Growing Pains

12: The burning angels

Auteur : Rain

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

Notes :

To bless; to recognize; to burn.

Hello everyone.

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

This had been written for a while but I just didn't have time to edit it. This chapter deals with canon consequences of the X-III fight so be warned about that. Hope you liked it!


Previously on: Growing Pains

Jeanne is not doing so well after her match. While her group's unity is threatened by the oncoming match against Hao she overhears a strange conversation. Hao visits the Funbari Onsen household to give Tamao her notebook back. Luchist takes Ashil to the infirmary for a world lesson.

...


Morning comes. She has not slept. She does not feel her legs.

They are looking for you, the voice, Shamash, says. The match is at ten.

The temptation to stay here, quietly, until it's over, rears its head. Of course she quashes it. She cannot let them go alone. What kind of leader would do such a thing?

The match is at ten. What time can it be? There are no windows in this small room. She knows it must be morning, because Shamash says they are looking for her. He also, mercifully, gives her the time.

The X-III will leave soon, he warns. If you want to see them –

She does. The need is sudden and burning. Before she can think about it at all she is on her feet and making her way upstairs as fast as her weak lungs allow. She still wears her dress of the night before, a little weary and creased. No matter. Marco is the only one who might object, but he hides in his office, and she needs to see them.

The deck is desolate, save for the three souls solemnly sharing a thermos of hot chocolate. Well, Meene and Christopher; she doubts Kevin could drink this even if he wanted to. They turn to look, when she pushes the door open.

"Lady Maiden," Christopher says first. He does not ask where she was. He does not say he was worried, though he probably was. "It's good to see you," is what he says instead, and it does not sound like a lie. He is smiling.

Meene, too, though her eyes are rimmed with lack of sleep.

"It's good to see you, too," Jeanne says as she approaches. It's now or never. Whatever she does, it's now or never.

She looks up at Christopher, although the height difference is so stark it's difficult to get a proper look at his face. And what she reads there is, I want to go. Please help us.

Her throat closes up, and she raises her hands to his. She who is never touched now holds them. Just holds them. They are warm. Strong. "God blesses you," she says at last. "May you go in peace."

Or not at all, is what she should add. What she hopes is obvious, because she cannot say it. Questioning his faith, their faith? At this point in time it is beyond her. The big hands around hers are careful when they squeeze, as if worried they'd hurt her.

"Thank you, my lady."

There were times, before Hans left mostly, where she was outside more. Sundays spent together, gently ribbing on Marco and Hans. Chris showed her how to clean each and every one of their guns. He also helped Meene teach her how to swim. He sang with her in the chapel, though they are of different churches. He helped her through her frustration at not remembering all the words. May you go in peace.

She nods, and lets go.

Goes to Meene. She seems confused, almost fearful. Does she know? Can she guess what Jeanne overheard?

A peaceful smile on her lips, Jeanne offers her hands. Doesn't take by force; just offers.

"God is with you," she says, because she cannot be.

Meene, hesitantly, takes what is offered. Nobody touches the Holy Maiden; it just isn't done. It makes this moment special. Final.

Meene's hands are warm, too, from the thermos or from the inner fire, from the one Hao lit, or the one that was always there.

Jeanne squeezes her warm hands.

But when she turns to Kevin he is already down the platform, waving like he's going to come back. "Thank you, lady," he calls back. "We will get your answers, that's a promise."

So she nods, and Chris follows him down. Only Meene stays up, with her. They glance at each other, and Jeanne almost does it; almost asks her to stay.

But Meene looks away, and Jeanne lets her go.

The house is silent for a couple of seconds after Hao's departure. Like he's still here, and to move is to draw his attention.

Tamao cannot move, even if she wanted to. She can barely think.

He came all this way to threaten her. To tell her to leave. It doesn't make any sense, but she knows he was entirely serious, and her whole body shakes. Now she is very much afraid.

The door slams behind someone. Ren?

"Tamao? Tamao?"

Manta may have been calling her for a while. She struggles to focus.

"Tamao, are you alright?"

"N-no," she admits. "I, I'll sit here a while."

"Nonsense," Anna says. "Come downstairs. Collect your book and your wits, eat something. We can't afford you losing your mind like this."

Manta frowns, clearly offended on her behalf, but it actually helps, somehow. Tamao does not have to think, just to obey Anna's commands. Her feet take her to the kitchen, and she sits down before her notebook. Most of everything has been taken away, except for the bowl Hao gleefully dug into; Anna said to eat something, so she reaches for one of the last snacks inside.

The crunch is satisfying and helps her center herself. Anna and Manta watch her as she eats, and then as she reaches for the book. Taking a deep breath, she flips it open.

Whatever she was expecting, it is not the hazy colors and scribbles of a child. Whoever did this did not touch her landscapes, or barely: a scribbled kitty here, a sunny face there. Mostly nothing. It's the blank pages and the sketches that were colored in.

It suddenly hits Tamao that she has not drawn the Iron Maiden, yet. It is completely normal; she was barely back from the arena when Hao arrived. Suddenly, though, it feels urgent. Important. She wants to, she needs to. She will. Later.

For now she thumbs through her own notebook, rendered strange and alien through the hands of another. Most of the blank pages have been taken over. She sees tomato stains on a drawing of Anna; what feels and smells strangely like scorch marks on a blank page, overlooking scribbly sunflowers. Mindlessly, she reaches for another snack, and realizes Manta and Anna are still staring.

Anna waits blankly; Manta is horrified and expectant.

"So," he asks.

She isn't sure what he means. "So?"

"So what does this all mean? Why did he steal your notebook? Why did he say you should leave?"

"Manta," Anna cuts in.

"I don't know," Tamao says, uncomfortably. "I've never spoken to him before!"

"Yes you have! In the desert…"

"I never said a word to him," she insists. Her fingers stop on the page that depicts Hao. She has only ever drawn him once, during that short break as they finished their trip through the Mesa Verde mazes. She even forgot the comment she wrote with it.

But now other words have joined hers, and when she notices she freezes.

"What is it," Anna asks.

Tamao swallows. It feels like her snack went down the wrong tube.

"He knows," she whispers, and goes back to the landscapes. There are many secrets in this series; it was something she poured a lot of energy into, back at the start of the tournament, when she was really struggling to deal with the loss of Yoh.

One of these secrets is the words that are etched onto her ankle. She was obsessed about them when she was younger, though Mikihisa tried to draw her attention away from them.

You should be careful.

So she was, in all things: measure twice, cut once, check your gear twice before going out on the mountain, repeat the sentence twice before opening your mouth.

And now here on this page, from the sentence she hid in the lines of her landscapes: You should be careful.

Tamao swallows. What does this mean? Does he, like she thinks, know… what? She can't make out the sentence that is settling in her head.

Manta seems to have heard it, somehow, in the words she didn't say.

"What will you do now?"

Tamao's eyes go to him. Good question. What can she do now?

"Nothing," Anna answers.

"What?" This time Manta and Tamao speak at the same time.

"Tamao owes nothing to this man. Whether you are anything to each other, you don't owe him anything, not a dime, not a smile, not a thought. You don't have to give your time or your soul or your kindness because something scrawled meaningless words on your ankle. And that's if this bond is even real."

Tamao swallows. It's a lot. Anna rarely speaks this much in one sitting.

"That's easy for you to say," Manta mumbles. "You and Yoh…"

"Me and Yoh, what," Anna repeats, loudly.

Tamao expects Manta to be slapped, but he's not.

"What we have is different. It's private. It has nothing to do with the words on our bodies. I would still be Yoh's fiancée if we weren't connected. Just like Tamao followed us here without any words to tell her to. Just like you did. Does that mean nothing because you don't have a stupid sentence inked onto you without your consent?"

Manta opens his mouth, then closes it. It's probably a point of view that's harder to consider when nobody deemed good to ink something on you at all.

"Let's put words on this," Anna orders. "Tamao, what do you think Hao knows?"

She looks up to her, hesitantly, and explains what happened during the match. "He knows I'm… he knows we somehow were connected. I think he… suspects… that we have a bond. Because… Because I do."

So why did he not confirm it? Why not march upstairs, say something, anything that would activate it, or not? He knew the words. He had the choice to say them, or not. Right?

Anna seems to have had the same thought. "Typical men. Afraid of their own vulnerability," she scoffs.

Manta frowns. "What do you mean? It's got nothing to do with…"

"It has everything to do with vulnerability. She was in his head, apparently. Or close enough. If it is indeed a soulmate bond, then it is likely mutual, and this man is too cocky to accept such things."

It's nice to listen to Anna talk. Her ideas move so fast that Tamao's brain doesn't have time to dwell on any of the prickly details, and she almost logics the confusion and hurt out the window.

She and Hao are fated. Maybe. She wonders at the words on his ankles. Do they look like they could have been drawn by the hand that scrawled them on her notebook? Is it strange that reading them did not flare her?

She and Hao are fated, maybe. Scary thought. Hao is nothing like Yoh – like the boy she likes. Yoh is open, warm, forgiving, hopeful. Goofy, at times. Hao, for all of his flames, is closed and cold. A sea of darkness, hiding storms and rigidity behind a boyish veil.

She and Hao are fated maybe. So much for the nice boy she'd settle with in adulthood, after the tournament. No wonder her board said her soulmates weren't nice. She'd have wished her spirits more explicit, but they seem as surprised as everyone else.

Something tugs at her stomach painfully.

"M, Manta, Anna… I'd rather we didn't tell the others about this," she still says, because she doesn't expect Horo-Horo to react well to this. And Ryu. Oh, Ryu is going to be so mad. She tenses in her chair, imagining his face. He'd be so disappointed.

"No, we won't," Manta says.

"This is not shameful," Anna cuts in. "This is not a black mark on your soul, Tamao. If anything, it's something useful. Something…"

"I don't want it to be useful."

She interrupted Anna's sentence midway. She doesn't do that. It's incredibly hard. Anna's eyes go icy.

"I…" A breath. "I appreciate everything you've said. I think you're right about everything. But I don't want this to be useful. If it's true, I… I'd rather it did not affect us. Or… or Yoh." Oh no. She doesn't want Yoh to know.

Anna gauges her. It's no easy task, to be gauged by Anna, but Tamao bears it bravely, and then the older girl nods.

"As you wish."

As the X-III make their way to the ring, Hao smiles.

While he doesn't much care for their presence or absence, he knows his children have been betting on it all evening. And, well, he's got a point to make.

To their credit, while other people's thoughts are never quite pleasant, especially in his presence, these three aren't too much of a migraine. No fury to them; just a determined fire in their eyes. All that remains of a life forever mourned. Spoiled children, really. Give them a teaspoon of the truth and they will forever look for the door back to neverland.

He does perceive a spark of guilt, of doubt, directed at Opachô. Ah, noble souls.

The Hanagumi were a little overexcited. He does not begrudge them for it: this was their first time, after all, and their opponents were particularly repugnant. Had he known, he would have turned them to ashes before they even stepped foot on the ring, but at least this way there will be no rumors of cheating.

No, he will incinerate these three completely on his own, and it will be fully within the rules of the tournament. They know as well as he the results of their efforts, the poor things. Makeshift shamans with their cloth god. He feels petty. Because of the day before? Because of the self-aggrandizing speech and the challenge leveled by the Iron Maiden?

Or because of the little rabbit, so insignificant he could barely feel her in her own house?

No matter. He is within his rights, and he feels petty.

"The audience deserves a show, wouldn't you say? It's no good to be done so quickly."

The face of the leader, Chris something, Christian? That would be fitting. That face tightens further.

"But even like this, it's not exactly going to be spectacular. Why not bring the rest of you down there?" He raises his face towards them in the audience, without needing to look. She is far from his level but she does provide an efficient beacon.

She does surprise him. He expected her in the Iron Maiden, like she has been until now. But while the torture device is there, he can squint enough to see her in full armor between her teammates. Interesting.

Turning his face back to Chris something, he adds nonchalantly: "Bring the weird girl, too. That'd be fun."

That's it. They are angry now.

And the fight starts.

The first of them he is quick with. She has the most regrets and the weakest Over-Soul. A mercy, really.

He does not spare a thought for the gold flash on her neck. In a matter of seconds, the second of them is also ashes. The audience screams. Awe and terror.

Then it all goes silent. Holding a collective breath.

His blood doesn't sing. He doesn't feel like a mighty warrior, or even the wizened crone he is. These are just children before him, taking only a thought to extinguish. Once more Hao looks up at the rest of the X-Laws. Do they see it now? Do they understand?

Except that, for all their talk of necessary sacrifices and the glory of pigheadedness, the rest of the X-Laws are not looking at him.

Instead they are standing around something he can't see. Distractedly, he notices he cannot see any of the X-I, either. What are they up to?

"Got you," Chris spits, so close even Hao is taken aback for a second. He glances at the man speared by Spirit of Fire and halts at the round thing in his hand.

He's not stupid. He has seen bombs before. Turbein dreams of them, sometimes, wakes up soaked in cold sweat and staggering out of camp. Hao knows what this is, and yet he is surprised enough to let himself be grappled by the man's guardian ghost.

He gets out of it, of course; can't help but think how efficient the X-Laws are at cleaning up.

When he looks again, there is still no movement from the X-I. He's missing something.

"While this was foolish," Hao says, his mood soured by his apparent weakness and this lack of reaction, "I can only applaud the lengths to which you lot are ready to go for your dreams. Such souls are rare; such souls are worth admiring."

With flourish, his power radiating from him in a bid to keep Radim away, he gathers the three souls he earned fair and square in Spirit of Fire's hand. Even as spirits, the X-III are suffocated by his presence; they cannot do anything he doesn't want them to do.

"Show yourself," he calls to the leader of the X-Laws. Whatever he feels for the others, his scorn for Marco reaches a new peak by the minute. "Look at what you have wrought. Take responsibility."

But Marco doesn't show. Seconds tick by and Marco doesn't show.

"Show yourself."

Instead she rises. The Iron Maiden; the little doll in her bows and dresses. Her face is closed and dark, and there is blood pouring from her eyes.

He scowls before he understands. Guesses, really.

Oh, now, that was stupid, Marco.

"Here is their reward," he tells him, that man who not so long ago provoked him openly, that man who is not currently conscious, and Spirit of Fire devours them all, soulmate and all.