"Wake up Sara."
"Whaaa..." Sara was a horrible morning person, and today was no exception.
"Come on, I've got coffee." the voice of her partner cajoled.
Sara mumbled and mphed, trying to burrow back under the covers. She must have slept pretty hard, they were twisted around her tight enough to restrict movement.
"Hot, fresh, and chock full of sugar and caffeine, coffee. Made just the way you like it," From the cheerful singsong way he was taunting her about coffee, it was obvious that he was not going to let her sleep. Bastard.
Even with her eyes closed, Sara could feel the line of warmth that was Danny sitting by her hip. He touched her arm, smoothed a lock of hair back from her head. This time his voice was soft and concerned, and it rang alarm bells in her sluggish brain. "I need you to wake up for me, please."
"Don' wanna get up," Sara protested sluggishly.
"You never do."
"Danny?" Sara pushed up through the layers of sleep, aware enough to remember that her partner was dead. The only time he had ever been able to touch her was when she had been dying. Was she dreaming his touch, or was she so badly wounded she didn't remember being hit?
For a moment she lay there, savoring the touch she had never expected to feel again this side of the grave. It was a bittersweet pleasure, but she gathered the sensations into her heart, hoarding them against another moment of need. It was one more memory to combat the pain of losing the other half of her soul.
Keeping her eyes closed, Sara laid her hand over Danny's, where it rested on her arm. His skin was smooth and warm under her calloused palm. She could smell the faint spice of his cologne. His other hand came over to sandwich hers, and it was like being home.
"That's it, use the Force, young Grasshopper," Danny cajoled, sounding relieved as she stirred.
"Empire Strikes Kung Fu?" Sara asked, mouth feeling as full of cotton as her brain.
"Hey, whatever it takes to get your attention. I can start quoting Radiohead if it will get you to snap out of it. Come on Sara, you're still not quite awake, and you need to be."
"So tired."
"It's a very clever form of enchantment. She has bound you through the Witchblade, and then shut down the weapon. Since you and the Gauntlet are connected, what weakens the Blade weakens you, and doubly binds you to this unnatural rest."
"If I'm deep in some magic sleep, how come I'm talking to you?" Sara narrowed her eyes. Even half-awake that didn't seem right.
"I'm bending the rules to the breaking point, that's how." Danny gave her the same stoic look he wore when he was up before a review board. How he managed to convey both resistance and penitence without saying a word always amazed Sara.
"Look, this is your afterlife you are screwing with Danny. Don't get in trouble because of me, ok?" Sara tugged on the hand sandwiched between hers for emphasis.
"You let me worry about that. Besides, partners always watch each other's backs, and you're about to get a big knife in yours." Danny warned.
"Thanks partner. I really miss you, you know that?" Sara asked softly, her eyes seeking out his.
"I know." Danny's eyes were dark with the same pain. "Now finish waking up Sara, or you won't be missing me at all."
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
"Yeah, it would, and you know it."
"No, Danny, I don't." Sara tightened her grip on his hand, not wanting to lose this moment.
"Yes you do. I know how you feel. How could I not? But you are alive for a reason. So live, damn it," His dark eyes turned fierce.
"I don't know what you're talking about, last time I checked I was still alive," Sara replied defensively.
"Yes you do. I said live. There's a big difference between being alive and living."
"Like what?" Sara growled, clearly frustrated.
"How many friends do you have? What do you do besides work these days? When was the last time you did something fun?"
"I just got back from a night of Tango dancing," Sara pointed out righteously.
"Yes, and poor Nottingham, god I never thought I'd say that, had to damn near strip naked and do a dance to get your attention." Danny riposted with a small smile fighting to take over his lips.
"You saw that?!?!" Sara screeched, her face turning bright red with embarrassment.
"Every last shimmy." His face was as smug as his voice.
"I...you...that...that was personal!" Sara spluttered.
"Yes it was, and very brave of him to do in public. I wasn't sure what to think about Nottingham at first, but I'm starting to really warm up to him. Of course, that could just be the thong." Danny chuckled.
"Oh you!" Sara swatted at him with her free hand, only to have it pass through his torso like he wasn't there.
"I've overstayed my welcome, it would appear. Time for you to go back to the land of the living," Danny closed his eyes in regret. For a moment it had been so very like old times that he had forgotten he was dead.
Meanwhile, back at the mansion...
"How have I come to offend thee?" Kenneth backed prudently away from the stone serpent slithering across the floor.
"You have interfered in my plansss for over two thousssand yearsss, and you have the gall to asssk how you have offended?" Ceto stopped for a moment, head reared back indignantly.
"I think this is a case of mistaken identity. The span of a mortal's life is considerably shorter than two millennia." Kenneth replied, his tone a mix of reason and conviction, with just a touch of condescension in his tone at her unreasonable comment.
"Pleassse do not insssult my intelligence, Priessst. We both know that there are waysss around sssuch conssstraintsss of the flesssh. You may have ssshed your ssskin a few timesss sssince lassst we met, but the sssoul inssside hasss not changed." Ceto was no fool, nor was she so easily swayed by Irons facile tongue.
"Yet I am convinced we have never met, however many lifetimes I may or may not have lived. I cannot imagine a being of your magnificence escaping my attention." A little flattery never hurt, in fact Gods seemed especially vulnerable to such things.
"Shall I remind you, Caesar, of the last time we met?" Ceto shifted slightly, turning her head to the side.
The eye facing Kenneth darkened again, pulling him down the river of memory. Once again he was standing victorious over the remnants of Cleopatra and Antony's Army. They had thought to betray him and rule an Egypt free of Rome.
They had paid for their folly, Antony had fallen in battle and soon he would have the lovely queen back at his feet where she belonged. Ungrateful bitch. He had raised her up, and as soon as his back was turned she'd taken up with one of his own generals. He was looking forward to reminding her of her place.
The black haired beauty had been brought before him, grief dulling her once vibrant eyes. He had ordered her confined, with every intention of beginning her lesson that very night. Cleopatra would never look at another man again after he was done with her.
Instead she had found an asp to place at her breast, although none could tell him how this feat was accomplished. Considering the size of the serpent that had been coiled around her still form, it could not have simply slithered in through a crack somewhere, nor could it have been in the room when Cleopatra had been placed inside. The room had been empty of all save a small cot. An Egyptian Asp that was eight feet long could not have been missed in such open quarters.
Yet no matter what he ordered done to the guards who had been stationed at her door, they insisted that no one had entered the room until they opened the door for him. Luckily for the two guards, he had taken a large portion of his anger out on the snake, hacking it with his gladius with all the thwarted fury in his heart.
It was a wonder he had not been bitten during his headlong assault, yet his unscathed emergence had cemented the opinion of the men that the gods favored him above all others. He had heard the superstitious mutterings of the troops, how a serpent of such unnatural size appearing in a locked room could have only been the result of magic. Privately he had to agree, even as he ruthlessly suppressed such tales, there had been too much intelligence in the serpent's eyes.
The same eyes that were looking at him now, from a considerably closer vantage than before, Kenneth was disturbed to see. He didn't think he could make the exit, and doubted if the door would hold even if he did. No, the best option available to him now was to get as far as the display that held the bull-headed mace of Macenion.
"That was another lifetime. I have no memory of the thing, save that which you have given me. All mortals are given the Draught of Forgetfulness, made from the waters of the Lethe, before being allowed to be reborn." Kenneth edged sideways toward the display case as he spoke. He could only hope that she believed in the mythos of her own pantheon.
"You may have forgotten, but I have not. Nor does the Draught amend your guilt in slaying one of my children. Even were I inclined to leave sssuch thingsss in the passst, you have committed offenssses enough againssst me in thisss century to warrant your death." Ceto tracked his movement with her head, knowing she was close enough to strike without fear of missing. No mortal was faster than she, and she wanted this Priest to understand the gravity of his transgressions before she sank stone fangs into his flesh.
"I have never defiled your temples, nor assaulted your offspring in this life." Kenneth played for time as he pressed his thumb to the locking mechanism on the case. With a soft click and hiss of escaping air, the hermetically sealed display opened.
"Medusssa was my daughter, the third and only mortal Gorgon born to me. You knew her asss Dominique. It wasss your interference that kept her from truly knowing me. It wasss you who sssought to change her nature, and almost cossst her the only form of immortality ssshe hasss. It wasss you who have kept from me that which can ressstore me to my former glory." Ceto rose up, preparing to strike the impudent mortal.
"I have done what I must to further my own ambitions. Surely you can understand that it was not personal. If I have something that you desire, I am willing to make an exchange," Kenneth slid his hand inside the case without taking his eyes off the angry goddess. He did not need to, the mace was visible in his peripheral sight.
Made of basalt, it was a beautiful blackish-red work of art. The king of Macedon had wielded in battle as well as a symbol of his God's blessing on his rule. Irons had arranged for it to be part of his collection since Macenion had taken it into battle against one of the Wielders.
Of greater import to him at the moment, it had been carved from the same outcropping of stone that the sea monster, Cetus, had been slain upon when he had come ashore to devour Andromeda. His blood had saturated the stone, giving it the distinctive reddish hue, and adding to the mystic strength of the weapon.
Was it powerful enough to drive an ancient goddess from his house? Kenneth could only hope that it was as he closed his hand around the haft. He comforted himself with the thought that anything blessed by priests and worshipped by the masses acquired a power of its own, and an object made of such special material was doubly potent.
It was no Witchblade, but perhaps it would serve him better in this instance. A blade would do little damage against stone. A maul or a war hammer might have been nice, but they were slow and less than ideal for close quarters and speed. A mace, however, should work just fine. He pulled it from the case, using the arc of the movement to swipe at the striking serpent.
Ceto saw the blur of black, felt the passage of charged air as she jerked back. Ah, a weapon of power. She should have expected that. The priest had not kept himself from her sight for centuries by being a fool. She slithered backward slightly and coiled for another strike.
Irons did not wait for her, moving in with the mace up and ready to swing. He handled it with the skill and ease of a man born to warfare. Once in range, he feinted for her head, twirling the mace as she dodged and striking low. Stone cracked under the powerful blow, small chips dropped with a soft clatter, but the coil did not break.
The giant head whipped around; trying to take advantage of the opening he had given her. Kenneth saw the ripple of stony muscle, and pivoted, taking himself out of range, only to swing back in on the end of the turn and land another blow. This time the mace connected higher, knocking the raised part of her body backward from the force of the impact.
Ceto let herself go with the momentum, freeing her tail to retaliate. She whipped it across his calves, knocking the tall blonde to the ground. The serpent twisted her body and brought her head down to sink her fangs into his prone form. Irons was not so easily caught, rolling away with inhuman speed. Even so, Ceto missed my millimeters only. Her mouth closed with a sharp snap on the padded velvet collar of his robe, which shredded under the abuse.
Kenneth glared up at the avatar, rather displeased to see a large section of blue and gold fabric caught in one of Ceto's fangs. That had been a great deal closer than he liked. He could feel the cold air on his back and the tatters fluttering over his shoulder blades. The sleeves were drooping, and could affect his swings.
With a curse he backed away, one hand dropping to the belt that held the robe on. He was not going to lose everything he had worked for to an animated pile of stone. He shrugged out of the torn silk and velvet, letting it pool around his ankles. His eyes were narrow chips of blue ice as he moved back into the battle wearing nothing but a coldly determined smile.
The two dueled around the chamber, battling in the weak light of the moon. If anyone had stumbled upon the battle, they could easily be excused for thinking they were looking at an ancient tableau somehow brought to life. Tall and broad shouldered as any ancient warrior ever immortalized in stone, Kenneth was locked in mortal combat with a monster straight out of myth.
Blood and stone dust streaked his naked flesh, but his blows were slowly taking a toll. There were chunks missing out of the serpent now. Ceto could not twist and whip as she had in the beginning without putting added stress on the cracks his mace had created in her hide. Her lessened mobility let Irons land more and more blows while taking fewer in return.
Ceto had been looking forward to crushing the man who had thwarted her at every turn, but this was no easy prey. He fought with a skill and cunning one only normally encountered in a priest of Aries. She had come to realize that the stone body she inhabited had weaknesses that might keep her from slaying Irons at this time.
While she was not best pleased by the thought, in truth it did not matter how the conflict ended. By engaging his attention, she kept the High Priest from saving his charge. She would die at the hand of her daughter, and the cursed Blade would be broken. Without the Witchblade clouding him from her sight, she could find him at any time, and finish what she had started.
A/N: Meli-chan, see, it's not over. LaFemmeLurker, nice to hear from you. Haven't seen you in a while. I guess I just like my villans too much. Must come from being the DM for years. Thelma, I realize I didn't really answer any of your questions this chapter, but hold on. The next installment is coming. Dragongrrl, thanks! I love to blend history and fantasy, to try and create a credible timeline for the Witchblade. It was such a multileveled creation in the series, and I try to bring that to my stories as well. passes out cyber chocolate to all my reviewers Thanks, I love to hear from you all!