Date: Sun, 22 Jan 1995 04:01:57 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Ch 3 p 180-187 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland Duncan wet his lips, searching his conscience, trying to decide how to frame his next words. How to avert this catastrophe he saw hovering over these two clans. The Dragons were not what he had expected. Not at all. Not the unmitigated evil ogres of Raven's nightmare driven vengeance. Just as the Shikoto were not their implacable foes. So much hate, so much anger...He saw again the endless cycle of violence and revenge, destroying new generations of lives...consuming hope, negating compassion, blasting charity... leaving only the withered ashes of rage and human tragedy in its wake. But could he, could any man...any woman....turn aside that torrent of passion, change the destiny they seemed to be moving towards inevitably? Duncan opened his mouth, to try one last plea for understanding, for reconciliation.... and stopped, the very breath turned to concrete in his lungs. An aura, faint in the distance.... an Immortal presence hovered, barely at the edge of his senses. It grew stronger. Moved closer. Closer to the Dragons' stronghold. Closer to Duncan, and to a final confrontation. Yes, he would still come. Duncan doubted that an army of Immortals would deter Raven from this rendezvous with fate. How long before the Dragons realized he was approaching? How much time did Duncan have, to speak for the Shikoto? To decide what role he would play in Raven's private war? He realized he had to stall, to hold the attention of the Dragons and force them to let him stay. To be here, with the clan leaders, free to act as he deemed it necessary, when Raven arrived. The Shikoto had given him his way in. Now he had to draw on his own skills to remain. "Have you no more to say?" Tawara stared at Duncan, dismissal already in his eyes. "Then you will take this message back to the Shikoto." He turned to the council members beside him, seeking their assent, one by one. Each met his glance, and bowed their heads in agreement. They would not make peace with the Shikoto. Duncan had failed in his request. Kenrei's bid to end the bloodshed. The war would go on, to the death. A man stepped into the room, his feet almost soundless on the thick tatami mats. He bowed low, crossed the open floor and handed a written note to Tawara. The leader smiled, a look of anticipation crossing his face, his eyes flashing with a long banked fury, peering out for a moment from his hidden soul. Then he nodded in dismissal at the messenger, who faded back out into the corridor and disappeared. Tawara spoke to Duncan, his voice flat, polite, distant. "We have heard your offer. We reject it. We will not speak with representatives of the Shikoto again. But we will bring our own gift, to all those we meet. The gift of eternal sleep. Tell them that, when you return to the clan. You may go." Duncan bowed. Knew that there were no more arguments he could offer for the clan. They had reaped the bloody harvest they had sown. He could do no more for them. It was their war, from now on. But Raven....he still had unfinished business of his own, with Raven. "I respect the decision of your council. I will convey your words to Kenrei and the Shikoto." Tawara inclined his head, acknowledging Duncan's role. Ending their conversation. Gesturing for the silent guards to accompany Duncan out. The interview was over. The Dragon council members began speaking quietly with one another, Tawara turning his attention to an attractive woman at his right, in her 30s, who paled, and seemed suddenly agitated as she examined the note he handed her. The note that had come from the messenger. The guards touched Duncan's shoulders, urging him to go. He shrugged off their hands, stepped forward and spoke quickly now, trying to catch the interest of the leader, before he was hustled out. "Tawara-san. Wait. I have one request of my own. The reason I agreed to act in this matter for the Shikoto. The reason I came to your stronghold." Tawara had turned his gaze back to him, irritation mixed with a faint interest crossing his features. The clan leader held up his hand, stopping the guards in their tracks. Giving Duncan the second's grace he needed. "I am seeking one of your members. I seek a man named Jonathan Raven." Silence filled the room. Electric, humming silence, as every eye stared at Duncan, every face expressed shock, then suspicion and anger replaced the shock, and he wondered for the first time if he would walk out of this place alive. The guards closed in on him, their guns digging into his side. Their expressions grim and pitiless. Tawara held them back, with a look. Held Duncan pinned, with his cold examination. "Why are you here looking for Raven? If you know him, of him, you know he is not here." "Not yet. But he is returning. To finish what he did not complete before." Duncan met Tawara's gaze, and smiled. Confident. Showing no fear, no concern for the guards, who trembled with eagerness to dispose of him. To eliminate him as a potential threat. "And you are here to warn us? To help us?" Irony dripped heavy on the man's voice, as Tawara ran a finger across his lips, mulling his options. "Do the Dragons need a stranger to warn them? To help them? I would not presume to offer you that insult." Duncan bowed, returning the irony. Garnering a small fleeting smile from the clan leader. It was, indeed, almost amusing to think as he had once that the Dragons might need his help, his protection against Raven. "No. I have matters of my own to settle with Raven. A private debt to collect." His anger, his loss, rose up in his heart once more. He let it show, on his face. Let Tawara read the promise he held for Raven, in his eyes. "So. *Our* Raven has made friends elsewhere too, it seems. But you are not connected to this...Agency." It was not a question, but Duncan nodded, to reinforce his agreement. Tawara pursed his lips, his hands tapping lightly on the low table in front of him. " Yours seems a more...individual....affair." "You are correct." Duncan bowed again. "I came here on my own. I believe he is in Kyoto. I intend to find him." The woman next to Tawara leaned over and whispered to him. He shook his head, and brushed her clinging hand off his arm. Turned away from her and stared resolutely at Duncan, his expression hard and remote. "You are lying to me about something. But I see no harm in letting you stay. Raven is on his way here, now. I am curious. We shall see how he meets his old *friend,* before he dies. We can always dispose of you, later." It was not without a price. Duncan doubted he'd be walking out of here on his own, anytime soon. But he had what he wanted. Access. And his sword, just a few feet away. Still tucked jauntily under the arm of the man who'd fetched him. He'd been in worse situations. Had survived. He just couldn't recall exactly when, or how, right now. He hoped an inspiration would come to him quickly. The aura of the approaching Immortal grew stronger, and he knew their moment would soon be at hand. He would wait. Bide his time. See how the Dragons dealt with their traitor. And try to claim the body for his own, afterwards. If they let *him* live. And if they didn't....well, he was gambling that the two Immortals would both end up in the same place. Where ever that turned out to be. And gambling that he would be the one to wake up, first. If not....he'd never know. * * * * * Richie glared back into Jonathan's face, gasping for breath around the choke hold the other Immortal had on his neck. "What do you mean, live?" He stopped struggling for a moment, let Jonathan frame his reply. The pressure of Shonte's aura had faded, as they pulled away from the warehouse. Jonathan could think clearly now, as they sped along the still dark, deserted holiday streets, dawn just edging along the hills to the east, far too early for festival goers to be out. Could think how to win a temporary truce with the rash young Immortal he held temporarily captive. "I've saved you twice, boy, here and in Washington. Saved your Immortal soul from being taken by the one who's following us." Jonathan felt the youth's denial, saw him start to reply, to reject the whole idea. He laid his hand, bare palm, on the boy's cheek, and felt the memories and images flow between them again. " I don't expect you to be grateful. I just expect you to remember you'd be dead, if it wasn't for me." They stared at each other, sensing the roiling emotions that churned in one another's hearts. Sensing the truth in what each one said. There was no possibility for duplicity here, not when they were so close. Not when they touched, skin to skin, flesh to flesh, mind to mind. Richie nodded. Grudgingly. Spoke the words Jonathan had hoped to, but not been sure he would hear. "This isn't just some regular immortal we're talking about here, is it?" The youth was groping for understanding, getting a clearer picture from Jonathan's mind the more they talked. "You're really freaked about this guy... woman...like you think no matter who wins, they lose. " He shook his head, more in amazement now than denial. " Wow. This is heavy." Jonathan could see Richie's resistance, his hostility, melting away. He dared to hope. Dared to plan beyond the next moment, now. The boy continued. "And you saved me from that, huh? All right. I owe you. What do you want?" This was one death Jonathan had not wanted on his soul. He himself still owed MacLeod. Knew he would be dead now too, if not for this boy's teacher coming to him, first. Maybe this would help settle that debt. A little. "All I want is one hour. Then you can go, try to take my head, anything you damn well please. Call it a trade. Call it whatever. Just give me your word to stay with me for one hour, and do what I tell you." With luck, he even dared dream he might lure Shonte's possessed body, into the Dragons' lair. With luck, and skill, he might even destroy them both, himself, and his lover, along with the Dragons. End the threat to mortals and Immortals alike. With luck. And send the boy off, before then. To safety. But whatever happened next, he couldn't leave the youth a captive, vulnerable to whoever happened along to pick him up, or pick him off, if Jonathan didn't return. It had been a critical error leaving him at the airport in Washington. A sitting duck for the Agency, obviously. And a sitting duck for any Immortal hunting heads, too. Jonathan needed to leave him mobile, and armed, and free to fight or to run for his life when necessary, as he believed it might become necessary very soon. And to have Richie free, and armed, was too dangerous to his plans unless he could trust him as well. "You give me your word?" It was all he could ask, and all that would seal any meaningful bond. Freely offered and sincerely given, or worthless. The youth's pale eyes glinted back at him, opaque in their depths, his soul obscured, his decision clouded. "I'll come with you." The youth spoke slowly, as if trying to balance competing impulses. Fighting a battle within himself. "I'll be there. But I won't help. Not to kill. And I can't just sit and watch you do it, either. Don't ask me to do that. I won't." "What I do after you leave...its none of your business. What I do with you around, is nothing that will be a problem." Jonathan watched as Richie absorbed that, and nodded. He sat up, letting the youth slip from his grasp. Handed him his sword. Watched as his eyes flickered at Jonathan for a second. Balancing. Calculating. Weighing the debt and obligation owed. Richie put his sword away, and Jonathan relaxed. The boy would never kill him from behind. He had accepted Jonathan's offer. His sense of honor would hold him to his word, now. Jonathan leaned forward, and rapped on the window of the truck. Vulcan glanced back at him, their eyes intersecting in the rear view mirror. Jonathan pointed to the right at the upcoming intersection, and then held his palm up, fingers flat, the universal gesture for *stop.* Vulcan swung the truck onto the broad main road, Shijo Dori, and pulled to a halt right before the bridge over the Arisu-gawa. This tiny tributary to the huge winding Katsura-gawa it flowed into later downstream was barely visible between the concrete stanchions that lined the side of the road. This was where the students were supposed to be waiting. They were in the Uzumasa District, near the cluster of movie studio lots that dominated the western edge of the city. And very near to where the Dragons made their temporary headquarters, now. There was no sign of the wrestlers. Jonathan cursed his luck and started changing his plans. He had been so sure they would come. Normally he was a pretty good judge of character...or he had been, once. He forced himself to admit that he was off balance, now., Way off balance. And his inner turmoil may have affected his ability to assess accurately the intentions and expectations of those around him. It was a sobering thought,. One that made him look again at Richie, and Vulcan. One that made him wonder, for an insane, lurching moment, if he was really doing what had to be done. If he wasn't engaged in some mad Quixotic crusade that only another madman could condone....no, it simply wasn't possible. He was doing what he must. What his whole life had led inevitably up to, for the past 14 years, and had laid the groundwork for, during his childhood. He had no other choice. But without the palanquin, his plans, his entire operation, was in jeopardy. Vulcan and Richie and he were too few to carry the palanquin. And carry it someone must, for his plan to succeed. He slid over the edge of the truck and walked out onto the bridge. Paced to the middle of the broad avenue and looked in both directions. Still no sign of them. He checked his watch. If anything, he and Vulcan were late. Already they were running behind schedule. He wanted to be at the Dragons headquarters at the break of dawn. But the sky was lightening even as he watched. He turned, one last time, to peer down the empty street. And heard footsteps, coming from behind him. Three sets. Two men, and a woman. He whirled, and his lips parted in astonishment, then pressed tight in anger and concern. "Hello Jonathan." It was Mariko. Mariko, and two large, muscular young men. Men who bore a strong family resemblance to each other, and to the woman they were with. She smiled, triumph mixed with hesitation. "These are my cousins. Saigo, Kishi." The two bowed. She completed the introductions. "Jonathan Raven." He bowed in return, then stepped forward and took her arm. Directed a fast "Excuse me, we need to talk," at the cousins. Pulled her along with him, down the street. "What the hell are you doing here, Mariko? I thought I told you to hide, to get away?" He was torn between furious fear for her, and a simple, foolish happiness that she was here. That he would see her one last time, before he died. And perplexity at how she had come to be here, as well. She dropped her eyes to the tarmac street, and stared hard at the toe of her shoe. He saw, in the gray morning light, a deep red blush creeping along her pale skin, rising up her neck and across her cheeks. He softened his voice. Put the back of his hand gently along the side of her cheek. Brushed the down soft skin, and asked again. "Mariko, please tell me why you are here." "I'm here to help." She looked him in the eye, defiantly. "*We're* here to help. I followed you last night. I talked to those stupid drunk students. I told them not to come today. We can do what you hired them for. And more. Saigo and Kishi have been in the military. I'm a police officer. We all have guns, and we know how to use them." She folded her arms and faced him down. Only her teeth worrying at her lower lip betraying her nervousness. Jonathan stared at her. Speechless, for once. Remembering the very bright, but sweet, charming, self-effacing file clerk with a badge that he'd met back in Oahu last summer.....no, it must have been a century ago, no one could change this fast....He grasped her arms and shook her, lightly, feeling the solid skin and bone and muscle.....his memories were nothing like the impassioned, competent warrior he held now. Was she even the same Mariko or had demons stolen her away in the night and replaced her with this daring leader? "No. I can't allow it...." He started to argue, felt her stiffen in his grip, saw her shake her head, and listened to her response, listened with half an ear as his own mind churned through the options he had remaining, the time he had remaining and came to the same conclusion that Mariko was pleading so fiercely for... "This is the only way, Jonathan. You cannot keep us out of it. It is our blood. Our family." She shook her arm loose from his grip and brushed an angry tear away from her eye. "You would hire strangers to revenge us? It is the honor of my family we are discussing. We will follow you, to where ever you are going, and come in ourselves. Fight our way in, if necessary. Or you can take us with you. It's your choice how. But we *are* coming." Defeated by time, by the threat of the pursuing Immortal, by the narrow margin of agreement he'd exacted from Richie... all his other options ticking away.....and by Mariko's overwhelming determination....Jonathan gave in. Partially. "Very well." Mariko's face lit up with a smile at his acquiescence. But then he added his caveat, and the stormclouds gathered again. "Your *cousins* can come. But you need to stay. Someone has to know what happened. To report if we don't come back." He squeezed her shoulders, looking into her eyes, trying to communicate his sincerity. His concern. His love. And his absolute immovability on this point. She saw the iron in his eyes. Accepted her incomplete victory. And agreed, with a kiss, and a handshake, then she headed away to her waiting car. He could only hope she would keep her promise, not to. Jonathan turned back to the patiently bloodthirsty cousins, saw their grim expressions lighten in brief amusement as he rubbed at the tingling spot on his cheek where Mariko's lips had touched him. He grinned back at them, and pointed to the truck bed. "Hop on up. We need to get going." Across the river, the truck pulled into the Umetsu District. Dozens of tiny shrines and small ancient temples were scattered here, enduring among the modern warehouses that had grown up like weeds on the outskirts of the city. In the distance the golden roofs of Umemiya-jinja were visible, the largest locally, but not the oldest, by far. They would not pass any closer to that gilded tourist attraction, today. Their target was far less conspicuous, far less visited. Richie agreed with much less fuss than Jonathan had expected, to help carry the palanquin. It was more than he'd promised, before. Jonathan had no time to probe his motives deeply, and could only hope that the young Immortal had not hatched some grandiose scheme to derail Jonathan's plans at the last moment. He'd just have to watch him more carefully, at the end. Make sure that he got well away, and did not hang around to interfere. Perhaps he could entrust him to one of the cousins.... Jonathan certainly had no intention of taking either of them into the Dragon's hideaway. They simply would *not* survive. Military experience or no military experience. He shouldered his part of the palanquin, the four robed and hooded men, two mortal, two Immortal, bearing the burden equally, Vulcan, equally disguised, walking ahead, leading the procession down the street. Towards the dark, unpainted doors of the ragged, shabby building that squatted like a lost dog between its towering modern neighbors. To all appearances, just another neglected shrine, forgotten by all but a few aging priests and dedicated acolytes. Drifting, meaninglessly, into the future. Representative of a toothless, abandoned faith. To all appearances.... But Jonathan knew what they were approaching. He was entering the gates of hell, of Meifumado. The shrine was dedicated to the god of the underworld, and this was his front door. Vulcan stumbled on the crumbling steps, and caught himself before he fell. The dark, splintered wooden doors opened at his touch, swinging soundlessly on well oiled, perfectly balanced hinges. A fact one would only note if one knew how to look. The palanquin fit inside the door with ease. Jonathan steered it towards the rear of the building, towards the altar that glowed at them like an unblinking red eye of some huge alien god, glowed like a flame in the dark, unlit space around them. They were being observed, Jonathan knew. He'd felt the oppressive weight of the watching eyes for the past 10 minutes. Only there were more of them , now. For they were at one of the secret entrances to the Dragon's compound. Hidden in the two warehouses on either side were their operations center and training school. Jonathan's dearly purchased information had shown him that much, on the plane from D.C. And had shown him this entrance, as well. Through the back of the altar, his source had said. How melodramatic. But then, the Black Dragons had always had a weakness for melodrama. It was part of their psyche, by now. Part of the clan's ingrained culture. Absorbed by the children in their mother's milk. And that weakness, that brooding, excessively romantic, melodramatic streak, that was what he was counting on to let him get into and past their front door. Where a cool, calculatingly rational enemy would have shot him down before he even got onto this street, the Dragons had let him approach, knowing his itinerary, knowing, they thought, all his plans. Let him approach, let him in...to crush him and his dreams of vengeance, by their own hands, and to gloat. =========================================================================