Chapter One

LIKE A LION SHE FOUGHT.
By Dave Turner.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Buffyverse I write these stories for fun not profit.

Crossover: None.

Spelling, Grammar and Punctuation; Written in glorious English-English. Mainly English idioms are used throughout this fic; some American idioms are used where appropriate.

Timeline: Ten years post Chosen and 124 years pre-Chosen.

Words: Eight chapters of 3500+ words.

Warnings: Some violence, some strong language.

Summary: Sent to South Africa to collect a couple of Potentials; Xander is cast into the past where he meets the local slayer and her watcher; while in the here and now Buffy must rescue her old friend.

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Authors Note.
Zulu words; I will not be using Zulu words unless there isn’t an English word that fully covers the concept I’m trying to put across. I do this because it makes it easier for me to write (I have enough trouble spelling English without having to worry about Zulu). It also makes it easier on the reader; he or she doesn’t have to keep wondering what a word means and looking it up. Where I do use a Zulu word I’ll put the English meaning in brackets after the word the first time I use it.

VIEWS EXPRESSED BY CHARACTERS ARE NOT NECCERSSARILY THOSE OF THE AUTHOR.
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Like a Lion she Fought.
By Dave Turner.

Smashing her shield into the blood-drinkers face, Lindiwi put her shoulder behind the tough cowhide and pushed with all her strength. Caught off balance the blood-drinker tumbled to the ground to lie prostrate before her, stepping forward she plunged her hardwood stabbing spear into the foul creature’s chest. The monster looked up at her in surprise; he hadn’t turned to dust as both he and the girl had expected.

“The heart!” Bhekizitha threw up his hands in despair, “How many times must I tell you? THE HEART!” He slapped his chest to show her the position of the heart.

Distracted by the old shaman’s cry Lindiwi was taken unawares as the blood-drinker kicked her legs from under her. She cried out as she fell onto the hard dusty ground and the blood-drinker pounced on her trying to pin her down. As they rolled about in the dust, her shield went one way and her stabbing-spear the other.

Thinking he had the girl unarmed and helpless the blood-drinker held her down by the shoulders and brought his fangs towards her throat. Laughing at her struggles he didn’t notice her hand grasp the rock sticking out of the sandy soil nearby. Just as his fangs touched her neck Lindiwi smashed the rock as hard as she could into the side of the creature’s head.

The blood-drinker screamed and clutched the side of his face; Lindiwi could see blood running down the monster’s cheek from between his fingers. A blow like that would have killed a normal man, but although the blood-drinker was hurt he was still very much alive. Using her hands she pushed the creature off her and brought her legs up and placed them in the blood-drinker’s belly. She pushed as hard as she could and sent the blood-drinker flying through the air.

“Now finish him!” Bhekizitha was stamping his feet in frustration at Lindiwi’s antics.

“What do you think I’m trying to do old man?” scrambling to her feet Lindiwi snatched up her stabbing-spear and ran into the dark looking for her prey.

She found the creature after only a few steps, he was rolling about on the ground clutching at his head and wailing like a child. The blow to the head and his short trip through the air and subsequent hard landing had disabled the blood-drinker for the time being. Taking her chance Lindiwi put her foot on the blood-drinker’s throat to hold him down and then stabbed with her spear; this time the creature of the night turned to dust and drifted away on the breeze.

Breathing heavily Lindiwi turned to walk back to the camp fire picking up her shield as she went. All the time Bhekizitha, whose name meant ‘He watches for enemies’, explained where she had gone wrong and how she could have done better if she had followed his instructions. Lindiwi kept silent although she wanted to scream at the old man that it hadn’t been him fighting the blood-drinker.

Not noticing that Lindiwi wasn’t really listening to him, Bhekizitha went on about the proper use of shield and spear. The girl sat down by the fire as the shaman droned on and on. She stared into the flames, the light made her sensitive eyes water for a moment before they adjusted, it helped to cover the tears that rolled down her face.

0=0=0=0

Yawning hugely Xander sat in the back of the cab and started to wish he’d booked into a hotel and had a few hours sleep before going to collect the potentials Buffy had sent him after. The cab drove along tree lined residential streets in a pretty, well-to-do part of Durban. The flight from Cleveland had taken more out of him than he cared to admit; maybe he was getting too old for all this rushing around picking up potentials and fighting the forces of darkness.

The local Watcher, a Mr Macuza, had called Cleveland saying he had recently discovered two more potential slayers. Unable to find room for them at his own house and being too old and too busy with his own slayers to train them, he wanted Cleveland to take them off his hands. As no one else was available, Buffy had sent Xander.

The cab pulled up outside a large well kept colonial style bungalow, the cab driver brought the car to a halt and turned to face Harris.

“Here we are boss,” the driver announced with a big toothy grin, “this is the address you gave me.”

Looking out at the house Xander checked the sheet of paper in his hand that showed a picture of the house and its address, everything seemed to check out.

“How much?” he reached for his wallet.

“Thirty Rand,” grinned the driver.

Opening his wallet Xander slapped his forehead and cursed himself, he’d not even changed any money.

“You take US dollars?” he asked hopefully.

“Sure okay,” the driver’s grin got wider, “that’ll be thirty dollars boss.”

Sighing Xander handed the money over to the driver knowing full well that he’d been horrendously overcharged; forcing a smile he climbed out of the cab, grabbed his overnight bag and headed up the path towards the house as the driver turned his car around and drove off into the dusk.

Setting his bag on his shoulder Xander walked up the garden path, as he did so he noted the well kept lawn, the neatly laid out flower beds and carefully positioned shrubs and trees. In the daylight the garden must be a riot of colour. He sighed wistfully as he thought of his own little apartment, one day he would move somewhere better…somewhere with a garden…somewhere he could relax and hide from the world. Finding himself at the front door he rang the doorbell.

0=0=0=0

Lindiwi was fifteen years old; the other girls in her intangal (same age group) would be safely in their huts making love to their husbands instead of sitting out on this cold mountain side fighting blood-drinkers. She wiped at her nose and eyes with the back of her hand and turned away from Bhekizitha as he sat down across the fire from her, he gave no sign of having noticed her distress.

“…you must understand Lindiwi,” the shaman waved his hands about like he always did when he was lecturing her, “it is your destiny to fight the creatures of the night. You must protect your people from evil…it is your duty…you are the ‘One-Girl’ that the legends speak of…”

Letting his words wash over her Lindiwi gazed into the fire, she didn’t want to be the ‘One-Girl’ she didn’t want to fight monsters, but no one had bothered to ask her. She wanted to marry Gebhuza, a man nearly twice her age but a fine brave warrior who would provide for her and her children when they came. It had all been arranged, where they should stand during the marriage dance when his ibotho (somewhere between a military unit and a clan) married the girls from her intangal and the men got their head-rings. Everything was going to be just so, her life would have gone on just like her mother’s had and her grandmother’s before her, then one day she woke up…changed.

Now no man wanted to marry the girl who could hurl him through the hut wall. No one wanted to marry the girl who could throw a spear further than the strongest warrior, or run faster or longer than the best messenger.

The induna (military commander/chief) of Gebhuza’s ibotho, the old women of the clan and the village shaman had all got together to decide what to do with her. They talked all day and late into the night; other shamans were called from distant villages and wandering story tellers were brought in from the surrounding hills. They talked and talked, day and night for a full hand of days, but they never asked what Lindiwi wanted to do; she was kept apart from the rest of the clan under guard by warriors from a nearby village for fear she would bewitch people from her own kraal.

Eventually an old story teller remembered stories from long-long ago about a tribe somewhere far to the north that had once cast a powerful spell. The story went that the tribe was beset by demons and devils; none of the tribe’s warriors were strong enough to fight the creatures so the tribal leaders had called all the most powerful shamans together and told them to find a solution.

The solution they had finally arrived at was to imbibe someone in the tribe with all the power and strength of a demon and use this warrior to fight the monsters. But who should they choose? A male warrior might be so strong that he might try to take over the tribe; the headmen and magicians didn’t want that to happen. So they chose an unmarried girl of about fifteen summers to fight the demons; and so it happened, the girl fought the demons and won and the tribe lived in peace from then on. The girl grew to be a woman and eventually died never once having tried to usurp the power of the headmen and the magicians. The old men thought themselves very cunning and rejoiced in their cleverness.

But, when the warrior-woman died, unbeknownst to the shaman, a girl in another tribe inherited her power; and so it had gone on down through the ages. The power of the demon being passed from one girl to the next, and always the girl had to face some great evil. Sometimes she failed; most often she won but only at the cost of her life. It had always been so…at least that was what the legends said.

At last after all the talk was over Lindiwi was taken to the royal kraal (in this case something larger than a village) at Ulundi and brought before the great king Cetshwayo. The village shaman asked the king what they should do with her. The king and his advisers, however, had more important things on their minds. The British, to the south in Natal, were making impossible demands on the great king. Telling him he shouldn’t rule in the way he did and that he must disband his army. Cetshwayo couldn’t understand what was happening he’d always had fairly good relations with the British, it was the Dutch settlers the Zulu’s had fought for years.

Sitting mute on the ground near the king’s hut, while all around her men argued over her future, Lindiwi had a chance to take stock of her surroundings. The royal kraal was bigger than any kraal she had ever seen it appeared to contain hundreds of huts, it didn’t but that’s how it looked to her. There were many advisers around the king, old warriors and shaman and one white man. This man, she found out from the woman that brought her food and water, was a white shaman called ‘Ottowitt’. He claimed to represent the god of the white men and the king used him as a sounding board as he tried to work out what the British really wanted.

Lindiwi had seen white men before, hunters and traders had passed through her kraal many times. But she had never seen a white woman, and this Ottowitt had a woman with him. She went everywhere with him and at first Lindiwi thought that she must be his wife. But the woman who talked to her said that she was Ottowitt’s daughter.

The white woman was about the same height as Lindiwi but several years older. Lindiwi wondered why the she wasn’t married; maybe there was something wrong with her. She certainly smelt funny. When Lindiwi got close to the white woman she smelt of old sweat which made Lindiwi wrinkle up her nose. The white woman’s hair was the colour of dry grass and she wore a lot of cloth wrapped around her which must have made her feel very hot which was why she probably smelt so bad. No wonder she couldn’t get a husband.

At the end of the second day at the royal kraal Cetshwayo announced that he had decided Lindiwi’s fate and she was brought before him. The king told the delegation from her kraal that he was going to send her away with the Ottowitt to lean the ways of the white god. The Ottowitt, a man older than Lindiwi’s father, looked very pleased while his daughter looked down her nose at the Zulu girl. It was then that Bhekizitha came into Lindiwi’s life.

He walked boldly up to the king’s high throne and told him he was foolish to send Lindiwi away with the white shaman. Everyone held their breath waiting for the king to order Bhekizitha killed, but the king hesitated. The old shaman related the ancient legend about the ‘One-Girl’, and this time pointed out to the king that the trouble with the British might be the great evil that Lindiwi had been sent to combat.

The king still hesitated at accepting Bhekizitha’s story but now he was wavering. The Ottowitt tried to argue that the legend was just a story and Lindiwi should go with him. However, he could not match Bhekizitha’s eloquence as he didn’t speak Zulu and had to talk through an interpreter. Finally Bhekizitha pointed out that the Ottowitt’s name was much like that of the Dutch and his speech sounded like that of the Dutch; might it not be that he was trying to steal Lindiwi away so the Dutch might have her?

This final argument changed the king’s mind. He placed Lindiwi in Bhekizitha’s care telling him to truly find out what the girl was and how best she could serve her people. During all this time Lindiwi never spoke, in fact the only person she spoke to in her time at the royal kraal was the woman who had brought her food and water.

0=0=0=0

The sun rose over the hills and Lindiwi pushed back the skins she’d slept under and sat up. Wiping the sleep from her eyes she turned around to see Fudu tending the fire. Fudu was Bhekizitha’s servant and apprentice, he was about eleven years old and had walked with a limp since he was a baby, he’d never be a warrior. If he’d stayed at his home kraal he would have ended up as a herdsman or if he was lucky a tinker. Whatever he did no girl of any worth would have looked at him twice, now at least being an apprentice to a powerful shaman (a man even the king listened to) he would have some status and when the time came he would probably get to marry a girl from a good family.

Standing up and stretching stiff muscles Lindiwi called a greeting to the boy before picking up a throwing spear and jogging down the slope to the stream that meandered its way between the hills. On mornings like this it felt good to be the one-girl, she felt like she could run forever, her body had never felt stronger nor had she felt more alive. She had never been a sickly child but now even serious cuts and bruises healed in a day or two.

Pushing her way through the bushes and small trees that lined the banks of the stream Lindiwi jumped in and splashed herself with the cold water. This had the effect of banishing the last traces of sleep from her head, she felt ready to face the day now. Hearing a wig snap behind her she turned to confront whatever was trying to creep up behind her, she raised her spear ready to throw.

Struggling with the old lion’s skin he wore as a cloak Bhekizitha stumbled through the bushes and nearly tripped to fall in the stream. Putting her hand to her mouth Lindiwi attempted to suppress the giggle that tried to escape her mouth, failing she laughed out loud at the old shaman’s misfortune.

“Youth of today,” Bhekizitha held on to a nearby tree and started to pull himself upright, “when I was a boy we didn’t laugh at our elders misfortune.”

“Of course you didn’t,” stepping forward and out of the stream Lindiwi pulled Bhekizitha upright, “I’m sure you were suitability grave at all times.”

She smirked at the look on the shaman’s face; finally he smiled at her as she helped dust him down.

“Yes, well maybe we weren’t always as respectful as we might have been.” he admitted, “Hunting for breakfast were you?” he asked hopefully.

“If I was, you’d have scared anything tasty away,” Lindiwi had found she had become an expert hunter almost over night, and with her added strength she could send her spear right through an antelope’s neck and out the other side.

“Oh well,” sighed Bhekizitha, “maybe next time…here,” he handed Lindiwi a water skin, “help me fill these.”

0=0=0=0

The door was answered by a distinguished looking black man in his early sixties, or so Xander guessed. His hair was short and grey, almost white, and his skin was the colour of mahogany. He wore a smart light grey linen suit over a pristine white shirt; he smiled welcomingly at Harris.

“Mr Harris?”

“Yeah,” Xander held out his hand to the man, “Mr Macuza?”

“Indeed,” nodded Macuza as he shook Harris’ hand warmly and gestured for him to enter the house.

Taking a pace forward he stepped into the house and looked around and smiled, the inside of the house was just as neat and tidy as the outside. Tastefully furnished, the walls were hung with a few photographs of smiling teenage girls and a couple of water-colours showing the countryside around Durban (or so Xander suspected). Next to the front door stood a hat stand hung with the evidence that showed the house was inhabited by teenage girls. Macuza closed the door behind him.

“You can leave your bag here,” he gestured to the hat stand, “if you’d like to follow me into the lounge?”

After retrieving a small package from the side pocket of his bag Xander put it down. He followed Macuza into another neat and tidy room, this one furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas. At the sight of the chairs Xander suddenly felt the stress and strain of the last twenty-four hours hit him all at once, he yawned covering his mouth with his hand, “Excuse me…the flight you know?”

“Yes,” agreed Macuza, “if you’d like to take a seat…I believe you have something for me that will prove you are who you say you are?”

“Yeah sure,” sitting down gratefully on one of the big soft sofas Xander handed Macuza the package.

The old man smiled and took the package from him and then walked over to the window to open it, after examining the contents he turned and walked across the room picking up a short intricately carved staff or baton as he did so, he stood by the empty fire place and pointed the staff at Xander’s chest.

“I’m so sorry Mr Harris. It’s nothing personal you understand?”

There was a flash and then the blackness closed in around him and Xander felt himself falling.

TBC.

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