By Kirayoshi
Disclaimers: It's Joss Whedon's world, I'm just escaping reality here. I own Sandra Ogawa and Denise Parkinson, so if I see them in someone else's work without my permission, there's gonna be trouble.
Author's note; This is the third and final part in my digression from the main story, "Triptych". This one centers on Giles and Denise, with Buffy and Willow at the end (hey, it's their story!) Trust me, the final piece of the puzzle is in this text.
Thanks a plenty; to
Shyfox for beta-reading this for me. I also wish to acknowledge Thomas Cahill
for his marvelous work, “How The Irish Saved Civilization”, from which I
borrowed some of the finer points of this story. If you steal from one source
in plagiarism. If you steal from many sources, it’s research.
And to any Christians out there, I apologize in advance. I'm not attacking Christianity in general, just the intolerance that
underlined Christianity during the Dark Ages. I believe in Christ too. I like His style.
Feedback – Is always welcome, you can reach
me at Jim_D_Means@prodigy.net
.
Summary; Denise and Giles start work on rebuilding the fragmented Watcher's Council, and Giles learns a hard lesson in
Council history. And Buffy and Willow dream...
“Who
watches the Watchers?”
Giles had spent the last hour scanning the pertinent texts that Denise Parkinson had selected
for him. His cup of Earl Grey sat beside the books, forgotten and now room temperature.
His eyes were growing bleary and twice he felt the need to wipe the lenses of his glasses with
a napkin. When he could read no more, he looked up and saw Denise waiting for him to
finish, a look of infinite patience on the black woman's face.
“Where did you obtain this text?” Giles asked cautiously, both suspecting and dreading her
answer. Her answer confirmed both his suspicions and his fears.
“The Biblioteca Secreta.”
Giles tensed as he heard these words. The secret library of the Watcher’s Council. “How did
you manage to sneak this book past Council security?”
Denise looked around her, innocently. “Large weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
Giles nodded understandingly; evidently she had no desire to incriminate herself or anyone
else. “Denise, I was led to understand that the Biblioteca Secreta was a storage ground for
black tomes. Satanic rites, chaos magicks, the original draft of the Necronomicon. Dark
works to be shielded from prying eyes.” He shuddered at the thought of someone plundering
the Council's secret archives for its evil magicks. He knew his onetime mate and now enemy
Ethan would have given his soul
(had he not sold it to the devil long before) for even the most
minor tome of the archive.
“Yes, Rupert, we were all told that,” Denise answered levelly. “And indeed, there are many
texts and scrolls in the secret archives that must be kept from the eyes of the world. But the
Council, in their infinite wisdom, have chosen to conceal the Greater Book of the Goddess,
which you hold in your hand, as well as many other texts, dating all the way back to the time
of the Pharaohs. These texts had been the very foundation of the Watcher’s Council, yet you
and I are the first people in nearly nine centuries to look upon these pages.”
“I’m honored,” he coughed nervously. “But I am still having difficulty translating the whole of
the marked text. I assume that you have had better luck.”
“I have, Giles,” she answered as she moved from her chair to a space behind Giles, looking
over his shoulder. “This passage here,” she pointed, “can you read it?”
“I can,” Giles answered, as he re-read the runic script;
“That She who is Chosen
Never forget the charge of the Goddess,
Let her seek comrades,
Those who shall aid her,
Those who shall befriend her,
Those who shall remind her
Of her purpose.”
“And it gets a little muddled after that,” Giles admitted. “Eighth Century Celtic Runic script
was never my strong suit.”
“I understand,” Denise said as she took the text from Giles’ hands. "My weak point was
Sumerian. But you can understand the implications.”
Giles pursed his lips in thought. “Yes,” he whistled. “All these years, I was taught that the
Slayer, the Chosen One, must fight alone, yet this book indicates that the Slayer must have
allies. Hmph,” he laughed briefly to himself. “In spite of my best efforts, it seems that Buffy
had gotten it right all along. I had recently suspected that Buffy was stronger by her
association with the Slayerettes.”
“Exactly, Ripper,” Denise smiled. “By surrounding herself with friends willing to fight
alongside her, she is made stronger. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Her friends
serve to remind her why she continues to fight.” She sat down next to Giles and added, “That’s one reason I brought Sandra to Sunnydale after she graduated from high school. To introduce her to Buffy’s friends, and hopefully help her find her own support group.”
“It seems to have worked. I noticed that Tara seems quite fond of her. But what of the last
portion?”
“The last stanza, I believe, goes--” Denise read;
“Let her seek a lifemate,
One of great power for good.
For each Chosen One,
A mage shall be chosen as well.
The Chosen and the Mage must
Each seek out the other,
And stand fast together,
Against all adversaries.
Let them live together,
Let them fight together,
Let them love together,
For all time.”
She regarded Giles with a sly grin; “What were you saying about Tara and Sandra?”
“This book,” Giles whispered, “was an early instruction manual for Slayers, then?” Denise
nodded. “And it is saying that the Slayer must bond with another, a mage?”
Denise nodded again. “I’ve translated most of the pertinent texts, and there seems to be no
doubt. The Slayer and the Mage will be stronger together than either would be alone. Admit
it, Giles, would Buffy have survived alone, without Willow?”
Giles thought for a second, a second was all it took to make him understand. “No, I don’t
suppose she would. I had always been fearful of Willow’s participation. She always seemed
so fragile, so unsure of herself, especially in high school.”
“She wasn’t unsure of herself the other night,” Denise observed. “From what Xander and
Angel told me, it was Willow who freed Buffy’s soul from Hell. No mean feat, Ripper.”
“She was motivated, that much was certain," Giles admitted. “And the year we thought Buffy
gone, she was a ghost of her former self. Walking wounded. She was quite literally lost
without Buffy.”
“Precisely. The text indicates that the Slayer and the Mage would ‘share a soul’, would be
soulmates. Two halves of one entity. It’s not a coincidence that the symbol Willow chose to
represent her love for Buffy was a Mizpah coin. Two halves of the same whole.” She carefully
turned the parchment pages to another marked passage. “This part gives the instructions for a
formal joining ritual or handfasting. Essentially a Slayer Wedding. Once Buffy regains her
memory, it might not be a bad idea for her and Willow to look at this passage.”
“You may be right. But why was this information not revealed before?”
“Politics, mostly,” Denise answered. “The information in this text was passed down from the
fifth century, orally. And like most oral traditions, every detail was preserved painstakingly
from one telling to the next. This text was written in the Eighth century AD, when Patricus,
the man who would later be known as Saint Patrick, brought the knowledge of the fading
Roman Empire to Ireland. When Ireland learned to write, their scribes copied every work
they could get their hands on. That’s where we got the Book of Kells. It’s also how many
texts were salvaged after the Fall of Rome.”
“But with this new knowledge came the spread of Christianity. The Irish were possibly the
first people to accept Christ freely, without being conquered by Rome. As Christianity
spread, paganism was on the decline. And Christians still hold the idea of same-sex unions
as anathema. This text was considered an open invitation for homosexuality.”
“So the Watcher’s Council at the time censored the text?” Giles guessed.
“Not censored, Rupert, but simply hid.” She closed the book slowly, handling the ancient
codex with reverence. “The basis of these tomes, of much of the Watcher’s Council,
predates Christianity. Did you know, for example, that vampires derive pain from exposure
to any religious talisman, not just the crucifix? If my studies are correct, the symbol is even
stronger when the wielder believes in its significance.” She cocked an aristocratic eyebrow at
the thought; “Maybe Willow should consider wielding a Star of David instead of a cross. Even the
Mizpah coin she wears would be just as effective.”
“Intriguing,” Giles muttered. “And it makes sense; vampires existed long before most humans,
let alone Christianity. But why was this information suppressed?”
Denise chuckled, “Because, my dear Ripper, history has always been written by the winning
side. The Biblioteca Secreta was founded during the Crusades, as a direct result of King
Richard Couer’De Leone himself. Old Lionheart heard about this cabal of ‘unwashed pagans’,
supposedly trafficking with demons and devils, and threatened to put them to the torch. The
Council responded by creating this pro-Christian
mythos around them; crosses against vampires, all other religious artifacts are
the work of demons. And sadly, this medieval mentality still holds sway within
the Council, and the rest of the world. The Burning Times are never as far back
as we would like to think.”
Giles put his elbows on the table, and let his hands support his head. He remembered an
incident just a few years back, where a demon created the illusion of two children, killed in an
occult attack, to stir up paranoia in Sunnydale, controlling the minds of most of the adult
populace. Before the nightmare was over, Joyce Summers and Sheila Rosenberg led the
townspeople in burning their own daughters, Buffy and Willow, at the stake. Indeed, he
knew that the mentality of the Burning Times was alive and well, needing only the slightest
provocation to resurface.
“This is weighty stuff, my friend,” he said to Denise. “I trust that this has something to do with
your plans to rebuild the Watcher's Council?”
“Indeed,” she said. “With your help, of course. Right now, you are the most respected figure
among the remaining Watchers. If you were to declare yourself senior watcher, the others
would follow your lead. You have the opportunity to do some good here.”
“I thank you for your confidence in me, Denise, but I don’t know. I’ve had enough difficulty
dealing with Buffy, let alone the entire Council.”
“Believe me, I don’t wish to put more pressure on your shoulders. But the two of us
together, we could start building the administrative branch, the core group. We would need
to find established Watchers, people whom we could trust. I understand that Wesley Price is
working with Angel these days. Do you think he would be able to assist us?”
“Perhaps," Giles mused. “And despite Buffy’s hostility toward him, he was a good Watcher.
Just at a bad time.” Giles pondered the offer he had received some more. “The world still has
need of a Watcher's Council,” he said, half to himself. He smiled broadly. “And I need a
challenge. Denise, count me in.”
The two Watchers shook hands, cementing a pact that they hoped would change the world.
And outside Giles’ townhouse, looking in through the bay window, a surly British vampire
with a severe crew cut pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply, depositing a black
patch in the back of his throat.
Soon, Spike would inform his new master of the resurrection of the Council. His master, the
one who had removed the chip that forbade him from harming others, would know how to
deal with this information.
The war was coming, of that much Spike was certain. And he had no idea how it would turn
out.
He grinned sardonically at himself. “That’s what makes it interesting, mate.”
<><><><><><><><>
Approximately 25,000 BC;
The Slayer emerged from the rude shelter of her cave, clad only in a ceremonial loincloth.
She looked at the sky around her. The sun had set, casting its last rays upon some drifting
clouds, tinting them dark red. Blood red. The blood tribe would emerge soon, and she
would have to again defend her tribe from them.
But first, the ritual. The event for which she had prepared for the last five moons. The
joining.
Her chieftain emerged from his hut, and greeted her stiffly. He took her hand and led her to
the sacred place, the place where the bones of her ancestors were lain in the earth.
Unlike her darker haired fellows, the Slayer was born with hair the color of the sun. This
marked her as special, as chosen of the gods. She was to serve the gods all of her life,
defending the tribe against the evils of the night. And in serving the gods, she was destined to
bond with the tribal Shamaness.
The Shamaness waited patiently for her Slayer. She too was singled out by destiny. Her hair
was the color of fire, indicating that she was chosen to speak for the gods. While she was
the ears and voice of the gods, the Slayer was their strength, their right arm. In serving and
loving each other, the Slayer and the Shamaness would better serve the gods. It was the way
of things.
Once they reached the sacred place, the chieftain gave the Slayer’s hand to the Shamaness.
The Shamaness took the Slayer’s face in her hands, and pressed her lips to the Slayer’s in
greeting. She then picked up a small clay pot of red dye, and dipped her right thumb into the
pot. With her thumb, she marked the Slayer’s forehead and nose. She then painted across
her breasts and belly. The marks would fade soon, but the gods would always see them.
She was marked by the gods, and was theirs. As she was now the Shamaness’.
The two women smiled at each other, as they withdrew to the Shamaness’ tent. The second
part of the joining was less ritualized, and more private, but much more pleasurable for both
Slayer and Shamaness. The two women, no longer subject and priestess but equals and
lovers, discarded their scant coverings, and brought their bodies together on the sleeping mat.
The chieftain smiled at himself, and left the two women alone to consummate their ritual
marriage.
<><><><><><><><>
Willow woke up suddenly, her heart racing, a sheen of sweat covering her body. She was
aware of the scent of her arousal. “Whoa,” she said aloud.
Her dream had been intense, and highly erotic. She was a pagan priestess, and Buffy was
her disciple and lover. They had performed some ritualistic marriage, and had made raw
animal love together. Even now, she could still recall how her dream-Buffy had touched her.
A small portion of her mind made a record of those thoughts, to remember those touches and
try them out on Buffy tomorrow night.
She quickly dismissed her fears regarding the dream. She was just jumpy. Tomorrow, Buffy
Summers would be back home, with her. She had made all the preparations for Buffy to
move in with her, and would make the offer once she saw the townhouse. She knew that
Buffy wouldn’t decline her offer. Yeah, that was all the dream was. Pent-up
sexual frustration. Well she wasn’t going to be frustrated tomorrow night, that
was for sure.
<><><><><><><><>
Buffy woke up suddenly in her hospital bed, her breath coming in shallow pants, the last
spasms of a powerful orgasm still shaking her limbs. “Wow,” was all that she could say.
That was some dream.
She was Raquel Welch from “One Million Years B.C.” and Willow was some kind of
priestess, who was also her lover. They had performed some ritual together, before a
session of pure passionate sex. She tried to figure out the source of her strange dream. Did
it have anything to do with the memory gaps that had eluded her since her return?
She curled up again in her bed and made herself relax. She was just antsy about seeing
Willow tomorrow. Would she still want her? She had said as much since she awoke a few
days ago. She hoped that Willow wouldn't change her mind. She needed Willow like she
needed oxygen.
And tomorrow, she and Willow would be together again. And as far as she was aware, life
was good.
FINIS… for now…