AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Lorry" is the British term for a truck. Please review.
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During the great upheaval, the dead will rise and the still will be transfigured. The shadow warrior will turn from the shadow. Placing the fire within, the still heart will stand atop the jaws of perdition and transcend the grasp of the beast. The old will be cast aside and a new tranquility will descend thus making the world afresh. The masters of the guard will wither and die. Trodden down by the dawn of a new day. -Prophesies of the Unhesines
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LONDON, ENGLAND

Sanskrit was not his strong suit, but that didn’t matter. He had the commentaries and the translations to aid him. Watchers more learned than he had spent their entire lives pouring over the nuances of these scrolls. Many had given their lives to protect this information.

The writings of the Unhesines were thousands of years old. And, only a few on the Watchers’ Council even knew of their existence.

Quentin Travers was one such person. Those that did know of the writings had been sworn to secrecy, so the Council at large was entirely ignorant of the events contained within the texts, or their significance. And Quentin Travers had spent his last thirty years, as head of the Watchers’ Council, making certain that the vast majority of the people in his employ remained so.

As the time seemed to be drawing nearer, Quentin found himself working later and later, often sleeping in his office upstairs rather than going home and taking the risk that the texts fall into the wrong hands.

The last candidates had surfaced over a century ago. They were carefully watched, but over time it was deemed that those creatures were not the threat to be concerned with. They were obviously not the ones about which the scrolls foretold. As a consequence, the texts of the Unhesines were discarded as myth and the Council went back to the day-to-day operations of keeping watch over the Slayer.

However, the scrolls, and the prophecies they contained, always remained in the back of his mind.

The developments over the past few years, first in Sunnydale and now in Africa changed all that. These ancient writings he held reverently in his hands were foremost in his mind. Now, more and more, Quentin found himself prowling the catacombs beneath Council headquarters long after the others had left.

He feared that the time was upon them. And, “William the Bloody” might be the one to set it all in motion. That could not be allowed to happen.

Lydia Chalmers was loyal. He knew she would not shirk her duty. Not to the Council and not to him.

Quentin sighed as he carefully returned the parchments to their glass enclosure and set the alarm. Slowly, he made his way up from the darkness of the catacombs and came up into the light of early morning London. The city still slept as he headed home. It still remained ignorant of just what kinds of horrors lurked just beneath the surface as the people bustled about above. And, that was how it would remain, if he had any say in the matter.
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KENYA, AFRICA

Panya had heard the rumors. But then, one heard many things when one’s tastes for adventure ran to the darker side of things. He’d heard them, but he didn’t really believe. At least, not until he saw with his own eyes.

Panya grumbled as he approached the cave. His little brother Sudi was forever frightened of one thing or another. If this was another one of his tricks, if he had been made to come all this way just to be made a fool of, he was going to make sure that Sudi walked the two kilometers to fetch the family’s water.

Panya almost laughed picturing him carrying the heavy pails on his shoulders. He’d never make it, not with those skinny legs of his. It would serve him right though, and it would put him off foolish games for quite some time.

Sudi had been positive that something dwelt in that cave. He’d been so frightened that he had begged him to come to the cave and kill whatever it was.

Panya shook his head. Sudi was most likely frightened of a fruit bat…again. Panya knew there was nothing here to be frightened of, except perhaps the fruit bats.

He was just about to turn and start the long trek home, when he heard it. Coming from deep within the cave that loomed in front of him, there was a cry. It sounded very much like a wounded animal. Or, a wounded man. Panya knew that sometimes tourists got lost here.

Panya hesitated. If it was a wounded animal, he knew better than to go anywhere near it. If he did, he could be injured himself. But, if it was a man and he did nothing to help, he would be wracked with worry and guilt.

The next sound he heard made his decision. It was a voice. A man was in there, “Auni miye, asini?” he said.

Panya was unsure of what to do, and fright hovered over him like a storm cloud. Had he actually heard a man?

Then he heard the plea again, this time in English, “Help me…please?”

Slowly he made his way into the cave, his breath quickening the further he went from the light that filtered in through the opening. He began to question the wisdom of this, even as he moved further into darkness. This was madness, and he knew that. But, the anguish in the voice could not be ignored. He simply had to help.

The voice he’d heard had a foreign sound to it, perhaps the man understood English better than he did Swahili, and since Panya could speak both languages with relative ease, he thought it would be best to use English, “Hello?” he spoke timidly as his eyes explored the darkness, and he inched slowly deeper into the dark recesses of the grotto, “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

There was no answer. For a long time all Panya heard was the tiny flutter of the wings of the fruit bats that lived here. Then suddenly, a strangled voice came out of the dark, “Mimi ni potevu; kakata.”

Panya grinned at the dark, relieved. He sighed, “Well my friend, if you are lost, perhaps we can find your friends? And, if you are in pain, will you let me help you? Because, if you continue like this, the animals will find you and they will eat you.”

Panya heard a soft steady sobbing, and for a moment it sounded like laughter. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a flash of white that came out of the shadow of the cavern floor.

“I have no friends,” the voice croaked, “I am the animal,” Panya saw a flash of gold, and the voice said forcefully, “Tutu!”

Panya shook his head. He could see the man now, crouched on the cave floor. He did look as if he were injured. Panya was beginning to discern large gashes on his chest and he could smell the blood, and the vomit. Panya lowered himself so that he could see the man’s face and, as he looked closer, he could see that his face was somewhat disfigured. He also saw large gashes there as well, and that the man had odd eyes. But what he noticed even more was that the man’s whole body was shaking with fear.

Panya knew that, although his family considered him a man, he was not large enough to frighten anyone. That was why his father had given him the name of, “Mouse.” The idea that he could frighten this man was completely alien to him.

Panya decided that he could not leave anyone alone and frightened, as this man seemed to be. He carefully placed his hand on the man’s arm and offered what he could, “Can I help?”
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That was over a month ago. The man travailing to keep pace with him as the walked through the gloaming of the desert was not the only person to show interest in “Simba” of late. He was however, the only one who seemed truly concerned for his welfare.

Panya looked over his shoulder at the red-faced Englishman, “Do you wish to stop?” he asked sympathetically, “You’ve brought water with you, yes?”

Giles nodded as he held out his still unopened bottle of spring water.

Foolish old man. Panya shook his head, “Perhaps it is best to rest now?”

Giles did not stand on ceremony. He grunted as he sat, bonelessly, in the sand where he had stopped. He opened his bottle and drank the water greedily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before asking, “How much farther, do you think?”

Panya squinted at the horizon, “It isn’t much farther,” he looked at the old man with amusement, “You are glad now that we did not start the journey in the heat of the day, as you requested? I am sure you would be dead by now.”

Giles nodded as he took a drink from his water bottle and was rebuked by the boy’s affable expression, “Perhaps I am already that,” he mumbled.

Panya sat down in the sand next to Giles. He needed to take time to rest before they continued, “Well,” he said, “at least you are more fit for the journey than the woman who was asking after your friend.”

Giles could feel his heart beat harder against his ribcage, “Someone else was looking for him?”

“Yes. But not many people know where he is,” Panya grinned proudly, “I believe I am the only one who knows the way.”

“But others know as well?”

Nodding, Panya said, “Perhaps. You may find that some, when given enough money, will begin to know things that they do not.”

Giles sighed ruefully, “Yes, I am, unfortunately, keenly aware of that,” as Giles got slowly to his feet, he felt the weight of the pistol that was holstered at his ankle. He did not want to use it, but he would do what was necessary, “I must find him before she does.”
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Lydia Chalmers was growing increasingly frustrated. She’d been on the vampire’s trail for days. She’d already depleted her funds by two hundred and fifty pounds hiring a guide to lead her to her quarry, as well as untold hours being tossed to and fro in the back of an incredibly unsanitary lorry. Her nerves were jangled, and as far as she could tell she was nowhere near her stated objective.
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As Spike pressed his back against the grotto wall, he wished again for the quiet, comforting rhythmic sounds of his youth. He longed for the muted tones of the horse and carriage. As he felt the jagged stone beneath his hands, he began to wonder how he’d survived in the era of the modern combustion engine.

The noise roared louder in his ears, and he groaned in pain, as the vehicle drew nearer, stirring up clouds of dust and sand as it passed.

He released an unconscious sigh of relief when the roaring abruptly stopped and the soothing sound of human footfalls in the sand replaced it.

He slowly withdrew from the cavern wall and whispered out into the dusk of evening, “Mouse, is that you?”

The voice that answered was familiar and terrifying, “No,” she said as she ducked under the rock formation, “But I have made your acquaintance,” Lydia said.

Spike quaked in fear as her face loomed before him, filling his heart and mind with panic.

Then, just as suddenly as the panic came, it was quelled by another who should have brought fear, but did not, “And I have made yours, Miss Chalmers.”

Lydia snapped her head to the sound of the voice and gasped in shock to find Rupert Giles’s eyes staring her down from behind the barrel of a gun.
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