Make a Choice

part 5

It had been nearly two weeks since Zelgadis had joined them again - - and, as elated as Gourry was to have him as a traveling companion once more, he was also somewhat discouraged and disturbed. If anything, the chimera was more withdrawn and determined in his self-isolation than before. The swordsman suppressed sounds of frustration at himself and at the entire situation while he stooped to pick up a good-sized log. He stole a look at Zel before he straightened. Gourry had asked for Zel's help in getting the wood for the fire. While he hadn't expressed any great enthusiasm, the shaman had complied amiably enough, for Zel. But that was all. Gourry couldn't seem to coax anything more out of him than cooperation and the complete absence of hostility. Feeling that he'd wasted yet another opportunity to do something that would get Zel to open up, but unsure of exactly what it was he could have done differently to make that happen, the swordsman turned and, with a short call to Zel, led the way back to camp.

He stacked some of the wood and put the rest on the fire. Even though he was expecting it, he was almost startled when Zel seemed to materialize out of the shadows. The darker clothes, and Zel's natural quiet grace, had made for quite a few such moments. He had to admit, though, that Lina had shown better taste than he'd have expected. The cloak she'd gotten Zel was almost identical in style to the one he had always worn, except that it was black. She'd even managed to find a clasp very similar to the one he'd had, a round red gem. She'd kept in mind his preference for high necks, and gotten a shirt with one, but it was black as well, and more tightly fitted than the tunic he'd worn. A dark gray tunic with a faint bluish-silver sheen that could be seen in certain lights went over that. The trousers were black as well, and, since she hadn't found boots in the style he usually wore, were tucked into the soft black leather of those she had acquired instead.

Gourry thought he looked striking; however, given Zel's mood, he felt the dark colors only accentuated the shaman's sense of seclusion within the shadows of his own thoughts. Of course, he knew from the way she had carefully chosen those things she knew he liked, such as the pair of fingerless gloves (black, naturally), that Lina had only been thinking of Zel's preference for avoiding attention. Black did tend to help a person do that, but. . .

He busied himself with various inconsequential tasks until he saw Zel sink down to sit at the edge of the firelight, where flickering shadows met the dancing light, and then took a seat himself, not too far away, so that he could sneak an occasional glance at the focus of his thoughts.

It was a relatively relaxing night, free from any pressure to rise early or keep up a sharp guard. Lina had finished the job that had occupied her and brought them in this direction, and at the moment there were no further plans, nothing concrete for any of them to accomplish. On one hand, Gourry was glad of this, happy to enjoy the freedom and sense of possibility. They weren't far from the city; in fact, they would probably reach it the next day. He had coin in his pocket, and a bit of time to spend it the way he wanted to - - on buying a sword for Zel. The shaman/swordsman had one at the moment, but it wasn't a high-quality blade, merely a practical substitute until he could find a replacement for the one he had lost. Gourry figured that he could probably find one, but he intended, if possible, to commission a sword to be made for his friend, one that was perfectly balanced and fitted for Zel alone. The prospect of his intended gift gave him a good feeling; however, it also raised a small sliver of apprehension.

Having a sword made would take a while. He planned, in that event, to somehow persuade Lina to put off starting on another job or quest for a bit, so that they could remain in the area until the sword was finished. The problem with that was that it would leave them without a solid direction or goal for a time. He had noticed that Zel always stuck with them so long as they were in the middle of something. As long as they needed him, he never spoke of or showed any indication of taking off on his own. Once the task at hand was complete, though, and everyone was safe and well, the shaman no longer felt as if he were abandoning them. That was the time when Zel tended to leave them and strike out alone.

Gourry had his promise; he felt no fear that Zel would leave without warning and slip away. What concerned him was that Zel would give him the notice he had requested too soon, and that he wouldn't be able to dissuade Zel from going. Gourry hadn't yet managed to make his feelings and intentions plain to the chimera. So far, Zel was shutting him out, allowing no progress in discovering what Zel was hiding, what it was that had caused the subtle changes in the shaman that Gourry could sense more than see. The swordsman felt the need to help Zel through that first before asking the young man to deal with the revelation that Gourry wanted Zel to be a permanent part of his life.

What was more, he hadn't broached the subject with Lina, either. Gourry had already made his choice. He wouldn't hesitate to leave her if he had to in order to stick with Zelgadis; but he hated to do it without warning, and without her understanding why. It would hurt her, despite the fact that she didn't technically need Gourry to be her protector. The swordsman didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to be set back in his elusive relationship with Zel, either, and he had a feeling that tagging after the shaman without Zel's understanding and consent would do just that.

The blonde man rose from his place, paced the few steps to the fire, and gave it a few good pokes, watching the sparks rain up and out. The tiny, glowing points swirled, wisped, and filtered out toward the darkness before winking out. He watched them silently, delving into his own thoughts, as he had so often done over the past several days, for the answer to his dilemma. What he needed to do was to uncover the reasons behind Zel's guardedness. Once he did that, he would have some knowledge of the territory he was treading; enough, maybe, to avoid a misstep that would only hurt Zel or make him retreat further within his self-imposed walls. The shaman had responded to the swordsman's careful and concerned inquiry about the brief encounter with Xellos by explaining that he took great exception to the mazoku's idea of 'helping'. That made perfect sense, and was understandable, but Gourry's instinct told him that it was not the whole truth. Still, what could he do about that? Pressing for more did no good, and calling Zel a liar was absolutely not going to help him gain the shaman's confidence. Gourry needed to do something, or else the invisible, intangible fortress Zelgadis had raised long ago to protect himself, this emotional stronghold he seemed to be reinforcing with every passing day, would eventually make the chimera its prisoner, and leave Gourry forever locked out, exiled from the one person he wanted most, even if that person stayed right by his side.

Zel sat staring into the fire, vaguely aware of Gourry's presence. He had spent a long stretch of days with the little company, far longer than he had originally intended. But then, the most pressing reason for his anticipated departure, the most practical excuse for his cowardice, had been Xellos' plans, Xellos' influence on the group, and therefore on him. And that factor had changed unexpectedly, leaving him to confront the naked face of the hopes and fears he had been avoiding for longer than he could remember.

Once he had gotten over his shock and despair at the appearance of Xellos, he had stood there powerless, watching the mazoku comprehend that Zel had concealed the truth from his companions, seeing the bastard's growing amusement, yet unable to do anything to escape the web he had effectively helped Xellos to weave. But Xellos had let him go - - had not only left his secret intact, but had made certain that Zelgadis knew that the trickster priest's bargain with the sorcerer had been ended. Of course, he might easily have been lying. Zel had had the entire night to contemplate that, while he and the others put distance between them and any pursuit. By the time they had made camp, just before dawn, he had decided that he would have to treat it as the truth, because the only other option was running, and he had no where to run to. If he ran, it would be not from Xellos, who could easily find the shaman whenever he liked, but from his. . . friends.

It was difficult for him to use that word. It implied trust, and, just as Xellos had commented silently with his smirk, Zel hadn't trusted those three people who were closest to him to believe and support him against Xellos. It also implied that he was worthy of their regard, and if he had once believed that to be possible, he didn't now.

And yet. . . he could no longer deny that he needed them.

Zel was assuming that Xellos' offer of reprieve was true, and it might very well be. The mazoku had, after all, made certain of Lina and company's discovery, and he must have known what the general outcome of that would be. Xellos' plans had certainly undergone some kind of shift. The sorcerer might have changed his mind and refused whatever favor it was that Xellos was requesting, or he might not have been capable of it in the first place, and the mazoku had discovered the mistake or deception. Perhaps the mage had died as a result of some spell or experiment, or at the hands of the enemies he had been so wary of. Zel rather viciously hoped for the latter; it would mean that he needn't worry about the sorcerer's continued pursuit now that the mage had learned of his existence. For whatever reason, Xellos' plans no longer included using Zel as payment for the favor he sought. Zel's life was once again his own, for the time being. However, the chimera remained aware that Xellos was highly unlikely to have given up on the heart of his plan, and whatever that was it gave Zel a bad feeling. One of the most likely scenarios, in Zel's mind, was that Xellos intended to get what he wanted from Lina, as he usually did. Conceivably, she didn't yet have the ability to provide it, and that was why Xellos had gone elsewhere at first. But since that hadn't worked out, the mazoku might do what he had done in the past - - make sure that she learned or acquired whatever was needed to give Xellos what he wanted. Zel was reluctant to leave Lina blind to that possibility, but he hadn't yet found a way to make her aware of it without revealing far more than he wanted to.

Then too, in Xellos' mind, once Zel left his companions he was fair game for whatever other uses the mazoku might conceive for him. Mindful that he was not alone, he barely suppressed a shiver. He had been given a vivid demonstration of what those uses might be, and he had no desire to revisit that particular fate.

Zel knew he had a decision to make. It had been easy and straightforward when he had believed that Xellos would try to use Lina and the others as his couriers. Zel could bear neither the responsibility for involving them in Xellos' plans nor the thought of their betrayal of him, witting or unwitting. Now the issue was more complicated. Stay with the group of people that he cared about, even though he was terrified of investing the last of his self with them, lest somehow that fail - - or leave the only thing that resembled the life he wanted and resign himself to an empty existence alone, simply because the hollowness was less frightening than the possibility of so much pain. Either way, he had promised himself that the choice was final. Xellos had forced some hard lessons on him, and while he held no gratitude toward the mazoku for that, he couldn't ignore or deny what he had learned. Those very revelations had turned his existence upside down and inside out, left nearly every hope and goal of his old life an empty husk, and he simply could not return to the blind stumbling and illusions of before.

Zelgadis sensed movement to one side, and paused in his soul-searching to give his attention to the swordsman moving toward the fire. He, too observed the sparks that Gourry stirred from the heart of the fire dancing away from the blaze like fireflies, venturing into the pitch of the night before they grew cold and died. He closed his eyes, watching the after-image of the fire flicker against the backs of his eyelids, and forced himself to remember everything that had happened to him, searching for the answer he needed.

«flashback»

"Damn you, Xellos," he hissed, yanking at the chains that bound him, though he was even more certain than he had been that it was useless. "I'm not some kind of magical toy or instrument to play around with and use to increase your power, as you and Rezo seem to think!"

The priest wasn't deterred in the slightest. He lowered his finger to hook it in Zel's collar, but kept his face so close to the chimera's that their noses were nearly touching. One eyebrow lifted.

"Oh, are you so certain of that, Zelgadis? And what plans am I keeping you from? Self-pity? Your delusional quest to return to "normal"? Perhaps since I spoke with you last night you have gained some worthwhile goal I know nothing of."

Zel failed to answer the mazoku's stinging words, glaring hatefully at him.

"I rather thought not. Well, if you refuse to do anything of consequence or meaning with your life, and insist on playing the part of fate's puppet, perhaps you shouldn't be surprised or indignant if someone more ambitious finds a better use for you."

Xellos lifted his finger from the collar of Zel's shirt and brushed it gently over the darker, raised stones that highlighted the underlying bone structure of the chimera's face, while Zel called on all his will power not to give him the satisfaction of flinching. The mazoku fed on pain, fear, and despair. At that moment, Zelgadis had the uncomfortable certainty that Xellos was tasting him.

"I, myself, can think of several uses for you, Zelgadis, far more interesting than those the sorcerer has planned."

Xellos let his finger come to rest at Zel's jaw line, then cupped the chimera's chin and tilted it up, skimming his lips lightly over Zel's face as he brought them next to his captive's ear and whispered, those lips stroking delicately at Zel's ear with each word, "In fact, I don't think he would mind if I played with you a bit before I hand you over." The hand that wasn't holding Zel's head in place came up behind his back, undoing the buckle of his swordbelt. "It doesn't seem fair for me to lose my chance to do all the lovely things I have in mind; after all, I saw you first." Sharp teeth scraped Zel's neck, and the hand at his lower back slipped up his tunic and under the waistband of his pants.

Zelgadis trembled slightly with shock and a stab of pure revulsion, and then jerked his head away. The mazoku's grip was not tight; he let the chimera go without any difficulty, and took a step back.

"Don't touch me," Zel growled. "I'm sure these men are quite happy to sell me and collect their gold. But I'm also sure that if they found you making overtures to the monster they would be sickened enough to drive you away and have nothing to do with you; not from any concern over what becomes of me, but because they'll see you for the. . . thing that you are."

Xellos laughed. "You're threatening to call for help? Not at all something I expected from you, Zelgadis. Refreshing, if a bit naïve. Humans fear the unknown, but they are also drawn to it. Since you're no longer a danger to them, Zelgadis, I'm sure they find you fascinating. The fact that they don't consider you a person would only make it easier for them to justify my behavior. Something along the lines of ravishing one of those exotic woodland nymphs."

The mazoku stroked his fingers through Zel's wiry hair, moving it out of the youth's eyes with a lingering caress.

"You've always held such loathing for your chimeric body, wanted so badly to escape it. . . it's quite mystifying, really. Your appearance is certainly unusual, strikingly so, but hardly grotesque, Zelgadis. It is that tangible air of cold defensiveness that gives people pause, and makes them think they may have reason to fear you, not your face. That is merely a convenient excuse, both for them and for you." Xellos sighed, and it held a touch of exasperation and hint of longing.

"So call if you like, Zelgadis, but you won't get the reaction you'd hoped for. These men see you as a demon, true, but keeping that in mind. . . " Xellos moved his hand to the back of Zel's head and took a handful of the silver hair in a tight fist, his grip this time unbreakable. ". . .for a demon, you're a delicate beauty."

His mouth attacked Zel's swiftly, a deep, savage invasion; then he drew back before Zel could resist or even react. Zel fought down the urge to gag, his expression a mixture of horror and fury and fear breaking through as his mask began to crumble.

Xellos opened his hand and released Zelgadis. "Sweet," he murmured with his customary smile, tracing his own lips thoughtfully with his tongue.

"Still, I have no time for arguments or indulgences right now. I must pay a visit to our patron sorcerer. I'll be sure to mention to your keepers how they might make the best use of their charge in the time it will take to journey there and deliver you to our client. Perhaps another time, my lovely and foolish Zelgadis."

He faded from sight, leaving Zelgadis alone in the dusty silence and gathering dark of the tent.

He didn't return, and his suggestions to Zel's captors were not what he had threateningly implied. They were more practical, consisting of procuring extra money for expenses and the goodwill of the people whose dwellings they passed by putting their prisoner on display for view at a reasonable fee. If the thought ever crossed his captors' minds that Zelgadis was even a little human, they seemed determined to ignore or deny it. They were equally adamant in the pains they took to ensure that he did not pose a danger to them, but learned his place and stayed there. The enchanted chains nullified all of his magical abilities, besides serving as purely physical restraint. And as closely guarded as they kept him, he had no chance to steal, make, or conceal a weapon or any instrument with which to pick the locks on his shackles. But those were, like trying to reason with them, efforts that he considered only in the beginning. As time passed, he spent more and more of his energy on following the rules they imposed, and on not earning worse treatment. He might be very hard to kill, but, just like anyone else, he could be punished or controlled in other ways.

Zel hated the utter helplessness and dependence they forced on him. He knew that it was simply a method of keeping him firmly in check, of reducing any risk to themselves by breaking him. That made it no less effective. Speaking was futile at best, received with uncomprehending, blank-eyed stares. At worst, it elicited suspicion and fear, and earned him a gag. It wasn't long before Zel, never a very vocal individual, stopped speaking altogether. He spent every moment, whether waking or asleep, under their observation and scrutiny. He wasn't permitted to feed himself, or to bathe himself, naturally. Still, as much as he despised it, he was well aware that there were worse degradations, and it was the threat of such that kept him complaisant.

By the time they had passed through the first few towns, the men had grown tired of answering the same questions - - what did the rest of it look like? Was it male or female? That one surprised them at first, since Xellos had referred to their 'demon' as male, and they had never entertained a thought about it themselves. But time and again, they received the same responses. It was a demon, wasn't it? It seemed terribly small and rather pretty for a demon. And, since it was made of stone and was a demon, how were they to judge by conventional standards? They couldn't tell by the softness one associated with human women. It's chest was flat, but then, what use had a demon, especially one of stone, for breasts? Then there was the slight curve to its waist and hips. . .

The men had expected the questions about any danger the demon posed. They weren't prepared to stand on hand to answer theories on gender, though maybe they should have expected it from farmers. They cut off Zel's clothing, since it was too concealing, burned it, and gave him a cast off tunic instead that left his arms and legs and a good part of his chest in easy view. It put a stop to most of the questions, and those still curious simply lifted the cloth of the skirt and had a look themselves. Though none of the crowd were inclined to exploit him in the way that Xellos had wished to, they readily indulged their inquisitiveness by touching, prodding, and examining nearly every part of him, and Zel spent several days gagged after his curses and scathing insults had frightened more than a few customers. By the time the gag was removed, he felt no less violated, but managed to relinquish his dignity and hold his silence after his captors threatened that he simply be left naked.

With nothing to do except endure the perpetual nightmare of his current existence and search for some means to escape it, Zelgadis' thoughts turned inward, curling again and again around Xellos' taunts. He couldn't discount or forget them. . . their accuracy was thrown in his face each and every day.

The mazoku had been right about one thing that Zel had never imagined. Stripped of his power and forbidding demeanor, people did find him fascinating and attractive, to varying degrees. He could hardly be glad of the way in which they were currently expressing their interest, but. . . had he been so wrong all this time to think that he must terrify and disgust everyone who encountered him? It was an almost laughable hope, in the midst of his plight, but nevertheless tenacious because it struck at the core of his ceaseless searching. Was it possible that someone might want him, even as he was? Not these men, who thought him a strange and pretty toy with no will of its own, but someone who could accept all of him?

He had always assumed that everything would be different once he regained his human form. Then people would treat him as they treated other people. The problem with that logic, the flaw in his goal that nagged at him, was that he was in the perfect position, his attention practically forced, to witness the way the endless stream of humanity that passed him dealt with each other, and with his captors. It was true that they used the chimera, treated him like an object, or property; but they also used one another, all of them, in some way. If he ever did find a way to break Rezo's spell, was this what he had to look forward to? He had always entertained a different idea. . . one that was obviously rather fanciful and hopelessly idealized. It was impossible now for him to think he would have longed for the approval of people like this. He was inclined to admit that, once again, Xellos had been right - - all his searching and self-deprivation had been a waste of time, of life.

That was a bitter admission for him, but one he was finding impossible to avoid. He had been hiding from his life, letting others dictate it, sometimes growing sour over his lack of control or fulfillment, and yet never taking any steps to change that. If he tried realistically to picture his future, the future he would want, there were at least two people in it, probably three. Amelia, perhaps, and of course Lina and Gourry. And he had tried to distance himself from them, from the very life he truly wanted, time and time again, convinced that they couldn't accept him as he was, when in reality it was he who hadn't been able to accept. He was no better than Xellos, or the band of men who were his captors, or the endless parade of people who examined and scrutinized him. He, too, had denied himself, as he was, the status of a person. He, too, had reserved that for one who was human in appearance - - his future self.

For the first time, he had to face the probability that if he hid from his life, pretending that it would wait in limbo indefinitely, everything would be chosen for him. Possibilities weren't some vague, invisible gift he received along with a cure. They existed now, all around him; and if many were not pretty or pleasant, he had only himself to blame for ignoring them if he was caught in a fate he despised.

«present»

Zelgadis stopped himself, unwilling to remember any further. The important thing was that he had reminded himself not to repeat his past mistakes. He wasn't going to let his fears drive him away from his traveling companions. This time he was going to choose his own future, and do so carefully, fully mindful of who and what he was, and who and what he wasn't. Gourry. . . Gourry had said that Zel was important to him. Zel wanted with all his soul for that to be true, and he thought that it was. What he needed to know before he made his final decision was why. If he was going to make his life with these people, he would have to accept the place they were willing to give him, which he had never really done in the past. He needed to know what that role was now, and what it would be.

The shaman rose from his place by the fire, drained by his recollections and the prospect of the task ahead. He made his way silently to his bedroll, unconscious of the blue eyes that followed him wistfully.

Gourry watched Zel go, and he felt uncharacteristically helpless. Nothing he did seemed to reach Zel. Remote as the shaman seemed now, it was hardly an improvement over the way Zel had behaved when they were trying to find an inn and figure out what had happened to him. Zel's tears had been hard for Gourry, and they had made him ache, but at least they had been real. When Zel had just suddenly stopped like that, in the middle of their attempts to convince him to let them take care of him - - stopped crying, stopped arguing, seemingly stopped feeling anything - - it had made Gourry feel cold with fear, fear for Zel. The chimera had almost seemed like the walking dead: no hope, no will of his own, nothing. He couldn't guess the cause of it then, and he had been willing to let it go for a time once Zel appeared to shake the worst of it off, but now he had to figure it out. Whatever had done that to Zel back then was still at work, the shaman was just better able to hide it now.

Gourry frowned. Zel was concealing something, something very important, about his capture and the sorcerer responsible for it. If the swordsman couldn't find out somehow what it was, and help Zel to deal with it, he was going to lose Zel, and he couldn't handle that, not again.

§ tbc §

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