To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers
Part 13: Farewell, My Friend
"And the… whatever-that-was," Colin said after Mrs. Parris told us that some unknown enemy had sicced her on us and wiped her memory of how. "The demon, I'm guessing… it s-said that 'the witch' sent it. That wouldn't be Warren— w-would it?"
"No way," I said immediately. "He'd be a warlock to the demon— they know the difference, and it said 'she' sent it.
"Okay… um, Mrs. Parris, forgive me, please, I haven't made introductions. This is Mi Kyong Takeda, newest slayer-best-friend, and this is my boyfriend, Colin Goddard.
"Colin, Mi Kyong, Mrs. Parris is the mother of Helena Parris, who died in the Battle of Bloomington."
"I'm very sorry," Mi Kyong said. "I have read Aunt Rose's account of that time, and I know that your daughter fought well and bravely, did not let her handicap slow her down… but I cannot imagine that is much comfort."
"It's… most days, it's enough," Stacy Parris said. "I… won't lie to you. I still get angry that she died, but I know— I know— that she wouldn't have wanted to live if it meant that the Slayers failed to stop that bitch Amy Madison. I'm proud of her for fighting."
"No one decent wants to live at the expense of failure to save others," Colin said, very softly. "I've read Rose's book as well, and I remember… Helena got hurt battling ice demons the night Jocelyn was born— and she insisted that they finish the mission before taking her out to get better medical care than was available on the scene.
"You're right to be proud of her."
"Thank you," Mrs. Parris said. "I just wanted to say I was sorry… I should go now. I don't remember what I told my son about why I was going out, but I should probably check."
She took her leave, and Buffy came over to sit down next to me.
"I'm not going to yell," Buffy said, seeing me sort of brace for it. "Your dad, your mom and Xander did enough of that. I just… Jocelyn, can you make this fit with… with the other things that are going on?"
"No, Buffy," I said, sighing in disgust. "It doesn't fit. I'm sorry."
"Um, forgive me if—if I'm out of line, but… doesn't it?" Colin said, looking puzzled. "I think I see a connection."
"Colin, hold that thought," Buffy said immediately. "Whitey, Giles, Xander, come here, please."
The Watchers Buffy had called came over (Xander taking the time to make sure that Joyce was okay clinging to Aunt Dawn first), and Buffy said, "Colin has a thought about a connection between Mrs. Parris and everything else."
"Tell us, please, Colin," Giles said.
"Well— it may not be connected to Warren, b-but it is connected to things that have h-happened recently, I think," Colin said. "The demon that D-Dawn banished, it said that the witch who summoned it had tried to summon something else, but— but 'the child stopped it.'
"Didn't… didn't Jocelyn stopping a demon from being summoned end up bringing me here instead? Could th-that have been… what it meant?"
We all stared for a moment, then Xander turned to me and said, "Jocelyn, if you let this one get away, you will never live it down! Heck, I'll have Buffy kick your ass if you let him get away!
"Colin— thanks. You're damn near certainly right."
I didn't say anything, I just kissed him.
"All right, add that to the stewpot," Giles said. "I don't think they are connected, but… they may be. After all, a witch powerful enough to augment Stacy Parris that way might well be capable of the divinations that Warren seems to have access to."
Everyone went back to the business of telling Alex Harris goodbye then, but I saw Aunt Sh'rin stop Buffy and speak to her briefly. Buffy looked puzzled, but nodded to whatever Aunt Sh'rin had said, and my aunt-by-friendship walked away smiling just a little. Weird, but not overly weird.
We all left about nine-thirty— the grown ups had to get last minute instructions from the funeral director for the next day, and then there was some talking, more crying, and a lot of hugging.
Instead of going back to the guest house, Daddy followed Buffy and the rest to Buffy and Xander's house, saying that Buffy had asked pretty much everyone to come over for a bit, though she hadn't said why.
Once everyone had arrived, and all of us were sitting around at the picnic tables in the back yard, Aunt Sh'rin walked out into the circle of picnic tables and cast a short spell. A globe of light formed above her head, lighting the clearing neatly, and it followed her as she walked in a slow circle and spoke to us all.
"There are those who would say that what I am about to do is… perhaps ill-timed," Aunt Sh'rin said as she walked. "Your people have a saying from your Christian faith, a part of the burial rites of that faith— 'in the midst of life, we are in death.'
"There is truth to that. Death and life are a part of the natural cycle of the Earth.
"But the reverse is also true. In the midst of mourning the death of one we loved… life continues. Life changes… and even in times of hurt, there may come a thing to celebrate.
"I feel that now is such a moment, and… I hope that you understand, that you share this feeling, that you see the… the good that has happened."
Aunt Sh'rin produced a small knife apparently from nowhere (she's a damn good magician— it may have been from nowhere, for all I know), and turned to face the table where her family-by-marriage (might not have been legal, but they were all married) sat, and said, "Elaine, Rose… Dawn. My loves, you will remember the night I came to your now, and the things I told you— of the names my teachers, the Guardians, had for you and yours. And I told you that I would teach Dawn, make of her a Guardian… and that one day, she would pass me in knowing and in fighting… and on that day, the blade of the Guardians would pass to her, become hers, her badge of office as Chief of the Guardians.
"That day is here. It is now."
Aunt Sh'rin reached up with the knife in her hand and cut the single narrow braid in the right side of her hair, the one that held a single brown-gold-white feather from the wing of a golden eagle, and said softly, "I never told you Dawn, for I knew that your… modesty would forbid you from using it, but the spell that you used to summon the Guardian's blade to you tonight… it will not work for any save she who leads us. I have known for some time that you were ready… but that you would not accept the promotion without proof. When I knew you to be ready, I taught you the spell.
"Tonight… you called. The blade came.
"You are now the Chief of the Guardians, and as I said that long-ago day… I am proud, for no teacher can hope for more than to have the student pass them.
"Come here, my love."
Aunt Dawn, blushing brightly but smiling, really smiling, for the first time since Alex died, came and stood next to Aunt Sh'rin, who had removed the braid of her hair from around the feather while she spoke of Aunt Dawn's accomplishment. She cut of a length of Aunt Dawn's hair so that the feather would hang at the right height, made a thin braid of the shortened bit… and wove the badge of the Chief of the Guardians into Aunt Dawn's hair swiftly and easily.
"What was meant to be… now is," Aunt Sh'rin said. "Congratulations, my love!"
Then she kissed the ever-loving heck out of Aunt Dawn, who gave back as good as she got— and we all whooped and cheered and applauded, and everybody tried to hug her and kiss her at once.
Xander waited his turn more patiently than others, and after he gave Aunt Dawn a hug that went on for quite a while, he pulled back a little and said, "I've been saying it since early in 2003, Dawn… but this rates saying it again.
"Extraordinary!"
She hugged him again, held on for a long time— and Buffy just smiled at them.
I didn't have a crutch yet, so I hadn't gotten up to go hug Aunt Dawn— but she came to me once the press of bodies allowed it, and Colin helped me up so I could hug her (after he and Mi Kyong had both hugged her).
"Congratulations, Aunt Dawn," I said. "You deserve it. You keep coming up with funky new spell combinations, and you can actually hold your own against Aunt Rose with a sword way longer than anyone else— Aunt Sh'rin's right, you deserve this."
"I guess I can't argue with the Guardians' magic," Aunt Dawn said, smiling a little nervously. "Low-down trick, that, and I'll make her pay, later— I know all her ticklish spots!"
"You sure you haven't turned evil?" I asked jokingly. "I mean… tickling!"
"Oh, I'm sure," Aunt Dawn said, grinning at me. "You should be sure, too— after all, I haven't told Colin about your ticklish spots, have I?"
"Uh, no," I said. I thought for a second and added, "No, ma'am, you haven't. You're very nice that way, um… Saint Aunt Dawn. Yes, Saint Aunt Dawn would never betray me that way."
"Okay, that's better," Aunt Dawn said. She hugged me once more, then said, "Honey… I'm half-passed-out— that demon-containment-and-banishment was a toughie. I'm going to let my family help me get clean and then Ballard has promised me a back rub."
"Okay, that's reasonable," I said. "Good night, Aunt Dawn."
We went back to the guest house, everyone a weird mixture of sad and happy, hurt and pleased. Daddy found me a crutch to use until my leg healed, re-splinted it with metal braces instead of the plastic he'd originally used… and was sweet enough to not lecture me any more than he already had.
"Compound break and all, four days, it'll be fine, the way you Slayers heal," Daddy said. "No workouts in that time, and no fighting unless it's do-or-die, honey-girl."
"Yes, Daddy," I said. I hesitated a long moment, then said, "Daddy? Could you… the day after we got here, when Buffy came over? She showed me that I was letting the Capoeira give me a bad habit of letting my center float even when I wasn't doing Capoeira. She worked with me on fixing it, and I think it took… but when I go back into training, could you watch for that especially? Make sure I don't slip back into it?"
Daddy took that as the peace offering it was, the further admission that I'd been a dumbass, and gave me one of the smiles that made him Daddy. "You bet, honey-girl. We'll get you squared away.
"I'll send Colin along to carry you upstairs— you're too tired to think about crutching your way up— close your mouth, if you argue, I'll embarrass you silly, and have Mi Kyong do it— she's so tiny we'd all laugh ourselves silly."
"Yes, Daddy," I said. "Thanks for fixing me up."
"That's my job," Daddy said cheerfully. "Night, Jocelyn."
"Good night."
Colin came in a minute later and carried me upstairs. He again cuddled me that night, but it probably looked sort of odd. He snuggled up— from the waist up. From the waist down his legs were thrown as far away from my injured leg as possible.
At breakfast, Mom saw that I wasn't eating well, and… well, she mommed me.
"Sweetie, I know you're upset, an' maybe not terrible hungry," Mom said, her voice gentle. "But you got yourself a busted leg— an' that means you have to eat. Slayers heal like nobody's business, but you got to give the body fuel to heal with."
"I'll try," I said miserably. "I'll try."
I ate enough that Mom cut me some slack— but she did make me drink a couple of extra big glasses of milk for the calcium, and pop some calcium supplement pills.
"Good enough," Mom said after I finished my third glass of milk. "Thank you, honey. An'… well, for lunch, whatever you have, it should have cheese. An' you should drink more milk."
"Yes, Mom," I said. "Just… no calling me Bessie if I turn into a cow."
"Never happen," Mom said, giving the lame attempt at a joke a bigger smile than it rated (it rated a wince, let's be honest) because I was trying. "Now, Jossie, maybe…."
I watched the newbies train lightly that morning, sitting with Royal under a shade tree, him draped around my neck and making the burbling-cooing noise of pseudo dragon singing to make me feel better.
We ate a light and early lunch, and I had a grilled cheese a la Mom, who made a grilled cheese like no other; four kinds of cheese (Gouda, Swiss, pepperjack and sharp cheddar), four big strips of bacon and olive oil instead of butter for the bread— a personal favorite. Mom didn't ask me to eat more than one, just made this one with thicker slices of cheese than usual, and kept the milk flowing.
Mi Kyong helped me dress for the funeral in a dress that was a gray just this side of black. Her own dress was black, and Colin wore a dark gray summer-weight suit.
We all piled into the vehicles and rode to the funeral home, and we started the process of saying goodbye to my friend.
Promptly at one, Giles went to the podium at the front of the room and started speaking. He spoke of Alex honestly, a very physical boy, who, while he enjoyed learning, preferred the physical to the cerebral, would rather do than watch or read about, who had an exuberant approach towards life and all its aspects. He talked about Chief, and how the little guy had, on more than one occasion, protected Alex from a child's foolishness, and even from monsters, on the two occasions when monsters had gotten close to Buffy's children. Giles didn't fall apart while talking about Alex and his best friend… but a couple of times it seemed like he was really, really close.
Graham got up after that, and he spoke about the Alex who had first come to him at the age of four and asked what he'd have to do to be able to join START when he grew up. He told how he'd made sure that Alex understood that START wasn't just about fighting, that you had to learn a lot of things about the supernatural, about diplomacy, about when to fight and when to make a deal. He talked about how Alex had listened, and done all he could to put himself on the right path, so that he could, in Alex's own words, "get into the family business of saving the world."
Then… then came Buffy. She didn't talk about Alex's killer and the havoc that would surely be wreaked on that miserable son of a bitch. She didn't acknowledge his existence at all— and I knew that, if Warren was listening somehow, that would infuriate him beyond all reason. For that insight alone, I resolved for the hundredth time to someday be as much like Buffy as I could.
Buffy talked about Alex. About the boy who, while he was brave and bright and good, was also sometimes annoying, stubborn to the point of stupidity ("a trait he got from me," she admitted), and could get into trouble sometimes without even trying. She talked about gifts he'd given her, about the way he'd stood up for his sister at every need (and sometimes at imagined need), taken pride in his parents and their habit of saving the world, and learned everything that he could to give him a chance of someday being able to help them in that job.
"That was my son," Buffy finished, her voice finally breaking. "That was Alexander Liam Harris. He loved us, and we loved him… and we will never, ever forget him!"
She went and sat down with Xander, then, and those two and Joyce huddled together and wept for a long moment, while people filed out, except for those who would be pallbearers. That awful job fell to Xander, Giles, Vincent, Ballard, Graham and Angel.
The service in the funeral home had been standing room only… and the graveside service was even bigger. You'd have thought it was a funeral of state, so many people came. More than fifteen hundred Slayers, over six hundred Watchers, a like number of Guardians, some two hundred people from START, people from the NYPD, friends of Alex, friends of the family… it was freaking huge.
As soon as we were all in the car, Royal sent to me, *Jocelyn, when we arrive at the cemetery, I must leave you for a while— all of us must, until it is over. We… we will honor Alex and Chief in our own way, as we have always done for those we love and lose. Will you be all right?*
"Yes, of course, Royal," I said. "I have Colin, Mi Kyong, my family… I'll be all right. But… come back as soon as you can?"
*I will, I promise,* Royal sent. *We all will.*
When we reached the cemetery, Royal, Phantom, Tracer, Moonlight, Midnight, Acetylene (my brother Stephen's dragon friend), Muppet (my sister Danielle's dragon) and even Fog and Nightfall all flew off to sit on the branches of surrounding trees, or on the ground with all of the other pseudo dragons in attendance. Given that all but a very, very few of the attendees had pseudo dragon friends (all but about three dozen people had a pseudo dragon friend), the sight was a little bit staggering. Not one of them perched on a tombstone or mausoleum… but they went anywhere else that they could.
Once everyone in the family had been seated, the pseudo dragons performed their own version of a memorial to our lost— and it was a sight I will never, ever forget.
Before anyone even rose to speak— Xander was going to speak here and Joyce was going to sing— the dragons took flight.
First came the dragons belonging to Joyce, Buffy, Xander, Giles, Kelly, Aunt Dawn, Willow, Lydia, Uncle Ballard, Aunt Rose, Aunt Elaine and Aunt Sh'rin, flying a clockwise circle some twenty feet above the ground, with maybe a foot separating the tail of one from the nose of the next. Ten feet above them, my family's pseudo dragons and those of Uncle Ballard's children, flying counter-clockwise. Ten feet above those, Colin and Mi Kyong's pseudo dragons, along with Graham's Neon, Thomas's Ellegon, Brian Keller's Tesla, and others of people who had known Alex well and loved him dearly, flying clockwise.
The circles went up more than two hundred feet, each flying the opposite direction of the one below it, a huge, magnificent, beautiful, flying, rainbow column of living, breathing miracles. It took my breath away, left me in tears of mixed pain at the loss that had inspired this memorial, and joy at the pure beauty of the thing.
Xander stared for a long moment before he started to speak, and I found myself amazed at how steady his voice sounded, given the tears that poured down his face the whole time he spoke. Like Buffy, he spoke honestly, of his love for his son, of Alex's virtues and his faults both.
When Xander sat down, Joyce stood up, took two steps forward… and sang. She didn't go to the mike, and truly, she didn't need to. The pseudo dragons were "flying quiet," barely making any noise at all (possible while going slow, not while making any real speed), and while some people were sobbing (me included), no one was wailing.
"This… this was Alex's favorite song ever," Joyce said in a low voice. "It's kind of old— we weren't even born when it came out. Maybe it's not… not something you'd normally hear at a funeral— b-but it was his f-favorite!"
You know how there are songs that sound just fine done to music or a cappella, and songs originally performed by a guy that still sound good when performed by a girl? Well, what she sang really shouldn't have been either one; Ordinary, by Train, should have required the music, and should've needed to be sung by a guy.
Not that day. Not from Joyce Harris, who sang it for her brother, because he had loved it and she loved him. It took my breath away. She'd always had a good voice— that day, her voice made magic.
The last notes faded away— and even as we all stared, amazed by what Joyce had done, she turned and flung herself in her parents arms, sobbing hard and harsh… and we didn't applaud, though god knows her delivery deserved it. It just… felt wrong, the idea of applauding.
As she sat down, Aunt Sh'rin, whose beliefs were as close as anyone in the family's to organized religion, stood, went to the mound of earth beside the open grave, and took a handful.
"Of four are we born, and to four we return," she said, her voice carrying well. She threw the earth in the grave, picked up a wooden bowl of water and poured it in after. "Earth and Water for the body. Fire and Air for the spirit. To each return, and wait for those who love you." She gestured, and a wind blew through the crowd, gathered itself in a brief, brilliant column of fire above the open grave. "As it begins, it ends… only to begin again.
"Rest well, my dear ones… and know that we love you both."
The huge, counter-circling column of pseudo dragons broke then, slowly, from the top down, the dragons returning to their chosen companions as they left the circle. When Royal dropped into my arms, he was weeping as hard as I was (Giles says that reptiles don't weep— and that because pseudo dragons do, he'd have known that they were intelligent, even if they couldn't talk to us), and I cuddled him and remained seated until Daddy spoke to me, said softly, "Time to go, honey."
I nodded, stood, and let Daddy steady me as we went back to the vehicle to go back to Buffy and Xander's house for a small, invitation-only wake-like thing.
But before we left, we walked by the tombstone, completed already by virtue of laser cutting and a lot of money, and I looked at it and knew that Willow had taken a hand in things.
A simple gray-white stone, it read "Alexander Liam Harris, beloved son, brother and friend, 2005— 2018, and his best friend, Chief, who stood with him to the end, 2009— 2018. Much are they missed."
And on the top of it, a hologram of them both, Alex grinning his crooked grin (so much like Xander's), Chief around his neck with his head lifted to grin pseudo-dragon-style along with him. That had to have been Willow's touch, and I loved her for it.
We went to Xander and Buffy's house, and as soon as we got there, I found Joyce, grabbed her and hugged her as hard as I dared, not caring that I dropped my crutch, not caring that we both were sobbing like babies, just needing to say to her that what she'd done for Alex had been gorgeous, and not being able to say it with words.
We hugged for a while, and cried for a while, then I let Colin hand me my crutch and I went off to hug and cry on… well, pretty much everybody, before it was over. Colin, Mi Kyong or my "real" sister Belinda were always there for me to lean on, often all three of them.
There was a pick-up supper, taken from the dishes that friends inevitably bring, and a lot of talking, and Buffy announced that the donations to the Make a Wish Foundation, a charity that Alex had, inadvertently, chosen himself by working for it every time something came up that accepted volunteers (at eight, Alex had lost his then-best friend to leukemia, and Make a Wish had done a lot for the boy before he died, causing Alex to actually make an effort to do volunteer work for them), donations made in lieu of flowers at the family's request, had come to over a million dollars. We all talked, remembered Alex Harris, made each other laugh, made each other cry, made each other do both at once— and something incredible happened.
Joyce Harris had been very, very grumpy for a day or two not long after the Scythe had done its yearly activation. For some reason, probably due to Buffy and Xander's preference for hormone-free food, Joyce hadn't started menstruating as early as some of the other girls in the family; in fact, she'd started menstruating three days after that year's Activation Day, and she'd been really annoyed that she'd have to wait a year almost to find out if she would be Chosen.
About nine o'clock, after everyone had done their reminiscing, and things had gotten quiet, all of us Slayers sat up straight as we felt a surge of… something. We all heard the metallic shrilling of the Scythe, that almost-voice that only we could understand, heard it in our heads, calling for Buffy to fetch it, to bring it out. (Willow, thanks to her being the one who'd activated it, heard it, too.)
"What is it?" Giles, Kelly, Xander, Daddy and Ballard said, almost in unison, as we Slayers went silent and wide-eyed.
"The… the Scythe," Buffy said. "It wants… out. Wants me to get it out."
"Yeah, it sure does," Mom said softly. "I think you could even say it's demandin' to be got out."
"Yes," Mi Kyong, Faith and I said in perfect unison.
"I'll go with you," Xander said as Buffy started for the big safe in their basement where she kept the scythe. She took his hand and they went to the basement. A couple of minutes or so later, they came back, still hand-in-hand, and Buffy had the metal case for the Scythe in her free hand.
Buffy set the case down on the living room floor, opened it— and the Scythe shrilled more loudly. It didn't sound urgent, exactly… but it did sound determined, and everybody there— not just the Slayers, everybody— heard the words that came from it as words, though not with our ears, or even quite telepathically, like with the pseudo dragons. This went deeper than that, like the Scythe spoke in words our souls could hear.
~Not for anger's sake,~ the Scythe said. ~Not for revenge. This we do to prevent more loss, to protect… to make more safe one who is in danger, and that those who have lost much may perhaps not lose more.
~This we do to protect. We do it now rather than wait— but know that it truly would have been done next summer-eve, if we did not do it now. For you are well-Chosen, daughter of the Prime, daughter of the Heart. Truly Chosen for your courage, your love, your desire to do that which we empower Slayers to do… to protect, to defend, to stand.
~Use well what we grant you, Joyce Harris… and use it wisely.~
The Scythe pulsed with it's own brilliant white light, as it did every year on Activation Day— And Joyce Harris gasped aloud, shuddered once… and said, so softly it could barely be heard over the quieting shrill of the Scythe, "Thank you. I'll… I'll try to be wise."
Just like that, the light of the Scythe went out… and Joyce said, very quietly, "Mom, Dad… when can I start training?"
They didn't answer. Instead, they both hugged Joyce, and held her, and cried with her.
"You… you heard what the Scythe said, right, kiddo?" Xander said when he could speak. "This isn't so you can go after Warren. It's so you'll maybe be safe from him. You understand?"
"I do, Dad, I swear I do," Joyce said. "I think… I think it meant that Warren will try to hurt me, too, and that's why it gave me the power now, instead of next Activation Day.
"I'll be careful, Dad, Mom— I won't fight him, not if there's a way to run away— but now at least— at least I'll be able to run really fast!"
Buffy and Xander laughed and nodded— and hugged Joyce again.
"You can start training with me tomorrow morning," Buffy said. "And… oh, hell. Xander?"
"Yeah," Xander said, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, this locks it down."
"You or me?" Buffy asked him.
"I'll do it," Xander said. He took a deep breath, turned to Giles and said, "Giles, I'm not quitting the Council— but effective immediately, I'm resigning as head of the New York branch of Team Slayer. If my recommendation carries any weight, I think you should give the HQ here to Mike Havel— he's damned good, really conscientious, and thinks tactically about what to have for freaking supper.
"In the meantime… Giles, can we stay with you and Kelly and Ballard and company just until we can get a house built across the street from you?
"Buffy and I were talking about this anyway, since… since Alex was killed. Now that Joyce is a Slayer, and very probably in danger from Warren, we want her surrounded by the very best, trained by them— and that means living in Normal again."
Giles didn't hesitate for so much as a second.
"Yes, of course," he said, nodding. "I must also thank you— I was thinking I'd have to argue with you when I asked you to move home. You've saved me the trouble, I'm quite grateful."
Buffy sputtered laughter, quiet, still-weepy laughter, but laughter, and said, "I should have known. Thank you, Giles."
"You are always welcome to come home, Buffy," Giles said. "All of you are welcome to live under my roof for the rest of our lives, if you don't want to worry about building a house of your own."
"Well, we'll take the offer until we get a place built," Xander said. "I've always wanted a house I designed, Giles— too big a temptation to resist."
"Yes, I understand," Giles said. "All right… well, we'll all be here through the weekend… I suppose that a bevy of Slayers, Watchers and Guardians can surely get you all packed by Monday, and I shall simply throw money at a respectable moving company to get your things brought out quickly. We'll store them in the not-in-use dorm until your house is built, then move it all in.
"Tell me, what sort of design were you thinking of…?"
I sat between Colin and Belinda, Mi Kyong on Belle's other side, and listened to Giles and Xander discuss house design while Buffy sat down and pulled Joyce into her lap and cuddled her, not saying anything, not needing to, as she and her daughter sat and basked in the power that the Scythe had seen fit to give Joyce a year early, just to protect her.
I sat and I watched as my family grew a little closer together— and I fell asleep watching.