Uncovering the Past
Willow was absolutely certain that Something Was Not Right with Connor. The moment she'd seen him at the Summers apartment, a powerful wave of déjà vu had hit her. She knew she'd seen him somewhere before.
Plus, of course, there was the residue of powerful spells about him. That was fairly hard to miss for a witch like Willow.
Those two things, added together with what he'd said about having some superhuman abilities, made Willow more than a little determined to find out his secrets. She didn't want to mention anything to Buffy right away--after all, when it came to Dawn, the Slayer was likely to brutalize first and ask questions later, and for all Willow knew, Connor might be totally innocent --but Willow was keeping an eye on him, both physically and magically, as they made their way down to the catacombs.
It was, she thought, a bit like those 3-D posters. If you looked at them, you'd only see blobs of color and meaningless patterns. If you looked "through" them, on the other hand, the hidden shapes leaped out at you. Willow was doing that--trying to ignore the patterns imposed on Connor via magic and see through to the person underneath. It was an eerily familiar sensation, actually; she felt something very similar whenever Dawn was around.
And then, just before they entered the catacombs, Willow saw through.
She halted, staring, remembering the Hyperion, re-souling Angel--and meeting Angel's son.
"You're Connor," she said, stunned.
Both Buffy and Connor turned to look at her. Buffy gave Willow a puzzled look. Connor looked startled, and then worried.
"We met before--in the Hyperion," Willow said, addressing Connor. "Do you remember? Or is the spell making you forget, too?"
Connor looked like he wanted to say something, but the words weren't coming.
"Spell?" asked Buffy. "What spell?" She looked at Connor. "What's going on?"
"I-I remember," Connor finally said.
Willow concentrated on the spells. She saw a fissure, a crack that had somehow formed, allowing Connor access to true memories of the past. Somewhere in her sharp brain, things began to come together.
"You were given new memories," she murmured, thinking out loud. "I only got a little of the story, but your past--definitely with the bad. This took powerful magic, didn't it?"
"Willow, what are you talking about?" asked Buffy.
Connor shook his head. "Please . . . I don't want to be him anymore."
"Powerful magic," continued Willow, musing. "Like the kind Wolfram & Hart has access to. You were the price, weren't you? Angel joined Wolfram & Hart . . . to give his son a new life."
"Buh-huh?" inquired Buffy. She shook her head as if hoping she had something in her ear that would explain what she'd just heard. "Um, Willow, you wouldn't happen to have been drinking really heavily before you teleported here, would you?"
Willow was still looking at Connor, taking in the pain in his face. She felt bad; this had to be hard for him. In her experience, though, it was better to have the truth out than cover it up with magic. She addressed her friend, eyes still on Connor.
"Buffy, look at him. His face. Connor is Angel's son."
Buffy turned to look at her sister's boyfriend. Connor looked at her, wary, and Buffy examined his face.
"Oh, my God," she finally murmured, reaching up to touch Connor's cheekbone, so like his father's. "It's true. How? I mean, what's . . . how did . . . who's your mother?"
Connor's mouth tightened, and he sent a poisonous glance at Willow. "Darla," he said through gritted teeth.
"What?" Buffy snapped. "But she--Angel--this is--the hell? When? Did Angel know about this all these years?"
"I was only born about three years ago, technically," explained Connor exasperatedly. "Got raised in a demon dimension by . . . someone who hated Angel, and then--look, can we just find Dawn? This isn't my favorite subject."
"How do I even know whose side you're on?" asked Buffy.
"He's not evil, Buffy," said Willow. "At least, I don't think he is. Are you?"
"I'm not," insisted Connor. "Look, I was pretty messed up when Angel made his deal with Wolfram & Hart. He took over there in exchange for them giving me eighteen years' worth of happy memories with my family. That's who I want to be, okay? All I want from Dawn is--is Dawn. She's special. I care about her a lot. And I can help you get her away from that thing that took her. Okay?"
Buffy gave him a penetrating stare, and Willow knew Buffy was calling on her Slayer instincts to weigh whether or not she should trust Connor. Finally, the Slayer nodded briefly.
"Okay. Let's rescue Dawn," she said. "But afterward? You and I are having a long, long talk."
---
"I'll say one thing for you, Wesley," sighed Dawn, sitting forlornly against a pillar a few feet away from Gunn and Wesley's corpses. "You sure do have a way with the women."
She shivered, looking around the pavilion yet again. She hoped that one of these times, she'd see something she'd missed that would give her a chance to escape. There seemed little chance of that, though; aside from Wesley and Gunn's bodies and a little dust, the area inside the magical shield was empty. Considering how little dust there was, in fact, Dawn had surmised that the shield formed a roof somewhere overhead as well. That meant that even if she could have climbed the columns somehow, she'd still be locked in. What little magic she knew wasn't helping, either.
Even aside from all that, it wasn't like Dawn had anyplace to go. Outside the pavilion was a barren, hostile land with demonic inhabitants. And even if she could've fought all of them off, there was Illyria to be dealt with.
So it's "sit and wait to be rescued" time again, thought Dawn sardonically. Just like old times.
The sound of footsteps drew Dawn's attention back down to the temple. Illyria was climbing the stairs.
"I was afraid you'd forgotten about me," commented Dawn.
"Unlikely," said the demon god. "I must begin the process of creating a conduit between you and me in order to drain your energy."
That didn't sound like a great deal of fun to Dawn, but she was determined to keep Illyria talking. The more information she had, Dawn reasoned, the better the chances of survival became.
"You know, I've been thinking," said the teen, "that you're probably the only being that could tell me what I've been wondering ever since I was fourteen. Since I'm going to die anyway, I want to know--to know where I came from. Why I was created--why you created me."
Illyria cocked its head, considering. "I am not averse to granting a last request." It reached out for Dawn, who stepped back.
"Mind telling me before things get really painful?" Dawn requested.
"This will not hurt much," said Illyria. It snatched Dawn's arm to pull her closer and, in a flash, had pricked her chest right above the v-neck of her dress with something sharp. "I must take a little of your blood."
Always blood, thought Dawn. She looked down and saw that Illyria was collecting a few drops of blood in a small vial. In a few moments, Illyria apparently had what it needed; it released Dawn and capped the vial.
"So, where I came from?" asked Dawn, trying not to sound as shaky as she felt. Between the blow to her head and the fact that she hadn't had dinner, she knew she wasn't at her best.
"In the before-time, when your world was still young, and the gods walked the earth, and the moon sang a dirge for her lost love," began Illyria, "I rose to power. I grew to be an equal and a better to the kings and gods of this world, and I mourned for the loss of a challenge. My advisors suggested that we find new worlds to conquer, new dimensions to walk in. I could cross many dimensional barriers already, but there were some that thwarted me. It was then that I hit upon the idea of creating a Key to unlock all doors and lay all dimensions bare to my might.
"So it was that I took some of my own energy and placed it within the semblance of one of my warriors. I sent that shell to stand sentinel at Vahla Ha'nesh, the greatest of all my temples, where those that wished to treat with me would enter my presence. From every visitor, the Key-sentinel would take a small amount of energy, and in so doing, create within itself the ability to access the visitor's home dimension. Whenever I traveled, I would take the Key-sentinel as part of my entourage, and thereby create more and more facets to the Key.
"As time passed, the matrix of the Key changed, and it became truly living energy. It no longer needed to be exposed to different dimensions; it grew more powerful on its own. I saw this, and declared it to be as it should. The Key would soon cease to be a mere tool and become the greatest of weapons, able to access any dimension and tear down dimensional walls. I foresaw a day when the Key would be able to rend the very multiverse asunder, and the one who possessed it would have ultimate power.
"But others saw this as well, and coveted the Key for themselves."
"Like Glory," murmured Dawn. She'd sat back down as Illyria talked, wanting to conserve her strength as much as possible.
Illyria had apparently heard her. "Glory? Do you mean Glorificus of the Triumvirate?"
"That's the one."
The god-king made a disdainful noise. "A vainglorious fool, when I knew her."
"Trust me," said Dawn, "she didn't improve with age."
"She did covet the Key," Illyria continued, "along with her fellows. As did many others, including a young godling named Dagon." Dawn sat straight up, listening even closer. "A strange one, Dagon. He was fond of his pet humans . . . and fish. He seemed insignificant to me as I warred with Tir of the frozen lands and Dagda of Albion. It was my greatest folly to ignore him, for though his power was not great, he was cunning. Crafty. His scheme was eons in the making, but when it was over, a sorceress-priest of his--a human that I regarded as little more than an insect--had transformed the Key into the likeness of a human baby and walked with it past my temple guards on her way back to her own land."
I was a baby once, thought Dawn, reeling from the new information.
"The loss of the Key was my undoing. When it became known that my greatest weapon was lost to me, I was attacked on all sides, cast down, and interred in the Deeper Well while my temples were destroyed and my armies scattered. I do not know what happened to Dagon after that, or all that happened to the Key, save that you are now a young woman." Illyria ended its narrative. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Dagon hid me, I think," said Dawn. "There were monks--the Brotherhood of Dagon--and they kept the Key hidden. I don't know how long, exactly. I--it was just a ball of energy--I guess they changed it back from a baby--until about four or so years ago, when Glory started looking for it. The monks made it into me, changed everyone's memories, and I've been Dawn Summers ever since."
"And now you will be energy once more," said Illyria.
"No!" protested Dawn. "I'm alive now. I have a family, friends--even a boyfriend, for once! I'm not just your Key anymore."
Illyria stared at her in disbelief. "You would choose a human life over an existence as the most powerful weapon in any dimension?"
"In a second!"
It blinked. "This is not something I understand, but it does not matter. The choice is not yours to make. I am your creator; I will make all choices. You will be energy again, and I will use you in the way I have planned."
Wesley's glowing corpse provided Dawn a desperate hope.
"You're planning to bring them back to life?" Dawn asked, indicating Wesley and Gunn with a jerk of her head.
"I have said as much."
"Then you might want to know that death isn't that bad for humans. My sister died once--well, twice, but the first time didn't really count--and being brought back was worse than dying, for her. Wesley and Gunn were good men; their souls have gone somewhere good. If you really care about them, and I think you do, you'll let them rest."
Dawn's impassioned plea seemed to have some effect on Illyria. The demon god tilted its head as if considering her words.
Finally, it spoke. "No. The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart are spiteful; they will harry Wesley and Gunn's souls into the afterlife. Even if it were not so, however, I plan to reverse time around their bodies. They will not be aware they have died if all is successful. No, I will continue with my plans. We will speak no longer."
Illyria walked away, and Dawn looked back up at the sky. Overhead, the dust had begun to swirl into a whirlwind, but in its eye, the moon continued on its slow, inevitable path toward the sun.
---
Buffy and Connor watched as Willow stood touching the wall Illyria had passed through. The witch's eyes were closed as she silently communicated with the magics that had opened the portal.
"What's taking so long?" Connor asked finally.
"Don't want to rush this," said Willow without opening her eyes or turning around. "We want to get wherever we're going in one piece."
"Too much longer, and Dawn won't be in once piece," Connor grumbled. He started pacing.
Buffy kept watching him, catching glimpses of his father as she did so. There was something so alike in the way they moved, in the set of the brows. She wondered what he'd gotten from Angel, and what he'd gotten from Darla, aside from his smaller build and blue eyes. Buffy hadn't seen much of the vampiress, and what she had seen had been in poor light or vamp-face. There was enough, though, that she could recognize just of his father in him. It was eerie and discomfiting, and brought home to Buffy yet again how worried she was about Angel.
"I think I've got something," Willow finally said. "I'm gonna try a little time flux, and hopefully, the door will think it's time to open. Hold onto your hats, and get ready to jump through if it works."
Connor and Buffy immediately brought their weapons up and stood behind Willow as the witch murmured softly in Latin. Her hand suddenly glowed white, and as she touched the door, it shimmered and became insubstantial.
"Go!" ordered Buffy, and the three charged through the portal.
The light abruptly changed, turning reddish and murky, and they were immediately up to their knees in dust.
"Glad I don't wear contacts," said Willow, rubbing at her eyes.
Buffy sneezed, then took a look around. The door they'd just passed through was, in this world, a black stone arch about eight feet high that looked like it had once had deep writing etched into its surface. What was left was badly worn, with only the occasional symbol still intact. Arcing away to its right and left were yet more portals at intervals of about twenty feet. They continued until they hit the horizon.
"Okay, so now that we're here--wherever here is--what direction do you think we should take?" the Slayer asked.
"I could try a magical trace on Dawn," offered Willow. "It might take a little while, but--"
"I think we should go that way," interrupted Connor, pointing.
Both Willow and Buffy looked where he was indicating. Far away, a vortex was forming between the dim sky and the plain. It didn't look like an ordinary dust devil.
"I'm thinking he's got the right of it," said Willow. She glanced up at the sky. "Uh-oh."
Buffy and Connor looked up as well. Overhead, the moon was almost touching the sun.
"An eclipse?" said Connor. "We've got a flashlight, so we can keep going even when it gets dark."
"It's not that," said Buffy. "I think Willow's getting the same feeling I am--that the eclipse and Dawn's kidnapping might have something to do with each other."
"Astronomical events often have an effect on the workings of magic," Willow explained. "I think we'd better hurry to get there before . . . before the eclipse."
Connor looked like he wanted to ask what exactly Willow had stopped herself from saying, but resisted in favor of moving forward.
They hadn't gone very far before they met their first resistance. A stumpy demon scuttled out of the billowing dust, waving its tentacles and screeching. Buffy met it, and a single stroke of her sword bisected the thing.
"That wasn't too bad," she commented.
More unearthly screeches echoed across the landscape, and suddenly, the dust was alive with the creatures. Connor and Buffy instinctively flanked Willow.
"Give me a few seconds to set up a shield," said Willow.
"Will do," grunted Buffy, slashing away several tentacles on another creature.
Connor swung his axe, cleaving deep into yet another. Two of its fellows instantly attacked it, tearing it to pieces. Buffy continued her sword work, driving the demons back.
Even so, one got past her guard, and that one jumped at Willow. The witch repelled it magically, but in doing so, lost her footing. Two more drove in toward her. Buffy kicked one away, and then literally stood over Willow, keeping the others at bay.
More and more creatures were materializing every second, more even than Connor and Buffy could fight off together. Willow's shield finally flickered to life, pushing the demons away.
"How long can you hold it?" Buffy asked, panting.
"I don't know," said Willow, gasping. "This world is so barren--there's hardly anything for me to draw energy from."
The demons kept pressing, attacking the shield, and one finally made it through. Buffy ran it through, but another was hot on its tail.
Just as Buffy and Connor went back to work, though, dark figures rushed through the dust, efficiently hacking and slashing away at the creatures, and within moments, the demon mob scattered, apparently deciding their interests were best served elsewhere. Buffy watched for a moment to make sure they were really gone--
--and turned to come face-to-face with Angel.
