Disclaimers: Darius, Duncan, Amanda, Felicia, Kenny and the idea of the Immortals are regretfully not mine. Brianna, Marcus, Wendy, Dominic, Anastasia, Daria, Becca, Benji, the Cousins and the Blessing family are.
Paris, December 14, 1813
Darius bent over the chessboard, analyzing the possibilities for his next move. It wasn't very amusing playing against himself but he didn't have much of a choice. There were only two other monks who played chess and both were currently working in the scriptorium. Darius shivered as he moved the pieces. Truly, this was the coldest winter Paris had seen in...
Darius sat up in surprise as he felt the prickling behind his eyes that signaled the coming of an Immortal. Not surprising, since this was holy ground, but in the dead of winter it was likely that the Immortal was probably in dire circumstances and had nowhere else to go. Darius strode out of his room, down the hall, out the large double doors of the church and through the heavy drifts of snow towards the locked, iron-wrought gates.
He paused, looking for the source of the Quickening Buzz, not seeing anyone by the gate. Nervous, growing suspicious, he was about to turn back when he saw a small blue hand grasping the gate, almost concealed by the snow. He ran towards it, lifting his cassock to run faster, then kneeled at the gate. No, whomever this child was, he was not an Immortal yet, but another hour in this blizzard would change that. Darius opened the gate, and the child stirred. For a moment, giant eyes set in a starved, emaciated face looked at Darius in absolute terror. Then the child fainted, and Darius gathered him up in his arms, closed the gate and ran back to the church.
Darius poured warm water into a basin and quickly stripped the unconscious lad. He paused in surprise. This was no boy he was holding! But the growing insistence of the Buzz reminded him that this was not the time to be squeamish. He would have to work quickly if he hoped to save this child. Gently, Darius lowered the child into the warm water. He already had more warming in the fireplace for when this basin cooled, and was relieved to see the child's blue skin beginning to warm and turn a more natural color. He breathed a sigh of relief; hopefully the girl would live, if he could keep her blood running and warm. He began rubbing her starved and filthy match-stick limbs in the water, trying to get the circulation going.
He noted that though the girl was starved, she didn't have any worms or other parasites and diseases. This was surprising, considering the amount of lice and filth covering her tiny body. He began to notice details in her appearance: her thick, knotted black hair, her soft skin and well-formed body, good bones. He approximated her age at five or six, though it was hard to tell; she looked like a human skeleton. When the water had turned nearly black with filth and was starting to cool, he changed the water and began the process anew. It was hard to help her, because she was still unconscious. If he stopped propping up her head she would drown, and her limbs hung limp in the water. Somehow, though, he managed not only to clean and warm her, but also to get rid of the knots and lice in her hair.
Finally, when her skin began to glow pink, he lifted her out of the tub and dried her off, dressed her in a soft, worn shirt from the pile of spare clothing kept for supplicants to the church, and put her in his bed with as many layers of spare blankets and spare clothes as he could find.
Walking off to the little kitchen, he began to think. There was no way that he could keep the child here, not for long. Perhaps until the spring thaw, but a child growing to nubile womanhood with a monk would be viewed badly by outsiders. But he certainly could not send her back to the streets. There had to be some way he could protect her until she was old enough to defend herself and be taught her heritage...
He dropped that train of thought as he reached the kitchen, then looked around for nourishing food, which was scarce after the famine, frost, and taxes that plagued France. He filled a large bowl with soup, added a plate of hot potatoes, then placed a packet of herbs and moss in a pewter mug and filled it with hot water. There was no doubt that the cold would give the child fever and delirium, he might as well head the worst of it off now with medicine. Magnanimously, he added two 'delicacies' to the meal: some thin strips of dried meat for the soup and some goose grease for the potatoes. There was little bread left in Paris for him to give her -- despite the announcements after the Revolution that a new age of prosperity was upon them -- but he would not save this child from freezing only to watch her die of starvation and fever.
The next week passed in an endless struggle of feeding, soothing, holding and bathing the child, holding a basin for her when she threw up, carrying her to the chamber pot to relieve herself, and putting cold cloths on her forehead to bring the fever down. Darius welcomed the task. He could do little enough in these troubled times, especially when so many were executed or sent to die in the wars; but he could return this one child to health. He was not able to rest for one moment; the child was completely delirious, so hot and flushed he feared she would burn through the blankets. And in the back of his mind he could constantly feel her Quickening, waiting to awaken, reminding him just how close this tiny child was to death...and eternal life.
He was so close to her now that he could tell when she was about to fall into another delirium induced nightmare, and he felt sick as her cries revealed the horrors that grown men (and women) had forced her to join them in. The fever raged inside her, threatening to kill the delicate frame that seemed too small and helpless to fight it off. And yet she kept on fighting, and Darius could do no less.
Finally, after two weeks, the child's fever broke. As the girl opened her eyes, blurs of brown and gray slowly arranged themselves into the forms of a man in a brown dress leaning over her in a very plain stone room. "Don't be frightened, child," Darius murmured in accented English, "I am not going to harm you." He had discerned while she was delirious that she came from America, and figured her native tongue was best.
The child seemed to be having a hard time forming words. "W'har ye?" she whispered, looking up at Darius with enormous green eyes that seemed to see everything in his soul.
"I am Brother Darius," he answered, "I have been tending you while you were sick." He noted that she was getting edgier, and had a good idea why. She must be used to acts of kindness requiring some sort of payment in flesh, and wasn't looking forward to holding up her end of the bargain. Not for the first time, he cursed his looks; he may have the inner soul of a monk, but his pinched face was that of a warrior, cruel and decisive. He wished that there way some way to work his vows of chastity into the conversation without making her suspicious of its honesty, when she herself gave him the opportunity.
"Why're you wearing a dress?" she asked, her voice a little clearer.
"I am a monk," he answered, "and all monks wear cassocks like this one. A monk is a man who has sworn to help anyone in need and not to indulge in sex or pleasure." He could see that she was still a little dubious, but had relaxed for the most part. "What is your name, child?" he tried.
The girl looked wary. "Don' ha' one," she offered, watching him carefully.
"Would you like one?" Darius inquired. When she nodded, he began to think. "Joan?" She shook her head. "Emily?" She looked scared, and he thought that might be her real name, but filed it away in his mind without comment. "Heather?" It seemed like too soft a name for such a small fighter. Then he looked into her eyes, that twin eldritch fire, and a Gaelic word crept into his mind. "Brianna?"
"Bria..." the girl tried it out on her tongue, then smiled. "Brianna..." her eyes began to dull with exhaustion, and she slid back into unconsciousness.
Darius watched silently for a moment, then kissed her on the cheek. "Sleep well, Brianna," he whispered, "my daughter."
The next few weeks passed in a blur. Because most of Paris was snowed in, there was little to do besides pray and tend to Brianna, so Darius spent as much time doing the latter as the former would allow. Brianna started out wary and shy, but as the other monks proved to her that they would not harm her, she became more bold, exploring the rooms in the tiny church, running through the halls at top speed, and asking the visiting monks and supplicants questions, eager to learn anything and everything. Darius found to his delight that the child wasn't that bad at chess, once he taught her the basics, and saw each loss as an admonition to try harder next time. Despite a desire to, Darius never let her win, and had the feeling that she would have known and resented it if he had done so. He also began to teach her the rudiments of the French language, and a little bit of the alphabet. And then, one day, he decided to see how she would learn the hardest lesson of her life.
On a bright, snowy, January day, Darius took the child into his room and locked the door. He sat Brianna down on the bed, and picked up a small letter opener on the desk and sliced his palm with it. He held his bleeding hand before Brianna's eyes, forcing the whimpering child to look at it, then nodded at her gasp of amazement as the wound healed without a scratch. "Brianna, you need to understand this. I am Immortal, I have lived longer than you can possibly count. Nothing can kill me unless my head is cut off. And when you are grown up, you will be like this too."
Brianna turned his wrist over, carefully looking at it and running her fingers over the unblemished skin. "Just us?"
Darius had gotten used to her speaking in scraps rather than full sentences (though every day he tried to wean her away from it) and replied, "No, there are more who have this gift. It is called the Quickening. Remember when I told you about God? Well, God gave you this gift so that you could help others, because you can do things they can't without harming yourself. But some people use this gift to hurt, and they try to take our gift away from us by beheading us, to make themselves more powerful. But you are safe here, and anywhere that is holy. They cannot harm you in the church."
Brianna looked up at Darius quietly. "Will you protect me?"
"I will protect you until you are old enough to protect yourself," he promised, "But remember that if you choose a life of peace, helping people with your gift, you will never have to learn how, and you will never have to kill to survive. You could live without being afraid." He worried about that, especially since he couldn't keep her with him very long. He would have to find an Immortal woman in an abbey somewhere to protect and teach the child, it was more than inappropriate for a monk to live alone with a young girl. He explained this to Brianna, hoping she would understand, though he did not tell her the reason for it. She was too young to think of such things, despite her previous experiences.
Tears came into Brianna's eyes. "Don't you love me, Darius?" she whispered, "Why are you sending me away? I'm sorry I'm noisy, I'll be good, I..."
"Hush child, you've done nothing wrong. I won't send you away for a good long time. But when I do, it will be because I love you so much. I want the best for you."
Over time, Darius slowly taught Brianna to speak French and write both French and English, as well as enough of the rudiments of Latin to pray. He waited for those lessons to take hold before he pressed the child into further areas of study. He estimated her age to be five years and didn't want to push her further than she could manage. As a yardstick to measure her progress, he declared her birthday to be December 14th, the day he found her.
He taught her history as well, trying to make it into entertaining stories so that she would remember them and pay attention. However, he tried to make it clear to her that the wars that were fought never solved anything, that those who won them did so only by killing thousands, some warriors, mostly civilians who got in the way, and within a generation the battle had been fought again and most probably the other side had one this time. Still, he could not resist training her in strategy and advancing her training in chess, turning both into games that Bria quickly learned to appreciate.
Two years passed, while Brianna struggled to learn anything that was thrown at her. When the message came in June of 1815 stating that soldiers wounded at Waterloo needed men skilled in medicine to tend them and bring them home, Darius went with the group of monks who had the skill and fervor necessary. He took Brianna with him for various reasons, the main ones being that he wanted to make sure she was safe by keeping her with him and that he wanted to show her the costs of war and the necessity of charity. He wanted to show her early that war and fighting were not as glamorous as some would make them out to be, that in the end it came down to frightened boys a long way from home dying for an argument that would never really be resolved. And he wanted to show her how important it was to those boys that people help them when they were in pain.
On the journey, Brianna ate and slept with the monks. The other brothers were tolerant of this, knowing how much she meant to Darius, and understanding that a little girl was very little threat to their self-restraint, though they still criticized him privately. On the first day at the encampment, Darius instructed Brianna to fetch water and bandages for the brothers, leaving her to whomever needed her most at the moment. Meanwhile, Darius separated the dead from the wounded and dragged those who needed more than the last rites to the hospital tent.
As he walked through the carnage, he felt the pricking that signaled another Immortal, and prayed that he hadn't been supremely stupid in bringing Brianna here and letting her run around unattended. He was faced by a dark man with desperate eyes, a man torn apart by war and ready to snap at the slightest provocation. "I am Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod," the man addressed him, one hand flying to his sword belt.
"I'm Brother Darius," he said, "you don't need that." Darius watched the man absorb this, confused. This might be the first time he had ever met another of his kind without raising a challenge as a matter of course. In this, Duncan seemed rather innocent to Darius in a way. He fought because he was challenged, because it was expected. He probably didn't find great pleasure in it, or commit subterfuge to win. Darius felt a little better about having left Brianna to her own devices. Then Darius reached out a hand. "I have to help the others," he explained, "there will be time to talk later. If you wish to help, we can always use another set of hands." He began pulling one of Duncan's wounded comrades to the shelter of the tent, and Duncan followed him in a daze.
When the monks organized the soldiers to help their fellows, Darius was able to expend his energies the best way he knew how: in the hospital tent, using his herbs and mosses and teas to fight disease, stop the loss of blood, and try to prevent frostbite before his patients lost more fingers and toes. Duncan spent the night pulling his friends into the tent, only taking a few short breaks for a drink of water or a hastily gulped morsel. He made no comment about seeing a little girl running around in a tunic of unbleached linen, carrying water and stopping to talk to the soldiers. He figured it was better to save his questions for later.
Brianna, for her part, found working with the soldiers terrifying at first. They were all so big and scary, and they were missing legs and arms and eyes. And she could feel them when they looked at her, feel how scared they were and how needy and full of pain. But the brothers kept demanding that she get this and hold that and get more water, and there was no time for her to panic. And later, when she was tired and the brothers had less for her to do, she found herself sitting by one of the soldiers, talking to him and asking him about his home life. It seemed to make him feel better, though he couldn't understand what she was doing there on a battlefield, and decided that she was some sort of fever-dream.
When that soldier drifted into sleep, she went up to another one and listened while he poured out to her how scared he was, and how he missed his brother Peter back home. When the monks saw that she was less afraid of what was going on, they asked her for harder tasks, like holding a man's hand while they removed a bullet from his leg. He was scared and screaming and in pain, and Brianna wanted nothing more than to run out of the tent and cry, but he was holding on so tightly that she couldn't run. When the bullet was out, the man wouldn't stop crying, and Brianna just stood there and cried with him from sheer helpless fear and frustration.
Darius saw that Brianna was near the breaking point and took her out of the hospital tent, making her sit down with one of his absolutely revolting fungus brews to ward off fever. He was exhausted himself, and decided that this was a good time to see how Macleod was holding up.
Macleod was standing guard when Darius found him, watching for anyone who might decide to pick off the crippled and wounded army. He looked up as the monk approached, and nodded. "It's a hellish night," he greeted Darius.
Darius nodded. "I don't think many of the people I treated tonight will make it till morning," he agreed.
"Who is that little girl?" Duncan wanted to know, "and why on earth did you take her out here, where she could meet up with more of our kind? You should have kept her on holy ground."
"Her name is Brianna," Darius responded, "She's my student for the time being. I thought it might be a good lesson for her to see what war is like, so when she's grown she thinks twice before learning to fight."
"That's stupid," Duncan protested, "she may be a girl, but she's one of us. She's going to have to fight. Are you going to keep her from making a choice?"
Darius shrugged. "I am hoping that if I teach her properly she will choose never to learn. She's had a hard enough life as it is before now, I want her to keep what little innocence she has left." He looked at Duncan soberly. "There is always a choice, Macleod; you don't have to fight either. I was once a general. I fought and killed hundreds, thousands of men. For centuries now I have been a man of the church, killing no one. You could be the same."
Duncan thought a moment, considering it. He had been raised a warrior, and Immortals were supposed to kill each other until only one was left. But he remembered how there had been no fear in Darius's eyes when they met, only peace. Duncan wondered if he could have that kind of peace if he tried to be like Darius. "I have to fight when the cause is right," he argued.
"Oh, I'm sure," Darius agreed. "But I wonder what these boys think of their just cause now. Duncan, this fight is over a piece of land. It matters nothing to the people who will farm this battlefield in spring. It's just a line on a map for kings to impress each other with. There are other ways of helping a just cause. You can tend the soldiers. You can become a spy, give out information to reduce the number of battles, the amount of deaths. You can help the persecuted flee tyrannical countries." He put a hand on Duncan's shoulder and said, "It is possible to be a man of peace and still be a hero and a brave man."
Duncan looked at him for a long moment. "I'll try it."
The dead and the wounded, over the course of several weeks, were sent back to France. Duncan, Darius, and Brianna went with them, back to the church. Duncan had lived on holy ground before, and easily fell back into the routine of the daily cycle of prayer, and made himself useful around the church. He played chess very well, and Darius slowly began teaching him his own special strategic moves and countermoves. At the same time he pointed out times throughout history when wars had done nothing but kill off innocents, and to teach Duncan meditations that would keep his mind clear and calm.
Duncan disagreed with Darius on several points of Bria's education, the main one being that Brianna hadn't the slightest idea of how to defend herself, and she most certainly would not be growing to adulthood in a monastery. The two of them argued about it, but in the end Duncan simply went about Paris looking for a suitable blade for a small child to use and Darius prepared himself for the inevitable questions Brianna would have when the two adults she worshipped each began teaching her the exact opposite of the other's truth.
Duncan had examined the weapons available for sale, but didn't find any he thought would fit Brianna's needs. Then he remembered a set of Japanese blades in his possession, a Katana, a Wakizashi and a Tanto. The three blades were identical in style and craftsmanship, but were each about ten inches apart, ranging from the 9 1/2 inch Tanto blade to the 28 inch Katana. He couldn't think of a better way to teach a child than to use a set of blades that would 'graduate' as she got older and could manage more weight and length. He lifted the Tanto, checked the balance and grip, hefted it and got a sense of the blade. This was no child's weapon. This was a hungry blade, and would feed itself despite the owner's best intentions. Still, he thought, we're not exactly trying to keep her a child, are we? Perhaps a more violent blade is appropriate.
That afternoon, he took Brianna to the gardens behind the monastery and began explaining to the child that he was going to teach her to fight properly.
This announcement was met with a puzzled frown. "But Darius says that fighting is wrong."
"Darius lives in a monastery. He never goes out and sees things outside. You're a girl; you can't stay here. Outside the monastery there are those who'd take your head whether it's wrong or not." He let her absorb that piece of information, then continued, "You may never need to fight, but wouldn't you like to know you can, so you can go where you please?"
Brianna was silent for a long time. Though she never talked about it, Brianna often thought about her life before she had met Darius, and she had the feeling that Darius knew about it. She woke up screaming many nights, and though Duncan didn't know about that, Darius had soothed her through so many nightmares that she slept curled up in his bed more nights than she used her own cot. If she knew how to fight and knew that no one could ever touch her again without her permission, would the nightmares stop? Brianna looked at Duncan and said, "I'll try it."
After showing her the En Garde position, Duncan asked her to copy it, then walked around her to see how well she had managed. He slapped her bottom with the flat of his blade. "Tuck that in; don't lean over like a hunchback." he demanded. "Keep your arm out more, give it more freedom to move. Good. Turn your foot a bit more...now step forward, this way." He continued the lesson patiently. Rather than touching her to correct her stance, as he might have done with a boy pupil, he simply slapped the offending parts with the flat of his blade, correcting leg, buttock and back, until he could see her cramping where she stood. He finally dismissed her after three hours of practice and sent her inside for some supper.
That night Brianna played chess with Darius while Duncan waited to play winners, and she asked him, "Darius? Are you angry with me for learning to fight?"
Darius looked at her serious face for a long moment, then considered the board. "Check," he said, moving a rook, "I'm not angry. It's your choice. But remember that even if you must fight, killing is not your only option."
Brianna moved a knight and took Darius's rook. Then Darius moved a pawn and turned it to a queen. "Checkmate. Duncan, do you want to play? Brianna, it's time for you to go to bed."
Brianna went over to her cot and curled up, and Darius looked seriously at Duncan. "She's a child. I still don't think she needs to learn to fight so young."
"And what if she dies young?" Duncan countered, "She needs to know how to take care of herself."
"Duncan, I can't keep her here, and I can't leave. I must insure her safety. Will you be her father?"
Duncan snorted at the idea. "I'm no father."
"The two of us are all she has. I need to make sure she can trust you and count on you."
Duncan was about to make a joking reply about exactly how little trust should be put in him, but something in Darius's eyes stopped him. "I'll think about it."
Three months after the three of them had become an unlikely family, a woman came to visit the church, dressed in the latest fashions. She walked into the main room and looked around expectantly and with an eye for any finery, of which there was none. She was very surprised to see a little girl dressed in a tunic of unbleached linen with a rope belt approach her. She was doubly surprised to see that the girl had Immortal potential.
Bria marked the stranger for an Immortal; she had grown accustomed to recognizing them by their eyes. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" she asked.
"I am Amanda," the woman answered, "And I'm certainly not going to tell my business to a child." She looked patronizingly at Bria. "Now run along and tell Duncan Macleod that Amanda is here. I've heard he is living here."
Within a moment, Brianna's sword was touching Amanda's throat, though she knew that the only reason she had succeeded was the element of surprise. "Of course I will," hissed Brianna, "But remember that I have more right to respect as his adopted daughter than you do as a thief." The sword disappeared under her tunic again, and Brianna shouted up, "Father, there's a woman at the door!"
Duncan had already been on his way, sensing the Buzz. In a moment he arrived and scruffed Brianna's hair. "Now what have we told you about shouting?" Brianna hung her head. Then Duncan looked at Amanda, who was still white with shock. "Bria, Amanda and I will be in the gardens, I want you to get back to your arithmetic." Bria nodded obediently, throwing one more murderous glance at Amanda and disappearing around a corner. "Now what brings you here, Amanda? Who's after you this time, and what did you steal from them?"
Amanda turned to him angrily. "Did you tell her I was a thief? She called me that, right before she nearly slit my throat. What sort of demon do you think you're raising? And since when are you a father?" She accepted Duncan's arm as he led her outside, but kept looking at him accusingly.
Duncan sighed sadly. "We -- Darius is in on this as well -- adopted her months ago. She'll be one of us when she grows up, but she's got a cruel streak to her that we're trying to purge. She hates being patronized, hates the reminder that she's younger and almost helpless. But underneath it all there's a lot of fear and pain, and a lot we don't know about her, such as how she's able to guess details like your, ah, profession."
"Who is Darius?" Amanda asked.
"He's a monk here," Duncan answered, "he's one of us. He tells me he used to be a general. He asked me to take care of her, since she can't stay here more than a few years."
"How domestic," Amanda remarked sarcastically.
Duncan shrugged, biting back a retort when he saw Brianna outside. "What's wrong, Bria?"
"Can't get this problem," she said, though the instant Duncan saw the page, he realized that the problem was well within her ability. She had come in to interrupt.
Amanda looked Bria over. "Your name's Bria?" she inquired.
"Brianna," the child corrected and gazed at Amanda with such audacity that the older woman was tempted to hit her. Impulsively, Amanda asked, "You don't have any friends, do you, aside from these stodgy old teachers? Why don't you come with me tonight, Brianna, and let me show you what living really is?"
Duncan leapt to his feet in protest, but Amanda soothed him with a touch. "I promise you I won't hurt her, but you can't lock a child up in a classroom all day and all night, and knowing you, that's exactly what you've done. No wonder you're afraid she'll turn out rotten! Now get out of here, child, and I'm sorry I insulted you before."
A ghost of a smile passed over Brianna's face, and she looked searchingly into Amanda's eyes for a moment. Then she hugged the woman and suddenly dashed out of the room. Amanda smiled and turned to Duncan. "Well, she certainly changes like quicksilver."
"Give me one reason I should trust you with her." Duncan asked, jaw tense.
Amanda shrugged. "You can't. But I like her; she's a challenge. I'll take your little demon child and make her human for you, make her laugh again. Your monk friend can't teach her to be good until she's human, and seeing how deadly that toddler is after three months with a blade, I don't want her growing up a monster."
"Turning her into a thief isn't much better," retorted Duncan angrily.
Amanda shrugged and pressed up against him. "Oh, I think you'll agree I'm not all that bad," she teased, "or have you really taken up holy orders and renounced all that?" One look in his eyes told her otherwise. "That child is dead inside, Duncan, and that scares me. Let me show her that there's a world out there to explore, worth living and fighting and dying for. Worse comes to worse, you can always tell her I'm some instrument of the devil, or whatever you monks call it." Though Duncan remained silent, Amanda knew she had won.
That night Amanda came, dressed in casual street clothes, and led Bria out under Duncan's distrustful gaze. "This being our first try, we'll start out with simple pick-pocketing." She walked calmly out to the main street, 'accidentally' bumping into a well-dressed gentleman and clutching him for balance. "Oh, I'm so sorry, how clumsy of me," she murmured, babbling all the usual pleasantries, then returning to Bria with a wallet in her hands. "Normally I'm much more subtle about it, but I wanted you to see the mechanics of it. Now you try it. It works better if you distract them, I'll tell you that for free." she advised with a conspiratorial wink.
Bria walked into the crowd with the furtive glance and easy grace of a street-wise orphan, delicately avoiding contact with her quarry as she slipped her hand into the pocket of a young man vainly trying to catch the attention of a woman across the street. Pick-pocketing was easy, once you knew the basics, and this child was no stranger to the streets. But though she didn't have much finesse, the child wasn't sloppy in her work. Yes, thought Amanda, I can work with this.
They continued this game well into the evening, as the passerby dispersed. There wasn't much of a middle class any more, and Amanda knew from experience that those were the best people to steal from, no matter what century it was. However, the shopkeepers were easy prey, coming out with their purses as they closed for the night. Bria had a tremendous amount of fun doing the forbidden. Until they got caught.
The man kept screaming for someone to stop the thieves, and one of the city guards caught Amanda's hand as she fled. "You scum-ridden street rat," he jeered, "That'll teach you. It's the guillotine for you!"
He was about to take her away when there was a tug at his sleeve. "Monsieur, what are you doing to my mommy?" whispered Bria, her enormous green eyes filled with tears. "Mommy, what's going on? Why is this man hurting you?" Her tears spilled over now, her lower lip was trembling. Amanda peeked at the guard. He was falling for it, hook, line and sinker.
"Nothing, kid. I wasn't going to hurt your mommy. I...must have made a mistake." Awkwardly, he backed away, unwilling to harm or arrest a woman in front of her child. Then he walked down the street, scowling at Amanda.
"Well done, kid," Amanda proclaimed as they headed home in the dark, "Well played. Not a bad night's work. Tomorrow, let's see how you do at robbing houses."
Brianna's education had been deep, diverse, and often contradictory. Duncan trained her body until every limb was a sophisticated weapon and she was as comfortable wielding steel as she was stretching her fingers. Yet Darius taught her that killing was wrong, only to be done when there was no alternative. At the same time, however, he taught her military tactics of the ages and honed her analytical mind with chess. When she was older, he hoped to teach her philosophy as well. Amanda taught her acrobatics and quick thinking, showing her how to take advantage of any situation. Amanda saw life as fast and hard; you had to suck the marrow out of it while you could. But Darius and Duncan were adamant in their belief that Amanda's ways were wrong.
Brianna's head was muddled by the massive amounts of knowledge she was trying to swallow, and even more so by the contradictory philosophies she was absorbing. Many times she would border on losing her temper over the stresses placed on her, but she never dared. After all, she didn't know what the limits of Darius's and Duncan's patience were, and she didn't want them to get angry and throw her out. She had a full belly and a warm bed while many others starved in the streets; she kept reminding herself that she should be grateful for what she had. And besides, it wasn't as if Bria didn't have fun. Every evening was spent playing chess and talking with Darius. Duncan took her out to see plays once a month or so, and would occasionally buy her small toys or trinkets. Once he even took her fishing. Still, Bria's best friend was always Amanda. Amanda never stuck around very long, but she would drop in for a week now and again. When she did, she bought Bria sweets and got in trouble with her, took her on secret missions and teased her. If Duncan was her father and Darius her guardian angel, Amanda was the sister she never had.
And so, when Duncan and Darius were all talking about the recent and senseless executions of several nobles, it was Amanda who sat with Brianna in the public part of the church, to make sure that the child didn't get into too much trouble. Amanda was bored out of her wits. The awful downpour outside kept her cooped up, as she had no desire to get soaked to the bone. Brianna had been locked inside all day and was bouncing off the walls, irritating Amanda greatly. Finally, to soothe her nerves, Amanda took a small bottle of whiskey from her pocket and took a nip.
Brianna looked up, instantly curious. "What's that?" she asked, coming over to look at the bottle.
Amanda shrugged. "Grown-up drink, Bria. You wouldn't like it." As she looked up, she saw Bria about to yell that she was too grown up, and a new amusement occurred to her. "Oh, what the hell. You can take a swig of it, just don't tell anyone I let you, or they'll have my hide."
Brianna perked up and took the proffered bottle, sniffing the rim and wrinkling up her nose at the small. Then she tilted back her head and took a swallow. Fire! Her throat felt like it was on fire! Bria choked and gasped and spluttered, her eyes watering at the taste. "Ugh! It's awful!" Then she realized that Amanda was laughing at her, amused at the scene. In defiance, Bria took another swig and handed the bottle back to Amanda, fighting her reaction of nausea and coughing. "It's not so bad," she managed to wheeze out, and she sat back down quickly on the bench as Amanda laughed.
"Not bad, Bria," Amanda commented as she accepted back the bottle. She laughed as she saw the child wiping her eyes and suppressing coughs. "You should have seen your face when you took that first swallow. Oh, that was worth it!" she laughed again, and this time Bria joined in.
About a half hour later, the conference upstairs was over, and Duncan and Darius returned downstairs. As Duncan walked towards Amanda and Brianna, he suddenly noticed that the child didn't look very steady, in fact, she looked quite sick. "Amanda, is Bria all right?" Before she could answer, he leaned close to the child in an attempt to figure out what was wrong. That was when he smelled it. "You got her drunk? Amanda, what were you thinking?" He was ready to rip Amanda to pieces. Despite Darius's warning cry, Duncan' hand flew through the air to slap Amanda and send her reeling.
In an instant, everything seemed to explode inside Duncan's head. He felt himself shattering, completely lost in a splintered sea of memories: some his own, some horrifyingly alien and nightmarish. Around him he could hear the screams of the others, and was dimly aware that they too must be suffering, but he could spare them little thought at the moment. In vain, he tried to claw his way out of the pit of nightmares.
Darius too was thrown to the floor by the maelstrom of images and memories: himself as a soldier and as a monk, Quickenings he had taken, and more frighteningly, images of dark and dirty men looming over him, wanting something that turned his stomach, and he was too small to fight, to frightened to scream.
But these last memories weren't his! From what he could guess, they were Brianna's, and he wasn't getting any other foreign memories. Somehow, she must be the cause! He reached out for her with his thoughts and vaguely sensed the change as she fell into him, swallowed whole by his memories. Then he visualized a door locking after her, locking her into his mind. For what seemed like hours, days, they struggled together, drowning in each other's memories, but always aware of each other. Then slowly, the images began to repeat themselves, there were no new ones left. As the images became familiar, the storm began to quiet, and soon Darius became aware of his surroundings again. He was lying on the floor cradling the sobbing child in his arms, with Duncan and Amanda leaning over them in concern.
Duncan offered the priest a hand, helped him up. "What was that?" He looked worried, and Darius knew he was wondering whether the storm had been caused by his violation of Holy Ground.
"Somehow, I think Bria caused this, but I'm not sure. Duncan, my friend, I think it's best if Brianna and I work this out undisturbed. Let me think on this and try to cure her." At Duncan's frightened but dubious look, he added "please..."
Duncan paused, fighting his reactions to what had just happened. He looked at the child huddled in Darius's arms, sobbing and hiccupping, and turned away, leading Amanda out of the church by the scruff of her neck.
Looking down at Brianna, Darius sat down weakly. "Well, my child," he murmured, "What am I supposed to do with you now?"
In the morning, Brianna awoke to find herself in Darius's bed, with a bowl of porridge cooling on the table by Darius's elbow as he worked out a complicated chess problem. Bria solemnly got out of bed and took the porridge with a murmured thanks, sitting down beside him and eating.
Darius looked her over for a moment in silence. When he finally spoke, it was in a careful, measured tone. "Child, I am not sure exactly what happened last night, but until the two of us have insured that it will not happen again, you will stay in this room. Some of this reminds me of an Immortal I met three centuries ago; perhaps we can use his methods to get to the bottom of this."
Bria stopped looking at him for a moment and looked up at him with worried eyes. "What if it doesn't work?" She set down her spoon and focused her worried glance at him. "Father Darius, would you kill me?"
Darius could feel her fear as surely as if it was his own. "Never," he replied, knowing that she could sense the truth of what he said.
"Would Father Duncan do it?" she whispered.
Darius could not lie to her. "I pray it will not come to that," he whispered, "but Duncan is more pragmatic than I. I don't know." He reached for her across the table, and as their fingers touched, a gentle rapport linked them. "It will be all right, I promise. Now finish your porridge, and we will begin."
He started her out with meditation. He had been the priest of so many religions in his time, and he knew all the methods of the Taoists and the Buddhists, as well as those of Christianity, for calming the mind and bending it to your will. However, it was hard to teach a seven year old to sit perfectly still for hours, and he felt her exasperation flare more than once. But they both knew what was at stake, and kept practicing in the long hours before lunch. Finally Darius sat down beside her on the mat and meditated, clearing his mind of all thought as he had told her to do. He felt her touch on his mind, sensing his calm and cautiously mirroring it, until she slid into a meditative state.
Darius had told his parishioners that he would pray in his room for the next week or two, and that they were not to disturb him, so the only interruptions the two had were when food arrived from the kitchen. Another monk from a nearby church handled services for him. Somehow Duncan stayed out of the way, not even passing in the corridor outside. Darius had a feeling Amanda had taken him elsewhere to attempt a reconciliation. By the end of the day, Bria was able to meditate calmly in a trance state, focused on the verbal commands that Darius issued, attempting to stretch and strengthen her control over her mind.
By the second day, Brianna was able to put up a wall that separated her from the outside world, and thin or thicken it at will. Darius hoped that he was remembering William's explanations correctly after three hundred years, but there was no alternative. He also sat Brianna down and helped her work out a morality code for when it was appropriate or inappropriate to pry into someone else's thoughts. Though neither of them mentioned it, they both tacitly understood that Darius's thoughts would always be the exception to this rule; he shared those with her as he had with no Immortal before or since.
The time passed slowly, and the two of them lost track of the days. Darius wasn't even sure at times whether it was night or day, unless he overheard the parishioners praying outside. All that mattered was the inside world, the world of Bria's mind, as they built up level after level of conscious control. This became harder as Bria's talents awakened, one after the other. At first, she had just sent and received pictures and emotions. Now, when she concentrated, she could send words, whole sentences, into his thoughts as well. Her nightmares were becoming more and more frequent, and Darius winced to think that their neighbors might be receiving the horrible images of rape and abuse. His own mind cringed at the nightmares every night, until he hit upon a solution.
That night, he felt the nightmare creeping up on him, and prepared himself. He was suddenly in a dark and smelly room with a man three times his size, looming over him with dirty, threatening hands. Before the man could move, Darius focused on separating his own thoughts from Brianna's, standing by her side rather than within her dream-body. He turned to Bria, who trembled beside him. He handed her a sword, the little Japanese Tanto Duncan had trained her to use so well. "Well?" he asked, worried that this might not work.
Brianna took the blade and rushed at the man, a harsh war-cry on her lips. She decapitated the dream foe easily, then paused and watched as his body dissolved into mist. Suddenly she turned and kicked the door open, rushing past Darius into the outer room. Screaming her war-cry, she attacked, and the dream men fell under her sword.
Darius caught up with her in the last room, standing over a fat pig of a man in a striped shirt. He was cowering and begging, and Darius almost felt sorry for the man, with hard-faced Bria standing over him. "This thing," she spat, "was my father. My real father. And he did this to me, and sold me to other men as well. He deserves this more than any of them." Her expression was cruel, bloodthirsty.
Darius knelt and looked her in the eye. "This poor, cowering thing? He's not your father. He never was. I am your father. Duncan and I, we're your family. He doesn't matter." He watched as her face twisted up in tears, and the sword dropped from her hands. Darius gathered her into his arms and held her as she cried, even as they awoke.
There were no more nightmares.
Slowly, slowly, progress was made. Every day was a new setback: a temper tantrum; frustration as the elusive power suddenly shut itself off inexplicably, only to return hours later. But gradually Brianna became more aware of the power she had, and more adept at using it. There was no way that she had learned all she needed to, but she had learned all that Darius knew to teach her. It was time to return to the real world.
Darius could feel Bria's fear as she watched Duncan enter the room. With her awakened senses, there was no way she could ignore the fear Duncan felt, the fear that she was causing. But to her credit, she kept herself not only under control, but also cheerful and friendly until Duncan was reassured. Even though Darius knew that some of her newfound maturity came from the strong link to his own thoughts, he was proud of her, for he knew how much of her new behavior was the result of her own effort.
Gradually, trust was rebuilt and life resumed its pace. However, Brianna was desperate now for reassurance that her two fathers would never leave or abandon her, and kept pestering them and overreacting to the slightest criticism. Finally Duncan got sick of her fears and swore her in with a formal ceremony of adoption, making her a member of the Clan Macleod, with himself and Darius as her closest kinsmen. After that, Brianna relaxed somewhat.
A year later, Duncan took Brianna to a concert. The child stared, wide-eyed as the beautiful music filled the air and the parade of costumes and dramas played itself out below. She was utterly enchanted. After the performance, she skipped ahead of Duncan, whistling a refrain as she slipped around a corner and found herself face to face with a tall man wearing English fashions. As soon as she saw his face, she knew what he was. "I am Brianna Macleod, adopted of Clan Macleod," she called out, her voice trembling only slightly.
The Immortal laughed. "You're a bit premature with that, bratling," he commented lightly, "and impertinent as well. You need to die first, before you can challenge. Run home, little brat, unless you want me to correct that condition."
The comment served only to enrage Brianna. It was the one thing she couldn't stand, being treated like a child. "Put up your sword, and you shall see what sort of child I am," she taunted, and moved close enough to slash his sleeve.
Seeing that the child was serious, he laughed. "Why not? It will certainly be amusing to put you in your place. The name is Stetson." He drew his sword and advanced, performing a C-lunge intended to injure the child and make her drop her sword.
Bria's blade (she was now carrying the Wakizashi, twice the length of her original sword, though still only 18 inches) whirled to meet his broadsword before it could connect, parrying it out of the way. She dropped and performed a dive roll through his legs and slashed at the backs of his knees, nearly causing him to fall. A kick aimed at the fresh wound did him in, and he fell to his knees as the child disarmed him. Brianna had never seen an Immortal take a head before, but she knew what she had to do. She had been trained for this moment all her life. She raised the blade above the man's head, set her feet firmly, and swung downwards in a perfect arc.
Steel rang on steel with a loud crash, and Duncan shoved Brianna out of the way as his own blade beheaded Stetson. Brianna watched in fury, amazement and horror as the Quickening leapt from Stetson to Macleod, lightning arching painfully through his body. It seemed to take forever.
Finally, Macleod dropped weakly to the ground and Brianna ran to his side. "Why?" she whispered, "I don't understand..."
Duncan looked up at her with tired eyes. "Do you want to be eight years old forever?" he demanded. "I couldn't let you kill," he whispered, "you're still a child, and I couldn't watch you destroy yourself."
The old anger filled her. "I am not a child!" she yelled, stamping her feet.
Duncan looked at her sadly. "I know. That's the problem."
"I'm not sending her away," said Darius flatly.
Duncan paced back and forth in the room. "Then what do we do? You weren't there, you didn't see her. She's sick, she needs help, and we're poisoning her."
"So we send her away? Abandon her and make her someone else's problem? Is that supposed to help her somehow?"
Duncan met a wall and turned sharply, still pacing. "What about mortals? I know a family in Boston. Being treated like a child instead of an adult, she might--"
"I'm not abandoning her, I promised her I wouldn't. You did too."
"But not if it means making her sick! Darius, we have to send her away before she gets worse!" He stopped pacing. "I'm going to write a letter to my friend in Boston. It will take a few months, but it's better than doing nothing." He strode out of the room and nearly slammed headfirst into Brianna, who was standing outside the door, eyes wide, cheeks wet with tears.
"I did just what you told me," she whispered, "why are you so angry?"
Duncan pulled Brianna into his room and shut the door. "Because you're not one of us yet. We made a mistake, training you when you were still so little. We're trying to fix it now."
Brianna considered this. The light went out of the child's eyes. "You don't want me anymore. You don't want me to be part of your clan." She swallowed hard, while Duncan was still trying to find the words to tell her he loved her, that this was for her own good. "I'll be so good," she whispered, "You won't be sorry. I can make you love me..." Unhappily she reached for Duncan's waist, trying to pull up his cassock.
"What the devil?" shouted Duncan as he pushed her away. Then he understood. After a year and a half, he understood the nightmares and the comments. He understood why she had always trusted Darius more than him, because Darius was a monk, sworn to chastity. "Oh my God." The girl was crying now, and Duncan gathered her into his arms. "Brianna, that's not what love is, and I do love you. I love you so much." He hugged her tightly. "I promise you I will never touch you in that way, and I don't ever want to hear of you offering that to any man. Understand?"
And then the dam broke, and the child collapsed into his arms, sobbing and shaking, and as he held her Duncan knew that he would never allow anyone to harm a hair on her head... How can I let her go when she needs me so much? How can I explain to her that this is for her own good when she doesn't understand any of this? He stroked her hair softly, awkwardly, until her ragged sobs became dry hiccups. "All done now?" he asked. When she nodded, he kissed her forehead. "I swear you will always be my daughter, and Darius's daughter too. But there are things you don't understand, things we can't teach you, that you need to know. We're sending you away because we love you, so one day you'll be happy and you can come back to us."
Darius entered the room quietly, he'd heard the end of that exchange. "Brianna," he murmured, touching his fingertips to her forehead and closing his eyes. The little girl shivered in Duncan's arms, and the Scotsman felt his usual mixture of jealousy and relief that he did not share that type of bond with her. "Brianna," Darius repeated, "I'm always with you, in your thoughts. Even if we send you away, you'll still have that, I promise."
Duncan nodded, stroking Bria's hair. "And you'll always be Brianna Macleod. You have his thoughts and my name, wherever you go."
He spotted her waiting at the docks almost instantly, she matched Macleod's description to a tee. "Brianna Macleod?" he called out hesitantly. The girl turned and saw a well-dressed man in his early forties, his hair combed in the Boston style. Michael Blessing knew that he cut a rather dashing figure, even at his age, but he also knew that that would be the last thing on this poor, frightened child's mind. "I'm Michael, Duncan's friend. Are these your things?"
The girl nodded mutely, jerking her head towards the carpet bag and trunk. Michael's driver easily hefted them onto the carriage, and Michael gave Brianna a lift up to the passenger's seat.
"So," he asked when they were safely in the carriage, "Have you ever been to Boston before? I know it's not Paris, but..." He trailed off, seeing the pain in her eyes at the mention of Paris. He handed her a sealed letter. "Duncan told me to give you this when you arrived."
Brianna opened the letter carefully, then scanned in quickly before reading it. Although Michael didn't know the contents, he assumed it was some sort of reassurance from Macleod that she was still loved, or that this stay in Boston was for her own good. Mac had explained the circumstances to him in his letter: a bachelor was no father for a child her age, and Paris was too dangerous a place for a child of eight, or for a grown man, for that matter. He saw Brianna's eyes fill with tears as she put the letter safely in her purse. "Thank you, Michael," she murmured.
Michael smiled. "And here I thought they'd cut off your tongue in Paris. You have a very nice voice when you use it, child."
Brianna shrugged. "How many people are there at your house?" she asked curiously.
Michael grinned. "Well, I have three sons and a daughter, as well as my wife and my two servants. The boys can be a bit rowdy, but Emily will keep them from doing harm to you. She's my daughter, and she'll be your sister from now on. Remember that: you're our child from now on, and we won't treat you different from one of our own."
Brianna smiled, then noticed that the coach had stopped in front of a large house. The coachman opened the door and they exited, opening the door of the house. "Lawrence will bring your things up to your room," Michael explained. "The children are with their tutor now, I want you to go upstairs and meet them; let Kevin find out where you are in your lessons. By suppertime your room will be ready and one of the children can show you around the house." He gave her a push towards the stairs. "Go on, now."
Brianna found the door to the schoolroom and opened it, seeing the four children turn to look at her as she entered. Kevin, their tutor, only looked up when he saw how distracted the children were. "Ah, you must be Brianna. Come in, we don't bite." He waited for her to approach before making inquiries. "Now then, can you tell me where you are in each of the areas of your education?"
Bria paused, trying to decide which parts of her education he meant, not wanting to make a mistake and either tell him things he wasn't supposed to know about the Immortals or seem impertinent by not telling him what he wished to know. "I know French, English and a little Latin, but only a word or two of Greek. I can do multiplication and division, but I have trouble with fractions. I don't know how to judge my reading level, I just read whatever I'm given. Mostly Shakespeare and Chaucer, but I need help with them. I don't know much science, but I know lots of history and I play chess." She wasn't sure if that last admission was all right or not, since the game was so important to Darius.
Kevin paused, thinking hard. This girl's last tutor must have pushed her extremely hard. He wasn't sure if he could keep up that pace for her without making the other students jealous, or even if it was healthy for her to keep up a runaway speed like that! "Hm, take this," he handed her a science book, "and read it, starting at the beginning. If it's too hard for you, tell me. Otherwise keep reading until the end of the day, making a note of everything you don't understand." He motioned her to the desk that had been added that day for her benefit, and went on with the lesson he had been teaching the other four.
Brianna looked at the printed pages, trying to understand everything that was written there. There was very little about medicine -- the focus of Darius' lessons -- only information about how the world works, and why the seasons change, and such. But considering the difficult words everywhere, she decided that this was Kevin's private book, not one intended for children. Now that she knew Kevin would judge her by her abilities, not her age, she decided she liked him.
When the lessons ended, one of the boys kicked her foot as she stood up, causing her to fall back into her chair. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she muttered so that only he and the other children could hear. He ignored the warning and pulled back to kick her again.
Emily caught her brother's arm, pulling him back roughly. "Sorry, Brianna, these idiots just don't know how to treat ladies. I'm Emily, and this joker is Simon. Over there are Andrew and Jason."
"Ladies?" Simon taunted, "I don't see no ladies here,"
"Any ladies," corrected Kevin, overhearing them, "and I think you should have your eyes examined, young man. I see two, both deserving courtesy and respect." His tone brooked no argument.
The children filed out of the schoolroom and ran down the stairs. Emily caught Bria's hand and smiled. "Now that there are two of us, maybe we can keep those dumb boys in line." Bria smiled back cautiously. She had never been around children her age. She'd been with Immortals for half her lifetime. She didn't know quite what to make of these children or how to react to them. When Simon had teased her, she had immediately reached for where her scabbard normally was, determined to teach him a lesson. She was very lucky that she had put the sword in her trunk, or she might have done something very bad.
After dinner, the children were ordered upstairs to bed. There was a room for the boys and one for the girls, and Brianna saw her things sitting on the bed on one side of the room. She began unpacking them and putting them away by the light of the candle. When she got to the swords, she stopped and looked at Emily, then sighed and drew out the three blades, putting them under the mattress. Though the older girl's eyes widened, she said nothing. Brianna wished her good night, then took one last look at her letter before going to bed. It was written in Darius's flowing script. Duncan has gone to the New World as well. Though you probably won't see him, know that he watches you. Remember that I am always with you, and that I love you. We both love you.
Over the course of time, Emily took it upon herself to teach Brianna and coax her out of her shell. They talked, laughed, wandered around Boston and played tricks on the boys, which were helped immensely by Brianna's pick-pocketing skills. The boys were less welcoming. At one point Andrew would not stop pulling her hair, and finally she shrieked and flipped him over one shoulder, hooking his arm behind him once he was down so that he couldn't move. The boys never bothered her again that badly, but Emily took Bria aside for a long talk about acting like a lady. Brianna glared. "I know how to act like a lady. I will do so when he acts like a gentlemen."
Simon, overhearing this and knowing that it meant trouble, took Bria aside the next day. In the privacy of the cellar, he taught her how boys fight amongst themselves, much different from the deadly, no-holds-barred method Duncan had demonstrated in the monastery. He taught her where it was right to hit and kick and where it was not, and how to duck or move back rather than using an eye-gouging counter attack. After that the boys accepted her as a sort of honorary brother, and their fights, though frequent, were not damaging.
Seven years passed. Emily was now eighteen, and male suitors flocked wherever she walked. She flourished at the attention. Brianna had changed greatly over the years. She was calmer, more relaxed, and hardly ever thought of her future, or the swords hidden beneath the bed. Though she saw Immortals in the streets, she never let them know she knew what they were. Her body was supple from the calisthenics she did every morning, though she had nowhere to practice her fencing, and had grown rusty. She had grown her black hair down to her waist, for she didn't need to keep it out of the way for sword practice. At fifteen, she was still petite, waiting for her growth spurt, and her green eyes were enormous in her face, in lovely contrast to her delicate features.
Simon came up to her one day, rather awkwardly, and sat down on the outside steps with her. He was seventeen now, the oldest of the boys. Time had done him good, he was now tall and thin, with a scholarly look in his face and bearing, and a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Bria, I want to ask you a question," he started hesitantly. He kneeled in front of her on the pavement, catching hold of her hand. "We've been brother and sister for seven years now, and I want to change that. Brianna Macleod, will you marry me?"
Bria looked into his eyes, trying to see if this was a joke or a tease. It was neither, and when she looked in her heart she realized that she loved him too. But it wasn't that simple. She would be an Immortal, living forever as he grew old and died. And what about children? She could never give him any, nor could she promise not to fight or get into dangerous situations. What sort of wife would she make? And what sort of husband could he be? "Simon, I don't think you know what you're asking." she attempted.
He shook his head. "I know exactly what I'm asking. I want to wake up beside you every morning, debate books and philosophy with you. I won't pin you down and make you be someone you're not, you know me better than that." His eyes pleaded with hers gently.
Brianna looked down. There was another problem of marriage. She had been raped early and often, had lived as a brothel slave until she escaped to Darius. Though the nightmares had stopped, she knew she couldn't handle sex. When Duncan and Amanda slept together, thinking themselves clever in slipping past the monks, she was forced to feel everything they felt, unless she built up her barriers to the point of mental exhaustion. What sort of wife could she be? "I know that, Simon," she answered hesitantly, "and I love you very much. But I can't be your wife."
Simon looked at her. He was angry and upset at her refusal, but locked it down, forcing himself to get up and walk back into the house without a backward glance. Brianna went up to her room with all the poise and grace she could manage. Then she fell down on her bed and cried as though her heart would break.
Soon, Emily and Brianna began taking long walks to the theater or the docks during the day, smiling at the young men who tried to get their attention. One of these, a dapper young fellow dressed in the latest styles, came up to them and bowed deeply. "I couldn't help but notice you two perfect flowers of maidenhood as I passed, and I wondered if you would do me the honor of going with me to the theater now?"
Emily blushed and smiled, but Brianna was wary. There were certain people she simply couldn't 'read', and he was one of them, but she didn't like the look in his eyes. "No thank you, sir," she told him, "I'm afraid our calendar is full."
Emily glared at Brianna for her rudeness, and then said, "Well, I'm certainly free this afternoon, even if you are not, Brianna." She took the young man's hand and started walking down the street. Reluctantly, Brianna fell into step on the other side of the young man. She was certainly not going to leave Emily alone, if she couldn't convince her to leave.
They rounded a corner and entered a blind alley. Cursing in French, Brianna wheeled around to see three other men blocking off their exit. She desperately wished she had her sword, especially when she saw that one of the well-dressed young men carried a light pistol. The young man who had brought them laughed. "You girls made it pretty clear what you wanted," he uttered, "You said you were free. We're going to take you up on that offer."
Emily looked confused, frightened. Brianna's mind whirled in calculation. She had to take these four down, hard and fast, and keep Emily out of range of the pistol until it was over. Hand to hand combat was not her specialty, but she knew she was probably better than these men, and she had the element of surprise. She muttered, so low that only Emily could hear, "You stay out of this; keep to the ground." Then she whirled into action. She grabbed the man next to her, forced his arm behind him so that he was a body shield against the man with the gun. Then she threw him at the man with the gun, and grinned when she heard the man shoot out of surprise and panic, killing his friend. Then she landed two punches and a side kick to the third man, getting up close and striking his eyes first, then his groin.
Then an arm passed over her side and she found a knife at her throat, the fourth man pinning her from behind. "Nasty, nasty, little girl," he hissed in her ear, "I'll have to hurt you for that one."
Brianna closed her eyes and prayed that Amanda's trick, which worked two times out of three, would work now. She shrugged one shoulder, which got the knife away from her jugular. Then she whirled for the eye gouge. There was an explosion and she felt pain snap through her as she fell to the pavement. She had forgotten about the man with the gun. She heard Emily's scream of terror and closed her eyes, knowing that she was about to bleed to death on the street. Ironic, she thought, that the Immortals should send me here for my safety, and I die here as a child Immortal. Then the grayness closed over her, and she fell into death.
She snapped awake a few hours later, by the sun's height. She looked down at herself, at her bloodstained clothing and now-unmarked skin. Then, unwilling, she turned and looked down the alley, praying that Emily had managed to run away, or that someone had heard the shot and decided to interfere. Her prayers were not answered.
Emily was lying at a twisted angle, her dress ripped and filthy, her legs spread apart. Blood had spilt from her legs when they raped her, from her face when they cut it, and from her throat when they tired of the game. Choking back a sob, Bria knelt by her sister and cradled the ruined body in her hands, stroking the flax-colored hair, matted with blood. She fought back a howl of grief. Anger was safer. "They will pay," she whispered fiercely, "I wanted to take them out fast, so we could get away, but when I find them next I'll take my time with them. They will pay for what they've stolen."
She knew the rules. The Blessings must now think that she was dead, and she must leave Boston immediately. Hating herself for living when Emily hadn't, she slipped out of the alley, leaving the body for others to find. That night she slipped into her room silently, removed her three blades from the mattress and Darius's note from the drawer. She took one outfit and bundled it up; she would clean herself up later. The rest she left; she didn't want to arouse suspicion. Then she ran off into the night, leaving no one the wiser.
Two days later she went up to the dock. The men who had ruined her life had bled out their lives slowly and painfully in a darkened alley where no one answered their screams. Revenge made her feel no better. She had cleaned herself off, cut her hair short about her shoulders. She had hidden the three blades under her voluminous skirts, tied with rope so that they neither tripped her nor rattled against each other. She snuck aboard a ship headed for France, hiding in the cargo hold. And there, surrounded by barrels of flour and alcohol, the young Immortal cried her eyes out, alone and on her way at last.
End.