He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn't play for the money he wins
He doesn't play for respect
"Call."
Cobalt eyes looked into grey-green as the cards were laid down.
"Full house, kings high."
"Ah, damn," the other man said, throwing his cards face down in disgust. "I can't believe this. I thought for sure you were bluffing."
"That should teach you to play poker with someone with a face of stone," another of the players said jokingly.
The winner's eyes snapped around to the speaker. "I'd watch my tongue if I were you, Janson," he said in a quiet voice that was more deadly than any shout could ever be.
Janson held up his hands in surrender. "No offense," he said. "Just joking. You don't have to take it personal-like," he said in the strange drawl that was common in this section of the world. "You gotta admit, though, that stone face of your gives you a decided advantage over us. You don't give anything away."
"I don't have to admit anything of the kind," the winner said coldly. "Now if you're going to play, play. Otherwise, shut up." His eyes were flinty. His voice was calm but not threatening. He never threatened; he just made grim promises.
"Nope," said another of the three men playing poker with the Chimera. "You've cleaned me out. Time for me to be gitting back to my ranch and finding a way to explain to the missus how I lost her milk money." He stood up, swinging his leg over the chair and reached for the wide-brimmed hat the men out here habitually wore. The other two murmured similar replies and also left, calling good-byes to other patrons on their way out the saloon doors.
Zelgadis watched them leave, almost sorry to see them go, so much so that he got an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sighing, he wondered when this turn of events had come about. When did he, the Ultimate Loner, come to crave the company of others, much less frequent seedy saloons and play cards with anyone willing?
He looked at the winning hand spread out in front of him, lying atop a small collection of coins, mostly silver, a few copper and one or two gold. It wasn't as if he really needed the money, though it did come in handy way out here in lands that were sparsely populated. And there were certainly other ways he could have gotten it rather than just wandering into a town saloon and finding the poker game that was certainly being played. It never bothered him when he lost, either; money won gambling was a pipe-dream anyway: Easy come, easy go. He still had other methods of bartering that had nothing to do with money.
His attention turned to the cards themselves. Perhaps because he was in a melancholy mood, they seemed to take on a greater significance than simply the spread of a winning hand. "Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, pushing them away and looking out the grime-encrusted window at the dusty street outside. But he couldn't shake the feeling.
As he watched the goings-on in the street outside, his mind drifted back to when he had first learned to play poker. It had been Rodimus and Zolf who had taught the young disciple of Rezo's, just one of the many things they'd taught him. Young and unacquainted with the game, he had been easy pickings for them at first, and they made a regular habit of relieving him of what little money he had. Until, that is, he learned that the game was based on probabilities and patterns and not chance. It was then that they learned he had a quick mind and excellent memory and could figure the probabilities in his head. And that he had a perfect poker face. And then they started loosing their money. Although, when Dilgear arrived on the scene, he was someone they could all fleece.
Unconsciously, Zelgadis clenched his hand on the table. He hadn't thought of either Rodimus or Zolf for quite a while; it was too painful. For a long time, they'd been the nearest things he could call 'friends.' Rodimus had been a good mentor, teaching him swordplay, and Zolf ... Well, Zolf had been good company even if he had been a trifle ... unstable. He'd learned a lot from the man and had been deeply affected when Shabranigdu had destroyed the two of them. Though he'd never let anyone else see the pain.
As for Dilgear ... Briefly he wondered whatever had become of Dilgear. The last he'd seen of him was when Rodimus and Zolf had dispatched the werewolf/troll chimera and yet he knew that hadn't been the end of the pin-headed lackey of Rezo's.
Immediately, his mouth twisted at the thought of his grandfather. Why couldn't that man just let him live in peace? He stared at his clenched hand on the table. No. There would be no peace until he found a way to be human again. As long as he had this ... monstrosity of a body, he would never be able to rest.
He deals the cards to find theanswer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden law of a probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance
The cards drew his attention again, like a toothache that demands attention even though a probing tongue produces nothing but pain. Looking at the table and the cards spread in front of him, he noted how one of the cards had slid across the slick surface of the others so it crossed the other four: The Queen of Diamonds.
Zelgadis reached forward and pulled the queen off the other four and spread them out. Two Queens and two Kings. As he pulled the cards towards him, he spread them apart and looked at them closer. They were actually the King and Queen of Spades and the King and Queen of Hearts. The Queen of Diamonds was the odd card out here.
Picking them up, he looked past their obvious meanings as just playing cards. The suits were older than the current playing deck, he knew, and had been used for telling fortunes, each card with its own special significance. He had no idea what those meanings might have been; he'd always considered such things a bunch of superstitious hooey. Real divination had nothing to cards. But now ... As he studied them, they seemed to take on a deeper, more personal meaning in his mind.
He picked out the black king: The King of Spades. In the old deck, spades had originally been Swords, he mused. Unwittingly, his mind immediately conjured the image of the best swordsman he knew, and the only man he called friend, Gourry Gabriev. The tall blonde swordsman had uncanny reflexes, speed and strength; balancing a coin on his sword, he could slice it in two perfect halves. He also had a kind heart and unswerving loyalty to his friends. Too bad he was less than the brightest star in the sky.
Setting that one down, he picked out its mate: The Queen of Spades. Even though she was more skilled in magic than swordplay, Lina's face came to mind as he studied the card. Lina was the master of Black Magic, perhaps the best on the planet. She'd grown beyond Black Magic and harnessed Nightmare Magic -- channeling the Lord of Nightmares herself. And the Ragna Blade was Lina's most powerful spell now that she'd sealed the Giga Slave away, so perhaps it was fitting that she be represented by Spades. Besides that, she and Gourry were inseparable.
He smiled a sardonic half-smile as he laid the Queen on top of the King and looked at the pair of them. He wondered if they'd finally admitted to each other what everyone else was painfully aware of. It'd been several months since they'd all parted ways after defeating Dark Star. Had they gone back to the lands inside the Barrier? Or had they chosen to stay and wander around the new lands, looking for bandits who had never heard of Lina Inverse the Bandit Killer? Zelgadis sighed; why was it suddenly so important to him?
Mouth twisting, he slammed the cards down and folded his arms over his chest as he slouched in his chair. What was wrong with him? he thought angrily to himself. He shouldn't be here wasting time in a saloon playing card games when he should be out searching for his cure.
His cure. He made a sound of disgust and signaled the girl at the bar for another cup of coffee. He picked up the now cold remains of his last mug and drained the rest of it, grimacing at the bitter taste it left in his mouth. Just as his never-ending quest for his quest had come to be a bitter taste in his soul, but one that he could no more do without than the beverage. And yet, like the money won gambling, his cure seemed no more than yet another pipe-dream. Lead after lead had dried-up, petered-out, evaporated, gone bye-bye within his grasp. Would he spend the rest of his life chasing this will-o-the-wisp until there was nothing left of his life? Yes, he thought. He couldn't stop until he found it. He had to become human again. There was no question about of that. He had ... reasons.
As he sat there, pondering these questions, the swinging doors opened and a cloaked man entered. Zelgadis barely looked up as he passed, instead remaining absorbed in his own thoughts, noting only that someone had entered and had taken a seat at the end of the bar and unslung something that he carried over his back.
He looked at the cards again, as if expecting to find some answers to his questions there. He picked up the Queen of Diamonds again and looked at her. Whoever had inked this deck had given her green eyes to remind the player that this Queen was often associated with the Green-Eyed Lady Whose Name is Never Spoken. Zelgadis' mouth twitched in contempt. Superstitious lot, thinking that simply by speaking aloud a concept called "luck," they could jinx themselves by bringing her attention to bare upon you.
Laying the Queen of Diamonds down to the side, he sipped his coffee and examined the last two cards: The King and Queen of Hearts. Now if Lina and Gourry were the King and Queen of Spades, then it was obvious that Amelia was the Queen of Hearts. The spunky little Princess would not only be a Queen one day, but had enough heart to hold the world. A "just and true" heart as she'd put it on so many occasions. Zelgadis' lips turned upwards in a wry, slightly sad smile as he thought of Seyruun's Princess. Even for all her ranting about truth and justice, she was a good kid. The world needed more people like her. It would drive him batty, having to listen to them all go on for hours about justice, but the world would certainly be a little less dark than what it was. And that would most certainly be worth the price.
Amelia's card was laid on the top of the others representing his friends. Three of four companions represented; one card left. But the last card was one he would hardly have chosen to represent himself. There's no way he would ever describe himself as the King of Hearts. His heart was hard and cold and as monstrous as the rest of him. That was the problem with trying to find answers in something as ridiculous as a winning hand of poker: The answer was only half right.
He tossed the card onto the table with a sound of disgust and leaned back in his chair. What's the matter with me, he wondered. Trying to find answers in a handful of cards? What answers did he need other than his cure so he could be human again? He needed to get out of here, clear his head of these silly notions. There were no answers in the cards; none for him, at any rate. He had work to do.
Even as he was thinking this, something tickled the back of his mind. Zelgadis leaned forward to scrape his meager winnings together, his mind stopped thinking about the cards long enough to register the fact that someone was playing a guitar nearby. Leaving the coins for a moment, he sat back and looked around. It was the stranger who had come in just a few moments ago while he'd been deep in thought. The man was seated in a chair near the cold fireplace and was strumming idly on a guitar across his lap. Mesmerized, Zelgadis watched his fingers dance across the strings and produce the soft, sad notes of a tune that twisted his mind. He played the final chords and his fingers became still.
Zelgadis felt as if something inside him had gone missing as the last notes faded away; something important that he needed to get back. Dumping his winnings into his purse, he launched himself out of the chair and wove through the unoccupied tables to the player. "What was that you were just playing?" he demanded of the man as he got close. He pulled a chair out and turned it around to sit on it backwards and stared intently at the man.
The other man looked up from his guitar, startled, only to be faced with a blue-skinned chimera. "Uh, what?" he asked, golden eyes dull and distant. "What did you say?"
"I asked you what that song you were playing was called?"
"I don't know," the stranger said. "I wasn't playing anything, just letting my fingers do what they wanted. I wasn't really paying attention ... " He trailed off as if trying to remember.
"No," Zelgadis insisted. "You were playing some tune. Play it again."
The other man looked at him strangely. "I swear to you; I wasn't playing anything." His golden eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"
Zelgadis backed away under the other man's gaze. "No reason." He lefted himself out of the chair and was about to turn and walk away when he paused suddenly. "Your guitar. Will you sell it to me?"
"What? Are you kidding?" The man grabbed the neck of his guitar protectively and sat up straight. "This guitar is my livelihood!"
"What if I gave you ... " Zelgadis reached into his purse and scooped out everything he had just won and scattered it on the table next to the man. It was a healthy sum to which he added another handful of gold coins.
The busker's eyes bugged. "You're kidding me! All that for a guitar?"
"Yes. All of it."
The other man eyed the money for several seconds. Swallowing, he reached forward and spread out the pile, counting the number of gold pieces Zelgadis had thrown on top of the silver and copper pieces. "There's three times as much as what my guitar is worth here. I can't possibly take all that for it."
"Take it. Just give me the guitar."
The busker took another look at the old but still serviceable guitar: The worn sounding box, the broken tuning peg, cracked bridge, chipped finish ... He'd been meaning to get a new one, but had never been able to bring himself to part with this one. And yet ... His conscience refused to let him sell it for that price.
"It's not worth that much. Surely you could travel to Gehn and get a new one for half what you're offering me."
Zelgadis shook his head. "I'm not headed to Gehn; I'm going east around the desert. I'd like to have the guitar with me to keep me company." He pushed the money towards the other man. "Take it."
He shook his head setting his black braids to swinging. "All right. If you want it, it's yours." He handed it to Zelgadis and reached down and picked up the oiled felt covering. "She's a little old, but she's got a good sound to her. Just be careful with the tuning peg. It slips."
The Chimera nodded and laid the guitar in the case and did up the catches. "Thanks." With that he went back to his chair to collect his cloak and sword, put them on, slung the guitar and his pack over his shoulder and left the saloon without a backwards glance.
The wind sighed through the canyon walls as Zelgadis wandered along the path that wound its way snake-like along the base of the sheer walls. It skirted the tumbled rocks that lay at the feet of the cliffs, some as large as houses, weaving in and out from underneath impossible overhangs. The wind picked up the fine dust and twisted it into small dust devils, alternately pursuing and fleeing from him across the barren landscape. The wind also brought the aromatic scent of sage, the sweet tang of cedar and juniper, and the rich scent of wet earth that was a sure sign of water. It was the last that interested him the most; he was nearly out of water and needed more. The next town was over two days' walk away by his reckoning and he had only enough to last him another few hours.
He rounded the shoulder of a large butte and found himself in a picturesque little setting: The butte was split into a deep canyon where a small stream ran through it to collect in a mirror-like pool just under the entrance to the canyon. Low, scrubby cedars sprouted along the bank and his arrival disturbed several of the large lizards indigenous to the area.
Crouching down, Zelgadis carefully put his guitar down then slid down the rocks worn smooth by centuries monsoonal rains to the shelf that projected out over the water. Once on it, he knelt by the water and put his hand into it. It felt cool and refreshing; he'd been walking in the hot sun for several days. Cupping his hands, he brought a handful of the clear, cool water to his face and sniffed carefully. It smelled perfectly harmless and he'd seen the lizards drinking from it. Deciding it was safe, he sipped at it, then repeated the gesture, this time drinking deeply from his cupped hands.
Several more scoops satisfied his thirst and then he filled his canteens. Before he filled the one he was wearing at his belt, he unscrewed the lid and carefully removed the pink ribbon to which a blue jewel was attached. Unaware of it, the Chimera's expression softened as he gently laid the bracelet aside then filled the canteen. Replacing the bracelet over the neck, he secured the lid and clipped it back to his belt. His fingers lingered on the round jewel with the hexagram floating deep inside, and he actually smiled wistfully for a moment.
A scraping noise behind distracted him: The sound of claws scraping on stone. He whipped around and found himself staring into the red eyes of a nightmare. A large creature that looked like the result from a mating between a bird and a snake reared on the top of the rise behind him. The snake-like part of it was as thick around as his arm and from the number of coils looped up, it was probably nearly ten feet long. Two small feet sprouted from the body near the "neck," which was now reared back and staring intently at him. A long, thin tongue flicked in and out from a wickedly carved beak; he could see the sun glint on the edges and guessed they were probably sharp enough to shear through bone. Thick venom dripped from the edges. A leathery crest sprouted from the back of its head lending it even more of an avian appearance.
Quickly, he looked away from the eyes, yet he felt himself going cold at the mere glance he'd caught of them. Damn, he thought to himself. A basilisk. He'd heard of them but never actually seen one. From the descriptions he'd heard, this was a pretty big one, too. Magical beasts, they could freeze with their stare.
As he thought this, the basilisk lowered itself to the ground and slithered down the rock. He reached down and stuffed the second canteen into his pack and looked behind him. The water was deepest here; probably about six feet or so if he judged it correctly. It would just have to be, wouldn't it?
The sound of scales on rock drew his attention back to the monster behind him. It was sliding down the rock with definite ideas of making a meal of him. While he was certain he would probably not agree with the thing's stomach, he didn't want to find out. The only escape was across the water.
Slowly he straightened until he was standing on the ledge. The basilisk stopped and reared back, hissing at him and spreading its crest. Careful to avoid looking into the thing's eyes, Zelgadis held up his hand. "Fireball," he said softly, directing a surge of power through his hand and into the air to combust it. The fireball shot forward and enveloped the creature. And Zelgadis stared in disbelief as the flames dissipated before they could touch it.
The flames enraged the basilisk. Raising itself on its coils, it towered over Zelgadis. Still in shock, he backpedaled a step before he realized he had nowhere to go. His boot slipped on the wet slickrock and he plunged into the water. Striking out furiously with arms and legs, he fought to get to where the water was shallower.
He felt something wrap around his arm and pull him up. Something that froze his stony flesh and burned painfully at the same time. Kicking his way to the surface, he put his feet down and felt something solid underneath them. Standing, he grabbed at the loops of the basilisk's body coiled around his arm. The thing was cold; so unnaturally cold it burned his hand where he grabbed it.
The basilisk brought its head around and snapped at him. He jerked backwards, knocking himself off his feet in the process and into the water. His pack was gone and the thing's coils were tight around him, moving from his arm down around his waist, freezing him. His teeth were chattering and he grabbed the thing around the neck and held it at arm's length. The cruel beak snapped repeatedly at him, coming closer and closer to him as his arms shook with pain. His stomach turned at the stench of the thing's breath, fetid like rotting meat and worse.
His grip on it was slipping as his fingers stiffened. Gritting his teeth, he fought to get a better purchase, but it slipped out of his grasp. Zelgadis saw a flash only moments before the evilly hooked beak clamped down where his neck met his shoulder. His scream echoed around the canyon walls as it ground the sharp edges into his stony skin, not even seeming to notice that he was made of stone and not flesh.
The pain galvanized him into action. Grabbing the leathery crest, he pulled on it until the basilisk let go of his shoulder with a screech of rage. The flashing beak snapped mere inches from his face, but he grabbed the creature's neck and bent it back on itself. Teeth bared in a snarl, the Chimera used all his demon strength to push it back. Grabbing the neck with his other hand under the first one, he twisted. Bones snapped under his crushing grip and the thing thrashed. He squeezed harder and it went limp. Shaking with more than just cold, he gave the creature's neck another twist, ripping its head from its body.
For several moments, all he could do was sit there waist-deep in water and panting. His hands were stiff and sore where they were still locked around the basilisk's neck. Seeping coldness from its coils wrapped around him made him shiver. Gagging from the smell of the blood that darkened his hands, he lifted his hand to cast the head away from him. He froze; if he threw the head into the water, the thing's venom would poison the spring. Instead he tossed it onto the rocks nearby. Shrugging off the coils of the snake-like body, he found the thing had managed to lodge its talons into his arm. Grunting, he yanked them out then hissed with the pain. Standing, he gathered up the coils and with a mighty heave, he threw them over to join the head.
Wearily, he leaned over and rested his hands on his knees. As he watched, blood ran down his left hand and dripped into the water. He went to his knees and put his hand to his shoulder and hissed with the pain: The basilisk's beak had left two deep gashes in his skin which were bleeding profusely. The blood flowed from between his fingers and the flesh around the wounds burned. Quickly, he cast a healing spell but could only concentrate long enough to get them closed and the bleeding stopped.
"Have to get out of the water," he muttered to himself, going cold with shock. Zelgadis looked around for his pack and found it floating nearby. Leaning out, he was suddenly overcome with dizziness and fell forward. He only just caught himself before he pitched headfirst into the water, jarring his wounded shoulder and arm in the process. He gasped and bit off a cry, but managed to snag the strap to his pack and pull it towards him. Lurching to his feet, he sloshed out of the water and up the slickrock. He slipped as his wet boots could find no purchase on the stone and fell heavily to his knees, jarring his wounded shoulder. Biting off a scream, Zelgadis knelt there a moment, teeth buried deep in his lip from the pain. When the bright lights had stopped flashing in front of his eyes, he crawled up the embankment and tumbled over the edge and into the sunlight.
When he came to, Zelgadis found himself lying in a heap in the dust. His head was pounding and felt stuffed with cotton wool and there was a loud buzzing in his ears. Pushing himself up, he fell back as pain lanced up his arm. He tried again, this time being more careful about what he was supporting himself on, he lifted himself and felt his shoulder, pulling back the tattered ruins of his tunic to inspect the damage. Through he had healed the wounds, the skin around the fresh scars was an angry purplish-red and the flesh hot and puffy to his gently probing fingers. He grimaced again; he should be immune to most types of venom. Quickly, he cast another healing spell to try and stop the spread. The pain and the discoloration faded under the healing energy and he let out a sigh of relief.
That taken care of, he wrinkled his nose at the stench of old blood that clung to him. His tunic was stiff with it and the smell was attracting a horde of flies which was the source of the buzzing that had awakened him. It was also attracting the attention of several buzzards that had found the basilisk's corpse and were fighting over it, emitting raucous cries just over the ridge. One was sitting on the rise above him and eyeing him as if wondering if he would make a good meal or not.
Jumpy from the fight with the basilisk, Zelgadis swallowed against a painfully dry throat. Not taking his eyes from the buzzard, he reached for his pack and pulled it towards him. As it dragged through the dust, there was a flash of movement from beneath it as something struck his hand. Striking out instinctively, the Chimera caught the snake around the neck and only barely stopped himself from dispatching it with a squeeze of his hand. Grimacing, he held the sand-colored snake out at arm's length while it coiled around his arm as it tried to free itself. With a sound of disgust, he threw the snake away from him and staggered to his feet. Looking down at his hand, he saw the broken fangs where they'd dislodged in his skin. Quickly, he brushed them off and picked up his pack.
He had to get away from here quickly: Basilisks lived in family groups and where there was one, there would be others. He didn't relish the thought of meeting another of those creatures while wounded. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head for what protection from the sun it provided, he was about to head off into the desert when he remembered something. Turning, he stumbled back towards the spring and around to where he'd originally descended to the waterline and skidded to a halt. Smiling in spite of his pain, he picked up his guitar and slung it over his uninjured shoulder, settled it against his pack, then turned and made his way on down the trail.
I know that the spades are swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart
The sun set in a blaze of glory, turning the sky vivid shades of crimson, jade, gold and finally fading to a deep cobalt. The lone traveler that sat huddled in his blanket near a meager fire was in no condition to appreciate the glorious display going on overhead. He sat hunched over with the blanket clutched tightly about his shoulders and his hands cupped around a tin cup full of weak tea. He was shaking so hard the tea sloshed around the cup as he tried to sip it.
Managing to get a little into his mouth, he swallowed only to have his stomach protest. Grimacing, he set the cup aside and wished he could stomach some coffee, but he knew he just didn't feel like making it right now. Besides, he didn't have that much water left.
Zelgadis licked his dry lips and leaned forward so that his arms were resting on his knees and his forehead on his arms. Water. He needed to find some water, and find it soon. The problem was that he had no idea where he was. He'd been walking and must have gone into a daze because one minute he was on the trail and the next he was in the middle of a salt flat with no idea how he'd gotten there. He'd tried to follow his footsteps back to the trail, but the ever-present wind had eradicated them almost before he'd removed his foot from them. So here he was, camped in the shelter of a rock without a clue as to which way the next town lay.
To top it off, his shoulder and arm were killing him. The basilisk venom was affecting him more than he cared to admit; his flesh was hot to the touch and he was burning up with fever. But it shouldn't affect him like this, he thought to himself, clenching his hands as he fought against the pain. He was supposed to be immune to such things.
He sighed and shivered some more. "Great, Zelgadis," he muttered into his arms. "Now what are you going to do?"
"Perhaps I could be of help?"
The Chimera jumped so high that he actually came off the rock he was sitting on. The blanket slid to the ground as he reached for his sword, fumbling to get it out of the scabbard as his fever dulled his reflexes. He froze as he spotted the speaker. "Who are you?" he asked, so surprised that he forgot to be indignant at having been surprised.
"A friend," the man said from where he sat. He couldn't have been much taller than Zelgadis himself. His hair was black and pulled into two braids on either side of his face. Brilliant eyes the color of amber looked at the Chimera out of a fair-skinned face that was good-looking even if it wasn't handsome. His black buckskins had red feathers picked out along the sleeves and collar. He set the bag he carried over his shoulder on the ground carefully and held out his hand. "People call me Coyote," he said by way of introduction pronouncing it with only two syllables. He gestured to the sword. "You can put that away; I'm very harmless."
Zelgadis glared at him, wondering why he found Coyote's face familiar. "That's what they all say," he muttered but sheathed his sword and pulled the blanket around his shoulders again. The night had grown cold and the fire was small and he was shivering again.
Coyote leaned forward. "No, really. I really am harmless. Are you all right?" He put his hand on Zelgadis' shoulder -- the left one.
Hissing in pain, Zelgadis jerked back and slid off the rock that was his seat. "Don't!" he said, twisting away. The blanket and his cloak fell away to reveal the faded bloodstains and rents in the fabric.
Shaking his head, Coyote reached out to pull away the blanket. "You're hurt. Let me see."
Wincing, Zelgadis tried to push him away. "It's just a scratch -- "
The stranger was not being put off. "A scratch, my ass! That's a basilisk bite! A big one! Damn, where'd you find such a big sucker?" Ignoring Zelgadis' protests, he ripped the fabric away to expose the festering wound.
"Near a water hole ... Somewhere nearby. I got lost." Realizing that Coyote wasn't going to be put off, he stopped struggling and leaned back against the rock.
"That was a dumb thing to do. Should have stayed near the water." Coyote pulled a knife out of his belt and held it in the fire.
Zelgadis shook his head. "Couldn't. What if there had been more around?"
"You killed it, right?"
The Shaman nodded.
"Basilisks won't go near the scent of their own dead. You should have stayed there by the water instead of wandering around the desert going gods only know where. You would have been safe there." He turned the knife over in the flames then held it up and blew on it.
There was no answer to that. "Oh," he said lamely. He watched Coyote through squinted eyes. "What are you doing?"
"The wounds are festering. Healing them without getting the venom out was almost as stupid as leaving the water." He squatted near the Chimera and put a hand on his neck. "This is going to hurt."
Shaking his head, Zelgadis raised his own hand, trying to push the stranger off. "Won't work," he managed to get out. His head had started swimming moments ago and it was hard to focus.
"Trust me. I know what I'm doing. You just lie back and let Coyote help you." The other man leaned forward and touched the hot blade to Zelgadis' shoulder.
The pain lanced through the Chimera with such suddenness he screamed and clutched Coyote's arm. Somehow, the knife was slicing through his skin as if he were made of flesh and not stone. Immediately, however, the pain of the infected wound lessened considerably. He could feel the hot blood and fluid flow down his body even as Coyote ripped what was left of Zelgadis' tunic off and mopped it up.
"Gah," he managed to get out as he turned his head and wrinkled his nose against the stench. "What's that smell?"
"Basilisk venom," Coyote said, throwing the fabric into the fire and poking it with a stick to get it to catch. "You're lucky; if you'd been flesh and blood, you'd be dead." The stranger reached into his pack and pulled out a small leather bundle. Opening it, he dumped the contents into Zelgadis' empty cup and dumped a bit of water from his water bag into it. He set the cup near the fire to heat then turned his attention to the Chimera again. Squatting down, he used a clean cloth and some water to clean the wound. "So, your name is Zelgadis?" he asked in a conversational tone.
Head snapping around, Zelgadis looked into the stranger's golden eyes. "How did you know that?"
"Easy, easy. I heard you talking to yourself as I walked up, that's all." He threw the now blood-soaked cloth into the fire just as he had the other one.
The tension left Zelgadis' body. "Oh, I see. Yes, of course." He leaned back and shut his eyes. "Yes, I'm Zelgadis."
"Nice to meet you, Zelgadis," Coyote said. "Wish it could be under different circumstances, but I'm always glad to help where I'm needed."
Zelgadis forced his eyes open and looked at his visitor. "How did you do that?" he asked. "I'm made of stone; ordinary blades can't cut me."
Coyote gave him a crooked smile as he picked up the softly steaming mug. He used a stick to stir it, sniffed, then pulled out another cloth. "It's not an ordinary blade. It's enchanted. Comes in handy out here in the wilds where you find all sorts of beings. Most that would rather kill you than look at you." He poured the now dripping concoction out of the cup and onto the cloth he held.
The Chimera forced a wry smile. "Tell me about it." He winced as Coyote pressed the cloth to the wound in his shoulder.
"Easy, easy. This will dull the pain and help it heal. Don't want to use healing spells with basilisk venom because it needs to be drawn out of the body before you can start to heal."
Nodding, Zelgadis leaned his head back against the rock. "Gotcha. I'll remember that next time."
"Pray there won't be a next time. You were lucky to get away alive from a basilisk." Coyote wrapped a bandage around Zelgadis' shoulder to hold the poultice in place then pulled the other man's cloak and blanket tight around him. "There."
The Shaman was silent a moment then muttered, "Thanks. I don't know how to repay you."
"I don't need any payment. Do you mind letting me share your fire tonight?" He sat back and flashed Zelgadis a brilliant smile.
Zelgadis leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "No," he said simply.
"No you don't mind or no I can't share your fire?"
Taking a deep breath, the Chimera shook his head. "No, I don't mind. I can't exactly turn you away, now can I?" he muttered.
"You could."
Drawing back in shock, Zelgadis opened his eyes and stared at Coyote. "But I wouldn't. You just helped me."
The other man shrugged. "You needed help and I gave it. I couldn't exactly let you die, now could I?" He gave Zelgadis a wink.
Leaving Zelgadis to wonder about that comment, he pulled a long thin tube out of his pack and carefully pried off the end. Inside was a flute wrapped in soft furs which he unwrapped carefully and rubbed with the bit of fur. "Do you mind if I play?" he asked.
"What?" Zelgadis murmured, startled out of the light doze he'd fallen into as he watched the black-haired man. "Oh. No, go right ahead." He waved his hand for Coyote to proceed.
Coyote nodded and put the flute in his mouth. He waited a moment, then started to play. Almost immediately, Zelgadis was drawn into the melody as the notes blended and echoed off the soaring stones. The melody was simple, and yet elegant in its simplicity, and filled the Chimera's heart with a strange sort of longing. A longing for what, he couldn't say, but he felt ... empty. Grimacing, he looked away from his impromptu guest, trying to shut out the sound of that haunting melody. It was no use, though; those piercing notes ripped through him and into his soul. Maybe it was the fact that he was weakened and feeling ill, or maybe he'd just spent too much time wandering in the desert under the hot sun, but he felt overcome with sadness.
And then, softly, the notes faded away into silence, leaving the desert feeling more empty than it had before. Opening his eyes and looking over at Coyote, he opened his mouth to speak and found himself unable to do so. Clearing his throat, he tried again and succeeded this time. "What was that?"
Looking up from his flute, Coyote raised his eyebrows and looked at him strangely. "That? Oh, just a little tune I wrote. Like it?"
"I ... " He swallowed and nodded. "Yes. I do."
"I see you've got a guitar. Do you play?"
Zelgadis looked down at the guitar wrapped in felt. "A little."
"Feel up to playing something for me? I collect songs, you see. Little hobby of mine."
Staring at the instrument a moment, he sat up and nodded. "I think so." He pulled the guitar close and undid the straps that held it safe within it's felt coverings. Pulling it out, he rested it across his lap and slowly strummed the strings. He winced at the out-of-tune string and twisted the broken peg to tune it. Finally satisfied with it, he started picking out the notes for the tune he'd been composing while searching for the one he'd thought he'd heard in that saloon. The notes blended together in disharmonious discord as his fingers stumbled across the strings. He laid his hand flat on them, stilling their voices then tried again.
This time, his hand was steady and sure. He plucked the strings as he played the simple melody. Originally, he'd intended for it to be melancholy and bittersweet, but instead it was turning into something ... joyful? From him? He shook his head as he worked through the chords. The guitar may be worn, but it had a sweet tone to it that he found he liked, and it gave his work a sweetness he would never have credited himself for composing.
He finally came to the end and let the chords die away into silence. He continued to stare at the guitar in wonderment; this was the first time he'd played it all the way through and he found he liked it. Zelgadis smiled softly to himself as he thought about it.
"You must really love her," a voice said and disturbed his reverie.
Zelgadis' head snapped up and caught Coyote's golden eyes with his own cold cobalt ones. "What do you mean by that?" he snapped.
"A man doesn't compose something like that without some sort of inspiration. You were thinking of a woman when you wrote it." The man's voice was extremely self-assured and confident that he knew what he was talking about.
Frowning, Zelgadis set the guitar in the felt and shook his head. "No. I wasn't thinking of anyone. It's just something that came to me one day."
"I don't think so. It sounds like a song for a woman."
"Just shut up and mind your own business, okay?" Zelgadis raised his eyes to glare at the impertinent stranger.
"If you say so. How would you like a song?"
Pausing in the act of repacking the guitar, Zelgadis looked up at him. "What?"
"I think I have a song for you. If you'll lend me your guitar, I'll play it for you."
Still bristling from the other man's comment, he looked up and gave the other man a hard, cold look. Then, shrugging, he handed the instrument to him. "I don't see why not."
Coyote took the guitar and strummed the strings gently. He nodded and patted the sounding box. "This is a good guitar. She's got a nice voice." He tuned it slightly then started strumming. He played a few experimental chords to get the feel for the guitar. Zelgadis leaned back and let the sound of the quiet notes play tag in his mind. Then, one word, softly sung in a clear, light voice jerked him up by his pointed ears and made him pay attention.
Desperado
The chords of the melody fell into a pattern he recognized: The tune that he'd heard and had been searching for, the one that the busker had claimed not to even know he'd been playing ... He sat up and paid closer attention, wanting to hear the song.
Why don't you come to your senses?
You've been out riding fences, for so long now
Zelgadis sat there, in shock, listening to the black-haired stranger as he sang. The words did not feel as if they'd been rehearsed or even planned; they had a spontaneous feel to them they couldn't possibly possess. He shook his head; no, they couldn't be. They had to be -- His thoughts slipped away as Coyote looked up and gold eyes held blue and the other man sang the words to him as if he were speaking them directly to his soul, bypassing his ears altogether.
Oh you're a hard one
But I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasing you
Can hurt you somehow
His mind was reeling. How ... ? How could this stranger know so much about him? He tried to drag his eyes away from the other's hold but found he couldn't. His mouth worked as he tried to force words out of a mouth suddenly too dry to speak and a tongue gone numb.
"Wh-who are you?" he demanded in a harsh whisper that accused as much as it demanded an answer.
Coyote shook his head, setting his braids to swinging lightly. In the moonlight Zelgadis noticed there were blue and red beads woven into the black plaits. Why he should notice that, he wondered, even as the next lines grabbed his attention again.
Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet
His insides went as cold as when he'd found himself staring into that basilisk's eyes. How could this man have known the imagery he'd been using to describe his friends and his quest for his cure? Impossible!! And yet ... yet ... it was if this other man saw straight through him and pulled out everything he kept hidden in the shadows, yanked them out, painfully when necessary, and them laid them bare on the ground before him for all the world to see.
And it seems to me some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones
That you can't get
Hot anger welled up inside of him, melting the frozen shock. He sat up, wincing against the pain the sudden movement caused his shoulder. "How dare you?!" he shouted, voice harsh. At least that's what he meant to say; he found the words strangled in his throat and dead on his tongue before they could form. And Coyote's eyes continued to bore into him, pulling things out of his soul that he didn't want to see! No!! Zelgadis turned away, away from those eyes which burned with the light of the sun and burned into his soul. His hands clenched helplessly on his knees as he grimaced and shook his head in mute denial.
Relentlessly, Coyote continued singing, reaching further and further, peeling away layers of stone that had been built up so carefully over the years as if they were no more than paper. Helpless to stop it, Zelgadis was forced to listen to the softly sung words as they echoed and re-echoed off the rocks and into his wounded soul.
Desperado
Oh, you ain't getting no younger
And your pain and your hunger
They're driving you home
He scoffed at that, a sharp, harsh bark of laughter with no mirth in it whatsoever. Home? He had no home. Only emptiness and pain that drove him from place to place, unable to rest or find refuge. In the silence of his mind, Zelgadis kept up a running commentary in countertime to the softly sung lyrics.
And freedom, oh and freedom
Well, that's just some people talking
Your prison is walking through this world all alone
Prison! His prison was this body he had forced upon him! It kept him alone and separate! Fated never to be a part of the world, but doomed always to wander its outskirts like a pariah! The pain in his heart was nearly unbearable now; his teeth were bared as if he were fighting the basilisk again. And prison it would remain until he could find the key that would release him: A way to turn his body back into a human's!
Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow, and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night time, from the day
And you're losing all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes
Away
Feeling ... He stared down at his hands, clenched into fists on his knees. The feeling had gone away a long time ago. He wanted to shout, to rage that losing that feeling was exactly the reason he wanted so desperately to be human again! He wanted to feel, to feel the wind on his face, the sun on his skin, the feel of her hand in his --
Startled, Zelgadis looked up at his nighttime visitor. How was he doing this? How could this stranger know everything he was feeling? Had felt? Zelgadis bit back what might have been a sob from someone else; from him it was a gasp of pain.
Desperado
Why don't you come to your senses
Come down from your fences
And open the gate?
What gate? How?
It may be raining
But there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you
Let somebody love you
You better let somebody love you
Before it's too late.
Too late ... It was already too late for him? Wasn't ... it?
The last notes of the song faded away as the final barbs buried themselves deep into his soul, leaving him feeling weak and helpless, a feeling he hated. Wrenching himself around, he fixed Coyote with a sharp, lethal glare. "What are you?" he demanded, voice raw with pent-up emotion.
The other man shrugged. "No one. Coyote." He looked at the guitar and reluctantly handed it back to the Chimera. "A man, like you."
Zelgadis took it as if it had suddenly come alive in his hand and tried to bite him. Which in a way it had. "You are no simple man," he grated, transferring his glare back to Coyote. "No one could have done that.
Looking at him curiously, Coyote shrugged. "Did what? I just sang a song."
"It wasn't just a song!"
"But you're wrong. It was. What you got out of it was entirely your doing." He smiled at the Chimera.
Snarling, Zelgadis shook his head. "I don't know who or what you are, but I don't like mind games!" He finished packing up his guitar and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. "I'm grateful for what you've done, and I don't mind you sharing the fire, but leave me alone," he growled, bordering on rudeness. He went over to his bedroll, kicked it out and laid down on it, back to the other man.
Unseen by Zelgadis, Coyote shrugged. Then a sly smile played over his lips as he reached into his bag and pulled out another leather bag, pulled at the drawstring, and dumped out some fine white powder into his hand. He threw it into the fire where it flared silently. The soft, pungent scent of sage and cedar wafted around the camp as soft tendrils of smoke wrapped their ghostly fingers around the still form of the Chimera.
Sniffing, Zelgadis lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. "What's that smell?"
"Nothing. It will help you sleep," Coyote with a smile.
"Who said I needed help sleeping?"
"I know you will. That venom on top of a fever is bound to do some strange things to your mind," Coyote said enigmatically. "Rest now. Coyote will keep watch."
The Chimera was about to protest, but suddenly found himself overcome with fatigue. His eyelids were heavy and try as he might, he could not resist their downward journey.
Finally, overcome with exhaustion, both physical and emotional, Zelgadis slipped into sleep.