The Scooby Gang and Angel Investigations looked back and forth between each other and the massive, enthroned figure of Cernunnos.
"Worship." Cordelia said.
"Um. Yeah. Worship." Anya agreed.
"Yes, worship." Cernunnos said. "I’m a god. This is *my* day. I’ve just performed a miracle for you. I think it’s appropriate."
Willow, Tara, Giles, and Wesley looked back and forth at each other with nervous expressions on their faces. Angel had a similar expression, but he didn’t share it around with anyone.
"Of course," Buffy said, starting to dip to one knee. Oz caught her under her arms and hauled her back to her feet before she could reach the ground.
"Oz!" She hissed, turning on him. "What are you—" She stopped short when she realized that his eyes were glowing a soft blue.
"Ah, ah, ah," He scolded in a resonant voice, shaking a finger at her. "You know better than that. No groveling."
"Then what do you *want* us to do?" Buffy asked, frustrated. The thing was that she *wanted* to worship him, a first for someone as irreligious as herself. Compared to the glorious light and music of Belial, or even the world-ripping abomination of Angelus, he was almost mundane. He was just a twenty-foot tall naked guy with antlers.
But in his presence, there was a sense of awe and majesty that neither of the other two had even come close to.
But even more than the power, she felt love. As much as Belial had hated her—and more—this being loved her. She knew that somehow, in her heart. More than her mother, more than Giles, more than Riley or even Angel.
She wanted nothing more than to fall on her knees, kiss his hooves, and repeat "Thank you" and "I love you" in an endless, senseless stream.
But that wasn’t what he wanted. So what did that leave?
Cernunnos shook his head. It could have been in response to the question that she had spoken aloud, but she had little doubt that he had also heard every thought she’d just had. "Mortals. Is that really the only way you can think of to do this? Well, it really is a necessary part of the process. You’ll see why. Here, let me help you get started."
Suddenly, Riley went ramrod straight and his eyes flared with blue light, just like Oz’s.
On Buffy’s other side, Angel straightened as well, and his eyes flared gold.
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, her questions forgotten as she looked around the circle. The other women followed her lead, and saw that all of the men were like Riley, Angel, and Oz: standing straight, their eyes aglow.
"Don’t worry," Cernunnos said softly. "All of your questions will be answered. That’s what all this is for, after all."
"Are you *possessing* them?" She asked, horrified. She’d been body-switched and diabolically influenced, and some of her friends had been possessed. Each instance had left her feeling sick. Violated. If Cernunnos could so casually commit mass soul-rape…
"Yes, if that’s the only word you have for it," Gunn said.
"But possession isn’t really that accurate," Wesley added. "It implies that I have forced my way in where I don’t belong."
"But that’s not the way it is," Oz concluded. "I am them. They are me. All men are the God…" his head turned to Willow.
"As all women are the Goddess," she finished, her face lighting up with comprehension.
"Exactly," Cernunnos agreed. "I am in all men, and I am in everything male."
Buffy calmed. She didn’t understand. Not really. But if Willow thought it was okay, it probably was.
"I am the Oak King, the Stag King," Cernunnos continued. "I am the Sun, who both nurtures and burns—and all men are sons of the Sun. I am the storm: the thunderbolt and the falling rain."
"I am the Father," Giles said.
"The Brother," Xander added.
"The Husband." Angel.
"The Lover." Riley.
"And even the Son," Wesley finished.
"My wisdom is man’s wisdom," Cernunnos said.
"The wisdom of the Warrior, the Champion, the Guardian," Angel said.
"The police officer, the soldier—the wisdom of facing violence so those who could not withstand violence may have peace." Riley elaborated.
"The wisdom of standing on the front line so that your death may buy the lives who stand behind you." Gunn said.
"The wisdom of standing up for yourself," Xander added.
"The wisdom of knowing how—and when—to meet force with force." Giles finished.
"Mine is the wisdom of the Hunter," Oz began again. "The fisherman."
"The Farmer," Riley added. "The wisdom of daring the woods and seas, or working your muscles raw to build or bring back what others need."
"The wisdom of the Provider," Giles concluded.
"The human spirit grows toward greater wholeness in these days," Cernunnos said softly. "Men learn the wisdom of Heart that they dismissed as being ‘for women only’ before: nurturing, healing, compassion. Women learn the Hand wisdom that men have kept from them for so long, especially the wisdom of the Provider." He smiled softly, and buds swelled on all the flowers poking up out of the grass. "If the Slayers always knew the wisdom of the Warrior, it’s because they’ve always been my daughters." Then his smile turned into a knowing grin, a twinkle returned to his black eyes, and all the flowers burst into bloom. "But there’s a few things that my boys can teach their sisters yet."
"Like what?" Buffy asked.
Cernunnos quirked his grin at her and sudden heat flashed through her body, settling into a low throb between her legs. Her breathing quickened and she licked her lips—not so much because they needed moistening as because her tongue was suddenly looking for something to do.
"Have you ever noticed how many women slouch?" Cernunnos asked. "It goes beyond simple bad posture. It’s something they *learn*, usually right around puberty. If you cave in your shoulders enough, you hide your height, you hide your breasts—people don’t pick on you as much because you’re not a threat to anyone."
Oz took Tara by the shoulder with one hand and placed the other between her shoulder blades, pressing gently but irresistibly, until her spine was straight and her shoulders were back. Then he cupped his hand under her chin and raised her head until her bangs no longer hid her face.
The men—acting in unison again—all grinned in the same satisfaction as Cernunnos.
Buffy was startled by the transformation. She hadn’t known that Tara was so tall. Or so well-endowed. She was at least a C-cup and her eyes were on a level with Xander’s. But the *real* change was somehow less quantifiable. Standing like this, Tara looked more powerful—like a high priestess or a queen, like a *woman* instead of some little-girl-lost. Usually, Buffy thought of Tara as someone she needed to protect. Right now, she looked like the big sister that Buffy had never had.
"The wisdom of standing straight and tall," Oz said.
Giles crossed the circle to Joyce, who looked like someone who hadn’t expected to be called on in class by the time he arrived. He took her by the shoulder with one hand, smiled at her reassuringly, then ran his fingers through his own once-dark hair.
She smiled and closed her eyes as Giles ran his fingers through *her* hair, and Riley, his mind high, peaceful, and as clear as it had ever been, wondered if she was purring like Buffy did when he did that.
Angel knew that she was.
The men knew what was happening, but it took the women a moment to realize. One gasp followed another as it hit home: with each stroke of Giles’ fingers, some of the ash-blond faded from Joyce Summers’ hair, until more of it was gray than not.
Buffy felt a momentary twinge of guilt as she wondered how many of those gray hairs she was responsible for. She knew that her mother added some color from time to time. Who didn’t? But she’d never suspected…
"The wisdom of being comfortable in your own body," Giles said.
Joyce’s eyes flew open, and her expression turned from contentment to horror as Giles, still smiling, brought a gray lock up in front of her face. The horror faded to confusion as Giles raised the lock to his lips and kissed it.
"Smooth," Faith approved. "Very smooth."
"He’s a god. Of course He’s smooth," Buffy said out of the side of her mouth.
"Actually, I had nothing to do with that," Angel said, causing both Slayers to jump. "Maybe you underestimate your father."
Buffy opened her mouth to argue that Giles wasn’t her father, then closed it again. She already knew the answer: yes, he was. Faith was already nodding.
The "lesson" continued as Xander approached Anya and took her in his arms. "The wisdom," he began, then interrupted himself by kissing Anya deeply. After a long moment, he released her mouth and stared into her eyes. His eyes weren’t glowing anymore—probably a gesture of courtesy from Cernunnos—but there was much more than Xander in them. "Of being unafraid of your desires." Then he started to kiss Anya again and she relaxed into his arms. He reached down with one hand, cupped her ass, and pressed her against him as he ground his hips into hers. She gave a short squeal, muffled by his mouth, which then faded into a moan.
"What does he mean by that?" Cordelia asked. Normally, she would have shouted at the passionate couple to get a room, nobody wanted to see that. But strange…tonight, she did. Tonight it seemed beautiful.
Suddenly Buffy’s voice wafted out of empty air: "Maybe you need to make the first move."
"That won’t make me a slut?" Willow’s disembodied voice answered.
Willow flushed and hunched her shoulders shamefacedly. Tara put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
"None of that, now," Cernunnos’ deep, resonant voice said from Oz’s mouth as he put his own arm around Willow’s waist
Joyce was outraged. Hadn’t her generation dealt with that double standard? It was perfectly acceptable for a woman to do the asking these days. She opened her mouth to say so—then shut it again, remembering her own shame over her dealings with Rupert. But then, maybe that was what he was saying.
*Maybe, maybe…*
Others started to think about that as well: Buffy started to look back and forth between Riley and Angel.
*Maybe, maybe…*
Faith, who had long since accepted the label of "slut" as inevitably hers and inevitably her, began to wonder.
"Good, good," Cernunnos said. "You’re learning. That’s what this is all about. Now…" Xander and Oz disengaged from their lovers and raised their hands as all of the other male entities in the circle were doing. "Dance." The god and the men all clapped their hands in thunderous unison
Then Cernunnos settled back into his "throne" as the men started clapping in the two-beat-rest heartbeat rhythm that Oz had been beating out on his drum earlier.
Clap, clap. Clap, clap.
One after another, the women joined them, stepping up into the circle and starting to clap.
Clap, clap. Clap, clap.
They could feel something building again, but this time it wasn’t some outside force waiting for the proper channels to open so it could fill them. This was something from inside, something filling them up from deep within, like an artesian well in their souls.
Clap, clap. Clap, clap.
The men’s eyes no longer glowed, but they were still wild.
Clap, clap. Clap, clap.
Angel stepped out into the circle, clapped twice in rhythm, then stomped his foot during the break. Everyone joined him almost immediately.
Clap, clap, stomp. Clap, clap, stomp. Clap, clap, Stomp. Clap clap Stomp. ClapclapSTOMP.ClapClapSTOMP.
Angel took off racing toward the fire. The clapping and stomping cut off abruptly, replaced by gasps of fright and reaching hands that were far too late. No more than three feet from the fire, he planted his foot and launched himself, seeming to fly above the flames.
He landed on his feet on the other side and kept moving, spinning into a blur that only ended when he came back to a stop in the circle, letting his shirt and trench coat go sailing into the night.
The gasps of fright turned to cheers.
And then they began to dance.
Were fiddles playing? Pipes? Drums? There couldn’t have been, but it seemed like there were. In fact, when they discussed it later, they would all agree that they had heard music, but hadn’t known where it was coming from. And they hadn’t cared, either. It was like a dream: what could and couldn’t be didn’t matter. There was only what was, and it was accepted without thinking.
At first, as they danced around the circle, their hands were joined, but soon they broke into leaping and spinning, waving and gyrating, each doing their own thing but each still moving around the circle.
As they danced, other items of clothing followed Angel’s shirt and jacket out into the darkness until all the men were stripped to the waist, and all of the women were in T-shirts or even brassieres.
As Buffy danced and watched her friends dance, her mind was high and wild and empty of the clutter that usually filled it, and she saw certain things clearly and without her lenses for the first time.
Her Xander-shaped friend was actually—who would have believed it?—pretty damn hot. Willow—the person that she still saw as the shy, mousy girl who that she’d pulled out of her shell—was fully topless, her small breasts translucently white, tipped with coral-pink nipples. And why not? She was a witch, and this was Beltane. Full nakedness was sure to come at some point, and in Buffy’s current state of mind nothing seemed more natural.
But there were two people she finally saw clearly for perhaps the first time in her life:
Her father—Giles—her father, his body a network of scars laid over a hard foundation of muscle. It was the body of an old warrior, battered and strong, still fighting on. It was the body of a man.
And her mother. For the first time, she saw her mother’s breasts as something other than a mere part of the geography of her body. For the first time, she saw something that she recognized in her mother’s smile, a smile that was neither polite nor refined. For the first time, she recognized that her mother was a woman just like any other, a woman like herself.
She had always thought of them as neutered somehow, parents instead of people, somehow used up, worn out—what had Cordelia called Joyce during Xander’s love spell?—a "former". Yes, that was right, and perhaps that was how they had thought of themselves. But she saw the look passing between them, that reawakening in their eyes. Maybe they were used and worn, but they were still a man and a woman, still people of power and passion.
For the first time in her life, Buffy could picture her parents—not Hank Summers, but her *true* father, the man before her and with her now—making love, holding tight to each other, sweating and straining, and not be embarrassed.
Nothing seemed more natural.
And the dance went on.
Then Xander caught Anya’s hand again and spun her out of the circle, toward a place on the edge of the dell that had been waiting for them since the Earth had coalesced out of space-floating dust.
Gunn stopped in place and held out his hand to Faith, locking eyes with her across the circle—inviting, offering the choice. She leaped the fire, as he had known she would, took him by the hand, and pulled him out into the shadows.
The broken circle scattered. Willow, Oz, and Tara crossed their arms and clasped their hands and formed a triangle as they spun to their place, while Angel and Riley simply took one of Buffy’s hands each and spun away across the ground like a propeller blade. Giles, perhaps recognizing the significance of what was happening more than the young people did, caught Joyce up in his arms and carried her off.
*
Cordelia and Wesley were left standing beside each other as the circle fragmented. Their feet fell still and they looked at each other as soft moans and cries started to come from the flickering shadows, both of them breathing harder than the exertion of the dance would have required
Both of them, in that moment, experienced an epiphany similar to the one that Buffy had experienced during the dance. Cordelia hadn’t thought of Wesley as a person at all during her initial attraction to him; just a Pierce Brosnan-like face and a cool accent. Since then, she’d thought of him as a hapless, overgrown boy, even as he’d proven himself again and again. For his own part, he’d gone from attraction to annoyance, thinking of her as a spoiled, ignorant child as they faced horror after otherworldly horror together.
Now she saw him gleaming with sweat, all lean muscle and claw scars, his eyes clear and blue. A man. For his part, he saw her fuller of breast and rounder of hip than when he’d met her; her once obsessively cared for hair sweat-stuck to her forehead and unheeded. A woman in body, a woman in spirit.
"Miss Chase," he said, his voice trembling but formal. "Will you do me the honor?" This may be Beltane, and he may be the God, but she was still the Goddess and consent was not taken for granted.
She stared back at him, her breath growing more panting and ragged rather than calming. A lifetime of training to choose for status or advantage rebelled against it, as it had against Xander and Doyle. He was poor, somewhat dorky, and…
And without his glasses she could see that his eyes were the color of the a wild summer sky.
Status and advantage meant nothing to her hard, tingling nipples or the hot, rolling ball of desire growing in her stomach, or the wet, throbbing hunger in her cunt.
"What the hell," she rasped, pulling him into a kiss that erased forever the memory of those first fumblings in the stacks of the Sunnydale High library.
*
Spike closed the car door behind him and looked at the other vehicles gathered in the parking area. The wolf’s van—wild horses running through a mountain stream on the side now, was it? Very pretty—the Poofter’s giant penis-substitute of a convertible, the Librarians mid-life-crisis mobile, and a few of the others.
"This is the place, all right," he said as he leaned against his car and lit a cigarette. Did they really think he didn’t know about this place? Demons that lived any length of time in California, or did any serious studying about the Hellmouth, heard about the place out in the desert that demons went into, but didn’t come out of.
Big deal. The Sunnydale Superfriends and their LA branch were facing their "greatest foe" tonight. If it wasn’t him, and it wasn’t Angelus, and it wasn’t even Belial—well, then, this was something he had to see.
"Threaten me with what I fear most and think it’ll keep me away?" He muttered to himself. "They don’t know me very well."
He looked out across the desert and saw red light rising from what looked to be a natural stone amphitheater.
"I guess that’d be the place," he said, flicking his cigarette away and tugging the collar of his jacket up. "Best get moving. I don’t want to miss this."
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