Chapter 17: Noble Souls through Dust and Heat, Rise from Disaster and Defeat
Chapter 17 - “Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat.”
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Spike scooped the remains of Willow's summoning pentangle into the dustpan and binned it with the spent candles. "Kill me own Sire, save the whelp and what happens? Nothing," he complained. "Angel tops the one bloke who might've been of some use to us and what does he get? Thanked by the very man he murdered."
Buffy handed him an overflowing ashtray, wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale tobacco. "Those Knightly types are weird. I thought we were through with freaky religious guys some apocalypses back." She grabbed the broom from Spike's hand. "Feet!" she said scowling at Lorne, who was swiping leisurely with a feather duster from the depths of an armchair.
Oblivious to her glare, Lorne lifted his legs and, spotting a crystal at his feet as he did so, he picked it up and waved it at Willow. She didn't notice, but Illyria took it from his hand and passed it on, without dropping her gaze from the bedroom door.
"Drogyn never was forthcomin' with information. Seems Angel killing him's clinched a promotion to a new job." Spike cocked an ear in the direction of the bedroom. "How long's he been holed up in there with Percy and the Ponce?"
"Take it easy, Slim Jim," said Lorne. "They'll fill us in when they're ready. Drogyn's bringing Wesley up to speed with all the latest and Angel…" he trailed off and shot a worried glance at Connor sleeping on the sofa.
"I guess they have a lot to catch up on. What with being fellow brothers in the battle against the forces of darkness an' all." Willow smiled weakly. "Doing the brotherly catch-up stuff. You know. Like brothers do."
"My jailer has entered this realm for more significant reasons," Illyria spat, her tone one of uncharacteristic passion.
Spike stiffened. "And that would be?"
"The return of Winifred Burkle to this weak and flimsy shell."
"It's not what you think." Wesley emerged from the bedroom clutching the Orlon Window.
"What care have you of what I think?" Illyria faced the two men who followed him. "Or any of you? Your petty squabbles blind you to the threat that would be your downfall. You would risk all in the name of love." She fixed Wesley with a frosty stare. "I thought to avow you as my guide to this world. Instead you prove false and play the traitor."
"Old One." Drogyn stepped between Illyria and Wesley. "We seek a way to help you find your place, not destroy you."
Wesley nodded his agreement. "The time is long past when I wished you gone." He held up the Window. "With this, we can recall Fred's memories. Restore them to her … to your mind. With her help we can replace her soul. The two of you can co-exist…”
"To hear her thoughts? Feel her feelings? This is not acceptable" Illyria straightened to her full height. "I wish to hear what is the alternative. From the Truthsayer."
"I will escort you into the Old One's dimension," said Drogyn moving toward the mirror.
"And Winifred Burkle will truly die?"
"Yes."
"No!" yelled Wesley reaching for Illyria as she followed Drogyn.
"Wes!" Angel pulled him back.
"I wish to be as I once was." Illyria looked up at the massive gates. "Yet there is nothing in the Old One's realm for me as I am now. My powers diminished. My grace confined within this graceless form."
"Much time has passed since the Old Ones fled this world. There is peace there now," said Drogyn taking up his sword.
Illyria swung to face him. "My place lies not with peace. I have need of a purpose, a reason to be." She looked at Wesley's stricken face. "It lies here. In the fight to rid this dimension of those who have no right to it." She stepped down from the mirror's rim.
Wesley closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said quietly. He released the Orlon Window and watched it fall to the floor. The delicate glass splintered, slivers showering the carpet, forming the pentangle outline where they settled.
"Wesley? Angel? What are y'all doing?" asked Illyria in Fred's unmistakable Texan drawl. She clutched her head and looked wildly round the room. "Where is this?" She stopped when her eyes found the mirror. The portal was gone; replaced by the reflection of the room and its occupants.
Fred reached towards the reflected self staring out at her from glacial eyes. "I'm dead aren't I?" Tears pooled, turning the icy blue orbs to earthen brown. "Oh Wesley. You died in my arms." She swung back to face him, her liquid eyes solidifying in sapphire crystals.
"Such is my greatness that I allow myself to be infected with the memories of Winifred Burkle." Illyria's emotionless tones signalled her return.
"Our identity is forged in the experiences we remember, " said Drogyn gravely. He slapped Wesley on the shoulder. "The Powers gave you great honour in trusting you would accept the necessity for Illyria to chose for herself, brother Watcher."
"Fred didn't get a choice," said Spike gruffly.
"Without Illyria's consent, Fred wouldn't stand a chance." Wesley turned to Angel. "We're agreed then. Everyone back to the Hyperion, prime the weapon and let battle commence."
Buffy folded her arms. "Is anyone going to let us in on what went on in the 'Dead Like Me - boys only!' meeting? Because I distinctly remember saying I'm tired of fighting blind."
"I wasn't invited," grumbled Spike placing the dustpan beside the bin. "And I'm dead. And a boy, last time I checked."
"No time for all that." Wesley paused. "Time. Time. Time is the key and of the essence. Time and number. Yes. Time and number. All there in Fred's room." He hurried back into the bedroom, retrieved a small hammer and chisel from a bag and dashed into the kitchen area.
Lorne gripped the sides of the armchair. "Is anyone else worried that Wes has flipped into homicidal maniac mode again? I know I got distinct whiff of Mad Max as he passed."
"I don't think putting him through that pantomime with Illyria helped." Spike's eyes narrowed. He studied Angel's face. "You had no problems with that?"
"It's a Watcher thing," replied Angel. "Dro…" He licked his lips nervously. "Dro talked. I listened."
"That has to be a first... For both of you," said Spike settling into the remaining armchair.
"Willow would you hand me the nautilus?” Wesley seated himself at the small kitchen table. “You can fill everyone in about the weapon on the way to the hotel." He beamed at everyone. "It's remarkably clever and exquisite in design. Quite beautiful really."
“Willow took the stone from her bag. “Are you sure you should be doing this here… and now?” she asked Wesley anxiously. “We don’t know what’s inside and, even if we did, I don’t think…”
“Your attempt at summoning Winifred Burkle’s essence was doomed to failure without it,” Drogyn interrupted.
“Oh.” Disappointment resonated in Willow’s response.
“As Keeper of the Gate and former Keeper of the Deeper Well, I alone possess knowledge of the passage between dimensions and through time where Illyria is concerned.” Drogyn faced Willow, his features softening. " I came to guide not admonish." He glanced at Angel and then at Connor who was stirring from his sleep. “And to inform what once I could only surmise about the Shanshu and now know to be true.”
Willow smiled gratefully at him and placed the nautilus on the table.
“Some of Illyria’s power over time remains inside. It's what's causing the leak between dimensions,” Wesley explained. He positioned the tip of the chisel on the outer spiral and tapped it lightly with the hammer. “From what Drogyn has told me, once it is released Illyria will be able to cross to the parallel universe and bring Fred’s soul back.”
“That’s if she comes back,” cried Spike leaping from his seat.
At Spike’s words, all eyes turned to the mirror. For a brief instant, the place where Illyria had been standing was empty.
“I fought shoulder to shoulder with you in the alley. Yet still you doubt me.” Illyria strode towards him. “You big Ninny,” she said pulling him into a hug.
“Fred!” Spike swung her off her feet and twirled her round before setting her down again.
“You presume too much,” said Illyria flinging him across the room.
“What the bloody hell?” Spike spluttered his face contorting in confusion.
“Ah.” Wesley packed his equipment back into the bag. “I think we need some input into finding the right balance.”
“For that, you need look no further than he who made all this possible,” said Drogyn turning to Lorne. “The Green Man. The one whom the Powers chose as the vessel for their visions because he holds balance dear.”
“Whoa. Hey, hey, hey.” Lorne rose from his seat. “They Powers gave me the visions. They didn’t throw in the driver’s handbook.”
“No, they didn’t. But they gave me the Watcher’s Diary. I think you’ll find we have everything we need in that, ” said Wesley picking up his bag and heading for the door. “Will the Mercedes carry seven plus armour?” he asked as he made his way up the stairs.