****
Mr. Pointy
by Wahinetoa
Disclaimer: I do not own 'em, and if I did Kendra would be kicking Drus
toosh. I own Menelek but she is drawn from Storm aka Ororo Munroe from
the Xmen.
Dedicated to: Bianca Lawson who brought out the beautiful and tragic
Jamacian Slayer and left us wanting more.
Written for Por Siempre...Kendra site
Authors notes: Forgive the ramble of this story, it came in a dream and
tumbled out onto the page. I'm stacking my writing on the scripts of
Buffy the Vampire Slayer as well as the aired episode. In Dracula
episode the stake she used was a different one, but in the script it was
Mr Pointy. For this story, Mr Pointy wins out. Jamacia is spelt Xamacia
by its native peoples. Arawak are the orginal inhabitants.
***
My name is Mr. Pointy. Don't let the childs nickname fool you, the tag has nothing
to do with my disposition. It is however the name placed upon me by the
one who would govern my life so inextricably, that even in death, she
continues to lead me.
Who is she? She is the beginning -
~~*~~
I was 20 years old, when I was taken from the bustle and noise of my
home town in Kingston, Jamaica. Long hours on pot-holed roads, we
traveled North from Kingston, dodging brightly Rasta colored school
buses and bicycles towing wagons filled with craft wares for the busy
markets. Day had slid into early noon, and before too long we reached
the forests of the Blue Mountains. The sounds of the unknown made my
carriers nervous and considering we were in the darkest and most
forbidden part of Jamaica, their concerns were not unfounded. A twig
snapped from the shelter of the woods, and in return, the weapons were
drawn ready to attack the intruder. The leader stood at the ready,
unhitching the leather flap of his holster and removing the pistol from
the hold. "Ooo goes dere?!"
A tall ghostly image of a woman stepped from the shelter of several Blue
Mahoe trees into the fading afternoon light. She was in her early 50s,
but looked and moved as if she was 30. She moved like a dancer and
looked like one with her beautiful dark bronze skin contrasting with the
light ankle-length flowing white robe, embroidered heavily with the paua
shell colors of Arawak symbols of night and day. Her hair is moon white
and curled into an intricate pattern that is placed high, and looks like
a glorious shimmering crown.
"Menelek," she calls out, coming further into the clearing.
The woman was closer now, her eyes sparkled dangerously as she
approached them, her entourage emerging from the jungle like panthers
dressed in the same robes to shoulder me. The men who had brought me to
this Valley of the Shadow are soon gone, no doubt their nightmares will
always hold a little of this moment.
Tension had fallen upon the group when we had come closer to the
valleys. Murmurs of The Slayers birth filtered to me in native Patios.
We scraped the eyebrow of the Jungle, and descended into a gateway of
blackrock, entering the heavily defended fortress of a small Caribbean
village. Twilight managed to reveal the still smoking ruins of what
looked like an intense conflict. I wonder why most of the bastions were
directed upward. What terrible kind of strike force would assail from
the sky?
We moved down, tension did not leave those that bore me up till we
entered the village grounds. A great crowd flowed around us, cheerful
and exuberant. Fires were lit, huge hurricane lamps suspended from
balconies and windows, sweet-scented spices drying in long cocoons from
high windowsills.
The crowd moved slowly, sounds of a reverberating Arrawak drums and
bamboo windchimes echo, laughter and joyful song. My bounty hoisted up
onto the strong shoulders of dark-skinned men, each jostled good
naturedly towards a clearing in the middle of a huge village courtyard.
The crowd parted, and that is the first time I saw them. My reason to
live.
Two people approached. One was a woman, in her late 30's, whose belly
was heavy and round with child. Her skin the color of dark copper, and
she had the most gorgeous gentle eyes. She leaned heavily on her
husband, a muscular man standing almost 6feet with slight streaks of
pepper grey at the temples.
They seem haunted, regardless of their euphoria.
Menelek is also known as a Mindoki witch with the power of "sight", it
is her that whispers to the would-be mother. A frown is a moments sway,
then the mother touches me softly and her eyes brighten. "Dawta," She
respectfully greets me, her eyes shining with rhapsody.
This is how I met my destiny. From beneath my midnight boughs, I watch
her daughter kick and scream, and twist her brilliant way into the
world. Her heartbeat strong. Proud. The midwife, who attended the
Mother, N'Dare and the father, Gideon, shook with joyous laughter as
night dared to fall.
"Dis childe, now. Sister of de first of Sumeria. Dawta o' Xamacia.
Slayer." her gaze briefly floats over the darkening corners of the
vampire plagued village, feeling their hateful demonic eyes witness the
birth of their immortae reaper, The Vampire Slayer, sanctifying the
ground forever.
Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she felt them slide away, defeated in
their task to kill every last babe to prevent the Slayer arising.
Menelek turned back to her people, glorious in hope and victory.
"Behold! Kendra, de vampire slayer!! Our savior!"
I didn't realize then, how much my life would change with those words.
~~*~~
My struggle for rebirth continued for a year, tended as always by
Menelek. The earth had been prepared. Inside; the first cradle was
placed.
Mother and Father, and new baby Kendra find their way always to me. They
picnicked under my leafy hoops. Days into summer, she nestles in my
roots and I sang to her with a sway of leafs. She walks to me, throwing
her arms about me. She is fearless, climbing the branches into my leafy
crown. Their happiness is my happiness but it only lasted for three
years.
Winter. A time of dying and slumber. My crown is a burnished rain which
falls over the ground like hail. It is then that I see Mother again, in
the distance, holding our daughter too close, too tightly as two men
approach. She pleads with them, but they hold her back and a man with
peppered grey hair takes the crying child from N'Dares arms. I cry out,
deafened by the sound of weeping in the village below me.
"Mother!," I cry out in vain. "What have you done?"
Only the sound of the wind and the lengthening shadows answer. And in
the reply, I cling to the secret treasure left in my care.
~~*~~
Days pass. Weeks surrender to months.
Mother steals away in the night. She comes to me, her hands and tears
streaking my broad chest and arms. "Our Dawta is gone, Dawta!" she
cries. "They've taken my heart.. my womb is empty once again."
But mine is not. I still hold our daughter. I shall endure. Her tears
water me, fill me with the sound of her longing and sorrow and her
guilt. For three days the villagers cannot move her.. her grief and
comfort lie within me. But as she sleeps, Father returns and in quiet
lament also, takes her into his arms and slowly returns down the path
which he came.
~~*~~
A life is passing away. It is Father! He is shaking and stumbling on the
invisible as he approaches. Is he drunk? With sorrow, I despair. He
holds something glittering and dangerous within his fist. As he gets
closer, I see his intentions lie in the unforgiving edge of an axe. "My
wife is dying with grief and with loss," he growls in sorrow, his fist
lying against my shoulder. In Kendras absence I live, the endless
reminder of what is lost to her mother. "Dying of a broken heart, every
time she sees you. I cannot loose her too."
To him, there is only one way to settle this. Stepping back, he shakily
stands, raising the axe with final determination.. he swings. The blade
sizzles into the wood. Strike. Strike. The serpent hits and demolishes.
He gives his anger and his grief to the handle of the axe. Blow after
cutting blow, Father cleaves me from the earth.
Somewhere before I am severed, there is a panic in him. He throws
himself against me, desperate to take back the act. He pleads in a
broken wash of Jamaican patois and English. "Oh, Goddess what have I
done!?" He tries to push me back, as if that would heal the fatal
wounds. Would make his wife well again, or his daughter return to his
arms. I am her cradle, and now even I am gone. I weep with him, for now
we are both separated from our daughters, forever. He calls out,
hopelessly. I donot wish him such sorrow, so embrace him, and we fall
together.
I feel his heartbeat beneath me, and as it fades, it echoes through me.
Dawn creeps forward, and I am lifted by many hands. Tears fall where I
once stood. They carry him from me. They bury him today, till
then I sit beside the forgotten path of Slayers. In that time, I am
cleaved again from myself. Roots and branches broken or sawed to fuel
holy fires lit in villages without the Slayers holy blood. I am taken
day by day, until there is barely enough to cover the ground. Until the
last of me is taken. There is fire that awaits my sanctuary, my funeral
pyre. Suddenly there is a commotion. Voices raised. I feel the smoke and
the heat. Flames take... and are gone. Banished by the hands that now
hold me. Familiar hands.. of Mother. "Dawta," she says and I am placed
to her breast like a human babe.
Another year, and I go from cradle to a guardian sheild. She carves me,
pares me down by eye, till I am the scalpel. I am forged into the
revolving shape of a Holy temple spire; a filament of human biology; a
needle and thread she had used to sew and patchwork the quilt
on our daughters empty bed; and the track of her tears - as sharp as a
steel blade.
Mother sands me with her hands. Strong and giving hands make me smooth
like silk. At night she clasps me to her naked breast, I feel Mothers
heartbeat; defiant and hopeful regardless of all that has been taken
from her.
They're here for me. Menelek who gives a blessing, one that will puzzle
me for years to come. She says; "You shall serve both the true and the
reflection, and only serve the one."
Mother holds me a little longer, till she places a kiss upon me "Look
after our dawta, lill' one."
"As long as I am with her, I shall."
~~*~~
His name is Mboto. He is the guardian and Watcher of our daughter,
Kendra. He places me into an empty glass preserving jar to look out upon
her world still divided by an invisible wall. I am the prize, he tells
her. The goal of which her life will surround and be governed. Her eyes
search for me, and for a moment I wonder if she remembers me. Devoid of
my rough skin, the birds song in my arms and the blanket of leaves that
surrounded me. Her eyes brighten as if in reply.Her hands feel the
extension of her mothers. Does she know what gift her mother gives? As
she grows, the dark path of her destiny fills her childhood dreams. Her
dolly on the bed is replaced by me; a childs talisman against the Demons
that are all too real in her world. Every night she comes for me, touch
giving her comfort and peace.
She carries me always and I serve her well. Quiet times; she uses me as
a bookmark to the countless volumes of Slayers study she must endure. In
battle, when I strike, I bite well. I must, for the truth that I hold
can only be sensed by the nocturnal. Her ability is always true, so my
secrets will be safe.
But first, she had a hard lesson to learn.
Kendra was 11 years old, and already showing the prominent strength,
agility and speed for someone twice her age. Perhaps that made her a
little conceited and belligerent, but its other was the incomparable
loneliness of a destiny she was to carry alone.
Although the slayer life was an isolated one, her training often took
her around and through villages in the valleys of the Blue Mountains,
covertly among families and children. It was then she came across a
Mother and Daughter fleeing a second rate demon from New Orleans. Kendra
had stepped in and it fled, sensing imminent defeat. As a thankyou the
mother had suddenly kissed the abashed Slayer on the forehead. A
maternal gesture so manifold and soul-beautiful that it rocked Kendra
down to her socks. Longing so real, she could almost touch it.. Kendra
spun quickly and quietly, both ashamed of the never ending ache to be
reunited with her own mother. They became her living epiphany.
It was a mistake to go back, but Kendra was not listening to the Slayers
rulebook, she was listening, for the first time, to her heart.
As she rounded the corner, she was shocked to see Mother and daughter
waiting for her. She approached wearily, then quite suddenly sprinted
towards them, frightened, by what she was sensing. Two bodies crucified.
Grief and anger swept her training away, and left her defenseless
against the shadow solidifying behind her.
"I hope you like my calling card, Slayer." The vampire spat malice,
throwing his head back in ecstasy as she turned towards him harshly. Her
face was open and raw, contorted with grief and outrage - he burned it
into his minds eye struggling not to orgasm. He attacked her then, while
her emotions warred for dominance.
He was arrogant and older than she could ever be, and he was winning.
Brave and resourceful, but ultimately Kendra had lost her reason. He was
punching harder and faster than she could defend. Eventually, she got
the upper hand, throwing him to the ground and straddling his chest went
to bring me down hard on his chest. Three inches from his heart, he
caught her hands briefly stopping her.
"Emotional wee thing, ain't ya?" he laughed. Kendra scowled low, but
ultimately she wasn't really listening, the task at hand taking
priority.
"Even if ya kill me, there will be another to take my place..." he
sniggered, defiling the Slayers motif with malicious intentions. "Or
perhaps two..."
The words slowly sunk in, taking her absolute conviction in dusting him
to the gory revelation he insinuated. . He throws her off, the advantage
stolen and all too quickly she is the one on the ground, struggling to
stop him from impaling her with her own stake.
"What's the matter, lost ya nerve?" he scoffs mockingly pressing the tip
of the stake to her heart. "Don't you know that emotions make you weak?
At least for you."
Suddenly he is thrown off by an unseen force, myself skittering into the
bushes with the impact. Kendra gathers herself quickly to follow, she
sees Mboto holding a broken handle of an axe fighting off the vampire.
To see her watcher in trouble, she solidified her defenses and jumped in
the fray to protect Mboto.
The vampire has Mboto in his grasp, squeezing the air from Mbotos throat
with his hands. Kendra jumps on the vampire twisting his head savagely
and breaking it in one shot. Mboto falls to the side, gasping for air.
The vampire just laughs, lurching away and cracks his neck back into
position.
Kendra attacks him again, her eyes traveling briefly to the broken
bodies of her charges. He takes advantage again, clutching her by
her hair, flips her over his head. Slamming her to the ground, he gives
her a savage elbow for good measure. Kendra twists out of his grasp and
high kicks knocking him off balance. The vampire sprawls back, then
advances. Mboto calls her name, she turns and suddenly I am being thrown
towards her. She springs up as I am thrust forward and catches me in one
hand. She swings her arm around and suddenly I strike.
*DUST*
Slowly she rose to her full body length and made her way towards Mboto,
apprehensive and apologetic. The reprecussions could be dealt with
later. Duty called. Kendra saw the disappointment and regretted being
the one to place it in his eyes. Ashamed and defeated, she hung her
head. His voice came to her, softly but strong in conviction.
"Tonight you have learnt a bitter lesson, but learnt it nonetheless. The
consequences you now know of.." his voice fades as she turns quietly to
see them. "They will rise tonight. Duty calls you - Slayer."
Not Kendra, but Slayer. She nods seriously, goes about her business
quietly and drives every emotion into her furious footsteps to await
their arising. To be close to someone is to make them the mark for every
vampire to use in battle. To love was to be weakened and to put
innocence into danger. As she waited for Mother and Daughter to rise she
stripped herself bare. Kendra the girl had died with them. And when they
did rise - they were met by The Slayer.
I am no longer a bookmark. I am. Excaliber.
***
Many things have changed. The other Slayer is called Buffy Summers. When
they first met, it was at the sharpest end of a blade. Our daughter had
mistaken the first Slayer as a demoness to her vampire lover. Easy
mistake.
It went against everything Kendra had ever known. So they fought, drew a
line in the sand and pushed each others buttons. But their bond was as
written in the stars as it was forged by blood. Kendra could not turn
her back on Buffy, and in part, Buffys obsession with Angel. She saved
them both from a certain death. When they parted, it was an uneasy truce
but a truce nonetheless.
There came a day when that allegiance ended. Angel had turned back into
Angelus, Mboto had sent our daughter back. After years not being without
each other, she gave me to Buffy to slay Angel with. Buffy didn't know
the power of this gift, but Kendra did. And now so do you.
I was not there to keep my promise to our mother. To me; the world ends.
***
And begins again.
I am in anothers hands now. She cannot hear my story, although I try to
tell her the history of our daughter, Kendra. The soul that has made me,
the hands that shaped me. The one whom I loved and is gone. She was in
love with the newly soul-restored vampire Angel. The memory of Angelus
taunts those who are bidden to remember, and the reaction we have is one
of retribution. I ache to send him to the well deserved hell he so
richly deserves. I told the Blond that everytime she held me. I make her
palms itch.
She placed me in the huge storage trunk at the foot of her bed. It holds
other stakes but none quite like me. Jamaica holds my flowers as its
national signature. I am called Lignum vitae, "the tree of life" and
that is why I am the Slayers Excaliber and her cradle. At night, the
Blond takes me into her hands and sighs. We are both left with the
memories.
And it is never enough.
A year passes. Angel has left for LA seeking retribution. I mourn for
Kendra as I see him live, unchallenged. There is another in the Slayers
life, her name is Faith. I see, even if Buffy does not, the conflict she
will bring to this group. In time - it comes true. Faith is not evil,
she is lost. She comes and goes at will.
Final rites. Dracula is among us. I remember him from a near dance he
and Kendra were in a few years ago in New Orleans. I wonder if he
remembers me? Buffy is fighting and winning. A moments hesitation and
she reaches for me. I will kill him... if he can be killed.
*Strike* Dust.
YES! She watches him bounce down the dungeon stairs turning into
particles of earth. As she walks away, I am tasting his blood on me. I
know then, that we are lost. She turns back, sensing something is wrong.
And I bite again the forming body of the master. He will not gather form
in her presence, but he will, and he when he does, he will hold the
secrets I have long fought to contain. I don't know how to warn the
others. How to tell Buffy that the greatest challenge yet is to come.
And it comes....
~*~
A million stars wink in the night tropical sky. Dracula in Jamaica, slow
walks the empty streets of Kingston, my secret staining his bloody lips
with the most excruitating pain he had ever felt. Kendra wasn't the only
one slayer born 21 years ago. And most importantly
...she wasn't Kendra either.
The End.
Mr. Pointy
by Wahinetoa
Disclaimer: I do not own 'em, and if I did Kendra would be kicking Drus
toosh. I own Menelek but she is drawn from Storm aka Ororo Munroe from
the Xmen.
Dedicated to: Bianca Lawson who brought out the beautiful and tragic
Jamacian Slayer and left us wanting more.
Written for Por Siempre...Kendra site
Authors notes: Forgive the ramble of this story, it came in a dream and
tumbled out onto the page. I'm stacking my writing on the scripts of
Buffy the Vampire Slayer as well as the aired episode. In Dracula
episode the stake she used was a different one, but in the script it was
Mr Pointy. For this story, Mr Pointy wins out. Jamacia is spelt Xamacia
by its native peoples. Arawak are the orginal inhabitants.
***
My name is Mr. Pointy. Don't let the childs nickname fool you, the tag has nothing
to do with my disposition. It is however the name placed upon me by the
one who would govern my life so inextricably, that even in death, she
continues to lead me.
Who is she? She is the beginning -
~~*~~
I was 20 years old, when I was taken from the bustle and noise of my
home town in Kingston, Jamaica. Long hours on pot-holed roads, we
traveled North from Kingston, dodging brightly Rasta colored school
buses and bicycles towing wagons filled with craft wares for the busy
markets. Day had slid into early noon, and before too long we reached
the forests of the Blue Mountains. The sounds of the unknown made my
carriers nervous and considering we were in the darkest and most
forbidden part of Jamaica, their concerns were not unfounded. A twig
snapped from the shelter of the woods, and in return, the weapons were
drawn ready to attack the intruder. The leader stood at the ready,
unhitching the leather flap of his holster and removing the pistol from
the hold. "Ooo goes dere?!"
A tall ghostly image of a woman stepped from the shelter of several Blue
Mahoe trees into the fading afternoon light. She was in her early 50s,
but looked and moved as if she was 30. She moved like a dancer and
looked like one with her beautiful dark bronze skin contrasting with the
light ankle-length flowing white robe, embroidered heavily with the paua
shell colors of Arawak symbols of night and day. Her hair is moon white
and curled into an intricate pattern that is placed high, and looks like
a glorious shimmering crown.
"Menelek," she calls out, coming further into the clearing.
The woman was closer now, her eyes sparkled dangerously as she
approached them, her entourage emerging from the jungle like panthers
dressed in the same robes to shoulder me. The men who had brought me to
this Valley of the Shadow are soon gone, no doubt their nightmares will
always hold a little of this moment.
Tension had fallen upon the group when we had come closer to the
valleys. Murmurs of The Slayers birth filtered to me in native Patios.
We scraped the eyebrow of the Jungle, and descended into a gateway of
blackrock, entering the heavily defended fortress of a small Caribbean
village. Twilight managed to reveal the still smoking ruins of what
looked like an intense conflict. I wonder why most of the bastions were
directed upward. What terrible kind of strike force would assail from
the sky?
We moved down, tension did not leave those that bore me up till we
entered the village grounds. A great crowd flowed around us, cheerful
and exuberant. Fires were lit, huge hurricane lamps suspended from
balconies and windows, sweet-scented spices drying in long cocoons from
high windowsills.
The crowd moved slowly, sounds of a reverberating Arrawak drums and
bamboo windchimes echo, laughter and joyful song. My bounty hoisted up
onto the strong shoulders of dark-skinned men, each jostled good
naturedly towards a clearing in the middle of a huge village courtyard.
The crowd parted, and that is the first time I saw them. My reason to
live.
Two people approached. One was a woman, in her late 30's, whose belly
was heavy and round with child. Her skin the color of dark copper, and
she had the most gorgeous gentle eyes. She leaned heavily on her
husband, a muscular man standing almost 6feet with slight streaks of
pepper grey at the temples.
They seem haunted, regardless of their euphoria.
Menelek is also known as a Mindoki witch with the power of "sight", it
is her that whispers to the would-be mother. A frown is a moments sway,
then the mother touches me softly and her eyes brighten. "Dawta," She
respectfully greets me, her eyes shining with rhapsody.
This is how I met my destiny. From beneath my midnight boughs, I watch
her daughter kick and scream, and twist her brilliant way into the
world. Her heartbeat strong. Proud. The midwife, who attended the
Mother, N'Dare and the father, Gideon, shook with joyous laughter as
night dared to fall.
"Dis childe, now. Sister of de first of Sumeria. Dawta o' Xamacia.
Slayer." her gaze briefly floats over the darkening corners of the
vampire plagued village, feeling their hateful demonic eyes witness the
birth of their immortae reaper, The Vampire Slayer, sanctifying the
ground forever.
Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she felt them slide away, defeated in
their task to kill every last babe to prevent the Slayer arising.
Menelek turned back to her people, glorious in hope and victory.
"Behold! Kendra, de vampire slayer!! Our savior!"
I didn't realize then, how much my life would change with those words.
~~*~~
My struggle for rebirth continued for a year, tended as always by
Menelek. The earth had been prepared. Inside; the first cradle was
placed.
Mother and Father, and new baby Kendra find their way always to me. They
picnicked under my leafy hoops. Days into summer, she nestles in my
roots and I sang to her with a sway of leafs. She walks to me, throwing
her arms about me. She is fearless, climbing the branches into my leafy
crown. Their happiness is my happiness but it only lasted for three
years.
Winter. A time of dying and slumber. My crown is a burnished rain which
falls over the ground like hail. It is then that I see Mother again, in
the distance, holding our daughter too close, too tightly as two men
approach. She pleads with them, but they hold her back and a man with
peppered grey hair takes the crying child from N'Dares arms. I cry out,
deafened by the sound of weeping in the village below me.
"Mother!," I cry out in vain. "What have you done?"
Only the sound of the wind and the lengthening shadows answer. And in
the reply, I cling to the secret treasure left in my care.
~~*~~
Days pass. Weeks surrender to months.
Mother steals away in the night. She comes to me, her hands and tears
streaking my broad chest and arms. "Our Dawta is gone, Dawta!" she
cries. "They've taken my heart.. my womb is empty once again."
But mine is not. I still hold our daughter. I shall endure. Her tears
water me, fill me with the sound of her longing and sorrow and her
guilt. For three days the villagers cannot move her.. her grief and
comfort lie within me. But as she sleeps, Father returns and in quiet
lament also, takes her into his arms and slowly returns down the path
which he came.
~~*~~
A life is passing away. It is Father! He is shaking and stumbling on the
invisible as he approaches. Is he drunk? With sorrow, I despair. He
holds something glittering and dangerous within his fist. As he gets
closer, I see his intentions lie in the unforgiving edge of an axe. "My
wife is dying with grief and with loss," he growls in sorrow, his fist
lying against my shoulder. In Kendras absence I live, the endless
reminder of what is lost to her mother. "Dying of a broken heart, every
time she sees you. I cannot loose her too."
To him, there is only one way to settle this. Stepping back, he shakily
stands, raising the axe with final determination.. he swings. The blade
sizzles into the wood. Strike. Strike. The serpent hits and demolishes.
He gives his anger and his grief to the handle of the axe. Blow after
cutting blow, Father cleaves me from the earth.
Somewhere before I am severed, there is a panic in him. He throws
himself against me, desperate to take back the act. He pleads in a
broken wash of Jamaican patois and English. "Oh, Goddess what have I
done!?" He tries to push me back, as if that would heal the fatal
wounds. Would make his wife well again, or his daughter return to his
arms. I am her cradle, and now even I am gone. I weep with him, for now
we are both separated from our daughters, forever. He calls out,
hopelessly. I donot wish him such sorrow, so embrace him, and we fall
together.
I feel his heartbeat beneath me, and as it fades, it echoes through me.
Dawn creeps forward, and I am lifted by many hands. Tears fall where I
once stood. They carry him from me. They bury him today, till
then I sit beside the forgotten path of Slayers. In that time, I am
cleaved again from myself. Roots and branches broken or sawed to fuel
holy fires lit in villages without the Slayers holy blood. I am taken
day by day, until there is barely enough to cover the ground. Until the
last of me is taken. There is fire that awaits my sanctuary, my funeral
pyre. Suddenly there is a commotion. Voices raised. I feel the smoke and
the heat. Flames take... and are gone. Banished by the hands that now
hold me. Familiar hands.. of Mother. "Dawta," she says and I am placed
to her breast like a human babe.
Another year, and I go from cradle to a guardian sheild. She carves me,
pares me down by eye, till I am the scalpel. I am forged into the
revolving shape of a Holy temple spire; a filament of human biology; a
needle and thread she had used to sew and patchwork the quilt
on our daughters empty bed; and the track of her tears - as sharp as a
steel blade.
Mother sands me with her hands. Strong and giving hands make me smooth
like silk. At night she clasps me to her naked breast, I feel Mothers
heartbeat; defiant and hopeful regardless of all that has been taken
from her.
They're here for me. Menelek who gives a blessing, one that will puzzle
me for years to come. She says; "You shall serve both the true and the
reflection, and only serve the one."
Mother holds me a little longer, till she places a kiss upon me "Look
after our dawta, lill' one."
"As long as I am with her, I shall."
~~*~~
His name is Mboto. He is the guardian and Watcher of our daughter,
Kendra. He places me into an empty glass preserving jar to look out upon
her world still divided by an invisible wall. I am the prize, he tells
her. The goal of which her life will surround and be governed. Her eyes
search for me, and for a moment I wonder if she remembers me. Devoid of
my rough skin, the birds song in my arms and the blanket of leaves that
surrounded me. Her eyes brighten as if in reply.Her hands feel the
extension of her mothers. Does she know what gift her mother gives? As
she grows, the dark path of her destiny fills her childhood dreams. Her
dolly on the bed is replaced by me; a childs talisman against the Demons
that are all too real in her world. Every night she comes for me, touch
giving her comfort and peace.
She carries me always and I serve her well. Quiet times; she uses me as
a bookmark to the countless volumes of Slayers study she must endure. In
battle, when I strike, I bite well. I must, for the truth that I hold
can only be sensed by the nocturnal. Her ability is always true, so my
secrets will be safe.
But first, she had a hard lesson to learn.
Kendra was 11 years old, and already showing the prominent strength,
agility and speed for someone twice her age. Perhaps that made her a
little conceited and belligerent, but its other was the incomparable
loneliness of a destiny she was to carry alone.
Although the slayer life was an isolated one, her training often took
her around and through villages in the valleys of the Blue Mountains,
covertly among families and children. It was then she came across a
Mother and Daughter fleeing a second rate demon from New Orleans. Kendra
had stepped in and it fled, sensing imminent defeat. As a thankyou the
mother had suddenly kissed the abashed Slayer on the forehead. A
maternal gesture so manifold and soul-beautiful that it rocked Kendra
down to her socks. Longing so real, she could almost touch it.. Kendra
spun quickly and quietly, both ashamed of the never ending ache to be
reunited with her own mother. They became her living epiphany.
It was a mistake to go back, but Kendra was not listening to the Slayers
rulebook, she was listening, for the first time, to her heart.
As she rounded the corner, she was shocked to see Mother and daughter
waiting for her. She approached wearily, then quite suddenly sprinted
towards them, frightened, by what she was sensing. Two bodies crucified.
Grief and anger swept her training away, and left her defenseless
against the shadow solidifying behind her.
"I hope you like my calling card, Slayer." The vampire spat malice,
throwing his head back in ecstasy as she turned towards him harshly. Her
face was open and raw, contorted with grief and outrage - he burned it
into his minds eye struggling not to orgasm. He attacked her then, while
her emotions warred for dominance.
He was arrogant and older than she could ever be, and he was winning.
Brave and resourceful, but ultimately Kendra had lost her reason. He was
punching harder and faster than she could defend. Eventually, she got
the upper hand, throwing him to the ground and straddling his chest went
to bring me down hard on his chest. Three inches from his heart, he
caught her hands briefly stopping her.
"Emotional wee thing, ain't ya?" he laughed. Kendra scowled low, but
ultimately she wasn't really listening, the task at hand taking
priority.
"Even if ya kill me, there will be another to take my place..." he
sniggered, defiling the Slayers motif with malicious intentions. "Or
perhaps two..."
The words slowly sunk in, taking her absolute conviction in dusting him
to the gory revelation he insinuated. . He throws her off, the advantage
stolen and all too quickly she is the one on the ground, struggling to
stop him from impaling her with her own stake.
"What's the matter, lost ya nerve?" he scoffs mockingly pressing the tip
of the stake to her heart. "Don't you know that emotions make you weak?
At least for you."
Suddenly he is thrown off by an unseen force, myself skittering into the
bushes with the impact. Kendra gathers herself quickly to follow, she
sees Mboto holding a broken handle of an axe fighting off the vampire.
To see her watcher in trouble, she solidified her defenses and jumped in
the fray to protect Mboto.
The vampire has Mboto in his grasp, squeezing the air from Mbotos throat
with his hands. Kendra jumps on the vampire twisting his head savagely
and breaking it in one shot. Mboto falls to the side, gasping for air.
The vampire just laughs, lurching away and cracks his neck back into
position.
Kendra attacks him again, her eyes traveling briefly to the broken
bodies of her charges. He takes advantage again, clutching her by
her hair, flips her over his head. Slamming her to the ground, he gives
her a savage elbow for good measure. Kendra twists out of his grasp and
high kicks knocking him off balance. The vampire sprawls back, then
advances. Mboto calls her name, she turns and suddenly I am being thrown
towards her. She springs up as I am thrust forward and catches me in one
hand. She swings her arm around and suddenly I strike.
*DUST*
Slowly she rose to her full body length and made her way towards Mboto,
apprehensive and apologetic. The reprecussions could be dealt with
later. Duty called. Kendra saw the disappointment and regretted being
the one to place it in his eyes. Ashamed and defeated, she hung her
head. His voice came to her, softly but strong in conviction.
"Tonight you have learnt a bitter lesson, but learnt it nonetheless. The
consequences you now know of.." his voice fades as she turns quietly to
see them. "They will rise tonight. Duty calls you - Slayer."
Not Kendra, but Slayer. She nods seriously, goes about her business
quietly and drives every emotion into her furious footsteps to await
their arising. To be close to someone is to make them the mark for every
vampire to use in battle. To love was to be weakened and to put
innocence into danger. As she waited for Mother and Daughter to rise she
stripped herself bare. Kendra the girl had died with them. And when they
did rise - they were met by The Slayer.
I am no longer a bookmark. I am. Excaliber.
***
Many things have changed. The other Slayer is called Buffy Summers. When
they first met, it was at the sharpest end of a blade. Our daughter had
mistaken the first Slayer as a demoness to her vampire lover. Easy
mistake.
It went against everything Kendra had ever known. So they fought, drew a
line in the sand and pushed each others buttons. But their bond was as
written in the stars as it was forged by blood. Kendra could not turn
her back on Buffy, and in part, Buffys obsession with Angel. She saved
them both from a certain death. When they parted, it was an uneasy truce
but a truce nonetheless.
There came a day when that allegiance ended. Angel had turned back into
Angelus, Mboto had sent our daughter back. After years not being without
each other, she gave me to Buffy to slay Angel with. Buffy didn't know
the power of this gift, but Kendra did. And now so do you.
I was not there to keep my promise to our mother. To me; the world ends.
***
And begins again.
I am in anothers hands now. She cannot hear my story, although I try to
tell her the history of our daughter, Kendra. The soul that has made me,
the hands that shaped me. The one whom I loved and is gone. She was in
love with the newly soul-restored vampire Angel. The memory of Angelus
taunts those who are bidden to remember, and the reaction we have is one
of retribution. I ache to send him to the well deserved hell he so
richly deserves. I told the Blond that everytime she held me. I make her
palms itch.
She placed me in the huge storage trunk at the foot of her bed. It holds
other stakes but none quite like me. Jamaica holds my flowers as its
national signature. I am called Lignum vitae, "the tree of life" and
that is why I am the Slayers Excaliber and her cradle. At night, the
Blond takes me into her hands and sighs. We are both left with the
memories.
And it is never enough.
A year passes. Angel has left for LA seeking retribution. I mourn for
Kendra as I see him live, unchallenged. There is another in the Slayers
life, her name is Faith. I see, even if Buffy does not, the conflict she
will bring to this group. In time - it comes true. Faith is not evil,
she is lost. She comes and goes at will.
Final rites. Dracula is among us. I remember him from a near dance he
and Kendra were in a few years ago in New Orleans. I wonder if he
remembers me? Buffy is fighting and winning. A moments hesitation and
she reaches for me. I will kill him... if he can be killed.
*Strike* Dust.
YES! She watches him bounce down the dungeon stairs turning into
particles of earth. As she walks away, I am tasting his blood on me. I
know then, that we are lost. She turns back, sensing something is wrong.
And I bite again the forming body of the master. He will not gather form
in her presence, but he will, and he when he does, he will hold the
secrets I have long fought to contain. I don't know how to warn the
others. How to tell Buffy that the greatest challenge yet is to come.
And it comes....
~*~
A million stars wink in the night tropical sky. Dracula in Jamaica, slow
walks the empty streets of Kingston, my secret staining his bloody lips
with the most excruitating pain he had ever felt. Kendra wasn't the only
one slayer born 21 years ago. And most importantly
...she wasn't Kendra either.
The End.