Date: Wed, 18 Oct 1995 08:36:48 -0400 Reply-To: Mike Breen Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: REVENGE AND REBIRTH I - The Dragon's Sword (part 4) BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES - OCTOBER, 1995 "This is Bernard Willis," Patrick said. "Bernard, Elaine Chew-Marriman, her husband Rick Marriman, and you know Joe." Bernard nodded and said, "Pleased to meet you." He squeezed a chair between Rick and Elaine. Patrick said, "Elaine, you asked how I got my sword. I've carried it for over four centuries. And I think you already know part of the story." MADRID, SPAIN, SEPTEMBER, 1531 Patrick thought back to the time he first met up with his Teacher here in Spain. He had been riding through the Spanish country side when he felt the presence of another Immortal nearby. He had stopped his horse, and the most magnificent white stallion approached him. His rider was dressed... well he looked like a peacock. He held his tongue, for after almost four centuries, he knew how to appreciate other cultures _and_ modes of dress. Even his own Irish kilt that he still wore occasionally undoubtably looked like a woman's skirt to others. The horse and rider stopped in front of him. The rider looked _so_ familiar to Patrick, but he couldn't make out his face very well beneath the outrageously large hat. This was _undoubtably_ the Immortal he had felt before. "Greetings, Irelander," the Immortal said. "I am Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, Chief metallurgist to King Charles V of Spain, and I am at your service." He took off his hat and bowed in his saddle. It was at that moment that Patrick saw his face. The face of his old Teacher. And Patrick did something that he never, not ever, in the almost four centuries that he had known him, did. He laughed at him. Eventually, Patrick grew used to the idea of his Teacher resembling a peacock, and Ramirez took Patrick into the court of the King of Spain. He told the King that his son, Miguel-Jose, had been riding through on a visit to see his father, and that he would very much like his son to have a place at his side in the court. The king agreed, though wondered to himself how a Spaniard could have red hair and green eyes. He laughed, for obviously his chief metallurgist was a well-traveled man. And now, only five years later, Patrick, dressed much like a peacock himself, found himself less and less enthused with metalwork in particular and life in general. He sat across from his Teacher and was silent. Ramirez lit the lanterns, for the sun had set, and sat back down. "Come, Brother," Ramirez said. You said you had to talk to me." "How do you do it, Old Teacher?" "Do what?" Ramirez said. "Survive all the years, all the decades, all the centuries. You are nearly as old as Man, himself, yet you are always full of life." "And you feel bored?" Patrick nodded. "How long have you felt bored?" "A few years. Maybe a decade." "Brother, what places have you seen these past three hundred and seventy-four years?" Patrick thought for a bit and said, "Ireland, obviously. And Scotland. I fought with William Wallace in Scotland against the English. Then I went to England itself and married Katherine. You found me there after the plague. I've been to Italy and Greece, France, Germany, now Spain... what else is there?" Ramirez laughed and said, "The rest of the world. It's rather arrogant of you to assume that because you've seen most of the countries in Europe you've seen the entire world for all time. You could spend millennia circling Europe and never see it the same way. And the world has gotten larger recently." "The new world is nothing but savages," Patrick said. "Aye," Ramirez said. "But you could go in the _other_ direction." "Towards the Orient?" "Aye. Let me tell you a story. When I was about your age I was feeling much the same way as you did. A very wise old Immortal named Methos told me that what I felt was normal for our kind. Mortals... they do not know how lucky they are, for they never feel this intense boredom. Methos pointed east and told me to follow the rising sun, and I did, through China towards Japan, until I found myself." "And you met Shikiko." "Aye, and married her. And not only that, but I found the thing that completed myself." He picked up his sword, unsheathed it, and handed it to Patrick. _That_ sword was what finally defined who I am, an Immortal, born in Egypt, traveled Europe, lived in Japan. It made me _me_." Patrick handed the sword back to Ramirez and said, "The Orient?" "Aye. You, Patrick, have great potential, some of which has been realized. I knew from the moment I met you that you were destined for greatness among our kind." "You mean... _I_ am destined to be the last Immortal and win the Prize?" "Perhaps. And perhaps your destiny is like mine, to aid those who may be the last. To rid the world of evil and to insure the Prize does _not_ fall into the wrong hands, like those of the Kurgan or VonHoffer." At the mention of VonHoffer's name, Patrick inhaled sharply. He said, "VonHoffer and I have a score to settle." "Ah, yes. That hidden shrine of the Old Religion. Brother, I hope you haven't renounced Christianity completely for that." "No, Brother, I haven't. I realized long ago that it was men who are responsible for such atrocities, not God. And yes, I have met several holy men who _aren't_ like Cardinal VonHoffer who have restored _that_ part of my faith. Katherine, my wife who died from the Black Death, also helped me in that respect. When I told her, I was afraid that she'd accuse me of witchcraft, like so many others had. Instead she told me that God must have great things planned for me, and that I was specially blessed." "Good," Ramirez said. Then he returned to the subject at hand. He said, "My point was that without seeing and immersing yourself in something other than our European culture, a barrier stands between the man you are and the man you can become. The Orient was a seductive culture for me, and when I was with Shikiko I was as happy as any man could be. I essentially became Japanese and nearly forgot where I was born. Yes, Irelander, somewhere east you will find what you seek. And perhaps you will find a weapon more suited to an eternal warrior than that clumsy hunk of Irish iron. If you do go as far east as Japan, seek out the sorcerer Nakano or the samurai Yoshihiro Ammamoto, or both. They are Immortal and will Teach you anything you need to learn." "But, Brother..." "Come now," Ramirez said. "You and I both know that I cannot Teach you everything. Nakano and Ammamoto are both honorable men and powerful Immortals." "And..." Patrick had difficulty putting his next question into words. "What you said about forgetting where you were born... 'tis a frightening prospect to completely become someone else. Will that happen to me?" Ramirez laughed and said, "I certainly hope so! If you find yourself forgetting your heritage, let it happen, don't fight it. When the time is right, not a moment before, you will become the Irelander again. My friend, you _need_ this." Patrick nodded. Patrick packed few rations. Ramirez told him that he would eventually adapt to the culture he would settle in, and the less clothing he would take, the earlier he would adopt another style of dress, and the sooner he would become part of the new culture. He left the castle privately, and Ramirez would tell the King that other matters demanded his son's attention. Eventually, they would forget about Miguel-Jose Ramirez, the red-headed Spaniard. Patrick thought back on their parting words, spoken on the plain outside the castle where Ramirez had ridden out with him. "I, too, am going to leave this place in a short number of years. My never-ending quest for the one who will defeat the Kurgan is taking me back to the Highlands of Scotland." "Until we meet again, then, Old Teacher," Patrick said. Ramirez was silent. "Brother..." Patrick said. "Patrick," the gravity of what Ramirez was about to say was emphisised by Ramirez's use of Patrick's first name. "When you return to Europe, if you find that someone has taken my head, find the one who has my sword. If a mortal has it, buy it from him, whatever the cost. If an Immortal has it and you feel he is unworthy, take it from him, for I would rather you had it. And if a worthy Immortal has it, well... when you come back I think you'll be highly attuned to honor and honorable men." "Teacher..." But Ramirez would not let Patrick finish. He said, "Live, Irelander. Grow stronger. Fight another day." Then he turned his horse around, and with a loud "YA!!" galloped back towards the castle. Patrick watched his Teacher for as long as he could see him, and watched the spot where his horse had finally disappeared into the castle. He could not shake the feeling that this was the last time he would ever see him, and that his Old Teacher knew that when Patrick returned from the Orient, he himself would be dust. Patrick couldn't help it. He let the tears flow. Then he pointed his horse towards the rising sun and rode east. GUANGZHOU, GUANGDONG PROVINCE, CHINA, APRIL - SEPTEMBER, 1534 Patrick looked around him, still not believing he was here. The past three years were difficult, but also interesting. He had found out in short order that if he intended on getting to the Orient the best way was via a Portuguese merchant ship. So he had turned his horse around and headed west. He had signed on with a merchant who had already taken several trips both overland and via ship. He was fluent in the Chinese dialect of the Guangdong Province and taught it to Patrick. Patrick took to the language slowly at first, but by the end of the first year of their trip, was taking to it like a fish to water. By the end of the last year, Patrick could converse in fluent, though heavily accented, Chinese. The merchant captain did not know why Patrick wanted to remain in China and he did not argue with him. Once their cargo was unloaded and their new cargo loaded into the hold, they shook hands and Patrick walked off of the pier and into the city. What _am_ I doing here? he thought. Searching for something, that's for sure. But what? So he wandered for several days, familiarizing himself with the people, their language, and customs. Several times he had seen the elegantly dressed Chinese merchant who had done a great deal of trading with the Portuguese merchant. One evening as he was returning to his inn, Patrick heard a commotion in a nearby alleyway. Drawing his sword, he ran towards the noise and saw the Chinese merchant facing two ruffians. Terrific, Patrick thought, I come all this way to immerse myself in a completely different culture only to discover that crime is universal. "Give it _all_ to us," one of the first ruffians said. "Please," the merchant said. "it is all I have." The second ruffian laughed and said, "We _know_ you can afford it. You are one of the richest men in the city." Rich or not, no one deserved to be robbed, especially unarmed. Patrick struck the first ruffian on the head with the pommel of his sword, then punched the second one in the stomach. As he was dispatching the second ruffian, the first snuk up behind him with a dagger and stabbed Patrick in the back through the heart. They ran off, leaving Patrick and the merchant alone in the alleyway. As Patrick sank to the ground he thought, terrific. I've only been here a week and already someone saw me die. Already it's time to move on... He awoke to the sight of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was small and slender, almost like a wisp of smoke. She looked at Patrick with beautiful, worried eyes and brushed her long, dark, silky hair away from her face, a face that was absolute perfection. She turned and said something that Patrick didn't understand. Then, as he grew more conscious, he remembered his Chinese. The merchant walked into the room and looked at Patrick, then at the girl, and said, "He was all but dead." "He _was_ dead, father," she said. "He stopped breathing, then suddenly, not long after, he inhaled deeply and his eyes snapped open." "It has happened before. The heart stops for a few moments," he leaned over and tore Patrick's shirt open, then stood, shocked. "There's no wound!" he said. Speaking directly to Patrick, he said, "What did you do? What manner of man are you?" Patrick sat up in the large bed, taking full stock of where he was. He said, "I thank you for taking me in, but I will be moving on." "Nonsense," the merchant said. "You rescued me. No doubt those men would have killed me. You are a welcome guest in my house, but you must tell me how you managed this. Such a skill would be a valuable commodity. Perhaps it could be taught." In other circumstances, Patrick would have laughed at the man. But the girl's gaze, trusting and innocent, made Patrick stop. And there was nothing for it but to tell them the truth. All of it. He said, "It cannot be bought or sold. My name is Patrick O'Brien. I was born in County Cork, Ireland in the year 1157, and I cannot die." The trader looked at Patrick for a long time before replying. Then he said, "You are truly three and three quarter centuries old?" "Aye." "And this... magic. How was it given to you?" Strangely, Patrick found himself opening up to the two of them. He told them of the battle at his village where he was impaled through the back, accusations of witchcraft and changelings, Ramirez, Gwenna, Rebecca, the Game, and loved ones aging and dieing. "So you see," he said, "it's not something that can be learned. If I could just be a mortal human being I would in a second." The trader stood there, silent. His daughter had tears in her eyes. Then the trader said, "You are, of course, free to go. But you are new in Guangzhou, I think. And I also think you are new to China. Stay with us a few days before you move on." But it was a full two months that Patrick spent with the Chinese merchant and his daughter. They lived in a large house and Patrick found a "favorite place" where he would stand and think, or not think. It was a balcony overlooking the courtyard. These were good people. The trader had introduced himself as Hejan Shu, his daughter as Hejan Yi. He also had two other daughters who had married into powerful allied merchant families, and in fact Yi herself, who had just turned twenty-three, had been married and had a two year old daughter. Her husband and Shu's only son had died in a shipwreck three months before Yi's daughter was born. And it was towards Yi, who he had spent much of his time with, that his thoughts continually returned to. She was beautiful, and delicate, like a flower. He was attracted to her, he may as well admit it, and had been since he opened his eyes and saw her standing over him. And while he was admitting things to himself, he may as well admit something that he had been reluctant to even think about. He had fallen in love with Yi, and he was not even sure if the feeling was mutual. The Chinese were hard to read in matters of love. And then there were Ramirez's words, spoken to him nearly four centuries ago. "In my two thousand and eighty-three years," Ramirez had said, "I have been married three times. The last was Shikiko, a Japanese Princess. We were married and lived together nearly six hundred years before Christ. Her death shattered me and I became a shell of a man and vowed never to marry or pledge my life to any woman again. I advise you to do the same. Are you willing to watch your Gwenna grow old and die while you remain forever unchanging?" "Patrick?" Patrick turned around and saw Yi standing behind him. "Yi," he said. Yi said, "My father asked me to ask you if you would be willing to join his household as one of his aides." "Tell him that I am honored, but I would'nt fit in here." "He knew you would say that and said that this is nonsense. There are ways of _making_ you fit in. He said that the square peg can be reshaped to fit into the round hole. He also would like you to know also that an unkillable man is very valuable to him and his household, and could earn much." Patrick smiled and said, "Yes, I guess so. But if I am to be one of his aides that means I have to deal with other businessmen. I imagine they wouldn't take to kindly to making deals with an Irelander rather than a Chinaman, no matter how much reshaping is done to the square peg." Yi smiled and said, "If you accept his offer, my father had an idea about that. And, though I have not told him this, you _did_ tell me that you came to China to do just that." Patrick said, "Yes. It was my intention to immerse myself in your culture and make it my own, but..." He turned away from Yi and fell silent. Yi pressed on. "But what?" she said. "Your culture is so _different_ from mine. I don't think I ever could fit in. No, Yi, it's time that I left and returned to my home." "But _this_ could be your home, Patrick. You've only given yourself two months." Yi looked Patrick up and down with eyes that both pleaded and took in his scruffy clothing, shoulder length curly unkempt red hair, and scraggly beard. "See what my father has planned before you make your decision." Patrick couldn't argue with the logic of the situation. He wasn't even wearing Chinese clothing yet, and was set to leave because he would never "fit in" before he even _really_ tried. It was obvious what Yi was up to, she was sincerely trying to help. He looked deep into Yi's eyes and at that moment would do anything she asked. He smiled and said, "Then I accept Hejan Shu's generous offer." Yi smiled back and said, "Do you trust me, then?" Patrick said, "Instinctively." Yi took his hand and said, "This way, then." Patrick next found himself standing in front of the house's beautitian, a plump older woman of about fifty or sixty years. She looked Patrick up and down and said, "He resembles a dog more than a man." She took several measurements and said something to her assistant too fast for him to understand. Then she told Patrick to sit. She grabbed his hair in her fist and said, "This will have to go, first of all." Then she looked, took out a strand and sliced the rest off with shears, letting the hair fall onto the floor. She looked at Yi and said, "There is, of course, nothing that can be done about the ugly color, however if we grease it and comb it back it will resemble the proper color." "I'll have you know that this is a very attractive color where I come from!" Patrick said. "No wonder," the beautitian said, "you are barbarians." Patrick was about to say something, but saw Yi laughing and smiled back at her. When the beautitian had finished, Patrick's hair was cropped to his head and slicked back, with a braided tail that reached down to its former length. She had shaved his beard, leaving a short, waxed mustache, and had scrubbed his face and underneath his fingernails. She had dressed him in a silk shirt and slacks woven with intricate dragon designs, and comfortable slippers. "I feel like a newborn baby," Patrick said, looking in the mirror. "All silky and too clean." "You look wonderful," Yi said, smiling. "It is possible to be comfortable in something _other_ than smelly wool. Patrick..." Patrick looked at Yi, questioningly. "It seems strange, now, calling you by your European name when you look like that," she said. "Promise me something." "Anything," Patrick said. "Promise me that whatever requirement my father makes of you, you will honor it." Patrick looked at Yi, somewhat startled and said, "What do you mean?" "Just that... my father has given you clothing, a place to call home, and will soon give you a position many people in this Province would beg for. But he is going to ask you for something in return, and saving his money when your life was never in danger is not enough. He is going to ask one thing of you. Please, Patrick, promise me you'll honor it." Patrick was filled with a sense of foreboding. He said, "Is it that terrible that I would refuse?" Yi laughed nervously and said, "No, nothing terrible... I hope. In fact, eventually you may find it pleasant." Patrick sighed and said, "Very well, I will honor your father's request. Let's go find him." Hejan Shu looked the new Patrick up and down with approval. He said, "Now you look civilized enough to become part of my household and family. You will be my head of security. You fight well, if a bit rough, and can insure that my wares and caravans do not get raided." "I am honored," Patrick said. "And Yi said you would ask something of me. Ask it and on my honor I will do my best to oblige you." "Very well," Shu said. "To make your position and status official, and to insure that all follow you, you will take my daughter Yi as your wife." "Of course... WHAT?!" "Come, Irelander," Shu said. "No one will question your orders as my son-in-law, and you cannot have children, so there will be no half-bred heirs. You have no other woman in Europe, and that other Immortal Rebecca, you told us you hadn't seen her in fifty years. It is a father's duty to find a suitable husband for all his daughters, even his youngest." "This is crazy," Patrick said. "Yi and I have become friends..." "Every successful marriage is based upon friendship," Shu interrupted. "...but she doesn't love me!" Patrick completed "Have you asked her?" Startled, Patrick looked at Yi who was blushing. She said, "Please, Patrick, do not be angry with me for being so forward, but this was my idea. I fell in love with you that first day you came here." "_Forward_?" Patrick said. "Yi, I..." "It makes sence," Yi said, nervously. "you will become an undisputed member of our family, and part of our culture, and I promise you I'll be a _humble_ wife, one you could learn to love as time went on. One you could learn to love as... as much as she already loves you." "Yi... why didn't you tell me how you felt about me?" "Because... because I didn't think you..." Then she looked at Patrick and said, "You don't _know_ why?" "Where I'm from, Yi, a man and a woman tell eachother how they feel. Usually followed by a trip to the nearest barn for a quick one." Yi blushed and Shu laughed. Patrick continued. He said, "When a woman doesn't give even a hint as to how she feels, usually that tells the man that he's wasting his time, no matter how much he may love her." "Here it is different," Yi said. It suddenly dawned on Yi what Patrick was saying. She said, "You mean you..." her eyes filled with tears. "Almost from the moment I saw you." Yi couldn't contain her tears any longer. Patrick took her in his arms and embraced her. Shu said, "It is settled, then. You will marry on the equinox." The wedding was small. Shu had only invited his closest friends, as this was Yi's second marriage. Before the ceremony, Patrick had taken Shu aside and said, "Yi and I have discussed this. If you intend on having me as an aide, then I should take a Chinese name." Shu nodded and said, "I do not think that is the only reason." Patrick shook his head and said, "No. Ever since Yi and I became betrothed I have felt less and less European and more and more Chinese. I feel that before long I will all but forget that I _wasn't_ born here." "This frightens you?" Shu said. "When I realized it recently it did, certainly. Then I remembered some things that my Teacher had said about how he had felt when he was in Japan long ago. Once I remembered those words it no longer frightened me, and I invited it. So, father-in-law, I would be honored if you would give me a name more fitting to what I am becoming." Shu smiled and said, "Somehow, son-in-law, I knew we would have this conversation this day. From this day forward, while you are wed to Yi and beyond if you should choose, you will be a member of the Hejan family. And I give you the name Sheng, after my lost son." Patrick, now Sheng, looked at the sleeping girl next to him, his wife. It suddenly occurred to him that he was following in his Teacher's footsteps, coming to the Orient, meeting a powerful man, and marrying his daughter. All that needed to happen, he thought smiling, was for Shu to give him a sword. Yi, like Shikiko, was truly one of a kind. And he realized that quietly, yet quickly, what he had thought in June would never happen, had indeed happened. His transformation had occurred, mostly without himself being aware of it at all, and, now with him wedded to a girl he loved more than anyone he had known in nearly four centuries, was complete. He had thought back to what Shu had said at the wedding to one of the guests who remarked on how completely Patrick O'Brien had become Hejan Sheng. Shu had said, "I would have never allowed my daughter to marry a European. Whatever the exterior, my son-in-law has a Chinese soul. He merely did not realize it." Yes, Sheng's transformation was complete. Patrick O'Brien was no more. And he couldn't be happier. <> (c) 1995, Mabnesswords Ok, so I whimped out and didn't write a wedding ceremony I had no clue about. Oh well... comments to mikeb@usa1.com =========================================================================