Okay, trying to post this one more time, then I give up! Thanks to B, C, Linda & Puff—you know what for. Enjoy!
Title: Darkness Falls Author: KrisBo5 (Kris, obviously)
Email address: KrisBo5@aol.com Feedback: Sure, I’d love it.
Distribution: This story is the narrative form of four spec scripts I have written for BVS, each of which is registered with the WGAw, so please don’t publish it or reproduce it in any way, shape, or form. If for some reason you’d like to, just ask first. It’s the polite thing to do.
Spoilers: Season 6, “Entropy” and “Seeing Red” episodes.
Rating: The story in its entirety: PG-13 to NC–17. This includes sex, violence, language.
Pairing: Willow and Tara, first, foremost, forever! However, Buffy and the others are here as well, Buffy and Dawn most especially.
Disclaimer: Hey, I didn’t create these characters, those kudos belong to Joss and crew. I’m just borrowing them for the story I did write. Also, the Bible verse is from the Letter of Paul to the Thessalonians.
Summary: The mythology surrounding the creation of the first Slayer(it sounds like a Buffy story, but have no fear, this is all about Willow and Tara).
Note: Things from here on out? Ain’t gonna be pretty. Angst and loss and pain. Read at your own discretion.
Darkness Falls, Part Two: Maelstrom(2C)
“That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.” Emily Dickinson, Poem Number 1741
Cold.
Hard.
Pain.
As consciousness began to make itself known in painful abundance, Tara squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, grimacing with the effort.
Ow. . . . Taking a deep breath, Tara pushed through the haze of sleepiness, her mind and body rising steadily to wakefulness.
“Wi—” she started, her voice cracking from dryness. Tara coughed, instantly regretting the additional movement. “Willow. . . Sweetie, it’s cold. . . I need some blanket. . . .”
There was no answer, just as there was no forthcoming blanket.
“Willow. . . ?”
Tara’s fingers flexed beside her, rubbing over a smooth, cold, hard surface. A frown creased the blonde’s forehead as she realized that she did not know where it was she was sleeping.
. . . not our bed. . . . Her eyes fluttered, opening slowly, only to close again immediately as a wave of nausea swept over her. She moaned, her head spinning, her body achy and stiff and heavy from. . .
Poison and. . .
Falling and. . .
Unconsciousness. . . .
Unconscious. . . not asleep. . . not dead. . . I’m not dead. . . . Tara forced her eyes open then, blinking several times in an attempt to focus. Wherever she was, it was cast in darkness, the only illumination coming from a continually flickering orange and yellow glow in different areas of the room. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Tara could finally make out segments of the ceiling above her: rock.
“What is. . . .”
She gingerly turned her head to the right, trying to survey more of the room, trying to get a clearer sense of where she was.
Owww. Again she grimaced as sharp pain seared the back of her neck and quickly spiraled down into her shoulders and upper back. Taking several short, fast breaths, Tara opened her eyes, finding herself staring at a wall about twenty feet away from her. But there was something very, very strange about the wall; the blonde squinted in the flickering light, trying to make out more clearly what it was exactly. The wall was built in squares, each one measuring approximately two feet by two feet, each completely identical to the other, each with a smaller-sized square set dead-center.
“. . . this. . . place?”
Tara’s eyes moved down the wall to the floor, discerning two additional pieces of information immediately: one, she was above it, almost four feet; and two, the floor, like the ceiling, was made from rocks. But, unlike the ceiling, these rocks were carved squares.
Cobblestone? Despite further pain, Tara rotated her head again, letting her eyes travel up the wall of squares to the ceiling. She stared hard, but could see. . .
Nothing. She let her eyes continue on their path, craning her head to the left to keep up; as her eyes reached their destination, Tara froze.
In horror.
In terror.
In the darkness beside her, not six inches away, was a woman’s corpse. Tara’s eyes grew wide as she processed— in a split second— the image before her eyes: the woman in the car in her dream.
Only this. . .
. . . was no dream.
This was a living nightmare.
The woman was dead, her neck split open to the bone. And the blood— so much of her blood— was splattered over her body and dress, the red liquid now dried to a flaking, crusty darker brownish-red hue.
Jesus!Tara screamed.
She rolled to her right away from the body, and suddenly felt the solid stone beneath her disappear.
She was falling.
Fast.
She hit the ground, striking both knees and her forehead sharply against the cold, hard rock. Bursts of white light danced before her eyes, causing them to fill with tears. She paused a momentarily, giving in to the pain, letting it wash over her.
And then, she remembered. . . .
Tara rolled onto her back and sat up; she kicked her feet and pushed her hands on the ground behind her, crab-crawling backwards over the stone floor. . .
. . . far, far away from the body.
Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!Her back and head impacted with the wall, halting her retreat, but she continued to kick her feet several more times, trying to put more distance between herself and the horror she had just seen. Her feet slowed finally, and she pulled her knees up tightly against her chest. Tara’s breathing came in deep, panicked gasps, the force of the respirations echoing throughout the darkened chamber; her heart pounded furiously, sending her adrenaline-induced blood rushing in her ears. In the silence of her surroundings, Tara was convinced someone would hear.
But there was no one.
She was alone.
After what seemed like hours, Tara finally forced her eyes open. She focused immediately on the woman, who she saw was laying on an enormous, four-foot high, rectangular block of whitish-grey colored marble. To Tara, it looked like an. . . .
. . . altar. . . .She stared at the woman, praying silently to whoever might be listening, that if she remained quiet and still, the woman would move.
The woman would breathe.
The woman would. . . live.
Tara swallowed hard and tried to calm her breathing, knowing that if she continued, she would hyperventilate and pass out. That, she did not want.
Gotta get up. Gotta get. . . out. . . of. . . hereReaching out to her side, she tried to grab onto a part of the wall she leaned against, seeking some purchase to leverage herself onto her feet. Her fingers moved over the sleek surface of the wall, bumping against a raised edge; she crawled her fingertips over the edge, grasping it tightly. Shifting her weight slightly, Tara pushed her legs under her, turning sideways to the wall. She tore her eyes away from the center of the room, focusing on the task of getting up. . . and getting out.
She let her eyes journey to the small square edge of the wall that her fingers so desperately clung to; it was a brown, coppery-colored metal square, inlaid in the center of the larger square of the wall. Tara blinked, dipping her head closer.
‘Simone, b. 961 – d. 978, Coeur de mon coeur’
Tara reread the words again. She scooted delicately to her right, reading the next plaque in the next square.
‘Greta, b. 1280 – d. 1321, Herz meines herzens’
Tara raised her eyes to the panel above.
‘Vidonia, b. 1402 – d. 1426, Coração de meu coração’
Tara followed the plaques, moving her gaze to her right. When they reached the other wall, she saw more.
‘Leora, b. 1861 – d. 1883, Cuore del mio cuore’
‘Vilhelmina, b. 426 – d. 450, Hjärta av min hjärta’
‘Cermaka , b. 17 – d. 36, Srdce ze muuj srdce’
‘Mahault, b. 70 BC – d. 48 BC, Hart van mijn hart’
Again she followed, turning herself around fully to face the center of the room. On and on, one after the other, row after row. She estimated nearly a hundred plaques, each containing the name, birth and death of a woman.
Of young women.
Rhonwen. Nighinn. Sashenka. Gizela. Una. Zahra. Ebony. Moira. Fatima. Ade. Kontxesi. Oriana. Hanne. Quibilah. Brandice. Dorotea. Iseabal. Jocasta. Leilani. Vania. Devi. Piroska. Behula. Naimh. Mariko. Xanthe. Thorhalla. Soray. Candra. Ursula. Ikla. Kubra. Winifrid.
Oh, Goddess. . . so. . . many. . . dead. . . . Tara’s mouth opened slightly as the reality of where she was became abundantly clear.
Mausoleum. Her eyes riveted to the woman’s body, then quickly darted around the rest of the chamber.
I won’t die here. . . they won’t seal me up in here. . . .Tara pushed herself away from the wall, feeling another wave of dizziness strike as she moved across the room. As she neared the center, she tried to look over the dead woman, to look past her. . . . She raised a hand to her head, letting her fingers gently touch the growing bump there, all the while helping to shield her eyes from the body.
In the far corner, Tara saw a small amount of white light, different from the orange-yellow glow emitted from the few torches surrounding her.
. . . get out. . . I have to get out. . . . A half dozen feet from the lighted corner, Tara froze.
Click-click, click-click, click-click, click-click.
Someone. . . something was coming.
Down the stairs.
Towards her.
Click-click, click-click, click-click, click-click.
More feet joining the first.
More coming down, descending slowly into the darkness towards her.
Tara felt her body begin to tremble with a sudden surge of fight or flight. She looked quickly right-to-left, up-and-down, everywhere. . . anywhere.
For another way out.
For
any way out.
But there was none.
Click-click, click-click, click-click, click-click.
Even more feet descending.
Goddess, help me. . . .A shadow.
At first one. . .
. . . then another. . .
. . . and another. . .
. . . and another. . . .
They appeared before her in the stairwell, elongating in a freakish, nightmare display as they neared the bottom and distanced themselves from the upstairs light.
. . . Willow. . . .Tara began to back up, her feet scraping over the cobblestones squares beneath her; not looking where she was walking, she bumped into the altar and instantly put a hand behind her to steady herself. Realizing what she was touching, Tara snatched her hand back and covered her mouth, preventing the scream that was harvesting in the back of her throat. Pushing herself around the edge, Tara continued to fall back, until she found herself, once again, on the other side of the chamber pressed up against the wall.
And, then, they were there.
At least two dozen of them.
Men and women, all dressed in their finest, all beautiful. . . .
. . . all monsters.
They rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and entered the chamber, Scorpion Man walking point. They fanned out along its sides, moving closer to the terrified blonde.
Tara pushed herself harder against the wall, trying to will herself to dissolve into it. Her breath sped up once more as she watched them. . . .
. . . watch her.
But they made no movement towards her.
They said nothing.
They did nothing.
Except watch her.
Tara’s eyes pinged from one ‘beautiful thing’ to another, trying desperately to find an escape. Looking once more at the woman’s body, Tara made her decision.
No flight. . . . Her hands became fists as she readied herself to cast against them. Just as she opened her mouth to begin the spell, she saw them turn their eyes away from her.
Towards the stairs.
Click-click, click-click, click-click, click-click.
Tara found her eyes following helplessly, her spell forgotten for the moment.
Click-click, click-click, click-click, click-click.
Tara closed her eyes briefly as the steps grew louder. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes.
Madrine.Madrine rounded the corner and entered the chamber. She wore jeans and boots and a white cowl-neck sweater. Mr. Bellum walked one step behind her. Madrine stopped near the foot of the marble, her eyes drifting over Cassandra. She gently ran her fingers over the cool, smooth surface, not touching her, but somehow revering her. Then, she lifted her eyes and looked directly at Tara.
Unconsciously, Tara sidestepped, her body sliding against the wall.
Madrine smiled.
Tara felt like fingernails had just scraped against a chalkboard; her skin crawled, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
Goddess. . . please. . . .Madrine moved slowly around the edge of the slab, a smile still adorning her face. Again, Tara shrank back. Madrine stopped, clasping her hands in front of her. “You’re feeling better?” Tara stared at her silently. “You fell very hard.”
I had help.“Yes, well. . . .” Madrine said, as she began to move again, this time along the length of the marble, loosening her fingers so one hand could run over its surface as she walked.
Tara watched Madrine as she walked beside the body, feelings of loss and sadness coming off the woman in waves.
She— she loved her. . . . She love— No! Tara closed her eyes tight and shook her head softly.
No! She does not love. She is a monster. . . a soulless thing. . . . Tara opened her eyes, her face hardened with a newfound resolve.
. . . that killed my Willow. Tara steeled herself, bracing her body against the wall; at her sides, her hands became fists once more.
She would end this now.
Once and for all.
In a voice no more than a whisper, she began.
“La stella di giorno, io domando per aiuto tuo.”
Star of the day, I ask for your help.Tara waited, but, unlike before, she felt nothing. She swallowed hard, trying to push her anger and fear aside so she could concentrate more fully on the spell. The monsters watched her, but not as the others had upstairs. Their expressions were curious, almost patient, their manner almost bored.
“Benedi la notte con la luce tuo.”
Bless the night with your light. Again, she paused, her heart speeding up as seconds ticked by with. . . .
. . . no tingle.
. . . no energy.
. . . no. . .magick.
“No,” Madrine said quietly from where she stood by Cassandra. Tara stiffened, her eyes holding on Madrine’s face. “Non magia da qui, per favore.” Madrine raised her eyes from Cassandra’s body and looked at Tara. “Scusi.”
She— she understood. . . .Madrine pushed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “Si, io capisco.”
She. . . understood. . . . “Io parlo italiano.” Madrine allowed herself a small smile. “E molti altro lingue. Tedesco, cinese, francese, greco, spanolo, russo, giapponese. . . inglese.” Madrine continued to smile at Tara, reveling in the blonde’s amazement of her ability to understand the words of the spell. “These days I prefer English,” she said, removing her hands from her pockets and crossing her arms over her chest.
And then, at long last, Tara felt something.
Anger.
It doesn’t matter. . . she understood. . . it doesn’t matter. . . . Tara’s whole body went rigid as she prepared to try the spell again.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Madrine said, raising an index finger towards Tara. “No magic here.”
Tara ignored her. She began to raise her fists, readying to strike in a more open magickal assault, when Madrine’s eyes darted to the corner at Tara’s left. Tara felt the movement before she actually saw it; she whipped her head to the corner and watched as a black-robed ‘man,’ his face covered completely by an over-sized hood, stepped out from the shadows. Cradled in the palms of his hands was a small, bluish-colored stone. Tara felt a rush of heat and anxiety flood her body.
Where did he. . . . She stepped away from him, only to be stopped short when a noise to her right caused her to turn that direction; another black-robed figure emerged from the shadowy corner, a red stone in his hands. Tara let her eyes move to the far corners of the chamber, and although she could not see what the two emerging black-robed men held, she knew they were colored stones.
Dispiriting Stones. . . .“I really can’t have you going Super Nova again.”
Binding Stones. . . .“I’m sorry.”
Tara let her hands fall limply to her sides, a feeling of utter defeat flooding her body, her mind, her soul. So long as the Stones bound her power, she could do no magic.
She was lost.
Helpless.
Powerless.
Dead.
Tara let go of the wall, dropping her hands limply to her sides. She pushed her back away the wall, forcing herself. . . .
To stand up.
To stand tall.
I’m coming, Willow. . . .Madrine watched Tara a moment longer, recognizing the shift of her mind, of her body, of her soul. Another smile touched her lips as she walked several steps towards Tara.
Tara raised her chin and made a conscious effort not to shrink back in fear.
I’m coming, Love. . . .Madrine stopped a half dozen feet away, mirroring Tara’s pose. “If I wanted you dead, Tara Maclay,” Madrine said, tilting her head slightly as she continued to survey the blonde, “you would be dead.”
Madrine’s words echoed in Tara’s mind, and despite her bravado, the blonde shuddered. Without willing them, her eyes moved towards Scorpion Man; still the picture of beauty and perfection. . . and still a monster. The blue eyes made their way to the others, the vampires, the demons, the robed figures yet to be seen fully.
I won’t become a monster . . . . Tara’s eyes shifted back to Madrine.
You won’t make me a monster. I’ll die before that. . . . I’ll kill myself before that. Madrine glanced once at Scorpion Man, then back to Tara. “I don’t want you dead— at all.” She stepped closer. “You’re of no use to me dead.”
Use. . . ?Madrine turned away from her then, slowly making her way back towards the altar, and the body lying upon it. She stopped beside it, close to the woman’s side, and gently ran her fingers over the cool, smooth marble surface, not touching the woman, but somehow revering her. “Cassandra,” Madrine said, her tone an introduction as much as an answer. She looked over her shoulder, back to Tara. “
My Cassandra.”
Tara’s mind whirled, the name resounding loudly in the recesses of her recent memory.
The Magic Box.
The alley.
Buffy.
Tara’s eyes riveted to the woman’s face.
Cassandra. . . . Oh, Goddess, Buffy. . . .Madrine moved along the marble edge, steadily making her way to the wall behind. Tara’s eyes silently followed her movement, never blinking, never straying. Madrine stared at one of the squares for several seconds, then raised a hand and let her fingers run over the engraved smaller plaque. “Cassandra. . . Heart of my heart,” she said in a quiet but firm voice.
Heart of my heart. . . . Tara turned her head slightly, letting her eyes glimpse the nearest plaque beside her.
‘Exaltacion, b. 1614 – d. 1633, Corazón de mi corazón’
Spanish. . . ? Heart of my heart. . . ? Tara looked at Madrine, her brow crinkling as tumblers began to click into place.
Not victims. . . lovers. . . her lovers. . . .Madrine’s hand dropped to her side as she looked at Tara. “Yes,” she said, seeing the expression of comprehension dawning on the blonde’s face. “They all were the ‘heart of my heart.’ All dear to me— in their own ways.”
Again, Tara’s thoughts raced, images of the dates she had read earlier flashing across her mind’s eye.
961 – 978, 1280 – 1321, 1402 – 1426, 1861 – 1883, 426 – 450, 17 – 36, . . . 70 B.C. – 48 B.C. . . . Jesus.Madrine cast a glance at Cassandra. “But none so like Cassandra.” Madrine took a step towards the altar, stopping at its head. She stood silent for several seconds, staring down upon the body. “No one understood her. Not ever.” She reached out, her fingers pausing just before touching Casssandra’s blonde hair; Madrine looked at Tara. “Oh, they revered her, don’t misunderstand me. Her beauty was legendary. All of Troy— and the cities beyond— knew of her beauty.”
Troy? What the. . . ?“But they never
understood.” Madrine looked once more at Cassandra and pulled her hand back, closing it into a tight fist. “They thought her to be mad, you see. A simple lunatic. And so, no one believed her.” Madrine moved around the head of the altar to stand beside it, opposite Tara. “Again and again, she told them— of the things to come, of what would happen— and still. . . .” Madrine shook her head slowly, her expression one of disgust. “But
I believed her. I had heard of this woman— this Cassandra, this far-seer— and I believed. . . . The gift that she possessed—this foresight, this prophesy— I knew that I could use it. With her beside me, I could know what was to come. When. Who.” Madrine allowed herself a small smile then. “I could be invincible.”
. . . no one believed. . . Cassandra. . . prophesy. . . Troy. . . . Words and images fired rapidly in Tara’s mind; in an instant, her brain shuffled through thousands and thousands of movies she had seen, books she had read, myths she had heard, until. . . .
Myth. . . . Greek Myth. . . . Cassandra the Prophetess. . . . No. . . way. . . . She was. . . a . . . . Tara shook her head imperceptibly, unable to believe what she was hearing. “. . . myth,” she said in whispered tones.
Madrine’s eyes riveted to Tara. “Myth?” she said, her voice harsh. She pointed to Cassandra’s body. “
She was no myth.” Madrine took a step towards Tara, her posture suddenly becoming predatory and dangerous. “You will not speak of her as such.”
Tara trembled uncontrollably when Madrine took the single step towards her, but she stood steadfast in place. In that moment, when Madrine’s manner changed and she approached Tara, the blonde felt. . . something. It was like a tremendous weight bearing down on her, almost crushing her. Whether it was magic or her inherent power, Tara didn’t know. All she did know was that she was suddenly having trouble breathing and she was. . . terrified.
“. . . despise not prophesyings. . . for whoever despises any of these, under whatever pretence, will surely quench the Spirit.”
Madrine froze.
Tara’s eyes, though she consciously willed them to remain on Madrine, slid to her left and fell upon Scorpion Man. He was looking at Tara with a mixture of impiety and self-importance.
“You. . . dare speak
His words,” Madrine said, her voice low, her eyes firmly on Tara. Tara’s eyes flew back to Madrine’s, wide and afraid.
Around the room, all eyes shifted silently from Madrine and Tara to Scorpion Man. Scorpion Man turned from Tara to look upon his Mistress.
“In
my house?”
The two ‘men’ standing beside Scorpion Man sidestepped away from him, moving back towards the others behind the altar.
Tara stood perfectly still.
“You. . . defile me with your presence.”
Scorpion Man opened his mouth to speak, to apologize and beg forgiveness, but in a blinding, blurring motion, Madrine moved. The air inside the chamber seemed to bend and warp with her unearthly speed, as one moment she was stone still a dozen feet from Tara, and the next she was across the room at the other wall in front of Scorpion Man, a mere two feet away.
A warm spray hit the left side of Tara’s face and throat, making her flinch. Fingers shaking, she reached up and wiped at the wetness on her cheek and jaw. Then, holding her hand out before her eyes, she squinted to make out what it was.
It was dark.
It was thick.
She tilted her hand slightly so it caught the direct light from a nearby torch.
It was red.
Tara’s face fell.
It. . . was blood.
No! No! No! Tara’s knees buckled. The blonde stumbled a step away from them as she tried to stop herself from collapsing. Her right elbow and shoulder crashed heavily into the marble behind her, but Tara felt no pain. She spastically swiped her hands over her face and throat, desperately trying to remove every trace of blood from her skin. Wiping her jaw against the shoulder of her shirt one last time, Tara looked at Madrine and Scorpion Man.
Scorpion Man’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound emerged. He raised his hands to his throat, closing them both around it tightly; blood poured out, seeping and oozing through, over, and around his shaking hands. His eyes bulged in horror as he stared at Madrine.
In her hand, held up before his eyes, was his throat.
Skin.
Muscle.
Veins.
Arteries.
Larynx.
Esophagus.
The mass, swathed in still-warm blood, ran freely down the white material of Madrine’s sweater, a darkened stain spreading down through the cloth until it reached her bent elbow.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Droplets of blood sprinkled the cobblestones between them, mixing with the ever-increasing pool at Scorpion Man’s feet.
Tara felt her knees begin to give way again, this time accompanied by white pin-pricks of light dancing before her eyes.
. . . Goddess. . . .The others in the room became uneasy and restless, a new thrum of energies rising among them in the chamber. They seemed to lean forward, edging en masse, towards Madrine and Scorpion Man.
Without a word, Madrine raised her hand to her mouth, not caring as blood painted a path over her chin and throat and chest. And then, as if it were merely a Popsicle, she opened her mouth and took in the gruesome flesh. Savoring the warm, iron taste of the blood coating her tongue, she drew the flesh out, nary a drop of blood remaining.
. . . H. . . e. . . l. . . p. . . .Scorpion Man collapsed to his knees before Madrine, his life’s blood spilling out of his body like an open spigot. Madrine dropped her eyes down to him, as he continued to stare at her in terror and disbelief. Without expression, she lowered her hand and released the mass; it hit the floor beside her feet with a wet, sucking, sickening thud. She continued to stare at him, her black eyes boring into his.
Seconds passed.
Minutes passed.
Eternity passed.
Then, Scorpion Man sat back on his heels. A small gurgling noise came from somewhere beneath his hands just before he pitched over to his left, falling hard to the floor in a motionless heap.
The room was bathed in complete silence.
Except for the others.
Their energies or tautness or— whatever— was a constant low hum, reverberating against the walls, echoing off the ceiling.
Madrine ran her tongue over her lips, lapping up the remnants of red liquid; she took a step back, away from Scorpion Man’s body, and stopped.
In a flash, Tara watched as a dozen ‘men’ and ‘women’ rushed forward, out of the shadows, and pounced on Scorpion Man’s body. As a group, they half-dragged, half carried his corpse off in the direction they came. Reaching a darkened corner on the opposite side of the room, hidden from view behind the marble altar, several more joined the inflamed throng. Sounds of tearing clothes and ripping flesh, of gnashing teeth and slurping, flooded the room.
Tara covered her mouth, trying in vain to quell the nausea welling up inside her.
. . . m. . . e. . . .Madrine turned to face Tara, her face and throat, her sweater and jeans, her shoes, completely soaked in blood. She ignored the noises behind her as she faced Tara fully. “Cassandra. . . was no myth,” she said, reiterating her previous statement, her eyes glancing towards the altar. Tara let her hand fall to her side as her head moved up-and-down in agreement. “She was. . . my everything.” Madrine looked long and hard at Tara. “Which brings us back to you.” Madrine walked towards Tara slowly, her feet scraping over the stone floor with deliberate ease. “And why you’re still alive.” She stopped a foot from Tara, her black eyes staring deeply into Tara’s terrified blue. “
You will take her place.”
. . . take her place. . . . Tara blinked several times as the words played over and over inside her head.
. . . take her place. . . . The blonde’s mouth opened and closed once. . . twice. . . three times, but she could not make any words come. When, at last she did, she could only manage, “Her place?”
Madrine smiled, revealing her two rows of perfect teeth, perfectly stained red from her recent drinking. “Beside me.” She paused. “With me.”
This time, when Tara’s mouth fell open, it remained so.
. . . beside. . . with. . . . Oh, please, no. . . . “
Not as a vampire,” Madrine said, seemingly reading Tara’s expression. “I told you, you are no use to me dead.”
Tara, at last, was able to close her mouth; she swallowed hard before she found her voice again. “Then. . . .”
Madrine nodded and turned away from Tara, walking towards Cassandra once more. “You will guide me.” She stopped beside the altar. “As Cassandra did for so long. . .you will
see for me.”
Tara’s brow furrowed and she found herself shaking her head. “I-I-I can’t. . . I’m n-n-not. . . .”
Madrine turned. “Can’t what? Not what? A far-seer?” Madrine shook her head as she smiled. “You are so much more than that, Tara Maclay.” She moved across the floor again, stopping in front of her. “You have no idea.” She reached a hand up to Tara’s face.
Tara flinched away from the bloody appendage, pressing her head and body back against the wall as close as was humanly possible.
Goddess, no. . . .Madrine’s fingers rubbed together momentarily before she dropped to her hand to her side. “In time,” she said, moving back a fraction, “as the years pass, you will welcome my touch.”
Although the sounds from the corner had waned, Tara could still see everything in her mind’s eye. She could still smell the blood and death. She could. . . .
Never. . . . Tara looked purposely into Madrine’s eyes.
That will never happen. . . . As if Tara had spoken the words aloud, Madrine tilted her head to the side slightly, pursing her lips together in silent contemplation.
. . . I won’t be hers. . . I won’t stay. . . .Madrine took another step back, moving towards the center of the room. “I see,” Madrine said, casually pushing her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. Again, distance, like the silence, filled the space between them. Madrine realized that Tara— in order to keep her, in order to use her— would have to be coerced.
Not with violence.
Not with threats.
Not with pain.
But with. . .
“You love her,” she said.
Tara didn’t need to be told who ‘she’ was.
She knew.
Willow.
My Willow. . . . She killed my Willow. . . . I will never be hers. . . . Never! Tara raised her chin defiantly.
I will die first. . . . “You tried to save her,” Madrine continued, casting a glance at Cassandra. “That’s. . . admirable.”
That’s love. . . .Madrine continued to look at Cassandra. “Do you want to try again?”
Tara wasn’t sure she had heard her correctly.
. . . again?Madrine raised her eyes and looked at Tara. “It’s not too late for her.”
Tara’s stomach heaved.
What is she talk— no! No! I won’t listen to this. . . this monster. . . this soulless thing. . . that killed my Willow.Madrine played her hand. “The Living Death,” she said, as if this explained everything. “The poison,” she said, her eyebrows raising slightly. “The Living Death.”
The Living Death. . . ? “A little something my dear Fonce,” Madrine paused, searching for the right words, “
took away with him from Haiti.”
Haiti. . . ? “He is very fond of it. And, I have to admit, I am as well. It is rather remarkable really. The tiniest drop, it’s completely untraceable by any medical standard. . . .” She watched Tara’s face intently. “Sudden fever, dizziness, paralysis, unconsciousness. . . brain death.”
Tara swallowed, tasting bile at the back of her throat. Madrine had just told her, in detail, what she had done to Willow, and what Willow had gone through; the blonde felt the nausea returning as images of Willow— her Willow— lying in the hospital stole across her mind. Tara closed her eyes as she felt tears begin to well.
Oh, Willow. . . . “But,” Madrine started again, “here’s what’s so remarkable: they’re not
really dead.” Tara opened her eyes. “Oh, no, not at all. It’s The Living Death, you understand? They’re completely aware. They can hear. And feel. And think.” Tara’s mouth fell open. “To everyone else, they are dead— brain-dead— but they’re there. Inside. Screaming.”
It was all too much. Tara felt the blood rush from her head to her feet, and once more, white sparklers danced before her eyes. Her knees gave out and she slid swiftly down the wall into a sitting heap on the floor.
No, no, no, no, no. . . . It can’t be true. It can’t be. . . .“So, I’ll ask you one more time,” Madrine said, upping her ante. “Do you want to try again?”
Tara raised her eyes to Madrine, blinking several times in an attempt to focus.
Could it be true? Could Willow really be. . . .? “I said, it’s not too late for her.”
What time is it. . . ? Are Willow’s parents here. . . ? Have they. . . ? “You may call them. . . tell them how to reverse the effects.”
Willow. . . ? Alive. . . ? The mere thought of Willow being alive, that she could save her now, made Tara’s heart pound faster, made her blood rush through her veins. “Wh-what do you. . . ?” Tara began, finding herself unable to finish.
“Want?” Madrine asked, finishing for her. Tara could barely nod. “I want you to choose.”
. . . choose?“To be with me. . .” Madrine continued.
Tara stared at her.
“Forever.”
Forever. . . ?“It’s your choice— I’ll make it your choice. You stay with me— willingly— and she lives.”
Tara’s eyes dropped to the floor.
Choice? What choice? Of course I’ll. . . . Tara’s mind drifted into blankness, knowing that she had no choice really. Knowing she would do anything and everything she possibly could to save Willow’s life.
“You love her. I see that. I feel that.”
Tara looked up.
. . . Always. Always and forever.“Then why do you hesitate?” Madrine walked the short distance till she stood before Tara; she squatted down so she could look Tara in the eyes. “You were willing to kill for her,” she said, her voice very calm and low. “You were willing to die for her.” Madrine tipped her head forward, leaning in closer. “Are you now not willing to
live for her?”
Tara closed her eyes, letting Madrine’s words touch her mind.
There’s a chance, Willow. . . . Willow, Baby, please. Hold on. Hold on. I’ll come back. I’ll come back to you. . . . Tara opened her eyes and held Madrine’s gaze.
Madrine smiled, finding the answer in Tara’s sapphire eyes. Then, her eyes darted to Mr. Bellum and she tipped her head quickly. Mr. Bellum, who here-to-fore had stood silently by the stairway, turned to a woman and held out his hands. Carefully, the woman placed a thin, wrapped bundle across his palms, bowing slightly as she did so. Mr. Bellum walked to the foot of the altar and waited. Madrine put her hands on her knees and pushed herself slowly to her feet. “You’ve made your choice, then?”
Tara looked up at Madrine. Without a word, she pulled her feet under her and reached a steadying hand up to the wall beside her; grabbing onto the edge of one of the plaques, she pushed herself to her feet. Tara faced Madrine squarely, though she kept her back pressed against the wall to keep herself from crumbling. Madrine raised her eyebrows in silent questioning. Tara swallowed. “Yes.”
“Willingly?”
“. . . yes.”
The smile that spread across Madrine’s face was both captivating and gruesome at the same time. “This makes me very happy,” she said, clasping her hands together in front of her chest like a giddy child.
The display made Tara’s stomach churn.
Please stop. . . .Madrine stepped back and raised a hand to Mr. Bellum. Tara watched as Mr. Bellum moved towards her. When he stood beside her, he raised his hands, offering her the bundle. Tara looked at the delicately woven cloth covering, then at Madrine. Madrine smiled again. “It’s for you.”
Tara hesitated, long enough for Mr. Bellum to raise his hands a tad higher towards her. She reached out slowly with both hands and grasped the object; whatever it was, it was thin, and she could feel its hard coolness beneath the cloth. Mr. Bellum bowed imperceptibly and moved back to his place near the stairs. His gesture went unnoticed as Tara’s eyes remained focused on the object in her hands; carefully, she balanced it’s length across one palm and forearm as she began to unwrap it with the other. She stripped away layer-upon-layer of finely woven silk until, at last, her eyes fell upon. . .
Jesus. . .. . . the steel, silver metal of a razor-sharp, two-foot long sword.
. . . Christ.The rest of the cloth fell away then, drifting softly to the ground, leaving Tara holding the ornately carved ivory handle of the deadly blade. Her eyes traveled the length of the blade from the hilt to the tip, then back again, each time catching a quick glimpse of her own reflection in the shiny silver metal. Tara lifted her eyes from the sword to Madrine, only to find that she was no longer in front of her. She looked to her right to find that Madrine had moved to a position beside the altar, near Cassandra’s feet; on the other side of the altar behind her, in a half-arc, all of the others had gathered, standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
All eyes were on Tara.
She felt her breath catch when she realized that she hadn’t heard any of them move.
She hadn’t seen any of them move.
And all of their eyes were on her.
Tara turned her attention to Madrine.
“It’s time,” Madrine said.
Tara’s brow crinkled.
Time. . . ?“To finish this. . . .”
Finish. . . ?Madrine shifted slightly, raising a gesturing hand towards Cassandra.
Tara’s eyes darted to Cassandra’s face. . .
Then to Madrine. . .
Then to Cassandra’s half-severed neck. . .
Then to Madrine.
Tara’s heart began to pound relentlessly inside her chest, her whole body suddenly trembling. She lowered her arms to her sides, the sword still held tightly in one closed fist. “No. . .” she whispered, shaking her head in horror and disbelief. “I-I. . . no, I. . . .”
Madrine dropped her hand to her side. “Think carefully.”
“I c-can’t. . . .”
Madrine nodded. “Then remember this,” she said, her voice taking on a harsh tone. “You chose
not to save her.”
The mere mention of Willow made Tara feel like her chest was going to collapse and explode simultaneously.
No, Willow. . . . Tara stumbled a step away from the wall towards Madrine. “Please,” she said, her voice trembling as much as her body. “Please, . . . why?”
“Because!” Madrine suddenly yelled, slamming a fist down onto the marble, through the marble; a chunk fell to the floor with a resounding thump.
“I-I said I would stay,” Tara pleaded.
“Then. . . prove it.”
Tara shook her head again, tears stinging her eyes. “It— it doesn’t prove
anything.”
“It proves— to me— that from this moment on, you and I are on this journey together.”
A tear fell from Tara’s eye as she stared silently at Madrine. She could hear her own blood rushing in her ears; trickles of sweat slid down her back; waves of nausea rolled in her stomach.
Tara wanted to think about Willow.
She wanted to think about Buffy.
And Dawn.
And. . . everyone.
But, she couldn’t.
She could only think of herself.
Could she really do this?
Could she
make herself do something like this?
Something so repugnant. . . so depraved. . . so evil.
Could she live with herself after?
Before she could find an answer, Madrine turned away from Tara and started for the stairs, Mr. Bellum following obediently.
WILLOW!!! Her lover’s name screamed in her mind from somewhere deep in her soul, clawing into her thoughts until she heard. “NO!” Tara shouted.
Madrine stopped and half-turned.
Tara wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, taking a deep steadying breath. Without a word, she walked towards the altar, the sword still held down at her side. Stopping beside Cassandra’s upper body, Tara raised the short sword and grasped the hilt tightly in both hands. She looked at Madrine. “I want the cure.”
Madrine tipped her head once.
Tara swallowed and looked back to Cassandra. Her heartbeat hammered at hummingbird rate, as she flexed her hands open-and-closed, open-and-closed around the sword’s ivory handle. “Forgive me,” she whispered, as she raised the weapon high above her shoulder. She closed her eyes.
Willow. . . forgive me.. She opened her eyes at the same time she took a single step forward. Using her momentum, Tara brought the sword down in a powerful arc. She felt it cut through the remaining flesh and bone as if it were a hot knife going through butter, the blade cracking against the marble with a sharp chinking sound. Cassandra’s head separated from her body and rolled onto it’s side towards Tara.
Tara remained still, staring at Cassandra’s peaceful face.
No scream.
No pain.
No blood.
Tara’s arms began to shake uncontrollably. She felt tears fall freely down her face onto her shirt. At last, when she felt she could finally do so, she took a small step backwards, dragging the sword with her. As the blade slid off the edge, Tara let it dip towards the floor; she relaxed her grip and opened her hands, letting the sword fall to the floor with a loud clank-clank.
Madrine was suddenly there beside her, standing an inch away, but Tara couldn’t move. The blonde stared unceasingly at Cassandra and the three inch breach she had put between her head and body. Madrine leaned forward gracefully and wrapped her fingers around the pendant from Cassandra’s neck; she slipped it off and raised it up to Tara.
I’m. . . going. . . .“This. . . is for you.”
. . . to. . . be. . . sick.“It’s just. . . one more. . . last thing. . . .”
Tara dropped her eyes to the necklace, her eyes not quite focusing. Of their own accord, her hands reached out and took hold of the necklace.
Willow. . . my love. . . just. . . one. . . more. . . thing. Tara dipped her head and looped the jewelry over, letting it sink down onto her throat until the pendant rested over her heart.
An audible hum rose inside the chamber.
Tara raised her eyes.
The others, all simultaneously, bowed their heads to her.
She looked to Madrine, but again found her near the foot of the stairs.
Smiling.
Willow. . . .“I should tell you two things,” Madrine said. “They’re important, so listen closely.”
Tara swallowed and tried to raise her chin.
Hold on, hold on, hold on. . . .“What you just did, I know you think I made you. I’m evil, and I made you.” Madrine shook her head. “But you did it, Tara Maclay,
you did. I only gave you a choice, and you made it. On your own— willingly— you made it. A part of you
wanted to do it— not for her— but for you. You need to understand that about yourself.”
Tara’s jaw clenched as Madrine spoke, her teeth grating against each other so hard they squeaked. The words were hurtful and offensive and. . .
. . . lies. Through her clenched teeth, Tara spoke. “And.”
Madrine nodded, casually putting her hands inside her jacket pockets. “The Living Death?”
Tara’s waited expectantly.
Willow— the cure. . . .“Its effects are temporary.”
If Madrine had physically hit her, the words could not have had more of an impact. Tara’s body convulsed on itself, then sprang back rigidly. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.
“Twelve. . . fourteen hours at the most.”
Willow. . . .“Yes, I’m sure she’s wide awake and well. . .”
What. . . what have I done. . . ?“. . . and wondering where you are.”
You. . . lying. . . . Red filled Tara’s vision. Her breath quickened. Her body began to shake again.
In anger.
In hatred.
She couldn’t use magic.
So be it.
She couldn’t fight all of them.
So be it.
She couldn’t kill all of them.
So be it.
But she could kill one.
She could kill Madrine.
She could try.
She would try.
She would die. . . trying.
Madrine smiled.
Tara charged. . .
. . . and screamed.
Grasping her chest as an invisible pain struck, Tara collapsed, falling to her knees before Madrine. She pitched forward onto the floor, landing hard on her stomach and chest; she rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up into a fetal position.
Goddess, help me! Another stab tore through her, and she screamed again, feeling as if her body were being rendered apart from the inside out.
Madrine turned away from her and started up the stairs. Mr. Bellum and the others followed her silently, none so much as casting a second glance in Tara’s direction. “Yes,” she said as she continued up the stairs, Tara’s agonized screams echoing behind her, “this makes me very happy.”
End of Part Two
Kris
“Frell that!”
Edited by: KrisBo5 at: 9/25/02 2:04:49 am
well you can do here all kind of things, that is if you choose to, like swimming, not anymore though, it's autumn, duh! you know that of course. why don't you like to swim? but unfortunately i've never met anyone who played hockey here, it's not such a popular game or rather it never was made popular, we're more of a soccer loving people 
now i'm depressed, and of course it's only your fault Kris 
thanks. 
can't pull one over on you, Kris! I was certain that the sympathy ploy would work and we'd get an update, but you know me too well. As for my fondness for spankings…well…er…um…
that's our little secret 
.
? 
Amber pictures are yummy 
cool!
want update 
Money maybe? Unfortunately, it would have to be monopoly money, cuz that's all I have at the moment! 
i'm at the end of my rope with her. Kris just tell us what you want and give us what we need. 
us with promises, but I fear she is merely toying with our fragile emotions now…
need of an update. 
you hit the nail on the head: "it's all about power"! Kris you better start updating, this smells like mutiny here, i'll even get B in on this. and i know you're scared of her 
i'll board on the first flight out of Romania to LA, i'm not doing it to come and see Amber 
are you impressed and scared now? and will you post 
…I'll be happy to be your tour guide and show you the sights…locating Kris' new laptop with updates should be a snappity mcsnap snap.
okay, dizzy now!
I had to cancel soccer practice with the kids, the smoke can't be good for them. 
