"A priest? You want me to meet a Roman Catholic priest? Whatever for?" When Duncan met Abigail at breakfast the following morning, served in the well-appointed dining room of the inn, she was clearly confused. "Why should I get to know one of the popists."

"He's a friend, Abigail... a very good friend. And if you recall... I too was raised Roman Catholic." Duncan was little startled at Abigail's response.

She eyed him curiously over the table and sipped genteelly on her tea. "Well... yes... but you are my friend... and you are not likely to attempt to convert me. I have heard it said that priests are agents of Satan himself."

Duncan threw back his head and laughed. "Please Abigail... come with me to meet Brother Darius... I think you'll see just how foolish that fear is." He sobered suddenly. "Besides, my business will soon take me elsewhere, I fear, and I would have you know someone in this city... someone I trust."

Abigail finally agreed. After all... there were too few Quakers in this city... which was one of the reasons she had come... and if this man were a friend of Duncan's... even if he were a priest... it might be nice to have a friend here once Duncan had left.

Some hours later, after having first insisted on going into the poorer areas of the city to see in what way she might be able to help, Duncan and Abigail came at last to St. Julien Le Pauvre, St. Julien of the poor, patron saint of those in need.

"Well... the name of the church is certainly appropriate," Abigail murmured as they approached the twelfth century stone church... plain in its appearance, not at all a grandiose edifice, as she had feared. Nor was the priest who served this church quite what she had expected either.

Darius seemed relatively young... perhaps Duncan's age, or a few years older. He was pleasant, friendly, and had a remarkable sense of humor. Abigail found herself immediately at ease... as well as discussing with him her plans for a mission in the area. Instead of being put off by her, as so many were, he began discussing with her the specific needs of the people in the area, ways that one could help if one had time and money, and other people she could contact to assist her. Abigail found herself getting lost in the man's blue-grey eyes... sensing only a kindred soul... one who lived to serve others... one who was plain.

For his part, Duncan MacLeod felt as though he were the outsider. Darius and Abigail appeared to have many interests in common. Each of them was fully committed to a way of life that Duncan could not wholly accept... a life of peace and service to others.

A few days later, when he stopped by the church, Duncan found Darius on a garden bench, a letter in his hands and a forlorn look on his face. He paused a few feet away, as the priest did not seem to acknowledge him... so lost in thought he seemed. Finally Darius sighed, folded the letter, placing it within his robes and met Duncan's expression with a haunted smile.

"My friend, so good to see you again." Though his words were as they always were, Duncan thought there was an edge of sadness in them.

"Is something wrong, Darius? Is there any way I can help?"

Darius shook his head. "Just word about an old friend. Not good news, I'm afraid." He gestured then for Duncan to accompany him inside and set about heating water, his words now on their on-going game of chess.

Duncan watched his friend closely, seeking the answer to the puzzle that at times was Darius. But he learned nothing. Finally he spoke up. "So what old friend died? Grayson?"

Darius looked at him strangely then shook his head. "No Grayson is fine. He was here a few years ago... selling weapons to the insurgents. I believe he's in Germany these days." He fingered the white queen on the chessboard absently and then moved it, his eyes seemed focused not on things here but on some memory of long ago.

"So who?"

Darius glanced up and settled back into his chair... his face expressionless. "Why do you think someone has died?"

"You said your letter... that it was bad news. Darius you look like you'd like to talk about it. I wouldn't press if you don't... but you're obviously concerned about something."

Darius pulled out the letter... two pages written on fine vellum. His thumb caressed the expensive feel of the paper as he sighed thoughtfully. Suddenly he rolled the sheets and poked them into the brazier until they caught fire. Flames leapt up momentarily... and sparks lingered in the air before dying out. "The letter is nothing," he said curtly and turned to pour the water into the prepared teapot to let it steep.

Duncan chuckled. "So... you are not always the calm and all-knowing one."

Darius regarded him quietly and then smiled as he settled once more into his own chair. "I am but human my friend... subject to all the devices and desires of other men. The paths we choose for our lives... are not always easy."

"An old love then?" Duncan moved a pawn.

Swiftly Darius shifted one of his. "An old student... one who is having a difficult time these days."

"Anyone I know?" Duncan paused his hand over a knight... and then moved to a second pawn, shifting it forward.

"I don't believe so."

Duncan leaned forward. "I am your friend, Darius, if I can help..." his voice trailed off in the invitation.

Darius chuckled as he shook his head. "I don't think so, my friend, but maybe someday. Now... tell my how your young friend Abigail Martin is doing."

"You're changing the subject."

"Is that what I'm doing?" Darius grinned. Swiftly his bishop took out Duncan's queen. "Checkmate!"

In the weeks that followed, Abigail threw herself into her preparations for assistance. She gained an audience with some of the Parisians whose names Darius had given her and influenced them to help support the soup and bread line she hoped to create... and to help offer money so that she might rent a property where destitute families could find shelter.

Her dark eyes glittered with her plans... and Duncan hoped they would come to fruition... and not be dashed against the rocks. He found himself postponing his trip to Switzerland and Austria... and instead split his days between escorting Abigail around some of the seedier areas of Paris ("You will not go there alone!" he'd insisted.) and playing chess with Darius.

The chess games, Duncan had come to discover, were merely covers for the elder immortal to teach truths. He used the moves to discuss strategy, sacrifice, power, and history.

"Nothing is ever as it seems with you is it?" Duncan had asked one evening.

"Perhaps everything is exactly what it appears to be," Darius replied as once again he checkmated Duncan's king.

Duncan ran his fingers through his dark curly hair and laughed. "Now why do I think that's not exactly the truth."

"You are too suspicious, my friend. Need everything one says or does have two meanings? Sometimes... we are no more or less than what we appear to be."

"Darius," Duncan said suddenly. "I know you remain here on holy ground... but would you accompany me tomorrow to see Abigail. Her soup line begins serving tomorrow. She speaks often of you and I thought it might please her if you came. I'll watch your back."

Darius laughed. "Just because I choose to remain here Duncan... does not mean I am helpless. But I will be honored to attend." He smiled.

"I'll pick you up just before noon if that's convenient. Abigail has some volunteers who will be working with her. They'll keep an eye on her while I'm not there."

Darius leaned back and rested one elbow on the arm of his chair... leaning one extended figure along the side of his face thoughtfully. The priest regarded Duncan carefully as if considering his next words carefully. "Very well... I shall await your coming."

The following day... once Duncan had seen Abigail to the location at the Place de Maubert where Protestants had once been burned at the stake, he returned to St. Julien Le Pauvre to find Darius ready to accompany him. The priest's garb was much as it was when Duncan had met him at Waterloo. His hooded cloak covered his face and the trailing fullness of it concealed much about the immortal's shape.

Duncan had also added a cape to his attire for the day... choosing to hide his beloved katana within it... although he still carried the walking stick with its hidden blade. Duncan had wanted to be certain that if they ran into trouble... they would be adequately armed... although he doubted Darius would actually wield a weapon.

Reaching the edge of the esplanade, Duncan was relieved to sense only Abigail's light hum. The young woman was tirelessly moving along the bread line... offering bread, soup, kind words, a soft smile, or a helpful hand to those who had come for food. He did note some ruffians off to one side whose leers and raucous comments were of some concern. When he thought to chastise them, Darius placed one hand firmly on Duncan's arm and shook his head.

"Let them be. Her charity shames them. She does not need for you to defend her honor. Her deeds may yet win them over."

Duncan glared hatefully at the men, but withdrew, content to watch Abigail.

At one point she glanced over to see them, excused herself and walked toward them. "So... that's where you ran off to earlier... and here I thought you felt serving soup was beneath you," she teased. Then she beamed at Darius. "What do you think... Will I make a difference here?"

"One can only hope, Abigail. All of us must endeavor to make a difference... one soul... one life at a time. It is a beginning."

Abigail turned and noted the crowds of people lining up for the food. "I had no idea there were so many... or that the need was so great."

"The need may always be beyond our best efforts to assuage it," Darius continued... walking beside her. "How may I help this day?"

Abigail's face broke into a wide smile. She looked around. "Pierre Moreau could use some help with the cooking... we need to make more than we had planned... Can you cook?"

Darius shrugged, "Of course." Soon he'd found himself chopping produce to add to the kettles and chatting amiably with the cook, Pierre Moreau and his wife Sophie. He'd removed his cloak and seemed at ease in the duties... laughing and joking with the other workers as if he often did this sort of work.

Duncan could only gaze and chuckle. He allowed himself to help with serving bread... making certain to offer also a smile and a kind word.

The afternoon passed quickly. Once the food was gone... the poor had vanished. In the aftermath... Pierre stomped out the fires... began to order their equipment loaded onto the carts. Darius reclaimed his cloak and stood observing the clean up in the shadows... his eyes watching the faces of passers-by... and peering at the side streets which opened onto the esplanade.

"Did you sense something?" Duncan asked him... his hand already gripping his walking stick once more.

"Perhaps... I'm not certain... it was only for a moment," Darius murmured. "I need to get back, however."

"Give me a moment and I'll go with you," Duncan assured his friend. Turning to Abigail he smiled. "We have to be going. Shall I see you later?"

Abigail looked tired. But she nodded. "I have to make plans for the next time... but I would welcome your company over a light meal. I fear seeing how hungry some of these people were makes me feel guilty about leaving here to dine at some cafe. Thank you both... your presence here meant the world to me." She squeezed Duncan's hand then turned and seemed at a loss as to how to thank the priest. "You have been a great help... "

Darius reached out one hand to pat her shoulder lightly and then his hand vanished once more into his cloak. "No matter our differences... helping those less fortunate is truly a charity."

"You could come with us?" Duncan suggested. "Let the others finish up... you're exhausted. We'll drop Darius back at St. Julien and then I can take you back to the inn for an early meal... and then you can retire."

Abigail turned and watched the carts being loaded. There was truly nothing else for her to do here... and she was tired. Agreeably she turned back and nodded. "I think I may."

Together the three set off towards the church... Duncan listening to Darius and Abigail speak of other ways and means help could be brought to the poor. Darius was urging her to concentrate on one area... rather than attempt to cover the entire city. "It cannot be done. It is better to make a difference in one small area... help those who cannot help themselves... teach them how to stand once more on their own... and only then move on."

As the talk between them continued, Duncan began to sense occasionally someone on the edge of his perceptions... another immortal... not in plain sight... following them in the shadows of the late afternoon. His unease began to grow. Catching Darius' eye, the Highlander knew the priest had sensed the other as well. They sped up.

Arriving at the gate to the church property... Darius offered hospitality... a cup of tea perhaps... a few moments of rest... Abigail looked as tired as if she were ready to collapse. Adrenaline and excitement had kept her going all day... now it was fading... and she was truly weary.

"Come inside."

"Darius makes excellent tea," Duncan insisted.

Abigail looked at them both strangely. "No... I'm really tired, perhaps another time. Duncan... please escort me back to the inn. I rather feel even a meal is beyond me at this point."

Duncan agreed, not certain if he wished the unknown immortal would remain here at the church... watching Darius... or follow him back to the inn. Still... he needed to get Abigail to safety.

Saying his farewells, Duncan took her arm gently and led her away.

In the shadows of the coming dusk... Darius gazed after them thoughtfully as his eyes attempted to see shapes in the shadows. But he saw no one there... and no one stepped forward. Finally, Darius turned and quietly entered his church.

An hour later, Darius felt a presence in the nave. Carefully he rose to open the door of his cell and peer into the candlelit gloom of the old church.

"Denis," he murmured sadly.

"How strange to have seen you wandering the city in broad daylight, old one. I assume that young Scotsman was your bodyguard?" Denis stretched out his long legs and propped them on the back of the chair in front of him, casually assuming a position of boredom. He trailed one long hand on the flagstone floor and sighed as he gazed petulantly at the priest.

Darius shook his head and settled into a chair next to his former student. "I do not require a bodyguard as you well know... but he insisted."

Denis regarded his former teacher patronizingly. "Oh... you might once have been able to trip me up so that I would lie sprawled at your feet... but somehow I don't think you could anymore. When was the last time you raised a hand against anyone... for any reason?"

Darius said nothing, merely continued to gaze at Denis sadly.

The young immortal plopped his feet on the stone floor, slapped his thighs and laughed. "I knew it! You have been here too long. One would think you are actually starting to believe all this talk of goodness and sacrifice! One day one of us will come for you... and you will either have to die... or fight back... and I'm not certain Darius which I'd prefer."

"As someone did for you?"

"I was a fool to embrace peace!" Denis shouted. "When they came for me... it was kill or be killed! Don't judge me for choosing to live. I hope I live to see the day they come for you," he finished softly, rising to his feet and striding about the nave. "Will you fight? Or will you kneel and let them take your head?"

"That remains to be seen," Darius answered. "I do not judge you for wishing to live... I merely indicate my sorrow that you have embraced once more the darkness of the game."

"What about the Scotsman?" Denis said turning with a smile and circling about Darius like a vulture. "Is he a man of peace? If I come for his head... will he fight me?"

"That would be his business... not mine," Darius answered levelly.

Denis hopped onto a chair and crouched before the priest. "Then perhaps I shall pay a call on him... or not." Laughing he jumped once more to the floor and sauntered out... letting the great oaken door slam loudly.

Slowly Darius rose and returned to his cell. Denis had been one of his greatest hopes... and one of his greatest losses. The immortal had died during the eighth century... a victim of a fire. He'd lost his wife and her parents at the same time. Uncertain of the immortal life... once he'd healed, he'd wandered lost about the streets until Darius had found him... taken him in... taught him... not just about immortality and the game... but how to read and write... and had been pleased to watch Denis take holy orders... offering himself to also be a beacon of peace for the world.

Less than a century later, the superstitious congregants of his small parish came for him... to burn Denis at the stake for witchcraft. He'd fought his way free... and had turned his back on helping men after that. Denis wasn't necessarily evil... just back in the game. He delighted in coming to Paris every few decades to taunt Darius and show him how well he was doing... how successful he was... how many heads he'd taken. Denis had been lost to Darius long ago... but he still keenly felt that loss. Indeed... he felt the loss of all of them... all the ones who embraced peace for a time and then moved on.

Within his cell Darius slumped in the chair by the chessboard as his gaze fell once more on the white queen... Slowly he picked the carved stone piece up and fingered it softly. Then he re-set it once more on the chessboard. Sighing... he blew out the candle and crawled into bed already knowing that sleep might prove elusive this night.

The Book of Darius URL: https://www.angelfire.com/film/bookofdarius/ Webmaster: tirnanog (This page last updated 06/03/2006)