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[A/N: The title comes from the Iliad (book xxii, line 929), translated by Alexander Pope and the quotes are as attributed. I know I had mentioned previously that I was going to put in actual spells (or at least I implied so), however, upon deeper reflection, I realized it might be a little foolish on my part. Chalk it up to author’s prerogative. Standard disclaimers still apply, coz nothing’s changed about ownership.]

I have to mention all the lovely reviews you guys have given me. Thanks so much for your words. They really mean a lot to me.

Previously: Spike got an unusual visit, prompting Giles’ abrupt return home avoiding more grilling from the Council, but still had to go back. Willow had to put off the retrieval, only long enough for Giles to go back to London. This chapter picks up immediately following the previous one.

10. That proves the hero born in better days.

The nobly born must nobly meet his fate.
Euripides, Alcheme, fragment 100

The victories of right are born in strife
There were no day were there no night
Nor, without dying, life.
Sir Lewis Morris, The ode of Evil

Wandering between two worlds, one dead
the other powerless to be born.
Matthew Arnold, Stanzas from the grande Chartreuse


No air. No air. NO AIR. Need out. No air. Need out. NEED out. Out out out. Panic set in. No air, can’t breathe need to . . . scared. Out. Need . . . breathing . . . can’t . . . oh God oh god. Can’t oh god.

She could feel a thundering in her ears, harsh gasps filling in the space between. Eyes darted around trying to discover where she was. There no light. No relief from the black surrounding her. No . . . nothing. Too close. Walls too close. On her back, she brought her hands up to push away from the wall in front of her.

Not moving. Can’t move. Can’t get away. Trapped. Oh god . . . oh god. No air. Can’t get out. Can’t see. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Stuck. Oh god. Can’t see. No light.

Gasping for air that wasn’t there, panic coursed through her. God . . . oh god. Can’t breathe.

Her voice sounded so very small and scared in the tight place. “Help. Please help.”

Tears slipped down gaunt cheeks, sliding into strawlike brown and gold hair. Rapid hard breaths filled the cabinet. Her fingers began scrabbling against the wall in front of her, seeking a way out. Scrabbling fingers scratching against the wall. Ragged nails caught on a soft surface, finally registering the softness of the wall in front of her. A litany escaped from her lips, repeatedly echoing around her. “No please. . . no, not this. Help me. Oh no please. . . no please. Help me.”

But they were just nonsense sounds.

Reaching down deep inside, somehow knowing she did have the strength to fight this she battled against the terror. Harsh breath faded, though the rapid gasping didn’t stop. Sounds subsided into a soft whispering while she tried thinking about what happened. Wait . . . wait, why could wait. Air was more important. Breathing was good. She was back to getting out, getting free. That was . . . “oh god out need to get out.”

Gripping the softness, she pulled as hard as she could, hearing the material rip, pulling away from the wall. Abruptly she realized what it was as it brushed against her dry skin. Satin. She once had a blanket edged in this stuff, when she was really little. Little. Mommy gave it to her. Another harsh sob escaped her, and the tears began anew, falling faster now. “Mommy . . . help me. Please help.”

Pushing harder, her fist broke through the wall in front of her.

Dirt rained down on her face, filling her eyes, nose and mouth. Choking a bit, she screamed.

***************************** ******************************

Spike was having a hell of a night. Word must have gone out down through the demon grapevine that the slayer was gone. Six vampires, two Frelak demons and a single Fyarl, he was shocked to realize it wasn’t even midnight. Bollocks. Stopping in at Willie’s Spike looked at the clock on the wall. Nine forty three. That was the time.

Gulping down his whiskey, Spike glanced around. The place was quiet, almost unnaturally slow for a Friday night in August.

The hair on the back of his neck began to tingle, sensing the eye-of-the-storm calm. His unease began growing. Oh yeah, something was up tonight, and it sure as hell wasn’t anything good.

Before he could think twice, Spike slammed the glass down, calling “Willie.”

When the weaselly little bugger approached, Spike grabbed his arm before Willie could swipe his glass away. “What’s going on? Why’s it so quiet tonight?”

“Dunno Spike, its weird. None of the regulars have been in at all.”

Spike raised a brow. “Too easy Willie. Nice try that.” He gripped harder, risking a headache, but deciding the momentary twinge would be more than worth it. “Try again now. What . . . is . . . going . . . on?”

“Really Spike. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.” Willie tried breaking Spike’s grip only succeeding in hurting his own self. “C’mon Spike, lemme go. I don’t know anything. Really.”

Abruptly deciding to believe him this time, despite knowing the bugger was lying, Spike let go, dropping the little man down. Landing on his knees behind the bar, Willie cursed softly. “Willie, willie, you know that’s physically impossible. But feel free to work on that yourself.”

Slamming out into the night, Spike stalked into Restfield. He wasn’t happy about patrolling this place anymore, even though technically he still lived here. But that wasn’t the real reason why he usually put off patrolling Restfield. The real reason was off in a quiet corner, set really far back, in a part of the cemetery that was full and no longer had active burials.

Most nights he avoided it. That area. Most nights he avoided this whole damn place. But tonight, something was pulling him here. Some sixth sense told him to come here.

Circling around his crypt, Spike stalled a bit, hopefully putting off the inevitable. Leaning against the backside of the crypt, Spike took a deep breath, staring up at the stars. He didn’t want to be here at this moment.

Ever since he’d been confronted by that friend of Dawn’s, Buffy had been on his mind. She was never really far from his thoughts, but lately it had been more like he’d find himself trying not to think about her.

***************************** *******************************

She had no idea what the heck had just happened. Dawn opened her eyes after realizing whatever she was lying on was too damn hard to be her bed. On the ground, she was on the ground. Outside. She was outside laying on the ground. What the heck? She didn’t remember being outside, in fact, the last thing she did remember was eating dinner with Willow and Tara.

Where was she? For that matter, where were the others? Sitting up gingerly, Dawn absently brushed bits of dirt and gravel from her face and hands. Oh god. Every bone in her body ached and every hair on her head felt like it was aching also. Looking around, she finally got her bearings. She was at the foot of Glory’s tower. Now she really didn’t know what was going on and she was starting to get scared. Maybe the last couple of months had been a nightmare and she was the one who’d jumped, leaving Buffy and the others safe. Well that was not good. She didn’t want to be dead. Unbidden tears slid down her cheeks and Dawn stifled a sob. Her self pity was cut short when a groan sounded from somewhere behind her. “Who’s there?”

Gingerly getting to her feet, Dawn looked around for the source of the sound. Less than two feet away, laying flat on her back, arms outstretched and looking just as battered as she felt, was Tara.

“Tara. Oh god, not you too. Tara wake up.” Reaching out a hand to shake her back to consciousness, Dawn stopped short when an arc of energy crackled between them.

Tara rolled to her side, rubbing her eyes. “Dawnie, are you okay?”

Wiping away her tears, Dawn stuttered out “I think so. I’m achy .. . and I have no idea how we got here. But yeah, I’m better now.”

A loud cracking noise, like thunder wrapped around lightning echoed in the air around them, drawing their eyes upwards. Their simultaneous gasps were frightened.

“Tara. That’s . . . how did that happen? We didn’t dream everything did we?” Dawn voiced her worst fears.

Tara reached out a hand to Dawn, pulling the younger girl into her arms. “No sweetie. This is a new opening.” Looking around, finally getting her bearings, Tara spied the athame and the containers that had been emptied into the . . . bullhide? She looked around wildly, wondering what in the name of Gaia was going on. “Oh goddess above. What . . . shhhh Dawnie, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

While directing her words at the weeping teenager in her arms, Tara kept her gaze focused on the open portal above them. She had no idea why the portal was open, but whatever had caused it couldn’t be anything good. While brushing Dawn’s hair, Tara felt a sharp pain in her hand. That was new. She didn’t remember hurting it at all – but when she looked at it – Tara froze in horrified fear.

Oh goddess, not this. I would not have done this. No reason for me to do this. Oh goddess, how on earth do I fix this? Silent prayers went up into the heavens, beseeching the all-mother for an answer. “Please Mother Gaia, this humble servant seeks your aid. Give me counsel, grant me knowledge to put this paid. Grant me this boon, set right the sun, the stars and the moon.”

Dropping her hand down to rest against Dawn’s, Tara waited on whether the goddess would send an answer. She continued praying, repeating over and over in her head. “Please Mother, grant me knowledge,” all the while rocking Dawn in her arms.

She waited. Long moments passed. Thankfully nothing more dangerous than lightning emerged from the portal. Tara held onto Dawn a bit tighter, bowing her head. “Please grant me this.”

Soft light flashed behind her eyes, a low sweet voice filled her ears and Tara’s eyes snapped open. Dawn looked up at the same instant and both girls gasped. There before them, bathed in white light was an image they both loved.

****************************** *******************************

He wasn’t any happier about being in Restfield. Throwing a punch that only made his opponent pause, Spike was thinking that he had to rethink his strategy. This hand to hand fighting wasn’t working. He started maneuvering the Scriog demon toward his crypt in order to get some weapons. He was covered in goop and bleeding from a couple of cuts on his forearms. This sure as hell wasn’t what he’d been looking for earlier when he’d been grilling Willie for information.

Growling low in his throat, Spike averted his face from a dripping and oozing paw. Bloody fucking hell this was disgusting and he was so glad he’d left the duster back at the house. This shit would never come off of it.

Finally getting a jump on the slimeball, Spike dashed inside his crypt and snatched up a sword. Thanking his foresight in keeping an arsenal inside and at the ready, Spike took a deep breath and went back out into the night to behead the nasty.

It took longer than he expected, but eventually he managed to sever the head from the neck. Leaning heavily on the sword, gasping in sharp breaths, Spike was suddenly struck by the thought of how much Buffy would’ve complained about the slime, the odor and the difficulty in killing this walking bucket of slime.

God he missed her. It wasn’t getting any better. Should have been fading from his mind, should have been able to let her scent go. Should’ve. Couldn’t seem to. . . couldn’t and wouldn’t. Truth, he could admit to himself whenever he was alone, he didn’t want to let any tiny bit of her go. Wanted to hold on forever. To hold tight and never let go. Protect her, hold her and love her until everything else fell away.

He caught a breath on a sob and instead of letting it go and allowing a few tears to fall, Spike growled his frustration then roared it to the heavens. Letting it grow in intensity until it rolled off the marble headstones and echoed into the distant thunder.

******************************* *******************************

Spitting dirt and grit from her mouth was hard. She had no saliva to coat and protect her throat, so instead she ended up swallowing more of it than she knew was good. Her tears had dried up, mainly because there wasn’t enough moisture in her. Pushing through the wood hadn’t been smart, instead of freeing her, it had just trapped her further.

Desperate to escape, she scrabbled through the dirt, pulling at the pieces of wood blocking her way. The dirt kept raining down, covering her face, but she couldn’t stop, she had to keep trying to get out, try to get out of this box . . . oh god. This . . . she was trapped in a coffin. . . Oh god . . . . no no NO.

She was not here, this was not happening. She was not stuck in a coffin, in a grave. Breathing increased rapidly, inhaling dirt and dust she nearly choked again whimpers sounded in her throat and the sound shocked her back into rational thought. Noise. I can make sounds. Taking a deep breath she brushed away some of the dirt from her face. For some reason noises were a good thing. It focused her, made her take stock of what was going on and where she was. Stuck, trapped and inside a small box. Her mind shied away from the other thing, unable and unwilling to admit where she was. Time enough for that later, when she was free of its confines.

Strengthening her determination, something she knew was formidable, she renewed her resolve to escape. Grabbing handfuls of dirt she shoved it down along her sides. Wiggling her hips, she managed to push it further away, down toward her feet. Working methodically, she narrowed her focus even more. If she kept her eyes closed it was easier to keep the panic at bay while she worked.

Her world narrowed down to handfuls of dirt, wiggling it down to her feet and breathing. Handful by handful, the dirt moved. Breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat the space around her grew. Counting each breath, each handful she realized memories were returning. She knew. . . things.

It was slow going but she was able to wiggle forward, almost able to raise her head a little. Stretching her arms, she had to lift up her shoulders now to clear more dirt. She tried, but couldn’t, she had to clear more dirt to get her shoulders up, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to escape.

And now she had to . . . had to get home.

****************************** *******************************

Dawn wiped tears from her eyes, not believing the vision standing in front of her. “Mom?” Tara gripped her shoulders painfully, also not really believing her own eyes.

“Mom?”

“Hello sweetheart.” The vision smiled at both girls, but didn’t move from its spot.

“Dawnie, I’m not sure that’s really your mother.”

There was no denial. “Well, this was easiest. It seemed best to pick a form you both know.” Bending down, the apparition caught their full attention. “Listen girls, this is important. The portal has to be closed. This is what you need to do.”

**************************** *******************************

His night wasn’t getting any better. It fact, it was rapidly descending into utter chaos. Some group of veritable fledglings had decided to nest in his cemetery, which just pissed him off. What really set him off further, though, was the apparent lack of respect his presence didn’t invoke. He was still a bloody master vampire, despite his little hardware problem. He could, and still did, wreak hell upon bloody minions which was all these wankers were.

Fifteen idiots. None of whom could hold a candle to him in a fair fight, but by virtue of sheer numbers, just might overwhelm him. Spike growled, ripping the head off the idiot to his right, then focusing his attention on the closest ones. Using their own stupidity to his advantage, he pivoted against one, then swung his left leg out to knock another two down. Twirling the sword in his left hand, he decapitated two others with a single stroke, then stooped down to stake the fallen one. Odds were looking bad for them.

Breathing deeply and now chuckling with the exhiliration, Spike waded back into the fray.

****************************** *******************************

Tara didn’t believe it was this simple. She’d have never attempted it, though, without first getting the approval from the goddess. She had a feeling that Gaia had paved her way, making things easier for her to perform the closing of the portal.

Three drops each. Her blood and Dawn’s, mixed with earth and water. Then sealed with breath and fire.

Three words, three drops. Three by three by three. Nine times around the bullhide and the portal would close.

She felt like she’d been granted an enormous blessing. The visitation alone would have been enough. That the mother had spoken, given her the strength and unconditional support to do what needed doing, she’d never dreamed nor expected such a response to her invocation. Tara was completely awed. Never, ever in her life. Silent tears slipped down her face, but they weren’t sad or uncertain. No, these were tears of just overwhelmed emotions and profound gratitude.

Performing the ritual, Tara caught glimpses of Dawn’s face. She wondered if Dawn was able to get passed the image of her mother to understand exactly what had just taken place. She wasn’t entirely sure she had it all internalized. Tara had a sneaking suspicion that it might take months for her to really understand what she’d seen, and the gift she’d been granted.

Each turn around the bullhide closed more of the portal, almost like stitching up a pocket and pulling it closed, like a drawstring. On the last circuit, there was an audible drawing in of the ends and on the final steps both Dawn and Tara could feel the portal closing. There was a sound between a zip and a ppphhhtttt and then it was gone.

Unfortunately, neither of the girls was any closer to understanding why the portal had been opened in the first place, though Tara had a horrible suspicion. Nor did they know who or what had opened it. Gathering up the containers and the bullhide, they began making their way back to Revello Drive.

Tripping on what she thought was a misplaced cement block, Tara went down on her hands and knees, coming face to face with the unconscious form of her girlfriend.

And suddenly, Tara’s horrible suspicions took form and solidified.





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