The Fire Starter

You don’t look like your voice, Xander thought of Indi.

 

He’d expected her to have stringy hair and not a full head of black, Shirley Temple curls; warts on her chin and not dimples in her cheeks. Wrinkles and not laughter lines at the corners of eyes that sparked indigo at a certain turn of head. He slated her silk, indigo kimono as too obvious to be seductive only to be seduced by how damn good it skimmed her curves as she met him under the arch.

 

Indi smiled, dimpling at him. “It is a warm day, let me take your cloak,” she gestured at his lamp. “A cloak should conceal, yours does a poor job.”

 

Xander tried to hate her, but had trouble finding his hate. He handed over the lamp with a mildly spoken, “It’s hot. Try not to be careful with it.”

 

She hung the lamp on a coat stand to one side of the archway. Dawn’s lamp swung on another arm of the stand and Giles’ extinguished torch leant against its leg.

 

“Come, we are waiting for you,” she turned into the courtyard, curls bouncing on her shoulders.

 

With less bounce he followed Indi into her Cuckoo Land, heavy on the cuckoo. Where a fire-pit would be, she had a pink felted pool table straight out of The Bronze. Clearly not into the alfresco kitchen, Indi had gone for a waist high red brick wall instead of a butcher’s block. Ten green bottles were standing on the wall. The eleventh bottle contained amber liquid and was clutched in Giles’ hand. Four doors with paintings of the Queen of Hearts lead off the courtyard, three of them closed. Dawn blocked his view through the fourth door.

 

“Mr Teenage America contest, Dawn?”

 

Dawn stood aside, “A classroom,” with kindergarten chairs and desks glowing white in the sunlight that poured through floor to ceiling windows. A clock with both hands pointing at three was hung above a blackboard.

 

“You’re a class act, Indi,” he laughed. “Class,” he pointed at the classroom, “act. Get it?”

 

“Frankly no,” Giles put the whiskey bottle on the wall. “Be mindful of your thoughts Xander, and the same goes to the rest of you. Indi solidifies errant thought.”

 

Fred giggled by the red wall, “Class act. I get it.”

 

“Gather round,” Indi went to the table, leaving a trail of foot impressions in the neat lawn.

 

Already at the table, Spike marched on the spot and frowned at the impressions he wasn’t making in the grass.

 

“Look at that, the grass knows you’re dead,” Xander strolled over, at peace with the world, mad at Spike.

 

“Dead as you?” Spike nodded at his feet.

 

Xander glanced back at his trail – his not trail – and was on the verge of saying deadness was probably catching, when Dawn wailed, “I’m making footsteps! Why am I making footsteps and nobody else is – except She? Wonderful!” She threw her hands up, “I’m a character from a kid’s story book.”

 

“She’s not exactly typical Alice,” Spike stopped marching, bent and scooped up a stake. “Whose errant thought is this?”

 

“Her courtyard is a typical Carroll cliché,” Giles surveyed the courtyard. “Picture perfect skies, unblemished bowling green - I shouldn’t wonder if a white rabbit in a waistcoat hops by moaning that it’s terribly late. Nor should I collapse in shock if the stake were Xander’s thought.”

 

“No, mine was bigger, pointier. You solidified the wrong stake, Indi.”

 

“I do not solidify, I conjure. Vast is the difference.” Indi conjured a cue from her sleeve, racked the balls and shot the white ball into play.

 

They watched the game; Spike and Xander at opposite ends of the table, Fred and Giles standing along one length and Dawn standing across from them along the other length. Xander wondered whether Indi had a grasp of the fundamentals of pool. She played ping-pong pool, rolling the ball from Spike’s end to his end. Back and forth, between the coloured balls and back and forth and…he looked up. His compadres were swinging their heads with the ball’s motion. Indi too swung her head back and forth, glanced at him then at Spike.

 

Xander found his hate, simmered with it. “We have matching nipple rings. Wanna eyeball them?”

 

“Not today, thank you,” she said, gentle tap of the stick on the ball, “I ought to concentrate on the game.”

 

He was about to say something, but it sort of vanished because he was thinking he should probably concentrate on the game. He watched the table and frowned at the only ball on it, remembering what he’d been about to say. “Where did the other balls go?”

 

“It is a lovely ball,” Indi said softly.

 

It looked like a pretty basic white ball to him…no, an orange ball with red veins. The ball rolled across the table, and it was lovely; orange and red fire ball zinging on the pink felt like a…like a dangerous ball of fire, Xander wrinkle his brow. He was watching a blazing projectile zing toward him and he just stood there?

 

“It draws so well. Never has there been a gentler pen, so harmless a pen,” Indi crooned.

 

Xander cocked his head, trying to think what the ball reminded him of. Got it! It reminded him of a pen. It was a ball-pen drawing waves of fire all over the table. He swayed closer to the fire, smiling as it warmed his front toasty warm.

 

A pair of pale hands sank onto the table and they could have been Spike’s hands – only smaller. Flames streamed over the hands and around the wrists, played hide-and-seek under silk sleeves that didn’t catch fire. The hands nagged him though. Those were maybe Spike’s hands burning and - 

 

He looked up at the face connected to the hands. Just Indi burning. Panic over, turn up the furnace.

 

She shook her head at him and flicked her glance to the table.

 

He checked on the others, they seemed dreamy; staring at the table as if they might crawl on it and go to sleep.

 

“You are the obstinate misfit as usual. Are you proud of it?” Indi yelled quietly. “Look at the table and pick your card from it.”

 

The fire tunnelled under Indi’s sleeves, leaving four cards in a row on the table.

 

The first card showed a grey wolf.

 

The second card showed a thorn tipped with a drop of blood.

 

The third had a tree being stripped by a gust of wind.

 

The fourth showed a white feather with a chain wrapped around it. The four corners of the card had the smiling faces of a sun and a moon merged into a figure eight and facing opposite directions.

 

The card with the thorn on it pulled at Xander. He resisted its pull, raising his gaze from the table to take in the courtyard. His mouth stretched open. The queen of hearts doors had disappeared and there was only one door leading off the courtyard. The door was closed and locked down with four bolts. The lawn was now dirty-brown flagstones and the sky was a rock ceiling the same colour as the floor. Xander preferred the Wonderland to the grotto, and especially didn’t like the candles because they had no actual wax or wick, were roaming tongues of fire that hunted in packs of twenty.

 

Crack as Indi shattered the cue on a leg of the table. Moving at the same time, Spike, Fred and Dawn each picked a card; Fred took the wolf, Dawn the tree and Spike the feather. Having dawdled, Xander was left with the thorn card, which he reluctantly picked up.

 

Giles glanced up at the rock ceiling, down at the flagstones, across to the single door and back at the table. “Something’s changed,” he said.

 

D’uh, Xander thought. “She re-decorated. The Wonderland is no more.”

 

“The Wonderland was a façade. I thought it helpful to make clear that the Trail has a face behind a face, not unlike Spike.” Indi said.

 

Spike looked vaguely offended, like he wasn’t sure where the insult lay. “Hey now,” he said.

 

“Hold out your cards,” Indi said.

 

They did, arms extended over the table, cards facing up; obedient kindergarteners showing teacher their pictures. And like an approving teacher, Indi smiled at Fred. “Sargo the Wolf,” teacher said. “He is a loyal friend and an unwavering source of succor.”

 

Her smile less approving, she glanced at Xander and said, “Groza the Spur. Stubborn, he causes pain even as he sticks by his Master’s side. Groza’s loyalty is complete, but comes hard won and he broadcasts his opinions where others fear to speak.”

 

Approval in the smile again as Indi turned to Dawn. “Ruby the Tempest,” Indi said, stroking the wind lines on Dawn’s card. “She is wind, formless energy. She solidifies with the intangible and destroys with the unseen. Her loyalty is strong as her storms.”

 

Looking at Spike, Indi said, “Tresten the Master. He must engender a following by light and heavy means. Night or day he must not sleep.”

 

Indi paused and crossed her arms, dramatic suspense spoiled by overacting. “You are each suited to one of these four in character and are matched against your suited in war. Spike, you drew the battle lines when you made a bid for your lost book and spoke of leaving The Trail. Tresten accepted your challenge, commencing play on that same night.”

 

Spike tore the card in half and tossed the halves onto the table. “Most people can’t wait to see me gone.”

 

“Not Tresten. He would like nothing better than to keep the doors hidden, but he must follow rules and cannot forbid you from going. You also must follow rules. You pledged to leave and leave you must, for you cannot undo a bid.”

 

“Glad to leave, soon as you point me to the exit.”

 

Droning, Indi quoted, “Side by side are two doors: one door requiring little labour, the other door requiring much for it has four keys and each key bears two teeth. The former is hailed as the Saint’s Way and the latter as the Devil’s Pass; the doors being sisters of true likeness.”

 

“I tried telling you this morning, Spike. The book you lost…”

 

“Tresten stole it. Get that through your noggin, Giles.”

 

“That’s neither here nor there. The lost book and the Demony book are identical in binding, handwriting and turn of phrase. You will have to defer to me on this because I’ve studied enough tomes to identify volume siblings,” Giles squared his jaw. “Your book and the Demony Book are the Sisters of True Likeness.”

 

Indi bowed her head at Giles. “The Watcher is correct. There are only two exits to The Trail. Your book – now in Tresten’s keeping - requires the effortless uttering of a spell to open a portal; it is the Saint’s Way. You cannot prove his theft of it and therefore cannot use that way. As such Spike, you have inadvertently obligated yourself and your humans to playing the Devil’s Pass, found in the book you call Demony. You must use the four keys and their two teeth to open the door to the Pass.”

 

“Right under our noses, all this time,” Spike gave a bark of laughter. “Tricky Tresten.”

 

Sighing, Xander laid his card face down on the table. “The cards and the sisters, I get. But the teeth are bringing on that Special Ed feeling.”

 

“You must play to proceed,” Giles echoed Indi’s earlier words.

 

“Precisely,” Indi gave Giles a warm smile. “Games are key to Tresten’s society.”

 

“It naturally follows that the four keys to the Devil’s Pass are four games. You each form a tooth on a key and Team Tresten each form the other tooth,” Giles said. “In other words, you and your suited are opponents in a game.”

 

“You’re not suited to anyone so where does that leave you, Giles?” Fred asked.

 

“Yes, where does that leave me?”

 

“You were not present at the bid and are consequently not beholden to play for the Devil’s Pass,” Indi said.

 

Dawn thrust her hip against the table. “It’s not fair. We don’t know anything about The Devil’s Pass.”

 

“Tresten provided you with the Demony book through Jude. Not only does it symbolize the Devil’s Pass, but it is also a comprehensive guide to playing the Pass. Tresten cannot be held responsible for the fact that you are illiterate in Demon Gypsy or for the fact that you could not see that the games are at their zenith.”

 

“Are we to take the paragraphs in English as Tresten’s attempt at evening the odds?” Giles asked.

 

Indi laughed. “Perhaps Jude is not the foe you believe him to be. He is the only one who could have translated those passages.”

 

Spike picked up the halves of the feather card and held them together, ridges starting to crease his brow as he looked at the card. “See here’s my problem, I’m playing blind. Not sure if it’s boxing gloves or wrestling shorts I need.”

 

“Visualise with me,” Indi glided to the four-bolted door. “Imagine this to be the door to the Devil’s Pass and each bolt to be a key, a game.”

 

“So far so good,” said Xander.

 

“Spike, your game was the rack and you triumphed when you did not surrender yourself or your Earned but withstood Tresten.” Indi slid back the topmost bolt.

 

“Tresten decided your game, Fred, when you asked him for a physician for your Master. He chose Sargo for your opponent and under Sargo’s tutelage, Diane concocted ways to best you. You persevered and this won you the game,” she drew back the second bolt down.

 

“The score therefore stands at two to nil, but the door cannot open with the last two bolts in place. One failure equates to group failure and a lost opportunity to leave the Trail as you will not be permitted to bid for the Devil’s Pass a second time.”

 

Pointing at the third bolt, Indi looked at Xander. “Each lesson Tresten spoke of as he shattered Spike’s bones must be learned for Court. You have no margin for error and must be perfect in word, dress and deportment. Your examiner will be Groza. He has already set about hearing from your own lips your weaknesses and Spike’s.”

 

“Skinny Al,” Xander said, recalling his one-sided conversations with the Advisor in cat’s clothing.

 

Indi nodded. “As far as Groza is concerned, Court is a tiresome formality. He boasts that you are to all intents and purposes his boy.”

 

Spike’s stare at Indi was the last word in evil.

 

“Direct not your malice at me, I am merely the mouth-piece,” she said.

 

“Whose mouth-piece, is what I’d like to know,” Spike said, still staring.

 

Indi dropped her gaze and finger to the fourth bolt. “Dawn, you are form created from the formless and Tresten would meld you into his Fourth Advisor. He named your game when he pocketed your braid after the dismal haircut. By means of the braid - your corporeal essence - and her magicks, Ruby is in the process of melding you for Tresten. She is solidifying upon you the strengths of Sargo, Groza, Tresten and her own windy disposition. With you thus gifted and working for him, Tresten will be invincible.”

 

Dawn wriggled her arm up the back of her tunic and a rasping sound started up, knife-blade scaling a fish. Realising that she was scratching the scales off, Xander hurried round the table to her, met by Spike, Giles and Fred. Before any of them touched her, the floating lights flocked around them, causing a commotion.

 

“Be still,” Indi ordered.

 

Feeling forced to obey Indi whether he liked it or not, Xander went still. Spike, Fred, Dawn and Giles were already in statue poses. The lights flew to Indi and perched on her shoulders, danced on her arms and all the way down the back of her kimono, weaving into a cloak of fire. Indi settled the cloak’s hood over her curls, the spot-lighted face too sinister to be beautiful and the colour of silky fire too breath-taking to look away from.

 

“Others make great sacrifices to safeguard your life, yet you Dawn, are determined that your ethereal beginning despoils your humanity. It is the only beginning you have and if you do not defend your human life…if you do not defend it, Ruby will craft you a demon future.”

 

*    *    *    *

 

There were moments Spike would hold pictured in his mind until the day he died. Angelus’ ecstasy when Drusilla brought home ten novice nuns for dinner. Buffy coming down the stairs when she was supposed to be dead. The first chip-bite in Red’s college room.  Dawn stepping up to Indi, big strides and kick-butt tone. Every bit his L’il Trooper.

 

“Defend it how?” She asked.

 

“Why by bidding of course,” Indi said cheerfully. “Bid for a Spoken Wish. Tresten will ask you to say your wish and you must say you wish for Ruby to retrieve her gifts and to bestow you no gifts in the future. She will set you a task chosen from the pictures on the walls and will no doubt mask it in cryptic verse. It will be to your advantage to study the walls in preparation for Ruby’s task. If you succeed, Tresten must grant your Wish. If you do not, you will have a new Amo.”

 

Spike felt a newfound respect for Tresten. The gigantic Lord Mayor of the Trail had had plenty of time to kill him, rules notwithstanding. But this, eking out the torment, letting him live to watch Xander and Dawn taken from him, this was so much more fun for Tresten.

 

“Doubtless Giles, Fred and I get shoved in front of the firing squad once Harris and Nibblet are ensconced on Seventh Ranking,” he said.

 

“I do not see Tresten sparing your lives,” Indi said.

 

Giles pressed the heel of his palm on the center of his forehead. “What timescales are we working to?”

 

“Ruby will Seal in eight nights. For this reason, Dawn must attach a condition to her bid. She must be adamant on undertaking Ruby’s task before the eighth night is over.”

 

Indi slid the last two bolts back. “Assuming Xander and Dawn are victorious, the door to the Devil’s Pass will open, but you cannot simply walk out. You must pay homage to the Custodian of the doors.”

 

“Don’t tell me homage is another game,” Dawn griped.

 

“It is indeed,” Indi opened the door wide, stepping to the side when Spike said, “Shift then.”

 

A step after the threshold was a six foot long by six foot wide void. Leading on from the void was a corridor with a marble picnic bench in the middle of it. A jester complete with belled hat played chess with a hooded figure at the table. At the end of the corridor was an archway opening into The Magic Box. When the jester moved his queen, the bench budged towards the void. The hoodie played his knight and the table altered course for Sunnydale. 

 

“I’m crap at chess,” Spike said.

 

“As winner, it will be your prerogative to select what game you will pay homage with. Tresten’s only stipulation is that you choose the final game from the drawings on the wall. You may choose not to play chess – but please be aware that not all the games depicted on the walls are eligible for homage and that it is forbidden for an Earner to overly scrutinize walls that are not on his Ranking.”

 

“I’ve never heard anything more absurd,” Giles burst out. “These rules and stipulations are, of course, Tresten’s way of ensuring the winner’s eventual defeat.” 

 

Whatever, Spike thought, just wanting a spot of quiet. Someone had come into Magic Box and he knew who it was even before she flicked the light on.

 

“Buffy,” he mouthed, heart contracting with helpless love.

 

“She’s so close,” Dawn said, breathlessly.

 

Buffy came closer, smiling as she stopped under the arch.

 

“I…uh…yeah,” longing bowled him over, confirming the status quo. Summers was it. Anyone else was a stand-in.

 

“She is a mirage,” Indi said and at her words, the Magic Box, corridor and chess players melted into the expanding void.

 

Spike found himself standing at the bridge over the Void, looking into the abyss and feeling cheated. With a snarl he grabbed the lamps Indi held out, passed one to Giles and turned up the wick on the other.

 

Indi took up the torch and gave it to Dawn. “My flame will cloak you,” Indi said. Fire jumped off her hood and onto the torch’s tallow head, lighting it. “Keep it burning.”

 

Spike would eat his shorts if Indi was the goodwill ambassador she was making out to be. “I suppose you’ll be wanting payment,” he said.

 

Indi went out like a candle.

 

Spike blinked in the dark, his vision worse than before he’d entered Indi’s courtyard. He couldn’t tell the humans apart, and that was with his lamp at full wick. The other lamp was Giles, he reckoned, and the torch was…nowhere.

 

“Nibblet – where is she?”

 

“What the devil do you mean where is she?” Giles lifted his lamp overhead, Spike did the same and their combined lights shone on two other faces.

 

“We’ve lost her.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Fred,” Giles said. “How can we have lost?”

 

“Do you see her?” Fred asked, shrill. “Well, do you?”

 

“De-freak, guys. We call her, she doesn’t answer then we have a freakfest,” Xander said.

 

Spike headed the chorus of, “Nibblet! Dawnie! Dawn!”

 

Nothing.

 

“Nibblet!”

 

Nothing.