Big thanks again to masterjendu. Glad you speak Brit better than I do!
Chapter Eighteen
Althanea
Tara sat on a beat-up wicker chair on her back porch and stared unseeing at her garden. It was mid-afternoon and ferociously hot for early summer; here in the privacy of her back yard she wore a tank top, knowing that the curved demon-inflicted wounds would be visible above the neckline. At the moment, she didn’t care. Neither did she care that the bare legs beneath her shorts were white; maybe other people had time for frivolous things like tanning, but she was busy saving the world. There was a paperback book on the little table that she wasn’t reading, and ice cubes softly melted in her glass of lemonade.
Her earlier frenzy had passed, she had slept at last, and upon waking a sort of stoic calm had ensued. For now it was enough for her to sit in the beating heat of the sun, to close her eyes and see the warm pinkness of her eyelids, to listen to the sounds of her neighbourhood. All the while pain rippled through her, but she ignored it. With her eyes closed she visualized the garden of Peter’s peace, and wistfully wished that her own backyard garden could reflect even a tenth of that beauty. When she finally opened her eyes again to look at her drooping plants, dying of heat and neglect, she felt a twinge of guilt that she quickly suppressed.
Saving the world, Tara.
(In all your running around to save the world, have you ever discovered how to save yourself?)This life of work, and toil, and pain, and agony, it was all she knew. And it had been deliberately inflicted on her, to give her a capacity for healing beyond all mere mortals. She’d always been able to give the pain away, until now. There was always an outlet, a flood gate. But now she was trapped within a prison of flesh, doomed to die in torment and anguish, with no hope of release. She was wrapped in iron chains, binding her tightly; prey in a spider’s cocoon. That knowledge burned within her, yet all she could do was sit in the fierce sunlight and softly dream.
And she found beauty within.
Because this fiercely pounding sun was not her true source of light, her source was far more close, more personal. It was a love light
(Willow-light)and she burrowed into it, not needing to be the strong one, the rock, the foundation. Within the Willow-light, she could be embraced, she could be protected, she could be the soft one. Even here, miles away from the source of that light, Tara felt it burning within her, softening the bite of pain, calming her embittered soul. Tara recalled the deaths of her previous clients, how their soulfire would wound her, exacerbating the darkness within her tormented soul, until she ached to join them in the release. That was the miracle of Willow-light, that it calmed and healed, and Tara felt forever the connection between herself and her girl, the rubber band that would always draw her back. Long ago she had desired her patient’s tempestuous endings, their glorious finish, the sweetness of death. But that was in a past that didn’t have a Willow in it.
(Now I’m bathed in light)Tara smiled with her eyes closed and began to carefully reconstruct the false future that Aranaea had shown her over the weekend. With a little effort, she could again smell the tang of the tomato plants, feel the silkiness of Willow’s hair entwined in her fingers, hear a discordant buzz...
Her eyes flew open. That was the doorbell.
She clumsily got to her feet and lurched through the house, her legs prickling as they woke from sleep. She opened the front door, not remembering that her clothing was a little too revealing for strangers until she saw the eyes of the woman standing on her doorstep widen. “So that’s what the demon did to you,” this strange woman said, clucking in disapproval, her eyes crinkling in motherly worry.
Tara’s jaw dropped, not merely at the words of the stranger
(how on earth does she know that?)but at the stranger herself. The woman looked simultaneously old and young; her hair was graying, yet her skin and body were youthful. It wasn’t so much the outward appearance of the woman that had shocked Tara, it was her aura, which coruscated like sunlight through leaves. There was power in this woman, immense power like unto Willow’s, and Tara reeled back a little from her. “Tara Maclay?” the woman asked, as the silence lengthened between them, as if worried she had accused the wrong girl of being demon-bait.
Tara nodded, too bemused to speak.
“I’m Althanea. May I come in?” Tara nodded again and pulled the door open for her new guest. Althanea bustled into Tara’s home, dragging a small suitcase behind her. She was slender and willowy, with bouncy caramel-coloured hair and brown eyes that seemed to see instantly the truth of all things. Those delightful eyes quickly took in Tara’s surroundings, the seventies-style overstuffed paisley furniture, the mini-lights bedecked everywhere, and ornaments both magical and secular.
Tara finally found her manners. “What can I do for you, Althanea?” she asked.
“Actually, dear, it’s what I can do for you,” Althanea responded, setting down her suitcase and purse. “But I could start with a cold drink, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“You’re British,” Tara said, her voice filled with wonder, and her mind with speculation. The skin on her ruined face prickled as she recalled Angel’s words in the cemetery, his explanation of the British Watcher’s Council and how he simultaneously loathed them yet still worked with them. “Are you from the Watcher’s Council?”
“You don’t miss a trick, do you?” Althanea laughed. “No, dear, I’m not on the Council. Bunch of semi-useless fuddy-duddies they are. Or were, I guess is the term,” and her face fell a little. “They suffered tremendous casualties in the recent war.”
Tara beckoned for Althanea to follow her into the kitchen and waved at her to sit at a stool by the kitchen island. “The war against the First, right?” Tara said, her mind whirling. How much stranger could her life get?
“Yes,” Althanea replied. Tara handed her a tall glass of lemonade and leaned against the counter to look more closely at her guest. Althanea radiated confidence and purpose, and ever she continued to pulse with a green light. And even if it was rude, Tara had to know what her source of light was.
“Which goddess do you follow?” Tara asked.
If she was surprised at the question, Althanea didn’t show it. “The goddess Hecate,” she simply replied. Tara nodded. It made sense that this powerful witch would be a supplicant of Hecate, the goddess of sorcery. Hecate was also the patroness of the Wiccan arts, and widely followed by the henna-stamped college girl crowd. The more worshippers, the greater the power, and it was obvious how much of that power Hecate had bestowed upon this lone woman.
“What are you doing here?” Tara asked when the silence became thick. The older witch continued to gaze at her in a singularly disarming manner, seemingly probing the depths of Tara’s mind. Never before had she been studied so closely, and she found the experience decidedly uncomfortable.
“May we speak outside?” the witch asked. “I’ve just spent far too many hours on a plane.”
“Of course,” Tara replied, leading the way out to her sun-browned back porch, suddenly wishing that she had mown the grass or weeded the garden. Althanea didn’t seem to care overly much; she pulled up another rickety wicker chair and sat down easily, gracefully.
Tara sat and waited for the witch to speak, her mind endlessly circling in speculation. “I’ve come with a message from the gods,” Althanea said, looking at Tara carefully, swirling the ice cubes in her glass of lemonade. “We have been following your progress by vision, watching as you took in Willow Rosenberg, watching as you prepared the spell to enter her mind. We fought with you as you challenged Caleb, and we rejoiced with you when you defeated him. And then we mourned, Tara, for it became obvious that you had somewhere been misled.”
Tara had been following the words closely, an expression of sheer wonder on her face, wonder which turned to concern. “Misled?” she repeated.
“We know that you can no longer hear the voice of the goddess. We know there is a wall. That is why I have come, to give you this most important message, a message that will heal your courageous heart.” Althanea said this quietly, with utmost compassion, and Tara felt herself trembling under the force of this woman’s love. Insight illuminated her mind; so this is what her clients felt in her presence, this same force of unconditional love.
“Save Willow, so Willow can save the world,” the witch said, and Tara opened her mouth as if to say something
(I’ve already memorised that line)but the witch continued. “Not by healing her, but by loving her.”
Tara’s jaw dropped. Again.
Calmly, Althanea drained her glass of lemonade, then casually smashed the glass on the bricks of Tara’s patio. Tara recoiled a little; it isn’t often a stranger waltzes into your home and starts smashing your things. But then Tara remembered her first visit with the goddess Aranaea, how calmly the little goddess had broken the chalice, and repaired it again. Tara watched Althanea in rapt attention as the witch picked up a shard of glass and proceeded to slit her forearm with it.
“Hey!” Tara cried out. “Wh-what are you...”
“All witches of a certain power have access to the energies of the universe. We can call upon the element of Earth to heal ourselves.” Under Tara’s bewildered gaze, Althanea proceeded to heal the gash in her arm, a perfect reflection of Tara’s own healing work, as the wound thinned, then closed altogether, leaving only a thin smear of blood. “Willow has used this power before, to heal herself.”
Anger. All her efforts were in vain. Again. Tara seethed at the goddess, and her voice was choked in fury as she asked, “Why didn’t Aranaea tell me this?”
Meanwhile, Althanea had waved at the broken glass and it had reformed perfectly in the palm of her hand. Althanea rolled her eyes in consternation. “Aranaea hasn’t spent a lot of time among humans,” she started to explain. “She’d actually been in exile for a very long time until Willow called upon her for help. She honestly doesn’t have any understanding of human limitations. She didn’t understand why you balked so furiously over the weekend. She thought that you were being deliberately obstinate in refusing to love Willow, for she believed she had made herself clear.”
“I think I hate her,” Tara said through clenched teeth.
“You can love or hate her, but she does love you, and she was astounded by the amount of healing you did yesterday. But since the wall was up, she couldn’t talk to you, so she contacted her sister, my goddess Hecate, and implored her to send me to talk to you.”
“Wait, you said you saw all this yesterday?”
“Yes, why?”
“How did you get here so fast?” Tara asked, mentally trying to review possible flight plans, grateful for something meaningless to think about while her mind whirled with yet another betrayal of her capricious little goddess.
“That’s the joy of traveling westward,” Althanea replied with a hint of sarcasm. “I spent thirteen hours on the plane, but only three hours passed with the change in time zones. But that’s beside the point. I’m here now, to tell you what my goddess told me.”
“Why didn’t Aranaea talk to me sooner, like before the wall went up?” Tara asked, her voice bitter. “Why did she allow yesterday to happen?”
“We didn’t know you’d be trying to do it all in one day,” Althanea said, looking carefully at Tara. “What were you afraid of?”
“You say I’m supposed to love her,” Tara said quietly. “Yet she’s supposed to kill me with the scythe? It would ruin her. She’s already lost everyone she’s ever loved.”
“Why don’t you let Willow make that decision?” Althanea responded, smiling slightly to take the bite out of her words. Tara’s blood ran cold. “Offer your love, and see where it takes you. Yes, you will eventually die, but wouldn’t you rather die with a thousand memories of love to balance the thousands of hate?”
Tara’s throat clenched. Yes, yes, that is what she wished. Wait. Tara finally caught the word Althanea used. Eventually. “Eventually? What do you mean, eventually?”
Althanea’s face fell. “Ah, the goddess failed to explain that as well, didn’t she? She’s a right little sod at times.”
“You mean to tell me that, not only do I get to love Willow, I get to live as well? For a while at least? She doesn’t have to kill me right away?”
Althanea pointed to the heavy chain hanging from Tara’s neck. Tara usually chose to wear the heavy sun-symbol inside her clothing, close to her skin, just for safety’s sake, and today was no different. “The preacher is good and chained. There he will remain, until the spell decays or if you sicken or if you die accidentally. That’s another reason Aranaea showed you the vision she did, of a future with Willow that may be possible for you.” Tara blushed to think that Althanea had seen the contents of the vision. Althanea noticed it, and hurriedly added, “Heavens no, I didn’t see the vision. I was just told it showed a possibility of a future with you and Willow.”
“Why then did all that horrible stuff happen to me?” she croaked. “I thought it was to deepen my capacity to heal.”
“And it did, didn’t it?” the witch replied. “Your healing power is directly linked to love, which is why you had so much trouble finding your limits in nursing school. The greater your suffering, the greater your capacity for love, the greater the reward.” Tara shivered as the words cascaded over her. Althanea leaned over to her, capturing her eyes. “It is by loving Willow that you will save the world. Her physical body is broken, but it will heal. But you are right; she has lost everything. And without you, the love that only you can offer, this world will mean nothing to her, and she’ll allow it to fall into cataclysm.”
Tara was silent as the terrified knot of her beleaguered soul began to dissolve under the truth of Althanea’s words. “No matter what I do,” she finally said, “I am doomed. I can’t give the pain away any more. I don’t know how much you know about true healing, but this wall is bad. If I can’t absorb the pain myself somehow,” and she let forth a watery little hiccup of agony, as her very bones reminded her of how much she had taken, “it will fester in me. I may die, and what will Willow do then?”
Althanea nodded. “It’s true, that the current path you are on leads inexplicably to your death at Willow’s hands. If you get sick from this, sick unto death, she will have to kill you earlier than we thought.” Then the witch smiled, a deep and radiant smile, and continued, “I wouldn’t worry too much. Willow has always found a way to break the rules. You wouldn’t believe how many times this whole world stood upon the brink of annihilation and the Scooby Gang has always averted it. And every single time their cause would have failed but for Willow. She’s stronger than you think, and she has this annoying capability of circumventing the apocalypse, always by breaking the rules, and always to the dismay of the Watcher’s Council.” The witch chuckled. “How many sleepless nights she had given them.”
And the Willow-light sustained Tara, and gave her new hope, and Tara dared lift her face to the radiant witch beside her. “I can love her?”
“It’s what you were born to do,” the witch replied. “Now go do it.”
Tara looked down at her ravaged chest. “I better get changed, first.” She began to get up, feeling a lightness pervade her, soothing the ravagings of pain within, but was stopped by Althanea’s hand.
“May I try?” Althanea asked softly, pointing delicately to Tara’s clawed face. “It probably won’t work, but I’d like to try.”
“Certainly,” Tara replied, her heart leaping in hope. Surely a witch as powerful as Althanea could overcome the barrier. Althanea brought her chair closer to Tara, then both witches closed their eyes as Althanea put her cool fingers on Tara’s face. For long moments Tara waited, but felt nothing but the unending agony in her muscles and bones.
“I’m sorry,” Althanea said, finally pulling away. “I searched every part of the wall I could, but there is no crack, no crevice.” Reacting to Tara’s stricken gaze, the witch continued, “But I still wouldn’t lose hope. Not when there’s a Willow around to change the rules.”
Althanea’s absolute confidence in Willow buoyed Tara’s flagging spirits, and her heart continued to beat in a crazy rhythm of possibility. But having those cool fingers on her demon-ravaged face reminded her of something else Angel had said that night in the cemetery. “Do you know what happened to Faith?” she suddenly asked.
Althanea looked at her closely, and Tara just knew that Althanea was debating with herself whether to break oath and tell Tara the truth or not. “You don’t have to say,” Tara continued, but Althanea apparently made up her mind.
“She was rescued by an Watcher’s Council extraction team and taken to the healer in Romania. Willow had to come to you, for various reasons, and so we sent her to Irina.”
“She’s safe?” Tara asked, feeling a wave of sympathy for this unknown girl.
“Yes,” Althanea smiled. “She’s safe.” She sat up straighter in her seat, and returned her unbroken glass to the little patio table. “Now, shall we go to the hospice? I sense some witchery’s afoot.”
“Let me get changed,” Tara said, “And we’ll go to the hospice to see her.”
Tara left Althanea on her porch while she quickly changed into blue jeans and a V-neck blouse, her heart singing all the while. In fifteen minutes she and Althanea were pulling into the parking lot of the hospice. Tara shut off the engine, and a look of concern crossed her face.
“What is it?” Althanea asked.
“I’m not supposed to be coming in today,” Tara replied. “If my supervisor sees me, he’ll likely send me home.” At Althanea’s questioning smile, Tara elaborated, “He’s a little protective of me.”
“Do you know the magic to make yourself unremarkable?” Althanea asked. Tara nodded, her face brightening. “What do you plan on doing in there?” Althanea asked.
“I’m going to mindsurf in, and bring her out of her coma,” Tara replied with a surge of confidence. And though she couldn’t hear the voice of the goddess agreeing with her, she did feel warmth pervade through her ravaged chest, easing the pain in her lower back, scolding the mean little gremlin torturer.
“Let me cast the spell for both of us then,” Althanea said. “You’ll need all your strength for... what do you call it? Mindsurfing?”
Tara caught the tiny twinge of jealousy in the older witch’s voice. “You don’t mindsurf?” Tara asked.
“I don’t have the ability, no,” Althanea admitted. “Few people do. Only those people who have had access to Aranaea during her exile.”
They got out of the car and Althanea performed her chant, gesturing a circle about the both of them, and they entered the hospice. The spell worked perfectly; they didn’t have to avoid the other people in the hallway, everyone just gave them a wide berth unconsciously. Soon they entered Willow’s room, walking right past April, who didn’t even notice them at all. April was busy reading to sleeping Willow, and the afternoon sun was setting her patient aglow. Just seeing her again, with her purpose finally full and clear, Tara’s heart hiccupped in her chest, and her throat tightened in sweet agony.
“So this is Willow Rosenberg, in the flesh,” Althanea said, standing by Willow’s bed. April’s voice didn’t even stop; she continued reading aloud.
“You’ve never met her?” Tara asked, surprised.
“No, she’s never come to England, and my other trips to America didn’t include the Hellmouth as a vacation spot. We spoke often over the phone this past year, as my coven discovered in vision the other potential slayers and sent them to Sunnydale.”
“Here she is,” Tara said, her soul blooming, unfolding, widening. And because she couldn’t just merely stand there beside her love, Tara took Willow’s hand in her own, and caressed it, her throat thick with emotion. April didn’t even glance at the movement.
“How will you do it?” Althanea asked curiously, standing at the foot of the bed and holding Willow’s blanketed feet tenderly, a gesture that caused a short burst of jealousy within Tara.
“I sit behind her and put my hands on her head. Then I just, it’s hard to explain, I just sink in.” Tara looked sharply at Althanea. “It’s a good thing you’re unremarkable at present. I’d have a hard time explaining why you are here. This is an immediate family only kind of situation.” Althanea grinned at her, and Tara continued, “I’m not sure how long it will take. Will you stay with me, keep the spell on me?” Her voice quavered a bit, wondering if Althanea was going to leave her.
“Of course, dear heart,” the older witch replied. “Now go find your girl.”
Tara pulled over her favourite stool, momentarily alarmed when April got up and left the room, but quickly calmed herself again. Before she sat down she stood by Willow’s head, traced Willow’s scar
(no longer a headstone of lost hope, but a monument of devotion)and whispered, “I’ll bring you to life.” Revelling in her near-invisibility, Tara then dared to swiftly kiss Willow on her chapped lips. The kiss, though brief, nearly brought Tara to her knees, her whole being melting in Willow’s soulfire. She sat behind Willow’s head, ran her fingers luxuriously through her hair, suddenly glad she had taken away the horrific bristly laceration on Willow’s head.
And echoing the words she had spoken less than a week before, Tara whispered, “Dearest heart, let me in.”
As Tara glimpsed the sadistic playground Caleb made of Willow’s Sunnydale, she beheld what her courageous girl had been doing since her freedom from his imprisonment and choked back a storm of tears. “Oh, my darling,” she whispered.
to be continued....
And now, dear kittens, there will be a short drought. I want the next post to be perfect.
Chapter Nineteen: Yom Dmaot (Day of Tears) will be posted on Tuesday, November 13, approx 4 pm MT.
You won't want to miss it, as we explore Willow's point of view, the personal demons she must face before awakening to a new life.
Phoenix
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