Title:
The Sidestep Chronicles: Third Chronicle (Part 18 (260))Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Flames just demonstrate you have a tiny mind.
Spoiler warning: I’m really not going to bother after all this time except to say that this fic will totally spoil my own Sidestep: First Chronicle and Second Chronicle which can be found in the Completed Fics archive (A-M)
Distribution: This story was written for Pens. Pens is its home. No archiving off Different Coloured Pens and the Kitten Board please. (This applies to all my stories, fics and particularly to Sidestep Chronicle as a whole.)
Summary: Willow continues her journey, but with a new guide.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc. I am making no money from this series of stories however all original characters and situations remain my property.
Rating: The earlier Chronicles of Sidestep were much darker and I slapped a blanket R rating on them for occasional content. This series is lighter in tone caution is only recommended for occasional scenes. However to understand absolutely everything that went before you’d have to have read the first two fully so…
Couples: Tara and Willow forever. Rupert and Jenny are also together. Nothing else referred to.
Text convention: We’re occasionally dealing with some deaf characters here and that has to be addressed. Speech inside asterisks is spoken in sign language only. Occasionally people responding to signed speech may do so inside speech marks, which indicates that they are also verbalising as well. Occasionally I might make a mistake and get this wrong but when dealing with a character that only signs, take it as read that they’re doing so when they “speak.”
Notes: I deliberated about the price Ethan extracts for being Willow’s guide in this part. Ultimately I didn’t like doing it, but the man is a mercenary and if there’s something he can get out of finding her, he will. Also it’s necessary to set up the threat that Willow faces from everyone else in the Halls. So I went with this and this is as ‘bad’ as it gets. I also decided that I’d very much make it clear that what he gets from it is absolutely not… well, you’ll see.
Thanks to: Anyone out there reading, I know there must be some more of you due to page views
So, here she was, Ira Rosenberg’s daughter, following a man in a bad shirt through the Halls of the Dead.
Ethan Rayne.
Of all the people there could be who fitted the criteria of ‘better than her last guide’ he had to be the one?
On the other hand, he’d just saved her life – admittedly without putting himself out too much – and at least now she understood what her guide was saying. Toto had talked almost as much as Ethan and the chittering had been cute and all, but obviously designed to lull her into a false sense of security.
Mister Rayne… she wasn’t sure what he was doing yet. Or why.
“So you’re dead?” she asked again, after getting an earlier answer that hadn’t actually been very clear. Too… English.
“As the proverbial dodo,” he said, almost sounding cheerful about it. Almost.
“And you’re aware of that?”
“I refer you to answer one,” Ethan said, still with some humour but evidently a decreasing amount of patience.
“Well, yes.” It had been something of a stupid question being as he’d just told her about it. But she’d run across a singular lack of the dead here in what were supposed to be their Halls. Hello, did anyone know the meaning of ‘eponymous’? “But – where is everyone? And by ‘everyone’ I mean everyone that I
expected to find here.”
“Don’t worry yourself,” he said. “The teeming dead will be all around us soon enough.”
“So what were you doing - ” she broke off to duck under a low arch that had probably been made with beings like Toto in mind. And that was another thing. Who had
made this place? Or had it just sprang into existence fully formed in a moment of creation or universal order? “What were you doing out there?”
“Well, that’s a little difficult to explain. I was in the area but if they’re close enough… If we’re close enough… we are aware of the living,” he said.
“You know that I’m alive then?” she asked, happy enough to confirm what had seemed important to keep quiet now that he’d already said it.
“Oh yes. You… shine. Perhaps more radiant in life here than - ”
“Your shirt?”
“Oh, very good. The very definition of wit.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment. Though I was going to say more radiant in life here than you ever were in the real world. Don’t worry, it’s not something that shines out across all of the Hall, but if you’re in the vicinity then the presence of the living can be very obvious to those of us who are - what’s the word…? Than those of us who are
challenged in that regard.”
Something to bear in mind. Once she was into the Halls proper – amongst what he’d called ‘the teeming dead’ - then… she was going to attract attention. If he was telling the truth. More to the point there were a significant number of people and creatures here whose attention she really didn’t want.
“How’s the wife?” he asked suddenly.
“Wife?”
“Tara?”
“Yes – I mean, I know who she is – but how do you know she’s my wife?” Willow asked.
“The wedding ring, for one thing – ‘band’ I suppose you’d call it as an American,” he said. “You know, it has a radiance of it’s own – at least to me. I see the emotion tied up in it, the power. And there was very little chance that the lawyers were
wrong about you and Miss Maclay. They wanted the two of you together because you were a cosmic certainty. Something they could shape nearly anything else around. I hardly think you’ll have split up now you’re free of the life.”
All pretty elementary deduction, she supposed. But the idea of Ethan Rayne asking about Tara – even when he was dead – filled her with something less than satisfaction.
“So how is she?”
Telling him anything about them seemed like a bad idea, but turning her mind to Tara never was. Especially when she was… very far away.
“You’re right,” she said. “We’re out of the life – we
[were out of the life.” It was one of those same lawyers who’d forced her back into it and though there were some things about it she had missed… this sort of thing wasn’t one.
Nor his shirts, on reflection.
“But here you are anyway,” he said. “In the Halls of the Dead and you all alive and everything… That takes some doing except… Ah, yes.
That would work.”
He’d figured it out then. Or had he? Maybe he’d thought of something else, something she might be able to use later? “What would?”
“You were a vampire once, brought back by those same lawyers. That would probably be enough to allow you access the Halls, though I hear it’s hardly the only way.”
“What?” There was another way that someone could get down here? Pass through that portal? If so then… why had Toni told her she was the only one who could? Did she know? Had she asked?
Did Toni even care?
“Well, I hear that the ritual that brought you back – alive and with a soul – is a costly one and isn’t performed lightly. In fact you’re the only person I’ve heard of in my lifetime. But we’ve had a few visitors here, living ones, since I crossed over.”
“Why?”
“Everyone’s looking for something,” he said. “Including you, I take it? This isn’t a social call… You haven’t come to see your old friend, Ethan? Hmm?”
She ignored that part of the question. Knowledge was still power and he had far too much advantage over her already, knowing about this place and what happened here. He understood the rituals that had brought her here too and much more besides. Give him the last piece and who knew what could happen?
“What happens to them?” she asked. “The living?”
“They come. Some of them leave,” he shrugged.
“Some?”
“Death is a very real thing here, Willow – may I call you Willow?” he said. “Very immediate. In this place… the body errs on the side of giving up, rather than fighting for life. The spirit understands that it’s almost home and that deprives the body of it’s combative nature. Some of the people who come here find what they’re looking for and leave. More leave empty handed, but by far the most never leave at all.”
Willow was pretty sure that this was the moment, in every good cartoon or movie, that the heroine went ‘gulp.’ And so you could die here…
“What happens to them?”
“Some run into the natives,” he said. “Like the Naranje you took a shine to.”
“I’d never seen a demon like that before. Or the little one.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head as they walked. “You’re mistaken. There weren’t two demons. They were one demon. The little one is like… have you ever seen those fish, the one’s that dangle something out in front of them to bring other, smaller fish closer to them? Keeping very still?”
“Angler fish?”
“That’s the biscuit. Well, the little one you called Toto was just the bait.”
“And I was the little fish.”
“There you go,” he said, beaming at her like Tara might one of her youngest charges when they got something right. “Got it in one.”
“Good to know my place,” she said. “And it feeds off the living who come here?”
“Would these parts of the Halls be so empty if that was it?” Ethan asked.
“I don’t know, would they?”
He laughed. “That was just a baby. This is all mothers’ place. We’re told that she took up residence and stripped a lot of the dead of their existence – at least until they were fully digested. The living are rather like caviar to them, after a diet of cheese and crackers.”
“What happens to the dead when they die?”
“Still dead,” he said.
“But what happens?”
“What happens to the living when they die?” he said, gesturing around the place. “It’s just one of those questions. But you’ll find that the dead hold onto that state for grim… well, grim death actually.”
“What happened to you though?” she asked.
“I died.”
“In the real world,” she said, feeling she had to check.
“Oh yes. Peacefully and in my sleep, I’m pretty sure it was like that. I was a rather old man by then. Time has passed since we last met, you know?”
He looked even younger now than he had when she’d first known him. So… you appeared here as what? How you wanted to be? How others saw you? So many questions she’d not got time to ask.
“Are you real?” she asked.
“You mean am I substantial?”
“I know you’re not substantial,” she said, pleased with the zinger. “Why would death change that? But are you real? Are you solid?”
He hadn’t touched her yet, which was something she appreciated. But even during the attack of the Naranje he hadn’t touched her. Not during, not even to help her up as many men of good manners would. Could he interact with her, physically? More importantly could she make physical contact with anyone else here?
“Have a feel?” he offered.
“No!”
“You asked.”
That was true, but the way he’d offered her confirmation… Ugh.
“Well, okay…” she reached out and touched his shirt. It was there, it seemed solid, but silk wasn’t exactly the best test. She prodded a little harder, making contact with his skin. Yes, he was solid. There was flesh and muscle and bone there. This wasn’t a ghost.
Just a dirty old man pretending that he was enjoying that touch immensely.
Except… “You’re not pretending, are you?”
“Got me,” he said. “The touch of the living… it’s a special treat for us. I’d heard about it – but my gods… Do it again.”
“I’m not here to fulfil your fantasies about being touched,” she said, pretty much disgusted simply because it was Ethan Rayne and she knew all about him from Rupert and Tara. That and her own experiences with him.
“Do it again,” he said. “Touch my bare skin and I’ll help you.”
“And if I don’t…?”
“Willow, please. I don’t want to play games with you. But I will tell everyone I meet that there’s a living woman here. Some of them are probably into different kinds of touching than I’d be satisfied with.”
“Fine,” she said and grasped his wrist.
It did nothing for her one way or the other, but certainly seemed to be good for him. Opening her awareness, she could see what he meant. The energy of her living flesh, surrounding his wrist. Melting into him and spreading through him.
Fortunately for them both it didn’t seem – even through her third eye – to be sexual or remotely orgasmic, yes, she knew what that looked like, but there was a wave of emotion and pleasure that rippled out from his wrist and all through his body. Kind of like Portia when she was satisfied and purring while sat on them – but much, much stronger.
“Don’t suppose you have a cigarette do you?” he asked at least thirty seconds after she’d released her grip. Until then his eyes had been closed.
“Don’t be disgusting,” Willow replied, at least aware that he was only such things to provoke a reaction.
“Says the woman covered in Naranje, pre-digestive slime.”
Yeah, that. It
was pretty gross.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“What you have to understand, Willow, is that the Halls aren’t all… well this. There’s a world out there – all populated by the dead. I suppose this place might be someone’s idea of what Hell was supposed to be, though it’s really not fire, brimstone and torment. There are places that some people probably call heaven too – from the living human point of view. The reality here is… more flexible than it is in your world.”
Your world.
“So what decides where you go?” Willow asked.
“How far you’re willing to walk, I suppose. There’s not much by way of public transport. Not even a ferryman.”
“So why wouldn’t you go somewhere better than this?” she asked.
“Why would I go somewhere worse?”
“So you just accept where you are? Your lot in… death?”
He drew breath, though she wondered if he really needed to? “I don’t know, actually. I quite like it here, it seems to be where most people come – at least to start with and it is the place that most of the passages down from the living worlds come out. You pretty much know where you are around here. Out there… it’s a wild world.
“Or so I hear.”
“And here is where you can get someone living to touch you?” she wondered, not at all sure whether doing that was better or worse than the slime. Whatever, it was a close run thing.
“Now that I know,” he agreed. “Don’t feel bad, plenty of women have felt worse about themselves in the morning than you do right now and it genuinely wasn’t that kind of… sensation.”
That was a comforting thought, but all she’d done was grabbed his wrist. He hadn’t touched her or made her feel anything. “I know, if it had been… I’d have probably fried you by now,” she replied. “So where are we going?”
“The centre,” he said. “The centre of this place. We’ll be passing through the dead – lots of them – and you need to keep your hands to yourself. We can’t stop them seeing you, but don’t let them touch you or they’ll never
stop touching you – at least unless they tear you apart trying to keep you for themselves.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’s a great idea to go there,” she said, not relishing the sound of that.
“You’re here to find… well, someone?”
She was forced to nod; it was about all there was here. Pretending it was a vacation spot wasn’t likely to be very convincing.
“And being as it isn’t me, the chances are this is where you’ll find them – if they went beyond the caverns then… you could spend eternity trying to find them. Walking – or running – is as fast as anyone moves here.”
Okay, so that was real and practical advice that she could use. That was what she needed to know. The important thing was that he didn’t find out she intended to take anyone
back with her because she had to imagine that was going to be just as fatal for her chances of getting through here as those dead people getting to touch her and feel the life would be.
Surely if he – or the rest – thought she could return any of them to the real world… They’d never let her go.
The small matter of not being sure how she was going to
do that didn’t alter the danger.
“There it is,” he said.
She realised that the gradual increase in noise, the change in the conditions had crept up on her. But the transition from open, deserted space to bustling hive of dead things was literally like stepping off a cliff.
They were stood on the edge of a bowl, a city sized bowl at least as large as the chamber she’d lost sight of already. Lights and doorways were built into the walls; the bottom was a sea of people and… buildings. What use did the dead have for buildings? Or had they already been here?
“Oh my.”
“Quite my reaction, I assure you. Don’t suppose you’d fancy brushing up against me for leading you here?”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Or that will do nicely,” he confirmed, which made her put it away and feel… just unclean.
Remember, he’s just trying to get a reaction. He didn’t feel that way. You didn’t either… he’s an asshole. Remember that.At the centre of the bowl – at least it looked like the centre from here – rose a vast… well, it must’ve been a mountain by anyone’s standards. Certainly a very large hill that someone had sliced the top off. Kind of like Table mountain in appearance, she supposed, but topped with buildings.
Topped with some sort of hybrid of a temple, a fortress and… something alien and demonic. Maybe just a demons idea of what a temple and a fortress hybrid should look like. Or perhaps it was the local Wal-Mart. Could be, since she had no better idea.
“Where’s the way down?” she asked.
“You want to think about this, Willow Rosenberg,” he warned. “You heard what I said before. They’ll recognise you for what you are, probably. And if you brush up, skin to skin against the dead and they’ll find you out in an instant. That place is like any other city, tough to move around in and crowded.”
“I don’t have much choice,” Willow said. “I have to find… the person I came to find. And it’s Rosenberg-Maclay thank you, that’s why I have a marriage licence. I haven’t been plain old Rosenberg for a long time.”
“Bit of a mouthful, but very egalitarian of you. I guess I shouldn’t ask who wears the trousers in your house?”
She ignored it. “Where. Is. The way. Down?”
He held up his hands. “All right, all right. But we can’t go through the city. We can take the bridge over to the citadel.”
“Why?” Willow asked, instantly suspicious. It was Ethan Rayne after all.
“You do good things for me and I rather thought you might hold my hand as we went.”
“Pervert.”
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, you’re rather older than most women I’ve ever held hands with.”
Willow sighed. He had a point though. Whatever was in the citadel it was bound to be easier to deal with than moving through the city. Down there… the people were like ants. Smaller than ants actually, a sea of… bacteria. Tiny, miniscule and impossible to see individually.
He was right, she wouldn’t last two minutes in that.
“What happened to you, Ethan?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “Really in your sleep?”
“I died. Simple really, not unexpected in the circumstances. Years of hard living, having rather more fun than my old pal Ripper. How is the old man anyway?”
“A father several times over,” Willow said. Ethan couldn’t do anything to him now.
“Good for him. That’s the only thing I missed out on I think, having children. Everything else I wanted to do with my life, I did.”
“And children are the very essence of chaos,” Willow agreed, recalling his preferences in deities.
“I hadn’t looked at it that way, though now that I think about it – I rarely do – the chances that there isn’t a little Ethan or Ethanette running around somewhere are rather slim.” He seemed altogether too smug about that.
“Like I said,” Willow turned on him. “You’re a pervert.”
“A healthy appetite for all things in life,” he replied. “Holding oneself back, living by other people’s rules? Its for the birds. So… hold my hand Willow Rosenberg-Maclay, or we’re going nowhere.”
“I can find a bridge,” she said. “I’m
not holding your hand.”
“I suppose you can find it, but can you cross it?”
Annoyed, she ignored his offer of a hand to hold and slapped it instead – giving him some contact but at least she had the satisfaction of hitting him. Then she tried to ignore the deliberately provocative sounds he made as they walked. Between Ethan’s pretence of what a touch did to him and the Naranje goop, scrubbing just wasn’t going to be enough.
Maybe… amputation.
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Awesome update!
) The palm reading mentioned leads me to believe it’s Dru. But.. why would her touch have that effect on Willow? Maybe it has to do with the magical ability to exchange energy and whether it’s given freely. Would the touch from Willow’s dead counterpart result in sucking the life energy from her living self? That’s a scary thought. I’m very interested in how all this works. So… who is this familiar person sneaking up on our girl??? Tell me now! LOL. BTW: with ya on Tara being the fav of the two. And I cannot express how much I appreciate that you always treat both with great respect. You rock!
. My poor Tara (in a perfect world she would belong to me!). You really put her feelings of being possessed by a demon into perspective by ranking it up there with the possibility of losing Willow. Again, it just goes to show how much she loves her woman.
!!! Another great update. I'm soooooooooo happy you decided to come back. Sidestep Trinity is everything I knew it would be and more 
.
getting an up close and overwhelmingly personal insight into demon possession. It makes my heart hurt. The feeling of losing complete control of every aspect of your being would be terrifying. But it is Tara. Whatever doubt, fear and other unwanted thoughts are forced into her mind, she has the strength to banish them. A little help from her soulmate would be nice though. I’m glad no one had to lose a hand –among other things, they need them to sign!