Part 11

Before those hooves could come crashing down, Gaav scooped Zaira into his arms and slipped between dimensions again. The horses, brought up short by his sudden appearing/disappearing act, had stopped their headlong plunge, and now milled about, eyes still wild and chomping at their bits until they were foamy. The lead horse, head down and reins trailing, stood shaking and pawing the ground nervously. The others, following its lead, crowded close together for security.

Gaav reappeared on the other side of the street with Zaira cradled protectively against his chest, red hair spilling like fire over his arms. His heart was thumping wildly and the smell of fear was sour in his nostrils; to his surprise, he realized that it was his own fearsweat. As he looked down at the slight girl that he’d come to care so much about in the past few months, he felt his heart skip a beat. Her eyes were closed and there was an ugly lump on her forehead. The area around it was rapidly discoloring and would soon be an angry purple bruise. Her green eyes were closed and her breathing shallow.

“Zaira,” he called softly, crouching against the wall and holding her close. “Zaira, wake up.” When she didn’t respond, he felt panic choke him. Fighting it down, he laid his hand upon her forehead, and almost without conscious thought on his part, he felt his sight shift to see her aura. Surprised, he saw that her spiritual being was a deep, sultry amber, calming but intensely powerful. The power currents shifted in complex patterns that fascinated him, and he found himself wanting to explore it further. He drew up short, however, when he came across the wound, pulsing angry well of pain that that interrupted the flow of amber.

Confused, he probed further into that raging spot and could feel her injury. To his relief, he felt at once that it was minor, but still, it needed to be treated. Pulling his consciousness back into himself, he glanced around. There was nothing he could do out here in the open, so he rose to his feet, holding the unconscious Zaira closely in his arms, and took them both to his room the quickest way he knew: Dimensional travel.

Stumbling to the pallet, he laid her carefully upon it. As he arranged her slim hands across her stomach, he had to stop and look down at his own. Kneeling over her, he lifted them and stared at those hands, hands which trembled and shook wildly. Clenching them tightly into fists, he grimaced and willed himself to stop shaking. He wasn’t used to facing his own death; it unnerved and unsettled him, but it had been so close…so close. Swallowing against a mouth gone suddenly dry, he turned his attention away from his own brush with mortality and to Zaira.

There had been no change; she was still out cold. He brushed her hair back from her forehead and peered at the bruise. Something in his chest contracted painfully and he had to stop and look away a moment before he could continue. “Damn it,” he muttered, clenching his fist helplessly. She needed a healer.

He was already on his feet and had his hand on the doorknob when he stopped and stared at that hand. His knuckles and the back were scraped raw. Apparently he’d hurt himself in the explosion, but he hadn’t felt it. He still didn’t feel any pain; he just stared at his bruised and bloodied hand. Raising it, he didn’t even have to think about calling upon his power to repair the damage; he watched impassively, almost detached, as the torn flesh filled in and the skin over it grew whole. He raised his other hand and absently brushed away the dried blood. Turning, he looked at the woman lying on his pallet and wondered…

Leaving the door, he removed his sword, undid his coat, and dropped both over the back of the chair by the table. He knelt by Zaira and took her hand in his. Could he do this? He’d never tried healing a human before; he wasn’t even sure he could do it. However his powers were extensive; at one time he had been able to “heal” Mazoku who had been injured. He’d even used a great deal of his power to trap Val’s soul while he transformed the Ancient Dragon’s dying body into a hybrid Mazoku, then forced his soul back into the vessel he had created especially for the young dragon. But would it work on a human?

“You’re human now, Gaav,” he muttered under his breath as he lifted Zaira’s limp body and cradled her with his left arm. He brought his right hand up and laid it over the bruise. He felt his power rise up at his command, always there right under the surface, ready to answer his call just as it had always been. It rushed through him, overwhelming his human senses, and his sight slipped into the Astral spectrum. He could see the mass of his power surrounding and choking out the amber glow of her presence. Hissing, he pulled it back, but not before he felt her stiffen in his arms.

Pulling his hand back abruptly, he severed both the physical and non-physical connections. His power snapped back into himself hard enough to make him gasp as his sight shifted back into that of the material plane. To his relief, Zaira’s eyes were open, though they were unfocused and dull with pain. “Gaav…?” she whispered.

Relieved beyond belief, he nodded and stroked her cheek. “Yes, I’m here,” he answered automatically.

“I…My head hurts,” she mumbled, closing her eyes and turning her face towards his chest. “I…I can’t see straight. You look like you’re got three heads.” Her voice was thick as she clutched his shirt. “I think I’m going to be sick…”

It was only after her comment that he realized she had called him by his true name—not the one he’d given when they’d first met. “You hit your head,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “I’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

“Healer?” she muttered softly.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m going to take you to a healer. You go back to sleep,” he whispered. Nodding, it didn’t take her long to do just that. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his face to her hair and breathed in her scent. The Chaos Dragon sat there a moment, cradling her in his arms and thanking the Mother of All Creation that he hadn’t harmed her.

After several tense moments, he closed his eyes and brought his power to him again. This time the former Mazoku worked to focus it, finding it more difficult than he had thought. Only when he was certain that he had it fully under his control, did he let his sight slip into Astral sight. Now his power was bright and focused, edges clearly defined. Just a small portion, that was all that was needed.

Holding his breath, he brought this small spur into tentative contact with her aura. Carefully, ready to pull back should it still prove too much, he inched it closer until it was touching the knot of red. Releasing it bit by bit, it drenched the scarlet storm, bathing it in cool blueness. The red pulsed a moment before fading to purple, revealing a faint black tracery that worked its way through the amber light. Behind this tracery, the red pulsed, as if trying to escape. As the bright spur of his power touched the intrusive black lines, they melted away until eventually all that was left was the clean flow of amber.

With a heavy sigh, he released his power and allowed it to flow back into himself. His sight shifted from the Astral to material planes and he looked down at the fragile-seeming woman he held in his arms. She was so small in his arms, like a doll. He wasn't sure how close he'd come to losing her today (wasn't even sure that had been a concern), but the very thought disturbed him. Grimacing, he shifted, lying her gently upon his pallets and pulling the thin blanket over her. She didn't even wake up. Gaav stroked her cheek gently before clenching his hand tightly, standing and turning away suddenly.

The tall man stalked to the window and leaned upon the sill, staring down at the street outside without really seeing it. Instead, he was seeing Zaira's pale visage and wondering what was coming over him. He'd lost servants before; Raltaark, Ralshak, his own created priest and general. Kanzel, Mazenda, Saygraam, many others too numerous to name. Some he couldn't even remember their names. Some losses had been greater than others, but only in the sense that he had lost valuable resources—resources that could eventually be replaced. He had felt nothing for them personally…

On that thought, he turned back and looked at the woman sleeping in his bed and realized that it was hard to mourn a resource. He had treated all his generals—save one—as things. Mazoku were just that, things. They were not living, caring individuals, but merely extensions of the powers on the Astral plane. He had afforded his legions more respect and autonomy than his siblings had, but that didn't change the fact that he'd known all along that they were still things. And as such, he felt no remorse for any of them when they had been defeated and ruined; the only thing he'd felt was irritation at the girl sorceress who had decimated his ranks; annoyance that he'd have to recruit more generals from a race that he trusted not at all.

Yet, he'd fallen apart when faced with the prospect that he might lose this slip of a girl.

Frustrated with himself and these strange emotions, he ran his hands through his unruly hair and scrubbed at his face. Taking them away, he saw they were streaked with blood, dust and soot. Moving quietly over to the washstand, he poured some water into the basin, scooped some up and splashed it over his face. As he suspected, the water came way tainted with crimson and soot. Rolling up his sleeves to reveal thickly corded forearms, he grabbed the soap and proceeded to scrub his face, hands and arms clean.

When the last of the soap had been rinsed away and he was mopping his face with a fresh towel, he turned, leaned against the washstand and looked at Zaira again. Sighing, he dropped the towel onto the table, pulled a chair around and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles as he prepared to wait until she woke up. Who knew how long that would take, but until she did, he would watch over her.

His thoughts turned once again to his past. Sighing, he looked out the window and watched the lengthening shadows as he pondered what had happened today. Why did he care so much what happened to this woman? Especially since she could be so exasperating at times? She did not show him the respect someone of his station deserved; in fact, quite the opposite. She had a habit of needling him to distraction. She'd been openly hostile when they'd first met, and had rejected his advances.

She shifted in her sleep, turning over so she was facing him with her hands curled beneath her cheek and fiery curls tumbling in disarray around her face. Gaav's gaze shifted, as well, to watch her sleeping. For all the grief she'd brought him, he realized it was nothing in comparison to how much he enjoyed spending time with her, looked forward to her company—yes, even their bickering contests.

His gaze shifted back out to the deepening gloom as the shadows fell over the city as he considered his thoughts. These were truly of human origin for Mazoku did not enjoy another Mazoku's company. There was only that enforced loyalty to their superiors, which could shift at any given time. He knew that when Phibrizzo had destroyed him, the Mazoku who had been under his command had quickly shifted their allegiances to one of his other siblings. That was the way of the Mazoku.

All except one, however. Gaav's thoughts turned to the Ancient Dragon he had made his first general. Valgaav had done the unthinkable; not only had he refused to give his allegiance to one of his master's rivals, but he had forsworn any connection to Shabranigdu himself. Gaav's lips curled up in a grin as he thought about what the boy had done. He'd actually upset the very balance of the universes by aligning himself first with the Shinzoku of another universe, then summoning and bonding with Dark Star, the Dark Overlord of that other universe. He'd nearly succeeded in destroying this puny little world. Not exactly what he'd had in mind, but impressive all the same, Gaav thought with a wry smile on his lips. It was something every Mazoku wanted and yet had not been able even come near to accomplishing.

To his mind, it only demonstrated exactly how wrong the Mazoku were about what constituted strength and weakness. Mazoku did only as they were ordered; none of them would be willing to give up their “lives” for another. Yet humans did so daily. Sometimes it might be for futile causes, but if they believed in it, they would fight until their last vestiges of strength for it. As he’d witnessed first-hand from that under-developed sorceress who had thought to oppose him.

Sighing, he leaned his head back in the chair and slumped down. These concepts were all still so new to him. He was starting to understand, but the journey was a slow, winding one. It annoyed him; he preferred to take the straightest path, but that was not possible when dealing with such complex creatures. There were times, however, when dealing with these constantly shifting paradigms literally exhausted him. Like he was feeling now. The adrenaline that had flashed through his system had worn off and had left him feeling drained. Even as he stared up at the ceiling, he felt himself slipping into sleep. Valiantly, he tried to fight it, but realized it was a losing battle. The Dragon of Chaos never gave up without a fight, however, so it was several more minutes before his breathing eased into the calm, easy rhythm of sleep.

Sometime later, Gaav was startled out of his impromptu nap by the persistent sound of knocking. He glanced about and found that the sun had nearly set, throwing his room into deep shadows. Sitting up, he tried to focus on the sound but it wasn’t until he heard a voice from outside that he realized that it wasn’t his door that was being pounded upon.

“Zaira! Open up! It’s me!”

Pushing his hair out of his face, Gaav shoved himself to his feet and lurched across the room to his door. He pulled it open and stared at the dark-haired woman standing in the hallway and yelling through Zaira’s door. “She’s in here,” he said, his words slurring curiously. He scrubbed at his face as he tried to fight off sleep.

Stacia turned and stared at him, taking in his disheveled appearance and groggy demeanor. “What’s she doing in there?” She peered up at him. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not drunk,” he snapped back at her. “I—Never mind about me. Zaira was hurt—“

“She what?” Without waiting to hear the rest of his story, she pushed past the tall man and into his room. Without glancing around, she went to Zaira where she lay on the pallet. “What happened? How about some light here,” she ordered. Glaring at her, Gaav called up some magelight; Stacia glanced up at it, a look of surprise on her face. “Are you a sorcerer?”

“…Kind of,” he muttered.

“So, what happened?” Stacia asked again, smoothing Zaira’s hair back from her brow. “You didn’t—“

“No, I didn’t,” he snapped again. “If you’d shut up, I’d tell you what happened.” His voice was such a low, menacing growl that she snapped her attention back to him, growing pale.

“Sorry,” she said.

He took a deep breath and sat back down in the chair. “An alchemist’s shop blew up while we were walking past it,” he said without preamble and succinctly.

The girl gaped at him. “Oh, gods! Is she—?”

“She’s fine. She hit her head and was nearly trampled by horses spooked by the explosion, but I he—took her to a healer,” he amended, omitting the fact that he’d healed her himself. “She…she just hasn’t woken up yet.”

Turning back to her friend, Stacia smoothed her cheek. “Zaira, wake up.”

The dancing girl shifted in her sleep and opened her large green eyes. Gaav’s heart leapt and he leaned closer—only to sit back again. “Stacia?” she said weakly.

Taking her hand, Stacia nodded. “It’s me, love.”

“What happened? My head hurts…”

“Gaavan says you hit your head, but he took you to a healer and you’re all better now. Just need to rest.”

Zaira’s green eyes brightened as she looked around. “Gaavan? Is he here?”

“Right over there,” the other girl said, pointing.

Looking over at him, she smiled—then frowned. “You look awful,” she said.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“What happened to you?” she asked and tried to sit up, only to slump backwards. “My head hurts…”

“Zaira, you need to lie down, girl,” Stacia said, pushing her back.

“But Gaavan—“

“I’m fine, Zaira,” Gaav said, leaning forward. “Just a little banged up. You’re the one that was injured.”

She covered her eyes with her hand. “If you say so, I’m not going to argue.” After a moment, she moved her hand and looked around. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Gaavan’s room,” Stacia said.

Zaira’s eyes went wide. “Gaavan’s…What am I doing here?” Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to work that out.

Stacia glanced over her shoulder at Gaav. He shrugged. “She was unconscious. What was I supposed to do, leave her in the hallway?” He grinned a bit at her sharp glare.

“Red over there thought he was being helpful,” the serving girl said wickedly.

“Don’t call me ‘Red,’” he retorted.

Zaira giggled a bit then groaned, putting a hand to her head. “What time is it?” She looked around and noticed how dark it was. “I’ve got to get to Derry’s!” she said suddenly, trying to sit up and using Stacia as support.

“Hey!” Gaav and Stacia shouted in unison. “Wait a minute,” Stacia said. “You’re in no condition to dance tonight, honey.”

Gaav rose and loomed over the two of them. “She’s right about that. You’re not going to Derry’s tonight,” he said, a note of finality in his voice that brooked no argument.

Zaira, however, felt compelled to argue. “But, I’ve got to. I won’t get paid—“

“Forget about that,” Gaavan said, leaning over and putting his hands on his hips and glaring at her. “I’ll deal with Derry; don’t you worry.”

“Gaavan, I appreciate this, but I really can’t let you keep spending so much money—“

“You can, and you will.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins that he summoned out of nowhere. “I’ve got plenty of it and nothing else I want to spend it on.” He felt his cheeks redden and let the magelight dim just a bit so they wouldn’t see. But it was still enough that he could see Zaira’s emerald eyes sparkle up at him.

“Listen to him, Zaira,” Stacia said gently. “You can’t dance if you can’t even stand up.”

The girl looked from one to the other and then back before finally nodding and lying back. “All right. You win.” Then she sat back up. “But I should go to my own room…”

Stacia looked up at Gaav. He shook his head. “No,” she said, turning back to Zaira. “You should stay here.”

“But I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” Stacia said, pushing her back on the pallet and pulling the blanket up to cover her. “You shouldn’t be alone and I’ve got to go to Derry’s.” She made a face. “Some of us have to work.”

“But I can’t—“

“Enough,” Gaav said, putting an end to her arguments. “You’ll stay and that’s final.” He motioned to Stacia to stay put. “Stay here while I go deal with Derry. I’ll be back soon.” He grabbed up his coat and sword, and headed out the door. As he shrugged on his coat, a sly grin curled his lips upwards. He was going to enjoy this.

Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
The other characters copyright Wendy W Lee.