Chapter Thirteen
Tara Enraptured
Tara stood by Willow's bed, gently holding one of Willow's blanketed feet. Ethan stood across from her, his face filled with wonder. The air tingled and danced with joy; they could feel bubbly effervescence swirl inside them, lending them strength for this most difficult and dangerous task. This place was sacred ground, indeed. Less than a week ago Peter Whitney had died here, and anchored this place to the gods. Tara's soul fed on the heaven-threads cascading through the room as she softly repeated, "I choose to."
"Let's get to work," Ethan said, smiling. Tara nodded and gently peeled down Willow's blanket, then just as reverently opened up Willow's robe. Once again she was astonished by the thin pale scar across Willow's abdomen. I did that. She changed the heart monitor pads, placing new ones over her shoulders and another under her rib. Tying the robe shut again, Tara adjusted the blood pressure cuff on Willow's arm, the arm without the IV, and placed the pulse oximeter on Willow's index finger. Instantly the machines started their beeping, their slow cadence in celebration of life.
Ethan pulled a stainless steel tray by Willow's bed. On it was an array of marked syringes. Ethan inventoried them, saying, "10 mg of Haldol, in case you need to be sedated, 5 mg of Versed, two syringes of ephedrine, 5 mg each, in case either of you arrest, and, uh, 30 mg of Morphine, to kill you."
Tara took heart at the steadiness in his voice. "I'll lay out the spell before you prep me," Tara said, opening the duffel bag. She took out a large jar of blue sand and began to sprinkle it in a large circle around the hospital bed. "Try to stay behind the circle. Only enter the circle if you absolutely must, to save me or Willow," she said as she worked. She looked up to see Ethan nod.
Tara then set up a dozen clusters of candles, each in a grouping of three, and directed Ethan to start lighting them. From inside the duffel she took a hollow gourd, intricately carved, and placed it gently on Willow's chest. Yet another jar held a brackish liquid, and she reeled back a little at the stench of it as she opened the jar. Dipping one finger into the liquid, she quickly anointed Willow's forehead, lips, and just above Willow's heart. Then she anointed herself likewise.
Lastly Tara drew out the amulet of Thespia, again marvelling at its heaviness. The amber core of it began to sparkle as Tara pulled it over her neck. From now on, some part of the amulet had to be in contact with her skin, always. If the connection were broken, all would be lost. Tara took a deep breath, and then returned to Ethan, who was standing by the steel tray. She sat down on the stool and gave him her left arm. He snaked a rubber over her bicep and tied it tightly, then flicked the back of her hand, waiting for her veins to emerge. Ethan smoothly guided an IV needle into the back of Tara's hand, popped the catheter into her vein and withdrew the needle. He swiftly taped down the hep-lock and then released the rubber band over her bicep. Tara didn't really need the intravenous fluid itself as much as she needed an instant portal to her bloodstream. If Ethan had to chemically kill her, he had to do it quickly, and the port on the IV was for that purpose.
Ethan pulled over another heart monitor and politely turned his back as Tara lifted up her shirt to put the pads on her own shoulders and under her rib. She couldn't help but trace the rapidly healing gashes on her breasts as she did so. Then she put her shirt back down and cleared her throat. Ethan returned to her side and fitted a blood pressure cuff over her right bicep and lifted an eyebrow as he held up the pulse oximeter.
"Nope. I have to have all my fingers on Willow's head," Tara replied. In the background they could hear the hissing of Willow's blood pressure cuff as it automatically took a reading.
"How often do you want it to do a reading?" Ethan asked, striding to the machine.
"Every five minutes," Tara replied. "Mine, too." Tara bent over her own machine and quickly calibrated it.
Then they both stood in Willow's room, lit by deflected sunlight and still sparkling with hope. "Good luck," Ethan said.
Tara nodded and softly strode into the circle she had created, leaving her machines just outside the circle. She lovingly stroked Willow's hair, which was soft and clean (John must have washed it) and then she placed her fingers on Willow's head. Gently, always aware of the broken skull within, Tara wallowed in the feeling of her fingers on Willow's skin, a tingling moving up her arms. She allowed her eyes to close and concentrated. Tara could feel her heart beating, and a similar throbbing emerge from the amulet around her neck. The dabs of potion on her skin were evaporating, and she felt their coolness.
Showtime.
Tara cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and began the ritual incantation. "Oh ye gods, here lies a warrior of the people. She walks in shadow. She walks in blindness. She is besieged by evil. Protect her." Tara gulped, feeling a wave of energy surge through her, leaving goosebumps, her skin tingling, and she could hear Ethan gasp.
"For I am the vessel," Tara choked, a lump forming in her throat, power welling up through her fingers. "I am the vessel, but yours is the power. Into your hands I subsume my will. Do what you must to save the world." For a moment Tara reflected on her first experience in Willow's mind, how she discovered that Willow had been god-ravaged, and had surrendered her will completely to that of Aranaea.
And Tara finally understood what Aranaea had told her. That, as great and powerful a witch as Willow was, Tara was greater, but only as a healer. Tara's mind spun as she realised she was about to commit her soul into the hands of not one, but three separate goddesses. She would be eclipsed. For this moment, no one person on earth would have greater power than she.
As if from a great distance, Tara could hear Ethan breathing strangely. She continued, ever feeling a deepening of power within her. "Aranaea, by your power, by your grace, may you be my sword arm. Infuse me with the power of the scythe, help me vanquish mine enemy. Lower him into the dust, overcome him.
"Thespia, goddess, ruler of all darkness. I honour your knowledge. I invoke your ferocity. May you ensnare the evil one, may you bind him with sharp cords, may you encapsulate him. Jailer of demons, Thespia, imprison him."
Tara could feel the amulet heat up on her skin, the tickling of her fingers became numbness and she marvelled at the power in the room. The heaven threads became heaven sheets, and she knew from Ethan's laboured breathing that this was something he did not expect.
And the veil grew thin.
"Maia, goddess of my heart, I honour you. I implore you, may you protect my heart. May you keep me free of the evil which I beckon, may you shelter my heart in your ever-beating palm. Oh, ye gods, hear me."
And as Tara finished the incantation and visualised herself as the chalice, the vessel, she could see that vessel filling with godly power, till it overflowed, leaving a backwash of indescribable perfection, a scent of celestial flowers filling the room.
And the veil ruptured.
Tara felt a growing shock wave rip through her, until she felt that her eyes would burst and her skin would rip right from her. Notwithstanding its power, the wave felt right, it felt like goodness, like lotion being sensuously rubbed into her skin, like a fluttering of butterfly-light kisses along her sensitive inner arms. It felt like love, not just brotherly love, but all-consuming, soul-losing, faith-shattering love, the kind of love you spend a lifetime looking for and praise the gods when you feel it for but a single moment.
Buzzing with godly power, feeling the separate entities of not one but three powerful goddesses tiptoe into her mind, Tara slowly seeped into the landscape of Willow's mind, sending her awareness through her fingertips until she materialised on the vast dark plain of her war, Willow's tree still drooping in blackness. She looked down at herself and was surprised to see her apparel.
The goddesses had outfitted her in clothing she could only describe as dangerous. Her hair was pulled safely up and away, save for a few soft brown tendrils that sighed against her neck. She was wearing a white top with a V-neck that showed a surprising amount of cleavage, and stopped short an inch above her black leather pants. On her feet were stylish black boots. Around her neck was the amulet of Thespia, the spokes of the sun pricking her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt. She had never in her life felt so beautiful, and so powerful.
And though she could not physically see the gods she had summoned, she could feel their presence, imbuing her with strength and resolve. All too soon she could sense the coming of the preacher, could feel the burning hatred flow from him, crisping the ground as he walked. The sky was a dome of inky purple clouds, roiling endlessly, boiling in the fury of the first evil. Soon enough they faced each other, Tara a paragon of virtue, enraptured by three gods he could not see, Caleb a manifestation of evil, Willow's dying tree behind them both.
"You can't have her," Caleb said amiably. "She's mine."
Tara closed her eyes and concentrated. Suddenly the scythe flickered into existence, resting easily in the palms of her hands. As she opened her eyes, adjusting to the waves of power emanating from the fierce weapon, she could see his face constrict in shock.
"I don't want her," Tara said, just as soft, just as fierce. "It's you I'm after."
Aranaea's presence filtered into her mind, and Tara felt a feline grace and power fill her muscles. And she walked towards Caleb, an easy stride, a small smile on her face, until she could see her own reflection in his eyes. He loomed before her, only a few feet away, his eyes dead black pools of stagnant madness.
Tara suddenly rushed him, swinging the scythe. But he, also, was the predator, with hundreds of thousands of years of experience to his name, and he easily dodged the blow, catching the handle of the scythe in one of his powerful hands. With his free hand he landed a devastating punch to her face, and Tara reeled back. The thin scabs on her face peeled free and blood began to flow thinly down her face.
Gritting her teeth against the blooming pain, Tara took the scythe in both of her hands, starting a tug-of-war over the weapon. Caleb's free hand once again came out of nowhere, landing a fierce uppercut on her chin. Her teeth bit into the soft flesh of her cheek and stars burst behind her vision. Tara could feel her heart beating a mad dance of frenzy, even as she tried to catch her breath and regroup.
But the preacher had danced this way, and a million times before. "You think you are powerful?" he snarled at her, as he gripped the weapon in both of his hands and used his leverage to bodily lift her from the ground, forcing Tara in an arc over his body to slam with resounding force into the deadened ground of Willow's mind.
And yet Tara would not yield.
Blood pouring from her cheek, her arms bruised, a rib broken, certainly, Tara grimly faced the
(long preacher)
insignificant man and said, "The meek shall inherit the earth." Caleb rushed to her broken form on the ground and lifted her up by the neck, up and up until her feet were dangling off the ground. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Tara only smiled once again through her pain, lifted her legs and kicked him in the chest with all the force she could muster. Caleb went flying through the air to crash resoundingly on the ground, while Tara spun in the air and landed in a feline crouch, the scythe still in her hands.
Now, Tara! Aranaea screamed at her, from within her.
Caleb was struggling to rise, and Tara was a tawny lioness, bent on death. She levelled a vast overhand blow at him. He raised his arm as if to somehow deflect the blow of death, but she just as smoothly changed the angle of attack, and her underhand blow crunched mightily into his unprotected side.
And he cried tears of tar, and his blood was the black blood of the earth.
And the weapon hung there, suspended in his side, until it began to glow with an unearthly white radiance, and then it melted, retreating into the defeated form of the preacher.
As his heavy body convulsed on the ground, as he writhed in agony, thick ropes of dull metal snaked around him. The goddess Thespia materialised in Willow's mind, standing next to angelic Tara, her palms extended to him, sharp cords emerging from them, spider-like, again and again, encasing Caleb as in a cocoon.
Thespia and Aranaea went over to the prone body of the preacher. The only part of his body that was not covered in Thespia's cords was his face, though she had indeed gagged him. They stood him up so he faced Tara, and his eyes were blazing. Tara knew that there was nothing in this world that would give him greater pleasure than killing her.
As Tara prepared to inhale him into her own body, she felt a stab of fear. This was it. From this moment on, there was no turning back. This path had only one conclusion, and it was her death at Willow's hands.
And she thought of Willow, and imagined sunlight on Willow's hair, and laughter bubbling from Willow's mouth, and the smell of sandalwood and roses. So she stared fully into the face of her death, and smiled.
I am the Kraken.
Bring it on.
The goddess Maia also now appeared, standing behind Tara. Tara could not see her, but she could feel her, could feel the waves of warmth and love and protection emanating from her. Maia walked up to Tara and then embraced her from behind, running one slender arm over Tara's waist, and placing her other hand squarely on Tara's breast, directly over her heart. "You are protected," the goddess whispered into Tara's ear.
Tara focused all her strength, all her power, and stared at Caleb. Then she viciously inhaled, and Caleb's solid form wavered, and then dissolved into a steady stream. She inhaled that stream of concentrated evil, ingested that violent concatenation of hatred, and continued to inhale even as his most horrible dust settled into her body. But there was more, more, and still more, and she choked on it, and gasped, and heaved, and felt the clutching arms of Maia around her, supporting her. She stood still for a moment, catching her breath, feeling the heat of the goddess behind her, and rallied her strength for another breath. She inhaled again, and dining on his ashes, Tara fed on the First Evil until she felt she would die. Her knees began to buckle, and stars began to dance behind her eyes, and as she inhaled the last deadly dirt of Caleb she and Maia fell to the ground.
Finally it was over, and she lay on the blighted ground, shuddering in pain and exhaustion. Maia continued to lay behind her, stroking her hair, pulling her close. "You did it, Tara. No one else could do it, but you did it."
Tara lay there for a long while, and the two other gods knelt down by her. "Will he stay chained up?" she finally had strength to ask Thespia.
"Yes, dear heart," Thespia answered, stroking Tara's hair. "Never remove the amulet, though. Not for bathing, not for sleeping, not ever."
Tara weakly nodded. Despite Aranaea's presence and help during the battle, she couldn't quite look at the goddess, a little bit of resentment still flaring in her breast, and she knew that the little goddess could feel it. Tara closed her eyes and lay on the ground for long minutes.
"Look, Tara," Maia said joyously, squeezing Tara gently, and Tara forced her weary eyes open. Maia was pointing to the landscape, which was steadily changing. The dark clouds of Caleb's anger were gone, and Tara was instead lit by the steady glow of Willow's ever-beating heart. Willow's tree didn't change (how could it?), but the grass beneath Tara began to heal, sending forth shoots of bright green.
"You've freed her, Tara," Thespia said. "Now go find her, and bring her out."
Tara laboriously stood up, and as she did so she felt a light ripple of energy pass through her, erasing her wounds and garbing her anew. The black dome had dissolved, and now she found herself robed in truth.
you will appear exactly as the host mind sees you
And as Tara had appeared as a little girl so long ago in her mother's mind, and as Peter's nurse in Mr. Whitney's mind, so now she looked down at herself in shock.
Tara was an angel.
