Live All You Can
by Shaun Hately
The Kingdom Where No One Dies V
Notes: This story is based on "Highlander: The Series" which is owned by
Gaumont and Rysher Television. The concept of immortals as contained in
the work is likewise the property of Gaumont and Rysher Television.
Darius is not one of my characters, but is owned by Gaumont and Rysher.
However Peter Woodley, Amelia De Laney, Monica Sturton, and Belinda
Milner are the product of my imagination. These characters appear in my
stories "This Cursed Blade I Bear", "Pity The Child", "Love Changes
Everything" and "Racial Memories". Collectively these are now known as
"The Kingdom Where No One Dies" stories. Each story is complete by
themselves but ideally should probably be read in order. This story
takes place immediately after the events described in "Racial
Memories" (1971.) My previous stories are available at my homepage
(http://www.geocities.com/hollywood/8017/index.html) or e-mail me
(drednort@bud.swin.edu.au) and I'll send you a copy. There is some
slightly strong language, and adult concepts contained in the story, so
if you are easily offended be warned.
Please, comments, criticism, questions, speculation and any thing else
you can think of are always welcome. Just send an e-mail to:
drednort@bud.swin.edu.au
/ \
o=== ====================- -==================== ===o
\ /
"Live all you can; it's a mistake not to. It doesn't so much matter what
you do in particular, so long as you have your life. If you haven't had
that, what have you had?"
Henry James (1843-1916)
/ \
o=== ====================- -==================== ===o
\ /
Paris, the city of lovers. In a way that is appropriate, as I come here
with the girl that I love. She walks next to me, I can see her and I can
feel her in my bones, and in my soul. Ahead of us walks Monica, the
woman who tries to care for us, who watches over us.
My name is Peter Woodley and I am Immortal. So is my love, Belinda. We
are only children in appearance, somewhere in our early teens, and that
is true for Linda. But I am, in fact, over 200 years old. An eternal
child, doomed to immortality, to eternity, and to a violent death.
Monica, on the other hand, is quite mortal. She found me a year and a
half ago and then refused to leave. She seems to feel that I need
protection, that I need someone to look after me. I don't need it, but I
don't mind having it. It makes my life easier to have an adult around.
Someone who can drive, and can stop people investigating a child who
lives alone. In truth, I'm very fond of Monica. I suppose in a way I
love her. I know she loves me. She followed me for ten years to find out
what I was. She stays with me at risk of her own life.
We moved up the stairs our new apartment by the Seine. I am quite
wealthy, although my holdings wouldn't stand up to much scrutiny from
Tax officials. I have money in banks, in trusts and even some as gold
bars in a vault. My mother, Amelia, arranged things for me, so I would
never go without. I must remember to do the same thing for Belinda. I
may not be here for ever, and I would not leave her destitute. I will
ask Monica's advice.
First things first. Monica opens the door to our new apartment and we
enter. It is already furnished. It is actually the home of a businessman
of some description, who had no objection to letting Monica take over
the rent for six months or so, while he was away in Japan, I think. Six
months is plenty of time. We never stay in one place for too long.
Belinda and I select our rooms and Monica examines the kitchen. After a
few minutes, she calls us downstairs.
"Peter and Belinda," I know what's coming, "I think you should enrol in
a school."
Every time we move, she tries this. She can't accept that I am not a
child.
"No, Monica. You know I don't need to go to school. Belinda, yes, but
me, know."
Of course, Linda was having none of that.
"What? Why should I go to school? I haven't been to school in a year."
"All the more reason for you to go now. You must continue your
education. How much French do you know?" asked Monica.
"French? Bon Jour, ah, Champagne."
"Precisely. You're in Paris and you can't speak the language. We do a
lot of travel, you have to learn these things. Belinda, I don't intend
to argue. You are going to school, and as for you Peter . . ."
"No, Monica. I speak French. Also German, English, Spanish and Latin. I
don't need to go to school."
"I think you do, Peter. Not to acquire general knowledge, but for other
reasons."
"No!"
"Hear me out, Peter. First of all, it will arouse suspicion, if you
don't attend school, secondly, you need other skills besides knowledge,
you need to know how to act around children your own age . . ."
"My own age? That'll be hard!"
"Peter! Thirdly, I don't think you should be too far away from Belinda,
in case of trouble . . ."
Belinda piped up, "I don't need his protection. I can fight."
"Belinda!" that was both Monica and I. Monica looked at me, and let me
speak.
"Linda, I'm not going to let you fight. Not unless it is absolutely
unavoidable. You must understand that and accept it."
"Why must I? You fight, you've risked death to protect me. Why won't you
let me do the same?"
My sword came out and I leapt to the attack, an overarm swing that came
very close to removing her head. A bit too close, in fact, I had
expected her to react faster. Her blade came out and blocked in the nick
of time. My sword slid down hers, I paused a moment to let her take a
shot at my unprotected neck, but she did not. My blade came up again and
I attacked again. We danced back and forth through the room, our blades
ringing out loudly for nearly 30 seconds, Monica shouting at us to stop.
And then Belinda lost her grip. Her blade flew away, and I swept her
feet from beneath her. She fell heavily and my blade arced back.
"There can be only One." I roared and swung down. My blade stopped an
inch from her neck. She collapsed in a heap, rolled herself into a ball
and began crying. Her breathing came fast and ragged.
"That is why, Belinda," I said as I swung my blade into its scabbard
beneath my coat. Monica was standing there, staring at me in horror, and
white with anger. "That is why. I am the better swordsman. There is no
doubt. You had a chance to take my head, and you did not. You can't
afford to hesitate. You must kill or be killed. There can be only One is
not just a pretty statement. It is a fact of your life. Accept it."
I reached down to help her up, but she shrank away. I left her there,
She'd forgive me, given a few hours. Even if she does not, its better to
be angry and upset than to be dead.
Monica helped her to her feet, and took her down the hall to her room.
When she came downstairs, she was angry beyond belief. I didn't really
blame her.
"Peter, how could you be so cruel? How could you do that to Belinda? How
could you do it to me? I thought you were going to kill her! If you ever
do anything like that again, I swear, I'll . . ."
I had never seen her in such a rage. She scared me. I say I'm not a
child, and I'm not. But there is enough of a child still in me, that I
was very afraid of this angry woman. Amelia had been like this, on
occasion when I'd stupidly put myself in danger. She had hurt me on
those occasions. I didn't think Monica would lay a hand on me, but at
the moment I wasn't sure.
"Monica, I . . ."
"No, Peter! Be quiet! What you did was cruel! No, it was more than that,
it was sadistic! You've hurt her, badly! How could you? She loves you!"
"And I love her! You don't understand Monica! I didn't want to do it! I
had to, if she is to live, she must learn to fight. She has no choice in
this. Her motto must be kill or be killed. I attacked her, and she had
ample opportunity to defend herself. I even gave her an open shot at my
neck and she didn't take it. I cannot allow that. She has to be prepared
to kill me, and everyone else if she is to live. The Gathering could be
here tomorrow. This isn't a game. This is real."
Monica stared at me, in disbelief.
"You gave her a shot at your neck? Why? Why do something so dangerous?"
"There wasn't really any danger. I knew the shot she would take and I
would have blocked it, and disarmed her. That would have been the end of
it, as far as I was concerned. The fight would have been over, and I
would have made my point that I was the better swordsman. She didn't
take it. I had to make sure the lesson was learned. She got off
lightly."
"Lightly?!"
"Yes! That is how I was taught, but worse. Amelia wouldn't have just
disarmed me, she would have run me through, made me bleed, probably
killed me. I had tutors to teach me fighting, and languages and
mathematics, all through my life. They had strict instructions. If I, at
any time, performed one iota below my potential, I was severely beaten.
I learned and I learned well."
"There must be another way, Peter. She's crying in her room, you hurt
her, she's a wreck."
"Another way? Perhaps there is, Monica, but I don't know what it is. All
I can do is teach her the way I was taught. I hurt her, yes, but if by
hurting her, I can help keep her alive, then I will cause her pain."
Monica sat down, "Peter, I think I understand, why you did what you did.
I don't agree, but I understand. But she needs to understand as well,
you have to tell her."
"I will, later. When she has calmed down a bit."
"Good. Now Peter, about school . . ."
I groaned.
"Peter, please. I think it's important. You need to learn to be a child
again. You've lost something, somewhere. Perhaps it was the way you were
brought up."
"Please, Monica, don't talk about the way I was brought up. Amelia did
her best with me. She kept me alive. That is what she had to do."
"Alive, yes, breathing, yes. But not living. You've been a child for 200
years, but you've never had a childhood. You grew up on the streets,
fending for yourself, and then you were taken into a world where you had
to fight for your life. You've never lived, you've just survived. Take
this chance, be a child."
"My existence dictates otherwise. I must fight or I must die. I cannot
leave the game, at least not for more than a short time."
"The game?"
"It's what we call it. What else can we call it?"
"I don't know. But you can take a short time away from it. Take that
short time. Enjoy life. Enjoy it with Belinda."
"You don't know what it is like to live like I do, Monica. To be in
constant fear for your life."
"Sit down, Peter."
I sat down. She began to speak.
"I do understand, Peter. Where were you during the war?"
"I moved around a lot. Paris at the start, London, some time in Berlin,
a lot of time in America. Other places too."
"You saw the war then. I was in London for some of it, and I was only a
child. We had a shelter in our garden, and for a time I slept there
every night. Myself, my mother and my baby brother, Kenneth. My father
was in the Royal Navy. I know what it's like to live in fear. Can you
guess what Kenneth's first words were? 'All Clear'.
"As the raids got bigger, they began to evacuate the children. I was
sent away to live with an elderly couple in Devon, where I would be
safe. Kenneth was too young to leave my mother, and so he remained in
London.
"A high explosive bomb landed in our garden one night. Both my mother
and Kenneth were killed instantly. My father was away at sea. So I
remained in Devon.
"The war ended and after a few month, my father came home. He was
discharged and I returned to live with him. I was sixteen by now, and I
had begun to resemble my mother.
"Father couldn't stand it. He turned to drink and got more and more ill.
He had been a fine man, but his body went to ruin. Finally he lost his
mind. He saw my mother everywhere. He began to spend more and more time
walking the streets. Eventually they pulled him out of the Thames.
Officially it was an accident, but I know it wasn't.
"I began to work with children, younger than myself, who had lost
parents in the war. It was the only thing that kept me sane. I had to
protect them from what had happened to me. It became my career, almost
and obsession. I had a small amount of money, a legacy from my father. I
used it to track down children that the system had abandoned. I had to
help these children to have the life they deserved. Now you know, why I
want you to have a life. It is your right."
I looked at her. She seemed so concerned. Perhaps she was right. It
couldn't hurt to try. It couldn't do any harm to humour her.
"Perhaps you're right, Monica. It might be fun to be a child. And now I
had better speak to Belinda."
I stand up and pick up Belinda's sword.
"Peter," I look over at Monica. "If you hurt her like that again . . ."
"Yes, Monica," and I continued down the hall.
I came to Belinda's room and knocked on her door.
"Come in."
I opened it and walked in, Belinda sat on her bed. Her eyes were red
from crying. I lay her sword on her desk and sit down at the chair.
"I'm sorry Linda."
"Why? I heard what you said to Monica, out there. I know why you did
it."
"I apologise for the effect, though not for the act. I feel that it was
necessary to make my point. You have no choice in the matter, you must
fight or die."
"Is there really no choice, Peter? Is there no other way?"
I look at her.
"We came to Paris to see Darius. I think it's time that you met him."
/ \
o=== ====================- -==================== ===o
\ /
And so we went to see Darius. Darius is one of the oldest immortals that
I have met, and one of the most unusual. He is a man who has avoided
fighting for many years. He lives in sanctuary on Holy Ground, which is
easy for him. He is a Catholic Priest.
I remember when I met him . . .
I am walking through Paris, on a cool Autumn day. It is the reign of the
Emperor Napoleon, and Paris has once again become safe for the noble
classes, those to which my Mother and I belong. I buy a pastry from a
street vendor, and continue on my way.
I turn a corner and then I feel another. I cast around, looking for
them, and loosen my sword in its scabbard. He emerges from the shadows.
An uncouth lout with a huge sword, longer than I am tall in his hand. He
has a black scraggly beard, and while I only sensed him at a distance of
a few yards ('metres, Peter, we are in Paris'), I could have smelt him
at a much greater distance. My sword comes into my hand.
"Je m'appelle Peter Delaney, ah," I revert to English, I still can't
speak French well. And I decided to dispense with my alias. If I must
fight, it will be under my real name.
"My name is Peter Woodley, Sir. I wish no harm to any man who does not
wish me harm."
"Defend yourself!" He runs at me, and I turn and flee. I must get home,
I must get to my Mother. He is faster than I, I will never make it. I am
terrified, beyond all belief. I can never take this man, and I doubt
that I can get away.
I run through the market, sword in hand. Many people move to stop me,
but I am too agile, too quick. I have never moved this fast in my life,
my fear makes me run by the wind. My adversary is not as lucky. People
manage to grab him. If he stabs any he'll be in trouble. Another reason,
why my Mother has avoided Paris, for the last few years is her memory of
the Guillotine. I see a church and angle towards it. Holy Ground. I leap
up the stairs and fumble for the door. It opens and I run inside,
tripping over the last step and sprawling across the ground. My sword
skids across the floor. And then I feel another immortal. I begin
crawling towards the blade in a frenzy.
"You will not need it."
I look up into the eyes of a Priest. A very tall man, with a calm serene
face, and a soft voice. He reaches down and raises me to my feet with no
effort at all. I realise that he is the other immortal. He speaks to me
again.
"What is your name, and why do you come into my Church with a sword in
your hand?"
"I am Lord Peter Delaney. I was running from someone. I didn't mean any
disrespect Sir, ah, I mean Father."
"Please, my name is Darius, Peter. You must be Amelias son."
I look at him. I know that it can be dangerous to trust another
immortal, but yet I do trust him. I am also on Holy Ground, I take the
risk.
"That is correct, Sir, Darius. Do you know my Mother?"
"I do, I am a friend of hers, and I hope I can be one to you as well."
"That remains to be seen."
Belinda is ahead of me now, pushing open the door to the church. I
increase my pace to enter before her. We have entered the sanctuary of
Holy Ground. A feeling of peace washes over me. Even when there is no
immediate threat, entering such a place brings relief. A short time
where inattention is permitted and I can relax my instincts. I feel my
old friend as he leaves his sacristy.
"Peter. It has been quite a while."
I move forward to greet the man. "Too long, Darius. I've missed you," I
take Belinda's hand and bring her forward to meet him, "May I present
Belinda Milner. Belinda, meet the Padre. The only immortal on the planet
who you can trust with your life."
She answers, "Except for you. Hallo Father," she smiles at him, and he
returns the smile.
I continue, "and this is Monica Sturton, a lady who cares for us."
Monica moves forward, "I try. I have been told so much about you,
Father. I am very pleases to meet you."
"Likewise, but please, my name is Darius. I have no need for title. May
I offer you tea?"
I know Darius' teas from past experience. I decline. I think I'll let
the others find out for themselves.
We move into the sacristy and Darius serves us tea, me as well. I
watched Monica and Linda as they drank theirs. Belinda turned almost
green at the first taste, and spluttered a bit. Monica glanced at her
reprovingly, and then tasted her own. She raised an eyebrow, took
another sip, placed her cup down, and spoke. "Very refreshing, thank you
Darius."
I couldn't help myself as I began to laugh. The priest looked at me for
a minute and then smiled broadly himself.
"Your mood has changed in the last few years, Peter. For the better, I
would say."
And I remember . . .
A cold and stormy night, I move through the streets of Paris. There is
blood on my hands, and on my sword. There is also blood on my clothing,
but that is mine. I was too slow, and perhaps I was not willing. He
almost took me with his last blow, but I have triumphed. The victory is
like ashes in my mouth. A second time I am a killer, once again my
nature asserts itself over my reason. I want to die, but I lack even the
courage to end my life. That is why I stumble through the streets,
without giving my wound time to heal. I must escape from the other one.
He is bent on revenge and will not listen to reason. I know this and
seek to find Holy Ground. I must find Darius.
I cross the threshold of the church, and collapse into a faint. I awaken
and Darius is there.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
He helps me up and speaks, "Peter, why are you in Paris? What has
happened? Where is Amelia?"
"I killed her."
He draws back for a moment, "Why?"
"Because I am an evil son of a bitch, that's why! Because I am cursed by
God and reviled by man!"
He pushes me into a chair.
"No, Peter, you are not. You truly believe in God, don't you?"
"You know I do."
"If you believe in him, believe this. He loves you and cares for you."
"I am evil, I don't deserve his love."
"If you were truly evil, you would not be this concerned. And it isn't a
matter of deserving. His love is absolute and so is his forgiveness."
Another immortal approaches. The door to the church opens.
"Darius!", a young man stands at the door.
Darius stands, "Yes, Simeon?"
"I know he's here. Send him out."
"Why?"
"He killed Marco. I will have his head for that."
I stand up, and move forward.
"My name is Peter Woodley and I wish no harm to any man who does not
wish me harm."
"You killed Marco."
"I did. He attacked me."
"Don't give me that. You cut him down where he stood."
"Believe that if you wish. It makes no difference to me."
"Simeon, Peter, please. This accomplishes nothing!" that comes from
Darius.
"He killed Marco, and he will die!"
"He says he was attacked. He was left with no choice."
"That is correct, Sir. I am sorry for his death, but I had no other
choice."
Simeon looks at me. I don't think he realised my age and size before.
"You killed him in combat. You, a mere boy."
"Yes Sir, I did. Perhaps I was lucky, perhaps not. Do you want to find
out?"
I raise my blade. Simeon backs away, as Darius grasps my wrist.
"No, not on Holy Ground, and certainly not in my Church. Simeon, no
bloodshed, please. Leave the boy alone."
Simeon looks at me and then at Darius. He nods and turns away. Darius
leads me to a chair and speaks.
"Tell me of Amelia."
And I return to the real world, from my reverie.
"I have something to live for now." I look across at Belinda, and she at
me.
"A reason to live?"
"Yes."
"I am glad. But why are you here?"
"Because of Linda, actually." I look at her and she begins to speak.
"Darius, I don't want to fight, but Peter says it is necessary. He says
I have to be ready to kill. I don't know if I can. He thought you might
be able to help."
The priest looks at me. "Peter, I know you don't believe in my methods,
in my philosophy, and yet you bring her here."
"It's not that I don't agree with you, Darius. Peace is better than war
and life is better than death. I don't deny that. But Sir, I am a
realist. When someone comes headhunting you must be prepared to defend
yourself. It's either that or stagnate on Holy Ground."
"Peter!" Monica again.
Darius raises a hand, "No Monica, there is merit in what he says. My
choice is not an easy one, but I think it is the right one. Will I ever
leave sanctuary? I don't know. Some day I may have to, but I hope not.
Belinda, I believe that our best hope is to avoid war and death and
fighting, but that is only my belief. You must choose for yourself. I
will answer your questions if I can, but the choice must be your own.
Peter, why don't you take Belinda outside and show her Paris. I would
like to speak to Monica, if I may."
/ \
o=== ====================- -==================== ===o
\ /
Monica had no objection and so I took Belinda outside. We walked the
streets in broad sunshine. The day was quite cool but the sunlight
seemed to warm us. Belinda was quiet - pensive actually, obviously
thinking of what Darius had said. She finally spoke.
"Peter, is Darius right? Can we have a life of peace or we stuck in this
horrible world. I don't want to fight. I don't want to die."
"Linda, as I see it, we have three choices. We can choose a life like
Darius, we can choose to fight or we can choose to die. I choose to
fight. You must choose for yourself."
"What happens if I choose a life of peace, to take the same path as
Darius?"
"I suppose you live. Perhaps forever, perhaps not. But it's not
something I've ever considered."
"Why not?"
I sat down on the grass, and composed my thoughts.
"We are immortal, Belinda. You know what that means. We cannot die
easily, we recover from wounds, much faster than mere mortals."
"Mere mortals, do you think we're better than them or something?"
"Why not? But no, actually I don't. I think we are worse personally.
What makes a man a man. It's a philosophical question of some
importance. I thinks it's free will, personally. All men can choose
their path, and live their life according to it. We can't. There Can Be
Only One. We are doomed to fight, and to die until one of us is left."
"Darius has chosen otherwise."
"Darius is an anomaly, nothing more, nothing less. I have met quite a
number of immortals in my time. Some are evil, some are not. Darius is
the best of us, but he is still one of us. He resists his nature, denies
it, but he never forgets it. When the Gathering comes we will see how
strong he is, how strong his will. He will fight, at least I believe
so."
"Why? Why do you think he'll fight."
"He has to. The last of us left will have the power and the knowledge
the rule the world. He won't be able to risk one of the evil among us,
taking the prize, and he will leave sanctuary and fight, and live or
die, as will all of us, who remain."
She was quiet again.
"Peter. If we were the last two left, would you kill me? Would you take
my head, and my Quickening in order to take the Prize?"
"It won't happen."
"But if it did, would you?"
I cannot lie to her, no matter how much it hurts her. I won't lie to
her, but the only answer I can give is:
"Maybe."
"How could you? I love you, Peter, I really love you."
"And that is why I cannot lie to you. Power does strange things to a
man, Linda, my love. I might not be able to resist such power and I
might not want to."
"You're a good boy. I can't believe you'd hurt me."
"After this morning, you can't believe that. I'm not a good man or a
boy, for that matter. Don't ever think I am. Don't let your love blind
you to my nature. I killed Amelia, I killed the only woman who had ever
loved me, and the only woman I loved. I'm not good."
"But she hurt you."
"Yes, she hurt me. She killed me and I killed her. It reinforces my
point Belinda. She loved me and I loved her. But I'm not going to let
that love blind me to her nature. I did - for forty five years I thought
she was a saint, until I realised the truth. She was an utterly selfish
woman. She wanted a child and so she took my life, with no concern for
me. She loved me, yes, but she loved herself, and her desires more. I
loved her, I still do, but I was the same. I was selfish enough and, for
want of a better word, evil enough to deny her fiance, and then to deny
her life. It took me nearly half a century to realise her nature, to
stop looking at her through rose coloured glasses. You may not have that
time. The Gathering may arrive tomorrow, we know not the hour or the
place. I was lucky and realised the facts in time, you must realise them
to."
"Do you think Amelia would have taken your head, to take the Prize."
"Without hesitation, and with very little regret. She loved me, but she
loved power more."
"No one who loved someone could ever consider choosing to kill them."
I stand up.
"Then leave now, Belinda, because by your definition, I cannot really
love you."
"I know you killed, Amelia, but I didn't mean you . . ."
"I'm not talking about her and then. I'm talking about here and now. I
can consider your death, and while I can think of nor circumstance where
I would kill you, I am not foolish enough not to believe that such a
situation is impossible. I love you, but I'm not prepare to die for
you."
"You've fought for me, you've been willing to die for me."
"I am willing to risk my life, but not to give it. There is a
distinction. If it ever comes down to you or me, prepare to defend
yourself, and I will do the same."
"I'll die first!"
"Then you'll be a fool, Belinda. A dead, noble and loving fool but a
fool none the less."
She stands. "I think we'd better return to the Church," and she walks
off.
I follow her, a tear in my eye. I love her so much, you see, and yet I
am not prepared to sacrifice myself unreservedly for her. I should be, I
know, but I cannot. I love my life too much. I cannot lie to her, but in
telling her the truth I may lose her. I am 16 years old forever. Maybe
if I had been older when I first died, it would be easier for me. Maybe
not. I suppose I will never know.
We return to the Church and enter the doors. Darius and Monica both
leave the sacristy, and come to meet us.
"Shall we go?" Belinda asks Monica. She's ignoring me. Monica notices
and looks at me quickly.
"Yes, all right," she says and begins to walk towards the door.
Darius speaks up, "May I speak to Peter, it is important."
Monica looks at me.
"I'll make my own way home, Monica. I'll see you later, Linda."
But Linda ignores me and walks out the door. Monica follows.
I follow Darius into the sacristy, and sit down.
"Troubles with Belinda?" He asks.
"Please, Padre, I'd rather not talk about it."
"Very well. But if you need to talk, I am available. There's two things
I need to talk to you about, besides your nascent love life."
I roll my eyes, "You don't approve."
"It is not for me to approve or disapprove, Peter. I suppose I have the
normal prejudice. Under most circumstances I'd advise you to wait till
you are older, but . . . "
"But in my case, that is ridiculous. Darius can we get to the point,
please."
"Yes, first of all, Simeon is in Paris. I saw him a week ago."
"How is he?"
"I think he's all right. He's accepted Marco's death. It still might not
be a good idea to let him know you're in Paris."
"I have no intention of doing so, Darius. I haven't lived two centuries
by being stupid. What's the other thing, you said there were two."
"What do you know about Monica?"
I don't argue with Darius.
"British, English actually. Approximately 42 years old. No close family,
her parents are both dead, and I don't think she has any living brothers
or sisters. She was a welfare worker, worked with children all of her
adult life. Very proper, highly educated lady. Why?"
"Do you trust her?"
"With my life. Why are you asking these questions?"
"You have to be careful, Peter, letting mortals get close to you. Some
of them could be dangerous. They might want to hurt you."
"Mortals dangerous? For Gods sake, Darius, we've nothing to fear from
them surely. They don't know about us, they wouldn't believe in us
anyway. Its not the middle ages, they don't start building bonfires and
using us as kindling. Before my time, Sir."
"I'm serious Peter, you have to be careful. Getting close to mortals can
be dangerous and painful."
"Painful? Are you talking about them dying Darius? I've seen death, and
I know it's not pretty. I know that if I stay with Monica, I'll have to
watch her die. You're not suggesting we should avoid mortals are you.
It's not practical, and it's stupid."
"You trust her absolutely?"
"Yes, Darius, I do. You and Monica are the only people in the world I
trust."
He leans back in his chair, "Not Belinda?"
"How can I? There Can Be Only One."
"Peter, those are just words. If you allow them to rule your life, you
will destroy, you will poison every relationship that you might
otherwise have."
"You mean, they're not true?"
"I don't know, Peter. None of us do. They may be true, but they may be
false. Take the chance. Please think about this, Peter. You say you can
trust Monica totally. Trust Belinda the same way. Give her your trust.
She deserves it, and so do you. You can't allow a legend thousands of
years old to destroy your life. Too many of our kind have. The stories
may be true, or they may be false, I don't know and neither do you. If
they are false, you waste your life. If they are true, at least you will
have a happy life until the Gathering. Life can't be measure only in
years, it has to be measured in happiness and in its fulfilment. Live
all you can, and then , if and when, you die, you can die happy. You've
made mistakes before, Peter. Don't make another one. End of Sermon."
I look up at him.
"Yes, Peter, I know that's what you call the way I talk, you and William
Mawson. I don't mid what you call it. Try and think about it, that's all
I ask."
I stand, "Darius, I can promise that much, at least."
/ \
o=== ====================- -==================== ===o
\ /
I began to walk back to the apartment. Darius is a good man, and what he
says is always good advice, I know that. But it isn't easy to trust
another immortal, even one I love as much as Belinda. How can I trust
her, when I know that I can never be trusted. If I give her my trust,
she will give me hers. I can't allow that. I know my nature. I am
dangerous, and I make no apologies for that. It is what has kept me
alive. I don't think I'd ever harm Belinda, but I never intended to kill
Amelia either. The situation got away from me, and I didn't know how to
deal with it. In many ways I am a coward, perhaps because of my age. I
don't like making excuses, but in some ways I am only 16. I don't always
think things through to their conclusion. My maturity level is that of a
child, despite being tempered by long years of experience. I wish I was
older, but as they say, if wishes were horses . . . I have to make a
decision, one I do not feel qualified to make. Do I risk loving Belinda,
or do I risk losing her? I don't know and I don't know how to decide.
The sun is now beginning to set, it is later than I thought and I
increase my pace.
I finally arrive at the street in which I live. I stand at the end of
the street and brace myself to go in. Belinda is probably still upset at
me, although I hope she has forgiven me. I am a coward, I don't want to
face her.
And then a scream erupts from the apartment. Monica! I have never heard
her scream before, but I know that voice, it must be hers. My feet are
moving of their own volition, as I streak to the apartment. I bound up
the steps and feel two immortals as I enter. My blade is out, as I enter
the living room. Belinda stands her ground, in front of Monica who
appears unconscious or maybe dead. Her blade slashes and parries that of
a man who has his back to me. I know who it is however. It is Simeon. He
is attacking my Linda and while she is fighting well, he is the better
with the sword. I could step forward and slide my blade through his
back, make a swing and take his head. But I cannot. From the time I
became immortal it has been drummed into me as Canon law - Always fight
one on one and never interfere. For the first time in my life, I realise
how crippling and restrictive these rules are, but I cannot violate the.
To do so, would invalidate my entire existence. But further I just
cannot. My body does not move and I cannot make it do so.
My heart is pounding. I have been in battle before and on nearly all
occasions have been in absolute fear of my life. I have fought with
tears of terror coursing down my cheeks and screaming in fear. On one
occasion, although it embarrasses me greatly to admit it, I even filled
my pants, so great was my terror. This is worse. Before I risked my own
life, now I risk losing everything that is dear to me, and I can do
nothing. Monica and Belinda's lives are in the hands of a novice
swordswoman, a mere slip of a girl. My heart is pounding.
Belinda is fighting well, far better than in our duel this morning and
then she sees me. A fire comes into her eyes and she begins to attack
Simeon with a renewed strength. Her blade moves faster than I had ever
imagined she could manage but she is tiring. Simeon has many years of
experience and he only needs one mistake. And then she makes it. She
slips and falls, I can hear her ankle cracking as it breaks, she falls
and her blade skitters away from her hand. His blade comes up and I
finally gained control of my mouth and vocal cords, although my heart
seems to have stopped.
"BELINDA, NO!"
Simeon turns his head and sees me. I begin to step forward, but he is
fast and grabs Linda by the hair, and kicks her blade away. He pulls her
up with his right hand and holds his blade with his left. He holds it to
her throat.
"Peter. How nice to see you?"
"Simeon, I wish the pleasure was mutual."
"I didn't know you were in Paris. You should have called."
"I'll remember that. But where you're going there are no phones."
"Touchy, aren't you? Drop your blade or the girl dies." He raises his
blade slightly.
Belinda forgive me. I was wrong, I would die for you, but that will
accomplish nothing at the moment. He would simply take your head and
then mine while I was unarmed. Monica gives out a groan. There is also
her life to think about. I have only one choice - an unwarranted gamble,
but I see no other option.
"Kill her, then. She means nothing to me."
Belinda's eyes go lifeless and for a moment I think he has done it. But
no. I have done that to her with words not a blade.
Simeon looks at me, his eyes are shrewd, "Really, if you'd rather see
her dead. I can oblige you. But I don't want her. I want you. I'll let
her go if you like. Just ask me and fight me. If you win, she's free to
go."
"No dice, Simeon. I don't care at all about her. You, on the other hand,
I'd quite willingly kill. You don't need her so let her go. Or kill her,
as you wish. But let's get on with it."
He looks at me and then at Belinda, trying to decide whether or not he
should kill her.
I must explain here and now, that I did kill Marco, back in 1926. He was
only the second immortal I had ever killed, and unlike the first, I
really had no choice. After killing Amelia I headed for Paris, I needed
to see Darius. I wanted peace, and I thought he might have been able to
give it to me. Marco was Simeon's mentor. I don't know how long Simeon
had been immortal at that time, but it can't have been long. Marco was
an utter bastard, an evil immortal who killed for pleasure and for the
prize. I think he sought to create Simeon in his own image - at least
that's the only reason I can see that he kept him alive. Marco had a
great hatred of me and had since he first met me in about 1820. He felt
immortals were Gods and he though that such an underdeveloped specimen
as myself should not be allowed to live. He was also a coward however
and had never had the courage to attack Amelia and so for as long as I
was with her, I was safe. Without her protection, he thought I'd be an
easy kill. He attacked me in the street, out in the open, the bloody
fool. He was so arrogant, he had no fear of the normal authorities. I
did not expect to be attacked in such a public place, and so I was not
ready, and his first slash, cut my flesh badly. I had my sword out and
began to fight. At first it was fairly evenly matched, he was drunk and
I had no real desire to live. That changed when he called Amelia a
filthy slut. I attacked with a frenzy of blows and eventually bested
him. I took his head and his Quickening. While this was occurring Simeon
appeared on the scene and reached the conclusion that I had attacked and
murdered Marco. He did not realise the type of man his mentor was. I
wonder sometimes if there is something inbuilt in us that causes us to
believe our mentors are flawless. I have seen it many times. Perhaps it
is similar to the small child's belief that their parents can do no
wrong. But I digress. Suffice it to say, that I did kill Marco, and so
Simeon does have reason to hate me. I don't hate him (although if he
harms Belinda or Monica, that will change), I think he is probably a
good man, in the final analysis.
And he proves that now. He has no reason to kill Belinda and so he
releases his grip on her, and pushes her away. I step between her and
him, and he raises his blade. I speak,
"Please, Simeon. I want to look at the woman. I want to check she's all
right."
"You won't try anything?"
"I swear."
"On your blade?"
"Yes, I swear it on the blade I bear."
He seems satisfied and I move over to Monica. She raises her head. She
is conscious but still a bit groggy.
I look over at Belinda, who is nursing her ankle and looking at me, with
extreme hurt in her eyes.
"Linda, leave now. Get out!"
"But, Peter, I . . . "
"Get out, you stupid little bitch."
She looks as if I've slapped her, and my heart almost breaks. I can't
show weakness, I just cannot. If Simeon feels she gives him a hold on
me, he might try and use her again. I don't think he would but I can't
take the chance.
She stands up and moves to her blade.
"Leave it and go."
She turns and leaves the apartment.
I help Monica to her feet, "Can you walk?"
"Yes."
"Take Belinda with you, and go to . . . go to where we were this
afternoon. Don't let Linda come back. If I'm not there by midnight,
leave and get away. And tell Belinda, I love her."
Monica walks out of the room and I hear the front door shut behind her.
I take up my blade and face Simeon. He raises his own sword and speaks:
"Shall we dance?"
And our blades ring as they collide and separate, and collide again. I
have never fought a left handed man before, and it makes my style
awkward. I am used to dealing with slashes and jabs across the body, not
past my arm. He on the other hand has gained much experience fighting in
this style, and knows how to use it to his full advantage. He does so
now. My only advantage is that I am not as tired as he is. I am also not
afraid. Where under any normal circumstances I would be terrified to be
fighting like this, on this occasion, I feel relief. Whatever happens,
Monica and Belinda are safe, and my own life seems of little
consequence. Not that I want to die, I want to live as much as any man.
But I am not afraid to die.
Our blades ring out and we hack and parry and jab. I am getting the hang
of his unorthodox style now, and I realise that the advantage he has
gained from it is his only advantage. This man is not a killer, or even
much of a swordsman. I can take him any time I like. But I don't.
I slash at his body and pull the blade an inch short, I direct a parry
at his face and miss his eyes by even less of a margin. I turn his blade
in all directions, and finally I direct a series of glancing blows at
his neck, anyone of which could have killed him. I see the fear in his
eyes as he realises that he is a dead man, and the terror as he realises
that my skill is greater than his own could ever be. And then I sweep
his legs from under him, striking with the flat of my sword and kick his
sword from his hand. He lies there looking up at me.
"Finish it."
I take a risk, I would never take under most circumstances, but I don't
want to kill this man. I reach down and take his hand and help him up.
Then I pick up his blade and hand it to him. I take my stance, just in
case. He looks at me.
"What are you doing? Do you want to fight me again?"
"No I don't, Simeon. I didn't want to fight you at all. I never wanted
to fight Marco either, but I had no choice. I'm not a killer by choice,
though I have been one by circumstance. You are free to go."
He began to walk to the door.
"A word of warning, Simeon. I can take you any time I like. If you ever
harm me or mine, you'll wish I'd taken your head. That's a promise, and
I keep my promises."
I go over to the bar and get a drink. I don't drink much at all, but I
need something badly. Now I am afraid. How can I possible face Belinda
after what I said. I pick up her sword and put it in a bag. And I walk
to the Church. It is dark now, and the blackness of the sky is unbroken
even by starlight. And the sky is black tonight. Normally I don't find
it so, despite what people say the night sky has always seemed a very
deep, very rich blue to me. Tonight however it is black, totally and
utterly.
I walk into the Church and Darius is there to meet me. He embraces me
and I make a request of him.
"Darius, would you ask Belinda to come outside?"
He looks at me, and his eyes go hard for a moment, "Peter, you're not
going to do anything stupid, are you?"
"No Father, just something I have to do." And I step outside. Belinda
and Monica come out of the Church and walk towards me. I open the bag
and take out Belinda's sword. Darius looks alarmed at this, but a shake
of my head seems to reassure him. I hand it hilt first to Belinda, and
then I kneel on the ground in front of her. I lower my head giving her a
clear blow at my neck. And she speaks.
"Peter, get up, please."
I look up at her.
"I'm sorry, Linda, I really am so sorry."
"I understand."
"You do?"
"Yes, Monica and Darius explained. They could explain anything."
I stand up and embrace her.
"I love you."
"And I love you."
We stand there for a while and then reluctantly, slowly draw apart.
Belinda speaks.
"Is he dead?"
"No, I let him go."
"Why? Why didn't you kill him?"
"It would have served no purpose, Linda. I will die for you, I will kill
for you. And I will kill to protect my own life. But that battle was
won, without the need for bloodshed. Killing him would have done no
good, letting him live just might. He's a good man, despite his faults."
"And so are you."
I don't agree and she must still learn to fear me. Not because I want
her to, but for her own protection. That can wait, though, for the
moment, for now we have to embrace life and live it while we have the
chance.
The Gathering may come or it may not. We'll worry about that later.
(comments to: drednort@bud.swin.edu.au)
(
geocities.com/hollywood)