See Part One for Disclaimers

Part Three

They stopped at Jonathan's house to pick up tools, tent and some food supplies.  She blinked at the stuff he stuck in the back.

"Uhm -- camping?"

"Yes."

"Let me out when you turn off the highway," she told him with a laugh.

He looked at her for a moment, trying to decide how to take that.  "All right."

They drove in silence.  He started to offer her lunch when they approached a roadside restaurant he liked.  He discovered his passenger was asleep, her head braced against the roll bar and her arms wrapped loosely around her back pack.  She looked older rather than younger, which was odd.

He stopped, hesitated slightly about leaving her alone and decided she would be all right.  He went inside, got his meal and returned.  She was still asleep.  Peaceful looking.  He slid back into the driver's seat and drove on.

Keshthal awoke with the cessation of movement.  She yawned, stretched sleepily and looked down over the side of the door.  Dirt.  Rocks.  Thud.  Thud?  She looked over.  Jonathan was unloading the back of the jeep.

"Uhm.  You ran out of road?" she asked, blinking sleepily.

"We arrived."

"Uhm, wasn't there mention of letting me out when you turned off the highway?" she asked as she climbed out of the jeep and looked at the items sitting on the ground.

"You were asleep."

"I have been known to wake up if approached properly."

He smiled.  "I didn't know that."

She laughed.  "Guess not.  You really need all this stuff to go camp out?"

"Yes."

"Oh.  Ok."

He picked up the tent and a pack and moved into the undergrowth.  He could feel her eyes on him.  He kept moving.  He was surprised to hear her behind him.  He walked until he came to the clearing where he was building a house, slowly.  He dropped his burdens on the ground and turned to see his guest arriving with the rest of his things.  She set them down and looked at him.

"Thought I'd save you the trip back and forth."

"Thank you.  Staying?"

She was looking around, taking in the platform of the floor, the waterfall feeding the lake in front of it, the wild growth of native plants.  "It's beautiful.  I can see why you'd choose it."

"Thank you."

She looked at the floor he had built already.  "Not bad.  You do all the work?"

"Yes."

"Kewl.  Is it swim-able?" she nodded toward the pond/lake.

"Yes."

"Good.  I could use a cool down."  She dropped her pack at the edge of the water and proceeded to strip out of her clothing.  She entered the water in one smooth move, leaving her host bemused on the bank.  She surfaced and looked around.

"Do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Ignore convention?"  He knew the answer to that before he finished speaking.  Of course she did.

"You mean skinny dipping with an audience?" she splashed a handful of water at him.  "You look like you could use cooling off."

He dodged the water.  "Thank you.  I have a tent to set up."

He walked away from the water.  The flash of lightly tanned skin through the shaded water was -- tantalizing.  He set about putting his tent up.  It took a little longer than usual.  He finally got it to behave and finished the set up.  He looked around to see her standing under the waterfall, enjoying the sensation of clean, cool water on her skin.  He walked around the pool to the edge of the water fall.

She looked up at him and laughed, gurgling water as she did.  "Peeping Tom?"

"Hardly.  You're in plain sight.  And under age."

"I thought we settled that."

"Settled what?"

"I'm over 18."

He couldn't resist the question.  "How much over?"

She laughed.  "Enough."  She splashed back into the water and swam away, a pale golden fish in a sun dappled pond.

Jonathan watched her swim for a while, wondering why he wanted to join her, swim with her -- he pulled his libido back into line.  He had no reason to believe her words, yet he felt that this time she had told the truth, or a part of it.  And if she was over 18, and not his cousin, there was nothing to hold him -- except his usual distrust of anyone who lied to him.  And she had lied to him -- in a good cause.  At least, she had thought it was a good cause.

He wondered if he also believed it was a good cause.  He found himself wishing he had met his cousin.  He turned away from the water and went back to where he was working on the house.  He took a moment to decide what to work on next.  The last time he'd been out, he'd gotten very little accomplished due to his trying to get to know the boy who had come with him.  He smiled at that, Lucas hadn't been his son, but he had turned out to be a good kid who now lived with a couple Jonathan knew.

He probably would have gotten more done if a trio of thugs hadn't shown up looking for Lucas and he hadn't gotten shot, he might have gotten some more done.  He was glad things had worked out for Lucas, even if it did leave a hollow place within him he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever manage to fill.  He started sawing, determined to block out his misgivings about finding his son, or anyone else to share his life.

Water sprinkled him, breaking his concentration.  He looked around with an exasperated look.  Nothing.  Water ripples.  He turned back to the saw.  Water.  He had a feeling he wouldn't see anything if he turned around again.  He turned his head.  He was right.

"Boy, you're no fun," Keshthal told him as she came up onto the bank in one smooth move.

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to be entertaining you," he said crossly.

She laughed.  "No.  You're working.  What are you working on?"

He explained.

Keshthal stepped out of the water, her skin shedding water like a duck's feathers.  She shook off the remaining droplets and began pulling on her T-shirt and jeans.  An infinitesimal buzzing in the back of her head warned her there was another of her kind nearby.  She shook it off, ignored it as she did the small flying insects that inhabited the area.

She pulled on her pants and shirt and walked over.  "Wouldn't it go faster if you had someone on the other end of the saw?"

"Yes."

She took a grip on the other handle and looked at him expectantly.

"This isn't easy."

"Did I ask?"

"No."

With a darkling look, he took his grip on the other side and pulled.  He was surprised that she fell into rhythm with him as easily as she did.  They worked in silence for a while, neatly cutting even width slabs off of the log he had been working on.  The sounds of the saw against the wood and the waterfall became the world.

He realized about halfway through the fourth cut that his companion was chanting something under her breath.  He stopped the saw.  Keshthal looked up curiously.

"Tired?"

"No.  You said something."

"I did?" She looked honestly surprised, thought for a moment, then laughed.  "Oh, I was probably chanting."

"Chanting what?"

"Work chant."

"Work chant?

"Uh, yeah.  It's -- something I -- picked up somewhere."  Oh, shoot, there was that look again.  But then, he'd probably look that way if she told him is was a work chant from her childhood tending the cattle and oxen that were the life of her people -- several thousand years ago.  Nyah.  Not functional.

"Yeah."

"Jonathan, it is a work chant.  You know, rhythmic sounds that make work seem less monotonous?  Like for planting rice, winnowing wheat, that sort of thing?"

"I know what a work chant is."  He did.  There were still farmlands in Japan where the age old chants and drums were used to keep people working in a rhythm designed to make the time pass faster.  "Teach it to me."

She grinned.  "Ok.  I will."

The words were like nothing he'd ever heard, and had touches of several of the languages he knew.  The rhythm worked well with the sound and motion of the saw.  The work passed quickly, their voices providing counterpoint to each other.

"Whew."  She drew a hand across her sweaty brow.  "You look like you've been swimming."  Her admiring gaze traveled up and down his sweat slick torso and arms.  "I think we've accomplished a great deal, even if I don't know what we're doing, exactly," she finished with a laugh.

"Working on my house."

"That part I had.  The specifics elude me.  I need a drink of water."  She walked over to the water, leaned down and scooped water into her hand and then her mouth.  Jonathan watched, fascinated.  The movement was smooth, practiced, and primitive; something only a person who had lived off the land and in a primitive society would have mastered so well.

She sneaked a peek at him watching her.  He turned away, reaching for a towel to dry off.  A mischievous grin curved her mouth.  She reached around for a small container she had left conveniently next to the water, filled it and was on her feet and moving before Jonathan turned back to her.  The contents drenched him.

The reaction was all she could have hoped for, he whirled, focused and reached.  She danced back, laughing.  "Hey, you need to cool off."

"I needed --"  The grin was not exactly nice as he advanced on her.  A part of him appreciated what she had done, he was definitely cooler than he had been a few moments earlier.  The other part wanted to catch her, spank her and get some straight answers out of her.  He stalked forward.

She kept dancing backwards until she teetered on the edge of the pool.  "Oh, shit," she laughed as she realized her balance was about to leave her in the water.  Jonathan grabbed for her and missed.  Splash.  He got wet again.

Keshthal surfaced laughing and spluttering.  She looked up at a dripping Jonathan.  "Uhm, hi?  Come on in, the water's fine."

He shook his head, drops of water showering out of his hair.  "Why not."  He stripped off his trousers and joined her in the water.  He swam toward her and was not surprised when she coyly dove under the surface and swam away.  He lazed in the water for a while before seriously attempting to capture his companion.

It took some work, but finally he managed to lay hands on Keshthal.  She was a lithe laughing bundle in his arms, exciting quite a number of responses from him.  He looked down into her dark eyes and nearly lost himself in them.  Their lips met, softly, exploring.  He pulled back.  Was that disappointment in her eyes?  He let her go, not quite knowing why and swam back to the shore, pulling himself out onto the bank and heading for a towel.

Keshthal watched him go.  She wondered what she had triggered.  It was obvious that he was attracted to her, that he had wanted the kiss as much as she had, that he wanted more than just the kiss, yet he had broken off, walked away -- so to speak.  She lay back in the water and lazed her way across to the waterfall.  The thunder of the water cut off all other sounds, making the world wet and silent beyond the fall.

Jonathan was reaching for a clean shirt when he became aware that he was no longer alone.




The elegant Japanese gentleman from the restaurant had followed the pair, discreetly.  He wondered that the man did not seem wary, to sense him.  Perhaps he was newly come to his knowledge.  That would make it a short fight.  Although Jonathan Raven was acknowledged a master of the sword in the Clan, he would be no match for the centuries honed skills of the Japanese.  He allowed a smile to curve his thin lips.

He parked his own vehicle in an unobtrusive area, well away from the Jeep Renegade the gaijin drove.  He admired the vehicle, the shiny surface, the black hue, the well kept cleanliness, all bespoke a man of habit and breeding.  His face hardened.  A traitor to the Clan, murderer.  He would take the Clan's vengeance on Jonathan Raven, today.

Clad in black from top of head to split toed tatami boots, he slid swiftly through the trees to find his quarry.  Almost a pity he would have to deal with the woman as well, but there was no sense in leaving witnesses to his vengeance.  It was a part of the game.

He witnessed Jonathan coming out of the water, leaving the woman behind.  He smiled.  The gaijin sensed him coming.  Good.  Perhaps the woman would not witness enough to have to die.

Jonathan straightened, some sixth sense telling him of the attack as the Ninja clad figure burst out of the greenery surrounding the clearing and attacked him.  He evaded the attack, much more easily than he would have anticipated.  He turned to face the man, black clad from head to foot, only his eyes and hands left bare.

"I am Hiroki Tasumatu, Black Dragon Clan," he introduced himself formally in Japanese.  He waited for Jonathan to do the same.

Instead, the man looked bemused, a frown furrowing his brow.  He bowed courteously and waited.  This was retribution, revenge for the vengeance he had exacted on the Black Dragon Clan.  He was known to the entire clan.  Yet something prompted him to speak.

"Jonathan Raven, no longer of the Black Dragon Clan," he said softly.

Tasumatu bowed and drew his sword.  Jonathan looked around for something to use as a weapon, knowing the sword was razor sharp and deadly in the hands of a master.  He moved backwards and away, awaiting the first strike and praying he'd find something to defend himself with before the man struck.  He stumbled over a length of bamboo, rolled backwards and came to his feet with the length in his hands.

Tasumatu frowned behind his mask.  Was this one so young he did not know the rules?  No matter.  The traitor would die.  He struck and was surprised to find he had not touched his opponent.  Raven now had two pieces of bamboo and a worried look on his face.  He didn't need Keshthal coming back to the clearing in the middle of this and he had lost track of her.

He waited for the Japanese to move again.  He tried to clear his mind of everything but the fight at hand.  The strike came, fast, slicing his ribs as he moved away, striking with both lengths of bamboo and feeling a rib crack under his assault.  He followed up swiftly, striking hard and fast, beating a tattoo on his body, but not doing enough damage to make certain his opponent stay down.  He was breathing hard as he avoided another strike and went down, tripping over Keshthal's backpack.  He expected to feel the bite of the other's steel and was surprised when nothing happened.

Then he heard the water and Keshthal's voice.  There was something eerie about the intonations as she spoke.

"I am Keshthal Dah Bos Neth, Forever Chosen and Beloved of the Herd.  In the end, there can be only one."

The ninja turned his eyes toward the water.  Naked, water running off her golden skin, hair her only covering, Keshthal stood on the bank and smiled.  He could feel the vibrations now, stronger than any he had felt before.  Yet she stood unarmed before him.

"You?"

"Me.  What, you thought my companion was the one?  Chauvinist."  The last was without rancor.

He turned to face her fully, and bowed, repeating his formal introduction.  She nodded her understanding.  Now, what the hell was she gonna do for a weapon.  Keshthal, unlike others of her kind, had not carried a sword with her in decades.  She noticed Jonathan reaching into his tent and bringing out -- the katana he had on display at his home.

Jonathan's face was a study of reactions as he reached into the tent and pulled out the treasured sword.  He took a breath and tossed the sword to the woman at the edge of the water, praying that this was the right choice.

She caught it and pulled the blade from the scabbard in one smooth move.  She settled into a comfortable stance, one he did not recognize, but that he saw was right for her.  She waited at the water's edge for the other to move.

He moved, swift, sure and surprised when he missed, again.  Damn.  He turned, blade flashing in the light, hers ringing against his in defense.  Her style was a bastardization of several, incorporating samurai with two handed European styling.  And it worked.  It was almost as though she anticipated his moves.  Then he realized, her eyes were open, but unfocused.  This was a master of the sword he faced, a master who had entered the Zen state within a very few moments of the beginning of the battle.  Fear touched the ninja's heart.  As good as he was, the fabled Zen fugue state was not one he had ever attained.

That was his last thought as she dove under his stroke, slicing across his waist and chest, through ribs and lungs and heart.  He froze, feeling his death, knowing that this was one from which he would not return.  His sword started to drop as she came up and drew the blade backwards across his neck, removing his head.  She stopped moving as the head separated from the body, a striking golden statue with a bloody blade in one hand and the sword's scabbard in the other.

Jonathan watched the body drop.  "You didn't have to kill him," he heard himself say, somehow knowing that he was wrong.  Yet the death was affecting him profoundly.  Another death to lay at his door, another Dragon dead.  When did it stop?

She turned toward him, her face carved of stone, and blinked.  "Yes.  I did," she said softly.

And then the lightning started.

Jonathan's eyes widened in disbelief as the energy poured out of the body into the clearing, the bolts of what looked like lightning striking Keshthal and the sword she held again and again, apparently feeding into her.  She tilted her head back and bellowed into the maelstrom.  The word was unintelligible to him.

The storm died down as abruptly as it had started.  Keshthal looked around at Jonathan, realized it was his sword she was holding and neatly re-scabbarded it before sinking to her knees in front of him and holding it out to return it.  He accepted the sword, staring at the top of her appropriately bowed head.

"What --" He tried to find his voice and tried again.  "What was that?"

She met his gaze.  "A lot of energy."  She grinned lopsidedly.  Did he really want to know?  Did she dare trust him with the reality?

"I noticed.  It was  necessary to kill him?  What you said when you came out of the water --"

"In the end, there can be only one," she repeated softly.  "At least, that's what the legend says."

"Legend?" Was he really ready for this?  Did he really want to know?  He gazed into her eyes and knew that he did.  "Could we try this from the beginning?"

She laughed and leaned forward to kiss him.  The kiss deepened and he found himself with an armful of naked, slightly damp, insistent woman.  He stopped fighting what was rapidly becoming inevitable.




They lay on the grass, tangled limbs, enjoying the afterglow of their vigorous coupling.  He leaned up slightly, supporting his head on one hand and stroked her golden skin with the other.  "Who are you?"

"I told you.  Keshthal Dah Bos Neth . . ."

"Forever Chosen and Beloved of the Herd," he repeated from memory.  "What does that mean?"

"What it says.  My people were the people of the Herd.  They were our life.  We cared for them, and we were of them.  The herds stretched as far as the eye could see.  When they moved, the sound was like thunder before a storm."  He could see that she was there in her mind, not here.

"Where?"

She focused on him.  "Are you sure you really want to hear this?"

"I like being told the truth."

"Yes, you do," she agreed, coming back to the present and stroking the side of his face with a finger tip.  She took a breath and released it.  "It was a very long time ago."

"The chant?"

"Yeah.  The chant.  The title.  They dug up my birth place a while back.  It's called Chatal Huyuk, in Turkey."

The name meant nothing to him.  "Old?"

"Very."

"And that would make you?"

"Antique."

He looked her up and down.  "Nice antique.  Well kept up."

She pushed him away with a laugh.  "I'm an immortal."

"A what?"

"Immortal."

"Immortal?  As in --"

"Practically impossible to kill.  There are a number of us.  The legend tells us that we will survive until a final combat is called.  After that combat, there will be only one and that one will gain a great prize.  The legend's a little hazy about the prize, but most believe the final immortal will rule the world in one form or another."

"And nobody knows about you?"

"I didn't say that."

"So, someone knows about -- immortals?"

"The Watchers know.  And the companions of a number of them know."

"The Watchers?"

"Of course.  If you have a number of hidden entities who may or may not eventually rule the world, word gets out.  Others have seen our battles over time.  Luckily, most of those who know of us are not inclined to share that knowledge.  The Watchers keep records.  I think they want to make certain that the wrong one doesn't end up with the prize."

"You have a -- Watcher?"

"Uh, no," she admitted, with almost a guilty look.

Well, that was good.  "Why not?"

"I -- I think we might want to get dressed."

"You're evading."

"I'll tell.  I'm getting chilly."

They got dressed in silence.  She sat on the edge of the floor to his house and tried to remember the exact events that led to her walking away from the life she had built.  There was Gary.  Oh, yes.  Gary.  After all this time, it still hurt to remember him.  Jonathan watched her face as she tried to gain control of emotions long buried.  He sat next to her.

"Tell me?"

"I had a companion.  About fifty years ago.  He was -- 25 or so when we met.  He was barely 30 when he died."

"Killed?"

She shook her head.  "No.  Disease.  He knew about us, we were companions.  He was diagnosed with -- a blood disorder.  I couldn't do anything but watch him die.  I tried.  I looked at every possible treatment, I made certain he was comfortable and we did the things he wanted to do for two and a half years.  I held him in my arms and watched him slip away from me."  She looked at him, unshed tears in her eyes.  "I knew he would die, but we had so short a time -- and it cut so deep."

He pulled her into his arms and held her.  He felt her arms go around him.  She took a shaky breath.  "And then?"

"I walked away from everything.  I saw him buried, I turned all of my assets over to a company that would establish a foundation to research and find a cure for what killed him, and I walked away."

"Just a back pack and the clothes on your back?"

"Not even that.  I took only what I wore.  I left the antiques and the artifacts I had collected over a thousand years, I left everything to Gary's family and the foundation."

"But you didn't stick around to make certain it worked."

"No.  I couldn't.  It hurt too much.  Hell, I haven't even carried a sword in fifty years."

"Looks like you still know how to use one."

"Yeah.  So, what now?" She looked into his face and tried to read it.

"What do you want?"

She smiled.  "I dunno.  Maybe I could help this man I met build a house out here."

"That's an idea."

"Think he'd let me?"

"I think -- I think he'd be very glad to have your help.  If you can manage not to lie to him."

She shrugged her shoulders.  "Lies become a way of survival.  Think about it."

He did.  Just as he had relied on false information to survive as an assassin, as he had told lies to stay in the Black Dragons until he could exact his vengeance.  "Sometimes they do," he agreed, holding her close.

"But I think you can be trusted, Jonathan Raven."

"And I think you can," he told her softly, wondering exactly what he was saying.

He told her about his background, about Ski, about his son and his search for the boy.  He admitted to slaying the Black Dragons and being an assassin, and he was relieved when she did not turn away from him.  He saw understanding, sympathy and a growing love for him in those eyes.

They disposed of the body and head and settled into his tent for the night.  She snuggled against him, warm and willing.  "Jonathan."

"Yes?"

"I love you," she whispered in his ear.

A great weight seemed to lift from him.  He held her tightly, his heart, so often held under lock and She snuggled against him, warm and willing.  "Jonathan."

"Yes?"

"I love you," she whispered in his ear.

A great weight seemed to lift from him.  He held her tightly, his heart, so often held under lock and key, felt like it had expanded inside his chest.  "And I, you," he told her, resting his face against her soft, thick hair.  "And I, you."

fin

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