Date: Sat, 21 Jan 1995 22:01:35 -0500 Reply-To: mikester@BIX.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: THE CHANGELING - PART V IRELAND, COUNTY CORK, MAY 1181 It was morning. They were two days away from the Pagan shrine, in a wide clearing, framed with trees, when both Patrick and Ramirez felt the Buzz. "He's here!" Patrick said. "I can _feel_ him!" The other Immortal caught up with them, then. He looked Roman, from the sight of him, although Patrick had never seen a Roman. He had close-cropped brown hair, a long nose, and an olive complexion. Ramirez dismounted. "I am Marcus Visillius," the other Immortal said, "from Napoli." Ramirez told the other Immortal his current name and said, "Have you come for me?" "No," Visillius said, "the boy." "He's not ready, Visillius," Ramirez said. "Why slaughter a cub?" "Because they're easy prey. Now stand aside, Ramirez." "I think not. If you want the boy, you have to take _my_ head first." Ramirez unsheathed his Oriental blade and pointed it at Visillius' neck. Visillius gulped and knew that it was lost. But something in his mind told him that he _should_ fight the great Ramirez. The amount of Quickening in that body would be tremendous. And perhaps then Visillius would be strong enough to face _seasoned_ Immortals for a change. He unsheathed his sword and said, "Very well Ramirez. Do something about the girl. Our Game is not for mortal eyes. But the boy stays." Ramirez turned to Patrick and said, "Give your sword to Gwenna." Patrick did so. Then Ramirez turned to Gwenna and said, "Ride hard in the direction we were traveling for a quarter-hour. Then stop. There is a small clearing with several stones in it. Wait there until we return. If we're not back by noon, keep going in the direction we've been traveling and find the shrine. You'll be safe there." Gwenna nodded and rode off. "Now Marcus Visillius," Ramirez said and attacked. To say that the fight was unfair would have been an understatement. Ramirez outmatched Visillius by so much that Visillius had broken a sweat a mere minute into the fight. Ramirez effortlessly cut, parried and finally enveloped Visillius' blade and sent it flying away from him. Aiming his blade along his arm, Ramirez cut... Visillius' head came away from his body. His head rolled in Patrick's direction and the dead, empty eyes stared up at him. Patrick shivered. Then he looked at the body. It _glowed_. Pure light pored out of Visillius' body and inched its way towards Ramirez and enveloped him. It danced, crackled against trees, exploded upon the ground. And Ramirez screamed in either pain or delight. Patrick could not tell which, but he knew that he must get him away from there. He walked over and attempted to grab Ramirez's arm. And the energy leapt out and struck Patrick, sending him flying several yards away. And still Ramirez screamed. When it was over, Ramirez collapsed onto his knees and pitched face forward onto the ground. Patrick had recovered and walked over to his Teacher, a bit fearful. Ramirez sat up, none the worse for wear and said, "_That_ was the Quickening." "It was..." but Patrick was at a loss for words. "Terrible? That it is. But it is also wonderful. And no one knows why, but you can never interfere with the transfer of Quickening, as you have found out. Some day you too will drink of the Quickening." They found Gwenna just where Ramirez told her to go. The clearing was peaceful. Patrick knew not how, but he knew what it was. "This is Holy Ground, isn't it?" he said. "Yes," Ramirez said, "It is. This used to be a small Pagan shrine until the Christians came. There are dozens of them all over the island. We will rest here a while before we continue towards our destination. Gwenna, I have a friend in a village close to the shrine who said she'll take you in as a nanny to her children. We will separate there for a few months and return to you at the end of the summer." BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES, JANUARY 1995 Patrick felt the Buzz coming from the young-looking man standing at the opposite end of the bridge. He said, "I am James Thomas Riley, of New York, born in 1675." "Patrick O'Brien of County Cork, Ireland." "Yes, and you were born in 1156." Riley said. "Have you come for me?" Patrick said. "Eventually. But I was hoping you'd bring along that lovely student of yours. It is _her_ head I seek first." "Oh, yes," Patrick said. "That old strategy. Take the head of the Student to enrage the Teacher into making mistakes. It's been done before, Riley. By Immortals who don't have the skill to take heads on an even playing field. They have to tip the scales in their favor. I'm not even going to bother with you. You're not worth the time. But if you're still set on taking Nancy's head, you'll have to take mine first." Patrick turned around and headed back home. "Who was he?" Nancy said. "A coward," Patrick said. "There are Immortals who seek young ones out for the easy kill, and there are others who seek young ones out to soften up what they call "seasoned" Immortals. The one Ramirez faced when he was training me was one of the first type. He had no interest in killing Ramirez, he just wanted my head for the easy Quickening. James Thomas Riley is one of the later, and more dangerous type." "You mean... he wants you?" "Technically he wants both of us, but he wants _me_ primarily. His interest in you is merely to flush me out. I told him he's not worth my trouble, and he's not. But he'll keep coming. I'll take an extended leave from school until he's gone." They met Connor MacLeod for dinner that night. Nancy hadn't had Italian for a long time, so they met in a small restaurant in the North End. Patrick and Connor had both dressed in suits and Nancy was in a lovely blue dress that Patrick had bought for her earlier that day. She had hidden her own Katana somewhere in her coat. How she did it, she didn't know. "Weren't you a blond when I saw you yesterday?" Connor said, smiling. Nancy laughed and said, "It's my new persona." Patrick said to the host, "Table for three, reservations under O'Brien." "Right this way, sirs, miss. May I take your coats?" "We'll hold on to them," all three said in unison, before breaking into laughter. Patrick and Nancy sat next to eachother, and Connor sat across from them. They removed their coats and piled them (and the three samurais) on the seat next to Connor. They ordered drinks (since Nancy had her old drivers license, she could still drink), and the meal. Patrick and Connor exchanged stories of the centuries they've known eachother. At one point, Nancy grew melancholy and said, "I wish _I_ had been born a few centuries ago. I have no memories. No shared stories." "But you have something," Connor said, "that neither one of us have. Newness. Everything will be a new experience for you. I envy you." "I suppose," Nancy said. Half-way through the meal, the subject of the conversation turned. "Connor, do you have a spare combat-Katana?" "I have a few, why?" "Nancy needs one. I only have one spare, and it's my practice blade. She's carrying it now. More for defense than anything else." "You have several combat-worthy blades in your collection, Patrick." "But not many samurais. I've only been able to acquire three in my entire life. One's my main blade, one I gave to Sam. You remember Sam? And the other is my practice blade. Nancy sparred with the practice blade and her form improved tremendously." "Ok, I'm returning to New York tomorrow. Why don't you come next week-end. I have three spare combat blades. Nancy can choose which one she feels most comftorable with." Nancy said, "Who's Sam?" "Samuel Leonard. He was my last Student. I met him in London in 1886." "Is he still alive?" she said. "Yes. Maybe you'll meet him someday." Throughout that week, Nancy and Patrick trained with the Katanas. Each day Nancy's form was improving, a little at a time. But Patrick dreaded going back to school and leaving her alone. They had grown extremely close that week, and Patrick had grown protective, perhaps overprotective, of her. He was also beginning to think that it was time to leave Harvard. He had felt that he was overstaying his welcome for quite some time now, a fact that wasn't helped by colleges remarking on how little grey was in his hair, how much hair he had, or how few wrinkles he had. He broached the subject to Nancy in the airport as they were waiting for the shuttle to take them to New York. "Nancy, I think it's time I left the school," he said. "Why? Because of me?" she said. "Partly. Also because I've been there ten years now and haven't gone grey or bald. People are beginning to wonder." "At _least_ finish out the semester." "I can't, Nancy. I can't teach and worry about you at the same time. We'll find something to do together. You said I was the only family you have. Well, you're _my_ family now." Tears welled in Nancy's eyes and she took her Mentor's hand. She kissed him tenderly on the cheek and said, "Thank you. I needed to hear that." IRELAND, COUNTY CORK, MAY 1181 It was smaller than Patrick had expected. It was simply a glade with the stone piles similar to the one in the ruined shrine. Small huts surrounded the shrine. Men, women, children, and animals wandered this way and that, until the two Immortal men on horses were spotted. Ramirez dismounted and urged Patrick to do the same. A tall, slender woman with bright red hair and deep blue eyes approached them and Patrick immediately felt the Buzz from her. She said, "May the Mother smile on you this day," then called Ramirez a name Patrick had never heard before. "May She smile upon you this day as well," Ramirez countered. "This is Patrick O'Brien. I believe I mentioned him when last we met, Priestess." "May the Mother smile on you, Patrick O'Braoin," she gave his name the old pronunciation, "Oh-BREEN." Patrick didn't know what to do. His Christian upbringing was screaming at him to turn and run away from this place, away from Ramirez. But his Immortality was telling him that this _was_ necessary to his education, training, and acceptance of himself. He heard himself saying, "May She smile upon you this day as well." The Priestess smiled and led them towards the small village. "Welcome back, Ramirez," the Priestess said, using his current name. "It's been a long time." "Too long, Aiofe," Ramirez said, pronouncing her name "EE-va". Suddenly Aiofe, turned to Patrick and stared into his eyes. She held his gaze for a long time. Finally she let him go and said, "This one has Potential." "I know," Ramirez said. "That is why I brought him here." She turned to Patrick and said, "O'Braion, what you will see this summer you have never seen before. I want you to gaze upon us and our way of life with open eyes, the eyes of an Immortal. Gaze upon the faith of your grandfather." "I was proud of you today, Brother," Ramirez said that night in the hut they were sharing. "I recently attempted to train a Christian Immortal in Europe, and when I tried to introduce him to other Faiths, as I just did with you, he jumped on his horse and rode away. I never saw him again." "I wanted to," Patrick said, "but something told me to stay. I still don't know why." "Have you seen _anything_ evil about these people?" Ramirez said. "Have you seen any proof to the stories the Christian Hierarchy tells you? Are they sacrificing children and eating their hearts?" Patrick was forced to admit, "No." "Are they cruel people?" "No." "Are they people just like the people of your village?" "Yes," Patrick said, sheepishly. "Well then. What are you afraid of?" "Their goddess! I know I can't die, but I'll be burned just the same if I'm ever found here! And... and heretics go directly to Hell when they die. If someone takes my head, I'll go to Hell because I was here! I know I'll never be able to ever pray to a Mother. Pray to a false god." "But is this," Ramirez waved an arm, taking in the entire settlement, "so different from the faith you were raised in? Come now, O'Brien. You have a Father and Son in your faith. Why can it not be extended to include a Mother? For what _is_ a family?" "But there are _three_. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." But Ramirez shook his head and laughed fondly. "Remember what Aoife said. You must open your mind, Brother. Look not with the eyes of Patrick O'Brien, Irelander, but with the eyes of Patrick O'Brien, Immortal." Patrick was silent for a long moment while he contemplated this shaking up of his most fundamental beliefs. But then he said, "The Father, Son, Holy Ghost, and the Mother these people worship, and all the Old Ghods, the sky, the earth, the forests, all the wildlife, the people, even you and I are all part of the same thing. All part of one Higher Power." Ramirez nodded, solemnly and said, "Yes. _Everything_ is part of the Quickening. And that, Brother, is _your_ beginning of Wisdom." <<>> (c) 1995 Mabnesswords Mike Breen e-mail me with comments. mikester@bix.com =========================================================================