In the lull between courses, when they were all far too full to even consider the prospect of dessert, Giles suggested they retire to the lounge. He had Amazon business in mind, but as he’d been very patient since Buffy’s return, he felt no one would be too inclined to call him on it. After all they’d just given thanks for the gifts the past year had provided them, it was no doubt time to start planning for the year ahead. No matter the joys or fears it may bring.
While Dawn and Connor cleared the table and rinsed and stacked the dishwasher, and Andrew and Khatia organized the leftovers into plastic containers and loaded them in the fridge, the others made their way through to the lounge.
It was a good-sized room, but there was nowhere near enough seating for eighteen. The mums-to-be got first dibs on the couches, with Buffy, Tara and Willow on the three seater, Rowan and Cat on the two seater, and Althanea (despite her protestations) on the single. The menfolk plus Faith and Fred either perched on the sofa arms or carried chairs through from the dining room. By the time that the kitchen crew had finished their chores and come through to find a spot each on the floor, Giles was ready to begin.
“I think now would be a good time to cover several aspects of Buffy’s disappearance so that we are all on the same page. I take it,” he nodded at Althanea, “That Frank has some understanding of our world and the ordeal that Buffy has just been through?”
Althanea glanced at Frank and took his hand, smiling as she did so. She turned back to Giles and nodded.
“Yes Rupert, he knows enough to be able to follow tonight’s discussion, and he hasn’t run for the hills yet.”
“Good, good,” the Watcher declared. “Welcome aboard Frank. Right well, to business. Buffy dear, if you feel up to it, would you be able to share the details of your kidnapping. I know you’ve disclosed various pertinent facts to Spike and myself, but I feel it’s important that we’re all on the same page so to speak.”
“Sure Giles. Okay, well the first thing is that the two guys who took me both seemed human. They looked human and there were no tinglies to say otherwise. But they knew magic and had chloroform or ether or whatever with them. Enough to send me off to sleepy-byes anyway.”
Spike squeezed her hand and nodded. “Figured they got you that way. Found the cloth the bastards used later that night and could smell the stench of magic as well. Didn’t get me any closer to finding you though.”
Buffy snuggled up against him, only too aware of how frustrated and upset he must have been.
“Well things were kinda okay for a bit. They had me trussed up in silk and cotton wool would you believe. Didn’t want to take a risk on me getting hurt in anyway I guess.”
“Yes, that seems to match our theory that they wanted to keep you well enough to allow the pregnancy to progress to a viable stage,” Giles mused.
“Anyway, I’ve got no idea how long we were travelling for, given that I was out of it for part of the journey, but it was coming on for dusk once they got me out of the van and unwrapped. Guess that’s about 4.30 right?”
“Possibly even 4.15 if you’d headed north a ways,” Spike added, nodding to himself.
“So a journey of two and a half to three and a half hours it seems.” Giles frowned. “Did it seem warmer or colder than the temperature here?”
“Definitely colder. Oh, and I was in the van for at least twenty minutes/half an hour while the goon squad were off having themselves a little sword battle.”
“So it’s likely you headed north, for around two and a half to three hours,” Wesley chimed in, the ex-Watcher leaning forward eagerly over his long legs. “Hmm, that would put them where? Birmingham? Leicestershire? It could be anywhere from Norfolk to the West Midlands.”
“Indeed. But I think you’ll find the surrounding landscape was pastoral, if I’m not mistaken. Buffy?”
“Well it was countryside if that’s what you mean. Fields and sheep and big old oak trees. I can’t tell you much more than that.”
“Okay, so what happened once they’d untied you?” Giles probed further.
“ They led me towards this big tree. Along the way I could see the remains of their battle, six or seven big, tusked demons, body parts scattered across the field.”
“Fascinating!” Wes’ eyes were alight with curiosity. “Can you remember anything else about these demons?”
“Not really, except they were wearing armour and that chainmail stuff. And they had old fashioned helmets on their heads. And swords! They were very medieval looking.”
Everyone sat quietly while they tried to picture the setting and the dead guards.
“Yeah, anyway, those swords came in handy. I managed to disarm one of the baddies with one. Would have really dis-armed him too, but lucky for him, he was wearing this super strong Kevlar vest and all I ended up doing was breaking his arm. And maybe some of his ribs.”
“Pet,” Spike gasped, his stunned expression matching the other occupants of the room. “You didn’t tell me this. God, you could have been hurt. Although,” a look of pride and pleasure lit up his face, “Bet you gave him what for. Serves that bastard right.”
The Slayer laughed delightedly. “Well he couldn’t really hurt me could he, not with the protection spell in place, so there was no harm trying, even though I was still handcuffed.” She preened as gasps of admiration and ‘Wow’s rang out around her. “Anyway, at least it cut my captors down to one. But I guess I drew the short straw cos the remaining guy was definitely the head Beagle boy.”
“Who was the head Beagle boy” Andrew interrupted. “I’ve always wondered. Cos sometimes it’s Bigtime. But at others it’s Bankjob.”
“Oh do be quiet Andrew with your endless prattle.” Giles sounded fed up and Dawn and Xander were rolling their eyes. However Buffy, after a moment’s thought, answered him quite seriously.
“Bankjob was the really big one wasn’t he?” At Andrew’s nod she shrugged. “Then he was definitely Bankjob. Anyway, after our little skirmish, Bankjob abandoned his broken Beagle brother and marched me off towards the tree. As we approached, and it was totally dark by this stage, I could see an opening in the base of the tree. It was all very fairy tale-ish when we first entered, but not so much when I noticed another victim of their raid, this one seemingly human and tied up rather than chopped up.”
“Good lord. Did he appear to be alive?” Wes asked.
Buffy shrugged. “I wasn’t really in the right situation to be able to assess the prisoner’s state of health. Anyway, we didn’t hang around for long. Bankjob grabbed one of the flamey torch things hanging on the wall and pushed me ahead of him towards this tunnel. After a while, it opened up into a big cavern that dropped away into the deepest, deepest, deepest shaft you could possibly imagine. Times ten. Seriously, I’m sure this baby probably goes all the way through to the other side.”
“Oh my God. This sounds like,” Wes turned to Giles questioningly, “It sounds like the Deeper Well.”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly,” Giles said.
“But … well to be honest, I wasn’t sure it was anything other than a myth. And yet it exists, here in England?’
“In the Cotswold according to my research. Which would fit into our time frame perfectly.”
“Excuse me Giles,” Willow asked, “But what’s a deeper well?”
“It is, as its name suggests, a well. One so long and so deep that it does indeed pass all the way from one side of the world to the other.”
“Isn’t that kind of impossible.” Willow’s arms were folded across her chest and her right eyebrow was arched primly. “I mean the outer layer of the earth’s core is liquid plasma. A shaft that extends down to that depth, if that were even possible, would in effect act like a volcanic vent, resulting in a massive magmatic eruption.”
“Well yes, if it were to adhere to the rules of Earth Science, you’d be right. But I think this Well may operate under mystical laws rather than physical ones. For its main function is to act as a burial ground, a resting place for the remains of the Old Ones.”
“Oh shit,” Xander interrupted, “Old Ones! That doesn’t sound good.”
“Indeed. Buffy, if you could continue.”
“Sure. So, you’re spot on Giles. This place is definitely the Deeper Well. And it’s chock full of thousands of coffins, creepy, freaky, dusty old ancient evil type coffins. But I’m jumping ahead. First Bankjob made me get all kitted up with a climbing harness and helmet, and clipped a rope between us. Then we swung out onto a set of wall mounted rungs, off down, down, down for a never-ending journey. And I do mean never-ending. It was at least four days of scary, climbing hell.”
Silence greeted Buffy’s terse declaration. Her friend’s faces were crumpled with shock and grief. Spike drew her to his side, pressing a kiss into her forehead as his tears dampened her hair.
“The worst part,” she sighed, “The worst part happened not far from the top. About ten minutes into the descent we came to a band of light. I hesitated, like I knew something bad was gonna happen. Finally I had to move on. The light wasn’t dangerous or painful,” here she clung even tighter to Spike’s side, “But it robbed me of my lifeline, and nearly of my sanity.” Buffy was openly crying now, trembling as the memory of that loss overwhelmed her.
“There’s your mystical bit Red.” Spike took over from his distraught girlfriend. “Seems as like the light marked a gateway or portal. The whole fucking Well plus the thousands of miles of tunnels buried deep down in the bowels of the earth were definitely ‘someplace other’.”
“Yes Spike, you’re undoubtedly correct. I suspect that the Well and all of its branches exist in some sort of pocket dimension. We speculated this from the very beginning, and the existence of the light field, plus of course the evidence that time moved much more slowly for Buffy, has almost certainly confirmed it. This aspect, as I’m sure Buffy will allow, was by far the most challenging for her, depriving her of her link with Spike and paralleling the baby loss nightmare she’d had back in August.”
“Niblet, pop out and make your big sis a cup of tea,” Spike said, his own voice thick with repressed emotion. “Sweet and milky would be best.”
“In fact I think we should all take a break for a bit,” Giles added. “Partake of some of Miss Burkle’s delicious looking pumpkin pie. Suffice to say, there is little more to add anyway, other than to state that once she reached the bottom of her descent, and left that interminable shaft, Buffy spent roughly three weeks of her time on a enforced endurance march. Although from our perspective the timeframe was very much concertinaed, I believe that over those weeks she walked the equivalent of the surface distance from England to Ukraine. All while under threat of death.” Giles paused. He was struggling visibly with his emotions. “I can barely imagine how harrowing that must have been. Yet once again my dear, you have demonstrated your formidable strength, mentally no less so than physically. I cannot express how very proud I am of your courage and tenacity.”
Impelled out of his chair, Giles strode across the room and onto his haunches in front of Buffy. Spike passed her out of his own embrace and into the Watcher’s. It was still a rarity for Giles, to initiate physical contact. But this girl, the daughter of his heart, belonged in his arms, no less than his own beautiful wife did. He hoped to impart some store of whatever strength he had, in order to somehow replenish Buffy’s own supply.
The next five minutes were somewhat messy emotionally. Everyone wanted a teary hug with Buffy, or at least an admiring word, and they buzzed around her as if she were a queen bee. To them, Giles guessed she was. She would never in their eyes be anything other than The Slayer, no matter that two others of her ilk shared the room, or that near on two thousand others shared the estate. She was the One, their inspiration, their reason for plummeting headfirst into this perilous calling. She was a rare and precious jewel to all of them.
Finally they made it through to the kitchen. Pumpkin pie and hot drinks were on offer. Giles himself, along with a good number of the others, was happier washing his dessert down with a drop of scotch. Either way, he didn’t allow any of them to linger for too long. There was still one final task to complete before they could retire for the night.
Before long they were all seated once more in their respective places. Giles put his scotch down on the side table and drew out the battered old leather bag that had been uncovered in Krubera. Most of them had clapped eyes on it briefly, but only Spike, Faith and Giles himself had examined it in any detail. Now he placed it down on the large coffee table in the centre of the room, waiting for the hubbub of excitement to settle down.
“As I’m sure you are all aware, Spike discovered this holdall during his expedition through the caves. The circumstances of its discovery were remarkable to say the least, and although one might say that it was little more than coincidence that he should place his hand in the one spot that revealed its existence, I think you will all agree with me that coincidences are little more than fate waiting to reveal itself. Indeed, after hearing about the weapons that both Faith and Spike himself drew forth from this bag, I feel certain that our champion was destined to dig up this long buried treasure.”
“I have to agree Rupert.” Spike said, standing and drawing his prize out from behind the couch. “Poncy as it might seem, finding this blade was somewhat of a mystical experience, and it immediately put me in mind of Atar’s bit of advice during our protection journey, ‘Be ever watchful, for your weapon will be forthcoming. You will need it to turn the tide of the battle ahead.’ I can tell you without a doubt this is my weapon. For a start most of you’ve noticed its match to the sword etched on your tats. Its form had come to me as in a vision during the design process. Drawing it from the bag felt like a welcome home. And as for the dance, well some of you caught the little demo this morning. Thanks to my sparring partner,” he nodded at Connor, ”We had ourselves a nice wee fire show going on. But doesn’t just work for anyone, as Oxford and the boy can testify.”
“Indeed. I think we may find that the sword’s mystical qualities, its ability to wreathe itself in flame, will only ever come into play when wielded by its true match. And that happens to be Spike.” He paused before turning to Faith, who stood up and removed her denim jacket, showing off the ornate dagger decorating her bare biceps. “Faith’s weapon likewise only activates when she herself uses it. In fact, so far, no one else has even been able to even put the cuff on. The question remains however, whether these weapons chose Spike and Faith as their new owners, or whether they were destined to find them all along.”
“Which is where we come in,” Wes added, indicating Fred and himself. “Giles asked us to undertake some background research on these weapons. With limited time and resources we were unsure about what we could uncover. However, we were rather gratified by our results. Fred, if you’d like to start.”
“Sure. Thanks Wes.” The petite brunette smiled widely at her colleague, holding his eye contact just a little longer than was necessary, given the context. Finally she blushed and turned towards Faith. “Okay, so this gorgeous little piece is pretty unique as far as I’m aware. I didn’t come across any other references at all to the cuff sheathing that this dagger uses.” She paused in front of Faith, indicating her request with facial expressions alone. Faith nodded and slid the cuff off, passing it off to Fred once she’d removed it.
Fred unsheathed the dagger and held it up so everyone could see it. “Although it looks like silver, the blade is actually made from hardened gold. This, along with the rubies set into the handle, the sheath and the cuff, mark the weapon as one of high value. The key to its identification lies at the base of the sheath. These two little scratches are in fact Egyptian hieroglyphs. They translate as Neferib or ‘beautiful dance’. It’s definitely a royal weapon, although whose, I couldn’t be sure. The only thing we can be sure of is that it has a mystical component that extends its reach by more than two feet, and it recognizes Faith as its legitimate wielder.”
She passed the dagger back to Faith who took it reverently, staring at it in awe and gratitude before placing it back on her arm.
In the meantime, Wes stepped towards Spike, his outstretched hand and “If I may?” mirroring Fred’s interaction with Faith. Reluctantly, the vampire handed it over. Wes lifted it deferentially, holding it horizontally at hip level and rotating it so that everyone could see the weapon’s ornate details.
“The origin of this weapon was easy to identify thanks to the large decorative mount attached to the throat of the scabbard. This feature, created to allow the blade to be suspended from the wielder’s belt, marks the weapon as an akinakes. These short swords were Scythian in origin, but widely used by the Persians, Medes and Greeks during the first millennium B.C.” Wes pointed out the mount, shaped like a well-built fire. “As you can see the gold handle and scabbard are intricately adorned, embossed with battle scenes. These scenes depict some ancient confrontation between a warrior and a monstrous reptilian creature, possibly even demonic in nature.” The overhead lights glinted off the gold as Wes’ fingers traced the embellishments.
“I’m guessing that these akinakes didn’t generally erupt into flames though,” Spike said.
“No, that feature is quite unique, although undoubtedly alluded to by the fire motif incorporated into the design.” Wes drew the sword from its sheath and held the blade aloft. “It’s likely that this sword is none other than the fabled Atarvia, the name itself derived from the term atar vazishta which describes the swift fire that arises as lightning.” Wes paused and looked around him, catching Spike’s eye as he passed the blade back to him. “If this is indeed Atarvia, then it is the weapon of the god Atar himself, the very one he used to smite the Aži Dahāka, the great dragon of the sky.”
Spike stood frozen, astonishment and disbelief colouring his expression. As he grasped the handle and drew the blade towards him, that look changed to one of honour and excitement. Briefly he looked upwards, raising Atarvia in a gesture of respect and affirmation. “Cheers mate,” he whispered silently.
“So,” Giles addressed the room, moving forward with the leather holdall in his arms, “As you can see, two weapons drawn out of this case, both with legendary connections and mystical powers. The bag is still quite full, and keeping in mind Atar’s advice to Spike, that in order to defeat the enemy we would need many hands, and the weapons to arm them, I feel quite certain that the remaining contents may prove invaluable to our cause.”
“You want each of us the choose a weapon out of the bag?” Willow asked.
“A weapon, a tool, an artifact. The idea is to place your hand in the bag without looking or even rummaging around for too long. Whatever you feel drawn to is undoubtedly fated to be yours.”
“Holy frijole, G-man. It’s a mystical lucky dip!” Xander exclaimed.
“Hmmph, indeed. Perhaps you’d like to start the ball rolling Xander.” Giles signaled the brunette forward. “Now I must caution that whilst it might seem that the items you select may initially appear insignificant or lacking in any historical or mystical value, it would be wise to treat them with respect. Until further research can be carried out, all objects, no matter how innocuous looking, should be handled with care.” The Watcher retreated to his chair, leaving the arena clear for Xander.
Hesitantly, Xander stepped forward. For all his banter and flippancy, receiving something from the bag was a big deal. It would mark him as a warrior, someone much more significant than just the free labor or doughnut delivery boy that he’d always been. It was a sobering thought, but also an opportunity that he wanted very badly. If his child was destined to be some new age warrior, then the kid’s old man needed to step up to the plate and battle up.
So it was a bit of a shock when he thrust his hand into the bag and drew out, not a sword, not an axe, but a large animal skin of some description. As the object came into sight, he could see from the pattern and coloration that it was the coat of a tiger, cut and stitched in order to form a simple garment. Xander stood and shook it out. It was a sleeveless coat, cinched around the waist by a knotted leather sash. Staring at it, he was overcome by a sense of familiarity. A quick glance at Andrew’s gob-smacked and envious expression confirmed his suspicions.
“ Guys, I think I know what this is,” he said. “I mean, up until now I pretty much thought it was mythical, but …” he shrugged and fingered the smooth, sleek hide. “So, as you probably all know I’ve always been a bit of a comic fan. Anyway, this summer a one off comic book was issued called Rostam, Tales from the Shahnameh. Andrew and I have both got copies and we’ve read them from cover to cover.” As he spoke, Xander untied the leather sash and slipped his arms into the sleeves.
“Rostam was a legendary Persian hero, whose epic adventures included completing a set of tasks. He was renowned for killing various demons. In combat, he always wore a mythical coat of tiger skin, said to be fire-proof, water-proof and weapon-proof.” He retied the sash at his waist. The leather held the coat in place and transformed Xander’s looks. He seemed bigger somehow, prouder and more fierce.
“Well Xander, you’ll have some research to do to confirm your speculations,” Giles remarked as the young man smoothed his palms down the patterned fur.
The Watcher paused, as Xander uncovered something in the right front panel of the coat. A secret pouch revealed an ancient leather object, seemingly an eyepatch. The patch itself was trimmed with long horizontal pin-tucks, worked to look like the lines and wrinkles that surround a human eye.
Xander shook his head in astonishment and looked up at his friends and family. How else could the Powers signal that Rostam’s coat was without doubt meant for the one-eyed man, than to secrete an eyepatch within its pockets? Whipping off his old patch, he quickly positioned the new one on his empty socket, and reached back to fasten the leather thong.
The leather seemed to warm and sink into his skin, and a burning, tingling sensation erupted behind his eyelid. Xander found himself blinking behind the leather patch, an eerie feeling, given how firmly the patch pressed in on him. Suddenly both Giles and Rowan gasped and at the same time Xander’s vision slowly increased, one flutter at a time.
“Oh dear Lord,” Giles exclaimed, “Xander, your eye!”
Rowan had dragged a make up mirror out of her handbag and passed it to Xander and he peered at himself curiously. The tan leather was a close match for his skin color, and the patch seemed almost to blend into his face. The folds and tucks that had seemed merely decorative had parted, revealing a glossy, round brown gemstone, split diagonally across its surface by a thin band of gold. He recognized it almost at once as a tiger’s eye. But most shockingly of all, his vision was once again binocular, after months of mono-vision. He could see out of the gemstone, it had somehow adhered to his optic nerve, or maybe directly to his brain. Whatever, it was a miracle.
Tears, of shock, of joy, of disbelief began to seep out from his right eye, and from beneath the soft leather of the patch on his left eye. He gazed down at Rowan, seeing her wholly as he had never yet done so. Suddenly, as he looked at her, the scene seemed to waver and change, and a vision of Rowan nursing a child came into focus. Judging by the pale blue sweatshirt and navy and pale blue striped leggings the baby was wearing, he was a boy. Dark haired, olive skinned, with a healthy appetite, both the mother and child turned towards him and grinned. As the baby lifted his chubby arms up towards him, Xander could see that the lad was a handsome boy all right, an attractive mix of his two parents.
Tears of happiness obscured his eyesight and he blinked to clear them away, scrubbing at his cheeks to mop up the overflow. And just like that the vision was gone, replaced once more by Rowan’s gentle, loving smile and very slight baby bump. He shook his head in wonder, astonished by the eyepatch’s ability to not only show him the here and now, but also allow him a glimpse of the future. He would obviously need to set aside a fair slot of time for research. Discovering exactly how the visions worked and whether or not he’d be able to control them could be critical to their success in the coming battle. Despite the lack of weaponry, Xander was more than grateful for the treasures the bag had gifted him. Still wearing his tiger skin coat and eyepatch, he settled himself back down on the arm of Rowan’s chair.
“Right, well, I find myself almost without words,” Giles muttered. “‘Astounding’ is what comes to mind, and yet I’m certain that falls far short of the mark. Rowan!” he gestured towards the bag, “If you would.”
Rowan looked startled, and a little uncertain of her right to dig into the treasure trove. But when everyone nodded eagerly at her, she got to her feet and approached the bag. Without pause, she thrust her hand into the mouth of the container, drawing out the cool, metallic pole she immediately touched. As it slid out of the bag, everyone oohed and aahed at the delicate beauty of the arched silver, then gasped as the object, evidently a bow, continued to disclose itself, inch by ongoing inch. Once about 18 inches was clear of the opening, an attached quiver, full of silver arrows, revealed its presence.
Finally the bow and quiver were out of the bag; the bag, that while of a decent size, was less than a third of the length of the bow.
“Holy Tardis,” Xander exclaimed, “Talk about pulling a tiger out of a top hat.”
“Just another of the bag’s mystical qualities undoubtedly,” Giles said.
“I could do with a bag like that when I’m travelling,” Dawn mused.
“Never mind about the bag,” Buffy said, “Just look at that bow. It’s gorgeous. The quiver too.”
And indeed they were. Fashioned out of what looked like silver, and embellished with ornate markings, they seemed to glow as if lit up by the moon. Rowan stroked her hand along the bow’s curves, nodded her head towards the bag in gratitude and deference, and returned to her seat.
And so it went for the next hour. One by one the occupants of the room reached into the holdall and drew out their very own treasures. For the most part this was a silent, almost religious affair, each recipient filled with awe and a sense of obligation at what the act and its harvest signified. Most participated without protest, thrilled beyond measure at what the fates had chosen for them.
Giles received an ancient mace, its flanged head mounted upon a metal shaft. The weapon hummed with power and enchantment. Cat’s find was a leather belt, embedded with gemstones and fitted with a pouch full of various spices and herbs. Undoubtedly several millennia old, they still rang with the head scent of potency.
Oz went next, and like Xander and Cat before him, instead of a weapon he drew out something that would likely enhance the powers and skills he already bore. A necklace fashioned from a leather thong and fitted with a golden amulet was his prize. The amulet was etched with a single rune and decorated with a ruby and two diamonds. Able to be worn around his neck, he took this to mean that his contribution to the coming war would take place in wolf form.
His two ladyloves both followed in duplicate fashion. One after the other, Willow, then Tara, pulled out matching signet rings, both adorned in identical manner to Oz’s amulet. As the girls slipped their rings on, triple beams of light leapt out from each piece of jewelry, joining together not only the amulets but also their owners. The wide grins on their faces showed that the three were quite content with their finds.
Next came Buffy. She hesitated, given that she already had her weapon in Sagaria, but the range of non-weapony gifts and the magnetic call of the pouch convinced her to take a shot. She was overawed with her selection, a gold embossed leather belt, complete with various loops and gold rings that could be used to carry weapons. That it was made for a woman was self evident given its size and the intricate detailing worked into its woven and plaited surface. It was beautiful and gave off a palpable aura of power and authority. Quickly she donned it, wrapping the leather thong around herself and tying it off in order to keep the belt in place.
Dawn and Connor were up next. Despite Buffy’s misgivings, Dawn had earned her right to participate, and she dove in with gusto. Which is why the expression on her face as she pulled out what looked like a large ornate rattle, was comical enough to set the others to laughter. Only about a foot long, the solid shaft was topped with a sharp central prong, surrounded by four curved ribs. Made from gold, and embellished with what looked like ivory, Dawn guessed she could at least bash baddies on the head with it, much like a club.
“Ah, Dawn,” Wes intervened “I think you’ll find that you’ve been gifted a vajra. Aside from being a symbolic tool, it has always been the weapon of choice for the Hindu gods.” He watched her wave it around and quickly added, “I wouldn’t go brandishing that too energetically unless you're outside, away from flammable objects.”
Dawn’s final flourish had set something loose however, and with a click, the four outer ribs had sprung open, creating a cup shaped head, with five deadly sharp points perfectly designed for stabbing. Their purpose was obviously twofold. First one and then two more small arcs of lightning jumped from prong to prong and the smell of ozone filled the air.
“Dawn!” Buffy screamed, struggling to get up out of her seat as Spike held her back.
“Wait pet,” he quietened, “Give her a chance to sort it.”
At his overheard remark, Dawn did just that. Focusing her powers, she calmed the vajra, mastering its energies, and snapping the prongs shut again. Stroking the now dormant club, she smiled, nodded and returned to her seat, more than satisfied with her prize.
Thus distracted, Connor had leapt to his feet and bounded over to the holdall before Dawn could voice the question that was on all of their lips – ‘Was he in this for the long haul?’ Dawn shrugged and sighed. She was pretty sure she knew what his response to that question would be anyway. In fact the rate and certainty at which he took his turn was answer enough. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about him but the thought that he intended to fight at their sides during the battles ahead filled her with a sort of warm confidence.
Connor’s weapon was a hefty battle-axe. The haft was wooden, wrapped in bands of gold and silver. The blade was iron and double edged, and the haft ended beyond the two blade edges in a viscous looking spiked tip. The boy swung the weapon from side to side, seemingly delighted with his selection.
Khatia’s turn earned the young slayer a sword, light, strong and fizzing with power while Andrew drew out a golden disc, the edge of which was highly serrated with vicious looking points.
By this stage everyone in the room had uncovered a personal treasure except for Wes, Fred, Althanea and Frank. All four hesitated, unsure about whether or not they could commit to the battle ahead, and what roles, if any they would play. Selecting a weapon at this point seemed rather like signing a contract before you knew if you were in the game or not.
In the end Althanea bowed out, stating that she would be by their side, but that she had her own weapons at home, her tools of trade, her beloved athame and an ancient powerful wand handed down to her over generations. Frank was unsure, but promised to spend some time mulling it over. But Wes and Fred, after a short, intense discussion, each stepped up to the plate.
Wes’ find consisted of a sheathed dagger. When he drew the weapon, everyone in the room oohed and aahed in admiration. The asymmetrical, double-sided blade was wavy in design and seemed to be constructed of various laminated metals. The sheath was wooden, but coated in gold leaf and intricate designs and the ornate gherkin shaped handle was adorned with rubies.
“I believe this is an Indonesian keris,” Wes stated. “I can’t of course be sure, but it looks surprisingly similar to the legendary Malayan keris Taming Sari. Perhaps it’s a reproduction although, given its apparent age, more likely one made at the same time by the same Javanese blacksmith. If so, it may be imbued with the same enchantment that made the wielder of Taming Sari physically invulnerable. Ah well, a research project of my own no doubt,” he nodded happily.
Finally Fred stood up and approached the leather bag, which, despite all of its outpourings, still looked no more or less full than it had in the beginning. Her gift may have been last, but it was by no means least. The slender woman drew out a magnificent bow, and two quivers full of arrows, and held them up excitedly. They were made out of a dark wood, but the room’s overhead light was reflected off the hundreds of small golden bosses set into the bow’s surface and the brightly radiant limb tips. It was a handsome looking weapon.
Giles glanced around the room. It was pulsing with power, waves of it, not only rolling out from the array of weaponry and armor protectively balanced on knees or carefully leant up against chairs, but also from the new owners of said artefacts. But power or not, judging by the weary faces, it was time to call it a night. He strode forward and scooped up the bag, fastening the straps around the worn leather. Silently he gave up a word of thanks for the astonishing gift that the bag was, and for the contents it had discharged from its bottomless depths.
Catching Spike’s eye he nodded in appreciation once again of the vampire’s find. Spike dipped his head in acknowledgment. Their thoughts were undoubtedly comparable at that moment, recognition of the role that the gods, the powers, the fates, whoever, had in furnishing them with such a bounty. It amounted to a fairly explicit show of support for their cause, a sense that they were to be akin to ‘holy warriors’, sanctioned from above. Ah well, they needed all the help they could get.
“Right people,” he began, “Its late, and we have several of our guests leaving in the morning I believe?” Giles scanned the room, nods of agreement coming from Wes, Fred, Faith and, with reluctance Connor.
“Then I suggest we turn in for the evening. We each have a lot of research ahead of us. But for now,” he nodded once again at the bag in his arms, “Perhaps we should all add the gifts we received tonight to our bounty of gratitude.”
Everyone bowed their heads, offering up thanks to whomever, in whatever way they saw fit. Then the room was consumed by a raft of goodnights, and a few goodbyes, mainly to Connor, from Willow, Tara and Rowan who had Guardian training in the morning and wouldn’t finish until after the L.A. crew were homeward bound. The girls hugged him tightly. The young boy felt like one of theirs now, and from his obvious devotion to Dawn, it seemed certain he would be.
“Take care,” Willow gushed. “We’ll see you soon. You're over for Christmas right? And say hi to your Dad from us. I know he can be a little gruff at times but Angel’s a good guy under that brooding exterior.”
Connor froze, as did everyone around him.
“W..w..what?” he stuttered, “Angel’s my father?”
Willow put her hand over her mouth, too late it would seem as she became aware of the looks of shock, confusion and suspicion, not only on Connor’s face, but also on Dawn’s, Wes’ and Fred’s. In fact everyone except Faith, Tara, Oz and Giles looked shell-shocked.
“Oops,” she grimaced. “Did I say ‘Dad’? I meant ‘boss.” It was a pathetic attempt at a cover up and no-one was buying it, least of all poor bewildered Connor.
Dawn, who’d suddenly remembered Tara’s tale about a second scion and an alternative dimension, had put two and two together. She slipped Connor’s hand into hers. He turned his head to look beseechingly at her, clutching at her grasp like a lifeline.
Quietly, she led him over to the couch, sitting closely beside him and wrapping her arm around his back. Any doubts she’d had about him seemed to drift away as her protective nature came to the fore. He was just like her, a Scion, and he’d need her support as everything he knew about himself was undoubtedly going to turn out to be untrue. As the others left, Connor clung to her in shock. All she could do was offer him comfort.
Suddenly, his voice carrying up from the front door where he was obviously farewelling the Lodge occupants, Dawn could hear Spike shouting.
“You mean that kid up there is Angel’s get? The kid that’s got my Niblet wrapped around his little finger? The same one that’s been gallivanting around the countryside with one hand on Dawn’s bits and the other on that damn babymaker? Dawn? Dawn?”
As the sound of the door slamming and Spike’s heavy boots taking the stairs two at a time drifted towards her, Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes. Drawing Connor closer against her side, she braced herself for the vampire’s appearance. Damn his suspicious nature. As if she were dumb enough to do the horizontal tango with anyone with Sagaria in attendance! Besides which, if she and Connor were Scions, they probably didn’t need any help from the scythe to create super-babies. Their babies would be top shelf kids anyway. Not that she was thinking of having babies with Connor. Or unprotected sex. Or sex at all. Well not much anyway.
She blushed, the thought of sex with Connor firing up any number of nerve endings in her body. She glanced down at her silk blouse, horrified to spot her erect nipples breaking the smooth line of the fabric. Damn it, flushed cheeks and hard nips were not going to help her maintain a veneer of shocked innocence. She’d have to go for bored disinterest instead. Although she had her doubts about pulling that one off either. As Spike stormed through the door, Dawn sighed. Things were sure as eggs never boring around here.
