Short chapter. Sorry, RL's being painful. Please enjoy and I'll get 9 up as soon as possible.

Chapter 8 -- Widening Gyre

"Okay… This is not The Standing Stones," Willow said softly, looking around the corridor.

"Not Kansas either," Tara contributed absently. "Who's the Escher fan? I mean, sure, it's roomy enough, but who wants to pay for a whole extra dimension that no one's ever going to use?"

Giles rubbed his forehead and shook his head. Walls joined each other at impossible angles, the ceiling and floor met at more than one point, and the stairways… "How the hell are we supposed to find the library in this?" he sighed.

"I'm still having trouble on which one is the floor," Willow murmured, immediately regretting it.

Vertigo did not begin to describe what she was feeling looking at this Escher drawing rendered into reality. Her grasp on Tara's hand felt like her only anchor to reality at present and that anchor paled in comparison to what she was looking at. She was suddenly afraid that they might find out that they had actually been standing on the ceiling and go crashing to the floor.

Giles closed his eyes and found it much easier to concentrate, so he kept them firmly shut as he thought. "This is an entrance hall, yes?" he asked, keeping a firm grip on Tara's hand.

"If this were the Standing Stones it would be," Willow agreed. She closed her own eyes, following his lead. It really was a lot better.

"Which means doors," Giles said, nodding. "Which, hopefully, will lead to places with somewhat less disorienting architecture."

"But there are no doors," Willow pointed out. "Just a long, weird hallway."

Giles shook his head. "There are doors. There must be. We just need to find them. Unless you want to chance one of the stairways?"

"Not particularly," Willow assured him. Not in this lifetime, and preferably not in any other, Giles.

He blindly reached out and found the wall with his free hand. "Ladies, when we get out of here, kindly remind me never to look at another Escher again," he murmured, finding a doorknob. "Ah." He pulled the door open and stepped through, tugging at Tara's hand and urging her to follow.

Willow entered last and closed the door without opening her eyes. "Did it work?"

"I don't know," Giles replied. "I haven't opened my eyes yet. Tara?"

"Um, hang on." Tara opened her eyes and nodded. "Yeah, it worked. Kind of."

"Kind of?" Giles repeated, opening his eyes and looking around. "Oh, bloody hell."

"At least it doesn't give us vertigo," Willow contributed, looking around a dungeon that seemed straight out of the Spanish Inquisition. Oh, and there was the table where a suspect would be tortured until he confessed. A distant, agonized scream echoed through the dungeon. "You know, I'm thinking we should take our chances outside," Willow announced, reaching behind her for the doorknob. "Shit!"

Giles spun, startled to hear that kind of language out of Willow. Until he saw what had made her say it at which point he let out a few choice pieces of vernacular himself. Composing himself, he managed not to snarl his next words.

"Where's the door?"

Willow shook her head and Tara shrugged. More screaming was audible now and other sounds that none of the three even wanted to guess at.

"Marvelous!" he sighed in exasperation. "A witch, a spirit, and a sorcerer stuck in the sodding Inquisition!"

"Hey, it's not like it's real, right," Willow said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone. It came out sounding more frantic than anything. "It's like Tara said, just… images taken from our minds… not like they can hurt us."

"You quite sure about that, love?" a gentle voice asked. Ethan Rayne inquired, stepping out of the shadows in the robes of an Inquisitor.

"You," Giles snarled, loosening his grip on Tara's hand.

He frowned when she tightened her own grip on his in return. Shaking his head, he struggled to break free, intent on protecting them from whatever Ethan had planned for them. The symbolism of the Inquisition was not lost on him, of course. Those years had been notoriously bad times for people like Willow and Tara and Ethan obviously planned on reviving certain of those customs.

"Giles, it's not him!" Willow protested. "They're trying to separate us. Don't let them!"

The last words were spoken a moment too late. Giles had freed himself from Tara's grasp and launched himself at 'Ethan'. The Inquisitor simply held his ground and spread his arms as though waiting for a hug. When Giles bowled into him, frantically trying to abort the lunge, both vanished in a flash.

"Giles!" Willow shouted, staring at the spot where he had been. She took a step forward, only to feel Tara's hand tighten spasmodically around hers. "Giles," she repeated in a whisper. "Tara, is he…" She could not bring herself to say the word.

"I don't think so. Can you feel him?"

Willow closed her eyes and cast out with her mind. He was there, faint, but she could still feel his soul. "He's in pain!" she whimpered. "Tara, we have to help him."

Tara nodded, twinning her fingers through Willow's. "First we have to find him."

Willow gave a weak nod. "We can't go back. Forward, we have to go forward."

Tara nodded. "Lead the way."

Willow took a deep breath and nodded, slowly advancing into the dungeon and steadfastly ignoring the torture implements scattered all around, some covered in blood that was still damp and sticky. Perhaps because of the smells and sounds, the trek across dungeon seemed endless, but they soon approached a large wooden door. It took both of them to pull it open and when they had, they stared into total darkness.

"Well?" Willow asked Tara.

"I can't tell you where to go or what to do, baby," Tara sighed, shaking her head apologetically. "Go with your instincts. Trust your heart."

Willow nodded and closed her eyes, casting out again. She could feel him, marginally closer, but weaker. And in so much pain… Tears in her eyes, she stepped through the door.

***

"Okay, that is definitely not a good sign!" Xander announced as Giles gasped loudly, writhing on the floor. "An, sweetie, what the hell?"

"He's in pain," Anya announced, reaching down to feel for a pulse. The man's heart was beating like a jackhammer, fast and hard, but still regular. She let out a relieved sigh. "He's not dying," she told Xander. Looking up at the horrified look on his face, she sighed and repeated more firmly, her voice gentle, "He's not dying."

Xander nodded shakily.

"Whatever's wrong with him isn't affecting Willow," Anya told him, suspecting that the news would comfort him.

Xander gave another shaky nod. "Okay. That's… something at least."

Anya nodded and rose, moving to crouch next to him. "Xander, I want you to go get yourself a drink of water, okay? Lie down on the couch for awhile. There's nothing you can do here."

"I can be with them. It's something," he told her firmly.

"Xander, this is ripping you apart inside," she protested, shaking her head.

"No shit, An." Xander nodded fiercely. "You mean to tell me that you aren't even a little concerned?" he demanded.

"Of course I am, Xander," she sighed. "They're my friends."

"They're mine, too." He shrugged. "I mean, I know I'm just the non-powerful, lame side-kick in all this world-saving, but… they're still my friends."

Anya sighed and sat down, facing him. "You're not that lame, Xander," she told him gently. "For a man."

Under other circumstances, the gibe would have had him laughing. As it was, he could only manage a faint smile. "Thanks, An."

"Come here." Shaking her head, she gathered him into her arms. "Dopey at times, but never lame."

"Ah, An, thank you," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her. "I've missed you're backhanded compliments."

"I think you mean left-handed compliments," Anya corrected him.

Xander shook his head. "No, An. Coming from you, compliments tend to be more like getting backhanded," he told her gravely.

"Yeah, well…" Anya shrugged helplessly.

***

"I always said your temper would be your undoing, Ripper," Ethan purred in his ear before kicking him sharply in the ribs.

Supporting himself on all fours, Giles let out a cry and fell to the floor. A familiar floor. The abandoned warehouse where the Cult he had once belonged to had practiced.

"Not that you ever listened."

Another kick followed the previous one and this time Giles was sure he heard bones breaking.

"Why are you doing this?" Giles groaned, not trying to get up again.

Every time he tried to get up, Ethan kicked him down. It was not the only physical abuse he had been subjected to since becoming separated from Willow and Tara and finding himself in the torture chamber. In spite of the fact that several of his ribs seem to have been broken, it was not even the worst he had been subjected to.

"Why do you think?" Ethan demanded. "You honestly thought you could protect the little witches from me?"

"Don't actually have to," Giles noted quietly, biting back tears. "They're both quite strong enough to hold their own against you."

"You on the other hand, seem to be having a bit of a problem in that department, hmm?" Ethan chuckled and shook his head.

"Go to hell…"

"Perhaps I already have," Ethan suggested, crouching next to him. "In which case I'm in fine company with my old chum Ripper."

"I am not dead and this is not hell," Giles murmured, pushing himself up on his arms. "And you are not Ethan." He shook his head and struggled to get upright.

"Who am I then, hmm?" Ethan inquired, catching his arm and helping him stand.

"My worst nightmare. The one thing that forces me to confront a past I would rather forget." He shook his head. "But you aren't Ethan. Hell, you're not even real for all I know."

"Oh, I assure you I am quite real."

"But you aren't Ethan."

"No, no I'm not."

"Just another obstacle to overcome, I suppose?"

"Correct."

Giles sighed and considered how to proceed. He was in too much pain to think very clearly, but he found himself doubting that 'Ethan' could be subdued in a fight. He had tried to hurt him and had gotten himself beaten to a pulp for his efforts. Obviously a different approach was called for.

"I don't suppose asking you nicely to let me go would help?"

Ethan shrugged.

Giles narrowed his eyes. "You took Ethan's form deliberately. You knew I would attack instead of trying to reason with you. Because, of course, there is no reasoning with Ethan."

A faint nod.

"Divide and conquer, is that what you lot are about?"

"You may be required to face some of the coming battles alone," a gentle voice breathed in his ear.

"Cassandra." Giles closed his eyes. "The Oracle?"

She smiled and nodded. "You can go now," she told 'Ethan'. "Your services are no longer needed in regards to this mortal."

He nodded and smiled winningly at them. "Sorry about the abuse, old boy. You brought it on yourself, you know."

Giles firmly ignored the almost overwhelming urge to rush him and wipe that smug smile off of his face. "Get out," he suggested instead. "You heard the woman."

"What woman?"

Giles frowned and started to nod towards 'Cassandra', only to realize that she was no longer present. "Great," he sighed, shaking his head in disgust. When he looked back at 'Ethan', he was gone, too. "Guess I'd better find Willow," he murmured, looking around for a door.

Sighting one, he started towards it, leaning heavily on the wall for support. He had been in more pain before, but not by much. He did his best to ignore it, though. He had to find Willow quickly, he knew, before 'Ethan' appeared to her, probably in the form of Warren. Attempts to overcome that particular spirit, or whatever it was, by force were repaid brutally, and seemingly in proportion to the violence of the initial attack. Willow would get herself killed.