Growing Pains

13: Visitors of every stripe

Auteur : Rain

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

Notes :

To welcome; to aid; to gloat.

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.

Pretty hard to write and translate, but I like how it turned out and I'm figuring out how to move forward. What do you think? Let me know if you have any predictions!


Previously on: Growing Pains

Hao gave Tamao her notebook back with a warning. Jeanne was unable to stop the X-III from going to their fight against Hao. They were slaughtered mercilessly, leaving more bodies than expected on the floor.

...


"What happened?"

John's voice is all anger and all grief. Jeanne wishes she could soothe him; wishes, at least, that he would be quiet. She needs to focus, and not despair that she doesn't have an answer.

Marco and Lyserg lie in cold beds before their worried eyes in the X-Laws medical bay. Lyserg is on his back. Marco is on his stomach. Their marks flare periodically. Could it be the fire is still torturing them? Is Meene's soul still suffering, are they being devoured by Spirit of Fire too?

She doesn't have an answer. She can't heal a wound that's not there. All she can do is keep their marks iced and repair any real damage as it happens. She worries for Lyserg's eyes; she worries for Marco's arms. If she sleeps, if she has to leave them for a spell, will she come back to ashes and nothing more?

She doubts she could sleep anyway. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees it again.

It's not like a bad dream. It's much too real. It's a shard of the past, embedded in the present. A troubled wound.

It happened the moment Hao moved. Marco and Lyserg screamed as one. From the corner of her eye – Jeanne was watching the fight, true to her soldiers – she saw wings of fire sprout from Marco's back while Lyserg drew his hands to his face screaming. One split second later, Marco fell to his knees, and then forward on his face, unconscious. Of course she knelt too. Of course she checked him for injuries, prodded him for a responses, clutched at him in subdued horror.

But she got nothing. His body was hot, his heart going a mile an hour, but there was no wound, nothing to heal. It was his soul itself that was on fire, nothing less.

"M-my lady," Lyserg spoke, voice broken and hoarse. Was he screaming? She didn't hear him at all. She turned, still tethered to Marco, still mostly focused on him, and she

Saw

Lyserg.

He hadn't taken his hands off his cheeks. His tears turned to steam right there on his face, and his skin looked eerily familiar. Kevin, came the bolt of pain. He was burning.

"What happened," John asks again, all anger and all grief.

There are no answers for him.

Larky comes to her a few hours later.

Jeanne is still in the medical bay, sitting between her two patients. She does not notice the door opening. She does not hear Larky approaching; he has to speak up before she can take her eyes off the two bodies.

"Lady Maiden," he says, "someone is asking for you."

Jeanne looks at him uncomprehendingly. Her soldiers know her work requires focus. They can see for themselves how terribly the two men are wounded. They know distractions are most unwelcome. For him to still come get her, it has to be important. But what could be so important?

He shifts. "On the docks. I believe it is Yoh Asakura."

"I will be a minute," she says, and soon she stands by the railing of her ship, looking down at the face that smiled as her soldiers burned.

They have been aware of Yoh Asakura's existence for an almost long while now. Marco was fuming. There's two of them, he spat when he learned. And he defended Hao's men to his face, risking annihilation to save them. He didn't need to be told they were brothers. He didn't need confirmation that they worked together.

But Yoh Asakura was Lyserg's friend, and Lyserg had a lot of good things to say about him. He'd told them these things, willingly, to vouch for his friend. How Yoh took everyone in. How he protected them, fighting against unwinnable odds every time.

Misguided, maybe. But evil? Lyserg did not believe that.

"Yoh Asakura," Jeanne says in greeting, and leaves it at that. Her face is a flat shield, a mask of benevolent superiority, but she does not have it in herself to be pleasant, not today. What does he want?

"Lady Maiden," he replies. To her ears, he sounds weary, troubled. "I did not mean to bother you…" He sees her face and, wisely, does not continue. "I just wanted to check on Lyserg, and I could not see any other way."

Right.

Right. They are friends. Were friends before Lyserg chose the white. Right.

Jeanne hesitates. Marco is still ranting in her head. They are weakened today. Ripe for an assault. But try as she might she smells no ash on the wind, and she understands being concerned for a friend.

Marco would not approve of what she wants to do, but Marco lies in bed whimpering. There is only her.

She smiles. "Why don't you come on board."

Her men are well-trained soldiers. She knows her decision must cause surprise, perhaps even upset, but they respect her. Nobody speaks; no sounds are made, except to lower the ramp.

"Porf, would you fetch us some tea? I think we will talk here."

There is no hesitation. The moment she asks, Porf disappears inside, and Larch to the outdoor shed. John, invisible, moves to the bridge to keep an eye out.

Yesterday there were nine. Now there are only four. Jeanne folds her thoughts behind a smile.

"Welcome aboard, Yoh," she says when he's up on the deck. "To be wholly honest, I had hoped to meet you under more auspicious circumstances."

"Me too," he admits, tensely. His guardian ghost is trying to appear unshaken, but his eyes dart around the deck, checking for choke and escape points, for cameras and gun muzzles.

Marco would usually be the one to do this. Meet up with strangers, welcome them aboard, negotiate whatever needs negotiated? He is at ease with these things. The Iron Maiden would usually never give an audience to one such as Yoh Asakura, not in private, not before her right hand vetting him. But today's match has put 'usually' on the bench, and might keep it there for a while.

Larch pulls a small folding table out of the shed and follows it up with two iron wrought chairs. He pulls one out for Jeanne, and then Yoh sits down.

She weaves her fingers together and lays her hands on the table, back ever so straight. Yoh slouches. He's still glancing around, but unlike his ghost it seems to be motivated primarily by curiosity. It takes him a minute to realize she is not going to speak. Another to realize she is waiting.

People are not used to being looked at. Really looked at. This is no glance during a conversation, but a slow scan of his features. His unkempt hair. His scuffed up face. His hand-sewn uniform. While Jeanne is showing no sign of judging any of that, she makes him aware of it, and there is little less comfortable than such situations.

Jeanne is good at immobility.

"I know tonight is a bad time," he begins at last, catching her eyes. "I'm sorry for what happened to your friends."

She nods, still silent, still waiting.

"Lyserg is a very good friend of mine. We were very worried when we couldn't find him in the Patch village. I still – I worry for him. If you were willing to talk to me, then he and Marco must be… you know, one of my friends is a very good doctor. Perhaps we can help? No, I'm sorry, that's stupid. I'm sure you know best. Can – May I know how they're doing?"

"Thank you, Porf," she says as he puts down the tea pot and a couple of cups before them. He pours them both a cup. "Replace me downstairs, will you?"

He brought a small sugar holder, too, but nothing else. Usually on this tray there would be –

No. Don't think of 'usually' and what Marco would have put on a tea tray.

Porf disappears back inside, and Jeanne uses the small tongs to dump five sugar cubes into her own cup. It almost overflows.

"Lyserg and Marco are resting," she finally says quietly. "There is nothing wrong with them physically at this moment in time."

"That is a relief."

"I cannot, however, say they are fine."

His face falls while she sips at her scalding-hot tea. This should be confidential, secret, but everyone saw it. Everyone saw Lyserg and Marco light up like pillars of flame during the match.

Yoh looks down at his mug and silence settles between them.

"He never told us much about his marks," he admits. "I didn't really ask. It's private, you know."

And she knows. Somehow though, the phrasing, the words he chose, they make her feel for him. Make her want to have him as her friend.

"I guessed, for Hao. It's a word he uses a lot, and I caught a glance, once."

Jeanne nods. "He told me when he first came to stay with us. He was afraid we would reject him for it."

"But you didn't," he says, almost forcefully. "Thank you. It means a lot that he was able to find a group he could feel good with."

He smiles, and Jeanne feels something complicated. Warm, like a comfortable coat, but also misplaced. Why misplaced? Yoh is right. Lyserg belongs with them. But. Misplaced. Lyserg does not feel good here. None of them do. Nowhere in this world can they feel good; this is their only chance at salvation.

"Who he was does not matter here," she said slowly. "We take in the lost and the hungry, as long as they are ready to sacrifice themselves for this world." Like her.

Yoh nods, but his eyes are distant. He is not here to listen to a speech.

"I didn't know he was marked by anyone else."

The warmth Jeanne felt fizzles out in a split second, and for the first time in this conversation she looks away from Yoh and his spirit partner. She did; she knew about the link between Meene and Lyserg, and also Meene and Marco. How come she never thought about the repercussions. She didn't know what could happen, sure, but how come she did not even check? Ask for research to be done? Ask at all?

Because the marks do not exist, here. Because the mere thought of having seen Lyserg's words made her uncomfortable. And now, because she didn't ask, because she didn't think, the X-III are dead, and Lyserg and Marco are experiencing indescribable pain.

"She was a good person," she says at length, her eyes finding Yoh's.

He nods, and they sit there. She finds him a very comfortable partner in grief.

"I'm glad he still has you," he says. "If I can help…"

"That is very thoughtful of you, but unnecessary." She cannot let him finish this sentence. The X-Laws do not need or get help. The X-Laws are the help. "I cannot tell how long Lyserg will need to sleep, and I know how much your friendship means to him. I will not be available, but I can arrange for someone to take you to his side for a few minutes."

Larky shifts uncomfortably behind them. She knows this is stretching what they can accept, but he says nothing.

"I'd like that," Yoh says.

"Good. Then…" She thinks about it. Larky is the closest member of the X-Laws. He is also bulky and threatening. He is, also, the friendliest of the bunch, and he understands worrying about his friends.

Part of her wants to retreat to the Iron Maiden and stay there for the night. She needs the furyoku, yes, but more than that she would like the pain to take precedence from her other feelings. She doesn't want to stay at Lyserg and Marco's side all evening, processing her grief and guilt. She doesn't want to think.

But Marco lies in a cold bed because of that exact thing.

She finishes her cold cup of tea, send Yoh down, and makes her way to Marco's office.

From the bushes Tamao watches Yoh disappear onto the ship with a hint of fear.

Yes, they scare her, those people all in white. It's a lot easier to tell for her than it is with Hao. Because they don't look like Yoh? Because it's a group, because they're cold and sharp, because they want the world to be scared of them. It's working.

Even if the rumors are true, even if Marco is out of the picture (dead?), they could still hurt Yoh badly. Or she could, at the very least.

The Iron Maiden. She did not expect to see her at the bow of the ship; yet, with her binoculars, she observed her smaller silhouette talk with Yoh before he could come on board. So Marco may be dead. Or at least incapacitated.

"You don't have to worry," Conchi says, trying to be reassuring. "There's no way these dudes could hurt him."

"Especially now," his twin analyzes. "They're in need of allies, not enemies. Yoh is Lyserg's friend; he could be theirs."

Tamao somehow doubts there are 'friends' of the X-Laws.

She thought she could no longer be shocked by the violence of the matches. After what X-I did? She didn't think she could be surprised any longer. And yet, when Hao stood there and killed them, with none of her pompous speeches and just a few acidic words?

And the rumor that one of the dead was connected to both Marco and Lyserg by a soul link? That they're comatose, dead perhaps, stuck in the torments of Spirit of Fire?

Terrifying.

"You're cold," Conchi whispers. She is, though she had not realized. Her skin is covered in goosebumps, and she shakes. She should have brought a thicker jacket. All she has is her tee-shirt.

"You should go home. Anna is sure he'll be fine, or she wouldn't have let him go."

Tamao isn't so sure. Anna, she thinks, would not have been able to stop him. When Yoh heard Lyserg was sick, dead perhaps? She saw fear on his face. She could tell Anna sensed it, too; she tensed around her necklace and just let him go.

"I'll wait for him here."

Her tone refuses commentary, and so they wait in the silence and the cold of the now dark beach. Yoh isn't back for a long time. Staring at the ship lights gives Tamao a headache, so she stops, just waiting for general movement in that direction.

She daydreams. Judges.

Who sends their soulmate to die? Did either man know? They had to know, didn't they? Pain doesn't go through unless you're flared, that's what Manta said after thinking about it. That's why Yoh didn't know about Anna's pain until they met. Then again, Yoh confided that he was always a melancholy child, and he thinks he already did.

It's so confusing!

But if they did know?

What if it was her, she wondered. If she knew her soulmate was going to die if they went, would she still tell them to go? She has never thought of herself as a strong person. How could she ever hope to withstand the pain of their death?

What if it was Yoh?

I believe in Yoh, is what Anna would say. She would never tell him not to go, even if she was afraid. Belief in him comes first.

And if Hao is fated to her…

The vegetation beside her shifts, and Tamao goes completely still. There's someone else here with her! She freezes, hands over the mouths of her spirits. If they're lucky the other person will just go away…

Seconds tick by with no more sounds until she almost accepts that she dreamed it, and that is when someone moves out of the brush.

In the semi-dark it's hard to identify them. It's a youth their age in form-fitting clothes. They know how to move silently; she doubts she would have noticed them if they had come out anywhere else in the undergrowth.

Beside them something large looms in the shadows. She cannot make out any identifying features, but that is no doubt their guardian ghost. Wouldn't they have noticed her by now? Perhaps both are too distracted.

Suddenly the Shaman falters, grabbing their arm with a muffled whine. Are they wounded? She cannot hold in her gasp when she thinks they might trip, and the stranger jumps like a surprised cat.

Before she can take any air their shadow grabs her and squeezes viciously.

Ponchi et Conchi jump into a panic. "Hey, let her go!"

"Who are you," they spit, staring at her and only her. Their teeth are bared.

"What do you think you're doing? Release her right now or you'll be in big trouble, mister!"

Tamao can't breathe. She doesn't have enough air to talk. Ineffectively she tries to claw at the spirit around her, but her nails slip on something metallic, and nothing more.

"Why are you here?"

"P-please," she manages to get out. The lack of oxygen is getting to her; she sees spots.

"Why are you here?"

Her whole world teethers.

"Same as you," she hisses with the last of her air.

The spirit lets her go, and she falls five feet to the ground. Her knees connect painfully. She almost welcomes the sensation; it is accompanied by the rush of air to her lungs, and she stays down for a spell. Ponchi and Conchi are asking her if she's okay, threatening the stranger, making a ruckus.

She remembers where they are. They can't have a ruckus.

"Conchi! Ponchi! Shh," she reminds them, painfully sitting up. Her knees are scratched red, and she feels something wet on her chin.

They don't obey, so she grabs onto them and forces them to be quiet as she peers towards the boat. Have they been noticed? Is someone going to come out and look for them?

It seems not: the ship is still lit, but nothing moves.

"Having this little control over your own spirits is really pathetic," the stranger hisses. Their voice is grating; whiny and arrogant at the same time. Right now, though, she sees right through it.

"You're the one who upset them," she points out. "Why did you attack me?"

"You jumped me. And if you were any good you wouldn't have let me touch you."

Tamao knows when an argument goes nowhere. "You are wounded."

"Of – of course not."

She simply stares at their shoulder. "Did you fall in the forest?"

"No! It's none of your business."

But they glance at the ship, and shudder, and Tamao thinks.

It's a story Horo-Horo told, didn't he? About their fight with Hao's people. How they knocked each other out. How someone tried to kill Lyserg before Hao took them away. How they –

Oh.

Can it ricochet so far down the line? The woman in the arena, then Marco and Lyserg, then this person in the forest?

Before she can stop herself, she offers them her hand. "One of my friends is a doctor. You're not getting in there on your own. She's awake."

She. A pronoun feels weak to encompass the whole of. Of the Iron Maiden.

The stranger clearly hesitates. They're like a cat, Tamao thinks. Prickly and reluctant to accept help. "What would you even do in there?"

"Kill him."

Tamao's face goes pale. "What?"

"I need to. Kill him. Before it kills me," the stranger hisses. "I can't take it anymore! It burns and it burns and it doesn't stop I can't!"

They're trying not to cry. Tamao has done the exact same thing often enough to recognize the signs. Still, she sees nascent tears.

"One of my friends is a doctor," she repeats. "Let us help you."

"I…"

"He knows to be discreet."

Her sprits look at her like she's grown a second head, but Tamao ignores them.

The stranger stares back, and then shrugs. "Fine," they say, in a voice that trembles.

"Alright. My name's Tamao, by the way."

"Ashil."

They take the hand she has yet to put away, and shake it. Tamao smiles.

"Let's go."

Hao lies down on the grass near the fire and closes his eyes. Behind him, Spirit of Fire is crackling and hissing, a constant heat and comfort for him, a constant threat and danger for everyone else.

"Master Hao," Luchist, as he hesitantly steps closer, calls out. Before he even needs to speak, Hao can tell he is worried about Ashil. Ashil who hasn't been home in… some twenty-four hours?

"He can watch himself," he tells the old man. "Don't fret. He will turn up."

Luchist does not seem satisfied.

"After what happened today, the X-Laws may be looking for a quick revenge," he argues.

"If your dear Marco was up and running, no doubt. But he isn't that we know of, is he? And everyone else will be much too worried about their driving force to do much else. Ashil would have to be right there for them to…"

He doesn't finish. Ashil sports Lyserg's mark, doesn't he? Are there ripple effects to their chains? Perhaps his young charge does lie in a ditch somewhere, through no fault of the birds in white.

Ashil wanted to think about these things. Wanted to know their ins and outs. Seems he will sooner than later.

With a sigh, Hao stands. "Alright, alright, Luchist. I'll go on a walk, take a little look."

He can afford to gloat a little, after all. With just one match, against nobodies, he has taken out one of the only worrisome individuals in the tournament. Saati remains, but he knows her too cowardly to do much when the time comes. The Iron Maiden has the stubborn head of her handler, and the blind devotion of children.

A child-woman bathed in blood, a tiny voice whispers. A baby with power unlike anything you've ever seen.

He scoffs.

Now that he knows who the little rabbit is, the fascination makes sense. For Tamao Tamamura and her apparent lack of skill or furyoku, the Iron Maiden must be an object of grand admiration and terror. Similar in age and yet already so far ahead.

Then again, he is thankful for Anna's quick thinking. Little else could have prevented either of them from flaring the other. Unless he burned her from afar first, but she hasn't done anything to deserve that; he is well-aware of what out-of-control abilities look like.

So, unflared they remain. Unflared and yet connected.

So, unflared they remain, yet able to talk without words.

On the one hand, it makes the fact they did not flare when they first met make even less sense. He heard her say the words. Not out loud, but it was her voice, it was directed towards him, and it was even the right language. So why did it not happen?

On the other hand, he has to admit to his own curiosity. What are the limits of their bond? How does it work? He has yet to hear her since the X-I left the arena. Even when he burned the X-III he heard nothing.

A question, then, to ponder while he looks for Ashil. Spirit of Fire carries him through the sky, a lone star in the night sky. He spares no thoughts for the ship lying dead in the water. Honestly? They're making it too tempting.

Slowly he makes his way through the forest. Surely if Ashil is not well he will send Siegfried back to camp. Surely if Ashil is not conscious Siegfried would come seek help. But the forest is quiet and dark, and nobody comes.

No matter. Hao has never disliked a walk under the stars.

What is in a voice? What is there in the act of saying words, words that you don't even know are right? She didn't choose not to flare him. She just didn't dare speak. It wasn't bravery or strength or soul that stopped her.

What is in a voice?

The sky is full of stars by the time he reaches the village. There's no reason why Ashil should be in here. And yet he drifts towards Yoh's lodgings.

He is still very curious about his twin, although he sates the hunger in other ways. His fight was a treat, as expected. Yoh is weak yet, but he is resourceful, and his soul feels… right. And well, Anna is also a treat.

And there's the girl.

He sits above them thinking about what it all means, what this girl means, what voices mean. He is so deep in thought he almost misses it: a door opening, then closing.

"Will you be alright?"

"Of course I will! I told you, I'm fine!"

"Okay…"

"There's nothing to be done about the flare-ups," a third voice says. "They seem to have an external cause. The good news is, it doesn't seem to get infected or have a risk of doing so. You can come back if you want Eliza to take care of you again, or take one pill a day until it gets better. No more than one though! Be careful!"

The man's voice is sing-songy. A little off-key, a little strange. He is on Yoh's team; Hao recognizes him.

He recognizes the pink-haired girl, too, and the boy they're waving off.

"Found him," he mutters, and moves to follow Ashil back into the woods.