Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:
But, to return, and view the cheerful skies;
In this, the task and mighty labour lies.’
Spike took a deep breath and leapt into the abyss, the cold, silent darkness swallowing him whole as he hurtled down, down, down towards the very bowels of the earth, down to where his beloved lay, enfolded within the chilly depths of the planet’s mantle. Above him, he could pick the whine of rope passing through Faith’s friction brake as she rappelled after him. Their descent had begun, their own little journey to the centre of the earth.
They’d arrived at the foothills of the Arabika Massif at ten a.m. the previous day, the old army issue jeep they were travelling in coupled to a small horse trailer that was loaded up with an ornery looking donkey. The animal’s company had been necessary to haul the myriad equipment needed to make the successful descent into Krubera.
It had taken them another five hours to traverse the steep slopes of the massif, plodding along single file behind their guide. There was a well-trekked pathway, but as they climbed higher into the mountains, the remnants of a recent snowfall began to obliterate the track.
Alexander had explained, in his halting English, that they were very late in the year for such an undertaking, that most caving took place during August and September, although the Ukrainians had been there as late as October, had only just left three weeks earlier. Nevertheless, the guide and his donkey were obviously very familiar with the trail, both picking their way surefootedly around each bend and along each ridge, taking them ever higher into the alpine landscape.
They’d finally arrived at the foot of the Ortobalagan Valley just after 3 p.m. They’d hurried on, knowing that if they made good time it would still be light enough to spend some time exploring the mouth of the cave before it was time to set up camp. What they didn’t expect was to see another two tents pitched in the shallow depression of land just down hill of the cave entrance. Alexander was particularly surprised, not having heard that any of the other local guides were heading up at all.
Faith and Spike had immediately tensed, seeking out any hint of danger, wary of what the presence of others might mean. The tents were empty, but Spike’s senses had told him that three occupants, all human and all men, had slept them in only two or three nights previous. Food, gear and weapons were still stored inside one of the tents. It seemed likely that these men were also there for Buffy and her captor, and they had a day’s head start on them. This would now make their task even more challenging.
Alexander had led them over to the cave mouth at once. Peering down into the depths was like staring into the mouth of darkness. Because Krubera was a pit cave or vertical cave, it didn’t have the sort of entrance that one usually associated with caves. Instead it was not much more than a large, irregularly shaped crack in the ground. There was little that they could see without lights, but what they had noticed immediately was the nylon rope, securely anchored into the ground, dropping over the edge of the cave mouth and disappearing into the darkness.
“Looks like our friends have made things a little easier for us,” Faith said thoughtfully. “If they’ve laid out ropes the entire way, it will make the descent both easier and much quicker.”
“Yeah, but also trickier,” Spike had added, “Gonna have to be quiet as mice now, so’s they don’t know they’ve got company.”
Leaving first thing in the morning became a priority, so after checking and reorganizing their gear, they’d eaten and turned in for the night. It was still dark when they woke, and a light flurry of snow had fallen in the night, hence the coldness.
Spike and Faith were both warmly dressed. Even as a vampire Spike had always been able to feel differences in temperature. Since his upgrades, he’d begun to dislike the cold more than ever, and he knew the temperature down in the caves would be pretty chilly. So, each of them wore thermal leggings and undershirt, a full-length neoprene wetsuit, topped off with a Cordura oversuit. They both had neoprene socks and waterproof hiking boots on their feet. For once Spike didn’t care if he looked like a dork, he was so focused on what he needed to do to get to Buffy, that it was of little consideration.
After a substantial breakfast, they’d checked their packs and gear and got ready to leave. Not having to take as many ropes had given them more room for their sleeping bags, food, water, extra lighting and an oversuit and helmet for Buffy to wear on the return journey. They both had daggers strapped to their ankles, but they’d decided to forgo swords, the length of the weapons making their transport through tight tunnels unfeasible.
Once they’d clipped their climbing harnesses on, stocked their pockets with knives and assorted climbing paraphernalia, and slipped their waterproof gloves and helmets on, they were ready to go. Wriggling their way into the opening was tricky, but once they’d clipped their descenders to the rope they were away, swinging out and then straight down into the first shaft, a broad drop of almost 200 feet.
Neither Faith nor Spike had spent much time familiarizing themselves with the techniques needed for caving. Back at their hotel room in Gagra they’d used an online instructional video to sort out how to work the ascenders and descenders, what to do when they needed to change from one line to another and the basic safety rules. But they were pretty much relying on their preternatural strength and reflexes and the well-honed instincts that were part of both the slayer and vampire package deal.
But even with all of these advantages, plummeting into what felt like a bottomless pit, with only a nylon rope, some webbing and a lightweight aluminum clip to prevent critical injury or even death was a disturbing experience. Of course, it being Spike and Faith, it didn’t take too long for either of them to get the hang of things, and once the adrenaline kicked in, it was all they could do to stop themselves from whooping and hollering in absolute delight, as they zipped down the line at a precarious speed.
Once they reached the bottom of the first drop, they tugged on the line and Xander sent down two rope bags and a bladder of water. The broad shaft had been relatively easy, but now they had to negotiate the first of the steeply inclined pitches that connected the vertical pits. The tunnel was narrow and damp, and the only way to traverse it was by crawling through it on their bellies. Spike went first, always aware of the need to listen out for their rivals ahead. It was critical that they maintained the advantage that their unexpected presence would bring. But the henchmen were obviously well ahead, out of earshot of even Spike’s sensitive hearing.
Nevertheless, there wasn’t a lot of conversation, mainly because of the wriggling and squirming required to navigate the close confines of the meander took all of their focus and much of their breath. It had taken them only ten minutes to rappel down the first 200 feet, but it was another forty before Spike emerged at the top of the second big shaft, having literally inched his way forward through the tight squeeze at the end of the passage.
The crawling was slow, irritating, frustrating, but it was more than compensated for by the exhilaration of the pit jumps. Leaping into the dark was liberating after the restrictions of the tunnel, and adrenaline flooded his system. The only thing that could have improved the experience would have been being able to whoop and screech his delight out to the cave walls as he zipped down the line, and not having Buffy’s safety and very existence balanced on his shoulders as he did so.
Nevertheless, he took what enjoyment he could out of the situation, and by the look of Faith’s gleaming eyes and flushed cheeks as she touched down at the base of the longest single drop in the system, the 500 foot Big Cascade, it was obvious that the dark haired slayer was doing the same. According to their altimeter, and the cave profile map that Khatia had downloaded off the net, they were roughly 1900 feet below the surface, little more than a third of the explored depth of the cave. Spike felt certain that they’d have quite a ways further to go before they found Buffy, no doubt worming their way through much greater depths than any of the caving teams had achieved.
They stopped at that point for lunch, spreading themselves out on the flat rocky base of a small chamber that marked the final stage of a series of gently sloped tunnels. They’d been climbing for almost five hours, and at that rate, with many of the more difficult sections still to come, they knew they’d need to spend at least one, possibly two nights on the descent.
Faith hauled out a bag full of ubiquitous trail food, muesli bars and scroggin, the likes of which he’d never eaten before, and wasn’t too keen to again. Meanwhile, Spike fished out two metal cups, water and teabags and one of the spells Rowan and Tara had whipped up for them, a great little charm that could turn any rock into an instant hot plate. After they’d finished off their tea, they used the cups to heat up pouches of mac’ and cheese with diced up salami added for extra flavor and protein.
As they were refueling, Spike took the chance to quiz Faith on the state of play with his old Grandsire.
“So pet, how’re things going with you and Peaches?”
Faith screwed up her face at that, then shook her head and laughed. “Damn, I so wish I had lots of juicy details and kinky undertakings to share with you, or even torture you with by not sharing, but sadly there is zip to report on the Angel front. He just refuses to take the bait, no matter how hard I wriggle the hook in front of the broody bastard. And I’m not really big on patience. I swear the guy’s in training to become a monk; he’s as clean and pure as the driven snow these days, more’s the pity.”
Spike shook his head in disbelief. “Bloody tosser must be deaf, dumb and blind not to snap up a tasty morsel such as yourself. Forget about the big Irish mick, you're too good for the likes of him anyway.” Spike paused and looked intently at Faith. “Got yourself a bit of a hankering for a walk on the cold side have you pet? Need to be careful with that little fetish, most vamps would gladly kill you as soon as fuck you, especially if it’s a slayer they’ve got down on the mat.”
“Oh fuck off Billy,” Faith scowled, “I wasn’t setting my sights on Angel cos he’s a vampire. It’s just that we’ve always had this kind of connection, chemistry I guess or some such shit. And it’s not like I’m losing sleep over him.”
“Pleased to hear it pet. But just you watch that chemistry thing. There’s a very, very fine line between the danger tingles and the sexy tingles. I should know.”
“Yeah you should, and it worked out all right for you didn’t it?”
“That it did pet, that it did. Anyway, know you're a big bad slayer and all, just don’t want you getting hurt.”
Faith frowned at that, and mumbled, “Can look after myself,” but her eyes were suspiciously shiny in the light of Spike’s headlamp, and she gave him an awkward, wobbly smile by way of thanks.
Lunch and conversation finished, they cleaned up and stashed everything away in their bags, then hit the trail again. They spent the afternoon alternately, abseiling, scrambling or crawling. There were far fewer vertical pits to rappel down by this stage, and significantly more water, sometimes just trickling down the rock inclines but often cascading like small waterfalls. It made the surfaces they needed to negotiate not only slippery, but also very cold.
Subsequently, in spite of their preternatural advantages, it was two very tired, wet and cold climbers that slithered the last ten or fifteen meters down a damp, crumbly slope to an unoccupied temporary camp, one that had not only been used by the men ahead of them the previous evening, but was likely to have been set up by the Ukrainians. Whatever the case, Spike and Faith were grateful to be able to collapse on the small, level shelf, both of them too exhausted to do anything more than lie there.
Eventually, they roused themselves enough to use the hot rock spell again and put together a bland but nutritious meal. The campsite was too confined to do much more than pull off their boots and tumble into their sleeping bags fully dressed in their muddy, damp oversuits, but cleanliness really wasn’t a priority on this mission, and besides, they were both too tired to care.
The campsite was 4000 feet below the earth’s surface, and Spike contemplated this as he lay on his back next to Faith, staring up through the pitch dark of the passage they’d just negotiated, suddenly infinitely aware of his own insignificance and fragility, buried as he was beneath hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of tons of earth and rock. It was a sobering, and somewhat chilling thought for an immortal being, evoking that brief, terrifying, long ago moment when he’d awoken into his new life, interred beneath the soil of William’s burial plot.
That momentary flash of terror immediately made him think of Buffy again, not that she was ever very far from his thoughts. Her claustrophobia and occasional nightmares signaled the deep-seated dread of entombment that still haunted her. He wondered how she was coping with her fears, given that she’d been secreted away even deeper in the bowels of the earth than he and Faith were, and had been there for at least five days. Or maybe six, taking the time zones into consideration. He didn’t have a fucking clue.
The only thing he knew was that he wanted to be with his girl. He figured that she couldn’t be too far away, that right now he was probably closer to her than he’d been ever since she’d been taken. But close wasn’t close enough. He wanted to be able to wrap his arms around her, splay his hand out over her belly, and protect that precious life they’d planted there. He wanted to love her and keep her safe and hold her fears at bay.
He was scared for her, and scared for himself. And he just missed her so bloody much that the loss carved out a big aching hollow inside of him.
As he lay there, listening to Faith’s deep, steady breathing, tears pooled in the corners of his eyes until they overran and trickled down his cheeks. The need inside him grew, like a deep-seated yearning for the other half of himself, and it seemed that his soul was crying out in the dark for its mate.
Suddenly, Spike seemed to be floating above himself, looking down at Faith and his slumbering forms, wrapped up snugly in their puffy sleeping bags. For some reason he could see clearly through the pitch-blackness, as if he was still wearing his headlamp. He didn’t question any of this, nor the sudden, urgent pull back towards the tunnel. Instead, he just went with it, zooming off down along the rope marked trail, ducking and diving around bends, over cliffs, through the narrow, winding meanders, all in the blink of an eye.
He felt free, was free if he understood it, his soul or his spirit detached from his body, hurtling downwards, unerringly and effortlessly seeking out the quickest route towards the other half of himself. He guessed he was dreaming, or experiencing some sort of out of body experience. Whatever the case, he wasn’t concerned, and happily zipped onwards. The astral journey seemed to take no time at all; the rock walls a blur as he flew past them. Suddenly he came upon a camp, this one occupied by three sleeping men, one of them with a haunted, anxious look on his face, probably the guide, poor bugger.
Spike paused, hovering above the three sleepers, carefully scrutinizing them and their equipment for any clues, any hint of what their intentions might be. One of the goons had a gun beside his sleeping bag and the other a knife, so they were obviously not above using violence if pushed to it.
Turning away, he headed back down the trail, but only yards from the camp, the homing beacon inside of him drew Spike away from the main tunnel, and down a nasty, cramped, corrugated side passage. After a sharp horizontal turn, the tunnel carried on in much the same fashion for more than 300 feet. Spike frowned. The narrowness didn’t worry him in his current form, but it was definitely going to make unpleasant work in the morning.
Finally the shaft broadened out some, not much, but enough to be able to navigate the twists and turns more or less upright. Unless you were one of those big brutes asleep back at the camp. Spike figured they’d have to walk at a crouch. Shame that.
All the while, Spike glided smoothly onwards, deeper and deeper into the cave. The trail became consistently narrow, twisting and convoluted, with frequent branches and side passages forcing him to choose a direction. As he approached yet another fork, he slowed down enough to see that the tunnel to the left was marked out with bright yellow climbing rope, obviously the trail that the Ukrainians had taken on their record breaking expedition. But his instincts told him to take the right hand path instead.
The tunnels were frighteningly narrow in places, so constricted at times that he doubted the two big gorillas would even be able to wriggle their way through. He and Faith should be okay though. That would give them a definite advantage, as would the possibility that they’d initially try the left hand trail.
Still Spike went on, until he came to a flooded section. Being without a body certainly had its perks, as neither the undoubtedly freezing temperature of the water, nor the lack of oxygen bothered his non-corporeal self. Diving beneath the surface, he also found that he could see just as clearly as out of water, and quickly he followed the submerged passageway down.
The tunnel was straight, on a slight downward incline and very, very long, over 350 feet. It was also flooded along its entire length, which would provide somewhat of a problem. In order to travel lightly, they’d not brought any diving equipment. And although he could probably hold his breath for longer than the average human (or slayer for that matter), now that his heart pumped oxygen around his body, he did have to supply it with at least some air now and again.
What they did have was another one of Rowan and Tara’s nifty little spells. It utilized a simple oxygen facemask with bag and attached tubing. Instead of running to an oxygen supply, the tubing connected to a small plastic bottle that contained some sort of spongy green substance that would absorb the carbon dioxide out of exhaled air and convert it into oxygen.
It only needed a few drops of water and a short phrase of some foreign (dimensional rather than national) language to activate the ‘sponge’s’ properties. If used in only short bursts, allowing the organism to return to its naturally dormant state for at least an hour at a time, then the spell could be reactivated numerous times. But with only two masks, bringing Buffy back through the flooded passageway was going to be challenging.
While he’d been musing, Spike had arrived at the bottom end of the tunnel. It seemed to be a dead end. He checked, backtracked and checked again. There was no way through. Heading back up the channel, he noticed that as he retraced his steps, the little, internal Buffy-locked homing signal got stronger, then slowly began fading away again. After a few passes back and forth, he homed in on the little blip that marked the direction he needed to follow. A small depression in the waterlogged tunnel lay directly beneath him, a jumble of rocks and stones crowding its shallow cavity.
Passing through the seemingly solid rock wall was effortless for the disembodied vampire and immediately provided an explanation for the riddle. Once on the other side, he could see that the basin was in fact the top of a small side passage that had become blocked by layers of rocks and sand. A steady trickle of water still seeped through the small gaps and dripped down the side of a long, smooth wall.
Spike followed the narrow passage, until it ended abruptly, opening into the broad domed ceiling of a massive, vaulted chamber. The cavern seemed immense, an underground sanctum sanctorum, especially after the constricted tunnels and meanders they’d spent the past day in. From this vantage point he could see the whole room. And it was going to be a bitch to abseil down into.
By now Spike’s Buffy signal was pinging off the radar. He rocketed down into the cavern and across the room, following his instincts through the dark vastness, straight towards the two figures that he could now pick out through the gloom. He passed over the sleeping soldier boy first, a big lug, the mirror image of the two back up the tunnel. Then suddenly, he was upon her. Buffy was asleep, lying on a smooth rock, wrapped up in the silver thermal blanket he’d seen in his first vision. Hovering above her he could see that she looked thin and weary, the deep circles under her eyes testament to her exhaustion.
But otherwise she seemed fine. Her heartbeat was strong and steady and he could hear the baby’s rapid little pulse tapping away just fine. A yearning to hold her came over him and he sank down beside her, through the thin layer of aluminum-coated plastic sheeting, stretching out to lie alongside her.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but of course a slight shortage in the body department made that impossible. The experience reminded Spike of his release from the amulet, that heart wrenching moment when he and Buffy realized they couldn’t touch one another, couldn’t connect. But this was different, something temporary, something mystical. He decided to simply make the most of the situation, enjoy the astral experience that had been bestowed upon him.
And so he just relaxed, soaking in the wonder of being at Buffy’s side, rejoicing in the emotional and spiritual closeness he could sense between them, even if the physical connection was missing. He watched her face carefully, and guessed that even in sleep, she felt it too, the little sigh and beatific look that settled across her face testament to an inner joy and contentment.
Spike suddenly realized that this emotional attachment he felt was accompanied by an astonishing bonus, the return of their special connection, the very same that had been so conspicuously and devastatingly absent over the last five days and nights. He could once again sense her presence, her essence, the tingles running up and down his spine and reverberating through his body, his heart, his soul. Even more than the sight of her, this feeling, this link, absolutely thrilled him. It was so powerful, so poignant, so overwhelmingly sweet and right that he wondered how he’d managed to keep on breathing, how his heart had continued to beat, how he’d been able to function without such an essential part of himself.
Spike’s eyes filled with tears for the second time that night, this time tears of happiness. Suddenly he was overcome with a wave of exhaustion. His body, temporarily abandoned back up in the tunnels, lying peacefully beside a sleeping Faith, was undoubtedly worn out from the physical excesses of the day. But his soul, his spirit, was equally fatigued, battered about by the highs and lows of the last week. Finding Buffy, reconnecting with her soul, was such an emotional experience that it affected him deeply. But such depths of emotion were also very draining, enough that all he wanted to do was curl up beside his girl and rest himself, secure in the knowledge that their separation was nearing an end, that he would find her and bring her back to the world safe and sound.
And so, lying beside Buffy, he let himself go, drifting off into a gentle sea of slumber, allowing the healing and reenergizing power of sleep to work its magic over his battered subconscious.
Spike had no idea how long he remained in that state, but it didn’t seem long enough. He was jerked abruptly back to awareness, his spirit, his consciousness suddenly borne up and away from Buffy, violently drawn up and back across the cavern, up through the pit and the choke that blocked the drowned passageway. His journey down, through all the twists and turns of the pits, cascades and narrow rift passages had been rapid, by anybody’s measure. But this, this was dizzying, the walls passing by in a blur as he flew through the dark, seemingly faster than the speed of sound.
Then, as if between one breath and the next, he was slammed back into his body, going from over 100 miles an hour to zero in less than a second. It was bloody disconcerting, and slightly reverberating. Before he had any time to dwell on this, Spike realized that the vibrations were coming from without as well as within, Faith’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.
“Come on Billy, we said we were gonna hit the trail early.” She paused and shook him again. “Damn you're hard to wake up. Not really a morning sort of guy are you.”
Spike grinned inside of himself, and almost immediately the grin transferred itself to his lips and his eyes popped open, a likely sign that his consciousness was firmly attached and back in the driver’s seat again. He shook himself and sat up, the sight and smell of the warm coffee that Faith had made signaling that his senses were operational, and after a bit of a stretch, undoubtedly his muscles would be too.
Hope surged in Spike as he felt that little shiver deep down in his soul that signaled Buffy’s presence. It strengthened as he pictured the way down to the cavern, each bend, each fork coming clearly to mind. Breakfast would be a hurried affair, they needed to pack and start back down the trail if they were going to time their descent so that they could pass the two goons before they got to the drowned tunnel. They had a long way to go and a hard road to hoe, but they’d get there, and the little, comforting hum in the depth of his being would keep him focused the whole way there and back.