Shelter from the Storm Chapter 8
All standard disclaimers apply. This story is mine, as are the characters of Leyza Berard, Ray Garcia, Phillippe and Marie Vachon, Francine, Solange Laperrier and Jeremy Cole. Please do not borrow them without asking.
The Highlander concepts and the characters of Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson and May Ling Shen are not. They belong to Gregory Widen, Davis/Panzer, Rysher, Gaumont and probably a few others I've forgotten. I've dared to use them without permission, and hope they'll forgive the transgression, because this story is merely a labor of love. I'm not making a cent from it.
Leyza raked her fingers through her hair and poked a bit of charred rubble with her toe to uncover a blackened potsherd. She bent to pick it up, then brushed some of the soot off the etched design with her thumb.
"That's one of Nicole's," the man standing next to her said, gently as he took it from her hand.
"I'm so mad, I feel like I'm going to explode," Leyza hissed. She kicked a burnt timber to vent some of her anger, but it didn't help much. All she got out of the inadequate gesture was a bruised toe and a scuffed sneaker.
"If Jeremy Cole wants me, let him come after me. This ... this--" She bit her lower lip, as she swept her hand to indicate the ruins surrounding her. "Was so unnecessary. Such a waste."
Leyza's companion was shorter than she by an inch or two. He had clear blue eyes, a salting of grey in the dark hair at his temples, and a careworn face with an olive complexion that hinted at Latin genes.
"The police think it was an accident," he said as he took her elbow, then he urged her to the edge of the burned building. "Faulty wiring on one of the kilns, they said. If Theresa hadn't decided that she needed another look at her latest creation, the whole place could have gone up."
"Poor Theresa," Leyza said. "She must be devastated She worked so hard on that piece."
Dragging her fingers through her hair again, Leyza sighed as she glanced around what remained of this wing of the country manor she'd converted to a school for artisans 146 years ago. Her heart ached as she watched a small group of students pick their way through the rubble. She didn't know all their names, but she knew how each one felt as they searched for pieces of their work that might not have been damaged in the fire.
"What will you do?" the man asked.
Leyza sighed again, then she shrugged as she turned away from the heart-wrenching sight. "Rebuild. What else can I do? Where would they go?" she asked, tilting her head toward the knot of the apprentices who were now gathered around something they had found. One waved with excitement, as he called some of the others over to check it out.
With that small image of hope etched in her mind, Leyza brushed her hands together to knock some of the soot off them, then she strode across the courtyard toward the undamaged portion of the building.
The man hurried to catch up with her. He chuckled softly as he walked beside her. "I wasn't talking about your one woman effort to save the crafts of the past, Querida. I was talking about Jeremy Cole. Will you go after him?"
Leyza stopped. She grasped the man's arm to stop him as well, then she shook her head. "We've known each other over 30 years, Raymond, and you still don't know the answer to that question?"
She searched his eyes, and found concern flickering in their depths. A worried frown creased his brow. She touched it lightly with her fingertips to ease it away, then she stroked his cheek. "No," she said. "I'm not going after Jeremy. What's done is done."
"But he could have burned the whole place down. He could have destroyed everything you've worked for ... this place that you love so much," Raymond insisted, waving his arms. The concern melted into anger, and his eyes burned with a fierce fire.
"And I killed someone he loved. Now we're even."
"But you had no choice ... Solange tried to kill you."
Leyza's smile took on a grim curve. "Several times," she said, biting her lip as she remembered every instance. "If only there had been another way. If only I could have gotten through to her."
"You couldn't have - she wouldn't listen. She would have kept coming."
With sad resignation, Leyza shrugged her shoulders. "She's dead, now, so we'll never know - will we?"
She couldn't bring herself to tell Ray that Solange had begged for death. She knew he wouldn't understand. Like so many mortals, he found her Immortality fascinating. He thought it was a wonderful gift, and most times it was. But there were other times when it was simply a curse.
Ray ran a hand over his close cropped curly hair while he paced a small circuit before her. He clenched his fists as he turned to face her again. "You can't let him get away with this."
"I can and I will," she said in a soft voice to soothe the anger she saw building in him. "Revenge is not the answer, Ray. Revenge is what got us here in the first place. Let it be."
After inhaling deeply, he let the breath out with a low growl. "I can't," he snapped. "Cole did this to hurt you. How can I let him get away with it?"
She caught his wrist and held it tightly in her grasp. "You have to, Ray. Jeremy Cole is an Immortal - there's nothing you can do. You have to let it be," she whispered.
"I know," he said, flatly. "But I don't have to like it." Frustration carved jagged lines at the edges of his mouth. Leyza reached out to soothe them, but he turned away.
She watched him stomp across the courtyard, knowing she had to let him work out his anger in his own way, hoping he could curb his temper. Hoping he wouldn't do something foolish, as he had done the night they met.
* * * *It was October of 1969 on a night that was cold, but clear. An enormous hunter's moon, floating high above, lit the way as Leyza moved with stealth through a rubble strewn lot on Manhattan's north end. Although it was just past 2 am, this city of nearly 8 million people never slept soundly. Voices rising in anger mingled with the muted blare of TV's and radios, before they drifted down from the buildings that lined the lot on the left.
The boarded-up building on the right looked like it had been abandoned for quite some time. Smoke stains blackened the bricks around some of the window frames and a few of the boards hung loose. Leyza shook off a tremor of anxiety as she moved deeper into the lot. Now, it probably housed a dozen junkies and runaways.
Somewhere nearby a dog barked. Two cats yowled at each other in a dispute over territory or breeding rights. The distant drone of traffic from the Harlem River Drive and the occasional rumble of a subway train all merged to fill the night with constant background noise.
Closer at hand, something rustled beneath bags of trash piled against a battered dumpster. A cat perhaps, but more likely a rat. Leyza had no desire or inclination to investigate the source of the noise. She had business to attend to - Immortal business.
That was one big advantage New York City offered Immortals - the inhabitants minded their own business. If something strange was going on - they looked the other way. Not an admirable trait, perhaps, but useful in her case.
The chill wind tugged at her long dark coat. She shivered, then pulled the collar up closer to her neck. Keeping her sword at her side, she adjusted her grip and strained her ears to listen for sounds that didn't belong. She let her senses search for faint traces of the other Immortal, but she felt nothing, only the cold.
Perhaps Jibhal had changed his mind about facing her. Perhaps he wouldn't come after all - though he'd seemed cocky enough earlier in the day when she'd run across him in the housewares department at Macy's. And he'd been the one to issue the challenge, but it could have been all talk.
Right now, he was probably holed up in the Waldorf or the St. Regis - watching TV and laughing because he knew she'd be waiting for him in this cold dark lot. She wouldn't put it past him - she wouldn't put much of anything past the wily 600 year old Mongolian.
When she'd first met him in the late 15th century, she'd been traveling with May-Ling through Tibet.
Most Immortals weren't foolhardy enough to challenge two others of their kind - even though the two were women - but Jibhal had been vain and overly confident in his prowess. He soon found out that his confidence was clearly misplaced - he'd been no match for May-Ling Shen's superior skills. No match at all.
After a short skirmish, she'd relieved him of his sword, then pushed him to the edge of a cliff. Muttering curses, he'd jumped, recovered quickly, then he'd slunk off like a beaten dog as they'd watched from above. He'd escaped with the sound of their laughter ringing in his ears, and he'd never forgotten the humiliation. Never forgiven it either, apparently - he'd been after one or the other of them ever since.
Memories crowded around Leyza and the past whispered an enticing invitation. It tempted her to shake the present and wander awhile along its shady paths. But the sound of a trash can lid disturbed by a moving foot called her back. She whirled around to face whoever had dared to sneak up on her.
Four youths, dressed in leather jackets which all bore a gang's garish colors, spread out as they sauntered toward her. One stepped out a pace or two ahead of the rest. He wore a grimy red bandanna twisted into a tie to keep his dark curly hair out of his eyes, and he also wore an evil grin.
"Hey lady," he chirped, swaggering a bit closer to her. "Whatchu doin' out here? This is ain't a safe neighborhood. You could get hurt wandering around here in the middle of the night." He hooked the thumb of his left hand into his belt loop as he assumed a cock-sure stance.
Leyza kept the hand that held her broadsword behind her leg as she eased her feet apart. For some reason, she didn't think he was really concerned with her welfare.
"I can take care of myself," she said.
"Oh, yeah," the punk responded with a taunting warble in his voice. In a flash of motion, he reached behind him, then flipped out a switchblade. The knife glittered menacingly in the moonlight. "You got one of these?"
Leyza couldn't resist. "No," she answered.
Slowly, she lifted her right hand. Silver light danced over the long blade as she held it before her. "I've got one of these."
"Holy shit, man," one of the other thugs exclaimed. "She's got a sword. I ain't never seen no chick with a sword before."
The leader stepped back a pace as Leyza grasped the sword in both hands, then pointed it toward him.
"And I know how to use it," she said, letting a clear threat resonate in her voice.
The leader grinned, but he kept his distance, then he turned his head slightly. Called by his silent signal, the others moved forward.
"I ain't got no sword, and I ain't got no fancy degree," he said, "But I count four of us and only one of you. We got you outnumbered, chiquita."
Leyza glanced to the left, then to the right. She didn't need a master's degree to reckon that she was clearly outnumbered, either. But she had something far more pertinent to this situation than a drawer full of academic credentials.
Over many centuries, she'd mastered numerous martial arts disciplines, and she knew she could probably defeat these hoodlums - all four of them - if it was necessary. But was it really necessary?
Jibhal would have been here by now if he was coming - the man had his faults, but tardiness wasn't one of them. And she really hated fighting with mortals - though it was often necessary. Her Immortality gave her such an unfair advantage.
In this case, evasion seemed to be the wise choice. But it wasn't going to be easy.
The narrow lot had no outlet to either side, but she remembered seeing a chain link fence at the far end. The question was, could she get to it, and over before they attacked.
Fat chance, she thought with a sigh.
The gang members edged closer. She inched back.
Though she fought other Immortals with a sure confidence, she really dreaded these occasional bouts with mortals. They were so fragile, and they died so easily, then their deaths weighed heavily on her conscious - even when they were asking for trouble as these kids were.
And they were just kids - she tried to remember that as the leader lunged at her. She sidestepped to avoid the blade of his knife, then she brandished her sword as she moved back toward the fence.
The others formed a semi-circle around her, then closed in. Her foot struck something. She glanced down to see the heel of her boot brushing up against a milk crate. She also saw that the fence was in reach.
Holding her sword in one hand, she swept it in a wide arc to hold her attackers at bay. She jumped onto the crate, then leaped up to grab a handful of fence with her other hand.
"You're not getting away so easy, chica," the leader growled.
She struggled to get a foothold on the fence, but the youth got to her first. He grabbed a hold of her coat, then tried to pull her down. Instinct took over, and without even thinking, she smashed the hilt of her sword into his face.
His nose broke and Leyza winced at the sound of the bones cracking, then she turned back to resume climbing the fence.
"Get her," the leader, snarled as he fell back, clutching his face.
Still holding onto the fence with one hand, Leyza kicked the second punk in the stomach, then winced again when the third left her no choice but to stab him in the leg with her sword. At least it wouldn't kill him.
While she was engaged with these two, the fourth grabbed her from behind, then he plunged his knife into her back.
The blazing shock of cold steel penetrating her warm flesh left her gasping for breath. Her fingers grew numb, and she could no longer hold onto the fence. Her vision blurred as he pulled her back away from it.
He yanked the knife free, then held the blade to her neck. Though a bristling black fog threatened to suck her under, survival instinct swelled within her. No way was she going to let some mortal punk end her Immortal life in this dark deserted lot.
With what little strength she had left, she dropped her sword, then grasped his hand in both of hers. She sunk her teeth deep into his wrist.
Immediately, he dropped the knife. A flicker of satisfaction and a ripple of temporary relief washed over Leyza as she slumped to the ground with his howl of pain ringing in her ears.
The sound of running feet and voice shouting, "Hey, what's going on here?" penetrated the thick icy mist that was forming in her brain.
"Come on, Paco," one of her attackers shouted. "Somebody's coming ... we got to get out of here, man."
"The bitch bit me," Paco shouted back. "I'm gonna get her for that."
"Forget her man ... she's dead. You killed her."
The voices filtered through the mist, as Leyza fought to hold onto the life that was rapidly draining out of her. The last thing she heard was the slap of their sneakers hitting the pavement as they ran away, then she died.
