Forging the Blade: Part II -- Kithe and Kin Chapter 5 MacGeorge For acknowledgements and disclaimers, see Part 0. ~~~~~~~ Chapter 5 Connor watched from a distance as Duncan began the long sword exercise again, weaving and thrusting the heavy claymore like it had no more weight than a child’s toy. Connor had never much cared for those muscle-cramping, exhaustion-inducing exercises, but they did build strength and endurance, and Duncan seemed to find them almost soothing, like the meditations Nagano had taught Connor in his travels to the East. Connor supposed it was a good thing, given that strength and endurance were currently Duncan’s best tools for survival. It would be decades before his student acquired the skills of a seasoned Immortal: a sophistication of technique that involved timing and speed, and reading your opponent so well that you could anticipate their every move. Both Ramirez and Nagano had been able to imbue Connor with that kind of awareness without him knowing even exactly how or when they did it. But their teaching skills were ancient and quite mysterious, while Duncan’s teacher was neither ancient nor mysterious, and his methods were of the more mundane variety. And that was part of their current problem. Duncan’s natural outgoing nature, so battered by years of abuse and despair, was at last reasserting itself, and it was making the prospect of another long winter in their isolated croft a kind of torture for them both. Duncan was now all too eager to wander out into the world where he would likely meet an untimely end. Or – almost as troubling – end their close kinship. For Ramirez had admonished Connor early in their relationship that once an Immortal had absorbed that first life-altering Quickening, he was no longer a student but a potential threat, a full-fledged competitor in the Game, and must be treated as such. Oh, they might remain friends, but their relationship would be forever altered and Duncan was not ready for that yet. He had much to learn yet about how to protect himself, not just in battle, but from unscrupulous men and women who would take advantage of Duncan’s trusting nature. But the tension between them had grown sharp and bitter over the last several weeks as winter grew near and they argued over whether it was time to abandon the croft and head south. Connor felt they should stay in the isolated safety of the croft, while Duncan had other ideas. Thus, after another exchange of sharp words the night before, the student had arisen before sunrise and was slashing and thrusting and parrying at invisible opponents, working off his frustrations. Connor left his student to his exertions, and after his usual morning chores headed for the horse pen to saddle his stallion. After a few minutes, Duncan appeared, leaning his forearms on the top rail of the pen. He had taken off his winter cloak as he had exercised, but now had it thrown over his shoulders even though his face was flushed and shiny with sweat. “So, you’re going,” he said, his breath making a small plume of mist in the chilly morning air. “Aye. I told you O’Brien was going to be in Aberdeen this month. It’s Huntly’s stronghold, and I owe Seamus at least an effort to get him free of the man’s clutches.” Connor looked up and met Duncan’s hostile eyes. “And no, you are not going with me. O’Brien writes there is someone asking around for me and if there is a challenge, you are better off here. You will only be a distraction for me to worry about. I’ll be back before the first snows.” Duncan looked away, off to the horizon for a moment. “I can’t say for certain I’ll be here when you get back, Connor.” Connor’s hands paused in his task and a wash of either fear or anger, perhaps both, tightened his skin. “If not, I’ll take the extra animals over to Sean MacDonald’s. He said he might be interested in buying them.” “Oh, they are yours to sell, are they?” Connor snapped. “No. They are yours. Everything is yours, Connor. Is that what you’re worried about? Well, dinna fash yourself, I’ll not take anything but my horse and my blade. Or do you think you own me, as well?” “No, but you’re my student! I am your teacher, and I, for one, take that very seriously.” Connor yanked on the girth and the stallion jerked his head and snorted in complaint. “Do you think you know all you need to know, then, lad? Do you think you can beat me, or any other Immortal? Do you care to try?” Connor pulled the katana out of its scabbard on the saddle and pushed the horse out of the way. But Duncan just stood, forearms resting on the fence, looking at him. “No, Connor. I know I can’t beat you. But you canno’ hide me away from any threat for the next century until I can, either. There are things to learn other than sword fighting, and I’ll hardly learn them here, will I? And I canno’ live forever on your charity. I must learn to make my own way in the world, Immortal Game or no.” Connor snorted and shook his head, turning to put his sword away. “You just want to find someone warm and willing for your bed!” he growled. “Well, get used to it. I once spent three years without a woman, and I lived.” Duncan laughed, his white teeth shining in the weak sunlight, and the tension between them eased a little. “Yes, but did you want to?” “You can’t make your life’s decisions based on the urges between your legs, Duncan,” Connor answered as he retrieved the stallion’s reins. “That’s nay what this is about, and you know it!” Connor clenched his jaw to contain his growing irritation as he put away his katana and tied down his saddlebags, checking one last time to make sure the water and provisions he had stored were secure. Then he led the horse out of the pen and closed the gate. He mounted, somehow feeling a little more secure on horseback, looking down at his student. Duncan wouldn’t leave, he reassured himself. This was all just a bluff to try to get Connor to take him to Aberdeen. Well, Duncan would learn that Connor MacLeod was not a man to be bluffed. “This is about you being so bloody cocksure of yourself that you think you are ready to take on another Immortal. Of you wanting to do it, isn’t it? You are a prideful fool, Duncan. A childish, prideful fool, and your very desire to leave is proof enough to me that you are far from ready.” He whirled away and kicked the stallion with a shout, urging him to a canter, forcing himself not to look back as he rode over the ridge and out of sight of the croft. His anger quickly evaporated and after a few minutes, he let the horse slow to a trot, cursing his clumsy tongue. It had not been that long since he had felt that wonder about what was just beyond the horizon. Indeed, that wanderlust had driven him across several continents, and called to him still. He was also painfully aware that just as Duncan had finally begun to get over all the hesitation and fear his banishment had caused, Connor had slapped him down once again. Ramirez and Nagano would be ashamed of him. Perhaps the person unready for the wider world was the teacher and not the student. He pressed his mount, wanting to get this trip over quickly. There were few real towns on the long route almost due east, and in four days he arrived, tired and dirty, to the twin rivers of Don and Din, now running along the joined villages called Aberdeen. The evening was gray and overcast, and the city’s granite buildings, which could sparkle like gems on a sunny day, all seemed heavy and squat. There were several inns near the waterfront where he was likely to find Seamus O’Brien and his ship, the Brigitte, but he thought it best, given his current tenuous relationship to the Lord whose lands dominated the area, to find an out of the way place closer to the edge of town. ~~~~~~~ The fresh morning air was tainted by the rank smell of tar and sweat and old fish, but despite the stench, the bustle and creak and sounds and smells of the busy harbor lifted Connor’s spirits and brought memories of happy months spent at sea. It had become a love of his, one not realized until well into his second lifetime – the freedom of riding the wind and the waves, the challenge of pitting his wits and strength against the vastness of mother nature rather than the petty meanness of human nature. One day he would own a ship, a fine three-masted caravel or brigantine fit to sail all the oceans of the earth, and he would travel across the world with no master but himself, and no foe but time and tide, wind and storm. He had been close to that goal until the call of Duncan’s burgeoning Immortal strength made him abandon his plans to find his own ship to transport the goods from the Far East, leaving the matter in the hands of Hamza Al Kahir, and ultimately, Seamus O’Brien. The reminder of his student hurried his steps. He needed to conclude his business here as quickly as possible, and get back to Glencoe and to Duncan. He would not lose the lad now. The young man had become far more than a student. He was a friend, the family he had lost when his village turned him out so long ago, giving him hope for the future and a sense of permanence that he had not even realized he had missed. He found a pile of crates stacked high and ready for loading and clambered up, seeking a higher viewpoint to examine the ships in port. The wind was a little fresher up high, blowing his hair away from his face, and chilling his cheeks. There were at least two dozen vessels rocking gently in the harbor’s gray waters, more than half of them round-bottomed local fishing vessels rigged with a couple of sails, their nets carefully gathered and tied to keep them from tangling. The pre-dawn catch had already been offloaded, and another wave of vessels would come in with the afternoon tide. But what interested Connor were the larger ships, of which there were eight, three of them snugged up against the dock, now being loaded or unloaded, the rest at anchor in the harbor, their masts rising like church crosses against the gray sky. Two were carracks, square-rigged on the fore and mainmasts, and lateen-rigged on the mizzen. Both ships were well-used, their paint beginning to fade and one had enough barnacles decorating her hull to dangerously slow her down, making her vulnerable to the pirates that that could dash out from shore and capture her before she got to open sea. Such lack of care irritated Connor’s personal sense of honor. A ship was like a living being. If you took care of her, she would take care of you and the men under your command. There were several brigantines of various sizes, probably bringing in goods from the Mediterranean, and a lovely three-masted caravel. It was large, almost 100 feet in length, with a brilliantly painted figurehead of a blondr, blue-eyed woman with braids trailing over her ample, but discreetly covered breasts. Connor couldn’t make out the name on her side from this distance, but he felt certain she was the Brigitte, named for Seamus O’Brien’s only daughter. Connor hopped down from the crates, a smile already forming on his face at the thought of being aboard a ship once more, and seeing his old friend and his daughter. Brigitte had been just a little girl in blond pigtails the last he had seen her, a sparkling-eyed child of obvious Viking decent who called him “Uncle Connor.” She had sailed with her da from the time her mother died when she was only six years old. No doubt she could haul up a mainmast with the best of them by now. He found someone to row him out to the Brigitte, and hailed the ship once she was within calling range. A moment later, Seamus O’Brien’s bald head could be seen at the side. “Is that you, Connor MacLeod?” he shouted. “Well I’ll be. Come aboard, ye old pirate! Brigitte! Come see who’s come to visit!” He had barely managed to heave himself aboard when he was tackled by a flurry of blue skirts and blonde hair, and found himself flat on his back on the hard deck. “Connor!” Brigitte shouted right in his face. “I canna believe it! By Jesus, Mary and St. Joseph, you are a sight for sore eyes. Did you get Da’s letter? Did that ugly man ever find you? Are you going to sail with us?” Connor took her shoulders to push her away and stand, trying to decide which question to attempt to answer first. The child was…well, she was certainly no longer a child. Near as tall as her da, she was broad of shoulder and her figure had certainly filled out, almost matching the somewhat idealized version of the ship’s figurehead. But before he could open his mouth to explain his presence, she wound her arms around his waist and looked up into his face with a huge grin. “I just can’t believe it,” she sighed, hugging him tightly. “You are exactly as I remember. I always told Da that you’d come back someday and marry me, and he teased me and teased me about it, but here you are!” “Uh...,” Connor’s mind suddenly blanked, and he carefully peeled her arms from around his waist. “Brigitte, I’m delighted to see you, too. Always loved you… like a daughter, ever since you were little,” he added quickly. Brigitte laughed aloud. It was the big, hearty laugh of someone who had never felt the constraining hand of society’s view of the way a ‘lady’ was supposed to act. “Well, I’m no’ little anymore, Connor MacLeod.” She rose up on tiptoe and gave him a hard kiss on the mouth. “And I decided long ago that you would be the man for me!” Connor cast a desperate glance at Seamus, who just rolled his eyes and made a poor showing at trying to hide a grin. “Well,” Connor said loudly, desperately casting about for some way to change the subject. “This is certainly a fine ship, Seamus. Have you found a good cargo?” He managed to disengage from Brigitte and move towards his old friend, who led him down through a narrow passageway and into the captain’s cramped, but serviceable quarters. “Well, that depends,” Seamus answered. “On whether I am prepared to do as Lord Huntly demands. First, he tells me I have to come here to deal with business, then dictates what cargo I’m to carry, then he charges outrageous harbor fees. The man’s impossible!” “Well, he’s hardly on my list of good friends, either, Seamus. That’s why I came, to see if, together, we could wrest the Brigitte from the bastard’s clutches.” “He might as well own her at this point,” Seamus replied, heaving himself into a chair with a sigh and restlessly stroking his shaggy, gray beard. “I’m hardly a captain of my own ship anymore.” “Well, I may have the means to remedy that,” Connor answered, finding a chair for himself. “I have some funds I can use to buy out the lien.” “Would that it were that simple, my friend. Huntly is not interested in having the lien bought out, and has found all kinds of reasons to refuse my efforts to pay it off. He wants my ship, and I think I know why.” Seamus leaned over to a small cupboard and pulled out a jug and a couple of glasses. “But at least I’ve found one benefit of dealing with his Lordship. Would you care for a sample of some of my latest cargo?” “That stuff’ll shrivel your brain,” Brigitte remonstrated, plunking a tray of wine and bread down on the table. “Or other, even more valuable parts,” she added with a glint in her eye, elbowing Connor. Despite himself, Connor felt his face get hot with what was a rare, but brilliant flush of embarrassment. Brigitte’s sudden ascension to womanhood, along with her aggressive sexuality, was very disconcerting. He couldn’t bring himself to think of her as anything but a child, and, well, the very thought of…his mind refused to go there. He gulped down a mouthful of the grog Seamus had poured, and coughed, his eyes watering from the fumes as the strong, raw liquor burned down his throat into his stomach. “Well,” he said, then had to clear his throat and cough again when his voice came out strangely choked and high. “We’ll have to find some way to persuade the good Earl that letting you out of the lien is in his own best interests.” “We could slit his throat,” Brigitte offered helpfully, perching on the edge of the nearby cot. Connor assumed she was joking, but Seamus glared at her. “None of that, now, girl! You’ll just get me into more trouble!” Seamus leaned closer to Connor, the fumes from the grog already thick on his breath. “She’s a good girl, but sometimes she gets a little… enthusiastic, if you know what I mean.” Seamus winked one eye slowly, and Connor nodded, even though he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know what Seamus meant. He took another swallow of his drink, choking it down. Already he could feel the warmth spreading through his body, although he supposed he should worry when, after the second cup, he noticed his fingertips going slightly numb. Cont. in Part 2