Buffy the Vampire Slayer 3

by Nancy Holder

  “Well, there aren’t many other places in Sunnydale where you can get a bonsai tree,” Angel said, nodding.

  “In LA you can buy them at the mall,” Buffy said, almost sadly. Suddenly she missed her old, normal life more than she ever had before. She was tired of all the weirdness. It seemed that the moment she thought she’d adjusted to her role as the Slayer, something came along to change it. Up the stakes.

  So to speak.

  Angel glanced at the window.

  Buffy said, “There are about eighteen more minutes of daylight left.” She took a breath. “When you’re the Slayer, eighteen minutes can be a lifetime.”

  Angel nodded. “Go. I’ll come after you the second the sun goes down.”

  She kissed him lightly on the lips and looked away quickly so he wouldn’t see her fear and worry. “See you soon.”

  “I’ll hurry,” he promised, but Buffy was already out the door and bounding up the steps.

  A tiny slice of the sun was still visible on the horizon as she got into Cordelia’s car. The sky was a garish pink on one end, and a deep, almost ghostly blue on the other.

  Buffy put the car in gear, praying she wouldn’t get stopped.

  The disk clanked against the metal chain as if it were a time bomb sequenced for countdown.

  Giles returned huffing and puffing with a leather book in his arms just as Xander closed the bathroom door and walked all by himself back to his bed.

  The Watcher actually stumbled over his own feet and said, “Xander, what are you doing up?” Then, before Xander could answer, he glanced at Cordelia and said, “Has Buffy called?”

  “Oops,” Cordelia said, looking guilty. “I mean, no.”

  Xander looked curiously at his little lustbuddy and wondered what the oops was about, but concentrated instead on Giles.

  “Cor says you went off to get another book,” he said, bobbing his head at that thing called libro by some—the ones who took Spanish—in Giles’s arms.

  “Um? Oh, yes. Yes.” Giles was actually smiling. “It’s just that I’m so delighted to see you up and about. Although I’m sure you’re supposed to remain in bed.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “He didn’t like the bedpan,” Cordelia offered helpfully.

  “Thank you, Nurse Chase,” Xander huffed, rolling his eyes. She did the same, and it looked like another fine evening with the Dueling Banjos except that they had more important things to talk about.

  “The book,” he urged Giles.

  “The book,” Giles concurred, and his smile grew. “As one might say, bingo.”

  Xander sat down and rubbed his hands. “Then bingo it is. And please read-o.”

  “Yes.”

  Giles read.

  “In early Japan, executions were carried out by means of either strangulation or immolation, that is to say, burning. The spilling of blood revolted the fastidious Japanese mind. However, with the arrival of Buddhism, seppuku became the favored method, the victim voluntarily inserting a sword blade into his abdomen and slicing his bowels, thus causing a copious amount of bleeding (and, one must add, however indelicately, pain of a truly unimaginable sort). If at all possible, the head of the condemned was summarily cut off with another sword in order to spare him further agony. However, to be decapitated without first freeing one’s soul from the body (for the Japanese believed that the soul resides within the abdomen) was truly a dishonor.”

  “And we couldn’t have that,” Xander quipped.

  “Be quiet,” Cordelia snapped. “Giles, keep reading. Please,” she added sweetly.

  “Further regarding the ritual Magick of Ancient Japan, it is considered possible to imprison a Spirit inside an inanimate object. One then says of the Spirit that it is ‘bound’ and that the Object is ‘alive.’ Thus one says of a Bell into which a Spirit has been bound, Suzu ga imasu, rather than Suzu ga arimasu. Imasu being the verb for things that are alive, while arimasu is used for the things which are not.

  “In various versions of the legend of Sanno the Mountain King, we read that his Sword is a living thing, which leads one to assume a Spirit had been bound into it. Blood is prominently mentioned, specifically, the blooding of his enemy. The story regarding Sanno’s victorious battle with the evil Vampire Chirayoju generally includes the line, and Chirayoju was blooded, and thus vanquished.”

  “So it got out when Willow cut herself?” Xander said, staring hard at Giles.

  Giles returned his gaze. “It would appear so.”

  Xander ran his hands through his hair. “Listen, Giles, whatever happens, I’m not letting anyone put a stake through Willow. No way.”

  “Well, what I’ve been pondering is the uniqueness of this case,” Giles began, and Xander wondered how many trails they were scheduled to meander down before they reached Giles’s point. Because he had already reached his own conclusion: He’d lock Willow up like Oz—only, just for the rest of her natural life, instead of three nights a month—before he would ever allow her to be harmed.

  “Yes, the pondering thing,” Xander said, weary, pain-ridden, and very anxious.

  Giles completely missed his impatience, or else was being very British and very polite about pretending not to notice it. “It seems to me that if the demon was extracted from one form, perhaps it can be done again.”

  “Okay, trap the vampire ghost. Got it,” Xander said. “And we do that by …?”

  Giles smiled grimly. It was times like these he wished he was back in the land of tea, crumpets, and baked beans for breakfast. “I suppose we’ll find that out after Cordelia and I have broken into the museum and had another look at that sword.”

  Fighting vertigo, Xander sat up. “Cordy, I never thought I’d say these words to you, but help me finish getting dressed.”

  “And I never thought I’d say this,” Cordelia shot back, “but no way.” She held her hand out to Giles. “Let’s go.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Xander protested.

  Giles shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry, Xander, but you’ve got to stay here and get well.” He gestured to the phone. “Besides, Buffy may call.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Xander said, to Giles’s surprise. “You’re right. You two run along.” He folded his hands and made a show of climbing back into bed. “I’m sitting here obediently, healing away. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Well, good,” Giles said uncertainly.

  As soon as they were out of range, Xander threw back his wafer-thin hospital blanket and climbed awkwardly out of bed. The room spun for a shorter period of time than the last time, and he figured that meant he was ready to put on his Robin cape.

  He shuffled once more toward the little closet containing his clothes—his admittedly disgusting, blood-caked duds—and opted for his jeans and a scrub top he found hanging in his bathroom. Used? Covered with ebola virus?

  Then it occurred to him to look for some scrub pants.

  In a few minutes, he strolled out of the hospital and followed behind two hotties in outfits similar to his own. As they neared the parking lot, he made a show of groaning and turning back around.

  One of them said, “Hey. Hi. What’s the matter?” She stared at his face and he remembered he was kind of gross-looking.

  He made a face. “I forgot that my roommate, Dr., ah, Summers, has my car. Porsche. His is in the shop. His Beemer. I told him I had a double shift but we, ah, ran out of emergencies so I’m going home early because I’m still healing from my skiing accident.” Inwardly, he winced at his unconvincing story.

  The redhead looked impressed and said, “Oh, you’re a doctor?”

  “Yeah. I numb ’em.” He shrugged casually. “I’ll have to go call him. I just called the museum and told them I’d drop by to work on some lecture slides. On ebola. And numbing.”

  The hotties gave each other a let’s-go-for-it look. The redhead said, “We can give you a lift, Doctor.”

  “We’d be happy to,” added her little blond pal.

  Xander
said, “Thanks, ladies,” and followed them to a Camry with a bumper sticker that read LOVE A NURSE.

  But the ironic thing was, Xander was too sore and too exhausted to even consider it.

  “Oh God, this thing is such a clunker,” Cordelia wailed from the passenger side as she kept scanning Claire Silver’s book of spells. “Giles, when are you going to get a real car?”

  “Cordelia, I realize that as a young Southern Californian caught in the clutches of the obsession with—”

  “Wait,” Cordelia said, waving her hand. “There’s a loose page stuck in the back of the book.” She glanced at it. “Oh my God, Giles, listen!”

  June 17, 1820

  I have just learned something absolutely fascinating! A scroll has made its way to me from the actual Buddhist monastery on Mount Hiei, recording a number of events within the chronology of the Sword of Sanno. For indeed, such a sword exists, and resides there now!

  The Emperor Kammu kept this sacred and dangerous object with him, housing it in the pavilion wherein dwelled the embodiment of his ancestor, Amaterasu-no-kami, the Sun Goddess.

  But after widespread unrest (due to an unfair system of taxation and other social problems), the Emperor Kammu ordered the nation’s capital moved from Nara to Kyoto. (Interestingly, this is when the current system of Japanese writing began to become codified, and there are many more documents preserved about magick spells from here than in the previous centuries.) At any rate, during this enormous undertaking, an earthquake occurred, and Emperor Kammu became concerned that this violent shifting of the earth had to do with the sword.

  The Emperor sent the Sword of Sanno, with great pomp and ceremony, to the monastery, bidding them to protect it for all time. But to the head monk he wrote a remarkable and mystifying thing:

  “I charge thee to do all thou canst to maintain the peace between thy patron kami, Lord Sanno, and the most dishonorable demon Chirayoju, both housed within the weapon. For thou alone keepest the secret, and as we have agreed, I shall tell no one else. For Lord Sanno’s wrath would be terrible indeed, and no amount of atonement could ever satisfy the betrayal he must certainly feel by the actions of this most desperate Emperor.”

  From this I conclude that the Emperor bound Sanno within his own Sword.

  “So there’s someone else in the sword?” Cordelia asked. “Or is he the guy who’s possessing Willow, or what?”

  “I don’t know,” Giles confessed. “But we’re there now, so …”

  He slammed on the brakes.

  “Good heavens, is that Xander?” he asked, pointing at a car pulled to the curb just ahead of them.

  As if on cue, Xander straightened and waved at them.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As Tsukuyomi, the Moon God, glittered over the wintry landscape, Lord Chirayoju’s hellish army marched swiftly and silently toward Emperor Kammu’s palace. Once they had been sighted, runners burst into the Emperor’s exquisite banquet hall with news of the invasion.

  As the cold, exhausted men tumbled into the exalted company, the music stopped and all eyes looked to them. They lay prostrate until the Emperor gave them leave to speak. For daring to burst in as they had, it would have lain within his provenance to command them to take their own lives. One waited on the Emperor’s invitation; one did not dare thrust oneself into his presence. But it was clear there was a crisis, or they would not have been so bold, and the Emperor quickly learned what was transpiring beyond his palace walls.

  Sanno listened with glee as one of the runners answered the Emperor’s calm and careful questions, the words tumbling out of the frightened soldier’s mouth: “They are legions of demons, oh Great One, and vampires, and an angry mob of peasants. Their leader is a hideous being who floats on the lightest breeze. Its face glows green and slick, and it is nothing of Japan.”

  The court drew back in horror. Exquisite ladies turned to their warrior husbands and begged fate not to make them widows. Poetry-loving dandies clenched their fists inside their sleeves, fretting that they might be ordered to actually fight against such creatures.

  After Emperor Kammu had finished with the runners’ interviews, Sanno turned to him and said, “This is the evil Chinese tengu Chirayoju. It has sworn to drink your blood, but rest assured, most mighty sovereign, I shall protect you.”

  With his hand on the hilt of the sword in his belt, Kammu inclined his head in great thanks and said to Sanno, “My debt for your assistance will never be repaid. I will give your retinue weapons, soldiers, and horses.”

  “I have my own army, camping in the foothills,” Sanno replied haughtily, “but I will accept your generous offer, for no army should ever turn down provisions.”

  Then Sanno clapped his hands and an icy winter wind whistled into the banquet hall. The assembled courtiers shook with cold, the oldest and youngest nearly turning blue, but Sanno did not seem to notice their discomfort.

  He bellowed a fearsome battle cry, which was taken up by the wind, then shouted in ringing tones, “Come to me. It is time.”

  Carrying his words, the wind streamed in the opposite direction. Finding there a door of rice paper, it blasted through, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. In another instant, it burst through the very wall of the palace itself.

  The Emperor noted the damage and was silent for a moment. Then he dared to say to the Mountain God, “It would be well if you would meet him outside my castle gates. Within, my people are defenseless.”

  Sanno glared at the Emperor. He thundered, “Am I not here to protect you, oh living god on this earth? Would you have my army expose itself to unnecessary harm and possibly fail in their mission? My troops will occupy this palace, and your courtiers must look to themselves.”

  Then Sanno bowed low, perhaps mockingly so, and added, “For your life must be preserved at all costs, Great Kammu.”

  “Then I shall share the danger,” Kammu answered, rising and descending the dais where he sat with his Empress. “I go now to don my battle armor.”

  Sanno nodded, satisfied. For it was well that the Emperor joined the battle. In truth, the Mountain God’s hatred for Chirayoju raged so fiercely that he did not care if Kammu’s life was saved or lost. He did not care about the dishonor Kammu’s death would cast on him. He only wanted the demon vampire dead. And the sight of Kammu at the head of his own army would inspire Sanno’s warriors to fight more courageously.

  As he left the banquet hall with every face lowered to the ground save Sanno’s, the Emperor went not to the armory but to the pavilion wherein dwelled the form of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess, who was the Emperor’s ancestor. She stood on a pedestal in a beautiful, flowing gown of rose and scarlet, her mirror—part of the royal regalia—in her grasp.

  Humbling himself on his knees, Kammu said to her, “Divine One, I fear that Lord Sanno has come not to protect our family, but with the sole purpose of vanquishing the Chinese demon that marches on us. I fear that in the heat of battle, the Mountain God will sacrifice whatever he must in order to kill this Chirayoju.”

  The room blazed with light as Amaterasu moved from her pedestal and stepped down from the platform, until she stood only one step higher than her descendant. She was so beautiful that it was difficult for Kammu to look upon her, so he kept his gaze lowered and stared at the floor.

  “You are a wise man, Kammu,” the Goddess said. “For indeed, Lord Sanno will take no care to curb his violent hatred of Lord Chirayoju. If one of our family stands between him and the demon, he would cut through that one as easily as his winds tear rice paper.”

  Troubled, Kammu listened, and became more troubled still as Amaterasu continued.

  “My brother, Tsukuyomi, has told me that Lord Sanno’s heart has changed for all time. His rage will remain after Lord Chirayoju’s death, should he prevail in this war. He will never rest because Gemmyo, the Fujiwara daughter, has been taken from him. He will destroy the palace and all the land of Japan.”

  Kammu’s blood ran cold. Summoning all the resolve
in his warrior’s heart, he said, “Divine Ancestor, I pray you to tell me how to stop both Lord Chirayoju and Lord Sanno.”

  Amaterasu’s fiery presence cooled as she said gravely, “There is a way, but the rituals I reveal to you in my mirror must be precisely executed. In the chaos that will crash down upon this place, it will be most difficult.”

  “I will prevail,” Kammu assured her.

  “Does he carry an object of personal significance?” she asked.

  “Hai,” he said eagerly, “a great sword.”

  “A sword. That is the best answer that you could have given me.” She lowered her head, and a golden sunbeam tear slid down her cheek. “However, it may be that you will fail, Emperor Kammu. In that case, you will die an excruciating, humiliating death. You will never see Heaven. And the world as you know it will end.”

  Kammu sighed, his heart heavy with dread. “But if I do not attempt it, all will surely be lost.”

  Amaterasu slowly nodded in agreement. More tears slid to the floor, catching the mats aflame. For truly do the Divine Ancestors love the Emperors and their families.

  At midnight, Chirayoju’s army of peasants, devils, and vampires attacked the castle with savage ferocity.

  Emperor Kammu’s men, fierce warriors all, had never battled such terrifying opponents, but they bravely fought with swords and lances as from the battlements, and the archers let fly their flaming arrows.

  Beside them, Sanno’s army flung themselves headlong into the fray, as if they had no fear of death.

  Fires blazed around the castle as the terrible invaders drew near, and the situation looked bleak indeed as rank after rank of Sanno and Kammu’s combined armies fell beneath the onslaught.

  Still, there was hope. Instructed by Sanno to string measures of rope low to the ground before the castle gates, the bloodthirsty kappa tripped and spilled the magick water in the bowl-like indentations in their heads. The human peasants of Chirayoju’s army, sent ahead to absorb the arrows and lances of the Emperor’s troops, were cut down like straw. Many of the eta vampires turned to dust as they were staked through the heart. And the oni were just as likely to turn on each other in the violent frenzy as on their nominal enemies.