Chapter 35
Lightning Rampant
Later.
The sun was waltzing on her way to the horizon, drawing on a robe of flagrant reds, purples, and pinks, exuberantly kissing her best beloved waters. That moment there, on the horizon, as the ocean tossed wave after wave to the sinking sun, a chariot driven by storms rampaged across the sky, bringing a curtain of dark clouds and shattering lightning. The heat hadn't broken, not yet.
The bathroom door closed with a soft click, and Tara laid the letter down on the little table next to the bathtub. For long moments Tara stared at herself in the chipped bathroom mirror, at the thin scabbed lines running down her cheek, the faint yellowing of the healed black eye. Her face was shining with sweat – the Sunday afternoon had been insanely hot. Gusts of wind blew through the window screen, lifting and curling the curtains. It would be a doozy of a storm. She must remember to tell Willow where she kept the candles in case the power failed.
Tara carefully stripped off her shirt, then her bra. She swung the amulet so the spokes of the sun fell on her back, and then her fingers gently picked off the bandage covering her chest. Finally she laid her breasts bare. The three gashes delivered by the horrifying demon were inflamed and slightly puffy. They had finally closed, but the scabs were tenuous, and after the spokes of the amulet had pierced them several times she had gotten in the habit of covering them with bandages.
Willow-born hope flared in her heart.
She touched the gashes, then pressed a little harder, gasping at the hurt within. She turned to the old-fashioned clawed tub at the corner of the bathroom and turned the spout. Cool water gushed into the tub, and she peeled off the rest of her clothing and sat in the delicious water. Tara brought the amulet back around to her front, saw it hang pendulous between her breasts.
Willow was downstairs, setting up her new computer. They had been getting quite amorous on the couch earlier that day, but when Willow's questing hands once again encountered the vast barrier of the bandage over Tara's breasts, Willow stopped and asked questions. She didn't want to lend Tara false hope, she said, but she remembered seeing a particular spell.
Then to Tara's bemusement, Willow launched into an explanation of how she and Giles had created vast databases of all his books and she had them on half a dozen remote servers scattered across the country. She had the same wry smile on her face then as she had earlier when she mentioned making the Slayers, and Tara knew she was thinking of the lost Scoobies. When Tara revealed that she had no internet connection, Willow sheepishly explained that she would boost the signal from her Led Zepplin-loving neighbour, just until Monday!
Tara went willingly to a cool bath, leaving Willow to scour her sources for a spell. Tara looked at the gashes, and allowed a little bit of hope. No, Willow couldn't heal her with her mind. But now Willow was preparing a special paste, like an ointment
(a Willow-chutney)that should work on the gashes. She could do nothing for the endless pain that racked Tara's insides, the pain she had taken to heal Willow, but she was determined to fix this.
Tara liked to imagine it was so Willow could touch her breasts without worry. It was a good thought, and much better to dwell on than the other ones that vied for space in her overworked brain.
Try as she might, she could not stop thinking about tomorrow and the tests. She remembered her mother going for tests exactly like these, and that had really turned out less than ideal, hadn't it? Thinking of her mother, she looked at the letter, the one she had read dozens of times since Donny had given it to her, the same day he'd given her the black eye. Drying her hands on a towel, Tara picked up the slim envelope and withdrew the letter. Skimming quickly through different sections, Tara finally stopped at the ones which now concerned her...
As you well know, I’ve been a practicing healer my entire life. This power has been handed down through the generations through the matriarchal line. One of your daughters will carry it. Provided, of course, that you and your wife choose to have children. I am far too close to death to harangue you about giving me grandchildren, seeing as I won’t be able to bake them cookies and tell them embarrassing stories about your childhood, but I still want you to consider it. There. Enough said.Tara stopped her reading long enough to smile. Her mother would have loved Willow. Dipping her legs under the cool water, hearing the distant rumble of thunder that relentlessly pursued the sinking sun, Tara kept reading, skimming to the next part she wanted to revisit...
Of the pantheon of the gods she is the closest to my heart, but I’ve never spoken of her to you. Her choice. Her name is Aranaea... I had my first visitation with her when I was pregnant with you... She was intrigued by you; she put her hands on my belly and lowered her head as if to listen to you.
But then she got sad, and sat back on her knees. “I need this girl to be strong,” she said...
And she cried then, Tara, tears of that white god-light, and she said, “We will allow every horror, every calamity, every catastrophe that this wicked world has to offer, we will allow them to fall upon her, and hurt her, and curse her.” The girl scrambled across the ground to sit next to me, to stroke my shocked face with her fingers, and to clutch at my hands with fierce desperation. “And this we will do,” she continued in a low, hurt voice, “because we need her to have enough power to save the world.”
“My little girl is going to save the world?” I asked. “You can see that far into the future?”
“I can see all futures,” she replied...Tara skipped to the end of the letter, then, as the middle was almost too hard to read. But there, at the end, she could almost hear her mother's voice say the words...
Darling, will you ever forgive me?
You are such a good girl, such a lovely woman, and I ache for the world-weary person I see behind your eyes. It was unbearable to me, to do this to you. Aranaea was with me every step of the way, she urged me to keep you from moving to Sunnydale (she actually told me you would die if you went to UC Sunnydale), and then she finally told me it still wasn’t enough, you still didn’t have enough power, and she gave me the cancer. I knew it would shatter you. But I was called upon to make my own sacrifice for this unknown person you need to heal, and I will give my life for it, and for you, and for this act you must accomplish in order to save the world.
Be strong, Tara. You are an amazing young woman. You are compassionate and filled with mercy and love. You are kind to everyone around you, not just your friends. You are sensitive and loving, smart and funny, and I know that someday you will find someone, a soul-mate, a woman to share your life and gifts with. You have so many talents and gifts, and I want you to make use of them all.
From the womb we have forged you, Tara, to be a warrior for good, a champion, a healer. The time of your all-important task is fast approaching. Greet it, and succeed in it, and you will save the world, as you have already saved me. I’ll be waiting for you in heaven.Tara gently put the letter back in the envelope. She could hear the far rumblings of thunder outside her window. She sank into the water, thinking furiously, remembering when she first entered Willow's mind to see the goddess Aranaea, when she first heard of her incredible task...
“I kept her alive, Tara, but it is up to you to save her.”
“Me?” Tara spluttered. “B-but you’re...”
Tara was going to say, “You’re a goddess, why don’t you do it?” but Aranaea interrupted, saying once again, “The powers of the gods are limited to the power of the vessel. I have no power here. You do.” Tara never really believed that she had power. Next to Willow
(the Kraken), she certainly was a drifting mite in the vast sea of modern wizardry. But then hadn't Aranaea and Althanea both told her otherwise?
“Tara,” Althanea said, and Tara lifted her eyes to meet those of her guest. “I know you want to minimize Willow's pain, especially as she has suffered so much. But to trivialize what you have done, what this girl has done to you, that's wrong.” Tara watched as Althanea's hand came to her neck and pulled out the amulet from underneath her scrubs, and she winced as she did so. There was blood on the spokes again. “Tara, there can be no inequality here. No lies. Only truth. You keep hiding things from Willow, it will only lead to disaster.”
“I can't make her remember,” Tara finally admitted.
“Unless I'm completely mistaken about your family's abilities, yes, you can,” Althanea replied, gently. “I have very limited gifts of the mind. You, on the other hand, have access to every mind trick available. Sending people to sleep, making people forget things, planting false memories, every single facet of unconsciousness is the realm of your particular gifts. Had your mother never taught you these things?”No, her mother hadn't. But, unconsciously perhaps, Willow had. Willow had been gifted...
“Willow, I am the goddess Aranaea. You freed me from exile. To you I grant the gift of psionics, and every power of the mind that comes with it, including telekinesis, and telepathy.” But hadn't Tara been born with these self-same things? What had her mother said?
“This power has been handed down through the generations through the matriarchal line.” This power. Aranaea's power. The powers of the mind. Psychokinesis. Mind over matter
(if you don't mind, it doesn't matter!)and could it be possible that such gifts were already hers? Sitting in the tub of cooling water, Tara felt a rush of shivers overtake her skin that had nothing to do with the wind now billowing through the open window, ruffling the curtains. Across the room, hidden behind the toilet, was a plunger. Tara looked at it, and with a clear voice she commanded, “Come.”
Nothing happened.
Tara screwed up her eyes, and concentrated harder, like she did when she first encountered Caleb's wall. “Come,” she ordered.
Still nothing.
Tara sat back in her tub, her chest aching, and she was confused. For a second there, it had seemed so close, so right. It made sense to her that these gifts should be hers. Hadn't they been born in her? Hadn't she nearly used them before? Why, before Willow came, she could do all manners of magics.
Wait a minute.
It came to her, then, and the truth reduced her to tears.
No. Freaking. Way.
She forced herself to think back, scouring her memories of the past week. Monday she prepared the spell and vanquished Caleb, and then she spent the day healing Willow. That night she first discovered the wall, and the reason why she couldn't use the animals any more. Tuesday she brought Willow out of her coma. Wednesday through Friday were quiet days with Willow in the hospice, with Tara fainting, finally choosing to sleep with Willow. Yesterday and today in the marketplace. Had she used her magic at all in those days? Even just once?
No.
Was it Caleb that was blocking her, as he relentlessly dug a hole in her mind? Or was it the amulet?
(My gift to you, little girl, you will find soon.)Near frantic, Tara then tried the most basic of spells, to float one of her tea lights. Nothing happened. She tried to produce fairy light. Nothing. Her attempt at a glamour met the same keen end. One by one she called on the gods, begging them to acknowledge her spells, and one by one she fell yet deeper in despair. What good was she to Willow now? How on earth could she possibly aid in this fight?
What more would the gods demand of her?
And Thespia's whisper to her, the day she was drawn into the ether, now became clear.
(There is more yet that you must sacrifice, Tara.)Was it not enough that she would be a lamb? Would she be similarly trussed up, bleating and helpless? Forced to look into the face of her lover as her life was ended, far too early?
(I am close, Tara.)It was too much to be borne alone. All her life she suffered in stoic silence, wrapping her dignity about her like a cloak, glorying in the pain. Hadn't she always needed it? And when her patients died, and they always tasted so sweet before death, didn't they Tara, they would be drawn away with the heaven-threads, leaving her as the dark one to the left, for the tunnel, the purple, was never for her. Her pain would not end, it would never end, not until the moment her greatest love reaved her in two.
Could the heaven threads possibly sustain her then? Could they still be so sweet?
Not after Willow. For Willow was the honey, and the heaven threads would be vinegar to her. No heavenly delight could compare with the feeling of Willow's warm skin against hers, her slender body tucked up so achingly close, her warm lips the gateway to her soul. And once Tara walked that pathway, waltzing into the confines of Willow's heart, tattooed there so exquisitely, heaven could hold no glory for her.
Yet it was her duty. Would her mother have sacrificed her own life in vain?
(But I was called upon to make my own sacrifice for this unknown person you need to heal, and I will give my life for it, and for you, and for this act you must accomplish in order to save the world.)And Tara thought of Buffy, and Giles, and Xander, and all the Slayers, whose sacrifice was still unknown, their lives unlauded, snuffed out without memory. She knew, oh Tara knew, that her sacrifice would be the same. After the fateful day when Willow would spill every drop of her blood, the sun would still rise, the birds would still sing, and the world would still go on its merry way, unaware that she had just saved them all.
Was it enough, Tara?
Would there be enough time between now and that fateful day? Althanea thought so. They had time, yet, a little time. The amulet was whole, and her body was slowly recovering from taking all of Willow's pain. She could have years, maybe even a decade. She could spend every minute of it with Willow, and she could still dare to dream of a farmhouse, and horses, and children with red hair and blue eyes.
(for the love of this woman, you will surely die.)There was a sharp slash of pain through Tara's head, a fierce yowling, as Caleb sought to remind her, and teach her her rightful place.
And the taste of it in her mouth was bitter, bitter.
Her head aching, her eyes burning with unshed tears, her chest stinging as she drew the rough towel over her body, Tara fought to control herself. The water drained, and the thunder was closer, and Tara could hear laughter and merriment from her neighbour's house. Could the world truly be so mundane?
Trembling, Tara pulled on a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts. The amulet was heavy on her. She drew a comb through her wet hair, and it hung heavy upon her shoulders. She stumbled into her bedroom; it was dark and felt muggy and still. She wanted to go down the stairs, to have Willow take her in her arms, to taste Willow on her tongue and banish the bitterness of her ruminations. Yet she found herself undeniably exhausted; she could go no further than her bed, and she sat heavily on the thin coverlet, clutching her mother's letter.
Willow.
She wanted to call out, to reach with her mind, but if Willow could not hear her, it would shatter her already fragile nerves. Such a little thing, to call for someone, yet it froze her. The room was dark; she had not turned on the lamp. Light from the bathroom streamed into the room.
So she sat, and waited for Willow to appear. She sat, pain creaking along her bones, the heavy amulet pricking her demon-grooves. She sat, and wondered, how could it be possible for things to change so very fast?
Two weeks ago, Peter Whitney was alive.
So it was that Willow found her some ten minutes later, sitting quietly on the edge of her bed, looking through her windows to the storm-lashed sky. Lights flickered as the lightning drew close, and Tara felt the rumblings of thunder deep within her heart. She heard Willow climb the stairs; the house was old and creaked menacingly at times, and she could smell the pungent paste as her girlfriend entered the room.
Willow must have detected her heartache, for she immediately set down the bowl to kneel in front of Tara. “What's wrong, baby?” Willow softly asked, putting her hands on Tara's knees.
No matter how many times Willow called her baby, it made her shiver every single time. Where had this feeling been all her life? Why had it taken so long for her to find it? And would the gods really be so cruel as to take it away?
And Tara thought of the Seal, and blinked her eyes, and hung her head.
They needed no words. There was an impressive crack of thunder following a brilliant flash of light; the lightning rampant, it cast Willow's face into shadow. Willow didn't ask again, she could read Tara like a comfortable book. Instead, Willow used her soft hands to gently spread Tara's legs. Tara looked at Willow during this surprising movement; she could see overwhelming concern and raw heat in Willow's clear gaze. A hammer fist of desire struck her core, and she parted her lips slightly to breathe.
Willow was shuffling closer to her, still on her knees. She raised up on them, bringing her gaze almost level with Tara's. First her hands cupped Tara's face, her palms on her cheeks, her fingers lightly curled around the tips of Tara's ears. With her thumbs, Willow rubbed Tara's cheekbones, just under the puffy and reddened eyes. The softest of pulls drew Tara's mouth down, down, her lips pressing lightly against Willow's. No movement for some time, just another re-enactment of the world's warmest kiss.
The tenderness was too much for her. Never in her life had Tara known someone who could reduce her walls to such rubble so quickly
(On some level, you didn't want me to get it)clambering over the stones of her painful past, her wretched memories, the greatness of her task
(You didn't want me to fully understand your sacrifice)emerging on the other side intact to behold the quivering child, the drifting mite, the lonely soul within
(If I understood too much, I might have fallen in love with you)and not being shocked, or surprised, or even scared. There would be awe. There would be love.
(There would have been joy, Tara)Tears began to seep from her beleaguered eyes; they tracked down her cheek to their conjoined lips, and as Willow's mouth finally moved away, Tara could feel the moisture on her lips, and taste the salt on her tongue.
Willow's hands left her face; she pulled away oh so slightly, then her hot fingers gently pressed Tara's head forward to lie in that comfortable niche of Willow's neck. Tara could smell sandalwood and roses on Willow's skin. Her eyes closed, Tara felt Willow wrap her arms about her, her soft hands ducking under Tara's tank top in the back and pulling her forward. Tara's breasts pressed tightly against Willow's; she knew the amulet was pricking them both through the thin fabric. She responded in kind, and wrapped her arms about her love, clutched at her in near desperation.
More tears, achingly released, carved slow trails down Tara's face. She could barely swallow over the lump of despair in her throat. Yet even as she mourned the loss of her magical gifts, however they had been taken from her, she could feel undeniable stirring in her gut. It was almost like physical hunger, this void that ate her from within...
(once you are empty, be careful of what you put back in.)The pain had hollowed her, had sanctified her, and left her empty and ready for love. Now as Willow began to kiss her neck, her hands fluttering to the base of Tara's shirt to stroke her waist, Tara could practically feel her soul move over to make way for Willow's soul, as if she could take a part of Willow inside her forever. She could feel Willow's hot breath on her neck and shivers ran down her spine. The thunder crashed about them, but it was nothing compared to the frantic beating of their hearts.
Just. There.
Tara lifted her head from Willow's neck and tilted it back; Willow used the opportunity to gently nibble and lick Tara's collarbone, planting kiss after kiss on Tara's throat. Tara leaned back slightly and thrust her breasts forward; Willow's hands on her back supported her with surprising strength as Willow's kisses journeyed deeper and deeper down her chest. There was a singularly powerful flash of light and a hollow boom and all the lights down the street flickered off, along with the light from the bathroom.
The sun was failing, the darkness not quite complete. Between the ambient light of the storm-lashed sky and the near continuous strikes of lightning, Tara opened her eyes once more. In the darkness the soft red hair of her girlfriend looked dark, and still Willow's lips continued to suck and kiss her sternum, drawing ever closer to the aching grooves.
(demon fodder)There was no shame now. For once the darkness was an ally. Now, maybe now Tara could let Willow see, really see what the demon had done to her. The dark was her privacy, her shield, her protection.
(you lived your life in shadow, never the sun on your face)Tara had been hoping and dreading this moment, the moment when Willow would look at her breasts for the first time. Would she be scared? Disgusted? Overjoyed?
Willow's lips were the great teacher. The devotion was unmistakable. Never, never had anyone
(Oh!)Willow's hot hands had traveled from her back to her sides, her fingers still gripping Tara's shoulder blades, holding her upright, her thumbs now on Tara's ribs underneath her tank top, skirting the soft mounds of Tara's gift.
A pause, and Tara lifted her head back up so she could meet Willow's eyes. By rampant lightning Tara could see that Willow's pupils were hugely dilated, whether by the lack of light or by raging desire, Tara could not tell. There were high points of colour in Willow's cheeks, almost a blush.
“May I?” Willow asked softly, her fingers moving to grip the edges of Tara's tank top.
This is it, Tara.
Why was there no more fear?
Tara nodded, deliberate and clear, and Willow, still raised on her knees, pulled Tara's tank top up, up, and over. Tara could almost feel her skin glowing in the darkness of the room, lit only by the frequent lightnings. If it had been day, or if there had been lamp-light, Tara most likely would still have said no. But it was dark, and it was safe, and it was Willow.
And Willow beheld her for the first time, the paleness of her breasts, the darkness of her nipples, the concert of slashes between them and the amulet lying like a cherry on top. Softly biting her lower lip in worry, Tara watched Willow's reaction.
For a long moment Willow simply stared at her breasts; her jaw slackened and her mouth opened. Willow licked her lips, and finally looked back up at Tara.
Just. There.
Willow was unhinged, broken. Two emotions warred on her face; sadness clashed with desire. She made as if to speak, but no words emerged. There was a sudden humming again; the street lights and bathroom light turned on as the power came back. Willow immediately shut her eyes and waved her hand; the light switch flicked off, plunging Tara's bedroom back into warm darkness. Only then did Willow open her eyes again, and Tara's heart melted for the devotion this girl showed her. Yet in that flash of light, and to her unending shock and near-horror, Tara realized that Willow was close to tears.
“No, sweetie,” Tara protested, but she was cut off as Willow kissed Tara again, a long and lingering kiss that warmed Tara's very soul. Once again, Tara was swept away by the force of Willow's devotion to her; she was embraced again, even tighter this time, as if Willow meant to consume her. Breaking the kiss, Willow now tucked her face near Tara's neck and ear; Tara could feel moisture from Willow's tears as her soft hair caressed Tara's bare shoulder.
“How is it possible, Tara,” Willow softly enquired, her mouth brushing the lobe of Tara's ear, “that I deserve you?”
An explosion of joy, somewhere near her heart.
Willow's voice was faltering, thick with emotion. “How is it possible that you did all this for me?”
Tara opened and closed her mouth, her heart beating in exultation.
Soft. “How is it possible that I can love you so much?”
Tara couldn't find the words to console her. Her mind was fogged, she was feeling almost faint with too great emotion. In response she held Willow even tighter, her senses swimming, a flood of desire raging through her.
And in that movement, she felt a rip by one of the spokes of the amulet, and pain lanced her chest. Her gasp seemed to bring Willow back to her senses; her girlfriend leaned back again, yet kept her fingers laced behind Tara's waist. “Let's fix this, shall we?” Willow whispered, glancing down at Tara's chest, then back again to her face.
Tara nodded; she swallowed, then spoke. “How does it work?” she asked, motioning to the bowl on the floor. Lightning flashed, and Tara saw the concoction, thinner than paste yet thicker than a mere broth.
(Willow-chutney)“I say an incantation as I put the salve on, then we just leave it for the night. I should warn you, Tara, that it says it's going to hurt. A lot. And it's going to make you very tired.”
For a moment, Tara wanted nothing of it. She knew, by the pooling of warmth in her panties, by the blazing eyes of her girlfriend, that tonight would have been the night. Exactly a week since she fled from Aranaea and her task, and found herself at the bedside of this remarkable woman, vowing to do everything she could to save her. She hadn't a clue back then, of how sweet it could be. The hint of something more, the consummation, the act; it hung between the two of them now, so close to fulfillment.
Yet as bewitching an idea of Willow making love to her was, the harsh reality of the demon grooves stood in their way. Maybe not for much longer. Maybe this would work, oh gods let this work!
Willow was gazing intently at her. It was decided.
Tara nodded, and Willow's hands slid along her bare stomach before disengaging to grasp the bowl. The mixture smelled pungent, and she could not tell the colour in the darkness of the room, even with the lightnings that were fleeing farther away.
“Lay yourself down,” Willow said, averting her eyes slightly as Tara shimmied to the top of the bed, swinging the amulet to lay on her back. She could feel the spokes of the amulet under one shoulder blade. Her hair was damp on her pillow.
Willow then took a closer look at the wounds Tara had never allowed her to see, and her face constricted again in a range of emotions. She looked up at Tara and smiled warmly, then two fingers dipped into the salve and she took a generous amount on her fingertips. With infinite care, she laid the salve on one of the gashes, muttering in a foreign language. Instantly Tara felt a sharp pain, almost as bad as when the demon had first slashed her. She grit her teeth and Willow continued to mutter and apply the paste.
Finally it was over; her chest was stinging ferociously and waves of exhaustion rolled over her. She wanted to say something to Willow, she wanted to thank her, but the great purple curtain of sleep was drawing fast. Just before sleep claimed her, she felt the comforting warmth of Willow's body spooning up behind her, realizing with her final thought that Willow had also taken off her shirt, as she felt the heat of Willow's bare breasts press against her back.
And the ocean waited for the storm to pass, and for the sun to be reborn.
TBC on Friday, January 25 with Chapter 36
Phoenix
