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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
- 2
- 3
- 4
Rating: PG-13, angst, memory dreams

Charcter: Duncan

Key: ****** Scene change,
Italics Thoughts

Summary: Duncan and Tom meet for dinner and the Hopi offers him a unique invitation.

Disclaimer: HL and its characters remain property of Panzer/Davis. I receive no monetary reward for this effort.

Chapter 3

Dinner and an Invitation

MacLeod, returning from his memories, pulled into a self service gasoline station northeast of Flagstaff. He climbed out of his car and stretched his long limbs. Duncan opened the gas cap and placed the pump's nozzle into the tank. He then found a window washer and a couple of disposable wipes and proceeded to clean the front windshield of his car.

As he worked and kept an eye on the gas pump, Mac watched a blue pickup truck pull into the station on the opposite side of the nd. nd. A Navajo wearing a red shirt and blue jeans began pumping gasoline into his vehicle. MacLeod heard a bark and saw a black dog hanging out the driver's side of the truck, its long pink tongue dangling over the side of its mouth, reminiscent of Shakespeare.

Duncan smiled. Shakespeare. He hated leaving his pet behind, but the pup was long overdue for the obedience training originally scheduled in June. Besides, he didn't figure dogs and snakes got along too well. He'd also realized that another reason for delaying it was that following his traumatic encounter with Priest, he needed Shakespeare's companionship. Methos left town soon after taking Priest's head, giving no real reason for his departure. Of coures, the old man never did bother to tell anybody anything. That left only Joe and Shakespeare around and Mac realized he needed his dog close by. So, he'd delayed Shakespeare's schooling. He knew that sounded rediculous. He'd never done anything like that in his entire life, but things were different for him nowdays, and the gangling young dog had filled an empty space for him. Methos might've done that, too, but... Duncan halted such thoughts, that fantasy would never happen. Methos thought him too young for him anyway.

Mac heard the ching sound that said his gasoline tank was filled. He automatically replaced the pump handle and gas cap and entered the self service station's convenience store.

"That'll be twenty dollars, mister," the station attendant told the Scot.

"What? Oh, yes, of course," MacLeod vaguely answered. He reached into his back pocket and dug out his billfold. Plucking a twenty, he handed it to the young Indian. "How much further is it to Walpi?"

"Oh, about an hour or so." The dark skinned kid punched the old fashioned cash register and dropped the bill into it before slamming the drawer closed. "You should be there by five o'clock."

"Thanks," the Scot mumbled.

He glanced around for the men's room and spotted a gray metal door. Pushing inside, he walked to the urinal and unzipped his jeans. Releasing himself from his white cotton briefs, the Scot mechanically watched the stream of clear yellow urine arc as it splashed into the white porcelain fixture. Images of Priest leading him into a dim, candle lit room, where the customers paid cash to use MacLeod as a boy-toy, flitted through his besieged mind. Leering green eyes and mocking laughter flooded him, and he was momentarily transported back to the funeral parlor's store room and the casket.

Duncan blinked and staggered, backing into another customer just entering the rest room.

"Hey, partner, are you okay?" a tall, gangling truck driver asked, reaching out a slender hand to steady the shaky Highlander.

MacLeod vaguely nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The other man shrugged his shoulders and went about his business.

Mac crossed over to the lavatory and rinsed his hands. He then splashed the tepid water onto his face and drew his trembling palms over his eyes, nose and mouth. Mac leaned on the sink and glimpsed into the cracked mirror. A gaunt face and a pair of dark sunken eyes returned his bleak stare. Shaking his head and reorienting himself, the Scot whispered, "I've got to do something. I can't keep on like this."

* * * * * *

Later that evening, MacLeod stgazigazing at the brilliant red, yellow and purple sunset ilnatinating the desert floor of central Arizona. Saguaro cacti reached their spiny fingers toward the spectacular array of colors. He spotted the prominent red head of a turkey vulture sitting on a nearby rock. Commonly known as a buzzard, the gangling bird flapped its huge wings and flew off in search of a meal. The Scot stood and watched the graceful garbage collector of the skies dip and glide its way through the hot evening air.

The Highlander had reached the Trail's End Motel in Walpi just after five. He was to meet Tom White Feather there for dinner. Duncan walked a bit further before heading back to the restaurant. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the relaxing quiet of the southwestern country. The past year had been long and tough for him. His sexual abuse bombarded him with brutal flashbacks. He unconsciously shuddered and inhaled a deep breath, then blew it out through his mouth. He was still haunted by Lemuel and his henchmen and didn't know how to stop the dreams.

A familiar figure awaited him in front of the motel. MacLeod raised a hand and waved. "Tom, how are you? It's been a while," MacLeod greeted, shaking the man's hand.

Tom White Feather returned the firm grip and drew the Immortal in for a brief hug.

The Hopi Indian looked much the same except that his temples were now white and he sported a few more lines in his sun-bronzed face. "How's Mesa Verde?" MacLeod asked as they stepped toward the motel restaurant.

"Oh, it's still the same. Not too much difference except there's a lot more visitors and less money coming from the government," he complained. "There's as many tourists at the ruins now days as there was when the Anasazi lived there."

As they entered the restautrant, Tom said, "Mac, I wanted to invite you to something we're doing tomorrow morning. A group of us gather in the kiva and have a special ceremony to kick off the main rain ritual. I've asked our holy man if it would be okay to ask you to come, if you want to, that is. What do you think?"

Duncan was honored by the invitation. Rites such as this one were rictricted to Hopis only, certainly not to whites. Much of the ancient Indian beliefs and customs were alien to him. It would be very interesting to be a part of it. After all, if he thought about it, they weren't so different from his own people. Scots had their share of unique rituals, too. "Yeah, Tom, I'd be glad to go with you. It sounds like fun." MacLeod had no idea just what path he would be catapulted onto during that holy ceremony.

Tom explained that they would go to the main pueblo the next day. Three medicine men, two other dancers, Duncan and himself were to gather in the kiva. He didn't have to do anything ahead of time to prepare himself, not like they did. He was just to show up.

After being seated at a table and ordering their meal, Duncan said, "Tom, I wonder..."

"What's that, Mac?"

"Why are they called the Anasazi Indians? Does anyone even know the tribe's real name?"

White Feather smiled. "To be honest, Mac, nobody knows for sure. Us Hopis call them Hisatsinom or ancient ones. The name Anasazi was given to them by the Navajo. It means ancient enemies." He shrugged his stooped shoulders. "Perhaps it's the lyricism of the word Anasazi that influenced Wetherill and the other archeologists to use it instead of ours."

"Wetherill?"

The dark Hopi nodded. "Yeah, he's the one that was the first white eyes to see the ruins. He quit ranching and became a self taught archeologist."

Mac smiled at his friend's usage of the term 'white eyes.' Native Americans would never forget their ill treatment from the invading whites from the east. They had just cause not to.

As the two men conversed, the Hopi's keen eyesight observed MacLeod's appearance. On the surface, the Highlander appeared fine, but Tom thought he'd lost quite a bit of weight since he'd last seen him. Mac's haggard face and ordinarily warm eyes were now rimmed with dark circles and were lackluster. They hadn't been the last time the park ranger had seen him. Something troubled his friend.
Perhaps the ancient rain ceremony is just what you need, MacLeod, he thought.

Both men continued to exchange tidbits of their experiences, since seeing each other the last time, over a dinner of steaks, baked potatoes and salads. Tom started to order them an after dinner drink.

"No, thank you," MacLeod declined. "I don't drink much anymore."

White Feather's black eyebrows lifted in mild surpri&quo"Okay, Mac. Whatever you say." He looked up at their waitress. "Make that two coffees instead, please."

After the young woman left to get their beverages, MacLeod leaned forward. "So, the ceremony," the Scot prompted. "Tell me what to expect."

Tom grinned. "Well, as dark as you are, it won't take much red paint to turn you into an Indian."

MacLeod's forehead crinkled into a frown. "Red paint?"

White Feather paused when their waitress returned and sat steaming cups of hot black coffee in front of them. He took a tentative sip from the white mug, then continued. "The snake dance is held here in Walpi this year. It alternates with another pueblo. Jonathan Nequatewa is the chief priest. You'll meet him in the village tomorrow. He'll tell you more of the details. Roughly speaking, the ceremony is to bring rain."

White Feather noticed MacLeod's skeptical look. "No, honest to God, it works... most every year." He chuckled before continuing. "...and if it doesn't, the old ones just say the dance wasn't done exactly right."

Tom instructed MacLeod on each detail of the upcoming ceremonies. There were a couple of the traditions of which Duncan was skeptical. For one, since he was not a tribal member and the ceremony within the kiva was to be a special variation not ordinarily used, MacLeod would need to be initiated. White Feather was honest with the Scot about what would happen. Mac almost changed his mind, but the recollection of his nightmares and hidden obsessions, along with the unseen voice and his hidden desire that they might help him, prompted him to agree.

The two friends planned to meet at ten o'clock the next morning. The rest of their conversation was casual and afterward, Mac realized he'd enjoyed the evening. "Maybe I can sleep tonight."

* * * * * *

He was wrong. The tormenting images of being tied down, objects and men's private parts of all shapes and sizes being shoved into him, robbed him of restful sleep . Duncan's sweat-soaked body thrashed around the bed, and hot tears of humiliation and frustration streamed from his closed eyes. The repetition of the horror-filled dream consumed him. Mac's legs parted. He felt them being held up by two of Lemuel's deputies. He moaned when, in the shadowy mists of his mind, Priest lowered his mouth onto his bound erection as he simultaneously stuffed a live animal up into him.

MacLeod screamed, "No, dear God, no...no-o!" and fought to awaken himself.

This time, as so many times before, a pair of unseen, cold, soft lips covered his own. Feathery fingers smoothed back his sweaty hair as a musical voice whispered in his ear, "Do not fear the dark, my Duncan.m hem here. You are not alone. I will come to you tomorrow evening in the kiva. Sleep, O love of my heart, sleep now. I will watch over you."

MacLeod slept peacefully the remainder of the night. In the harsh light of day, the Scot couldn't help but wonder if the mysterious, invisible woman with the soft lips and soothing voice truly existed. Was she real or was she but a figment of his plagued imagination?

* * * * * *

--To Be Continued--
- 2
- 3
- 4
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Quest, Reversal In Time