Date: Sun, 11 Dec 1994 14:49:32 -0500 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: aloha ch 3. (p80-87) c 1994 N.L. Cleveland (comments to nancyssch@aol.com) Murami brushed aside Duncan's words with a dismissive gesture. "I don't want your gratitude. I want to know what you are." Anger flickered under his voice. " My men followed you. Found you. Too late to keep you alive, we thought. So we fought for your body instead. I brought you here for burial. It was the least I could do, for a guest of my house." He turned and paced across the trampled ground, his breath frosting in the air. He did not look at Duncan as he spoke. " Then I saw your wounds heal as you lay in the snow ." He paused, turned back and stared hard at Duncan, as if examining him for any evidence of his recent death. Self conscious, Duncan glanced down at his body. Bloody rents in his clothing were all that remained of his fatal meeting with the shogun's men. That, and a consuming thirst, from all the blood he had lost. His lips were dry, his throat parched, and he looked at the snow, longing to melt a handful in his mouth. "I sent my followers away. Before they noticed too much. I wasn't sure I could trust my own senses, at that." Murami paused again, his hand moving casually to the sword at his side. "Although I had noticed already there was something different about you. How soon you healed from your injuries when you first came to me. How quickly the cuts and scrapes from your practice fights disappeared. How you have traveled too far and too long for a man of your apparent years. "And then you, a dead corpse, opened your eyes." Murami's tone was deceptively mild, like the calm before a hurricane. "You're just lucky I'm not the superstitious sort. I could have spitted you, thinking it was a demon inhabiting your body, you know. Most warriors would." Duncan tensed, and gripped the sword's hilt tightly in his hands, wondering if he would be forced to defend himself against the lethal skills of his host. Murami smiled at him, and drew his own katana in an almost lazy slow motion, moving forward with the blade at the ready He murmured softly, almost to himself. "Perhaps I'll test that belief. Perhaps you are a demon in the shape of a man I knew." He had a choice. Duncan could fight, and lose. And prove nothing to Murami except perhaps that at least one mortal man was a better fighter than this Immortal gaijin, or demon. Eventually, he supposed, if Murami had not hacked his body to pieces by then, he might revive or recover from his wounds and perhaps, by a stroke of luck or fluke of fate, strike a killing blow and defeat the man. But he would never defeat him unless he killed him first. And that would be no victory, either. Or he could stop the fight before it began, and hope that proved something else entirely to the clan leader. It was really no choice at all. Really. Duncan fell to his knees, facing Murami and bowing his head, swinging up Hideo's sword, his last gift to Duncan, and holding it out across his two palms, resting it across his hands, the curved blade's sharp edge pointed up. He knelt, unthreatening, unarmed, and waited for the mortal man to decide his fate. There was silence, stretching out for a long timeless moment. Duncan's arms shook a bit in the cold, the awkward angle of his shoulders straining at his muscles. He knelt, mute and patient, feeling the skin crawl on the back of his neck where Murami's sword could sever his head from his torso with a single deft blow, a move Murami was renowned for in his invariably fatal duels, one of which Duncan had actually seen....and reminded himself to breathe. He had to settle this now. He would have no future here without this man's help. No escape or refuge. No life. "You will not fight me, demon?" The soft voice invited him to look up. Despite the cold, he was sweating, his rational intellect battling his gut level drive for self preservation, forcing himself to remain still. To be calm. He kept his head bowed, and spoke to the snow that melted under his knees. "No. I, Duncan MacLeod... the man....I will not fight you. No." He spoke slowly, deliberately. What could be his last words. And waited. He flinched as a cold band of metal brushed lightly across the side of his neck. Murami's sword, lining up for the final blow. He bit his lips and kept silent. Wondering if he could roll away at the last moment, block the swing with his arms. Wondering if he'd even hear or sense it coming. He'd seen the man fight. Had practiced with him, himself. The clan leader could, at times, move his sword so quickly that it virtually disappeared, seeming to become a flash of light the brought blood and death, instead of a solid piece of metal. He shivered, and felt the sharp edge of the blade bite for an instant into his skin. Barely scratching the surface. Bringing a stinging well of moisture at its touch, one thread of liquid trailing softly down his neck, tickling as it slid, and cooled, then dripping red in the snow before his eyes. He watched the red splotches sink and disappear into the white surface, mesmerized. Seeing in his mind's eye his own headless corpse, stiffening, then disappearing under the blanket of snow. Murami's sword moved away from Duncan's neck. The Immortal tensed, waiting for the blow. Knowing he had gambled, and lost. Not knowing what else he could have done, except fight the man who had offered him friendship and safety, once, in this hostile and alien land, so far from his own. Not a place he had wanted to come to, to die. "But demons, I have been told, do not bleed." Murami's voice, again. "Or shiver and turn blue in the cold." There was the sound of a blade, hissing sibilantly as it was sheathed. Then his hand, warm and supple and alive, clasped Duncan's wrist. His other hand lifted Duncan's sword, turned it and put the hilt back into Duncan's grasp as the Immortal's fingers closed almost instinctively on it. Murami's steady, firm grip pulled Duncan to his feet, and he rose, relief easing the constriction that had clamped tight around his heart. Perhaps they would not ever be friends again, but they would not be enemies, either. Duncan shivered in the cold air, shivered as his tension melted away, and smiled, tentatively, at the clan leader, meeting his eyes, hoping to see something different than the cold disdain that had been there the last time. Hoping, irrationally, to see a return of the same, easy warmth and acceptance that had greeted him, before, when he had first sought refuge with the clan. Murami smiled back. Not the smile of a predator, considering its prey, this time. Nor that of a friend, welcoming another. More quizzical, like a man, wondering what to do with a puzzle. Duncan swallowed his disappointment, and sheathed his own blade. While it might not be total acceptance, it was more than he'd had before. Always, his immortality existed like a wedge driven between him and the mortal men and women around him. Making him different, even when he tried hard to be the same. Tried to blend and merge with the lives and concerns of the people who surrounded him. Tried to simply become friends. To live, like a man, among other men. Too much to ask, most times, it seemed. "I am still the same man you knew, before." Duncan had to try, to see if the connection was still there. The bitter taste of failure rose in his throat. His rejection by his family, by his father and his Highland village clan, still burned, deep inside him. Would he always be the outsider? Would he never find acceptance, for who and what he was? Would mortal men fear and shun and hunt him, whenever his real identity was exposed, forever? "Yes. You are still the same man." Murami conceded the point. "But not the same one I *knew.*" There, the crux of the issue. Not what he appeared to be. Different. Alien. Strange. The unknown other. To be feared. Shunned. And always alone. "Then perhaps it is best for me to leave." Duncan looked past Murami, glancing meaningfully at the horses, who stood behind him, blowing steam gently into the air. "Duncan of the clan MacLeod, it was time long ago. But you seemed content, until you abandoned the safety of our walls tonight. I was greedy. Too eager to learn more of your lands, and your people and their ways. I kept you like a captive bird in a cage." Murami inclined his head to Duncan, acknowledging fault. "But one does not cage a hawk, like a songbird." Duncan returned Murami's bow, then moved to the horses. One was the clan leader's, a white stallion, known across the city, and even the province, famed for his size and speed. Duncan rubbed the nose of the second, a dark rangy gelding, one he'd ridden in the temple courtyard during skirmish practice, before. One he already felt an affinity for, a sympathy existing between horse to man. Almost as if Murami knew. To have this mount here. Duncan shivered again, his thin indoor clothing giving him little protection against the cold. Even though his Immortal body helped him resist getting frostbite, he could still succumb to freezing weather, like any other mortal. If only temporarily. And he still felt the chill. In his soul, as well as on his skin. The clan leader stepped to his side. Pulled his dark woolen cloak from his own shoulders and wrapped it around Duncan's. The warmth was as much inside as out. Duncan felt moisture stinging in his eyes at the simple, generous gesture. The concern of a comrade, for a friend. Of a man, for another. Acceptance, for what he was. Welcome, back into the circle of humanity. What he craved the most, and so seldom found. "You cannot come back with me. Too many men saw you dead, tonight. But you cannot just ride away, either. You know how far you would get." Murami's hand rested on Duncan's arm, in warning and concern, as the Immortal held the bridle to the gelding, preparing to mount. Duncan paused, acknowledging silently that the clan leader was right. "And I believe that you can die, in some circumstances." Murami paused, as if considering whether or not to continue. "Perhaps you don't trust me with all your secrets, but I think you trusted me with your life, just now." There was certainly in the man's voice, and Duncan realized clearly that he'd never had a chance if he'd tried to fight the man. He would have lost quickly, and died forever. He stood facing the gelding's neck, not looking at Murami. Not wanting him to see the truth in his eyes, just yet. "So what do you suggest?" He had no resources of his own here, no options but what the mercy of friends could provide. "I made preparations for you to leave, shortly after you arrived. I knew this day would eventually come. That you would never be satisfied, hiding behind our walls for the rest of your life." Murami's hand fell away from Duncan's arm. "Of course, I had no idea how long your life might be, then." The gentle humor in his tone made Duncan look around, sharing a smile for the first time in years with a mortal who could joke about his life span. "Just how old are you, anyhow?" Curiosity, only curiosity, seemed to be behind the question. Duncan did not hear envy, or rage, in Murami's voice. He thought, adding up the years. No one had asked him that, lately. No one had known, of the mortals, or cared, of the Immortals he'd met. And he himself had not been keeping track. As if not counting the years made them matter less, somehow. Made him more like the men around him. "It's almost 200..." Duncan began, when a shout from the darkness surrounding them cut his words off. He heard voices, and the sound of running feet moving towards them as he whirled and pulled his sword from its sheath. Shadowy man shapes spilled across the ground, steel flashing against the pale reflected glow of the snow. Duncan slashed and parried as three swords struck at him from the half seen, unnamed attackers. >From the corner of his eye, Duncan saw that Murami stood, calm, his sword still resting, sheathed at his side, as a man ran at him, blade leveled and aiming for his heart. In a single swift smooth motion, the clan leader drew his katana and sliced deeply into the running man's neck. As his attacker stumbled, dropped his weapon and fell forward to the ground, Murami spun and struck again, disemboweling a second attacker who had thrust a long blade at his back, from behind. Two men lay dead on the snow, now, staining the soft white with dark liquid pools that spread from beneath their bodies Duncan had no attention to spare to admire Murami's sword play. He was too busy defending himself against the three attackers. He tried to keep at least one of the men between himself and the other two, letting his assailant's body act as a shield against their blades, hampering their ability to thrust at him at the same time. The man locked arms with him, straining to bring his katana into Duncan's eyes. "Foolish lackey, die for your loyalty." He hissed, his breath hot in Duncan's face. Duncan dropped his guard, dropped his head and let the sword swing past him, harmlessly, then turned and struck hard against the returning arc of his opponent's weapon and felt the man's blade shatter against his own. He kneed the unarmed attacker in the stomach and turned to the other two, stepping over the man writhing at his feet. ""Die, Shikoto." The scream came from a man on horseback, who drove his galloping steed at the clan leader, his long steel tipped lance pointing towards Murami's head. Duncan heard the hoof beats pause and stumble, and a gurgling sound bubbling from the lips of the attacker, but he could not look and see what happened, as the two remaining men facing him advanced, one on each side, probing his defenses for weakness. He could not fight them both, and so he picked one and attacked, hoping that his motions were fast enough to keep the other off his back until he was done. He thrust with his blade, and ducked the man's return thrust as he felt his own sword strike home. Duncan's katana cut deep into the man's chest, sliding between his ribs and into his lungs. And stuck. The blade catching, grating on bone and holding as the man shuddered and sank to the ground, his hands clutching at the sharp edged steel. Duncan had only a second to yank, futilely, at the captured blade, then he felt the slashing pain of a sword cutting into his own side, and back, as his final attacker moved in for the kill. He threw himself down and pulled the dead man's sword from the corpse's nerveless fingers, feeling his damaged muscles flare in protest across his side and back. Feeling a spreading weakness crawling across his stomach, and down his legs, as his blood spilled across the ground, mingling with the dark stains that marred the white fields already. He rolled and struck out in the same desperate motion, his blade slicing up and cutting deep between the legs of the man above him, drawing a sharp, high pitched scream of agony from the mortally wounded attacker. Duncan pulled the sword back and fended off the last, dying blow as the man swung his katana down at him, falling with the blade still in his hands, on the spot where Duncan had lain. The Immortal rolled again, and watched, panting, as the man's eyes stared into his, the last spark of life flaring, and then flickering out in them, the newly made corpse lying still and silent, at his side. The Immortal glanced up, at the clash of steel, the grunts of exertion and scuffling feet as Murami circled, moving closer to where Duncan lay, his blade weaving a defense against the final two attackers who faced him. Duncan sat up, and felt the world shifting around him as his vision darkened and then steadied. He knew the cut to his side was not yet fatal, but his life blood still soaked into the snow, still slipped down his stomach and lap and puddled around him, on the hard and frozen ground. Murami spun, his flickering blade cutting the legs out from under the first man, then he stabbed back, without looking, impaling the second on the tip of his sword. From under his feet, a shadow rose up, knife in hand, and slashed at Murami's arms, at his face. Duncan saw, and reacted, reaching out with his still unsteady arms, realizing instantly that he had set this up, that it was the forgotten man whom he had left writhing on the snow, recovered now and ready for revenge. The man had his blade at Murami's throat, the clan leader holding it off with his arm, blood streaming from his face and neck from the unexpected attack. Duncan lurched forward, throwing himself at the man's legs, grabbing his ankles and pulling them hard, forcing him off balance, receiving a vicious kick to the face that left him lying dazed on the snow. Murami moved, twisted himself loose from his momentarily distracted assailant and brought his arms up to the man's head, pulled it sharply forward and broke his neck with a short, sharp blow. The soft thud as the man's body slipped to the ground was the only noise in the suddenly still night. Duncan could hear his heart beating, thumping wildly against his chest. He pushed his arms into the snow, and raised himself up, looking into the clan leader's eyes. Blood still trickled down the man's face, running from a slash across his forehead down his chin and dripping onto his once white silk robes. Murami knelt by Duncan's side, the old warmth back in his eyes, a slight smile on his lips, slipping into the easy camaraderie of a commander after a battle, with his troops. Troop, in this case. "So I see you learned something from us, after all." Murami grinned and offered Duncan his hand, to stand up. Duncan sat in the snow and let himself be pulled to his feet, once more. He didn't have the energy to do it, on his own. Standing, he leaned heavily on Murami's arm to hold himself erect, waiting for his body to heal itself before he tried to mount the gelding. He would be fine, in a few minutes, if he didn't die of blood loss first. It was always a race, between an Immortal's healing ability and the severity of his wounds, as to whether he would live or die each time he was injured. He figured he was going to live, this time. Unless any more of the clan leader's enemies, or the shogun's men, came hunting. It certainly hadn't been him these men were after, for once. They hadn't seemed to know or care he was a gaijin. Not that it would have made any difference, if they'd been killed. "Who were they?" He nodded at the huddled corpses, and raised his eyebrows at Murami. "They could have been from any of a number of places." Murami shrugged indifferently. "I am more interested in how they knew I was here. Alone." The implication was clear. No one but his retainers had known where he was going. No one but the men he had sent away knew he was without his customary entourage. Someone, among them, had sold him out. And without Duncan's unexpected presence, the odds could have been too great for even him, if he had been fighting all these men, on his own. Duncan glanced around the bloody cemetery. Nine corpses lay scattered at his feet. Murami had dispatched six men, singlehanded. One, with his assistance. < Well, perhaps these men would not have been enough, even if he was alone. But for any other man, it would have been sufficient..> "So. Now you must go back and find the traitor." He didn't envy Murami that task. All the men who followed him were clan, tied by blood kinship, or had married into the clan and become family. No matter who he found out was behind this, it would cause even more pain, in the discovery. "Yes. I must go back. But not immediately." Murami's expression was distant, as if he were completing some calculation in his head. His eyes cleared and he looked at Duncan, a small satisfaction evident despite the bleakness on his face, as if he had liked the answer to his calculations, at least. "I will go with you, first. To the boat I have waiting. I am in your debt today." Murami indicated the dead men, the carnage around them, with his chin. "I will discharge this obligation myself. I cannot trust anyone else to accompany you now. And you will not get far on your own." Murami moved to his stallion, and mounted, then waited, looking down on Duncan's still standing form His voice betrayed no hint of bitterness, of the anger and rage Duncan was sure he felt, inside. "Time will give me a clearer picture of who hoped I would not return tonight. Time will uncover the secret desires in their hearts more easily than I can pull them out, myself." Duncan nodded his head, accepting the honor. And the trust. He felt almost strong enough now to mount the horse that had waited patiently, its warm shaggy hide soothing his soul as he leaned against it's side. It promised to be an interesting journey. He only hoped his companion would return from it alive. And survive his return to his clan, as well. =========================================================================