Gods And Monsters

Chapter Five:

"Are you telling me this girl crash landed in Sunnydale only yesterday night and suffered no visible injuries whatsoever?" Plucking a thick, leather bound book on Celtic Mythology from a middle shelf, Rupert Giles turned around.

"That's exactly what I just said, Rupert." Spike replied flippantly. He plopped himself down onto the dark green cushions of the wood-structured couch. To his left was a multi-coloured, stained glass table lamp. Spreading his knees wide, he slouched leisurely in his seat. "Do you need me to repeat myself?"

Shooting him an unimpressed glare, Giles flipped the hardcover open. He paged through, his eyes meticulously combing the information for correlations with Spike's story. "Well, she's definitely not human." He raised his head, balancing the text in one hand whilst pushing his black-rimmed spectacles back up the straight bridge of his nose. Creases formed between his eyebrows as he frowned in contemplation.

The retired librarian was clad in a dark blue, lightweight jumper, with the cuffs of his long sleeves up around mid-forearm, and a pair of charcoal grey, corduroy trousers. His greying, dark brown hair was receding from his high forehead, his solemn face aged by the lines etched into the pale skin around his thin, pursed mouth, slightly dimpled chin, and slate-blue eyes.

Spike's attention span was waning, and his eyes wandered the apartment. The fireplace mantle facing him was painted ivory, and the large, vertically-rectangular windows on either side were framed by heavy maroon drapes.

Soft, ambient light glowed from the lamps along the pale mint-green walls, enhancing the dark-stained lustre of the wood accents. The apartment more closely resembled an archive for all things supernatural than a living space, with shelves upon shelves of books that outnumbered all other furnishings.

The arched doorway on his right led to a small kitchen, while a white staircase against the far wall behind him ascended to the upper level. Tucked into the righthand corner and perpendicular to the front door, it had a curved, concave underside and black railing.

"She certainly looked human. Well, at first."

"Something isn't adding up here." Giles placed the book titled Prose Edda upon a side table as he seated himself in the armchair. Removing his glasses, he pinched them between the fingers of his left hand. His head snapped up. "Wait, what do you mean 'at first'?"

"When the sun set, she stood in the dark, and her body... Changed."

"Changed how?"

"Half of her body became skeletal, corpse-like."

"Skeletal? No, that can't be... Unless..." Scrambling to pick up the book, Giles shot to his feet and began hastily searching for the chapter on categorized Norse gods and goddesses, while Spike observed in bewilderment. "What did you say her name was?" Giles asked urgently.

"Hel." Spike stood, impatiently hoping Giles would cut to the chase already. "Well? What kind of demon is she?"

"That's the thing, you see. Hel isn't a demon." Giles slammed the hefty book back down on the table with a resounding thud, spinning it in order for the open pages to be within sight of Spike, and lifted his head, his features drawn into an expression of unease. "She's a goddess. The queen of the underworld, in fact."

"Sorry, what?" Spike took a step forward, staring down at the book fixedly.

There was a giantess called Angrboda in Giantland. With her Loki had three children. One was Fenriswolf, the second Iormungard (i.e. the Midgard serpent), the third is Hel. And when the gods realized that these three siblings were being brought up in Giantland, and when the gods traced prophecies stating that from these siblings great mischief and disaster would arise for them, they all felt evil was to be expected from them, to being with because of their mother's nature, but worse still because of their fathers.

Then All-father sent the gods to get the children and bring them to him. [...] Hel he threw into Niflheim and gave her authority over nine world, such that she has to administer board and lodging to those sent to her, and that is those who die of sickness or old age. She has great mansions there and her walls are exceptionally high and the gates great. Her hall is called Eliudnir, her dish Hunger, her knife Famine, the servant Ganglati, servingmaid Ganglot, her threshold where you enter Stumbling-block, her bed Sick-bed, her curtains Gleaming-bale. She is half black and half flesh-covered --thus she is easily recognizable-- and rather downcast and fierce-looking.

"She's a Norse goddess, tasked with assisting the dead on their journey to the underworld." Giles explained, pointing directly to a sketch that filled the entire page to the left of the spine. "She's not only immortal, but a formidable warrior as well."

"Sounds powerful."

"Very." Giles readjusted his spectacles.

Spike pursed his lips thoughtfully, studying the drawn portrait of a women who was half-skeletal and centred in a circular, linear design. Ancient, unidentifiable symbols were written along the rounded inside of the top arch, and along the very bottom of the illustration were two contrasting examples of scenery.

On the left, flora of many species flourished. On the right, dead things were wasting away. Beside the human half of her face was a strange, animalistic creature unknown to him, and on the flip side posed an elongated skull which resembled the structure of the demonic thing opposing it.

"This is wrong," Spike remarked under his breath, "this picture is reversed. Her right side is human and the left is dead."

"I've heard rumours of the Nordic gods intervening on Earth, but I've never actually encountered one before." He pinned Spike with a withering stare. "Why didn't you contact me sooner?" He demanded, suddenly stern.

Spike dipped his chin as his dark eyebrows shot up, smugly condescending. "I was a bit preoccupied, looking after a Norse Goddess and all."

Sighing in exasperation, Giles lowered his gaze to the floor. He removed his glasses, proceeding to wipe the lenses. "Where is she now?"

"Still at my place, sleeping."

Giles nodded.

Getting to his feet, Spike strode self-assuredly across the small living space to the front door and pulled it wide open.

"I'll be around tomorrow. Keep a close eye on her until then."

Pausing, Spike raised the tips of his straightened fingers to his temple in a mock salute. "Aye, aye!"

Giles rolled his eyes, and Spike swaggered out onto the porch with a proud smirk.

He descended the steps which led to a stone-tiled courtyard, flanked on either side by encroaching ivy vines and immaculately-trimmed hedges.

To his left, a set of three wrought-iron patio chairs painted deep, forest green were positioned around a round, frosted glass table. The centrepiece of the patio was a large, octagonal cement planter, however the dark dirt filling was lacking growth of any kind. An ornamental bird bath pedestal was placed directly in the middle.

Planting pots and flower boxes lined every last inch of the wall parallel to the entrance to Giles' apartment. A canopy of tree branches above blocked out the wan moonlight, rustling in a cool twilight breeze.

Walls of creamy, yellowish-peach stucco enclosed the small area and the wrought-iron gate creaked as Spike pushed it open.