Part 15

The raging fires kept pouring forth long after the shadow had burned away to nothingness, ruined beyond all hope of recovering. Something inside the great dragon threatened to break, and to keep it from happening, he kept right on, as if by doing so, he could burn away the memory of the woman trampled thoughtlessly beneath the feet of the Mazoku. He could not keep up the intensity forever, though, and eventually the plasma fire died away. Three sets of blazing eyes went dull black a moment before he slipped between dimensions.

Gaav slipped into the material plane exhausted on several levels and he dropped heavily to his knees, eyes blank and staring ahead. It took only a moment for him to recover, however, as the sight before him filled his eyes with new horrors: The bloody remains of the woman lay in on the filthy cobbles before him. Thick red hair hid her face, but could not disguise the unnatural shape of her crushed skull. Blood and tissue stained the paving stones and mixed with the noxious liquid that seeped from the piles of garbage that lined the sides of the alleyway. The sharp stench of blood was thick in his nostrils, so thick that he had to turn away and lean helplessly against the wall as his stomach forcibly emptied itself.

A moment later, he spat to try and rid himself of the bitter taste of bile and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. The vile smell of his own vomit mingled with that of blood and other unnamable substances already there, threatening to set his stomach off again. Swallowing hard against the burn of acid in his throat, he backed away from the pitiful corpse, wishing he could have done something, knowing he should have been able to keep her from being killed, and all the while he could not shake the awful thought that this might have been the dancing girl he’d grown so attached to lying there in the filth with her blood and brains smeared across the cobbles.

He whirled away and fled the alley. He stopped when he reached the street to lean heavily against the wall, his breathing thick and labored. He pushed a hand through his hair, surprised to find it nearly soaked through. In fact, he was soaked all over; his clothes clung to him as if he’d jumped in the river. It was only then that he realized his hands were empty; he must have dropped his sword back in the alley.

“Fuck,” he breathed; he’d have to go back for the sword, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Dammit, Gaav,” he growled to himself as he pushed away from the wall and ventured back into the alley for his weapon. “Since when does the sight of a corpse send you into a panic?” As he rounded the corner and saw the grisly scene before him, he had his answer. “Since now.”

Deliberately averting his eyes from the carnage, Gaav scanned the alley for his sword. He found it, caked with black Mazoku blood, lying mere inches from the woman’s remains. Unable to take his eyes from her, he moved forward slowly, bending down and taking the hilt in a shaking hand, and remained kneeling as he tried to sort out the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Why had the death of this woman affected him so? She was just another human…wasn’t she?

The answer was not forthcoming. Chiding himself, he straightened, gripping his sword tightly. He remained standing there, unable to leave, and yet unable to bear the sight of the unfortunate victim in front of him.

Then he realized what he must do to release himself from this horrible scene. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and called upon his power; a gentle glow started about the woman, floated upwards to shroud her in licking blue flames. The glow intensified, but he did not look away as the plasma fire consumed her, consumed every trace of her down to the last smears of blood and tissue on the cobblestones, until, like the Mazoku, nothing was left to show that she had ever existed.

Nothing except the horrible memories.

Finally, he called his power back into himself only half noticing that a thin layer of water slicked the now clean cobbles. He turned and made his way slowly out of the alleyway and into the street. Blindly, he trudged through the town, not really paying attention to where he was going. Dimly he was aware of people staring at him and when at last he looked down at himself, he realized he must look frightful: His coat was streaked with both Mazoku and human blood. The last surprised him; he had not thought the Shadow Wolf had managed to wound him. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew he had not been touched; the blood belonged to the woman—

The thought sickened him. He slipped his sword into the scabbard strapped to his back and stepped up his pace through the city back towards the inn. He had to get back there, to make sure that Zaira was all right—

Skidding to a stop, he swayed as one thought came to the forefront of the jumble of whirling images that played in his mind: A Mazoku had found him. Had it worked alone or had it been part of a larger group? How long had it been tracking him, spying on him, following him, plotting his destruction?

“Gods…” he muttered, spurred into action. Ignoring the startled looks he got from the few stragglers, he broke into a run. His boots rang on the cobbles as he zigged and zagged along the street towards the wide avenue that ran along the riverfront—until he remembered that he had another option open to him. Without breaking his stride, he pulled the dimensions around him, breaking through the barriers and crossing half the city in the blink of an eye.

He came out of the other side of his dimensional rift in the back alley behind the inn still running. He rushed up to the door and ripped it off its hinges, not bothering with the key, and took the stairs three at a time. He reached the top and rounded the corner into the long corridor, covering the distance in just a few long strides. “Zaira!” he shouted as he slammed open the door to his room with a crash. A quick look around told him that she wasn’t there and he turned and did the same to the door across the hall from his.

* * *

“Gaavan!” Zaira shouted, startled at his sudden entrance. Her ire soon turned to concern as she took in his ragged appearance and the blood on his clothing. “What happened?” she said, rising from where she was sitting on her mattress and going to him.

“Good god,” another voice said and he dimly registered it as belonging to Zaira’s dark-haired friend. “You look like you’ve been helping out at the knacker’s yard!”

He stood there staring down at Zaira as she came close to him, as she stared at the blood on his coat. Her fair face went pale as she stared at the streaks of gore on his coat. “Gaavan?” she breathed, reaching out tentatively to touch the rust-colored splotches. “What—“

She never got to say more as he suddenly reached out and pulled her close, lifting her from her feet as he bent down to kiss her fiercely. He grasped a handful of her hair at the back of her head as he mauled her mouth, overcome with relief that she was unharmed. When he pulled away, she was clutching his arms to support herself and staring up at him. He searched her face; as he did so he realized what he had to do.

“We’ve got to leave,” he said gruffly, releasing her only to take her hand and pull her towards the trunk he had seen earlier, sweeping the items on the top off and depositing them onto the table. He grabbed the handle and dragged it towards the wardrobe, flung open the lid, grabbed great armfuls of her clothes and tossed them into the trunk.

“Gaavan!” she shouted at him, tugging at his arm. “What are you doing?”

He turned and put the second armload into her outstretched arms. “Get packing,” he ordered as he stalked away.

“What the hell?” Stacia said, coming to stand next to Zaira. Zaira shook her head, dumped the load of clothes into Stacia’s arms and followed the tall man out of her room and into his. She watched in amazement as he pulled his pack from the cabinet and started stuffing his few possessions into it. “Gaavan, what are you talking about? What’s happening? Why are you covered with blood and—”

“There’s no time to explain,” he growled, jerking his pack shut. Looking up, he gestured at her. “Go on! There isn’t much time. We’ve got to leave right away; there’s no telling how many of them are around or when they’ll—“

“Gaavan,” she said again, this time in a quiet, forceful voice that not even he could ignore. He stopped and looked at her. When she was sure she had his attention, she looked him in the eye and said quite clearly, “I’m not moving until I get an explanation. What’s happened?”

He dropped his bag on the table and ran a nervous hand through his hair—hair stringy and matted in places with blood, not to mention a huge section that looked as if it had been melted away. “It was a Ma—my enemies,” he said. “They’ve caught up with me and I’ve got to go. We’ve got to go. Before they find me again.”

A stab of cold lanced through her as she heard his words. “Enemies?” she asked, realizing for the first time that she knew next to nothing about this man. “What…what sort of enemies?”

“Does it matter?” he shouted. “Just…go get packed!” he ordered, turning back to his bag.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said in that same quiet voice she’d used earlier.

Gaavan froze and she heard Stacia gasp behind her. Slowly he turned and bore into her eyes with his steely gaze; she could see that something had upset him badly. “What did you say?” he rasped.

“I said I’m not going anywhere. Not until I get an explanation.”

“I just gave you one!” he snapped, slamming his pack down on the table again. “Isn’t that enough?”

She shook her head and clutched the neck of her caftan close to her throat. “No, it isn’t. I need to know what sort of enemies you’re talking about. What did you do?” she asked, afraid of the answer she might get. This man could be a murderer for all she knew.

“I haven’t done anything!” he roared, taking a step closer to her. She simply gazed up at him without moving. Frustrated, he turned and gestured wildly with his hands as if she should already understand—or simply accept his word and not think about it herself. “These—enemies of mine—they hate me for what I am; what I can do to them. My continued existence is anathema to them because it flies in the face of everything they are. They want me dead and I don’t mean to let them get their wish,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. He stood there and looked down at her, lips thin and pressed tightly together, hand outstretched and clenched. “I have to leave and I want you to come with me.”

She stared at him. “I…I can’t! I can’t leave!” she said helplessly.

“Why not?” he literally roared. She cringed against the onslaught of his rage but did not back down.

“Because…It’s too sudden! I can’t just up and leave on a moment’s notice!”

“Why not?” he repeated.

She floundered for an answer and came up with another question instead. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. East—towards the mountains and then across the sea.”

She shook her head. “No, I can’t.”

“Why fucking not?” he roared again, reaching out and grabbing her arm to jerk her forward. She drew against him in fright. “I have enough money to get us out of here and I want you to come with me. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he demanded, giving her a bit of a shake. “Isn’t it?”

“Gaavan, you’re hurting me,” she said softly, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp.

Abruptly, he let her go and she stumbled back into Stacia who stood behind her. The other girl steadied her as Zaira rubbed her arm where he had held her.

“I’m offering you passage out of this place; are you coming with me or not?” he asked again, his tone indicating that he expected an answer one way or another.

“I keep telling you, I can’t!”

His anger was the worst thing she could have ever faced. His face went hard and his eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re frightened to leave,” he said.

“Fuck no!” she grated.

“They why won’t you come with me?”

“Because if I’m going to leave, I have to do it on my own!” she shouted at him, anger giving her the courage to stand up against that terrible anger. “Or else it doesn’t mean anything!”

His lips twisted into a sneer of contempt. “I suppose that means I don’t mean anything to you, either?” he said flatly.

“I didn’t say that—“

“You did. I’m offering my help and you won’t take it because you’re too damn proud to let me help you!”

“Now, just wait a damn minute!” she started, but was interrupted as he caught up his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said, storming out of the room and into the hallway. He took two steps, turned and came back to loom over her and when he spoke his voice was venomous. “Stay then. Stay in this fucking little town, and keep getting treated like a whore for the rest of your life. You just remember that you had an opportunity to leave and you turned it down.” He stalked back out into the hallway without waiting for her response.

“You bastard!” she shouted at his retreating back as she stepped into the hall.

“Fuck you,” he called over his shoulder, just before he disappeared around the corner.

Zaira whirled around and found Stacia standing behind her. With a wail, she threw herself into her friend’s arms. The dark-haired girl held her tightly, guiding her back into her room and to the mattress where she sat with her. Like a mother comforting a child, Stacia rocked the sobbing girl, stroking her hair and whispering softly to her.

“Why am I crying?” Zaira asked when her sobs finally abated somewhat. “After what he said to me?”

Stacia sighed and didn’t say anything at first, then shrugging, she hugged her friend and said bluntly, “Because you’re an idiot, Zaira.”

Zaira pulled away and stared incredulously at her friend. “Why am I the idiot? He’s the one that—“

“Yes, he’s a bastard and he hurt your feelings, Zaira, but he’s also right.”

“How do you figure that?” the red-haired girl demanded.

“Think about it, you stupid girl!” Stacia said in exasperation. “Of the two of you, who has put the most effort into what’s been growing between the two of you? He has.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true! He’s done so much for you, Zaira, and you’ve given him very little in return.”

Zaira stared hard at the other girl. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I am, that’s why I’m telling you this, love.” Stacia took her friend’s hand and pulled her around when Zaira tried to turn away. “No, listen to me. He’s treated you like a princess: He’s protected you from the scumbags at Derry. He’s arranged it so you get enough food; he took care of you when you were hurt and helpless. And he’s asked nothing from you in return. There aren’t many men around that would give so much and not want to take something as payment. You’re damn lucky to have found someone like Gaavan and you know something, if you’d treated me the way you’d just treated him, I think I would have said some nasty things to you, too. You think about that.” Surprised at her vehemence, Stacia nodded decisively to cover her surprise and glared at the other girl.

“You…”

“Yeah, I’m a bitch, I know,” Stacia said, disgusted both at herself for being so cruel and at her friend for being so thick-headed. She got up and was about to leave when a tug on her skirt turned her back.

“Don’t leave me,” Zaira said softly, tears brimming in her large emerald eyes again. “Please…”

“Oh, Zaira,” Stacia said suddenly, turning back and crouching next to her friend, wrapping her in her arms and holding her protectively. “I’m here.”

“I…”

“You stubborn girl,” Stacia said when Zaira couldn’t get anything else out, though her voice held no rancor this time. “Don’t you understand what’s going on?”

The red-haired girl shook her head. “No. I just know…I hurt inside, Stacia. It’s like my heart has been torn in two and it’s not because of those awful things Gaavan said. It’s—Something else. But what?”

“You really don’t know, do you?” The dark-haired girl pulled away and searched her friend’s face, pushing the red hair back. “You’re in love. With Gaavan.”

“I…” Again, Zaira found herself at a loss for words as the truth came smashing down on her.

“Tell me, something, Zaira: What do you feel when you think about waking up tomorrow and not having Gaavan across the hall? Knowing that he’ll never be at Derry’s to watch you dance, to walk you home? He’ll never be around, period?”

Zaira was silent several minutes as she thought that over, examined her feelings. “I feel…like a part of me would be missing,” she said quietly.

“And do you want him to leave?”

“No! Of course not! That’s what’s—“

“Then you need to ask yourself which is more important to you: Stubbornly holding onto your pride so you can say you got out of here on your own, or taking Gaavan’s offer and going with him? Will knowing you did it on your own keep you warm when you’re cold? Keep you company when you’re lonely? Hold you when you need comforting? And if you can honestly say it will, then stay here and let him go. If not, then you need to go find him and stop him leaving long enough so that you can get your things and go with him.”

It was quiet, very quiet in the room for several minutes as Zaira stared at the floor, trying to put the pieces of her comfortable life back together, tried to make them fit with the huge hole Gaavan had left behind, and knowing it was impossible. She’d come to expect him to be there, wanted him there, wanted to share everything with him.

Suddenly, she leaned forward, pulled Stacia close and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Stacia,” she said as she jumped up and rushed out of the room and down the hallway, leaving her friend behind. There was something she had to do; she only prayed that it wasn’t too late…

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