Severed Ties

Chapter 40

The Path of Thorns

Sorry for the loooooooooooong delay folks but now that I've got some RL stuff out of the way, I will be shooting for a weekly update. No promises that it will happen but I will try. The next chapter is already done and will be up in a few days. I'm halfway through Chapter 42 and hopefully will have it done before I post 41 Sunday or Monday.

Quick summary of last few chapters. Spike apparently has gone AWOL to the otherside as he is now Morrigann's consort. Wesley, Gunn and Lorne were slaughtered by Morrie and her gang (sans Frost) That same Frost, for reasons unknown, saved Fred from a fate worse than death. He then took her to CJ who then took her to Revello and Scooby Central. The Scoobs have found out that Frost is Xander's brother in arms (of a sort) and prepares to tell them the tale. Gabriel has brought forth another warrior, one that he knows Jay and the others will not be able to kill (read the last section of the previous chapter to find out just who it is)

July 22nd, 1692

He's been running for two days. He'd tried to sleep that night, tried to listen to the comforting words of the elders, of the other women, but it didn't work. Their words--no, poison--sickened him and he'd left but not before he raised his fist to those that burned her. Only by God's will did he not kill the bitches that had accused his sweet Sarah.

The single name escapes his lips and he collapses to the ground, exhausted and in pain that defies description. But it isn't a pain of the body but one of the heart. He had watched as they tied her (and several others) to the posts. Watched as her own father condemned her to burn in the flames of sin. He had felt nothing at first; he watched her screaming for him, begging him to save her. He calmly stated his position on the matter, how he was disappointed and appalled by her divinations into the dark arts. She heard nothing over her own wails of agony, wails that seemed to go on for hours before there was silence…and the still crackling fires.

He, along with the others, had justified their actions as God's will and as he lay in his bed that night, saying nightly prayers, he knew he'd done the right thing.

That was when the nightmares came.

It started much like the judgment, with the flames slowly made their way to her body. Only when they touched her, the orange and red element caressed her like an insistent lover. He had watched as the fire slowly took human shape. Her clothes were burned away but her flesh remained unmarked. Her fearful pleas became terrified whimpers as the hands slid across her naked form.

"Help me, my love," she cried. He moved towards her only to find himself frozen in place. Invisible chains rattled as he attempted to break free…it was all in vain, however. He could only watch as his Sarah was violated, inside and out, before her body turned to ash.

He witnessed her death and defilement dozens--perhaps hundreds--of times that night. When he awoke, his stomach rebelled at the images burned into his mind. He stumbled out towards the back, falling to his knees before expelling the contents of his stomach. He cried for hours. It had been just past dawn when he'd awakened, well past noon before he stopped as elder Stevens had appeared.

Can't…think of that now, he thinks and raises himself from the ground to start running again. His lungs pled for air, his legs are tortured from his flight, but he refuses to stop. He can never outdistance the memories of Sarah's death--she appears to him even when he faints from weariness--but he leaves behind the only life he'd known. The life that he had once embraced.

A life that had died with the woman he'd loved. He never wanted to…

March, 2002

…believe that it would ever happen. Oh, there had been times where death had been on their heels, times where Xander Harris knew the Scoobies were doomed. Yet each time death had them within its grasp, they escaped.

But not this time.

Not Anya.

Xander gripped the steering wheel with all his strength. He would not cry, he would not fucking cry. He had shed enough tears during the past week, every night since he watched her die in his arms. No one else was there for him--Willow was at the hospital day and night, constantly by Tara or Buffy's side--but he didn't mind. The one person he needed was buried six feet underground now, never to tell him she loved him or make love to him or irritate him or to make him so happy he…

Arms no longer holding strength, Xander swerved off the road. The tires slid across the sand, the ting of pebbles slapping up against the car like bullets shot off into the night sky. After several seconds skating across the desert floor, the car ground to a halt. Putting it in Park, Xander buried his hands in his face and…

July, 1692

…cries. He cries at the full moon, howls at the earth, ripping handfuls of it from the ground. His wails last until his throat is hoarse and raw, until his ears ring from his cacophonous pleas. His body, malnourished and exhausted, gives up on him and he crashes face first into the dirt he had so recently dug up.

He doesn't know how long he lays there but when he finally gathers the fortitude to rise, he notes the presence of some…thing--someone?--hovering over him. Unsure of the visitor's motives, he feigns unconsciousness. He remains still for several minutes, aware of the stranger circling him.

Finally, the stranger says, "You know, if I was borne yesterday, your ruse may have been enough to confuse me." The humor in its tone is unmistakable. "But since I wasn't, I suggest that you get up."

Something in the stranger's words angers him and the young man rises to his feet, hands clenched into tight fists. He starts to speak but when his eyes take in the being before him, any coherence of thought is lost. He…

March 2002

… gaped at the diminutive figure in front of him. A dozen sarcastic remarks filtered through his mind but for once Xander remained quiet.

Crystalline eyes stared at him, unblinking. In them, Xander saw the last few days of his life. The 'wrong' turn that led him to this place, the funeral, the sorrow in Jay's eyes when he cast a lone accusatory glance at her. Anya's final breath in his arms…

Xander coughed, and his hand gripped at his chest. The pain of losing Anya manifested in the physical. He hadn't been able to keep food down, hadn't been able to sleep since that night. In truth, he had no idea how he'd lasted this long, the exhaustion was that complete. But he had and now he was here. Something told the former carpenter that 'here' was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"You've got that right," the small figure said and pulled out a cigar. It was no more than five feet (on a good day) though most of its body was draped in a purple silk robe. Its face, uncovered as it was, reminded the brunette of a blunt nosed Splinter, whiskers and all…

"Careful who you liken me to, boy," the figure replied. It was clearly irritated. "And it would do me just fine if you'd refrain from thinking of me as an 'it'."

Finally, Xander found his voice. "Ex…excuse me?"

"As I suspected," the figure muttered and paced for several seconds. "You must have a difficulty in hearing, do you not?"

"Where the hell did you get an idea like that?"

The figure chuckled. "Certainly not Hell, that I know." On Xander's perplexed look, the figure's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Geez Louise, what happened to the Xander Harris that Buffy and Willow have come to know and love?"

Xander took a step forward, his fists instinctively tightening into fists. "How…how did you know my name? My friends names?"

The figure cast an annoyed sighed and lifted his head up to the sky. "Do I always get the slow ones with broken hearts?"

"Look, short, dark and mysterious," Xander moves forward, feeling not quite as confident as his actions suggested. "I don't know who you think you are but I…"

"Oh, I know who I am, Xander," the figure said. "The question, dear boy, is do you know who you are?"

Xander began to reply but the figure's words started to twist in his head. The answer, though hidden underneath the pain of Anya's loss and before that, the sarcastic veneer he'd used as his shield for so long, was clear. In fact, he didn't know how he didn't see it sooner.

"Your silence speaks volumes, Xander Harris."

"What do you want from me?" Xander's voice held nothing but the weariness of pain and suffering.

"What do you want from yourself?" The figure asked then swore. "Bastard's gonna use that line in a movie." The figure pondered within himself and, finally realizing Xander was still there, smiled. "Sorry, got a tap into the future."

"Is that so?"

"Don't look so glum, chap. Things will be looking up soon enough."

Xander's laugh held all the cynicism of a boy who'd witnessed too much heartache and not enough love in his young life. "What are you gonna do? Turn back time? Make sure I was never born?"

"I'm gonna go one better," the figure said. As he approached, Xander attempted to step back but was rooted to the spot. There was something disconcerting about this creature's passion. It radiated from his small frame and from (what he now saw) crimson and black eyes.

"What I'm gonna do, Alexander, is give you the chance to become what you've always wanted."

"And what's that?"

There was no mistaking the satisfactory gleam in the figure's eyes. And when he spoke, a chill harped its way down the brunette's spine. "Simple: I'm gonna make you into a hero…"

1692?

"A hero?" he shouts and swipes at Diohbin-Zi's legs. The Elwvenian leaps over the strike and slashes towards his opponent's neck, stopping two inches from decapitating him. He glances at the gleaming sword then to his teacher's mirth-filled eyes. "Would a hero get bested again by an elf?"

"I see your humor has not yet been defeated," Diohbin-Zi says and lowers his sword. "I thought that the last few years had withered it away."

He follows the Elwvenian, taking a seat next to the aging Master. "Forgive me, Master but my spirit has not felt the levity since…" His shoulders slumped. There are times when the memory of Sarah's death is an anchor, weighting his soul against the possibility of moving on. Now is one of those times and his entire body engulfs the melancholy that will always visit him.

"Your sorrow, while understandable, my apprentice, accomplishes nothing." His small hand touches the man's shoulder and warmth suffuses through him. It is as if his flesh is beset by a thousand suns, but he does not burn nor does he feel pain. Instead, it is a balm to his pained soul. Soul…just as the word flickers across his mind, he senses changes that begin to occur beyond the physical. His dear Sarah's face at death, once at the forefront of his mind, slowly dissipates, leaving in its wake her beautiful face but only a passing memory of her hideous fate. He does not question this, but accepts it and as he does, he knows--understands--that he will be different, that he will a force like no other. And all it takes is…

??2002??

"…removal of his memories."

Xander sat, cross-legged, chewing on--well, he didn't exactly know what it was--but he listened to Diohbin-Zi's tale with rapt attention. It had been one of the more grueling training sessions with the small Elwvenian drilling Xander on the use of the trident. When he pressed his Master about the relevancy of that particular weapon, the Elwvenian grew silent for several minutes before he wearily sat on the log and relayed the tale of his last pupil, the hybrid that had taken the name Frost as his own.

"So, why didn't you do that with me?" Xander asked. "I mean, yeah, the grief isn't so bad now but if this Frost guy was feelin' it as bad as me…"

When he next spoke, Diohbin-Zi's irritation was clear. "Were you not listening to a word I said? Is your insight so dulled that you do not understand?" Xander lowered his head but looked up when the demon sighed. "Forgive me, Alexander, but the subject of Frost's transformation is a bitter subject for me--still."

"No, Master, I should be the one to apologize. Though I still am not certain what went wrong."

"It's simple, really. I have been around for countless ages, Alexander, training hundreds, perhaps thousands, of beings in the way of the warrior. The majority of my disciples have been demons, though I have only instructed the noblest and benign of the races." Xander opened his mouth to speak but Diohbin-Zi silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Despite what you have come to believe, Alexander, the purpose of most demons is not much different than that of mankind."

"Is that so? Forgive me if I'm cynical but five plus years on the Hellmouth has taught me a little bit about demons' purposes. And if it's not bringing hell to earth, then it's tormenting us as best they can."

"Is not the Hellmouth an malevolent construct?" Xander nodded. "The Hellmouth is a beacon for evil and does it not make sense that it would draw the most hostile of beings to it?"
Xander frowned. "Well, I never really thought of it that way, but…"

"How many demon species do you think you have come across in your time living on the Hellmouth? Fifty? A hundred? Alexander, even if you have come across two hundred demonic species in your time, you have not even scratched the surface of the expanse of demon kind. My point is that, like humans, there are demons who wish nothing more than to reign destruction and pain on those around them for no other reason than to do so. Other demons may do seemingly evil things out of a misguided sense that it will make things better for them."

"Sounds an awful lot like an excuse to me."

The Elwvenian gave Xander the patient smile that the latter despised. It was one that a parent would present to humor a petulant child. "It may sound like that to you, but I only speak fact.

"The last type of demon is like most humans; they want nothing more than to peacefully coexist. The latter of the three want nothing to do with hotspots such as the Hellmouth as they abhor evil just as you and your friends." On Xander's doubtful glance, Diohbin-Zi shook his head. "It does not matter what I say for you shall harbor your own opinion. And no one will be able to change that but you. But we are off track, you had asked me about Frost and why what I did to him affected him so."

"It just doesn't make sense, I mean…"

"Yes, it does, Alexander. Save for you, Frost was the only human to merge with the essence of my kind." He thought for a minute and smiled grimly. "Actually, that is not true, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that both you and Frost felt grief's sharp claws in your heart. Whereas you continue to work through yours, with Frost I allowed him a shortcut of sorts…"

Present

"A shortcut?" Dawn asked and slid her hand into CJ's.

Xander smiled at her subconscious gesture and mimicked her by entwining his fingers with his brunette slayer. "When Diohbin-Zi infused Frost with the demon's essence, his grief hardened his soul and he sort of latched onto the one thing that Diohbin-Zi had introduced to Frost; the thrill of combat."

"It sounds like the fight became his new mistress," CJ said and Xander caught the underlying tinge of excitement in the young man's voice. A quick look around and he noticed that Buffy and Angel had as well.

"Well, for lack of a better term, that's exactly what happened. Anything Frost had felt for Sarah was transferred to the glory of the fight. At first, it hadn't become a problem but as Frost become more proficient in the art, Diohbin-Zi saw the slow degradation of Frost's soul."

"That can't be right," Fred interjected vehemently. "I looked into his eyes, I felt his warmth with he carried me. He's not evil…"

"Evil is as evil does," Cordelia whispered and the strength Fred had gained withered.

"I think Fred is right," Buffy said. "Yeah, Frost may never win a hero of the year award but even when I fought with him in the cemetery…it's like he doesn't care about power or destruction, just the fight."

"Not too wrong about that, Buff," Xander agreed. "From what my Master told me, Frost is all about the fight. He's all about honor and fealty."

"So he lives by a code, like the samurai?" Angel asked.

Xander chuckled. "Pretty much, Dead Boy."

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

"Sorry," Xander said, though his tone said otherwise. "Angel's right. Unlike most beings, Frost is all about the honor and the thrill of the fight. I think that's why he stepped in when the gruesome twosome had Fred; it's totally not his style to watch someone be taken like that."

"Do you think that he could be persuaded to our side then?" Buffy asked.

Xander shook his head. "Doubtful."

"Probably 'cause it's too predictable," Dawn muttered sarcastically.

"That," CJ agreed dryly, "or the whole samurai/fealty thing."

"You're right, CJ. Once Frost swears allegiance to someone, it's unlikely he'll jump ship. Besides," Xander shrugged, "Why do you think Diohbin-Zi groomed me?"

No one answered at first though he saw the reluctant understanding in Buffy and Angel's eyes.

"You can't win," Angel whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Angel," Faith replied snidely and turned her attention to Xander. "Don't worry, baby, you won't have to do it alone, I'll be right there with you."

"No," Buffy said, her voice flat. "You can't."

"The hell I can't," Faith snapped.

Xander grabbed his lover by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. "B's right, Faith. It's not a Scoobie fight." She tried to speak but Xander's fingers on her lips quieted the brunette slayer. "Look, baby, when everything goes down, you all are gonna have your hands full with the others; Frost is mine to deal with."

Faith jerked away. Though anger sang from her every pore, the fear was just as clear as it bled from her eyes in the form of unshed tears. "So, you're gonna get yourself killed over what? Some macho bullshit?"

Xander took Faith's resistant hands into his own. As their eyes connected, everything else in the room faded to a dull gray, but his girl was in full color. "That's how the cards were laid down, baby. Diohbin-Zi told me that much. From the time he unknowingly gave birth to Frost, he knew that I would be the only one that could make his mistake right. Somehow, this has been my destiny all along. And not because my Master said it, but because I can feel it, Faith. I can feel it. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"But we can't lose you, Xan," Buffy said, her voice hoarse. "We've lost enough as it is."

"Buff, you more than anyone here knows about doing what you have to do, regardless of the price you have to pay. This is what I have to do, and I'll see it through to the end, cost be damned."

No words were said from there. Xander led a despondent Faith into their temporary residence in the Summers basement where he made quiet love to her. Her tears stung his lips and her whispers of love tore at his heart.

When she finally fell into an exhaustive slumber, Xander held her tight and murmured promises of a life after all this was over. He had no doubt that Frost was better than him but he also knew that if he didn't think he at least had a chance to win, he wouldn't. And to go into battle as such--the walking dead--was not the way of a warrior. Although he would never admit it aloud, Xander wished that Spike were there. If the bleached blonde was anything, it was confident. Oh, there was a certain helping of cocky to go along with that but Spike never went into a fight, knowing he would lose. He'd find a way to get it done and if not, he was sure to go down in a blaze of glory.

Xander smiled as his mind calmed and he felt the pull of sleep. No, he wouldn't worry about what was to come, not now at least. But when it did come, he would meet it head on, no quarter given, none asked. He and Frost would fight one another and the better man would walk away alive and in tact. Glancing down at the petite woman in his arms, Alexander Harris swore that, somehow, he'd make sure that that person would be him.

"You've gotta have faith," he whispered.

"You have me," the brunette at his side mumbled before falling back to sleep.

That I do, he thought. "That I do."

TBC in Intuition…