Moving On

On each of the next three days, Elena and Connor gave a demonstration, working with saber, the bo and the sai, and finally unarmed. The students loved aikido, a martial arts she had originally taken up because it was non-deadly and she could use against mortals, and she taught Connor a few very efficient moves. He was a quick study, which was no surprise.

She found herself eating with the students at meals, answering their questions and listening to their chatter. And sometimes even laughing. Darkness fell early at this time of year, and Elena retired for the evening before nine, but hardly ever to sleep. She walked up and down interminable staircases, getting her wind back to the level she needed. She read extensively from the school library, books in Spanish, French, English. She prayed. And she missed Lorenzo Ponti.

While in her room, Elena had become used to sensing Cassandra nearby, but late on Wednesday night she sensed another Immortal approaching. Elena automatically reached for her sword and opened her door. She saw Connor, of course it was him, at the end of the hall. He turned to meet her gaze just as Cassandra opened her door. He went in to be with her.

Elena went back into her empty bedroom alone.

She considered going to bed then decided instead to head for the cafeteria. But when she got there she realized she wasn't hungry. She got a cool drink of water then wandered the castle halls, but not lost or floundering or running anymore. Lorenzo's funeral was tomorrow. She couldn't go it, of course, but she would visit his grave the next day and then start a new life. It was time.

Whatever kind of life she built, she knew it would have to include swords, and that meant she needed to practice. Demonstrations with Connor weren't enough; there was no passion and especially no danger. It was after midnight when she went back to her room for her gi and her sword then headed for the dojo. The doors were open and unlocked, and she turned on only enough lights for her purpose, closed both doors to the dojo behind her then removed her shoes.

Two years ago, the Immortal samurai Hosokawa had travelled to Spain to see how his ward, Ueshiba Miyu, was doing running her branch of the Ueshiba family aikido ryu. Elena, who studied at that ryu, had expected no trouble with the samurai. They had been lovers in the past, but Hosokawa knew Elena was married, and the bushido warrior code would not permit him to make any romantic advances towards her. Nor would her own marriage vows permit it.

What Hosokawa did do, to show his affection, was offer to teach her a new sword kata. Actually, an old sword kata, just new to her. It was beautiful, graceful and powerful, designed for a lighter katana, but Hosokawa had helped Elena adapt it to her German broadsword. They had practiced it together for the months he was in Andalucia. After he had left, Elena had incorporated that kata into her practice repertoire.

She was going to do it now.

She came to the center of the dojo, tightened the knot on her black belt and put her broadsword on the floor. Elena began by clearing everything from her thoughts to concentrate on the now. For a while she sat cross-legged, slowing her breathing and even her heart rate, pushing away all extraneous thoughts and sensations until finally she achieved the now-ness she was looking for. Then, moving slowly, she rose, picked up her naked blade and struck it lightly on the polished wood floor. "!Desperta ferro!" she breathed, a Spanish medieval battle cry she had picked up in Spain, two, no almost three years ago.

10 August 2041, Costa Brava, Catalonia, Spain

"!Desperta ferro!" her opponent, Agusti Amador, cried, drawing his blade and tapping the tip on the pavement.

Elena was getting ready to fight, but when she heard her opponent talking to his sword she paused long enough to repeat, "'Steel, awake!'?" then replied with her own customary phrase, in Catalan this time: "Deus aia," asking God for His help in the duel.

Amador countered with, "There are no greater pleasures than war and plunder!" in Catalan.

She recognized a line from the war chant of the Almugavers, a feared band of Catalan mercenaries from seven centuries ago. She continued the chant with "!Que avisin als fossers!"

Amador chuckled to hear her "call for the gravediggers", and then they chanted together, "!Avant, almugavers!"

By this point they had both lowered, but not sheathed, their swords. "You don't even sound Spanish," he accused.

"No, I'm an Argentine, che, but my father was an Iberian."

"And I'm a Catal— Wait," Amador said, his eyes narrowing. "Are we here to fight, or are we here to swap history lessons? Are you Diomedes to my Glaucus?"

The Trojan War. The man was well read. Diomedes and Glaucus were mortal enemies who met on the battlefield and wound up friends. "Either one," she answered. "Especially if you are an Almugaver," Elena continued, fascinated.

"A sus ordenes," he said proudly.

Elena doubted that Amador would be 'at her service,' but it was still worth a try to not fight him. "My father said you were the most bloodthirsty violent mercenaries Europe ever produced. He really admired you."

"Did he?"

"In fact, I'd like to adopt the battle cry, '!Desperta ferro!' If you don't mind."

Amador shrugged. "If you kill me, I won't mind, and if I kill you, then it's a moot point, ?no es asi?"

Elena took a step back then decided to chance it and sheathed her sword. "Diomedes and Glaucus didn't fight in the end. We are also free men and women, aren't we? Let me buy you a glass of rioja. I'd love to swap history lessons. If you like, we can try to kill each other later."

He agreed by putting his own sword inside his coat, and as they walked to the nearest cantina, she asked, "Have you ever heard of the warriors of the Mapuche Indian tribe?"

Austria

Elena smiled at the memory of Amador, who had become a Glaucus friend. So much for being in the now, she said to herself. So many memories; it was impossible to forget them all. She sighed. There were memories that were too good to forget, like those of Lorenzo. All in all she'd been very happy with him, and she'd miss him. But her life, which included death more often than not, had to go on. She sheathed the sword at her waist and knelt in seiza.

Only when she was ready did she explode to her feet, drawing her sword in a lightning iai move that included a horizontal swing intended to decapitate any attacker. Japanese katana duels often ended as soon as they began: by the fighter who got in that first deadly cut. But just in case the first strike failed, the kata continued.

Overhead strike, thrust at the frontal attacker then at the rear attacker then thrust again and withdraw the sword before it can be parried, moving immediately to a spiral throat cut. She parried right and left, thrust, lunged, leaped. Yoho giri, side cut. Kesa giri, vertical cut. In the booming silence of the vast room, the only sounds were the thudding of bare feet on the wooden floor, the swish of her blade through the air, the rustle of her gi, the beating of her heart, the catch of her breath.

Elena accentuated each thrust and lunge with an explosive "Ja!", otherwise silent. She twirled and sliced into her imaginary opponent again and again. Many of the fluid movements were done bent-kneed; she often went down to one knee then rose effortlessly to strike once more. She was glad she'd warmed up by all that walking and stair climbing through the castle, although she doubted an enemy would give her that opportunity…

As soon as she thought of a person her concentration on the purity of the kata broke, and she lost her flow. To let it go or start again? She chose to pick up where she'd stopped, speeding up then finishing with a long, ballet-like leap, her sword held high, and, with a harsh guttural cry, a long vertical double-handed strike that ended, with perfect precision, with the tip of the blade a centimeter off the wooden floor.

She held that position for a whole minute without even trembling then stood at attention and quickly sheathed her sword. She was certainly breathing hard but not panting or exhausted, she'd remembered all her moves, and that last vertical cut had been designed to cleave an enemy from head to crotch. It would have worked, too.

Relatively satisfied, she left the dojo, turning out the lights. Just outside the door she met Alea and her friend, Michelle… no, the girl's name was Monique. "Aren't you breaking some rule?" Elena asked them.

"We're senior students, so we're allowed," Monique answered.

"What exactly are you allowed to do at this hour?" Elena asked.

"Nothing loud and no sparring," Alea said.

"We're coming to practice our sword katas," Monique explained.

Me, too, Elena thought. She bowed and pointed to the open dojo doors. "It's all yours, ladies."

The next morning at breakfast, Connor sat down across from her without as much as a hello. He didn't have any food with him, either. "Good morning to you too," Elena greeted him pointedly.

He ignored it. "Alea and Monique told me they saw you at the dojo last night." He didn't sound particularly happy about that.

"Kata," she explained with a shrug. "I didn't know they'd be roaming the halls at that hour."

"They're teenagers," he said, as if that explained it all.

"I closed the doors," Elena said. "Unless they were spying through the keyhole—"

"It's too small," Connor interrupted. "And they wouldn't anyway. They've been taught to respect closed doors on the dojo."

Which meant Connor had been the one to teach them, Elena knew. She finished her sentence: "Then they didn't learn anything about the Game from me." He lifted an eyebrow at her, and Elena reconsidered. "Are there cameras in there? Surveillance?" Now he lifted both eyebrows at her, which meant he thought it was a stupid question, which meant the answer was yes. Damn, she should have thought about that.

"Like I said, they're teenagers," Connor said. "They talk. They post online. They also watch vids. And then they post online about the vids they watch."

"Security vids?" she questioned. "And just how do they get those?"

"We teach them to be resourceful here," he said wryly. "I deleted the vid from the security feed this morning."

She wanted to be pissed off, but he was in charge of security after all. He wasn't spying on her; looking at that vid was part of his job. Plus he needed to be sure that she hadn't even inadvertently given anything away about the Game. Last time she'd been here she'd only used practice swords.

He wasn't smiling as he reminded her, "This is my home, Duran."

"I'm aware of that, Connor," she answered, a bit testily, because the last time she'd brought the possibility of the Game to his home and his family (and students were like family), he'd promised to take her head if she ever did it again, and she hadn't forgotten. He'd better not be threatening her now, she thought. She was not in the mood.

But then he offered, "Later today, I'll show you how to disable the dojo surveillance."

Elena nodded. "Thanks."

"Then you and I could spar without an audience." His slow grin was a challenge.

"My pleasure," Elena replied, with a challenging grin of her own. "Tonight?"

"Tonight," he agreed. "Two a.m.?"

"It's a date," she said. She was really looking forward to this! "It'll be a good finale for us personally."

"You're leaving," he said, obviously picking up on the word finale.

"Tomorrow. I have some business with a lawyer in Basel, and then I'm going to visit Lorenzo's grave in Rome." She smiled at Connor and said, "I want to thank you. For your kindness and faith in me. For honoring me in your dojo. And yes, for beating me black and blue with a shinai."

He smiled back, briefly. "You're welcome. And… my pleasure."

Elena didn't doubt that. She'd enjoyed smacking him, too. "I needed that challenge to awake. Desperta, Elena!"

"A sword in the hand does focus the mind," Connor said with a nod. "For the students, too. Watching you has inspired them. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, a little surprised by his graciousness and very pleased to be a role model for so many girls… No, she corrected herself, for so many young women.

He stood, but turned at the door to say, "Beautiful kata."

"Glad you enjoyed it," Elena answered with a smile.

After breakfast, Elena went to the gym to talk to Cassandra, who was at her usual morning workout, peddling one of the exercise bikes. With all the girls in class, the gym was mostly deserted at this time of day, except for a pair of teachers in the far corner using the rowing machines. Cassandra waved, then got off the bike and met Elena in the middle of the room.

"Lorenzo's funeral is today," Elena told her. "Tomorrow I'll go visit his grave. And then I'm moving on."

"It's time," Cassandra agreed, looking into her eyes. "You're ready."

"Thank you for making me welcome here," Elena said. "And for listening."

"Of course," Cassandra said warmly, giving her a hug. "That's what friends do for each other. I may come knocking on your door someday. Again."

Elena smiled wryly at the memory of that visit. "Good thing I let you in. Oh, Duncan gave me a lavender plant. I'm going to be traveling, maybe for quite a while. Would-"

"I'll take care of it for you until you're settled," Cassandra offered immediately.

"Thank you. You are a true friend." And friends supported you, right? Elena took a deep breath and announced, "I'm also going to see Marcellino."

Cassandra nodded slowly then sat down on one of the benches. "It's your decision, of course, Elena. I hope that goes well."

"Thank you," Elena replied, glad to know that both Connor and Cassandra did honestly wish her well. Immortals weren't often so friendly.

"Are you going to go see Duncan, too?" Cassandra asked. Elena hesitated, and Cassandra asked, "Haven't you talked to him yet?"

"No. I sent him a letter last week, but I can't—" Elena paced in the small space between the rack of free weights and the bench press. "When I saw him fighting on Menorca—fighting for me—I reacted to him like a bitch in heat, Cassi! My husband of forty years was at the bottom of the sea—not even in the ground yet—and I was lusting for Duncan MacLeod." She wrung her hands together, shaking her head. "I am so ashamed."

"You feel as if you're betraying Lorenzo," Cassandra said, not accusing or horrified, just matter-of-factly putting into blunt words what Elena had been feeling these last ten days.

"Yes! Like I'm spitting on his memory. Like these last almost forty years didn't matter at all. Like I didn't really—" She stopped short, unable to say it.

But Cassandra said it. "Like you didn't really love him?" she asked gently, and Elena bit her lip and nodded, tears in her eyes. "But you did love Lorenzo," Cassandra said.

"Yes," Elena whispered then said it again, stronger this time, for she knew it was true. "Yes, I did."

Cassandra stood and put an arm around Elena's shoulder, saying. "I know you did. Every time I saw the two of you together, I could tell. You were obviously in love. As was he."

Elena nodded, remembering.

They sat down again, and Cassandra said, "We can love or be attracted to more than one person at a time, Elena. We often are. You told me you had relationships with both Duncan and Hosokawa at the same time."

Elena shrugged that away. "They were both Immortals. And they were both my lovers. A husband is different. Cassandra, when I get married I take a sacred vow. There are no other men, not even beautiful Scots warriors!"

"Fidelity is very important to you," Cassandra said. "Honor, loyalty, trust…"

"Yes!" Her father had raised her with those values. The nuns and priests had schooled her as well. "A person without honor is of no value."

Cassandra nodded slowly then said, "I believe our honor depends on our actions, not on our reactions. In a dangerous situation, our bodies naturally react with fear. Yet if our minds give us courage, we go forward. Thus, we can choose to act honorably."

"Yes, ok, you make a good point. But the reason I left without speaking to Duncan is that I was not convinced I wouldn't try to act on my terrible, lustful thoughts. Even if he wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't. And he'd be… disgusted with me. Horrified."

"Oh, I doubt that," Cassandra said dryly. "After emotional distress or being close to death, our bodies react with the urge to seek life—often through sex. For some people, including Duncan, it's a way to heal. For others, it's unwanted and distressing."

"Unwanted and distressing both," Elena said. "I don't feel right about this. About my feelings. About my reaction."

"Good," Cassandra said briskly. "That means you live by your principles, not your passions. When your body reacted with fear and with lust, you chose to act with courage and with honor."

"You have a better opinion of me, my friend, than I do of myself."

"I think we can all be our own harshest critics," Cassandra opined.

"Please—" Elena leaned toward Cassandra a little, saying earnestly, "Please don't tell Duncan about this. Or Connor, either. I'm counting on you to be my confidante."

"Of course I won't tell." Cassandra reached across and squeezed Elena's hands. "This is between us. Although at some point, you will have to tell Duncan."

"I know, I know," Elena said, squeezing back. "But not yet."

"It's your decision, of course," Cassandra said again then added with an impish grin, "You know, since you sent Duncan a thank-you letter for coming to rescue you from the water and also killing that hunter, I don't think he will mind being told later that's he's just 'too sexy for his shirt' and that you found him so irresistible that you couldn't control yourself and had to leave."

Elena found herself smiling a little in spite of herself. "Well, when you put it that way… He is too sexy. And especially after a Quickening. You know what that's like!"

"Yes," Cassandra said with a tight smile then looked away.

Elena looked at her for a moment, waiting, but when Cassandra didn't elaborate, Elena said, "You know, Cassi, I've been thinking it's possible Marcellino suspected something about me. One time he was supposed to be gone with his friends but came back early. Lorenzo and I were arguing, loudly—we always argued loudly, he was Italian, I'm Latin American, what can I tell you—and Lorenzo told me I was acting like a child, in spite of being an Immortal. I know Marcellino heard because later his father had to tell him we were talking about our immortal souls. But… I'm just not sure."

"Even if Marcellino does 'suspect something' about you, he won't be imagining the Game."

"No," Elena admitted. "But I don't have to tell him about that part."

"You've hidden this from him his entire life," Cassandra said. "You've lied to him since he was born. If you do tell him, you should tell him everything. If you keep lying and he finds out that truth, he'll never trust you again."

"The voice of experience," Elena observed tartly.

"Yes," Cassandra agreed, and once again her eyes were very old. "I lied to the people I loved, and I ruined almost everything. I hope you can learn from my mistakes." She took a deep breath before saying, "I told some of my children what I was. I wish I hadn't."

"Connor told his children."

"Connor's children found out on their own," Cassandra corrected. "Duncan didn't tell his. And Lorenzo didn't want you to tell your son about Immortality."

"No, but he gave me permission."

"Did he?" Cassandra asked. "Explicitly? Or did he know that you would survive the crash no matter what, and so expect you to remain Elena Duran-Ponti?"

Elena was just not sure, so she was silent.

"Keeping the secret ruined Sara's marriage," Cassandra said next. "After Connor reinvented himself as Michael Audren, Sara's husband thought this 'new man' in her life was her lover. So Sara's husband found a lover of his own."

"!Cono!" Elena exclaimed. No wonder Sara had sounded a little bitter the other day.

"As soon as you tell Marcellino the truth," Cassandra said, "he will have to start lying to everyone he knows—including his wife-to-be. He may resent you for putting that burden on him. He may resent you for living while his father died. At some point, he will resent you for your immortality; they all do."

Cassandra added softly, "He may start to hate you."

"You think so?" Elena asked.

"After the first few times," Cassandra said slowly, "I decided to keep the certain memory of love, rather than take the chance of that hate." Cassandra shook her head and sighed. Then she looked at Elena and asked, "Elena, are you going for his sake, or yours?"

"I think both of our sakes. I need to hug my son, and he needs to be hugged by his mother. Maybe it'll turn out different for us than for you."

"Perhaps it will," Cassandra said.

"And if not," Elena went on, "damn the consequences!"

Elena spent the rest of the morning playing the piano and making travel arrangements. On her way to lunch, she stopped by the dojo to say farewell to some of the girls she'd gotten to know.

"You're leaving?" Alea asked, sounding disappointed.

"Yes, my vacation is over. It's been nice meeting you, Alea. You too, Monique." The girls bowed to her in unison, and Elena returned the bow. Those two must be inseparable, Elena thought with an inner smile as she left.

In the afternoon, she went to the chapel and prayed for Lorenzo's soul, and for Gina's. Then she prayed for mercy for her son Marcellino. "I could use a little help myself," she mentioned to God.

Then she took a nap, to be well-rested for her bout with Connor that night.

The Dojo

Elena's thigh, deeply slashed by Connor's razor-sharp katana, gave way, and she twisted to fall as gracefully as she could onto her back. She knew she could not put any weight on her left leg and needed two minutes to recoup.

Connor smiled evilly. In a real fight he'd have practically won. Mostly. Still he didn't close with her, knowing she could swing her blade at ankle level and do a lot of damage. "Need a break, Elena?" he asked, panting.

Elena, who couldn't yet get up, kept her sword pointed at his face. "Come closer," she taunted.

Connor came. She parried his downward thrust, swords sliding against each other, then reached up suddenly and grabbed the katana's tsuka. The dragon carved into the hilt was rough against her palm.

If he pulled back against her weight he'd help pull her to her feet, nor did he dare release his sword. Connor obviously knew that, so he punched her in the side of the head,, not too hard but hard enough, and she crashed back to the floor, not the least bit gracefully this time. In an instant his blade was at her neck.

"Yield," she admitted, the back of her head throbbing, and he pulled back right away. Ten minutes before Elena had struck Connor's blade aside and put her sword tip, just the tip, into his chest, which meant they were even, one kill each. They'd been sparring for almost an hour and both had numerous cuts, bruises and abrasions. Elena had at least two broken ribs and every breath cut into her lungs. She had cut at his shoulders and arms, making him almost—almost—drop his sword, and he had sliced open her thigh twice now. She had broken his wrist again like she had at the original demonstration, but he had switched sword hands and healed, as she would. The beautiful wooden dojo floor was stained with blood, sweat, and at least her tears. Right now she needed to stop. She needed a long hot bath. And a doctor. No, just a night's sleep. Maybe a vacation.

He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. Elena was exhausted but exhilarated. She laughed out loud, and he smiled back.

"Ni una mas," she said, no more, and he nodded in agreement, still breathing heavily. They bowed to each other then went to the water cooler. He was gentlemanly enough to pour water for her before his, and she thanked him sweetly. Then they both gulped down one cup, and another. Elena poured a cup over her head and shook out her wet curls.

"So," she said nonchalantly but hanging on his answer, which was terribly important to her. She was nervous about the Game; she still felt fragile and vulnerable. "What do you think?"

He didn't ask what she meant. "You can do it," Connor answered. By now he was relaxed, leaning with one shoulder against the wall, but he was looking Elena over with the same critical gaze he'd used the first day they had sparred.

Elena was surprised. She had certainly held her own with him during the demonstrations, and tonight had gone well. Actually, perhaps not really well for either of them, but that was the point wasn't it? Still, fencing in the dojo was not the same as an Immortal challenge. She wasn't completely sure she was ready, but she valued his opinion. If he thought she was up for it—

They drank to each other. Elena looked at the room and gave him a cheerful smile. "You're sensei, so you get to clean up, right?" Her teacher had always made her clean up her own blood. She hoped Connor was different.

"I am, and I do," he agreed. As she got to the door he called her name then came to her, held out his hand, his grey eyes intent upon hers. "Good luck, Elena Duran, wherever your roads may lead you."

She took his hand and covered it with her other hand. "Gracias, y que Dios os guarde, Connor MacLeod."

Next chapter: Elena is surprised by an old friend