Date: Thu, 5 Jan 1995 01:05:36 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Final Repost Aloha Ch 1. p 71-77 Aloha c 1994 N.L. Cleveland ch 1 p 71-77 "Yes." MacLeod still spoke in that gentle tone. Like a parent, to a child. A teacher, to a slow but earnest student. "You felt a touch of what it is like, to be an Immortal." MacLeod smiled at him, a hint of irony in his eyes. "You are Immortal, now. Like me. Like hundreds of others. You died, here." He paused, while Jonathan let the shock settle over him, and tried to digest it. MacLeod continued. "You could have lived a normal life. Died in your sleep at 85, naturally. But when you were shot, your violent death triggered your latent potential. You will never age, now. Never be sick. Wounds will heal quickly, like magic. See?" MacLeod pointed at his own thigh, which was crimson with blood, but only a healthy pink scar could be seen through the jagged rent in his pants. "But you can still be killed." MacLeod paused, frowned." And other Immortals, ones like Kassmir, will hunt you, try to kill you." "Why?" MacLeod touched Jonathan's chest. A tiny blue spark leaped between them. The *other* memories flashed for an instant across Jonathan's mind again, and were gone. "For this. We call it the Quickening. It is the power of an Immortal." MacLeod spoke slowly, holding Jonathan's eyes with his own, wiling him to believe, to accept. "All the knowledge and strength, all the memories and emotions of all the others, inside. When one Immortal kills another, by taking off his or her head, the winner receives the life force of the one he or she defeated. Ultimately, there can be only one of us left. We are told that the final Immortal will have the power to rule this world, for eternity." "Someone like Kassmir, ruling over humanity?" Jonathan shuddered, the last twisted image he had of Kassmir, raising his katana, finally making sense. "That would be a nightmare." "Exactly." MacLeod stared at him, intent. "That is why some Immortals, those of us who care about this world and the people living in it, strive to win, ourselves. We seek out new Immortals and teach them how to survive. If enough of us are fighting for good, perhaps we will be the last, or one of our disciples." "So Kassmir knew I could be...like him? He came after me for that?" This was startin to make sense to Jonathan, in a crazy, twisted sort of way. MacLeod closed his eyes, concentrating. His lips moved silently. "No, he came after you because of the contract he received from the Agency. To kill you.Then he went to the Dragons. Sold your death, twice. It was only when he met you that he discovered you had...potential." MacLeod opened his eyes again. " A lot of people want you dead, Raven." "I'm used to living with that. " Jonathan spoke dryly. So the Director finally gave the order. "I came here for one reason, to find my son, before the Black Dragons did." " I kept a high profile, a stable location, tried to be visible, so people with information could find me, help me find him. I knew the risk, but I thought it was worth it, for my son, for Aki's child." Raven paced, bitter regret rising in his throat, almost strangling the words. "But they found him first, the Black Dragons, before I even knew he existed. Twisted his life and his mind into a quest to destroy me." This was the hardest part, now. But he had to say it, had to give witness, if only for his own sanity, had to speak these words...had to face it. "My son, Hikari, shot me. It was his life's goal." He looked at the floor, looked at the emptiness of his life, now. The search for the boy had been his only purpose, for so long. Gone, all gone. Purpose. Hikari. Life. MacLeod walked to his side, not touching him, but standing close. The strange alien warning of the buzz had faded, as Jonathan grew used to MacLeod's presence. His proximity brought it back, intensely. Jonathan looked up from his bleak contemplation of an infinitely long life, with utterly no reason for existing. "Jonathan, there's something else you should know." Again, that curiously gentle tone. "Immortals are sterile, Jonathan. We can never have children." "What?" His whole world came crashing down. All the paradigms shifted, suddenly. Jonathan put both hands on MacLeod's shoulders, his fingers digging into the hard muscle, his mind flinching at the brief but intense surge of chaotic memories and voices. "Who was Hikari?" Jonathan's voice was uneven, strange to his own ears. He took a deep breath, willing his heart to be still. MacLeod stood like a solid pillar, a mooring of sanity in the insane world Jonathan was suddenly inhabiting. "Hikari was a boy. Someone else's child. Someone the Black Dragons used, as a pawn, to try to destroy you." MacLeod looked at him, pity and compassion in his eyes. "You never had a son. I am sorry." "So all the letters, from Aki, were forgeries? She never was pregnant? Never had a child?" Raven let go of MacLeod's shoulders, but MacLeod reached and grabbed his wrists, holding him as he tried to pull away. MacLeod spoke quickly, trying to get the worst over, fast. "Aki had a child. Not your son. I'm not sure she realized herself that he wasn't yours. The timing was close. Perhaps she truly believed he was. But there was another man, a Black Dragon, sent secretly to watch her. He was probably the father. She sent the child away, before she died, but the Dragons intercepted him, took him in. They'd been watching her, waiting for you to try and get back in touch. " They taught the boy he was your son. That you had abandoned him. Laid a trail for you to follow and trained him to kill you, when you found him. They have planned this for over a decade. The boy was not ready, before. If another of their assassins had killed you, they would have used the boy for other things. But they had him, kept him in reserve, to use against you at the end." Jonathan shook his head, believing every word MacLeod said, not able to accept the reality it implied. "How do you know this? Why should I believe you?" Jonathan spoke dully, not really hoping to shake MacLeod's certainty in this story. "I know. Kassmir knew some of this, Yomo knew a piece. And there was a Black Dragon, among those I have memories from, in here." MacLeod let Raven's wrists go. "I know this is all a shock to you. That's why I'm here, to help." Jonathan glanced sharply at him. There was another reason, something in his voice didn't quite ring true. "Unlike most new Immortals, I don't think I need to teach you how to handle a sword." MacLeod smiled, respect in his eyes. "Very few could defeat Kassmir." "You'd almost think I was born for this," Jonathan spoke bitterly. "Perhaps you were. Perhaps we all were. I cannot say." MacLeod paused, his eyes searching Jonathan's as if trying to peer into his soul. "There is one more thing. You must understand this. We are truly different. Some say, not even human. There is a group of mortals, they call themselves the Watchers..." "What do you mean, not human?" Jonathan flung out his arms, trying to shake loose some of the nervous energy running up and down his spine. "I had parents, normal human parents. What else can I be?" "You weren't a foundling?" Duncan looked surprised. "No Immortal knows who his parents are. None of us. I believe you were adopted. Perhaps they simply never told you. Check the records, if you wish." This was too much. Small hints, slips of the tongue that he'd never understood as a child, came back to him. Questions he'd asked, that had been evaded and never directly answered. Why he had no brothers, no sisters. Another thought struck him suddenly. "This is a lot to absorb, MacLeod. You're telling me I'm not human? Then what am I? What are you?" "What ties us to humanity, if we are not even a part of it? Why should we care?" "I think you know the answer to that." MacLeod spoke carefully, weighing his words. "If you don't, I can't help you." Jonathan looked around the carnage that had been his home. Four corpses, and two living dead men. All we need now is a vampire. Or the police. Yes, those were sirens, in the distance. Were they coming here? The phone rang. Jonathan moved to the living room to pick it up, stepping carefully over Jari, Yomo, Hikari. "Wait." MacLeod stopped him, his katana blocking Jonathan's path. "Why?" Six. Seven. Eight rings. "No one knows you're alive. Yet. Until you answer that phone. Perhaps you could use a head start. Leave some of your enemies behind." Jonathan pushed MacLeod's katana aside. "My enemies will know I'm alive. It's my friends I'm worried about." He picked up the phone. "Ski?" There was a click, then the blank hum of a dial tone. Jonathan put the phone back down, slowly, then turned and faced MacLeod. "Well, now they know." MacLeod remained silent. The sirens were getting closer. Jonathan gestured at the mess, the bodies, the blood. "How do you Immortals usually explain these things?" The Immortal shrugged. "We try not to be around to have to give explanations. It's your choice." He stuffed his katana into the black nylon bag, and stood waiting for Jonathan's next move. < Make up your mind. > Jonathan gathered his two katanas. He handed them to MacLeod, who added them to his bag. Jonathan picked up his Laptop computer and zipped it into its carrying case. He went to his wall safe and opened it, took out the small bundles of high denomination currency and stuffed them in the case's side pockets. He sorted through a dozen passports and selected one, put it in his pocket, put the others in his case. Pulled out the extra sets of matching credit cards, pocketed them. He reached deep into the safe, retrieving two bricks of plastic explosive and a timed detonator. "The house is insured. My executor will know what to do with the money." Ski would find a use for it. And there was enough in the hidden Swiss accounts to last a very long time. Even if the Agency had cleaned out the one they knew of, there are still the others. He smiled grimly at the thought. He laid the plastic bricks next to the gas oven, blew out the pilot light, turned on the range, then stuck in the detonator, twisted it to set the timer. Two minutes. Should be enough time. "Come on." He gestured to MacLeod. "Time to disappear. There won't be enough left here to identify anyone. Just enough to prove people were inside. We'll take the Jeep as far as the airport. I know a ravine where it will never be found." He backed out, taking one last look at the place that he had thought might be his home. Now, it was just a shell, a stage for the last act in Jonathan Raven's life. And a mausoleum for the dead. The thought was attractive. There, that touched the burning sore in his soul. An avenging angel. To kill the killers. Yes. That would satisfy him. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny whispering voice began its Cassandra-like chant, warning him that this was the road to hell, to damnation. To begin again, the endless cycle of blood, of hate, of revenge. He ignored it. Jonathan closed the front door, and climbed into the Jeep, next to MacLeod. He pulled out his second phone, the one listed in the untraceable name, and punched the memory code, as he backed down the driveway. He kept the Jeep in neutral with the engine silent and the headlights off. The drive was inclined enough for a quiet start. He wouldn't need to turn the engine on until the street. The phone hummed as the international call went through. The sirens were closer, but still a few minutes away.