•••

"Oh, my aching head," Xander moaned as he sat up. "Did you get the number of whatever hit us?"

"I'm pretty sure Charon doesn't have a driver's license," Doyle commented as he helped Spike and Xander stand up. "Sorry about that; I should've warned you."

"Next time, eh?" Spike muttered. He took in their new location, on the far side of Acheron. They stood at the top of a tall hill, overlooking a deep valley. The vampire thought that it might have once been verdant and fertile, but now a heavy cloak of mist and fog obscured it from any sun that might want to shine. Soft, plaintive cries floated up, although they were nothing like those of the ignorant.

"We'd best get going," Doyle grimly told his charges.

Xander paused. "Er... why do you look like that? Is this place worse than Charon's rollercoaster?"

Doyle shook his head. "Nah, I'm just thinking about who's in the valley. It's actually the most pleasant part of Tartarus, but still..."

"Who's down there?" Spike asked, edging closer to Xander. He wasn't sure he really wanted a tour of where he'd eventually be going once someone got lucky and staked him.

Doyle began down the path to the valley, speaking as they walked. "This place is for those who lived long ago, before anyone knew what good and evil were. They didn't do anything *wrong*, per se, but they didn't have the choice, either."

"So they're stuck here?" Xander asked. "Just... being?" He saw a few shrouded figures amble by, not really going anywhere.

"Like everyone here, they're waiting to move on," Doyle explained. "Most of the people in Tartarus are trying to get to Purgatorio--their next step before they can even start thinking about the Summerlands. These people, though... it's different for them, since they haven't done anything to heap on bad karma."

"You mean the baddies make it up there before these people do?" Spike asked. "That doesn't seem right."

"No, some do make it up there, but it takes a long time. Actually, more of them get reborn without actually making it to the Summerlands, unlike the others down here. The ones in the lower rings all have to make their way out of here before they can be reborn," Doyle explained. The Irishman glanced over at a group of men and women standing under a barren tree. When they saw them, they came over.

"Eep!" Xander squeaked as he took in their appearance. Not one of the people was human. Most had horns or scales, making them easily identifiable as demons. "Do not be afraid," One said gently as Xander scuttled behind Spike.

"This is Shatha," Doyle told Spike and Xander. "He's one of the earliest Elders of his kind."

"Oh," Xander murmured, stepping out from behind the vampire. "Uh... hi."

"Hello, young human," Shatha said. "Welcome to our home. Here you will find those far older than yourself--ones who are also much younger, having died aeons before your kind race walked the fair earth. All of us welcome you."

Spike nodded for both himself and Xander. He thought that Shatha looked a bit familiar; the ghostly demon sort of reminded him of a Fyarl, but with less prominent horns. Perhaps it was an ancestor of that species. "Love to stay and chat," Doyle told the ghost demon, "But we're on a tight schedule."

"Ah," Shatha whispered. "Go with and in safety," He told Spike and Xander. "And do not forget to see the tribes of Gawra as you approach the Second Circle."

The three men nodded and walked on. "I still don't see why they can't just be reborn," Xander told Doyle. "They don't seem evil."

"But they aren't good either," Doyle replied. "The only others that are neither good nor evil are those we saw before the gates of Tartarus. Would you rather Shatha and his kin be sent there? At least here, they can exist in relative peace until they move on."

"What do they have to do to move on?" Spike asked the half-demon.

Doyle sighed. "Learn what they had no chance to when they were alive," He replied. Before he could elaborate, they came up on a large group of demon-ghosts, all of whom were gathered around a large, flat stone. They were taking turns as speaker, conversing in some long-dead language.

"Who're they?" Xander asked Doyle.

"The Raftka, one of the tribes of Gawra," Doyle said quietly. "They were great philosophers of their time, and they still debate amongst themselves. However, no matter how much they talk, they never find good and evil, only a neutral state of being."

"How long have they been at it?" Xander pressed.

"Millions of years," Doyle answered. Spike watched the demons as they passed, wishing they could stop to talk. He found himself oddly at peace in this hopeless place; his tortured soul felt secure in a land that knew no evil-nor any good. His soul wanted to stay, to revel in this haven of neutrality. Xander seemed to sense Spike's reticence and pushed the vampire on, making sure he didn't get left behind.