Growing Pains

16: The old man in the moon

Auteur : Rain

Disclaimer : Shaman King…. Doesn't belong to me! How surprising! I am only playing with borrowed toys.

Notes :

To beg; to write; to remember.

Hello everyone!

Thank you for your support. A special thanks to CorporalQueen, Realgya, Solemntempo, LugiaP2K, Allie, and Julia. Reading means a lot to me and commenting even more. Thank you.

Previously on: Growing Pains

Jeanne talks about the future of the X-Laws with what remains of them, and decides to help a stranger. Tamao is once again shaken by her encounter with the Iron Maiden, and defends her from an enraged Ren. Hao, on top of the hillside, is surprised to learn of both.

...

Jeanne resurrects the boy. It goes well, or as well as it could when the soul is unwilling, Shamash assures her. She can't tell them it's her first time, so she pretends to be offended, and nobody questions the scar.

It is tempting to storm off. The revival process tires her out, and the amount of people is stressful. Yoh brought not only children his age, but also older teens, all with clothes, faces, ways that are unfamiliar and strange.

Marco might have objected to the crass, raw corpse exposed to her pure eyes; the X-II do not. They help wash Ren's body under her orders, salt to purify and water to cleanse. They are somber, fast, efficient. One, John, stays upright, eyes on the horizon, keeping watch.

And then she uses her power, and Tao Ren rises angry, taller than her, a flash fire of violence rooting her in place. For a second, he comes towards her, hands empty but capable, and she is afraid.

And then the girl, the girl who was too scared to meet her eyes, steps between them and tells him off. Her voice trembles, but her body does not.

Jeanne finally takes her in. She's her height, or just about, with clothes that are almost boyish. Her voice is gentle; her hair is the stuff of fairy tales. It's a strange thing, to be looking at a girl; it's a strange thing, to realize that this is the first girl her age Jeanne has ever taken time to look at in detail.

Part of her wants to reach out. Touch her. See if she's made from the same stuff as her. See if her skin is soft to the touch.

She shakes off the strange feeling and forces herself back. "It does not matter," she says, because it is true. This boy's opinion holds no weight here. This was a favor to Yoh, not him. "John, put your weapon down. There are other people who need me. I shall now take my leave."

She completely forgets to ask Yoh anything, if she ever meant to. Instead she makes for the ramp, and she is taken by complete surprise when Yoh calls out.

"Are you sure there's nothing we can do to help?"

How come he is so relentlessly nice? What does he hope he can do?

The answer, however, comes easy to her lips. "I'm afraid not." It tastes like bitter wine.

And Yoh still persists.

"I am sorry about him. I appreciate what you have done for us. I know this isn't very proper, but I'd like to have you over for dinner. Tamao cooks very well."

Saying this, he gestures towards the girl Jeanne just almost touched. Almost dreamed of touching. Jeanne instinctively meets her eyes. The girl flushes, all of her turning as pink as her hair, and Jeanne feels it again. This pull.

From far away, notes on a piano.

Jeanne nods, her mind eons away, and turns to leave.

Once safely back on board and behind closed doors, she takes a second to gather herself. Something feels about to break inside, some great dam that isn't marked on her map of herself. But what for? It's Yoh's unrelenting kindness, and the girl – Tamao – her red face. It's Ren's eyes flying open and Marco's staying shut.

"My lady," John says behind her. John, her last captain. "Are you considering their invitation?"

Jeanne wills the dam shut and tries to focus, but everything feels like she's taking water. No. No! She is not doing that again. She knows the damage. Last time cost her five people. This time – this time?

The invitation. Yoh's invitation. The girl's –

Piano notes.

"Yes," she answers with all her remaining strength. "This is a unique opportunity to make allies. I will compose a message later. I –"

"Need to rest," continues Porf worriedly. "My lady, after such a miracle, you need to take some time. We will watch over the captain."

She blinks, looks up at her medic. Is it – can they see? Is it written all over her face, this dam about to break? But Porf makes no sign of it.

"Yes, that is for the best," she nods, and makes for her room in a daze. Am I tired, she asks Shamash, or is it something else?

You need to sleep, he echoes back at her, just as she sets trembling hands on her door. Oh. Yes.

Her Oracle Bell rings in her pocket.

Jeanne stares, dumbfounded. Now that Marco cannot carry it for her, she made a habit of keeping it in her dress, but she did not expect it to make a sound. They are not scheduled for another fight in at least a week.

It's not just a beep, either; it sounds more like a phone call.

Hesitantly, she looks at the screen. There is a name there, and a punch to her gut.

It's him. It's Luchist.

Cement fills her throat as she presses the Oracle Bell to her ear.

"Ciao?"

It's his voice. Her lips are glued together; she can't even try to speak.

After a pregnant pause, he continues, in Italian. "Child, I am sorry."

Her teeth are clamped together so hard she worries they might just shatter.

"Take the ship and leave. He will let you do that."

Tears come unabated to her eyes, and she forces her mouth open. It doesn't help; instead she feels like she might sob into the phone. She can't do that. She absolutely cannot do that.

"Jeanne?"

"You can't," she answers. She doesn't trust her tongue in Italian, so she speaks back in English. "There has to be something else you can do. This isn't…" Fair.

He shifts to English, too, after another silence. "I would if I could, child. This is beyond me, and beyond you. You have to leave."

"I will not," she hisses back. "You can't believe this is right. You can't believe so many people deserve to die. You were a kind person. You took me in –

"We were using you."

It's like a slap, except that would sting less.

"We were; Marco still is. I am deeply sorry for what we have done to you, but it's not too late to leave. He won't stop you, and you can start anew in the world that is to come."

"What has he done to you," she sobs, unable to keep herself under control. Who is this man speaking to her? Surely it can't be him.

"Nothing that wasn't bound to happen." He doesn't even sound defensive. He's not angry, just tired.

Somehow this is what sparks her into rebellion.

"Oh really? So because he is your soulmate you will do anything he asks of you? How is that the right thing to do? You said destiny was a choice. You said the marks weren't forcing you to do anything. You said…"

There is a silence, a terrible silence at the other end of the line, before his voice comes.

"I did."

And then he hangs up.

ꙮ

Tamao climbs the hill slowly, her eyes trained ahead. For once in their life, her spirits are being quiet, as they have been since she told them her plan.

She knows, of course, that her voice holds no special weight with Hao Asakura. To think it does merely because of words scrawled on them against their will and a link between their minds is beyond foolish. But she wants to do this. She has to do this. The Iron Maiden selflessly raised a friend back from the dead. She doesn't deserve to see her own people dead or dying. Not for a crime they did not commit, and for which they have already been punished.

This, unfortunately, is not an argument Hao is likely to agree with, and Tamao knows as much. She cannot hear his thoughts right now. She isn't sure it would be a good idea, anyways.

"Hao's people will be watching," Ponchi whispers. "Want us to distract them?"

Tamao thinks about it. "If I were a strong Shaman and I saw something strange… even if it was scary… I'd see through the illusion. The distraction. I'd know something was there. I don't think it would be a good idea."

Her two spirits share a look, and then nod.

"But you can scout," she decides. "Be fast, be quiet, be small. Look for people and entrances. I'll wait here."

She squats down behind a tall tree with large, bulging roots, and waits. Each new moment is agonizing; each new sound makes Tamao wonder if one of Hao's goons will find her. What would they do? Kill her outright? Bring her to Hao? Do… something else?

After six minutes and thirty-two seconds on her watch, the two spirits come back.

"OK, OK," Ponchi says quickly, eyes bulging. "So most of Hao's people are in a clearing on the other side of the building. There's a bonfire and music, so they shouldn't be too much of a problem. I counted something like 9 people? Hao wasn't there. The kid from yesterday wasn't either, nor the priest and the little girls."

"The forest is pretty thick until about… 30 feet away from the house. Then there's a few bushes. If you crawl, you should be able to get to a door."

"Did you get inside?"

The spirit shook his head.

"What are you going to do when you're inside?"

"Find him."

"And what will you say then?

"The truth."

"But…"

"No buts. It has to be the truth."

She can't hide anything from a man who can read her mind. "I read his book. After – after Yoh. Not for the spells, just… just to understand him better. It's all brutally, coldly, terrifyingly – fair. Asakura Hao is a fair man, and I think… I think he will understand he is not being fair."

Her voice shakes a little.

"Should you not have told Yoh, at least?"

"Or Anna?"

Tamao purses her lips. "A good woman keeps her home and makes sure food is ready when her man comes home," she recites from memory. "She would not understand." She would be sane. Tamao, right now, is not.

As she creeps through the bushes, grabbing onto branches and trunks to help herself up the steep slope, she hears Anna in her head. Why are you doing this? This will not help Yoh. The Iron Maiden being out of the tournament is good, actually. Murderous Marco being comatose is good.

She understands all of this. So why is she here? Why is she going through with this?

Tamao hopes to be a good person. She thinks she is, mostly; but even a good person would not risk so much for so little a chance to help a stranger. So why is she doing this?

Her feet stop at the edge of the tree line. From this distance, she can hear cheers and songs from what she assumes is the bonfire. Her side of the bunker is silent and deserted, and after a few seconds she locates the entrance her spirits mentioned. It's not a window, or a door; it's just… an entrance. Dark, open, uninviting.

There is also a thick bush just before it, like Ponchi said. And nobody in sight.

Tamao takes a deep breath and darts from the tree line, sliding under the thorny undersides of the bush. The sudden flashes of pain barely register as she comes to lie still, eyes closed. An entire elephant could be marching on her that she would not hear, so loud is the beating of her blood in her ears.

Quiet, she tells her lungs, begging for air. Quiet, she tells her heart, ramming against her ribs. Quiet, she tells herself, and she waits. She waits as if she were under a waterfall, or on a rockface, above a snowy peak.

In nature, it is your animal brain that kills you. The thing that doesn't like to think, the thing that is afraid: adrenalin, or survival instinct, or perhaps just the need to run. None of that would help when you cannot afford a single mistake. None of that would help here.

Tamao calms down, raises her head, and sees a tall man coming through the opening.

"I did," he says, rather loudly, in the Oracle Bell, before dropping his arm back to his side and leaning back against the wall. His other hand touches his face, squeezing against his eyes. Is he… she could swear, for a second, he is crying; but the next moment he moves, and his face looks dry.

He's from Hao's team, she realizes. She saw him during that horrible match, standing back with the child.

The man is trying to light a cigarette, but either his lighter is empty or he's just not patient enough; he swears under his breath in a language Tamao doesn't know.

She wills herself deeper into the bush. If he doesn't move, she's not getting inside. Can he just be done with his cigarette and leave? Please leave, she thinks desperately. She knows she's not hidden very well. Maybe she can distract him, somehow?

She doesn't have even the beginning of a plan when he looks up, and, because she's unlucky, their eyes meet.

"Who – come out," he says, his voice a stern command. Tamao isn't foolish enough to ignore it.

She stands, her heart hammering in her chest. He looks her up and down, as if trying to place her, and, evidently, failing.

"Who are you? I don't think I've seen you before," he says. His voice is strangely non-threatening. Barely tinted with something akin to disappointment, like a teacher finding a kid with her hand in the test drawer ahead of the exam.

"I – I," her voice refuses to obey her, "I'm here to…"

"Yes?"

"I know Ashil."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that; he blinks, and he looks her over again.

"You are a Shaman," he says slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure. Tamao is too scared to feel insulted, and she nods. Ponchi and Conchi stay quiet; they know as well as her that there is no surviving if the man gets upset with her.

"I, I met him yesterday in the woods," she explained, beating back her fear with a broom of her own making. "He was badly hurt. His arm – the mark – he was hurting because of Lyserg, the X-Laws' Lyserg. I took him to a doctor – I wanted to know if he was alright."

She hopes her stammer does not give her away. She does not know why she is lying. Her eyes keep shifting to the spirit above his shoulder. It is oddly reminiscent of the X-Laws' own, the ones she saw down on the docks. But surely not? Surely there is no connection.

"This is quite the risk to take, for a stranger," the old man says at length. "You do not strike me as naïve."

"I am not," Tamao says. Should she come clean? She can't tell him I want to talk to my soulmate. "It's important. I cared – I care for him. I want to know if he's okay."

None of that is a lie. None of it is exactly true, either. It feels like it's written all over her face.

The man, however, seems to buy it; he nods, and gestures for her to approach. "Stay close," is all he says before disappearing into the building.

After a second, Tamao hurries behind the quickly-retreating cloak. Black in black, she almost slams into him as he turns a corner. Her heart beats madly in her head. What if Hao is here? He is definitely here. And good thing, too! She wants him to be there. She wants to talk to him! So why does the possibility take her very breath away?

Darkened hallways lead them both to a wooden door. The man knocks, listens.

"He is asleep," he concludes after some time. His eyes melt the very skin of her back. He is calling her on her bluff; perhaps Ashil isn't even there. He's just saying that to force her to confront her lie and see what happens next.

Except it is no lie, and Tamao insists.

"Can I still go in? I just want to make sure he's okay. I, I'm a little bit of a medic. I won't hurt him, I swear."

He stares at her. She refuses to flinch.

What makes him open the door, then? Is it pity? Does he genuinely hope she can help the boy?

"I'll make sure nobody comes to bother you," he says as he opens the door. "I will come get you when it's time to leave."

Tamao steps inside.

The first thing to hit her is the heat. The rest of the bunker is cool and dry, a testament to its position below ground level, but this one room feels like a sauna. The bed on which the boy lies is soaked in sweat, and the small chair by his head is empty. Tamao walks towards him.

The door closes behind her, softly, careful no doubt not to wake the sleeping boy. Tamao releases her breath.

Ashil's arm is encased into a block of solid ice. There is no way it was placed naturally, or even slipped onto him. Hao must have done that, she thinks. Like when Spirit of Fire transformed in the arena. He created ice for Ashil.

There is a glass on the ground, but it's empty. Did he drink its contents, or did they evaporate?

It is strange to her there is no medical apparatus, nothing to monitor his state. She knows enough to tell sweating this much would make him dehydrated. Staying in a fever state for more than a few hours is definitely dangerous. What if something happens to him, right now? What if something happens to him in this closed room without anybody to watch him?

What if something already has?

Carefully, she listens for his breathing, looks at his throat, checks for a pulse. He is alive. He is… alive, is all that she can tell right now.

It's not even why she came here in the first place, but her heart breaks for the boy. Why was he left alone? Why did Hao not heal him, why did Hao not do anything except place something vaguely soothing on the burn?

Tamao is not very familiar with anger and rebellion, but the force fighting to free itself from her chest might wear these names. Teeth clamp hard together as she takes her notebook from her bag and tears a page off.

She doesn't take time to think. She just hopes she remembers enough of what she learned from living in the Asakura household.

It takes her some time to get writing. Ten, twenty minutes? Ashil does not stir. He could be dead, save fo the gentle rise and fall of his chest. But, at last, she is all out of words. Her hand trembles as she signs the letter, folds it, and writes please give me to Hao on the sleeve.

Someone knocks on the door, and Tamao rises to see the austere priest in the doorway. "Y-yes," she says, anticipating an order. "I am ready to leave."

He stares at her like she has four eyes.

"Did he wake?"

She didn't expect a voice so soft, and hates the fact she has to disappoint him, which she does with a shake of her head. To his credit, he does not get angry, or even look all that disappointed.

"I'll let him know you came. Now let's get you out, shall we?"

ꙮ

Thank you for giving back my notebook. It is very precious to me. I enjoyed some of the additions; please congratulate whoever is responsible for their strange and exciting use of color.

I write you because I have a favor to ask.

We do not know each other and I understand you do not wish for this to change. I assume Ashil told you of my feelings on the matter. If not, you may ask him about it; they were not the spur of the moment, or the uneducated guess of a child.

I am in love with Yoh-sama. I know exactly how Ashil feels, following somebody who has not flared them and will never put them first. That's fine. Yoh does not have to choose me, and you do not have to choose Ashil.

But – I – I do not -

However, I do not think this situation can continue. You wanted to give a lesson to the X-Laws and you did. Ashil is suffering. He is a Shaman like you. He's one of yours and he would do anything for you, so desperate he is for your approval. I can guess that he is willing, maybe even asked you, to let this happen. To keep the X-Laws out of the tournament, even through his sacrifice. So now, his heart is in your hands, like mine is in Yoh's.

Here is the favor I ask of you now: please, free this woman's soul.

I heard you during the Iron Maiden's match. She does not scare you. Her presence in the tournament will not change its outcome. And this will save Ashil.

If you do this, I will respect your choice and stay away from you. I promise to keep to Yoh and Anna-sama's lodgings as much as possible and to never speak to you. I will not be trouble. Even if I get hurt or killed, you will not suffer any side-effects as long as I am not flared. If you ask again, I will go back to Japan.

I am willing to do this for Ashil, and so I ask you humbly to free him from his pain.

And then there is her name: Tamao Tamamura.

The letter bursts into flame in his hand and Hao exhales slowly.

How did she get here? She should have been stopped three times over, turned into mince pie or brought directly to him. Turned into – he needs to find a way to let his team know to leave her alone before she got herself killed. Or did she manifest the paper here somehow? An Oversoul, that seems plausible. Her spirits are so small… Small enough to sneak into his stronghold, past several defenses, and back again? What a grave oversight.

He would have to be much more careful in the future.

But an interesting tidbit. If she is not flared… how would she know that? How could he test that? If it is true, things are much simpler than he even thought. Would she lie? She does not strike him as the type.

"H-Hao-sama?"

He blinks out of his thoughts. The sweating boy beneath him has his eyes open.

"Ashil. Good to see you awake."

The boy cracks a smile, and Hao notes how dry his lips look. He is losing all the water in his body.

How small.

"How do you feel?"

"I – I am managing, sir. I felt really tired earlier," the boy looks around, but there is no window to tell how much time has passed. "But, but now I could probably walk around just fine."

"Oh, really?"

Hao suddenly cannot stand this, which is – stupid. The doe eyes, the fever, the acquiescence – he wants that from his followers, asks for it, demands it. And now, with all these qualities reflected on Ashil's face, it feels like claws are raking across his belly. Claws that belong to another boy, one who laughed spitefully and loved too hard. Just like this one.

So his voice hardens. "What was our agreement, Ashil?"

The boy swallows. His thoughts flitter into Hao's head, annoyingly shrill. Did I make a mistake? Is he upset?

"We… we said if I could endure I could use this to raise my furyoku," he recalls thickly, glancing around for his Oracle Bell "and – and because it was bringing the X-Laws to their knees."

"If you could endure, yes," Hao repeats, patiently.

"My body can take it! It does!"

"Ashil," Hao begins, and then stops. He remembers the letter. What does she know? Ashil wants it. Maybe he can take it. Maybe –

"You are of no use to me if you must keep the bed, Ashil."

The boy pales, and then flusters. "I – I'm sure it will pass. I'm feeling a lot better already!" He sits up. Most of the ice has melted off, and he manages to keep the wince off his face, but his arm hangs limp at his side. The golden burn shines through his completely dry shirt.

"Do you?" Hao feels impatient. "Being a Shaman means listening to your body. Knowing which limits can be pushed and when. I taught you this."

Use your anger and don't let yourself be used by it. Fall back when the enemy is obviously superior. Only give what you can get back.

The boy bows his head, and does not answer.

"Didn't I," Hao prods.

"Yes, sir."

"What is your body telling you?" Ashil opens his mouth. "Careful, Ashil, this is a test."

Some things need to be absolutely clear.

The boy looks at his arm, mouth pressed into a thin line, thinks hard. Hao tries not to focus on the stressed-out, pleading thoughts drifting through his brain.

It's absolutely painful how much he looks like Daitaro.

"I will not be able to hold out much longer," the boy admits. "I mostly can't feel my arm, and my head hurts."

"You are dehydrated."

"Yes."

Ashil meets his eyes. Guilt and confusion swim there.

Hao sighs.

"I'm putting a stop to this now."

He expects him to plead, to beg, maybe even to demand; but Ashil remains silent. His thoughts are confused, melting at the edges, but Hao senses relief.

This is the kind choice. Hao is not kind. Why is he doing this? Whatever Tamao Tamamura thinks she can offer, it is not worth the X-Laws' lives. It is not worth their well-deserved punishment.

And yet.

"Hao-sama?"

Oh, is he pleading after all?

"Yes?"

"Have I disappointed you?"

Hao looks at Ashil for a long, long time.

His heart is in your hands.