When Merrick first approached Buffy to tell her of her calling, he asked if she had ever dreamt of being an Indian Princess; Urkonn asked the same of Melaka Fray.  This girl is a popular Slayer for one we know nothing about...until now.  Here is her story, I hope you enjoy it. 

The Call To Duty

India, 1878

1

London, England

   The meeting hall of the Watchers Council was packed and buzzing.  People’s clothes were steaming slowly from the rain outside condensing against the heat emanating from the blazing fires.  There was a hiss of excitement in the air; rumours and hearsay passing between supposedly sealed lips, behind gloved hands; nodding and shaking of heads; stamping of numb feet on dusty wooden floorboards.  These people had a purpose; they were waiting. 

   Victoria Hastings also had a purpose; she was trying to make herself as small as possible.  Her mother was not, unfortunately, making the task an easy one.  Dressed entirely in black, she was attracting attention from all quarters, mainly from friends or former associates, but any attention Victoria soon appreciated was welcome, and her mother had a large crowd of well-wishers which refused to dissipate.  Oh they came and went, most of them offering sympathy or advice to a reluctant Victoria as they passed, but the activity was constant and unsettling. 

   Victoria stared at her buckled boots, just peeping out of her many layered skirt, and wished the world were a silent place, solitary even, like her own private study or bedroom.  She wished she were not standing there in the hall, conspicuous and burning, as if a bright light were shining only on her. 

   Her mother spoke the first words to her in the past half hour.  She prodded Victoria firmly in the small of her back and said harshly; “stand up girl, what would your father think?”  Mrs Hastings, Victoria knew, was more than a little disappointed with exactly what her eldest daughter had developed into.  Oh, she had many other children to contend with, most of them boys, but being the eldest Victoria almost seemed to have a different set of values applied to her.  She was not tall or elegant enough, she was too clumsy, her penmanship required ‘more haste, less speed’, she was sullen and peaky in demeanour, her hair was not as think as her mother’s own at the age of seventeen, she did not eat enough, yet her waist was not slender enough to suit the height of fashion.  She was a disappointment. 

   Victoria was so well acquainted with these opinions, she had no trouble reciting them even without the aid of her mother.  She had often wanted to ask her mother if that was the way God had chosen to shape her, then who was she to question it?  Victoria, however, had never seemed to be able to find the words within her to speak them, and so the question remained unanswered.  

   There was movement at the front of the hall, and Bartholomew Creatcher stepped onto the podium at the centre of the stage area.  A gong was sounded to capture the attention of those who had not already turned their heads towards the imposing figure of Creatcher. 

   “I am to assume,” began the head of the Watcher’s Council, “that you all know why this meeting has been called?”  He took the weighted silence as a positive response and continued. 

   “One month ago, the Slayer, Estellos Praticca, and her watcher, Jonathan Hastings, perished in the fire that consumed the village they were protecting in the southern most region of Chile.  Our deepest sympathies are extended to Jonathan’s family who are with us tonight.”  He extended his arm towards where Victoria and her mother were standing and many people bowed their heads as a mark of respect. 

   Victoria kept her vision firmly focused on her shoes, not even tempted to look up at all the sorrow-filled faces.  This became hard though as her eyes filled once more with salty tears.  As one slowly found its way down her cheek Victoria tried to suppress the wave of grief that was washing over her stomach, making her fingers and toes sting numbly once more and forced a lump down in her throat.  She had missed her father so dearly these long years he had been absent, and now to have to contemplate the notion he would never be coming home again, well, it was simply too much to bare. 

   Her mother, though, accepted the looks with gratitude, and Creatcher continued to speak.  “It has taken the council until know to ascertain the whereabouts of the next girl to be called as Slayer.” He paused, considering what he was going to say, then announced. 

   “She has been found - in India.”

   The response to this statement was instantaneous.  An eruption of sound filled the hall, and even Victoria snapped her head up to look and the head of the Council.  She had been at the Watcher’s Academy for a number of years; she had made an in-depth study of Slayers of the past and she knew the potentials of the present.  There was no record of a potential girl in India. 

   “An untrained girl?” called out one of the senior members of the committee, “are you entirely sure?”

   Creatcher nodded grimly.  “It has been confirmed.”

   “This is unacceptable-”

   “Surely there has been a mistake?” called another gentleman, “there are so many girls being trained, it must be one of them?”

   Creatcher silenced the crowd with another sounding of the gong.  It took a moment or two, but eventually, the noise ebbed away.  “This is not unheard of,” he reminded them, “the most important issue is to send the girl a watcher immediately; she is unaware and vulnerable.  Training can commence thenceforth; from what we can gather she is of a reasonable age, and therefore not a so-called ‘lost cause.’” 

   Creatcher pulled a sheet of blotched paper from within his coat.  Although covered in information he appeared to have little trouble finding the specifics he needed.  Victoria looked on with interest; who would be appointed as a new watcher?  There had been no need for such a position for almost a year now, and she had not even an inkling as to who it might be. 

   “Edward Smith?” called out Creatcher.  A young man, perhaps in his thirties, stepped forward out of the crowd and looked up apprehensively at the stage.  Creatcher beamed at him; “come, come,” he said, “don’t be shy, step up here.”  Edward Smith did not look shy though as he did as he was told and stepped up onto the stage.  “Mr Smith has shown outstanding progress here at the Council, and we are going to reward that dedication by appointing him the title of watcher to the Slayer.” To a chorus of applause Creatcher shook the young man’s hand, who in turn looked rather smug.  Not at all like my father, thought Victoria, some of her brief intrigue giving way back to hollowness. 

   Creatcher turned to face the crowd once more.  “There is however,” he continued, again silencing the babble of talk creeping its way back into the air, “another appointment to be made.” 

   Victoria was puzzled; what other appointment could that be?  “As Mr Smith is one of the last in a new line of Watchers available to the council, it has been decided that in order to enable a more effective training of new watchers, he will accompanied by a young lady who would benefit from his experiences, just as much as he will.”

   Edward Smith gave the smallest of frowns, as if showing his displeasure that the attention was slipping ever so slightly from him solely.  Most did not see this however as they were interested as to who his companion would be. 

   “This young lady will, in addition to learning skills in Watching from Mr Smith, will act as the new slayer’s governess, giving the Council legitimate access to her and removing much outside interference we would otherwise encounter from her actual governess. 

   “Jonathan Hastings was one of the finest Watchers the council had seen for many years,” spoke on Creatcher, “and therefore it seems only appropriate that his daughter, Victoria, be chosen as the next to follow in his footsteps.”

   There was a moment of silence. 

   “I-I do beg your pardon?” stammered Victoria in horror, “I am…to travel to India?”  She was fully aware that every single pair of eyes in the room were focused on her, most were nodding in approval, and she saw the look of satisfaction on her mother’s face.  Mrs Hastings always liked it when affairs were settled in what she referred to as an ‘orderly fashion’.  This was obviously to her liking; she could almost replace the loss of her husband with the appointment of her daughter. 

   Creatcher smiled solemnly.  “I know you will make your father proud Miss Hastings.”

   And then the matter was closed. 

***

   “To India?”

   “Indeed.”

   “For how long?”

   “I assume indefinitely.”

   “Well…it is an awfully long way - shan’t you miss her?”

   “Of course,” said Mrs Hastings, taking a sip of her tea, “but it is a prestigious position, and the family is very pleased.”

   The living room was lit by soft shafts of week sunshine filing through the heavily draped windows.  Mrs Hastings surveyed her company over her teacup.  “It is what Jonathan would have wanted.”

   “Oh, of course,” replied Mrs Thistledown, “but, are you sure she’s ready for the task? What I mean to say is,” she added, lowering her own cup to press her point, “she is still rather young, and she has never shown herself to be particularly…er-”

   “Capable in the field, yes I know what you mean,” said Mrs Hastings, “but I’m sure this experience will give her the initiative she needs to become more successful, and if it doesn’t, well, heaven knows what will.”

   Mrs Thistledown was a plump woman of the same generation as Mrs Hastings, who was still dressed in her morning gown, hair austere and fixed as usual.  The two ladies faced each other in plush chairs across a small oak table adorned with their afternoon tea.  Mr Thistledown also worked for the Council and was a fond acquaintance of the Hastings family, and so was his wife.  The two ladies would often pass afternoons and sometimes evenings together when their husbands were otherwise engaged, and since the death of Mr Hastings, Mrs Thistledown had frequented Chipperton almost daily.  Mrs Hastings smoothed her dress in her lap. 

   “It is most unfortunate that Victoria is such a - meek girl, she was a sickly child you know.”  Mrs Thistledown nodded in agreement.  “She will frustrate me, sitting alone with her books for hours on end, studying I know not what, and it is just the case at the Academy also. 

   “Is she not a good pupil?” inquired Mrs Thistledown, “I was under the impression she was most accomplished in History and-”

   “Oh, of course,” interrupted Mrs Hastings with a wave of the hand, “she could have been Head Girl if she wasn’t so sullen, she is an excellent pupil.  But her temperament is so unfriendly, she will not even come out yet. In fact, I am unsure if she even knows how to dance at all.”

   “Good heavens Mrs Hastings, that is disappointing.”

   “Indeed.”

   “She is in excellent company though with Mr Smith,” assured Mrs Thistledown after a moment’s consideration, “he will be of great value, I am sure.”

   “Yes,” agreed Mrs Hastings heartily, “Mr Hastings said he was a very practical and resourceful young man, and from a respectable family.  If we are lucky,” she added with half a smile, “perhaps he will see something of a wife in Victoria.”

   “Oh fancy Mrs Hastings!” cried Mrs Thistledown, and the two ladies laughed at their own wonderings. 

   “Miss Hastings?”

   Victoria jumped considerably at the mention of her name.  Her head connected painfully with the table she was crouching next to and she ended in a heap on the floor.  She hastily stood up and gave one last glance at the keyhole she had been looking through into the living room.  The two ladies inside had faltered in their conversation at the sound of the commotion, but Mrs Hastings commented that it must have been one or other of the boys playing and they continued discussing Victoria’s impending trip to India. 

   Victoria smoothed her skirt quickly, “uh - yes Nora,” she managed to the maid who had spoken to her. 

   “I am sorry ma’am, but this arrived for you,” she offered a letter to Victoria for her to take.  “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

   “Oh - that’s…thank you Nora,” she said to the young girl and took the letter.  Nora gave a small bow of the head and then returned to work.  Victoria watched her go and then looked at the letter, cursing it for the interruption.  She was not tempted to resume her eavesdropping after already being caught once, so instead turned and went to her own room so as to read in private. 

   She felt her cheeks flush slightly at the thought of how shameful it was to listen to her mother’s conversation, but in her own defence, it was the only way she was going to find out any information of what lay ahead of her.  Victoria closed her bedroom door and sat at her desk.  Pushing the books and papers aside she broke the familiar seal and began to read. 

   Sighing, she soon realised it contained all she needed to know for her voyage tomorrow.  She desperately did not want to leave London; it was her home.  She had no experience yet of what it meant to be a Watcher, or a what it meant to be a governess for that matter, and she was unsure of how Mr Smith would react to having a young girl accompanying him in his duties.  She did not feel ready, quite simply.  She looked at her books; those she was well acquainted with, those she understood.  But a girl, a slayer?  What was Victoria to do with her?

   After reading the letter twice more, she packed it in her already full suitcase, satisfied she had the relevant information committed to memory.  She opened one book from her desk, then another, but nothing seemed to want to hold her attention.  She placed both volumes into her trunk, neatly stacked with numerous others, and a few items which only Victoria herself knew were there. 

   A bell rang further down the corridor, signalling that dinner would be served shortly.  Victoria sighed once more and closed the trunk, locking it to ensure one of her brothers did not open it in a fit of curiosity (which they were prone to) and damage either the contents or themselves. 

   Victoria had five brothers and only one sister.  The eldest boy was Richard at the age of fourteen, then came William at eleven, Patrick, who was not yet eight, and Mathew and Gerald, who were five and four respectfully.  Little Sarah was only just walking at the age of barely two, and was therefore less cause for alarm when the breaking of Victoria’s possessions was concerned. 

   All of the Hastings children were seated at the table.  The conversation was civil, the pork was well done.  Unfortunately, for Victoria at least, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation. 

   “Mother, will Victoria have to live with the Indians?”

   “Honestly Patrick, Victoria will not be living with the savages, she will live in a great white house like the ones Uncle Alexander told us about.”

   “What’s an Indian Mother?”

   “Someone who lives in India dear.”

   “Where’s India?”

   And so the conversation went.  Richard in particular had come to an age where he fancied himself an expert on everything, including the continent of Asia and the mannerisms of the undead. 

   “Oh you are silly Mathew - a vampire must not only drink your blood, but you must also drinks theirs before you will be turned.”

   “Does the blood spill everywhere then?” asked Mathew with eyes as wide as tea-cup saucers. 

   “Oh really,” snapped Mrs Hastings, “I think that’s quite enough, Mathew - finish your dinner or there shall be no pudding.”

   And that was the end of that.  Almost.  “Is Victoria to become a Watcher then mother?” enquired Richard after a moment or two.    

   “We shall see,” Mrs Hastings replied evasively. 

   “But surely there is no real need to have two Watchers Mother? And why - a girl as a Watcher? Such an idea is quite impossible, is it not?”

   “There have been many women Watchers,” came the swift reply.  But it was not from Mrs Hastings.  Everyone turned slowly in surprise to face Victoria herself, who had ventured into the conversation for the very first time.  She faltered under the scrutinising stares.  “Claire S-Silver, she was an English lady in Eighteen Seven - Seventeen.” Her voice trailed off.  Her mother raised her eyebrows. 

   “Pass the potatoes, would you William?”

***

   “Pass the potatoes would you William?  Why that’s quite right Richard, girls are never Watchers.”  Victoria kicked at a tuft of grass as she stormed across the graveyard.  Her mother infuriated her, and her brothers existed solely it seemed for the purpose of tormenting her. 

   The weather had eased in the last hour or so, and, although still damp and slightly chilly, it was no longer pouring.  Victoria found her step easing as she approached her destination, and thoughts of how her mother would scold her if she found out about her creeping out the house ebbed away as she stopped beside two adjacent graves.  Even though ground was wet and loose, the young girl knelt down beside them anyway.  “Hello Mary…hello Elizabeth,” she said softly to her sisters.  The wind blew stiffly, pulling loose strands of brown hair out entirely from their tightly wound positions, and making Victoria shudder.  Her sisters had been resting here a very long time, but she had still felt the need to come and say goodbye to them before she departed for India.  Mary had been born not long after Victoria herself, but something had gone wrong during the delivery and little Marry had not survived.  Elizabeth had been the twin sister of Richard, but had caught a fever at the age of four and died in her sleep.  Victoria had been desperately sorry for many years that her only sisters should have been taken away from her, and joyful more than most at the arrival of little Sarah.  A sigh though escaped her cold lips though as Victoria considered she would not actually be there to see her sister grow up to be a lady, such as herself. 

   A lady?  Victoria laughed aloud.  Her mother certainly did not consider her to be a lady.  Shaking her head, Victoria laid the flowers she had brought with her onto the graves of her departed sisters, said a small prayer, then stood, brushing the dirt off her skirt. 

   A twig snapped not ten feet away from her.  Victoria snatched up her lantern and scanned the visible horizon; she knew better than to ask who was there.  Instead she pulled at her neck revealing a small gold crucifix on a fine chain.  After holding her breath for a moment or two, she surmised that she had imagined the sound all together and went to walk back to the house.  At that moment, a vampire flew out of the darkness, heading straight for the young girl.  In shock, she dropped the lantern and stepped back, tripping over her many skirts and falling to the floor.  She scrambled backwards as the beast came towards her with a snarl, and just as it was upon her, she screamed and kicked out with her legs, protecting her face and neck with her arms.  Her feet, however, did not connect with anything, and lowering her arms, she discovered the creature to be gone.  Frowning, she picked up the lantern hastily, and looked over to where an apparent ruckus was taking place.  Another girl, perhaps slightly younger than Victoria, had tackled the vampire and was now trading blows not seven feet away.  Victoria sucked in a breath of cold air as the girl whipped out a stake and used two hands to plummet into the beast’s chest; it exploded into a cloud of dust, and suddenly the night was silent once more..

   Panting, the girl pocketed the stake and limped over to where Victoria was still standing.  “You - ought to being - more careful, Miss Hastings,” said the Potential Slayer in between breaths, “a mezarlık is not a place safe to be in the night.”  She lent on her knees, took one long breath, and stood up to face Victoria with a smile. 

   “Thank you - Anla,” she said to the Turkish girl, not sure where to put her hands.  She fingered the lamp for a moment.  “I will be more careful in the future.” 

   Anla took a moment to translate what the English girl had said, and then, once she understood, smiled with an “ahh - yes.  You will have good luck - from me - on your trip to…kauçuk?”

   “Oh - India, yes - thank you,” replied Victoria with a nod.  Anla smiled for a final time, then carried on with her patrol.  Victoria let our a heavy sigh and watched the Turkish girl as she hopped over the cemetery wall; she would definitely not be telling her mother about her venture out of the house now. 

...Chapter 2 - coming soon!