Buffy the Vampire Slayer 1

by John Vorholt;Arthur Byron Cover;Alice Henderson

  Willow looked up at the king. “Uh, Giles?”

  Giles slowly turned around. The king had overheard him, and with a frown, demanded to know what he’d said about him. Giles obliged, repeating what he’d said in Sumerian.

  “You know that much of my deeds?” asked the king.

  “Of course!” Giles said excitedly.

  The king turned to three of the guards. “Help these three find Ejuk and stop the assassins. Make sure they have plenty to eat and drink and a place to sleep if you do not succeed tonight.”

  “Looks like you stroked the right ego,” Xander said. “Can I have a temple priestess for my room?” He winked again at the nearest one. She turned away in disdain.

  “No, you may not have a temple priestess,” Giles snapped.

  Willow kicked Xander in the back of the leg.

  “Hey!” he said in defense. “There could be gorgeous temple priests out there too.”

  “They’re probably bald, forty, and sacrifice virgins to snake pits,” she said.

  “Wait a minute!” Giles protested. “What’s so bad about being forty?”

  “It’s ancient!” she answered, then caught herself. “But ancient is good. When it comes to you, anyway, Giles.”

  “Oh, thank you so very much,” he muttered, turning away in mock contempt.

  The king finished speaking with the guards. “My men will assist you in finding Ejuk. Please report back to me when you have succeeded.”

  “We will,” Giles said. “And thank you.”

  “Anything for a fan,” answered Gilgamesh.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Outside, in the streets to the east of the palace, Buffy hunted vampires. She slunk through the shadows, keeping out of sight. She pulled out her map of Uruk and tried to place herself. To her left rose the immense ziggurat in the center of town. Its vast steps, now silhouetted against the sky, loomed in the darkness. Behind her lay the Temple of Inanna, the goddess of love. The sanctuary around it formed an entire district, called the Eanna district. Giles had gone on and on till her ears bled about how famous it was. Before her stood another sanctuary, with the White Temple, built almost a thousand years before, just visible beyond it. Past these temples, she could make out the dark, low shadow of the city walls, which extended for more than six miles around the perimeter of Uruk.

  She closed her eyes, picturing where she stood in relation to the ziggurat, where the Scoobies languished in prison, and where the Watcher had died. If she were the Sumerian Slayer, and vampires had killed her Watcher, where would she go? After royally kicking their asses, she’d go to her friends. Or, depending on the competition, maybe her friends first. She might need some research first. But who were the Sumerian Slayer’s friends?

  Buffy ducked into the deeper darkness under a balcony as a retinue of soldiers marched by. She was getting pretty sick of hiding from the military. First Wales and now this. She wasn’t sure where to go now. Unless the same vamp had been sent again, she didn’t know what her prey looked like. And he’d probably brought friends.

  Her worried mind turned now to Giles and the others. They could be being tortured. They could be catching gods-knew-what in filthy Sumerian prison cells. She should go to them. Break them out.

  Buffy turned in the shadows, waited for the soldiers to pass, then headed for the great ziggurat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Inside the ziggurat, Giles was having an excellent time. How thrilling to meet King Gilgamesh! To see the fascinating architecture and cuneiform so vividly detailed and in its original condition! He knew he probably shouldn’t be so excited.

  They were here to fight vampires, after all, not go on an archaeological holiday. But still, he couldn’t help feeling a little tempted now and again to stop at a pillar or stele and read the inscriptions. Consequently, it was taking them nearly five minutes for each step.

  The three soldiers Gilgamesh had offered marched ahead of them along the corridor, gaining more and more distance. As long as they could recognize Ejuk, though, they would be useful.

  Willow hooked her arm in his and hurried Giles along. As he craned his neck, trying to take in all he was missing, a young woman rushed past them. Tears streaked her dirty face, and her jaw jutted out in angry defiance.

  “That’s her!” Willow whispered.

  “That’s who?” Giles asked.

  “The Slayer!”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  Willow shrugged, turning to watch her go. “I just know.”

  Xander retraced his steps back to them. “Looks like she’s going in to see the king. Let’s go back and listen at the door.”

  The three soldiers had now reached the main entrance of the ziggurat and turned to look at Giles. He motioned for them to wait.

  Together they crept to the door of the throne room and waited. The young woman bowed before the king, then rose. Giles listened in, catching the gist of what she told him. The royal scribe, Sarkassan, had been killed by ruffians. She vowed to bring them to justice. For now, she requested a burial detail. She began to tremble, then straightened, fighting back her emotions.

  The king told her that his men had already recovered the body. He spoke to her quietly and soothingly, saddened by her loss.

  “Sarkassan was an unparalleled scribe,” the king said, “and generous to all who knew him.” He paused, regarding her compassionately. “And you have three strange visitors who have come to help you. They fear for your life.” He turned to the soldier nearest him and gave an order Giles couldn’t quite make out. “My guard will take you to them.” He motioned for them to depart.

  At once they turned, heading in Giles’s direction. He, Willow, and Xander turned away from the door and hurried to a respectful distance in the great hall. When she emerged, she instantly saw them. Giles recognized now what Willow had seen—the glittering, determined eyes. The age beyond physical age. The sadness, the wisdom, the knowledge that she would never lead a normal life like other girls. The knowledge that she would in all likelihood die prematurely.

  As Giles saw her, her tear-streaked face now dry but edged with pain, he knew he would not let that happen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Willow rushed to meet her and opened her mouth to say something, but fell silent. She couldn’t talk to her at all. She wanted to comfort her; she felt an immediate kinship with her. Then Willow realized why—she imagined Buffy losing Giles, imagined herself losing Giles. How would they survive that? Willow admired Ejuk for searching the city for the killers, and now marching before the king to request a burial detail.

  Willow wasn’t sure if she’d be able to respond that way. She’d probably curl up, consumed with grief. But then, maybe not. She had discovered more reserves of strength in the last year than she knew she had.

  Now she stood before the Sumerian Slayer, unable to speak. Giles quickly joined them, followed by Xander. He introduced them all, speaking with more agility now. Willow was pretty impressed by his amount of knowledge. She hoped one day she’d have as much. Only she wouldn’t wear as much tweed. At least, she hoped she wouldn’t.

  Giles explained that a team of vampires had targeted her, and that it was likely they who had killed her Watcher. Willow saw two tears leak out of the Slayer’s right eye, but she did not openly emote. She held it together, her jaw trembling slightly. Only a couple of years older than Willow herself, Ejuk stood almost six feet tall, her skin nearly bronze. Her green eyes glittered with anger, blinking back another tear, and she wore leather armor on her arms, torso, and legs. Over her right shoulder she’d slung a bow, and a quiver of arrows hung on her back. Willow knew the prey she hunted was exceptionally susceptible to wood.

  Giles then described Buffy and asked if Ejuk had seen her. The Slayer shook her head. She hadn’t seen the vampires who killed Sarkassan, either.

  Willow glanced nervously around the hall, expecting to see vampires lurking behind the massive pillars, or creeping up in the shadows.

>   Now they just needed Buffy. But where was she?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Outside the ziggurat, Buffy crept to the entrance and saw three guards standing in the doorway. She recognized them from before—they had chased her during her escape. She couldn’t risk being seen.

  Just past them, down a long, elaborate hallway of pillars and intricate carvings, she saw Giles, Xander, and Willow talking to a young woman.

  She sized up the situation. Another guard stood behind the woman. Was she the Slayer? Could Buffy take out the three guards and get them all out?

  Leaping out of the darkness, she struck.

  The guards, standing around talking, didn’t see her approach. She was on them in two seconds, banging two of their heads together and kicking the third in the chest. He crashed down and she jumped on top of him, ripping off his helmet and clanking his head against the stone floor. He grunted and fell unconscious. Behind her, the other guards lay still but breathing.

  She stormed down the hallway, fixing the last guard in her gaze.

  “Buffy! Wait! No!” Giles cried, stepping in front of her. “It’s all been ironed out. The guards are going to help us!”

  She stopped, turning slowly away from them to see the pile of soldiers in the entryway. “Ooops.”

  When she turned back around, still full of adrenaline, the guard standing behind Ejuk slunk away back into the throne room.

  “Has she seen the vamps?” Buffy asked after he left.

  Giles shook his head.

  She studied the hallway, all the pillars and recesses, places where assassins could easily hide. “This is a bad area. We need to move.”

  Ejuk spoke, and Giles translated. He explained that they had come to protect her against vampire assassins. She studied them all warily, then relented, grateful for their help. She was exhausted, she explained, from searching the city for her Watcher’s killers. She glanced around the room, then told Giles, “We need an open place. The assassins will come to us.” Giles translated.

  Buffy nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” This Slayer was with it. Strong. Both times now, meeting another Slayer had left her stunned. Here was a woman living the same life as she—dedicated to fighting the forces of darkness, plucked out of the innocence of youth and thrown into a maelstrom of battle tactics, sparring bruises, and ruined dating lives. Great dresses got torn. Dates got killed. Moms got lied to.

  But then Buffy realized that this Slayer didn’t have a mom to lie to. She’d been orphaned at six, Giles had told her. Raised by her Watcher. Briefly, Buffy missed her parents and then imagined growing up with Giles. He would have dressed her in plaid jumpers. Corduroys. Tweed slacks and sweater-vests. She just knew it.

  She smiled at Ejuk, imagining instead what it must be like to grow up in this ancient civilization, with massive stone pyramids and cities filled with fragrant orchards and gardens. When gods and goddesses, monsters and beasts had temples, shrines, and festivals. When magick, divination, and spells were accepted by everyone as a fact of life. In some ways, being a vampire slayer would have been easier at this time. And in other ways, life must have been much harder. Like how often did people take baths here? They had irrigation. Surely they had baths, right? She looked at Ejuk’s dirty face, the streaks of tears cutting clean swaths through the filth.

  Maybe it was just an off day for her. Buffy had those sometimes. Thinking of the assassins, she hoped today wouldn’t be one of them.

  • • •

  Standing in the grandeur of the long hallway, Xander felt elated. He wandered slightly away from the others, taking it all in. What a cool place this was! What amazing architecture! What delightful temple priestesses. He smiled as one hurried by him, carrying a goblet of dark liquid and a small cake in one hand. She turned away. But he thought she didn’t turn away as abruptly as before. Oh, yeah. She was warming up to him. No doubt about it. He glanced around the corridor. There must be something to do here while they yammered on about strategies. As long as he didn’t have to do much staking or punching or getting punched or bleeding, he was okay with whatever they decided.

  He strolled down the long hallway, taking in the pillars. Some of them depicted everyday scenes of harvesting barley. Others showed glorious battle or the strange beasts with the heads of goats and tails of fish. His feet fell silently on the thick woven carpet. Full of lustrous reds, blues, and golds, the rug extended from the entrance to the throne room. He couldn’t believe the craftsmanship that went into all this stuff. Architecture in his time was pretty boring. He didn’t pay much attention to it. One mall looked like another, and tracts of houses formed a sea of monotony stretching into the Sunnydale horizon. But this was amazing. Every pillar was different. The walls were etched with symbols, stories, and pictures. Someone had really thought about how to make this place awe-inspiring, and they’d succeeded.

  He imagined living in a palace like this, lounging on pillows and eating grapes and sipping fruity, refreshing drinks. Manly fruity, refreshing drinks, of course. Another temple priestess walked by, and he winked. She actually smiled back. Not a hey smile, but more like a friendly hey, how’s it going smile. It was nice. And she didn’t look like she was a praying mantis at all.

  He reached the end of the hall. Lining the wall on that side was a series of immense statues, stretching up forty feet to the ceiling. All of women and men, some figures sat down, while others stood, holding spears or swords or handfuls of grain. At once Xander was struck by their strange eyes. They were huge. Huger than huge. They took up half the statues’ heads, bigger than owls’ eyes. They stared off into space, looking dazed or spaced out.

  Xander stared more closely. They all had mouths on hinges, he saw. Some statues stood with open mouths, others with closed. Some had bits of food hanging out. Willow had told him that the Sumerians fed the statues of their gods and even had huge beds for them to lie down in. But to actually see them was something else.

  One statue near the middle had particularly large eyes. In one hand he held what looked like a scythe, and his other hand stretched out, palm up. His lips curled back from stone teeth, and stuck between the front two incisors was a big green glob of what looked like spinach. Xander muffled a laugh. Then he couldn’t help it. He burst out into a cackle. As he took in the ridiculous expression on the statue’s face, he laughed harder. He listed slightly to one side, and stepped back to regain his balance. The floor shifted under his foot. He stumbled. The stones beneath his feet moved and ground together.

  Earthquake! He stepped farther back, looking for a doorway to stand in. And then the shaking stopped. A resonant crack exploded into the hallway. At Xander’s eye level, the foot of the statue crumbled and fell away, revealing tremendous, gray, wriggling toes inside. Then the legs of the statue exploded outward, raining stones and dust over Xander. He flung up an arm to shield himself. His eyes followed the statue up, up, to the eyes. With a thunderous peal, the painted stone over the eyes cracked and fell away, revealing two yellow eyes beneath. They swiveled downward, fixing on Xander, an ant at the feet of a god.

  The arms shattered. The chest blew apart. And from the crumbling mass of ruined statuary stepped a horrific figure. Forty feet tall, gray, rotted, and clad in maggots and festering sores, the god of the plague rose to his feet, glaring down at Xander. His mouth opened, a dark hole in rotted flesh, and from between the two blistered lips erupted thousands of flies, darkening the air around Xander. They buzzed into Xander’s ears, mouth, and eyes. Involuntarily he sucked them in as he tried to get a breath.

  Xander went down, crashing to the carpet as a hundred sores opened on his skin, weeping thick yellow liquid. He screamed in agony.

  This was not how he wanted to die.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  One of the priestesses ran by, stopping in horror at the sight. She shouted, and the others ran toward Xander.

  “He’s awakened Namtar, god of the plague,” the priestess told Giles. “And from the looks of it, insulted him
somehow.”

  “Jeez, Xander! We leave you alone for two minutes!” Willow cried out as she ran to him. Then they all saw him lying prone on the floor, his body a mass of roiling insects, no part of his flesh or hair visible beneath the squirming army of flies.

  The god stared down at them, anger flaring in his yellow eyes. Buffy gazed up. Namtar recognized them as Xander’s friends. And he looked ripe for some anger spillover.

  “Namtar will kill you all!” one of the priestesses shouted. Giles was quick on the translation, though with one look at her fallen friend, Buffy didn’t need it. “We must submit to his will!” And with that, the priestesses abandoned them, fleeing from the palace.

  “Thanks for your help!” Willow shouted after them.

  The angry god lifted one foot, bringing it down hard over Buffy. She leaped and rolled away, the sandal barely missing her. The temple shuddered. Buffy hoped this summoning wouldn’t forever change the time line. What if the god rampaged through the palace, killing some priest or priestess who figured prominently in history? What if the god unleashed a deadly plague on all of Sumeria, crushing civilization just as it was getting started? They had to take care of this, and fast.

  Giles rushed to Xander’s side, kneeling down next to him. Immediately the roiling mass of flies transferred onto Giles, swarming over his skin. He cried out in agony, and in an instant Buffy watched festering boils erupt over his face and neck. He doubled over, vomiting, and then the flies covered him completely.