So I'm writing this authors note - more like introduction, since this is
the first (and I mean very first) item I have ever posted for general
consumption and ridicule. All I have to say for myself is the following:
1. I am a very slow writer, being a member of the military and having other duties... not that I've ever whipped out the Palm and jotted a few things down while I was at work, cause that would be wrong. I also have this really horrible, sad, debilitating addiction to pewter. More specifically, to the playing of a game called Warhammer 40,000, which requires much investment of time and effort building and painting models. This project (which has actually been in the works since the end of Season 6 aired) has been put on hold several times to support my 40K habit, most notably a 3 month span where i worked tirelessly to prepare for Games Day 2003 in Baltimore, where I represented for the Dark Angels (and still got whupped.) But anyway, I'm sure no one here cares about that, so I'll shut up. (And if you do, awesome - drop me a line.)
2. Having admitted and come to terms with the fact that I am a slow writer, I have worked ahead to have material prepared for posting on a semi-regular basis in the oh-so-likely event i get stalled. Cause I will. But, if nobody is interested, I'll keep it to myself until the whole things ready - which I have no idea when will happen. SO, please review if you'd like to see more. Feedback is like crack, really - or pewter. I love getting critiques about stuff I'm doing, because EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF FEEDBACK i get will either a) motivate me to write more or b)improve the quality of said writing. So don't hesitate to throw down those long, involved reviews, or just send me an email - even if you're a perfect stranger. I want to hear your opinions.
3. I need to make some acknowledgements. First, I'd like to thank echo, who really inspired me to try writing something of my own (even though i've never really talked to her, or done anything but post a few reviews... so if you read this... thanks! You rock!) Secondly, echo, Jinni, and Fyrie, who heavily influenced my writing style and format for this type of prose. I strive to be like you guys. I have Drop, Snake Charming, Single Blond Elf and 8th Weasley on my Palm Pilot. :) And, if you can't tell, I've been reading a lot of Tolkien. Flair for the dramatic much?
And the standard disclaimer: I do not own BtVS, just like it a bit too much. Everything you recgonize here is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, and im sure some other people too. Thanks to Joss for creating such a rich world we can all care about so much.
And on with the show!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tara died.
And that was the beginning.
She remembered... well, she wasn't sure what she remembered. There was a room, and a girl... Her memory, fragmented though it was, buckled around the hazy images of a petite... girl? woman? with pale, creamy skin and hair the color of a warm flame, with a radiant smile that made her feel all warm and squishy inside.
And she remembered pain. There was lots of pain.
Her back arched, lungs gasping for breath as if surfacing from a long swim, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the cold, white stone floor. Sensations assailed her. Cold, fragrant air, smooth, polished stone, and sight - a flood of bright white light and shadow, all angles and hard edges. She could feel her hair, the weight of it, hanging from her head, scratching and sliding about her neck and shoulders. She could taste the dry air as she gasped for breath. She could hear her own anguished cry as she awoke. But most importantly, she could feel the magic.
It boiled beneath the surface of her skin. Tara (at least thats what she thought her name was) was astonished at the intensity of it. Power flowed through her veins, ancient and primal. It was an altogether different feeling than what she was used to. Her power usually felt... subtle and sublime, not like this river of boiling lava raging in the depths of her soul. Gasping and coughing, Tara dragged herself to her knees. Her hand flew to her breast.
"Whoa..." she whispered. "What is t-this? W-What is wrong with me?"
Then she remembered that she was dead.
With the surreal clarity of a dream, she recalled the sharp pressure of the bullet entering her back, piercing her heart, spattering her lifeblood on her best friend's blouse, spraying bits of blood and bone on the girls face. Her deep green eyes were open wide, her soft lips parted in abject horror.
And it had been such a beautiful blouse, too.
Tara's scream rang out in the still, silent air. Her thoughts were barely coherent, but the emotional trauma was sharp, raw and ragged all at the same time. Her chest burned with every breath. Enormous pressure crushed at her skull... the world was closing in. The one person she had ever loved was lost to her.
Tara choked off a sob, blinking back tears. The massive, cosmic injustice of the whole damn situation was really quite... funny. Or sad. Both, actually. In an ironic sort of way. 'What can't we face if we're together...' her mind turned over the song she and her friends sang earlier that year. Their track record had really been quite remarkable. Angel, Spike, the Mayor, the Initiative and Adam, Glorificus... innumerable vampires and minor demons. Oh - and three weaselly little nerds with a gun. Dammit.
Tara was sprawled on the stone floor, her sobs racking the air. Time passed... she wasn't sure how much, nor did she care. Her eyes were dry and all itchy, having run out of tears long before..
"Are we feeling better now?"
"AAAHHH!!"
Tara recoiled away from the newcomer. She scrambled hastily backwards, still on the floor, looking up at the intruder.
That would have been worth another scream.
Tara, however, was so mentally exhausted that the fact that her new companion was seven feet tall, had horns, skin the color of coal that looked like it would stop a bullet, and was festooned with large metal rings, spikes, and chitinous plates, really didn't faze her. And absurdly enough, he was drinking a Slurpee. Hell - she hardly even noticed, really.
The first thing she did notice was his aura. It was quite strong, bespeaking an individual with a fair amount of power. It emanated from him in waves. The power in her blood sang in response, harmonizing with something it recognized as being of the same origin.
Stranger, though, was the color. The demon's aura was a warm blue, shot through with streaks of shining gold. Oddly enough, Tara felt safe around him. This being was a servant of the Light.
"Compared to w-what? I'm s-supposed to be d-dead!"
"Well, there is that."
"S-So - why aren't I?"
"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but - you are."
Tara blinked. Twice. "Huh?"
"Yep. You got shot through the heart. You are deceased, killed, and pretty damn dead." He took a quiet sip from his frozen beverage.
"Oh." Tara's eyes were wide. "W-Wow. T-Then... is t-this...?"
"Heaven?" He laughed. "Kinda getting ahead of yourself , aren't you?"
Tara blushed. "W-Well, I-I thought... if im dead... sh-shouldn't I... go... somewhere?"
"Where do you think you are?"
Tara slowly began to stand as she really noticed her surroundings for the first time. She turned slowly as she rose, eyes wide.
The space was huge, almost oppressively so. The floor was pale marble. The walls... well, there were no walls. Infinite space extended around in every direction, fading into a black horizon. Above, no ceiling was visible - only implied by the hundreds of giant columns, evenly spaced, a perfect pattern of immense stone pillars as far as Tara's eye could see. A soft white light seemed to exude from the surfaces of the columns, bathing the place with cool illumination.
"Goddess..." Tara breathed. "So, if... if t-this isn't H-Heaven, b-but I am d-dead, then...?"
"Hell? No, that's a few floors down."
"W-What, then?"
"It's probably best to think of it as... an antechamber. A waiting room for the afterlife."
"Purgatory?"
"Only if you're Catholic."
"Uh-huh." She turned again, craning her neck. "So if t-this is a... waiting room, w-where is everyone?"
"Why would there be anyone else?"
Tara turned to face her host, and gave a little start. "N-Nice nose ring."
"Thanks!" The massive, armored form raised a hand to one of the many metallic ornamentations. "Just got it last week. There's a place a few levels up. Really quality work."
Tara lifted an eyebrow.
"What?"
"W-Where IS everyone? W-Why is there no-one here? A-And who are you?"
He sighed. "First things first. I'm Skip."
"Skip?"
"Skip."
The eyebrow went up again.
"Skip?"
"Yes, Skip. Now, do you want me to answer your questions or not?"
"S-Sorry. Please - continue."
"Anyway. Well, this place doesn't get used mutch."
"B-But, th-thousands of p-people die every minute, all over the world!"
"True. But most people are pretty clear cut. They die, are judged, and go to their final reward. It's all done with computers, nowadays. Very efficient."
Tara paled and began nervously smoothing her skirts. "S-So y-your s-saying that... m-my s-s-soul is in question?"
"No, my dear. You... are a special case."
"Huh?"
"Well, the short version is, you have unfinished business. You weren't supposed to die yet."
Tara stopped. "Now I'm confused."
"I know. Sorry, but you got involved in something a lot bigger than yourself."
Tara turned away, casting her eyes downward. For a moment she was silent. Then she looked up at the ceiling, invisible behind the swirling mists. When she spoke, the pain in her voice was evident.
"W-Why me? I'm not s-special. I-I'm just - me. B-Buffy is s-special. W-W- W..." Her voice broke. "Willow is s-special. T-They have power, and d- destiny, and... all that stuff."
"And you don't?"
Tara rounded on him. Her hair spun. Her eyes flashed.
"Buffy is the Slayer, for Goddess sake! And W-Willow is such a powerful witch that... well, she's scary! I l-love her more than anything in this world, b-but she scares the hell out of me. When she was going to Rack, she was s-so close to falling i-into... " She lost her momentum. Her voice faltered. "I hope she's careful."
Skip's words were gentle. "There is darkness in her, Tara, as there is in all of us. The Hellmouth isn't just about vampires and beasties. It is a doorway to a dimension of evil, and evil flows through it and surrounds it. Willow Rosenberg has great power, a kind heart and noble spirit. She uses her gift meaning to do good - but she went too far, too fast. She's in over her head. Through her, it has worked great evil."
He took another long slurp from his frozen confectionary.
Tara's mind clicked at something he said. Willow had done some things with her magic that she wasn't proud of - she knew this. But that was in the past. So why speak of it in the present tense?
"I-Is? Has? What's happening?"
Suddenly, an image came unbidden to her, with great clarity. The last thing she saw as her brain started to die, starved of blood that her damaged heart could no longer pump... her lovers face, bending over her near lifeless body, face streaked with tears, blood, and a wild determination. Her eyes were burning pools of eldritch fire as she wept Tara's name.
Tara gasped, a sharp breath.
"Your death will not be unavenged. I'm sorry."
Tara swallowed numbly.
"What did she do?" Her voice was soft.
Skip's expression was impassive. "Something rash. But, that's really something we shouldn't go into right now."
"Why not? I'm the reason it happened! It's m-my damned fault! I-I was the one who p-pushed her away w-when she n-needed me m-most..."
Skip came forward a step. His voice rose to match Tara's.
"Look, you want to know why you died?"
"Enlighten me."
"Because of the war."
"What war?"
"The only war. The only one that matters, anyway."
Tara deflated, her ire spent.
"B-Between w-who?"
Skip turned and began to walk. He motioned for her to follow.
"Between the Bright Powers and the Ruinous Ones. It's a war neither of Them can afford to lose."
They walked for a moment, in silence. Then Tara spoke again.
"How long?"
"How long has what?"
"The war."
"Oh." He paused. "Always has been."
"And always will be?"
"No." He paused again. "It's going to end."
"When?"
"Soon."
"Oh." Tara reflected for a moment.
"So w-why did I die?"
"It's quite simple, really. Your motley crew in Sunnydale has a very important role in the End of Days. So, you are an obvious target."
"B-But why ME? W-Why not B-Buffy or Willow? They are m-much more p-powerful than me."
Skip gave her a sideways glance. "Don't be too sure."
Tara glared back at him.
"The forces of evil rarely do things the clean, easy way. By their very nature, they like to leave jagged edges, gaping wounds and a big, bloody mess. They go for pain."
"Still, what does it have to do with me?"
"Patience, young padawan. There's plenty of time."
"Don't Obi-wan me, buster. I'm dead. I'm n-not in the mood."
Skip smirked. "As I was saying. Your Slayer friend broke the rules. Traditionally, the Slayer's only ally has always been her Watcher. She operates alone and isolated from the rest of the world. This has always been the Slayer's weakness. But Buffy... well, yeah. She has proven to be an extraordinarily hard target."
Tara was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged her assent.
"And Willow. No creature of darkness with any inkling of self-preservation is going after a human who's a walking magical singularity, no matter how tasty she looks!"
Tara was silent. A light breeze ruffled her skirt and tossed her hair. She gazed off into the black horizon.
"That, my dear, is where you come in. You are the only one of that bunch with her head on straight. You're the rock the others lean on. You are, after a fashion, the weakest link."
"That's not v-very nice."
"Not in the TV show kinda way. More in a 'if this one goes, the rest go' kinda way."
"S-So th-through me, my friends are vulnerable?"
"Not just your friends. The whole world."
Tara shuddered, recalling Willows wild eyes.
"Thanks for that."
"Oh, we're not done yet." He grinned toothily.
Again with the glare.
"So, w-why am I here and not" -she gestured her hands about- "wherever?"
"Ah. The important stuff."
"Damn straight, mister."
"Well, like I said, it's all about the war. They cheated, you see. You were previously designated as a noncombatant."
"But here I am."
"Right. There are... rules that have to be followed."
Tara frowned. "In my experience, the Forces of Naughtiness don't care too much for rules."
Skip smiled again. "Not in this particular case. When this whole thing started, back in the depths of time, both sides swore mighty oaths regarding the conduct of the war - ones that neither dare to break."
"But... if these can't be broken, then how'd they do it?"
"I never said 'couldn't'. But there are consequences."
"Like what?"
"In this case, a boon for the opposing side."
"Wait. You said I was a noncombatant. So I was like, off limits?"
"Yes."
"But innocents die all the time in Sunnydale!"
"There's a difference between bystanders and noncom's. It's semantic."
Tara put her hands on her hips. Skip raised an eyebrow at her nonverbal challenge.
"A bystander is defined as one of the rank-and-file humans who aren't aware of the war. A noncombatant is someone who is engaged in direct assistance to a designated Champion."
Tara threw her arms up and made an exasperated noise. Skip was nonplussed.
"This is all just... nuts."
"Well, here. Let me put it this way. It's like... this Slurpee." He held up the beverage in question.
"Eh?"
"Stay with me now. Now, what makes a Slurpee so tasty?"
Tara looked at the seven foot demon like he was mad. "Uh... the syrup?"
Skip looked pleased. "Exactly. Now, way back in the Beginning, when this whole mess started, each side was allotted a certain amount of... syrup, with which to fight the war. The basic idea being either a small, super kickass Slurpee, or large amounts of rather tasteless soda water. Well, the evildoers chose quantity over quality, figuring in with weight of numbers. The good guys, however, went the other route, laying the burden on the shoulders of one girl each generation."
"The Slayer."
"When one dies, the next is called. Darkness is drawn to her, and therefore away from everyone else. There is only one, and her list of allies is thin... but nevertheless, she is equal to the task at hand."
"So that's why we've always been outnumbered? The Powers That Be are stingy bastards?"
"Think of it as frugal. Planning for the future." Skip contemplated his Slurpee and took another drink.
"I fail to see how this Slurpee analogy makes it any less... nuts."
"It's an oversimplification, I guess. But here's the gist of it: we've been saving up syrup."
"Once again... huh?"
"For the End Times, you see. So that when the going gets rough, we put more players on the field."
"Like Angel? And -" her brow knotted in displeasure- "F-Faith?"
Skip nodded. "Well, Faith was a little touch-and-go for a while, but she's recovering... but you've got the gist of it. The Champions of the Powers That Be - which, now, includes you."
Tara blanched. She stopped and held a hand up in between them, backing up a step. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Y-You just said 'you', as in 'me' you. Where'd that come from?"
Then, more quietly, she said: "Is - Is that what this power inside me is?"
Skip shook his head slightly. "No. That's all you."
Tara spoke sharply. "C-Can't be. I've n-never felt anything like this. It's... It's so s-strong, and... terrible... but... Good."
Skip spoke with wisdom. "But it is you, Tara," he said gently. "Or, rather, what you were meant to be, had you not grown up on the Hellmouth. Its energy has clouded your own for your whole life. Here, in this place, things appear as they were meant to be."
Tara looked down at her clothes. "I guess it's no coincidence that i'm a skirt girl, then."
"It looks good on you."
"Thanks," she said listlessly. "So, I'm destined to do this? I don't have a choice?"
"Oh, you always have a choice. We're all about free will."
"So, my choices are... to stay dead, or to go back to Earth as...?"
"One of the Champions."
"Right." She laughed softly. "That's a laugh riot."
"So what'll it be?"
A disturbing thought occurred to her. "Wait - why are you telling me all this? It sounds like real 'secrets of the universe' type stuff."
"It is. But don't worry. You won't remember any of it."
"I barely remember anything as it is... everything is all jumbley inside my head."
"It's for the best. Trust me."
Tara pressed her hands together. She was still uncertain about so many things...
"Uh, well, what does this Champion thing really mean? I mean, for me? What will happen to make me... Championy?"
Skip made a face. Tara saw he was scraping the bottom of his Slurpee.
"Can't say for sure. For the Slayer, it's strength, speed, and fighting ability, while Angel has the whole vampire thing going. It's different for each."
Tara sighed softly. "I don't suppose I'd be going back to Sunnydale."
"Mmm - no. That would just be... complicated."
"Heh. I guess you're right. Where, then?"
"Somewhere out of the way, probably, where you wouldn't be noticed, until the proper time."
He led her around one of the huge columns they had been walking between. There, she saw a huge pool of glassy, still water set in the floor, like an ancient Roman bath. Not a ripple disturbed its surface. The soft illumination reflected perfectly from its surface, except that instead of a forest of giant stone colonnades, she saw...
"Wow. Is this...?"
"Earth. All of it, in real time."
An image of the world floated in the pool, rendered in unbelievable clarity. Tara had seen pictures of the Earth from space, but even the highest quality photograph couldn't prepare her for this. North America and Europe could be seen in the same glance; clouds were floating in the stratosphere, casting swirling shadows. But to her, the most incredible thing was that the harder you looked, the more you saw.
Tara shaded her eyes with a hand - more out of reflex than anything - and focused to infinity. She gasped when she percieved bustling cities, ships, and trains - and then people, individual human beings, walking and talking, conducting their daily business, oblivious to the observers from high, high above.
"This is unreal..." Tara breathed, casting her gaze from one end of the Earth to the other. Naturally, she turned towards Sunnydale - but when her eyes fell upon it, the city was shrouded beneath a dark cloud.
"Why can't I see Sunnydale?"
"Dark forces are at work. That area is... contested."
"Willow?"
He nodded grimly.
Tara bit her lip. A tear formed in the corner of her eye as her vision scoured the land. She saw so much pain... so much death... so much evil... yet so much good.
In England, she saw a young magic-user and his friends struggle against the rise of a dark wizard.
In Colorado, she saw the military desperately fighting off an alien invasion through a dimensional wormhole.
In the City of Angels, she saw a vampire and a seer locked in a one sided war to save the souls of innocents from the rising tide of darkness.
In the Orient, she saw ancient clans of martial artists gearing up for war... but against whom, and as whos ally, she could not be certain.
At what price, peace? What remains to be said, when sun is gone and moon is dead?
Tara drew a deep inward breath.
"I'll do it."
Skip nodded. "Very well."
At once, a calm settled over her, the cold certainty that comes after an important decision, like the eye of a hurricane. Winds of change, time, and fate blew about her, but she was not bent.
"You must take the Oath."
"What oath? I don't remember anyone mentioning an oath."
But as she spoke, words came to her, an incantation of terrible power. The magic in her blood began to hum. Tara pronounced the words that were whispered into her mind.
"As Life proceeds, and as Life begets, my Life is bound to the Power of Light. I shall be an instrument of mercy and peace, and a harbinger of righteous wrath. My burden is that of a guardian, of ceaseless protection and vigilance for the innocent. I will be valiant and true to the cause of Light, from now, and always, until the End of Days."
As she spoke, a soft white light began to glow about her. A column of incandescent light poured from the high space above her, warming her face and skin. Tara felt the words inside, inscribing themselves to her being as they were spoken. The Oath she took was etched on her soul.
Skip stepped forward. "Is this your will?"
"It is my will."
"Is it your choice?"
"It is my choice."
"Is it your fate?"
"It is my fate, and I am bound to it as if with chains of steel."
"So mote it be."
The light grew more intense, until Tara was surrounded by brilliance. She faced upward into it. Skip watched her disappear in the shining beam. When the light faded, she was gone.
Skip spooned the last bit of Slurpee out of his cup. He looked down into the pool and smiled.
"She'll do."
--End chapter 1--
I'd also like to note that the Slurpee brand is a registered trademark of Seven-Eleven Corporation - no infringement is intended or implied, rather this is merely an impassioned plea to locate their product in upstate New York!
1. I am a very slow writer, being a member of the military and having other duties... not that I've ever whipped out the Palm and jotted a few things down while I was at work, cause that would be wrong. I also have this really horrible, sad, debilitating addiction to pewter. More specifically, to the playing of a game called Warhammer 40,000, which requires much investment of time and effort building and painting models. This project (which has actually been in the works since the end of Season 6 aired) has been put on hold several times to support my 40K habit, most notably a 3 month span where i worked tirelessly to prepare for Games Day 2003 in Baltimore, where I represented for the Dark Angels (and still got whupped.) But anyway, I'm sure no one here cares about that, so I'll shut up. (And if you do, awesome - drop me a line.)
2. Having admitted and come to terms with the fact that I am a slow writer, I have worked ahead to have material prepared for posting on a semi-regular basis in the oh-so-likely event i get stalled. Cause I will. But, if nobody is interested, I'll keep it to myself until the whole things ready - which I have no idea when will happen. SO, please review if you'd like to see more. Feedback is like crack, really - or pewter. I love getting critiques about stuff I'm doing, because EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF FEEDBACK i get will either a) motivate me to write more or b)improve the quality of said writing. So don't hesitate to throw down those long, involved reviews, or just send me an email - even if you're a perfect stranger. I want to hear your opinions.
3. I need to make some acknowledgements. First, I'd like to thank echo, who really inspired me to try writing something of my own (even though i've never really talked to her, or done anything but post a few reviews... so if you read this... thanks! You rock!) Secondly, echo, Jinni, and Fyrie, who heavily influenced my writing style and format for this type of prose. I strive to be like you guys. I have Drop, Snake Charming, Single Blond Elf and 8th Weasley on my Palm Pilot. :) And, if you can't tell, I've been reading a lot of Tolkien. Flair for the dramatic much?
And the standard disclaimer: I do not own BtVS, just like it a bit too much. Everything you recgonize here is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, and im sure some other people too. Thanks to Joss for creating such a rich world we can all care about so much.
And on with the show!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tara died.
And that was the beginning.
She remembered... well, she wasn't sure what she remembered. There was a room, and a girl... Her memory, fragmented though it was, buckled around the hazy images of a petite... girl? woman? with pale, creamy skin and hair the color of a warm flame, with a radiant smile that made her feel all warm and squishy inside.
And she remembered pain. There was lots of pain.
Her back arched, lungs gasping for breath as if surfacing from a long swim, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the cold, white stone floor. Sensations assailed her. Cold, fragrant air, smooth, polished stone, and sight - a flood of bright white light and shadow, all angles and hard edges. She could feel her hair, the weight of it, hanging from her head, scratching and sliding about her neck and shoulders. She could taste the dry air as she gasped for breath. She could hear her own anguished cry as she awoke. But most importantly, she could feel the magic.
It boiled beneath the surface of her skin. Tara (at least thats what she thought her name was) was astonished at the intensity of it. Power flowed through her veins, ancient and primal. It was an altogether different feeling than what she was used to. Her power usually felt... subtle and sublime, not like this river of boiling lava raging in the depths of her soul. Gasping and coughing, Tara dragged herself to her knees. Her hand flew to her breast.
"Whoa..." she whispered. "What is t-this? W-What is wrong with me?"
Then she remembered that she was dead.
With the surreal clarity of a dream, she recalled the sharp pressure of the bullet entering her back, piercing her heart, spattering her lifeblood on her best friend's blouse, spraying bits of blood and bone on the girls face. Her deep green eyes were open wide, her soft lips parted in abject horror.
And it had been such a beautiful blouse, too.
Tara's scream rang out in the still, silent air. Her thoughts were barely coherent, but the emotional trauma was sharp, raw and ragged all at the same time. Her chest burned with every breath. Enormous pressure crushed at her skull... the world was closing in. The one person she had ever loved was lost to her.
Tara choked off a sob, blinking back tears. The massive, cosmic injustice of the whole damn situation was really quite... funny. Or sad. Both, actually. In an ironic sort of way. 'What can't we face if we're together...' her mind turned over the song she and her friends sang earlier that year. Their track record had really been quite remarkable. Angel, Spike, the Mayor, the Initiative and Adam, Glorificus... innumerable vampires and minor demons. Oh - and three weaselly little nerds with a gun. Dammit.
Tara was sprawled on the stone floor, her sobs racking the air. Time passed... she wasn't sure how much, nor did she care. Her eyes were dry and all itchy, having run out of tears long before..
"Are we feeling better now?"
"AAAHHH!!"
Tara recoiled away from the newcomer. She scrambled hastily backwards, still on the floor, looking up at the intruder.
That would have been worth another scream.
Tara, however, was so mentally exhausted that the fact that her new companion was seven feet tall, had horns, skin the color of coal that looked like it would stop a bullet, and was festooned with large metal rings, spikes, and chitinous plates, really didn't faze her. And absurdly enough, he was drinking a Slurpee. Hell - she hardly even noticed, really.
The first thing she did notice was his aura. It was quite strong, bespeaking an individual with a fair amount of power. It emanated from him in waves. The power in her blood sang in response, harmonizing with something it recognized as being of the same origin.
Stranger, though, was the color. The demon's aura was a warm blue, shot through with streaks of shining gold. Oddly enough, Tara felt safe around him. This being was a servant of the Light.
"Compared to w-what? I'm s-supposed to be d-dead!"
"Well, there is that."
"S-So - why aren't I?"
"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but - you are."
Tara blinked. Twice. "Huh?"
"Yep. You got shot through the heart. You are deceased, killed, and pretty damn dead." He took a quiet sip from his frozen beverage.
"Oh." Tara's eyes were wide. "W-Wow. T-Then... is t-this...?"
"Heaven?" He laughed. "Kinda getting ahead of yourself , aren't you?"
Tara blushed. "W-Well, I-I thought... if im dead... sh-shouldn't I... go... somewhere?"
"Where do you think you are?"
Tara slowly began to stand as she really noticed her surroundings for the first time. She turned slowly as she rose, eyes wide.
The space was huge, almost oppressively so. The floor was pale marble. The walls... well, there were no walls. Infinite space extended around in every direction, fading into a black horizon. Above, no ceiling was visible - only implied by the hundreds of giant columns, evenly spaced, a perfect pattern of immense stone pillars as far as Tara's eye could see. A soft white light seemed to exude from the surfaces of the columns, bathing the place with cool illumination.
"Goddess..." Tara breathed. "So, if... if t-this isn't H-Heaven, b-but I am d-dead, then...?"
"Hell? No, that's a few floors down."
"W-What, then?"
"It's probably best to think of it as... an antechamber. A waiting room for the afterlife."
"Purgatory?"
"Only if you're Catholic."
"Uh-huh." She turned again, craning her neck. "So if t-this is a... waiting room, w-where is everyone?"
"Why would there be anyone else?"
Tara turned to face her host, and gave a little start. "N-Nice nose ring."
"Thanks!" The massive, armored form raised a hand to one of the many metallic ornamentations. "Just got it last week. There's a place a few levels up. Really quality work."
Tara lifted an eyebrow.
"What?"
"W-Where IS everyone? W-Why is there no-one here? A-And who are you?"
He sighed. "First things first. I'm Skip."
"Skip?"
"Skip."
The eyebrow went up again.
"Skip?"
"Yes, Skip. Now, do you want me to answer your questions or not?"
"S-Sorry. Please - continue."
"Anyway. Well, this place doesn't get used mutch."
"B-But, th-thousands of p-people die every minute, all over the world!"
"True. But most people are pretty clear cut. They die, are judged, and go to their final reward. It's all done with computers, nowadays. Very efficient."
Tara paled and began nervously smoothing her skirts. "S-So y-your s-saying that... m-my s-s-soul is in question?"
"No, my dear. You... are a special case."
"Huh?"
"Well, the short version is, you have unfinished business. You weren't supposed to die yet."
Tara stopped. "Now I'm confused."
"I know. Sorry, but you got involved in something a lot bigger than yourself."
Tara turned away, casting her eyes downward. For a moment she was silent. Then she looked up at the ceiling, invisible behind the swirling mists. When she spoke, the pain in her voice was evident.
"W-Why me? I'm not s-special. I-I'm just - me. B-Buffy is s-special. W-W- W..." Her voice broke. "Willow is s-special. T-They have power, and d- destiny, and... all that stuff."
"And you don't?"
Tara rounded on him. Her hair spun. Her eyes flashed.
"Buffy is the Slayer, for Goddess sake! And W-Willow is such a powerful witch that... well, she's scary! I l-love her more than anything in this world, b-but she scares the hell out of me. When she was going to Rack, she was s-so close to falling i-into... " She lost her momentum. Her voice faltered. "I hope she's careful."
Skip's words were gentle. "There is darkness in her, Tara, as there is in all of us. The Hellmouth isn't just about vampires and beasties. It is a doorway to a dimension of evil, and evil flows through it and surrounds it. Willow Rosenberg has great power, a kind heart and noble spirit. She uses her gift meaning to do good - but she went too far, too fast. She's in over her head. Through her, it has worked great evil."
He took another long slurp from his frozen confectionary.
Tara's mind clicked at something he said. Willow had done some things with her magic that she wasn't proud of - she knew this. But that was in the past. So why speak of it in the present tense?
"I-Is? Has? What's happening?"
Suddenly, an image came unbidden to her, with great clarity. The last thing she saw as her brain started to die, starved of blood that her damaged heart could no longer pump... her lovers face, bending over her near lifeless body, face streaked with tears, blood, and a wild determination. Her eyes were burning pools of eldritch fire as she wept Tara's name.
Tara gasped, a sharp breath.
"Your death will not be unavenged. I'm sorry."
Tara swallowed numbly.
"What did she do?" Her voice was soft.
Skip's expression was impassive. "Something rash. But, that's really something we shouldn't go into right now."
"Why not? I'm the reason it happened! It's m-my damned fault! I-I was the one who p-pushed her away w-when she n-needed me m-most..."
Skip came forward a step. His voice rose to match Tara's.
"Look, you want to know why you died?"
"Enlighten me."
"Because of the war."
"What war?"
"The only war. The only one that matters, anyway."
Tara deflated, her ire spent.
"B-Between w-who?"
Skip turned and began to walk. He motioned for her to follow.
"Between the Bright Powers and the Ruinous Ones. It's a war neither of Them can afford to lose."
They walked for a moment, in silence. Then Tara spoke again.
"How long?"
"How long has what?"
"The war."
"Oh." He paused. "Always has been."
"And always will be?"
"No." He paused again. "It's going to end."
"When?"
"Soon."
"Oh." Tara reflected for a moment.
"So w-why did I die?"
"It's quite simple, really. Your motley crew in Sunnydale has a very important role in the End of Days. So, you are an obvious target."
"B-But why ME? W-Why not B-Buffy or Willow? They are m-much more p-powerful than me."
Skip gave her a sideways glance. "Don't be too sure."
Tara glared back at him.
"The forces of evil rarely do things the clean, easy way. By their very nature, they like to leave jagged edges, gaping wounds and a big, bloody mess. They go for pain."
"Still, what does it have to do with me?"
"Patience, young padawan. There's plenty of time."
"Don't Obi-wan me, buster. I'm dead. I'm n-not in the mood."
Skip smirked. "As I was saying. Your Slayer friend broke the rules. Traditionally, the Slayer's only ally has always been her Watcher. She operates alone and isolated from the rest of the world. This has always been the Slayer's weakness. But Buffy... well, yeah. She has proven to be an extraordinarily hard target."
Tara was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged her assent.
"And Willow. No creature of darkness with any inkling of self-preservation is going after a human who's a walking magical singularity, no matter how tasty she looks!"
Tara was silent. A light breeze ruffled her skirt and tossed her hair. She gazed off into the black horizon.
"That, my dear, is where you come in. You are the only one of that bunch with her head on straight. You're the rock the others lean on. You are, after a fashion, the weakest link."
"That's not v-very nice."
"Not in the TV show kinda way. More in a 'if this one goes, the rest go' kinda way."
"S-So th-through me, my friends are vulnerable?"
"Not just your friends. The whole world."
Tara shuddered, recalling Willows wild eyes.
"Thanks for that."
"Oh, we're not done yet." He grinned toothily.
Again with the glare.
"So, w-why am I here and not" -she gestured her hands about- "wherever?"
"Ah. The important stuff."
"Damn straight, mister."
"Well, like I said, it's all about the war. They cheated, you see. You were previously designated as a noncombatant."
"But here I am."
"Right. There are... rules that have to be followed."
Tara frowned. "In my experience, the Forces of Naughtiness don't care too much for rules."
Skip smiled again. "Not in this particular case. When this whole thing started, back in the depths of time, both sides swore mighty oaths regarding the conduct of the war - ones that neither dare to break."
"But... if these can't be broken, then how'd they do it?"
"I never said 'couldn't'. But there are consequences."
"Like what?"
"In this case, a boon for the opposing side."
"Wait. You said I was a noncombatant. So I was like, off limits?"
"Yes."
"But innocents die all the time in Sunnydale!"
"There's a difference between bystanders and noncom's. It's semantic."
Tara put her hands on her hips. Skip raised an eyebrow at her nonverbal challenge.
"A bystander is defined as one of the rank-and-file humans who aren't aware of the war. A noncombatant is someone who is engaged in direct assistance to a designated Champion."
Tara threw her arms up and made an exasperated noise. Skip was nonplussed.
"This is all just... nuts."
"Well, here. Let me put it this way. It's like... this Slurpee." He held up the beverage in question.
"Eh?"
"Stay with me now. Now, what makes a Slurpee so tasty?"
Tara looked at the seven foot demon like he was mad. "Uh... the syrup?"
Skip looked pleased. "Exactly. Now, way back in the Beginning, when this whole mess started, each side was allotted a certain amount of... syrup, with which to fight the war. The basic idea being either a small, super kickass Slurpee, or large amounts of rather tasteless soda water. Well, the evildoers chose quantity over quality, figuring in with weight of numbers. The good guys, however, went the other route, laying the burden on the shoulders of one girl each generation."
"The Slayer."
"When one dies, the next is called. Darkness is drawn to her, and therefore away from everyone else. There is only one, and her list of allies is thin... but nevertheless, she is equal to the task at hand."
"So that's why we've always been outnumbered? The Powers That Be are stingy bastards?"
"Think of it as frugal. Planning for the future." Skip contemplated his Slurpee and took another drink.
"I fail to see how this Slurpee analogy makes it any less... nuts."
"It's an oversimplification, I guess. But here's the gist of it: we've been saving up syrup."
"Once again... huh?"
"For the End Times, you see. So that when the going gets rough, we put more players on the field."
"Like Angel? And -" her brow knotted in displeasure- "F-Faith?"
Skip nodded. "Well, Faith was a little touch-and-go for a while, but she's recovering... but you've got the gist of it. The Champions of the Powers That Be - which, now, includes you."
Tara blanched. She stopped and held a hand up in between them, backing up a step. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Y-You just said 'you', as in 'me' you. Where'd that come from?"
Then, more quietly, she said: "Is - Is that what this power inside me is?"
Skip shook his head slightly. "No. That's all you."
Tara spoke sharply. "C-Can't be. I've n-never felt anything like this. It's... It's so s-strong, and... terrible... but... Good."
Skip spoke with wisdom. "But it is you, Tara," he said gently. "Or, rather, what you were meant to be, had you not grown up on the Hellmouth. Its energy has clouded your own for your whole life. Here, in this place, things appear as they were meant to be."
Tara looked down at her clothes. "I guess it's no coincidence that i'm a skirt girl, then."
"It looks good on you."
"Thanks," she said listlessly. "So, I'm destined to do this? I don't have a choice?"
"Oh, you always have a choice. We're all about free will."
"So, my choices are... to stay dead, or to go back to Earth as...?"
"One of the Champions."
"Right." She laughed softly. "That's a laugh riot."
"So what'll it be?"
A disturbing thought occurred to her. "Wait - why are you telling me all this? It sounds like real 'secrets of the universe' type stuff."
"It is. But don't worry. You won't remember any of it."
"I barely remember anything as it is... everything is all jumbley inside my head."
"It's for the best. Trust me."
Tara pressed her hands together. She was still uncertain about so many things...
"Uh, well, what does this Champion thing really mean? I mean, for me? What will happen to make me... Championy?"
Skip made a face. Tara saw he was scraping the bottom of his Slurpee.
"Can't say for sure. For the Slayer, it's strength, speed, and fighting ability, while Angel has the whole vampire thing going. It's different for each."
Tara sighed softly. "I don't suppose I'd be going back to Sunnydale."
"Mmm - no. That would just be... complicated."
"Heh. I guess you're right. Where, then?"
"Somewhere out of the way, probably, where you wouldn't be noticed, until the proper time."
He led her around one of the huge columns they had been walking between. There, she saw a huge pool of glassy, still water set in the floor, like an ancient Roman bath. Not a ripple disturbed its surface. The soft illumination reflected perfectly from its surface, except that instead of a forest of giant stone colonnades, she saw...
"Wow. Is this...?"
"Earth. All of it, in real time."
An image of the world floated in the pool, rendered in unbelievable clarity. Tara had seen pictures of the Earth from space, but even the highest quality photograph couldn't prepare her for this. North America and Europe could be seen in the same glance; clouds were floating in the stratosphere, casting swirling shadows. But to her, the most incredible thing was that the harder you looked, the more you saw.
Tara shaded her eyes with a hand - more out of reflex than anything - and focused to infinity. She gasped when she percieved bustling cities, ships, and trains - and then people, individual human beings, walking and talking, conducting their daily business, oblivious to the observers from high, high above.
"This is unreal..." Tara breathed, casting her gaze from one end of the Earth to the other. Naturally, she turned towards Sunnydale - but when her eyes fell upon it, the city was shrouded beneath a dark cloud.
"Why can't I see Sunnydale?"
"Dark forces are at work. That area is... contested."
"Willow?"
He nodded grimly.
Tara bit her lip. A tear formed in the corner of her eye as her vision scoured the land. She saw so much pain... so much death... so much evil... yet so much good.
In England, she saw a young magic-user and his friends struggle against the rise of a dark wizard.
In Colorado, she saw the military desperately fighting off an alien invasion through a dimensional wormhole.
In the City of Angels, she saw a vampire and a seer locked in a one sided war to save the souls of innocents from the rising tide of darkness.
In the Orient, she saw ancient clans of martial artists gearing up for war... but against whom, and as whos ally, she could not be certain.
At what price, peace? What remains to be said, when sun is gone and moon is dead?
Tara drew a deep inward breath.
"I'll do it."
Skip nodded. "Very well."
At once, a calm settled over her, the cold certainty that comes after an important decision, like the eye of a hurricane. Winds of change, time, and fate blew about her, but she was not bent.
"You must take the Oath."
"What oath? I don't remember anyone mentioning an oath."
But as she spoke, words came to her, an incantation of terrible power. The magic in her blood began to hum. Tara pronounced the words that were whispered into her mind.
"As Life proceeds, and as Life begets, my Life is bound to the Power of Light. I shall be an instrument of mercy and peace, and a harbinger of righteous wrath. My burden is that of a guardian, of ceaseless protection and vigilance for the innocent. I will be valiant and true to the cause of Light, from now, and always, until the End of Days."
As she spoke, a soft white light began to glow about her. A column of incandescent light poured from the high space above her, warming her face and skin. Tara felt the words inside, inscribing themselves to her being as they were spoken. The Oath she took was etched on her soul.
Skip stepped forward. "Is this your will?"
"It is my will."
"Is it your choice?"
"It is my choice."
"Is it your fate?"
"It is my fate, and I am bound to it as if with chains of steel."
"So mote it be."
The light grew more intense, until Tara was surrounded by brilliance. She faced upward into it. Skip watched her disappear in the shining beam. When the light faded, she was gone.
Skip spooned the last bit of Slurpee out of his cup. He looked down into the pool and smiled.
"She'll do."
--End chapter 1--
I'd also like to note that the Slurpee brand is a registered trademark of Seven-Eleven Corporation - no infringement is intended or implied, rather this is merely an impassioned plea to locate their product in upstate New York!