Date:         Sat, 25 Jun 1994 23:31:24 -0500
Reply-To:     Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Wayland DeGreen <WAYLAND@VAX1.BEMIDJI.MSUS.EDU>
Subject:      1000 years, part 1

                     'ONE THOUSAND YEARS'
                        A Short Story
                             by
                       Russ Krook III
                          (c) 1994

                           Part 1

     Asuka Tamamatsu awoke suddenly.  A strong breeze blew in
through the open window from the coast of Honshu, carrying
with it the faint, fishy smell of the ocean.  He tried to
rise from the firm pad of the futon, but the sheets were
twisted around his legs from another fitful nights sleep.
     Asuka untangled himself and wiped the sweat from his
body with one of the sheets.  The wind howled through the
window, causing the curtains to flap like flags in the wind
and the surf thundered on the nearby shore.
     The dream was the same.  It was always the same.  He was
on some kind of street.  It was dark, a dense fog filled the
air obscuring vision beyond a few feet.  The only light
visible was from a lamp or lightpost, high above the ground.
He shivered in the damp night air, his heavy silk kimono,
emblazoned with the symbol of a crane, doing little to warm
him.  In the haze of fog, a shadow detached itself from where
the lightpost should have been.  The shadow approached, and
Asuka felt a slight wave of nausea from his stomach.
Suddenly, a sword appeared in his hand, a gently curved
katana with an indigo blue, cord wrapped handle.  The shadow
loomed ahead, easily a foot and a half taller than Asuka, and
twice as wide.  The giant shadow was clothed in the midnight
robes of a Ninja, which would have been almost comical if it
weren't for the immense, strait edged sword it held in a ham
sized fist.
     <Now you die!> the shadow growled in a strange, guttural
language.
     Asuka lunged, his strike easily swept aside by the
shadow, who laughed loudly at the attempt.  The shadow filled
his vision, blocking out what light there was.  A roar filled
his ears, the woosh of a sword slashing through the air,
followed by the shriek of Asuka's sword being rent in two and
then a white hot pain at his shoulder.
     The wind through the window ruffled his shoulder length
hair which he brushed back absentmindedly.
     In his chest he felt a dull ache, softer than the ache
of loss one might feel at the death of a loved one.  It had
been many years since Asuka had last felt that type of ache,
and although it had felt strong at the time, a century of
living alone had all but ceased the pain.  It was a pain he'd
just as soon forget, but that was impossible.  No, this ache
was not so much a pain, but a sense of direction.  And the
direction the window faced was West.
     A storm is coming, he thought, an Immortal storm.
     'Is something wrong?'
     The soft and sleepy voice of Kazumi broke him from his
thoughts and he slid the window shut.  She was sitting up
now, her firm, athletic body outlined in the flickering glow
of a candle that lay on the floor next to their bed.  In the
near darkness he could feel her eyes upon him.
     His bare feet padding over the finely woven grass mats,
as he returned to the futon and covered himself with the
remaining sheet.
     "It's... time."
     'What do you mean?'
     "I have to go."
     'Go?  Go where?'
     Kazumi's voice raised an octave in pitch as well as a
decibel in volume as she tried to comprehend what was
happening to her neat and ordered life at four thirty-two in
the morning.
     "I must go West."
     'I don't understand, why do you have to go?'
     Asuka couldn't bring himself to look at her.  He rolled
onto his side and reached into the space beneath the bed,
grasping an object in a long indigo silk bag.
     Kazumi lit another candle, placing it on the floor
beside its flickering twin.  Asuka drew the silken
drawstrings open and slid the object slowly out.
     In his hand he held a sword.  The saya of the katana was
a black, leather wrapped wood and the grip, wrapped in indigo
silken cord.  The circular Tsuba guard was a dark enameled
steel, twisted into a delicate form resembling a long-billed
crane with upswept wings.
     "This weapon has been in my possession for almost a
thousand years," he drew the shining blade from the saya, and
held it so she could see.  "This weapon was forged by my
father, Dosan Tamamatsu in the year 985 A.D., the year of my
birth."
     The tears on her cheeks glimmered brightly in the
candlelight as she looked deep into his eyes.  'It can't be
the Gathering, Asuka, You promised it wouldn't happen yet!
You promised!'
     Asuka glared back at her, "Do you think that I want this
to happen?  Do you think I want to kill... Or be killed?"  He
looked to his wife of 2 years; the successful modern woman
who had won his heart, along with fourty-nine percent of the
available stock in Tamamatsu Incorporated.
     "Kazumi, this is something I have to do.  This is
something that we Immortals have done since time began.  And
it is something we will do until there is only one of us
remaining."
     'Who told you this?  Why do you have to go?  Who must I
blame when my husband never returns?'
     Asuka sheathed the sword and lay it on the floor next to
the bed.  He hugged Kazumi close, rocking her gently and
gazing at the flickering candle casting shadows on the wall.
     A thin smile crossed his lips in the near dark.  "The
name of the Kishijoten cursed Gai-jin, is Ramirez..."
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