Growing Pains

18: Soldier, Poet, King

Auteur : Rain

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

Notes :

To repair; to protect; to spare.

Hello everyone!

This is it. This is the chapter that was (partially) in my very first fic notes for this story. I had a big think about whether it was still 'good', whether I should choose a different path now that the fic has grown so much, but in the end it was still what I chose first and what I wrote the rest for. What do you think? Did you like it? What do you think will happen next?

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

The X-II discuss the future of the X-Laws, and how they feel about Jeanne, as they realize she is not doing well. Tamao explains herself to Yoh and Anna, who worry for her. Hao frees Meene and plots the imminent demise of the X-Laws.

...

"Lady Maiden? Lady Maiden!"

Jeanne wakes with a start. She did not realize she was falling asleep; she still lies at the foot of her bed, in her crumpled dress, where she fell after Luchist's phone call. She just had to cry for a little while; she didn't expect to fall asleep.

How long has it been? She tries to stand, but her legs are still numb. The sky outside her porthole is still dark.

It's only been a couple of hours, Shamash says comfortingly.

"So why is John outside…?"

"Lady Maiden!"

"Coming!"

Rising, Jeanne makes for her bathroom and tries to rub off the red in her cheeks.

"What's happening," she calls back.

"Just come out. Lyserg and Marco are awake!"

Jeanne drops the towel like it's a bomb. "What?" She can't help it, the shrill call.

Luchist, she thinks instantly. Like lightning through her chest. But why? He said he wouldn't help!

"Please, lady Maiden, come out!"

Jeanne almost leaps across her room and almost breaks an ankle to get out. The man on the other side of the door looks ruffled, but not unhappy, or nervous. He still has medical gloves on.

"Come, come," John says, already heading towards the stairs. "They're waiting for you right now. Porf said they will require some medical attention, but they'll be fine."

"How?"

She has to run to keep up with him. She is barefoot. Neither of them mind.

"It's not clear yet. But Meene is back."

"What?" She says it so loud she surprises even herself. John laughs, and it's wild, a symphony of defiance and strength, it's like they already won the war.

They get to the infirmary quickly, and through the bay window Jeanne sees it for herself: Lyserg, sitting against the wall, a large bandage over the lower side of his face. His eyes, however, are alert. Marco is still lying down on his sick bed, but he is leaning on his elbows and somehow already pestering Porf who tries to keep him still.

And her. Meene. It's immediately obvious that something happened; she doesn't look like a normal ghost. Instead, she reminds Jeanne of a picture Kevin showed her once, of a tree log burning from the inside: her skin is partially blackened and there are cracks, leaking molten red over her chin and collarbone. But she's here. She's back.

Jeanne takes a breath and John opens the door. "Captain, she's here."

"Lady Maiden," Marco and Lyserg cry out at once, and suddenly there are tears in Jeanne's eyes. It's his voice. He's here. Marco is back and alive.

Like in a dream, she walks over. She barely hears Porf lecture him about not moving or the cataplasm will fall; she's already walking between the two beds and sitting at his side, opposite the ghost of Meene.

"Porf is right," she says, surprised that her voice is not trembling. "You should not be moving around."

His eyes meet hers and he flinches, hands fisted in the sheets. "I have been sleeping for fifty hours. I cannot laze around in bed, my lady."

His voice is tight, his body tense. Jeanne isn't sure how to help; she just knows he needs to rest.

"Yes, you can. What good will my captain be if he cannot stand?"

He looks at her once more, and this time it holds. She hears the silent apology, the guilt, and she feels guilty, too, for doing this to him. She just cannot see any other way.

Silence stretches between them all, and then Lyserg coughs behind her. "The others told us of your blessings. I cannot thank you enough, lady Maiden."

"Of course you can, Lyserg. By resting until you are fully healed," she repeats. "How do you feel?"

His eyes drop to his lap, then he swallows. "S-sad," he admits. "Just so, so sad. But I – it doesn't hurt anymore, not like before."

"Your eye?"

"It's fine, I…"

"We did a test before you arrived," Porf confirms. "No harm done."

"I'm glad."

She smiles at him, her brave fragile soldier. She doubted him, before the match. Will that change? She isn't sure.

"John said things have changed," Marco says from where he lies. "Could you explain?"

Against Porf's best wishes, he sits up, the golden words on his back still reddened and angry. "You're going to split the skin open! Please, captain…"

"I'll be fine."

"Marco, you are too impatient." Jeanne presses her lips together and reaches out, hand clouded in spiritual energy. The tissues start to knit together, soon leaving his mark as if untouched.

Then she glances up, and catches a glimpse of flush on his face. Embarrassment and confusion, all at once.

"Lady Maiden, I…" He hesitates. "Thank you."

"Do not think this will allow you to leave your bed early. Once we are done talking, you will rest."

They share a look, and then Marco nods. "Of course, my lady."

Jeanne glances at Lyserg, then the three men standing in the room, and finally Meene. Poor, silent Meene.

"I am so, so sorry," she tells her. "I failed you."

"What?" Marco, of course. His scandalized tone makes her cringe. "What are you saying?"

"Acting alone and without thinking ahead cost us five people," she says, louder, to cover his voice. "We cannot afford to experiment here. We gambled with your lives and I am sorry."

"But, but the knowledge we gained – "

"Amounts to nothing," John cut in. "After, after Meene, Kevin struck back and got burned alive. And Chris – Chris almost got him, but now that he failed we probably will not be able to replicate his results. It was a fuckup, is what it was."

"John." Marco is white as a sheet, but it is Porf who stops his team leader. "The lady."

John flushes. "I'm sorry."

"I understand," Jeanne says quietly. "We have all been through a lot. Things have been confusing and terrible. I cannot apologize enough for failing you all."

There are frowns, and little gasps. Jeanne looks at the ghost. Why her? Why her and not the other two? There is something there, something important. But in Meene's eyes there is only fire, and pain, and looking at it.

Jeanne bursts into tears.

"Lady Maiden!" The men rush to her side, and stop a foot from her. Marco is the closest, his hand held in the air, but he doesn't dare touch her. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you wounded? Do you need anything?"

She shakes her head, unable to calm down. How is she supposed to tell them? How are they supposed to understand? There is a wordless contract established between them and her. She leads, they follow. She promises, they believe. But now?

"Jeanne," whispers a raspy voice, so soft she can barely hear it. Blinking, she sees Meene's ghost settling before her, her burst lips stretching into a weak smile. Meene gently takes her hands into hers, and Jeanne looks at her, and then at the rest of them. They all look so worried, so… alive, but she finds no foothold in their anguish. In Meene's touch, painful as it is, she does.

"I should never have let you go," she tells her. "I was not ready to lose you and I should have told you to stay."

"Lady Maiden," Lyserg breathes.

"It is equally true for the rest of you," she interrupts him, looking around the room. "You are all so dear to me. I will not send any of you to your deaths."

"We agreed to the sacrifice," Marco says. His voice is different from usual; not strict and confident, but with a crack inside. "It was an outcome we consented to."

"I do not," she argues back. "Not anymore. There is no information, no advantage that is worth this."

She visits each one of their faces, expecting a fight that she isn't sure she will win, but nothing comes. Even Marco is just looking at her, waiting for her to continue.

It is Lyserg, young Lyserg, who breaks the silence. "What do we do then? Are we giving up?" His hands are as white as the sheets. He joined to kill Hao; he is as ready as the rest of them to put his existence on the line. Is she betraying them?

"No," she promises. "But we need to work differently. We need to look for allies and for a viable plan."

"So Yoh," John questions.

"Yoh is a viable ally. He has reasons to trust us, now that we have helped him. His group is full of potential, and the Asakura are bound to know a lot about Hao that we do not."

Somehow the pink-haired child who defended her from Ren slips into her mind as she says the word 'potential'. She ignores it, for now.

"We need to start somewhere, and we need to move fast. We do not know why Meene was given back to us, or what Hao is going to do next." Because he will do something. She can feel it in the tingles of her fingers.

"We may have ideas," John says. "For a plan."

"Why don't we discuss them in the morning?" Porf glances at the clock. "Right now, most of us need to sleep."

"I agree," Jeanne nods. "In the morning, Marco, you will call Yoh and accept his invitation to dinner."

Her captain seems a little shaken up, but he straightens up. "I will need details, but… Of course."

"My lady, before we go," Porf butts back in.

"Yes?"

"Your hands will need a little attention."

They all look down. Where Meene holds them, they are scorched black.

ꙮ

The Asakura house is woken up bright and early by the screech of the house phone. Tamao rushes through the living room to try and stop it before it draws the ire of the boys, but when she gets there Anna already has the thing pressed to her ear.

"Funbari Onsen Manager on the line. Who is it?"

A tight, masculine voice comes through the phone: "Captain of the Angelic X-Laws Corps Marco calling. I understand an offer was extended for a formal dinner when last we met."

Anna's eyes flick to Tamao. She looks back with wide eyes, Marco is awake?

Oh gods. Her letter worked?

"That is correct. How many of you can we expect?"

"My understanding was that it was extended to all six of us here. When are we expected at your residence?"

"Seven tonight would be agreeable. We will need to prepare an extra table."

"Thank you for the trouble. We appreciate your hospitality."

Anna smirks, positively preening.

"Well, if that is all…"

"There is another difficulty."

She frowns. "What is it?"

"We will need a guide. Tamamura Tamao would be preferred."

"That can be arranged." Anna's eyes swivel back to Tamao, whose heart is trying to jump out of her throat.

"Make that two guides. There's too many of us for one car."

"They'll be on the docks at 6:30."

…

And so they are.

Tamao insisted for Manta to be the second guide. His presence comforts her, and he's the one she's the least worried about accidentally triggering the X-Laws' hostility. Anna checked in with Marco before sending them over, and they were considered worthy.

They wait on the docks as the X-Laws finish preparing. There seems to be some kind of fuss, but they are not made privy to the information. Instead, Marco grills Manta about his presence on the island, the way he arrived here, and his family. Manta seems to dance a little awkwardly around the questions, but at least nobody's asking her questions. All she does is stand at attention.

At least the other adults seem friendly. Gone is the solemnity of Ren's resurrection; the bald one openly smiles at her, and the tallest one hums as he checks the two cars parked on the beach.

"Tamao," Manta says. She must have zoned out, because she completely missed his approach, and she flushes.

"I'm sorry, w-what?"

"I'll go ahead with the X-II," he repeats patiently. "They can get settled at the house, help set up the last few things. Marco said the Lady Maiden would be ready in a minute."

Tamao's eyes widen in panic. She's staying here alone? With Marco? "I…"

"It's okay! Lyserg will be with you in an instant, Yoh said he was really nice. I told Marco you were shy, he said it would be fine."

Nothing about this is comforting. "You said what to Marco?" She's going to die. She's going to lie down and die.

"I'm sorry, I thought…" Manta looks uncomfortable and weakly pats her knee. "You'll be fine. Unless you want to switch…?"

Tamao cannot speak at this point, but she shakes her head from side to side. What's done is done, and she will accept her duty. Manta smiles and waves as the three X-II pile into their car, the biggest man behind the wheel.

"Sorry, kid," the other man tells Manta, "you're too short to sit up front. If we have to slam on the brakes, you'd fly right through the windshield."

"That's alright. I'm used to it."

"The music is better in the backseat anyway," the man grins, and opens the other front door for the bald man.

Soon they disappear towards the village, and Tamao stays on the dock. Marco has disappeared back on board, and she waits, a little feverish about it all. In a minute or two, she'll be sharing a car with the Lady Maiden. Her heart clenches.

There is some noise on the ship deck, and Tamao tenses.

First, there are footsteps: Marco's fast stomping, what she assumes is Lyserg hurriedly following, and... there. She would not expect a small woman like the Iron Maiden to make that much noise on the deck, but her shoes must have some reinforced heels. Her walk is even and confident, and Tamao dusts her jeans just before they appear at the top of the platform.

And then she's there, wearing a dress made out of silk and dreams, and she sees her, and she smiles. Tamao weakly smiles back. Her heart is trying to beat its way out of her chest.

Marco is the first one down. "Miss Tamamura," he says dryly. "Partaking in our Holy Maiden's presence is a rare blessing, especially for the unitiated. You will not speak to her unless she addresses you, and you will watch your language at all times. Understood?"

Tamao gulps. He is terrifying.

"Now now," Jeanne says before she can react. Her voice cuts through all of Tamao's anxieties. "There is no need to be rude."

"Of course, my lady. My apologies."

"I - I understand," Tamao whimpers towards him. "I will not be a problem."

He glances back at her, standing so tall and close Tamao has to look all the way up at his face, and then smiles. "Good."

He suddenly radiates so much benevolence it's disturbing, but Tamao nods, and things seem to be slightly alright.

Lyserg arrives at her side, somewhat taller and more relaxed than she expected him to be, and bows. "Shall we? I am Lyserg Diethel, I travelled with Yoh-kun in America for a little while. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His voice is slightly muffled by his veil, but his eyes are sweet.

"T-the pleasure is all mine."

He leads her to the car, a white thing that must cost more than Yoh's entire house back in Funbari, and opens the door for her. "Here."

"Thank you."

She climbs into the back, and he moves to sit at the front. Then the other back door opens, and all the air leaves Tamao's lungs as the Iron Maiden climbs beside her.

Marco clips the Iron Maiden's seatbelt and asks her something in a language Tamao doesn't understand. Then the door closes.

It feels like a bubble has suddenly closed around the both of them. Lyserg slips out of Tamao's focus, as does the rest of the car, the dinner, Hao, and everything else. There is only her, sitting so close.

The Iron Maiden has her Oracle Bell on her lap, fingers light around the sides. Tamao does not want to peek, but it looks like she's writing a message. It looks like she's worried.

The car starts, and she glances up, then at Tamao, whose neck immediately snaps forward. Her cheeks flush hard, and she hopes nobody notices.

As they leave the beach, the road they are on starts to hug the cliffside. The mountain looms above them, almost threateningly, and Tamao thinks of the letter again. Hao freed Marco and Lyserg. He did so because she asked. It's terrifying.

From the corner of her eye, she notices the Iron Maiden's gaze shifting there, too. What is she thinking about? What did Hao even do? For all their talk of accepting dinner offers and making friends, they are still keeping their cards very close to their chest.

In spite of Marco's command, Tamao wants to talk to her.

To say what, the last rational parts of her brain ask.

It is an honor.

Your dress is beautiful.

What are you going to do now?

I bargained with Hao so you would not have to be sad.

I'm glad you wanted me as your guide.

Why did you want me as your guide?

Her mouth. Will. Not. Move.

"Miss Tamamura," Marco says, and she snaps to attention.

"Y-yes."

"I said, I require your directions now. There are several roads into town."

"O-of course."

She tells him where to turn next. They leave the side of the cliff and proceed through the thick of the forest. Tamao's spine prickles.

The Iron Maiden is back to staring. She wants you to say something! Come on. Open your mouth. Tell her about her dress! How you wish you could wear something like that. No. Something less creepy. How you think it's cute.

Say something!

"Tamao, are you okay?"

Lyserg has turned to look at her. Concern is evident on his face.

Marco glances at her in the rearview mirror. "You look flushed. Are you sick?"

"No, no, I'm fine – "

And then the world explodes in shards of glass and light.

…

"Please don't be dead," Tamao sobs, in the luminous aftermath of the crash. "Oh please, please don't be dead. Please…"

"It's no use, kid," their murderer tells her. He doesn't sound mocking, or even all that happy about it. When she glances at him, he's lighting a cigarette and for a second Tamao imagines lunging at him, tearing that cigarette and that smile off his face, killing him with her bare, adept hands.

She didn't even tell her she liked her dress. It is such a pretty dress, she thinks stupidly. Her tears blind her as she lets the girl down, gently, and it feels wrong. It feels wrong in such a primal way, though she didn't know her at all.

"You aren't on the to-do list, you know," he calls again. "The town isn't that far. Start walking, forget about these people. That's what you do here, don't you?"

She can't even process what he's saying. All she knows is that she needs to do something, before it's too late. Her hands tingle; something like lava fills her head.

The man turns away towards the village, towards where Yoh and the others should be – help, Tamao realizes, she can call for help, perhaps the X-II realized something was wrong, perhaps help is already coming – and then something shorts her brain and she throws herself forward. The air is hot in her lungs as she jumps onto his back, hands tearing at his face.

He screams and doubles over as her nails dig into his flesh. She holds on for a few seconds, and then is thrown to the side. Her Oversoul locks into place; for once neither Ponchi nor Conchi refuse her call. "You won't hurt them any further," she yells, running at him before she even shoots. Her body feels not her own, feet and hands drawn by instincts she does not remember learning. She dodges the first paw of the Sphynx, rolls under the next, and fires almost point-blank into his stomach. "I won't let you harm them!"

He is holding his face and the Sphynx strikes almost blindly; she hopes for a second that she clawed his eyes out, but then he whips his head around to stare at her. There is blood on his face, but both of his eyes find hers with alarming alacrity, and then the Sphynx bites at her.

She twists out of the teeth's way and stumbles back, the Sphynx's gigantic paws stomping inches away from her head. But she has miscalculated, and she trips over something soft. With a gasp she falls on her back, face inches from the Iron Maiden's.

It was Lyserg's body she fell over, she realizes.

"Tamao," her spirits shriek, and the Sphynx bears down on them.

"Fine," the man spits, voice hysterical with rage. "If you want to die with them, be my guest! What do I care?"

"Evil never does," another voice answers from beside her, and just as the man's gigantic Oversoul is about to fall on her – on them, Tamao desperately tries to cover the dead girl's body – it shatters into the ether.

Tamao's ears ring something awful, but through her tears as she twists her neck she sees the angel.

It's not just Marco. It's not just his chest, pristine when it was a mess of blood and gore a few moments ago. It's not just his gigantic Oversoul.

It's also the strange ghost with fire in her eyes and gleams in her skin, standing over him with a terrifying snarl. When he speaks, there is a crackling echo, a distant roar of fire: "When someone fights without regard for their life, of course angels will come down to her aid and protect her." He (they) pants, and the way he moves slowly does not bode well for his life on the long-term, but they don't need long-term. They need to be rid of the man who killed the Iron Maiden, and fast.

And so the angels rise, and they attack the Sphynx. They barely speak, pure explosive efficiency. Tamao knows she should help them. Surely she could help, shoot… do something while they bear down on the Sphynx and its Shaman, but she can't move.

Her body feels heavy, as if suddenly gravity had increased tenfold.

"Tamao," Ponchi whispers worriedly, "can you hear us?"

She manages the tiniest nod.

"That ghost, she possessed you," Conchi adds. "It was like you were made of fire."

That explains the exhaustion, maybe. Unity of purpose she clearly had with the crackling angel, but she hadn't been in control at all. The ghost used her, and now she was utterly exhausted.

The girl who lies so close to her does not seem exhausted. She doesn't seem tired at all, or hurt, or scared. It's like she's just asleep.

The tears come back to Tamao, like a huge waterfall has gathered behind her eyes, and she draws a hesitant hand to her face. "It's not fair," she tells the dead girl between sobs. "It's not fair. I helped you and you don't even know it. I can't even tell you now." Her hand hesitates in the Iron Maiden's disordered bangs. They're soft; she's soft and warm.

Still warm.

"I wanted you to smile. I wanted you to be happy."

On impulse, she leans forward, and their foreheads touch for the briefest of moments.

She's already colder. Tamao bursts into bigger tears. The chaos above them almost disappears as she curls against the Iron Maiden, and –

"I'm sorry, Marco, Meene."

She knows this voice.

Tamao sits up just in time to watch Marco get decked in the face. Behind them, a trio approaches. The priest who helped her, a child, and

Hao.

It's almost like he freezes when he glances up at her. Surely she made it up, though; surely the only truth is the cold smirk that blooms on his lips after that. Marco grunts as Anahol digs his foot into his chest, probably where he was injured, but while he says things Hao hasn't stopped looking at her.

It also feels like a bubble; one of a different kind. The world around them loses color, density; time seems to slow.

Slowly, deliberately, Hao turns his head away and smiles at Anahol. "You did well. I will take care of the rest."

Before she can think, she stands, and she aims. Every fiber of her being screams she will not let him. It will not happen. Her furyoku bursts with intent. It will not happen.

"You should be careful," he teases, but he doesn't get any further.

"I won't let you hurt her," she says, and Hao's wrist flares gold.

ꙮ

"I won't let you hurt her," Tamao hisses, speaking it into reality as she cries like an open wound, and to her surprise his right wrist – the one already raised to kill her, to kill them both – bursts out in a flare of light. For a moment the world is suspended, and Hao himself looks down at the mark on his wrist.

I won't let you hurt her.

Tamao's eyes widen, and then widen further. He can read it in her thoughts. She was terrified before, too terrified to think, but now everything's stopped and she hears his words in her head. You should be careful. He listens as she realizes, looks down towards her pant leg. They can't see it, but they both know.

He did not mean to speak to her. He did not mean to flare her. Let alone let her flare him. What is this mess? How did he not stop it in time?

"I thought we had an agreement," he says, dangerously low, his eyes still on the golden words. "You were to stay away."

He watches her hesitate. Then she tightens her grip on her weapon.

His eyes narrow, and he thinks at her: Have you ever shot somebody with this? Not a practice target, not a tree, not even a deer. A person.

Her eyes widen. She can hear him. Their marks have opened a canal between their souls, something different than the reishi, and still so close.

No. But it doesn't matter.

"I didn't know you had agreed to the agreement," she says, and it's quite the bold move because it isn't exactly the truth and it isn't exactly a lie. Hao finds himself admiring it, and he bristles, more at him than at her. No one else is moving; Marco only lets out a weak grunt when Hao steps on and over him.

"This is as far as it goes, little girl," Hao says. "Your precious Iron Maiden is going to stay dead. I will not let anybody step between me and the throne."

Tamao does not move back. Her feet are firm on the ground when she steps forward.

"Are you willing to challenge me for their lives? I do not advise it."

"Tamao, no!"

Maxwell. He tries to sit up, tries to fight. At the end of things, even the fanatical leader of the X-Laws does not think the Iron Maiden and Lyserg can be saved. Even he does not want to see a child die for no reason.

How honorable.

Anahol kicks his arms out from under him and Tamao is alone again as Hao steps up against the other end of her weapon.

Please don't.

He scoffs.

"What do you think? Your words got you this far, but if you have nothing to say to me I shall simply take what I came for."

"No, you won't," she says, with entirely too much confidence.

Do not test me, he warns.

Did you do this because I asked you to free the woman's spirit?

Maybe I did. After all, I needed a way to get rid of the X-I.

She threatens you?

He sneers, not long, but it's enough. She saw. She heard.

I threaten you.

She's crying, strange steams of liquid that don't seem to stop. She's the opposite of threatening. That must be why he's not irked. Why he doesn't burn her on the spot.

That, and he would burn too.

Oh, little girl.

"It does not change anything," he says out loud, though he has yet to move.

Tamao presses her lips together.

If that were true, she thinks to him, then why are you crying?

Hao blinks out of the bubble. She's right: he is crying. Strange tears that do not feel like his. Or hers, now that he thinks about it. They are crying at the same time, crying together, but…

Somewhere far away, the sound of a flute.

Koto, she corrects, and he frowns.

One wrist, the other.

One ankle, the other.

And the flute.

Koto.

He stares at her, long and hard, her weapon digging ever so slightly into his chest.

Why are you crying, she repeats.

Instead of answering, he turns on his heels.

"Consider this a warning."

And he leaves.