Edited December 2007
CHAPTER THREE: The Reason
"Why?"
Will was gasping, fear and knowledge making his grey eyes widen. He knew, of course, what force must be behind this, but he still couldn't understand. Why was this happening? His enemies might once have been capable of forcing these futures upon him, of leaving these visions in his mind in an attempt to break him, but those of the Dark had been banished outside Time. They shouldn't have been able to attack him like this. Then again, even assuming they'd found a way to breach their prison and reach out to him, how had they known what his fears would be? His true destiny had been one of the greatest secrets of the Light, one kept even from Will himself, so how was it that the Lords of the Dark had guessed what Will had not?
Something wasn't right. Will had always known that he'd been left behind in case the Dark tried to Rise again, but he'd thought he'd have more than half a dozen years before his enemies returned. Their first war had lasted for centuries beyond counting, and their banishment should have been even longer. How, then, were they doing this to him now? His mind desperately sought for an explanation, but the part of him that wasn't quite human was already wondering if, just maybe, the Dark hadn't been completely banished, after all. Perhaps the small seed of evil in all men had been enough to set them free, or had at least given them the power they needed to create this trap for the last of the Old Ones. Was this how they were reaching him—by influencing men? Whatever was in that sack might only be some relic left behind, some object of Power activated through the deeds of their servants still on Earth…or it might be the first sign that the Dark was Rising in spite of everything.
Not that it mattered, of course. Whether or not the Dark had returned, whether or not they'd simply found a way to act through the humans or if this was the precursor for something much worse, was not his greatest concern at the moment. Right now, Will knew, he needed to focus on escaping this trap, on freeing himself from the Dark-born fears that continued to paralyze him. He tried to close his eyes, forcing the panicked fluttering of his mind to still as he focused the full strength of his power onto his own body.
A spell sounded in his thoughts and on his tongue, the gifts of an Old One pushing against the forces of the Dark and spreading warmth through limbs so recently frozen by magic. Light washed against the inside of his eyes and then flared briefly in the air around him, and Will felt his body returning to his own control. He repeated the spell once more, and the light flared a second time, burning away the fears given to him by the Dark. A faint smile twisted his lips, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he allowed his power to fade, but his smile was grim and hard and held no true humor at all. He stared down at the bag, no longer victim to this trap set by the Dark but unable to completely drown out the trepidation still growing within him. The plans of the Dark, he knew, would not be so easy to thwart as this. What else had they in store for him?
But there was no time, now, for wonder or hesitation. Will pointed a single finger at the plain brown grocery bag, eyes like steel as he began whispering in a tongue no true mortal had ever spoken. The words spilled from his lips, musical and lilting but strangely fierce at the same time. He continued chanting for several long moments, the power gaining force within him.
His expression didn't change in the slightest as another strong light flared around the paper bag, burning with an intensity that would have made a human's eyes water. Will, of course, didn't even flinch, but a strange satisfaction was growing in his gaze as the light suddenly faded. Nothing was left of the Old One's power, now, except a single tiny glimmer shining through the brown paper, but Will already knew exactly what it was the Dark had left for him to find.
A warestone, he thought almost tiredly. What else could it be, but one of those small channels of the Dark that had caused so much trouble for him in the past? This, at least, explained how the Dark had been able to attack him thus. His enemies wouldn't have to be free of their prison for this thing to spread its influence into Will's mind, not as long as even a tiny portion of their evil remained on earth to give it strength, not as long as one of their servants still knew enough to send it to the Watchman. Whether or not its masters were present, a warestone would always react this way to the touch or presence of the Light, and Will didn't need to fear that a second Rising had somehow begun.
He breathed a small sigh of relief, no longer quite as worried as he had been. The servants of the Dark, he knew, were still mostly human, and while they might have picked up a few tricks along the way, while they might still pose a limited threat to him, his greatest fears had not yet been realized. In all likelihood, he wouldn't have to face another Rising alone, without the rest of the Circle to guide or aid him.
He smiled, knowing that the Old One in him could sleep a little longer, watching through his eyes but not truly in control. There would be time enough, he thought, to deal with the remaining agents of the Dark later.
The door to his mother's car slid open, then, a pale, concerned and very wet face poking its way through. Will turned to look at his brother, lips curved upward in an unusually brilliant smile. The strangeness of the relief in that smile was not lost on Paul, and he stared back at his younger sibling with something akin to suspicion in his eyes. Will, however, said nothing, and Paul only sighed, unable to think of anything his brother might have been up to that would warrant this suspicion. "Mum wants to know what's taking you so long, Will," he finally said. "You've been out here forever."
He glanced at the bag in front of the youngest Stanton, frowning a little. "That it, then?" he asked, reaching over Will to pick up the bag, not noticing how his brother automatically stiffened as his slender musician's fingers wrapped themselves around the brown paper. Paul, though, didn't have any trouble in picking up the grocery sack—he was not, after all, a true part of the Light, and the warestone wouldn't react to him as it had with Will. For Paul, had he even been able to see the thing, the warestone was simply a small, polished white pebble and nothing more.
The Old One in Will relaxed, thinking that his brother had solved his problem for him. The bag, Will knew, would be taken inside and unloaded, and if he were fortunate enough, the warestone might not even be noticed. It would simply be thrown out with the other garbage, taken away where Will needn't worry about it any longer. This trap would be completely thwarted, and they would all be safe.
Will smiled at his brother, slipping out of the car and turning to follow Paul back into the house. He still hadn't said anything, but the other Stanton was too busy cursing at the rain to notice.
Mary was waiting for them just inside the door, ready to rescue the final grocery bag from her dripping brothers. Paul was still grumbling a little as he handed it off to her, taking a moment to slip out of the wet coat and boots he'd thrown on before he'd gone off to find their absent brother. Will bent and did the same, though his eyes were glued to Mary rather than his shoelaces. He watched her, his smile completely dead, his face once again white with a concern strong enough to make him grateful nobody was looking his way. He took his time with his boots, pretending the laces were knotted and would not come undone, stalling so he wouldn't be expected to help Mary. He knew his siblings would think he was shirking his chores, but he also couldn't risk touching the bag or anything in it himself. To do so, to so much as go near the warestone, would only activate the powers of the Dark yet again, perhaps bring on more visions. Far better, Will thought, to be teased later for his laziness than to awaken an evil best left alone.
He'd forgotten just who he was dealing with in this sister of his. Mary finished putting away the last of the grocery items, crumpling the bag into a small wet lump to be thrown away. For a moment, as she walked up to the garbage pail, Will thought he was safe. Mary lifted her arm, preparing to toss Will's problem in the garbage…and then she froze. A strange expression crossed over her face, a tightness taking over her features. For a moment, she, too, paled, a sort of muted fear dancing through her eyes. Then her arm dropped, and she started straightening out the creases in the bag, started reaching inside.
Will ran for her. Warestone or not, he wasn't about to let his sister come into direct contact with the powers of the Dark. They had taken her over once before, years ago, and he knew her mind would be that much more susceptible because of it. And anyway, no matter how much Mary had matured over the years, she was still Mary, and she had always been more likely to be swayed than, say, Stephen or Barbara. Besides, the warestone was pretty enough for what was essentially a worthless piece of rock, exactly the sort of thing that would appeal to Mary, and she wouldn't think twice about keeping it.
"Mary!" he called, coming as close as he could to her without activating the stone, his voice a little more urgent than he would have liked as he tried to think of something that would distract her. "When are you going to tell me about that new boyfriend?"
She never heard him, though the subject had always been enough to distract her before. His other brothers and sister turned to stare at him, their attention caught by the subtle panic in this normally quiet sibling of theirs. Will didn't bother to turn and look at them, didn't bother to calm himself before he revealed too much. He shouted his sister's name again, not caring that he was being too obvious, knowing he was already too late. "Don't touch it, Mary!"
Her hand was inside the bag, now, her eyes wide and a little too empty. "What?" she asked, tossing the word rather vaguely over her shoulder and clearly not really registering that he'd spoken to her at all. Her attention was entirely on the object she now held in her fist, her mouth forming a little 'O' of pleasure. "Why, it's beautiful!" she exclaimed suddenly, pulling her fingers apart so she could stare down at her new possession. "Look, Will," she said, finally turning to face her little brother and holding out her hand so he could see. "Look what I found!"
"Get rid of it." Will's face was white as a sheet, but eyes were hard and cold, completely different from what his family was used to seeing in him. "You don't want to keep that," he told her, voice frozen with all that he was and all that he knew. "It's…not for you, Mary. Please, just throw it away."
Mary was staring at him, as was the rest of his family. "Why would I do that?" she demanded, surprise making her cross. "It's not like there's an ownership label anywhere. Nobody is going to claim it. Besides, I'm the one who found it, so I'm the one who gets to keep it. Why are you being so awful?"
There was something terrible in Will's gaze, something that made each of his family members—but especially Stephen and Paul—stare hard at him. "Please," Will said again, though the word sounded less like a plea and more like a command. He had not taken his eyes from Mary or the thing that she held, but he could feel the curious gazes of his mother and siblings, and chills started dancing up his spine. He knew he was frightening them with his intensity, knew he was drawing too much attention to himself, but this was too important. He couldn't let Mary keep the warestone, because then he'd spend the rest of his time here wondering how much the agents of the Dark could see of his life and his loved ones. This, he thought harshly, was dangerous.
Mary was still glaring at him, but it was Paul who stepped forward—Paul the peacemaker, Paul the wiser older brother trying to stop what he saw as an unreasonable spat between two of his siblings. He moved slowly up to Will, placing one lean, long-fingered hand on his brother's shoulder. Will was tense beneath him, but he turned his head slightly, looking at Paul through the corners of steel-grey eyes. "Will," Paul murmured quietly, the gentleness of his voice not hiding the authority in his words, "you're overreacting. What does it matter if she keeps it? It's just some silly little pebble, not worth anything."
Will ground his teeth with sheer frustration, wanting to explain but knowing he never could. "You're absolutely right," he said, realizing he had backed himself into a corner. He forced a measure of calm onto his face, twisting his lips into a smile just a little too forced. "There's absolutely no reason why she shouldn't have it. No reason at all." He bit his lip, glancing with false apology to Mary. "Sorry, Sis," he muttered. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Will made certain, that night, to act as normal as possible. He apologized once more to Mary, claiming he was feeling a bit under the weather and so had jumped down her throat for something that didn't really matter at all. She nodded, accepting his apology with all the prim smugness she was capable of, lecturing him for a few moments on treating her properly. Will had only smiled at her, letting her rant to her heart's content. At the same time, though, he'd noticed that her hands were slipping a little too often into her pockets, obviously to check that her newest toy remained safe with her.
Will watched her when nobody else was looking, knowing that the warestone was already working its power on his sister, knowing, too, that he was helpless to stop it. She had yet to put the thing down, but he couldn't interfere anymore than he already had without also putting himself at risk. He would, he decided, simply have to wait until his sister let her guard down and he could...well, nick the stone, probably. He couldn't touch it himself, but there had to be a way to get it out of the house, hadn't there? He was an Old One, a creature of the Light, and he wasn't about to let some silly pebble triumph over him when greater forces than this had failed.
Still, he excused himself from the night's festivities as soon as he feasibly could. He told his mother that he had a headache and wanted only to lie down, and she let him go without question. He smiled at her and slipped from the room, moving slowly up to his own domain in the attic. He had promised her he would go straight to sleep, but instead he stood by the attic window, listening to the rain fall on the roof overhead. He folded his hands behind his back, face only inches from the windowpanes. His eyes were heavy, older than any eighteen-year-old's should be.
Stephen found him there, as he stood looking out into a darkness too thick for ordinary vision. His oldest brother came to stand by him, glancing once at Will and then out into the rain. He remained silent for several long moments, but the silence was like a dead weight between them, and Will found himself almost wishing Stephen would just say whatever it was he had come here for. Finally, though, Stephen sighed, and Will felt a knot forming in his stomach. "You didn't fool me, with that act," Stephen calmly told his brother, his voice emotionless. "What's going on, Will?" he asked, not looking at Will. "What was all that about, this afternoon?"
Will shrugged, unable and unwilling to answer with the truth. "It was nothing," he replied softly. "I…overreacted, though she shouldn't go around touching whatever she fancies without thinking about where it's been. She'll get sick that way."
Stephen snorted. "Right," he said. "It's all about protecting Mary. Suuuure," he muttered, drawing the word out so Will would hear the doubt. "I believe you."
Will's face was now calm and easy, his expression relaxed. "You don't have to believe me," he muttered. "I was only doing my job. That's all that matters."
Stephen finally turned his head to look at his brother, his face appraising and a little too cautious. "Your job?" he repeated, emotionless. "Since when do you have a job?"
Will continued not to say anything, and Stephen grunted again. "All right, fine," he snapped. "Your job. What is it, exactly, that you do?"
A hard, cold smile twisted Will's lips, and while he didn't fail to hear the skepticism in Stephen's voice, the immortal in him simply didn't care. "I watch," he answered softly, a world of meaning in his voice that Stephen wasn't expected to understand. "I watch."
Venus Smurf's Thoughts of the Day:
How many honest, intelligent and caring men does it take to do the dishes? Answer: All three of them.
Why be difficult when, with a bit of effort, you can be impossible?
We'll get along fine as soon as you realize I'm God.
I don't have a drinking problem. I drink. I get drunk. I fall down. No problem.
Eat a live toad in the morning. Your day can only improve from there.
