Part 16

“Bitch,” Gaav muttered to himself as he stomped down the stairs and stepped over the ruin of the door and into the dark alleyway. He briefly considered teleporting outside the city gate, but decided against it since the use of his power would most likely attract any other Mazoku that happened to be in the area. It would be like sending up a flare for them to follow straight to him.

“Damn bitch,” he muttered again, stalking through the darkened streets. It was late enough now that the streets were mostly clear, though there were still a few people out and about. Mostly sailors and men stumbling from tavern to tavern in their search for drink and whores, although there were a few out on legitimate business. Like the Guardsman that Gaav passed on his way north along the river to the bridge that would take him across the river and through the East Gate. He didn’t even look up as the man touched the rim of his hat in greeting, but instead kept stalking straight ahead.

“Damn ungrateful bitch,” he muttered a final time. But the words had lost a bit of their venom and he was saying it mostly out of habit. Still, he could not believe that she had refused to go with him. He’d been so sure—

No, he reminded himself. He hadn’t been sure. He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just assumed she would have come with him when he’d ordered.

Wincing, he realized that he had treated her like one of his underlings. He hadn’t even presented the girl with a choice, let alone an explanation as to why he was leaving. Not until she’d demanded it. But…that still didn’t explain why she would choose to remain here, where she was so unhappy and not jump at the chance to come with him..

Sighing, he shook his head and hefted his pack higher over his shoulder as he trudged along the Trade Road, the road that ran along the riverfront. The fact that she hadn’t jumped at his offer rankled and made him angry. He’d given her so much and while he necessarily didn’t think she owed him anything, why she hadn’t taken this was beyond him. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? A chance to get away from this place; she’d told him that herself just a few days earlier. So why?

What was it she’d said? It wouldn’t mean anything. The pain in his chest that had flared at her words peaked again, leaving him breathless. His offer didn’t mean anything? Had nothing he’d done meant anything to her? He paused and shook his head. No, he couldn’t accept that, not when he remembered how she’d come to him for comfort after her nightmare last night. How she’d trusted him enough to let him hold her when she needed it. It just wasn’t true. Why hadn’t she wanted to come with him, then?

He reached Gate Road that ran east and west through the town and turned right towards the river and the bridge that would take him to the East Gate. He continued along the bridge until he reached the mid-point—the highest—spot and paused. Dropping his pack to the bridge, he leaned on the southern wall and stared at the dark water rushing along below. He could see his reflection and that of the torches that lined the bridge as if the water’s surface was some sort of giant mirror, one that distorted the world and skewed one’s perceptions.

“Why?” he asked the dim reflection of himself in the water far below. “Why didn’t she want to come?” Sighing, he leaned his head in his hands and grasped great handfuls of his hair and tugged until he winced with the pain. Helplessly, he replayed their conversation over in his head, trying to figure out why…

Then he had his answer, why she had refused: He hadn’t offered. He’d simply demanded and expected her to comply. Of course being who she was, she’d refused. And yet, not once did she say she wouldn’t leave, just that she couldn’t leave while he demanded it. Truthfully, he had to admit that it was yet one of those traits she possessed that had attracted him to her.

He realized now that his parting shots had been horrible, evil things designed to hurt her and he was ashamed. In his defense, he rationalized, they’d been said in the heat of the moment while he himself had been feeling betrayed and hurt and confused, but that didn’t excuse it. Even as he’d said them, he regretted them, knew that he had to go back and make things right.

Gaav pushed away from the wall and looked eastward, towards the gate that was lost in darkness. In his haste to leave this place, he’d forgotten that the gate would be closed until dawn. While that presented him with little trouble (he could just shift past the gates and be on his way if he wished), he knew that he wouldn’t be leaving tonight. Soon, though, he told himself, but when he did, it wouldn’t be alone. He swung his pack back over his shoulder and turned away, westward, retracing his steps back to the inn. There was something he had to do; something he had to make right again before he could leave.

* * *

Holding her skirts up high, Zaira pounded north along the Trade Road, hoping beyond hope that Gaavan had indeed come this way. He’d mentioned going east over the mountains—just as she’d told him she wanted to do—but would he have done that after her refusal? He could have just as easily gone south and through the South Gate. No. Something told her she was going the right way. But could she catch him? She would do her best.

She finally caught sight of the bridge that crossed the river on the Gate Road, just glimpsing its torch-lined span through the gaps in the buildings that lined the river side of the street. Breathless though she was, she put on a burst of speed, her slippers slapping loudly against the cobbles in the calm darkness.

Then she was at the intersection of Trade and Gate. Barely stopping, she skidded around the corner and started for the bridge—only to draw up short to see a tall man with long red hair coming down the slight incline towards her. He reached the bottom and took a few steps towards her before he realized she was there. When he did, he just stared at her with amazement written plainly across his face.

Without realizing it, Zaira started forward, each step coming faster and faster until she was running again. Gaavan dropped his pack and took several quick steps towards her, enfolded her into his long arms when she reached him and lifted her off her feet.

“Damn you, you bastard,” she said, her face streaked with tears. “What did you think you were doing, storming off and leaving me like that?”

“Maybe because you were being a bitch,” he murmured softly as he nuzzled her neck.

“Me? A bitch? Never.”

“Yes. And an ungrateful bitch at that.”

She pulled away from him and looked deep into his eyes. “No, never say that. I’m more grateful to you than you can ever know. I just—it was all so sudden—“

“No, I think I do know and well…I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t really give you any choice, did I?”

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. And I react badly in situations where I don’t have a say in what happens in my life.”

“’Badly?’” he echoed with a chuckle. “Talk about understatements.” He set her on her feet and looked down at her. “Will you come with me?”

She had to crane her neck to look at him, standing so close to him as she was. “Do you really have to go?” she asked.

Face grim, he nodded. “Yes. It would be best—for both of us.”

Silence fell around them for several seconds as she continued to search his face. For what, she didn’t quite know, but it wasn’t long before she knew she wanted to keep seeing his face every day. That no matter how long she stood there and tried to commit it to memory, if that’s all he became to her at this moment, she would regret it to the end of her days. Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, she nodded. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

She saw him let out a small gasp and knew he’d been holding his breath as he waited for her answer. “We should leave as soon as—“

“No,” she said.

He boggled. “But you just said—“

“I said I would come with you, but we can’t leave right away.”

“I have to—“

“No,” she said again, interrupting him. “We will find a caravan and travel with it.”

“Zaira,” he started irritably.

“Don’t,” she said. “If you’d stop and think about it, you’d know I’m right. If your enemies are about, don’t you think they’d expect you to run? How can you defend yourself—both of us—alone? With no water or food? They’ll pick you off at their leisure and I will not stand by and watch that. If we hire a caravan, we might be able to leave without them knowing about it. Caravans are not that uncommon. A man traveling alone is.”

He wanted to rage at her, convince her that his “enemies” were smarter than that, but the tactician in him also knew she had a point. Added to that, images of the woman’s ruined body in the alley, callously destroyed by the Mazoku, came back to him. If he were traveling alone, he could take care of himself; with Zaira in tow, it was a different story. Not that he couldn’t defend her, but there would always be the danger she would be used against him. If they were with other people, the danger lessened. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “We’ll take a caravan.”

“Good,” she said. “I’ll need time to sell off my things anyway, and Stacia and I will need to pack—“

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on! Who said anything about that mouthy brat coming with us?”

Zaira stood before him, hands planted on her hips, and gave him a determined glare. “It was always our plan to leave together. You can’t ask me to leave her behind in this dump. She’s my best friend and I won’t go without her.” She could see him fighting to control his temper. “You may as well just face it,” she said. “She’s coming along and nothing you say can change that.”

“Great,” he muttered, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck. “Fucking great. How come I get stuck with her?”

“Because she’s my friend and if it hadn’t been for her, I would not have come to my senses just now,” Zaira stated plainly.

His eyes snapped back to her. “What did you say?”

Zaira blushed and looked down, playing with a fold of her caftan. “She said some pretty nasty things to me after you left. Made me realize that I hadn’t been holding up my end of our…friendship,” she said softly.

“Did she now?” he said in a strange voice and she looked up at him curiously. He was grinning crookedly. It faded quickly into a glare. “That doesn’t mean I’m convinced she should come along, though.”

“Gaavan,” she said sternly. “I’m not leaving her behind and that’s final. Besides, I would be afraid to leave her here. Derry isn’t the nicest of people around and you have intimidated him more than once, you know. And not just on my behalf, either. If it’s money you’re worried about, I’ll give her what gold I have saved and pay for her way.”

Sighing, he knew he was defeated. “I’ll think about it,” he said, his tone clearly indicating that she’d already won the argument. He released her only long enough to take her hand, backtrack the few steps to recover his pack, then started back to the inn. “How soon do you think we can leave?”

“It depends on the caravans,” Zaira said, having to hurry to keep up with his long stride. “It might be a day; it might be as long as a month.”

“We can’t wait that long—“

“I said it might; not that it would. We’ll check first thing tomorrow, but right now, we’ve got to get back to the inn and get you cleaned up. You look frightful.” She stopped, pulling on his arm to get him to stop. When he did, she said softly, “And maybe you will tell me what happened.”

Those steely eyes were dark and troubled as he looked into hers, but he nodded slightly. “Come on, then,” he said, pulling her close and putting his arm around her. “Let’s go.”

* * *

They were back at the inn before they knew it. Zaira waited while Gaav lifted the wreckage of the door up and leaned it against the side of the building then slipped inside. Gaav followed her to his room and pushed open his door with a heavy sigh. He dropped his pack just inside the door before staggering over to the chair and dropping heavily into it. He vaguely heard Zaira talking with someone (it could only be that mouthy serving wench friend of hers) in the hallway before she slipped into the room and softly shut the door behind her. He stared at the floor as she approached, moving with a dancer’s grace, but he didn’t see her. All he could see was the Mazoku he’d destroyed, the thing’s eyes and heard the woman’s scream cut off suddenly as her life was extinguished.

Gaav leaned forward and scrubbed at his face with his hands. His hair was still damp and his scalp itched where it was drying. An unpleasant odor assailed his sense of smell and he wrinkled his nose as he realized that it was the blood on his coat. Before he could do anything about it, though, slim hands were reaching for the buttons and undoing them. He looked up, startled, into Zaira’s green eyes as she smiled wryly at him.

“Let’s get this off of you,” she said quietly, reaching down to tug at the belt. “I think you’ll feel much better with it gone.” Nodding, he helped shuck the coat, which she took and hung on the peg outside the door to be laundered by the inn staff the next day. Closing the door deliberately behind her, she went to the washstand, poured some clean water into the bowl and carried it and a cloth to the table next to Gaav. He was only dimly aware of her actions as she gently removed the torc from around his neck, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

Only when the cloth, damp with the tepid water, touched his skin did he look up. She smiled at him and continued to bathe his face and neck, wiping away the clinging layer of grime, sweat and blood that coated his skin. With a slight shiver, he submitted to her ministrations, leaning back and closing his eyes to enjoy her delicate touch, the feel of her fingers running through his hair as she pushed it back from his face. He felt the tension and agitation vanish as if it were a tangible thing to be wiped away by Zaira’s caring touch. It was something he’d never experienced before and he found he enjoyed it. He leaned back in the chair and relaxed, letting Zaira work.

She continued this for several minutes. When she put down the cloth and moved around behind him, he wanted to protest, but he quieted immediately as he felt her hands on his hair and the pull of a brush through his unruly mane. He slumped down even further in the chair and if he’d been a cat, he would have purred. She worked gently and steadily, and lulled by the pleasant sensations, he slipped into a slight doze.

* * *

Zaira pulled a stool around to sit behind Gaavan as she ran the brush through his hair. She reached down and lifted the heavy ring that held the ends of his hair together. After a moment’s search, she found the pin that held it closed and removed it, letting his hair fall free. She was surprised at just how thick and heavy; it spilled across her lap with the feel and consistency of brushed suede and the color of raw flame from a blacksmith’s forge. Overcome with an irresistible urge to drape it around her shoulders, she wondered what it would feel like against her bare skin. She blushed and settled for letting it slip over her hand as she brushed it out.

Just running her fingers through the heavy masses comforted and soothed her—almost as much as it apparently comforted and soothed Gaavan (she could hear his steady breathing turn into soft snores as she worked). She smiled to herself as she hummed in time to the steady rhythm, gently working through his thick hair. The fact that he trusted her enough to let down his guard while she was around touched her deeply.

Her fingers came to the ragged area in his hair and she lifted that section to the light to examine it. It looked melted; indeed, the strands had been blackened and broke off as she tried to work through it. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, Zaira rose from her stool and pulled his long hair out straight, using the brush to get it to lay straight on the wooden floorboards. Stepping back, she eyed it critically and shook her head. It was no use; she was going to have to wait for him to wake up before she could trim it. And from the sound of his snores, she figured that wouldn’t be for quite a while.

Smiling to herself, she went around in front of him, knelt and pulled his boots off. He stirred a bit, and peered down at her as she took his hand and tugged at him. “Gaavan,” she called softly. “Come on.”

“Huh?” he mumbled, senses fogged with sleep. “Whu—?”

“Shh…Come to bed.” She tugged on his arm again, towards the mattress.

Only partially awake, he nodded and heaved himself out of the chair. With her guidance, he made it to the pallet and sat down heavily. Zaira guided him the rest of the way down before lying next to him. He turned toward her, pulling her close as his arms went around her waist. She felt her pulse quicken as he pillowed his head against her breast, but realized that he wasn’t really awake. Cooing softly to him, she stroked his hair and stared into the darkness for a long time before she, too, fell asleep.

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