Chapter 4: Challenges

After her first talk with Cassandra, Elena moped around on her own for three days. Duncan sent her a lavender plant, and that helped a little. It wasn't blooming yet, but the scent of the leaves was pungently fresh, and the purple and white bowl brought a touch of color to the room. Plus lavender—lavender was a symbol of devotion, Elena knew, making her feel slightly more guilty about Duncan than before.

She'd also gotten a box from Miyu. Inside, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, was an old worn black belt. It was the belt Elena had earned from O'Sensei himself in 1951, the obi she still used. Miyu was a sweetheart, in her own reserved Japanese way, and she knew what Elena needed. Elena sent them each a brief thank-you note, to let them know the packages had arrived. Cassandra sent Elena a note each day, saying she was available if Elena wanted to talk or just sit or go for a walk.

But in spite of apparently being loved by everyone, Elena wanted to be alone.

She had immediately decided it was too cold to go outside, so she did her walking inside, sometimes late at night, or stayed in her bedroom, or in the library reading. She ate at off-hours to avoid others, drank too much espresso, and spent long hours sitting, sometimes kneeling, in the small chapel, praying, quietly crying, having long conversations with God, asking for mercy, for forgiveness. Asking for strength. Often she simply stared, her gaze unfocused, at the beautiful stained glass windows. Every day, an hour in the morning and one at night, she could be found in the music room faithfully practicing the piano.

"You love the piano so much, you should play more," Lorenzo had urged her.

"I have no real talent," she'd replied.

"Maybe you won't be a Rubinstein or a Jardine, but you certainly have the time to practice. You can get really good at it," he'd argued, kissing her on top of her head.

He always kissed her on top of her head when his argument was a strong one. She did have the time, and she had gotten good. In fact, the evening of the second day she found herself with a small admiring audience, including Cassandra, who had come out from her office to listen.

"You play beautifully," the older Immortal told her.

Elena shrugged. "Practice. And a good teacher." Her name was Rosa Maria Solaun, Senora Rosa. Another person Elena would never see again. There were a lot of those people, including almost everyone she loved. The people here, Immortals, teachers, students, sensed her mood or had been told to mostly leave her alone, which is what she wanted. Or what she thought she wanted.

While it was still dark on the fourth morning she awoke in her lonely bedroom and lurched to her feet, her lungs filled with dark seawater from her nightmare. Her knees buckled and she collapsed, fighting to breathe, coughing, sobbing. She missed her husband, her son, her life so much she thought she'd burst open like an old wineskin. At that very moment she wanted to die.

But she asked God for mercy, for forgiveness, for strength, and waited, and slowly her breathing came back to normal, and the terrible moment passed. Elena knew from long experience that grief took time, and that there was no way around it, no way to lessen it, no way to avoid it; she just had to go through it.

But she also knew who she was, and she was not a listless, lost woman who roamed long corridors at night and wept during the day. She was not a ghost. She was alive; she really did want to live; and in order to do that there were certain things she had to do. She wasn't doing them.

So early on that fourth morning, although filled with a sadness that made each step heavy, she knocked on Cassandra's door.

A little later Elena stepped lightly through the dojo doorway wearing a borrowed gi and her worn black belt. The Saturday morning lesson was busy, with about forty students in various groups, though the former banquet hall was spacious enough to hold many more. Each of the two end walls was dominated by an immense fireplace, large enough to roast an entire ox, and the side walls were easily two hundred feet long. Nine tall, narrow windows marched along the western wall, and nine bright banners, matching them in size and shape, marched on the eastern side. The banner directly above Elena's head held all the colors of the rainbow.

In the corner to Elena's left, eight students were practicing their kicks on a line of punching bags. In the corner to her right, the floor was covered with mats, and ten students watched as Connor demonstrated how to fall, and more importantly, how to get back up. He was known as Sensei Mike here, Elena reminded herself.

Elena knelt in seiza just to the right of the doors, keenly observing the other Immortal's grace and ease of movement as he dropped, rolled then rose seemingly effortlessly. After a moment she caught Connor's eye and bowed to him from her kneeling position. He returned the bow. Only then did she enter the room proper. She ignored the chairs that lined the wall on either side of the doors (left there for visitors and parents, Cassandra had told her) and stood at the periphery, watching.

Judo. It was a judo class, led at different levels by Connor, the sensei, and by several high-ranked students who acted as his assistants, the sempai. In the far right corner, a tall sempai with very short hair was supervising pairs of students who were sparring with shinai, the flexible bamboo swords used in practice, but swords nonetheless.

Elena headed for the swords, going around the mat area then past one of the huge fireplaces, which was now being used as a storage space for weapons and protective gear. Elena immediately noticed one student, a brown belt, was getting hit over and over, always on the left side. It was Alea, Sara's daughter. Elena had already spotted Alea in the hallways, for the teenager was the image of her grandmother Alex, except with black hair instead of blonde.

Elena turned to catch Connor's eye then gestured with her chin to the sparring partners, raising her eyebrows, asking his permission. Connor looked at Alea and Monique then looked to his sempai, who was busy with a pair of much younger students. He gave Elena a nod.

Elena stepped not quite between the two combatants when their swords were down. "I'm Senora Luz Marina Gutierrez," she introduced herself. The girls glanced at her black belt, then came to attention and bowed. Elena bowed back then asked, "What are your names?"

"Alea Harulfson," said Connor's granddaughter.

"Monique Lareaux," said the other girl, another brown-belt. Her hair was as dark as Alea's and her skin was only a little lighter than Elena's own.

"Alea, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Senora."

"Why do you let Monique keep stabbing you on the left side?"

Alea stiffened a bit, but her reply was respectful. "I'm not defending my left side as I should."

"Why not?"

"I'm too slow," Alea admitted, at the same time Monique opined, "I'm faster than she is."

"That may be," Elena agreed. "But what can you do to keep her from hitting you on the left side?"

Alea grinned ruefully. "Get faster by practicing more."

"Fast is good. Practice is good. But… Show me what you are doing now to protect yourself."

Elena got back out of the way. Moving slowly, Monique thrust with her shinai while Alea brought her sword, tip down, across to her left side to parry the blow. But she was too late. Monique again hit Alea in the left ribcage. In a real fight Monique's sword tip would have pierced right down to Alea's rib bones. But this was just an exercise for them, a sport. Neither girl would ever face an opponent with a real, sharp blade, one who could cut out—

Elena mentally shook herself free of these dark thoughts then said, "Your parry is technically well executed. But it's not stopping Monique. What else can you do?" she asked.

Alea shook her head. "I tried moving back, and moving to my right…"

Elena had seen that little totally-out-of-balance skip to the right. Not good. She shook her head. "She just follows you wherever you go, doesn't she?"

"Yes," Alea admitted. "I have to do something else." Her eyes narrowed in concentration. "I could—"

"Don't tell us," Elena interrupted. "Show us."

The girls faced each other, swords held double-handed in front of their bodies. Monique immediately made her thrust, trying to get at Alea's exposed left side. But this time Alea pivoted on her right foot, pulling her left foot back, planting herself perpendicular to Monique, whose thrust carried her too far forward, past her opponent, missing Alea completely.

"Finally!" Alea said with intense satisfaction.

Elena smiled slightly. "Muy bien, nina," she murmured, although Alea had missed her chance to get under Monique's extended arms and gut her. Figuratively, of course.

"Gracias, Senora," Alea said with a small bow then turned to her friend. "You try it, Monique," Alea said, and the two girls ran through it with Alea on the offense and Monique deftly turning back out of the way of the thrust.

"Luz Marina," Connor said, coming over. "Good to see you're taking an interest." He watched Alea and Monique for a moment then turned to Elena. He began studying her, as he had studied her in the dining hall, but his eyes were no longer soft. They were the eyes of an Immortal, and he was evaluating her.

Elena and Connor had never sparred. They had started to once, half a century ago in Duncan's dojo in Seacouver, just after Elena had, under the influence of a dark Quickening, tried to behead Duncan. Naturally, Connor had been distrustful of her, and had probably wanted to kill her himself. So she had refused to spar, thinking he would try to hurt her, and that it would cause a rift between the MacLeods because of her. But all that had been decades ago, and half a world away, and even if she had also had other arguments with Connor at other times, this past week Connor had been welcoming, even friendly.

But today they were in the dojo, and Connor was taking her measure. "Spar with me," Connor said. It was not an invitation; it was a command. This was a dojo, not a democracy, and Connor was sensei here. His word was law.

However, Elena was not his student. She could leave, although it would make her look stupid, perhaps even cowardly, plus she'd never be able to return to his dojo. Besides, Connor wasn't going to hurt her this time, and she was through running. "Hai," she said with a bow, and he returned it.

"Alea, Monique," he called.

The girls stopped immediately and turned. "Yes, Sensei Mike?" Alea asked.

"May we borrow the shinai, please," he said, and of course they said yes, bowing as they respectfully handed the blades over, hilt first.

Elena returned Monique's bow and took the blade in her left hand. She didn't want to be doing this, and she briefly toyed, again, with the idea of handing the weapon back and walking out. Why had she even come to the dojo? she asked herself. Many times before she had been drawn to places like this because she truly enjoyed sword work, and she was good at it, and she knew it. But today she'd had to force herself. She felt used up and useless, that she was wasting her time. Plus these bamboo swords were incredibly light, like toys really, not real blades at all. This was not real fighting.

However, the Immortal before her was a real Immortal. She could feel his Quickening grinding into her brain, reminding her why she was here, and why she needed to be. Swords were a fact of her immortal life, and she couldn't get away from them. So her choices were, live and prepare for fighting, and practice fighting, and be really good at fighting, or die. Did she want to live or did she want to die?

But this was certainly not a fight en outrance, to the death. What was it then? Practice? Fun? What's your game, Connor? she wondered. He wouldn't be trying to embarrass her in front of the students. That was not his style. He was testing her then, yes, and pushing her.

Well, Elena didn't want to be pushed. She had her own timetable, thank you very much. But Sensei had said, "Spar," so she was sparring. She sighed then swung her sword once, twice, getting the feel of it, the weight then did two quick deep knee bends, rolled her shoulders, twisted at the waist back and forth. She hadn't faced another Immortal in over two years, not counting that bald Immortal she'd simply run away from, hadn't held a sword even for practice in more than a week, wasn't warmed up, and she was facing Connor MacLeod, who had been practicing. She was sure she would need to move quickly and soon.

Meantime Connor clapped his hands once, and all the students stopped what they were doing and turned. "A demonstration," he announced. "With a visiting black-belt: Luz Marina Gutierrez."

Elena didn't mind teaching the students. She did mind being put on the spot whether she was ready or not. OK, Connor, you want to spar, so be it, she thought. Let's do it.

The students quickly sat on the floor in three straight rows, arranging themselves by rank, black and brown belts in front, lower belts in back.

Connor and Elena faced each other and bowed once more. They circled slowly. Usually, Elena liked to attack first, but now she waited. She had spent two weeks out of every month for the last eight years in an aikido ryu in Spain, and aikidokas never attacked. But they sure the hell defended. Not to mention that this sparring hadn't been her idea.

Connor waited, too, watching her, evaluating her. His eyes narrowed then he feinted once, twice, and she evaded him each time, turning with him, merging her motion with his.

Connor gave her a nod. Then he lunged, his weapon aiming straight at the center of her chest.

Which was what Elena had been waiting for. She tossed her own blade to the side, far enough so that it wouldn't be a trip hazard, as she turned one hundred eighty degrees, so that she was standing side by side with Connor. As she pivoted both her hands shot down and grabbed his wrist, a hold known as morote-don. She was intending to use his own forward momentum to flip him on his back and take the weapon from his hand, a move she had practiced often with partners. Always before, her partners had gone down, for resistance meant sure injury to the arm.

But her partners had been mortal. Connor wasn't. He was resisting. He wasn't going down.

By the time Elena realized that, it was too late. She gasped as she felt Connor's wrist bones crack under the strain. Inverted ikkyo grip on the wrist, medial rotation, pressure on the ulnar nerve, possible broken lunate, scaphoid, capitate—

Damn. She had not meant to break anything. This was lack of control on her part. She knew better. Her aikido sensei would disapprove. And Connor wouldn't approve either. In fact, he probably was pissed.

They were still standing next to each other, pressed together shoulder to wrist, her hands clamped around his broken bones, and she could feel his shortened breath on the side of her neck.

Elena heard the students gasp as she took their sensei's shinai out of his hand. She didn't want it clattering to the floor. Then she carefully released her hold, murmuring "Sumimasen" in apology as she stepped away, his sword in her right hand.

Connor breathed in slowly, not looking at her. "A fine example of tachidori, an advanced aikido technique," he told the watching students. His voice was calm and unhurried, and he kept his broken right wrist close to his body, cradled against his waist and hidden by his left hand.

Only Elena, still standing near, could see the slight tenseness near his jaw, a sure sign of pain, or anger, or both, and she watched as tiny blue lights of healing began to flicker behind the fingers of his left hand. Damn and damn.

"Tachi is the Japanese word for sword; dori means defense," he continued. "Aikido is a martial art developed by Morihei Ueshiba in Japan a little more than a century ago."

Elena closed her eyes then opened them. Ueshiba had been her beloved O'Sensei the previous century. Someone else dead and gone.

"Ai means joining," Connor was saying, "ki is spirit or force, and do, of course, means 'way' or 'path'. Thus 'aikido' can be translated as 'the way of combining forces'. " With the linguistic lesson—and the healing—finished, Connor concluded, "Senora Gutierrez, a—"

He stopped, turned to Elena, glanced at her old black belt then asked, "What is your ranking in aikido now?"

"Rokudan."

His eyebrows lifted a tiny bit before he turned back to the students and continued, "Senora Gutierrez, a sixth-degree black belt aikidoka, has just demonstrated a way to combine her force with that of her opponent in order to remove the sword from her opponent's hand." He turned and faced her, both hands now at his sides.

"Well done, Luz Marina," he told her, and they bowed formally to each other.

Elena's bow was lower than his, and she murmured, "Lo siento mucho," an apology in her native Spanish.

"No es nada," he replied quietly in the same language. It's nothing.

A brown-belt in the second row had raised her hand. On her lap was the other shinai, for she had run to catch it as it went through the air. "Yes, Michelle," Connor said.

"Sensei Mike, is it wise to throw away your own sword?" she asked.

"Yes, if you gain a better sword by doing so," he said, and a murmur of amusement went down the rows. He added, "Or if you think your opponent is better with a sword than you are, and you don't want to engage."

Or if you want to break your opponent's arm, take his weapon to replace yours then decapitate him, Elena wanted to add as a third alternative. But this was Connor's lesson; his students, not hers. Also his ego, not hers. She had just beaten him. She'd be content with that even if his students didn't seem to have noticed. He was, she guessed, as gracious as he was going to be, all things considered.

Michelle persevered, "Are you better than Senora Gutierrez?"

"I don't know," Connor replied. "She and I have never sparred before today." He glanced at Elena and inclined his head slightly, saying, "Perhaps another time."

He had been gracious. Her turn. "Now is fine, Sensei."

He was interested, and she could tell he was pleased. She handed Connor his shinai with a bow then retrieved her own from the curious Michelle. He suggested a move, then explained it to the students as he and Elena slowly went through it the first time, then demonstrated at increasingly faster speeds. After a few such maneuvers, Elena realized Connor had provided her with a non-threatening opportunity to hold a sword again. Maybe he was curious about her swordsmanship, or maybe… She decided to stop analyzing and just enjoy the moment. Sparring with a skilled opponent who was not trying to kill her was a rare treat. They broke apart, and she respectfully suggested, "May we try something a little less… formal, Sensei?"

Connor nodded, agreeing with his quicksilver smile. Then he turned to the students and ordered: "To the chairs." The students rose to their feet and moved to the chairs that stood all along the eastern wall, under the banners and on either side of the great, wooden doors. Now the entire open center of the dojo was available for the match.

Connor and Elena bowed to each other again, and this time she immediately attacked, bringing down the mountain, raining blows on him from above, from all sides, with a vengeance, thrusting, lunging, forcing him to parry again and again. The dojo was filled with the sound of the wooden blades hitting each other, blocking and striking quickly, click click click, and Connor and Elena ranged far across the floor. If the students had stayed in their rows, they would have had to move.

Elena pushed him back and she finally got through his guard, scoring a hit on his shoulder—but this time she pulled the blow, and he almost immediately returned the favor, striking her on the thigh then hitting her sword arm, not too hard but still partially numbing it.

She pulled back, sucking air, very glad she was wearing a sweat band so the sweat wouldn't get in her eyes. The rapid movements and the physical stress made her hot. Also, the floor underneath them was slippery with sweat so she stepped laterally to a drier spot, keeping her sword on guard in front of her body. He followed, a big cat stalking his prey, crossing one foot sideways over the other, matching her step for step.

Her left arm still didn't feel strong enough, and she knew he'd attack soon, so Elena dried her right hand on her gi then switched to a double-handed hold while Connor twirled his blade playfully. He was smiling but without malice, attacking without intending real harm. He suddenly lunged, she barely blocked, and they started again, a flurry of motion, the bamboo swords moving so quickly they were hard to follow. They struck each other several more times.

Finally, panting, they separated. Her thighs were tired, her arms trembled slightly. Her wrists ached from the constant blows of wood on wood. Her ribs hurt so badly from Connor's blows—she would have been in agony if he had hit her with all his strength—that she couldn't take a deep breath. Still, she was gratified to see Connor's hair plastered onto his forehead and his chest heaving. She'd made him work too.

They bowed, to the admiring murmurs of students, and handed their blades back to their original owners. Connor clapped his hands once, and all the students returned to their drills.

Elena went to the corner near the punching bags and took a long cold drink from the water fountain then picked up one of the small white towels from the pile, wet it, and wiped her face and head. Connor went back to his students while she spent the rest of the time around the edges of the room, content to watch, glad her Immortal healing kicked in so quickly to counteract sore, unused dueling muscles. She noted with pleasure that Alea was now protecting her left side, and that another pair of sparring partners was trying to imitate some of the moves she and Sensei Mike had just demonstrated.

When the lesson was over, but before the students had been dismissed, Elena approached Connor and made another respectful and quiet suggestion for the next class. Connor grinned and made an announcement; then the students filed from the room.

When the students were gone he said to her, "You've been practicing."

Elena just smiled.

He looked her over, studying her yet again, before saying, "Duncan told me once you do better with a blade in your hand."

Elena nodded. Leave it to Duncan to know exactly what to do to start to bring her out of her grief-stricken stupor. And leave it to Connor to remember. And to do it. She hadn't cared about swordfighting when she woke up this morning, but now she felt satisfied that she hadn't lost her fire or her skill.

"Did he also tell you I can be a ruthless bitch with a blade in my hand?" she asked.

"I knew that already," he said, but his faint smile took the sting from his words. "I don't get the chance to face a challenging opponent very often, especially a left-handed one. I appreciated it."

She nodded in acknowledgement, thinking: Wow, a compliment from Connor MacLeod.

They went to the doorway and turned for the farewell bow, but first he said, "I'm glad you're done with running and are back to fighting."

She wasn't totally 'back.' But she was certainly on her way. "Me, too," she agreed, and then they bowed together, side by side.

Continued in "Coming Up"

Translations:

Sempai (Jap) – first assistant to sensei

Shinai (Jap) – wooden practice sword

Muy bien, nina (Span) - well done, my girl

Hai (Jap) – yes

Ryu (Jap) – Japanese martial arts school