Date: Mon, 2 Jan 1995 16:19:51 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Ch3.119-124 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland "Welcome back to the world, Duncan MacLeod." Hideyoshi smirked at him, as Duncan stared levelly back. "Just let me know when you want some more *practice* dying." Duncan clenched his fists and stopped himself from stepping forward, feeling all possible affection for this troubled, angry man turn to ashes in his heart. He could see it in the man's eyes, now. A crazed exuberance, a love for death, in others. The twisted look he'd seen before in the faces of mortals and Immortals alike. The look of someone who killed for pleasure. His soul chilled within him as he wondered in how many other ways the clan had degenerated. This man spoke of honor, yet lived without it. What else had changed, here? What else? "Send Kazuo and Goseki to clean up this mess. And bring in a priest to rededicate the shrine." Kenrei shriveled her son's attempt at levity with a scorching look. " I find your games annoying, Hideyoshi. And inappropriate. We will talk later." There was an ominous tone in her voice, hinting at tremendous feeling held deeply in check .A small vee showed in the skin between her brows, as she frowned at him. She shot a glance at Duncan, then moved closer to her son, pitching her voice for his ears alone. Duncan saw him flush, and turn his face away from his mother's, a mutinous rage flaring in his eyes and twisting his lips for a second, then smoothing away as he raised his face back to hers and bowed, then left the room. Kenrei clapped her hands and her two bodyguards stepped from their patient wait in the hall. One carried a dark cloak, which she took from him and handed to Duncan. "You are causing too much talk. At least try to be inconspicuous." He wrapped the dark material around his shoulders and followed her out of the bloody dojo, his katana hidden under the cloak, as she led him back to his rooms. At the door, she stopped him, her hand on his arm. "You were trying *not* to hurt my son, in the dojo. I know the move you attempted." She stared hard at him as he tried to avoid her gaze, then finally nodded, his head moving barely an inch. She dropped her arm, satisfied she'd ferreted out the truth, and stood aside to let him enter. "We will be ready to take you to the Dragons in five days. It is best if you remain here until then. Hidden. You will stay?" Duncan's reluctant agreement had given her the assurance she'd needed, to go. He still was not *exactly* a prisoner, but he had a feeling that if he'd tried to wander casually outside, that he would be intercepted and politely steered back in, before finding a door. She stood watching him, a troubled look on her face, as he cleaned the sword, and stripped off the torn and bloodstained shirt. She took it from him, along with the cloak, and left him alone. Her last words quivered in the air behind her, as Duncan chewed them over for meaning. "He has reason to be angry." She had faced him as she spoke, not offering him another apology, but, he sensed, more an attempt at an explanation. Giving Duncan a glimpse into the torment within her own soul. "He directs it at the wrong people, though. Yet he is my son." It was the eternal conflict. A parent's love for a child gone wrong. The love that endured beyond reason. Beyond hope. Beyond the law. And what laws must the son of a Yakuza break, to cause that pain, that all too knowing regret and sorrow, in his parent? Duncan could only acknowledge her confidence, and wonder what new piece to the puzzle he just seen. Food, and the ubiquitous fresh clothing, as always, were waiting for him. But he was more concerned about his sword skills, now. He pushed aside his contemplation of the mysteries of the family clan for the moment. How had he let himself be distracted like that, in the middle of a duel? It was a fatal mistake, and he was very lucky it had not been an Immortal he'd been fighting. He realized he'd been sloppy, in not keeping up with his practice sessions. His life had been chaotic lately, true. But this went beyond holding a sword. This was a matter of inner calm, of the centered concentration that made a fighter into a killer, that made all the difference between the winner, and the loser, in a battle to the death. Had he lost that critical ability? He stood, and refought that last two seconds of his duel with Hideyoshi over and over in his mind, holding the katana out before him, and replaying his thoughts and actions that had led to his error. He was *not* clearly focused on his objective. There were too many unknown factors around him here and instead of concentrating on his immediate situation, he'd let his thoughts slip away into the future. Satisfied he'd tracked down the problem, he laid down the blade and moved through an empty hands kata, striving to rediscover his inner balance in the familiar motions. Timeless hours later, covered with sweat and his muscles burning with effort, he decided he'd practiced enough for that day. He briefly flirted with the idea of calling Joe, but decided the line was too insecure. The phone could even be set up to transmit directly to a clan interceptor station, for all he knew. No, he'd wait until an opportunity presented itself to use an outside phone. He'd demand the chance, if necessary, before he set off to meet the Dragons. After another shower, he slid open the door to his room and glanced up and down the hall. No guards were evident, so he supposed at least this much of the house was on limits for him to walk around. He would test out those limits exact boundaries, later, but for now, he needed time to relax, not argue with Kenrei's security staff. He headed back to the fountain room, a lonely melancholy pulling him towards the delicate tinkling sound of the water. It reminded him of the first time he'd met Hideyoshi. The elusive melody of the koto lingered in his memory as he listened to the water's random music. As it brought back all the different mixed feelings he had, of friendship, for Murami, of respect, for Kenrei, and of growing enmity, for her son, Hideyoshi. He sat by the fountain's side, watching the play of the light on the dancing liquid ripples and let his mind flow with it, seeking to untangle the complex patterns of plot and counterplot he sensed that he'd found here, among the Shikoto. His next few days blurred together, with only the regular visits from the child Tenso for company. The child seemed painfully in awe of him now, but at the same time he would hardly leave Duncan alone. The boy sat, silently, his eyes huge and fixed, and watched him practice with the katana. Duncan tried to get him to talk, to chat with him a bit. The child simply shook his head and looked down whenever the Immortal asked him a question. But he kept coming back, something drawing him to the strange visitor from the west. Unlike the other Shikoto Duncan had met, this child seemed not so much angry, as sad, although he shared that same, unsettling look Duncan had seen in his other relatives, that eager burning....hunger....was the only way Duncan could describe it, when he caught a glimpse of it flickering in the boy's eyes as he stared obliquely at Duncan, unaware that he himself was being observed in turn, by the Immortal. It was unsettling, no doubt, but no harm is caused by looking, Duncan reassured himself. And certainly a child can't be obsessed with Immortality, or death. The boy's constant presence troubled him, although he knew in his heart that he welcomed the company. Yet it seemed odd that the child was so aloof from the other members of the clan, and so silent. Duncan had assumed Hideyoshi was the child's father, but now he wondered if he had misunderstood. And in the meanwhile, Duncan drilled with his sword for hours, forcing himself back to the keen edge of fitness that he knew he was capable of, enjoying the extra bounce he felt in his step now, and extra quickness to his movements. He needed to be ready for whatever awaited him among the Dragons and after, and when he was not working out, he would sit and think, trying to plan out all the possible options that might face him when he at last met Raven. He was almost sure the Immortal had survived the inferno in Washington. What he knew of the man's skills, from Atatul's fragmentary memories, told him that he was probably on his way to Japan right now, and that the Dragons were in mortal peril. He was actually grateful to Hideyoshi for showing him how badly he had let his skills deteriorate and his concentration lose its focus. Harsh lessons were often the best teachers. If one survived the lesson. And Immortals always had the edge, there. He would never have been able to face Raven and win, before. Now, he felt he had a chance. Perhaps he would not need to use the mortals as direct allies, in resolving this issue. That thought gave him some relief. And in the peaceful contemplation of the rippling fountain, he thought he'd moved closer to understanding the elusive politics of the clan. He needed to talk to Kenrei, and to Hideyoshi again, though. Tomorrow would be the fifth day. So he must make his moves, tonight. When the boy stood to leave, as he always did, in the evening, Duncan spoke directly to him, once more. He was in the habit of talking to the boy, as he sat and watched, just as if talking to someone who normally answered back. Holding one sided conversations, letting the child fill in his own answers, silently. Yet he never addressed him by name, as it made the boy even more silent, if that was possible. The child flinched when he heard his name used, so Duncan had avoided it, mostly, until now. "Tenso." The child looked up at him. "I need you to take a message to Kenrei. Can you do it?" The boy nodded, once, his face serious and intent. "Tell her I need to speak with her tonight. Can you remember that?" The child nodded again, and spoke. For the first time in Duncan's memory. His light, high pitched voice repeating exactly the words Duncan had used. Duncan bowed to the boy, carefully, catching his eyes and speaking deliberately. "Thank you, Tenso. I'm counting on you." And if the boy didn't succeed, Duncan would simply find one of the guards who so obligingly appeared whenever he wandered too far, and tell him of his demands. The child flushed and bobbed his head in return, then slipped out the door and was gone, his small feet silent on the floor mats in the hall. Duncan knew that schooling was considered essential for children among all the Japanese classes. Even the underworld, he supposed. How else to keep the clan competitive in the computer age? This was perhaps another family tragedy that Kenrei had not wanted to share with him. The vulnerable human dimension of the clan. But surely there must be other heirs, other sons, and daughters. Still, why had he not met them yet? Not that he'd had such great relations with the ones he *had* met. Maybe Kenrei was just minimizing contact, hoping to minimize friction, too. It was her choice. And she was still giving him what he wanted, her help. He realized he had in fact wanted more. That he had come seeking friendship, as well. But one of the first lessons an Immortal learned was that eternal life was just that...life...and time. That nothing else came in the package but what you made of it, and there were no guarantees that it would turn out the way you wanted, no matter how many times you tried. He could accept that. He had, time and again, in the past. He would again, in the future. So once more, he put aside the wistful hope of making that connection, finding that understanding, and camaraderie. This was business, that was all. He settled back, leaning against the wall, feeling the warm lazy relaxation that comes with perfect health, his muscles tingling with the recent exertion, his mind clear and rested. His fingers itched to be on the computer, linking in with his database online. But he resisted the urge. It was a foolish idea, one that would only guide the clan directly to what little tattered secrecy still remained, in his life. Then it came to him, the creeping realization...the headache, the lingering dislocation he'd felt, on reviving after Hideyoshi's attack...how he always felt, after coming back....he'd felt it before, just days before. The gas in the cab...it hadn't just made him unconscious....it had killed him. Kenrei had done her own test on his Immortality, already. Not as blunt and direct as her son. Subtly, and secretly, in fact. But just as deadly. And she would never tell him. Never meant to tell him. A chill of premonition walked up his spine. There were too many levels of meaning, too many hidden goals. He knew now he could trust no one. Not ever. Not among the Shinkoto. They knew far too much about him, and he, far too little about them. And his anger at their tracking him was still there, banked deep inside. He remembered his vow, that when he left here, when this situation was finally resolved, Duncan MacLeod would truly disappear. * * * * * The Kyoto station was crowded with a laughing, festive throng. Jonathan watched the gaily dressed groups hurrying towards the trains, or the exits, and realized with a start that he'd arrived in the midst of a celebration. Kyoto had hundreds, as the religious capital of Japan, but this one looked large. He abandoned the duffel bag in the men's room of the station, hid his sword under his coat, and moved rapidly across the concourse, almost sure that no one had followed him off the train. That didn't mean someone was not already waiting for him, up above on the streets of the city. And certainly, when he arrived at the Dragon's compound, they would know who he was. It was only a matter of surprise. He wanted that edge, that advantage. It would be enough for him to use, to destroy them, this time. A light mist of rain was falling. Its cool touch made him shiver as Jonathan stepped out of the sheltering building. The rain suited his mood. Suited the mood of the city, as well. Ancient, battered, rebuilt time and again, the site of countless battles between ambitious nobles aspiring to be emperor, and bloody handed warring priests aspiring to rule the emperor. The birthplace of many warrior sects, samuari and ninja alike, where piety and martial prowess intertwined in the devotions of their followers. Kyoto would always be a town of contradictions, drenched in legend mixed with tragedy, in hate mingled with piety, in bloody deeds intertwined with love. His life would provide only a small footnote to its savage, complex history, he knew. Yet it was fitting that he had come here, to die. To find peace, and vengeance, at last. He had once thought he had escaped the city's spell, had broken and destroyed its hold on him as he had broken and destroyed the Dragons....but now, now he realized his life away from here had only been a walking dream. A brief respite, from his final fate. He ignored the cabs, honking and clogging the road near the station, and decided he would walk for a bit, to see if anyone had picked up the pursuit here. To shake them loose. Or kill them, if the opportunity presented itself. He had no hesitations about that. Anyone following him here was an agent of the Dragons. The face of that woman, in D.C., hovered in his memory. Had she known what he was? Had she informed the others? He no longer cared. If they followed him, they would die. He had no time to deal with the possibility that they might also tip off the Dragons to his presence. A cluster of men, robed Buddhist priests and costumed festival goers intermingled and tightly packed around a golden gilded mikoshi, brushed by him on the street, carrying the portable shrine on their shoulders and chanting the Nebutsu that guaranteed the faithful their place in heaven. "Namu Amida Butsu. Namu Amida Butsu.." The Jodo faith's plea of the common man..."Save me, Amida Buddha..." A small crowd drifted after them, some chanting fervently as well, some just cheerfully curious. It had been years since Jonathan had heard that chant, years since he had ventured into any of the candle lit shrines that infested the streets and byways of this town. Wondering, then, with his half formed maturity, if he was taking the right road. Years since he had thought of the meaning of the Buddhist ways. He had put aside all considerations of heaven, and hell, when he became an assassin. He knew where he was going, if there was a god. And if there wasn't...then he was going where all men went, anyway. He stepped aside, into an overhanging doorway, to let another band of celebrants pass, the chanting mob sweeping the sidewalks bare, pulling passersby into their swarming horde as they moved down the narrow roadway. In the vacuum left behind by their passage, he thought he noticed a familiar face, from the train. A man, made suddenly conspicuous by the empty streets. Now that Jonathan had identified him, it would be easy to flush the pursuer, to see if those were in fact his true intentions. He turned, casually, to continue along his way, his senses focused behind him, on the possible shadow, and found himself, suddenly, face to face with a concrete reminder from his past. "Jonathan! Jonathan Raven!" Her delight was palpable, as Tokyo Detective First Class Mariko Arrigota smiled up at him, amazement mingled with the simple pleasure this chance meeting was for her. For Jonathan, it was a disaster. His heart sank, as he searched rapidly for a way to extricate her from the danger he knew his presence would bring her. He didn't even want to consider the possibility that there might be others, still unseen, watching him as well. "How have you been? Are you here for the Festival? I'm on vacation, visiting my family." Her bubbling enthusiasm touched him, and he couldn't help but smile back at her, but his smile was tinged with sadness. He had noticed she was hardly in uniform, the brightly colored kimono she wore more suitable for a formal dinner party. Or a religious festival. He hadn't meant to involve anyone in his quest. It was his alone. And now, he had to worry about her, and her family, as well. He stood momentarily paralysed, all the possible futures he could envision stemming from this moment fraught with terrible peril for the woman at his side. "Are you all right, Jonathan? You don't seem happy to see me?" Mariko peered at him, a frown tugging the smiling corners of her rosebud lips down, worry creasing the smooth golden skin of her forehead and pulling her long, slender eyebrows together. "Are you here undercover? Have I just ruined everything by shouting out your name? I am so sorry." She linked her arm with his and moved briskly down the street. "We must at least keep moving. Tell me what is wrong, Jonathan. How I can help." She was never slow on the uptake, Mariko. That, Jonathan remembered, was why she was the first female detective in the Tokyo police department. Along with a little bit of help she'd had from Jonathan, when she had come to Hawaii a few years ago to work with him on tracking down a Japanese serial killer. She'd gotten some idea that he was an undercover spy, back then. After she had decided that he wasn't in fact the killer, himself. And Jonathan had let her assume that, thinking it was as good as any other explanation he could give her, for his unorthodox lifestyle, and martial arts skills. =========================================================================