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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
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Quest, Reversal In Time

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, Slash, m/m, Oral, Lang, N/C, M/C, Humil, Angst, D/s, BDSM

Characters: Duncan

Series: Sequel to Ravaged

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

Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were, still owned by Panzer/Davis.

Summary: Duncan is given the choice of attempting a dangerous ritual that could mean his permanent death.

A/N: I might be vain for saying this, but I love this story and am very proud of it. It took almost two years of research, planning and writing to complete. I love history (in case you didn't notice, <g>), and especially the Anasazi ancient civilization. This story is not a WIP. It has been finished for two years. However, I found that I now wanted to polish it up and perhaps fill in a missing gap or two. I will be posting a new chapter each day (I hope), until it is complete. Any comments or reviews you might like to offer are more than welcome. It's the only payment I'll ever receive. We writers like to say that we write only for ourselves. That's not completely true. We, I, like to hear that my work has been enjoyed and appreciated. I don't usually add long explanations to my stories; I like to leave them up to the reader to enjoy. However, this one time, I wanted to share with everyone how deeply I feel about this tale. It is a glimpse into a past we shall only read and ponder of, never truly know for sure how it actually was. I do hope all of you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

One last thing, the precautionary story codes are necessary, but if you like slash and don't mind a bit of bondage stuff, it's not that bad,. not as rough as "Ravaged" turned out to be. I do not want anyone that would be offended to read it, however. Yet, I think that once you get into it, you'll like it.

fr/2004

Chapter 4

Unforeseen Ritual

A small fire's white smoke, built in the pit near the ladder, plumed upward through the kiva's single opening. The steady beat of a hide covered drum pulsated a tattoo in the stillness of the Arizona morning. Seven men sat cross-legged around the pit including Tom White Feather, Duncan's sponsor, Jonathan Nequatewa, the head priest and two other shamen, Wesley Yava and Eugene Lomatewama. Also present were two native dancers, Phillip Sekakuku and Joseph Rain Cloud. Positioned next to his sponsor was Duncan MacLeod.

Their primary action was to adopt the Highlander into the Hopi nation. MacLeod was instructed to remove all his clothes. Despite his having been instructed on the proceedings the night before, he was still hesitant. Tom nodded his encouragement and Mac quickly stripped. Duncan's body was then washed ceremonially clean with holy water. Each council member participated in the Scot's ritual bath. Mac's already dark skin was flushed a brilliant red with embarrassment before it was finished. Jonathan Nequatewa merely smiled.

Duncan's body was then painted a dark reddish color to match the natural pigment of the other tribal members. During this time, one of the priests had been creating a sand painting. Tom told Mac it represented an offering up of MacLeod's soul to the old ones for acceptance.

When Duncan was covered with the body paint, one of the other men gave him a loin cloth. The scrap of deer hide reminded him of the flimsy thing Amanda had once conned him into wearing. A small square covered his groin in the front and was held in place by a single strap that fit snugly between his two buttocks. Duncan knelt down and the priest asked who would sponsor this kelehoya, or novice. Tom White Feather stood up and avowed he would be MacLeod's godparent. More prayers followed the completion of the sand painting. Then Duncan was given holy water to drink.

It was explained to him that the initiation ritual was usually done over a period of years. MacLeod was a special case, however, and would receive all of it this day. The last portion of the initiation consisted of the novice being lashed with yucca whips. A brief flashback of Lemuel Priest lashing the Highlander's naked buttocks with a whip pierced his mind and the Scot shivered. At that instant, he was reminded with crystal clarity of the reason why he was here. The Highland Chieftain's son's greatest desire was to put Lemuel Priest and everything he'd done to him in the past where it belonged. Duncan swallowed his fear and knelt down on all fours. Each council member then passed by and applied five firm stripes to the Highlander's exposed posterior.

What the Hopis did not expect were the tiny jagged bolts of lightning immediately healing MacLeod's naked rump. Every man in the subterranean room drew in a k brk breath and stepped back. Obviously, they'd never seen an Immortal. White Feather glanced down at the perspiration-soaked face of MacLeod. Duncan nodded his unspoken permission to tell them of his immortality. After Tom reassured Nequatewa and the others in a brief conference, the head priest announced Mac's Indian name would be Pahana, White Brother. Hopis believed that Pahana, their deliverer, had left them in ancient times and promised to one day return. Those gathered there believed MacLeod to be their elder brother. White Feather asked them to keep the Scot's identity a secret from everyone else, to which they agreed.

After more prayers and another sand painting was done, Duncan was instructed to spend the night in the kiva with the head priest, Jonathan Nequatewa. This wasn't the first time MacLeod had ever fasted. He ignored his hunger, took a drink of the holy water as he was instructed and lay down upon a single blanket beside the old shaman. For a while the Scot's sleep was undisturbed, but deep into the night, his now common place nightmare returned.

The elder holy man lay down beside the clan's newest member, but sleep did not come right away. It seemed the older he got, the less sleep he required. So instead, he lay quietly beside the foreigner that had been kissed by the Great Spirit to heal and live long. He could see that the young man was troubled. His restless brown eyes were dark and filled with unresolved conflicts. Jonathan prayed for a long while to the silent one, the Hopi rain god, not only for success with the Rain ceremony the following week, but also that this gifted child next to him would find the peace he so desperately sought.

When Duncan's dream overtook him, he thrashes bos body back and forth on the hand woven mat. The Shaman sat up and watched Mac's restive sleep. Pahana mumbled and seemed to fight something. The old man leaned over and began chanting an appeal to give him peaceful slumber.

To his astonishment, Jonathan soon became aware of a white cloud of smoke forming over the sleeping Immortal. The cloud took on a woman's form and settled onto Pahana's body from head to toe. When it was lying on top of him, a pair of lips separated and lowered onto the tormented man's mouth.

A mysterious, throaty woman's voice then spoke. "Sleep, Duncan, my Pahana. All will be well. Come to me and avenge my death and your soul will be cleansed of its impurities and doubts forever. Sleep now, my beloved. Sleep and gather your strength for your journey ahead."

Nequatewa sat immobilized in both awe and fear. Never in his seventy-four years had one of the holy ones appeared thusly. For it to happen to a kelehoya, novice, of another race was unheard of. "Truly this child has been anointed by the spirit world."

As the old one commenced to softly chant in prayer, he noticed that the man had quieted and once again slept undisturbed.

* * * * * *

The sun's early rays gleamed through the kiva's solitary opening. It formed a circle of light on the dirt floor upon which MacLeod and Nequatewa sat. Tom White Feather and the other council members soon joined the Immortal and the shaman. In hushed tones, Jonathan related to them the supernatural events of the previous night; what he'd seen and heard.

As Jonathan and the others discussed the previous night's events, a bitter memory inundated MacLeod's mind.

* * *

Duncan knelt before Lemuel Priest, his hands bound behind his back. One of the other jailors wrapped a handful of MacLeod's long, tangled hair in his begrimed hand and jerked his head back. Priest unbuttoned his trousers and withdrew his ramrod stiff cock. MacLeod's eyes widened in shock at the other man's intentions. "No, don't," he pleaded and clamped his jaws tightly.

Priest laughed at his prisoner's futile, rebellious efforts. Doubling up his fist, the sheriff jabbed the kneeling man's stomach. MacLeod gasped and bent over. Lemuel took the opportunity to shove his shaft deeply inte vue vulnerable man's mouth.

"Swallow it," he ordered.

Duncan gagged at the massive projection plundering his orifice. His entire sensory system focused upon that demanding organ as it pressed into him. The Highlander instinctively rebelled and began thrashing against his restraints. At first, his meager efforts were ignored, but when his teeth grazed Priest's cock, the other man grunted in pain and cursed. Instead of withdrawing himself, however, Lemuel merely forced his sex even further into Mac's imprisoned mouth. He then grabbed both of Duncan's ears and jerked hard on them, causing his prisoner to grimace and moan, despite his mouthful.

"Listen to me, youngling," he hissed. "You are mine. I can do anything I want to you, and you can't stop me." He lowered his face until MacLeod felt the other man's breath upon him. "You are my possession; you are my toy. For the rest of your Immortal life, you will live to obey me and fulfill my needs and those of my clients."

Lemuel Priest fondled one of Mac's button tits and twisted it, causing Duncan to moan.

"I own you body and soul, child," the sheriff evilly grinned as he milked his own thick body fluids into the unprotected Immortal's throat.

* * *

Duncan did not realize he was silently crying until he felt and tasted warm, salty tears dripping down onto his mouth, chin and bare chest. He had unconsciously bent his head during his horrifying flashback. His satiny black tresses hid his face, and the unacknowledged embarrassment he felt, from the Hopis around him. Duncan couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever overcome his black feelings of degradation.

Jonathan Nequatewa's astute gaze settled upon the newest tribal member. He instinctively knew Pahana had experienced an anguishing memory. The holy man stretched out a gnarled hand and lifted the handsome face until the disconsolate, moist eyes were level with his own. "I now believe Pahana is here for another purpose, aside from our original ritual," he began.

"Pahana, there is a secret ceremony known only to a few. I myself have only heard of it being attempted one time and that was three generations before my lifetime." The priest shook his head. "Even so, it was not successful and the supplicant did not survive."

Duncan gazed intently into agedaged face and piercing black eyes. Remaining silent, he waited for Jonathan to continue.

"We Hopi believe that when our bodies give up their spirits, we are sent to the Skeleton House. There it is decided whether we shall abide in the lightness of forevermore or that our spirits are destined to wander in the dark because our hearts have been black here on earth." Pausing for a sip of water to quench his parched throat, Nequatewa continued. "I feel that you, Duncan MacLeod, have been chosen to visit this Skeleton House and perhaps somewhere else as well. I think you might even be sent to avenge this maiden's death. I am not sure. But, I do know that you take a great risk, my son. Once you have crossed over to the Skeleton House and beyond, I am not sure you will be allowed to return to us."

MacLeod looked over at his friend, Tom White Feather. The man's face was riddled with doubt and concern for the safety of his friend.

"Mac, I don't know if you. . ." Tom started, shaking his head, but was halted when the Scot lifted a hand to silence the park ranger.

Brushing a spot of moisture from his face, he said, "I know there is a great risk, Tom. Yet, I strongly feel I must do this." MacLeod bleakly smiled. "I am an Immortal. The only way for me to permanently die will be when my head is severed from my body."

Tom White Feather and the other Hopis gasped at the Scot's revelation. MacLeod had told White Feather of his immortality, but he'd not mentioned how he could die.

The old shaman whispered, "I suspected as much."

"This is how it is for my race. We battle each other to find out who will be the one chosen to remain here on earth. I have fought and won many battles before this." Mac stopped for a breath and gathered his thoughts. "I, too, as Jonathan Nequatewa has said, believe I have been chosen for this. I am willing to take that chance. If it will mean my death, then so be it. If it means my sleep will be undisturbed and the black memories I have each night will be taken away, then that is what I must do." He shifted his focus back to the shaman. "Do what you will, holy one."

Jonathan Nequatewa surveyed the other council members and noted their nods of approval. He then instructed them of the required preparations. Duncan was to continue fasting. Tom was appointed to select two others besides himself to make Paho Sticks or Prayer Sticks. Each man took two slender pieces of wood, sharpened one end and painted each stick green. The sharp points were painted black. The pair of sticks were then tied together with a cotton string. When this was done, each stick was bent over into a cone or crook shape and stuck into the earth of the kiva near the sipapu. Duncan was told that each prayer stick symbolized an old person who'd died and gone to the Underworld. With the sticks' presence, that person was called back to share in the ceremony. The Paho was not to be touched for four days and even then only with the left hand, since the heart side of the body was considered clean and untouched by waste.

The two dancers, Phillip Sekakuku and Joseph Rain Cloud, commenced chanting and beating a pair of sacred drums. Jonathan Nequatewa whispered prayers to the Spirits for success. He then commenced ceremonially washing MacLeod from head to toe. Even his long dark hair was washed before it was gathered loosely with a leather thong on the back of his neck. His golden skin was then oiled until it glistened in the dancing firelight.

As preparations were completed, the shaman sat down across from the Highlander.

"Are you truly prepared for your journey, my son?" he asked, leaning toward the Immortal.

Duncan sat in a lotus position on a white owa or mat. Folds of his dark hair had loosened from its leather tie and fell provocatively over the left side of his forehead. Joan qan quietly observed the warrior studying his folded hands. The Hopi noticed the way the Scot's long, dark eyelashes fringed his pigmented cheeks like black lace.

This kelehoya does not realize how truly beautiful his is, both inside his burdened heart and without. There is not one blemish on his perfect skin. His hands are broad and strong and marked with many years of battle and fighting skill. Yet, he still has a loving, caring soul. Pahana exhibits the qualities ofeadeeader, one who places his people's needs and safety above his own. One who grieves when a loved one passes over to the Skeleton House or if he must make difficult decisions. Duncan MacLeod is truly special and is blessed in many ways. If any human is capable of achieving this insurmountable task, it will be this quiet, courageous champion from across the ocean and from another time, he thought to himself.

Finally, MacLeod lifted his gaze up to the shaman. "I am ready, old one. I have been many places and done many things. I have taken lives and saved them. My path has not been easy, but I have been rewarded twenty fold in the friends I've made and the experiences I've had." The Scot pd and and shook his head. "More than six lifetimes ago, I was taken prisoner by a man. He and his friends used me and did many unspeakable acts to me. I had not thought of this fiend in many years."

Nequatewa watched a tear slip from MacLeod's right eye and trickle down his cheek. He had to lean forward to catch the Scot's low-pitched voice.

"Recently, this evil one, who was like me, reentered my life." MacLeod swallowed a large lump. "He and his henchmen overpowered me and again did many evil things to me." Mac cleared his throat and continued. "One of my closest friends took the evil one's life, but Lemuel Priest still torments me in here," motioning to his head, "and in here." fingering his heart. "I cannot go on, holy one, until his evil tentacles have been stripped completely away from me." The Scot lifted his dark eyelashes that were glistening with unshed tears. "Even if my body is not able to return from my journey to this unknown time and world, it will be worth my sacrifice. I cannot, I will not continue as I have been these past few months."

For hushed moments both men beheld each other in silent contemplation. Jonathan Nequatewa finally nodded his gray head. "It shall be as you say, Pahana. May your God and mine protect you in your endeavor."

* * * * * *

Duncan shivered as a cool breeze wafted over his sweaty body. He was ready for whatever lay ahead. It was frightening, but he knew this was the path he must take. During the night's lengthy preparations, MacLeod wrote notes to Amanda, Joe Dawson and Methos. In them he explained what he was doing and upon the unlikely hood of his death, he instructed his closest friends on how to dispose of his property. As for Shakespeare, Dawson was to give the dog to Tommy Parker, the black teenager he'd befriended. The youngster looked after his pet whenever MacLeod wasn't in town.

Final preparations were completed. MacLeod was dressed in a plain white kilt and his chin was blackened with
toho, a black shale. A single eagle feather was bound to his forehead. He was then instructed to lie down on the mat. Nequatewa, White Feather and the other four Hopis gathered near. The old shaman prepared some special herbs in a round clay container with strange markings. Its lid was in the shape of an Indian's head. It was almost as if the image on the jar were alive and looking straight at MacLeod. The incessant soft beating of the ceremonial drums, along with the Hopi chants, gave the ceremony an eerie, almost surreal atmosphere.

All was in readiness. Nequatewa bid MacLeod to lie down on the mat, close his eyes and rest his arms at his sides. He fed the Scot a bitter tasting medicine. Jonathan then placed more of the porridge type brew in both of Mac's ears. He also applied an additional amount directly over MacLeod's heart. The Immortal's body was then tightly wrapped in a buffalo robe.

Duncan's initial sensation was that of claustrophobia. He couldn't see or hear anything. Even his movements were restricted by the snugness of the robe. Mac took a few deep breaths and began to center himself mentally and emotionally, as he had when he'd fought the demon Ahriman. Soon his legs felt heavy and numb. The paralysis progressed upwards over his body until his arms and stomach felt as though lead weights had bettacttached to them. He was glad he hadn't eaten anything for the past forty-eight hours; he wouldn't have been able to retain it. Then Duncan's heart rate increased, it was as if a cannon ball now sat on his chest. His head ached, he was dizzy and incapable of cohesive thinking. MacLeod felt as if his body were suspended in mid air, but there were unseen boulders weighting him down and pulling him further and further into the cold earth.

Duncan's final, lucid thought was,
I can do this. I have to do this. Dear God, help me to be strong.

Tom White Feather was unaware he'd been holding his breath until he had to blow it out all at one time. He'd been skeptical of MacLeod going through with this whole thing. True, Tom was Hopi and believed in the old ways to a certain extent. Even so, he was an educated, college trained National Park Ranger. Tom blinked his eyes as he watched the Highlander's body stiffen and any visible sign of respiration cease.

He also knew that he would not leave his friend's side until this ordeal was over. He just hoped his boss, Herman Attaborough, would understand his needing immediate leave. If he didn't, Tom wasn't going to worry about it. There were other jobs, perhaps not as enjoyable, but workable. He only knew that he wasn't leaving MacLeod until he'd returned to them, that is, if he returned.

Jonathan Nequatewa stood up and approached the Immortal. Reaching down, he felt for a pulse in MacLeod's neck. He found none, nor did he feel any breath when he moved his finger beneath the Scot's nose. Duncan MacLeod's mortal body was dead. Now, he was in the Holy Spirit's hands.

* * * * * *

--TBC--
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Quest, Reversal In Time