Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 14.
Long chapter this time.
First chapter & notes here (on LJ), for DW just follow the tags, and Master post of whole 'verse here (also tagged on DW).
Can also be found on AO3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): Almost 5000 words.
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathyh
Chapter 14
Waiting for Spike to turn up at their chosen meeting place, Angel tried to evaluate Christmas…
Christmas Day had been lovely until ‘Fred’ appeared, and her strange paranoia had unfortunately been rather infectious. He’d found himself unable to relax after that.
But even so it had been good to see Connor - and not just because Connor was a complete counterpoint to everything else that Christmas.
He’d told Connor about Illyria’s Christmas Day stunt, and how he’d had to divulge Connor’s existence to Nina and her family.
Connor had stared at him, then laughed.
“My ‘real’ parents were teenagers and I was adopted by a kind couple? That’ll be an interesting one to explain to my folks if they ever all meet…”
“Look, I had to make something up on the spot, I-“
“It’s fine,” he said, eyes still full of mirth, and Angel sighed.
“Look, she wasn’t just being difficult for the sake of it… She’s worried Wolfram and Hart will attack those I care about. And she sees you as the nearest warrior who can protect them.”
Connor raised an eyebrow, pleased. “Huh. Well I’ll try, should the need arise, but aren’t there, like, ten Slayers in LA?”
“She reckons they would be busy protecting the general population. She seems to think you are… devoted to me. Or that you should be.”
It was all rather uncomfortable, but Connor didn’t seem bothered, telling him to give his number to Nina so she could call if there was an emergency.
Angel still marvelled at how calm and unperturbed his son had turned out; somehow it made the memories of the past even worse. Knowing how resilient the boy was, how he took everything in his stride, the damage inflicted by Holtz and Jasmine was thrown into sharper relief.
Checking his watch again, he realised that Spike was now nearly half an hour late.
“In times past I would not have tolerated such tardiness,” Illyria remarked, and Angel - swearing to himself - finally brought out his cellphone. The guy had had almost a week with Buffy, was it too much to ask that he arrived on time?
Once Angel got through, Spike was of course completely unapologetic. And since he was still miles away, Angel decided that they had better go to him.
He glowered silently when Spike gave him directions based on a past murder - it was bad enough having silent reminders everywhere, having someone pretty much reminisce was worse...
As he stepped through the portal he was about to tell Spike in no uncertain terms how he felt, but seeing who his companion was, Angel abruptly forgot what he was about to say. Of all the people in the world, Riley Finn was the last one he’d expected to find Spike chatting with. And, vaguely remembering a very drunk conversation half a year ago in London, he frowned.
“What’s going on?”
Spike shrugged. “Nothing much, I was just doing him a favour, since I owed him one... where are we going again?”
Angel decided to ignore the Riley part, since he really didn’t want to know, and confined himself to answering the question.
“To negotiate with the Ramulka-ha clan. Did someone extract your brain over Christmas?”
Without waiting for a response he stepped through Illyria’s new portal to the demons’ dimension.
For a moment he wondered if maybe Illyria had gotten it wrong, as there was no sign of the ‘great palaces’ he’d had described to him. All around them a huge forest grew - giant, towering pale purple trees with foliage so thick the sun barely shone through.
With a sinking heart, Angel realised that this would be another one of those ‘blunder about until hitting something’ situations that was always so infuriating and boring.
Illyria - never one for chit-chat - just set off, her inner compass needle once more directing them. She didn’t even bother casting them a glance to see if they were following, knowing full well that they had no alternative. After her antics at Christmas, Angel was particularly annoyed about being beholden to her, but there was nothing he could do, no alternative option. Gloomily he trudged along, wishing that he could somehow get one over on their Old One.
Spike on the other hand seemed annoyingly chipper.
After they had been walking for a good while, and noticing Spike didn’t even swear when he accidentally stood in a muddy puddle that had been hidden underneath the bracken or when a branch flicked across his face, Angel finally asked:
“OK, what’s with the happy face?”
“I beat up Riley Finn,” Spike answered, nimbly jumping over a fallen tree. “And not just that, but pretty much had him eating out of my hand first. Well the other way round actually - could have eaten him if I’d wanted. Oh you should have seen the look on his face when he began figuring out what was going on. Bloody priceless.” He grinned wickedly. “Best. Christmas. Ever!”
Angel couldn’t help smiling back, but still had to ask.
“And how’s Buffy? I mean, if Riley was the best thing about your Christmas...”
Spike, not even attempting to raise to the bait, smoothly answered.
“She’s fine. Bit worried about this apocalypse that’s on the horizon, but apparently Willow had a break-through in her translating recently, so they’re hoping for the best. Oh - and she’d like it if we could do some training with the young ‘uns. Gettin’ a bit too complacent apparently, and she wants them toughening up if it really is the end of the world. Said we could probably give her a hand, yeah?”
Angel nodded slowly. Although the thought of training sessions abruptly and painfully reminded him of Cordy, it might be nice to do some simple sparring - fighting for his life every other day was wearying.
As evening fell some hours later, Angel noticed something. “Hey...”
He walked up to an oddly shaped moss-covered lump, and pulled away the green covering. Underneath was a softly gleaming white piece of marble - perfectly smooth, and with a careful pattern along one side.
In the growing darkness they discovered the remnants of what must once have been a magnificent place - and yet clearly it had been destroyed a long time ago. It would seem that the Ramulka-ha had not retired of their own will...
Yet again Angel found himself depressed at how many worlds were now nothing more than shadows of what they'd once been. Unlike the human world, where one empire followed another, in most demon dimensions once decline started, it was often terminal. Demons could be smart and cunning, but most lacked imagination and vision - no wonder the Senior Partners were so focussed on the humans.
He wondered what had happened here, and why. And if there were any left of the Ramulka-ha... Still, the Labyrinth ought to be there still. From what he had been told it would appear to be pretty indestructible - although getting in might be a problem.
After four days they came to the end of the forest and were faced with a wide, empty plain, before the ground rose up to tall mountains in the far distance. But... in between the forest and the mountains was a village, made up of hundreds of finely woven huts centered around a large, ancient looking tree. And there – towering behind the village - there was what appeared to be a long, grey-blue petrified wall. Could it really be the Labyrinth?
Now all they needed was for the clan to grant them access.
When they neared the huts, Angel saw a welcoming committee already waiting; the demons had built their village very strategically - there was nowhere to hide on the open plain. Everyone - friend or foe - was forced to walk in full view of the village for many miles.
The demons were tall and slender - almost elegant - with pale skin and large, widely set, red eyes, watching the world impassively. There was something oddly insect-like about them, although maybe it was just their immense stillness. Or possibly their very taut, smooth skin. They wore long, pale red robes, carefully embroidered and decorated, the designs echoing those they had found on the ruins in the forest.
Spike however looked up at the wall and whistled softly.
“Sleeping Beauty, eat your heart out!”
Angel could only nod in assent. The Labyrinth had obviously been grown, rather than built as he’d first thought, and it looked old enough to have been around since Illyria’s time. It was nigh-on impossible to estimate how tall it was, but Angel reckoned it’d dwarf even the tallest building in LA, and had stood there so long that the wood had petrified - an impenetrable mass of twisted branches, white-ish blue, and probably as tough as granite. There was no obvious entrance, so - just as predicted - they’d have to do some talking.
The negotiations took a long while, but were eased by the fact that the Shaman spoke fairly decent English. Unfortunately Angel, trying to make small talk, asked what sort of catastrophe had occurred - it must have been quite spectacular to wipe out most of the population and reduce a once great city to rubble. The reply was a stentorian silence, and he swiftly apologised, but in his mind he silently ruled out natural causes.
Deciding to take a chance, he put on his best Friendly CEO Face, and decided to go for broke.
“We are enemies of the Wolf, Ram and Hart, and we are on a quest to undo their power. We hope that a part of our puzzle is in this Labyrinth. Would it be possible for you to grant us access?”
At his words there was a sudden glimmer in the otherwise calm eyes of the shaman across from him, and Angel had to stop himself from smiling in triumph.
Unless he was completely mistaken, he’d wager quite a lot that the Ramulka-ha had somehow gotten on Wolfram and Hart’s bad side - maybe attempting to break their contract, if they were clients - and had reaped the standard punishment.
The whole dimension appeared faded and somehow lost, with a quiet resentment running underneath - an impotent anger at a bright past snatched away. But if the clan's residual wrath could be used to further Angel's war, then that was good.
And so was the fact that the shaman stopped slyly asking for monetary donations.
Illyria - whom Angel had half-expected to lead the negotiations - had watched in silence, blue eyes not giving anything away. She hadn’t spoken at all since they’d arrived… something which should give Angel pause, but right now he was just grateful.
The shaman - clearly a cautious individual - warned them that no one had ever come back from the Labyrinth. Having been told this numerous times already, they just nodded and said that this didn’t deter them. Angel almost expected them to get out some sort of form for them to sign, saying that the Ramulka-ha were not to be held responsible for any unfortunate incidents. Or maybe he’d just spent too long with lawyers.
After a long while however, it would appear that they had satisfied whatever criteria the demons wanted, but the shaman then informed them that he had to consult the spirits of their ancestors before he could let them in.
This was such a standard procedure that not even Spike complained anymore, and they watched the shaman and his helpers set off towards the forest with tired resignation.
Two days later the small party returned, and the shaman bowed deeply, saying that the Champions had been found worthy and he would start the ritual as soon as the sun set.
The ritual, as it turned out, took most of the night. Angel thought that this was a good sign - this was by far the best protected place they’d seen in a long while, just the sort of impossible-to-get-at place that would be a perfect hiding place for a piece of the Dead Key.
As the sun peered over the horizon, a messenger came to fetch them. They made their way up to the Labyrinth wall, and, as the shaman recited yet another round of incantations, they saw an opening slowly grow in amongst the branches. As though a silent wind was blowing the boughs bent back, revealing a dark and cold space, and not even the faintest glimmer of light appeared to get through.
As they motioned to enter, Illyria held up the hand in which she was not holding her axe, and turned to them - a most unpleasant look in her eyes.
“Kallkyn ikki loyvd.”
“Hey - that sounds like-” Spike began, but didn’t get any further as Illyria punched him so hard he flew several feet backwards. He didn’t get up, and Angel realised he was out cold. As he turned to the hell god, an angry diatribe on his lips, he belatedly realised that her foot was swinging towards him with deadly precision- and then everything went black.
When he came to again, he was met with the sight of several demons bent over him, clucking worriedly, and arguing with each other.
Illyria had vanished, and the gateway into the Labyrinth had grown back together as if never there. No prizes for working out what had happened… The Queen Bitch had decided she didn’t want sidekicks for this adventure.
Slowly he sat up, rubbing his sore head, and finally looked around to see Spike carefully getting on his feet. The other walked up to him, followed by hovering Ramulka-ha’s, and Angel noticed the colourful bruise spreading across his face.
“Now I reckon that was for the bar,” Spike said, resignedly, and Angel nodded. Illyria always, one way or another, got her own back - ‘forgive and forget’ wasn’t part of her vocabulary. And the fact that she’d made them look like idiots was probably just a bonus in her world.
The Ramulka-ha’s were still staring at them, whispering urgently amongst themselves, clearly thrown. The shaman, obviously worn out after all his recent work and looking actually upset, informed them that he could not perform the rite a second time until ‘the new moon passed before the old moon’ - whatever that meant - and Angel shrugged.
“Nevermind. We’ll just wait for her to come back.”
The shaman muttered something under his breath, and turned away, clearly not thinking she had a hope. Angel refused to even consider the possibility that she’d not return - he had great faith in her tenaciousness.
Spike dug out a cigarette, then flicked open his lighter and carefully lit up, before taking a deep drag.
“So - don’t suppose you brought any cards?”
***
The week that followed was one of the slowest Angel could ever remember. Spike had been ready to crawl up the walls of the Labyrinth on the second day, and he only got more difficult when he ran out of cigarettes on the third. Angel had at first found the atmosphere soothing, but even he was beginning to wish for something to happen - anything at all.
The Ramulka-ha were careful and precise in everything; a bit like demonic Shakers, except that they had a penchant for ornate, intricate designs, rather than simplicity. Everything they made and used was beautiful, and it wasn’t hard to see how they’d once used these skills to further their people...
For the first few days he tried to chat and be friendly. Partly in order to see if maybe he could find out a little more about the history, partly just to pass the time, but the Ramulka-ha had the single-minded outlook of true artists and were busy from dusk till dawn and not interested in small talk.
He and Spike had been stuck before of course, abandoned in the dimension with the endless rain, but those demons had been warriors first and foremost, a forthright and tough species. He’d been happy to leave, but had they been forced to stay the two of them could probably have found a place within their society.
But they seemed to have nothing at all in common with the Ramulka-ha. Apart from the manufacture of their pots, baskets, clothing and other items, they cultivated arid fields for growing food, necessitating daily water gathering from the river which was a full hour’s walk away.
The first time he witnessed the procession setting off, a long row of tall, willow-y youth with large, ornate jars balanced on their heads, he asked why they hadn’t located their village closer to the river? And were there no beasts of burden which they could use?
Silence was his only answer.
He quickly learned that this was their standard response to anything they didn’t want to discuss. No arguments, no excuses, just silence.
After a while he wondered if maybe they were literally cursed. Being unable to voice any upset couldn’t possibly be a choice, it had to be something enforced.
Even the children were stoic and quiet, watching their unusual visitors with large curious eyes, but never daring to speak. Not that they had any time to play or fool around - from the moment they were old enough to walk, they were in training, tiny little hands marshalled into creating beauty.
He almost said something, but then thought better of it. What alternatives were there? At least it was peaceful. There were worse lives, that was for sure.
There wasn’t even the frisson of dangerous predators or warring tribes. Nothing at all to break the monotony of the quiet, everyday life. So after a few days he found himself joining Spike on one of his hunting expeditions, more out of boredom than anything else, and discovered that the experience was far more enjoyable than he had anticipated. Not that he told Spike that of course.
Besides, there was nothing else for them to eat, since the Ramulka-ha were vegan in their diet and he didn’t fancy the gruel-like substance they seemed to be surviving on.
Still, the boredom made him miss Nina even more - knowing that there was a place where he could just relax and not worry about anything was like a special, private treasure. He often conjured up the image of Nina’s face - sweet and still so innocent, despite her strength. And her warm, supple body was not far behind in his fantasies. Shame that the huts had such thin walls...
Then on the 8th day something finally happened, and Angel desperately wished for the peace that would never return.
***
It was late afternoon, the shadows lengthening as the sun sent a few last beams across the landscape before vanishing behind the horizon, when there was a sudden commotion. Spike, who had been reduced to whittling stakes and crossbow darts to stave off boredom, glanced up and suddenly froze. Angel raised his eyes too - and barely believed what he saw.
Across the plain walked a lawyer - wearing a neat suit and tasteful tie, carrying a briefcase and not a hair out of place. The smug look on his face would have felt right at home on Lindsey MacDonald’s features.
Slowly both vampires got up from their resting place underneath the large tree in the middle of the village and waited, weapons concealed and ready.
The shaman went out to greet the stranger, and at their greeting Angel felt his fingers tighten around his dagger.
“We apologise most profusely for having to send for you - but their God went into the Labyrinth without them. And we did not know what to do.”
“No problem,” the lawyer smoothly replied. “If they’re stupid enough to trust someone who betrayed them, then that is not your fault. I would have come sooner, but the time difference is most inconvenient. So - where are our Champions?”
When they arrived, Angel coldly looked past the lawyer and caught the shaman’s eyes, the demon’s face as much of a blank as ever.
“You betrayed us!” he said, angrily, and the lawyer chuckled. “My dear Mr Angel, your surprise is rather amusing. Surely you know the price on your head is quite extraordinary - quite large enough to repay this people’s debt and more besides... It’s a shame you didn’t all go into the Labyrinth, but that can’t be helped. At least your Goddess has been taken out of action. But - as things stand, I have some paperwork I need you to complete.”
He opened his briefcase, and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen.
“What do you mean?” Angel asked, eyes darting to the tall, foreboding wall, now almost vanished in the encroaching darkness.
The lawyer smiled. “I need you to sign here, and here-”
“No - about the Labyrinth and Illyria. What’s in it?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not here to answer questions, only to make sure the paperwork is done correctly.”
“Very funny,” Angel answered, pulling out his dagger. “I’d like some answers, and I’d like them now!”
A nasty glint appeared in the lawyer’s eyes. “Your little hell god is lost forever - you can trust me on that one. And how very fortunate that you have a knife - you will of course have to sign in blood!”
The lawyer raised his hand, and with a sudden, terrified lurch in his stomach Angel felt his own hand move, before neatly slicing his left palm open.
“I also happen to be a necromancer,” the lawyer said coldly. “We did not want any more surprises from you... Please, take the pen. As I said, signature here, here and here.”
As Angel helplessly dipped the pen in his own blood, he almost felt sick. It couldn’t end like this... except, of course, that apparently it already had. This was what Illyria had worried about, at Christmas. A plan behind the scenes… It had all been too easy for them. He briefly wondered what really was at the heart of that Labyrinth, but if Wolfram and Hart thought that it could do away with a hell god, then they probably had their reasons - maybe it had been a trap? And what was the document - another way of stealing his free will?
The lawyer smiled a superior smile as the nib of the pen touched the paper - and then suddenly his head was at Angel’s feet. Angel swayed, unstable, as he abruptly regained control of his own body, and could sense Spike re-gaining his balance too. But all he could see was Illyria, bloodied axe in hand, studying him.
“Can I never leave you alone without you getting into trouble?” she asked, looking from one to the other, and then kicked the headless body out of the way. She could have taught Lindsey a thing or two about understated smugness.
“But how... he said that you were lost...”
Belatedly he realised that he was still holding the pen, and broke it, before he brought up his injured hand to his mouth, gently cleaning the wound with his tongue. Thankfully it had almost stopped bleeding by now.
Illyria looked round at the shocked faces of the clan who were surrounding them, and silently shook her head. Then, with a small smile, she held up her left hand, in which she held a bundle - it looked as though there was writing on the fabric, but Angel couldn’t make it out.
Slowly Spike reached out. “Is that-?”
Illyria nodded once, and Spike grinned widely as he shoved the bundle into his pocket, and Angel could feel relief and accomplishment flood through him. Their search wasn’t in vain!
“Better get the hell out of dodge, eh?” Spike remarked, and Angel took in the great number of demons silently staring at them in the darkness - the usual evening ritual of lighting the village fire obviously having been forgotten in the upheaval.
Slowly he shook his head. “No - we’re not done here.” Taking a step back he broke a branch off the huge tree behind him, and he could hear the gasp from all around. The tree was holy - apparently a shoot of the giant labyrinth wall from ancient times - and only the shaman was allowed to touch it.
“Give me your lighter,” Angel said to Spike, and, after a swift glance, the other obeyed.
There was now a wall of demons all around them, a palpable air of anger in their eyes and careful movements.
“Listen!” Angel said, eyes fixed on the shaman, as he deliberately flicked open the lighter and set fire to the branch in his hand. “You betrayed us - and there will be a price to pay. Let it be known that this is a war, and whoever works against us will be made to suffer!”
He held his torch aloft, and then in a swift movement turned and let the flames leap onto the tree.
A wail arose and Angel smiled harshly. “I will leave you alive - but that is all. If that is mercy or not I shall let you decide.”
Then he flung his burning branch over the crowd’s heads, and it landed with perfect precision on the roof of the shaman’s hut. The finely woven sturdy grass caught fire in an instant, and, thanks to the evening breeze, soon enough more huts were ablaze.
Panic broke out as the crowd suddenly scattered, desperate to salvage their homes as the flames spread and orange tongues licked up against the now black sky.
(And water was an hour away…)
Turning his head, Angel saw Spike studying him, face closed. He could imagine only too vividly what the other vampire was thinking. Wordlessly he handed the lighter back, and Spike pocketed it with a hollow-sounding “Thanks”.
Illyria however was watching the mayhem with undiluted pleasure, before turning her eyes on Angel. “You act like the great rulers of old. It... pleases me.”
Slowly Angel bent down, emptied the lawyer’s pockets and collected everything in the briefcase. As he stood up, he caught a furtive movement out of the corner of his eye, and a second later threw himself down on the ground to avoid the blast of magic that the shaman had directed at him. Before he had another chance, Angel’s dagger was embedded in his chest.
Getting back on his feet, retrieving his weapon, he saw Spike look around with an unhappy face. “Really ought to get out.”
Angel nodded, but for a moment took in the inferno all around. He’d spent his year at Wolfram and Hart trying to live with a compromise that tore him in half. Having finally made his choice, he had turned himself into that which he was fighting - trying to reach a different goal, sure, but using the same methods.
All he wanted was to go back to Nina, to recapture that wonderful Christmas spirit he had soaked himself in so thoroughly before ‘Fred’s’ appearance, but looking at the hell he’d created he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of anyone looking at him with admiration.
What was it Spike had said about Buffy wanting some help with her Slayers? That suddenly sounded like a great idea - actually doing some straightforward good for once. And Buffy would look at him with that mixed expression of disapproval and disappointment... the sort of look Nina ought to send him too. With a deep sigh he faced up to the fact that he needed to be honest with her - not that he'd ever lied, but he had never told her straight what it was that he did... because he knew that then it would be over - again. For good. But he couldn't face that conversation right now.
“Illyria - take us to Rome.”
She nodded, and just like that they were back in the world of humans - staring at Buffy’s door. As though he hadn’t just destroyed a whole peoples’ livelihood - he’d seen the storage huts catch fire just as they left...
Buffy looked rather surprised when she opened the door, cellphone to her ear, but waved them in nonetheless.
“Um, Willow,” she said into her phone, “Can I call you back? I’ve just been invaded by vampires...”
***
With a sigh Willow said goodbye to Buffy, and for the thousandth time brushed off a little bug. She’d spent six days in the desert now, waiting for her hell beastie to show up, and so far there had been nothing except bugs and scorching heat. She’d been over her notes a million times, re-calibrated and re-translated every scrap of information and ancient prophecy she had, and it ought to be here by now...
Then suddenly she could feel a strange tugging sensation at the very edge of her awareness, and the bug she’d shooed away had now come back with five little friends. She watched in wonder as they flew up in front of her face, creating a perfect circle in the air, their bodies fanning out like a flower - then more tiny winged creatures and insects joined in, creating a fantastical, living pattern, and Willow suddenly realised that this had to be the ‘Circle of the Least’, that had so vexed her when translating...
Through the ever-expanding ring she could now see a shimmery shape slowly become solid; whispery shadows gradually solidifying into a firm body. Three heads, six legs, fantastical horns growing ever larger, and faces both terrible and hideous...
But Willow only saw power. She took a deep breath, smiled, and walked through the circle.
Chapter 15 on LJ
Chapter 15 on DW
First chapter & notes here (on LJ), for DW just follow the tags, and Master post of whole 'verse here (also tagged on DW).
Can also be found on AO3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): Almost 5000 words.
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhWaiting for Spike to turn up at their chosen meeting place, Angel tried to evaluate Christmas…
Christmas Day had been lovely until ‘Fred’ appeared, and her strange paranoia had unfortunately been rather infectious. He’d found himself unable to relax after that.
But even so it had been good to see Connor - and not just because Connor was a complete counterpoint to everything else that Christmas.
He’d told Connor about Illyria’s Christmas Day stunt, and how he’d had to divulge Connor’s existence to Nina and her family.
Connor had stared at him, then laughed.
“My ‘real’ parents were teenagers and I was adopted by a kind couple? That’ll be an interesting one to explain to my folks if they ever all meet…”
“Look, I had to make something up on the spot, I-“
“It’s fine,” he said, eyes still full of mirth, and Angel sighed.
“Look, she wasn’t just being difficult for the sake of it… She’s worried Wolfram and Hart will attack those I care about. And she sees you as the nearest warrior who can protect them.”
Connor raised an eyebrow, pleased. “Huh. Well I’ll try, should the need arise, but aren’t there, like, ten Slayers in LA?”
“She reckons they would be busy protecting the general population. She seems to think you are… devoted to me. Or that you should be.”
It was all rather uncomfortable, but Connor didn’t seem bothered, telling him to give his number to Nina so she could call if there was an emergency.
Angel still marvelled at how calm and unperturbed his son had turned out; somehow it made the memories of the past even worse. Knowing how resilient the boy was, how he took everything in his stride, the damage inflicted by Holtz and Jasmine was thrown into sharper relief.
Checking his watch again, he realised that Spike was now nearly half an hour late.
“In times past I would not have tolerated such tardiness,” Illyria remarked, and Angel - swearing to himself - finally brought out his cellphone. The guy had had almost a week with Buffy, was it too much to ask that he arrived on time?
Once Angel got through, Spike was of course completely unapologetic. And since he was still miles away, Angel decided that they had better go to him.
He glowered silently when Spike gave him directions based on a past murder - it was bad enough having silent reminders everywhere, having someone pretty much reminisce was worse...
As he stepped through the portal he was about to tell Spike in no uncertain terms how he felt, but seeing who his companion was, Angel abruptly forgot what he was about to say. Of all the people in the world, Riley Finn was the last one he’d expected to find Spike chatting with. And, vaguely remembering a very drunk conversation half a year ago in London, he frowned.
“What’s going on?”
Spike shrugged. “Nothing much, I was just doing him a favour, since I owed him one... where are we going again?”
Angel decided to ignore the Riley part, since he really didn’t want to know, and confined himself to answering the question.
“To negotiate with the Ramulka-ha clan. Did someone extract your brain over Christmas?”
Without waiting for a response he stepped through Illyria’s new portal to the demons’ dimension.
For a moment he wondered if maybe Illyria had gotten it wrong, as there was no sign of the ‘great palaces’ he’d had described to him. All around them a huge forest grew - giant, towering pale purple trees with foliage so thick the sun barely shone through.
With a sinking heart, Angel realised that this would be another one of those ‘blunder about until hitting something’ situations that was always so infuriating and boring.
Illyria - never one for chit-chat - just set off, her inner compass needle once more directing them. She didn’t even bother casting them a glance to see if they were following, knowing full well that they had no alternative. After her antics at Christmas, Angel was particularly annoyed about being beholden to her, but there was nothing he could do, no alternative option. Gloomily he trudged along, wishing that he could somehow get one over on their Old One.
Spike on the other hand seemed annoyingly chipper.
After they had been walking for a good while, and noticing Spike didn’t even swear when he accidentally stood in a muddy puddle that had been hidden underneath the bracken or when a branch flicked across his face, Angel finally asked:
“OK, what’s with the happy face?”
“I beat up Riley Finn,” Spike answered, nimbly jumping over a fallen tree. “And not just that, but pretty much had him eating out of my hand first. Well the other way round actually - could have eaten him if I’d wanted. Oh you should have seen the look on his face when he began figuring out what was going on. Bloody priceless.” He grinned wickedly. “Best. Christmas. Ever!”
Angel couldn’t help smiling back, but still had to ask.
“And how’s Buffy? I mean, if Riley was the best thing about your Christmas...”
Spike, not even attempting to raise to the bait, smoothly answered.
“She’s fine. Bit worried about this apocalypse that’s on the horizon, but apparently Willow had a break-through in her translating recently, so they’re hoping for the best. Oh - and she’d like it if we could do some training with the young ‘uns. Gettin’ a bit too complacent apparently, and she wants them toughening up if it really is the end of the world. Said we could probably give her a hand, yeah?”
Angel nodded slowly. Although the thought of training sessions abruptly and painfully reminded him of Cordy, it might be nice to do some simple sparring - fighting for his life every other day was wearying.
As evening fell some hours later, Angel noticed something. “Hey...”
He walked up to an oddly shaped moss-covered lump, and pulled away the green covering. Underneath was a softly gleaming white piece of marble - perfectly smooth, and with a careful pattern along one side.
In the growing darkness they discovered the remnants of what must once have been a magnificent place - and yet clearly it had been destroyed a long time ago. It would seem that the Ramulka-ha had not retired of their own will...
Yet again Angel found himself depressed at how many worlds were now nothing more than shadows of what they'd once been. Unlike the human world, where one empire followed another, in most demon dimensions once decline started, it was often terminal. Demons could be smart and cunning, but most lacked imagination and vision - no wonder the Senior Partners were so focussed on the humans.
He wondered what had happened here, and why. And if there were any left of the Ramulka-ha... Still, the Labyrinth ought to be there still. From what he had been told it would appear to be pretty indestructible - although getting in might be a problem.
After four days they came to the end of the forest and were faced with a wide, empty plain, before the ground rose up to tall mountains in the far distance. But... in between the forest and the mountains was a village, made up of hundreds of finely woven huts centered around a large, ancient looking tree. And there – towering behind the village - there was what appeared to be a long, grey-blue petrified wall. Could it really be the Labyrinth?
Now all they needed was for the clan to grant them access.
When they neared the huts, Angel saw a welcoming committee already waiting; the demons had built their village very strategically - there was nowhere to hide on the open plain. Everyone - friend or foe - was forced to walk in full view of the village for many miles.
The demons were tall and slender - almost elegant - with pale skin and large, widely set, red eyes, watching the world impassively. There was something oddly insect-like about them, although maybe it was just their immense stillness. Or possibly their very taut, smooth skin. They wore long, pale red robes, carefully embroidered and decorated, the designs echoing those they had found on the ruins in the forest.
Spike however looked up at the wall and whistled softly.
“Sleeping Beauty, eat your heart out!”
Angel could only nod in assent. The Labyrinth had obviously been grown, rather than built as he’d first thought, and it looked old enough to have been around since Illyria’s time. It was nigh-on impossible to estimate how tall it was, but Angel reckoned it’d dwarf even the tallest building in LA, and had stood there so long that the wood had petrified - an impenetrable mass of twisted branches, white-ish blue, and probably as tough as granite. There was no obvious entrance, so - just as predicted - they’d have to do some talking.
The negotiations took a long while, but were eased by the fact that the Shaman spoke fairly decent English. Unfortunately Angel, trying to make small talk, asked what sort of catastrophe had occurred - it must have been quite spectacular to wipe out most of the population and reduce a once great city to rubble. The reply was a stentorian silence, and he swiftly apologised, but in his mind he silently ruled out natural causes.
Deciding to take a chance, he put on his best Friendly CEO Face, and decided to go for broke.
“We are enemies of the Wolf, Ram and Hart, and we are on a quest to undo their power. We hope that a part of our puzzle is in this Labyrinth. Would it be possible for you to grant us access?”
At his words there was a sudden glimmer in the otherwise calm eyes of the shaman across from him, and Angel had to stop himself from smiling in triumph.
Unless he was completely mistaken, he’d wager quite a lot that the Ramulka-ha had somehow gotten on Wolfram and Hart’s bad side - maybe attempting to break their contract, if they were clients - and had reaped the standard punishment.
The whole dimension appeared faded and somehow lost, with a quiet resentment running underneath - an impotent anger at a bright past snatched away. But if the clan's residual wrath could be used to further Angel's war, then that was good.
And so was the fact that the shaman stopped slyly asking for monetary donations.
Illyria - whom Angel had half-expected to lead the negotiations - had watched in silence, blue eyes not giving anything away. She hadn’t spoken at all since they’d arrived… something which should give Angel pause, but right now he was just grateful.
The shaman - clearly a cautious individual - warned them that no one had ever come back from the Labyrinth. Having been told this numerous times already, they just nodded and said that this didn’t deter them. Angel almost expected them to get out some sort of form for them to sign, saying that the Ramulka-ha were not to be held responsible for any unfortunate incidents. Or maybe he’d just spent too long with lawyers.
After a long while however, it would appear that they had satisfied whatever criteria the demons wanted, but the shaman then informed them that he had to consult the spirits of their ancestors before he could let them in.
This was such a standard procedure that not even Spike complained anymore, and they watched the shaman and his helpers set off towards the forest with tired resignation.
Two days later the small party returned, and the shaman bowed deeply, saying that the Champions had been found worthy and he would start the ritual as soon as the sun set.
The ritual, as it turned out, took most of the night. Angel thought that this was a good sign - this was by far the best protected place they’d seen in a long while, just the sort of impossible-to-get-at place that would be a perfect hiding place for a piece of the Dead Key.
As the sun peered over the horizon, a messenger came to fetch them. They made their way up to the Labyrinth wall, and, as the shaman recited yet another round of incantations, they saw an opening slowly grow in amongst the branches. As though a silent wind was blowing the boughs bent back, revealing a dark and cold space, and not even the faintest glimmer of light appeared to get through.
As they motioned to enter, Illyria held up the hand in which she was not holding her axe, and turned to them - a most unpleasant look in her eyes.
“Kallkyn ikki loyvd.”
“Hey - that sounds like-” Spike began, but didn’t get any further as Illyria punched him so hard he flew several feet backwards. He didn’t get up, and Angel realised he was out cold. As he turned to the hell god, an angry diatribe on his lips, he belatedly realised that her foot was swinging towards him with deadly precision- and then everything went black.
When he came to again, he was met with the sight of several demons bent over him, clucking worriedly, and arguing with each other.
Illyria had vanished, and the gateway into the Labyrinth had grown back together as if never there. No prizes for working out what had happened… The Queen Bitch had decided she didn’t want sidekicks for this adventure.
Slowly he sat up, rubbing his sore head, and finally looked around to see Spike carefully getting on his feet. The other walked up to him, followed by hovering Ramulka-ha’s, and Angel noticed the colourful bruise spreading across his face.
“Now I reckon that was for the bar,” Spike said, resignedly, and Angel nodded. Illyria always, one way or another, got her own back - ‘forgive and forget’ wasn’t part of her vocabulary. And the fact that she’d made them look like idiots was probably just a bonus in her world.
The Ramulka-ha’s were still staring at them, whispering urgently amongst themselves, clearly thrown. The shaman, obviously worn out after all his recent work and looking actually upset, informed them that he could not perform the rite a second time until ‘the new moon passed before the old moon’ - whatever that meant - and Angel shrugged.
“Nevermind. We’ll just wait for her to come back.”
The shaman muttered something under his breath, and turned away, clearly not thinking she had a hope. Angel refused to even consider the possibility that she’d not return - he had great faith in her tenaciousness.
Spike dug out a cigarette, then flicked open his lighter and carefully lit up, before taking a deep drag.
“So - don’t suppose you brought any cards?”
The week that followed was one of the slowest Angel could ever remember. Spike had been ready to crawl up the walls of the Labyrinth on the second day, and he only got more difficult when he ran out of cigarettes on the third. Angel had at first found the atmosphere soothing, but even he was beginning to wish for something to happen - anything at all.
The Ramulka-ha were careful and precise in everything; a bit like demonic Shakers, except that they had a penchant for ornate, intricate designs, rather than simplicity. Everything they made and used was beautiful, and it wasn’t hard to see how they’d once used these skills to further their people...
For the first few days he tried to chat and be friendly. Partly in order to see if maybe he could find out a little more about the history, partly just to pass the time, but the Ramulka-ha had the single-minded outlook of true artists and were busy from dusk till dawn and not interested in small talk.
He and Spike had been stuck before of course, abandoned in the dimension with the endless rain, but those demons had been warriors first and foremost, a forthright and tough species. He’d been happy to leave, but had they been forced to stay the two of them could probably have found a place within their society.
But they seemed to have nothing at all in common with the Ramulka-ha. Apart from the manufacture of their pots, baskets, clothing and other items, they cultivated arid fields for growing food, necessitating daily water gathering from the river which was a full hour’s walk away.
The first time he witnessed the procession setting off, a long row of tall, willow-y youth with large, ornate jars balanced on their heads, he asked why they hadn’t located their village closer to the river? And were there no beasts of burden which they could use?
Silence was his only answer.
He quickly learned that this was their standard response to anything they didn’t want to discuss. No arguments, no excuses, just silence.
After a while he wondered if maybe they were literally cursed. Being unable to voice any upset couldn’t possibly be a choice, it had to be something enforced.
Even the children were stoic and quiet, watching their unusual visitors with large curious eyes, but never daring to speak. Not that they had any time to play or fool around - from the moment they were old enough to walk, they were in training, tiny little hands marshalled into creating beauty.
He almost said something, but then thought better of it. What alternatives were there? At least it was peaceful. There were worse lives, that was for sure.
There wasn’t even the frisson of dangerous predators or warring tribes. Nothing at all to break the monotony of the quiet, everyday life. So after a few days he found himself joining Spike on one of his hunting expeditions, more out of boredom than anything else, and discovered that the experience was far more enjoyable than he had anticipated. Not that he told Spike that of course.
Besides, there was nothing else for them to eat, since the Ramulka-ha were vegan in their diet and he didn’t fancy the gruel-like substance they seemed to be surviving on.
Still, the boredom made him miss Nina even more - knowing that there was a place where he could just relax and not worry about anything was like a special, private treasure. He often conjured up the image of Nina’s face - sweet and still so innocent, despite her strength. And her warm, supple body was not far behind in his fantasies. Shame that the huts had such thin walls...
Then on the 8th day something finally happened, and Angel desperately wished for the peace that would never return.
It was late afternoon, the shadows lengthening as the sun sent a few last beams across the landscape before vanishing behind the horizon, when there was a sudden commotion. Spike, who had been reduced to whittling stakes and crossbow darts to stave off boredom, glanced up and suddenly froze. Angel raised his eyes too - and barely believed what he saw.
Across the plain walked a lawyer - wearing a neat suit and tasteful tie, carrying a briefcase and not a hair out of place. The smug look on his face would have felt right at home on Lindsey MacDonald’s features.
Slowly both vampires got up from their resting place underneath the large tree in the middle of the village and waited, weapons concealed and ready.
The shaman went out to greet the stranger, and at their greeting Angel felt his fingers tighten around his dagger.
“We apologise most profusely for having to send for you - but their God went into the Labyrinth without them. And we did not know what to do.”
“No problem,” the lawyer smoothly replied. “If they’re stupid enough to trust someone who betrayed them, then that is not your fault. I would have come sooner, but the time difference is most inconvenient. So - where are our Champions?”
When they arrived, Angel coldly looked past the lawyer and caught the shaman’s eyes, the demon’s face as much of a blank as ever.
“You betrayed us!” he said, angrily, and the lawyer chuckled. “My dear Mr Angel, your surprise is rather amusing. Surely you know the price on your head is quite extraordinary - quite large enough to repay this people’s debt and more besides... It’s a shame you didn’t all go into the Labyrinth, but that can’t be helped. At least your Goddess has been taken out of action. But - as things stand, I have some paperwork I need you to complete.”
He opened his briefcase, and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen.
“What do you mean?” Angel asked, eyes darting to the tall, foreboding wall, now almost vanished in the encroaching darkness.
The lawyer smiled. “I need you to sign here, and here-”
“No - about the Labyrinth and Illyria. What’s in it?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not here to answer questions, only to make sure the paperwork is done correctly.”
“Very funny,” Angel answered, pulling out his dagger. “I’d like some answers, and I’d like them now!”
A nasty glint appeared in the lawyer’s eyes. “Your little hell god is lost forever - you can trust me on that one. And how very fortunate that you have a knife - you will of course have to sign in blood!”
The lawyer raised his hand, and with a sudden, terrified lurch in his stomach Angel felt his own hand move, before neatly slicing his left palm open.
“I also happen to be a necromancer,” the lawyer said coldly. “We did not want any more surprises from you... Please, take the pen. As I said, signature here, here and here.”
As Angel helplessly dipped the pen in his own blood, he almost felt sick. It couldn’t end like this... except, of course, that apparently it already had. This was what Illyria had worried about, at Christmas. A plan behind the scenes… It had all been too easy for them. He briefly wondered what really was at the heart of that Labyrinth, but if Wolfram and Hart thought that it could do away with a hell god, then they probably had their reasons - maybe it had been a trap? And what was the document - another way of stealing his free will?
The lawyer smiled a superior smile as the nib of the pen touched the paper - and then suddenly his head was at Angel’s feet. Angel swayed, unstable, as he abruptly regained control of his own body, and could sense Spike re-gaining his balance too. But all he could see was Illyria, bloodied axe in hand, studying him.
“Can I never leave you alone without you getting into trouble?” she asked, looking from one to the other, and then kicked the headless body out of the way. She could have taught Lindsey a thing or two about understated smugness.
“But how... he said that you were lost...”
Belatedly he realised that he was still holding the pen, and broke it, before he brought up his injured hand to his mouth, gently cleaning the wound with his tongue. Thankfully it had almost stopped bleeding by now.
Illyria looked round at the shocked faces of the clan who were surrounding them, and silently shook her head. Then, with a small smile, she held up her left hand, in which she held a bundle - it looked as though there was writing on the fabric, but Angel couldn’t make it out.
Slowly Spike reached out. “Is that-?”
Illyria nodded once, and Spike grinned widely as he shoved the bundle into his pocket, and Angel could feel relief and accomplishment flood through him. Their search wasn’t in vain!
“Better get the hell out of dodge, eh?” Spike remarked, and Angel took in the great number of demons silently staring at them in the darkness - the usual evening ritual of lighting the village fire obviously having been forgotten in the upheaval.
Slowly he shook his head. “No - we’re not done here.” Taking a step back he broke a branch off the huge tree behind him, and he could hear the gasp from all around. The tree was holy - apparently a shoot of the giant labyrinth wall from ancient times - and only the shaman was allowed to touch it.
“Give me your lighter,” Angel said to Spike, and, after a swift glance, the other obeyed.
There was now a wall of demons all around them, a palpable air of anger in their eyes and careful movements.
“Listen!” Angel said, eyes fixed on the shaman, as he deliberately flicked open the lighter and set fire to the branch in his hand. “You betrayed us - and there will be a price to pay. Let it be known that this is a war, and whoever works against us will be made to suffer!”
He held his torch aloft, and then in a swift movement turned and let the flames leap onto the tree.
A wail arose and Angel smiled harshly. “I will leave you alive - but that is all. If that is mercy or not I shall let you decide.”
Then he flung his burning branch over the crowd’s heads, and it landed with perfect precision on the roof of the shaman’s hut. The finely woven sturdy grass caught fire in an instant, and, thanks to the evening breeze, soon enough more huts were ablaze.
Panic broke out as the crowd suddenly scattered, desperate to salvage their homes as the flames spread and orange tongues licked up against the now black sky.
(And water was an hour away…)
Turning his head, Angel saw Spike studying him, face closed. He could imagine only too vividly what the other vampire was thinking. Wordlessly he handed the lighter back, and Spike pocketed it with a hollow-sounding “Thanks”.
Illyria however was watching the mayhem with undiluted pleasure, before turning her eyes on Angel. “You act like the great rulers of old. It... pleases me.”
Slowly Angel bent down, emptied the lawyer’s pockets and collected everything in the briefcase. As he stood up, he caught a furtive movement out of the corner of his eye, and a second later threw himself down on the ground to avoid the blast of magic that the shaman had directed at him. Before he had another chance, Angel’s dagger was embedded in his chest.
Getting back on his feet, retrieving his weapon, he saw Spike look around with an unhappy face. “Really ought to get out.”
Angel nodded, but for a moment took in the inferno all around. He’d spent his year at Wolfram and Hart trying to live with a compromise that tore him in half. Having finally made his choice, he had turned himself into that which he was fighting - trying to reach a different goal, sure, but using the same methods.
All he wanted was to go back to Nina, to recapture that wonderful Christmas spirit he had soaked himself in so thoroughly before ‘Fred’s’ appearance, but looking at the hell he’d created he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of anyone looking at him with admiration.
What was it Spike had said about Buffy wanting some help with her Slayers? That suddenly sounded like a great idea - actually doing some straightforward good for once. And Buffy would look at him with that mixed expression of disapproval and disappointment... the sort of look Nina ought to send him too. With a deep sigh he faced up to the fact that he needed to be honest with her - not that he'd ever lied, but he had never told her straight what it was that he did... because he knew that then it would be over - again. For good. But he couldn't face that conversation right now.
“Illyria - take us to Rome.”
She nodded, and just like that they were back in the world of humans - staring at Buffy’s door. As though he hadn’t just destroyed a whole peoples’ livelihood - he’d seen the storage huts catch fire just as they left...
Buffy looked rather surprised when she opened the door, cellphone to her ear, but waved them in nonetheless.
“Um, Willow,” she said into her phone, “Can I call you back? I’ve just been invaded by vampires...”
With a sigh Willow said goodbye to Buffy, and for the thousandth time brushed off a little bug. She’d spent six days in the desert now, waiting for her hell beastie to show up, and so far there had been nothing except bugs and scorching heat. She’d been over her notes a million times, re-calibrated and re-translated every scrap of information and ancient prophecy she had, and it ought to be here by now...
Then suddenly she could feel a strange tugging sensation at the very edge of her awareness, and the bug she’d shooed away had now come back with five little friends. She watched in wonder as they flew up in front of her face, creating a perfect circle in the air, their bodies fanning out like a flower - then more tiny winged creatures and insects joined in, creating a fantastical, living pattern, and Willow suddenly realised that this had to be the ‘Circle of the Least’, that had so vexed her when translating...
Through the ever-expanding ring she could now see a shimmery shape slowly become solid; whispery shadows gradually solidifying into a firm body. Three heads, six legs, fantastical horns growing ever larger, and faces both terrible and hideous...
But Willow only saw power. She took a deep breath, smiled, and walked through the circle.
Chapter 15 on LJ
Chapter 15 on DW
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Really interesting chapter, my dear! I wonder if Willow's apocalypse might have anything to do with theirs?
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I love, love, love writing him! Especially the place he's in here (as in, mentally).
If I were him, I'd be worried that I'm making Illyria happy. Because if she's you're moral compass, you've got problems.
... Just wait until the next chapter. You'll see what I mean. You've almost literally taken the words out of my mouth.
Really interesting chapter, my dear!
Thank you! And thank you for reading & commenting. ♥
I wonder if Willow's apocalypse might have anything to do with theirs?
All will be made clear. (Eventually...)