Slayers Fan Fiction ❯ Flam Gush ❯ Chapter 8

Flam Gush 8

“Why don't you come with me, instead.” Deremar's greasy steward, Elfred stepped out of the shadows and into the torchlight, flanked by Garik. “My master is most . . . eager to meet with you.”

Gourry's hand went automatically to his sword hilt, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin.

“Looks like you were right, Gourry.” Lina spoke calmly, as if she had no cares in the world. She directed her next words at Elfred. “If your master wants an audience with the Beautiful Sorcery Genius, Lina Inverse,” Lina paused theatrically, and Gourry tensed, preparing for the moment when all chaos would break forth, “then he'll have to meet my price!”

The stupefied expressions of shock on Elfred and Garik's faces were comically obvious, even in the poor lighting.

“Seriously,” Lina's tone oozed derision, “you expect that a stock dialogue line like that is going to have us cowering in fear?” She grinned sardonically. “Besides, he,” Lina thrust her chin out at Garik, “has already been humiliated by Gourry today.”

Elfred's glance flicked quickly between Gourry and Garik and he snarled, although it was unclear if he was displeased with Garik, with Gourry, or with the situation in general. Probably the latter, Lina thought. Things did not seem to be going according to his predetermined script. Elfred composed his face into a neutral expression. “So, if I offer you money, you'll come along quietly?”

Lina laughed. “That depends entirely on how much you're offering!” Of course, she had no intention of meekly following along behind Elfred, although she was burning with curiosity. What could Deremar possibly want from them? Why would he frame them for the murder of his niece, sic a mob of peasants on them, and then invite them to his castle? None of it made sense. The whole thing was just so amateurish, even down to hiring a swordsman who had no hope of threatening someone of Gourry's skill.

At her side, she heard Gourry's barely suppressed a sigh. She flicked a glance in his direction, and she could tell that he knew what she was about to do. Well, odds were that Deremar's greasy steward could scarce afford—let alone be willing to pay—her price, but his reaction would be priceless nonetheless. After all, Lina had a reputation to maintain.

“Pretty cocky for a little girl who was on the verge of death just from a simple cut,” Elfred sneered.

“`Was' being the operative term.” Lina smiled but her tone had turned deadly serious. So he thought he could threaten her, did he? “Care to try me?”

Garik unsheathed his sword, and struck a pose. Lina supposed he thought he was threatening, but he just looked ludicrous to her. Apparently, Gourry was taking no chances, for she heard his sword rasp against its sheath as he drew it. Well, it looked like she missed her chance to charge them after all. She quickly selected a spell that would make her point with the least amount of damage. There were parts of her reputation she would be just as happy to ditch, and destroying part of a town would be of no help in that particular effort.

“Lina?”

The sound of Ryan's familiar voice behind her broke her concentration, and she turned toward him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Garik lean forward eagerly, his sword glinting in the flickering torchlight as he extended it low before him and lunged forward. At the same moment, Ryan's hand flicked to his doublet, his face contorted with hate. He yanked out a dagger, and hurled it towards her with an underhanded cast. Before she could react to either threat, Gourry burst into action. A quick slice with his sword removed Garik's arm at the elbow. Garik's sword clattered uselessly to the ground, his now-severed hand still gripping the hilt. A hot gout of blood slammed into them as Gourry hurled his shoulder into her, pushing her out of the path of the dagger. She heard it whiz past, followed by the wet thud of impact.

“Ryan?” Lina barely whispered. Her eyes were wide with shock, and she trembled ever so slightly. Had Ryan just attacked her? Had he just tried to kill her?

Ryan, however, ignored Lina. “You!” he snarled as advanced upon Garik, his eyes filled with hate. Garik looked up from the dagger hilt embedded deep in his belly to the young man who marched so purposefully on him, his eyes blank and glazed with shock.

“You!” Ryan cried out again as he grabbed the front of Garik's tunic and began to shake him back and forth. Garik tried to bat him away, instinctively using both arms—or what was left of them at any rate. Ryan seemed oblivious to the other man's blows and to the blood that was spurting from Garik's stump. “Murderer!”

Even in the ruddy torchlight, Garik's color was ashen, and if he did not get help soon, he was going to die from blood loss, if not from the dagger stuck in his bowels. The stench of human feces was sickeningly overpowering, and a good indicator of the extent of Garik's injuries. Lina was dimly aware of Elfred trying to slink away, and of Gourry intercepting him, but most of her attention was focused on the grisly scene in front of her, as she tried to comprehend how her gentle Ryan could be so violent.

“Ryan, stop!” Lina finally cried out. She moved to pull him off of Garik. Not that she cared what happened to Garik. She just could not bear to see Ryan like this.

Ryan bucked his shoulders violently against Lina, shoving her away. “You bastard!” he yelled, his voice rough with tears. He brought his face within inches of Garik's. “You were his friend! How could you? How could you!” Ryan punctuated each statement by shaking Garik's broken body.

Garik's eyes came into focus for a brief moment. He looked at Ryan, and a faint flash of recognition lit his face. “How could I what?” he asked in a broken whisper. He coughed weakly, spraying blood onto Ryan's face, then he slumped forward with a particularly breathy sigh.

The dead weight was too much for Ryan, and he let Garik's body slip onto the blood-spattered ground. He stared at it for a brief moment, and then he started kicking it.

“Ryan! Enough!” Lina wrapped her arms around Ryan, pulling him back gently from Garik's corpse. “He's dead. Enough.”

Ryan stiffened, and for an instant, Lina thought he might buck her off again. Instead, he fell to his knees, kind of half-crawled to the side, and retched. Lina knelt beside him, rubbing his back and murmuring that it would be alright, over and over again.

Finally, Ryan got his stomach under control, and after weakly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he buried his face in her shoulder. His body shook with the force of his sobs, and Lina continued to hold him and soothe him. She heard Gourry and Elfred talking, although their words were indistinct, and then Gourry walked over to her and Ryan. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, and Lina flashed him a look of gratitude.

As if sensing the tableau between Lina and Gourry, Ryan pushed himself gently away from Lina. He took a wavering deep breath and slowly let it out. “Finally,” he said softly. “It's finally over.”

Lina looked at him quizzically. “What's over? What did he do?”

Ryan stared at her incredulously, shaking his head. “That man,” he said viciously, kicking Garik's body for emphasis, “killed my brother, remember?”

The words echoed through Lina's head. “Your brother?” she repeated hesitantly. “Erik?” She felt her flesh prickle, and she tried in vain to suppress a shiver. She had never liked Erik—he had a rather wide cruel streak, the kind that made him think that tossing a sack of kittens into the river was funny, or that tripping little girls by grabbing their hair as they ran by was a hilarious joke—but Ryan had thought the world of his older brother.

“Who else?” Ryan demanded, as he took a step toward Lina.

Lina shook her head, feeling an icy cold fist clench around her heart, and she unconsciously stepped back from Ryan, holding her hands out as if to ward him away. Erik was dead? She should know that, right?

“Don't you remember, Lina?” Ryan stretched his hand out to her as if coaxing a small child.

Remember . . . Of course she could remember, if she wanted to . . . Did he think she had bait for brains like Gourry? It was red. All around her. Pain. Everywhere. In her head. Screaming to get out. No. NO! CONTROL IT MAKE IT STOP—

Suddenly, Gourry was standing between her and Ryan, his entire body tense, as he brandished a dagger under Ryan's nose. “Where” he asked in a deadly quiet tone, “did you get this?”

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The dagger. Ryan had flipped it so quickly, and the lighting was poor in the shadowed alley, so Gourry had gotten little more than the barest glance as it flew past, being more concerned with protecting Lina from simultaneous attacks from the front and the rear. But as soon as Ryan had kicked Garik's body over, Gourry had gotten a good look at it, and his blood had run cold. The hilt was quite distinctive and very familiar: from the dull gray wire-wrap down to the three prongs at the base of the hilt. He had pulled it from Garik's body, ignoring the overpowering stench of rot wafting from Garik's bowels, and wiped it off to see exactly what he had expected: a perfect replica of the Sword of Light, the main-gauche mate to the sword that was Gourry's birthright. He had last seen it sheathed at his father's side. That had also been the last time he had seen his father—or any of his kith and kin—alive.

Ryan involuntarily stepped back, moving away from the dagger Gourry held under his nose. “I . . . I . . . don't know,” he stammered, looking confused.

“How can you not know?” Gourry demanded incredulously. “This is the blade you hurled at Garik!”

“Well, it's not mine, that's for sure,” Ryan repeated forcefully, as he patted his tunic, evidently looking for the blade he thought he had thrown. Then he paused, squinting at the blade. “Isn't that . . . it looks like the Sword of Light!” he breathed reverently.

“The Sword of Light!” Lina exclaimed eagerly as she rushed up to get a good look at the blade Gourry held. “Hey! That's not—”

“Not exactly,” Gourry interrupted. Then a thought occurred to him. “How did you know,” he slowly asked Ryan, “that this looks like the Sword of Light?” Not even Lina had recognized it so quickly. In fact, she had only recognized it when he had used the blade to slay a monster.

Ryan spread the fingers of his hand wide and shrugged. “My brother,” he said simply. “He had a passion for all the old lost magical blades. He used to dream about finding them . . .” He trailed off for a moment, then he looked again at the dagger. “It's not really the Sword of Light is it?”

Gourry shook his head.

Ryan held out his hand for the blade. “Can I have it back?”

Gourry felt an uncharacteristic surge of possessiveness, and his hand clenched tightly around the blade, which sliced into his hand, drawing blood. Ryan had relinquished his claim on the dagger by refusing to name it as his own. It belonged to Gourry, now, just as the Sword of Light had been his by right. “This blade belonged to my father,” he said tightly. “It belongs in the hands of a Gabriev.”

“Meaning you,” Ryan said flatly, his eyes momentarily tightening, but holding Gourry's.

Gourry returned Ryan's gaze impassively, once again feeling like the other man was issuing a challenge.

“Don't worry,” Ryan said, breaking eye contact after a brief tableau. “I wouldn't dream of claiming anything that belongs to you.” His expression was genuinely sincere, but there was an underlying trace of bitterness in his tone.

“Gourry!” Lina interjected, “your hand!” She gently pried his fingers away from the dagger, closing her eyes and casting a quick healing spell. “There,” she said when she finished, “good as new!” She smiled up at him, but he could see the shadows in her eyes. She was worried. And very curious. “So,” she turned to look at Ryan, “you have no idea how you got this dagger?”

Ryan shook his head. “Nope. Never seen it before in my life.” He paused. “But,” he said slowly, “however I got it, I'm glad. It seems fitting to kill my brother's murderer with a replica of his favorite lost magical sword.” He eyed the dagger. “Are you sure it belonged to your father?”

There was absolutely no doubt in Gourry's mind that the blade belonged to his father. He could even prove it to Ryan—except that he felt absolutely no desire to do so. So he just nodded, tucked the dagger under his belt, and changed the subject. “We should do something about this.” Gourry nudged Garik's body with his boot. “Stray dead bodies tend to make the local officials nervous.”

“What do you suggest?” Ryan asked.

“Leave this to me.” Lina scuffed the ground with her toe a few times. “Back up,” she ordered, and then she cast a spell that turned the hard-packed dirt alley into a soupy mud. Once Garik's body sank beneath the surface, she turned around. “Now what?”

Gourry had no idea, so he just shrugged. Lina's shoulders slumped forward briefly, but when she looked up again, her teeth were bared in frustration. “None of this is making sense!” She declared, taking a deep breath. Gourry recognized the signs of a full-fledged Lina-type rant.

“Lina?” Ryan had been staring incredulously at the mud that hid Garik's body, his eyes hard, but he seemed to be well aware of the trajectory of Lina's mood, timing his question to catch her mid-breath. “I know you didn't like my brother . . .” he hesitated briefly before plunging ahead, “but would you join me in drinking to his memory? Gourry, too, of course.”

Ryan's request seemed reasonable enough, but at the mention of his brother, Lina had flinched, and now, her eyes darted about frantically. Gourry had never seen her look this skittish before, and he wondered what was bothering her. With a visible effort, she held herself still. The only remaining outward sign of her inner turmoil was in her hands, which were clenched so tightly into fists that they shook slightly with the strain. With her lips forced into a polite, but obviously fake smile, she opened her mouth to answer Ryan.

Before she could speak, Ryan interrupted. “Please?” he asked simply. “For me?”

The fake smile fled her lips, and Lina turned as white as a sheet. “I . . .” Her voice was so faint Gourry had to strain to hear her. “I'm sorry . . .” She shook visibly. “I . . .” With a low moan, she turned and fled, leaving Ryan gaping after her.

“Lina, wait!” Ryan called out and started to run after her.

“Don't!” Gourry's voice cracked like a whip as he threw his arm out in front of the other man. Although he did not know why, he could tell that Lina was on the verge of shattering. Ryan chasing after her could push her over the edge. As much as he wanted to run after her himself, to hold her and comfort her, above all else, he was her protector, and right now, she needed to be protected from whatever threat it was that Ryan's request represented.

“But . . . but . . .” Ryan stammered in shock. “I guess you're right,” he admitted reluctantly. “I knew she didn't like my brother . . . but I never expected . . . “

“I've known Lina for a long time, now,” Gourry said slowly, “and I've never seen her turn tail and run like that.” Even when she should run, even in the face of certain death, she always stood her ground. And that was why she needed him to protect her, because she never would give up and admit she was beat. But . . . how could drinking to Ryan's brother possibly be any worse than getting killed by a copy?

“You're kidding, right?” Ryan asked incredulously. “Lina?” He stared along the alley, following the path Lina had just run. “That doesn't sound like the girl I once knew.” He looked up at Gourry. “That,” he said scowling in the direction Lina had fled, “was more like the Lina I knew. She was always running off, leaving me to take the heat for all her crazy schemes . . .” Ryan trailed off, his eyes clouded with memory.

“You were more than just childhood friends.” It was obvious from the way Ryan looked at her, and the way she looked at him.

“We were handfasted in the cradle,” Ryan admitted, “and grew up friends, but knowing that one day we would be man and wife . . .” He looked up at Gourry, not even trying to conceal the pain that darkened his eyes. “We were just kids, you know? But kids can fall in love too . . .”

“What happened?” He was not really surprised. That would explain most of how they were acting, and the strong connection between them.

“She broke it off,” Ryan said simply, his voice thick. “I hadn't seen her since . . . until you walked up to me, carrying her . . .” He swallowed convulsively. “If you'll excuse me,” he squared his shoulders, “I'm going to go have a drink in memory of my brother.” He looked up at Gourry, his expression tinged with an old pain, but also with a faint hint of pride. “Now that his death has been avenged, perhaps his spirit will rest easier.”

Gourry ran his hand over the hilt of his father's dagger as he watched Ryan walk away, wishing fervently that he could say the same.

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Heat. All around her. Inside of her. Burning. It burned them—No! She was not going to think about it. That was why she was running, right? So she could outrun the memories that were gnawing at the barriers she had constructed. She did not want to remember. She refused to let herself remember.

Lina ran through dark alleys, twisting and turning, not caring where she ended up. She ran until her breath came quickly and she felt a burning stitch of pain running just under her ribs. She focused on the pain, welcoming it as a much needed distraction. She ran until her legs felt leaden and her mind was empty, and only then did she stop running.

She stood, breathing deeply, leaning over slightly with her hands resting on her knees, and as soon as she caught her breath, she laughed with delight. It had felt good to push her body like that. She felt strangely cleansed, even though she was drenched in sweat and doubtless needed yet another bath.

The only real problem was that after running blindly for so long, Lina had no clue where she was, and even less of an idea how to get back to where she had been. Not that she had much of an inclination to get back to where she had been . . . but she did wish a bit wistfully that Gourry had followed her. Given the lateness of the hour, there were very few people about. Lina wandered about aimlessly, hoping to encounter some guards doing the rounds so she could ask for directions, or maybe just find an inn where she could get a room.

Unfortunately, if the buildings were any indication, she would be lucky to find an inn. She seemed to be in a residential section of the town, and a rather high-class section at that, if the large houses surrounded by wide well-manicured lawns and wrought iron fences were any indication. She doubted she would run into any guards, either. They tended to frequent the rowdier sections of town, closer to the taverns where brawls were wont to break out. They left the defense of the richer sections of town to the wealthy who could afford to pay for private guards. Not that she could complain, since she and Gourry often found easy work because of such arrangements. Still, it was downright annoying in her current predicament.

All thoughts of being lost fled her mind when she turned onto a wider avenue at the end of the residential street. The most . . . impressive building she had ever seen dominated the courtyard in front of her. It was not the largest—the royal palaces of Seyruun were easily bigger. It was not even the decorations—given the fact that it was the middle of the night, the decorations were rather indistinct. What made it impressive were the tall spires that seemed to reach up to the very stars. Even in the dark, the building had a delicate feel to it, almost as if it was on the verge of floating away from the ground to join the stars above. The entire effect was literally uplifting, and quite breathtaking. Lina found herself wondering if it would be just as impressive during the day.

The front doors were open, and the hint of flickering candlelight silently invited her to enter. Not that Lina needed much encouragement. Her nap earlier had refreshed her, but she had also been going non-stop since then, and she could really use the rest.

As Lina approached, she could make out more of the details. Everything about the building suggested a sense of weightlessness. The doors were shaped like pointed arches, which made them seem small from a distance, but standing right next to them, Lina realized that they were so large that a full-grown dragon could have walked through them without even ducking his head. There were huge candles everywhere, the expensive ones made out of beeswax that gave a bright smoke-free light, marking side alcoves that ran the length of the building. It was pretty clear that she was in some sort of temple, which would explain why the doors were open, even though it well beyond sundown.

In marked contrast to the brightly burning candles, the alcoves were shrouded in shadow. The first one Lina passed had an indistinct statue tucked into a niche, but what really caught her attention were the small padded benches that lined the walls. As she sank down gratefully, she wondered which god the building was supposed to honor. One thing was certain: she was in a sacred space. She knew she lacked any particular sense of reverence, but even she could feel the calming sense of peace that surrounded her, making her feel like a child safe in her mother's arms. Lina closed her eyes. In a strange way, this was better than sitting in the bath.

The serenity of the temple caressed her, and gave her a strong enough feeling of security to allow her thoughts to drift. She felt like a child in more ways than one. Running away . . . that had been her typical response to trouble as a young girl. She giggled quietly to herself. More often than not, Ryan had ended up taking the brunt of their parents' displeasure for her little schemes. Her giggle turned quickly into a grimace. Just this morning, she had told Ryan she was no longer the little girl he had known. And here she was, giving the lie to her claim.

Her hand reached into a pocket inside her cloak and drew out a small wooden falcon. As her fingers caressed wood worn smooth to the touch, she was taken back to the day Ryan had given it to her. They had been old enough to understand what their handfasting meant, although not quite old enough to marry and take up adult responsibilities—children on the brink of maturity. Ryan had carved the falcon himself and presented it to her as a token of their eventual union. She closed her eyes, clearly remembering the dappled light of the sun shining through the trees, the warm smell of freshly cut hay wafting on the breeze, overlaying the familiar damp and musty smell of the forest. Her fingers clenched around the small figure. How many nights had she cried herself to sleep clutching this tiny wooden bird? Although it represented a part of her past that was forever sealed to her—her parents had made that brutally clear—she could not bear to part with it. Even now.

Lina tucked the figure back into her cloak with a sigh. She stood up and headed back towards the entrance to the temple, pausing for a moment in the transept. Even inside, the building seemed to be designed to encourage people to look up. From the magnificent vaulted arches to the narrow windows that were everywhere, everything tugged the eye up. As Lina traced the lines of the temple to the point where they receded into the darkness, she suddenly realized how foolish she was being. There was no real reason for her to wander the streets aimlessly, like a lost little girl. All she needed to do was levitate, and even if she was unfamiliar with the town, it would be simple enough to get her bearings. She mentally kicked herself for being so stupid, even as she ran out of the temple and rose effortlessly into the night sky.

From her lofty vantage she easily determined where she needed to go, recognizing the open market square she had seen so often from her room at Siebert's, the one where Gourry had first encountered Ryan. It was only a few streets over—in the opposite direction than she had been headed. It figured. Just par for the course, considering the way her luck had been going lately. Of all the places in the world, of all the times in her life, it had to be now that she ran into Ryan, right on the heels of finally acknowledging the feelings she had for Gourry. Old love, meet the new love. Lina grimaced.

She had grown up knowing she would marry Ryan. It had been an integral part of her identity as a child. When that had been ripped away from her, she discovered that it was best to rely on herself. She snorted. With all the weirdoes she kept running into, it was for the best really. She certainly could not rely on people like Naga! And then Gourry came along. Even if he did think she was a little girl at first, even if he had been Weirdo Number One, he was reliable. He never left her—okay, he had left her once or twice, but it really was not his fault, and he had always shown up again when it was clutch time . . . . She could no longer imagine a future without Gourry. But seeing Ryan made the child she had been mourn the loss of what she could not have.

Well, that childish part of her should just suck it up and get over it. The past was done and gone. If she spent too much time obsessing over it, she could turn into someone like Rezo, or his copy, regretting what could not be, rather than creating the future she wanted. Lina squared her shoulders. Would she rather look at the ruined flower of her past, or to the flower of the future, the one whose name she had yet to learn? Let the unfinished business of the past remain there. Lina landed smoothly on the cobbled pavement underneath Siebert's apartment. Her future stood by the window up there, his golden hair limned in candlelight.

“Hey, Gourry!” she called out, waving to him with a smile, “where've you been?”

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