“Does no one think this is a bad idea but me?”
Radiating
a distinct lack of sympathy, Cordy put her hands on her hips and
Wesley cleared his throat. The glowing ball of energy behind him
began to flicker and Angel winced. With a huge, gusty sigh, he shook
his head.
“Fine.
I’ll go. But if this whole thing backfires, you know who to
blame.”
With
a swirl of his coat, Angel stepped through the portal. It was light,
misty, and utterly painless, but the vampire still gripped his sword
tightly. No one was sure what he’d find on the other side,
so he’d come prepared. For that matter, no one knew what to
expect from the Gatherer.
Annoyed
at the lack of background Wes and Cordy had been able to find, Angel
grumbled aloud, “Go find the Gatherer, Wes says. You’re
the only one that can go, Wes says. You’re already dead, Wes
says. If you don’t, we’re all doomed, Wes says. Well,
Wes, what about the part where the Gatherer gathers souls? Huh,
think about that one?”
Angel
batted some of the fuzzy cloud puffs from in front of his face,
waving his arms around a bit to try to get a clear view. The tendrils
clung to his fingers, wrapping around like curls of baby-fine hair.
He shook his fingers, rubbing them on his coat to get rid of the
strands.
“Oh,
capital idea Wes, go track down the being that can instantly remove
soul from body. One wrong word and whoops, instant Angelus! Everyone
knows how good I am with words. Brillant,” he muttered. The
fog didn’t seem to be clearing, but Angel wasn’t sure
if this was normal. The Veil between his reality and the Summerlands
was nebulous at best, one very rarely crossed, and there was almost
no documented research on the subject; few beings returning to tell
their tales.
“Yoohoo,
Gatherer, are you here? Gotta talk to you.”
Silence.
This
was fine, in a way, as Angel wasn’t sure he really wanted
to meet the Gatherer. The books said it collected souls like some
people collected postage stamps, but to what end, the stories weren’t
clear. It seemed like the Gatherer was only supposed to collect
souls after death to deliver them to the afterlife, but sometimes…sometimes
the soul could be ripped from the body, causing death. This was
the idea behind searching out the Gatherer in the first place.
He
stopped, shifted from foot to foot, and tried calling again. This
time, instead of silence, a woman’s voice sounded from the
mist.
“Do
you always talk so much?”
Startled,
Angel mumbled, “No, usually I brood.”
The
voice seemed to weigh this for a moment before continuing, “Who
are you, creature of the dead, for you to bother us?”
Relieved
at the non-hostile response, Angel looked for the source of the
voice. Seeing none, he stated, “I come to seek aid from the
Gatherer.”
A form
slowly coalesced from the gloom, tall and shapely, long dark hair.
The woman was clothed in black, a flowing cloak, and her arms hung
loose at her sides. Angel was struck for a moment at the sadness
in her eyes, the pain that seeped into the air around her.
“To
what end?” Her voice was low, dark, and made Angel’s
chest ache with suppressed sorrow.
“There
is an evil afoot in my world, an unspeakable evil. When we tried
to seek its destruction, the prophecy said it may not be killed,
only Gathered. So I seek the Gatherer to ask if he will help in
our cause.”
The
woman arched an eyebrow, a faint smile on her lips. “And do
you think he will?”
“I
don’t know. He’s our best hope though, and I really
need to find him. Do you know where he is?”
Now
the woman gave a low laugh, faint merriment in her eyes. “I
am she.”
“You,”
he sputtered, barely suppressing the desire to add, “But you’re
so pretty!”
“I
was the Gatherer for my time, long ago. But you intrigue me, you
and this problem of yours.”
“You’d
help us?” He couldn’t keep the tremor of excitement
from his voice. She wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he’d
expected, and hardly looked like she’d yank away his soul
just for kicks.
Smoothing
down her cloak, she said thoughtfully, “My time was cut short,
too short, and there were things left to be done. I think I would
welcome another chance to put things right, even if it is not in
my own time or place.” She held out her hand. He took it,
gently, amazed at the lightness in her touch.
“It
will be strange for you,” he added.
“The
Summerlands are a constant place, as befits the time after life,
but I have been restless here for too long.” She gave him
a faint smile as he pulled her backwards toward the fading portal.
“Might
I ask your name?”
She
nodded, stepping in front of him through the mist. “You may
call me Morag.”
~Fin~
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