The Beckoning of Lovely

Chapter 1: The Shaman

Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon or Gundam Wing.

The wheat that grew in these parts of Mars was such a gold that it shimmered like a vast sea of wealth. The breeze that sifted through the grasses on the planet's warm summer eve tousled a brown that was different from the lighter shades of the blades. Amidst the wheat sat a man, the long golden stalks both hiding his sitting frame and revealing his presence in their starburst outreach as they bent at the root under his weight.

His head was bent as if in reverence, legs folded neatly and his hands were cupped in his lap. His fingers were linked tightly, so tightly that they could hold a cup of water. And despite the firm connectedness of his digits, his thumbs touched gently and his body was thoroughly relaxed.

He knew the woman was coming even before she reached his eyesight. Her steps were not light, a repercussion from many years on Mars, and her heavy breathing seared the wind's soft gusts. Her garb rattled with gold and the flapping red silk it was attached to seemed to be the only foreign substance that embraced nature's natural forces. Given her steady approach the man opened his eyes, dark blue orbs staring blankly at the warm, red sand that his bare toes wiggled in.

He could see her now, her body thin and aging with a face to match. Her skin wrinkled beneath a head of long, white hair and despite her elderly appearance, he could tell that in her youth she had been beautiful. When she got close she slowed her gait, the once rapid beat of her gold-endowed garment easing into a steady throb. It was so steady and purposeful it sounded like execution drums. Slow. Deliberate. Meaningful.

"How did you find me?" he asked. She looked as if she was about to bow but he held up his hand. She refrained, though hesitantly, and sat down in front of him. They stared at each other for a moment, he impassively and she earnestly in an effort to convey her righted intentions.

He gave no signs of leaving so she smiled. "You're not as good at hiding your chakra as you think," she said, her smile breaking lines in her face that he could tell were overused.

He gave no response, facially or verbally, and her smile faded slowly. They sat in silence; his hands still cupped tightly, the wind still leafing through their hair. "And what do you desire from me?" he finally asked.

Her eyes grew grim and her broad mouth flattened into a line of worry and distaste. "It's a member of our tribe," she said, her body leaning forward as she gripped her knees tightly. They watched each other again, her eyes a demanding sea of blue and his an almost vacant pair of the same shade. She sighed and her body folded in on itself. Her head bent low and her torso hunched, though her hands still gripped futilely at her old knees. It was as if the wind had sucked the strength from her very being.

"What about them?"

She looked up, once determined eyes softened with the worry of a grandmother. "Our ia decided it was time to move," she said, "to pack up camp and move farther south for the coming autumn." She looked down. "We're two weeks into our travels and something horrible has happened. A Shaman has infected a young girl."

He studied her intensively. He noted her swallow heavily and her fingers kneed the loose skin on her withered knees. "You're lying to me."

The old woman smiled sadly, almost as if she'd known it wouldn't have worked. With a chuckle she placed her hands to her cheeks, tall palms and long fingers covering almost the entirety of her visible features. "Only part of it," she responded softly. "The truth is," she looked suspiciously to her right and then to her left, and then leaned in close to the sitting man. "The truth is…" she whispered…and stopped. The wind danced around them for a moment, as if sensing the secret and waited to carry it off. The old woman sat patiently for the breeze to subside and when her hair briefly sat still, when the wheat surrounded them tall and unmoving like a wall of gold, when the sounds of the wildlife all but ceased she whispered, "I'm with the Princess."

For the first time she saw interest sparked in his eye. She was not lying and he knew it. And when her own words reached her own ears she became rushed again. "The rest of it is true. A young woman is being attacked by a Shaman and we direly need your help."

He frowned. "And where is your Shaman?"

She almost laughed. "We do not travel with one. Shaman sense other Shaman, it was far too dangerous to take one with such a precious…package, if you will, to risk that ignominy."

"So now I am an ignominy."

"So now you are a life saver," she rebuked with a frown. "We were going to leave her but the Princess refused and we can't travel on with her level of sickness. The palace is two nights away and you will come with us." Her face became taught with her declaration. "Surely two nights with a Shaman will be alright." She smiled. "That is, if you work harder on hiding your chakra."

"I have no choice?"

"Only if you want the death of a young girl and the anguish of your Princess tattooed to your heart as a fault." Her eye glinted with a certain mischief, though a serious one. "Then you would be an ignominy."

He could see she was in agony, a perpetual V-shaped wrinkle between her brow aiming towards her grimacing lips. Sweat beaded heavily on her forehead that the late eve's heat was not at fault for. Her thick upper and lower lashes met in a clash like tongs, weaving between one another like haphazard sewing. Her lips were parted as her chest heaved uneven breaths from its depths.

The old woman made a sound of pity deep in her throat as he kneeled next to the girl's fidgety frame. The veins in her neck pulsed as she briefly ground her teeth. A low moan oozed from between them and her body lifted slightly from the ground.

The Shaman put a hand to her chest. And when a painful pulse of anger and hatred shot through his body like an electric shock, he pulled his hand away. It overtook him for a brief moment, clouding his head with her attacker's despise and it took him a good second to clear the fog.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and placed a hand to the girl's chest once again. The shock wound its way up his arm for a second time but he pushed against it, used the energy granted to him as a young child to combat the negativity that had become a literal virus. Her chest pushed against his hand and a more pitiful outcry escaped a mouth shut tight like a jail to keep her words locked up. Her fingers contorted, strained against their naturally bound state to her hands like the claws of an unrefined beast.

He pushed harder against her chest, bringing her back to rest against the ground of the tented area. When a shadow befell them and broke his concentration, the Shaman looked up curiously, a reprimand on his tongue. When dark blue met dark purple he steadied his distaste and settled for a stern suggestion.

"Your friend has been infected," he said lowly, hand still pressed to her chest. She said nothing and they continued to stare each other in the eyes. He dared not look at her face for rumors of her mystifying beauty had reached even his sheltered ears. His job was to save this girl's life, and for that mission to be breached by a distraction, even one such as the Princess of Mars, it would prove a mighty misconduct on his part. "She will die," he said certainly, nodding to what he acknowledged only as an animated pair of floating amethyst orbs, "that is, if I am not allowed to concentrate." His words came quicker when he felt her pulse rate accelerate. "Whether you know it or not there is a delicate energized balance between the connectedness of me and her, and her and her attacker. Your shadow connects all three of us to both you and the physical world and, if I may be so bold to say, is only aiding in her ailment—"

He stopped speaking when her thin and clawed fingers latched suddenly onto his arm, nails digging shamelessly into his skin. His face showed no pain but the urgency with which he pried her loose signified that her minimal attack had been uncomfortable. He noticed the shadow rescind as he leaned in close. In one hand he held her two hands while the other pressed firmly to her chest.

Onlookers watched silently as he closed his eyes and inhaled. Something was mounting between him and the girl on the ground, that was something no eyes needed seeing. Those around them took steps backward, the effects of his job tangibly felt and dually feared. Rarely was such a strong Shaman ever come across. He exhaled and a strange heaviness, as if gravity had befallen them two fold, pushed their feet into the sand. The tent cleared, shuffling feet loud in their eagerness to depart, to escape not only his surly magic but also its uncomfortable repercussions.

All fled but one. He could feel her standing behind him. Watching.

The woman's body lay motionless on the ground now, as he'd expelled the most pressing of her attacker's magical poison. However, she was not healed yet. He stripped her of her blanket, perhaps more violently than he should have but given the situation he did not feel forward.

The Shaman heard a step from behind him, the tent quiet enough for the sound of compacting sand beneath cotton to be as loud as a polite cough. He held up a hand to placate her and approached her friend more delicately.

She seemed awake now, green peeking out from beneath shiny, weary lids. She may have seemed awake, but her mind was obviously elsewhere. She focused on nothing, saw nothing, was not aware of his face hovering inches above hers, as her eyes looked past him at a vast emptiness that resided beyond his head. Awake, yes, but cognizant, no.

The Princess watched as his lips lingered above her friend's. They moved slowly, whispering some age-old enchantments that would banish whatever evil had begotten her. If she hadn't known better she would have thought she'd been intruding on some precious moment, some touching sweet-nothings being murmured by the mysterious Shaman. Her fingers had intertwined themselves loosely with his in her continuingly healed state. His hand was pressed delicately now to her chest and his lips, perhaps purposely, perhaps not, brushed against hers with their power.

Then, as if she'd finally burst up from the depths of an ocean, she inhaled deeply through her mouth, the sound as inhumane as a wolf's cry. She sat up with her intake and began coughing heavily, heaves shaking her entire body. The Shaman held her hand in support and patted her gently on the back. When she began to gag he stopped patting her back and held his hand in front of her mouth, ready to catch whatever might be emitted. This disgusted the Princess for she thought the only thing that would be emitted from her friend's gagging throat was vomit.

But surely enough, from the depths of her body she coughed out nothing but a small, black stone. It was perfectly round and shone grotesquely with her saliva as it lay in the Shaman's hand. He clasped his fingers around it quickly and as if he had produced some sort of charm she blinked. Her eyes opened wide like it was their first time seeing the world. When her gaze lowered, bright green and dark blue met, hers child-like in their haze and his stern. They watched each other for a long moment, her eyes focusing and un-focusing before they lost their will and closed. Her body slumped backwards. For the first time in three days the Princess of Mars watched as she slept peacefully.

He'd done the sealing prayers, he'd lit the incense, and he'd washed her face gently. She seemed at ease, at least for the time being. For the next few days she'd feel weak, sickly at worst, but simply feeble until her strength returned.

The Princess, with her legs neatly folded beneath her, sat on the opposite side of her friend, touching her brow gently. She stroked with the care of a worried mother, tempted to wake her and equally tempted to allow her to sleep. Worry still danced across her features.

He noted that she was as beautiful as the whispers of her told. Perhaps less of the deity they claimed but nonetheless a striking woman. To him, however, this meant nothing. It drew his eye sure, would have clouded his mind in the middle of healing her friend, but stirred no unknown sentiment deep in his chest.

She stopped her motherly habit, withdrew her hand, and looked to him. "Superlative work," she said with a nod, commending him. Not that she'd seen many Shamans at work, the Princess never witnessed such a quick and thorough extraction. His gaze was as steady as his hands, which sat like sleeping tortoises on his knees. There was no gloat in those eyes nor was there any thanks for her polite gratitude. He simply nodded.

"The old woman," he said, looking to the flap of the tent where he knew the rest of the caravan awaited, huddled close in fear and admiration. Where he knew they whispered of his abilities and their hope for this young girl's survival.

"Pina," she responded, giving a name.

"Pina," he repeated, "said it was to be that I would travel with you to the palace."

The Martian nodded slowly. "I would be very grateful if you would. I'm no expert on the matter but I've been told there can be rebound attacks…" her eyes drifted to her sleeping friend and his followed. She was right, no matter how serene her friend may have looked there was always a chance that her attacker could make another attempt despite his defenses.

"It's true," was all he would say, not saying he would go, but not declining her insistence either. Instead he chose another topic of conversation. "She is a servant," he said, nodding at her clothing. Something briefly flashed across the Princess's eyes. "Yet you repeatedly call her your friend."

Her face contorted into anger. "Just because of my nobility am I forced to relinquish connectivity with those perceived below me?" she snapped, cheeks enflamed with her sudden and quiet outburst. As soon as she'd said it her face fell in apology. Her eyes closed and she shook her head, placing a tired hand to her forehead. "My friends mean the world to me. They all have different backgrounds and duties accordingly. I don't treat them as servants, they do not set my bath or make my dinner or wash my clothes. They make me human."

He could tell she regretted it far more than her angry retort when those particular words exited her lips. He tended to have that effect on people; to make them think they were alone, admitting what they wanted to themselves. He was a quiet, unmoving man. He was a listener, not a talker.

Despite her obvious blunder she decided to quietly and quickly proceed. "If I had my way they'd be free to dress in whatever manner they chose." He could see the contention elaborated in her taut lips. "Hands sequestered by stature." And though her head faced the body those hands endeavored, her eyes turned to his for a split second. He could rarely say he'd ever been moved by something, but when she looked to him he felt…startled. The only other eyes he'd seen that bore such an intensity…were his own in the mirror. And perhaps the deranged victims he healed.

"What's your name Shaman?" she asked, brushing the hair back from her friend's damp forehead.

He watched her. "Heero," he responded.

She held out her hand and said, "Rei," before rolling her eyes and saying, "alternately known as the Princess of Mars."

Heero watched the caravan watch him. Unlike usual traveling groups they moved at a brisk pace, the elderly woman, Pina, in front keeping her steps remarkably quick. Four women flanked the Princess; three of whom kept whispering and glancing in his direction (which, despite the fact that it wasn't supposed to, irked him) and the last being the girl that he'd healed. She lagged a bit in pace, noticeably struggling to make the rapid tempo at which they walked seem effortless. She seemed less sickly than she had earlier in the morning when they'd started their trudge and Heero felt the time was appropriate to approach her.

He quickened his steps to a speed a bit above the caravan and swept into a position beside her. He could feel eyes burning into him from every angle, probably wary of his eagerness to approach their dear Princess, but she was not on his mind at the moment. It took a few seconds for the girl to realize he was walking next to her.

Like the other two girls she wore a sheer red headscarf over long locks of hair, the long ends of which hung over her shoulders and a thin, loose red top. The shirt stopped just short of her navel and hung towards a long, billowing skirt, decorated lavishly with golden intricacies. Solely the hem of the shirt and the headscarf were adorned with such garnishes as well. However, while the manner with which the shirts hung on her friends was an attractive off set of simple clothing, hers hung in way that made her look sickly.

A skin tone that may have otherwise seemed flush was pallid and a body that may have otherwise been femininely muscular seemed weakly thin. Her posture had long since faltered and the way she frequently wiped her forehead of sweat was an indicator of how uncomfortable she was.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye skeptically at first, not necessarily knowing who he was. But after a few moments of deliberation she turned to him with a hesitant smile. "So you're the Shaman?"

"You shouldn't be walking," he said, ignoring her question with a statement of his own.

She sighed, looking away from him and instead at the raven-haired woman walking in front of them. "While that may be true, it's not my judgment call. Nor is it my position to hold up the caravan for something as trivial as a health issue that will pass momentarily." She turned back to him with a smile. "Although I sure could use a nap right about now," she joked.

"What did you dream about last night?" he asked, disregarding, again, what she'd said to him.

She looked up, which did not reveal the sky but rather a red canopy held up by supporters to shield the Princess and her closest from the sun. "I don't really remember," she recalled wistfully, "although I do remember the distinct smell of sage." After a moment of pondering she looked back to him with half of a laugh, "which is kind of strange, seeing as how sage is pretty rare here on Mars…"

He pretended to ignore her again. "How do you feel?" Despite how it may have looked, the way with which he asked about her condition held all the steeliness of a doctor worried solely about a diagnosis and not actually about the well being of the patient.

She turned away with a smirk. "I feel fine."

"No you don't."

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him questioningly. "And what makes you say that?"

Heero pointed to her feet and began a rapid-fire explanation of her condition based on what her body seemed to explicitly scream to him. "You're walking on your heels while your friends and your Princess walk on their toes." She looked down to her feet in confusion. "You're breathing in more than you're breathing out, signifying your exhaustion." She quickly cut off a deep breath of air she'd been inhaling. "Your hunched posture, the contention in your neck, and your frequent swallowing all blatantly reveal how much you want to vomit." She looked uncomfortable. "Not to mention you're sweating profusely yet the hairs on your arms are raised."

He noticed the Princess had become less involved with her conversation and eyed him quickly and warily behind her.

She lowered her voice and glared at him icily. "So I don't feel well," she snapped silently so as not to acquire any ears but his. "What is the point in bringing it up when there's nothing that can be done?"

"You need to throw up," he said, and it would have seemed comical had he not been completely serious.

Had she been feeling fully well she would have guffawed. "Are you daft?" she whispered incredulously. "I am part of the Princess's court. If I was ever to be caught doing something so humiliating I'd be shunned for life."

"Then fall to the back," he said distractedly, rummaging around in his pocket.

She looked to him as if she hadn't heard. "Pardon?"

He nearly smirked at the shift between her reprimand and her comely courtly habits. He pulled a small pipe from his pocket and promptly dropped it in the sand, keeping the steady pace with the caravan. She looked quickly from his fallen pipe, to him, to the farther distance of where his pipe had fallen.

"Your—" she cut herself off, looking at him curiously as her pace slowed. His did not. "But you…" he kept walking and she completely stopped, turning and walking from beneath the canopy into the raging sunlight. The rest of the caravan had passed, the pace with which they were keeping enough to separate her from them for a few moments.

She briefly debated whether or not to take his advice but, upon reaching his pipe, could barely keep the bile from dislodging from her throat. She fell to her knees. It burned like all hell as her fingers grasped heedlessly at the sand and she vomited. It only took a few seconds to empty her stomach and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, picked up his pipe, and quickly ran to catch up with her people, situating herself next to the Shaman once again. She held out the pipe to him ostentatiously so that onlookers would realize that was why she'd fallen back and he took it.

She seemed embarrassed, but eventually got up the nerve to look to him. "Thanks," she said, unconsciously wiping her mouth once again.

"How do you feel?" he asked again with that uncaring approach.

She turned to him with a tired smile. "Like I said, I sure could use a nap right about now."

Let me know what ya'll think! Everyone will come in later, no worries. This one is definitely going to be a fun one, much less complicated than my other stories haha. And more focus on Rei! Yay! I have actually already said what the pairings are going to be. If you'd like to know then you are more than welcome to check out my profile :) I really wanted to make this one romantic and less of a mystery…so get ready for that! Enjoy ya'll.