Chapter One - A Little Knowledge
Buffy Summers, the last guardian of the hellmouth, stood before her creators. The shadowmen had created the slayer. Her answers lay within their midst. "I've come here to learn." Buffy's face was determined, not willing to compromise. However, her words were misleading. She had come to learn, but only what she wanted to hear: how to defeat the First.
"We cannot give you knowledge, only power," the Shadowman answered gravely.
She did not want power, she had it already. But they could give her more - at a price. Buffy came for knowledge and that is what she would leave with. The problem is sometimes a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. And now she knew, she wished she had opted for the power.
***************************
The months leading to the day she and Dawn had found Chloe hanging from the ceiling had been harrowing. As the slayer, Buffy had always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, but never ever had she had to carry the blind terror of her friends, sister and a group of potential slayers too. She was tired, so very tired of being the strong one, of giving her all when despite her best efforts, the First Evil still managed to chip away at them bit by bit. As they weakened, it laughed, it mocked, it rejoiced. And she could take no more. It was time that everyone began to do their part.
Except she knew it did not work that way. She was always expected to face death and never complain. It was who she was. But why should she be using her power to dig the graves of potentials the First had picked off? Why should she have to merrily scatter the dirt upon their lifeless bodies and then return in to hear more of Xander's sarcasm, more of Kennedy's attacks - more and more disparagement. The weight of their dissonance was killing her and their fight. It was time to act.
When she returned inside, spade in hand, the room was quelled with soft sobs and mourning. It stifled her. Then the potentials looked to her, their leader, for comfort, for anything. But Buffy's eyes were cold, hardened by years of losing the ones she loved, knowing crying never brought them back.
"Chloe was stupid." They all gaped at her in shock, in disgust, but she was past caring. They needed to know the truth. There was a war to fight, a ruthless, bloody, epic battle they would not all survive. And whether they liked it or not, they had been picked. This was their battle as much as hers: if they did not fight, they were as good as dead.
As she predicted, Kennedy dissented. Buffy stared her down, no time for games. She needed the potentials to believe, for Dawn, Xander and Giles to understand, for Spike to become less pussy-whipped and for Willow to stop hiding behind her spell books. She needed them all to follow her lead, to give of themselves without constant doubt and question. She needed their faith - but all she received was their unwavering fear. So she snapped. Just a bit more. Her friends were shocked. They were her friends, why could they not be treated as such? Things had always been more democratic, more talkative but the time for that was through. Buffy was the head of an army of teenage girls, flanked by a recently ensouled vampire, a former watcher, her little sister and dearest friends. Thrown in the midst were a former demon frightened for her life and a nerdy evil genius wannabe with a love for sci fi. It was a nomadic band of misfits and children, of uncertainty and self doubt. It scared Buffy that this was all she had.
"Dawn, get the potentials upstairs and break out that emergency box," Buffy ordered.
"What are you going to do?" Dawn asked, slightly stunned at her sister's outburst.
"I'm declaring an emergency," Buffy answered sharply.
Then she walked out, painfully aware of all the eyes in the room on her, glowering in resent. It was always lonely to be the one with power.
*****************
Slightly calmer, Buffy stood as her sister opened the strange looking box in the slayer emergency bag Robin Wood, the principal, had provided her with. The purpose of the cast iron figures that emerged from it were somewhat of a mystery to Buffy, but somehow she knew they were important. This was finally it, the break she had been hoping against hope for. Somehow, they might actually defeat the First. Most amazingly, it might be all because of Dawn's careful research right now.
It had impressed Buffy that Dawn had not reacted petulantly to her earlier rebuke. Instead she had thrown herself into the mission, determined to contribute in the fight against the First. It was most unlike Dawn to let any form of criticism go without a healthy display of adolescent angst or more accurately screaming, but just lately, things had changed. Buffy traced it back to the truce they had come to after Willow had tried to end the world. In response to Buffy's recognition of her burgeoning maturity and need to be involved, Dawn had responded by stepping up to the plate. She was beginning to be selfless, to work without reward or recognition, for the common good. Where those older than her quailed, absorbed with their own troubles and issues, Dawn had focused, prompted and in some cases, even directed, their actions. It was Dawn now who was pulling her weight, putting the others to shame with her explanations, with her knowledge. Buffy had once told Dawn she was going to be powerful; now it seemed that prediction was coming true.
Then everything began to become very surreal. The figures had begun to cast shadows that were telling a story: the story of the first slayer. Men had taken an innocent girl and chained her to the earth, forcing her to become a slayer and kill the demons. The beating drums were becoming louder, the shadows spinning faster and faster, Buffy's mind racing with the revelations.
"It says you can't just watch, you have to see," Dawn told Buffy, clutching the heavy book telling the slayer's story tightly. "But only if you're willing to make the exchange."
And Buffy was. They needed to know; they needed to see. The First was winning, decimating her army piece by piece. There was no time left for deliberation. So without further thought to Willow's worries or Robin Wood's doubts, she stepped into the portal, looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Except when she arrived, she was back where it all had all begun. Things had come full circle and now the last slayer was to meet the fate of the first. The shadowmen were not interested in her empowerment through knowledge or her battle with the First. They had only one tool - the slayer. Through her, they would protect themselves from demons. They were the creators, they were the controllers. Whoever controlled the knowledge, had the power and theirs lay in the dark magics: in the spirit of the demon that they were attempting to forcefully impose upon her. It had tried to rip Buffy of her free choice, of her quintessential humanity, believing her unable to resist. However they had severely underestimated Buffy Summers.
She was determined to leave this dimension with the knowledge she had come for, to learn of how to conquer the First. So she persisted until it was gained. The elder shadowman had placed his hands firmly on her temples, regarding her with a look tinged with regret. Then she had been gripped with true terror, her worst ever fears confirmed. She had always been sustained by the belief that whatever happened to her, Angel would continue to live, to fight, to be strong. She received the vision of his agonising death, of his body being disintegrated by a shaft of brilliant sunlight. This was the knowledge she had been seeking, this was the truth she had fought so hard to win. Except she could not, would not accept it. It could not be true. How could Angel's death be linked to the vanquishing of the First?
Still reeling from the shock of her discovery, she had slunk into her room. Closing the door firmly behind her, she had crawled beneath her covers, closing herself off from the questions of her friends, from the endless horror of watching her first love die. But it did not go away. Again and again, she saw his face contorted in agony, his eyes hardened with determination not to give in to the pain. It was then that her secret dream of a future with Angel disappeared and she felt the true bleakness of it all descend upon her. If there was no chance for him, no chance for her, why bother? How could she defeat the First when it held such a high price for them both?
Finally Willow had entered the room, her demeanour subdued, her presence emanating the enormity of the war they faced. She looked to Buffy for hope.
"They offered me more power. I should have took it."
"Don't worry. We'll get by. We always do," Will had answered her quietly, her optimistic words belying her growing perturbment.
"They showed me Angel, Will," Buffy had then said suddenly, as Willow's eyes had widened in shock. "They showed me he's key."
Taking a moment to absorb the news, Will regarded her friend carefully. "That's a good thing isn't it? Angel's strong. He could be a great ally in defeating the First," she reasoned.
Buffy shook her head firmly, drawing herself up to a sitting position. "No, he won't be," she responded squarely. "We'll be fighting this war, but not with Angel."
"But they showed he could help. They showed he could help us win," Willow protested, slightly confused. "Why don't you want him to? I'm going to call him right now." Will stood quickly and went to leave the room.
"Because it will kill him," Buffy stated bluntly.
Willow froze. Turning round, she walked slowly to Buffy and sat on the bed beside her. "How?"
"I saw a shaft of light killing him, ripping the life from him," Buffy whispered, her face white. "I saw his pain, I felt it, Willow. I felt the agony of his dying. And I cannot let that happen. He can't know about this."
Wetting her lips nervously, Will watched her friend's pained face as she considered the wretchedness of Buffy's choice. As had so often happened before, Buffy was being forced to decide between saving the world and sacrificing those she loved. Although she in no way wanted Angel's death, Willow knew that they had to bring him here. "Buffy, you know what I'm going to say. We still have to tell Angel."
"No," Buffy answered firmly, the word emphasised by her tightly gripping Willow's arm. "You have to promise you won't tell him, Will. He's not getting involved. This is my war, my rules."
Feeling deeply unhappy, Will gave a small nod. To promise not to tell seemed wrong, but to go against Buffy's wishes was unthinkable. Lost in her thoughts, Willow left the room. It was as if the only way to win was to sacrifice, to lose, to hurt. This past year, Willow had experienced enough of that. Dwelling on her own pain and grief, Willow secured her promise. They would have to find another way.
To be continued.
Buffy Summers, the last guardian of the hellmouth, stood before her creators. The shadowmen had created the slayer. Her answers lay within their midst. "I've come here to learn." Buffy's face was determined, not willing to compromise. However, her words were misleading. She had come to learn, but only what she wanted to hear: how to defeat the First.
"We cannot give you knowledge, only power," the Shadowman answered gravely.
She did not want power, she had it already. But they could give her more - at a price. Buffy came for knowledge and that is what she would leave with. The problem is sometimes a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. And now she knew, she wished she had opted for the power.
***************************
The months leading to the day she and Dawn had found Chloe hanging from the ceiling had been harrowing. As the slayer, Buffy had always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, but never ever had she had to carry the blind terror of her friends, sister and a group of potential slayers too. She was tired, so very tired of being the strong one, of giving her all when despite her best efforts, the First Evil still managed to chip away at them bit by bit. As they weakened, it laughed, it mocked, it rejoiced. And she could take no more. It was time that everyone began to do their part.
Except she knew it did not work that way. She was always expected to face death and never complain. It was who she was. But why should she be using her power to dig the graves of potentials the First had picked off? Why should she have to merrily scatter the dirt upon their lifeless bodies and then return in to hear more of Xander's sarcasm, more of Kennedy's attacks - more and more disparagement. The weight of their dissonance was killing her and their fight. It was time to act.
When she returned inside, spade in hand, the room was quelled with soft sobs and mourning. It stifled her. Then the potentials looked to her, their leader, for comfort, for anything. But Buffy's eyes were cold, hardened by years of losing the ones she loved, knowing crying never brought them back.
"Chloe was stupid." They all gaped at her in shock, in disgust, but she was past caring. They needed to know the truth. There was a war to fight, a ruthless, bloody, epic battle they would not all survive. And whether they liked it or not, they had been picked. This was their battle as much as hers: if they did not fight, they were as good as dead.
As she predicted, Kennedy dissented. Buffy stared her down, no time for games. She needed the potentials to believe, for Dawn, Xander and Giles to understand, for Spike to become less pussy-whipped and for Willow to stop hiding behind her spell books. She needed them all to follow her lead, to give of themselves without constant doubt and question. She needed their faith - but all she received was their unwavering fear. So she snapped. Just a bit more. Her friends were shocked. They were her friends, why could they not be treated as such? Things had always been more democratic, more talkative but the time for that was through. Buffy was the head of an army of teenage girls, flanked by a recently ensouled vampire, a former watcher, her little sister and dearest friends. Thrown in the midst were a former demon frightened for her life and a nerdy evil genius wannabe with a love for sci fi. It was a nomadic band of misfits and children, of uncertainty and self doubt. It scared Buffy that this was all she had.
"Dawn, get the potentials upstairs and break out that emergency box," Buffy ordered.
"What are you going to do?" Dawn asked, slightly stunned at her sister's outburst.
"I'm declaring an emergency," Buffy answered sharply.
Then she walked out, painfully aware of all the eyes in the room on her, glowering in resent. It was always lonely to be the one with power.
*****************
Slightly calmer, Buffy stood as her sister opened the strange looking box in the slayer emergency bag Robin Wood, the principal, had provided her with. The purpose of the cast iron figures that emerged from it were somewhat of a mystery to Buffy, but somehow she knew they were important. This was finally it, the break she had been hoping against hope for. Somehow, they might actually defeat the First. Most amazingly, it might be all because of Dawn's careful research right now.
It had impressed Buffy that Dawn had not reacted petulantly to her earlier rebuke. Instead she had thrown herself into the mission, determined to contribute in the fight against the First. It was most unlike Dawn to let any form of criticism go without a healthy display of adolescent angst or more accurately screaming, but just lately, things had changed. Buffy traced it back to the truce they had come to after Willow had tried to end the world. In response to Buffy's recognition of her burgeoning maturity and need to be involved, Dawn had responded by stepping up to the plate. She was beginning to be selfless, to work without reward or recognition, for the common good. Where those older than her quailed, absorbed with their own troubles and issues, Dawn had focused, prompted and in some cases, even directed, their actions. It was Dawn now who was pulling her weight, putting the others to shame with her explanations, with her knowledge. Buffy had once told Dawn she was going to be powerful; now it seemed that prediction was coming true.
Then everything began to become very surreal. The figures had begun to cast shadows that were telling a story: the story of the first slayer. Men had taken an innocent girl and chained her to the earth, forcing her to become a slayer and kill the demons. The beating drums were becoming louder, the shadows spinning faster and faster, Buffy's mind racing with the revelations.
"It says you can't just watch, you have to see," Dawn told Buffy, clutching the heavy book telling the slayer's story tightly. "But only if you're willing to make the exchange."
And Buffy was. They needed to know; they needed to see. The First was winning, decimating her army piece by piece. There was no time left for deliberation. So without further thought to Willow's worries or Robin Wood's doubts, she stepped into the portal, looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Except when she arrived, she was back where it all had all begun. Things had come full circle and now the last slayer was to meet the fate of the first. The shadowmen were not interested in her empowerment through knowledge or her battle with the First. They had only one tool - the slayer. Through her, they would protect themselves from demons. They were the creators, they were the controllers. Whoever controlled the knowledge, had the power and theirs lay in the dark magics: in the spirit of the demon that they were attempting to forcefully impose upon her. It had tried to rip Buffy of her free choice, of her quintessential humanity, believing her unable to resist. However they had severely underestimated Buffy Summers.
She was determined to leave this dimension with the knowledge she had come for, to learn of how to conquer the First. So she persisted until it was gained. The elder shadowman had placed his hands firmly on her temples, regarding her with a look tinged with regret. Then she had been gripped with true terror, her worst ever fears confirmed. She had always been sustained by the belief that whatever happened to her, Angel would continue to live, to fight, to be strong. She received the vision of his agonising death, of his body being disintegrated by a shaft of brilliant sunlight. This was the knowledge she had been seeking, this was the truth she had fought so hard to win. Except she could not, would not accept it. It could not be true. How could Angel's death be linked to the vanquishing of the First?
Still reeling from the shock of her discovery, she had slunk into her room. Closing the door firmly behind her, she had crawled beneath her covers, closing herself off from the questions of her friends, from the endless horror of watching her first love die. But it did not go away. Again and again, she saw his face contorted in agony, his eyes hardened with determination not to give in to the pain. It was then that her secret dream of a future with Angel disappeared and she felt the true bleakness of it all descend upon her. If there was no chance for him, no chance for her, why bother? How could she defeat the First when it held such a high price for them both?
Finally Willow had entered the room, her demeanour subdued, her presence emanating the enormity of the war they faced. She looked to Buffy for hope.
"They offered me more power. I should have took it."
"Don't worry. We'll get by. We always do," Will had answered her quietly, her optimistic words belying her growing perturbment.
"They showed me Angel, Will," Buffy had then said suddenly, as Willow's eyes had widened in shock. "They showed me he's key."
Taking a moment to absorb the news, Will regarded her friend carefully. "That's a good thing isn't it? Angel's strong. He could be a great ally in defeating the First," she reasoned.
Buffy shook her head firmly, drawing herself up to a sitting position. "No, he won't be," she responded squarely. "We'll be fighting this war, but not with Angel."
"But they showed he could help. They showed he could help us win," Willow protested, slightly confused. "Why don't you want him to? I'm going to call him right now." Will stood quickly and went to leave the room.
"Because it will kill him," Buffy stated bluntly.
Willow froze. Turning round, she walked slowly to Buffy and sat on the bed beside her. "How?"
"I saw a shaft of light killing him, ripping the life from him," Buffy whispered, her face white. "I saw his pain, I felt it, Willow. I felt the agony of his dying. And I cannot let that happen. He can't know about this."
Wetting her lips nervously, Will watched her friend's pained face as she considered the wretchedness of Buffy's choice. As had so often happened before, Buffy was being forced to decide between saving the world and sacrificing those she loved. Although she in no way wanted Angel's death, Willow knew that they had to bring him here. "Buffy, you know what I'm going to say. We still have to tell Angel."
"No," Buffy answered firmly, the word emphasised by her tightly gripping Willow's arm. "You have to promise you won't tell him, Will. He's not getting involved. This is my war, my rules."
Feeling deeply unhappy, Will gave a small nod. To promise not to tell seemed wrong, but to go against Buffy's wishes was unthinkable. Lost in her thoughts, Willow left the room. It was as if the only way to win was to sacrifice, to lose, to hurt. This past year, Willow had experienced enough of that. Dwelling on her own pain and grief, Willow secured her promise. They would have to find another way.
To be continued.
