Date: Sat, 21 Jan 1995 18:11:29 -0500 Reply-To: mikester@BIX.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: THE CHANGELING - PART IV Well, this batch took a bit longer to finish than Parts 1 through 3. But here's the first of four posts that'll bring this story up to part 7. There's a bit o' violence here. You have been warned. 8) Also, Minor Disclaimer: The Pagan religion in Ireland that appears in this story isn't based on any particular faith aside from a few snippets I came across during my research and the "Old Religions" that crop up in pretty much every Celtic fantasy novel. Hope you'll excuse my minor tossing of history out the window in favor of the story. 8) IRELAND, COUNTY CORK, MAY 1181 Spring was in full bloom just then, and the whole island was green and growing. At night, Patrick O'Brien sometimes secretly thought that it had all been a dream, dying and being accused of witchcraft and being a changeling. But then he would spy Ramirez by the fire, so far away from his home village, and realize that he could not even _hope_ such things. And this night, Ramirez noticed his Student's scrutiny. "Join me by the fire, O'Brien." Patrick disentangled himself from the sleeping Gwenna and joined his Mentor. "This is not a curse, Brother," Ramirez said. Nor is it the devil's work. Simply accept the fact that you cannot die." "But all my life," Patrick said, "I've heard tales of the Fairie Folk, and of elves who leave their babies with humans." Ramirez nodded and said, "Yes, Changelings." "And my father told me that I was a foundling. What other story fits?" "I'm not saying that the Changeling legends, or elves and Fairie Folk don't have some basis in truth..." But Patrick pressed on, "And the Church says that these creatures are the Devil's spawn." Ramirez struck Patrick across the face and, though he did not raise his voice said with enough force to send a shiver down Patrick's spine, "Do not interrupt me ever again, young whelp." Patrick stared at Ramirez, silently. Ramirez continued, "These legends have a basis in the truth. Before the Church came to these lands, we could live openly. We did not have to disguise our Immortality, though the mortals knew nothing of the Game. In fact, if you were born a few centuries ago, someone like Donal would have welcomed the existence of a new Immortal, and you would not have had to leave home. But when the Church came, they had a strict doctrine, and anything that strayed out of it was deemed the work of the Devil. I know you must be thinking that I speak blasphemy, but you must learn to accept what the Church teaches you about the Higher Power, hold _that_ and what the Church stands for in reverence, and decide for yourself what's the Devil's work and what's not. You may speak now." But Patrick did not. The simple wisdom that radiated from Ramirez's statement about the dogma of the Church was unavoidable. As unavoidable as his own Immortality was. He finally said, "It will take me a while to fully accept what has happened." "The Old Ways are not so dead on this Island as the Church would have us believe, O'Brien," Ramirez said. "That is where we are headed." "Towards Pa... PAGANS?" "Yes. We are a fortnight away from them. And Gwenna will stay in the nearest village. She does not have to see what we will do, in fact, 'tis better that she not see, nor know. _She_ is most mortal, and would come under the scrutiny of the Church if she accompanied us." "But why? Why go to those..." "Because of what I just said. You must learn about the Higher Power in order to fully accept your Immortality. And the Church doesn't teach you everything. It can't. It's not infallible. Neither is the Pagan church. _No_ Faith is. But with each faith, you are exposed to a corner of the total Truth. _You_ also need to be with people who will not persecute you but welcome you because of your Gift. Besides, I think that perhaps you should spend some time on Holy Ground." "Holy Ground? But I thought that only land consecrated by the Church was Holy Ground." "There you're mistaken again, Brother," Ramirez said. "Holy Ground is wherever people gather together to perform the rituals of their Faith. As to why you should spend time there, I think it's past time I told you of the Game. "Our destiny is to do battle with eachother throughout the centuries. And when only a few remain, we will feel an irresistible pull towards a far-away land. This will be the time of the Gathering, when the few who remain will fight for the Prize." "What is this Prize?" Patrick said. "No one knows for sure, really. But in it's most basic terms, it is the power of all the Immortals who have ever lived. When two of us fight, it is to the death. The only way you can be killed is if your head comes away from your neck, and to the victor goes the Quickening. "The Quickening, to keep it simple for now, is all the power of the Immortal that was killed, and all the Immortals the vanquished has killed. And the Prize is enough power to rule this planet. Forever. If an evil one of us wins the Prize, mankind would suffer an eternity of darkness from which it will never recover. "Like any game, ours has Rules. The two most important of these are, no two Immortals can fight a single Immortal, and the most important, we must _never_ fight on Holy Ground. It's the only place you're safe. None of us will violate that law." "But why?" "It's Tradition. As for why you must spend some time on Holy Ground, I've been reluctant to tell you. There are Immortals who prey on young ones, because they're an easy kill. And one of those has been following us for a week now. I must protect you until you're ready to fight on your own, but I cannot train you until I kill this man." "You can beat him, can't you?" "Of course! He is no match for me. He has not fought a seasoned Immortal for at least a century. As soon as you are safely on Holy Ground, I will turn 'round and fight this man. Then I will return and join you in your studies." BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES, JANUARY 1995 Patrick led Nancy into his study and said, "There's something I have to show you. Look at this." He took out several pieces of paper and handed them to Nancy. "This first one, I couldn't believe our luck." It was a birth certificate for a Nancy Peters who was born in 1977, four years after her. The other one was a death certificate for herself. The third was a will on a single sheet of paper that merely named Patrick as executor of her estate and left all her possessions to "My younger cousin, Nancy Peters, who is the ward of Patrick O'Brien," and gave the details found on the birth certificate. The forth was a certificate that named the younger Nancy Peters the ward of Patrick O'Brien, an arrangement that had begun when she was fifteen. "Patrick, what..." "It means you can keep your name. I couldn't believe it when I found a birth certificate for another Nancy Peters who died at birth." Nancy sighed with relief. "I didn't want to have to become someone else. How did you get a will and my death certificate? I wasn't in the hospital." "A little computer forgery done from my office," Patrick said. "By the way, you were going to school out-of-state and are planning to settle with me after we sort out the older Nancy's possessions. But look at it this way, you're eighteen again. I think that you should die your hair, though." "Huh? Why?" "Because you're gonna have to claim your things. What will your roommate do when you walk in? Died hair can throw people just enough to make them not recognize you." "Hi," Nancy said to her old dorm monitor, the next day. "I'm Nancy Peters, and I was mentioned in my cousin's will." "Yes, we heard you were coming for her things," she stepped back and studied her. "You're the spitting image of her, except for the brown hair." "Yes, we were often told that we almost looked like twins." Patrick admired how she was handling it. There was the potential for her to either burst out laughing or burst into tears. Nancy did neither. "Of course, this way. Will you be accompanying us, Doctor O'Brien?" "Yes," Patrick said. Eventually Nancy packed all her things, being helped, actually, by her old roommate who had seen her die. The movers Patrick hired took away her desk and bed, which they would put into storage. Her roommate looked at Nancy and said, "Could I have this CD? She always loved it, and I want at least a little something to remember her by." The CD was "Lolita Nation" by Game Theory. Nancy glanced at Patrick who nodded impreceptively. She said, "Of course." "Do you realize that CD is out of print?" Nancy said in the car on the way to the storage warehouse. "I have it. Besides it's being re-issued soon," Patrick said. Nancy burst out laughing. "That was _amazing_! Died hair and the old 'Patty Duke identical cousin' ploy." Nancy took over the guest room, moving her stereo, TV, and clothes in. There was already a bed and desk that she had "adopted." Patrick helped her unpack. It was then that the feelings she had for him made sense. It _was_ love she felt for him, but it wasn't love between man and woman. It was love between family members. She hadn't had any family for two years now, and Patrick seemed to have taken on the mantle of guardian/father/teacher. Patrick noticed her scrutiny and said, "What?" "Nothing. I was just thinking how lucky I was for you to have found me. You're the only family I've got now." "Thanks, Nancy. That means a lot to me." The next day Nancy's training began. It would have to work swifter than Ramirez's training since there wasn't any Holy Ground around that she could conceivably spend an entire summer on. Patrick spend most of the time sparring with her. The first time Nancy had a less than illustrious showing. They were on the mat, Patrick with his practice Katana and Nancy with the European blade he had given her that first night. The sword was out of her hand before she could even mount a defense, and she was on the mat, flat on her back. "That wasn't _fair_!" she said. "Is that what you're planning on saying when your disarmed and someone gets ready to take your head?" Patrick helped her up. "Nancy, you _have_ to know what your up against here. Most of us have been at this longer than you've been alive." But Patrick did hold back after that, studying her form, her technique. She _was_ good, just not good enough yet. But there was no doubt in Patrick's mind that when her training was done, she'd be a fine swordswoman. Patrick handed her his practice Katana and said, "Swing that a few times." She did and said, "This is amazing! It feels like..." "Part of your arm?" "Yes. I've always wanted to use a samurai." Patrick retrieved his main Katana and said, "Let's try again. I think I may have made a mistake giving you a European blade." They sparred again, and this time Nancy was more self-assured and confident with the Katana than she had been with the other blade. Patrick studied her form again, and when the sparring match was done said, "That's enough for today. You'll carry that sword until we can get you your own Katana." When they broke for lunch, Patrick asked her, "Do you know any Martial Arts?" "I studied Karate for a few years," she said. Patrick smiled and said, "Damn! Did you know this was going to happen to you?" Nancy giggled and drank her fruit juice. The phone rang, and Patrick got up and answered it. "Hello?" he said. "Lovely little cub you've taken in, O'Brien," the voice on the other end said. "Who's this?" "You'll find out soon enough. Meet me on the bridge in the Public Garden in ten minutes," he hung up. "What was that all about?" Nancy asked. "Nancy, I have to go out. If I'm not back in an hour, call Connor MacLeod at his hotel," he grabbed his Katana, put his overcoat on, and hid the sword underneath the coat. "Connor will take you in if anything happens to me. And _don't_ let anyone in." "Patrick..." But he had left. <<>> (c) 1995 Mabnesswords Mike Breen e-mail me with comments. mikester@bix.com =========================================================================