Note: This story takes place after "Dead on Arrival".

The Raven and the Rose
A Fable
by Maril Swan

Prologue: 2000 AD

The door inched open and he slid through, flattening himself against the wall, and closing the door softly. His grey eyes swivelled warily around the apartment, as he tried to quiet his breathing, listening intently for any sounds. Keeping low, Nick stealthily moved down the hall and into the living room, gripping his gun tightly in both hands. No one in there. The only thing he knew for sure was that an Immortal was here somewhere, the Presence clearly drumming in his head.

He turned along the short corridor that led to the bedrooms, sidling along the wall. The only sound was his own pulse hammering in his ears. He had got here in record time, breaking all the traffic laws in Paris, in answer to her urgent call. What would he find? Whose Presence was he detecting?

Her bedroom door was open. Nick rushed through, dropping to one knee, gun traversing right to left as he gazed over its sights, scanning the large, bright room, then upon its lone occupant. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in what looked like a meditative trance, though when she looked up at Nick, shocked surprise crossed her face. Her eyes were red and swollen, tears still brimming then falling as she glanced away.

Despite his firm resolve to stay away from her, he couldn't harden his heart against her distress. Crossing quickly to her side and kneeling, he put his arms around her and said, "What's wrong, Amanda?"

She expelled a long sigh and searched his face silently, the tears still wandering unheeded down her cheeks. He waited until she seemed more composed, then asked softly, "Tell me about it, Amanda. What's wrong?"

He released his tender hold as she sat back and regarded him uncertainly. She looked down at her hands and he followed her gaze to her clenched fist. Barely audibly, she said, "I remembered a old friend today ." Fresh tears fell as she gave way to her grief once more.

She opened her closed fist to disclose an enormous red gemstone.

Chapter One
The Forest of Gwyddion, Cornwall c. 910 AD

The sharp clanging of swords rang through the ancient forest. The old man paused, considering-- investigate the source, or continue on his way. The latter course seemed more prudent. He was about to change direction when the sense of Immortal Presence assailed him. It had been a long time since he had felt that pressure on his mind, but could not ignore it.

He moved cautiously toward the increasing din of the sword fight. A man's voice, speaking in a foreign tongue, echoed among the old trees, his staccato bursts angry and menacing. A woman's voice, speaking the same language, answered his threats with mocking contempt.

The old man continued forward, all his senses keenly alert, and finally he saw them – a swarthy, dark-haired man, of a compact and wiry frame and wearing the uniform of a Spanish cavalier. The woman was tall and lithe with long black hair curling down her back. Her linen gown was rent in several places, where the cavalier had blooded her with his sword. His face was contorted with rage, a rictus grin of exertion and mad joy as he drove at her with lethal slashes. A cut on his cheek bled copiously, as did a long gash on his thigh.

Their observer realized that it was an equal contest, each giving as good as they got. He moved closer for a better view, wondering as he did, which was the Immortal or was it both. As he closed the distance, the woman suddenly turned, distracted by his Presence. Her opponent, taking advantage of her momentary lapse, plunged his blade deeply under her ribs, withdrawing it quickly to finish her with a coup de grâce to her neck.

As he raised his sword in its deadly arc, an horrific howl rent the air, and the cavalier arrested his blade, as it poised for its final descent. His swarthy face lost all colour as his eyes widened in terror.

"Madre de dios!" he shrieked, crossing himself and backing away, as an enormous black wolf with burning red eyes stalked toward him. With a quick scoop, he grabbed up the woman's purse and fled to his horse, galloping away as if the devil himself were chasing him.

The old man bent double, laughing. "An old trick but still a good one," he chortled to himself.

The still form on the ground seemed to reproach his levity as he glanced down at her. She was lovely, even in death, her raven hair framing a fair complexion. The flush of exertion still painted her high cheekbones, and she looked like she was sleeping. The length she measured on the ground was generous for a man, and even more so for a woman.

He felt a twinge of guilt as it was partly his fault that she was now dead, though he knew it was only a matter of time before she revived. Her purse was gone, and she was alone. Her gown was torn and bloody, and she had lost one of her shoes in the fray. At least, he thought, he could do that much for her, searching the dead leaves for the missing footwear.

Finding it, he bent to replace the shoe on her bare foot and gasped aloud. "The sign." he whispered, then laughed . "She has the sign!" He stared in fascination and reverence at the blue half-moon tattooed on her sole. Carefully, he tied her footwear on and moved a distance away to sit upon the soft green moss of a fallen tree. To wait, as long it needed.

Shadows and light flickered across her eyelids. They felt heavy, leaden. Forcing them open, her eyes were blinded by brilliant shafts of sunlight filtering down through the forest canopy. She closed them again, and the world seemed to twist and tumble nauseatingly. She gripped hard to anchor herself to something and felt dead leaves crumbling in her hands. Each breath brought an exquisite pain from somewhere under her ribs.

Rolling carefully onto her side, she levered herself into a sitting position. The explosion of pain brought tears to her eyes but helped to clarify her mind. Looking around, she saw nothing familiar --just a clearing in an ancient forest, its huge old oaks like the columns of a great cathedral, the sunlight flickering on the leaves like candles.

There was a constant pressure in her head which she could not identify. A movement in her peripheral vision brought her round to face an old man, seemingly as ancient as the oak forest, sitting a short distance across the clearing. The dappled sunlight glowed in his flowing white hair and long beard. His deep-set blue eyes twinkled merrily with delight. The strong aquiline nose gave him somewhat the aspect of a bird of prey.

He grinned broadly at her, as if she were an old friend he had been expecting. As he rose, she saw he was tall and spare, his leather jerkin patched beyond recognizing its original colour. Beneath that piebald vest, he wore a rough linen blouse, also much patched but clean. His doeskin breeches hung loosely over his long, lean shanks.

Involuntarily, she shrank back as he came toward her. But something in his manner told her he meant her no harm. Still, she watched warily as he approached and knelt before her.

"I have waited long for you, my lady," the old fellow said in a deep voice, surprisingly strong for one of his great age.

"Who are you, sir?" she queried, her voice breaking. Her throat was parched and she tried to moisten her dry lips. The old man unstoppered a gourd that hung by his side, and offered it to her. She drank deeply of the cool water, awaiting his answer.

"I have had many names. You may call me Myrddhin. And what are you called, fair maid?"

"I am... " A tight band seemed to have gripped her chest and she gasped aloud. "I can't remember! I don't know who I am! It is gone from my memory."

The young woman staggered to her feet painfully, her eyes wide with consternation. " I can't remember anything-- my name, how I came here. Nothing!" She stared bleakly around, looking for something familiar that could trigger her memory. All was blankness except for the maddening pressure in her head.

Following his gaze, she saw with horror the long tear in her gown, exposing her midriff, and the dried blood surrounding it. It should have been a fatal wound but there was no trace of it, nor of a scar.

"How did this happen?" she asked, her voice a harsh whisper. "How is it possible? I should be dead of this wound. Who did this? You?"

"Nay, my lady. I did not inflict this wound. And you were dead!" He added, gently, "You are one of the chosen. An Immortal. You cannot be killed except by beheading, a fate from which I was able to save you. But not before you were stabbed to death by a Spanish cavalier. He stole your purse ere I chased him off." Myrddhin chuckled at the memory of the terrified soldier fleeing for his life.

Crossing herself quickly, the young woman exclaimed, "Nonsense! Blasphemy! No one can live forever, except in Heaven. No one can be killed and return to this mortal life."

Anger flared then died away in Myrddhin's eyes, replaced by sadness at the well-recognized ward against evil. He sighed resignedly, "Nonetheless, my lady, you were fatally wounded with a sword, of which there is now no mark. You are Immortal. Can you not remember anything that was taught you of our kind?"

She shook her head in confusion. "I know nothing of these matters." Glancing around at the forest, she added, "I know not whence I came, nor whither I was going."

Straightening herself to her full height, she said, "Well, I suppose one direction is as good as another when you have no recollection of any place or person. I shall be on my way." Placing her hand in his, she continued, "I thank you, good Myrddhin, for saving my life. And now, farewell." Uncertainly, the young woman started toward the deep woods, then hesitated, as if looking into its depths for some guidance or path.

Myrddhin called to her retreating back, "Perhaps that is the direction your assailant took. He may even now be lying in wait to finish his evil work. Moreover, my lady, what will you do with no weapon and no money? Or food and water? This is a big forest and many have been lost in its depths. Some..." he added, lowering his voice, glancing around cautiously, "...say lone travellers are kidnapped into the land of Faerie, and never seen again."

"Superstitious nonsense!" she retorted, her hardy spirit now rallying. "There is no such place! I came this far alone, I suppose, and can manage well enough. Especially if, as you say, I am Immortal. What have I to fear?" With a certain hauteur, she stepped toward the edge of the forest, then paused and glanced back at Myrddhin, who watched her sombrely, "My good sir, you seem to know these woods. Do you know of a path to a town or village?"

He crossed the short distanced between them in a few strides, and laying his hand gently on her arm, entreated, "Bide here for a day or two. Regain your strength. Perhaps the door that seals your memory may open. I have seen this condition before, and it usually heals itself with time. You will be safe here with me, and I would enjoy your company for whatever time you require. My home and all I have is at your disposal, my lady."

Placing his hand over his heart, he gave her a courtly bow, made comical by his harlequin attire. Charmed by his mock chivalrous manner, and responding with a graceful curtsey, she laughed lightly. The old man was struck once again by her beauty.

"I suppose a day or two will make no difference in whatever journey I was bound upon when I was waylaid. I accept your kind offer of hospitality."

Without a word, Myrddhin strode purposefully into the forest and the young woman followed, wondering how he knew where he was going as there was no trail or markings that she could see. The rustle of leaves and the chittering of squirrels and birds were the only sounds as she trailed him into the darkening depths of the ancient forest. An eerie red glow from the westering sun made long shadows of their figures, and the young woman deduced they were travelling in an easterly direction, but whither, she had no idea.

At length, a large clearing opened before them and Myrddhin halted at the edge. "Well, here we are," he announced grandly.

The young woman surveyed the area and seeing nothing of a habitation, asked, "Where is your hut? There is nothing here but a small meadow."

"Exactly." He waved his hand and the air seemed to shimmer, then resolve itself into a tiny wattle- and-daub hut near the centre of the open space. Myrddhin grinned at her astonishment, then taking her arm, led her to the entrance. He unfastened the door, standing aside gallantly, for her to enter.

With an air of trepidation, she ducked under the rough wooden lintel and into the hut's dim interior. Though small, the hut was tidy. Its meagre furnishings, all hand-made, consisted of a wooden table and two rush-seated chairs. A straw mattress covering a narrow cot stood against the far wall, and woven baskets of many sizes were ranked around the remaining walls. Floor to roof shelves covered the walls and were filled with earthen vessels, labelled in Latin.

"Your abode, sir, though quaint, is clearly made for only one occupant," the young woman stated, gesturing toward the cot and around the tiny room. With two tall people in it, its size seemed further diminished. "Though I appreciate your hospitality, I shall stay only one night, and be on my way tomorrow."

Myrddhin nodded his acceptance and pulled back one of the rush chairs for her to be seated. From a shelf, he lifted down a large jug and two ale mugs. The delicious aroma of mead wafted through the room as he unstoppered the jug and poured a liberal quantity into each cup. He raised his cup, and murmuring in a language unknown to the young woman, poured a drop of libation onto the earthen floor, then waited for her to do the same.

The mead was welcome and delicious, especially as her throat was parched with thirst. She downed the drink quickly and held her cup out for more. Sipping more slowly now, the raven- haired maid studied Myrddhin intently, many questions burning in her mind.

"That man who tried to kill me," she began. "What did he look like?"

"He was swarthy and of smaller stature than you. When I came upon the duel, he was cursing in Spanish. Do you speak the language?"

"I wouldn't know, would I?" she responded tartly. "Since I can't recall anything."

Somewhat rebuffed, Myrddhin continued, "Just as well, for the churlish things he said were not for the tender ears of a young lady such as yourself."

"Did he, perchance, speak my name? Could you understand him well enough to know if he said it?"

"He mentioned many names, my lady--saints, demons and the like. At one point, though, he did say what might have been your name. He cursed, 'Amanda, may Satan and all the devils torment you in the deepest pit of Hell' or words to that effect."

"Amanda," she mouthed the name aloud, ignoring the imprecation, and waiting for some flash of recognition, but there was nothing. Sighing heavily, she said, "Well, I suppose Amanda is as good a name as any, as I must call myself something."

"Amanda it shall be then," agreed Myrddhin, his blue eyes twinkling with delight as he offered her another draught of mead.

The strong drink made Amanda drowsy, and she looked longingly at the cot, but courtesy forestalled her from asking for its use. Noting her drooping eyelids, Myrddhin arose and gestured toward the cot. "You need to rest, my lady Amanda. Please use the cot and I will find other accommodation for tonight."

Her eyes nearly closing, Amanda staggered over to the narrow bed and falling upon it, was immediately asleep. Myrddhin observed her thoughtfully for several minutes, then withdrew from the hut, closing the door softly behind him.

Chapter Two: The Apprentice

Pressure in her head pulled Amanda into semi-wakefulness. Still in the grip of a nightmare, she struggled against the foreboding sense of Presence, her mind filled with visions of explosions and lightning, and the horrifying sight of blood. Panting and trembling, she opened her eyes, and swung off the cot. Shafts of sunlight penetrated the hut from the narrow windows, lighting its dimness slightly.

Amanda felt the pressure on her senses increasing as if something fearsome were coming nearer. She scanned the room quickly for a weapon--a sword, a knife, anything--but there was none. Nearly paralysed with terror, Amanda gasped aloud as the door opened suddenly, outlining a man in the brilliant sunlight.

"My lady," Myrddhin said gently, taken aback by her reaction, "Tis only I." Observing her terror- stricken face, he added, "Before you depart this place, Amanda, there is much you need to know. Much that is buried now, but is essential to your survival. After we have broken our fast, we will talk."

A little more composed, Amanda replied, "I am sorry for my seeming cowardice. I awoke from a nightmare and thought it was coming true in this life." Her voice more steady, she continued, "I wish to bathe before eating. Is there a brook or pond where I may wash?"

"Just at the edge of the clearing, there is a stream that empties into a small pool. You may bathe there in privacy." Looking at her torn and blood-caked gown, he went to a square basket near the wall and lifting the lid, pulled out a clean rough-spun shift that smelled pleasantly of cedar. "You will need another garment to wear while you clean and repair your own. Please use this for as long as you wish." He handed Amanda the shift and then, from a container on the shelf, offered her a square cake of soap.

The clear forest pool was sheltered from the hut by a screen of small bushes. Amanda, at first thinking just to wash her hands, could not resist the lure of its silvery smoothness. Removing her clothing, she slid with exquisite delight into the cool depths. A sigh of great content escaped her as she swam in a leisurely circuit around the small pond. Amanda floated on its surface, her dark hair rippling around her sensuously, and she wondered if she had ever felt such utter peace. Time faded away as the sights and sounds of the forest went on as they had since time began.

"If only one could hold a moment like this forever," she thought. But reality intruded as she recalled Myrddhin awaiting her for a meal, and the day's journey ahead.

Reluctantly, Amanda swam to the pond edge and clambered up the bank, where her clothing lay spread over the bushes. Donning the shift, she found it rather scratchy compared to fine linen of her own gown. Humming a tune for which she could not recall the words, she washed her garment, shaking her head in amazement at the long rent where her abdomen would have been. "Immortality," she thought in awe. "Could it be true? Why can I not remember anything about it? Or of anything else?"

Returning to the hut, Amanda lay her gown over a bush to dry, and knocking politely, entered to find the table set with bowls, cups and wooden spoons. The mouth-watering aroma of cooked barley tantalized her, and she realized she was ravenously hungry.

Myrddhin turned from the hearth, bearing an iron pot to the table. He ladled large portions of the barley porridge into each bowl, then passed Amanda a pot of honey to sweeten it.

In spite of her long fast, Amanda waited until her host made his ritual thanks to the deity before she fell to and soon finished her portion. Myrddhin offered her more which she accepted gratefully. He smiled at her rather unladylike appetite, but said nothing.

Her hunger appeased, Amanda felt again that wondrous sense of peace that she experienced in the forest pool. "Is it this place," she wondered, "that gives such tranquillity? Or is it that I have no memory? No past to haunt me except in dreams," she thought, and shuddered, recalling her nightmare, her serenity vanishing.

Myrddhin noticed her tremble, and asked, solicitously, "Are you warm enough, Amanda?"

"It was not cold that made me shiver, Myrddhin, but a terrible dream that woke me this morning."

"Tell me your dream. I have some knowledge of interpreting dreams. Perhaps yours has some meaning, some clue to your past."

Collecting her thoughts, she began, "I was in a very dark and fearsome place. All around me were eyes watching from the shadows, and stealthy sounds as if something were creeping up on me. Suddenly, there were flashes of lightning, a terrible roaring in my ears as if the earth were tearing itself apart. Wind blasted at me, and blood rained down from the sky. I tried to run but my feet were mired and would not move. In my head, I felt an enormous pressure as if my head would burst. That's when I awoke."

Myrddhin listened intently to her dream, and suddenly, stood up to pace the small space. He smoothed his long white beard, tugging it slightly, his head sunk upon his breast, as if pondering a knotty problem. Amanda watched and waited, her eyes still haunted by the horror of her nightmare.

Abruptly, he returned to the table, and looking earnestly into her eyes, said, "I don't know if I should tell you the meaning of this dream. Perhaps it's a blessing of the earth goddess that you have lost your memory. How many memories I would wipe out if I could!"

"Myrddhin, please tell me. I need to know anything which may help unloose my memory. I want to know who I am."

Myrddhin sighed heavily, and began, "You are an Immortal. You cannot die from a wound, or illness or mischance, save only by beheading. Does the phrase, 'there can be only one' mean aught to you?" Amanda mutely shook her head, and he continued, "Immortals are all involved in what we call the Game. A deadly game in which we challenge and kill each other for the Prize, to be the last Immortal. We sense our kind by the aura of their Presence. It gives us warning that another Immortal is near. That is what distracted you yesterday, and allowed the Spaniard to kill you. You sensed me, another Immortal, coming toward you. For many Immortals, I suspect, the Game is a terrible price to pay for their immortality. For others, they play the Game to win, no matter what the cost."

He paused to allow Amanda a moment to take this all in, searching her face for a sign of recognition.

"So, Myrddhin, you say Immortals kill each other for sport, by beheading? To win this Game?" As comprehension dawned in her eyes, Amanda gasped, "And I, as an Immortal, have played this game and killed others in this way?" She sat back, shaking her head in denial. "It cannot be! It cannot! This is evil!"

"Amanda, my child," Myrddhin reached out to touch her comfortingly but she shrank back. "It is neither good nor evil. It just is. You have a noble heart. It shines about you like a bright light. You will do what you must to survive, but inside you are good. Always remember that."

"If these are the memories that are locked away, let them stay there. I don't want them back!" She rose abruptly and stood by the hearth, trying to regain her composure.

"I believe your dream is about your fear of other Immortals, some of whom are evil, and threaten your life wherever you go. You fight them, or try to evade them, but you cannot escape what you are. Until you accept yourself, your past and your memory may remain shielded from you."

Amanda remained immobile, unseeing, as Myrddhin arose and left her alone in the hut. All the tranquillity of the forest pool had vanished as she now wandered in that dark terrible place of her nightmare.

After a long while, she went out into the bright sunshine, intuitively seeking the healing of nature for her troubled spirit. At the edge of the clearing, she saw Myrddhin, standing still, his face uplifted to the sun and arms outstretched as if to embrace the world. Amanda, drawn by some mysterious attraction, moved to his side and assumed the same pose. Soon, she felt again the peace of the place descend upon her. As she gave herself over to stillness, a feeling of power rose through her from the earth. She felt she was glowing with some mystical force.

A woman's face floated through her inner vision, a beautiful woman with curling red hair. Her mouth moved but Amanda couldn't understand her words. The half-moon on her sole tingled. As she tried to hold on to the vision, it vanished.

Myrddhin stirred from his meditative trance, observing his companion, and smiling slightly.

Amanda realized he was watching her, and said in a hushed, reverent tone, "This is a holy place, is it not? I feel peaceful here but surrounded by strange power. What is this place? I feel I could stay here forever."

"I don't believe it is your destiny, Amanda, to remain here overlong. Your future may lie far beyond these shores. But for as long as you wish to stay, this Sanctuary is yours. It is a holy place, as you said. Holy ground is the only safe place for an Immortal. No Immortal would dare harm another on holy ground."

He regarded her such with an intensity that Amanda had to look away. She felt there was some sort of magnetism in those blue eyes that was irresistible. Myrrdhin said gravely, "There is much I wish to teach you, if you are willing."

"What sort of knowledge do you possess, Myrddhin, that you would impart to me?"

"Ancient wisdom, as old as time. Knowledge of the earth, her lines and places of power, herbs and medicines, using the mind's own power. The old knowledge has nearly been lost. I am the last Druid high priest, the last with this great lore. I have waited a long time for you, Amanda," he added.

Amanda was thoughtful for awhile, staring into the green coolness of the great oak forest. Finally, she met his gaze, and declared, "Teach me all you know. Without my memories, I feel like an empty vessel. Fill me with your knowledge."

For a long moment, Myrddhin was too moved to speak, then gently, he embraced her like a father. "It has been centuries since I had an apprentice, Amanda. We have much to do, so let us begin."

"One thing I ask, Myrddhin. I want to build a hut of my own, near yours, but offering me privacy and solitude when I wish it."

Continued in Part Two