Did anyone spot my deliberate mistake?!!
So is anyone confused? I know I am! The silly old bint only posted chapter three of this fic instead of chapter two!!
So if you're wondering what the f**k's going on and you find out, can you please tell me?!!
Should you need to read the chapters in the right order, they are in my memories. Or at least they might be; there's no telling what I'm likely to do at any given moment these days!!
Sorry for the confusion! To make up for it I've posted two chapters. At least I think I have!
CHAPTER THREE
Lorne was obviously pleased to see them all. He had a huge hug for everyone, even Angel. “Hi, sweetie.” He greeted the Vampire, throwing his arms around an uncomfortable-looking Angel. “Come to grace us with a song?”
Angel shifted from foot to foot, looking acutely embarrassed.
“Sorry.” Lorne chuckled. “So, big fella, what do you think of the place now I’ve had it refurbished?”
Angel looked around; it didn’t look much different from how it had looked before he’d driven his Plymouth into the bar. “Nice.”
“I’m still planning on having the Soul Night in your honour.” The Host informed Angel.
Angel nodded, forcing a smile.
“So what brings you here?” Lorne asked. “Don’t tell me. Being prescient I already know. You’re seeking answers and guidance. Why all this demon activity, and why are you having Cordelia’s visions?”
“I want to consult you about that soon.” Cordelia interrupted.
Trying not to look horrified, Lorne mumbled something, which Cordy didn’t quite catch.
Angel looked surprised by Lorne’s understanding of the situation. “Yes.” He replied.
“Then add your name to the list, Angel.” The Host suggested. “And guys? The drinks are on the house. Your usual, Angel?” The Host spoke to the bartender. “O pos. for our guest of honour, Diego.”
**
“Wherever you go
Whatever you do
I will be right here waiting for you
Whatever it takes
Or how my heart breaks
I will be right here waiting for you.”
Angel shuffled uncomfortably as he warbled Richard Marx’s immortal lyrics.
“He’s actually not bad.” Cordelia hissed in Gunn’s ear. “He’ been practising, the sly pig.”
Gunn nodded. “I’ve heard worse.” Gunn’s mind went back to when he, Wesley and Cordelia had crucified “We Are The Champions” in this very bar. Cordelia had been head and shoulders above Wesley and himself; in terms of awfulness, anyway.
As Angel sang Wesley glanced at Lorne. The demon Host had a deeply troubled expression on his face, which immediately worried Wesley.
Fred simply sat and watched Angel devotedly, enjoying his rendition of such a tender ballad.
“I wonder how we can survive this romance
But in the end if I’m with you
I’ll take my chance.”
Angel trilled, still deeply embarrassed.
Another customer in the bar was studying Angel intently. He was a handsome white-haired man of around sixty, dressed in the accoutrements of a Catholic priest, the kind of patron rarely seen in Caritas. But his interest in Angel was obvious.
The Host had heard all that he needed to hear. He walked up on to the stage, slapping Angel on the shoulder. “Wonderful, Angel!” He eulogized enthusiastically. “I can hear that the practising has paid off.”
Looking inordinately relieved, grateful that his torture was over, Angel laid down the microphone and followed Lorne off the stage to a ripple of polite applause. “What can you tell me, Lorne?” He asked the Host as they took a seat at a table in a dark corner of the club.
“Not much.” The Host confessed, a troubled expression on his face. “And it’s not that I know something and won’t tell you. It’s just that all I see is a void. A big fat nothing. Whatever it is that you’re heading for, Angel, there’s emptiness at the end of it.”
Angel frowned. “Death?” He asked.
Lorne shrugged. “I just don’t know. All I can see is a big white emptiness.” He shook his horned head, perplexed. “I’ve never experienced anything like it before. There’s something in store for you that I just can’t see, almost as if someone has removed the print form the pages.”
Angel said nothing; there was nothing to say. His expression was deeply anxious, though.
“I’m sorry, Angel.” Lorne laid a hand on the Vampire’s arm. “It seems I’ve raised more questions instead of giving you answers.”
“Guess you have.” Angel shrugged. “But thanks for trying.” He rose, turning away from his friend and bumped straight into the Catholic priest. A grimace of pain crossed Angel’s face as he came into contact with the priest’s crucifix, and a wisp of smoke rose from his body.
The priest saw this and stepped back. “I’m sorry.” He said.
Angel was amazed at the Priest’s response. He obviously knew what Angel was; yet there was no sign of fear or hatred in his eyes.
Lorne, too, looked on in amazement, not least because Catholic priests frequenting his establishment were almost unheard of.
“Are you Angel?” The priest asked, more than a hint of an Irish accent in his voice.
“Yes.” Angel confirmed.
“Then I need you to come to my church, there’s something I need to show you.” The priest’s voice betrayed a hint of urgency. “My name is Father Ryan of the parish church of Saint Peter’s. I have something there I think you might need.”
Angel took this information in, carefully considering the priest’s motives. Was it a trap to lure him to the church then thrust a stake through his heart? Angel somehow didn’t think so. In all his long life Angel had learned a great deal about people, and his instincts usually told him if someone could be trusted or not. He felt this man could be trusted; despite his calling, and the fact that he knew that Angel was a vampire. “What is it?” He asked.
“I think you should see it.” Father Ryan suggested. “Can you come now?”
Angel continued to look straight into the priest’s eyes; Father Ryan’s gaze did not waver. Angel nodded.
“My car’s outside.” The priest told Angel, and led the way through the throng of demon and human patrons enjoying the “entertainment” in Caritas.
On their way to the door, Angel grabbed Wesley. “I’m going with the priest to his church. I’ll meet you back here.”
Wesley raised his eyebrows. “Is that wise? It could be a trap, Angel.”
“Could be.” Angel agreed. “But I don’t think so. Father Ryan feels genuine. Lorne will fill you in on what he saw in store for me. It shouldn’t take long.”
Wesley watched Angel leave with the priest, a look of confusion on his face. He glanced at Lorne as the Caritas Host came up beside him. “Is he doing the right thing?” He inquired.
“Probably.” Lorne replied, shaking his head. “I couldn’t give him any answers; maybe Father Ryan can.”
TBC
CHAPTER FOUR
Father Ryan produced a bunch of keys from a pocket in his robes and unlocked the solid-looking double wooden doors that gave access to the church.
“I didn’t think churches were kept locked.” Angel commented. It was the first words either of them had spoken since leaving Caritas. “They weren’t in my day, back in Galway.”
“I’m thinking those were more honest times.” Father Ryan said sadly. “Most churches are locked these days. There’s too much of value in them, which makes it difficult for thieves to resist. Then there’s the vandals, religious intolerance…” The priest shook his head. “Sometimes I think the world’s gone mad. But even if that weren’t so, I would still have locked the church.”
“Why?” Angel asked. He could smell the priest’s anxiety and fear.
“What’s in there could be crucial to the future of mankind.” The priest shrugged slightly. “Assuming I’m reading the signs right.” He led the way into the church; Angel was able to follow him, as it was not a living person’s abode, but it was still an uncomfortable place for him. Too many crosses for one thing, which Angel inevitably found painful. But he ignored his discomfort as he followed Father Ryan.
They approached the altar, the cross on it causing Angel to wince, and Father Ryan stooped to lift up the altar cloth. He fumbled under it for a few seconds, pulling out a fairly hefty object wrapped in a faded cloth and handed it to Angel.
Fearing what it might be, Angel took the object reluctantly. When it didn’t burn him he knew it was not a cross or a crucifix, so he carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal an ancient sword.
“The Sword of Morgriff.” The priest said, his tone reverent.
Angel examined the weapon. It was old; very old. There were ancient runes carved into the blade, though otherwise it appeared unremarkable. It was covered in a patina of age and the metal was dull. It certainly did not look like an object of special attention, or something that was crucial to the future of mankind.
Angel lifted the sword, testing its weight. It was heavy, but it felt well balanced in Angel’s expert hand. It felt right, comfortable.
Father Ryan watched in approval as Angel executed a few thrusts with the weapon. “ You wield it like it was made for you.” Father Ryan told the Vampire. “Actually, I suppose, in a way it was.”
Angel’s brow creased in a puzzled frown. “Made for me? I don’t understand.”
“You are the Vampire with a Soul, are you not?” Father Ryan asked. “Unique among your kind?”
Angel nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am unique. But what has the sword to do with me?”
“Let’s go next door to the house, and I’ll explain.” The priest suggested.
**
Lorne, Wesley and Gunn exchange worried glances. “Are you sure this is wise?” Wesley asked the Host.
“English is right.” Gunn chipped in. “I’m not sure the world’s ready for this. I’m not ready for this.”
The Host shrugged helplessly. “What could I do? She insisted.”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Wesley saw the fear in Lorne’s glowing red eyes.
“Of Cordelia?” Lorne nodded sheepishly. “Damn right I am. Aren’t you?”
Wesley and Gunn exchange knowing looks; they nodded.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Gunn asked.
Lorne looked confused. “I’m no expert on religion, but I thought he was. Isn’t he?”
Gunn smiled, shook his head. The Karaoke machine striking up Cordelia’s music cut off any reply he had in mind.
Wesley, Gunn and the Host braced themselves for the onslaught.
“When will I see you again?” was actually a very apt choice for Cordelia, under the circumstances. She stood on the Caritas stage, clutching the microphone so tight that her knuckles turned white, and launched herself into her song. Wesley and the others had been right to brace themselves; Cordelia was completely tone deaf, and could no more sing than Angel could get a tan. Compared to her, Angel was positively tuneful.
But it didn’t stop Cordelia from giving the song her all.
**
Father Ryan unlocked the door of his church residence, and stepped inside.
Angel remained outside, feeling the physical barrier that prevented him from entering a person’s home. He stood sheepishly on the threshold. “Um…I..uh…have to be invited in.” He mumbled.
“Oh yes.” Father Ryan smiled apologetically. “Of course. Come in.”
Angel felt the barrier disappear and he stepped into the front hall of the house. He looked around at the packing cases stacked around the walls of the vestibule. “Are you moving in or moving out?” He asked the priest.
“I’m sorry?” Father Ryan looked puzzled.
Angel inclined his head towards the packing cases.
“Oh. Neither really.” The priest replied. “I’ve been here a while, but I’ve just never gotten around to unpacking everything. Other things on my mind.”
“The sword?” Angel asked, lifting the weapon he carried, once more wrapped in its old cloth covering.
Father Ryan nodded. “Partly that. Partly my search for you.”
“Why?” Angel asked simply.
“There’s an ancient prophecy.” Father Ryan said.
“That involves me.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “I’m beginning to lose count of the number of ancient prophecies that mention me.” Angel said this last with a smile, hoping the priest would not be offended.
He wasn’t. He smiled politely and ran a hand through his thick white hair. “Yes. I was reasonably sure you were in L.A. somewhere, but it’s a huge place. I didn’t get a break until I heard rumours that the Caritas Host was a friend of the Vampire with a Soul. After that, I watched the place from the shadows several nights running, but I didn’t know what you looked like, so I could well have missed you. So tonight I had to go into the place. It was something of an eye-opener, I can tell you. But it must have been my lucky night, since you were there on my first visit. Anyway, I overheard some of the patrons mention you, and after you had finished singing, I just hung around nearby until you were done with the Host. The rest you know.”
“But how did you know about me?” Angel wanted to know.
“Come into the study and I’ll show you.” The priest said, turning and leading the way to a door off the hall.
The priest’s study was small and cluttered with books and documents. He unlocked the top drawer of his scarred wooden desk and removed a battered old leather-bound book and a sheet of discoloured parchment “Can I ask you something, Angel?” Father Ryan turned back to the Vampire, putting the book and the parchment down on the desk. “You don’t need to answer if you don’t want to, but why Angel?”
Angel was surprised at the priest’s question. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat, he turned away, his mind going back to that day, long ago, when he had killed the sister that he had loved when he was alive; when he was still Liam. “She thought I’d returned to her an angel.” He said quietly.
“Who did?” The priest asked, aware that his question had awakened painful memories for the Vampire.
“My sister, Kathy.” Angel replied. “I killed her.”
“If it’s painful for you…” The priest began.
“Of course it’s painful!” Angel said in a voice more abrupt than he’d meant it to be. “I’m sorry. After all that I’ve done all my memories are painful.” He turned back to face the priest. “After I was made, you know, turned into a vampire, I went on a bloody rampage through the village where I had lived when I was alive. Feeding, killing, torturing, I was completely psychotic. I started with my family. I called on them the first night, and Kathy opened the door. She didn’t know what I was, she only knew she loved me, and had probably watched with tears in her eyes as I’d been buried just days before. She knew I was dead, yet she thought I’d returned to her an angel.”
Angel paused for long moments, shaking his head sadly, his expression haunted. “I killed her, fed off her until I’d drained her. Then I killed my mother and father. It was Kathy, though, who I’d loved most. She had never done anything to hurt me, yet I took her life brutally and without pity. Afterwards I thought it a great joke to call myself Angelus.”
“A bastardisation of the word angel.” Father Ryan said softly, deeply affected by the terrible story.
The Vampire nodded. “And I was a total bastard, truly evil. Then when my soul was restored I became known simply as Angel. Does that answer your question? Are you shocked? Disgusted?”
“Of course.” Father Ryan told him. “But not really surprised. Vampires are evil, murderous demons. You had no control over your actions, but you have a soul now. I cannot imagine the depth of your guilt, but I know you are capable of great and noble deeds. God may not love you, Angel, but he needs you.”
Angel was shocked. “Needs me?”
Father Ryan nodded. “If the prophecy is to be believed, yes.”
“Ah, yes, that prophecy.” Angel’s brow furrowed. “But how do I come into this?”
“A thousand years ago, a demon rose from the depths of Hell and threatened to lay waste to the world.” The priest began. “He had many names, but he was known to the Catholic Church as Saurgoth. His coming had been foretold, and preparations were made to deal with his coming. A sword was forged; it was blessed and carved with sacred runes and all that was needed was a good and worthy knight to wield it when the time came.
This was no easy task. In order to cast Saurgoth back into the Pit, his scaly hide had to be pierced in the only place where he was vulnerable. His throat. There was a small area devoid of scales, and the knight would need to plunge his holy sword into that spot to foil Saurgoth. This meant the good and worthy knight would have to get close, and this would mean certain death. Only the bravest, most pious of men would even consider going to his certain death by sending Saurgoth back to Hell. Such a knight was Morgriff, as brave and as noble a man as had ever wielded a sword.
The time came when all the signs said Saurgoth would rise. Sure enough, he began his entry into the world in a church in England. Morgriff went into battle with his sacred sword and though mortally wounded, managed to pierce the Demon’s hide where no scales protected him, and thus the demon was cast back into the Pit. Morgriff should have been sucked down into Hell with him, but at the very last second he was lifted up in a halo of divine light and transported to Heaven. At least that’s how the legend goes. And why would the Catholic Church doubt this? Morgriff was dying from his wounds, and he’d saved the world from great evil. The Lord bringing him home to be at his side was a just and fitting reward.”
Angel had listened to this story with a growing sense of unease. “So what has that story got to do with me?” He asked, half-knowing the answer.
Father Ryan picked up the book that he’d put on his battered desk and opened it to a place he had previously marked and passed it to Angel. The book was very old. It’s leather binding was scuffed and torn, and it came as no surprise to Angel that it was written in Latin. This posed no problem for the Vampire, and he read the relevant passage quickly before closing it and replacing it on the study desk.
“He’s rising again.” Angel stated unemotionally.
Father Ryan nodded. “I’m afraid so. And all the signs point to this church as the location of his rising. It’s been said this has something to do with the church being situated on what was an ancient burial ground, long before Christianity came to California. That could be true, as the church in England where he rose before had been built on the sight of a pagan burial chamber, so the two theories sit comfortably together. But that’s not particularly relevant. The problem is there are no longer any good and brave knights in the world. The scholars and priests who had predicted his first coming got together with astronomers and soothsayers to try to foretell if and when Saurgoth would attempt to rise again. And who might banish him back to his pit.” He handed Angel the old parchment, which was dog-eared and torn. This too was written in Latin. “This is not their original prophecy. It’s been copied many times over the centuries, and this is but the latest copy.”
“In a time when Brave Knights no longer wield their mighty swords.” Angel read. “Saurgoth shall rise again. Another creature will rid the world of the scourge that is Saurgoth. It will be a creature unloved by God, and despised by the Devil, neither wholly good nor wholly evil. A creature in the guise of man, but not of man. A creature born of a woman, but reborn of a demon. A creature that neither lives nor breathes, yet feels the pain of guilt and remorse. A creature made by evil, yet cursed to champion the hopeless. He alone shall stand against the Demon Saurgoth, and take him back to the dark chasm that spawned him.”
Angel considered this; it was more or less the news he’d expected. There was no doubt that the prophecy referred to him, but the last sentence was a little ambiguous. “So it means I am the one to send Saurgoth back to the Pit.” He said gravely. “But just who takes who back to Hell?”
Father Ryan looked a little guilty. “By piercing Saurgoth in his only vulnerable area, you’ll banish him back through the portal he opens in order to enter the world. I fear when he is sucked back into Hell you’ll be sucked in too. I’m afraid God will not summon you to join him as he did Morgriff. As I said God does not love you. But he will use you, sacrifice you to save a world he does not want you to be a part of, and all that will be left behind will be the sword, as it was after Morgriff banished Saurgoth all those centuries ago.”
TBC
So if you're wondering what the f**k's going on and you find out, can you please tell me?!!
Should you need to read the chapters in the right order, they are in my memories. Or at least they might be; there's no telling what I'm likely to do at any given moment these days!!
Sorry for the confusion! To make up for it I've posted two chapters. At least I think I have!
CHAPTER THREE
Lorne was obviously pleased to see them all. He had a huge hug for everyone, even Angel. “Hi, sweetie.” He greeted the Vampire, throwing his arms around an uncomfortable-looking Angel. “Come to grace us with a song?”
Angel shifted from foot to foot, looking acutely embarrassed.
“Sorry.” Lorne chuckled. “So, big fella, what do you think of the place now I’ve had it refurbished?”
Angel looked around; it didn’t look much different from how it had looked before he’d driven his Plymouth into the bar. “Nice.”
“I’m still planning on having the Soul Night in your honour.” The Host informed Angel.
Angel nodded, forcing a smile.
“So what brings you here?” Lorne asked. “Don’t tell me. Being prescient I already know. You’re seeking answers and guidance. Why all this demon activity, and why are you having Cordelia’s visions?”
“I want to consult you about that soon.” Cordelia interrupted.
Trying not to look horrified, Lorne mumbled something, which Cordy didn’t quite catch.
Angel looked surprised by Lorne’s understanding of the situation. “Yes.” He replied.
“Then add your name to the list, Angel.” The Host suggested. “And guys? The drinks are on the house. Your usual, Angel?” The Host spoke to the bartender. “O pos. for our guest of honour, Diego.”
**
“Wherever you go
Whatever you do
I will be right here waiting for you
Whatever it takes
Or how my heart breaks
I will be right here waiting for you.”
Angel shuffled uncomfortably as he warbled Richard Marx’s immortal lyrics.
“He’s actually not bad.” Cordelia hissed in Gunn’s ear. “He’ been practising, the sly pig.”
Gunn nodded. “I’ve heard worse.” Gunn’s mind went back to when he, Wesley and Cordelia had crucified “We Are The Champions” in this very bar. Cordelia had been head and shoulders above Wesley and himself; in terms of awfulness, anyway.
As Angel sang Wesley glanced at Lorne. The demon Host had a deeply troubled expression on his face, which immediately worried Wesley.
Fred simply sat and watched Angel devotedly, enjoying his rendition of such a tender ballad.
“I wonder how we can survive this romance
But in the end if I’m with you
I’ll take my chance.”
Angel trilled, still deeply embarrassed.
Another customer in the bar was studying Angel intently. He was a handsome white-haired man of around sixty, dressed in the accoutrements of a Catholic priest, the kind of patron rarely seen in Caritas. But his interest in Angel was obvious.
The Host had heard all that he needed to hear. He walked up on to the stage, slapping Angel on the shoulder. “Wonderful, Angel!” He eulogized enthusiastically. “I can hear that the practising has paid off.”
Looking inordinately relieved, grateful that his torture was over, Angel laid down the microphone and followed Lorne off the stage to a ripple of polite applause. “What can you tell me, Lorne?” He asked the Host as they took a seat at a table in a dark corner of the club.
“Not much.” The Host confessed, a troubled expression on his face. “And it’s not that I know something and won’t tell you. It’s just that all I see is a void. A big fat nothing. Whatever it is that you’re heading for, Angel, there’s emptiness at the end of it.”
Angel frowned. “Death?” He asked.
Lorne shrugged. “I just don’t know. All I can see is a big white emptiness.” He shook his horned head, perplexed. “I’ve never experienced anything like it before. There’s something in store for you that I just can’t see, almost as if someone has removed the print form the pages.”
Angel said nothing; there was nothing to say. His expression was deeply anxious, though.
“I’m sorry, Angel.” Lorne laid a hand on the Vampire’s arm. “It seems I’ve raised more questions instead of giving you answers.”
“Guess you have.” Angel shrugged. “But thanks for trying.” He rose, turning away from his friend and bumped straight into the Catholic priest. A grimace of pain crossed Angel’s face as he came into contact with the priest’s crucifix, and a wisp of smoke rose from his body.
The priest saw this and stepped back. “I’m sorry.” He said.
Angel was amazed at the Priest’s response. He obviously knew what Angel was; yet there was no sign of fear or hatred in his eyes.
Lorne, too, looked on in amazement, not least because Catholic priests frequenting his establishment were almost unheard of.
“Are you Angel?” The priest asked, more than a hint of an Irish accent in his voice.
“Yes.” Angel confirmed.
“Then I need you to come to my church, there’s something I need to show you.” The priest’s voice betrayed a hint of urgency. “My name is Father Ryan of the parish church of Saint Peter’s. I have something there I think you might need.”
Angel took this information in, carefully considering the priest’s motives. Was it a trap to lure him to the church then thrust a stake through his heart? Angel somehow didn’t think so. In all his long life Angel had learned a great deal about people, and his instincts usually told him if someone could be trusted or not. He felt this man could be trusted; despite his calling, and the fact that he knew that Angel was a vampire. “What is it?” He asked.
“I think you should see it.” Father Ryan suggested. “Can you come now?”
Angel continued to look straight into the priest’s eyes; Father Ryan’s gaze did not waver. Angel nodded.
“My car’s outside.” The priest told Angel, and led the way through the throng of demon and human patrons enjoying the “entertainment” in Caritas.
On their way to the door, Angel grabbed Wesley. “I’m going with the priest to his church. I’ll meet you back here.”
Wesley raised his eyebrows. “Is that wise? It could be a trap, Angel.”
“Could be.” Angel agreed. “But I don’t think so. Father Ryan feels genuine. Lorne will fill you in on what he saw in store for me. It shouldn’t take long.”
Wesley watched Angel leave with the priest, a look of confusion on his face. He glanced at Lorne as the Caritas Host came up beside him. “Is he doing the right thing?” He inquired.
“Probably.” Lorne replied, shaking his head. “I couldn’t give him any answers; maybe Father Ryan can.”
TBC
CHAPTER FOUR
Father Ryan produced a bunch of keys from a pocket in his robes and unlocked the solid-looking double wooden doors that gave access to the church.
“I didn’t think churches were kept locked.” Angel commented. It was the first words either of them had spoken since leaving Caritas. “They weren’t in my day, back in Galway.”
“I’m thinking those were more honest times.” Father Ryan said sadly. “Most churches are locked these days. There’s too much of value in them, which makes it difficult for thieves to resist. Then there’s the vandals, religious intolerance…” The priest shook his head. “Sometimes I think the world’s gone mad. But even if that weren’t so, I would still have locked the church.”
“Why?” Angel asked. He could smell the priest’s anxiety and fear.
“What’s in there could be crucial to the future of mankind.” The priest shrugged slightly. “Assuming I’m reading the signs right.” He led the way into the church; Angel was able to follow him, as it was not a living person’s abode, but it was still an uncomfortable place for him. Too many crosses for one thing, which Angel inevitably found painful. But he ignored his discomfort as he followed Father Ryan.
They approached the altar, the cross on it causing Angel to wince, and Father Ryan stooped to lift up the altar cloth. He fumbled under it for a few seconds, pulling out a fairly hefty object wrapped in a faded cloth and handed it to Angel.
Fearing what it might be, Angel took the object reluctantly. When it didn’t burn him he knew it was not a cross or a crucifix, so he carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal an ancient sword.
“The Sword of Morgriff.” The priest said, his tone reverent.
Angel examined the weapon. It was old; very old. There were ancient runes carved into the blade, though otherwise it appeared unremarkable. It was covered in a patina of age and the metal was dull. It certainly did not look like an object of special attention, or something that was crucial to the future of mankind.
Angel lifted the sword, testing its weight. It was heavy, but it felt well balanced in Angel’s expert hand. It felt right, comfortable.
Father Ryan watched in approval as Angel executed a few thrusts with the weapon. “ You wield it like it was made for you.” Father Ryan told the Vampire. “Actually, I suppose, in a way it was.”
Angel’s brow creased in a puzzled frown. “Made for me? I don’t understand.”
“You are the Vampire with a Soul, are you not?” Father Ryan asked. “Unique among your kind?”
Angel nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am unique. But what has the sword to do with me?”
“Let’s go next door to the house, and I’ll explain.” The priest suggested.
**
Lorne, Wesley and Gunn exchange worried glances. “Are you sure this is wise?” Wesley asked the Host.
“English is right.” Gunn chipped in. “I’m not sure the world’s ready for this. I’m not ready for this.”
The Host shrugged helplessly. “What could I do? She insisted.”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Wesley saw the fear in Lorne’s glowing red eyes.
“Of Cordelia?” Lorne nodded sheepishly. “Damn right I am. Aren’t you?”
Wesley and Gunn exchange knowing looks; they nodded.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Gunn asked.
Lorne looked confused. “I’m no expert on religion, but I thought he was. Isn’t he?”
Gunn smiled, shook his head. The Karaoke machine striking up Cordelia’s music cut off any reply he had in mind.
Wesley, Gunn and the Host braced themselves for the onslaught.
“When will I see you again?” was actually a very apt choice for Cordelia, under the circumstances. She stood on the Caritas stage, clutching the microphone so tight that her knuckles turned white, and launched herself into her song. Wesley and the others had been right to brace themselves; Cordelia was completely tone deaf, and could no more sing than Angel could get a tan. Compared to her, Angel was positively tuneful.
But it didn’t stop Cordelia from giving the song her all.
**
Father Ryan unlocked the door of his church residence, and stepped inside.
Angel remained outside, feeling the physical barrier that prevented him from entering a person’s home. He stood sheepishly on the threshold. “Um…I..uh…have to be invited in.” He mumbled.
“Oh yes.” Father Ryan smiled apologetically. “Of course. Come in.”
Angel felt the barrier disappear and he stepped into the front hall of the house. He looked around at the packing cases stacked around the walls of the vestibule. “Are you moving in or moving out?” He asked the priest.
“I’m sorry?” Father Ryan looked puzzled.
Angel inclined his head towards the packing cases.
“Oh. Neither really.” The priest replied. “I’ve been here a while, but I’ve just never gotten around to unpacking everything. Other things on my mind.”
“The sword?” Angel asked, lifting the weapon he carried, once more wrapped in its old cloth covering.
Father Ryan nodded. “Partly that. Partly my search for you.”
“Why?” Angel asked simply.
“There’s an ancient prophecy.” Father Ryan said.
“That involves me.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “I’m beginning to lose count of the number of ancient prophecies that mention me.” Angel said this last with a smile, hoping the priest would not be offended.
He wasn’t. He smiled politely and ran a hand through his thick white hair. “Yes. I was reasonably sure you were in L.A. somewhere, but it’s a huge place. I didn’t get a break until I heard rumours that the Caritas Host was a friend of the Vampire with a Soul. After that, I watched the place from the shadows several nights running, but I didn’t know what you looked like, so I could well have missed you. So tonight I had to go into the place. It was something of an eye-opener, I can tell you. But it must have been my lucky night, since you were there on my first visit. Anyway, I overheard some of the patrons mention you, and after you had finished singing, I just hung around nearby until you were done with the Host. The rest you know.”
“But how did you know about me?” Angel wanted to know.
“Come into the study and I’ll show you.” The priest said, turning and leading the way to a door off the hall.
The priest’s study was small and cluttered with books and documents. He unlocked the top drawer of his scarred wooden desk and removed a battered old leather-bound book and a sheet of discoloured parchment “Can I ask you something, Angel?” Father Ryan turned back to the Vampire, putting the book and the parchment down on the desk. “You don’t need to answer if you don’t want to, but why Angel?”
Angel was surprised at the priest’s question. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat, he turned away, his mind going back to that day, long ago, when he had killed the sister that he had loved when he was alive; when he was still Liam. “She thought I’d returned to her an angel.” He said quietly.
“Who did?” The priest asked, aware that his question had awakened painful memories for the Vampire.
“My sister, Kathy.” Angel replied. “I killed her.”
“If it’s painful for you…” The priest began.
“Of course it’s painful!” Angel said in a voice more abrupt than he’d meant it to be. “I’m sorry. After all that I’ve done all my memories are painful.” He turned back to face the priest. “After I was made, you know, turned into a vampire, I went on a bloody rampage through the village where I had lived when I was alive. Feeding, killing, torturing, I was completely psychotic. I started with my family. I called on them the first night, and Kathy opened the door. She didn’t know what I was, she only knew she loved me, and had probably watched with tears in her eyes as I’d been buried just days before. She knew I was dead, yet she thought I’d returned to her an angel.”
Angel paused for long moments, shaking his head sadly, his expression haunted. “I killed her, fed off her until I’d drained her. Then I killed my mother and father. It was Kathy, though, who I’d loved most. She had never done anything to hurt me, yet I took her life brutally and without pity. Afterwards I thought it a great joke to call myself Angelus.”
“A bastardisation of the word angel.” Father Ryan said softly, deeply affected by the terrible story.
The Vampire nodded. “And I was a total bastard, truly evil. Then when my soul was restored I became known simply as Angel. Does that answer your question? Are you shocked? Disgusted?”
“Of course.” Father Ryan told him. “But not really surprised. Vampires are evil, murderous demons. You had no control over your actions, but you have a soul now. I cannot imagine the depth of your guilt, but I know you are capable of great and noble deeds. God may not love you, Angel, but he needs you.”
Angel was shocked. “Needs me?”
Father Ryan nodded. “If the prophecy is to be believed, yes.”
“Ah, yes, that prophecy.” Angel’s brow furrowed. “But how do I come into this?”
“A thousand years ago, a demon rose from the depths of Hell and threatened to lay waste to the world.” The priest began. “He had many names, but he was known to the Catholic Church as Saurgoth. His coming had been foretold, and preparations were made to deal with his coming. A sword was forged; it was blessed and carved with sacred runes and all that was needed was a good and worthy knight to wield it when the time came.
This was no easy task. In order to cast Saurgoth back into the Pit, his scaly hide had to be pierced in the only place where he was vulnerable. His throat. There was a small area devoid of scales, and the knight would need to plunge his holy sword into that spot to foil Saurgoth. This meant the good and worthy knight would have to get close, and this would mean certain death. Only the bravest, most pious of men would even consider going to his certain death by sending Saurgoth back to Hell. Such a knight was Morgriff, as brave and as noble a man as had ever wielded a sword.
The time came when all the signs said Saurgoth would rise. Sure enough, he began his entry into the world in a church in England. Morgriff went into battle with his sacred sword and though mortally wounded, managed to pierce the Demon’s hide where no scales protected him, and thus the demon was cast back into the Pit. Morgriff should have been sucked down into Hell with him, but at the very last second he was lifted up in a halo of divine light and transported to Heaven. At least that’s how the legend goes. And why would the Catholic Church doubt this? Morgriff was dying from his wounds, and he’d saved the world from great evil. The Lord bringing him home to be at his side was a just and fitting reward.”
Angel had listened to this story with a growing sense of unease. “So what has that story got to do with me?” He asked, half-knowing the answer.
Father Ryan picked up the book that he’d put on his battered desk and opened it to a place he had previously marked and passed it to Angel. The book was very old. It’s leather binding was scuffed and torn, and it came as no surprise to Angel that it was written in Latin. This posed no problem for the Vampire, and he read the relevant passage quickly before closing it and replacing it on the study desk.
“He’s rising again.” Angel stated unemotionally.
Father Ryan nodded. “I’m afraid so. And all the signs point to this church as the location of his rising. It’s been said this has something to do with the church being situated on what was an ancient burial ground, long before Christianity came to California. That could be true, as the church in England where he rose before had been built on the sight of a pagan burial chamber, so the two theories sit comfortably together. But that’s not particularly relevant. The problem is there are no longer any good and brave knights in the world. The scholars and priests who had predicted his first coming got together with astronomers and soothsayers to try to foretell if and when Saurgoth would attempt to rise again. And who might banish him back to his pit.” He handed Angel the old parchment, which was dog-eared and torn. This too was written in Latin. “This is not their original prophecy. It’s been copied many times over the centuries, and this is but the latest copy.”
“In a time when Brave Knights no longer wield their mighty swords.” Angel read. “Saurgoth shall rise again. Another creature will rid the world of the scourge that is Saurgoth. It will be a creature unloved by God, and despised by the Devil, neither wholly good nor wholly evil. A creature in the guise of man, but not of man. A creature born of a woman, but reborn of a demon. A creature that neither lives nor breathes, yet feels the pain of guilt and remorse. A creature made by evil, yet cursed to champion the hopeless. He alone shall stand against the Demon Saurgoth, and take him back to the dark chasm that spawned him.”
Angel considered this; it was more or less the news he’d expected. There was no doubt that the prophecy referred to him, but the last sentence was a little ambiguous. “So it means I am the one to send Saurgoth back to the Pit.” He said gravely. “But just who takes who back to Hell?”
Father Ryan looked a little guilty. “By piercing Saurgoth in his only vulnerable area, you’ll banish him back through the portal he opens in order to enter the world. I fear when he is sucked back into Hell you’ll be sucked in too. I’m afraid God will not summon you to join him as he did Morgriff. As I said God does not love you. But he will use you, sacrifice you to save a world he does not want you to be a part of, and all that will be left behind will be the sword, as it was after Morgriff banished Saurgoth all those centuries ago.”
TBC