The fabulous banner is by the awesomely talented Ben Rostock.

Chapter 4

The taproom was empty when Buffy and the Scoobies came down in the morning. The innkeeper came hurrying towards them the moment he heard their footsteps on the stairs, wringing his hands together tensely.

“Really looking forward to breakfast!” said Xander and the man bowed several times.

“It will be served at once, sir!” He held open the door to the private dining room.

“Good. I’m starved,” said Xander.

“Had mine,” said Spike, coming from the direction of the kitchens. The innkeeper jumped.

“In the kitchen! You should have been served in the dining room!” he exclaimed, horrified.

“Oh, I hold no state.” Spike grinned. “Got everything I needed.”

“She should have known better!” The innkeeper stormed off. “Saskia! What is the matter with you, woman?”

“Is Saskia still in existence?” Anya asked interestedly.

Everybody stopped short and stared at Spike, who gave them a bland look back.

“Oh, yeah. And feeling very happy right now, despite the blood loss. Breakfast might be a little delayed though, due to the high.”

Anya laughed, but everyone else looked sick.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that when he said he’d had breakfast,” Xander muttered.

“But then you never were the brightest bulb out of the box,” said Spike over his shoulder as he headed towards the inn door.

“Thought you were planning breakfast in bed,” Buffy said snappishly under her breath as he passed her.

He heard her though the others didn’t. “Far too easy pulling your chain, Slayer. The threesome thing was just a gag. I’m smarter than you. I don’t do humans. Too fragile. Were you jealous?”

“You...!” Her hands curled involuntarily into fists.

“Wanna get it on, Slayer? Let’s spar. Might end up back against the wall again. I liked that. You’re making me think you did too.”

The inn door opened before she flew at him and a man walked in. He was like the other villagers, short and stocky, and he wore faded, sailcloth trousers like many of the fishermen. But under the sleeveless leather vest he was wearing, his body was covered with tattoos. They writhed from his bare feet to his neck, spiraled up his arms and made a tiger mask across his face, even twisting over his shaved head, blue-black against his brown skin. The tattoos made it hard to tell his age; he wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either; he seemed ageless.

“Yes,” he said in a deep, resonant voice. “Strangeness.”

Everyone gaped at him and he looked them over at leisure. Unlike the others they had met so far in this dimension, his eyes were light, utterly colorless, so pale and opaque as to be white. It made him seem blind. But that gaze saw them, ran over them, probing like a needle. It flicked over Xander without interest, paused thoughtfully on Willow and Tara who both flinched involuntarily, lingered on Anya who squeaked and ducked behind Xander, widened on Buffy, then narrowed on Spike.

“Other.”

“Yeah, what of it?” said Spike.

The innkeeper had emerged from the kitchens and was now scurrying forward, almost bending himself double as he bowed and bowed again.

“Master Lioslath!”

Buffy took the opportunity to elbow Spike in the ribs. “Cool it. Looks like authority there.”

The man might be dressed plainly, but he radiated presence.

“Yeah, some high muckamuck,” growled Spike.

“Your message reached us,” the man was saying to the innkeeper. “You have done well.”

“I think mine host has sold us out,” Spike muttered in Buffy’s ear, so softly that only her Slayer hearing should have picked it up. But the man’s white gaze came up at once.

“He did his duty and he was right to do it. What do you outlanders purpose on our soil?”

“No harm,” said Buffy quickly. “Are you the authority here?”

“This side of the Querid is in my care.”

“You rule?”

“The Diarchy rules.”

“But you represent it?”

“Magister Relke is the Diarchy’s representative. I defend.”

“He...he’s a wizard,” Tara breathed almost without sound, startling the others. They exchanged nervous glances while the man frowned.

“A...wise man?” he said, the translation apparently having come across imperfectly. “Indeed, I hope so.”

“She meant a magician,” Willow said, stepping forward to shield Tara from that focused white stare.

“A mage? I am. And so are the two of you. I sense power and I ask what it does in our land.”

“We’re castaways,” Buffy said. “We’re here by accident and we mean no harm to anyone here. We’re just trying to get home.”

“So.” The mage turned his head to look at the innkeeper. “Groot. A room where we may speak in private.”

“There...there is the salon, Master,” stammered the innkeeper. “But it is small. Perhaps the dining room? It is private and they were about to break their fast.”

“That will do. Any patrons that come may be served in the taproom, but no one intrudes upon us or comes near until I call. I will know if they do.”

“No one will disturb you, Master Lioslath!”

“Good.” The mage pointed at the dining room and they all filed meekly inside. “Be seated.”

They took seats around the long table while he shut the door.

“Now. Explain this...accident.”

Buffy launched into Spike’s story of shipwreck. Halfway through, the mage held up a hand.

“Stop. There was no ship and you are not from another continent. I know this. Begin again.”

“T-tell him the truth,” Tara whispered.

“A far better idea,” said Lioslath. “I know when you are lying.”

“Do you also know about dimensions?” Buffy asked dryly.

“Other worlds existing side by side with this one. Yes.”

Everybody let out a breath of relief.

“Well, thank God,” muttered Buffy and started all over again, this time explaining what had really happened.

“This enemy of yours is arrogant to have done this.” The mage was frowning. “We do not appreciate having our world used as a midden in which to fling the unwanted.”

“We don’t appreciate being flung into a midden either,” muttered Spike under his breath and the tiger mask markings on the mage’s face twisted into what looked like amusement, though it was hard to tell.

“We just want to get home,” said Buffy.

“We only came to the village to get some herbs and other ingredients so that we could open the portal again,” Willow explained nervously, then sighed. “The spell that we used didn’t work, so we were trying to strengthen it. To be honest, we don’t even know if there really is a portal there.”

“There is a Gate at that location,” said the mage. “Speak to me the spell that you used.”

Willow dug into her pocket for the piece of paper on which she and Tara had written out the spell. She read out the words, careful not to put any power behind it.

“Crude,” said the mage. “No matter. I can help you refine that.”

“Oh, would you?” Willow and Tara both looked hopeful. “We’d be so grateful!”

“Despite that, it should still have been effective,” Lioslath mused. “The two of you between you have power enough to have opened the Gate. Was there no response of any kind to the spell?”

“Nothing. Nada. Not a flicker.” Willow sighed deeply. “It was just a blank. As if nothing was there at all.”

“This warrants investigation. Give me the turn of a glass.” Lioslath got up and opened the door. “Groot!”

The innkeeper came running. “Yes, Master?”

“I will use the salon. Bring these folk their meal, then leave them be. I will return,” Lioslath threw over his shoulder and strode out, the tattoos on his body and shaved head writhing.

“Kind of overwhelming,” murmured Anya, “but he seems to know what he’s doing.”

“You should feel the power radiating off him,” muttered Willow. “Guy’s got some really big mojo.”

“Well, I hope he’s on our side,” sighed Buffy. “Seems to be.”

“Pissed at Doc for dumping us on his turf,” Spike agreed. “I think he’ll help us just to get us out of his hair. Well, figuratively speaking.”

“Can we not make cracks about the extremely powerful wizard we need to keep on the good side of?” snapped Buffy and he raised mocking brows at her.

Lioslath returned just as they finished their meal. He looked very angry.

“The Gate is closed. Your enemy has collapsed it.”

“Can that be done?” Willow asked in amazement.

“It takes power and apparently he had enough. Also it is easier to destroy a thing than to create one. It will take a lot of trouble and effort to mend. Several months of unnecessary work!” he fumed. “I do not have the time for this.”

“That’s Doc,” muttered Spike into the flagon of ale he had been sipping at while the others ate. “Real pain in the ass.”

“Months!” said Buffy, appalled. “We can’t stay here for months! Isn’t there any other way we can get home?”

“I will aid you, if only to spite your foe.” He scowled at them. “Also your presence here disturbs the Balance. You do not belong here and, like a stone thrown into a pond, the ripples you create trouble the harmony of this existence.”

“Tremors in the Force?” suggested Xander, unable to resist.

“Exactly so,” said Lioslath, missing the allusion completely. Everyone else frowned fiercely at Xander, except for Spike who grinned into his ale.

“Believe me, we’d love to leave...in one piece,” said Buffy, suddenly thinking that all Lioslath really needed to do to remove their presence would be to have them all killed. And he seemed Big Cheese enough to be able to order that. “But, um, how?”

“There is another Gate.”

“Really?” Everyone leaned forward excitedly.

Lioslath unrolled a map on a clear area of the table. “There is, however, a difficulty.”

The map showed a huge continent like a blunt-edged triangle. Districts, cities, towns and roads were all clearly delineated on it. Except for the north. The north of the continent was one dark blot. No markings lay within that blot except for two straight lines that looked like roads, running in a wide X across it.

“That is the Querid,” said the mage. “The Diarchy holds no sway over it. It belongs to the Quenya, the other race. Presumably, they too have their towns and districts and lordly domains, as we do. But they tell us nothing of them. They are a secretive people. And their mages keep that land hidden from us.”

“Here be dragons,” murmured Tara.

Lioslath gave her an interested glance. “What are dragons?”

“Just a term for strange dangers,” explained Willow when Tara blushed and stammered. “Are those lines roads?”

“Yes. By treaty, they may be traveled by those of the Diarchy. However, the safety of those travelers depends solely on the goodwill of whatever lord owns the land the roads pass through. Many a time, people who have entered the Querid do not exit it. We do not know if they offended the inhabitants in some way or whether they suffered an accident or were killed by the whim of some lord through whose lands they passed. All who enter take their lives in their hands.”

“Don’t tell me,” groaned Buffy. “The portal is on their land.”

“Here.” Lioslath laid a finger on the blot, close to where the two roads crossed, but some distance north of it. A gold star appeared on the map when he took his hand away. “It lies in a power-sink, so I can feel its location, though I can tell you no more of it.”

“Wonderful,” said Buffy.

Lioslath gave her a direct look. “It would be a long and dangerous journey, through strange and wild lands. This will not be an easy run. It would be better to wait for me to mend the Gate here.”

“But you said that would take months. And don’t you want us out of this world fast?”

“Yes, but you would be safer waiting.”

Buffy glanced at everyone else. “What do you think? This vote has to be unanimous. I’m not going to drag anyone into danger against their will.”

“Let’s try it,” said Willow. “Slayer, two witches and a vampire. No other group would have better odds.”

Tara thought it over carefully as usual, then nodded. Anya and Xander hesitated, but finally said yes. Spike just shrugged.

“Told you. I go where the witches go and it should be fun.”

“Fun,” muttered Xander. “These people. What do they look like?”

“More like you than us,” said Lioslath and Buffy remembered that rider they had accosted on the road shouting ‘Quenya’ at them. “Taller. Pale skin. Varicolored hair.”

“That might help,” said Anya. “They mightn’t be so upset if we look like them.”

“But human?” Xander persisted and Lioslath looked puzzled.

“Like you. What is it that you mean?”

“They’re not demons or monsters or anything?”

Lioslath looked blank. “They are Other.”

Spike couldn’t resist. He went into full gameface.

“Spike!” exclaimed Buffy and everyone looked nervously at Lioslath.

“Ah, he’s a mage,” said Spike. “He should be able to handle it.”

And indeed Lioslath was only looking fascinated.

“A different kind of Other,” he said. “Yes, I felt it. Your honesty is appreciated. I did have doubts. What are you?”

“A demon,” growled Xander.

“A vampire,” said Buffy. “He has certain abilities. Super strong, super fast, sees in the dark...”

“That will be useful to you in the Querid,” Lioslath nodded.

“Drinks blood,” snapped Xander.

“Not from my people,” said Lioslath sharply.

“Agreed,” said Buffy quickly and grinned triumphantly at Spike.

Spike gave her a nasty smile back. “Do you have any objections to my drinking from the Quenya, sir?”

“None at all,” shrugged Lioslath and Buffy’s face fell. “They are not my people.”

Spike smirked at Buffy. “Precisely.”

“She too.” Lioslath was looking at Anya. “She is not exactly like you, but there is still something Other about her.”

Anya sighed. “I was a vengeance demon, but my amulet was destroyed and I’m just human now.”

“That was your power-focus?” Anya nodded and Lioslath looked sympathetic. “I feel for you. It is terrible when that happens. To lose not only your abilities, but your protection.”

“Yes!” said Anya, glad that someone understood. “I was strong before, never mind about the wishes. I was hard to kill. Now I’m weak and vulnerable. It’s scary. I hate it!”

“But you do not despair. That is strength. There is strength in you. Let me show you something. Give me your hand.” Anya did so and he smiled at her, the tiger mask of his writhing. “Look into my eyes. Follow me.”

“What are you doing?” Xander said sharply.

“Do you see it?” Lioslath said to Anya. “Look. There. Inside yourself. That spark. That center.”

“I see it,” whispered Anya. Her eyes were half-closed; her gaze turned inward.

“Stop it!” exclaimed Xander, reaching to slap their hands apart. Willow caught him back just in time.

“Xander, don’t! They’re linked! Breaking the link could be dangerous! It could harm her!”

“Whatever focus you used was fueled by this innate strength,” Lioslath was saying. “Do you see it in you? That core? Draw from it. You are strong to have survived the loss of your focus. There is where your strength comes from. Access it at need.”

Anya drew a deep breath. Her eyes snapped open and she laughed.

“What have you done to her?” Xander shouted.

Anya’s eyes were shining. “I am strong! I can survive!”

“You must believe in yourself,” said Lioslath. “Take pride in being you, child. You were always an outcast, were you not, Aud? And you thought there was something wrong with you because of that. That is not so. See yourself. The core is strong and beautiful. Rely upon it.”

“Yes,” breathed Anya.

“I don’t understand,” said Willow as Xander grabbed at Anya, pulling her away from the mage. “Did you make her a vengeance demon again? Can she grant wishes?”

“No, no,” said Lioslath. “She does not have her focus. That amulet she spoke of. She was afraid. I only showed her that she need not be. I have done nothing to her but show her herself.”

“You should have told us what you were doing!” Xander flung at him. “You should have asked!”

“She knew and came willingly down the road.” The strange face writhed into a frown. “Did you not want her healed?”

“She was doing fine as she was!”

“Was she? She will do better now.” He turned away to look at the others—Willow and Tara looking taken aback, Buffy frowning, Spike grimly amused. He shrugged, dismissing the matter. “So. When do you wish to make the journey?”

“Uh...” Buffy blinked. “As soon as possible. Tomorrow, if we can get everything we need.”

“It will be a long journey and you will need supplies. That can be arranged. Have you funds?”

“Think so.” Spike pulled the purse out of his duster pocket and tipped its contents onto the table. “The others have a little. Not much.”

“This will more than suffice you. Do you know the worth of these coins?” The mage reached out to tap each one as he explained. “A copper buys a loaf of bread. Five would purchase a day’s room at this inn. A hundred equal the smaller silver coin, which would buy a good horse. Ten of those make up the larger silver. Twenty of the silver make up the smaller gold. Ten of those make the larger. What did you give the innkeeper?”

“The smaller gold,” Spike said wryly.

Lioslath put his head back and shouted, “Groot!”

The innkeeper tumbled in the door. “Yes, Master!”

“The Outlanders will be leaving tomorrow. Where is the coin they gave you?”

Groot sighed and handed it over reluctantly. Lioslath gave it to Spike, then tossed one of the smaller silver coins at Groot who snatched at it, then fled when the mage waved him away.

“That was still double the charge for two days’ hospitality for the five of you, so he should not feel ill-used.” He got up, crooking his finger at Buffy and Spike. “You two come with me. You other four wait.”

The man was a whirlwind. Within an hour, he had them all fixed up. A wagon with two good horses. All the supplies that they needed, from food to bedrolls to utensils. Tools to repair the wagon and tack and care for the horses, axes to chop firewood, a box of first aid supplies, more practical clothes for the girls...

“Trousers, not skirts,” he ordered flatly. “It will be a long and arduous journey, and you women will not have time for dalliance. Sturdy boots.” He shuddered over Anya’s heels and looked Willow’s sneakers over with interest. “Weapons. Who can use a sword?”

Buffy and Spike exchanged glances, then raised their hands mutely. They were all breathless and feeling somewhat intimidated.

“Rather like a strict headmaster, isn’t he?” Spike said under his breath to Buffy and they both grinned, for once in accord.

“Daggers for the rest,” the mage went on. “Bows for birding or hunting. Who can use them?” Again Buffy and Spike raised their hands and he nodded. “As I expected. You two are the warriors.” He glared at Willow and Tara. “You novices come with me.”

“H-he refined our spell,” Tara reported later. “And got us all the herbs and things we needed. He’s given us an amulet he says will help with the portal.” She looked thoughtful. “I didn’t think about it till now, but it’s kinda nice having people just accept that we’re witches and not think we’re freaks.”

“He said I have talent, but need a tutor,” Willow said, giggling, then looked at Tara with pride. “He says Tara’s a natural and I should listen to her.”

“Got that right,” Spike muttered, exchanging a wry glance with Buffy.

“Throws his weight around,” growled Xander, still resenting the mage’s highhandedness. “Who does he think he is?”

“This area’s boss,” shrugged Spike and Xander glowered at him.

A little later, the heavier supplies that had been ordered began to arrive. Spike started loading them onto their new wagon, working around the man the mage had sent to paint a strange symbol in bright red on each side of it. He had most of them loaded when the mage’s deep voice spoke behind him.

“What is a demon?”

Spike looked around to see Lioslath sitting on a barrel, watching him. The tattoos that covered the mage made him seem almost a demon himself.

“What brought that up?”

“The callant back there appears to have an obsession with that subject.”

“Callant?”

“Callow youth.”

Spike gave an involuntary snuffle of delight. “Good eye. Yeah, that wanker really is hung up on this demon thing.” Spike tried to think how a demon would be described in the Watchers’ books. “General description of a demon is a vicious supernatural being, not human, not always intelligent, often with strange or powerful abilities, often immortal, capable of great harm, inimical to humans. Evil. Without a soul.”

“Are you a demon?”

“Vampires do fall into that category,” Spike said dryly.

“Do you agree with this description?”

“Suppose. Lots of demons are peaceful though. Not interested in humans. Just wanna be left alone.”

“But not your kind.”

“Vampires feed on humans. Need the blood and the life force for sustenance.”

“Are you evil?”

Spike couldn’t help laughing. “Hell, yeah. And proud of it.”

“Then why do you not act evil?”

Spike unnecessarily adjusted the position of a barrel of flour on the wagon bed. “What do you mean I don’t?”

“Why are you helping these children? If you were evil, you should have killed them all by now.”

“Need the witches to get home, don’t I? Besides, the Slayer protects them.”

“Poison would take care of your Slayer. Fangs would take the others. Keep the red-haired witch to get you home. She has the most power.”

Spike gave him a hard look. “Are you suggesting I do that?”

“You are capable of it. I am only curious about the reason you don’t.”

“My business,” Spike said gruffly. But his gaze flicked involuntarily to Buffy coming out of the inn.

The mage was watching him thoughtfully. “You have killed.”

“Tens of thousands,” said Spike. He straightened, turning away from the wagon, and gave the mage a level look. “I am a vampire and I’ve been a vampire for a hundred and twenty years.” His voice had lost its usual North London accent and had unthinkingly regressed to the cultured speech patterns he had grown up with. “I took a life every night. I and my three partners were called the Scourge of Europe. Three hundred and sixty-five nights in a year for a hundred and twenty years, and in those years, I sometimes killed many in one night. You do the math. And, no, I have no remorse. Or guilt. I do not apologize for nor repent nor deplore those deaths. It is simply a fact. The nature of the beast.”

“You do not regret it.”

“I have no soul to regret it with.”

The tiger mask writhed into a frown. “What is a soul?”

Spike gave him a twisted grin. “Ask the Slayer that. Or the Scoobies. I don’t know. It’s the thing that makes you feel guilt, I suppose. A vampire I know was cursed with one a hundred years ago. He’s spent the last century groveling around, beating his breast. Didn’t do much of anything else but whine, mind you. But now he’s finally trying to make amends.” His voice went back to normal, mocking and contemptuous. “Gives the Slayer and her bunch all a warm fuzzy. Prime example of evil he was. The rest of us couldn’t possibly match the killings and the rapes and the tortures he committed in the hundred and fifty years before he got the soul. But he’s all sorry now and he’s saved a few blokes. Nothing to compare with the ones he’s put under, but it’s the thought that counts, right? And, hey, he’s got that soul now, yeah? So he’s a good guy and the Slayer’s one true love.”

“It makes so much of a difference.”

“Apparently it makes all the difference.”

“Then why do you not acquire a soul?”

Spike laughed involuntarily. “Doing fine without one, thanks ever so. Besides, it wouldn’t make any difference to that lot if I did. They might forgive Angel, but they’ll never forgive me.”

“That seems somewhat hypocritical.”

“They’re experts in that.”

“As with Anya.”

“Picked that up too, have you?” Spike gave him an appreciative glance. “Soul doesn’t really help, except in Angel’s case, God knows why. Scoobs never listen to Anya, not even when she has information that could be useful. And, as far as I’m concerned, Harris treats her like dirt.”

“Do we of the Diarchy have souls?” Lioslath asked suddenly.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Does it matter?”

“The attitude matters. That kind of blindness can prove a danger on your journey.”

“Then speak to the leader of our happy band.” Spike raised a hand and waved. “Hey, Slayer! Master Lioslath has a question for you.”

Buffy came over, frowning. “What is it?”

“He’d like to know if you consider him and his people to have souls.”

Buffy blinked, then smiled at the mage. “Of course you do. You’re human, so you must.”

“Isn’t it nice when things are so simple?” murmured Spike and she glared at him.

“Are you trying to cause trouble, Spike?”

“Who, me?” He gave her a mocking smirk. “We need some rope. Gonna go fetch some. That’ll give you time to repair the damage.”

“Damage? What has he been saying?” asked Buffy, horrified, as he swaggered away.

“It is a jest,” Lioslath said mildly. “He knew that was what you were thinking he had done, so he said it first. That can usually be considered a defensive reaction.”

“Boy, he must have really given you a snow job!” Buffy exclaimed. “Defensive? Spike? He’s conned you! What on earth were you talking about?”

“We were only discussing demons and souls. He gave me to understand that demons are evil.”

“Well, for once he spoke the truth. They are. They kill out of malice and they enjoy killing.”

“Anya enjoyed killing when she was a demon?”

“She did.”

“And that one.” He jerked his chin towards Spike going into a store down the street. “He enjoys killing?”

“Oh, boy, yes! He’s killed thousands and loved every minute of it. But he won’t kill here,” she said hastily, recollecting herself. “You don’t have to worry about that. He gave his word he wouldn’t kill.”

“But he is a demon. Will he not break that word?”

“Spike keeps his word.”

“Why? Is he not evil?”

“Yes, he’s evil. But...” She rubbed her forehead, trying to figure out an easy way to explain Spike when she didn’t really understand him herself nowadays. “He keeps his word, that’s all.”

“I see.” He studied her, the tiger mask of his face enigmatic. “The difference between him and Anya puzzles me. Anya is a child. He is youthful, but he is not a child. And yet he tells me he is only over a century old while she is over a thousand.”

“Demons live in the moment. Neither past nor future exist, only the now. That’s why Anya is the way she is. But Spike was a scholar before he was turned and he’s insatiably curious. Always has to keep messing around with new things. He learns and changes and adapts.”

“Not your usual demon then.”

“No. Not all demons are the same. Even vampires, I guess.”

The mage tilted his head sideways and those strange, white eyes studied her with amusement. “Why was that difficult for you to say?”

“It’s a very simple equation and I’d like to keep it that way. He’s a vampire. Vampires kill people. I’m a Slayer. It’s my job to keep vampires from killing people.”

“Therefore you would kill him. Would he kill you?”

“He’s tried! Often.”

“But he has not succeeded. Are you that much more skilled?”

Spike was in fact more skilled than she, expert in fighting techniques she had not learned. But the Slayer in her kept him at bay.

“Not really,” she muttered.

“You are evenly matched then and the battles come to no conclusion.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Were either of you really trying?”

She stared at the mage. “Well, of course we were!”

But she was starting to wonder whether that was really true.

“You are very young.” The tiger mask of his face was unreadable, the strange, blind-looking eyes disturbing. “You have been taught strangely. There are walls all around you. You exist within them, folding yourself to fit that small space. How can you breathe, constricted like that, with so little air?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do not rely upon rote. Stretch, breathe free, look about you and judge for yourself.”

“What...?”

“One day perhaps.” He shrugged, glanced in the direction Spike had gone. “That one could be a formidable ally. You have need of such.”

“We can make it home without him!”

“Of course. You will find a way for those in your care. But will you find a way for yourself?”

“What?”

“Always searching. Always disappointed. Your track was bent through no fault of your own. By circumstance and questionable teachings. To straighten it, you must open yourself to strangeness. The Querid is a dark place and strange. To survive it, you must not be a rock, but a sieve. You must learn not to resist, but to accept. The little one. Tara? Her instincts are true. Follow them.”


“I don’t understand.”

He stood up, tattoos writhing. “The best sword blade is flexible. It can be bent and then snaps back. Inflexibility is not a virtue. What cannot bend will break.”

He walked away, leathery bare soles silent on the cobbles.

“Ohh-kay,” muttered Buffy. “Make with the obscure some more, Obiwan. So helpful.”

She scowled at Spike coming back to the wagon with coils of rope over his shoulder. He sighed, seeing the expression on her face.

“What have I done now, Slayer?”

“What the hell were you talking to that man about?”

“Very little of consequence.” He tilted a brow at her. “Git seems to have freaked you out.”

“He gave me this weird lecture.”

“Oh, yeah?” Spike glanced at her warily. “About what?”

Buffy thought it over, frowning. “Adaptability, I think.”

“Oh!” Spike looked amused. “Yeah, I can see where he’s coming from.”

She glared. “The implication was that we’re gonna need it where we’re going.”

“His country. He should know.”

She started to pace back and forth, and he watched her, his brows raised.

“Got to you, did he? Never seen you this edgy before, Slayer. What’s up?”

She hated having to admit that Lioslath was right. They did need Spike. She glowered at him. She would so much rather keep him the enemy, the way Giles and the Watchers’ Council and everyone who had any sense at all saw him. Vamps were evil. That was all there was to it. One exception to that rule was bad enough. And even that had had its truly bad consequences, when Angel had temporarily lost the soul that had made him the exception.

Spike didn’t have a soul. No exception there. Not at all. Plus he was a pain in the ass. Plus he got to her, got under her skin the way no one else ever had before. She hated what she was being forced to do.

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t worry,” she growled. “But the rest of them...I’m scared for them. Scared I won’t be able to keep them from getting killed somehow.”

“You’ll do it, pet,” he said gently. “You’re the Slayer. The only way anything will get to them is through you and you don’t go down easy. I should know.”

The gentleness threw her, was unexpected, getting under her guard. She smiled involuntarily, then caught herself up and scowled again.

“Will you...help?” That was really, really hard to say.

His eyes widened. She could see him looking for the catch. He dropped the coils of rope into the wagon and arranged them carefully.

“Are you talking about a truce, Slayer?” he said at last. “A real truce, without the knives coming out every five minutes?”

She flushed a little. “Yeah. Stakes sheathed. But you’ve got to keep those fangs sheathed on your side as well.”

“Okay.” She had thought he would have looked triumphant, but he only looked astonished. He gave her a distrustful glance. “Uh, sure I’ll help. With the girls anyway. Not with Harris.”

She grinned. “Took that for granted.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not putting myself out for that git.” He gave her a hard stare. “And none of your mean cracks, Slayer.”

“I never...!” Then she bit her lip as his brows went up. “The same back from you!”

“Deal.”

“Wonder how long we’ll be able to keep that part of it,” she muttered.

“If we try really hard, maybe half a day.”

He was smiling. Not that mocking smirk, but a real, genuine smile, long creases slashing down his cheeks. She’d never seen him smile like that at her before, though she had seen him smile like that at Dru or at Joyce. It made her uneasily aware of how really handsome he was. She had always been able to shut that out before, safe behind her anger and her denial. Now she felt disquietingly vulnerable.

Something in the way he was watching her made her acutely uncomfortable, the vividly blue eyes warm and oddly gentle, oddly...tender.

She turned away hurriedly.


TBC