“Stupid words…if they’re
said with the right passion and the gods are feeling bored, sometimes the
universe will re-form itself around words like that. Words have always had
the power to change the world.
Be careful what you [say]. You never know who will be
listening.”
It was hot. And dry. And dusty.
While the first two things didn’t really have much effect on the traveler in the beige tunic, beige pants, beige cloak, the dust did. In fact, it was so dusty that even his skin and his hair were colored the same beige as his clothing.
One large walking beige-colored Chimera, that’s me, Zelgadis Greywers thought as he trudged into the town’s outskirts. It was little more than a single street with storefronts and boardwalks lining the dusty and cracked earth that formed the lane. He trudged up to the watering trough, slung his pack down on the ground, pulled his cloak off his head, bent over, and scooped several large handful of water up and over his head. The water rushed off and back into trough carrying the dust with it.
No longer beige-colored, he straightened and looked around the town, taking in the details that he had missed upon his initial inspection: A general store, livery, town hall which doubled as a sheriff’s office, few more stores, some houses set back off the street, and the saloon. He was closest to the last and could hear it was already busy inside even though it was the middle of the day. There were three porch-sitters outside, two discussing the daily paper and the other, clothed in black and wearing a black hat, was leaning back and snoozing with his hat pulled down low over his eyes.
Sighing, Zelgadis looked down the road. He should really just keep going; he had a long walk ahead of him if he wanted to get to Stolat before midsummer. It was a month’s walk away. Through more of this hot, dry, dusty, beige-colored desert. And for what?
For a tip to what might possibly turn out to be his cure.
But then again, it would probably be like so many other tips before: A dead end.
And what would that get him?
Another month of walking.
Another lonely month of walking and getting nowhere.
Another wasted month of his life…
“Shit.” He reached down and picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Stolat isn’t going anywhere.” It had all become almost too much in the last few months. So many false leads…It was enough to make even him about ready to give up.
But not quite.
Sighing, he turned and mounted the steps into the saloon, muttering as he went, “Why does my life suck so much, anyway? Damn Rezo…” He pushed open the swinging half-doors with a little more force than needed and they banged against the inner walls loudly. The crowd inside fell silent and looked up at him as he stepped into the dark interior. “Anyone playing poker?” he asked as he scanned the crowd.
A hand was raised in the corner. “Here.” “Need another player?” he said with a glare at the rest of the crowd as he headed towards the table.
“We can always use another player,” the first speaker said, scooting his chair over to make room for the newcomer.
Zelgadis dropped his pack on the floor, grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table while reaching into his money wallet. Tossing a handful of coins onto the table, he pulled the chair around and sat. “Deal me in,” he said.
* * *
On the porch outside, the two sitters discussing the recent news got up and wandered off to another part of the town. The third, however, leaned his chair slowly forward until all four legs were resting on the rough-hewn boards. He pushed the brim of his hat up as he turned and looked into the saloon after the blue-skinned man. Black hair braided with red and blue beads fell over his shoulders as he twisted around, and golden eyes seemed to pierce the murky darkness inside. They fixated on the back of the Chimera’s head and just…stared a moment. A sly grin twisted his handsome mouth upwards as he seemed to look through the newcomer and see into all the shadowy places.
“Why does your life suck, indeed,” he said softly. Leaning back in his chair, he picked up the guitar that was propped against the wall next to him and started strumming. “Let’s find out just why.” He closed his golden eyes and started picking out a tune on his guitar, humming it as he did so. “Let’s learn what story your song has to tell.”
Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV
TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
Story and original characters copyright Wendy W Lee