They were seated at a solid, burnished oak table constructed from beams salvaged from one of the very first ships to sail into Jamestown. Motionless, eyes closed in absolute concentration: the only disruption to the silence and stillness surrounding them was the flame from the single candle, placed with effortless precision in the exact centre of the table. As the spell reached its zenith the flame stretched and jinked, buffeted by the force of the magic. Once the flame had extinguished itself, leaving a long tendril of smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling, one by one They opened their eyes.
‘He’s coming; work will continue,’ said the tallest who usually spoke first. It’s physical stature conferred the role of leader upon it. Over time, endless oceans of time, they had employed many devices to establish status. Currently it was height, though that would change soon - in eighty years or so.
‘He should be alone,’ said another. ‘These distractions are unnecessary.’
The third one was not concerned. ‘Distractions can be eliminated.’
The fourth said nothing, merely signalled its assent with the briefest of nods.
********************
Mmmm...someone woke up on the sexy side of the bed, thought Anya. She hadn't seen Giles dressed like this in a long time. Though he was currently holding rather than wearing his jacket, judging by the effect of the well-cut trousers and waistcoat, Anya knew that she was going to like what she saw when he did put it on.
'And how are you this morning?' enquired Giles solicitously. As he reached out for the paper, Anya caught a glimpse of dark braces against the cream shirt. Giles looked tailored, Giles looked defined, and Anya kept on looking.
'Feeling happier every second.'
When she was with Xander, Anya had not allowed herself to be attracted to anyone else. How could an ex-vengeance demon who’d witnessed a millennium’s worth of the effects of infidelity be anything other than one-hundred per cent faithful? Once single, however, she felt free to enjoy the sexiness of others and Giles certainly was. Anya would have cherished the memory of Giles returning to The Magic Box in his big coat and silencing Evil Willow with a single gesture, if only she could separate it from the memory of the fear and confusion that so quickly followed.
'Talking at this hour,' muttered Carlyle as he ambled in. 'I do hope you've not become the kind of person who attempts to be interesting at breakfast, Nunc.'
Carlyle was equally well-groomed, having traded his faded khakis and weird stripy, furry sweater for dark trousers and a shirt and tie. He'd obviously borrowed the shirt from his more broad-shouldered friend, as it gaped a little at the collar and the cuffs hung over his hands at least an inch lower than they normally would have.
'Why are you both so smart today?’
Giles said ‘respect’ as Carlyle said ‘tradition,’ then neither of them spoke again. Anya frowned, a one-word cryptic answer was not the reply she was looking for.
‘Do I need to be all spiffy too?’
‘Cariad, your beauty transcends all circumstances, being no other than as you are makes you perfect in all but the most critical of eyes.’
Anya couldn’t help but grin at Carlyle’s exaggerated compliment. ‘You’re sure?’
Giles lowered The Daily Telegraph and stared at Anya long enough for her to start feeling self-conscious.
‘I agree, he said eventually, then immediately disappeared behind the paper. His words may had been far less elegant than Carlyle’s, but somehow they meant so much more.
*********************
‘If the world is an artificial device created to keep humans in bondage, why is it not a utopia?’
Andrew’s voice was shrill with enthusiasm. ‘Because the matrix has to…’
It seemed that Andrew was on a mission to fill the gaps in Carlyle’s cultural knowledge by conducting a crash course on the highlights of two decades of written and filmed science fiction. Carlyle appeared to be quite grateful for this and was clearly enjoying himself, whereas Giles longed for silence and an end to the inanity. The journey to London had seemed interminable, but at last they had reached their destination, an immaculately white; five-storey; corner house located in a quiet, leafy and vastly expensive residential square. He buzzed the intercom.
The crackle and hiss of static echoed out of the speaker before a voice asked, ‘Who seeks admittance?’
‘A Watcher. I present my compliments to The Committee and respectfully request an audience.’
A lock clicked and the automated door swung open.
‘Enter.’
With some relief Giles led the way; at least they would be safe here and could relax. Dozens of nights in Sunnydale had involved fighting and then a drink or two to take the edge off, and not once had he felt as ill the next day as he did right now.
**********************
The door locked itself behind them, and they found themselves in a grand entrance hall. It was exquisitely beautiful, every tile, every gilded portrait or mirror, even every bloom on each of the many fresh flowers that were strategically placed in various vases combined to create an aesthetic paradise, the centrepiece of which was a broad staircase that rose to a landing then split into two separate flights going in opposite directions.
Anya looked over to Giles who seemed totally preoccupied, instead of taking in the splendour around him he’d clenched his left fist and was staring at the ring on his little finger, as if he’d only just noticed it was there.
‘Who are The Committee?’ Anya asked. ‘Giles?’
She squeezed his arm to get his attention. It worked; he glared at her and backed away.
‘The Committee, for want of a better word, ‘own’ The Council of Watchers. It is they who have ultimate control over its finances, assets and power - magical and political. And in times past w-would have held the casting vote over important matters such as the selection of a new leader. Although one would have to go quite far back into the Council’s history to see the last time they directly intervened in how it is - was, run.’
‘So Travers wasn’t in charge?’ Anya was confused. ‘He acted like he was.’
‘Oh Quentin was in charge all right,’ said Giles scornfully. ‘He was a a very powerful man, though not the dictator some perceived him to be. The Committee prevented any one Watcher or, or faction of Watchers from becoming too powerful and seeking to only benefit themselves. The Committees’ presence offered stability and an outlook that went beyond any length of time a mortal could conceive.’
‘They’re not human are they?’
‘We were once,’ answered a pleasantly cultured voice. ‘Time has weighed heavily upon us.’
A suited figure descended the staircase. Its skin was as white as the walls outside and its features had all but smoothed away, it viewed the world through eyes that were little more than pin holes and spoke with a taut lipless mouth, the redness of its tongue making an appalling, somehow indecent contrast to the deathly pallor surrounding it.
It then opened a side door and went through. Carlyle shook his head and didn’t move, Andrew hesitated, unsure. Giles followed it; Anya, paused then trailed after him along a short passageway and into another breathtaking room, which like the hall gave the impression that everyone who’d ever added anything to it had succeeded in enhancing its charm.
Sitting in a row behind a brilliantly polished table were the three other members of The Committee. Each of them was of identical appearance to the fourth, who motioned for their visitors to stand on the Persian rug on the other side of the table, before crossing the room and taking its place with its colleagues.
‘Who stands before us?’
‘Rupert Giles.’
‘Take off your ring.’
Giles tried to but couldn’t. He stepped forward and tapped his hand against the table a couple of times; biting his lip, he eventually succeeded and placed the ring on a small sliver dish on the edge of the table. The narrow band of indented flesh that had been covered by the ring was as white as The Committees’. Flexing his fingers Giles, returned to stand next to Anya.
‘How long have you been wearing that?’ she whispered.
‘Thirty years.’
‘Don’t you ever take it off?’
‘I can’t,’ said Giles in a low voice, not taking his eyes from The Committee. They seemed content to let him offer Anya a brief explanation. ‘Like all Watchers, I was given the ring on my eighteenth birthday. It bears witness to every thought and action since then. I do not have to prove who I am; the ring will do that for me. Only The Committee can hear its tale and o-only The Committee can grant me permission to remove it.’
Anya was horrified. ‘That makes you their slave!’
‘Silence,’ barked out a Committee Member. ‘We now require silence.’
Anya tried to continue her argument through looks alone, but Giles simply shook his head and tucked his hand into his pocket.
The Committee focussed their collective gaze on the ring which began to vibrate against the plate. As the vibrations reached a crescendo smoke exactly the same colour as Giles’ eyes poured from the ring, combining with a single column of hazel brown smoke, to form a dense cloud that hovered above it. Whatever The Committee found so fascinating within the cloud remained a mystery to their guests.
‘This is taking forever, thirty years isn’t that long,’ whispered Anya with a casualness it takes a four-figure lifespan to achieve.
‘It is to me.’
Eventually the smoke evaporated and The Committee returned their attention to Giles.
‘The rebel who became the success who became the survivor,’ said The Committee member second from the right. ‘Now you propose to become the future.’
‘No one else is left to do so,’ stated Giles.
‘So it would seem. Therefore we grant you the financial resources and security needed to begin the resurrection of The Council. These walls will keep you safe until you can build ones of your own.’
A black credit card slid across the table.
‘And we remind you of the need for continuity. There is no place for change, only continuance.’
‘Change is both necessary and unavoidable,’ argued Giles. ‘The Crucentium, wet works, the complacent attitude towards active Slayers…’
‘We will discuss these matters presently. You may have your ring back.’
‘No, don’t,’ Anya almost shouted.
‘Anya, there’s no need to be concerned, every Watcher since The Council began has worn a ring’ said Giles as he picked it up.
‘Have you ever asked what else they can do with it? They could brainwash you or spy on you or worse.’
‘How fanciful your friend is. Put the ring back on’
The Committee chuckled indulgently, Giles smiled politely then glanced at Anya.
‘Come on Giles think, it isn’t right,’ she urged.
‘Put the ring back on.’
‘You don’t need it.’
‘Now!’
It took some force to get it over his knuckle, but the ring was soon back where it had been worn for so long.
‘Excellent,’ the various members of The Committee nodded and murmured their approval. Then the tallest one then switched its focus to Anya. ‘Perhaps you would return to your companions, we wish to have a private conversation with The Watcher. Farewells can be made in a few moments.’
‘Farewells? Who's saying goodbye?’
The Committee Member nearest the door, stood up and began to usher Anya from the room. ‘The Council needs Watchers, not an ex-demon, an impressionable fool and a madman. Therefore our offer of protection does not extend to you or to them.’
Anya heard Giles start to protest as the door was shut firmly in her face.
|
|
|
|
Rave
Barbie Girl (Becca)
biscuit07
Filmtheory (Jim)
Malice (Jess)
MebbtheScribe (MichaelB)
Reset (Allie)
Shay (Marrisa)
somnambulist29 (Shea)
Stephanie Loss
Wendyness (Wendy)
Questions?Contact Us
|
|
All stories on this site have been archived with the authors' consent. Do not copy these stories for your own uses without the express consent of the author themselves. Buffy the Vampire Slayer TM and Angel TM are © UPN, WB, Fox and its related entities. All photos on the site are © UPN, Fox, Warner Bros, and/or their respective owners. No profits are being made by use of these images.
Powered with the assitance of eFiction.
|
|
|
