Date:         Thu, 5 Jan 1995 01:05:24 -0500
Reply-To:     NancySSCH@AOL.COM
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         "N.L. Cleveland" <NancySSCH@AOL.COM>
Subject:      Final Repost Aloha Ch 1 .p 64-70

Aloha c 1994 N.L. Cleveland,  Ch 1 p 64-70

She handed the gun to the boy.  Jonathan surged to his feet, instinct alone
driving him,  reaching across the room towards the pistol. He felt Jari's arm
roll under his foot, his balance thrown off as his other foot slid in the
slippery pool of blood.  <I can't reach him. I can't stop him.  I
can't...won't.... kill him.  My son. My executioner. >

"Hikari. No." The words burst forth, involuntarily, the body crying out to
try to survive what the mind and spirit had already given up.

The boy fired.  The shot caught Jonathan in the chest, spun him around, and
left him leaning on the far wall. It was all that held him up. His hand
clutched at his chest, involuntarily. He could feel his life draining away,
between his fingers. He struggled to speak.

"Hikari. Why? You never knew me. I wanted to be your friend." He coughed.
Struggled for a breath. "Your father."

"The Black Dragons are my family. You are nothing,  traitor. " Hikari stared
at him, an odd mix of triumph and doubt on his face, the gun dangling.

<This is my harvest. Sow vengeance, and reap the same poisoned seed.  I
understand that , now. Too late. >  Jonathan's legs lost their strength, and
he slid down the wall. His vision was going. Dark spots danced across his
eyes.

<I must be hallucinating.

<Kassmir  can't be here. He's dead. >

Jonathan  watched, using his last flickering consciousness to see. His eyes
kept slipping out of focus, but he willed them back.

Kassmir walked across the room, holding Jonathan's katana. He glanced at
Jonathan, then sneered and pushed Yomo aside. She stared at Kassmir, shock
and amazement on her face.

 "Watch this Raven, before you go to hell, " Kassmir snarled, then stabbed
Hikari in the back, skewering him. The boy started, then slumped on the
blade. His body fell to the floor as Kassmir wrenched the katana out of his
back.

"Enjoy the trip. You'll have plenty of company." Kassmir raised the katana
again.

"No." Jonathan could barely whisper the word. "Hikari, no."

Consciousness fled, and his mind slipped down a long dark tunnel, his last
image that of Kassmir's jeering face, chasing him to hell.

    *  *  *  *


Duncan groaned, and sat up. He was alone in the room. Late afternoon sunlight
poked through the blinds. He staggered to his feet, his balance still unsure.
His head throbbed.

<She must have shot me in the heart. This took a long time. Damn it, I hope
I'm not too late. > He went to the bathroom, inspecting himself in the
mirror.

*You look like hell, boy. Death warmed over. *

Hardly any blood was visible on his shirt.  <If I button the jacket, maybe no
one will notice. >  He splashed some water on his face, then sorted rapidly
through a pile of papers Yomo had left on her dresser, picked up his bag, and
headed for the lobby. He noted the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the suite door,
and smiled, grimly. She thought of everything.

<I wonder what her real name is. >

The manager was at the registration desk.  She smiled at him, remembering
him, more than professional warmth in her expression. He felt a brief surge
of regret. A possibility missed. No time now.

"I'm in a hurry."  Her smile faded. She turned and motioned to the
registration clerk to bring him his bill. He scribbled his name on it without
even glancing at the total, then he turned and left the lobby, striding as
rapidly as he could without running. A taxi stood in the drive, and he
climbed in. He'd found Raven's address on some of the paperwork from the
sale, in Yomo's things. She must have intended to come back, and  check out
later.

<While my body lay there decorating the floor. She's a very cool lady. Ice
cool. >

The  cabbie pushed the lights, eager for the $100  Duncan had offered as a
tip if he could make the trip in less than an hour. Duncan watched the sun as
it began to sink beneath the horizon.

<This is taking too long. I'm too late. >

The cab pulled up to the drive of a large house, set well back from the
street. The yards were large here, the nearest house several hundred feet
away, screened by thick bamboo.

<He's got money, no question about it. But is he still alive? >

There were three cars in the drive, one of them a Jeep, the other two,
rentals. <At least the party's not over.  >  Duncan thrust the bills at the
cabbie and got out. The cab drove away. Duncan hurried up the drive,
unzipping his nylon bag and drawing his katana as he did so. He could feel
the beginning of a buzz. Kassmir was here.

The door was open, the light spilling out onto the entryway. Duncan slipped
in, his katana out, cautious. The buzz was stronger. The need to hurry warred
with caution, and won. Duncan stepped quickly into the living room. Nothing.
Furniture disarrayed, splattered blood on the walls, floor and couch, but no
one. No body.

< I should have warned Raven. Told him exactly what Kassimir was. He  might
have beaten Kassmir in a fair fight, but how could he know what it would
take, to  keep him dead. >

A clash of metal on metal, from the kitchen. Duncan moved to the entryway,
and stopped. It reeked of death. Three bodies lay there. Raven's body sat,
half slumped against  the wall, his blank dead eyes staring at nothing, his
blood stained hands laying slack and open in his lap. Two boys sprawled face
down across the floor, too still to be alive. Blood was everywhere.

Yomo leaned on the sink, panting and holding a seeping slash in her side, her
other hand grasping the ancient katana. Kassmir, one leg deeply cut  and
dripping blood, raised his sword and closed on her.

"Traitor. You betrayed us." Yomo spat out the words and slashed at him.

"I fought to the death for your contract. It was only to the death, after
all." Kassmir grinned mirthlessly and  blocked her thrust . He dropped his
shoulder, feinting an underhanded riposte. She responded, and he drove in
over her guard, pinning her to the wall with his blade, through her chest.
She gasped, and dropped the katana, her nervless fingers falling slack and
empty to her sides.

"I have other contracts, too. A pity the Black Dragons are so short sighted."
He yanked his blade from her body as she sagged and slid down the wall. Her
eyes closed, and she sighed, then stopped breathing, her head lolling
sideways, her mouth half opened as if to speak. Kassmir picked up the fallen
katana and  turned to Duncan, a wild fey smile on his face, the two swords
glittering their lethal promise in his hands.

"I love the smell of blood, don't you?" He slashed at Duncan,  twice, then
swirled and brought both katanas at him, again, scissoring them alternately
so Duncan had to defend from each side. Duncan barely met Kassmir's blades,
and moved back, step by step, out of the charnel house that was the kitchen,
back into the living room.

< Damn, he was good. >

"You got here too soon, Highlander. I haven't finished with Raven yet."
Kassmir pressed harder, one blade scoring Duncan's face, leaving a long clean
slice across his cheek. His leg hardly seemed to be bothering him, although
his pant leg was flapping, sodden with blood, and he limped a bit on his
turns.

<I could have just stayed away. Run. He wouldn't have followed.>

"I still need his head. I told you I'd come back for you, later. What's your
hurry to die?" Kassmir chopped down at Duncan's legs, slashing deep into
Duncan's thigh before Duncan could block his attack. Duncan staggered, and
desperately tried to correct his balance.  *You can't run from evil, it will
follow no matter where you go. He must be stopped.*

Kassmir glared at him, intent on a new thought. "Or did you want his head,
yourself?  Duncan seized the initiative, and attacked through Kassmir's
momentary hesitation. He beat one katana out of Kassmir's hand, and swung his
sword two handed, battering through Kassmir's defenses, slicing deeply into
his shoulder. < I have to move fast, I'm losing too much blood to last long.
>

"I don't slaughter new Immortals,  steal their heads and their Quickenings
before they even know what they are." Duncan grated out the words, slashing
his katana with a cold calculated fury. "You are scum, Kassmir."   <I must
 stop him, now.>

"Scum rises to the surface. I'll be on top, at the end."  Kassmir grinned,
and feinted a thrust, then kicked Duncan in the knee, sending him staggering
to the floor, his leg numb, the kneecap crushed. Duncan rolled as Kassmir
slashed at him, then reached up and let Kassmir's momentum carry him onto
Duncan's blade, which stood at an angle, braced against the floor. It went
deep into his belly.

Kassmir staggered to his feet, his face blank, then took a few careful steps,
and sagged onto the couch. He watched incredulous as his blood flowed across
his legs.

<It's over. At last. >  Duncan felt the surge of victory, mingled with the
weight of anticipating another Quickening.   <Another evil one laid to rest.
 Another soul to battle, inside. >

Duncan pushed himself to his feet and limped towards Kassmir, pain shooting
up his legs with every motion. He brushed away the dripping blood from his
slashed cheek, and raised his katana.

Kassmir looked up at him, his lips skinned back from his teeth in a feral
snarl.

"There can be only one."

Duncan swung his blade. He felt the edge slice through Kassimir's neck. Felt
the weight lift, and disappear.

He swayed, waiting. A faint blue mist rose up from Kassmir's torso, and
curled through the air like an animated question mark, seeking another
Immortal host. The mist thickened and swirled around Duncan's legs, his arms,
his chest, as lights began flashing on and off in the house and sparks of
random electricity spurted and shot from Duncan's hair, his fingers, his
katana.

He shuddered as the living fire entered his body. Each pore felt like it was
burning, then waves of ecstasy shook him, as the memories and emotions of all
the Immortals within Kassmir flooded into his mind and soul. Kassmir's
persona blasted him with hate. Duncan resisted the emotion, examining the
memories, the scattered bits of information that poured past.

He stood, blood still oozing from his leg, exhausted. No time to rest, now.
 He took a step towards the kitchen, driven by urgency, but his body was too
battered and his legs collapsed under him. Duncan knelt, leaning against his
katana, for a long moment. His vision darkened, then cleared. The buzz of
another Immortal's aura pressed against his consciousness.

* Get up. Now. He needs you. Go. *

  *  *  *  *  *


Jonathan opened his eyes. They seemed caked shut, the lids glued together.

<Kassmir?

<Yomo?

<Hikari?>

He felt a raging thirst, every cell in his body crying out for water.  A
chaotic jumble of images  filled his mind. He stared wildly about, his worst
fears realized. The two boys' bodies were huddled next to him, beside them
lay Yomo's. He sat forward, fighting a rush of nausea, and touched Hikari's
cheek, Yomo's wrist. The flesh felt cool, inanimate. No pulse, no life. They
were dead. All dead. His eyes stung, but he had no moisture to give. He
blinked, a single drop of saltly liquid burning its way down his cheek.
 <I've failed. I've lost. Everyone. Everything. >

A buzzing prodded at the edge of his awareness, some kind of sense screaming
an alert... about what? He looked up, tearing his eyes away from the still,
silent forms on the floor around him.

A man, a dark haired, blood splattered man, leaned heavily on the doorframe,
a katana held loosely in his grasp. The buzzing centered on him. His face was
shadowed, but his stance, the way he held his shoulders, seemed tantalizingly
familiar. Jonathan pulled his muscles back into control, fighting this odd
stiffness, rolled, stretched and grabbed the gun lying under the table and
pointed it at the door, at the man. <He can't tell the barrel is bent, I
hope.>

"Who are you? What do you want?"   <Another Black Dragon? >

The words barely rasped out of his sere throat, his tongue felt like cotton,
thick and unwieldy. He ignored the thirst, ignored the way his body seemed to
be shrinking, shriveling, drying up. <No time. Later. >

"You won't need that. I'm a friend." The voice had a slight Scots accent.
 <I've heard that before. >

"MacLeod?"  The man stepped, limped, rather, into the light. It was MacLeod.
Jonathan inspected him critically. He'd been in a fight. That much was clear.
 "Kassmir?"

"He's dead". MacLeod nodded towards the living room. "For good, this time."

"This time?" <Then I did see him. He did kill my son. But he was dead. I know
death, death in every form, intimately. >  "What  in hell is going on? Why
are you here?"  Jonathan  got slowly to his feet.   <Odd, that slash across
my chest isn't hurting at all. And  the bullet....what bullet? A gap in his
memory.....Something isn't right, here. >

"Jonathan, who shot you?" MacLeod's voice was gentle.

<Shot? Me?  >  The memories  tumbled in, the temporary wall he'd erected to
keep away the pain crumbling and  falling.

<Hikari.

,My son.

<Shot me.

<The pain.

<Kassmir.

<Jari.

<I thought I was dying.

<I thought I did die.>

Jonathan looked at MacLeod, wordlessly. He touched his kimono. The black silk
was stiff with dried blood. His fingers probed his chest through the tattered
fabric. Nothing. No wounds. No scars. No gaping oozing hole leaking his life
out onto the ground.

For the first time in a very long time, Jonathan was frightened.  Shaken to
the very core of his being. This was not like facing the Black Dragons'
assassination squads, not like looking down the barrel of a gun held by
someone trying to kill him. This was not like facing death, and fighting with
all his skill to survive. He knew all about that. He had been trained, and
had practiced and honed himself to deal with every contingency. Including
death.

<I am an expert, in death. >  But this, this was different. This was somehow
beyond death, and this was somewhere he had never been, before.

 " Who are you? Why do I feel your presence? What do you know?"  Fear made
his voice harsh, and he turned away from MacLeod for a moment, working to
regain control of himself.

<None of this makes any sense. I shouldn't be here. I should be dead.  Or
 dying. On the floor, with my son. With Jari. Is this all some crazy dream?
Some  dying hallucination? >

Jonathan held his hand out in front of him, looking at the color, the solid
meshing of skin, sinew, muscle and bone. He touched the wall, felt every
detail of subtle irregularity in the painted surface. <This is no dream. This
is real. What  happened to me?>

He turned back to MacLeod. The man was gazing introspectively at the  bodies
on the  floor, his expression somber. He still  leaned on the door, but
already he had more color in his face than he'd had when he  came in.  <He
looks  like he's spent a few days recovering, instead, he's been  standing
behind me for  a few seconds. Some sort of accelerated healing factor? Who
does he work for?>

MacLeod looked up. He extended his hand to Jonathan. The buzzing got
stronger. Hesitantly, wondering at himself for being so afraid, Jonathan took
the proffered hand. A shock flowed through him. A flash of memories,
kaleidoscope visions of the world, feelings, emotions, a cacophony of
hundreds of different voices speaking in dozens of languages and tones,
flashed through his mind for an instant, and were gone. Jonathan drew his
hand away, staring at it in amazement.

"I felt something." Jonathan looked at MacLeod.  <No, the voices weren't
gone. They were there, inside the other man.>  He could almost sense them,
almost sense the roiling, churning emotions held in check, inside MacLeod's
silent form.
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