Date: Sun, 19 Feb 1995 04:25:31 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Epilogue.p19-24 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland Richie's aura...had been haunting him....ever since they had shared the Quickening in the burning ruins in Kyoto. And ever since then, Duncan had tried to avoid straying too close to the youth, to avoid brushing against him, to avoid the sharing of thoughts and minds that came with that physical contact. Had tried to avoid giving in to the inner temptation that wanted to push him into closer contact with those other minds, inside Richie's body now, that had once shared their existence with many of those inside him. It was as if the Immortal conglomeration that had dominated so many individual Immortals, that had destroyed and consumed their lives and identities into itself, before he and Raven and Richie had defeated it by splitting it into three parts, into their three souls, it was as if it was calling out again to that other piece of itself, in Richie. Calling out to rejoin itself. To regain and regrow into what it had once been. He wondered if the youth felt that same pull, himself. Or if Duncan was just projecting it, projecting his own growing hunger for more Quickenings, for he had noticed for a long time now that as he took more, so his hunger grew, and so his impatience and irritation, and he wonderd again if he was just projecting the cause of that hunger he felt now on to this other, fragmented presence. Projecting his own impulses, his own unexamined, subconscious designs, onto it. Either way, this was a part of his dark mood, this undercurrent of unease in himself, with himself, and with his own goals and intentions as an Immortal. He half feared what he could become, or what Richie could become, if either of them ever took one another's Quickening. Half feared, and half hungered for that possible future. Sensed the power, the potential for control. And the potential for total loss of self, of identity, if that other meta-being ever re-emerged. Yet he could not stop, could not change who and what he was. This would be part of the intensifying Gathering, for all of them, from now on. This surging undercurrent of emptiness, of a growing aching yearning, as he himself grew more powerful, the yearning grew more powerful as well, calling him to seek completion and fulfillment, completion found only in the death of another Immortal, in the severing of another's earthly existence, and freeing of another's soul to be consumed within. Within him. This growing hunger that would drive them all, eventually, to kill. To kill even their friends. Even their lovers. Even those they loved. Until only one of their kind remained alive. Standing in the shadow of the low walled, imitation colonial buildings, Duncan looked out on the shimmering heat waves dancing across the road. Felt the warm moist tropical air caressing his skin. And shivered. Shivered, as he examined the dimensions of the cold empty pit within himself, as it shifted, and grew. Duncan stepped into the street and looked up, mauka, inland, towards the looming green hills. He needed time... alone. A car rental agency was open, just across the cobble stone street in the too quaint, too crowded shopping area. He needed to get away from people, mortal and Immortal alike, for a while. To examine where his soul and his heart were taking him. To balance the conflicting urges, and to try to find peace. He made the decision. Strode across the narrow street, pushed against the chilly glass fronted door, and found out suddenly just where all the sons and daughters of the now vanished privateers had gone...into the car rental business, evidently. The hard eyed, snub nosed, sunburned blond young man waiting on him was clearly a direct descendant of Bluebeard, hair color not withstanding. Duncan assessed the prices being charged for daily rentals. <$100 for a 4-wheel drive vehicle. Ouch.> "Fine, I'll take it for a week then." A veritable bargain at $300. He put down his credit card and smiled thinly as he tried to control the Scottish burr in his voice. It always came out when he was very angry, or stressed. He must be more off balance than he realized, to let a little detail like being skinned by the rental agents upset him so. As the Immortal was leaving, his newly rented car's keys clutched tightly in his hand, like the keys to freedom, he brushed past a middle aged Asian man who was entering the storefront. There was an alertness, a watchfulness, to the newcomer's expression that caught at Duncan instincts. He stared hard at the man, who dropped his eyes, as his face folded into deeply worn grooves of humility and meekness. The thought made his lips curl again, but not with humor. The whole affair still left a bad taste in his mouth. It would be a long time. A very long time, before he ever again felt the urge to return to the land of the rising sun. He hurried to the tan Jeep, eager to leave behind the suddenly constraining pressures of civilization. Eager to find a temporary solitude, a temporary escape. He tossed in his towel, unzipped the duffel bag holding his sword, and pulled out a white polo shirt to wear while driving. Once in the Jeep, the map seemed like excess weight, although he glanced quickly at it to reorient himself. The island's roads were basically in the shape of a figure 8, winding around the twin volcano peaks that made up its two parts. Here, on the western coast, was the smaller part. East, where he was heading, was the larger. The crater of the sun. Halikea. The largest volcano crater in the world. 20 miles across, according to the rental agent. Something guaranteed to put even an Immortal's life, and concerns, into perspective. He put the Jeep into gear, and headed west. Feeling the oppression, the brushing touch of that faint, tantalizing Immortal aura, finally falling away for good. Feeling his heart and his spirits lift, for the moment. While the dark shape within subsided. Tamed. For the moment. * * * * * Fujio's fingers moved rapidly across the laptop's keyboard, each key beeping at him with its own distinctive note as he pressed down on it. The computer's tutorial program was in oral mode, chatting at him in a mix of Japanese and English as the language lesson proceeded. Jonathan stood watching the boy, while he paused in his own work, about to tie another cross pole to the bamboo wall he was building. Wanting Fujio to feel comfortable on his own, with the machine. Wanting him to experience the innate drive and joy in learning and growing, without Jonathan having to stand over him. And quietly proud of the child's progress, in mastering a basic English vocabulary already. It would be difficult enough for the boy to fit in to any culture, blind. Far more difficult, for him to learn the mores and habits of a society very different from the one in which he'd spent the first decade of his childhood. But Jonathan believed in him. Believed he had seen, in the time he'd spent with the youth in the hospital, and while he was recovering, that Fujio had the strength of character and the inner determination, as well as the innate intelligence and curiosity, to thrive in this alien soil, take root and flourish in this strange land, and to succeed. Or he would never have dared take him so far away from his home country. He would..he reassured himself..have left the youth, if that was indeed the best course for the child to take. He would just have to trust his feelings on this. Hope that they were right. Hope that he had indeed done the right thing, in challenging the decision of the Japanese state, and in stealing away with this boy, to live a life of constant watchfulness, constant deception, in order to remain together. At least he would not have to fear any Immortal's attack, here. Jonathan understood, now, why he had always felt such peace, such serenity, in this place. Why it had called out to him, in his memory, so insistently, as a refuge, a haven. Why he had been drawn here, of all places, of all possible destinations he could have chosen. The petroglyphs, the ancient, faint, scarred traces of human figures and abstract patterns carved painstakingly into the exposed black volcanic rock that erupted starkly from the soft green foilage, at the cliff's edge just beyond where he stood, they told the story that he could decipher, could comprehend, at last. Told a story of a sacred place, a heiau, a temple, from long ago. A place that still retained its power, to soothe and to protect his Immortal soul. Oh, he knew the bloody history of this land. Knew that mortal lives had been sacrificed here. Knew what the two barely visible trenches, carved into the hollowed bowl of the rock, implied. But that blood had been washed away long ago. Those souls had dispersed to their ultimate homes. And only the abstract power, the force of belief and dedication to the gods of this once and still sacred place, remained. Hovered over this site. Imbued it now with what he felt and truly believed was a healing force. Where once these rocks had run red with blood and death, now they promised him life. And safety, for his adopted son. Which was all that mattered to him, in his life. It troubled him, a bit, how the other voices, the other minds inside his own, seemed more active, more alert, somehow, here. Almost as if they fed, and found some source of strength, from the spirits of the place. But they were well contained, in his mind. He knew who he was. What he was. What he believed in. What he had done. Knew the price he would pay, one day. Was ready to face it, himself. And they could never shake him. Never take that away. Not now. Not since he had mastered the skills he had learned from MacLeod's and Richie's minds, the ability to rule that Immortal cacophony, to push it into a murmuring background noise, and to go on, with his decisions, and his life. He tightened the knot in the tough nylon rope, pulling the bamboo pole in line with the rest of the flat wall that he would raise to become the roof. The nylon would never rot, never fall apart in the endless moisture that kept this side of the island so green. He was completing a lanai, a covered porch, its floor simply the wild growth of the jungle, its walls open to the air and sky, the final addition to this simple home he had constructed with Fujio over the past few days. A place to sit, a part of the outdoors, yet protected from the extremes of sun, and rain. A way to bring the beauty of nature in, and the bare necessities of human comfort, out. Blurring the lines between in, and out. Between home, and nature. Making both home, and both nature. It was the way he intended to live, from now on. As simply and as close to the land as possible. Within the limits of what he could expect the boy to handle, of course. Until the child was ready to go beyond this life. Was ready to return, if he wished, to the roar of the concrete and steel cities. And Jonathan would take him, if that was his wish. But later. For now, he needed.....they both needed...some time, here, to learn about one another. To grow together. To build, and develop, trust. Time together, it abruptly seemed, that they were not going to get. His pocket sized alarm sensor buzzed insistently on his belt. Someone had breached the fence. Passed through the shocking electrical pulses as if they weren't there. He hadn't expected a probe this fast. Could there be survivors of the Dragons, still alive? He pulled the tiny unit into his hands and turned off the warning noise. He felt his heart speeding up, and took a long, slow breath to reinforce the discipline of calm. Examined the LED readout for the coordinates of the attack. It blinked up at him innocently, the numbers spelling out an ominous threat. "N 50. N 52." North of the gate. Between pole 50 and 52. They must have driven a vehicle through it to have opened up that much space, so fast. But he didn't think they would have gotten very far past the initial perimeter. Not with the sharpened bamboo stakes he'd planted all around the inner edge of that fence, as his second line of defense, against just such a possibility. No, anyone coming through that deceptively fragile boundary marker was going to be on foot now. Unless they had a tank. And he hadn't heard of military maneuvers being done on Maui since the war. The one in '44. Any relics of those days would be rusting hulks by now. So a tank, at least, was not a likely possibility. Anything else, however, was. Especially if the Dragons were, somehow, involved. "Fujio." He kept his voice level, not wanting to frighten the boy. Saw that the youth had already closed the computer down, and held the short throwing knife Jonathan had given him when they'd arrived, a pale sliver of death, ready in his hand. "The fence alarm...I heard it. Have they come for me?" The boy turned his face to the Immortal. Pride, fear, anticipation, all chased themselves across his features. Jonathan stepped quickly over to the youth, put his hand on the boys' shoulder, to reassure him with his presence, at least, knowing his words could not. "I'm not sure. Perhaps the state hasn't come for us at all. They may just be rowdy tourists, or teenagers out for a thrill. I'll go look. You need to man the defenses, here. Just in case." The youth nodded, and walked confidently toward the door of the primitive, but weather tight, house they'd erected. Jonathan had drilled him endlessly until he'd memorized the layout of the grounds, could tell, by the angle and feel of the earth under his feet, just where he was standing, for several hundred yards out from that central point. Jonathan watched, trepidation mixed with pride, as Fujio slipped quietly through the door, not even brushing the walls with his hands, and began completing the preparations they'd practiced time and time again. Gathering the tools and weapons he would need to survive, and hide, and ultimately use to call for rescue, if Jonathan did not return. Jonathan was not sure how he could face to lose the child now, to someone who would only teach him to hate. But how could he refuse to let Fujio return to his own kin, if by a miracle any had survived? How could *he* who had destroyed them, refuse them the life of their only living child? There was no way he could justify himself, and yet, it would kill hm, to give the child up. Tear out his own heart, to lose Fujio. He stared hard at the dark empty doorway that hid the boy's form from his eyes. Said his goodbyes, in his thoughts and soul, and walked rapidly , cautiously, down the faint, almost invisible path. Towards whatever, whoever, awaited. His katana slung over his shoulders, his mind racing, turning over all the possibilities again and again, wondering where, how, he had slipped up. How someone could have followed them. Or if anyone even had, at all. He stepped off the path and moved through the woods, as he came closer to the fence. Moved more cautiously, almost soundlessly, now. Blending with the trees, with the brush. Becoming one with the nodding, waving patterns of leaf and shadow. xHis senses pitched to full alert, all of them. Not sure whether to be pleased or sorry at this certainty, he continued on. Glimpsing, now, the sharp outlines of red painted metal and silver chrome, gleaming like an alien ship from another planet among the soft greens and tans and browns of his forest. Hearing a woman's voice, raised now in sudden, harsh fear. "Billy! Oh my god, Billy! Don't die on me, Billy! Please, don't die!" Ragged sobs, infused with terror, issued from her still unseen throat. Jonathan drifted closer, his concentration pulling in, narrowing to focus on the blonde woman, her deeply tanned form huddled in the bright red dune buggy, huddled cradling another form, a man's flaccid body, his dark, sunburned arms hanging limp, dangling out the half opened door of the vehicle. A half emptied 6-pack of dented beer cans spilled out across the ground, just beyond his unmoving fingers. The fence was still active, sparks crackled along its torn and broken length where the dune buggy had smashed it down and caught a portion of still electrified metal grating on its hood. Had dragged it across the open construction of the vehicle, leaving shiny scars in the bright paint work, gouged across the prominently lettered rental decal, and had entangled its still potent metal around the body of this evidently unconscious...or dead....mortal. "Damn." Jonathan muttered the imprecation as he took in the scene before him. These were no Dragons. Relief, concern, guilt washed over him as he moved forward to help these stupid drunken fools of tourists who'd gotten far more than they'd deserved when they crashed his gate....Slid down the last section of rough ground and stepped into the clearing where the crippled dune buggy lay, the tires flattened, his bamboo spikes protruding from their treads. Reached out his hand to help disentangle the unmoving body, spoke soft soothing words to reassure the sobbing woman, and cursed again as the man he was reaching out to help suddenly recovered all function and motion and swung up at his face with a .38 pistol that he'd pulled from underneath the body of the buggy. Jonathan's' reaction was instantaneous. He caught the man's wrist and pushed it further along its path, up, the flash almost deafening him as the burning pain of the bullet seared along the side of his face, feeling the man's wrist bones crack and grate under his grip. Identifying the man...with a sick feeling of karmic fate circling in on him, as one of the troublemakers in the parking lot, from the day he'd arrived. The woman....he didn't recognize her, but she'd probably been there too... was coming at him with a machete, and he intercepted her arm in mid swing, twisting the blade out of her grasp. His hands occupied, he had an instant to wonder where the others were. To note what he'd seen, but not processed fully before. The tiny, almost hidden signs. The few trampled blades of grass, the bent twigs and barely disturbed, scuffed leaves, that showed others had left the vehicle. Had an instant to curse himself, for becoming too complacent. For forgetting, for that instant, what and who he was. For having a moment of compassion in his heart. And paid the price. He straightened, the machete in his hand, twisted his torso, ready to launch an attack on this newly discovered threat, dodged without thought the bullet flying at him from the flashing muzzle of a gun, and fell back against the body, the shell, of the vehicle, thrown there by the impact of a second, almost simultaneous bullet that plowed through his side, shattering his ribs and ripping apart his diaphragm and lungs as it passed. Unable to speak, or to breathe. Drowning in the rising tide of his own blood rushing in to fill his collapsing lungs, he could only watch, momentarily helpless, as the other two emerged from their carefully hidden spots, their carefully planned ambush. "Tell yer cousin Red I owe him, Billy." The two men stood over him now, smiling, their faces blurring in his rapidly fading vision. He gasped and doubled over in sudden agony as the taller, the blond with a crooked, still swollen reddened nose, kicked him brutally in the side. Kicked him where the bullet had torn its way into his flesh. Jonathan blinked back the tears of pain, blinked them away and tried to listen. Tried to stay alive these last few seconds, to try and understand who they were..... =========================================================================