Pride

Pride


’Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul;
I think the Romans call it stoicism.
Joseph Addison
‘Cato’ (1713)
Act 1 scene 4, 1.82


‘Together you are strong. Alone you are powerless.’ I know that is what the Mohra demon said to Buffy, even though I was unconscious at the time. Down here, I know a lot of things that I missed before. As if my soul had picked up things that my unconscious mind missed. As if I have been permitted to know things that were kept from me before. The lost day, for example.

I have been allowed to watch what has been happening since Angelus came to retrieve Buffy, since he appeared on the black sand of this arena, with my beloved sprawled dead across his knees. It galls me to say that he has acquitted himself well. I’ll never tell him, of course. He doesn’t need to be more puffed up in his own self-importance than he already is.

Then I understand the problem. He can put down the demons he is fighting, but here he lacks something. He lacks the power to make an end of them. That is when I remember the words of the Mohra demon, and I wonder whether it could possibly apply to him and me.

I see him sprawled on the sand, and I know that he is at the end of his strength. I can never go back – I know about the limits on the soul magic now, when it is too late - but he can. He must. He has to take Buffy with him. And he has tried. Further, he must be the one to protect her for the rest of her life. I find the idea hard to accept, but he is all there is. No, not hard to accept. Almost impossible. She is the most precious thing in the world to me, and the last thing I would ever wish to do is to see her in his care. Yet that seems to be my only choice, to hand her over to a demon. To surely the most vicious demon that Hell has ever spawned. To the demon that has ruled me for a hundred and fifty years, and fought me to the point of despair for the last century.

Yet, without him, I have always known that her life would be short. And he made her an oath. I remember it well, now, although I wasn’t there. ‘…I will cherish and protect you in every way known to human or demon kind. I will never leave you or abandon you, and we will face together everything the future brings to us.’ He meant it. I’m sure he still means it. I was the one who abandoned her, not him. If I cannot go back, he must. And at least neither of them will have to worry about the happiness clause. The knowledge of what I am doing, of what I might be condemning her to, will tear me apart for eternity, more surely than anything devised within Hell ever could. It is the last thing in the world that I want to do, but what choice do I have?

The one who brought me here is a creature of light, and crystal planes. A thing of beauty but entirely inhuman. I don’t know why I am here, or what I am able to do. I have to ask.

“May I help him?”

“He may only help himself.”

Spike walks out onto the sand. Now where did he come from? Is he dead, too? He looks real enough as he presses that stake to his, to my, heart. Then I realise what the creature has said. ‘He may only help himself.’ I have never been able to distinguish between us. I am he, and he is me. Buffy said so, as well. Remember? ‘Angel, he’s you, too. Cut him some slack. Please.’ Here, I have perfect recall of every moment of that lost day. Every syllable. Every touch.

I go to walk through the transparency, the glassy wall that separates us, and it simply parts for me. As I look back, the creature seems to smile, although he has no face.

And it seems the Mohra was right. When I reach for Angelus, to pull him up, I can feel the life force pass from me to him, and yet I am not diminished. And so we face the horde together. One by one they die. Or at least disappear from this arena, which is all that we need.

When the last one is gone, we both stand, battered and bruised – and worse. We are alone except for Spike and the body of Buffy. Spike is standing by the catafalque. He gives us a clear-eyed gaze, then turns and walks back towards the black cliffs. Angelus looks at me with something that, for him, must approach gratitude. He says, gruffly, “Do you wish to make your farewells to her?” I do. I walk over to her, and he allows me to do that alone. I am grateful to him.

She looks so beautiful, and so lost, alone on that huge purple deathbed. It is as if she were alive, but sleeping, except that there is no sign of a heartbeat or of breath. As if she were like me, then. Like I was. My fingers remember the feel of her skin, the heavy silk of her hair. My lips remember the sweetness of her taste, the way her own lips yield to mine. This will be all I have to remember, in all the ages to come. No. She left me with more than this dead shell. She left me with hope. She left me with living memories, which I must and shall hold on to.

I turn and walk back to my place in the black cliff, without once looking back. If I did, I should shame myself. She is his, now, and I must be satisfied with that. At least he will give his life to protect her, just as I would have done. Perhaps it’s the best I ever had the right to hope for.

As I take my place beside my guide, he turns to go. His look requires me to follow. I pray for one last bounty. One more torment.

“May I watch? Until it is done? Until she is gone?”

He nods, and returns to my side. The creature that appears to be his counterpart, the one of smoke and shadows, of dark light, approaches my alter ego. The demon. My nemesis.

“You have been successful. She may leave.”

He stretches forth his hand, and my beloved takes a deep and shuddering breath. Her eyes open. Angelus takes her hand and helps her to rise from the purple satin. She stands, in a dream state, unknowing, unmoving. Unaware.

“Do you wish to say farewell to her?”

What? He has won her freedom, her life. What is happening here?

My guide explains.

“He has been told that his life is forfeit for failing to honour the bargain he made during his last stay here. He stopped the rain of fire and prevented the appearance in your dimension of a new master for the Earth. That cannot go unremarked and unpunished.”

He did what I failed to do. Bully for him. My guide continues.

“Because of that, he may only ransom one life. He chose her. He must therefore remain.”

Oh.

His arms are around her, now, although she does not respond. She is still completely unaware, an automaton, without feelings. He is not. He is crying into her hair.

**************

I am becoming more than a little fearful as I think of the consequences of what is happening. I sit here, a secret part of Angelus’ psyche; what will happen to me now that he cannot leave? Will I be here forever? Will I share his torments here for eternity? Can Willow and Tara retrieve me? Or will they be left with an empty, comatose husk? Am I still conscious, back in my own place and time? Am I now split into two beings? Is that what Angel and Angelus are? If so, what sort of creature is left in my flesh, wearing my clothes?

If it is down to me to make an effort, to separate myself from the demon, I don’t know how. And already it becomes harder to think of myself as a separate entity, to know what is ‘I’ and what is ‘he’. I thought before that Angel was stronger than I gave him credit for. I am beginning to understand just how strong, now that I am in danger of losing myself.

And perhaps some of the fear I feel is Angelus’ own fear, because that is one of the emotions roiling through him. Anger, that he should have to remain here, parted from her. Fear, at what might happen to him. Frustration, that he cannot find a way out of this. But above all, love. Love for her, and sorrow that he will never see her again. Who would have thought it?

He has been crying into her hair, re-baptising her, perhaps, with his sacrifice. Now he looks to the shadow creature.

“Will she remember that I loved her? Will she remember that I begged her forgiveness?”

This is of paramount importance to him, a sin weighing on him like the Mariner’s albatross. He must be reassured, I can sense it.

“She will remember nothing of her stay here. She will know nothing of the time between her fall from the tower and her awakening in your ashes. But others will tell her.”

The creature looks at Angelus. No, not *at* Angelus. Into him. He looks at me. He knows I am here. I think he has always known, and he has given me my task. If this demon is to sacrifice his life for her, he deserves that I should tell her something of that sacrifice. But does that mean that I will be returned? That I will be permitted to remember?

“I can take her back to her world?”

“You may lead her so far. You will not be permitted to cross the barrier. She will follow behind you, but remember this. You must never look back at her. If you do, she will be lost. Her chance to rejoin the living will be gone, and you will leave in her place.”

Another test then. Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus failed. Lot’s wife failed. The urge to look back is irresistible, and he knows it. I feel a slight tug on my consciousness, and I know that the task I have been sent for is about to be fulfilled. My consciousness, stretched between these two dimensions like Ariadne’s thread, is guiding him back, Theseus from the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Behind us, I hear the rustle of leathery wings, and the hissing of snakes. Surely that is what awaits him, when he has delivered her back to life. He starts to walk. I do not know whether Buffy is behind us. And he desperately needs to look. So do I.


************

I watch them leave. My feelings I can only describe as disbelief. Horror. Rage. For perhaps the first time, my anger must surely match his. Who will protect her now? I must have spoken that out loud, because my guide answers.

“She is the Slayer. Why should she need to be protected?”

“Slayers die young. They always have. And they do so because they work alone. Every warrior needs someone to watch their back. Even a Slayer.”

The creature remains silent. I can never go back to her, but perhaps I can make sure that he does. He has forfeited his existence because he chose to do what I could not. He killed The Beast. Perhaps I can repay him. Anything can be purchased here. For the right price.

“Can his life be purchased?”

“It can. You may nominate someone else to take his place.”

“Anyone?”

“Anyone. His is a spirit of particular power and destiny. If the person you choose does not have power to match, you may need to nominate more than one. A pure soul will purchase a great deal. But, whoever you nominate will take his eternal fate.”

“The Furies.” I know now how he suffered.

“The Furies are only the start of it. There will be very much worse to follow.”

Faces come to mind, as I think of those whom I might condemn. Forever.

***********

I cannot look back. I can never look back. She is behind me, and I can never see her, never hold her, again. If I try to, everything I have done will have been in vain. Yet I am weak. The need to look back is overwhelming. Spike was right. The human soul, in residence for so long, has contaminated me. I am no longer as pure a demon as I should be. Aurelius has done something, too. I can feel it in my blood. Perhaps it is good that I shall not see the Earth again. Perhaps I would feel the need to cleanse myself of these corruptions. That could only bring me into conflict with her. So, as I stalk across these black sands, I try to concentrate on what I truly am, a manifestation of evil, and the most vicious demon ever to have prowled the night. I will need to remember that, in the ages to come.

Is she still behind me? Dare I risk just the smallest glance? No.

I don’t know how I know where to go, but I do. It is as if I am following a lifeline, a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest. In the distance, I see the Furies pursuing another naked and bleeding sinner. They are vicious in their attacks. It is the only other spirit that I have seen on these black sands. I wonder who or what it is? Still, it is no business of mine. My task is to look ahead, to not look back.

And now I see the shadow creature, waiting for me. Behind him, a barrier sparkles darkly, as if beyond it lay a billion stars in the blackness of night.

“You have not looked back. You have done well.”

I incline my head in acknowledgement of the compliment, but say nothing. What is there to say?

“The price has been paid. You may leave with her.”

What? I try to ask for an explanation, the words tumbling over themselves in their haste. Never have I been so inarticulate. But he has gone, and so has the barrier. Still I dare not look back until we are returned to our own place. My dead heart lurches in hope as I lead my beloved back to life.

***************

Who shall I condemn? Who has hurt me enough to feel the fires of Hell?

The Watcher? He has power, and he hates me now. Hates Angelus. Simply hates, for what has been done to Jenny. He would make a good substitute.

Xander? He has always hated both of us, even when I was whole, and was trying to do good, to atone. I would need to include someone else in the bargain, because he has not enough power himself, but that shouldn’t be hard.

Willow? She has enormous power, and there might even be some change from that trade. But she has tried to help me. And to help him. He might need her in the battles to come. So might Buffy.

Wesley? Cordelia? Or one or two of the others from Los Angeles? They murdered me, after all, before I had the chance to win my redemption. What better justice could there be?

Aurelius? He founded the line of vampires that has swallowed my life. He is rich in power, too. Like Willow. There might be something left over.

Others, names and faces, pass through my mind. There is something deeply satisfying in reviewing the roll of those who have done me harm. But there is only one possible choice, has only ever been one that could and should take his place.

The creature asks, “Have you chosen?”

I watch Angelus, trailed by that automaton that is my beloved, walking across the black sand.

“Yes. Me.”

************

When I awaken, I am surprised to find that I am back in my own body, and separate from Angelus’ thoughts. And I still remember. Wesley comes to help me up, and Ezrafel goes to him. To them.

Buffy is still sprawled across him as he kneels, then she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Just as she did before. Her eyes open. Just as they did before. But she is alive and aware. She is herself. Xander lifts and holds her, steadying her, and Angelus rises gracefully. Both of them are fully healed of all their hurts. Only I see the look on his face. It is one of unconditional love. It is gone in a moment, hidden behind his more stock expression of mockery, but I saw it. And I know it. And, although I still hate him, I remember that he was willing to sacrifice his existence for her, and that he tried to ransom Jenny.

He turns towards Buffy, and holds out his hand to her. Her look is one of loathing.

“Get away from me. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

Now is my time to say something. Thoughts of Jenny fill my mind, but they are overlaid with thoughts of how I found Buffy today, of what he had done to her. God help me, I remain silent.

He stands there for a moment, his face frozen. Then he turns and struts off into the remnants of the night.


‘And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin
Is pride that apes humility.’
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
‘The Devil’s Thoughts’ (1799)

*************

I have returned to Hylek. I hastened after Angelus when his mate rejected him, hoping that the others would tell her that he went into the Underworld after her, to fetch her back. I do not know what he encountered there, but he was successful, that much is clear. I must ask him, for the sake of the chronicle.

He ignored my presence for some hours, sitting in his darkened chambers, brooding. Then he started to pack. When I asked him where he was intending to go, he simply said ‘Away from Sunnydale,’ his voice as bitter ahavehave ever heard it. Then he snarled at me and told me to go away. He was in vampire face at the time, so I did.

I have come back to Hylek, for the time being, at least. And Haraeth gave me leave to consult the Seers. I have done so and, together, we have told our king of the new developments.

The fires of chaos still rage, burning away futures one by one. On the other side of that chaos, far in the future – although no one can see quite how far – a blackness has appeared. A nothingness. There is no better word to describe it. It lies in wait for us all. For your Earth, your solar system, your universe. For the Adraste. For Hylek. For other dimensions that we know nothing of. The Seers cannot tell how far this blackness, this all-devouring nothingness, spreads. Every path to the future that still survives the fires of chaos, every new path that struggles to be born, enters the blackness and ceases to be. Not one of them emerges from the other side. Until now. It would be foolishly optimistic to call this new thing a path. Still, from the furnace of destruction a few small signs, like footprints in shifting sand, lead directly into that heart of darkness. And come out at the other side.

************

The creature of smoke and shadow, of dark crystalline reflections, bends over the ornate gaming board. Amongst the other pieces, there are some that we should recognise. The woman, leaning on her sword, with a victor’s chaplet around her head, is placed at one corner of the board. The warrior with the stern and grim face of an angel, and the body of a winged lion, is placed at the diametrically opposed corner. The figure of a man, a book held in his hands, stands between them. The other sword-bearing warrior, with torn and broken wings, stands in a third corner. All of them are surrounded by figures of demons. Beseiged.

His brother, the creature of mists and rainbows, asks, “Are they strong enough yet?”

The dark creature looks up. His face is insubstantial, yet his smile is warmer than we have seen before.

“No. But now there is hope.”


THE END
January 2004


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