REDEMPTION

Disclaimer – I don't own the rights, Zorro Productions Inc does - I just like to play with the characters.

Plot – Ignacio de Soto reflects on his life after the death of Emissary Risendo.

I had always preferred de Soto over Ramone because he had the potential to change his ways, especially at the end of the series. I was curious as to how he obtained the university scholarship when he had come from a poor farming family and that he had spent time in the Army too. I hope to answer those questions.

There is not much dialogue in the first half of the story as I was building up the background history of the de Sotos and it covers the major events in Ignacio's life. The story goes for 16 chapters + the prologue.

Prologue.

He was running. Running from something or someone, he didn't know what. All he knew was the semi-darkness, that it was bitterly cold, and a thick grey fog swirled around him. He was wheezing heavily, his heart pounded so fast that he thought it would burst at any second. He wanted to stop and rest but he couldn't, his legs kept pumping mercilessly on the hard surface, a surface that he couldn't see. Then he heard it. Voices, so many voices.

Male, female, children's voices all merged together along with a bizarre high pitched shrieking like some insane banshee out to get his soul. The sounds seemed to echo all around him, all shouting, crying, screaming and he knew that he had to get away from them or he would be lost forever. He would be lost in the confusion, lost to the soulless ghosts that haunted him.

In the distance he saw a light and he desperately wanted to reach it. He knew if he did, he would be safe from the voices, safe from the terrifying nightmare that he found himself in. So he ran harder, faster but as the light came closer, a voice separated itself from the others and wailed out in a terrible screech, which made his blood run cold.

"Stop...stop. You don't belong there, you belong to us, here in this place."

He shook his head. "No, NO."

That horrible voice screeched again. "You belong here, this is your destiny."

"No, no I don't believe you!" he yelled out at the strange voice. He started to slow down as though the voice was pulling him back towards the madness.

"Stop. You belong in the dark with us. You must stop running."

He shook his head. "No, no. Maybe I did belong here once but no more. I need to find..."

"There is nothing to find." wailed the voice. "It is all here with us, it will be okay, if you just stop running."

He saw a shadowy figure slowly emerge from the fog and he felt fear, felt that if he didn't run away, he would always stay in the darkness with the mad creatures that haunted it. So he ran harder and faster towards the light, he didn't care if his heart did burst, at least if he died, he wouldn't have to hear those voices anymore. He had to get away from this dreadful place.

"I must get to the light. I must." he told himself.

The shadowy figure laughed insanely as it kept pace with the running man. "You can't run from me."

He saw the figure move in front of him and slowly become solid and to his horror he found himself looking into his own face and he screamed.

Ignacio de Soto bolted upright in his bed, his heart pounding hard, he was gasping for breath, his eyes wide with fright, his white hair flattened by sweat, the bedsheets were crumpled and even one of his pillows had been tossed to the floor, all evidence of his terrible nightmare.

"Madre de Dios." his voice cracked by the feeling of terror of his dream, the dream that he has had three times in as many weeks. With trembling hands he threw back the covers and slowly stood up on unsteady legs. He felt as though he had been running for miles, his legs ached, his breathing was laboured and he felt utterly exhausted. He crossed to the wash stand and splashed water on his face.

He looked in the mirror and was shocked by his reflection. He saw a terrified old man staring back at him. Although he was only thirty-six years old, the strain of the last several weeks had aged him. There were more worry lines etched into his face, especially around his eyes and mouth. The furrows on his brow had deepened but what shocked him the most was the haunted look in his blue eyes. That look hadn't been there before the emissary's arrival and he didn't know if that look would ever go away. Never before had he felt real fear, fear for his very life at the hands of that madman.

As he grabbed the towel beside the wash basin and wiped his face dry, he saw the framed picture of Niccolo Machiavelli hanging on the opposite wall and yelled at it. "You were wrong." he crossed the room and angrily tore the large picture down. "You were wrong." he uttered again as he put his fist through the smug smile of his one time hero.

"Power, real power doesn't come from deceit or from brutish ways, nor does the end justify the means." he muttered at the damaged picture. His anger disappeared as he slumped down on his rumpled bed once again and reflected on the wasted years on chasing after a ghost, a ghost that defied his authority at every turn.

He snorted to himself. "What authority?" he muttered, the only authority he had was through fear and hate. Look at what that type of power had done to Risendo. It had created a monster.

"Is that what I am destined to become, a monster?" he uttered gloomily. He had seen a part, a rather large part of himself in Risendo. He had that same burning ambition, that same ruthlessness to get what he wanted, no matter what or who stood in his way and look where it ended for the Emissary, it ended in an early grave.

He felt remorse for having shot the unknown son of Don Alejandro de la Vega, if he had known of the blood relation between the two men, he would not have killed him. But he had no other choice. It was either that or watch Don Diego die at the hands of the emissary. The killing had laid heavily on his soul and he had visited the Padre a number of times in the weeks since then, in an effort to heal his wound.

And in doing so, he had confronted his own demons and he didn't like what he had found. The only reason he had gone to the de la Vegas was to steal Don Alejandro's best stallion and to flee the territory in order to save his own life. He was running away like the coward that he was and had left his loyal Sergeant to face the wrath of Risendo. That discovery made him reflect on his life.

Ignacio sighed and turned over on his side. "What have I achieved here? Nothing, I have achieved nothing." he muttered. He had been in a stalemate with his arch-enemy Zorro for the last couple of years and there was no sign, in the near future, of any change to the situation. The people disliked him, they didn't trust him and had no respect for him.

He had done none of the duties which were expected of his office, some of the pueblo buildings needed repair and painted, the school had been without a teacher for almost three months. The ruts in the roads needed to be smoothed out or at least a new route should have been paved out. Even the barracks was in need of renovation. But none of that had been done. He sighed again as he rolled over and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Why, how had it gone so wrong?" he asked himself.