Part 21

It was still dark when Gaav slowly woke to the sound of soft humming. He opened his eyes and saw that a single candle burned on the table near the window. Zaira, clothed in loose cotton trousers stuffed into mid-calf boots and a loose tunic, sat in the chair near the window brushing her hair and humming softly to herself. He smiled to himself and watched in silence as she laid the brush aside, pulled her hair around, and quickly braided it into a thick, long rope that hung down her back.

“I don’t like it braided like that,” he said in a soft growl.

Zaira turned in her chair and looked over at him. “Too bad. It’s more practical for traveling.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He sat up, reached over and grabbed it. “On the other hand, you’re right about it being practical. C’mere, wench.”

“Gaavan!” she cried and slipped out of the chair onto the mattress next to him. “Stop that!”

He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “It’s got its uses, but I like it down and all wild around your shoulders,” he said as he held her.

Leaning forward, she kissed his chin. “I’m flattered, but it’s just going to be too hot to wear it down.”

“Hmph.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “What’s with the outfit?”

“I can’t very well ride a horse wearing a caftan, can I?”

“Why can’t you?”

“You’re just being ridiculous now,” she said, pushing away from him. As she turned, he kept his hold on her and her tunic was pulled tight against her body.

“Well, now,” he said with a leer, pulling her back towards him. He held her close with one hand while he gathered up her tunic in the back; the light fabric molded to her figure, outlining all her curves. “I like this.”

“Gaavan!” she hissed as she pulled away. “Stop that!”

“Why?” he demanded with a grin as he drew her back. “Come here and make me warm, woman.”

Laughing, she eluded him. “There’s no time for that now. You need to get dressed or we’ll miss the caravan!”

“I can be quick,” he said.

“Am I going to have to get rough with you?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

The dancing girl shook her finger at him. “Later.” She picked up his trousers and tossed them at him, hitting him in the face. “Get dressed, you. Now.”

He pulled them from around his face and glared at her. “I’m the one giving orders around here—“ he started to say—and got his shirt thrown in his face in answer. “Hey!”

“What?”

“You just wait,” he said as he pulled his trousers on. “I only let you do this because I like you.”

“Ha,” she threw back at him. She gave him a smile, however, before she turned and began stowing the last of her things into her bag. Gaav watched her as he wandered over to the wash table, poured some fresh water into the basin then turned his attention to his morning wash. After the strenuous activities of the night before, he would have preferred to take a proper bath, but there was no time. So a quick wash would have to do.

He straightened, wiping his hands and his face on the towel, and turned to find Zaira sitting by the window, leaning on the sill and looking out to the east at the mountains in the distance. The candlelight sparkled on the bangles around her wrists; it was only then that he noticed they were the only adornment she was wearing this morning.

Throwing the towel down next to the basin, he turned to face her. “Zaira,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“Come here.” He held out his hand.

Sensing something different in his voice and demeanor, she rose and went to him, putting her hand in his. Closing his hand over her wrist, he pulled her close to stand in front of him. He took hold of her other wrist and looked down at her, his expression strange and unreadable.

“Gaavan?” she asked quietly, disquieted by his actions. “What is it?”

“I want you to know that I would have done this sooner, but didn't think the time was right.” As he held her delicate wrists in his huge hands, he sent a surge of power into the metal of the bangles. The Orihalcon and the sigils worked into the metal resisted, but their power was no match for a former Dark Lord’s.

“What…What are you doing?” she asked, dragging her attention away from his eyes and to her wrists. The sigils glowed incandescent; so bright they glowed through his hands, illuminating them eerily in the early morning gloom. As the glow died, there was a sudden snapping sound. He opened his hands to reveal that the bangles had shattered into halves—and they fell away into his hands, cold, black and dead.

For several moments, all she could do was stare in disbelief at the pieces in his hands. Slowly, she pulled her wrists away, holding them to her, still staring at the broken bracelets. Cautiously, she lifted her eyes to look up at him; they were wide with disbelief. “I can’t believe it…” she said softly. “I’ve dreamt of this day, ached for it, and now that it’s here…I just don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because…I…” she said softly. “You…you could do this all along?”

“Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her tone wasn't accusatory, merely curious.

“I wasn’t sure the time was right.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just that.” He put the broken bracelets down then picked up his shirt, pulled it on and started doing up the buttons. “You told me yourself that the Pari would have put them back on you if they’d found you with them off—“

“But you could have told me.”

“I could have,” he said, buttoning his sleeves, then added with a wink, “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“A surprise?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You bastard.”

He grinned and chucked her under the chin. “You know it.”

“You’re not just a bastard, you’re cruel.” Rubbing her wrists, she turned away from him.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, coming to stand behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders to turn her gently. She didn’t resist but she kept her arms close in by her body. “Would it really have made much difference whether you knew before now?” he asked.

Zaira was a silent a moment then she relented and leaned against him. “I suppose not.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Of course not. They’re off; that’s what’s important.”

Nodding, she rubbed the calloused skin around her wrists. “I need to find a way to get rid of these calluses. They’re ugly.”

He chuckled and hugged her. “I didn’t realize you were so vain, Zaira.”

“I am not vain!” she insisted, scratching at her wrists. “They itch!” Hissing, she pulled away. “I didn’t have any problem when they were on.”

Gaav grinned. “It’s all in your head,” he said as he tapped her lightly on the temple.

She made a face at him, picked up her bag and headed to the door, pausing by the wash basin and picking up the broken bracelets. “I’ll see if Stacia has anything. Finish packing; we’ve got to be at the caravan encampment soon.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a mocking salute at her back. Laughing off the black glare, he turned to do what she’d said. He spotted the robe she’d given him last night hung up neatly over his coat on the peg near the door. Crossing the room, he took it down and held it up to look again at the embroidered dragon on the back. Again he was struck by the detail and the way the thread glowed against the black silk. Smiling a crooked smile, he folded it neatly and put it carefully in the bottom of his pack, and covered it carefully with his extra shirt. The rest of his belongings joined the robe and shirt inside the bag.

He took a quick look around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Satisfied that he had not, he laid his hand on the cabinet door and removed his sigil there. Lastly, he pulled on his coat, slung the harness for his sword over his shoulders and picked up his pack. He removed the sigil on the door after he had pulled it closed and locked it behind himself.

The door to Zaira’s room stood open and the women were inside gathering up the last of their things. Stacia’s crazy cat was penned up inside a wicker cage and was making loud protesting noises. The dark-haired girl was busy trying to get him to quiet down as she did up the pack that sat on the floor next to her. Zaira was rubbing something sweet and flowery smelling into the stripes of callus on her wrists. She’d donned a heavy cotton robe with a deep hood and long side slits to allow freedom of movement over her trousers and tunic. A shawl, dark blue embroidered with arabesque designs, was wrapped around her shoulders.

“Ready?” Zaira asked him as he stood in the doorway. He nodded. She looked to Stacia, who had slung her own pack over her shoulder and picked up Remy’s carrier.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Then let’s go,” Gaav said, brushing his hand against Zaira’s door to remove the sigil there.

Together the three of them left the inn and made their way south to the caravan encampment that lay outside the city wall.

Gaav stood on the riverbank as the early morning mist curled and billowed in off the river. The sun was barely up over the eastern horizon, and he pulled the collar of his coat up against the chill. The horses he’d bought stamped and pawed the ground next to him, unhappy with being taken away from their breakfast. He checked the girths to be sure they were tight, then left the animals to go check on the others.

He found Zaira and Stacia supervising the placement of the last pieces of their luggage; Stacia was arguing loudly with the driver about where the basket that held her cat should be placed. Rolling his eyes, Gaav clapped the man on the shoulder and dropped a few coins into his hand to “convince” him to let Stacia have her way. Satisfied, Stacia carefully stowed the basket up near the front of the wagon where she could get to him easily without having to wait for the caravan to stop. Zaira turned and looked up at him.

“Ready?” he asked.

Her green eyes were dark with some emotion; exactly what it was, he couldn’t tell. She didn’t say anything, just nodded. Giving her a strange sideways look, he went to talk to the Master of the caravan, to let them know they were ready. The Master nodded, climbed aboard his horse, stood high in the stirrups and called down the line to move out. The call was passed down along the line of wagons and the creaking protests of the wheels filled the misty morning along with the jingling of the tack on the hired mercenary guards that would ride with the caravan and provide protection from bandits and dangerous creatures. Horses stamped and snorted and soon the procession crossed the South Bridge. After crossing the bridge, they would turn north onto the road that ran at the foot of the city wall. They would follow it northward until it joined Gate Road, then they would turn east and head on out to the mountains—and from there to the sea.

Gaav hurried back to where his horse was waiting. Zaira had already mounted and had drawn the hood of her robe up over her head to ward off the chill the hung in the air. She sat the little white mare he’d bought for her expertly as she waited for him. He mounted his horse, a magnificent buckskin stallion that had caught his eye, caught up the reins and nudged the horse forward. Together, the two of them followed the caravan out of the encampment and across the bridge.

They rode in silence past the gate that lay on the east side of the river towards where the road ended in the north-south bypass around Carana. The caravan had already turned north along that road and were riding down into the morning shadows in the artificial valley between the bluff and the city wall.

As they came to the crossroads, Zaira reined in her horse and watched the caravan moving along in front of her for a moment. Gaav noticed and pulled up his own mount and looked back at her curiously. “Zaira?” he called when she did not move. She looked at him then finally turned her horse to look back at the little town behind them. “What is it?” he demanded, more harshly than he’d intended. Her refusal to answer him irritated him.

If she heard it, however, she did not show any signs of it. Instead she continued to stare at the town across the river. Turned away from the rising sun, and with her hood pulled low over her face, her eyes were shadowed as she continued to stare at the town. He noticed that she was rubbing her wrists absently as she stared back at the town.

Without warning, she turned her mare back towards the city and cantered back the way they had come. Cursing under his breath, Gaav turned his stallion around and galloped after her. “Zaira!” he shouted, his powerful voice breaking the stillness. Along the banks of the river, the waterbirds were startled into frenzied flight.

He caught up with her on the bridge. She’d pulled up her horse and dismounted at the foot of the bridge and ran until she was standing in the middle of it, at its highest point over the water. Gaav’s horse skidded to a halt on the cobbles as he pulled back on the reins, and he threw himself off the horse and ran after her.

“Dammit, Zaira!” he shouted again, drawing level with her. “What are you doing?”

“There’s something I need to do,” she said softly. Reaching into the pocket of her robe, she pulled out several pieces of dull, blackened metal. He recognized them as her broken bracelets. She looked at them for several long moments with an unreadable expression on her face. Then, with a yell, she pulled back her hand and threw them as hard and as far into the river as she was able. They went sailing through the air only to be swallowed by the dark water swirling beneath them.

The red-haired girl immediately turned away from the river and pressed herself against the giant who stood just behind her. She clutched at his coat fiercely a moment before she took a step backward and looked up at him. There was something new in her eyes: A smoldering fire that had just been fanned into full life. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Take me away from here.”

“Gladly,” he answered, and put his arm around her shoulders and walked her back to their horses. When they reached them, she made as if to go to her horse, but Gaav pulled her away. He caught up the mare’s reins and wrapped them about the horn on his stallion’s saddle, then lifted Zaira onto the tall beast. He swung up behind her, wrapped his arms around her.

“Gaavan, I can ride,” she said as he turned his stallion’s head around and they trotted along the road to catch up with the caravan.

“I know. I’m doing this so you can’t get away from me.”

“And what makes you think you could stop me if I really wanted to get away?” she asked.

“I have my ways.” He gave her a quick grin then urged his horse to greater speed.

She was silent until they caught up with the caravan, just as the last wagon had turned onto the east road. Without stopping, Gaav turned his horse onto the east road and hurried past the wagons to ride out in front of the caravan.

“Look,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Up ahead. What do you see?”

Zaira looked. The sun had finally cleared the mountains and the long streams of light fell on her face. She squinted against the light and shielded her eyes with her hand. “The road?” she guessed.

“No. Look further.”

Confused, she did as he said—then it dawned on her. “The mountains,” she said.

He nodded. “Yes. The mountains. And the sea beyond. We’re going there and we’re never coming back.” Gaav looked down at the woman he held in his arms and smiled.

She smiled back at him, her eyes gleaming as he repeated the words she’d said to him on the night Ragradia’s Eye had shown brightly in the sky.

“Indeed we are,” she whispered, settling back into his arms and looking into the bright glare; always looking east. Towards the mountains. Towards the sea.

And left Carana behind.

Finis

*****

Notes:

Many, many thanks go out to the following for their wonderful help and patience with me

Zanne, for providing me with tons of inspiration and guidance when I got stuck.

Stacy, of course. For everything and for demanding more and more of this. MWAH!

Kamui, always.

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