The Watcher's TaleBy Medea
Chapter Six
13. InsightEverything about the Council was as I remembered it, yet it seemed so foreign, so strange. Aside from the library that Angelus, Willow, Spike, and I had destroyed, the buildings were in the same, stately, immaculate condition that had so impressed me as a novice.
Yet to me, what was this quintessence of dust?
And yes, by the way, I did receive a few scowls from some of the librarians who knew of my role in destroying their prized collections.
Working closely with other Watchers after so many years was a jarring, almost surreal experience. Had I really been that rule-bound myself? The senior Watchers were all highly knowledgeable, of course. Still, when they spoke, their ideas strained under the weight of footnotes and authorities. Every discussion seemed like an interminable exercise in analyzing ancient texts. I developed an intense empathy for Xander, feeling that at last, I understood him. After half a lifetime of brainstorming sessions with "amateurs" who survived on wits and improvisation, my tolerance for bookish debates had dwindled. Whenever Council meetings got bogged down in pedantic arguments over the correct interpretation of a particular passage, I had an irrepressible urge to flee the room.
I took comfort in the fact that Wesley, who had accompanied me to London, shared my sense of frustration. It wasn't that either of us failed to appreciate the importance of correctly interpreting prophecies; did we ever! Perhaps it was just that we'd been out in the field so long, we'd gotten used to co-existing with the supernatural rather than just studying it.
My colleagues seemed completely baffled when I set aside the many analyses of worldwide vampire activity and projections of the Slayer's likely whereabouts and instead asked for a list of any vampires who had been made in the past decade and had committed particularly heinous deeds within the last year or two. Honestly, I couldn't have done otherwise; their reports were all rubbish. One memo noted a sudden increase in human fatalities in Berlin and speculated that local vampires were quietly swelling their ranks for some unknown but nefarious purpose. Surely, the Powers That Be would have arranged for the Slayer to be called there, close to the threat?
Nonsense.
The senior Watchers wouldn't believe me when I surmised that it was the fallout from a clan war and would resolve itself in time, Slayer or no Slayer. They weren't quite ready to think in terms of an ecological balance between humans and vampires. Not that I faulted them for their resistance. The idea had been appalling to me when Willow had first explained it.
So I made a show of listening to their tiresome theories and examining their reports, all the while conducting my own, quiet inquiries about mature minions or childer who had recently stepped up their exploits in order to make a name for themselves. After all, Willow had told me how driven vampires were by the thirst for notoriety. More importantly, I'd never forgotten her account of how she and Spike had almost been too late when they'd found Megan, how an ambitious minion had almost gotten to her first. I figured that history might very likely repeat itself.
True, it was quite a gamble, but thankfully it worked.
In poring over the Council's statistics on human fatalities attributed to vampires or other demons, I came across a seven year-old minion in Milan whose dossier had grown rather thick after a sudden jump in his killings. Sure enough, his activities in Milan came to an abrupt halt, and word in the Italian demon communities was that he'd left town and was traveling to Sarajevo.
I told Wesley about my hunch, whereupon he and I followed him straight to the Slayer, a fifteen year-old Albanian girl who thought vampires were nothing compared to Serb military forces.
The Council was grateful that I'd tracked her down, yet they did not raise a collective sigh of relief. If anything, the level of consternation increased. None of their projections had placed the Slayer in Sarajevo. Although they had their champion for the moment, it seemed they were still very much in the dark.
After some deliberation, the senior Watchers asked me to stay.
Thus, by a strange twist of fate, I found myself at the head of an organization from which I'd long been estranged, and which I'd once besieged. I was at an utter loss as to what to do next, but Wesley reminded me that we were in an ideal position to implement some of the reforms we'd so long awaited. He was right of course. He really has come a long way, Wesley has.
We were careful not to make sweeping changes overnight. That would undoubtedly have sown the seeds of future revolt. But little by little we introduced a new idea here and there. Most of our colleagues were lamentably slow to warm to the idea that humans, vampires, and even other demons exist in a sort of ecological balance. To them, vampires were merely an evil plague to be eradicated; they really didn't want to hear that even the plague itself had never been fully destroyed, but persisted through endemic infection of various animal populations where, yes, it had established equilibrium with its hosts.
The really irksome side of my current predicament is that I'll never know whether the other Watchers come to accept the idea that things might be better if they relax their control a bit.
Oh, I can't complain. I've had rather an extraordinary life. Indeed, in one of my more perverse moments, I entertained the notion that my epitaph should read: Rupert Giles, Watcher and Member of the Order of Aurelius. No, really. You see, scarcely a few weeks ago, I was presented with an opportunity to work with some of the vampire clans in London to combat a particularly loathsome black market in -- oh, you've heard of it.
Well, naturally the prospect appealed to me. Beyond the possibility of saving human lives from a very *human* evil, I thought it might further my efforts to reform the Council's outlook on vampires.
I did enjoy a hearty laugh when my contact from the London clans explained why they'd approached me. You see, Watchers weren't the only ones who remembered my role in the massacre of Henry Lloyd and his co-conspirators. Enough vampires had seen me in the company of Angelus and Spike (who still command a formidable reputation in these parts) that although they couldn't understand why I'd never been turned, they nonetheless considered me part of Angelus's clan. In their minds, the massacre had been a bid for power, so it was only natural that I had returned to rule the Council on behalf of my masters. Never mind that it had taken a decade or two for me to get here.
Quite amusing, wouldn't you agree?
You can understand why I didn't disabuse them of this notion. Perhaps I might have later on, but...well...
Ah, yes, what an ending. Not anywhere near how I'd expected my life to turn out, but I suppose that's the one thing I've learned.
All that one can really expect is the unexpected.
Such a shame that the more useful insights in life are wasted on---
Willow?
Is that really you?
Dear lord, what on earth are you doing here?
14. This Mortal Coil
Blinking back tears at the endearingly perplexed greeting from her friend, Willow retorted with a grin, "I don't think earth really has anything to do with this place, Giles."Giles squinted at her weakly from his supine position on a bed much like the one in which his physical body laid, but without the maze of tubes and mechanical devices for sustaining his life. Willow took in uniform whiteness of this manifestation of the spirit plane: white sheets, white floor and walls, blindingly white windows. In stark contrast, towering black curtains framed the windows.
Willow arched an eyebrow and quirked a grin at Hypnoi, who stood beside her.
"Is this really how he sees it?" she asked.
Hypnoi cocked his head noncommittally, his gesture somewhere between a yes and a no. For a second, Willow wondered if the ancient demon just might have a sense of humor, but then she conceded to herself that Giles *had* come of age in the Sixties.
Realizing that Giles was still waiting for an answer, Willow sat down on the bed beside him and explained, "I've been talking with an old friend."
"Old friend? Well...yes, I do suppose you've spent a fair amount of time in the company of Death," Giles murmured somewhat awkwardly.
Willow smiled shakily and shook her head, trying to ignore the stinging in her eyes. "Not Death, just a guide. He's...oh, I don't believe this, it sounds so Anne Rice-y," she muttered in embarrassment. "Giles, he's here to offer you a choice."
Giles frowned. After a slight pause, he asked, "Does he seem to think there's a doubt as to how I would choose?"
Guessing the nature of his confusion, Willow chuckled, "It's nothing like that. It's not a matter of Cake or Death, Heaven or Hell."
Relief eased Giles's expression, although he didn't look any less confused.
"Not all are willing to shoulder the burdens of immortality," Hypnoi explained. "What is asked of you cannot be inflicted like a curse, Watcher, but your advocates have spoken well of you."
Willow watched the play of lines across Giles's face as he frowned in concentration. His lips formed ghost words and she could almost see his thoughts diligently working through what Hypnoi had said.
Immortality.
Watcher.
Awe and comprehension dawned in Giles's eyes. He glanced disbelievingly at the cloaked demon. "The Immortal Watcher is a myth...a legend."
Willow's eyes twinkled playfully behind her tears. "So are vampires, according to the mother of a Slayer I once knew. It's your choice, Giles."
"But...but...I'm hardly qualified," Giles stammered in protest.
"Giles, you know more about Slayers and what they have to face than any other Watcher alive. What more could it take to guide a Slayer that you don't already have?" Willow cajoled him affectionately.
Pushing himself up on one elbow and rolling to face Willow, Giles insisted, "That's precisely the problem! I *don't* understand the Slayer's purpose. I spent half my life trying to understand why such a burden would be placed on a young woman when life and death tend to balance out on their own, and yet I still haven't figured it out."
His sudden outburst finished, Giles dazedly glanced at himself, blinking at his semi-elevated position as if he'd only just realized that the condition of his physical body no longer mattered on this plane. Slowly he sat up and leaned against the pillows.
"Three Slayers have spoken as your advocates, and they say differently," Hypnoi countered evenly.
Giles squinted in mild confusion as he murmured, "Three?"
"One who was your charge; one who looked to you for answers; and one who turned to deceit but was unable to corrupt you."
Comprehension dawned on Giles's face. Softly, he breathed, "Buffy, Megan, and Faith." Then, shaking himself, he turned questioning eyes to Hypnoi and said, "But surely others will come along, equally capable to serve."
Gravely, Hypnoi folded his gnarled hands before him. "Champions exist to inspire hope; the Slayer has been made into a weapon by those who believe the eternal struggle to be a battle of extermination rather than a contest of principles. The Slayer's guidance can no longer be left in their hands."
Willow watched the beatific play of emotions across Giles's face as he grasped the simplicity of the answer that had eluded him all his life.
"To inspire hope..." Giles repeated, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Giles, this isn't about being qualified or worthy. It's only a matter of wanting to help, and you've put that above everything. The question is, do you still want to?" Willow prodded.
Giles looked at her intently for a moment, then turned his gaze inward for what seemed like an eternity.
Willow waited, torn as to which answer she hoped for.
She wasn't ready to let him go.
Yet, he'd already done so much, more than his fair share. He deserved to rest.
At last, in an odd voice that sounded like he was surprised to hear himself speak, Giles admitted, "Although I may regret it later, I believe I do."
Hypnoi, who had remained silent throughout their exchange, assured him, "It is not a prison. Immortal, none shall strike you down. But as freely as you have chosen, so may you leave. Rest will await you."
No sooner had the ancient demon finished his gentle guarantee than the illusory room vanished and Willow felt herself hurtle into free-fall. She seemed to rush faster and faster, through what she wasn't sure although every nerve in her body seemed to hum with dissonance. For a moment, Willow wondered if she would rattle apart completely, but in the very next instant, she found herself on solid ground.
Or, rather, soft ground. Willow looked around and saw that she was deep in the woods. It was an old forest, dense with trees and ferns, blanketed with moss and dotted with mushrooms, stumps, and the brittle, crackling leaves of a hundred generations. Looming before her was a tall, sturdy oak. At its base lay Giles -- his physical body, so fragile and near death.
Willow was about to ask Hypnoi why they were here when she sensed a powerful buildup in natural magic. Life itself seemed to be shouting forth. Energy rippled in waves from the oak. Willow watched in fascination as a transformation unfolded.
One minute, there was only an oak, indistinguishable from all the others in the forest.
Then, almost imperceptibly, it began to change. Its massive trunk, scored with rough, scaly bark, seemed to breathe. The deep furrows in the surface coalesced and the wood seemed less solid, more like a thick mud being kneaded and reshaped by invisible hands. A form slowly emerged from the trunk, an entity that, as it separated itself from the tree looked more and more human. And, yet -- not human.
After several moments, there stood before them a wood-nymph of wild, untamed beauty. Her skin was rich, earthy brown and textured not like the smooth, marble of humans, but rather the velvety softness of soil. Long, dark tresses tangled about her shoulders, like a nest of spidery twigs and moss tendrils. In her eyes lay enchantment. Deep evergreen swirled and shifted to amber, red, and gold in a ceaseless, chaotic dance, a gaze that reflected the changing seasons.
She blinked at Willow and Giles curiously, tilting her head to one side.
"Fallen ones," the nymph remarked, still staring raptly.
Confused, Willow frowned for a moment, then explained, "Only one of us is a demon. This man is human. He's a good person, not fallen."
The nymph grinned broadly, obviously amused. At the same time, she knit her brow in mild frustration. "Not the meaning you think. Not bad," she began, struggling for the right words. "Fallen...apart. Separate ones."
Drawing nearer, Hypnoi explained, "You are individual beings. Isolated in a way the Kshua are not. To her, you are like leaves that have fallen from the rest of the tree."
"Kshua?"
"Wood-spirits. What some humans have called dryads."
The Kshua nodded in satisfaction and greeted Hypnoi. "Old One, it is long since last you visited us."
The ancient demon inclined his head in acknowledgment and said, "It is long since I have had a candidate to guide across the threshold."
Brilliant green-gold flecked eyes fell on Willow briefly, then shifted to Giles. The Kshua looked to Hypnoi solemnly, her expression understanding. "It is he."
Once again, Hypnoi nodded. "His advocates have spoken for him, as has his life."
"Then let his advocate surrender him up," the Kshua declared, formally stretching out her arms.
Willow glanced hesitantly, but his face, shadowed in the recesses of his hooded cloak, revealed nothing. Resigned, she realized that no hint he might betray would reassure her, not in a way that would assuage her concern for Giles -- a concern that was personal and limited in scope. She was in the presence of eternal beings, powers who operated on a much vaster scale.
Resolved, Willow lifted Giles in her arms and passed him to the Kshua with the utmost care. His heartbeat was so faint, his breath so shallow, that Willow couldn't repress a brief, irrational flicker of doubt. He seemed too weak to undergo whatever ordeal was in store.
The Kshua cradled Giles in her arms and spared him a momentary gaze of tenderness, like a mother looking down at her child.
A split second later, her head snapped up and Willow felt the sudden shock of fear coursing through her veins. The Kshua's expression was triumphant and terrible to behold. Her eyes glowed fiercely, radiating such a powerful light that Willow instinctively shielded her eyes with her hands.
The ground began to rumble, trembling with the force of an earthquake.
"The earth reclaims its own!" the Kshua shouted, her voice splitting into a multitude, a chorus of exultant echoes. The sound resonated in Willow's ears like a trumpet's blast and in that moment, Willow was reminded of the Hindu myth of Kali, whose powers of creation were inseparable from the tremendous force of destruction.
With a solemn, commanding gaze, the Kshua stepped back toward the massive oak from which she had emerged. Willow watched, stunned, as the tree began to engulf her -- and Giles along with her. It took every ounce of Willow's fortitude to resist the urge to rush forward and rescue him. As it was, she trembled as his body was swallowed up. When his familiar, beloved face vanished beneath scaly, cracked bark, Willow choked out a quiet sob.
For several agonizing moments, nothing seemed to happen. The distant, rumbling thunder continued in the ground, but it was subdued, almost...pensive...
Willow was tortured by thoughts of never knowing what fate had befallen her old friend. However, just as her eyes began to sting with tears, a shape started to emerge from the soil at the base of the oak between its thick, gnarled roots.
A human form pushed up through the dirt and leaves.
Instantly, Willow's fear drained away and was replaced by amazement. She gaped, frozen in place, at the sight of Rupert Giles trembling and convulsing on the forest floor.
Aside from the dew and soil that coated his body, Giles was naked. Even more astonishingly, he looked no older than thirty years old -- younger than he'd been when Willow had first met him. It was as if the roots and soil had filtered out every mortal infirmity, leeched them into the depths of the earth, and let a rejuvenated man bubble to the surface like pure spring water.
Giles coughed fitfully, spitting up grainy clumps of dirt. Unable to hold back any longer, Willow rushed to kneel beside him and gently helped him sit up. He blinked and rubbed traces of soil from his eyes.
"The cycle is renewed," Hypnoi declared, his deep voice rich with satisfaction.
Willow looked at the ancient demon and asked, "What's happened to him?"
"His mortal existence has ended, devoured by the earth as is all life and death on this plane."
Hypnoi paused, took a step forward, and to Willow it looked almost as if he was regarding Giles with an expression of kinship or familiarity.
"As I am a guide to those of this plane whose journeys take them beyond this realm, so will he be a guide to forces from beyond that must emerge here, for the warriors who are chosen to serve the Powers That Be. For too long have certain ambitious mortals interfered with the threads of fate, and by their own hand, their power has been shaken."
Giles was no longer coughing, but was still noticeably disoriented. He leaned heavily against Willow and gazed warily up at Hypnoi, who returned his scrutiny ten-fold.
"He is weak, but soon the Slayer will need him," Hypnoi continued. "The Immortal Watcher is in your charge until he has regained the strength to help her."
As he spoke, Hypnoi raised his hand as if in farewell. Before Willow could protest that she still had questions, the forest slowly faded to a gray blur. When the surroundings sharpened back into focus, she and Giles were on the floor of the Hyperion lobby.
Willow couldn't tell how long she'd been gone, but the lobby was empty. She got her answer in a moment when Angel and Spike came charging in. No doubt they had felt her return through their bond.
"Where in hell's name have you been?!" Spike demanded, his face haggard from worry. "It's been two nights! You bloody disappeared! We couldn't track you anywhere, not even with the witches' help!"
He and Angel halted in astonishment, abruptly realizing that Willow wasn't alone.
"Giles?" Angel managed the barest whisper. His eyes met Willow's. "How is this possible? He looks...he's..."
Willow closed her eyes, hung her head and chuckled lightly to herself. She really was going to kick Hypnoi's ass someday.
Then, lifting her chin, she asked in a shaky voice, "Angel, do you believe in legends?"
~Fin~
To Be Continued in 'Renascere'In the white room with black curtains near the station.
Blackroof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings.
Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawnlight smiles on you leaving, my contentment.I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.
--Cream, White Room