Date: Sat, 7 Jan 1995 23:08:02 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Ch3.p137-143 C 1995 N.L. Cleveland "He was murdered. By whom, precisely, I am not sure. But it was a member of a rival clan. You know their name. You came here, seeking them." Kenrei's voice held a bottomless rage, a bottomless pain. "They almost kept you from us, when you arrived. You remember?" Indeed, Duncan remembered the wild pursuit through the city. The swarm of buzzing motorcycles that had come to their aid. So that had been the Dragons. Duncan dropped all furthur speculation on the man's motivations and turned his full attention to considering what this new revelation meant for his own mission, his own plans. His trust, his faith, his hopes, blasted to ruins, by a war between two fueding underworld clans? He felt his muscles tense as he prepared to run, to attempt to fight his way out of what had just turned into a trap. Kenrei spoke again. "Much blood has been shed on both sides. Death leading to death, revenge to furthur revenge. Our clans are bleeding, our future, dying. It is time to call an end to the conflict. Time to begin to build peace." Her voice was level, dry and flat. Experience giving perspective, balance. Allowing her to trranscend the immediate loss. To think of the future. Of the good of the clan. Duncan tried to read her intent, in her dark eyes. He relaxed, incrementally, and felt the beginning of possiblity, of renewed hope, stir in his heart. "You can go to them. You will speak these words, for us." Kenrei's eyes held his, demanding, promising, commanding his participation. "I have spent the past week arranging your safe passage. Arranging for you to begin to open a dialogue, between us." Duncan's eyes met hers, saw the truth in them, then he bowed, and agreed. "Perhaps you wonder why we ask you, an outsider, to act for us?" Her eyes were bright now, their vitality restored, her forceful character back in play, as if he had never glimpsed that grieving old woman, so weak, so sad. But he had. He remembered. And it was that, as much as anything, that persuaded him to trust her, now. "We dare not meet face to face, clan to clan. Too many have died. Too much anger lingers, as yet. I cannot control all my impetuous youth, cannot stop a fanatic from destroying himself..." Here, she glanced sharply at her son..."in a last desperate attempt to revenge a fallen kinsman. Nor can they." It made sense, at last. Duncan felt himself relaxing as all the pieces slipped into place. He could have spent less time wondering about the Shikoto, more time thinking about Raven. So now he would be an agent of peace. How ironic. How fitting. He had come to right one wrong, and now he was righting another. Come to end one conflict, and stopping a war. Perhpas he would find a similar insight into the Dragon clan. Perhaps he would also come to understand them. Hideyoshi stirred, in the corner. Duncan turned his face to him. The man stared at his mother, at Duncan, at the pale, red eyed O-Maki. Stared, in silence, and then turned and left the room. His departure like a slap in the face of his mother. No bow. No gesture of respect. He walked out, withdrawing himself from her company, from her plans, from any agreement with her course of action. All without words. They were unnecessary, here. Everyone in the room understood. O-Maki and Kenrei exchanged looks. Frustration, and regret mingled on thier faces. And fear, fear for the loss of the second son, as well. Duncan watched, silently, knowing he could do nothing to assuage that fear. He believed Hideyoshi was lost, already. Lost to his mother, although she could not, or would not see it. Lost to the clan, as well. Lost, on his own path to power. He needed to make his own preparations, now. Needed privacy to contact the Watchers and Richie. To find out what he could about what was coming his way. But first, he wanted to hear the details of Kenrei's plans. And to judge for himself if Hideyoshi could derail, or destroy them. She brought her gaze back from the open door, where Hideyoshi had left it gaping and empty behind him. Ignoring it. Duncan could almost see her shift her mind from her son, to the matter at hand. Her eyes cleared, and fastened on his. She nodded, satisfied with what she saw, in his face. "We leave for Kyoto in the morning. You meet the Dragons tomorrow. You will take them a small offering. It is a tangible symbol of our good will. They will give you one in return. And you will tell them this." She leaned forward, intent. "You will tell them that Kenrei Shikoto pledges her life to the establishment of peace between our clans. Her life, and her honor." She settled back, pulling her ceremonial robes closer, around her neck, as if feeling a sudden chill. "There will be no more killings. No more. We *must* end this." "I understand." Duncan bowed again. "Thank you for honoring me with this task. And for assisting me with my own." "Yes. Your own mysterious purpose for coming here. Perhaps you would care to tell me more about it?" Kenrei inclined her chin at Duncan, inviting his confidences, then smiled wryly as he shook his head. "I supposed not. Very well. Now you have something to ask of me, I believe?" She had anticipated his request, her shrewd intelligence glinting out at him from her dark, quick eyes. "You need some privacy, to contact your friends? Your associates? You do not trust our phones?" Her dry tone hinted at insult, but her eyes crinkled in amusement as he started to speak, then stopped, unsure how to proceed without indeed offending. He settled on simple agreement. "I need some time alone. To settle some business. Thank you for understanding." "You realize it will be dangerous?" Her tone was calm, distant. Duncan had a flash of vision. She was the general, surveying the field of battle, contemplating the odds for the coming campaign. "They are watching us, as we are watching them. Every day since you have been here we have lost another. Every day, one of theirs has died. The young are eager. Too eager, to kill. And we have not made the contract to stop it, yet." "Nevertheless, I must take that risk." He met her eyes, steadily. "And for me, it is less of a risk." She nodded. Clapped her hands, twice. The sharp sound echoed in the room and the wall behind Duncan slid back, the wooden lacquered panels moving almost silently on hidden rollers. He twisted in his seat, to look. Two dark suited men stood in the shadowed corridor that was now revealed. They bowed briefly to Kenrie and stood silently, awaiting her commands. "This gentleman needs to go out. Take him where ever he wants to go. Don't *misplace* him. But give him his privacy." She paused, then gave her men their final orders. "And make sure you bring him back in one piece. *One piece*." She stressesd the words. "Dead or alive." There was no longer any doubt in Duncan's mind that Kenrei understood exactly how an Immortal could die. But had she told Hideyoshi? She turned to Duncan once more. "My men will accompany you. They will try to keep you safe. I need you back here before dawn. We leave for Kyoto at 6." She reached into the voluminous sleeves of her kimono and drew out a small square black object, held it resting on her palm for Duncan to take. It was a phone, he realized, as he hefted it in his hand. Smaller and lighter than any he'd seen. As small as a pager, and less weight. "If our plans change while you are gone, I will contact you. Please keep this with you at all times." She inclined her head to him, in almost a bow, and turned away. O-maki still watched him, her eyes like a wounded doe, looking at the hunter. That was Duncan's last glimpse of the laquered room, the two women, like actors in an ancient drama, frozen in time in the ornate, elaborate setting. The fates swirling around them, drawing them all to a future he could not yet clearly see. Duncan turned, and stepped after the men, who ushered him out the dark corridor. A secret passageway that ran through the heart of the mansion. With other access points to many more rooms, ones he briefly glimpsed as he hurried down the walkway, matching his companions rapid strides. He could feel his heart lightening at the prospect of seeing the sky again. Of being on his own, even with his protective watchers. Anticipation, mixed with what? He stopped, abruptly. Spoke to the men who waited ahead of him. "I need to return to my room. Now." They nodded, and turned at the next intersection in the hidden, inner corridor. Walked a few hundred yards. Pressed a hidden latch, on the wall, and waited, while he stepped back through the door to his room, and retreived his sword. Secreted it under his long flowing coat, and rejoined them in the inner passageway. He had felt the touch of another Immortal's presence. Faint and distant, but there. Gone now. Gone where? Duncan walked after Kenrei's men, his anticipation mingled with...fear? He chased the elusive emotion down and dissected it, as he moved closer towards the outside, closer to a possible confrontation with a new and unknown Immortal. Closer to his own, possible, death. He knew he could have left the Shikoto sooner. Could have met with Kenrie, made his demands. Knew he had stayed, in part, because he had been so easily defeated by Hideyoshi. Knew, in his heart, that that defeat, that death, had shaken him more than any others, recently. More than his drowning in the Potomac, more than Yomo's shooting him in Honolulu. This death had been different. Different because it had been a defeat, a direct challenge to the skills he used to survive, and a clear triumph over those skills. And by a mortal, at that. For hundreds of years he had relied on his sword skills, crude and rough at first, more polished and deadly now. And for hundreds of years, they had not failed him. Had grown stronger, better, more lethal, over time. Certainly he had met others who were better fighters, technically more skilled. And he had still triumphed, still defeated them. He had drawn strength, pulled victory, from his heart, from his raw courage, the will to survive, to win. From his indefatiguable optimism and certainty in himself. But now, now his heart was troubled. His certitude, his faith in himself, shaken. He had misjudged so many things, so recently. Raven. Hideyoshi. His sense of a man's character. He no longer had that sure understanding of those around him. And now, his very ability to survive in battle, his own faith in his skills and judgement, were no longer something he could count on, without question. And that was the most dangerous trap of all. If he lost faith in himself, he was beaten already. Beaten before any fight had even begun. And he knew it. Knew it, and feared the consequences. Feared....he forced himself to admit it....death. All his practice this past few days, had been with shadows only. Not real foes. When he faced a living, breathing opponent, it would be different. How different, he could not tell. He did not know how he would feel, how he would respond. Would his battle reflexes kick in and let him attack, let him dare to fight and win, or would he panic, and freeze, even if only for a moment, a single fatal instant that could decide a duel, distracted, remembering how easily he had died, last time? Remembering how easily he could die, again. He did not know. Yet he walked on. Walked towards the open streets of the city, where he would once again be a target for the Shikoto's enemies, and a player in the Game. Knowing that he might lose this next round, might lose it to some unknown Immortal he had never even met before. Might lose, without achieving his goals, without meeting Raven. Without resolving the crisis he felt responsible, in part, for starting. And might lose, in fact, to Raven himself. Knowing that even if he had the skills, it was not always enough. Wondering if his nerve would fail him. Or his luck. They stopped, before a barred and bolted metal door. It led out, Duncan knew. It had that feel. That look. The first man turned his head to him, his skin taut along his cheekbones, no trace of stubble on his smooth face. "Where would you like us to take you?" Duncan thought a moment before replying. He had told Richie to look for him at the Ginza Nikko. He had expected to check in one day there at least, and pick up messages, under one of his aliases. If the young Immortal had arrived, or discovered anything of importance, that was where he had to go. But did he want Kenrei's people knowing that? He closed his eyes a moment, trying to envision the grid map of the city he had looked at recently on the computer interlink. Most of the big hotels were very near to one another, stacked cheek by jowl in the business section downtonwn. The Ginza section. What was the name of the one directly next to the Nikko? The Mitsui. Right. He could slip away from his watchdogs there, cross the street and find his messages quickly, before they noticed he was gone. He hoped. "Take me to the Mitsui, in the Ginza." Beyond the door, a dark windowed sedan waited in an unlit, empty alley. A driver sat behind the wheel, the motor purring quietly. One of the guards slid into the front seat, the other sat in the rear, next to Duncan. The Immortal glanced back at the way they had come. The door was unremarkable, an anonymous entrance to a non-descript warehouse. The clan had disguised their home, well. A low voiced conversation in the front, and then the driver pulled away, pointing the car towards the mouth of the alley. Beside Duncan, the second guard held out a folded strip of dark cotton cloth. A blindfold. They still did not trust him enough to have him know where they were. He took it, and tied it across his eyes, then leaned back casaully on the leather upholstered seat. He was in their hands, until they opened their iron fist and let him go. He touched the passports in his pocket. He had taken then all. He could leave the Shikoto at the hotel and slip away, if he wished. Disappear now, instead of later. Permanently. Run and hide until he found his stride, found his confidence fully restored again. Test himself, build his certainty up. Then come after Raven. Or never go after the man, ever. It was his choice. His decision. His life. His obligation and debt, as well. He would not run. Would not hide. Would face whatever happened, tomorrow. As he had faced all the challenges of his life. And try to survive. As best he could. Faintly, in the echoling distance, Duncan heard the buzzing mettalic hum of motorcycles. The bosuzuku were out tonight. Riding shotgun. "You may take off the blindfold." The guard was looking out the window, his shoulders tense, his gaze concentrated on the passing scene, as Duncan slipped off the cloth. He laid it on the seat beside him and watched the neon lights flickering outside the car windows, the masses of pedestrians sweeping like human tides across the crowded streets. Night in the Ginza. Like daylight, other places. The hotel entrance was swarming with a milling stream of people, and the driver stopped only for the moment it took them to get out, then pulled away, the car disappearing into the flow of traffic without a ripple. Two motorcycles drew up at the sidewalk, the sputtering engines dying to silence, the faceless riders behind their blank helmets sitting, watching, waiting. Duncan's guards passed expressionless faces across the scene, a faint flicker of acknowledgement the only thing linking them to the bikers. The clan leader was taking no chances on losing the Immortal, tonight. It would make Duncan's plan more difficult, but not yet impossible. He stepped into the lobby with his forced companions, and then turned to them. "I'm going upstairs to visit someone. You can wait for me in the bar. I'll be fine." The two men exchanged glances, and Duncan spoke again. "Remember the orders of your leader. I am to be given privacy." "Very well." One of the two agreed, speaking for both. Duncan was relieved. This would save tedious arguement and possibly a fight. He was ready to resort to violence if necessary to get his time alone. He stood and watched while they turned away and entered the hotel bar, then he walked towards the elevators, watching in the mirrored walls between the elevator doors to see that his guard had indeed gone into the bar, and had not turned back to follow him. All he had to do now was avoid the motorcyclists and anyone else hanging around outside. He glanced around the lobby. No one seemed to be paying him any attention as he walked briskly past the elevators and continued down the corridor to one of the side halls of the hotel. He took a flight of stairs down a level, and followed the fire exit signs to a door leading out. No footsteps echoed after him down the hard concrete floor. He slipped open the door and stepped outside. The Ginza's familiar bulk loomed overhead. All he had to do was make it across this alley. At the desk, Duncan asked for his messages. Nothing for Mr. Samuel Alexander. No, not under another spelling of the name. So sorry. Feeling a pricking of sudden, deep concern for Richie, Duncan hurried up to the room he'd taken for the night. He used the James Winston identity's calling card. His friends in Washington had assured him the number would work for one month. After that...they'd shrugged, and made no promises. He dialed Richie's number, at the hotel he'd been staying at in D.C. The young man had left last week and never returned. No, he hadn't checked out. His bill was still outstanding, in fact. Did the gentleman know how he could be contacted? "No. I'm afraid I don't." Duncan murmurred the words almost to himself as he put the phone down gently in its cradle. He stared silently at the wall, then picked it up and dialed Richie's number in Seattle. The youth's perky voice on the answering machine, with a stacatto beat of rap rock in the background, was his only response. He held the phone away from his ear, translating the hours intoSeattle time. The beeps at the end of the message went on for what seemed like forever. Not a good sign. Had the youth crossed the path of another, more experienced Immortal? Had he found Raven, and died? Duncan held down the receiver, then dialed the dojo. No answer there, either. He tried his loft above the gym, and listened to his own voice, inviting him to leave a message. There were no beeps after his machine clicked off. Only Richie had the code. Or the Watchers. Or the Shinkoto. Finally, wishing he knew more of what had happened in Washington, he dialed Joe Dawson's private line. Expecting nothing but an endless ringing, he almost didn't respond when the phone was answered and a voice on the other end of the line inquired gruffly "Who's there?" "Joe?" He coudln't be entirely sure it was him. The connection was fuzzy, and the man's voice rang hollowly in Duncan's ears. "MacLeod? Is that you? Where the hell have you been? What's been going on?" It was Dawson, all right. "What happened to you in Washington? We weren't sure if you were dead. You just dropped out of sight..." There was relief in the man's voice as well. Duncan cut across his questions with his own urgent one. "Do you know where Richie is?" There was silence on the other end of the line. Uncomfortably long silence. Duncan felt dread rising in his heart. That was always how it was. Always how it would be. It didn't make him feel any better, knowing that. His grip tightened on the phone. He could hear Dawson breathing, faintly, from the other side of the world. "He's not with you?" Dawson's question said it all. "No." There was the finality of the grave in that one word. Duncan felt it reverberating in his heart. =========================================================================