subterranean room. It was as if he was the main course in the feast. Casting a quick glance toward Methos, he was minutely reassured by his nod. Perhaps he hadn't anything to worry about after all.

Duncan again caught his breath when a buffalo bull calf was led, bawling its objections, into the flame flickering lighted room. It was tugged forward by a gold chain around its neck. Methos and Quetzalomeyocan came forward, met their chieftain and circled about the animal.

The head priest approached the image and selected a knife Mac had not noticed. Its curved blade was made of obsidian and its handle in the shape of their god. Quetzalomeyocan waited until the sacrifice was secured upon the altar by Mica and two other priests. He then proceeded to deftly slit its neck, allowing the blood to pour out and over the altar, his arms and hands. The Toltec Immortal then sliced open the middle, removed the heart and held it up for all to see the still pumping organ. Everyone in the room except Methos and the king shouted their approval and roared its approval as the shaman fed the organ into the flames of the pit, as a sacrifice to their god.

Duncan's stomach turned over and it was all he could do to retain what little he'd eaten. He'd heard of blood sacrifices, but he'd never before seen one of them. He shuddered with a further thought of what it must be like to witness the human sacrifices he knew they also performed.

When this portion of the ceremony was completed and the carcass removed, Duncan was led toward the altar. Quetzalomeyocan handed him a gold cup with a red drink in it. He suspected it was partly blood from the calf to which had been added a fermented drink and a drug. Whatever it was, he did not hesitate in holding it up to his lips and drinking it down in one large swallow. If he were to be sacrificed tonight, for once, he did not wish to know it. It would be better if he were unconscious.

Methos watched the young Immortal toss down the Holy concoction. The conouh probably thought he was to be sacrificed. Well, the Toltecs planned for him to be killed, but not this soon and especially not tonight. Even so, it was just as well that the Highlander were in a twilight sleep considering what lay ahead of him.

Pahana, stumbling, was led to the altar and laid face down on the adobe bed. Methos, Quetzalomeyocan and Tescatlipoca stood quietly on the three open sides of him. The three men were shocked at the proceeding events of the ordinarily serene ceremony.

A horrifying flashback of being restrained on his belly in Lemuel's prison catapulted Duncan's mind forward some five hundred years. His wrists and ankles were chained and Lemuel's henchman was ramming his fist into his unprotected ass.

Duncan began screaming and fighting the Toltecs who vainly tried to hold him in place. He was no longer in the Anasazi world, but in a French coastal prison in the 1600's .

Methos frowned at Pahana's reaction. He hadn't seen the Highlander react in quite this way since they'd first met. Even his nightmares were never this violent. Mica quickly stepped to the young Immortal's side, turned him onto his back and lifted his chin. The slave's chestnut eyes were glazed and wild. It was immediately apparent to Methos that the man's mind was no longer present in this room, but was trapped in a nightmarish situation the lad had previously stumbled into.

The ancient switched to Gaelic. "Donnchadh! Donnchadh! Wake up! Listen to me!"

Methos ignored the Toltec priests' stares as they listened to the strange guttural language spilling from Mica's lips. Not receiving a response, he again sternly repeated Mac's Gaelic name but this time, he slapped him in the face.

This effort broke penetrated Mac's reality nightmare. Duncan yelled once more, but then blinked his eyes wide open and at last seemed to comprehend the presence of his friend and lover. "Methos?" he gasped, tears forming in his expressive, terrified eyes.

The ancient switched to English and caressed the younger Immortal's quivering jaw. "Yes, Duncan, you are here in Tula.You are safe; no one will harm you, I promise," Methos crooned. He then moved to sit upon the stone slab next to the Highlander's quaking body.

MacLeod now seemed to hear him and threw himself into the Horseman's open arms. "I'm safe. Lemuel's not here; he's dead; you killed him," he whispered, over and over again, both to reassure himself and anchor him in reality.

Mac felt his stomach rebelling from the vile potion he'd drank. Now retching, he stuck his head inside the ceramic bowl Methos thrust at him. He didn't notice that he continued to cry with heaving sobs and streaming tears, all the while emptying the contents his system had rejected into the receptacle.

Tescatlipoca and Quetzalomeyocan did not understand what either Immortal had said. Nevertheless, it was obvious to them that Mica had succeeded in chasing away whatever demon spirit and its memories the white man had harbored deep within himself.

The king moved er ter to his Number One Shaman. "Have Pahana brought to my quarters tomorrow when he is settled down." With those brief instructions, the Toltec monarch whirled about, his colorful feathered robe billowing about him, and exited up the long flight of stairs to the outside, his entourage close behind.

Quetzalomeyocan nodded a dismissal to the remaining priests. As they left, he recalled the several nights on the trail when Pahana had awakened with nightmares similar to the one just witnessed. He silently waited until the younger Immortal's weeping was reduced to quiet sobs.

Mica patted the white man's back and continued to clasp him firmly within the circle of his comforting arms. He at last looked up at the shaman.

The Toltec priest observed, "Pahana is not yet ready. He has many evil spirits that need to be flushed from within him."

Methos silently waited for him to continue.

"He also needs to find his way to true inner peace. Only then will he be ready for this ceremony. You will help him with that journey into the Light." He then paused, stepping forward and laying a cool hand on MacLeod's shoulder. "His Majesty wants him in his quarters tomorrow for the evening meal." The Toltec waited until he received an acknowledging nod from his fellow priest.

Methos barely nodded and the Immortal quickly departed up the staircase.

Finally, when the silence communicated to the Scot that the two of them were alone, he raised up from his lover's shoulder. Methos smoothed his sweaty hair off his face and revealed a pair of reddened eyes and a tear-streaked face. "You are safe, Duncan."

MacLeod sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Methos' golden spiked green eyes blinked. "There is nothing to be sorry for, Conetl. You have been harshly treated in the past. I will help you light your path to enlightenment."

Mac dumbly nodded, both his body and spirit spent. He didn't resist when the elder man helped him to his feet and they began the long trek up the hundred or more steps to the top of the pyramid. Nor did he notice that instead of returning him to his tiny cubicle, Methos led him to his own spacious, private quarters.

It was not until Mac was safely bundled within a snug buffalo robe that it occurred to him he was not only above ground for the first time in over three weeks, but that he was ensconced in Methos' own bed chamber. He glanced questioningly at his lover who'd joined him in the bed. The ancient merely opened his arms and Duncan eagerly snuggled into the security of the embrace.

Mica had not told Pahana that the Toltec leader still wanted his body. There would be time enough for that tomorrow. Nor did Methos fall asleep until he was assured that the Highland youngster slept. His thoughts again pondered upon the strange words Pahana had spoken. Was he a prophet or a seer? What did he mean when he said Methos had saved his life? Was his own future to be forever linked with this son of the Highlands? Only after long moments did he allow his own body to relax and succumb to a needful rest.

* * * * * *

--To Be Continued--

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Quest, Reversal In Time