Date: Thu, 2 Feb 1995 09:11:07 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Ch 3 p 209-215 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland Jonathan ignored the organized chaos erupting around him. He had done what he could, here, to rectify his wrongs. Now, he had another debt to pay. He was enclosed in a bubble of calm, where time had stopped. He turned his gaze back to Aki. To her silent, huddled form. And spoke. Far too late. The only words he had left. "I am sorry. I was wrong. So wrong." She had chosen her path. Now it was time for him to follow. Follow her, in death, as he had followed her in life. So similar in their destinies. Bringing destruction, by their very presence. Cursed by fate. Yet he, he bore the greater burden. He had acted, he had killed. Needlessly. Wantonly. Wrongly. And now, now he must pay. He looked up, his eyes catching, holding, Hata Shin's. His voice, reaching out to the man, the husband of the first woman he'd loved, reaching out in entreaty. Begging. As Tawara had promised he'd beg. Pleading, without pride or shame. Pleading. For an end. For peace. For rest. "My life is yours. End it for me. Please." He stared at Hata Shin. Demanding this last request. Payment. Repayment. One more death, balanced against all that went before. Shin put down his phone, staring back at Jonathan. Moved towards him, his gaze locked on the Immortal's face, stooping, his hand reaching blindly for the katana that rested on the floor. Jonathan smiled. Welcoming him. Welcoming the gift he brought. The Immortal turned away from Shin's approaching figure, dropped his eyes, gazing at Aki's still, peaceful face. He bowed his head. Lowered his neck. Offered it to the man. Offered him Jonathan's eternal life, and eternal death. And waited for the blade to cut. For his life, for his burden, to slip away. Wondered, for an instant, if MacLeod would take his life's force. His Quickening. Or Richie....or Shonte. Waited. For life to end. A soft muffled thump sounded to the rear, drowning out for an almost imperceptible moment Tawara's hurried instructions to his council members. Jonathan jerked around, instinctively reacting to the noise, craning his neck, his eyes searching the room. A tiny puff of smoke hung near the ceiling, close to where Jonathan had last glimpsed MacLeod standing. Green paper bills, hundreds of bills, American currency, fluttered like oversized confetti throughout the room. Hanging off of men's clothes, heads, covering the floor and walls in a blizzard of paper. But the Immortal was gone, his figure no longer visible among the crowd of Dragons who stared, their faces twisted with horror, at the source of the noise. Stared, and crumpled to the floor, in an ever widening ring, gasping and clutching at their throats, clawing at their eyes. Choking and dying, as a pale, almost invisible gas spread its sweet deadly odor through the air. Jonathan glimpsed MacLeod, now. As the men's bodies hiding him fell to the floor. The Immortal was crumpled in a fixed, untidy heap, lying over a half opened, half demolished briefcase. Too still, too silent, to be alive. And then he saw no more, as the blinding, ripping pain of cold metal thrust into his heart, the katana twisting, tearing apart the engine of his soul. Hata Shin's contorted, dying voice choked its last words into Jonathan's fading consciousness, his ears straining to catch the meaning, the import... "Traitor... you lied...." * * * * * He felt the presence, before he even knew he was alive. It pulled him. Dragged him back to life. Dragged him awake, far to early, far to soon. To feel the pain of crushed bones, shredded muscles, still healing, barely beginning to knit themselves together. Duncan breathed. Choked. Gasped in the suffocating, silent dark. Gasped for air. Cried, soundlessly, with the pain. A sickly sweet dust caked his nose, and the inside of his mouth tasted like rotten flowers, old roses kept far too long, the memories and the beauty all pressed out.... He shuddered, and heaved against the unseen weight holding him down. Urgency, fear, driving him now. Fear of that presence, that drew ever closer. That forced itself at him, in a way no other Immortal ever had. He felt something shift, and give, plaster and crumbled concrete sliding in absolute silence around his face, off his shoulders, as he stood, blinking in the sudden gray light. His hearing gone, for the moment. His shattered memories like the fragmented pieces of a kaleidoscope, turning, wheeling, and then suddenly coming back together, in a cohesive, self conscious whole. Around him, a landscape of twisted pillars, of broken concrete and crumpled brick, wood splintered and torn, and the small, pale golden flare of fire, licking greedily in a few glowing spots among the ruins. The ruins of the Dragons' compound. That he had helped destroy. He remembered the council room. His horror, his shock as the briefcase, sitting half forgotten at his feet in the drama playing out before him, suddenly spouted fire and noise. The jetting gas, hissing out from its pressurized, hidden containers, cutting men and women down with its faintest touch. He'd thrown himself at it, tried to cover the exhaust holes, block them, using his body as a shield, to give the mortals a moment, a second, to flee. Too little, too late. He'd died, as he'd fallen on the case. Died, choking in his own vomit. Choking in his own defeat. Realizing he'd been used. Betrayed. Made a liar. An unwitting accomplice to murder. A tool. For the Shikoto's vengeance. He raised his fists and held his bloody, bruised arms over his head. Sobbing once, aloud, at the fresh raw pain that lanced down his torn muscles, his healing, still tender, broken bones. That one sound a mingled cry of anguish, of grief. Swore on all the dead, buried beneath these shattered walls, that he would seek out, would find, Hideyoshi. Would bring that treacherous liar to account. Would exact a price, for using Duncan as a dupe, a tool. For making him the final agent of the Dragons' destruction. Later. If he survived his own encounter with the coming Immortal. The oppressive weight of the other's aura bearing down on his mind, and soul. Calling to him. Duncan knelt near where he thought the body of the man holding his katana might be, and scrabbled through the wreckage like a dog seeking a rabbit, ignoring the blood that still seeped from the cuts and scrapes on his body, ignoring as best he could the fire that lanced up his arms as he stretched the still half healed bones to their limit. Desperation driving him as the as yet unseen presence loomed nearer in his consciousness. He saw a flash of steel, and the pale ivory of a bloodless dead hand clenched around the half sheathed sword. Gently, gently, but in haste, he eased the blade from the grip of its dust covered, unmoving guardian. Pulled it loose, and staggered to his feet, torn now between two faint Immortal auras that pulsed weakly at him from two separate places in the debris. He did not have time to help them both, to free them before the other came too close. Duncan stood, trying to remember where the youth had last been. Richie...He saw the boy's laughing face, framed in his inner eye...his friend....his student...He turned towards where he knew the young Immortal lay, his heart, his instincts impelling him on. And then turned away. Turned instead towards the other struggling presence. Raven. The experienced warrior. The killer. The assassin. Now was a chance for the deadly Immortal to use his skills. To accomplish some good, in killing. To find that final redemption he'd been so obviously seeking. The soldier in Duncan commanded his actions. This was war. To the death. And he had no time for sentiment, no time for friendship. He needed the strongest ally he could find. He was not entirely sure how he could use another Immortal's help. What he...they....could do. Singly, or together. Only sure, instinctively, that he could not face this overwhelming power alone. And he sensed, had seen in his last glimpse of Raven's kneeling form, the depth of regret, of pain, that the new Immortal felt. The desperate urge to repay, to balance the score, to undo the wrong that he had irrevocably committed. He believed he could trust him, now. Believed he understood him. Believed he would fight with him, as a comrade in this desperate endeavor. And gambled his life, and his future, on that. He pried up the fallen walls, the crazy jigsaw puzzle of collapsed ceiling, mixed with buckled floor. Drawing closer to the pulsing, strengthening aura of the trapped Immortal who waited, a buried captive, below. Heard the sounds of motion, of shifting wood and stone, as Raven stirred, conscious and awake, under the debris. A last layer of crumbled plaster, torn tatami and shattered bricks, flung aside, and Duncan faced the man he'd followed across half the world to find. To stop. To kill. Raven glared at him, the bloody blade that had taken his mortal life, and his mortal love, clutched in one hand. Ready to strike. His other hand trapped. Crushed, in a concrete vise, held tightly between two shattered support pillars that made a huge inverted vee, with his hand, his arm, at the inner apex. His face pale with dust, and strain, as he battled to control the obvious agony he felt. The pile of debris Duncan stood on settled, sending up a small cloud of dust, and the pillars shifted, moved together, a bare inch, as Raven's face abruptly paled even more, sudden sweat beading and dripping down his skin, the white flesh rimming his lips turning a faint, delicate green. Duncan took in the situation with a single glance. It was possible. Just barely possible, that the other Immortal might be freed. But for him to escape, on his own, was not. "Are you here to take my head, MacLeod?" The man looked at him, a crazed sort of hunger in his eyes. "If you are, you'd better hurry." He choked, a half laugh, half sob, strangling in his throat. He let the katana's blade drop, offering no resistance. No fight. A metal rebar jutted from the ruins. Duncan seized it, and moved closer to the trapped Immortal. Laid his own katana aside, now, and spoke. "I'm not here to kill you." The two exchanged glances, Duncan's somber, Raven's frankly disbelieving, and Duncan felt the urge to add the tag, the full truth. "Not at the moment, anyhow." Raven curled his lips back in a humorless smile. "Why not now? You'll never get another chance, you know." He leaned back in his rubble filled den, his guard down, his neck bare, exposed, as if to taunt and test Duncan's words, his voice casual, disinterested, as he fought not to show his weakness, his pain. As if he'd exhausted all his emotion. As if there were no more feelings left in him, for this life. His eyes losing their focus even as Duncan watched, staring fixedly at something, at someone, far beyond. Staring at infinity and the void. "Damn it man, I need your help." Duncan's sharp, urgent tone cut across the walls he saw Raven putting up. Cut across and pulled him back to awareness of the present, of his life. The Immortal's eyes flickered, and focused on him again. "Something.... someone... is coming. I believe this...presence...is a tremendous evil. A threat to all Immortals, and to humankind. Can't you sense it already?" Surely the other Immortal, however weak his Quickening, however little experience he had with his new Immortal state, would have noticed the power, the strength of will, in the aura that approached. Surely he would have sensed it, by now.... Raven nodded his head, his eyes fixed on Duncan's face. "Yes. I know who is coming. Do you?" Again, that crazed, hopeless mirth, twisting his voice, masking the pain, barely...to anyone but another Immortal. Still, it was hardly the answer he'd expected. Duncan paused, considering. Put his curiosity aside in the urgency of the moment, the pressing haste he needed to prepare. "I know *what* is coming. And I know we have to defeat it. Or die, ourselves. Are you with me?" Raven shrugged his shoulders. Shook his head, as if amused, and amazed, that Duncan could care, could be so impassioned, so concerned. Spoke softly, as if musing to himself. "What do I care about life. About Immortality." His voice rose, suddenly, into a mad, wild shout. "See what I've done here?" He gestured, furious, with his free hand. At the wreckage, the charnel field of death and debris surrounding them. "Why should I try to survive. Why should I outlive all these others? All those I knew. All those who knew me." His voice cracked, and he pulled his hand over his face. Hiding the tears, the trembling of his lips, as his buried grief rose up and overwhelmed him. Duncan watched as Raven fought for control. As he dropped the hand shielding his face and met Duncan's glance once more, his mask of unconcern back in place. Duncan had no time for an Immortal in the throes of a temporal crisis. He reached forward and grabbed the man's shoulders. Feeling the rough sodden cloth under his hands, still soaked with the Immortal's half congealed blood, mixed with dust and pebbled plaster and splinters. Shook him, hard. "You give a damn because you're alive, you bloody fool. Because that's all we have. All we might ever get. And all anyone else can count on, too. Think of the others, the living, if you don't care about yourself. Help me for them. Then go off and kill yourself, for all I care. But give me your skills, your help, now." Jonathan put his free hand on Duncan's wrist. Felt the pulse of the Quickening pass between them. Soaked up Duncan's passion, his care and drive and urgent concern. Let it fill up the empty hollow in his own soul. Let it spark his cindered heart back to life. He lifted his hand away, cutting off the contact. Cutting off the flow of images and emotions. It was enough, for now. Enough to remind him how to feel. How to live. His shoulders relaxed, under Duncan's grip. His control, his center, back in place. For the moment. His bitter grief, his crushing, paralyzing burden of guilt, put aside for now. He would focus on the battle to come. And mourn the dead and damned later. "I'll help you. As much as I can help to anyone, now." His voice was a husky whisper, as if he'd left his vocal chords behind, in another life. He tilted his head inquiringly, glancing from Duncan' face, to his own trapped hand, the wrist all that was visible, the concrete holding it tight stained a soft shade of pink around the edges as it ground into his flesh. Duncan smiled, relieved that he'd finally gotten through. Put on a quick, professionally reassuring grin, and knelt by the Immortal's side, levering the rebar into the narrow crack that still separated the pillars, above Raven's captive hand. The pillars shifted again, sliding apart a tiny bit this time, and Duncan threw his entire weight and will onto the bar, straining, desperately, to shift them just an inch more. Duncan watched, saw Raven bite through his lips to keep from crying out, the fresh red blood dripping down his chin, the only splash of color in his face, besides his dark, deep, empty eyes. The Immortal pulled his hand out, using all his strength, his shoulders taut, back arched with effort, his face fixed and grim. The arm sliding, slowly, forward, lubricating it passage with its own blood, leaving skin and flesh behind. Pulled it out, a mangled flattened bloody ruined claw. Duncan reached out his arm, urgency spurring him mercilessly, and grasped the other Immortal's shoulder, pulling him up, out of the shallow debris filled depression he'd been buried in. Raven knelt, on the edge of his most recent tomb. Gathered up his death-kissed katana, and held it ready, in his hand. Stared at Duncan. Immortal eyes staring into the eternity of one another's depths. Measuring the purpose, the meaning, in each other's glance. Duncan's hand still rested on Raven's arm, their connection muted by the blood and dust soaked fabric, the slender barrier still between them. "You need to know. To understand." Raven held up his ruined hand. The crushed fingers slowly, so slowly, straightening, returning to their former limber shape. Still useless, now. He touched Duncan's face, brushed his shattered fingers along his cheek. Feeling the transient, human pain as tortured nerves and sinews screamed at even this soft, most delicate touch. Transcending, ignoring it. Touching more than skin, more than flesh, than bone. Touching Duncan's Immortal memories, his Immortal soul. Sharing his own secret thoughts, his regrets, his guilt...and sharing that hidden inner part of himself that was not Jonathan Raven. That tiny part of Shonte...and that lost, lingering fragment of an infinitely old, infinitely evil unnamed and unknown Immortal. Sharing what little he knew, of the one who came. Their thoughts, their understanding, mingled, flowed together, for a moment. Comprehension flared in Duncan's eyes, and Jonathan dropped his hand away. Regretting, for the first time, the loss of contact. Regretting the sudden isolation, in his own mind, his own memories. Missing that connection with other Immortal minds, with the layers of experience, of insight, of wisdom and foolishness, all mixed together in a chaotic, noisy, bunch. "So, you know her..." Duncan breathed the words, considering and rejecting a dozen strategies as he spoke. Raven's understanding of this strange Immortal confirmed all the speculations that Joe had shared. Unfortunately. She...he....it....seemed indestructible. And was coming after Raven. Inexorably. Their only hope, perhaps, to kill and run, and be so far away that the Quickening would be dispersed, rather than seeking out and controlling a new host. But there was no time. The aura was almost on top of them. Duncan glanced over his shoulder, and saw the approaching form of their nemesis. Looked into Shonte's face, across the piled rubble, for the first time. Met her eyes, and felt the power her slender body contained. Raven clutched Duncan's shoulder, grabbing, hard, with his still healing, damaged hand. Grinding the broken, twisted fingers into Duncan's rigid muscle, as if attempting to anchor himself in the other Immortal's reality, holding onto his body to keep his mind from being pulled away. Duncan realized, suddenly, that Raven was battling for his mind and body, even as he stood beside him. Battling to remain in control, arraying his meager experience, his so limited knowledge and skills as an Immortal against the oldest, most powerful presence Duncan had ever felt. Battling, and perhaps losing that battle, right now. Duncan weighed the threats and options in his mind, and made the decision instantly. He grabbed Raven's bare wrist, held it tight, letting their minds rejoin, reconnect. Adding his experience, his knowledge, his past lives and Quickenings, to the crumbling defenses Raven had erected around his mind. Felt their power join together, their skills, their souls, mingle and combine. =========================================================================