Universal Wolf
By Nynaeve
nyn-tkd@usa.net
A Quickening Lyric Wheel story. Thanks to Rhiannon Shaw for the lyrics :)
Warning/exposition: I consider this story one of my failures. Don't worry, I'm not gonna go all Lemon Drop on you and explain exactly how I failed here :); just know that I had originally wanted this story to be even more twisted than it turned out to be. Take that as ye will 'cause it was still a blast to write.
Warning/content: Rated R. Since this is a story including a quickening, I assume that y'all know that some violence must inevitably be visited upon a character-type being at some point in time. Therefore I'm going to rely on your collective intelligence and not give you a violence warning. What a relief. Oh, watch out for cursing. I hear some people use soap to fix that problem.
Disclaimer/redundency: Not my concept. Duh. One of the characters isn't mine either. Duh. Paws off the rest. Even the dead ones. Proceeding upon the idea that forgiveness is easier to ask for than permission.
"Then everything includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite a universal wolf."
--Shakespeare, "Troilus and Cressida" I, 3
It started so naturally; I knew it then. How it would end. Not the particulars, perhaps, but the path.
A high school class, a field trip to the National Historical Society Museum, a glorious waste of time and resources. Our teacher, Mr. Steppinghaus, attempted vainly to capture teenage imagination with art and artifacts.
As the other students wandered the displays I found myself in my usual position of observer. He surprised me by coming up to me from behind. I had thought I was the last one in our line snaking through the debris of a society. The left-behinds, the trash.
"And what have you learned today, Lindsey?"
"That it's amazing how much money people will spend perpetuating ignorance."
Mr. Steppinghaus's bushy eyebrows quirked at that, like he was trying to look surprised but wasn't. "I'd like to hear your thoughts on that, young lady. I've noticed that you have an...uh...unconventional grasp of history. Don't you approve of our national treasures?"
I sighed. He was making me work here when I thought it was all perfectly obvious. "They're nice enough to look at, I guess, for worthless pieces of junk."
His mouth looked amused, so I continued. "I suppose I'm being harsh, but this all is really a waste of time. This isn't history, it's a garage sale without affordable pricing."
He let a chuckle escape. "And what would you call history, then?"
Somehow, I knew that my answer here was crucial. To what wasn't clear, but I could feel it coming. It was in the air. I hesitated.
"People," I answered finally, not knowing until that moment what was right to say. "People are history, not their things. Things, stuff you buy and keep in cupboards or throw away later, that doesn't mean anything, not really." I smiled, on a roll. "Just because people bought something on sale one day or decided to use their Aunt Mabel's good china until it was all broken and buried underground doesn't tell you true things about them. You can't mean to tell me that you know what type of person Hitler really was by the kind of car he drove, or toothbrush he used. It's only because there are people still alive who knew Hitler and suffered directly at his hands that we know what his impact on people, and ultimately history, really was. But in another fifty years people are going to put a rusted out model of a car he once drove in a museum and tell our future generations that this, this thing, means something."
My teacher's reaction was telling. He had his head down and was clasping his hands together tightly, knuckles white. I knew he had been asking me questions for a reason. I knew it was important and I held my breath a little until he finally looked up at me, excitement in his eyes. I could feel it coming, and I waited.
Mr. Steppinghaus nodded then, pulled me to one side of the Museum corridor and told me about Watchers.
I finished my last year of high school a semester early and enrolled immediately at the Watcher Academy, joyous and relieved. I was happy that finally, finally things that really meant something were being taught to me. This was true history, a living chronicle of our real past.
It was real, concrete, and yet, even more so. Magic, of a kind, was involved and that made it somehow more to me. Immortals, among us, dragging a true recording of events through time with them, written in their very being. I was endlessly fascinated from day one.
I dove into my studies, anxious to absorb all the recorded documents that I could get. I interviewed the entire corps of field Watchers and wandered into all areas of the Headquarters that I was granted access to. I was so aware of being a part of something that was important. And it still felt as natural as breathing. Of course I would be included in the most significant historical studies in the world. Of course.
After I graduated, I set about trying to find all the ways that immortal history had combined with or skewed "traditional" history. A large project. Noteworthy. Controversial. I was considered quite the firebrand among my colleagues. The girl who wanted to combine Watcher and traditional history in the most overlapping way it had ever been considered.
"Lindsey, I'd like you to meet Adam Pierson. Pierson here is doing a bit of unconventional research himself. You two should have a lot to talk about." My old mentor, Mr. Steppinghaus, smiled at the researcher he was introducing me too and walked off, oblivious to the tension in the other man.
Pierson stared at me for a moment, hazel eyes hard as granite, then seemed to visibly wrench himself out of the office chair he had been lounged in. He stood and offered me his hand. As I shook it I could see the ice crystallizing behind his eyes. We were not destined to be close working mates, this was very clear. His tone, however, was polite overlaid with a gentle humor. "Miss Palmer. Thanks for stopping by but I can't imagine what interest my work could be to someone like you. You obviously have a...future ahead of you in the Watchers and this little project of yours is quite, um, aggressive." Here his lips twisted faintly. "But everyone knows that the Methos Chronicles are a complete waste of time that only sad fools like myself indulge in. I'm sure most of what I've found is total fiction, not the sort of facts that you seem to fancy." His eyes may have been cold and hard, but his voice was warm like a cashmere sweater. I remember thinking even then that this was not a man to forget about or brush off, no matter what his body language was trying to tell me.
Another thing that made him stick out in my mind; he was rebuffing me and that did not sit well with me at all. How dare he try to tell me what I would or would not find significant? I dredged up every ounce of my pride and flipped back my answer. "Very well, Mr. Pierson, if you insist. Thank you for your time."
He nodded but stayed standing and watching me until I was out of the room. I made a mental note to get a look at Mr. Pierson's work files as soon as possible, with or without his cooperation. I would be the judge of what information became a part of my project and no one else. I was sure that the legend surrounding the oldest immortal held at least a few secrets that I needed to learn. I had my destiny to fulfill here, dammit.
It was about two years later that a large Watcher convention was held on one of the private estates owned by our group. Most of the researchers were required attendees as a special need to reorganize had arisen from the latest immortal intrusion into our databanks, our secret penetrated again.
On the third day there, I saw Pierson walking across the grounds and wondered at the reason for his presence. He was not someone I would have thought would put in an appearance at one of these activities, required attendance or not. I felt anger flare at the sight of his trench coat-clad, smug back retreating from me across the large expanse of lawn. He had never complied with any of my requests for information and despite all my efforts, I had been unable to make any headway into "accidentally" running into either him or his research around any of the departments. No one seemed to know where he worked from one week to the next and he always took all of his material with him.
Determined to pin him down and demand his cooperation, I stalked across the estate grounds after him, filled with righteous fury that he had managed to evade me all this time. He didn't look like he was hurrying, but he must have been because I soon lost track of him as the lawn faded into scattered trees and shrubbery.
Truly good and ready to wring his skinny neck, I paused on a tall hill overlooking a small lake. I hadn't spotted any evidence of Pierson since leaving the grass area and I was unwilling to try my luck scrambling down the steep embankment to investigate the water area. There was no way, in my opinion, that a scrawny little jerk like Pierson could have made his clumsy way down the treacherous drop-off without breaking something, so I figured he must have gone in another direction.
Just as I was about to admit temporary defeat I heard a bush rustle off to my right. "Pierson?" I asked sharply in case he was trying to get away. No answer. "Adam Pierson?" a bit louder.
I turned to check the trees on my left-hand side, just in case I was hearing wrongly, and by the time I looked back to my right there was a sword at my neck.
"Well look what I found," the swordsman said with a heavy amount of sarcasm. "Fancy that."
It wasn't Pierson.
It was someone I hadn't seen before except for in photographs of field Watcher's reports.
I had time for half an epithet and huffed out a, "Fu-!" before I was shoved, violently, falling, tumbling, hitting my head against something hard enough to make my scream cut off on a gurgle before coming to a splashing halt in the lake water two dozen feet below.
The water here was dark green and deeper than one would think this close to the shore. I vaguely registered the seeping feeling of it closing over my head, wetting my hair. The shock of the cold wetness hitting the warm blood of the open wound above my ear was enough for me to flail my arms and thrash a little, panicky.
The motion raised my face and I blinked in the light, gasping for air. My toes flexed, hitting the scummy mud of the lake bottom, causing my sandal straps to catch and pull against my skin. My clothes felt heavy, dragging at my limbs. I gasped again, trying to breathe, seeing stars. I could tell that something was terribly wrong, but couldn't think clearly enough to get past that vague feeling that something like this shouldn't be happening to me. My eyes rolled up a little and I saw the face of my attacker grinning down at me from the top of the steep hill, his long hair whipping in the breeze. I could see his lips moving but understood none of the sounds I could hear.
I tried to thrash again, getting very little result. My legs were like two logs, bumping uselessly together within the folds of my billowing, uncooperative skirt. I slapped deadened hands against the surface of the lake, splashing in desperation. This was so hard; I was so tired. I stopped moving for a moment, vaguely wishing for a rest to try and catch my breath. The wrongness of this move occurred to me as I felt the water rush over my wound and my half-lidded eyes, the burning pain as water rushed up my nose. I was tired, so tired, but as my toes hit the mud again, I gave one more shove and my face broke the surface.
Everything felt wrapped in gauze, but I looked around wildly, trying to find one more option other than the one that I could feel rushing towards me. I spotted movement somewhere far, far off to my right and rolled my head to bring it into view.
My glazed eyes locked with the horrified hazel eyes of Adam Pierson standing on the lake shore a fair distance away. This is your fault, I wanted to say, but could only choke. He hesitated for a moment and then began to run in my direction. Before my exhausted limbs gave out completely I heard a shout and saw my attacker on the hill pointing his sword at Pierson and screaming something that sounded to my muffled ears like "Methos!" but couldn't possibly have been.
Then my head sank below the surface of the water again and nothing was clear for a long, long time.
I opened my eyes again to burning pain. Large pieces of lake scum came coughing out of my lungs and I pressed my face more firmly against the mud and grass below me, heaving and gasping. My eyes were tearing with effort to wash out the grains of dirt that had caked my entire body.
When I could stand again I took in my situation. I was filthy, very damp, confused, standing on the shore of the lake that I had no memory of getting out of, feeling pain that was vanishing with every breath. Pain that was vanishing much more quickly than it should have been if my most recent memories were of a situation half as dire as I remembered it being.
I decided to attempt walking. I took a shuffling step forward and my toe hit something heavy that scraped across the ground. I looked down and spotted a gun lying next to where I had woken up. A gun. My hazy brain insisted that No Way would that just be lying around for no reason.
Someone had put it there.
And another thought--someone had pulled me out of the lake. There was no tide to speak of here, no way to be simply washed ashore.
I picked up the heavy piece of metal and balanced it in the palm of my hand. Someone left it for me so someone thought I might need it. I dropped the gun onto the rocky, muddy shore in shock. The last thing I remembered was pain and water burning my nose and my lungs and my...
...the wound on my head. I reached a hand up slowly, slowly and touched the place above my ear.
I felt nothing.
I felt wonderful.
I laughed then, throwing my head back and laughing at the sky in triumph. I picked up a rock and scratched at the skin of my left arm in one, economical move.
A white glow burned across the bright pink mark and then faded, leaving nothing behind.
I laughed again, and threw the rock into the lake. I picked up the gun and started walking, feeling warm in my quiet satisfaction despite the sticky slickness of my skirt wrapping around my ankles. I knew what to do now.
Once I made it back to the tree-filled area I slowed down and tried to walk as quietly as possible. This would only work if I were very, very careful.
I expected to find an immortal waiting for me, thinking I was easy prey, perhaps. Maybe this immortal had left a gun for me because he wanted to make things interesting. I had heard some immortals were like that--they liked to make up ways to make taking heads more fun. What I didn't expect to find was two immortals. And it was plain shocking to find two immortals battling.
I had been careful enough that I didn't think they could feel the presence I must have radiated now. I know I didn't feel them. I could see them a ways off in the sparse woods, swords flashing silver in the dappled light through the trees. There was the big one with the hair that I remembered peering at my dying body in the lake from the top of the hill; I couldn't remember his name for certain but I thought it might have been Carruthers. He had several bloody holes in his shirt like he had been shot several times. I blinked down at the gun in my hand, wondering. The bodies spun and swords flashed and then I got a good look at the other fighter.
I sucked air in between clenched teeth. Adam Pierson. The fucker had been playing us all from day one. An immortal, a Watcher. Who was this asshole?
Ah, it didn't matter. I had been feeling a steady fury most of the day now. This moment was no different. I still felt the fury banked against the solid wall of my confidence. I knew what to do; now was the time.
I checked the gun in my hands; there were four bullets left in the clip. I snapped the pieces together and arranged myself behind the tree. Aiming was going to be vital here. I drew a breath and let a little of the control I had over my emotions loosen, the anger start to seep out behind my eyes, flushing my cheeks, making my hands damp.
I whirled out from behind the tree and started walking swiftly toward the battle still raging. I could hear the big man snarl at Pierson and the shuffling of booted feet over leaves. Once I got close enough that the burning of the others' quickenings washed over my nerves I had to pause. If I had been any less driven and pissed off it probably would have sent me to my knees. As it was, I had to suck in some air and squeeze my eyes shut for just a moment. I heard a break in the action and squinted up to see the men staring at me before Pierson panted in a deep breath and shoved himself away from Carruthers.
I didn't wait any longer. I raised the gun and fired quickly. My first two bullets caught my killer in the chest. He was still dropping to the ground, shock written loudly on his features when I saw Pierson turn and try to run.
"Oh, no," I whispered, denying him the chance. The last two bullets hit him in the back. Now the anger I was feeling was joined by a sort of expectant joy, like the kind you experience right before going onstage to accept an award.
Carruthers was very obviously dead for now so I walked over to Pierson and kicked him until he rolled over. He had a hand pressed to one of the gaping exit wounds in his abdomen and was glaring up at me. "You stupid, stupid girl," he gasped, choking a little.
"Me? Me?!? You have no idea what you're talking about. I've been waiting for this moment for all my life."
"Oh...Lord...I was trying...to save you." He was wheezing now. I judged passively that he'd be dead in another minute or two.
"From whom?" I laughed, incredulously. This weak little man thought he could scare me? "You?"
"I don't know...if you know who...I am..."
"Oh, I've seen your face before, my friend. I remember. I remember, don't worry. You thought you were better than I was then and now here you are, dying pathetically at my feet. You tried to keep me from achieving my full potential. You should have started talking from day one, asshole. The research, my true destiny, immortality, all of it. It's your fault. I shouldn't have had to wait. Well. It. Won't. Happen. Again." I was reaching for his sword when I saw his eyes flick over to the body behind me.
"Carruth..."
I grabbed up the sword and whirled, jabbing the blade into the awakening man's gut. I left it there and grinned into his still-shocked face. "Ah, this is nice," I said conversationally. "Let's see, you look so familiar. Where do I know you from again?" I giggled, which only made him look worried and in pain. "How could I ever forget? It was the first time, the last time we ever met. You killed me." I leaned down until I hovered right over his face whispering, "Thank you," into his ear and kissing his cheek. With that I lunged up and straddled his body, wrenching the sword out of his stomach and swinging it like a golf club. The impact as the blade bit into his neck was enough to make me think I had shattered every bone in my arms. I cried out and fell on top of my killer, my savior.
"No." I looked up at Pierson right as the life went out of the bastard's eyes.
That's when I noticed the fog. It had been sunny, before. The fog was alive, making shapes, noises. I heard whispers and moans and wasn't sure where they were coming from. I heard the lightning before I felt it. Crawling up my skin, like kisses to the back of your neck that make all your hairs stand on end, like touching something so hot, that hurts so bad it feels good, just for a moment. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out and that's when the force of it crashed in and became painful. I sat up with the first impacts, my thighs clenching the body under me. I sobbed, screamed, doubled over until my forehead was buried in what was left of Carruthers's neck. I was shrieking. The fog came in closer and closer until I couldn't see, couldn't hear anything anymore except my own, wounded-sounding cries.
The crashing feeling receded, eventually. The fog rolled back, leaving me buzzing, sobbing into the man beneath me. My breath hitched in my throat and I rolled my head back and forth against his chest. "Thank you thank you thank you..." I whispered. "Oh Lord. Thank you." I sighed and kissed his neck before raising my head and peeling open my eyes.
Pierson was gone.
No matter. I had to trust that he wouldn't rat me out to the Watchers. How would he tell them without giving his own secret away? I knew now what I would spend my time doing. I had no intention of leaving my work. On the contrary, I now had the best possible way to collect all the information that we had only been able to guess at before. And we were wrong, so wrong. Nobody could possibly understand. The descriptions in the books were childish lies. It had all been a pack of lies.
But I would fix that now. I'd make it all better. After I killed Pierson I'd be the only one who could help the Watchers the way they deserved.
And I'd do my best, as usual.
Posted May, 2001
Artist: Phil Collins
Album: Face Value"In the Air Tonight"
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord, oh LordWell, if you told me you were drowning
I would not lend a hand
I've seen your face before my friend
But I don't know if you know who I am
Well, I was there and I saw what you did
I saw it with my own two eyes
So you can wipe off the grin, I know where you've been
It's all been a pack of liesAnd I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord
I can feel it in the air tonight, oh Lord, oh Lord
And I've been waiting for this moment all my life, oh Lord, oh LordWell I remember, I remember don't worry
How could I ever forget, it's the first time, the last time we ever met
But I know the reason why you keep your silence up, no you don't fool me
The hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows
It's no stranger to you or meI can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord, oh Lord
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord
And I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord, oh Lord
I can feel it coming in the air I can feel it coming in the air
I've been waiting for this moment for all my life all my lifeI can feel it coming in the air
I can feel it coming in the air
I've been waiting for this moment for all my life
I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, my lifeBack to Index
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