And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee ...
--John Donne
Destiny's calm words rolled over her senses like the tolling of a death knell.
His words were so innocent, bloodless on their surface, that she would have missed the pronouncement of her fate had she not already seen the bullet poised to pierce her heart. She had seen it though. There was no avoiding what was about to happen. Her final destiny was just moments away.
She could have made any of a thousand choices that wouldn't have brought her here in front of this window at this moment of time. Big choices like getting back together with Willow later or sooner. Choosing another school. Staying home and not going to college. Small choices like spending a few extra minutes in the shower. Going out for breakfast instead of staying in. Picking up her clothes from her dorm room.
Any different turn in the maze of choices would have brought her to another place in this fatal moment of time. She could have followed a path through the Garden of Destiny other than this one.
But she hadn't.
She had made the choices that she had, and she couldn't change them now. She had made her choices out of her own heart and mind, following a path that inexorably led her to this moment of her death. There wasn't anything else she could have done. Was there?
Destiny was blind.
One afternoon she had talked with her father about choice and free will, how life wasn't as simple as that choice between two seemingly opposite ideas made it seem. He had even let her read from the Book of Destiny for a moment. At the time, it had been a philosophical exercise, an idea to play with and debate.
Now the idea of immutable fate felt too real.
Tara was looking forward to seeing her father again as she walked through the hedge maze. Quiet and thoughtful, he was so different from the tense, angry man her mother had allowed her to think was her father. Nathan. She had always had to choose her words carefully with him, each conversation like defusing a bomb as the slightest mistake could cause that tension to explode into hateful words and actions. Often no matter what she said, it was a mistake. If she told him the cow was too sick to milk, he'd yell at her for not taking better care of the animals, but if she didn't tell him, he'd scream at her because she was lying.
Reminding herself that she wasn't a part of that past any longer, Tara turned right at a junction where she had made a left last time. The chains of her past couldn't bind her. The farm was something she didn't have to worry about any more. Today she had another chance to better know her real father. Destiny. She wished that she had discovered her mother's journal sooner so that she could've left the farm earlier, leaving behind the house that had ceased to be a home after her mother's death, but she supposed that he would say that things happened in the only way that they could.
Following the consequences of her choice, Tara walked along a narrow passage covered with mosaics, their elaborate patterns forming a convoluted network of paths of their own on the walls of the maze. Drawn to their complexity, Tara traced a path with her finger through the labyrinth on the wall, wondering as she did so if the movements of her finger mirrored the path she walked through the maze with her feet. Shaking her head, Tara turned away from the diversion and returned to walking the labyrinth, letting instinct guide her to its center.
It was good to have family again, to have something of her own, especially after losing the family she had thought she'd had with Willow's friends in Sunnydale. But they had been just that. Willow's friends. Not hers. After her relationship with Willow ended, they had forgotten about her. Dawn was the only one of them that she had much contact with, and there she had to be the one who gave support, trying to make up for what the young girl wasn't getting from Buffy.
Lost in her thoughts, Tara suddenly found herself out of the maze in the ruddy sunlight of the garden. Her father was standing on the path before her, awaiting her arrival as he always did. Nothing ever surprised him, but today something surprised her. Her eyes widened as she saw that Destiny, eldest of the Endless, ancient and powerful beyond mortal comprehension, was carrying a picnic basket.
"You said you wanted to see where you used to visit me with your mother," Destiny said. "We'll go there today." He turned to follow a curving path paved with crushed stones deeper into the garden. The edges of the walkway were marked with rectangular stones of white marble, while above them the intertwined branches of the oak and linden trees planted along opposite sides of the path provided shade from the sun.
When Destiny spoke, his voice was the sound of inevitability. He didn't ask her if she wanted to come with him, or whether she would, yet his pronouncement wasn't a command either. It was simply what was going to happen. His foreknowledge was odd and even a bit creepy, but he was also considerate, anticipating her desire, for she had planned to ask him to visit the picnic spot from her childhood today.
Tara followed him into the garden, walking past the crumbling brick ruins of a long building or series of buildings. She couldn't tell which. Unsure of what to say, she let her eyes wander from side to side, taking in the scenery. She wondered why the structures of the garden were in such disrepair when the trees planted at even intervals along the sides of the path were well kempt and the precisely placed boundary stones were unbroken and polished to the point of reflecting her own image in their smooth white surfaces as if they had been set yesterday.
"How was your day?" Tara asked awkwardly to break the silence. The words had sounded innocuous as they ran through her mind, but as she spoke them, she realized how stupid they must sound.
"The same as all days," he replied. "I fulfilled my responsibilities as I must. I created new paths in my garden, ended old ones, offered hints of prophecy to oracles and mystics."
"What do you do though?" Tara said, hurrying to keep up with his long stride which quickly outdistanced her despite his deliberate pace. "Do you make the decisions for us? Is everything we do predetermined?"
"It's not that simple," he said. "Every day of your life, you walk the paths of this garden, your past shadowy and indistinct behind you, your future shrouded in darkness ahead of you."
"There's no one here but us."
"You simply don't see them," Destiny said. He lightly closed her eyes with his fingertips.
Suddenly the garden was full of thousands upon thousands of translucent people, each one following their own course, each path threading the labyrinth in its own fashion and marked with a different hue. The paths intersected and intertwined, creating a maze of intricate detail as they wove through the garden, none of them remotely straight as every choice, small or large, marked a change of direction.
Some people were accompanied by others who followed closely linked paths, while others walked in solitude. She thought she must be following one of the lonely paths now, but even though she was accustomed to such paths, it was hard now that she knew what it was like to walk beside someone else through your days, to rest beside them at night in the secure knowledge that their face would greet you first thing in the morning.
She wondered whether one of the threads she saw was hers and whether one of them was Willow's. If she could find their paths, could she see where they were going? And if she could see, could she do anything about it, touch those insubstantial threads with her finger and change them? Frightened of her own thoughts, Tara opened her eyes again and they were gone, all the colored threads and their people.
"I am the garden," he explained. "All the paths you and everyone else make."
"Isn't that strange?" Tara asked, tilting her head. Most of the time she could forget what Destiny was, having seen so many things that appeared much stranger on the surface in Sunnydale, then a statement like this one would remind her that he wasn't a man, that in fact, he wasn't a person at all.
"It is what I have been since the beginning." He looked around at the grassy knoll they stood on and the small lake at the bottom of one slope. "Here is our destination."
Giving up on her attempt to understand the deeper nature of Destiny, Tara looked around her at the vista of her childhood. The landscape was precisely as she recalled it from her dreams, which had turned out to not have been dreams at all. The clear blue waters of the lake which was shaped like a figure eight, the well-manicured lawns and hedges, the broken sheets of green-swirled pale marble that had once sheathed the now bare slate of the ruins of an ancient octagonal bath. It was all the same.
She turned back to her father to see that he had spread a red and black checkered blanket across the short grass of the knoll and had begun unpacking the wicker basket. A bottle of red wine with two crystal glasses. A wedge of soft white cheese with blue-green veins running through it. Plump red grapes. A loaf of warm, freshly baked brown bread.
"It looks lovely," Tara said.
"You'll like it," he said, pouring the wine into the two glasses with his left hand.
"Do you ever take that off?" Tara asked, pointing at the shackles that chained his right wrist to the book. She took a glass from him.
"Never. It is a part of me, as much as the Garden," he said. "Long ago though, someone stole it from me."
"What happened?" Tara said, ripping a chunk of steaming bread from the loaf. "Why did he do it?"
"Tonga of Etaf was a great wizard, but like many men, he increasingly feared death as he grew older. He tried spell after spell to discover when and how he was going to die; however, his divinations, while discerning of the fates of others, could not reveal the details of his own fate, and no other wizard was powerful enough to read his fate for him. He thought that if he knew how he was destined to die, he could use his magic to escape his fate. So he plotted to steal my book."
"How did he do it?" Tara asked between bites of fruit and bread. "I mean, you knew he was going to try to take the book, right?"
"It was written in the book that he would take it, so there was nothing that I could do. Though Tonga was exceedingly cunning and powerful, what was different about his attempt was that he was destined to succeed where all others had failed. However, he did not enjoy the fruits of his success once he understood the true nature of what he had taken. Reading his fate from the book, he discovered that his fate was to take the book and read from it, that, in fact, his attempt to escape his destiny was his destiny. No one can escape their fate, for in running from what must be, you only embrace what you think to flee."
Destiny's gaze seemed speculative as he regarded Tara for a moment in silence.
"What happened in the end?" Tara asked after a moment, wanting to be free of his scrutiny as she recalled her earlier thoughts about changing her and Willow's paths.
"He tried many things, magic and mundane, to change his fate only to find time after time that the events of his life turned out just as the book said they would. Every night he would read the passage describing his death over and over, seeking a way out, but he found none. Night after night the knowledge of his inevitable doom gnawed at him until he took his own life in the time and manner that it was written he would," he finished.
Tara shivered. "So that's why you won't let me read my future?"
"To know the certain future is never a blessing," he said as he cut a piece of bread off the end of the loaf with meticulous precision.
"But you told me that I would get back together with Willow," Tara objected.
"Yes, but not how or when or why, all of which the book would tell you in complete detail." he answered slowly.
"What about freedom of choice?" Tara asked, taking a quick bite of her bread. She shifted it restlessly from hand to hand while she waited for him to answer her question.
"What about it?"
"Does it exist? If everything we do is written down ahead of time, we're just zombies following a preordained path."
"That's one way of looking at things," Destiny said. He picked up a grape from the small bowl of polished cherry wood, raised it to head height and dropped it. "Events have consequences, from the beginning of time to the end. They cannot be avoided, but they're not the whole story."
"What's the other way?"
"Could you return to Willow today?" he asked calmly, sipping from his glass of wine.
"No," Tara said. "I mean, I could. I love her, but I haven't forgiven her and she hasn't changed ... or at least, I can't trust that she has yet."
"See--your choice flows out of who you are, what you have become through past choices and their consequences. You couldn't make a different choice without being someone else. Is that being forced to follow a path that's not yours or is that being true to the path that is yours? Destiny or free will?"
Tara chewed a new chunk of bread thoughtfully for a few moments, ignoring the flavors of her food in favor of the intricacies of her thoughts. Finally, she shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I also don't know how I can trust Willow enough to come back to her after what she did."
"Trust is not something I have. I cannot hope for the best or worry about the worst, as I know what must happen, good or bad. But I can show you a piece of your shared past with Willow so that you can decide for yourself whether you can trust her or not."
"Is it safe?" Tara asked, wary after his warnings of the dangers of reading from the book.
"Knowledge is power, and thus always fraught with danger. I offer you this gift freely though. You may choose to read it or not."
"But you already know what I'll choose?"
"Yes."
"Let me see the book," Tara said, putting down her glass as she gave up on second guessing her decisions. It didn't matter what her destiny was--she had to make her choices based on her own heart.
Destiny flipped backward through his book, pages rustling gently until he found the passage for which he was searching. Instead of showing her the page as Tara expected, he pointed behind her.
Following his finger, Tara found herself looking at ... herself, asleep with Willow in their old room together.
Tara woke up suddenly, panting and gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide, frantic with barely controlled anxiety as she looked up and down her body, which was covered in a cold sweat. She clapped her hands to her ears, clawing with her fingers again and again at her ears and face as if trying to tear away invisible tormentors.
Waking up beside her, Willow quickly sat up and gently took Tara's hands in her own as if this was something she had done many times before. Her eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, but her voice was calm and tender as she whispered reassuringly, "It's okay, Tara, it's okay. It was just another dream. It's not real. I found you. It's safe." Over and over she repeated her words until Tara's breathing slowed and she stopped struggling to claw at her face. Tara slumped against Willow, allowing her to securely enclose her in her arms.
"I can't go on like this," Tara said after a long period of silence. Looking into Willow's haggard face, she continued, "We can't go on like this."
"It'll be okay, baby." Willow squeezed Tara tightly to her chest. "She can't hurt you. It's over."
"It's not over," Tara insisted. Her voice was full of strain as she roughly pulled away to look into Willow's green eyes. "It's getting worse ... even with the sleeping pills the doctor gave me. I don't know what to do." She buried her face in Willow's shoulder again and began sobbing softly. "Every time I go to sleep, I see her, I see that place she sent me to. It's dark and noisy and those little pinching things are crawling all over me, trying to slither inside me, my nose, my ears, my mouth. I can't stand it anymore."
"I-I have an idea," Willow said. The hesitancy in Willow's voice made it clear that this wasn't an idea she wanted to bring up. "I've been doing some research, and there's a spell that might help, but I've been afraid to try it."
"You do?" Tara asked, looking up at Willow with eyes that were red and swollen from crying. "What is it?"
"It's a spell to forget bad memories. I think I can take away all the memories of what Glory did to you. You won't even remember me casting the spell."
"Do it."
"Tara?" Willow asked, her voice breaking with shock. "You haven't even seen the spell."
"I trust you."
"It's not like anything I've ever-"
"I trust you." Tara's reddened eyes pleaded with Willow to understand her need.
"Okay," Willow said, her green eyes shadowed with doubts. She disentangled herself from Tara and got out of bed, then padded over to her desk in bare feet. She took an oddly shaped dried flower from a glass bowl on the desk--Lethe's bramble--before walking back to Tara.
"Are you sure?" Willow asked, her tone still uncertain. "We can still do more research, find another way-"
"Just do it," Tara said, the dark shadows under her eyes betraying her exhaustion.
Willow bent over to kiss Tara softly on the lips. "If it's what you really need," she whispered. "I'll do it." Willow stood back up and murmured, "Forget," causing the dried plant to glow momentarily as she crumbled it in her hand.
Tara blinked and shook her head confusedly. "What happened?"
"Go back to sleep," Willow said, sitting down beside Tara on the bed and putting an arm around her shoulders. "You had a nightmare."
"I did?" Tara asked, scrunching up her nose. "I don't remember."
"It's alright now. Don't worry about it," Willow said soothingly. "I'll watch over you until you fall asleep again."
Tara smiled up at Willow, her eyes clear and peaceful, free of any memory of her nightmares and what had stopped them. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, baby." There was a hint of regret in Willow's eyes, almost as if she felt unworthy of saying those words after what she had done.
Tara curled up against Willow's side with Willow's arms around her, the lines of her face smooth and unworried, and closed her eyes. The change from her earlier haunted and terrified appearance was dramatic. She looked tranquil now, almost serene, secure in the knowledge that she rested in the arms of someone who loved her absolutely.
Willow watched Tara as her inhalations and exhalations slowed, tenderly stroking her hair as she relaxed fully into the embrace of slumber and dreams instead of fighting it as she must have for so long. Tears of relief glimmered in Willow's eyes, then spilled over to run down her cheeks. "I'll keep you safe Tara," she promised, kissing Tara's brow with a fierce protectiveness. "No matter what."
The scene faded as Destiny closed his book with a soft thud of thick pages.
"I asked her to do that," Tara said, the stiff awkwardness of her posture betraying how much this revelation had shocked her. "I never knew."
"As you wished, you forgot all about it: Glory, and the spell itself."
"But ... I-" Tara trailed off, unsure of how this discovery made her feel. She had seen what had happened, but what she didn't know was what Willow had felt while she had made such a momentous change in their relationship, in Tara herself, even though it was at her request. No matter what Willow's feelings were, they didn't make her later actions right, but she now understood how Willow could have contemplated doing what she had done.
"Even for events you do remember, it is sometimes startling to read them from the objective viewpoint of the book," Destiny added after she had been silent for a while. He cradled the book in the crook of his elbow, his long fingers reaching around to hold the front cover as if he was restraining it from opening of its own accord. "Perhaps it's best not to look at any more scenes of the past for today though."
As Tara's disbelief that she had actually asked for such a spell to be cast on herself ebbed, she found her buried anger at Willow's betrayal of her trust diminishing too. Perhaps she could forgive Willow and learn to trust her again after all. "Did she think she was protecting me when she made me forget a second time?" Tara asked finally.
"That I cannot tell you," Destiny said, seeming as calm as she wasn't. "The book tells me what happens, what choices people make, but not why they made them."
His words had seemed important to her at time, that at least the reasons for her choices were securely her own, unknown unless she decided to share them, but as she considered the bullet rushing toward her, any comfort that thought had once held for her was torn away. Her choices felt meaningless. Nothing that she had ever done mattered. For it was all going to be taken away from her in a single senseless act.
The door opened again.
A pale woman, dressed all in black from her sleeveless black shirt to her studded black leather belt and black boots with heels, stepped through. She wore a silver ankh on a chain around her neck. Looking into her eyes, Tara saw infinite compassion and empathy, as if this woman knew her deeply and would accept and love her no matter what she did or said.
"Sister," Destiny greeted her.
Suddenly Tara knew just who this was.
"Death."
