TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 21/31
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and
the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the
author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not
reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.
POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies
translation from another language.
The zombie was a macabre thing; a dead man with pale, puffy skin, a slack mouth, and a blank, staring expression. It moved with drunken, uncoordinated steps, its arms hanging loosely at its sides and its body swaying unsteadily. The stink of decay eddied in around it, carried on the remnants of Lilithu's wind.
Buffy shivered, watching the thing stagger forward. It wasn't just dead; it was well and *truly* dead, something that should have been buried days ago. Dried blood patterned the ashen skin beneath its torn shirt, flaking, distorted symbols that echoed the magic used to create it - the same magic which imprisoned the soul of a living man within its pallid, rotting flesh. Her stomach churned, and she had to swallow against a sudden surge of nausea. The whole 'wrapped in a dead man's skin' idea had been gross enough; the reality was unthinkably *revolting*.
"What is going on here?" Kalskal demanded, his voice cracked with fear and horror. "Who *are* these … people?"
Bad idea; his question drew Lilithu's attention back to that end of the hall. Wesley, very sensibly, froze in place as her eyes swept across him. Cordelia shrank back, pressing herself up against the painted hangings which draped the rear wall. The vampiress smiled.
"Who am I?" she asked, taking a sensuous step forward. The zombie shuffled after her. "*I* am Asha Lilithu. I am life in death and death in life, the daughter of the endless serpent, the mother of eternal hungers. These are my children, born from my blood - and you are nothing but whimpering noise, a slave to my desires."
"Let me translate that," Buffy offered, anxious to regain the demoness' attention. She couldn't help grimacing at the arrogant and inevitably over the top pronouncement. There was something about becoming a vampire that encouraged the inner drama queen, and the older they got, the more pompous and conceited they became. The Master had been - well, a master at pretentious speeches. Angelus' contemptuous taunts and his little mind games had reflected his arrogant self confidence. Even Spike - who liked to pretend that he had no time for that kind of thing - was generally smug, condescending and utterly full of himself. "She's a blood sucking bitch, and these snarly types are her beasty boys. Who are *so* over, by the way."
That did the trick. Lilthu's eyes swung back in her direction, smouldering with angry irritation. "I promised you a lesson in manners," she growled. Her hand gestured, spurring the nearest vampire into motion. "Teach her some."
Buffy leapt back as the creature charged forward, its eyes glowing and its face twisted with a feral snarl. "Don't hurt her too much," she heard the vampiress say. "Her defiance amuses me, and I killed the last one far too quickly. I want to savour this."
The Slayer ducked as a clawed hand swept in her direction. Her arm went up to block the follow through blow and then she went into action. Kick, punch, twist, throw; she moved with determined fury, focusing her energies and making every contact count. She had to keep Lilithu's attention. Had to give Wesley time to work on the tablet and - she risked a wary glance in the zombie's direction - time for Willow to work *her* magic.
If she could.
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[I speak unto the silence, saying 'listen' and the word will echo in the
empty hallways of the heart.
I speak unto the stillness, saying 'awaken' and the word will stir the
quietness like a rushing wind.
I speak unto the voice and say 'the way is open'.
The way is open.]
The warmth of billowing incense swirled through the chant, filling the
room with a soft fug of smoke and the scents of summer flowers. Willow's
face was furrowed with concentration as she spoke, her voice struggling a
little with the unfamiliar words. Angel's hands tightened anxiously on
the hilt of the sword she'd handed to him. He knew that the process was
delicate, the ritual complicated, the outcome uncertain - and he didn't
like the thought of what might be required of him, should everything go
wrong. Of the four 'pillars' or guardians required in the performance of
the ceremony, the vampire had the least to do - at least while everything
was still going smoothly. Xander had an easy task, that of applying the
required mixture of lotus oil and honey when the ritual demanded it. Oz
would be occupied in keeping the incense burning while Willow summoned
power and conducted the rite.
Angel's job was simply to stand guard.
Not to defend the process from external attack or disturbance, but to watch the Watcher - which would have been amusing if the reason for it wasn't so significant.
{We get Giles, we get something else - or we get nothing at all …}
Willow had explained that there would be a moment, a space between those four vital heartbeats, in which the man's body - stripped of all defences to allow his soul to return to it - would be utterly vulnerable to invasion. There was a chance that some inimical spirit might seize that moment and the body with it, a chance that something *else* might awaken within the empty flesh and take it for its own.
The ritual included innumerable precautions to prevent such an occurrence, but - if the unthinkable *did* happen - then Angel was charged with taking the necessary steps to deal with whatever they awakened.
Up to, and including, separating the man's head from the rest of him.
Which wouldn't bother *Giles*, since in those circumstances the man's soul would already have been lost beyond further recall - but it would certainly bother *Buffy*, which is why the thought of it bothered Angel.
Bigtime, as the Slayer might say.
[I call unto the senses, saying 'attend to me' and the senses will stir
and the endless dream be broken.
I call unto the eyes, saying 'see.'
I call unto the tongue, saying 'taste.'
I call unto the ears, saying 'hear me.'
And I call unto the heart, saying 'I am the way. I am the light.'
The way is open.]
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This vampire was just as fierce and feral as the last one had been, and it took all of Buffy's strength and skill to keep it from overwhelming her. She sent it flying several times, wrecking cases, toppling exhibits, destroying display stands - and it *still* came back for more. It didn't help that the creature was trying to injure, rather than kill her - or that *she* was trying to spin out the fight, trying to earn her support team some time and keep Lilithu's attention from wandering.
Claws raked across her arm, drawing blood. She cursed and kicked out, blocking the next blow - and the next. She couldn't keep this up for ever. She was tiring, and there were still five other vampires to deal with. Six, if you included Lilithu, who was watching the dance with hungry eyes.
"She does well," the vampiress remarked, directing her words at the silent corpse that stood obediently beside her. "A true credit to your teaching. You should be proud."
If Buffy had needed any further proof of the horrors wrought by Lilithu's magic, it was there in those quiet words, in that softly amused observation. Her Watcher was *there* - not just in some weird, ritualistic there in spirit kind of way - but literally there - awake and aware of everything going on around him. What had the book said? {Trapped in a decaying corpse, using its senses yet being totally unable to influence its actions …} Sudden comprehension of what that meant clenched around her heart with fingers of ice and made her miss a step in the dance. She dodged when she should have ducked, caught a glancing blow to the head and went tumbling, spinning back and round to land, breathless and dizzy, right in the middle of a demolished display.
Pain cracked through her shoulder and twisted down her arm. She heaved herself up with an effort - and was caught, seized from behind by the vampire's eager hands. Her own hand groped in the debris, discarding unidentifiable artifacts until her fingers closed around a broken sliver of carved wood; she seized it with determination and quickly concealed it inside her jacket. The vampire hugged her in close, its arms wrapping tightly around her, and she let it lift her back to her feet; let it think that - for the moment - it had control.
Over at the far end of the hall, Wesley had reached his goal. While Lilithu watched Buffy's apparent capture with an arrogant smile, he was carefully lifting the tablet from its cradle and turning it to find the vital lines.
"A worthy effort," the vampiress said confidently. "But inevitably a futile one. I grow weary of these games. It is time to do what we came for." Her hand moved in a commanding gesture - and the glass protecting the staff shattered into a cascade of shimmering splinters. Cordelia and Kalskal both jumped, and Wesley nearly dropped the tablet. Only *nearly.* Buffy heaved an inner sigh of relief as he regained his grip and went back to his hasty examination.
Lilithu turned to the dead man at her side. "Gift me with my destiny," she ordered, then added a curt phrase in what Buffy assumed was probably Egyptian. The zombie began to shuffle forward, heading for the now unprotected staff.