Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction ❯ Come, Come Again ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1

'…Thanks…'

It throbbed in his head, echoing around and over and into him until he had to hold his head for the pain it caused. But he had no head. He had no hands. He was-nothing, in nothing, with nothing. Nothing.

With a sudden 'snap' there was something in his world. Light. It was bright, painful. And for a moment, he feared it was the sun. He covered his nonexistent eyes with hands that weren't there. The light became brighter and brighter, until it filled all of a vision he shouldn't have had, but somehow did.

He could feel pain from the light, a flash of agony behind eyes that didn't exist, before everything went suddenly and abruptly pitch black. And then he knew he wasn't in nothing anymore. He was something-somewhere. He just-remembered nothing.

There were some-things with him. They spoke. But-he couldn't understand them. If he couldn't understand them, did they really speak? How did he know-?

He felt one of them touch him. It was not a cold touch, not harsh or bad in any way. Yet he retracted from it, instinctively, not liking it.

Then he realized something else. He couldn't see.

He waggled his fingers in front of where he thought his face was, and he didn't see them. They were there; they existed, but he couldn't see them. He couldn't see anything.

He heard words again that he didn't understand, felt that touch, curious, questioning. He did not retreat from it this time. He felt the hand come under his chin, did not resist as it turned him to the left. He almost jerked out of the hand as a snapping sound came not inches from his face, but he saw nothing in front of him.

"Can't see."

He thought it important to tell them. Wondered if they understood him.

The hand retreated. The voice repeated itself again. He could almost make out vowels and consonants. Almost make out a phonetic pronunciation.

The voice repeated itself, the same jumble of words. "Vel'bol zhah dosst kaas?"

It was a question. He knew this. He shook his head slowly. "Don't understand you." He needed to hear himself. He needed to know that he was still there, not nothing.

The voice mumbled something different, and he heard an answer. The other sounded angry and he winced away from it. That touch came again, light. The-something was trying to soothe him. He found that humorous for some reason.

He heard the one that had touched him answer, softly. The other snapped back a reply and then was quiet. There was a definite sigh, a long-suffering one, and the one he liked spoke softly to him. The other must have left.

He started as something soft was thrust at his hands. He clutched at it, feeling cloth of some kind. The invisible hands lightly ran over his body, and he jerked in response, muscles tensing. He was naked. These were clothes then. The other obviously did not have his problem with sight.

Slowly, carefully, he stood. He had been sitting on the ground, a cold and slightly rough one, as if it were rock or cobblestone. The other did not stop him, did not help him either, as he carefully felt for which holes went where. It took a few minutes, but he finally had the coat-like object over his head.

It was simple. A hole for the head, two holes for his arms, came down to his knees. It was slightly rough as it brushed against his skin, and did nothing for the breeze coming from somewhere and dancing up his legs. The breeze did not chill or warm him.

"Flohlu ussa." The hand came with the voice, lying lightly on his arm, leading him as the other moved. He followed, his movements jerky. He kept expecting pain to explode as he ran into something, but the other led him unerringly out of the room.

He knew that they had gone from that room. The scent changed from musty, unused air to fresh air. The breeze had been coming from here. It-smelled the same.

The hand lightly pressed, and he stopped moving, head still and straight ahead, eyes focused on nothing. He heard a low murmur of voices then. The other had moved away from him and was speaking to someone. Not the loud-voiced one. This one smelled differently. He smelled-sweet. He didn't like the smell.

He heard them both moving closer, and he flinched back as the sweet-smelling one tried to grab his arm. He felt the back of his legs hit something and had to pinwheel his arms to keep from falling. The nice one grabbed both of his arms, kept him steady, and then let him go. He could hear him snapping at the sweet-smelling one.

The whine the sweet-smelling one's voice took on made him wince again as it grated on his ears. He heard a slapping sound, and the voice stopped. A light groan sounded, and the nice one's voice spoke again. It was calm, cold. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He never wanted to hear that tone of voice directed at him.

The sweet-smelling one was silent, but by the shuffling he assumed he was standing. He had been struck down then. Hard.

"He wants to know your name."

The high-pitched words came as a complete surprise. Such a complete surprise that for a moment he didn't speak. He heard the other begin his whining again in that strange language and spoke up then. "I don't-remember."

The voice stopped, then started again in the understandable language. The language he had feared only he spoke. "What don't you remember?"

He forced himself to speak to the one he didn't like, trying to direct his face and words toward the one he did. "I don't remember who I am, what my name is, how I got here. Where am I?"

He heard the other speak in the unknown language, waited while he was translated.

There was a pause before the voice answered back. There was a pause before it was translated. "You were given. You don't need to know anything else. You will be given a name. You will obey. Do you understand?"

He shook his head slowly, mouth slightly agape. "Given? Obey?" Those words stirred something inside, and-he felt something pressing at the surface of his face, roaring, bellowing? He didn't know-

There was a slapping sound and a ringing pain that accompanied the sound. He went down hard, sprawled on the floor with no way to catch himself, no way to prepare for the blow. His head rose, shocked; and the other's voice was sharp, directed at him.

The translation was not sharp, didn't need to be. "You will obey or you will be punished. That is the way of things. Accept it or die here and now."

He stayed there on the ground for a long moment, staring up blankly, trying to wrap this-new-ness around his mind. But what could be new after nothing? There was no before. There was no new.

"I-accept." He could feel the words fall like lead from his tongue, feel a sudden smoldering-something crawl into the pit of his stomach. He didn't like those words.

He flinched back from the hand that landed on his shoulder, almost wrenched away when it curled under his armpit. It pulled him up harshly, and he was forced to follow, to stand on his own two feet and cringe as if expecting another blow.

He was, therefore, shocked when he felt that same hand caress where it had struck him. He felt a tingle, a small one, and the place no longer stung. The hand lay there for a moment, lightly tracing his jaw, then vanished. He almost missed it.

The voice sounded, and the other translated. "His name is Valas Tarik. He is your master. You will serve him, do as he tells you. You will be given a name when you have proven worthy."

He nodded quickly.

The voice continued and the other translated. "You will be taught our language."

He nodded again, and then put a hand before his eyes, let it lower to his side. "I can't see."

Those hands touched him again, one of each side of his face, pointing it toward the other's face. He could feel the breath of the other-Valas, as he spoke. It took on an other-worldly aspect with the translation. "We will see to this. Help you. It would not matter. You would not be able to see even if you could."

He opened his mouth to question this, and the other retreated with a sharp command. He instinctively shut his mouth.

Those two words were given again and the hand was returned to his arm. He knew that meant something like 'follow me.' Wondering where they were going, he followed, although it was more out of curiosity than any sense of obedience.

~&~

They'd traded in the bus for a rental. It was a van. Air conditioned, which was nice in California when you were planning on a road-trip across the Midwest. It didn't have a television or climate control for each passenger or anything the new vans had. It was-just a van.

Giles grimaced at the music pouring from the speakers and glanced at the man sitting beside him from the corner of his eyes as he drove them out of the state of California. "Can't you turn that music off? It's really-quite horrible."

Xander grinned over at the other, fingers tapping a rhythm on his leg. "Lighten up a little, G-man! A little country never hurt anyone."

Another voice spoke up from behind. "It's going to hurt someone if you don't at least turn it to something modern."

Xander sniffed at Faith, not turning to view her. "Modern's over-rated." He turned down the music anyway. "We need something to listen to. Might as well get used to this. They don't play anything else where we're going."

"I'm sure that that's hardly true, Xander. And stop calling me by that hideous nickname."

Xander grinned again, slouching in his seat and staring out the window. "Ah, you like it and you know it-G-man."

There was that long-suffering sigh he had been aiming for. His grin this time was directed toward the horizon. It was getting dark. They'd find a hotel to sleep in, probably spend some time in a small town recuperating before they continued on to Cleveland. Giles had estimated it to be a four day trip, maybe even five. Everyone agreed on five.

Slowly the city had given way to the suburbs, and the suburbs had given way to the highway they were on. Interstate fifteen.

Xander glanced down at the map in his lap. The highway extended all the way to Salt Lake City, and then they had to take Interstate eighty. That road went all the way to Cleveland.

Xander could have laughed at the thought of him being navigator. But at the thought of him asking every five minutes 'are we there yet', Giles had quickly given him the map. Now he sat and stared at the squiggly lines.

The map was folded right now. After all, there was much territory between here and there, and they only needed here right now.

Xander smiled. "Stopping at Zion National Park?"

Giles grimaced. "I suppose that's best. We've been on the road for six hours. We need to find a place to recuperate."

Xander nodded solemnly. "Count our losses."

He saw the grave nod in return from the older man. "Quite right." The words were soft, slow, respectful.

Xander nodded, glancing back at the girls that were locked in their own worlds behind him. Faith and Wood were looking cozy…and he was glad. Andrew was humming a bit to the tune, Dawn and Buffy were leaned inward toward each other, foreheads touching as they whispered of something and smiled. Willow and Kennedy were-

Xander turned back around quickly, face flushed. He managed to grin lopsidedly and glance at Giles out of the corner of his eyes as he asked, "Wanna do a hand check?"

He watched as Giles' forehead crinkled in confusion. "Hand check?" Dark eyes glanced at the rearview mirror, turned to the road, and then widened as they again glanced back. "Oh."

Xander was frankly shocked as a small smile crept on the older man's face. "Not necessary."

Xander and Giles shared a grin that Xander had thought they'd never share. The grin of two men enjoying something together. Xander sighed happily and gazed out the window to his right, watching scenery, what little there was out here, pass them by. Oh, this wouldn't be such a bad five days after all….

~&~

He blinked his eyes, rubbed them with fists that were tingling strangely, and blinked again. Okay, this was not right. He couldn't think of any reason he should be surrounded by a bunch of snake-like people, hissing and staring up at him in-well, they were snakes, he couldn't tell. He was in some kind of structure, like no structure he'd ever been in. It was filled to the brim with marble columns and spirals. No sign of anything flat or cornered, it was all rounded and circled. But-there was definitely a ceiling, a domed one.

Nope, no reason at all why he should be in this nightmare and not in his living room, foolishly trying on a necklace that he had no idea of its origins.

His hand fumbled at his chest and his wrist was gripped. "It's still warm. You might want to wait till it cools, Lord."

His eyes roved upwards, and upwards some more. It seemed he was sitting on the ground, and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was standing to his side. She wasn't the type of beauty that would model the cover of a magazine; she wasn't the type that would wink at him and cause all his adolescent hormones to stir. No, she was-ethereal. Otherworldly in her beauty. Simple, straight black hair fell shimmering down her back, and her eyes slanted like almonds, dark and-they had a slight golden tinge. He liked them.

Her hand darted back, and she immediately seemed to cringe inward, sweeping herself into a low bow that made her head brush the floor. "Forgive me, my Lord! I did not mean to taint your person."

He reacted before he even understood the full implications of her words, hand gripping her wrist as hers had gripped his. She was very warm. "No! You have not tainted me! You're-beautiful."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide as they gazed at him. Before she could respond, another voice sounded, and the woman was yanked away from him, stumbling down steps he only now noticed.

"Forgive me, Lord. I didn't realize the pureblood was s-so near you."

Connor reared back in abject horror. One of the snake people, that he had forgotten were gathered around him, was bending over him, hissing sibilantly in his ear. He felt suddenly faint.

The human-faced reptile jerked back, her scales making a soft rasping sound as they slid across the white marbled floor. "My lord?"

He blinked at the hideous apparition before him, wishing the other were near and not this-thing. "Where am I?"

The lizard's head bobbed briefly. "You are in the c-city of Les-shaulk, my lord. I am called Furig, high pries-stes-s of your lord's-s temple. We were told by my Lord that you would not know where you were or who we, your loyal s-subjects-s are. We are ins-structed to teach you, my lord."

Connor's eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, thankful that the other backed enough to give him room. "I have no idea what you're talking about! I've never seen you-before. I've never talked to anything like you before. I want to go home. Send me back!"

Again the one before him, Furig, bowed. She seemed to cringe in fact, folding in on herself. Connor looked down at her, noting all this, silently filing it away. "You cannot go back, my lord. You yours-self s-stated that. Until you have completed your tas-sks-s."

Connor's brow rose as he stared out at the multitude, probably hundreds, of lizard-people that stared up at him, silently watching and waiting. "My tasks?"

Furig now dared to look up, noticing the quieter, more contemplative tone of voice. "Your tas-sks-s, my lord. You are ruler here, our God."

Those eyes pinned the high priestess where she was, glowing faintly with yellow. "Your God?" He sounded more curious than anything else. The fear and disgust seemed to have left him.

She nodded slowly, her snake-like tail swishing along the floor. "Yes-s, my lord. You are Merrs-shaulk, God of the Yuan-ti."

He again looked out at the gathered reptile people. "You are Yuan-ti. This-you-are mine?"

This time the nod was silent, but she knew the other was listening. "I am at my lord's-s s-servic-ce."

As he turned to regard her, something ancient, something older, looked out from his eyes. "Mine." His eyes, those eyes, slid across her, chilling the cold-blooded creature. "Mine." They skidded over the assembled people.

"Mine." They latched onto the woman who he had first seen, the one who had touched him. He motioned toward her. "She is at my service?"

Again the Yuan-ti nodded. "Yes-s. We are all at your s-servic-ce. We are your people, my lord."

Connor nodded. "My name is Connor. I don't know who or what this Merrshaulk is."

"We have been ins-structed to teach you, my lord, by yours-self."

Connor cocked his head to one side, regarding the female who would not squarely meet his eyes, as if she were ashamed. He didn't want her to be ashamed. "She will instruct me."

He could feel the pause from the other. "S-she is-s a pureblood, my lord. Not fit for your pres-senc-ce."

Those eyes rose to Furig. "I don't care what you call her or what she is. She is mine. You are mine. She will instruct me."

Furig bowed low and quickly. "Forgive me, my lord."

He bowed his head, playing his role well. He was curious. He had been going to go to college, going to start a new life, away from family and friends he knew. Now, he was here, and he was-curious. "I'm tired."

"Of cours-se, my lord. You have traveled long. All the way from the Abys-s. If you wis-sh, s-she could s-show you to your rooms-s."

Connor's eyes met the one being spoken of. They twinkled with a fire that had been suppressed by false memory. They lit with a fire that only the ancient thing in his eyes could fuel. "Yes. I would like that very much."