Buffy the Vampire Slayer 07 - Obsidian Fate - Diana G Gallagher.palmdoc

249 Pages·2016·0.72 MB·English

Buffy, The Vampire Slayer

Obsidian Fate
Prologue

Captain Diego de Garcia groaned. Though his exhausted sleep was undisturbed
by the bite of pebbles against his back and the rain pooling under the
overhanging rock, it was tormented by the blood storm raging in his dreams. The
hundreds of miles that separated him from Hernando Cortez’s conquering force
could not erase the haunting memories of ritual Aztec murder and brutal Spanish
slaughter-or of his own narrow escape from death, beyond the tiered temples and
gates of Tenochtitlan on July 1, 1520.
Run!
Sweat beaded on Diego’s furrowed brow. His breathing became labored and his
legs twitched, as he raced across the primitive causeway away from the Aztec
island city and toward the safety of the hills on the distant shore. Even in the
throes of nightmare, the tang of salt water and blood stung his nostrils. He ran,
pursued by a frenzied horde dressed in the eagle feathers and jaguar pelts of their
savage military orders. Around himfleeing Spaniards and native allies fell to
wooden spears and knives or were pushed into the lake to drown, weighed down
by pockets full of stolen gold. A league ahead, Cortez rode onto solid ground
with his sword raised, while a flint knife pierced Diego’s thigh-
“Uh!” Diego sat up, shivering and covered in mud. More than a year had passed
since Cortez’s army had been routed from the Aztec capital. Two weeks later,
the Captain General had sent him north with a small exploratory expedition and
a cache of native treasure. Yet his dream recollections were not fading with time
and distance, but becoming more vivid and intense. A sudden uneasiness gripped
him as the night pulsed, darkening by heartbeats. He scowled, refusing to accept
the ominous portent of the dream, forcing the lingering images to retreat.
Wiping his nose with a wet sleeve, Diego crawled to the opening of the stone
crevasse. The torrential rains of the past several days had stopped, and a sliver of
moon shone through a break in the thick cloud cover. Cold and wet, he dragged
himself upright on cramped legs to survey the dark encampment. His seven
remaining men huddled under a ledge at the base of a gradual incline … the
other eighteen had been lost to accident and attack on the long and treacherous
journey across the desert. They had been neither warm nor dry for a week, nor
journey across the desert. They had been neither warm nor dry for a week, nor
would they be any time soon, for want of dry tinder. He could do nothing to
alleviate their misery but let them rest.
And find a suitable place to hide the treasure so they could rejoin Cortez’s army,
the only enclave of civilization in this godforsaken land.
Diego cast a quick glance at the burros tethered in astand of scrub trees, their
tails tucked and their heads lowered in bestial resignation and acceptance of rain
and human whim. The packs they had carried more than a thousand miles were
piled against a nearby boulder, containing beaded gold and turquoise jewelry,
mosaic masks and shields inlaid with silver and precious stones, copper and
obsidian idols depicting the bloodthirsty Aztec gods of light and dark hidden
beneath layers of cracked leather and woven cloth. The fortune in artifacts
entrusted to him would not be shared with the Crown but retrieved by Cortez at a
more convenient time, after the vast territory had been tamed. Diego dared
neither doubt Cortez’s pledge to reward him for this service nor betray his trust.
Only a fool would contemplate stealing from that obsessed and invincible
champion of Spanish conquest. However, should Cortez fall in battle, Diego
would have no misgivings about claiming the riches for himself. No one else
would live to reveal the secret hiding place, which he had yet to choose.
Perhaps right here would do. Since they had not encountered any savage hunting
bands or villages within the last hundred miles, the treasure would be safe from
accidental discovery and theft by curious natives.
Diego nodded, as the cloud cover fragmented and his gaze brushed the moonlit
terrain. At the crest of the incline above his men, concentrated streams of water
flowed downward, skirting a solitary tower of rock and cutting gouges in the
lower slope. The tall rock formation snagged his attention, commanding closer
inspection at first light.
Diego shivered and stamped his feet, splattering more mud on his water sodden
boots. It was unseasonably cold for mid-August; a fire would have heartenedas
well as warmed his weary men, but he had no hope of starting one. Everything
within range of the camp was soaked, and the stench of damp rot hung heavy in
the night air. Suddenly anxious, Diego limped toward the packs. The painful
ache in his scarred thigh and the glint of burnished gold would take his mind off
the stubborn sense of peril his dream had evoked.
He did not see the plume of smoke rising from one of the leather bags at first.
He did not see the plume of smoke rising from one of the leather bags at first.
He smelled it: pungent wood char laced with an acrid, metallic taint.
Kneeling before the pack, Diego stared at the gray wisps drifting upward in the
wan moonlight. He ignored the vibration in his knees as he slipped a trembling
hand under a wet leather flap. Logic deserted him with the hope of finding a
charred bit of wood miraculously ignited by a flint left in a copper incense
burner, a coal he might nurse into a fire with a handful of moldy packing straw.
But there was no heat. His hand touched a cold, smooth surface.
Bewildered and curious, Diego flipped the leather flap back and pulled out a
roughly circular, obsidian mirror framed with gold, silver, and turquoise and
measuring two hands in diameter. Tendrils of smoke were rising from the inside
edge of the frame and swirling within the depths of the black glass, drawing his
gaze. Diego felt the ground shudder, but he was powerless to move. Neither his
eyes nor his essence could resist the smoking mirror and the images within.
Diego’s own bearded reflection looked out at him through the smoky haze. His
long, wet, snarled dark hair framed a face lined and scarred by too many years of
war and hardship. Narrowed brown eyes betrayed the decay of spirit that had
seeped into his bones and aged him far too quickly. His pulse quickened as
hisface faded out and the swirling smoke irised open to reveal Templo Mayor,
the heart of Tenochtitlan and the Aztec culture.
Diego cringed from the certainty that he had been driven mad by festering
memories of Spanish massacre and barbaric atrocities. He had raised his sword
to slay the helpless tribes that had defied conquest, but tens of thousands of
human captives had died under an Aztec knife, sacrificed on altar stones at the
pinnacle of the flattened pyramid. As though mocking his revulsion and fear, a
river of blood began flowing from the upper sanctuaries and down the two long
flights of stone steps. The blue-gray smoke rising from the mirror’s outer edge
reddened, as the image expanded to display the entire island. A battle raged
through the narrow streets, but this was not a madman’s hallucination of the
retreat he had barely survived a year ago. A full Spanish assault had been
launched against the Aztec city.
Or was about to be.
He did not question how he knew the events depicted in the mirror had not yet
He did not question how he knew the events depicted in the mirror had not yet
come to pass. Mesmerized, Diego watched as the brigantines patrolling the salt
waters of Lake Texcoco easily capsized and destroyed the native canoes sent to
repel them. Three Spanish divisions surged across the causeways to the island,
then down the main boulevards toward Tlatelolco Square, forcing the defending
Aztec warriors back-until they turned to make a stand. The unfortunate Spanish
infantrymen in the front lines were seized and dragged to the temple steps.
Diego shuddered but could not tear his gaze away, as the savages cut the
soldiers’ beating hearts from their chests and impaled their severed, helmeted
heads by the temple, a gruesome, though ineffective,warning to the determined
Cortez. Outraged by the spectacle, the invading army stormed through the city, a
wave of destruction and death. A predatory roar pierced the night as the great
temple collapsed into rubble under the fury of the human swarm.
Diego’s men stirred, barking disgruntled curses that masked an ominous rumble
deep within the earth. Curses became cries of alarm as the ground tremors
intensified and the men stumbled to their feet. Fear rousing them from their
lethargic dozing, the burros broke their tethers and stampeded up the rise.
Diego could not move or look away from the smoking, obsidian glass. Bound by
the power of the mirror, he watched his face superimpose itself over the
timeworn ruins of Tenochtitlan and whimpered when his reflected skin split
open and peeled back. Muscle and blood dissolved in a swirl of red smoke.
Terrified, he stared into the empty eye sockets of his own bleached skull, then
into the glittering, golden eyes of a black jaguar.
Then the world exploded, and Captain Diego de Garcia drowned in a sea of mud
and rock, a death grip on the mirror and his mouth open in a silent, eternal
scream.
Chapter 1

Silence stalked the midnight streets of Sunnydale, pervasive and absolute,
chilling the dreams of those who slept, sedating those who walked the moonlit
shadows.
Buffy Summers listened, wary and waiting.
A heartbeat thundered.
A breath rasped.
A twig snapped.
Buffy whirled, stake drawn back. The quiet was getting on her nerves and she
was ready for a fight, anything to relieve the tension that had her poised on the
brink of a systems overload and breakdown.
Sitting cross-legged on the grass, Willow tensed. The petals she had picked off a
dead daisy from the grave beside her fell from her hand.
“What?” Xander jumped up from his perch on a crumbling headstone. He
swallowed hard and anxiously scanned the cemetery, looking for whatever
abomination the Hellmouth had finally unleashed. Nothing moved.
Relaxing her stance, Buffy shrugged. “I thought I heard something.”
“I didn’t hear anything.” An uncertain frown skimmed Willow’s pixie face. “Did
you, Xander?”
“No. Although, I was keenly aware of my toenails growing.” Shoving his hands
in his pockets, Xander flopped on the ground by Willow. “I hate to say it, but-
I’m bored.”
“It has been kind of dull around here lately.” Palming her stake, Buffy peered
into the night.Too dull for too long.The hypnotic effect was as dangerous as the
vampires that had gone to ground. It bred complacency and smoothed the edges
of vigilant readiness, an erosion of mental conditioning a Slayer could not
of vigilant readiness, an erosion of mental conditioning a Slayer could not
afford.
Buffy resisted the temptation to let down her guard. Her mom would never
forgive her if she checked in at the morgue on her way home.
“I wonder why?” Willow drew up her legs, wrapped her arms around them, and
rested her chin on her knees.
Buffy didn’t know-and that’s what bothered her. “It’s like someone posted those
circle signs all over town. With slashes over twin fangs.”
“No vampires allowed?” Willow nodded. “Works for me, only … I don’t think
the vamps would take them seriously.”
“Probably not.” Shaking her head, Buffy moved closer. If anything threatening
lurked nearby, she’d know. All was quiet on the graveyard front.
“Okay, so maybe the local chapter of the Marauding Monsters and Despicable
Demons Union went on strike for a shorter work week.” Xander’s dark eyes
narrowed when no one cracked a smile. “It could happen.”
Willow laughed softly. “Monsters don’t have a union-do they?”
“Do high school girls date werewolves?”
Point to Xander.Buffy absently followed the banter between her two best
friends.
Her enhanced Slayer senses were attuned to her surroundings, aware of every
nuance. A soft rustle in the grass. A shadow shifting on a crypt. The musky scent
of composting leaves. Nothing triggered the inexplicable sixth sense that warned
a Slayer of imminent danger. Even so, Buffy could not dispel the feeling that
something really bad was brewing underneath the calm.
“Only me. As far as I know,” Willow said, answering Xander’s question.
“ExceptI don’t go out with Oz when he’s a werewolf. I, uh-lock him in a cage.”
“A technicality,” Xander countered.
“Yeah, but-” Willow’s pensive frown deepened. “That doesn’t explain what’s
been happening.”
been happening.”
“Nothing’s been happening. No fresh graves to stake out. No newbie vampires
making their debut.” Xander shifted nervously. “So why am I worried?”
“Because it’s creepy.” Willow glanced at Buffy. Her large eyes reflected a
genuine innocence, astonishing in an age of millenium madness and social
disintegration, unbelievable considering the damning evils she had encountered
and survived. Most relinquished their souls without a second thought.
“Definitely creepy.” Buffy frowned. “Whenever the demons and walking dead
guys take a break, it usually means all hell is gonna break loose. For real.”
“Thanks for that reminder, Buff.” Xander’s sarcastic tone indicated that he was
anything but grateful. “I almost forgot that the forces of evil lie low before a full-
scale Armageddon assault.”
“Maybe that’s it and-maybe not,” Willow said hopefully. “I mean, I think I’m
just getting, you know … anxious about M.I.T.”
“M.I.T.?” Xander asked without the veneer of a joke to disguise his dismay.
“You’re going to M.I.T.?”
“You’ve been accepted?” Buffy tried not to show her distress, either. She had
consciouslynotbeen thinking about life after graduation. It wasn’t written in
stone that all her friends would leave for distant universities and colleges, opting
for higher education and a daily routine that didn’t include actively trying to stay
alive. They might decide to stay in the most dismal, dangerous town on the face
of the Earth. And so what ifthatwish reeked of denial and delusion? It cushioned
a reality she couldn’t conveniently ignore. As long as evil threatened the world
from the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Nothing! Uh-uh. No, I-” Catching her lower lip in her teeth, Willow looked
from Xander to Buffy and winced. “I, uh-just sent a query letter. That’s
all.Honest.”
“That’s all?” Xander sputtered. “We’re talking a major mileage differential here,
Will. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology isn’t just around the corner.”
“But I haven’t been accepted,” Willow protested. “I, uh-haven’t even heard
“But I haven’t been accepted,” Willow protested. “I, uh-haven’t even heard
back!”
“Like there’s any doubt?” Xander scoffed. “Every top university in the country
is begging you to sign on the dotted line.”
“Except M.I.T.,” Willow clarified, pouting.
“Face it, Will. Unless you’ve been subjected to some irreversible brain drain,
there isnoquestion.” Falling back on his elbows, Xander threw back his head and
stared at the sky. “You’ll be accepted.”
“But that doesn’t mean I have-” The rest of Willow’s sentence dangled
unspoken, when Buffy looked up suddenly.
“Who hit the mute button?” Xander asked.
Buffy held up a hand, silencing further comment while she honed in on the
barely perceptible sound shehadheard this time. Someone was moving through
the brush along the fence enclosing the cemetery … or something. Whatever it
was, it wasn’t concerned with stealth. A solidthudbrought Willow and Xander to
their feet.
“Okay.” Dusting dry grass off the seat of his pants, Xander whispered, “Did I
say bored? I didn’t mean bored, I-”
Willow nudged him and hissed at Buffy. “What is it?”
Buffy shrugged, and with a slight shake of her head adjusted her grip on the
stake. She wasn’t sensing anything that gave her a clue, which was a little
disconcerting. Maybe there was nothing to be alarmed about, but that was no
reason to toss caution aside. Especially given the recent lull in evil doings in and
around town.
Motioning Willow and Xander to advance from the right, Buffy crept forward.
Instinctively stepping over the flat stone grave markers hidden in the grass, she
silently steered a course around the larger upright headstones, guided by a
persistent rustling sound. She moved in, drawn to a park bench bathed in the
glow of a nearby streetlight, nervously aware that no inexplicable rush of
warning raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. When she found and
confronted the culprit, she realized that nothing in her Slayer experience could
confronted the culprit, she realized that nothing in her Slayer experience could
have prepared her.
A few seconds later, Xander and Willow paused just beyond the circle of light
cast by the street lamp.
“Buffy?” Willow asked tentatively. “What’s in there?”
Buffy stared at the captive in the metal trash container.“Well, it’s got fangs and
it’s wearing a black mask.” “What?” Xander gasped. “Some creep turned the
Lone Ranger into a vamp?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m open to a second opinion.” Suppressing a grin, Buffy
stepped aside as Xander and Willow cautiously came forward.
“Hey!” Willow jumped when the trapped creature snarled.
“Oh, look. It’s a warm fuzzy varmint vamp.” Xander snarled back at the
frightened raccoon.

Daniel Coltrane parked by a battery-powered camp light sitting on a sawhorse,
doused the headlights, and turned off the engine. The motor in his old Dodge
Colt hatchback sputtered, clunked, then rumbled before falling silent. Grabbing a
flashlight and reference book off the passenger seat, he opened the door to slide
out.
“Who’s there!”
Through the windshield, Dan saw Lucille Frank at the top of the path leading to
the dig site. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she held a camp lantern high with
the other. “It’s just me, Lucy! Dan Coltrane!”
“Kind of late to be dropping by, isn’t it, Dan? Don’t you have school
tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but I’m the teacher!” Dan stepped out and slammed the car door. Bits of
rust and flakes of red paint dislodged from the door panel and floated to the
ground. “No one’s gonna complain if I fall asleep inclass. It’ll just reinforce the
teenage perception that history reallyisboring.”