Date: Thu, 22 Dec 1994 19:41:59 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Ch3. (p 101-106) c 1994 N.L. Cleveland (comments to NancySSCH@aol.com) Duncan smiled. Whoever waited for him, outside, intrigued him. Someone ruthless enough to eliminate the threat of the pursuing cabs with an army of motorcycle thugs, yet who also took time to anticipate the exact details to welcome a guest with impeccable hospitality. Except for the little issue of the gas... something nagged at Duncan's memory, a wisp of thought fled, and was gone. Something about the gas...I t would return, in due course. He would just be patient. He wondered what influences had shaped this enigmatic person who led the clan. Someone moulded in the classical tradition of the warrior leader, one who let his artistic and cultural sensibilities flower, as well, it seemed. Duncan stood, reveling in the feel and cut of the clothes. He was fully dressed. Only the socks remained, and he knelt to pull them on, wriggling his toes in the mitten-like design. So long since he'd worn similar ones, or the raised wooden sandals, the geta. He half expected to find a pair sitting outside his door, as he slid it open once again, the door moving flat on runners set parallel to the wall in typical Japanese style. Only the boy stood there, patiently waiting. The child bowed, but not before Duncan caught a glimpse of his delighted grin at the transformation of the westerner. The boy indicated with his hands that Duncan should precede him down the hallway, and fell in step behind him as the Immortal headed towards the open room, and sweet murmur of the fountain. As he moved closer, he could hear the plaintive notes of a Japanese lute mingled with the water's soft lament, coloring Duncan's mind with a touch of melancholy, a sad yearning that brushed lightly across his heart and darkened his mood with memories and regrets. Duncan glanced quickly around the room as he entered it, looking for the hidden speakers. Instead, he saw its only occupant, a young Japanese man sitting cross legged on a low mat on the far side of the fountain, plucking gently at the strings of a lute. The man's eyes were closed and Duncan paused, taken aback by the still, serene expression on his face. He stood, silent, while the last notes fell into the air, mingling with the water's chuckle, and disappeared. Resonating in his mind. Fading slowly away. The man opened his eyes and stared at him, the blank gaze sharpening as if he were pulling his thoughts from far away, back to the present. Disturbing eyes, Duncan noted. Eyes that leaped at him, across the room, that seemed to physically touch him, to invade his space and probe at his mind. Demanding eyes. Eyes that transformed the face in which they rested from the ethereal remote beauty of an angel to the burning immediacy of a man obsessed, driven, possessed by a spirit far larger and more powerful than a simple human frame could bear, and whose soul's only escape from that frail mortal coil was in his hot and eager glance. Involuntarily, Duncan took a step back, and lowered his gaze, bowing, half in instinctive courtesy and half in simple self protection, while he gathered his thoughts and hid his expression of surprise. All the vigor and controlled power that he had known in Murami, was alive again in this man. His memories had not done Murami justice. 200 years can soften, distort, reduce a giant to mortal size. Duncan remembered now, fully, the mesmerizing charism, the overwhelming physical presence of the man, that had let him endure and prosper in defiance of the Emperor's commands and the law of the land. Only such a man could have endured, and prospered. And now, it was as if he faced him again. A younger edition, less powerful, less experienced... perhaps. But surely the direct blood descendant of Murami. "Konichi wa. Welcome, Duncan MacLeod. " His English was perfect, his finely modulated voice carrying a trace of an upper class British accent. The man stood and bowed briefly to him, then walked toward Duncan, the lute dangling in one hand, the other out in a western gesture, to shake. Duncan raised his eyes, and offered his hand as well. Duncan was tall, above average in height, even for a westerner. This man stood shoulder to shoulder with him, eyes level with his, one of the giant new generation of Japanese, the well nourished children from the post war baby boom. "I am honored to be speaking with the representative of the clan Shikoto." Duncan did not want to presume that this man was necessarily the leader of the clan. There could be a father, an uncle.... "This is not your first time, with the clan." The words were not a question, although they were phrased so they could be interpreted as such. Duncan felt as if he were standing on the edge of a dizzying precipice, looking down. He had only to take that one step forward, to speak that single word...and fall into a different reality. Move from being seen as a normal, mortal man, to seeing in the faces around him the fear, the awe, the mistrust, of a mortal, for an immortal. But surely this man knew what Duncan was, already. Surely, he must. "I have encountered the Shikoto, before." Duncan could dance among oblique implications, forever. He'd had plenty of experience in carefully choosing his words, on this issue. He smiled faintly, and watched the man's eyes. Looking for that flicker that would betray fear, envy, loathing....or acceptance. Wondering if he had found another mortal ally, in this man. Another possible friend. "You are the same man Murami spoke of when he rejoined the clan. You are the Immortal." The man's eyes bored into Duncan's, uncharacteristically rude, for a Japanese, but perhaps another of Murami's legacies, this direct western stare, searching only for confirmation of what he already knew, and believed, to be the truth. Duncan nodded his head, giving silent assent. Listening as the man drew in a breath, and sighed. As if a great tension were being released inside him. Waiting for the next question, the question that would go to the heart of their future relationship, and define for him whether or not there would be an alliance, a mutual joining of interests or repayment of debts. "Why did you seek us out? Why did you return to the temple?" Those eyes stared into his, held his, unblinking. Like twin lasers, trying to cut the very secrets from his soul. Now he would know how, or if, the bonds of the past held those in the present. "I have a request. For help. Will you honor it?" The man laughed. A short, sharp bark of humor. "What help does a man who can live forever need from those who die like moths in the flame? Tell me, please, how can we possibly help you?" That was not a commitment. Duncan did not like the turn this conversation was taking. He was not here to bare his goals and plans, without some more firm idea of what, if anything, he could expect from the Shikoto. "I only asked if you would help me. If you have to bargain over the nature of that help, I must have been mistaken, coming here. I thought I came to the Shikoto. Perhaps you have taken their name? Perhaps you are not the descendants of Murami?" He'd thrown the gauntlet. Would see if this man picked it up. A flush spread across the cheeks of the man facing him. Duncan saw his eyes spark in a burst of sudden emotion. Felt the man's physical aura gather itself, and saw for a moment a wavering shadow, as if a tiger crouched before him, preparing to leap and shred and devour. He stood, calmly, waiting for his host's verbal response. Pretending he had seen nothing, felt nothing. "It is not my decision what help, if any, we will give you, Duncan MacLeod. I am only to deliver the message that we know you. And we remember. And we honor our obligations. In full." The man turned and walked away from him, offering open insult with his abrupt departure. He left the room, moving down the continuation of the corridor Duncan had entered by, and left Duncan standing there, with only the boy, half forgotten in the corner, for company. Duncan noticed the child, staring wide eyed at the scene that had just taken place, and smiled reassuringly at him. The youth recollected himself, pulled shut his gape-jawed mouth with an audible snap, bowed rapidly, then scurried from the room in the same direction the other man had just taken. Just as Duncan had decided that he should follow, a sliding door opened in the far wall of the room and two large, burly men stepped out. Bodyguards, by type. Hard faced and suspicious, their eyes passed over and through Duncan, seeking out weapons, threats, intimations of threats. They flanked the open door, as if guarding the shadowed empty space within. Duncan's hands felt oddly empty, as he tensed his fingers, wishing he had the familiar weight of his sword with him. There was a whisper of rustling fabric, and then a woman stepped through the door. A woman dressed in the stiff, formal embroidered silk kimono of ceremony and celebration. A woman who stood, despite the years that weighed on her shoulders and whitened her hair, almost as tall as Duncan himself. A woman with the same dark eyes, the same fiery, imperious glance, and the same commanding physical presence as the young tiger who had just stalked out of the room. Duncan was impressed. And taken aback. Unlike most Japanese women Duncan had met, she did not drop her eyes modestly at his gaze, but met his glance and locked it to hers, as if demanding his mind and his will acceded to her own. Then she did bow, her stare pulling him with her as she briefly lowered her head, and he found himself following, imitating her every move. "So, Immortal, you have returned to claim your debt." Her voice was dry, like leaves in autumn. Duncan felt another shock. She spoke the men's dialect, not using the high pitched voice and diminutives of women's Japanese, but the direct plain speech of power and the boardroom. Murami's legacy of challenging tradition had taken a different turn in some of his descendants, it seemed. "I am honored to meet the leader of the Shikoto." Duncan bowed again, on his own, this time, then raised his gaze to hers and continued, hazarding that this imperious woman would prefer that he meet her eyes directly, himself. "I seek your help. If that will repay a debt, I would release you from that burden, as well." "The debt will be paid. Have no fear of that, Duncan MacLeod." The words carried the ring of truth. Of finality. She would honor the past, then. Duncan relaxed a bit, daring to hope that this search would be successful, that if the Dragons still existed as a viable force, a clan, he would find them, before Raven did. And perhaps avert what could only be another bloodbath. "It must be a great need that drives you, to come here after two centuries. >From the other side of the world. Perhaps what you ask is too much for our clan. Perhaps you would destroy us, with this request?" There was no coy flirtatious tone in her voice, no subservience or indirection. She was speaking equal to equal. And it was clear to Duncan that although he would be assisted, there would also be strict limits put on what he could expect from the clan. He might as well state his intentions, then, and see what the limits were going to be. "I am seeking access to a group. A clan. One like your own. They are called the Black Dragons." Her face didn't change, her eyes never flickered from his, but tension crept into the room, thrumming along Duncan's nerves as he sensed the bodyguards becoming, if possible, more alert, shifting their stances slightly, tightening their muscles. " I need to know who they are, where I can find them, and a way to meet their leader." "The Black Dragons." She had switched to faintly accented English, now. The words dropped from her lips, like shining pebbles into a pond. Ripples of meaning spread from them, but Duncan could not yet decipher those meanings, did not understand the significance of the Dragons, to the Shikoto. To this woman. Something, though. More than just another name. More than a casual connection. "And what will you do, when you find them?" Despite the casual tone, Duncan knew at once that this was her interest. This was the key to the Shikoto, and her help. "I am not sure what I will do" Duncan was probing for her reaction, as he spoke, Watching her, to see where she inclined. To see what the clan's role was, in this. "I need to meet them, first. Then I will decide." It was the truth, as well. If the Dragons were as evil as Raven seemed to think, perhaps Duncan would not interfere in their fate. Or perhaps he would help it along. But he had to know. For himself. He had to try to understand what it was that was driving this other Immortal. To understand if he could simply stand aside and let the man work out his own destiny, or if he must confront Raven, formally, in a duel, and possibly lose his own life, attempting to stop him. It was likely, more than likely, that the man was far more skilled than Duncan, in the art of the sword. Especially the Japanese sword. And there was no guarantee, either, that Raven would play by the rules and only use a sword. He had not accepted, in his heart and soul, his new Immortal status, when he and Duncan had parted. Had not committed to the life of an immortal. Or the code of the Immortals. And there was the crux of it, for Duncan. If he should break his own honor, as an Immortal, and have Raven stopped. By treachery. By mortals. Permanently. It was a dilemma he had been chewing over in his mind, since watching the smoke spiraling up from the burned ruins of the collapsed building, in Washington. Duncan had never before considered using mortals as tools. He had always been a simple man, one who chose direct action, a warrior, not a strategist. A foot soldier, not a general. But he recognized that if he were to fight with Raven, he had more than an even chance of not surviving the encounter. He told himself that it was because he wanted to prevent more death, that he even considered this option. Yet he forced himself to be brutally honest. He knew his motives were mixed. He recognized his fear, as well. He knew it was always there, always lurking in the deep dark corner of his heart. And he'd driven it away, time and again, forced himself to go out, again and again, to face the challenges of other, more experienced Immortals. And to face those who cheated and broke the rules. While he, he he had always stayed within the bounds of honor. But if this newly made Immortal were still alive, if Raven hadn't been destroyed along with the target of his fanatical crusade, back in D.C, there was no telling what more damage, what more death and destruction he might cause, in what Duncan knew would be the next step in his final, fatal rendezvous with revenge. Duncan had no particular love for the Dragons....but they were still human. Mortal. And there were always innocents around, to be hurt as well. And would it stop there? He had no idea, at this point, if Raven could even be considered sane. Wasn't it better to shoot down a rabid dog, than to let it bite you while trying to save it, and end up dying from its disease as well? Didn't an Immortal who killed mortals deserve to die, with no honor. No respect. No constraints of the rules staying another Immortal's hand? Didn't an Immortal who killed mortals deserve to die at their own, mortal hands? Duncan could not yet trust his own judgment in this. He had liked the man, instinctively. Had felt horror, and pity, at the shocking revelations he'd had to share with him about his past. And had understood, only too well, how hard it was for a new Immortal to believe that he was no longer a part of the transient mortal life. How hard it was to shake off the feelings and beliefs and loves of his first, mortal lifetime. How hard, to put it all aside. Almost impossible, in fact. Duncan understood it all, and knew that if things had been different, in his own life...if he had not met Conner when he did, he could have ended up as someone that other Immortals would consider evil, could have ended up embittered, and angry, and vengeful, himself. Could have sought to slake his own rage, his own rejection and derision and hurt, in murder, and rape, and pillage. Could have used his own Immortality to abuse and steal and rule others. So close. So lucky. So little difference, between men, but what fate and chance sometimes offered. Circumstances had conspired to drive him away from Raven before they had had a chance....before Duncan had been able to impress on the man the differences that mattered, now. Before he could make him understand what it truly meant, to be an Immortal. And he felt that he had failed, in a way. He could have forced a change, in their agenda. Could have insisted that they stay on the Islands, and disappear there, into the wilderness. He knew now that was what they should probably have done. He had needed time to be alone with the new Immortal, had needed more time, as well, to let him absorb the information that Duncan could offer, to make the transition, in his mind, into who and what he had become....and instead, they had been on the run, in public places, for the brief time that they had had together. And he felt responsible for this failure. It had been up to him, after all. He was an experienced Immortal. And he'd let this man, totally off balance from the discovery of his new identity, this fresh, vulnerable Immortal, and a pack of murderous mortals, rush his hand. What he had liked, in the mortal Raven, had been the balance, the wisdom and calm experience he had felt, when he'd first met the man. He knew it was still there, in the Immortal. But buried deep now, buried in rage, in grief, in denial. If he could find that, resurrect that man who had been...perhaps there was a way....But so many people had already died.... No. He didn't know what he would do, when he found the Dragons. Or when...if... he next met Raven, for that matter. It would all depend. On what Duncan saw. What he sensed. What he felt. And that was all he could say to this woman, this leader of the Shikotos, who stood watching him, silently. =========================================================================