Date: Thu, 29 Dec 1994 13:31:08 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha ch3.p107-112 c 1994 N.L. Cleveland (comments to NancySSCH@aol.com) "Is this some business between those of your kind?" The woman was astute, Duncan had to give her that. He would expect no less, from any individual who could rise to head the clan. Her eyes stared at him, as if dissecting the expression on his face, noting and weighing each flicker of emotion or intent displayed in his body language. He held himself carefully, trying not to appear too stiff, nor too informally relaxed. He remembered as if it had been yesterday the conversation he'd had with Murami. Duncan had told him that there were other Immortals. Obviously that information, too, had been passed on. But what use, if any, had the clan made of this knowledge? Duncan racked his brain, trying to recall if he had heard any whispers from others, Japanese Immortals, of any interference, or observation, of their Game. The Black Dragon , buried far inside Atatul's memories, was the only one he could find. He felt his eyes glazing and his focus on the room around him fading as he chased the elusive thoughts. He knew he had to talk to Dawson, and soon. The call was assuming the ramifications of a major summit, at this point. He had a great deal of information to trade, now, and in return, he wanted a great deal back. Raven's status...he had never identified a new Immortal to the Watchers before...but he had never known one with the immediate potential to create so much damage, either...Duncan pulled his mind and his thoughts back to the woman in front of him. She nodded infinitesimally as he met her eyes again, the alert intelligence in hers letting him know he had answered her question without words. "So you wish to pull us into your Game..." She let her voice trail off, as if musing on the implications of that statement, looking at the ramifications for her clan, not denying him her help, but asking what the impact would be, over the ages, for her mortal followers. Duncan tried to hide the involuntary start that her use of the Immortal's private word evoked in him. He didn't remember telling Murami *that.* "No. I only wish access to the Dragons." He spoke firmly, hoping to impress on her his sincerity, and intent. He had no concrete plans at this point. He still needed time to think, to feel out the situation. And he still hesitated to draw in any mortals, any furthur than they were already involved. He certainly had serious reservations about telling any of them how an Immortal could be killed. It could lead to danger for others, as well. Ones he had never met, who might find themselves hunted down by a Japanese version of the Hunters, in some not inconceivable future. If they hadn't already been. "That is all that you want? You do not wish to harm their clan? To, perhaps, destroy them?" The tone was cool, but Duncan knew he was getting a message, just not one he felt able to interpret yet. Were the Shikoto allied with the Dragons, or their bitter enemies? There was nothing in his fragmentary memories from the Immortal Black Dragon to give him a clue. He should have found out more, before coming. Yet the urgency of his mission had precluded his stopping to do research, had forced him here half prepared, hoping to feel his way back in to the complexities of this society on a wing and a prayer. "What would the Shikoto prefer that I do?" It was a weak attempt, but possibly he could draw some hint, some direction, from her response, or non-response to this question. "The Shikoto would never presume to dictate our wishes to an Immortal. Least of all to an Immortal whom we owe our existance to." She noted his look of surprise, and smiled. "Yes. Murami was my ancestor. The blood in my veins tells me we are in your debt, Duncan MacLeod. We will assist you in your endeavor. We will take you to the Black Dragons." So they would help. But he still had no idea how they felt about the Dragons. Except why else ask if he would destroy them, unless that goal were close to their heart, as well. Rivalries between the underworld clans were legendary. Perhaps he could provide them with information, or insight, that they wanted. Perhaps. The woman continued. "But it cannot be done immediately. We must prepare the way. Perhaps a week..." She paused, her expression closed and distant as she weighed the options, and came to a decision. She pursed her lips, and looked away from him for a moment, as if seeking some external guidance for her actions in the corner of the room, or beyond the wall. Then she turned her eyes back to his. "You will be our guest, of course, in the mean while." Duncan felt a surge of disquiet, a premonition of unease. This whole interview had been odd. But then, how had he expected the clan to react to his return? They certainly were handling his immortality far better than his own family had. No screams, no curses, no hostility or fear. Of course there would be an awkwardness, a certain strain. He let it pass, satisfied for the moment that he was being too sensitive. "I thank you for your help, and I gratefully accept your hospitality." He bowed low, first this time, and she followed his lead. He thought he caught a glimpse of a small, almost secret smile flitting across her lips, so faint that Duncan was not entirely sure he'd even seen it. It could have been the play of the light, reflected from the shimmering water, as well. It probably was. She straightened and gestured with her hand towards the corridor his first interlocutor had taken. "Please, come with me. We will dine. And talk. I have many questions for you, if you are willing to answer them." Her eyes were bright with curiosity. Curiosity, and something else. Duncan smiled politely and followed her down the corridor, the soft rustle of her kimono and the padding footsteps of her bodyguards gradually emerging to his ears as they left behind the splashing fountain. The look in her eyes. Duncan thought he understood it now. It was hunger. Avid, consuming hunger. Perhaps she feared death, and wondered if there were a way to create Immortals, one that she could use herself. He could give her no comfort there. He knew that she was not a pre-Immortal. He had sensed no hint of the subtle aura that all pre-Immortals gave off. She was a powerful and unusual woman, but she would die as all mortals did, and soon, from his perspective, probably within the next 20 years. He hoped that this was not her only reason for helping him. He'd have to think of a way to soften the blow, if it was her hope. They passed several more of the sliding doors set into the corridor wall. This was a huge house, for Tokyo. A virtual mansion. And a luxurious one, with priceless antiques lining the walls here as well. A long, curved tachi and shorter tanto blade were displayed on one wall, a katana paired with its shorter wakizashi on the opposite side. Furthur down, a set of bows, unstrung, rested in a vertical rack, as if ready for use. Duncan identified a shige-to-yumi, the heavy curved bow known as the nobleman's weapon, the laminated wood bound with ratten and richly lacquered in high court style, next to it a simple warrior's bow, a maru-ki, its unadorned hand grip darkened and stained with ancient sweat. A selection of steel arrowheads were set beside them, in individual cases on the wall, each one meticulously crafted as a work of lethal art. Duncan fought the urge to stop and examine them more closely. He could always come back later and ask for a guided tour. It appeared these were family heirlooms, and he suspected each piece had a history attached to it as well, one he would enjoy hearing. He thought he recognized that maru-ki, in fact, as one Murami had used. It always made an historical object far more precious, to his mind, when its role and context were explained, especaily by someone to whom it had personal meaning. And it would be a way to get a better handle on the current psychological dynamics of the clan and its activities. Even the simplest conversations could reveal the biases, and the interests, of the guide. What had been so remarkable, to Duncan, about this still unnamed woman who evidently led the clan today, was how little she had communicated back to him, about her intent. Her control was amazing. And a cause for concern. The Shikoto had always stood against the currents of Japanese society, had always been far more open to the west and the rest of the world's ideas and influences. But what course had they followed, in the past 200 years? He had been a fool, he knew, not to have kept better track of them and their exploits. Or to have kept track of many other groups and families he had once known, as well. It was an undeniable edge, for Immortals, to know intimately the motives and key actors across time of long lived organizations and institutions that helped shape human history. Priceless knowledge, that he and many other Immortals let slip through their fingers, over and again. But then, he had not intended to return here. And he was hardly a trained historian, nor a politician. Not a social engineer nor a philosopher with a dream of transforming the world. No. He was just an ordinary man, who had lived a very, very long time. Like all Immortals, he had not planned on having the opportunity for eternal life. It had simply happened. And he knew that he, too, had not yet incorporated the entire fullness of the possibilities and potentials immortality had, within his own life. It was still mostly something that he reacted to, rather than planned around. Raven was no exception, no abberation, in that way. Most Immortals never exploited the opportunities their extended lifespan held. They simply lived, from day to day. As he had. There would be time, in the future, to build on this insight. To do some research, and to perhaps collect at least a skeleton outline of some of the wealth of information he already had, and that other Immortals could share with him. It was not particularly to his taste, this work, but he realized it must be done. How long had the Watchers existed, unknown to the very Immortals they watched? What other groups existed as well, with what plans of their own for shaping and controlling the world's destiny? As he saw more of the variety of human experience, he found himself thinking more in patterns of similarity across cultures, across time and geographic space, seeing the universal connections that transcended the superficial differences. Perhaps it was time for contemplation, for discussion. For Immortals, who had been for centuries such solitary creatures, to come together for a while, to share their knowledge of the world and each other, rather than to lurk like lone predators, most seeking each other out only for final combat. Pehaps there was even a way to stop, to turn aside the Gathering, to end the slaughter and eternal fatal clashes that seemed to be accelerating with each passing month... Duncan came back to the present. He had never found himself pursuing these particular paths of thought before. What Immortal influence was working its way through his conscience? Or was it his own experience, piling up and forcing him to change, himself? Whatever, he needed to concentrate on the people around him, right now. The woman had led him to a formal dining room, one set out with a low dark wooden table covered with interesting looking plates of food. Duncan could see sushi, sashimi, hot tempura still wafting a delicate, aromatic cloud of steam, and a selection of pickled vegetables. Sake hid in the tiny white jugs...he remembered he'd had a few painful mornings after from that and vowed to go easy there. And tea, of course. His hostess sank gracefully onto one of the soft pillows next to the table, and Duncan followed suit, settling in on the opposite side. The two bodyguards stood, silently, at the woman's shoulders, slightly behind her so as not to interfere with her range of motion, but close enough to leap instantly on Duncan should he even offer a hint of agression in her direction. He felt the pressure of their twin gazes burning across his consciousness. Not hostile, just watchful. And totally without mercy. He moved carefully as he reached for the food his hostess offered, keeping his motions slow and smooth. Just in case. She poured him tea, and he appreciated the delicate irony of the gesture. She was no serving girl, no subservient wife or daughter offering her social superior a rigidly defined and expected duty. No, she was offering him her hospitality, freely serving him while he was in effect her captive, sitting here only at her sufferance. Alive, for all he knew, only at her whim as well. Murami's insight into Immortal's vulnerabilities still haunted him. Had the clan leader passed on that essential tidbit, too? Time would tell. He would just be cautious, until he left this land. Cautious of mortal as well as Immortal, here. He sipped the tea, savoring the smoky light flavor of the green leaves, so different from the dark teas of England. "Uji?" He inquired politely, and was gratified to receive a nod and smile, one that reached the eyes of his hostess, as well, lighting them with a rare inner warmth that almost glowed from them. The premier green tea leaves were always from Uji, and of course would be used to honor a guest in this house. He paused, before picking up the chopsticks sitting before him, and assayed another question. "I would know the name of the person who honors me as her guest, so I may honor her name, in turn?" "I am called Kenrei." She turned her face to him and watched for a reaction. Duncan wondered at the meaning. A shortened form of the name of one of the most famous women in Japanese history, widow of an emperor, and the last survivor of the Taira clan, whose family was slaughtered by the Minimoto in the endless wars of Japanese succession that preceded the Tokugawa's iron grip on the nation. No name was chosen lightly, in Japan. What setback had the Shikoto endured, that they would resurrect such a name, call forth such a spirit, in such a woman, to lead them now? Or was it just serendipity, just chance, that she bore the name? A flaunting of tradition, rather than a resurrection of the past? He could only listen, and see, and try to understand. "It is a name with a great history behind it." She nodded. "Indeed." He phrased his question delicately. "Do you continue that history, yourself?" Her laughter surprised him. It was the joyful pealing trill of a young girl. He smiled in spite of himself, his wariness put aside for the moment. "Hardly." Kenrei smiled, inviting him to share the joke with her eyes. "I haven't jumped off any bridges lately." He joined her in her smile, then sat back and began answering her questions, relieved that they dealt more with his travels after he'd left the clan, than with the essential nature of Immortals. Evidently the clan had not tracked him immediately. Although he did get her to admit that they knew who he was, and had been watching him lately. Watching him why, she would not say. But she did show him a tiny painted miniature, done from memory, evidently, by Murami. It was clearly his own face, staring grimly back at him from the laquered wooden frame. "So we knew who you were, always, Duncan MacLeod. Those of us who became the leaders of the clan were told what you were, as well. We watched you. You were not too difficult to find, mostly. We have a record of your recent travels, in our library." She pushed the last few grains of rice around her bowl with the finely carved chopsticks, watching him covertly from under her lashes. Duncan had a flash of insight to her past, saw superimposed for a second on his vision the dark lustrous hair, the taut blooming skin of a woman in her sexual prime, on the still elegant bone structure, the still strong and dynamic eyes. It distracted him, for a moment, from the distaste he felt at knowing he had been doubly observed, doubly watched, without realizing his life was an open book to persons he had never met and never known before. Things would change, in his life, after this. He had been Duncan MacLeod for far too long. Had lived the same life, the same way, far too publicly. It might just be time to disappear for a while. Truly disappear, and to reengineer another identity, one very different from the profile that had made him so easy to track, for so long. But that, too would have to wait. Until after he had settled this affair with Raven. He tossed back the tiny bowl of sake, and poured another, his irritation at his life's nakedness pushing him off balance. Whenever he thought he'd left behind the past, it rose up and sabotaged him, in the present. The longer he lived, the more his memories pulled him down. Pulled him away from life as it was, to remind him of life as it had been. Left him distracted, and out of touch with the world around him. And now, to know that he'd had a double set of watchers...it had been enough, to know that Joe Dawson was observing him. They'd come to a prickly understanding about that, a tentative friendship even, that overlay Duncan's basic anger and outrage at the prying invasion of his life that the Watchers had undertaken. But to find this again, here.....He emptied the third....or was it the fourth bowl... and reached for another jar of the sake, pushing aside the empties. He knew, at least a part of him did, that this was not the way to behave. He was taking a tremendous risk, even being here. And to get drunk on top of it....He had to watch his tongue, had to guard his words and thoughts carefully....had to watch these watchers, instead of let them watch him....With a sudden effort of will, he stopped himself. Took the final, last jug of sake and offered it gallantly to his hostess. She shook her head lightly and declined. Took it from his unsteady hand and poured it for him, instead. Offered him the bowl, with her own hands. Muzzily, he took it. She was asking him questions, again. Questions about other Immortals, this time. Warning bells went off in his brain, as he clumsily dodged her queries, proud of himself for answering indirectly....or was he being indirect? Was he telling her everything she wanted to know, instead? He closed his mouth, abruptly, knowing he had said too much, but not entirely sure what he had said. Damn, it had been too long since he'd drunk sake. It affected him differently than other alcohol. It worked faster, somehow. The tiny portions packed a punch beyond what he expected. Or was is all sake? Had there been something else in the wine, or in the tea? He didn't know what to believe, any more. He had only this sense of menace and unease, so different than the comraderie he'd felt with Murami. It had been foolish, and naive of him, to have expected any descendant of the clan leader to have had the same character, the same integrity, as the man. It had been a mistake, he saw that now. Too late. Duncan rose, abruptly. The room was wavering in his vision. The bodyguards moved in, hands at the ready. Kenrie stopped them with a look. "Our guest has had a bit too much to drink, is all." She smiled up at him and invited him to sit, again. "Come, Duncan. I will pour you some tea. It will help clear your mind." Mutely, he swung his head, in negation. She rose, and put soft fingers on his arm, gently urging him back down. Like a lamb or a dumb ox being led to slaughter, he let her reseat him, and took the tea from her with nerveless fingers. Feeling he was on the brink of betraying himself, and all Immortals, here. Fighting for control of his thoughts, and his tongue.