Inside Faith's room the Slayer was already sitting in a seiza as Miyoko quietly opened the door. She folded gracefully into the same position across from Faith. Following a nod from her, Faith closed her eyes. The Slayer's breathing eventually slowed and deepened but not enough, and when Miyoko clapped her hands together, Faith jumped and her eyes snapped open. She blushed at her failure to reach the deep meditative state without help.
"This will take time and a lot of practice," Miyoko told her soothingly and then took a deep breath. "Listen to my voice," she intoned slowly, deeply. "Follow it down... Let it carry you deep inside... There is nothing around you... There are no feelings... There are no sensations... There is no darkness and no light... It is silent for all but my voice... You float in this void... You are safe... There is nothing... You exist... You are aware, but you have no thoughts..."
Miyoko clapped again, but this time Faith didn't register it. The Slayer stayed completely still, her face completely lax and blank, her eyes closed. Her breathing was deep and slow, slower even than a person reached when asleep. Miyoko waited. The Slayer wouldn't be able to maintain this state for very long and would rise on her own. So far, the longest Faith had been able to maintain it was for three and a half minutes. She hoped to get the Slayer to be eventually able to enter this state unaided and maintain it for at least fifteen minutes. Faith reached four minutes before slowly returning to awareness.
They repeated the process several times. Faith would try it alone and then Miyoko would talk her down. She'd remain deep inside herself for as long as possible and then they'd start over again. After two hours, Faith was able to maintain the deep state for five minutes and could almost reach it on her own.
"You're making real progress," Miyoko beamed and rose to her feet.
Faith wasn't nearly as graceful and staggered on her numb legs. Miyoko had to catch her before she fell and hit her head on the table. Faith blushed at her clumsiness, but that faded when Miyoko just grinned at her.
"It's still hard not to get lost in thoughts about the past," Faith admitted quietly as they stepped into the corridor. "I try to get around them, but I feel like I'm getting pulled in."
"That's perfectly normal, Faith, especially in your case," Miyoko reassured her. "Your Spirit Walk paved way for you to fully accept the darker aspects in and of your subconscious. Before it you would never have been able to do this at all. Five minutes, whether unaided or not, is nothing to sneer at."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Now... What are you so angry at?"
"I don't think it even matters anymore," Faith answered evenly straight away. The question that had been always in the background since the first time Miyoko asked her was now in the open. "I used to be angry at my father for abandoning me, but then I realised he might not have even known about me. I used to be angry at my mother for making my childhood a living hell, but then I realised she was sick and not really responsible for her actions. The ones that really deserve my anger are all the johns who took advantage of me; none of them putting a stop to it, saying, 'Your own fucking kid? Are you shitting me?'
"I could go on and on... All the foster families for not really caring, Diane for dying, Travers and the Council for treating me like trash – I guess even Bright Eyes for making me fall for him and forcing me to question myself...
"I suppose I was just generally anti-everything, having been dealt a shitty hand at birth. Becoming a Slayer didn't really help... I just became a fucking strong angry person. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, so that I could justify my shitty behaviour with, 'See? That's the story of Faith Lehane' life.'"
"And now?"
"It's still there," Faith shrugged. "But now I have so much to look forward to, to live for, that wallowing in your old shit just doesn't feel worth it anymore. I might sometimes lapse, not really meaning to, but it really helps to know that there are people who... care about me."
"Faith, it's ok to say 'love'. You are loved by many people even if it's still hard for you to fully accept it."
"I guess..." Faith muttered, slightly embarrassed.
"Remember that whenever the darkness threatens to raise its ugly head again," Miyoko smiled. "To put this matter finally behind us, let me just say how incredibly proud I am of you."
Receiving and accepting praise was another thing that Faith was slowly getting comfortable with. Instead of just shrugging it off with a sneer, she welcomed it, felt it lift her spirits. She loved the feeling.
Rowan lay in his bed staring at the first page of Robert W. Chambers' The King in Yellow in half fascination, half resignation. Cassilda's Song appeared to be a direct translation from an ancient song-poem he had sung countless times with Aurora. Back then it was said that it originated from the time when both the Powers and Old Ones roamed the Earth.
He quickly skipped to the end page where a short biography of the author had been added. It was exactly the same as with the others. After writing this particular book, Chambers had started to suffer from frequent bouts of severe depression which lasted until his death. With a sigh he threw the book to the floor where it joined August Derleth's The Watchers Out of Time and Others, Clark Ashton Smith's Other Dimensions and H.P. Lovecraft's The Dunwich Horror and Others.
Writers who had gone insane, or been that already... suicides, murders, disappearances. Scattered fragments in their works, describing true events or real creatures, countless millennia in the past. Quor'toth, Basatan, Arsgomor, Neauth, Maloker, Lythalla, Othuum, Vrill and Boluz – and finally... Illyria.
Old Ones.
Places that had existed before the Sealing and as far back as the Primordium Age.
Myths, presented as fiction.
He knew the few Old Ones who remained for a time in Selenia had hidden parts of their race's nearly limitless knowledge in secret locations around the world before their time finally ran out. There were existing books describing real prehistoric events, like he had seen in the Council's library in London. The Remnants of Lost Empires, Liber Ivonis, Imago Mundi and Tarsioid Psalms, for example.
But to think that tiny droplets of that lore had somehow found its way to otherwise fictional horror stories. Maybe the writers had somehow stumbled upon surviving copies of these histories, which was far from certain. Maybe the Old Ones still retained an infinitesimally small presence in this reality and could influence the dreams of the authors who had been unable to fully comprehend what their visions showed them. They may have been compelled to get the "truth" out by whatever means possible, a process which had eventually been disastrous to their mental health.
That was a lot of maybes, but definitely something to spend some time and energy on at some point in the future.
Pushing the mystery to the back of his mind, Rowan raised himself to sit on the bed. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the music that was playing in the background. It was an album called Angels Fall First by the symphonic metal band Nightwish. He had heard a short sample of one of the songs from the album by accident when he passed the door to a room where a Trainee was playing it. He had surprised her by asking to borrow the record as the female singer apparently had some real talent. Usually, if he had time to listen to any music at all, it was mostly something operatic. But the melodic heaviness of the band's music, accompanied by the singer's effortless vocals made listening to it a surprisingly pleasant experience.
"Xander?" Cordelia's voice rose a perfect octave over the name as she recognised the person standing in the doorway of Angel Investigations. "Oh! My! God! Xander!"
With that she was out of her chair and threw herself in Xander's arms, leaving a frowning Whistler to witness their encounter.
"Through fire, Cordy," Xander smiled, genuinely happy to see his ex-girlfriend.
"Through fire, Xander," Cordelia beamed back and disentangled herself from their brief embrace. She stepped back and took a good look of her fellow Scooby. He looked damn good. Whatever he had done over the Summer definitely agreed with him. "I'm really happy to see you, Xander."
"You too," Xander nodded.
Both turned to look at the third person in the room as a delicate cough caught their attention.
"Xander," Cordelia smiled from ear to ear and pointed at the boy in question.
"Let me just take a stab at this, but you'd be Xander?" Whistler asked, feigning ignorance about the young man's identity. This was just too precious to let it pass.
"Good guess," Xander grinned and nodded. She nudged Cordelia's side inconspicuously.
"Oh, this is Whistler," Cordelia completed the introductions. "He, air-quote, 'works here'."
Xander and Whistler shook hands while Cordelia returned back to her desk. "So, you guys are like real detectives now?" Xander asked curiously.
"No, I'm still an actress...," Cordelia corrected quickly.
"And quite a captivating one at that," Whistler murmured under his breath.
"...and between my many gigs, I choose to help Angel."
"He's the detective," Whistler supplied helpfully.
"So, why the air quotes around your employment status?" Xander asked.
"Well, I'm actually employed by the PtB and they kinda subcontracted me to work for A.I. for now."
"No kidding?" Xander raised his eyebrows. "How about that."
"I had some slack."
"So, where is he?" Xander asked, looking around the small office.
Downstairs, Angel heard the whirring of the elevator engine and got lazily to his feet with his book still open in his hand. When the elevator doors opened, Whistler and Cordelia stepped out accompanied by...
"Xander."
"Through fire, Angel," Xander stated flatly.
"What?" Angel asked, totally perplexed.
"Uh, I kind or forgot to pass on the news," Cordelia grimaced. "That's the new Scooby motto."
Throwing a narrow-eyed look at his "assistant" got only an apologetic smile in return. There was an expectant silence.
"Oh, well. Fine," Angel finally caved with a roll of his eyes. "Through fire, Xander."
"Yeah."
"Nice surprise."
"Thanks."
"Staying long?"
"No."
"They always like this?" Whistler asked Cordelia in real amusement.
"No, we usually use much shorter sentences," Angel deadpanned. "Come on in," he inclined his head to Xander.
Once the quartet was seated with cans of soft drinks and a mug of blood, Angel decided that enough time had already been spent on niceties.
"So, what brings you here?"
"Mainly, to give you this," Xander answered and dug out the ring holding the Gem of Amara from a trouser pocket.
The spray of Coke out of Whistler's mouth was quite impressive. "Wait a minute, is that what I think it is?" he managed to splutter. He was so used to being on top of things that surprises like this really were shockers. He had gotten no vision or precognition in advance. Could it be that the deal he had with the PtB was nearing its expiration date? Throughout his "servitude" his "powers" had always been what the PtB felt were suitable for each job. If they were subtly starting to cut him off, it could mean that...
"It's the Gem of Amara," Angel agreed in a voice filled with awe.
"Buffy wanted you to have it," Xander told the vampire and held out his hand meaningfully.
With a trembling hand, Angel reached out and picked up the vampiric equivalent of the Holy Grail from Xander's palm. He was holding the Gem of Amara.
"So, how's Buffy," Cordelia piped in brightly. "Still the brave little Slayer, or is she moping around like...," she continued, unaware of the mood around her, until she caught Angel's serious gaze. "... nobody around here," she back-pedalled with her hand raised in a placating gesture.
"She's good," Xander supplied. "She's Buffy."
Willow jumped out of her seat, spilling the popcorn on Buffy's lap, with her heart beating a mile a minute. She and the Slayer were at an afternoon screening of The Matrix and the "spoon scene" was playing on the screen. Muttering a hasty excuse amidst indignant shouts and yells, she just rushed heedlessly out of the theatre. In her excitement, and still being slightly high from the joint she has smoked before meeting Buffy in the lobby of the movie theatre, she wasn't paying any attention to her surroundings – or the traffic.
She barely registered Buffy's panicked "Willow!" or the strong arms that abruptly circled her and pulled her violently aside. Only the sudden screech of car tires brought her somewhat back to her senses.
"Willow, are you ok?" a concerned male voice asked her.
"What?"
She heard running feet approach her from behind, and the next she knew, Buffy's arms were around her.
"Thank you, Riley," she heard Buffy breathe in relief. "I was too far behind."
"It was lucky," Riley stated, still panting slightly from the adrenaline. "She almost got hit."
"Willow, what's the matter?" Buffy asked in concern, seeing the slightly vacant look on her best friend's face.
"Matter?" Willow frowned. "Nothing's the matter, Buffy," she continued excitedly, her near-death experience already forgotten. "Don't you see? 'Do not try and bend the shoelace – that's impossible.' Rowan never told me to bend the lace, see? What he said was, 'try to make it bend'. It, Buffy! 'It', as in the Air itself."
Riley was watching Willow's antics in slight discomfort. He had no idea what she was talking about. But it was clear she was experiencing the after-effects of a hugely traumatic episode. "Maybe you should take her home, Buffy," he sensibly suggested. "Whatever it is, Willow, it isn't worth hurting yourself over."
Noticing that Willow was about to protest, Buffy grabbed her roommate's arm and started dragging her away. "Thanks again, Riley!" she shouted over her shoulder. "I promise to take good care of her."
All the way back to Stevenson Hall Buffy had to constantly rein Willow in from rushing head-over-feet to their room. She was all too familiar with the way new and exciting discoveries affected her best friend. But this time there seemed to be something extra, like a boost that kept her excitement level at 11. With a frown she started to think back. Willow hadn't drunk any mochas in her presence that day, but that didn't mean she couldn't have snuck into the Espresso Pump before the movie. She threw an inconspicuous glance at Willow's eyes and, surely enough, the irises were slightly dilated. So, the Witch was under the influence of an artificial stimulant. She made a vow to pay closer attention to the daily caffeine intake of her friend from then on.
Back in their room Willow dove straight for her nightstand and almost yanked the drawer all the way to the floor. When the Witch picked up the elusive shoelace, Buffy glimpsed a flash of bright metal inside.
"Why do you have a Zippo in your drawer?" Buffy asked with a frown. "You don't smoke."
Willow gaped for a second before she could answer. "Oh, ha-ha, it must have accidentally fallen into a box when we were moving my stuff. I'll return it first thing tomorrow. Hey, good catch, Buffy! I'd hate for you to think I've picked up any unhealthy habits here in college."
"Willow, breathe," Buffy told the babbling Witch. "Now that you managed to drag me all the way here, why don't you show what made you so excited you all but broke through the walls to get out of the theatre?"
"Hey! I seem to recall that someone else was doing most of the initial dragging," Willow grinned and jumped on her bed and folded to sit there cross-legged. Then she breathed deeply and laid the shoelace on her lap.
Like a hundred times before, the piece of string rose easily and stayed floating ten inches above her lap. Now, for the real challenge. Closing her eyes, she tried to visualize the element around her, the minuscule disturbances their breathing and involuntary movements were making on it. The string itself, acting like a breakwater, splitting and reflecting the waves that came in contact with it. A stone thrown into the water would disrupt the waves violently but briefly until the energy dissipated.
Opening herself more, Willow visualised the shoelace being inside a transparent tube made of air. Bending the tube would also bend the object within. She had twisted numerous drinking straws into knots while there was a piece of thread inside. Naturally the thread also became a knot when the straw was twisted although you couldn't see it...
"Wow!" Buffy's quiet astonishment brought Willow out of the trance. Above her lap floated a perfect bow knot.