RETURN to CHAOS

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

  “Slayer!” Gloria began again.

  “Slay—er!” a couple of the other replied as they slowly approached.

  They were forming a loose circle around her.

  “Slay—er! Slay—er! Slay—er!” The chant grew loud again as the ring of vampires approached, tightening like a noose around her neck

  “Slay—er! Slay—er! Slay—er!”

  This, Buffy thought, does not look good.

  “Hey! Keep it quiet out there! Some people are trying to sleep!”

  The voice came from somewhere—an open window, perhaps—in the condo complex beyond the parking lot. The chanting stumbled again, the vampires startled for an instant.

  Buffy hoped that an instant would be all she needed.

  She turned and ran three quick steps toward the parking lot’s entrance. She spun quickly, aiming a kick at the chest of the vampire in her way. He fell back, startled. The bloodsuckers on either side tried to close ranks, but she had a stake in each hand and drove them into the two nearest vampires.

  The two vampires crumbled to dust.

  A very satisfying move, Buffy thought. Now all I need is another dozen moves just like it.

  There was an instant of shocked silence, then all the remaining vampires seemed to scream as one.

  “Get her!” Gloria demanded.

  It was time for Buffy to boogie. There was a clear space before her and twenty-five vampires behind her.

  Another stepped in to block her way. “You’re not going—”

  She kicked his legs out from under him.

  But every second she wasn’t on the run meant the other vampires were closer. How could she get away from two dozen of the things? Already, she could see them spreading out, trying to block her escape. Vampires were faster than humans. They were almost as fast as the Slayer. If they all decide to attack at once—

  Headlights turned on in the far corner of the parking lot. A car engine came to life. Wheels squealed as the dark car came careening forward, scattering vampires from its path.

  The car screeched to a halt a foot before Buffy. Three doors opened, and three young men in long robes jumped out. This time, though, their hoods were off their heads.

  They were the guys from Wales.

  Ian held a large crucifix. Tom and Dave both gripped crossbows.

  “Back!” Ian called to the surrounding horde.

  The ring of vampires, or what was left of it, just stood there and stared.

  “Now!” Ian called.

  Dave and Tom both shot wooden bolts from their bows. Each bolt found a target. Two more vampires disintegrated.

  The vampires hissed and ran, disappearing back into the bushes from which they’d come.

  “You haven’t heard the last of little old Gloria!” a voice called from somewhere in hiding.

  Buffy stared at Ian. “Were you guys waiting there all along?”

  Ian nodded. “We had heard rumors of evil in this part of town. So we decided to have a stakeout—that’s the word from your cop shows, right?” He smiled one very nice smile. “Particularly appropriate too, considering the circumstances.”

  But she wouldn’t let his charm get in the way of her growing anger. “Somebody could have gotten killed here. What about that woman those vampires attacked?”

  “We were just about to break that up. My uncle wanted to make sure that no other vampires were lurking about. Then, just as we were about to get out of the car, you showed up.”

  “And?” Buffy prompted. “You wanted the vampires to attack me instead?”

  There was a bit of embarrassed silence. She was beginning to tell the three brothers apart, personalitywise. Ian was the serious one, Tom was full of energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet, always ready to go running after something. She guessed that Dave, despite the beard, was the youngest; he was quiet and quick to smile. He looked like he just wanted to be liked.

  Dave was the one who finally explained: “My uncle wanted to see just what you could do.”

  “You did handle yourself very well,” Ian added, “until, of course, the vampire population became unmanageable.”

  So I’m being tested? Who were these people, to make this sort of judgment?

  The driver’s door of the car opened. An older man, also dressed in a robe, stepped out to regard Buffy.

  “Slayer,” the older man announced. “We are honored to witness your skill. Excuse our entrance, but we needed to speak with you alone.”

  Well, she guessed they had saved her life. Hearing them out was the least she could do.

  “So talk” Buffy replied.

  “All right!” the voice shouted from the window of the complex. “That’s it! Enough noise! I’m calling the police!”

  The older man glanced back at the condo complex. “I think we might give you a lift, oh—anywhere else than here.”

  Buffy hesitated only an instant before getting into the front passenger side of the car. They might be strange, even infuriating, but her Slayer sense told her they didn’t mean her any harm. The three young men piled in the back.

  The older man climbed in behind the wheel and shifted the large car—Buffy thought it was some kind of Cadillac—into drive.

  He glanced over to her once they were safely on the road. “I’m glad we finally meet face-to-face. The time for secrecy is over. There are things happening in the Hellmouth that will effect us all.”

  Chapter 8

  THE DRUIDS SPOKE THROUGH THEIR DREAMS.

  George had had many experiences with the dream state throughout his life, from the day he was first admitted to the order through his ascension to elder. But his dreams had not always been as vivid as those of his fellows; the message was more vague than he might have liked. If only he could have been more like his brother Stephen, who had truly mastered the art.

  George had always found his dreams disappointing, until the day after his brother’s death. On that day, he had had the first of the dreams of the hillside. He had had a hundred variations of the dream since. As vivid as these dreams were, he found them beyond exact understanding. In some, his brother was there to help him. In others, Stephen seemed the embodiment of pure evil.

  He had thought at first they were nothing but a reaction to the horrible memories of the day of Stephen’s death. Perhaps that was so, and the dreams came at first from his own guilt. But the dreams had grown as the days had passed, and he was sure that they wanted to tell him more.

  Since he had come to the Hellmouth the dreams were clearer still. George found it difficult to sleep now; the dreams were that disturbing.

  He could hide no longer. It was time to address his dreams directly.

  At first, Giles’s words made no sense to her at all.

  “We may just have the program working.”

  Buffy’s mind was, like, totally elsewhere. She felt Giles was speaking some foreign language.

  “What? What program, where?”

  “That prediction program.” Giles actually smiled. “It seems to have narrowed its focus—considerably.”

  “I’ll say,” Willow agreed. When Buffy had entered the library a moment before she had found both of them in their usual places, Willow at her terminal, Giles standing with a book in hand. Now that she actually took time to look at both of them, they did seem considerably more relaxed.

  “Remember when we had thousands of things that could go wrong in Sunnydale?” Willow continued. She held up a single sheet of paper. “Well, we’re now down to three.”

  Buffy frowned. “Three? Three what?”

  “Potential dangers that the Slayer might face in the near future.”

  “And they all sound real?”

  “Well, as real as anything gets around here. No more mutant whales with feet.”

  “At least not at the moment,” Giles added dryly.

  Actually, Buffy thought, maybe the stuff she came here for could wait for a minute. This sounded interesting.

  “So, there are only three th
ings we need to prepare for?”

  “Well, yeah,” Willow replied, “if we could completely understand them. This computer program might be better, but it’s not perfect.”

  “I’m afraid one of the items is pretty obscure,” Giles added.

  “Only one?” Willow asked. “Here. Take a look.”

  She handed the sheet to Buffy, who was surprised to see it held only a half-dozen sentences. She read the first of the three entries aloud:

  There is a shift in the undead. There exists a potential for a gathering of vampires.

  Willow shook her head. “Well, that’s like a nobrainer. In Sunnydale, there is always the potential for a gathering of vamps.”

  Buffy saw what Willow meant. The next one on the list was already a little enigmatic.

  A new wave will sweep the surface clean. Beware of those lurking below.

  What did that mean?

  “I wonder if that’s what happened to the computer?” Willow asked. “This so-called new-wave thingie swept it clean.”

  “It all sounds a bit like ancient myth,” Giles added, “the Oracle at Delphi or some such. The program now appears to be giving us not so much specifics as signs and portents that might lead us to the truth. Can we understand them? And, if so, might we believe them?”

  “Whatever you say,” Buffy agreed. Sometimes, when she was in the computer world of Willow and Giles, she felt like she was out of her depth. Maybe the third entry would clear things up. She read aloud again:

  A single night will mean the difference. The power could change everything.

  This time, she said it aloud. “What does that mean?”

  “Unfortunately I think it could mean just about anything,” Giles said with a shake of his head. “People have been predicting things like this for years. If it’s obscure enough, it has to be true—somewhere.”

  Buffy waved the paper in the air. “And you say this is better than what we had before?”

  “Well, it’s certainly more manageable,” Giles allowed.

  “And even more obscure,” Willow added. “I have to figure out why the program did this. Until we have the right questions, what good are the answers?”

  “A point well taken,” Giles agreed. “However, I thought it worth discussing these possibilities with Buffy, just in case she has had any experiences that might lend credence to our research.”

  Buffy smiled at her mentor, always using twelve words when two would do.

  “It might also show if you’re on the right track,” she added.

  “Indeed,” Giles agreed.

  “So what you’re saying,” Willow added, “is that we have to figure out what’s changed in Sunnydale recently?”

  My cue. This was the very reason she’d come to the library.

  “Druids,” she announced.

  “Beg pardon?” Giles asked.

  “Druids,” Buffy replied. “There are these new guys in town. Willow met three of them at the Bronze the other night.”

  “Amanda’s cousins?” Willow said. “The guys from Wales.”

  “Right. Well, last night I saw them again, only this time they were wearing robes, like that guy who helped me out in that vamp attack a few days back? Except this time none of them were wearing hoods, so I could recognize them. They had an older man with them. They said he was their uncle. They knew all about the Slayer, and me being the Slayer. And they said they were Druids.”

  Giles’ eyebrows rose in alarm. “Druids? Did they tell you anything? Did they make any demands? Any threats?”

  Buffy frowned. “No, these are more your friendly neighborhood Druids. Definitely non-threatening. But they’re pretty much non-speaking, too. They like to ask questions. They don’t like to answer them.”

  “Well,” Giles replied. “I suppose it’s possible they’re what they say they are. The Druids were believed to have died out completely, some time after the advent of Christianity.”

  “Well, there are some people who claim to be Druids on the Web,” Willow added, “but then there are some people on the Web who claim to be bug-eyed monsters.”

  “Yuck,” Buffy agreed.

  “From what little we know,” Giles continued, “they were believed to be the priests of ancient Celtic civilizations, highly educated, highly literate, but teaching entirely through oral tradition. If they still exist, I imagine they exist completely independent of modern technology.”

  Buffy shook her head. “According to the one I talked to last night, not only do they still exist, but they’ve come to Sunnydale.”

  Giles frowned. “So now Druids come to the Hellmouth.”

  Buffy threw up her hands. “Who doesn’t come to the Hellmouth?”

  Xander came striding through the library door.

  “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

  He came to an abrupt halt, glancing around at the serious faces. “Uh-oh. From the looks in this room, I guess something’s happening that I probably don’t want to know about.”

  “Druids,” Buffy replied

  “And computer prophecies,” Willow added.

  Xander paused for a minute before replying.

  “Well, maybe later. In the meantime, anybody seen Cordelia?”

  Buffy shook her head. Giles said she hadn’t been in all day.

  “This can mean only one thing,” Buffy announced.

  Willow and Buffy exchanged looks. They said the next three words together. “The Spring Formal.”

  “Also known as Xander Wears a Tux,” he agreed with a weary smile. “No mystery there.”

  “All of us have to make sacrifices,” Giles agreed

  “These Druids,” Willow asked, “didn’t they make sacrifices?”

  “Later!” Xander called as he fled the room.

  Giles nodded, continuing in lecture mode as if Xander had not even come in. “Animal sacrifices at the very least. Perhaps even human sacrifices. It all had to do with their religion, which as near as I can figure out from the few writings that do survive from the time, was a highly evolved form of nature worship.”

  “Writing?” Buffy asked. “But I thought you said they exchanged all their knowledge by word of mouth.” See, I can pay attention.

  “Indeed they did. But others wrote of them, primarily the Romans, who of course were out to conquer their people. Since the Romans might have colored their reportage to make their cause look better, it isn’t exactly an unbiased report.”

  Buffy found herself getting frustrated all over again. “Then how do we—how does anybody, find out about the Druids?”

  “Perhaps I can answer your questions.”

  An older gentleman wearing a business suit strode into the library.

  Don’t look now, Buffy thought, it’s Uncle Druid.

  Gloria couldn’t believe it. Some people acted like they owned the world.

  “How dare you!”

  They wanted Gloria to grovel, to get down on her hands and knees and beg forgiveness. But Gloria could explain everything. “It wasn’t like I went looking for her. Bernie and I were just looking for a meal. Well, I know how you said how we should all work on this together. But sometimes a girl gets hungry, you know?”

  She shifted uncomfortably under the other’s gaze. “So anyway, there we were, minding our own business, about to suck some nice fresh blood out of a woman maybe twenty—real prime stuff, you know?” Her eyes half closed at the thought. “Um-hmm, I could already taste it.” She paused and swallowed. “Oh, sorry, got sidetracked. So there we were, and she barges in. The nerve! She kills Bernie right off. And you should have heard how she talked to me.”

  “She is the Slayer.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Gloria huffed.

  “Keep away from the Slayer. I have plans for everyone.”

  “Well, I can see your point, of course.” Whenever somebody talked in short sentences like that, Gloria felt she had to talk to fill in all the silences. “You stepped in when all the big boys went running. Just because there are going to be
a few changes around here. They didn’t have any nerve at all! We needed somebody to, y’know, show us the way—like, lead us? Me and the others really appreciate it.”

  “And this is how you show your appreciation?” The voice floated around her, tinged with amusement.

  Gloria winced a little. “So I got mad. So I took some of the guys out to beat some sense into the Slayer. Is that such a crime?” Gloria hesitated when she saw the look. “Oh. I guess it is.”

  “It’s not your fault, Gloria. It sometimes takes an outsider to see all the possibilities. Not that I’m going to be an outsider anymore.”

  “Listen, I never thought—well, what does it matter what I think, huh?” She smiled her friendliest smile. “Oh, yeah, everything’s gonna be just fine.”

  “That’s what I want to hear, Gloria. Play along, and I just may let you help destroy the Slayer.”

  “We’re going to destroy the Slayer?”

  “We’re going to attack her where she is weakest. We’re going to destroy her trust.”

  Gloria clapped her hands. Maybe everything would work out for the best after all.

  Chapter 9

  THIS HAD TO BE HANDLED MOST DELICATELY.

  Rupert Giles stepped between the intruder and the students. There was no guessing the intruder’s intentions.

  “And you might be?” Giles asked.

  The man had graying hair cut slightly long and a neatly trimmed mustache. “Call me George. Miss Summers has already met me.” His accent had a slight British lilt, perfectly in keeping with his image. “And, you, I presume, are her Watcher?”

  “So you know about us?” Giles supposed he shouldn’t be surprised if this fellow was who he thought he was.

  “There were Slayers even back in those times when my kind ruled most of Europe. We have always done our best to honor and protect the tradition.”

  “And you are the leader—”

  “Of our small band? I have that honor. I am a priest and elder of our order.”

  “Druids?”

  George smiled affably. “One of our names, the one most commonly known. It will certainly suffice.”