See Part One for disclaimer and details. Hi there, and welcome to the latest instalment of Shards of Fate! Thanks as always to everyone who's read and reviewed and favorite'd the story, and thank you to everybody who's sent feedback in terms of PMs and emails. Now, in the previous chapter, quite a few people thought we were bashing Angel's character. Sorry if you got that impression, folks, but that honestly wasn't our intention; neither of us like bashing fics, and we try to avoid that sort of thing on principle. Still, we should state for the record that people are going to say mean things in this story; there will be conflict and argument and emotional distress, and so if you're looking for schmoop and happily-ever-after, you've come to the wrong place for that! Anyway, please don't let that stop you from sending us your feedback; we need to hear from you on what we're doing right or wrong...but enough about all that, time to get on with the story!
Part Four: Three Shamans And A Lady
Outside the temple of the Order of the Kun-Sun-Dai, Los Angeles
January 24th, 2004
Ethan Rayne was feeling somewhat concerned. Not worried, exactly, but concerned nonetheless. Partly because ever since he had escaped from that underground prison and killed both Riley and Colonel Ellis, he'd felt a bit...off.
For example, Ethan had never considered himself the sort of bloke who took pleasure in doing either good or evil. As has been said, he was a worshipper of Chaos; the type who thrived on anarchy and confusion, thumbing his nose at the established order of things at every possible opportunity. And yet, over the past six months, he'd noticed himself acting in a way that was different from his customary behavior. Plus lately, he hadn't cared about anything other than his own desires and ambitions; and Rayne knew he was smarter than that...
For example, that Buffy Summers girl. Ethan had found himself wanting to kill her like he'd killed her former paramour, for the minor role she'd played in sending him to that damned prison – and to hell with the consequences! Which included being hunted down like an animal by Ripper and that new Council he had set up, in revenge for killing the closest thing he had to a daughter. A big risk for relatively little reward, all in all.
It simply wasn't worth it, and so, thus far he'd managed to resist the temptation. But Ethan didn't know for how much longer he could continue to do so. It was growing harder and harder to take any interest in the costs of his actions, and so Rayne knew it was time to consult with a professional about his problem.
"Good evening," Ethan said politely, after a door slot at eye-level slid open and a pair of eyes stared at him impassively. "The name's Ethan Rayne. I have an appointment to see an individual by the name of Wo-Pang?"
The slide closed back with a metallic click. Ethan rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of it all, but refrained from commenting as the door opened up. An Asian man stared at him, and then gestured abruptly with his head for Ethan to come in. Rolling his eyes again, Ethan did so.
He followed the Asian down a dark corridor, and came to a halt when the man lifted his palm in a 'halt' gesture. The man then said something in Mandarin, or Cantonese, or whatever oriental twang-y language he spoke, before going through a curtain of beads into a room of some sort.
{ Bloody hell, this is taking forever! } Ethan thought to himself impatiently, as he started tapping his foot in annoyance. But he didn't have long to wait before the Asian man came out again, and gestured for him to enter the room.
Ethan did so, and as he entered the room his eyes quickly adjusted to the semi-darkness. There were lit candles in strategic places throughout the chamber, bathing the room with a dim glow of light, and so Ethan quickly noticed the prayer space painted red and black on the floor and the animal bones laid out within. There was also a man covered head to toe in burgundy-colored cloth, except for his eyes; who was kneeling within the space and bent over as if praying to his personal gods.
"Good evening," Ethan said again, this time not concealing a smirk as the burgundy-clad shaman looked up. "I'm Ethan Rayne. And rumor has it, you possess certain skills I require."
Wo-Pang frowned, recalling another man with a similar accent saying those words to him, roughly a year ago. Shaking off the feeling of déjà vu, the shaman said, "Welcome, Ethan Rayne. I have been expecting you. Would you like some Orange Zinger tea?"
Ethan raised his eyebrows over the unexpected question. "Well, I'm more of an Earl Grey man myself, but..."
"That can be arranged. See to it," Wo-Pang said to his acolyte, who simply bowed and left the room, the curtain parting briefly in his wake.
"Now then, before we go any further, I'd like to get the preliminaries out of the way. Namely, a guarantee that neither of us will try to stab each other in the back, as it were," Ethan said, his tone becoming a lot more business-like.
"What did you have in mind?"
"The Rite of Ma'kai," Ethan said. Upon seeing the shaman's eyes widen, he added, "I take it you've heard of the ritual?"
"Yes," Wo-Pang replied simply. He then thought to himself, { Now, where did someone like you learn about something like that? }
Because Wo-Pang knew that that particular rite was for an unbreakable vow that would cause anyone to lose all their supernatural ability, if he or she violated their oath against betrayal in any way. However, the ritual had been created a very long time ago, and was all but forgotten in this modern age; so it was surprising, at least somewhat, that his visitor knew about it.
Making a decision, the shaman shrugged minutely and said, "Your terms are acceptable."
"Excellent," Ethan said, resisting the urge to rub his hands together like some B-movie super-villain. "Shall we begin, then?"
"After the tea ceremony," Wo-Pang intoned, before lapsing into silence.
Several minutes passed, until the acolyte returned with two steaming mugs of tea. Smiling, Ethan accepted his, and sprinkled something powdery into the liquid. Raising the earthenware mug in an ironic salute, he said to Wo-Pang, "Here's to your health!" and took a big gulp of the liquid.
Rayne then turned and said to the acolyte, "Strychnine? Really? Rather plebian for my taste, I have to say. And even without the neutralizing powder, I could have easily detected it – what with the way you put so much of the damned stuff in!"
Wo-Pang turned to glare at his acolyte. The man began babbling in his native language, looking terrified – before he abruptly choked, gurgled and collapsed dead onto the floor.
"Must acquire better followers," the shaman noted to himself in passing, before turning back to Ethan and inclining his head in regret. "My apologies for his actions."
"Oh, think nothing of it!" Ethan smiled; and it wasn't a nice smile, Wo-Pang noted at once. "One tends to expect this sort of thing from the ambitious minions, after all; it's why I cut all my followers loose a long time ago. Now then, since the tea business is effectively over with, shall we get on with it?"
Wo-Pang nodded silently, and without further ado, the Rite of Ma'kai was performed. Once reassured of his host's trustworthiness as much as he could be, Ethan explained his situation. Wo-Pang listened carefully, asked a few questions about the soul-scraping spell, and then requested Ethan to lay down on the floor in order to work his diagnostic magicks.
"Wa qing cho, wi xun zi lo. Kan, zhan, shan, kan, li. Ci wa ting ling. Si fao mao la," Wo-Pang intoned, after closing his eyes and putting his hands above Ethan's head and heart. He then opened them, and oddly enough, the orbs were now a blazing, scarlet red in color. "Ahhh!"
Ethan opened his eyes as well. "What's wrong?"
"Remain still. Do not move," Wo-Pang ordered him sternly. He then chanted, "Wa hao zhao xan xin zhe. Wan dong ta di zi yuan!"
"What are you doing?" Ethan demanded, before there was a flash of white light – and then Wo-Pang moved back, and gestured at him to get up.
"The Wolfram & Hart mages who gave you that soul-scraping spell, they obviously did not warn you to seek help after using it," the dark mystic replied, his eyes going back to their normal coloration. "You should have come to me, long before now."
"Why?" Ethan was now starting to get worried.
"You mutilated your own soul," Wo-Pang replied, looking at him disapprovingly. "And then you did nothing about it, afterwards. To use an analogy, it is as if you chopped off your own arm, and then did nothing to stem the flow of blood. Your soul has been slowly dying ever since – which explains why you have been feeling as if consequences for one's actions are now irrelevant. I have done what I can for you – cauterized the bleeding wound, to continue the analogy. But after all this time, the effects are too widespread to fix or contain. The soul's complete dissolution can be delayed, but ultimately not prevented. Thus, you will soon become a soulless creature – and immediately afterwards, you will die."
"How long do I have, before that happens?" Ethan asked calmly enough, even if on the inside, he was reeling with horror at the news.
"Not long. A week, at most," Wo-Pang replied emotionlessly.
"That isn't much time," Ethan said, thinking furiously. He'd have to get a second opinion on this, naturally, but Rayne could not get rid of the nasty feeling that Wo-Pang was telling him the truth. "And just out of interest, if I had known the consequences, if I had come to you straightaway – could you have saved my life?"
"It is possible, yes." Wo-Pang inclined his head slightly.
Ethan didn't waste any time on trivialities – he paid the dark mystic for services rendered, and then quickly left the establishment. He had a lot to do, and not a lot of time left to do it.
Headquarters of the new Watchers Council, London
The same time
Rupert Giles sighed, listening to Andrew talk about the situation with Dana; the insane Slayer whom the nerd had recently taken to Cleveland, in order to get her away from Angel and Wolfram & Hart's clutches. The girl was unfortunately completely bonkers, which had been confirmed by both ordinary and magical means. And with almost no sense of self or identity, she relied on her dream memories (which were part of the Slayer inheritance) in order to function. So Dana continually channeled all the Chosen Ones that had come before her.
Including Faith, the last Slayer to be Called prior to Willow's handiwork.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Giles interrupted Andrew's monologue, slightly confused about something.
"Uh, I said – when Dana met Faith, her first words were, 'You wanna feel a connection? Our connection's just skin. I can make you scream. I could make you die.' And, um, Faith almost lost it," Andrew said uncomfortably. "Robin managed to calm her down, though, and got an explanation out of her later."
"Which was?"
"Uh...basically, Dana echoed what Faith said...the, uh, the night she tried to kill Xander," Andrew confessed, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here right now.
Giles sighed again, resisting the temptation to polish his glasses. "And what happened after that?"
"Uh, Faith took off almost straightaway and left the Cleveland House. In fact she left the city and dropped off the grid, like completely. Robin, uh, he put Dana into psychiatric care of some sort, as well as a padded cell. I heard from Vi that he visits her every so often, hoping to hear her channeling his mom..."
{ Bloody wonderful. } Giles knew Robin Wood had issues regarding his mother, but he'd thought the man could keep them under control. { No wonder he and Faith eventually broke up. Good Lord, I knew I should have had Wood transferred and assigned Xander to the new Hellmouth, instead... }
Giles then resisted the urge to ask Andrew if he knew where Harris was, and what the Council's so-called prodigal son was up to right now; Rupert already knew his aide knew nothing about that. Apparently, Xander had visited the Devon coven and they had done something to him which had rendered the boy invisible to any tracking spells, or scrying crystals, or anything like that. Later, he had dropped out of sight and out of touch with just about everyone.
The only person Xander talked to anymore was Dawn, calling her mobile number roughly once a week from wherever remote location in Africa he happened to find himself in. And she refused to tell anyone anything, even her own sister; Dawn insisted that if Xander wanted anybody else to know where he was or what was happening in his life, he'd get in touch with them himself. So, just like Faith, he was effectively gone.
There were times when Giles envied his younger acquaintances the freedom to disappear that way, to be honest with you. But ever since the mass Slayer activation, the logistical nightmare of trying to contact all 1800 of the Chosen had been superseded only by the threats that had been made by some of those girls against the Watchers in general, and Willow in particular – and he was the one who had to oversee the Council's response to it all.
For example, one of the newly activated American girls had been an athlete on the fast track for competing in the Olympic Games, later this year. But after being Called, she'd come under suspicion for steroid abuse and been dropped from consideration, despite no evidence of wrong-doing on her part. More importantly, after being contacted by one of her fellow Slayers, the girl's fury towards Willow over what she had done – and being drafted into a fight which the newbie had no interest in taking part in – had been enough to convince Giles to pay the former athlete enough money to simply fade away, and cease making a fuss.
Still, that was hardly an isolated case. More than one newly-called Slayer had complained about having her life ruined, in one form or another. More than one had also turned to a life of crime, abusing their new abilities. But even worse was how some of those former Potentials had been hunted down by demons and vampires without any idea why, and unfortunately, more than one of them had been killed during those somewhat chaotic early days. Their families, once the Council's representatives had arrived to offer explanations and condolences, had been enraged over what had happened – and had it been possible, Giles did not doubt that the grieving relatives would have tried to sue the Council for punitive damages, as well as shoot Willow dead.
Buffy, too, for giving the order to the witch to do what she'd done.
And probably himself as well, for aiding and abetting in Buffy's 'bloody brilliant plan'.
"Giles? Uh, are you listening to me?" Andrew's somewhat nasal voice interrupted Rupert's mental musings, and brought the head of the Council back to the present.
"I'm sorry, Andrew, I was distracted for a moment. What, uh, what did you say again?" Giles asked, staring at him from across the desk.
"I said, what are we gonna do about Xander?" Wells asked plainly. He hesitated before adding, "I, I don't wanna ask Dawn again to convince him to come back to London – I don't think she likes me much, not anymore. Are ya sure you can't get Willow to convince him to come in from the cold?"
"Willow has to remain out of touch with everyone, Andrew, at least for the moment. We're almost done reaching a, uh, out-of-court settlement with all the Slayers and their families demanding restitution – and after that, she can do whatever she likes. But for now, I-I don't want her exposing herself in public," Giles said firmly.
"Well, okay. You're the boss," Andrew shrugged. "It's just, I don't know anyone else who's got the midichlorians in order to get the job done..."
Rupert never got the chance to ask what that meant before the phone rang, and he picked up. "Yes?"
"Giles? It's me, Angel. I've been trying to contact Buffy, but they put me through to you, instead!" The vampire's voice sounded more than a little testy as he added, "Can you put her on the phone, please?"
"She's not here right now. Can I take a message?" Giles said coolly. Yes, he still had issues regarding Angel, especially after learning that the vampire was now working for Wolfram & Hart. And if that was rather petty of him, well, so be it.
"Yeah. You can tell her that Xander's here in L.A., and that he's in a coma. If that's not too much of a hassle for you," Angel's voice sounded more than a little annoyed.
Straightaway, Giles leapt up off his chair. "Xander's what?! In a coma, you say? How did that happen? And why?! Bloody hell, w-w-what's going on over there in Los Angeles?"
"It's a long story, not all of which is your business. Just tell Buffy to call me, I'll be waiting for her to get in touch." There was an abrupt click! as Angel hung up on the other end of the transatlantic line.
"Angel? ANGEL! Oh, you undead sodding arse..." Rupert cursed, before whirling to face Andrew. "You heard?"
Wells nodded. "You want me to call Buffy, tell her to get over here right now?"
Giles nodded, and then decided 'to hell with it'. "Call Willow as well. Tell her she can teleport here from Rio de Janeiro, whenever she's ready; she'll want to be present for when Buffy calls Angel, I'm sure."
Andrew drew back in surprise. "Yeah, and I, uh, I've got her cell number for emergencies, but I thought you said-"
"Never mind what I said before, boy. Now hop to it," Giles ordered rather roughly.
Andrew quickly complied; he wasn't dumb enough to argue with the Big Boss whenever Giles got into this sort of mood, after all.
Great Russell Street, London
A short while later
After Buffy ran across the street, heedless of the rushing traffic – what was with these people driving on the wrong side of the road, sheesh! – she burst into the Council headquarters, only to stop dead in her tracks.
Because Dawn was also present in the lobby, and she was demanding answers from Andrew. Answers the young man didn't have, from the looks of things. The blonde Slayer then thought to herself, { Damn it. This might get nasty... }
That was because the relationship between the two sisters had deteriorated into little more than shouting matches and insults lately, thanks in part to that meeting in Rome four months ago. And while Buffy regretted some of the things she'd said that day at the Café Greco, she still didn't think it was any of Xander's business who she dated – and she definitely didn't agree with his opinion that she needed psychiatric help to get over her need to find a guy who had more than a touch of a monster within him.
{ Gotta admit, I definitely shouldn't have told Dawnie that I called Xander a wimp directly to his face that day, } Buffy thought uncomfortably, as her sister caught sight of her and scowled angrily. { But I was just so damn mad... }
"It's Saturday night. Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend, the demon mafia Godfather?" Dawn asked scathingly.
{ Ouch. } "Dawn, please. I don't know if you've heard-" Buffy started to say.
"That Xander's in a coma, somewhere in L.A.? Yeah, I heard. Believe it or not, some people around here don't lie directly to my face – like you did," Dawn cut her off, the glare growing more heated.
"What are you talking about?" her sister demanded.
"Cordelia? Off on vacation with her ex-boyfriend, when she was actually in a coma all along? Is that ringing any bells for you?" Dawn hissed malevolently.
{ Aw, crud! } Somewhat stunned, Buffy inadvertently stepped back. "How did you-?"
"Andrew just confessed to the whole thing, of course! He was right there when the rest of you decided to lie about Cordy to Xander, remember?!" Dawn snarled, which made Buffy send a brief glare Andrew's way. "Hey, I'm still talking here! Buffy, you-"
"Not now," Buffy cut her off without a moment's hesitation, her body already in motion as she headed for Giles's private office. Dawn and Andrew followed her, the female teen still seething and the male nerd still terrified that he was going to get caught in the crossfire of the upcoming battle.
"Giles, what's going on? How the hell did Xander end up in a coma?!" Buffy demanded, after she burst into his office without knocking.
"Errr, why ask me? If you've heard that much, Buffy, surely you must also have heard that Angel wanted to speak only to you about it?" Giles replied somewhat snarkily, getting up from behind his desk after Dawn and Andrew came in as well.
"Angel? What's he got to do with this?" Buffy looked surprised to hear that.
Andrew gulped at the annoyed look that his boss instantly shot his way. He said to Giles, "Uh, she sorta interrupted me on the phone as soon as I said that Xander was in a coma, and I never got the chance to mention that part – before she hung up and started racing over here?"
Buffy briefly looked embarrassed, but quickly recovered. "Okay, well, I'm listening now. What else did Angel say?"
"Nothing," Giles made no attempt to hide his disapproval as he said that. "Just to pass on the message to you, and for you to contact him as soon as possible."
"Hey, wait – how do we know he's actually telling the truth? I mean, according to Andrew, Angel was the one who originally came up with the idea to lie to Xander about how Cordelia was on that so-called 'vacation'. So how can we be certain this isn't just another convenient lie?" Dawn demanded, as Buffy looked at her in annoyance.
"Because I checked it out for myself," Willow's voice said from the office doorway, before the redhead entered the room as well. She looked tired as she added, "Hey, everyone."
"Willow. I'm glad you're here," Giles greeted her warmly. "Please, sit down – you look virtually exhausted."
"Uh, yeah, guess I am kinda pooped; teleportation takes a lot out of you if you're not, y'know, high on the black magicks," Willow confessed. "Even just from Scotland to here, it's still not easy."
"Scotland? I thought you were in Brazil, um, uh, wh-what were you doing there?" Rupert demanded.
"I needed to get away from South America. That safehouse was starting to feel like a prison. And don't you dare look at me like that, Giles!" Willow said, glaring at him for a moment as Rupert opened his mouth to chastise her. "You try living incommunicado that way for all those months, knowing there's a barrage of hate mail and angry families of dead Slayers looking for you!"
"Ah, yes, well..." Giles trailed off, conceding the point.
"So, Willow, what did you mean when you said you checked it out for yourself, about Xander being in a coma?" Dawn asked coolly. "And please don't lie to me for my own good, the way you did to him back then!"
"I couldn't contact Xander telepathically. And, uh..." Willow looked a bit confused about the 'don't lie to me for my own good' thing, but then quickly managed to connect the dots together. "Oh, yeah – that thing about Cordelia becoming a vegetable! I'm sorry, Dawn, but after everything that had just happened in Sunnydale, I didn't think-"
"Yeah, you certainly didn't," Dawn cut her off angrily, as Willow flinched at the ugly expression on the teenager's face.
"Evening, all!" an unfamiliar male voice said from the doorway in a distinctive East End accent, providing an unexpected but much-needed distraction from the topic of conversation. "Got a special delivery for the Council from Alexander LaVelle Harris. Which is you lot, innit?"
"Who are you? And how, how the devil did you get in here?" Giles demanded, wondering if the Council's security people had all decided to take the evening off or something.
"Name's Shaman Bond, guvnor. Mighta heard o' me, eh?" the large, heavyset-looking man smirked and glanced around at everyone in the room.
"Oh! Yeah, I, I've heard of you. Before he left London, Xander mentioned your name a few times," Andrew semi-stammered. "He said that you were, uh, someone he trusted..."
"Brill ta hear, squire," Shaman grinned at him, showing his huge, tombstone-like teeth.
"How, uh, how exactly do you know Xander, Mr. Bond?" Giles asked, assuming that Harris had made some sort of preparations for granting this man access to the building prior to disappearing.
"Met 'im awhile back, down in Surrey," Shaman said promptly. "We became mates when he 'elped me out of a spot o' bother, and was even kind enough to share his grub with me afterwards. Told 'im to give us a bell if he ever needed help, and eventually he did. Special delivery from Rome 'n all!" He tossed the small package to Buffy, and then shrugged. "Got his message for it to be delivered today; and 'fore you ask, that's all I know. Right, best be off; been a long day, and I'm feeling a bit knackered. TTFN, 'n all that!"
Buffy stared at the package and then at Shaman, who was already vanishing out the door. "Hey, wait! I still have questions-" She would have said more, but Dawn leaned over and yanked the package out of her hands. "Hey!"
"Oh, spare me! I get worse looks from my Latin teacher, whenever I mix up declensional nouns with ablative adjectives," Dawn said crossly, as she ripped the paper wrapping apart. Then she held up what was in the package. "It's a videotape!"
"Giles? You gotta have a VCR around here somewhere, right?" Willow asked, looking around the office.
"Uh, who uses a video cassette anymore?" Andrew wanted to know. "Everything's on DVD now!"
Everyone ignored him, as Giles quickly dug an unused VCR machine out of storage before Willow hooked it up to a TV monitor. After the tape was inserted into the machine, Buffy hit Play and Xander's face appeared on the screen.
"Hey, everyone, it's me. Xander," Harris said, looking out at them all. "And if you're watching this, that means I'm either in a coma, or dead, or...whatever. A couple of things before we get into that, though – first of all...as of today, September 23rd, 2003, I hereby officially quit working for the Council of Watchers of Great Britain-"
"WHAT?!" Dawn exclaimed, as a shocked-looking Buffy hit Pause on the remote control.
"Giles? Did you know about this?" Willow demanded, looking around at the Englishman.
"Well, uh, no, I-I-I didn't," Giles stammered, looking rather flummoxed. Then he turned accusingly toward his aide. "Andrew?"
"Well, I...kinda suspected. I-I mean, there's been nothing on his expense account since, um, uh, October, I think," Andrew hastened to say. "But Xander, h-he never said anything to me about officially quitting the organization! So, I figured, ah, no need to rock the boat..."
"You still should have said something to us, anyway!" Buffy scowled at him.
"Yeah? You mean, like you shoulda said something about Cordelia?" Dawn glared at her, even as the Slayer glowered back at her sister over the comment. "Geez, I bet this was when Xander found out how you people lied to him about that, and he decided enough was enough. That he couldn't trust you guys anymore. Yeah, it's no wonder he quit..."
"Dawn – don't, please," Willow said, looking hurt.
"Buffy, uh, d-do get on with playing the rest of the tape," Giles instructed the woman in question, trying to ignore all the soap-operatic antics. He stammered, "We need to, to, to find out all we can before you call Angel, a-a-and learn what he knows about why Xander's in a coma."
"Right," Buffy agreed, before pressing Play once more.
Xander's image came alive again, and he said, "This is my choice, and the reason I'm doing this is because I want to do something right after all the...crap, during the past seven years. I know I might die doing it, but strangely enough...that doesn't seem to matter all that much, at this point..."
Restricted area of the coma ward, Wolfram & Hart private hospital
A short while later
Cordelia was sitting in a chair she'd dragged into the room, holding Xander's hand in hers. Harris himself didn't notice, of course; as he was in a comatose state, and would be for quite some time to come.
Still, even though his conscious mind was asleep, Xander's collective unconscious was still very much active and keeping itself busy. Right at that moment, in a dream, the one-eyed man was approaching the residence of that shaman in Zanzibar; the same one who had later directed him to go back to the U.S. and approach the Conduit, if he wished to save Cordelia's life.
"Ghosts are everywhere on this island," Xander's guide named Mohamed said within the dreamscape, speaking in Swahili and nervously adjusting his hat. "Zanzibar has been ruled by the Portuguese, Omanis, and British – but the shetani, the spirits, never lose their power, no matter which empire claims ownership of our land. Neither do those who speak with them."
Xander nodded; he had heard that ancient ghosts haunted a network of coastline caves in Kizimkazi, and that the witch doctors around here used the rocks to somehow commune with the restless spirits. "How much further, my friend?" Harris then replied in the same language.
"Not far. But I truly wish that you would reconsider your actions," Mohamed said earnestly. The black man rather liked the American, as Harris was someone who could actually speak the language and didn't treat every African he met as some sort of wild, uneducated savage. "This shaman you seek, he is said to have powerful juju. I fear for your safety if you enter his presence, I do."
"Thank you for that, Mohamed. But my course is set. And I promise, I will do my best not to make him get annoyed with me," Xander's lips quirked upwards.
The pair soon arrived at the cave entrance, and Mohamed pointed towards something that looked like a mud hut not far away. "This is as far as I go, my friend. May the cave shetani guide you and protect you in your quest."
Xander smiled, clasped forearms with his guide, and said, "Thank you for your help. And may the shetani protect and guide you with your own path." Harris then continued on towards the mud hut, as Mohamed turned around and vanished into the early evening darkness.
The one-eyed man was about to knock on the door, when a male voice said in Swahili, "Enter."
Shrugging to himself, Xander did so and said politely to the shaman, "Thank you for seeing me, and allowing me into your home."
"You speak our language well, for a white man," the witch doctor replied, appraising Xander carefully.
"Again, I thank you. The credit belongs to a woman – a girl – I met in Kenya. Nonetheless, three months is not very long to learn a new language, and I know that I am not that good at it yet," Xander replied formally.
The shaman nodded. "You are honest as well as brave to seek me out. Very well. Speak. Why have you come here?"
Xander explained as best he could about Cordelia, and what had happened to his ex-girlfriend thanks to Jasmine's hijacking of her body and the subsequent birth of the rogue Power. The shaman frowned, recalling those moments last year when his free will had been stolen; and that was enough to make him decide to help his visitor, to the best of his ability.
Not long afterwards, the ritual to foresee the future was carried out – and Xander learned of Cordelia's upcoming death, along with the Fang Gang's demise, thanks to their assassination of all the members of the Circle of the Black Thorn. The shaman frowned again and said, "This woman, who will die soon – she is very special to you."
"Yes," Xander said in reply, his mind still reeling from the information the witch doctor had just imparted to him. "Yes, she is."
"Then that part of your fate has not changed."
Xander frowned. "I do not understand."
The shaman gestured for Harris to look into the bowl containing animal bones, spit and the former Zeppo's blood. And suddenly, understanding poured into the young man's brain like a tidal wave.
His original destiny had been ripped apart in order for Jasmine to birth herself into the world, he saw that now. Much to his shock and disbelief, Xander perceived how he and Cordelia would never have broken up, otherwise; and he would have moved away with her to Los Angeles after high school, in order to help his girlfriend achieve her dreams. He had never been meant to meet Anya, apart from a couple of times not long before Graduation – once after the vengeance demon's amulet had been smashed, and, again, just in time for the Scooby Gang to learn vital details about the Mayor's Ascension.
Xander also saw how the whole Vision Girl thing never would have happened, if he'd been at that Hollywood party when Cordelia had briefly bumped into Angel. And while the actress gig wouldn't have gone past a few guest shots on TV shows, the Chase woman's beauty would have eventually led to a successful career as a model.
Then they would have moved to New York. He would have stepped up and become Cordelia's manager, looking out for her interests better than anyone else. They would have gotten married and had two kids; a boy and a girl, who would have been named Jesse and Joyce. They would have spent the rest of their lives together, without battling the forces of Evil every week, and he would have eventually died at the age of ninety-six; surrounded by his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. His wife would have followed him, less than six months later.
That was the life he should have lived, Harris suddenly understood with a clarity that was no less horrifying than it was astonishing. The life which had been stolen from him, thanks to Jasmine and Skip.
{ So what happened? } Xander asked himself, swallowing hard. { If that was supposed to be my future, then – what made it all fall apart? }
Straightaway, he saw it in his mind's eye; the night he'd kissed Willow. The so-called clothes fluke, during senior year. A slight twist and push on the Chaos magic already in his system as a result of that Ethan Rayne guy, by Jasmine's silvery demon henchman – which had led him down the path that fallen Power had engineered to get Cordelia away from him, and Sunnydale. This included Skip magically reinforcing Cordelia's bitchier traits to make her less inclined to forgive him for his actions, or even talk to him after she got out of that hospital.
{ No way. It can't be that simple! } Harris thought in disbelief and revulsion. { The plan's too full of holes, too many things could have gone wrong; that Skip guy couldn't have left so much up to chance... }
True enough; and so, more images appeared in Xander's mind. He saw the various contingency plans which that mercenary demon had had up his sleeve, if the whole cheating and rebar thing hadn't panned out correctly.
For example, him getting killed and turned by Vamp Harmony after Graduation, and Cordelia quickly fleeing to the relative safety of L.A.; after the Xander vampire had become fixated on slaughtering its (former) girlfriend –
Or Cordy getting a free four-year scholarship to UCLA after he had gotten run over by a bus, where she would have met Angel during one of his cases and eventually inherited the visions; after Doyle kissed her, just before dying from the wounds inflicted by a Kailiff demon –
Or Skip hitting Cordelia with a similar sort of spell to that which he had been dosed with, after they arrived in Los Angeles; the demon leading his girlfriend to cheat on him and splitting them up that way, prior to the night she'd bumped into Angel at her friend Margo's party –
And there had been more. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there had been quite a number of different scenarios being held as a reserve option by the bad guys. Nearly all of which had involved his extremely painful death, after he had outlived his usefulness.
{ Oh yeah, I get it now, } Xander thought dully, after perceiving all of the possibilities that Jasmine's lackey had come up with to make sure that the high school romance in question ended badly. { I was never anything but a pawn, something to make sure Cordelia ended up completely on the outs with all her rich friends; that fucking merc musta figured out how none of those bitches would want to help her after Cordy dated a guy like me, and then ended up completely broke. So we never actually had a chance; our relationship was doomed, like right from the start... }
Much to his surprise, though, as if to disagree with that assessment – the visions suddenly changed. Xander saw possibility after possibility, worlds and circumstances where, despite the odds, Cordelia had become useless to Jasmine as the Mother, and there had been no mystical interference from Team Evil in either of their lives. Like...
A world where both he and his girlfriend had accidentally ended up stuck in Pylea after their junior year of high school, a demon dimension isolated enough that Skip simply couldn't find them in time; and so the rogue Power decided to go with a backup plan involving Doyle's ex-wife instead –
A world where the Sunnydale business named 'Party Town Costumes' got burned down, and both he and his girlfriend had gotten Halloween outfits from Ethan's Costume Shop; and then, thanks to the mage's chaos spell, Cordelia (a.k.a. the Greek goddess Aphrodite) had become utterly unsuitable for the purpose Jasmine had had in mind –
A world where Cordelia had been Called as the Slayer, immediately upon Kendra's death in the school library after that fight with Drusilla; and her altered body with its enhanced healing was now completely incompatible with the rogue Power's evil designs. Perhaps unsurprisingly, thanks to his Slayer fixation, he'd never even looked at another woman for the rest of his life –
A world where Cordelia had developed medical problems thanks to a placental cyst, resulting in infertility; and after Buffy had been forced to kill Dark Willow, he had eventually moved to L.A. and somehow run into his old girlfriend again, with whom he'd broken up amicably shortly after high school was over –
And, just like before, there was more than just those isolated examples. So much more. So many different possible timelines, so many different alternate realities. The visions all started to blur together, the information overload too much for any human brain to process and understand, much less remember.
Thus, Xander had fainted that evening, before the shaman had eventually woken him up and sent him on his way to the City of Angels, with the instructions on how to save the comatose Cordelia of this reality from her fate.
And here and now, sitting next to his bed in that Wolfram & Hart hospital room, the recently awakened Ms. Chase still had no idea how to answer her own question: "Where do we go from here, Dweeb Boy?"
TBC...