New Fanfiction: THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 9/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Fri, 2 Mar 2001 23:41:25 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 9/18
Chapter 9
La Pampa Humeda, in La Plata, near Buenos Aires
They were Spaniards. Their long black hair was tied at the nape of their
necks with red silk ribbons in elegant pony tails. Riding on their
Lipizaners, stallions as white as the snow over the mountains, they consumed
the pampa under their hoofs. They liked to think of themselves as brothers,
united by a special bond, and they were indeed very much alike, in both
looks and spirit. Their looks were dark, with skins tanned by the sun of
Spain and now that of the new world, elegantly curled van Dyke beards and
moustaches, and clothes in the latest fashion under their armor. Their
spirits were dark too, without a shred of decency or honor, although they
regarded themselves as wild, carefree adventurers. Their current adventure
was a familiar one: the brothers Munoz de Magana, Don Carlos and Don Lucas,
were hunting heads. They were Immortals.
They had betrayed their immortal father, Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte, in
Toledo, Spain, in the year of our lord 1230, and almost beheaded him then,
but the old man had been too clever for them, too much of an esgrimidor*,
and had managed to escape them. After that, the brothers had traveled all
around the world, taking as many heads as they could and stealing from their
victims. Their opinion of the weaker sex was delight that they were weaker,
and there was nothing the brothers enjoyed more than raping immortal women
before they beheaded them--although they often raped immortal men as well,
completely humiliating them before the final swordstroke. They considered
Don Alvaro's insistence on justice and fair play laughable, and they always
fought two on one against their immortal enemies. They had one religion, and
worshipped the one true god, in their eyes: Gold. And most Immortals were
well known for their capacity to acquire the golden metal. After all, only a
fool had no money after a couple of hundred years.
Gold was the reason the brothers had joined the conquistador Don Pedro de
Valdivia** in 1537, and arrived at the continent with Don Francisco Pizzaro,
as part of Valdivia's supporting campaign. After that plunder, the brothers
Munoz de Magana had founded the city of La Nueva Extremadura, but that
wasn't enough for them, and they soon got restless and moved on, looking for
more gold. And then they had had a piece of wonderful news--their former
teacher, Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte, had settled himself near La Plata, in
Buenos Aires, in a rich rancho* out on the pampa.
"I told you that the pinche* Indio* lied to us about the shortest way to
reach the rancho*," an angry Don Carlos said to his brother.
"What did you expect after you raped and killed his woman and daughter in
front of him," answered Don Lucas, smiling as he remembered the fear on the
Indios'* faces. Terror in others energized Don Lucas. "I will never
understand your taste for these cabecitas negras*. It's like fucking
animals. Give me a good white woman."
"White women are rare in this part of the world, mi hermano*," Don Carlos
replied.
"True. But that Indio* only told you what you wanted to know after you
castrated him. Under the circumstances, I believe that he did well enough.
At least we're going west."
"Un cono siempre es un cono*, no matter its color or smell," Don Carlos
opined, smiling too. He held the savages in an even lower esteem than his
brother did--but not low enough not to rape and steal from them. "Don Alvaro
has respect for these mortals. He always did, remember? If I didn't know any
better, I'd say he cared for them. The stupid bastard was always a
sentimentalist."
"He never could forget his own years as a slave," Don Lucas said, shading
his eyes and peering out over the pampa. Miles and miles, as far as the eye
could see, with an occasional tree breaking up the monotony. What a boring,
miserable place. Fortunately there was water and small game, and they had
brought some provisions, although they preferred to live off of anyone they
met. Don Lucas said, "His interest in mortals is his weakness." His eyes
narrowed in remembered rage. "Although he was neither sentimental nor weak
with us, when he fought us both at once, ran you through the chest, killed
me, and then rode off."
Don Carlos reached across his saddle and touched his older brother's arm.
"Easy, brother. Remember, at that point he had taught us all we knew. We
were real amateurs with the blade, and knew nothing of the real world."
"Yes, he taught us all we knew. But I'm sure he didn't teach us all *he*
knew," Don Lucas replied, bitterly. "He never taught us to fight two against
one."
"I never thought such an 'honorable' pendejo* would know how to do that,"
Don Carlos said frankly. He pulled up on his sleeve, then turned to spit.
"But we've improved our fencing since then, learned a few tricks, eh?"
"Yes, I think we might surprise him." And they might even get to see fear on
Don Alvaro's face. Nothing would please Don Lucas more.
"Maybe," Don Carlos said, shifting in the saddle. He was weary, and longed
for a woman, a soft bed, food and drink, and treasure--all of which, he was
sure, could be found at Don Alvaro's rancho*. "But remember, brother, we
must be prepared. Perhaps the Don is already waiting for us. As you said,
his influence over these Indios* is great. I wouldn't be surprised if one of
them has already told him that a couple of strangers were asking for him in
Buenos Aires."
Don Lucas nodded in silent assent. Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte was the only
man who had ever thwarted them, and although they were no longer afraid of
him, they had no intention of underestimating him. He saw the dark look on
his brother's face, and saw that once again they were thinking the same
thing. This was their bond, their complete agreement in almost everything.
Another Immortal pair might have fought, had a falling out--even gone for
each other's heads. But the only thing that Don Carlos and Don Lucas loved
as much as gold was each other. "Say, whatever happened to Lorca?" Don Lucas
asked, changing the subject to a happier one. "Did he ever find his golden
city with Pizarro?"
"Who knows? The man was insane, believing himself a God!" Don Carlos
answered, "although compared to these animales*..."
Don Lucas nodded. "I have decided, brother, that God must love crazy people.
He certainly made a lot of them." Then, getting back to the matter at hand,
he stated, "I believe that we will reach the rancho* in a couple of days at
the most. The directions that the Indio* gave us have slowed us down, but we
can always 'obtain' new directions from other Indios*, eh? Then, when we
arrive at the rancho*, we'll create a distraction, a little arson maybe, as
we did the last time, with that other Immortal, what was his name?"
"Forgettable, but he had good taste in wine. And in women."
Don Lucas had his own opinion of his brother's taste in women, being aware
that Don Carlos would fuck anything that had a hole in it. But, he thought
indulgently, everyone was entitled to his little eccentricities. "In any
case, the slaves will go out to fight the fire, leaving the Don relatively
unprotected in the house, maybe with only a couple of slaves with him. We'll
dispatch them easily, then unleash our own brand of hell on him."
"Yes, but we won't shoot him, right? I mean, we can shoot the mortals, but
as for our esteemed Don Alvaro ..." He let the thought drift, and his
brother took him up.
"We kill him with our swords, as we kill all Immortals. It is, after all,
the honorable thing to do," he said, irony filling his voice.
"Great minds think alike, brother," Don Carlos agreed, and then the two men
became silent by mutual consent, settling themselves to the ride, eager for
their prize. For long moments they enjoyed the view of the setting sun as it
touched the green pampa grasses with gold, the cooling breeze of the coming
night. Then, just before darkness settled over the region, they found what
they were looking for--only three miserable huts huddled on the plain, some
desultory fields drying in the heat. Their eyes met in joy over their good
fortune, and they stopped to make sure their muskets were loaded. Then they
spurred their white beasts forward, loosening their blades in their
scabbards. Tonight, they would get more ... accurate ... information on Don
Alvaro's whereabouts. Plus, tonight they wouldn't have to sleep on the
ground. Or alone, either.
**********
November, 1642 anno domini
City of Buenos Aires, La Plata (Argentina)
Don Alvaro Duran was chronologically in his mid-forties, and he had the
white hair to prove it, on his temples and on his neat beard, interspersed
in his short blond hair. He was proud of that white hair--he had earned it
while he was an Iberian named Roderigo Rubio and had died fighting the
invading Romans. At that point, in 313 anno domini, his hair had stopped
getting white, because he had stopped aging. Of course, he hadn't realized
at the time that he had become an Immortal--the Roman Immortal who had
killed and enslaved him, Quintus Tarcinus, had told Rubio that he, the
Roman, was a demi-god who had killed and then resurrected the Iberian.
For decades Tarcinus had killed Rubio to discipline and punish him, mostly
by crucifixion, and in other slow, painful and inventive ways. For decades
Rubio had believed that his Roman master was, indeed, a god. And for decades
Rubio had believed he could never defeat, much less fight, the Roman.
Until Tarcinus and his Iberian slave had met another Roman Immortal, a man
named Lucius. And Lucius, who would live another thousand years and become
known as Juan Ramirez, had bought Rubio, beheaded Tarcinus, then become
Rubio's teacher and mentor, and told the Iberian the real secrets of
Immortality. One of the secrets, especially for a man of Don Alvaro's age,
was to stay fit and strong, which was the reason Don Alvaro had the body of
a man of thirty. He was tall--as tall as his beloved mentor had
been--whipcord thin, tough as a leather strap, faster than the eye could
follow and much stronger than he looked. He worked hard every day to remain
that way, and he was proud of that, too.
What Don Alvaro was most proud of, however, was his sharp mind. It was that
sharpness, and not just his physical attributes, which had allowed him to
survive, to be one of the predators among even the arranca-pescuezo* ranks
of Immortals, instead of one of the prey. His intelligence had led to him to
understand that, although he had spent over a dozen years training them and
loving them, the brothers Munoz de Magana, Carlos and Lucas, would betray
him. And they would do so by trying to behead him, two against one,
dishonorably.
And yet, Don Alvaro had one major weakness, one which he recognized but
could not change--once he loved, he loved deeply and fiercely, with all his
heart and soul. He had felt this fierce love for his teacher, Juan Ramirez,
and Don Alvaro's heart had almost broken in 1636 when the red-headed,
green-eyed Immortal witch Callista, who had been Ramrez' lover, had told Don
Alvaro that Ramrez had been beheaded by the Kurgan. Don Alvaro had felt this
same kind of love for all his students, including the two boys he had
considered his sons. He had tried to save them, to redeem them, to try to
show the two young Spanish Immortals the 'right' way, the honorable way, up
to the end, up to the actual moment of their betrayal. And it was a measure
of his love that, after he had defeated them both, he still couldn't bring
himself to behead them. Instead, he had left them, dead on what was supposed
to be the field of 'honor,' knowing that eventually they would be punished
as they deserved. But not by him.
Or so he thought.
Because now the brothers Munoz de Magana were back to finish what they'd
started in 1230--beheading their mentor. And Don Alvaro could not permit
that, especially since now that he had another child he was protecting. This
one was a woman, which was a point against her, and worse, a half-breed. But
by God, she was a fighter! and a decent, honest, loving human being with
more honor, energy and pride than a hundred brothers put together. This
woman was his daughter and the best student he had ever had. And he would
not permit Carlos and Lucas to destroy her.
So here he was, in Buenos Aires, the predator again, this time determined to
finish off his soiled progeny and redeem his failure. And so he would.
But he had to find them first.
**********
After a long day of searching for an immortal sign, Don Alvaro's irritation
had given way to a feeling close to desperation. His preference would have
been to keep mortals out of the business altogether, but he had no illusions
about being able to outfence both his former students at the same time
again, as he had done when they were just children. He was sure that after
all these centuries, Lucas and Carlos would be skilled with the blade. And
although he himself carried firearms, a pistol in a holster and a musket on
his saddle, he was sure the brothers would be equally armed--and equally
willing to use such 'dishonorable' weapons. However, he still intended to
fight each of the brothers one at a time. He'd just have to arrange to meet
them alone. To that end, he had enlisted the assistance of the military
leader of the garrison, an old friend, Don Jose de la Sierra, and soldiers
were scouring the city. Once the brothers were made prisoner, he would take
Lucas, the smarter and more dangerous one, out of his cell, behead him, then
come back for Carlos, who would be distraught at the death of his brother
and much easier to defeat. It would still be an honorable duel, following
the rules, and he quieted his scruples about using soldiers to help him find
them, insisting--indeed, bribing the soldiers--to make sure that the
brothers would not be harmed in any way. Don Alvaro would take care of
harming them.
He found a trace of them on the first day, but it was now the second day,
and it was obvious that Lucas and Carlos were no longer in Buenos Aires. Don
Alvaro was tired. He had ridden almost non-stop and had not slept really
well in three days. And now it was time to ride for home. He put his tankard
of ale down on the table an pushed the rest of his breakfast away. Then he
pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve, wiped his mouth, and stood to go.
An Indian servant girl came to him immediately; in fact, it was the same one
he had considered taking to his bed the night before--provided she was
willing. But a sense of urgency and purpose had prevented it, and he gave
her a coin for the meal. Then he pressed a smaller coin into her hand, "For
you," he murmured. "Find Pedrito, the boy who rode in with me, in the
stables. Tell him to make the horses ready--we're riding home right away."
She ran off to obey, and he smiled, but then his face got grim. It was time
to go home and await the brothers there.
Taking a deep breath, he started to move toward the stairs, to get his few
belongings, but at that moment a young soldier rushed into the inn's common
room, almost knocking over one of the patrons, who yelled at him rudely.
Ignoring the man, the soldier came directly to the Don. "Don Alvaro Duran?"
he questioned.
"I am Don Alvaro." His eyes sparkling with excitement, he looked the flushed
boy up and down. News at last of his elusive prey?
"Don Jose de la Sierra ordered me to take you to him," the boy said,
breathless.
Don Alvaro clicked his teeth impatiently. "Is it news about the men I'm
looking for?" he asked tersely.
"I do not know, Senor. Don Jose--"
"Wants me to come to him. Let's go," Don Alvaro said, nodding in irritation.
He followed the young soldier to the cuartel*, where he felt at liberty to
barge into Don Jose's office.
"What the devil--? Ah, Don Alvaro," the commandant said, standing up from
his desk and almost smiling at the intrusion. "Good morning."
Don Alvaro curbed his impatience long enough to return the greeting. He did,
after all, have to live with this man. But he immediately asked, "You have
them?" although he suspected he knew the answer.
The colonel was equally succinct. "No, but you know how we lost track of
their whereabouts two days ago? I finally found someone who saw them riding
out of Buenos Aires on their two Lipizaners, day before yesterday, in the
dark before the sunrise. They apparently did not *want* to be seen, but they
were headed west, toward the pampa. Perhaps," he ventured, "they are as
eager to find you as you are to find them?" he inquired, obviously waiting
for more information from his rich and mysterious friend..
Don Alvaro did not take these news well, but he forced himself to calmness,
keeping his expression clear and interested. He had missed the brothers;
their paths had crossed somehow. The bastards would find their way to his
rancho* eventually, and they had almost a two-day lead on him. Once they
found out about Mariaelena, his Mariaelena--no, God would not be so unjust!
The Indios* on the rancho* would protect her--provided she had warned them.
Don Alvaro had not warned them, and he should have, should have left a
message for Paco. It was his zeal to keep Immortal business to himself--no,
it was pride, and he recognized it. He had been sure the brothers would not
get past him. He had been sure he could protect the Indios* as well as his
daughter. He had been so sure, he had not foreseen, he had been too
complacent and too proud. It had been too long since he had faced another
Immortal, and he had been stupid, foolish, prideful. And careless. He knew
that Paco and his men would die protecting their Senorita and that they were
not an inconsequential defense, but their deaths would be a small
consolation to him if Mariaelena fell into the hands of Lucas and Carlos.
Especially Carlos--oh, God help her!
He brushed his thumb and forefinger over his moustache, a nervous gesture he
rarely indulged in. He was now eager to ride out immediately, but
appearances, as well as alliances, had to be kept up. "As I told you, Lucas
Munoz de Magana has deeply insulted me, and I intend to make him pay," Don
Alvaro repeated his story. "After which, of course, his brother will want
satisfaction ...," He let the sentence dangle, beginning to pull his riding
gloves on.
"Yes, such prideful young men--" the commandant began.
"Yes. Now I must take your leave, Don Jose, with all my gratitude for your
assistance. You can well imagine that I do not want these ... prideful young
men to meet my daughter."
"Ah, yes, la Senorita Mariaelena," Don Jose said, his eyes burning with
curiosity.
Don Alvaro knew that many of the local Spaniards wondered why he, a Spanish
caballero*, had adopted a half-breed woman who was, in many of their eyes,
sub-human. Only one man, roughly fifteen years before, had voiced that
opinion where it would subsequently be heard by Don Alvaro. That man had
died on the field of honor the very next day, leaving behind a grieving
widow and three small children, whom Don Alvaro had then provided for.
Another Spaniard, a stranger, had insulted Mariaelena about five years ago,
right after their return from Toledo, when she and Don Alvaro had ridden
into Buenos Aires on an errand.
Notes & translations:
esgrimidor (Spanish): master swordsman
pinche (Spanish): damn
mi hermano/a (Spanish): my brother/sister
Un cono siempre es un cono (Spanish): a useless bastard loser is always
useless
pendejo (Spanish): coward, lacking testicles
**The City of Valdivia in Chile was founded in 1522 by Pedro de Valdivia, a
conquistador who was a lieutenant of Francisco Pizarro. It was Gonzalo
Pizarro, Francisco's half-brother, who actually searched for the mythical
city of El Dorado.
arranca-pescuezo (Spanish): throat-cutting, rough
cuartel (Spanish): military headquarters