| Summer Series 2002: The Journey of the Fool Story the 1st ~ The Magician By Kuzibah |
| Disclaimer: Spike is not mine, more's the pity. Spoilers: For "Grave." Archive- Please email request. Feedback- Absolutely. ******************* -A village near the Saloum River, Senegal At the bottom of the hill, below the mouth of the cave, sat a man. He was on a woven mat, and he wore brightly-colored robes studded with beads and feathers. A headdress of grass and fur fell around his face like the mane of a lion, and his skin was almost black, and leathery from the sun. "So, did you get what you came for?" he asked without turning. "You know what I got," Spike told him. "You have received a precious gift," the shaman told him, "and you have been placed on the path of most profound and ancient prophecy." "Yeah. Whatever," Spike said listlessly. He never much cared about prophecies, and cared even less when he was supposed to be involved. The shaman used his walking stick to climb to his feet. "Come with me," he said. He led the vampire to a mud hut, etched all the walls with elaborate patterns of tiny lines. Spike knew the structure was possibly decades old, the decoration added to and expanded upon year after year. They ducked under a flap of animal skin as they entered. In the center of the hut a low fire burned, the thin smoke rising up through a hole in the top of the peaked roof. As Spike's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, he saw low seats made of more pelts thrown over bundles of brush. "Sit down," the shaman said, and Spike did, grateful for the heat burning off the chill of the cave. A young boy entered the hut and bowed before the shaman, who spoke quietly to him in their native tongue. "May I offer you refreshment?" the shaman asked. "I only have the one food," Spike said, and the shaman spoke to the boy once more before the child rose and left. He returned not a minute later bearing a mug full of something that smelled a bit like beer for the shaman and a bowl full of blood for Spike. The vampire took a mouthful, expecting it to be cold and stale, but found instead it was fresh and hot. "It's very good," he told the shaman. "My thanks." "My people, too, are nourished by the blood of our animals when times are lean," the shaman explained, and the two finished their drinks in silence. "Now, vampire," the shaman began when they had set the empty vessels aside. "You have led quite the varied life, even for one of your species." As he spoke, the fire began to burn more brightly, drawing Spike's attention. "And now, as you begin this new journey, I am able to give you one more gift. I will answer one question for you, one question only, but I will speak the truth of anything you ask." Spike's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he did not speak, not wanting to waste the question accidentally. "Ah, I see you do not wish to be too hasty," the shaman laughed. "Let me help you consider, then." He waved his hands in the direction of the fire, and the smoke shimmered and twisted, forming what looked to be a viewing portal. Within, Angel's face appeared, and Spike gave a small start. "Yes, he is not so unique anymore, the one you call Sire. Perhaps you wish to know what he can teach you, where he is... If he would take you again as one of his own?" The shaman waved his hands, and Angel's countenance faded, to be replaced by Buffy's. "Ah, the Slayer," the shaman intoned. "The one who set you on this path, your own true love. Perhaps you wish to know if your sacrifice will help you win her?" Spike stared at Buffy's image, smiling fondly as she laughed within the portal. "Or do you wish to know if she can forgive you?" the shaman said, and the scene shifted to one that loomed large in Spike's memory, of himself attacking Buffy in her own home. Spike turned away, his eyes squeezing shut. "No?" the shaman went on. "Very well. Perhaps there is another." He waved his hands again, and other images drifted into view. "The little girl?" he said, and Dawn's thoughtful face appeared in the smoke. Spike shook his head. "The one who comforted you," the shaman suggested, and Anya appeared. Again Spike shook his head, and the shaman gave a knowing nod. "One from the past, then," he said and Drusilla's image came forth. "No. None of them," Spike said, speaking at last. "Very well," the shaman said, dismissing the portal. "Have you decided? Ask me a question, and I will answer you true." Spike stood up, suddenly very tired of this mystical business. "Just tell me where I can get some smokes," he said. Go to the next part - The High Priestess Main Menu ~ Return to Summer Series 2002 Menu |