The Circle of Slayers Series 21/35 Incomplete
Chapter 21: Illumination and Obscurity
By Denna at dennaseer@hotmail.com
Rated NC-17 for violence and attempted rape
Keywords: Buffy and Spike…what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. They belong to Joss Whedon. Yadda
yadda yadda.
Summary for Chapter 21: As the humanity slowly seeps from Riley, Buffy must
defend herself against him while Spike waits for the full moon.


Chapter 21: Illumination and Obscurity

“Got some revelation,
Put into your hands,
Save you from your misery like rain across the land,
Don’t you see the colour of deception?
Turning your world around again?”
-Suicide Blonde – INXS


    Buffy opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. She wondered how long
she had slept this time. There was no way to tell time in this benighted
place. She closed them again and fought the overwhelming desire to scream.
It wouldn’t help her anyway and she had a feeling it would only please
Riley. Something she definitely #didn’t# want to do.

    She sighed and pushed herself up out of the little nest she’d made in the
velvet draperies. Her hair fell around her face and she lifted her hand to
push it away. ‘I must look like Don King vs. Bride of Frankenstein…’ she
thought to herself. Her clothes were holding up well, but her hair was
probably in ruins by now.

    As she pressed her hand to her face, she froze. Something wasn’t right. Was
it her face? She explored it with her hands. It didn’t seem to be – then she
realized she was feeling the bare skin of her wrist.

    Jerking her hand away, she held them up in front of her and stared at them
both. Her right one was still the same, but the left…her armband was gone.

    Panic gripped her and she flung herself back and up, ripping at the
draperies in search of her band. ‘How did this happen?’ she cried to
herself, gathering up the yards and yards of material and shaking them out.
Nothing.

    “No,” she said. “Nononono…” Over and over she repeated the litany as she
shredded the curtains in her desperation. When that proved unprofitable, she
searched through her pockets until she heard the seams tear.

    “Where did it go?” she sobbed, still refusing to believe it was gone. But
searching for it proved useless. It was missing.

    “Lose something?” asked a voice in the darkness.

    She whirled around, tripping in the process and collapsing in a heap.
Looking up, she found Riley standing above her, his face set and eerily
calm.

    “I-No,” she gulped out in defiance.

    “But I heard you distinctly say, ‘Where did it go?’ Granted, I’m no
Einstein, but I’m pretty sure that implies that you lost something. Tell me,
Buffy, what did you lose?” He moved towards her.

    She scuttled backwards, losing on of her sandals as she fought to get her
feet under her. But for some reason, she couldn’t seem to keep her feet
firmly on the ground so was forced to retreat crab-like away from him.

    “Why are you fighting me, Buffy?” Riley asked, his hands reaching out with
surprising quickness and grabbing her wrist. He hauled her to her feet and
snaked his other arm around her waist. “There’s so much I can give you, so
much more than you can ever dream of, and I’m tired of waiting for you to
accept it.” Without waiting for an answer, he pressed his lips against hers
in a brutal kiss.

    Buffy fought him, using her fingernails to claw at his skin and kicking him
with her small feet. Nothing fazed him and he bore her to the floor,
reaching downwards and fumbling at the zipper of her pants. She panicked
when she felt his hands on her. Reaching out blindly, her questing fingers
found the sandal she lost. Gripping it tightly, she brought it round and hit
Riley hard on the temple with it. He started and drew back, giving her an
opening.

    She pushed Riley away before delivering a powerful uppercut that sent him
sprawling. Not giving him the chance to recover, Buffy savagely kicked him
in the midsection. She knew that she could either stay and fight or she
could get the hell out of there. Choosing the latter, Buffy turned and ran.

    Of course, however, there wasn’t very far to run in this place. She
eventually found the room with the table and darted inside. Collapsing
against the doors, she sank to the floor.

    “Spike,” she gulped brokenly, “Where are you?” She put her face in her
hands and sobbed.

~

Thursday, December 20th, 2001, 10:25 PM

    Tara, Willow and Dawn put their packs down in the little room that Jar’vees
had shown them to. It was just as sparse as the rest of the place: Two low
beds that were really just pallets, a bench, and a table. The single candle
they did have did little to relieve the gloom. Dawn set it on the table and
sank down on one of the pallets, took off her boots, and sighed.

    “Dawnie?” Willow asked in concern as she sat down next to her, “What is
it?”

    “I’m just tired,” she said, “It’s been a long month… I miss her so much.”

    Tara nodded and sat down on her other side, putting her arm around her and
pulling her close. “Me too. I’ll be glad when we’re all back at the
Hellmouth.” She smiled an ironic grin, “I never expected to hear myself say
that.”

    The teenager relaxed against her. “Yeah. But…”

    “What, Dawn?”

    She was silent for a moment before she answered. “I’m worried about Spike.
He’s…He’s so different from what he’s normally like. Harder, angrier and
kinda scary. Like you’re always kind of worried what he’s going to do next.
He gets worse every day. I mean, when he tried to kill Jar’vees, I was so
scared. I have never ever seen him like that, even when he was evil. Will it
get better when Buffy comes back?”

    It was Tara’s turn to sigh. She turned her face into her hair and closed
her eyes. “I think so, Dawn. All we can do is be there for him until then.”

    “He was so cold…and distant when Jar’vees and him got back. What do you
think they were talking about?”

    “Probably what Spike is going to do to have to get the sword,” Willow said,
“It can’t be very easy or someone would already own the sword by now.” She
hugged Dawn and then kicked off her shoes.

    “Come on,” she said, walking across the room and sliding back onto the
pallet. She pulled Tara down beside her when she came. “Let’s get some
sleep. Night, Dawn.”

    They all had dreams of cold wind and full moons.

~

    In the room beside theirs, Spike leaned against the wall as he sat upon his
cot with his sword laid out across his knees. He’d spent over an hour honing
it to the sharpest edge he could manage with the whetstone; now it lay
sheathed, silent and ready for battle. He untied the maroon scarf around the
hilt and held it bunched between his hands while he stared at the flame that
danced on the wick of the candle nearby. All that was on his mind was what
Jar’vees had told him and how badly shaken he was. He needed this sword, but
would he be able to win it, and what if the price was too high? Of course it
is, you have to give it everything you are.

    Closing his eyes, Spike laid his head up against the wall. What else was he
supposed to do? If he didn’t claim the sword, the month they waited would be
wasted. Buffy would still be in whatever hell Riley had put her in, and he
would be no closer to getting her back. During their journey, he had always
been morbidly wondering what it was Riley had done to her to keep Buffy from
escaping. He tried not to think about it.

    So here he was, waiting for the full moon, his confidence shattered just
when he needed it the most. He drew a deep, shuddering breath as he fought
with the demons in his mind threatening to consume him and bring him to the
brink of madness. To fight them, he pulled up the happy memories he kept
close to his heart, most of them involving Buffy.

    Unconsciously, he reached out along the link that Buffy and he had shared
much longer than they had realized. He felt it open and then gasped as
terror, panic, and despair so acute it wrenched painfully at his heart. He
tried to speak to her but couldn’t; he was blocked from her. Something had
gone horribly wrong. Now all he could do was feel her. God, she was so
scared. His eyes flew open and he jerked backwards against the wall, sword
sliding down and onto the floor as he fought against the onslaught of
emotions. “Oh, God…no….” he whispered, his voice straining. The harsh, razor
sharp emotions clutched at his throat, as he sobbed brokenly. He gripped the
wooden pallet of the bed until the leg split and half the cot came tumbling
down.

    By the time the attack had passed, he was left on the ground covered in
sweat and gasping. How…what was that? He crawled back onto the cot, gripping
the maroon scarf tightly. Unfortunately, he knew what it was, he’d been
feeling what Buffy had been feeling the moment he had tried to contact her.
He closed his eyes and turned his face into the mattress as sobs, this time
his own, overtook him.

~

Saturday, December 22nd, 2001, 6:22 PM

    “The moon will be coming up soon,” Jar’vees said, coming through the double
doors and approaching the table where the four companions were sitting. Dawn
and the witches looked up then back at Spike, whose face looked haggard and
drawn. He hadn’t told them what happened two nights ago. He couldn’t tell
them what he had felt and that he couldn’t say anything to her.

    “Are you sure you want to do this?” Willow asked.

    Looking at his new friend, Spike nodded. “It’s not like I have a choice,
Red. If I don’t, we’ve wasted a whole bloody month. And I’m not letting
Buffy stay…wherever she is if I can do something about it.” He stood and
picked his sword up off the table. Strapping it to his sword belt, he turned
to face Jar’vees while his friends got up. “I’m ready.” The priest nodded
and led the way through the double doors and up to the Temple, Spike, the
witches, and then Dawn following after him.

    In the Temple, Jar’vees led them across to the glassed-in archway directly
across from the stairs. The four of them looked around in amazement: the
storm that had lasted the two days they had been here had passed and now the
sky was a deep, dark blue. The stars shone like scattered diamonds across
dark velvet.

    Jar’vees stopped just in front of the archway and lightly touched his
staff to it. There was a crystalline sound, then the glass parted into two
panels and opened outwards. The four of them stepped back, expecting the
chill mountain air to come rushing in, but nothing happened.

    Turning to them, Jar’vees smiled. “The door doesn’t let out onto the
physical plane. It’s another one altogether.” He gestured towards the sheer
expanse of stone that rose sharply into the sky across the valley.
“Remember, time does not function that same there that it does here. If
you’re caught inside the Temple when the moon sets, you’ll be trapped.”

    Spike nodded and gripped the hilt of his sword. He looked up at the
mountain behind which the moon was now hidden, when he felt a small hand on
his arm. Looking down, he saw Dawn looking up at him with her eyes large and
full of concern and a small bit of fear.

    “Good luck, Spike. I know you can do it.” She hugged him quickly but
fiercely and stepped back. The witches took her place.

    “What she said.” Willow smiled. They looked at each other uncomfortably,
until Willow sighed. “What the hell.” She then hugged him, just before Tara
joined in.

    “Thanks.” Spike told them before turning to Jar’vees, who stood patiently
by the doorway.

    It didn’t take long for the moon to appear, though to Spike it seemed an
eternity. The round disc of the moon slid over the edge of the mountain just
to the right of the summit and the Temple was suddenly awash with light. The
four companions gasped in wonder as there, between the Temple and the
mountain, high in the cold mountain air, a building appeared. A snaking
ribbon of stairs joined it to the rock step outside the archway.

    “It’s time,” Jar’vees said, pointing with his staff. The blonde vampire
nodded and stepped through the archway. He placed his foot on the faintly
glowing bottom step, half expecting it to slip through. But the step held
and he made his way up the stairs. Swallowing hard, he bent his mind on the
task.

    As he climbed, he kept his eyes firmly on the Temple ahead, certain that he
would not enjoy the view through the transparent stairs. As he got closer,
he could see it was formed of shimmering light. Colors and patterns played
across the surfaces, like ice crystals forming on glass in the winter, he
thought. They were constantly changing as the moon moved overhead.

    Glancing up, he noticed the moon had cleared the mountain. Cursing, he took
the steps two at a time, still not looking at the sheer drop below him. He
wondered if he could slip off the edge – ‘No, don’t think of that, William,’
he admonished himself quickly.

    Then he was landing inside the archway. Spike put his hand on the glass and
the two panels swung outwards to admit him. He stepped inside and found
himself in a duplicate of the Temple below only the floor was tiled in white
and yet, he could see the mountain below through it. He pushed down the
acrophobia that threatened. There didn’t seem to be any shadows here at all
and the demon in him cowered from the light. But he did not burn and he soon
adjusted to it, though a bit cautiously. He noticed the moon-symbol on the
floor was a perfect circle, and the stone that hung above it did not have a
black side. The side facing him was blank, in fact. He walked around to the
other side and sighed in relief. In the cross-shaped gouge in the stone
rested a sword. The hilt was plain and unadorned, wrapped in white leather
with a silvery crosspiece. The pommel was set with a milky gem. There were
white ribbons tied to the hilt just below the pommel. The scabbard was
covered in white leather and like the hilt unadorned. A very plain looking
sword all around. But just as deadly as any other. And he hoped this one
would be plenty deadly to a certain white bread Ken doll.

    So here it was, Sahalia the White Sword. He looked around wondering where
the Guardian was. No sign of it, whatever it was. Maybe there was no
Guardian, the naive part of his brain told him, Jar’vees had never been here
before. None of the Priests of the Temple had; they weren’t allowed. And
yet, he knew deep down that that wasn’t true.

    His brows drew together and he shook himself. There was no time to debate
these things. “There’s the sword, William,” he said aloud, “Now just take it
out so I can get the bloody hell out of here.” He stepped forward, placing
his foot on the moon symbol on the floor, an arm outstretched to take the
sword from its resting place. Just as he touched it, however, a familiar
voice behind him froze him in his tracks.

    “Yes, William, take it. It’s yours. If you can take me, that is.”



 

The Circle of Slayers Series 22/35 Incomplete
Chapter 22: Sahalia
By Denna at dennaseer@hotmail.com
Rated PG-13 for violence
Keywords: Buffy and Spike…what else could there be?
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. They belong to Joss Whedon. Yadda
yadda yadda.
Summary for Chapter 22: Spike enters the Temple of Light…


Chapter 22: Sahalia

“I’m coming to find you if it takes me all night,
Can’t stand here like this anymore,
For always and ever is always for you,
I want it to be perfect like before,
I want to change it all.”
A Night Like This – The Cure

    Spike whirled around with enough force to send his duster swinging around
his legs. His hand was on the hilt of his sword but when he saw who was
standing before him, he froze in disbelief. “No…” he said, unwilling to
believe what his eyes were showing him.

    “Welcome to the Temple of Light,” the apparition said smoothly. She stepped
forward, holding a sword in one small hand. The naked steel of the blade
seemed wrong with her white, maroon embroidered sundress. Her shoes clicked
on the marble floor as she circled the stunned Spike, long legs swinging in
an easy stride, arms shaped beautifully by years of battles and patrols.
Hair the color of sunlight hung down her back, part of it tied in the back
with a long maroon scarf. Eyes like the summer sky watched him closely as
the smell of blood and vanilla filled his senses.

    “Buf-who are you?” Spike stammered, feeling something between misplaced joy
and abject terror.

    “I’m the Guardian of the White Sword. You were expecting me, right?”

    “You’re not…you’re not supposed to be…” He stared into the eyes that he had
missed for so long.

    “What were you expecting? Gandhi?”

    “I-I don’t know…”

    “Then why not your true love?” She stopped and swung her sword around her,
smiling in a way that was beautiful but frightening at the same time.

    “I can’t fight you!”

    “Uh…you don’t have much of a choice here, baby.” The Slayer brought her
sword up and sketched a salute. It would have been actually quite goofy if
he weren’t so scared. “If you want to leave this place, you have to get
Sahalia. The doors won’t open until the sword is free of the stone. Now,
draw your sword!”

    “No!” Spike shouted, “Not like this!”

    “Come on, Spike, haven’t you fantasized about this moment for years? The
day when you would fight to the death with the infamous Slayer? The girl no
demon could kill? Well, except one. But I came back, so technically…” She
looked up at him as if expected him to start. “This is kind of funny, isn’t
it? I mean the last time I fought my lover with a sword, he got sucked into
Hell. Now, here I am, with another sword, and I get to kill another lover
with it. I guess history repeats itself, huh?” Spike just stood there.
“Well, if you’re not going to do anything, I guess I’m going to have to kill
you.”

    The Guardian lunged at him, swinging her sword in a powerful horizontal
arc. Spike nearly stumbled as he jumped backwards out of the way of slashing
strike. He quickly ducked under the next swing, then jumped clear to give
him enough room to draw his sword.

    Turning, he blocked the next strike with an overhand blow, dropping into a
squat as Buffy tried to use her pommel to stun him, then struck upwards with
his sword. Just as he thought, his opponent had expected it and blocked it.
He straightened, jumped backwards, gathered himself and returned to the fray
with a series of quick jabs and feints. Each was expertly blocked. He ended
the series with a powerful overhead blow with which Buffy blocked easily.
Sparks flew from the steel of their blades as the force was countered and
forced downwards. Faces mere inches from each other, swords and strength
stalemated, Spike stared into her eyes. Buffy merely stared back at him with
a calm, business-like gaze. The eyes she used on patrol.

    They held this for several seconds, and then jumped backwards away from
each other. Spike leaned forward, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword.
He couldn’t believe it was her…but it wasn’t. It was a Guardian. ‘It’s not
Buffy, It’s not Buffy.’ He chanted to himself.

    He moved a step to his right. The Guardian mirrored his moves.

    “Are you really Buffy?” Spike asked.

    “I am a reflection.” She answered cryptically.

    As he watched, Buffy rushed forward, thrusting straight forward with the
weight of her body behind it. Spike jumped to the side to avoid it and then
slashed at her right side as she passed by. The Guardian twisted herself out
of the way but not so quickly that the sword did not slash through the
fabric of her dress.

    Feeling sick, Spike gulped as the Slayer turned around and gathered
herself. But he wasn’t given the chance to recover as the Guardian quickly
leapt forward. Her sword flashed in close and Spike had to twist away as he
blocked it. The Guardian used that block to force Spike’s sword up, leaving
him open and exposed. Spike, however, brought his elbow down on Buffy’s
neck, hooked a foot behind her leg and dropped the Guardian to her knees.

    The Slayer quickly recovered and the steel of her blade came flashing in
close to his leg. He jumped to avoid the blow, falling backwards and rolling
to his feet. Buffy scrambled to her feet and rushed Spike, pressing home
some attacks: slash, dodge, back, forward, slash.

    And so it went: one attacking, the other countering, and then switching.
Neither gained the upper hand so evenly they were matched. The sound of
steel ringing on steel sounded in the chamber, sparks flying whenever the
blades struck each other.

    They leapt apart and both crouched while sizing up the other. Spike ran his
hand through his hair as he watched her, so beautifully perfect. He felt
like throwing up whenever he got close to hurting her and he had to remind
himself a thousand times that it wasn’t her.

    ‘That’s right, boyo,’ Spike thought to himself, ‘That bint isn’t Buffy and
it’s still getting you nowhere. Maybe the way to defeat the bird is to think
it #is# her.’ He remembered with painful awareness all the times she had
hurt him, all the times she had insulted him.

    ‘You’re pathetic, you know that?’

    ‘You’re a pig, Spike.’

    ‘You’re beneath me.’

    ‘Sooner or later, you’re going to want it. And the second – the #second#-
that happens you’ll know I’ll be there. I’ll slip in, have myself a real
good day.’

    Anger bubbled inside him as he let forth the demon, his face changing into
that of a horrible monster. Deep down inside him, there was a sorrowful
wail, like something inside was being torn apart. He shoved it aside and
locked eyes with the Slayer.

    He shifted the grip on his sword, holding the blade at arm’s length and at
an upward angle, ready to shift to either side at a moment’s notice. Taking
a step forward, he watched Buffy carefully, letting his mind slip and the
demon take hold. Looking into those cold eyes, he was determined to win. The
Guardian dropped into the same stance and waited. Spike lunged forward,
bringing his arms up to deliver a powerful overhand blow.

    The Guardian whipped up her sword to block it, but Spike’s sword wasn’t
there. Spike wasn’t there. He dropped to a crouch, reached around the young
woman, grabbed a handful of golden hair and yanked hard. Buffy, pulled off
balance, dropped her sword and fell backwards onto Spike’s sword. The tip,
razor sharp even from the beating it received during the fight, cut cleanly
through cloth, flesh and bone.

    Spike laughed maniacally as they broke apart, the Guardian stumbling
backwards with her hands pressed against her side. She was pale with shock
and dropped to one knee. She hung her head, golden hair hiding her agonized
features. Spike stood there looking down at her, panting hard, his sword
glistening red in the light.

    Buffy looked up at him with tear-soaked eyes. “Poor child,” she whispered
and he probably wouldn’t have heard it had it not been for his keen senses.

    She gulped brokenly and rolled to the side, picking up her sword and
climbed unsteadily to her feet. “You don’t have much time.” She told him,
still gulping, blood leaking out from between her lips.

    She then took a deep breath and attacked. Spike raised his sword and
blocked it easily, charged forward, feinting to the right then left, driving
Buffy back against the glass wall of the Temple. As she crashed back into
the wall, her sword was jarred out of her nerveless fingers. Spike threw his
sword away and brought her body forward into his arms. He brought his mouth
to her neck, and traced her jugular with his tongue, reveling in her
quickening pulse. Then he sank his teeth into her neck.

    She was sweet. Her blood was metallic and intoxicating, flowing down his
throat with its scarlet richness. She tasted so much better than the others.
Than any other. Her neck was his chalice, and her blood the purest wine. But
beneath the thick taste, was the innocence of vanilla and roses.

    He started and jumped back, his face returning to that of a human’s. With
horrifying panic, he stared at her. She was still alive, gasping against him
and she brought up her painful eyes to his. It was then that the vampire
realized he was shaking, so uncontrollably he didn’t think he could hold her
much longer. She was so light, so fragile. Her skin was pale and sickly but
eerily smooth. He thought he was going to throw up.

    He found himself unable to tear himself away from her eyes. Tears leaking
out from underneath her lashes, he recognized that gaze. The gaze that told
him to end it. The gaze he had seen a hundred years before with a young
girl, only a child really. The gaze he had seen in a lonely girl’s eyes on
the dirty floor of a sub car. The gaze he had seen as the love of his life
jumped into a pool of fatal light.

    “You won, Spike,” she whispered, more blood pouring from her mouth. She
managed to bring a weak hand up and lightly stroke his cheek. Her fingers
were so cold. “You are strong, William. Much more Light than Shadow…so much
more. That made me strong. It has been a honor to be part of you.”

    Spike couldn’t seem to hold her, he was trembling so much. He took her tiny
form and laid her on the ground. He gently stroked her cheek, brushing the
hair from her eyes and the blood from her chin. “W-what, luv?”

    “Poor child. Trapped in a circle of Slayers. There is no end, yet no
beginning. But there are two sides to every coin. One side black as night. A
thousand nights of death and ecstasy. No fear, just lust and blood. Hiding
under the dark angel’s wings. One side light as day. A thousand hours of
sunlight and innocence. Fear, yes, but a joy that surpasses all nightmares.
Walking hand in hand with your soul. Poor child, which side will you
choose?”

    “What are you saying, Buffy?” Spike asked, his voice getting more and more
shaky.

    “You once told me that I was your soul,” Buffy told him, coughing and
spitting up blood, “I am one side of the coin. I am your Light. The price
has been paid.” Her voice was weak, as fragile as her still body.

    “Price? What do you mean, luv?” He stopped as she breathing began to grow
more and more apart. “NO! I’m sorry, Buffy, I’m so sorry! Please, don’t
leave me! Don’t go! I’ll do anything, just don’t go!”

    “I’m sorry, William…” Her eyes glazed over and the sound of death rattled
in her throat. The hand that had stroked his face fell lifelessly to the
floor.

    The price had been paid. The Light was gone. Shuddering with shock and
revulsion at what he had done, Spike sat there for several long minutes. But
he couldn’t cry. For the life of him, he couldn’t cry. He wanted to cry; so
desperately did he need to cry. Soon, he couldn’t even feel anything.
Revulsion, remorse, guilt, anger. They were gone. He couldn’t feel. When he
began to move, he mechanically closed her eyes with one hand and stood up.

    He remained standing there for a moment longer, head bowed, exhausted in
every way. Empty. He was too tired to move. It was only then that he
realized he had won the sword, the very thing he had longed for the past
month. In that, he found the will to turn away. But inside, something
screamed as it was smothered out of sight.

    With dragging feet, he crossed the chamber to face the stone that hung over
the moon-symbol. Looking up at it, he thought about all it represented:
Buffy, defeating Riley…Steeling himself, he stepped forward and reached up
to take the sword. It came free in his hand, nearly leaping from the stone
and into his grasp.

    Stepping back, Spike drew the sword from its scabbard. The blade was as
white as the tiles he stood on and he stared into the ivory steel at the
empty reflection of nothing inside. He ran his hand over it, but no double
of his hand came, as he expected. He traced his fingers down the silvery
runes that ran down the center of the blade; markings of a language he did
not know. It felt light in his hand, perfectly balanced too. As he did an
experimental swing, it seemed to sense his wishes and leap through the air
to its destination instead of just lying there in his hand. He could sense
some power in it, and a strange sense of terror and exhilaration filled him.

    The Temple began to rumble under his feet. Looking up in dull surprise, he
could see the moon overhead had traveled across the sky and was about to
slip behind another mountain. Damn! He was almost out of time! Slipping
Sahalia back into its scabbard, he looked around for his own sword. He was
careful not to glance at the bloodied body slumped lifelessly on the ground.
He found his blade wedged up against the wall where it had come to rest when
he had thrown it away. Hurrying over, he grabbed it up, wiping it on his
pant leg before sheathing it. Turning he ran for the doors, which opened of
their own accord when he approached. The steps were dimmer, and he could see
through them, straight down to the jagged rocks below. Of course, going
downward was harder than going up because now he would be forced to #see#
that sheer drop. Without daring to look back at that wretched place, he
started down the stairs.

    He was halfway down the steps when the moon disappeared from the sky behind
the mountain peak. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Temple of Light
unravel into the darkness. The stairs faded one by one above him and he
threw caution to the wind and ran down the steps. The last two disappeared
under his feet and he jumped for the rock landing outside the Temple. By
sheer willpower, he managed to propel himself onto the ledge and come up
hard against the doors. He felt them prying open and edged away to let them
and then there were hands dragging him inside.

    “Spike!”

    “Oh, Spike, are you okay?”

    He looked up numbly at the sound of his name and found Willow, Tara and
Dawn kneeling down next to him. He grimly held up the sword and found the
strength to say only one word:

    “Sahalia…”