mmm, maps ...

Deb - beautiful, concise and evocative as ever. Lovely work.

victor - don't stop! Don't stop, damn it!

victor - don't stop! Don't stop, damn it!

It'll continue, but I need to meet a couple deadlines, first.

Part Twenty-Nine: Delaying tactics

Amy fell back exhausted as Oz disappeared into the portal. She’d never channeled that much energy through her body before. She could still feel lightning pulsating through her blood. Her throat was parched—it felt like there was no water left inside her body, that she was just flesh containing a void that stretched out into infinity. She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them, and saw the diamonds embedded in the walls sparkle like stars.

“Wow,” she muttered. “It’s like staring into the Milky Way from space.”

On her sides, Ethan and Giles were, likewise, haggard from the exertion—their gaunt bodies shivering in the preternatural chill that had fallen on the temple.

“We sent him into a pocket in time,” said Giles, rhetorically. “Into an endless war. Dear God…”

“Oh, don’t over-dramatize, you old ham,” said Ethan, who had turned dangerously pale after the spell, and looked set to collapse. “He can’t die there. That’s the whole point of the place. Besides, you’ve sent soldiers off to die before.”

Giles lurched forward, his fist careening toward Ethan’s face. Suddenly, Wesley was between them, catching Giles’ wrist in his hand. Amy hadn’t seen him move.

“Rayne’s a berk,” said Wesley, his voice low and gravelly, “But we need him. We still have two very large spells to work.”

Amy didn’t know much about Wesley—she was a rat when he was in Sunnydale—but from what she’d gathered, he and Giles had an uneasy relationship, and were none too fond of each other. Wesley had been sent to replace him at one point, and inadvertently had released that Faith woman, who nearly killed Angel. She knew Buffy left the Council over that. She knew he died, but she didn’t really know the details.

He looked strangely composed, not worn like the rest of them, but there was a mania about him, a wildness in his eyes that put her ill at ease. Maybe that just came from being dead. Or maybe, she thought, the stakes were really that high for him. She very much wanted to run away from here, but she was in too deep.

She stood near Giles—she didn’t have an easy relationship with him, either, but she knew he was trustworthy. She wished Oz were here, or even Justine.

“We have work to do,” said Wesley, looking up at the glittering diamonds. “The pieces are all in place, we just need …”

There was a tremor, and the walls began to vibrate. As one, the quartet turned as the doors blew open, as though forced by a hurricane. Amy’s teeth began to chatter in fear as Willow’s lithe silhouette appeared in the doorway.

“Naughty, naughty,” she said, a wicked smile pulled across her face. “You shouldn’t play games in dangerous places.”

Giles began to start forward, reaching to the girl, but was blasted back against the wall.

“Rupert,” said Willow. “Good to see you. I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk.”

With a wave of her hand, the floor exploded, staggering Amy and Ethan backward.

“You see, Rupert,” said Willow. “The last time we spoke, you called me a ‘rank, arrogant amateur.’”

Wesley had appeared behind Willow, attempting to slam down the butt of a pistol on her head, but there was a crackle of electricity from her body that ripped through him, forcing him backward. She glided forward, her feet not touching the ground. “Well guess what, Rupert,” said Willow. “I’ve turned pro.”

Dark energy erupted from her hands, and Giles screamed in anguish. Without thinking, Amy cast a shield that blocked her attack. Willow turned toward her and smiled.

“Amy, babe,” she said. “How are you doing? Feels like it’s been ages.”

Willow,” said Amy, spitting out the words as fear constricted her throat.

“Still on the soft stuff I see,” said Willow, smirking. “Gonna have to move you up to something harder.”

“Willow,” said Amy. “Look, I know we’ve had problems…”

“Problems”” said Willow. “No, Amy. You were the only one who was right. We’re way cooler than these losers. We’ve got power that they can’t dream of. We should use it.”

Amy was (continued...)

( continues...) visualizing sigils in her mind. Warding spells. Hexes. “How did Buffy beat her the last time?” she thought, and then she remembered—Buffy didn’t. “

“Willow,” said Amy, steadying herself. “Will … It’s not like that. Look, I was weak. I came back in a bad place.”

“You’re in a bad place now,” said Willow. “But, hey! We can let it slide. Come work for us. The offer’s open to all of you.”

Willow looked at Giles.

“All of you except one.”

Fire erupted from her fingertips at Giles, but Amy cast another shield, intercepting it.

“Getting a little burned out on that trick,” said Willow.

“Willow,” said Giles, rising. “I know you don’t remember, but we’ve already been through this. You’re fueled by rage right now, drawing from impure forces.”

Amy thought she saw Giles glance at her for a moment, before a wave of Willow’s hand sent him flying into the air, then dropping him hard to the floor.

“What goes up,” said Willow, amused, returning her attention to Amy. Amy could see Ethan was cowering in the corner, and Wesley … Where was Wesley?

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff I’m drawing power from right now, Amy,” said Willow. “C’mon, we both know you want it.” A desperate plan began to form in Amy’s head. She took a deep breath, and lowered all her wards and shields.

“You’re right,” said Amy. “I do.”

“Amy!” shouted Giles. There was blood trickling from his mouth.

Amy walked toward Willow, offering her outstretched palm. Willow took Amy’s hand in her own, and a sickly fever crawled over her. Amy’s heart raced as the current between them escalated. Amy’s eyes turned jet black.

“Dear God,” said Giles.

Wordlessly, Amy began to visualize the aura containing them, and extended it outward, drawing energy from everywhere around her. Giles and Ethan began to visibly weaken. Wesley began to appear in the shadows, a pistol in his hand, ready to fire a bullet into the back of Willow’s head. It wouldn’t work. He doesn’t know how she was beaten before. But she did. She remembered …

And in that instant, Amy began to visualize a field of stars, stretching out into infinity. She reached her mind to touch the slivers of souls from thousands upon thousands of dead gods, a power so staggering that both young women screamed.

Amy could see a thousand panoramas before her, from a thousand worlds. Every mind that every god ever had touched stood out before her, and still she drew more power.

She and Willow seemed fused now, and Amy realized that they’d both been screaming for so long that sound was no longer escaping their mouths. Their screams were now hoarse and silent. Their screams stretched into infinity.

Part Thirty: Rest

Amy Madison and Willow Rosenberg stood on the edge of a cliff. Below them, ocean waves crashed on rocks. Above them, the sky was blue and cloudless. Birds soared on distant thermals, and everything stood at peace.

“This isn’t real, is it?” asked Amy. Her body felt lighter. She glanced at Willow, who had returned to normal. Her hair was red again, her stance relaxed.

“No,” said Willow, staring out at the ocean. “It isn’t it. It’s a construct, something to allow our brains to see something they otherwise couldn’t process.”

“See,” said Amy, “This is what I hate about you. You can’t just say, ‘we’re in another dimension.’ Oh, no. You’ve got to give up the Funk and Wagnels.”

Annoyance flashed across Willow’s face, but then it softened. “You saved my life back there,” she said. “I’m pretty sure you saved all our lives.”

“Well, yeah,” said Amy. “Let’s not have a moment, OK? We’re not out of this yet.”

“No,” said a gentle voice, seeming to lap up from the waves. “No, you very much aren’t.”

The two young women stiffened. They turned away from the ocean, and a beautiful, dark-skinned woman stood opposite them. Amy’s first instinct was to bow, or kneel, or something like that, but she fought it back. She glanced at Willow, and could tell she was having the same experience.

“Who are you?” asked Willow. “Where are we?”

“I had a name once,” said the woman. “But I was mistaken in taking it, and in my mistakes, I brought myself to ruin. I would have saved you all, but at a cost not worth the bearing. I was vain in my power, and now am just a sliver of myself.”

“Uh, yeah. Cool,” said Willow. “Got it. But….”

“I am not here for myself, though there is one I’d see you save,” said the woman. “I speak for one who cannot speak for herself. One denied the eternal repose of man and god alike.”

“You mean death, right?” asked Willow.

The woman smiled, and Amy wanted to cry, it was so beautiful. That alone, she figured, should be enough to hate this woman, but she didn’t. She loved her—like she loved her father, like she even loved her mother, despite it all. This woman was everything she’d ever lost, returned to her again.

“Yes,” said the woman. “But death is not the same for such as she and I. It is simply a term you understand, just as this is a place you understand.”

“I think I get it,” said Willow.

“Then fill me in,” said Amy.

The woman smiled, and snapped her fingers, and suddenly Amy saw herself opening a sarcophagus as locust rise from the depths of history. Amy felt her blood crystallize and harden. She lay in a bed, as a man’s voice recited a children’s story, and it faded further and further into the background. And then, she was nothing at all. Forever. And then forever ended, and she saw stars twinkle in the night sky, and then another. Amy could feel herself suspended in the sky, weightless and intangible, not thinking so much as dreaming, yearning for something she cannot name. And then, she feels the fraying again. There is someplace she’s supposed to be. It’s important. There’s someplace…

Amy awoke in the temple, Willow beside her. Both women were shaking and exhausted. Giles was leaning over them, his brow knitted with concern.

“I’m so sorry,” muttered Willow. “I never meant…”

“It’s not important,” said Giles, softly, and Amy couldn't suppress the pang of annoyance at Willow being forgiven again. “We have other concerns right now.”

“Yes,” said Wesley, standing apart from the others. “Amy’s quick thinking has kept us in the game,” he said, the praise surprising her. “But we still have work to do, and we’ve lost valuable time.”

Amy listened to Wesley’s voice, and in the back of her head could hear it reciting a children’s story to her, and she knew that, in that instant, she loved him. And just as quickly, she knew that emotion wasn’t hers.

She looked at Wesley, and could hear the woman’s voice echoing still, in the back of her head.

“Listen,” said the voice. “To not die is a terrible thing.”

Damn, victor. This is one of the best fanfics I've ever read.

wrod.

Keep it comin', Victor.

A quickie drabble, for the new Open on Sunday challenge, which is Liquids. Might be a skosh lyrical.

Desert Dream

In the arid sub-Saharan night, he dreams of wetter weather.

The shaman, demon, whatever it is, that will give him what he needs, was hard to find. The bushmen of the Kalahari recognised Spike for what he was without a moment wasted. Their memories of the First Slayer are genetic, imprinted in blood and bone. They scattered, clicking out their language in fear. Spike moved on.

Now, weeping and broken and restored, he curls against the brutal rays of sun, and dreams of Buffy, of blood and sweat and tears and the dewy golden Slayer, moist as a June rose.

Damn, victor. This is one of the best fanfics I've ever read.

Gracias. Still a little more ways to go, and very little of it in a straight line.