Passing The Mantle
Parts 5 and 6
by Cathryn and Mary M.
Part 5
Ethan turned to look at the pile of unmarked papers on his desk. The perfect ending of a miserable day. Nothing could make it worse, could it? As he sat down, he heard a knock on the door. "If you have a soul, come in."
Ethan dropped his pen. His question was just answered. "Ripper."
Ethan," Giles replied tightly, closing the office door firmly behind him.
[I should have known better] Ethan thought in disgust. [‘Nothing could make it worse,’ indeed. ] Outwardly, he remained casual, speaking lightly.
"I wondered when you'd be around for a visit. Do let's get the requisite beating out of the way so we can chat." He stood up, continuing, "But please don't get any blood on the papers, I don't know what I would tell my students."
"Much as I would enjoy hitting you till you bled -" Giles paused; where had he heard that before? "- I'm afraid I'm here for a different purpose." He crossed the room to Ethan's desk and leaned forward, bracing his hands against the top.
"We need your help," he said bluntly.
Ethan arched an eyebrow. "*My* help? Rupert, I'm touched."
Yes, Giles wanted to say, but your sanity isn't the subject at hand. Instead, he swallowed it and replied, "Don't be. It wasn't my idea." As briefly as he could, Giles told Ethan about the assassins and how they had systematically destroyed the entire Watchers' Network. Upon finishing, he waited for one of Ethan's smart ass comments. Ethan, however, remained uncharacteristically silent.
A painful sinking sensation in his stomach, Ethan cast about for something to say. A way to find out if Wesley had somehow survived, without letting Giles see the cold fear that always gripped him at the thought of Wesley dying because of his profession. ...but, perhaps, somehow - no. Hope, Ethan had learned long ago, was a treacherous creature, and he wouldn't let it take hold of him now. Wesley knew nothing about fighting. He could never escape a hired assassin. Couldn't possibly survive the assault.
And yet, the first sentence that came from his mouth was foolish, hopeful drivel, delivered in a faintly pleading tone that his fifteen-year-old self at the Academy had used.
"Are they all dead?"
**********
"Where's Sharna?" young Ethan demanded, voice shaking, as he caught up to a man he recognized as a Council Member. "Where *is* she??"
"Calm down, young man." Quentin Travers, on his way to an important meeting with a superior - one of the very few people left in the Council who ranked above him - turned sharply and glared. Ethan obeyed, but only in hopes of getting a straight answer about Sharna's whereabouts.
"Sharna -" Travers spoke her name with the subtle inflection of distaste used by most Council members when referring to the Bhavikan Slayer "- was killed last night, during patrol." The lie came to him easily, as did every lie he told.
Ethan gaped at him in shock. Travers, not for the first time, found himself suppressing an urge to slap the boy. There was something about him that set the Watcher's teeth on edge. Glancing at his watch, he said impatiently, ”I have somewhere to be, and I believe that you have a class to attend. I want you there in five minutes."
Without waiting for a reply, Travers turned and strode away. It was a shame, really -there was no denying the Rayne boy had potential, but it had been all but destroyed by that disgusting family of his.
Here, he realized, was a hidden benefit to Sharna's death: with her one, maybe the boy would settle down and focus his attention to where it should be.
Ethan stood still, watching him walk away. Most boys his age would have gone into a terrified rage of denial, storming after Travers to demand that he say what they wanted to hear. Ethan, however, stayed where he was, thinking carefully.
Something was very wrong. Where the hell was Wilson? If Sharna had been killed on patrol, he would have told Ethan about it before he even informed the Council, simply to keep him from finding out from someone like Travers, who didn't give a damn about him or Sharna. Despite all his blustering, Wilson was grateful to Ethan for accepting Sharna and forging a relationship with her when all the others had scorned her. He would have felt that he owed it to Ethan to break the news gently. So where *was* he? Watchers didn't just disappear when their Slayers died.
And Ethan did believe that Sharna was dead. He'd already known it; Travers had merely confirmed it. He hadn't been able to find her in any of the places she should have been. He knew that she wouldn't have been elsewhere - repeating the same routine as long as possible was a deeply ingrained cultural trait of her race. And, dammit, either she or Wilson would have told him if they had been assigned to another part of the world. For that matter, Travers would have told him just now if they had been. She was dead. And it hurt so deeply . . . but there was no time for that. He had to *think*.
Where was Wilson? Why had Travers lied to him? What had happened to Sharna?
Or maybe . . . a chill shot through him. Maybe the question should be, What had they done to Sharna?
**********
Giles blinked at his once best friend, taken aback by the slight tremor in his voice and the apprehension in his eyes as he waited for Giles's answer. He had never seen Ethan vulnerable before and he began to wonder - could it be that he might be worried about Wesley? Giles had assumed that Wesley had just been another one of Ethan's conquests. *Could* it have been more? Was Ethan even capable of more?
"No," he said finally, looking directly into Ethan's eyes. "No, there are a few left."
He wanted to reassure Ethan and get rid of that disturbing vulnerability - at least he knew how to deal with that arrogant Ethan. But he had promised Wesley . . .
There was something in Giles's tone as he spoke that made Ethan wonder if maybe he knew about Wesley. [Hell, for all I know, they sat around and compared notes about me] he thought.
But there was a chance that Wesley was alive. It was a slim chance. Maybe it only existed in his mind, but it was enough to make him sit down and say, "Tell me more about these assassins."
**********
Wesley was in a vague, gray half-sleep when the doorbell rang. He snapped awake, instantly and fully alert. Then he remembered - very little time had passed since the most recent attack, and the assassins didn't really bother with doorbells, anyway.
Nonetheless, he went downstairs warily, keeping his body tense and ready to fight as he opened the door.
The visitor was an older man, around sixty or sixty-five. The right sleeve of his nondescript black jacket dangled limply from the elbow down - the rest of his arm was gone. His voice, when he spoke, carried a light British accent.
"Well. I was looking for Rupert Giles, but you, Mr. Wyndham-Price, will do just as well." He offered his left hand to shake. "My name is Lucius Wilson."
Part 6
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The Bhavika (Sharna’s people) calls our world ‘The Outworld’. Feedback please!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Manners ingrained in him since he was a boy, Wesley took the older man’s hand and shook it, but he did not let him in. “Who are you that you know my name?”
“I am not an assassin, if that is what you are asking,” Lucius Wilson said dryly. “If I were, you’d either be already dead or I would. I was-a Watcher.”
Wesley’s eye quirked at that last sentence. The man spat it out as if he had swallowed something distasteful. He looked at the man for a moment and allowed the man to enter. “If you have a soul, you may come in.”
“A good thing to have, though I doubt that most humans have it,” Wilson said cryptically as he entered the apartment. He looked around briefly. “So, where is Rupert Giles? I had expected for him to be here, or his Slayer. It is mandatory that I speak with him as well.”
“He went out for the moment,” Wesley replied as he watched the older man seat himself on Giles’s couch. “And the Slayer is at her classes and will return shortly, sir.”
Wilson nodded as he looked at the younger man. “Very good, I suppose that I should-“
“Sir?” Wesley asked cautiously as the older man trailed off. Wesley turned to look at what he was staring at. He was looking at the fireplace? “Mr. Wilson?”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Sir? That now?” Sharna asked as she sat obediently before him, pointing at his books above his fireplace. “Read more? Please?”
Lucius Wilson turned to look at his pile of books and shook his head. “We’ll read later, Sharna. Now please recite what we learned yesterday.”
At her puzzled look, he changed his words, “Repeat is the same as recite.”
He swallowed a chuckle at her look of delight. [She just loves learning new words.] “Now please recite what we learned yesterday.”
Sharna nodded and stood at attention, like a soldier. “Sharna learned to use three quarter staff to beat Sir. Read book on Chaos demon. Read history of Marwha War. Trained with crossbow. Ate steak and oyster pie with Ethan. Saw Queen’s house with Ethan. Read book on Kelgor demon. Trained with three quarter staff-“
“Very good,” Wilson nodded as he picked up his glasses and nearly dropped them when he heard how the rest of Sharna’s day went. “Practiced small changing spells with Ethan. Learned to say: ‘Toffee-nosed dolt with his head up his-‘”
“Sharna!” Wilson said sharply as he looked at her. Sharna looked at him, puzzled. [I shall have to have a talk with that boy.] “You should not repeat what Ethan said.” He thought about it some more and added, ”And you should not learn what Ethan said, either.”
Sharna looked at Wilson, then blinked with delight as she realized, “Sharna learned more bad words from Ethan?”
“Yes, you did, my dear. And we should not repeat them,” Wilson nodded, then took a sip of his tea, and nearly choked when she asked, ”Why? Toffee is candy. Nose is nose. Dolt is-“
“Yes, I know what the words mean,” Wilson said to her patiently. [Ethan, I am going to murder you, you little brat] he thought with exasperated affection. “But if you put them together, they mean something bad. Alone, they mean almost nothing. Together in a sentence, they give the meaning of something else. Is that understood?”
Still confused, Sharna shook her head. Resisting the urge to rub his head and to hunt Ethan down, Wilson sighed. “We’ll get back to it. Now, for today, we’ll learn the properties of the elements. What do you know about them?”
“Earth most important element to Bhavika, part of Dhara, the Mother,” Sharna said as her violet eyes glowed. He was about to stop her from talking about her people, but for some reason, Wilson didn’t. “Dhara says ‘Watch over all living ones. Defend small ones. Protect weak ones. Most blessed are ones to protect living ones.’ Sharna is protector, my name. Is most blessed by Dhara. Go to Dhara direct when ashes.”
As pang went through him at the thought of her death, Wilson smiled at her affectionately as he agreed with her. “Sharna is indeed the most blessed.”
“Fire next important element. Bhavika use to keep warm in Outworld. Fire is inside Bhavika heart, many forms of fire in heart. Make weapons. Used to see far-away ones,” Sharna told him proudly. “Water is in Bhavika eyes-“
“Fire in the heart? Used to see far-away ones?” Wilson asked, confused. He had never heard of this terminology before. “Please explain, Sharna.”
Sharna pointed to her chest as she tried to explain. “Bhavika heart filled with fire, many forms. Clan lives there. Father and Mother there as Family Elders. Sir lives there as Sharna’s Protector. Ethan lives there as First Fire. All always with Sharna when not here with flesh. Stay even when with Dhara.”
[She’s talking about love and it’s many forms] thought Wilson, touched that he held a special place in her heart. “I see. Go on.”
“Fire sees far away ones, ones away from clan. Like Sharna,” she explained as she pointed at the fireplace. Wilson looked at his fireplace in confusion. “If fire, then can see far away ones. Is not so lonely for far away ones or clan. Always know how far away ones are, if they happy, sad, hurt or hungry. When fire mold earth in Elder’s hands, then can hear and talk with far-away ones, share all with clan. Clan always learns with far away ones. Always with Clan until ash and embraced by Dhara.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Mr. Wilson? Sir?” Wesley asked again as he shook the man on his shoulder. Wilson looked at him blankly. “Sir, are you all right?”
“No, I was just lost in a memory,” Wilson said as he rubbed his limb. It always ached when he thought of Sharna. He smiled sadly. “A very good memory. Of a time with my Slayer.”
“Oh, I am sorry for your loss, her life is celebrated in the heavens,” Wesley said, automatically repeating the phrase he learned as a boy to someone that has lost their Slayer. He was stunned to see the rage in the older man’s face. “Now that-“
“No, her life wasn’t celebrated,” Wilson spat out as his fist clenched. “It was Passed. And that’s why I think that this whole bloody massacre started.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ethan sat up when Ripper described the assassins to him. “They have purple hued eyes and turn to ashes when they die?”
Ripper nodded slowly as he saw a look of strange realization on Ethan’s face. “What? You know something? Ethan?”
“Hoist by their own petard!” Ethan shouted out then started to laugh harshly. [Oh, Sharna! May your Dhara embrace you tight! The Bhavika will make sure of it!] thought Ethan giddily as tears started to run down from his eyes. When he calmed further, Ethan looked at Ripper, giving him a cold smile. “Let the Watcher Network fall. Let it all crumble and be destroyed. I have no love for them or the Council, justice has come at last and I won’t stop it.”
“You know who the assassins are?” Ripper demanded. Ethan nodded. “And you won’t help us stop the massacre?”
“Not for all the gold in this world or the next,” Ethan said with a twisted smile as he sat back in his seat. Ripper looked at him with impotent rage, and his smile grew. “Call it justice long overdue, Ripper. I just hope the assassins take their time to hunt all those bastards of the Council down and torture them before they kill them.”
“You would let men and women die for this justice?” Ripper demanded with a shout. “They are innocent people-”
“They hell they are!” Ethan spat, his eyes narrowed with hate. “As far as I’m concerned, every one in that Council, everyone that Council has trained…they’re all murderers. All of them are killers of young girls, especially Slayers. And I refuse to save their fucking sanctimonious, hypocritical, collective blood-soaked hands. Or any part of them.”
Ripper looked at him, seeing the unrelenting anger and hate in his eyes. [What did the Council do to him? When had Ethan ever craved for justice?] He asked softly, “Not even for Wesley?”
Ethan stared at Ripper, a surreal feeling passing through him as the sense of triumph died and a cold fist formed in his stomach. “What?”
“Wesley’s a Watcher, Ethan. And he’s already being hunted by the assassins,” Ripper said quietly. “Your brand of justice is going to kill him, too.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Elders? It is ready,” said a soft voice from the shadows. The Elders paid no attention to the young one, and the young one waited for the commands. An old man with silver hair and deep purple eyes looked up at the young one.
“Recite what has been done,” the Elder commanded softly. The young one looked at him, puzzled. “Repeat is the same as recite. Recite what has been done.”
“The Achala still hunt for the missing six Council Elders and the retired ones,” the young one reported. “And we still seek to place a statue in the abode of the Slayer’s Mother. The Achala renamed Adam will place it in her home.”
“No harm shall come to her unless she interferes,” the Elder said softly. “Her daughter is blessed by Dhara, and she is not to be harmed while we hunt. Dhara would curse us.”
“She has already interfered, Elder,” the young one said. “Are we to-“
“We distract her as we hunt for the Guilty Ones,” the Elder decided. “She will be else where as we hunt. What else?”
“The Old Protector, Wilson, is missing,” the young one reported hesitantly. “And we still have not found the Sharna’s First Fire, Ethan. The Hidden Achala-“
“The Outworlders call them ‘spies’,” said a voice from the darkness. “We must learn to use their phrasing if we are to succeed.”
The young one bowed to the correction. “The spies have reported that the Guilty- my pardon, Elders, Watcher that killed Haimi has taken refuge with the Slayer’s Watcher. And the spies in the Outworlder’s England say that the Untrained Ones are safe, however, there is one missing. The spy says it is the one that has bonded with Wyndham-Pryce.”
“She will be found and returned to her sisters-in-arms,” the Elder decreed. The young one nodded. After a moment, the Elder continued. “We will create another image of Dhara for the Slayer’s Watcher. To judge if he is to be…Passed. You may recite this to the others.“
“As you will, Elder,” the young one said as he bowed and left the room.
