And now in the best tradition of a certain type of sci-fi…. An episode that never is, or at least not for a given value of reality. ::grin::
Big thanks to Leener's 'A path to destiny', various fics by Beckers, and of course J&G Reeves-Stevens for chiefly inspiring this between the three of them – but in particular the sentence by Beckers "When he dies so will her loyalty."
Roll of the dice
Salvation – season 1
Roxton:"Sometimes, you roll the dice on people. That's what we did, all of us, when we signed on this journey. You take what you get. There are too many ways to die out here. And the one thing we can't do is kill each other. We're all we have."
Introduction – from Leener's "Band of Destiny" which includes summary of HOTS end.
"Mother! I thought you'd come to me! I thought you'd show me!"
The storm grew fiercer as the winds swirled around the treehouse faster than ever. The pain increased as Veronica screamed out in agony.
"Am I saving the plateau or destroying it?! Am I the Protector?!"
The trion glowed bright as the plateau went black.
"Don't do this, Icarus. Mankind will always have freewill. Don't listen to that machine!" But Challenger's pleas were either not heard by Icarus or he didn't possess the ability to help if he wanted to. He lowered the surgical instrument closer to Challenger's head and prepared to cut.
The man raised his dagger in the air and prepared to bring it down. "Send us back, the shining wheel!"
"Roxton! Where are you?" Marguerite struggled in vain under the powerful grip of the druids pinning her to the altar. "Please, don't do this! My death won't stop the storm! I'm not the woman you're looking for!"
"Not here, anywhere but here!" Finn realized she was back to the one place she wished she wouldn't have to see again. She heard the roar of the engines long before she saw the cars and started running for the trees, hoping she didn't survive all that she had only to be caught by slavers now. Veronica was in pain at the treehouse and she had to find a way back.
Hopefully, if she made it to the jungle, she could hide long enough to find another shimmer to get her back so she could actually live out her future…in the past. This time travel stuff always hurt her head.
"Marguerite, wherever you are, may it be a safer place than this." Seeing he was out of ammunition, Roxton threw his pistol aside and picked up a large branch. "Come on!" He braced himself as the conquistadors drew closer.
((end of introduction))
Faster and faster reality and all its possibilities spun as it was drawn in to a single point on what used to be the plateau. Light, darkness, matter and energy, all spun in a deadly dance as the current cycle of being drew to a close. When the last stragglers were drawn beyond the point of no return, time and space itself twisted on each other. For the briefest of pauses time-space flared like the last convulsions of a dying sun, firing off a few hours here, a thousand kilometres there, a few days somewhere else.
The cessation of the pain that had been tearing through every cell in her body was so abrupt that Veronica gasped for air reflexively. Opening her eyes she saw nothing – utter darkness all around her, except for a diffuse light that seemed to cocoon her. Wherever she was, it was stranger than she'd ever experienced. It wasn't just darkness around her; it was the complete absence of anything – air, light, ground.
"Hello?" She called out, grimacing as she realized what a ridiculous thing that was to say.
"Veronica," her name was called in barely a whisper, but it was enough to draw her attention. Spinning in place she found herself face to face with her mother.
"Mother!" tears of joy sprang to her eyes as they hugged, a snatch of hope and love amidst all the chaos and destruction.
"Veronica," her mother smiled, gently stroking a lock of hair out of Veronica's face. "It is so good to see you again daughter. I just wish it was under better circumstances."
"What do you mean?" Veronica's happy smile wavered.
"I need you to listen carefully," Veronica's mother took her hands between her own. "This was not meant to happen yet, not until you were ready. The plateau is the focal point for an ageless cycle of energy, and we – you, me, our ancestors and descendants, are the protectors of that power."
"I don't understand." Veronica frowned, a flood of questions only stalled by her mother's patient smile.
"You will – you have to, otherwise… "Abigail's voice trailed off as a far off rumbling could be felt all around them. "We're running out of time – they'll soon be here. I will try to explain as best as possible." Abigail looked deep into her daughter's eyes, taking a deep breath before she spoke again.
"We are the protectors of the plateau and the energy cycles. It is an immense source of power, and there are those who believe that it should be theirs."
"Mordren," Veronica loaded the word with all the hate she felt regarding her father's murderer.
"And his kind. They want to use that power, bend it to their will and use it only for their benefit. Their way represents chaos, turmoil and ultimate destruction. Our line exists to oppose them, representing order and control, and we are in constant struggle with Mordren's line."
"But why now? Why did Mordren return to the plateau now to challenge us?"
"It is the end of the current cycle of power, a time when the plateau is most vulnerable – when those involved in this struggle have to make choices that determine who holds sway over the next cycle."
"Wait, does that mean our line can fail?"
"It has before, especially since…" Abigail took a deep breath. "Some cycles ago a new variable was introduced – a third line of power. One of the protector's line and one of Mordren's line joined, their union producing offspring that has since been intricately involved in these struggles."
"How?" Veronica's irritation with her own lack of understanding was showing.
"At times the power between our line and Mordren's line are too equally balanced, and help is needed to sway the victory either way. The descendants of that third line of power serve in that capacity, tipping the scales as it were."
A roar of ethereal thunder interrupted them, its fury drawing closer and closer. Abigail clutched her daughter's arms, realizing that they had run out of time.
"I have been prevented from helping you, from teaching you your heritage, and responsibilities." Abigail offered by way of explanation. "I have faced my challenge as protector before – now the duty falls to you daughter. I will stay with you, but this battle is yours. Have faith." Abigail gave Veronica a peaceful smile that belied the turmoil inside her.
"I will mother," Veronica felt like a leaf spinning in a stream - a flood of knowledge threatening to overwhelm her.
The closing thunder gave one final rumble that threatened to shake the teeth from Veronica's skull, abruptly ceasing to reveal a dark-haired young man.
"Hope I'm not too late. A fashionably late entrance is good and well, but it'd be a shame to miss the best part." The young man had a jovial manner and a friendly smile, and one could be persuaded to believe it if it weren't for the cold light in his eyes.
Veronica studied the new arrival, noticing the shimmer of light around him, similar to that enveloping her and her mother. But the stranger's was not the solid golden glow of their own, but rather a chaotic swirling of all possible colours, enough to water one's eyes if studied too closely.
"Mordan," Abigail named him as she stepped up beside her daughter.
"Ah, Abigail – here to see the end of your rule?" Mordan raised an eyebrow, surprised to find Veronica's mother already in attendance. "Wishing this was still your fight?" He gave a mocking laugh.
Veronica stepped in front of her mother, ready to protect her.
"No Veronica, he cannot harm either you or me directly. Not when we're here," she waved a hand at the nothingness around them.
"Sad, but true," Mordan nodded. "And thanks to Veronica killing my father, this is now between her, myself and…" he turned around dramatically, as if searching for something. "Oh dear, seems we are still another player short. Where could she be?"
"'She'? You know who the balancing force is then?" Veronica questioned, cursing herself for her quick tongue when Mordan burst out laughing.
"You mean she doesn't know? You didn't tell her?" Mordan finally managed to address Abigail. "And to think I was worried. This is almost going to be too easy." He grinned impishly at both of them, his gaze as cold as ever. "Tell me Veronica, how sure are you of Marguerite's loyalties?"
Finn ducked behind the trunk of a large tree, leaning against it for support as she caught her breath.
"Of all the rotten luck in the world, why'd I have to end up in this dump," she muttered between gasps for air. Peering carefully around the trunk she tried to detect any signs of those who'd been following her.
After being dumped right in the road before one of New Amazonia's slave hunters by a mysterious shimmering wall, Finn had wasted no time heading for the trees.
"Seems running away from dinosaurs has its uses," She grinned, sure that she'd lost the scraggly team of hunters who'd been bumbling through the forest behind her. "But what now?"
She chewed on her lower lip as she made her way deeper into the forest. She had her trusty hand-held crossbow, as always, but she was stranded here with no friends or family. After a lifetime of surviving on her own, she was surprised to find herself thinking of the treehouse and all its inhabitants as 'home'. They were a family of sorts, depending on each other to help them survive and fight off whatever threats the plateau might throw at them. Shaking her head she realized there was little chance that Challenger or the others would come to her rescue again – goodness knows where he ended up. Besides, who wanted to sit around and wait to be rescued like a silly girl in those old books Challenger was always shoving under her nose to read.
"That's it!" She stood bolt upright. She now had a destination in mind – one that would take her closer to the city and potential danger, but it was the only way out of this mess she could think of right now.
"Let's hope that travelling cave of yours feels like helping out an old friend." Finn addressed the mad professor.
Roxton clutched the branch tightly, swinging as the first conquistador made the mistake of coming too close. The man had been firing as he was running closer, but his shots had gone wild, the closest one only grazing Roxton's arm before the man came within range. Roxton swung, feeling the satisfying impact of hitting his target as the man tumbled senselessly to the ground.
Another shot whistled past his ear and he ducked reflexively, swinging around to face the next two conquistadors approaching from behind.
"I want him alive! Alive!" The conquistador captain shouted over the sounds of the attack.
Roxton just grunted, determined as ever to escape and try to find Marguerite. He swung left, striking the first attacker in the lower abdomen before dropping to his knees and swinging at the unprotected legs of the second attacker. As he dropped screaming in pain, Roxton stood up again, lifting his branch high and using it as a club, bringing it down hard on the head of the fallen conquistador.
The next moment a needle of pain shot through his leg. He gasped in shock, looking down to see blood spreading on his right thigh. One of the attackers had obviously decided that alive did not mean the same as unharmed.
John spun around to face his approaching attacker, only to have his leg give way under him.
Within moments he was surrounded by conquistadors pointing their weapons at him.
"If you move even so much as an inch I will have another bullet put in your other leg." The leader swaggered up. "Tie him up! We have to get back to camp before nightfall." He barked, watching with a sadistic smirk as Roxton's hands were secured, an occasional foot slipping to kick him in tender parts during the process.
John's head started swimming a ways down the trial, and he realized that he must've lost more blood than he thought. His protests were silenced with a gun-but to the jaw and he staggered along for a while longer before collapsing into unconsciousness, his last thought not of himself, but of his companions – and one in particular.
The sound of raised voices greeted Roxton when he awoke. He rolled to his side and tried to push himself up, only to fall back weakly when he moved his injured leg. His hands were still tied behind his back, his ankles bound, but his leg was covered in a bandage and from the rags and bowl nearby it appeared that at least an attempt had been made to make sure the prisoner didn't die of his wounds just yet.
He twisted his head, trying to locate the people behind the arguing voices. Any further movement on his side was prevented by a length of chain running from his hands to a nearby stake hammered into the ground. He finally located the captain of the conquistadors having a heated discussion with some of his subordinates. Not that it helped Roxton very much – they were talking in Spanish and he only had a very sketchy grasp of that language.
"Where's Marguerite when you need her," he mused quietly, glad that his lady-love was not here with him. But where was she? They had been separated by one of those shimmering curtains of light that had found them earlier that day.
His movement must've caught the captain's eye, as the conquistador turned his fierce black gaze upon Roxton. He made some comment which elicited grunts of what must've been laughter from his fellows. Roxton just glared at them mutely, his fingers searching for a way to release him from his bonds.
"Enough, no more talk. We stay here one more night, breaking camp early tomorrow morning to return to the ship. Now that we have the captain, we can persuade him to reveal where he hid the treasure." The captain turned away from his men, stalking off to his tent with a leer in Roxton's direction.
"If there's still a camp left tomorrow morning," one of the troops grumbled just loud enough for his compatriots to hear.
"Afraid you might be the next to disappear Miguel?"
"Laugh if you must, until it happens to you. I can still hear Julio's screams…terrible. And whatever took him – it was not normal." The nervous soldier crossed himself.
"Still think it was a bloodsucking beast?" the first speaker laughed. "Rest easy then, the way that English dog's been bleeding, it will take him first, leaving us plenty of time to run away."
They all turned to glare at Roxton, blaming him for their weeks trampling around the jungle in search of justice and revenge while finding nothing but death and disease.
As darkness fell the air of nervousness around the camp grew almost palpable. Roxton might still be clueless as to the reason, but those around him were definitely scared of something. Dinosaurs? He didn't think so – he'd seen none since he apparently travelled back in time, only to be mistaken for a forefather. What else then…Roxton had given up trying to undo his shackles, but instead lay plotting his escape. Sooner or later they would move him to their ship, and then he'd take his chance. His thoughts still on escape and the danger the soldiers feared, Roxton slipped into an uneasy sleep. During the early hours of the morning, all hell broke loose in the camp – a helpless Roxton tied down in the middle of it all.
Challenger watched with horror as the surgical blade came closer and closer to his face. "Icarus, no!" His pleas had come close to screams as he pleaded for his life.
The computer voice had fallen silent since its last instruction to Icarus, no doubt secure in its puppet's abilities to carry out orders.
"No!" Both Challenger and Icarus were startled when the computer voice shouted out in what sounded like anger.
The doors to the room slid open to reveal a scantily clad young woman.
"Finn?! Run!" Challenger called out, trying to warn her off even though his heart leapt with joy when he saw her.
"I've done enough running," Finn lifted her crossbow and planted a bolt between Icarus' eyes, dashing forward to free Challenger even before the body hit the ground.
"No! You will not take him from me!" The artificial voice screamed again, no doubt calling for reinforcements.
"How'd you get here?" Challenger asked when he gratefully climbed off the operating table.
"I made use of one of your crazy inventions – the travelling cave!" Finn announced proudly before leading the way to the door, poking her head out for a quick look before ducking back inside. "All clear, less talk now professor, and more running," She leapt out, leaving Challenger no choice but to follow her.
They dashed down the sterile corridor, Challenger finding himself in the odd situation of having to trust Finn to lead them out. Usually it was his scientific genius or experience on the plateau she depended on, but not this time.
Finn headed down a side corridor with determination, and he could only marvel at her ability to have found him in this modern jungle. His hopes were soaring only to be dashed when a group of blank-faced humans appeared before them.
"So much for going back the way I came in," Finn growled. "This way," she stepped into a narrow passage, twisting this way and that before sliding to a halt in front of a wider doorway.
"In here," she dodged sideways, entering what appeared to be a stairwell of some sort. It was as featureless as the corridor, with no indication of where it lead, never mind where they'd just exited from.
Challenger immediately made for the upward sloping stairs, only to be halted by Finn's hand on his arm.
"Brother, you guys obviously never saw the scary movies." Finn sighed. "You never, ever run upstairs."
"Do you know what is downstairs?" Challenger queried.
"Yeah, a way outta this place. Gotta be." She added the last part with an impish grin.
"I'm not so sure Finn," Challenger was still hesitant.
"Listen here professor, I've been in this hell-hole a few days – how else do you think I found ya? Just running into the right room at the right time by luck?" Finn stood with her hands on her hips.
"Days?" Challenger was astonished. He found it difficult to grasp – to him it had seemed like an eyeblink between his admittedly foolish venture to reach the windmill and the rude awakening he'd just had.
"Yeah, days. After you disappeared I ended up in New Amazonia again," Finn spoke as she started to lead the way downstairs. "I was desperate enough to try and find your time travelling cave again, and I did. It wasn't there when I finally found the place, but seeing as I had some time on my hands, I stuck around. And poof! It put in an appearance again. I guess it was still zoning in and out, but I took the chance and I ended up in the basement of this dump. I was about to turn right back and leave but the cave entrance had already vanished by then. I thought I was a goner, but then I found some free humans hiding in old tunnels – it was almost like being back home in New Amazonia again," Finn's eyes saddened. "Anyway, they had heard that you had been captured, but was too scared to do anything about it. So I volunteered."
"And just in time too," Challenger commented as his mind raced to process the information. "Free humans?"
"Yeah, the only remaining ones. They're trying to find a way of defeating the super computer that rules this neck of the woods, but they haven't succeeded so far." Finn shrugged.
The stairway had shown more and more signs of disuse as they progressed, the lighting becoming sparser as the decay increased.
"I'll introduce you to them, maybe we can…" But Finn's words were cut off as she opened a door to find herself face to face with a group of filthy humans.
"Why'd you bring him down here Finn! Now it'll come after all of us!" the leader barked at Finn, raising his weapon in prelude to attack.
The man raised his dagger in the air and prepared to bring it down. "Send us back, the shining wheel!"
"Roxton! Where are you?" Marguerite struggled in vain under the powerful grip of the druids pinning her to the altar. "Please, don't do this! My death won't stop the storm! I'm not the woman you're looking for!"
The druid priest ignored her, the chanting around her reaching a pitch as the knife started its downward plunge.
A heart-rending scream ripped from Marguerite's throat as it descended in a bright arc. She closed her eyes at the last second, unwilling to face this brutal death. But instead of the knife's bite, Marguerite instead felt the weight of a body collapsing on top of her. It covered her face and chest, preventing her from seeing what had stayed her execution. The hands holding her down disappeared, and she heard the sound of fighting around her as she struggled to worm out from under the weight.
When she finally freed herself she saw it was the head priest's body, his throat pierced with a throwing dagger of some sort. Yanking it free she turned to face whatever worse fate was in store for her, not willing to believe that she had just been saved.
A lithe form was looming over a fallen priest who was begging for his life. Marguerite's heart leapt to her throat as she recognised the unmistakable shape. She opened her mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when he unceremoniously plunged his long sword into the priest's chest.
"I hate cowards," he muttered as he turned around.
"Roxton!" Marguerite pushed herself off the altar, shuddering at the stone's chilly touch under her hands. She quickly crossed the distance between them, throwing herself into his arms. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again."
He hugged her to him with one arm, the other hand still holding his sword as he enjoyed the feel of her supple feminine body against his. He'd seen the lovely woman being dragged into the cave and followed on impulse. And a good impulse it turned out to be too.
"Good to be seen. Now tell me woman, how'd you end up here?"
Marguerite pulled back in shock, not so much by the words but by the sound of the voice. Her grey-green eyes flickered with uncertainty as she studied the man she was holding onto before stepping away and shoving him back as realization hit.
"You're not John!" She backed away, a horrified expression on her face. To her dismay the Roxton look-alike followed her and she continued her retreat until she bumped into the altar. Only now did she spot the different style of clothing, of movement and bearing. Her right hand blindly searched behind her, trying to locate the dagger she'd dropped there moments before. Finding it she swung it in front of her, ready to use it on the impostor.
"Is that the way to treat someone who just saved your life? Ungrateful wench," he muttered, dropping his long sword while his other hand snaked out to grab her dagger-wielding hand. With a twist of his wrist he forced her to drop the dagger before he pulled her closer and forcing his mouth on hers.
Marguerite struggled against him, finally succeeding in forcing him away with a kick on the inside of his knee shortly followed by a punch to the face.
"Just who do you think you are!" she yelled at him after scurrying around to the other side of the altar. This man looked and sounded so much like her Roxton it was scary, but she was sure it wasn't John.
"Now you ask? After calling me by name?" he spat, wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip.
"John?" Marguerite's doubt was evident in her voice.
"No, Roxton. My name is James…or captain Roxton if you insist on treating me like this." A familiar twinkle of humour was evident in his eyes, but there was something else there as well. "And now after such a daring rescue, I feel the least I deserve is your name."
"Captain?..." Marguerite's eyes widened. Was it possible? Just before they were separated she'd been teasing John about his piratical ancestors and now… Realising she'd been quiet too long, she replied with venom. "No, you're wrong; there's nothing you deserve besides a polite thank you. So, thank you very much."
"It was my pleasure…?" the captain left the question hanging, indicating that he was not about to give up and just totter off like a good boy.
"Marguerite," she hissed in frustration as she tried to think of a way out.
"Well, Marguerite," he drew the name out, testing the feel of it on his tongue and finding it eminently suitable to the sultry beauty before him. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough of fighting for today. So why don't we declare a truce and leave this place to the dead." He cast a dismissive gaze about him as he sheathed his newly retrieved sword.
Marguerite didn't reply, but kept him pinned with her gaze. It was so tempting to believe him, so much of her own Roxton clearly etched in this man's form and voice.
"Come now, you've already proven yourself quite capable of fending me off." He answered, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile. For now, he added quietly.
"Only if you tell me what you're doing here." Marguerite maintained her defensive pose.
"Besides rescuing beautiful women?" There was that Roxton smile again. "Enjoying some solid ground beneath my feet – my ship is anchored in one of the great river's tributaries. My men and I came ashore looking to see what we could find, and somehow I became separated from them.
His gaze flickered slightly; an unconscious gesture Marguerite had come to know meant that his great great great grandson was telling a lie or at least not quite the whole truth. She ignored the compliment, enjoying the slight disappointment evident in the captain's bearing when she let it slide by without any response.
"Poor you, stumbling around in the jungle; my sympathies," she gave a dismissive flick of her head. "Now why don't you turn around and trot right back to your ship to go steal some more treasure or kill some Spanish. In her majesty's service and all that," Marguerite sneered.
"How'd you …" he caught himself before completing the sentence. "Right madam, enough shadowplay – who exactly are you and what are you doing in this hellhole at the end of the world? And why did you call me John?!"
Marguerite gave a chilly smile – finally, she had found an advantage – knowledge truly was power.
A shimmering curtain of light appeared through the cave-wall to her right – its appearance filling her with dread; nothing good had come from any previous encounters with it.
"There it is again, the same mirage that overtook me a while ago," James Roxton glared at the offending shimmer.
"That's no mirage!" Marguerite dodged past captain Roxton and made for the exit at full tilt.
"Marguerite?" Veronica spun to her mother for confirmation, receiving it as a wordless nod. Mordan was about to add another biting comment when he quietened down, turning his head as if he could hear someone approaching. Veronica was about to ask her mother when she too felt something, like a breath of air against her exposed skin.
A shimmering surface appeared in the nothingness surrounding them, letting in light and sounds that were almost overwhelming, or so it seemed to Veronica after the absence of external input.
Mordan's expression of glee turned to dismay as a figure appeared in the light, only to dwindle again as the curtain disappeared. "Where is she going?!" he wailed. "Doesn't that woman realise she's got an appointment with destiny even she can't avoid."
"What just happened?" Veronica turned to her mother.
"I'm not sure. The chosen one should've been here by now." Abigail frowned. Although most of the protector's power had passed to her daughter, she still maintained her sensitivity as to possible futures. Marguerite was supposed to be here already, as was Ned Malone, although exactly what his role was Abigail wasn't sure. The discrepancies were making her very nervous, but she was not about to mention anything to Veronica.
"But … how is this possible?" Mordan wailed, looking for all the world like he was about to fall down and throw a temper tantrum. "You! This is your fault!" He glared at Abigail.
"My fault?" Abigail retained her calm, managing to seem amused rather than angry. "You of all people should know that I have no more influence on what is about to happen."
"The line of protectors has always hidden truth in lies. Why should I believe you now? Whatever you're doing, stop it." Mordan seemed to recover some of his composure. "Do not think you can break the rules to suit your will. Your presence here means nothing! The final battle will still be between Veronica and myself, and Marguerite."
"How little you truly know about the power of friends and family, of loved ones," Abigail shook her head sadly, a part of her pitying Mordan.
"Power? I know enough about power, and our line doesn't cower on a plateau in the middle of nowhere, too afraid to use what was given to us!"
Veronica pursed her lips, her hand automatically slipping behind her back to one of her knives. Mordan looked like he was about to attack her mother, and there was no way she was going to lose another parent to his like.
"Oh put away your little knife, Veronica," Mordan gave her a dismissive look. "Or has your dear mommy not mentioned the interesting little fact that we cannot outright harm each other here. As far as I'm concerned, it only complicates matters – I would gladly have met you here with guns blazing or whatever." Mordan's eyes returned to study Abigail. "Another example of power being used – as it should be."
"Power doesn't just lie in the ability to control and direct it," she replied firmly. "But in knowing when not to use it. More often than not those that believe that they can control it end up being controlled by it instead. That is a lesson the protectors are well aware of, and the reason we stand between you and the utter destruction of the world."
"Utter destruction? My dear woman, why would we want to destroy what we want to rule? Instead of guarding the power, we would use it to achieve what we were meant to all along – bending the world to our will."
"And destroying it." Abigail answered softly, but with as much conviction as Mordan. Turning to her daughter, she continued, "Just ask Finn – her world is but one of the many possible roads ahead, and one where Mordan's family succeeded in getting enough power to destroy most of what is good."
Veronica swallowed – although she had never travelled to New Amazonia herself, the stories brought back by Challenger, Roxton and Marguerite, and even Finn herself, were more than enough to convince her of its horrors.
Mordan was uncharacteristically silent for a few moments. He wished his father was at his side now, not to guide him as Abigail was struggling to do with Veronica, but to consult with. He reached out with his senses, feeling the support of his line stretching both back and forward through what was considered the fourth dimension.
All he had to do was wait; the balancing force would be here soon.
Ned stood at the floor of an overgrown valley, surrounded by gentle hills similar to the hundreds of others he'd crossed on his way already. Or so it felt. He glanced at the sun, judging it to be just about noon – his watch had broken during a nasty fall a few weeks ago, and he'd since become quite proficient at judging time from nature's clues around him. He should've been here just after sunrise, but he'd come across a young boy who'd been chased up a tree by a tiny carnivorous dinosaur – one Ned hadn't come across before. Running low on ammunition, Ned used his size and voice, yelling at it as he pummelled it with rocks. Deciding that no titbit was worth this trouble, the dinosaur had hissed at Ned before tucking tail and running away.
The young boy had been very grateful; sure his father would tan his hide for being lazy instead of believing that he'd been cornered by one of a rarely seen type of dinosaur. Ned had sympathised, and during their chat he had found more confirmation that what he was looking for was close at hand. As thanks, and for mutual protection, Ned offered to escort the boy home. That had taken him on a slight detour, but not so much as to prevent him locating his goal before day's end.
There was a tremble of excitement in his hands as he pulled out his journal again, the book already falling open to the much-thumbed page containing a map drawn in his hand. Veronica sure would be proud of him; his ability to convert tales and legends, and sometimes third or fourth-hand reports into an actual map that had so far proved to be quite accurate had grown significantly over the past few months.
When he'd first set off he'd wandered idly, meeting different peoples and often escaping by the skin of his teeth. His heart often ached for his tree-house family, and often at the most unexpected times as he turned to share a joke or an observation with a friend who wasn't there. But he'd felt driven; a burning need to find out exactly who he was without their interference, however well meant.
He double and triple checked the last few pointers on the map, unconsciously maybe putting off the moment he would stride forth to see if he was correct. If Challenger were here he'd urge him on, science was all about proving or disproving theorems and not just talking about it. Marguerite would have some or other scathing comment, Roxton would grin in unvoiced support of Ned's plan; even Summerlee would have something deep and heartfelt to say. And Veronica…
Shouldering his backpack again he started up the hill, his heart beating faster as he neared the top. If anyone were looking for it, they might've detected a brief golden shimmer as Ned crested the hill. Ned wasn't, his thoughts instead focused on the next few steps. If he was right, he should be able to see something right about – now! Ned froze, heart thundering as his eyes feasted on his goal.
A large city, constructed of a curiously golden-coloured sandstone. Even from here he could see people moving about industriously, going about their everyday business in the fabled city of El Dorado.
A boyish grin on his face, Ned scrambled down the hillside until he literally stumbled across a well-laid cobbled? road that sped his progress.
As he approached the city seemed to swell in stature, its imposing stone walls making him feel humbled. His step faltered as he swallowed nervously; now that the moment was here he felt almost overwhelmed by it. A cloth-laden cart approached him, a single well-fed mount easily pulling it along the road.
"Greetings," a sandy-haired woman called down to him, a welcoming smile on her face.
"Good day to you too," he replied almost out of habit.
The woman didn't pause but continued past, leaving Ned to stare after the cart as it gradually disappeared. Well, the people seemed friendly enough, time to take the bull by the horns.
The gateway loomed like the maw of some hungry beast, the raised portcullis doing nothing to allay his overactive imagination as its sharpened ends appear to resemble the beast's teeth. When he stepped into its shadow a shape emerged from a door on the left side, quickly resolving into a leather-clad guard.
"Greetings, stranger. And welcome to El Dorado," the gruff voice had a friendly lilt to it. As Ned's eyes adjusted to the diminished light, he saw the dark-haired guard's skin shared the same odd golden shimmer he'd once seen on a woman called Quinaq.
"Thank you." Ned replied, cautious but friendly.
"This is your first visit?" It was less of a question that a statement as the guard leaned casually on his staff, his eyes roving over Ned's strange clothes. The city was on a higher security alert than normal – considering what was about to happen – but this young man seemed to be nothing more than a seasoned traveller. Besides, the protector had not failed them thus far.
"That obvious, huh," Ned nodded before speaking again, going straight for the reason he had been looking for the fabled city. "I came looking for some people – a friend's family – do you perhaps know where I could ask if anyone has seen them?"
"You can ask me – we have a fair amount of people inside, but they mostly belong to old families." The guard nodded.
"They weren't from the city originally, but I'm hoping they passed through this way. Their names are Tom and Abigail Layton."
The guard's eyes grew to saucer size when he heard the names. Ned's mind raced, wondering what could possibly have caused that reaction when the guard burst out laughing. "You're, you're looking for … Abigail!" He managed between thunderous bursts of laughter. "Oh this is priceless…Leeaq!" the last was yelled towards the door he'd exited earlier.
"Wait, you know them?" Ned's fear evaporated as eagerness overtook it.
"Just a moment," the guard nodded to a sinewy youth emerging through the same door he had earlier.
"Leeaq, I'm going to escort this young man to the palace, you keep a sharp eye out – not that we're expecting any trouble, mind you," he nodded towards Ned before turning back to the young lad. "I'll send someone to replace me, but don't let me hear you fell asleep on duty again." The large man turned back to Ned and gestured for him to follow. "I'm Berond by the way. I'll take you to the palace where I'm sure we'll be able to help you." Once again a mischievous grin lit Berond's face.
"Why do I feel like I'm the brunt of some joke," Ned muttered, but not quietly enough.
"Not a joke, but a very nice surprise." Berond laughed again before settling into a quiet but determined pace. Ned hurried to keep up, barely able to glance about in wonder at the ancient but well-built structures around him. The whole city had a peaceful feel to it, gardens and fountains interrupting what appeared to be a mixture of places of business and residential property. At one stage they passed a road leading off to the right where a small island could be seen rising out of a crystal blue lake. Ned paused involuntarily, his thoughts racing to identify the setup that suddenly appeared very familiar.
"Come, we'll sightsee later – I promise," Berond had turned around and gestured for Malone to follow him.
"Sure, it just…" Ned shrugged rushing after Berond who'd set off again. When they reached an imposing structure that Ned assumed was the palace, Berond led them up the steps and into an anteroom of sorts where he quietly exchanged some words with an attendant. Ned stood gawking at the beautiful weavings and tapestries that decorated the walls, itching to pull his journal out to make a few sketches.
"Just as I thought – he's out in the greenhouse," Berond set off down a side passage.
"The greenhouse?" Ned remembered that Tom was a botanist, so perhaps that was a good place to find him.
"They spend hours in there," Berond nodded as if this was the most perfectly logical thing for whoever they were about to meet. They stepped outside briefly, only to turn a corner and be confronted by a huge glass and wood structure.
"The greenhouse," Berond announced, opening a door and stepping through without waiting to see if Ned followed him. The whole experience was starting to feel just a little surreal to the journalist, and although he was no Alice, he was determined to follow this white rabbit and see wherever it led him.
Once inside Berond held up his hand for silence, listening for the sound of voices. The greenhouse was warm, the air almost too moist to breathe comfortably and Ned wiped at his brow where sweat had sprung up again.
Berond smiled again, having heard what he was searching for and confidently led the way down one of the numerous pathways with plant-clad benches stacked along the way. A short stroll away, he paused so quickly at a corner that Ned nearly ran into him. Berond's shape obscured whoever it was he'd located, until the guard stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Sir, lady," he nodded at two crouched figures, "I bring you a visitor." With that the gruff guard's face split into a grin again as he stepped aside, gesturing for Ned to pass him.
Ned was about to voice a word of thanks when he spotted the two people who'd raised themselves from the specimen they'd been studying.
The young woman he didn't recognise at all, but the …"Professor Summerlee!" the words burst from Ned's mouth.
"Ned! My word, you're the last person I expected to see here!"
"I could say the same!" All formality forgotten, Ned rushed forward to hug the genial old man.
"Easy lad, easy," Summerlee released him after a brief hug. "May I introduce Lady Brianna," he turned with a smile to the lady who nodded gracefully in Ned's direction.
"Welcome to Avalon, Mr Malone – Arthur's told me a great deal about you. I'm glad you finally found us." Her auburn hair flowed freely down her shoulders, shifting slightly as she nodded at Ned in greeting. Her tone was formal, and Ned didn't know if it was just his imagination, but she seemed a bit indifferent towards him, perhaps even cold. "If you'll excuse me." She nodded at both gentlemen before leaving with Berond.
"I, uh…don't know what to say. Wait, Avalon?!," Ned turned an astonished gaze at Summerlee. "Professor?" When it came to writing up this experience, he'd allow himself some editorial leeway – even to himself he sounded clumsy and confused.
"This is going to take some explaining Ned. Please, sit, I'll try to explain." The old man gestured to a nearby bench. Even though Summerlee was obviously glad to see him, he also detected a hint of sadness about the old man. What had happened in the two years since they'd last seen the professor disappearing off the bridge after their ill-fated encounter with a power hungry tribe?
"Is everything all right?" Ned confronted the professor.
"It's a long story Ned, I just wished you'd made it here a few hours earlier." The old man gave a wistful smile. "You just missed Abigail – she left a while ago to help Veronica."
Ned was bursting to ask a hundred questions at once. He kept hearing mention of Abigail, but not of Tom. Where exactly were they – El Dorado, or Avalon. And most importantly, why did Veronica need help.
"I don't understand," Ned shifted anxiously.
"I'll try my best to explain as quickly and succinctly as possible," Summerlee patted the young man on the shoulder.
Over the past year he had become close friends with Veronica's remaining parent – sharing stories and memories about Veronica and her life. Summerlee had ached to get back to his friends, but knew it wasn't possible – even so, he'd attempted to make contact once or twice, only to be foiled by the city's protective barrier. Abigail had assured him that one day Challenger and his fellow explorers would indeed find the city, and that he had to have patience. That had placated him for a while, but now with events proceeding so fast and in unexpected directions… He suppressed a sigh and studied Ned again. The boy certainly seemed to have matured since he last saw him, he appeared more comfortable in his own skin and less than the awkward youth who used to seek his advice.
They had hoped that Ned would make it here before Abigail had to leave to assist Veronica – both of them sure that Ned had a pivotal role to play in the approaching confrontation. Only Abigail had the power to transport herself to wherever the confrontation was to take place, and she had delayed as long as possible in the hopes Ned would arrive in time. But time had run out, and Abigail had been forced to leave without Ned. Taking another deep breath, Summerlee started his story.
He'd been dozing fitfully, his body overwhelming his conscious desire to remain alert to potential escape. It was during a changeover in guard duty that chaos invaded the camp. The fresh guard had walked grumbling up to his companion who'd failed to wake him an hour ago, prodding the man with his foot while no doubt accusing him of being a lazy son of a…. anger had turned to concern and fear when closer inspection of the unresponsive guard proved that he was going to remain that way. He was dead, his body a deathly pale colour and already stiffening in rigor mortis.
All this Roxton had to infer from what he could see and hear, the Spanish language still an insurmountable barrier. The captain had been woken, the camp searched and more bodies found – seemingly asleep in their tents.
The captain briefly discussed the situation with his remaining officer. A squad of fifteen of Spain's finest soldiers had been reduced to a mere handful of squabbling infants. Someone had to pay. He sent two of the remaining soldiers out to secure their perimeter before striding over to Roxton's crouched form
"You English pig! You and your friends will pay dearly for every life they have taken!" He planted a hefty kick in Roxton's mid-section after each heavily accented sentence. "Tell me where they are and I might have mercy on your worthless being."
Roxton gasped for air, unable to reply even if he could tell who the night-time killers were.
"Sir, do you really think it is this dog's friends? The kills – they were of most unusual fashion, perhaps-"
"Silence! I have seen those same puncture marks as you," the captain gestured with two crooked fingers near his own jugular. "No animal has a bite like that. It can only be the English swine's way of intimidating us."
"Sir, even to the point of draining all the blood?" The officer knew he was on thin ice, but whatever was after them was more than merely human.
"Who knows what these heathens are capable of."
The captain turned his attention to Roxton again, but his next brutal attempt at extracting information was interrupted by a scream that choked off abruptly.
The three remaining Spaniards drew closer together in a weak attempt to find mutual protection. The captain barked an order and one of the men dashed a few feet to stoke the night-time fire in an attempt to provide more light. As he was scuttling back to his comrades a shadow burst from behind one of the tents, bowling the hapless soldier over with such force that the man's neck snapped and his lifeless body tumbled to the ground.
The captain and officer stood frozen in horror for a moment before instinctively attacking. Roxton struggled with renewed effort against his bonds, unwilling to face death tied down like a helpless lamb. The Spanish attack was short-lived, the nervous officer having the dubious honour of dying last.
A deadly silence fell over the camp except for the attacker's harsh breathing and the incongruously happily crackling fire nearby. Roxton got a good look at the assailant, as much a stranger to him as to the Spanish, except for a singularly feral glint in his eyes. Roxton had seen it before when a young man had played dead in an attempt to get him close enough to make a lunge for his throat.
But that incident took place a distance from here and an even longer time away. Roxton rolled on to his side, leaving his legs free to kick at the assailant. It wasn't the best of options, but it was the only one he had.
The assailant's face and hair was streaked with sweat and dirt, perhaps even blood, making it difficult to judge his age. He kept his distance, his panting subsiding slowly while he pinned John with his stare. The tied man was obviously no threat, and without breaking eye contact the young man lifted the dead officer's upper body, bringing the exposed throat to his mouth.
Roxton flinched as the young man bit into it with relish, sucking at the life-giving juices before it congealed in death. He swallowed hard, remembering his own feasting off a raptor he'd killed with nothing but his hunting knife.
He jumped as the young man dropped the body with distaste. "Another diseased one," he spat in heavily accented English. "But you…," he stalked closer to Roxton, his movements fluid and precise like the predator he was. Roxton shuffled back as far on his elbows and backside as his tether would allow, a gesture they both knew to be futile.
The young man crouched just within striking distance, studying his prey. But instead of lunging for his throat as Roxton had feared, the young man sprang forward and fingered the blood trickling from a re-opened bullet score on his upper arm. He twisted around in a vain attempt to kick at the young man, but his legs were blocked and he was thrown onto his stomach, his sleeve ripped off.
"Your blood smells sweeter than theirs," the young man commented, his warm breath tickling the back of Roxton's neck as he kneeled on him, pinning him down.
The young man ducked his head, biting into the bleeding wound and lapping at the blood. Roxton's scream carried a mixture of pain and frustration, unable to believe what was happening to him.
"Perfect!" the young man's weight lifted and Roxton was effortlessly flicked on his back again, only to stare death in the face.
His head was yanked backwards by the hair, exposing his throat and its pulsing veins to his killer. Every detail became crystal clear – from the flickering firelight at the edge of his vision to the carrion smell of the young man's breath. Roxton still struggled weakly, damned if he was going to face death willingly, not after all that had happened to him since he stepped foot on the plateau.
A bright light and thunderous sound not unlike gunfire filled the air, causing the bloodsucker to drop Roxton carelessly and look up in anger at whatever disturbed his feeding. What he saw frightened him enough to pull back from his prey.
"That was just a warning shot – the next one will be right between your eyes," a strong voice carried through the night. Roxton turned his head in time to see a dark-haired man striding into the circle of firelight a modern-looking rifle in his hands. "Go find something else to kill." He ordered, the barrel of his gun never wavering for a moment.
The dirt-covered young man hissed but backed off slowly – willing to forego one meal to remain alive to hunt another day. With a last backward glance he disappeared into the shadows.
"Well, seems I showed up just in the nick of time," Roxton's rescuer stepped closer, crouching by him. "The name's Cain, and I'd love to provide more assistance, but I'm afraid I can't – I'm not really here, physically at least," by way of illustration, he waved his hand through Roxton's tether, passing through it as if it weren't there.
"Then you couldn't actually shoot that thing?" Roxton gestured towards the impressive looking rifle.
"Good thing he didn't call my bluff," Cain grinned, his grey-green eyes seeming familiar to Roxton. "The officer seems to be close enough, see if you can reach him – he should a knife on him." Cain offered, stepping closer to the fallen soldier.
Roxton groaned as his battered and bruised body protested against his awkward movements. He moved as close to the body as possible, using his legs to hook it closer before fumbling for the knife with his tied hands. Cain offered guidance here and there, and Roxton finally had a good grip on the knife, starting the painstaking process of sawing through the ropes.
"Good thing they didn't chain your hands – then we'd be in real trouble." Cain commented from where he stood guard nearby.
"Thanks for the rescue. Now, who exactly are you?" Roxton asked.
"Straight to the point – I like it." Cain nodded, his omnipresent grin disappearing briefly. "Someone who very much would like to see you live through this experience. You need to be somewhere fairly soon, and I was sent to make sure that you made it to that meeting."
"Stop talking riddles." Roxton grunted, feeling his bonds start to give way.
"Right – you asked for it. I'm from the future," Cain paused as if waiting for something. "You're not laughing?" he almost accused Roxton after a thoughtful silence.
"After spending three years on the plateau? I've seen stranger things than you could possible imagine – including two visits from people supposedly from our future. One of them a visit by a young lady called Kathryn who saved a lot of lives."
"Kathryn!" Cain seemed surprised by the name. "I have a sister named Kathryn – she helped me build the device to send my projection back in time."
"She was … a close friend's descendant," Roxton hesitated before naming Marguerite. As much as he wanted to trust his new ally, a part of him remained suspicious.
Cain stood open mouthed for a few seconds. "Marguerite Krux," he finally breathed. "I too am her descendant."
"Remind me to thank her again then." Roxton grunted as his hands were finally freed. The muscles were stiff from being bent in such an unnatural position for so long. He ignored the pain and set to work on the ropes around his ankles. "Hang on, Kathryn changed the timeline during her visit – she disappeared, convinced that she would never even be born."
"Ah…if there's one thing we've learned about time travel – it's filled with more twists and loops than a bowl of spaghetti. You might have known a Kathryn, not necessarily the person I know as my sister." Cain offered.
"Whatever you say," Roxton was finally free, slowly rising to his feet. "Whoa…" he leaned against a nearby tree, dizziness threatening to overcome him. His leg throbbed dully, but he was more worried about his arm. "I need to clean this first," he pulled away the remaining bits of his sleeve to study the wound.
Cain nodded, following Roxton as he hunted for medical supplies. He found some in a nearby tent, roughly cleaning his wounded arm until it bled again.
"Hey, slow down – we need you in one piece, remember," Cain's voice was edged with concern.
Roxton just grunted, unwilling to admit his fears to the young man. Previously a simple bite to the neck had infected him, but that one had been left unattended on his insistence. He could only hope that he'd acted fast enough to prevent an infection taking hold again. Only time would tell.
"Tell me more about why you ventured back in time to save me?" He urged Cain.
"I… cannot reveal too much. Not yet." Cain looked around in concern as his image started to flicker. "No, not yet – boost the power then!" he seemed to be talking to an invisible partner. He turned to say something to Roxton but his image wavered a final time before disappearing, leaving the hunter alone in a camp where death had run rampant. Gathering what supplies he could, he set off – anywhere would be better than right here, even if there was a crazed vampire sharing the jungle with him.
"You just hold it right there mister. You so much as ruffle one of his crazy red hairs and you'll have me to deal with." Finn levelled her crossbow at the wild eyed man before her.
"We helped you, and this is how you pay us back!" He kept his weapon raised. Challenger thought it resembled some kind of metal pipe, perhaps used in plumbing or hydraulics of some kind.
"What are you talking about – nobody followed us down here. Give me more credit than that man!" Finn's hackles were still raised. "Oh, by the way Challenger, this is Jack – he helped me when I arrived here."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Challenger mumbled, only to be ignored by Jack.
"It has known for a while that we're hiding down here. But it tolerated us like rats in a warehouse. Now you've given it the excuse to exterminate us once and for all."
"The disembodied intelligence I had the misfortune to encounter upstairs certainly seemed capable of controlling, if not exterminating you, a long time ago." Challenger was deeply affronted by this threat.
"Yeah, but it suffered our presence, using us as guinea pigs for everything from genetic experimentation to target practice." Jack was not about to back down either. "Maybe if we hand you over to it it'll leave us be a while longer. Giving us enough time to…" he trailed off, realizing he might be giving away secrets to someone he was about to hand over to the enemy.
"To what?" Challenger pounced on the slip. "And if you honestly think that my death at that machine's hands will save you, I'm afraid you have a lot to learn about warfare."
"He's right Jack. Even I know that from living with that bunch of savages in New Amazonia."
"New Amazonia? You knew this city before the machine took over?" Jack sounded awed, his compatriots sharing similar expressions of amazement.
"Yeah, sure. Where'd ya think I was from…the moon?" Finn shrugged.
"Jack, please listen. Perhaps I can help. It sounded like you might have a plan – perhaps I can be of some help. Ask Finn, I have conceived and implemented many ideas that proved to be quite useful if not downright life-saving back at our home."
"Yeah, and he's modest too." Finn quipped with a tight grin.
Jack gently lowered his weapon. Whether he was being swayed by Challenger's offer to help or Finn's heritage, no-one knew. "You're right – one more death probably won't save us." He looked around at his fellows, sharing some unspoken proposal that seemed to be accepted, if a bit reluctantly.
"Follow me, I'll show you what we have." Jack turned, but not before selecting a few sentries to stand duty, just in case.
Challenger and Finn followed Jack through a bewildering array of twisting passages. Whether it was the shortest route or he was trying to confuse them, they were certainly lost after a while.
"Did you come in this way Finn?" Challenger asked, curiosity winning over trepidation.
Finn nodded, "That time travelling cave of yours dumped me down here somewhere. I stumbled out of a room and straight into one of Jack's sentries. Luckily he asked questions first before shooting. I can say this for them, they're well organized considering."
Challenger nodded, preoccupied with his own thoughts.
"In here," Jack stopped in front of a large double-panelled door, using brute force to open the one side. Challenger and Finn followed him inside into what appeared to be a mechanical workshop of some kind.
"Needless to say we avoid using any electronic devices – if we can't build anything without the need for a computer of any sort, we don't build it." More than a hint of pride was evident in Jack's voice as he showed them around. "We scrounge whatever we can – these tunnels stretch on for miles beneath the centre complex. Whether it's forgotten equipment stores or abandoned machines, we strip it down and use the spare parts. Over here," he gestured to a cloth-covered bench, "we've been working on our biggest project."
He lifted the cloth as if he was unveiling a treasure. Which indeed it was to them.
"An electromagnetic device of some sorts?" Challenger immediately identified several parts that were familiar to him.
"Close. An EMP bomb." Jack announced with glee.
"EMP?" Challenger turned to Finn for translation.
"Electro magnetic pulse – knocks out everything that uses electronics. We had a few of those going off when I was a kid." Finn nodded.
"And you hope to use this against the computer?" Challenger addressed Jack.
"Hell yes. We hope to knock that thing straight to hell – once we figured out the last couple of glitches, including where to place it for best effect."
"Ah, my good man, there I may be of some help." Challenger rubbed his palms together. "And I too have a score to settle with that abominable creation."
Roxton winced as he nicked himself with his knife. Shaving with a hunting knife is never recommended, but he was willing to risk a little bit of skin to get rid of his itchy beard - he could practically feel it growing if he concentrated hard enough. But he was clinging to the last vestiges of civilization with a death grip.
He paused, suddenly unable to face himself in the shard of mirror he'd salvaged from the Spanish camp. No matter how much he'd washed his hands and face, he couldn't get rid of the blood that seemed to be ingrained in his skin, in his being. Nor could he get rid of the taste of blood in his mouth, the warm liquid running down his throat like the best Merlot money could buy.
Throwing the knife away in disgust, he leaned back against a sun-warmed river rock, letting the heat spread through his back and relax him. He was fairly sheltered and would have more than enough warning should something or someone even think of attacking him. His hearing had improved by leaps and bounds, the smallest scuttling of an insect like a drumbeat echoing in his ears. He glanced up at the tree-shrouded sky, every leaf standing out in exact detail, the heady smell of moist earth and growing things a symphony of odours for him to appreciate.
And he was hungry again. Roxton unconsciously licked his parched lips. No amount of water was able to satiate his thirst, no wild food his hunger. Except blood.
It had been just over a week since his escape, and at times he wished he'd rather been killed that night. The first few days he'd felt a little light-headed, understandably so, but no fever or laboured breathing. He'd made the mistake of thinking he was safe.
Instead he'd turned into his own worst nightmare…again. One part of him, a rapidly diminishing part, regarded what he'd become with disgust – mindlessly killing, satiating his every desire and feeding off other creatures to maintain his vulgar state of being. Thus far, just barely, he'd held himself back from killing a fellow being, but it was a battle he was losing. The other, growing part, revelled in every experience; from the rustling of the leaves to the majesty of the evening sky, the stars singing for his ears alone. Emotions flared with intensity beyond normal human ability, his whole being was becoming more and more focused on satisfying needs and wants. Here, now, he truly felt like he belonged to the universe. No, rather in it – every experience and nuance there for him to feel and enjoy, its power pulsing through his body.
It was terrible, and it was glorious.
When he could bring his conscious thoughts to bear on his friends, they mostly focused on Marguerite and Challenger. Challenger because he had previously been able to free John of his affliction.
No, no, he shouldn't be freed. He was free already!
And Marguerite, his love. She should be with him now, sharing this with him. She would understand, and revel in it.
No, no it was wrong. She wouldn't want him like this. She helped Challenger cure him last time.
Challenger. Ned. Veronica….it was all her fault. It had to be. If it weren't for her dragging them into the middle of a power struggle on the plateau… his thoughts trailed off as a flicker of light caught his attention.
"Roxton! John! Where are you?" Cain's voice echoed loudly in the sheltered river valley.
Scanning the surrounding area to make sure they were alone, Roxton stepped into view. He'd discarded his tattered shirt a while ago, and his vest was also the worse for wear. His pants were discoloured with disturbing reddish-brown stains. Although why it should be disturbing escaped him now – it was filthy but still usable. And what was he doing wearing such filth – it was unbefitting for one such as him.
"John? How... how are you?" Cain's expression conveyed genuine concern. He had popped in at least once or twice a day ever since he'd assisted in John's rescue, watching as the English lord underwent a metamorphosis from hurt and barely alive victim to cold-blooded hunter.
"No need to yell – I can hear you just fine," Roxton gave a mirthless grin. "What are you doing here Cain. I thought I told you to leave me alone."
"You did. Several times; and in some of the most colourful language I've heard." Cain's attempt at humour failed dismally. "I…I'm concerned about you."
Roxton kept silent, his cold gaze frightening even the non-corporeal Cain.
"We haven't given up on you yet. We're still working on trying to find one of those portals again – to get you back to your friends." Cain twitched nervously.
Roxton's doubts regarding the futuristic man's intentions had grown in leaps and bounds of late, his enhanced senses picking up telltales that Cain might not even be aware he was broadcasting.
Cain on his part felt increasingly uncomfortable in Roxton's presence, a feeling that was growing with every passing day. He'd succeeded in his family's plan so far – Roxton was infected, his mind slowly being twisted both by the disease and the conversations the seemingly fumbling Cain had so carefully steered. But by now the Englishman should've been pulled back to his own time already. Had they miscalculated? He hoped not.
"Stop lying through your teeth. And don't bother denying it – I don't need to smell your nervous sweat to know it. So either tell me the truth or get the hell out of my life. You've done more than enough already."
When no reply was forthcoming, Roxton turned and walked away. Cain remained where he was, his concerned and naïve expression dropping away to reveal a more malicious frown as he activated a switch on his arm and disappeared.
Roxton walked without purpose, each rage-filled step failing to put distance between himself and his problems - he was angry at himself, at the world, and the gnawing hunger in his belly. He was losing the battle, and the reasons why not to right along with it. Crumpling to the ground he clutched at his chest, his body burning with an insistent need that only one thing could satisfy. He tried to deny its power to drive him to kill again, and failed. There was no more fighting off the madness that threatened to overwhelm him.
And then his whirling thoughts stopped. He threw his head back in laughter at a joke that only he could see. Why was he fighting it? It had been too long already; there was going to be no rescue, no last minute save. In fact, he didn't want to be rescued. He was on his own, as he'd always been, as he was meant to be – the alpha hunter. Without any further thought, Roxton gave himself over to the darkness inside.
When his eyes refocused on the trail before him, they were that of a hunter setting off to kill. His eyes had not changed colour like the previous time, but if any of his friends were to look into their hidden depths right now, they would see only a stranger.
Lord John Roxton was no more.
"My breakthrough came when I realized this artificial intelligence uses the same energy lines I traced on the plateau!" Challenger gave an enthusiastic wave of his hand, as if that should explain everything.
Clearly, judging from his compatriots perplexed expressions, it had not.
"We know that it uses natural energy to power itself – our ancestors already made use of the geothermal energy on the plateau," Jack offered.
"No, no, not the geothermal energy. Or at least, not just that. I'm talking about the lines of electromagnetic energy that criss-cross this plateau in the most amazing formations. Oh, how my colleagues at the university would turn green with envy if they only realized the potential energy that were virtually at their fingertips, but ignored!" Challenger crowed.
"Right, whatever you say boss. But how does that help us here, now?" Finn asked with her usual irreverence for brilliance.
Sighing, Challenger walked over to a blackboard he'd uncovered, using a chalk stick to explain his theory in layman's terms. Of course they were the wrong audience to appreciate the sheer scientific genius behind his solution, but they would no doubt be suitably impressed with the rather devastating results.
"Suffice to say that there are lines of electromagnetic energy on the plateau – we've measured and mapped them during my time on the plateau. What we found is that there are areas where these lines intersect," Challenger roughly sketched a jumble of lines, with some points of intersection. "These intersections are a source of vast potential power, if you know how to access it. That was the basis for the matter-transporter I assembled in the cave – the one that Finn used to travel here just recently. I must say, even I am amazed that it still …" Challenger trailed off when he spotted the disinterested looks all around him.
"As I was saying, these nodes are a focal point for energy, and if we can detonate the EMP weapon at one of these nodes, it should disrupt the entire energy flow – including any mechanical devices that are connected to it."
"We're going to give it a short circuit then? Or is it more of a shock?" Jack queried.
"More like an execution by electrocution," Challenger smiled, proud of his poetic phrase.
"Call it what you like – if it destroys that computer overlord for once and for all. I'm a happy man." Jack smiled.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Where exactly do you plan to detonate this bomb Challenger?" Finn asked, a cold suspicion already in her mind.
"Ah, yes. That is one of the rather unfortunate elements of my plan. I cannot be sure how the power lines have shifted in the intervening centuries. At this stage the only nodal point we are sure of is the time-travelling cave."
"Just when I thought I liked your plan." Finn groused. "And how do you think we're going to get home if we blow up our only means of transportation?"
"We don't." Challenger replied coldly. "To win a war, we need to make sacrifices. And seeing that all of this," Challenger gestured around him, "seems to be a result of my actions in the past. I think it is only just that I be the one to assist in destroying it."
"Now I really hate your plan!" Finn stood up, the force of her action toppling the chair she'd been sitting on. "Nobody expects you to martyr yourself Challenger!" she glanced around the table, surprised to find more than one conspirator ducking her glance.
"Finn! I cannot expect others to make a sacrifice that I am not prepared to make!" Challenger's voice boomed through the room, calling Finn to order.
Finn glared at him, unable to find a reply that would convince herself, nevermind him. He was a stubborn old goat most of the time, but he was also right.
"On one condition then, I'm going with you." She tilted her head, setting her jaw and daring him to contradict her. "And don't think you can sneak off and do it without me."
Now it was Challenger's turn to glare at her. He finally conceded. For all his calculations, he could not be sure how devastating the ensuing explosion would be. Even if Jack and his fellows were given enough warning, it might still not be enough time to make their way out of the blast zone. But it still irked him, Finn was so young, so much potential still to be fulfilled in her life, and all he could offer her was a quick death. In some respects he'd even come to think of her as the daughter he and Jesse never had.
"Our next step is to ascertain the time interval between the time travelling cave's appearances." George turned back to his blackboard, hiding the twinge of emotion that was probably evident in his expression.
"A-ha! Got your back there big guy," Finn grinned impishly. "You're always the one saying anticipation is….well, I can't remember, but I have been checking on that cave with the help of some of the kids around here." Finn was referring to a few boys and girls she'd befriended. They looked up to her, even though she was barely a few years their senior.
"Brilliant Finn. And?" George raised an orange eyebrow in her direction.
"It seems to be fairly consistent – about once every 47 hours. Heck knows where it spends the rest of the time, or if it's even in a set pattern of elsewhens."
"'Elsewhens'?" Challenger pinned her with his steely gaze.
"Yeah, y'know, it pops up here and there throughout time, so I cannot just say 'elsewhere', now can I?"
"Well, I can hardly argue with that logical assessment." Challenger smiled, tugging at his beard in a half-hearted attempt to hide his amusement.
"Great. So…when is this bomb thing gonna be ready?" Finn asked the question on everybody's mind.
"We'll be ready to execute the plan within the next 24 hours." Challenger's joviality evaporated with that statement that sounded too much like a death sentence.
The next few hours passed in a flurry of excitement while the final preparations were made. After that Jack and his people bid their farewells and set off to find shelter. The whole atmosphere vibrated with a sense of anticipation, and no small amount of fear. Things appeared to be going well though, almost too well, Challenger thought. So far there had been no retribution from the machine intelligence upstairs; and Challenger could only hope that they would remain undisturbed.
"Do you really think they'll make it?" Finn asked Challenger when they found themselves alone in the passages that now seemed spooky without its inhabitants.
"I'm not sure." Challenger stared off into the distance. It irked him to admit that he didn't have all the answers. "But at least we have given them a chance. After all, how many times have we cheated death during our sojourn on the plateau."
"Too many to count," Finn agreed, tilting her head to look at the professor. "Too bad it seems our time has run out, huh."
Challenger didn't answer her immediately, but nodded vaguely after a few moments.
"Wait a minute. What are you concocting in that mind of yours?" Finn turned to him, hands on her hips as she demanded an answer.
Challenger gave her a mirthless grin. "There is a possibility, a very slight one, which if we were to time the bomb just right we could step into the transporter before the explosion. I am unable to even postulate where we might emerge…"
"But anywhere would be better than right here. Gotcha!" Finn smiled, feeling more relieved than she would care to admit. A noble death was all good and well, but not dying at all – even better!
They spent their remaining time studying the pattern of the time-travelling cave, trying to refine the initiation of the detonation sequence as much as possible. Unfortunately the EMP device required a good twenty minutes to build up enough power.
And then it was time. Challenger and Finn checked and re-checked the connections before Challenger pronounced them ready. Veins of a strange silvery metal were evident in the workroom's walls, a fact that had made Challenger quite excited when he saw the workroom the first time. Finn had asked him about it, and he'd gone off about things coming a full circle, calling it a universal justice of some sorts. He also named the metal, Finn thought it sounded funny – something like ridium or irium or something. Whatever. They'd hammered some metal stakes into the veins, connecting it with wires to the EMP bomb itself. Challenger had stood back, stroking his beard and muttering about a Far-a-day cage of some sorts, but Finn was in no mood to ask more questions to which she would get senseless answers.
Challenger's eyes met those of Finn as they stood over the bomb, their gazes locked as he flicked the switch that set the irreversible process in motion. As one their eyes swivelled to the blank wall where the cave entrance would hopefully appear. As they were about to step closer, sounds of movement could be heard outside the door.
Finn was quicker, sticking her head out before quickly pulling it back.
"It's more of those Icarus dudes! And they're armed!" She yelled over her shoulder. Challenger rushed forward, shoving the heavy doors closed and dragging a workbench in front of it. It wasn't much, but it was all they had, and hopefully enough.
"Why couldn't they have waited ten more minutes," Challenger grumbled.
"Yeah, rotten timing," Finn braced herself against the bench next to Challenger as the first blows of the attackers came. The doors shook, but held.
Their luck, however, did not. With barely a ruffle of the air around them, the cave opening appeared – five minutes early.
"Too early!" Challenger exclaimed, glaring at the offending cave entrance.
"Challenger, we gotto go. It's now or never," Finn hissed between clenched teeth.
"I can't risk these…things…breaking in and disarming the bomb!" Challenger's eyes sparked.
Finn glared right back at him, but couldn't deny the truth of his words.
The cave entrance winked out again, and with it their chance to escape.
"I'm sorry Finn," Challenger whispered, his blue eyes brimming with suppressed tears as the bomb signalled its final countdown.
Finn wanted to reply, offering some final reassurance, but could find no words. She nodded soundlessly, looking instead at the man who had become like the father she barely had.
Their world went blindingly white for a fraction of a second.
And then it was over.
"George!" Marguerite shot upright, gasping for air.
"Shh, shhh. It was only a dream." Marguerite jumped at the sound of a man's voice so close to her. She looked to her left, finding captain Roxton sitting beside her. Memory returned as the intensity of the dream faded.
After running from the cave to avoid the shimmering portal, they'd stopped a short distance from the cave, turning back to watch the mirage-like phenomenon disappear into the nothingness it came from.
"I guess we'd better head back to my ship. We'll be safe there," Roxton had offered, studying Marguerite with apparent sincerity after their brief brush with the unknown.
"Your concern for my safety is touching, if misplaced. I've managed to survive on this plateau just fine without your help so far." Marguerite tossed her hair. She felt a whole less secure than she was willing to let on though. To her knowledge she was trapped in history somewhere, together with a man that had also somehow been pulled from where he was supposed to be. And where was she supposed to go right now?
"Really? Then I guess you and those monks were just engaged in some spirited play?" He scoffed.
"It was a misunderstanding, that's all. A case of mistaken identity."
"Whatever you say," James glared at her. Somehow he had to convince her to accompany him back to the ship. Once aboard she would have no choice but to stay at his side, even if it meant he had to hogtie her himself. For some reason even he couldn't quite understand, he felt an almost protective urge towards this woman. She was beautiful, of course, but he felt driven by more than just physical lust – something of which there was no shortage on his side.
Glaring at him, Marguerite turned and walked away, determination in each step.
"Where are you going now?" he called after her.
"Home." Or at least that's what it sounded like as the distance between them increased.
Swearing under his breath, captain Roxton set off at a trot, following this mysteriously compelling woman.
She ignored his presence, and his questions, and he had no choice but to follow until she halted in a small clearing before an admittedly huge example of an indigenous tree.
She gazed upwards with a look that could only be described as sad hope. But whatever she was looking for was not there.
Her shoulders sagged and James stepped closer, just in case she was about to drop in a swoon, and straight into his arms.
But Marguerite stood firm, her mind already racing as she contemplated her next course of action.
"You lived here?" James asked.
"Rather I will be living here," Marguerite shrugged, marvelling at how small the tree still seemed.
James looked around, uncomfortable with discussing an obviously personal subject. "It'll be night soon. It looks like a good place to shelter." He offered.
"Ever the leader," Marguerite smiled sadly, her thoughts going to her Roxton.
James didn't reply, shrugging as he started gathering firewood.
To his surprise, Marguerite lent a hand, gathering leaves and fronds and stacking them in a large opening between the tree's roots. As true darkness fell, the fire crackled almost joyfully, casting flickering shadows in their shelter. James had surreptitiously moved closer, only be rebuffed by Marguerite's sharp tongue. He had grinned, holding up his hands in surrender – willing to bide his time. They had made themselves comfortable against the inside of their shelter wall. No words were spoken, each occupied with their own thoughts, although James kept glancing in Marguerite's direction every now and again.
She had flatly ignored him, falling asleep so quietly that he didn't even notice at first. When she started slipping sideways he'd moved closer, positioning himself so that her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. When no negative response from her side was forthcoming, he gently started stroking her hair, its smell reminding him of a warm summer field as the silky lengths slipped easily between his calloused fingers. He was just about to lean down and place a kiss on her invitingly rosy lips when she jerked awake, calling out another man's name.
Marguerite glared at him, his proximity speaking volumes about his presumptions. "Just a dream my foot." Marguerite replied, thinking back to a previous dream in which Challenger died. That one had turned out to be a premonition, and helped save his life.
Pushing herself away she scuttled to the other side of the fire, looking as if she was about to run away.
"Don't be foolish woman, there's nothing out there except hungry beasts and crazy men."
"Really? I think one of the more dangerous examples is right in here with me." She shot back.
Leaning forward, he grabbed her arm with a strong hand. "What is your problem woman?" He demanded.
"Besides you?" she yanked her arm back, or at least attempted to, unable to break his grip. "Let me go, right now." She demanded in icy tones.
"Why? So you can run out there and get yourself captured again, or even killed?" he replied with as much venom in his voice.
"I don't need a babysitter," she spat back, yanking her arm with more force now.
"No, but you apparently need someone to knock some sense into you," he replied, putting his words into action as he caught her with a surprise blow to the jaw. He was damned if he was going to be chasing after her through a jungle infested with more terrors than a sailor's meal aboard ship when supplies were running low.
Jumping forward he caught Marguerite before she could crumple to the ground, surprise on her features just before she lost consciousness.
Just when he thought he'd caught her she seemed to slip from him again. He readjusted his grip, only to find himself holding on to nothing but air. She had disappeared.
"What the hell!" Captain Roxton jerked his head back in surprise, looking around as his mind fumbled with what just happened. But there was no denying it, the woman was gone.
Mordan was pacing up and down, muttering under his breath every so often. Veronica had retreated a ways with her mother, quietly talking every now and again as Veronica still grappled with what was happening. Her patience was starting to wane as well, and she was just about to welcome anything that would get an apparently stalled process moving again.
A mist sprung up out of nowhere, spreading and growing with unnatural speed.
"Well finally!" Mordan's voice drifted through the blanketing grey mass. There was a feeling of dislocation, of being wrenched sideways, and Veronica struggled to keep her footing.
Marguerite slowly opened her eyes, pain still pulsing in her jaw as she surfaced into consciousness. The flaring pain and heat on the one side of her jaw was countered by a numbing cold that was spreading through the other side of her face. Raising her head, she found herself sprawled awkwardly on a stone slab that bore a disturbing resemblance to an altar.
"What? Again? How many times a day do I have to end up on one of these things" She complained, quickly pushing herself off with a shiver. The altar was strangely triangular in shape though, not like some of the others she'd come across during her travels on the plateau. She was standing at the base, the top of the triangle pointing away from her.
A heavy mist obscured the rest of her surroundings, but as it slowly began to dissipate it revealed a circle of standing stones around the altar. A large stone block towered behind her, bearing a compelling carving that froze her in place.
"My birthmark," she whispered, frowning as a vague memory tugged at her thoughts. No, not a memory, a dream… The one she had while she and Roxton, her Roxton, were trapped in a cave. Speaking of which, she glanced around anxiously – but she was alone. The mist was retreating further, revealing a black nothingness beyond the stone circle.
She moved closer to the carved headstone, her fingers delicately tracing the shapes carved into the stone, lingering on two bright green jewels embedded near the lower end. They seemed so familiar for some reason, but why? And how come she found herself in a place she'd only dreamed of before?
"Marguerite?"
She swung around, her face lighting up as her eyes confirmed what her ears had heard.
"Veronica!" Never had she been as glad to see the sometimes irritating owner of the treehouse. Veronica had appeared between two of the standing stones off to her right, and Marguerite was about to move closer to her when another voice spoke.
"Lady Marguerite," a dark youth stepped from between a pair of standing stones on her left, giving her a bow of respect before bringing his cold gaze up to meet hers.
"And who are you?" she demanded. "And more to the point, where am I?"
"You don't recognise it?" the man frowned. "My apologies. I am Mordan," he belatedly introduced himself.
"Don't believe a word he says, Marguerite, he's Mordren's son." Veronica held up a warning hand. She looked to her mother for confirmation, only to find she had disappeared. Whatever was about to happen, Veronica had to face it on her own now.
"Great, just great. But that still doesn't answer my question – where are we and what are we doing here?" Marguerite asked, her eyes jumping between the only two people present here with her.
"We are at a place of your choosing, lady," Mordan tilted his head, fascinated by the woman whose history he'd studied closely. Meeting her in person was an honour, the sheer force of her personality almost a tangible thing. Shaking his head he steeled himself – there would be time to bask in her presence later. Right now he had a job to do, and a victory to claim. "It is the end of a cycle of power, and time for you to choose in the struggle between freedom and suppression." With a sense of dramatic timing that seemed surreal, a light breeze sprang up – the sound of far-off thunder promising the approach of a storm.
"Don't you mean chaos and order," Veronica bit back before turning to face Marguerite, her blond hair wafting in the breeze. "Marguerite, it's time for you to fulfil your destiny, for all of us." Taking a deep breath she tried to be as clear as possible in the time allowed. Even now she could feel the breeze increasing in strength.
"Challenger was right, all of us were meant to gather on the plateau, to face our destiny. My family, the line of protectors, not only guard the plateau, but also the power that originates from it. Mordan, his father, and all those before him have been in opposition to us, trying to gain that power for their own twisted purposes."
"So you say!" Mordan fumed. "How can you judge what is right and wrong when all you have is your one-sided view of things. Marguerite, that's where you come in. Your role – no, your destiny – is to choose the right way, to meld your power with whoever representative you choose to set the next cycle of power on its destined way."
"Let me guess, that'd be your way?" Marguerite asked with an acid tone of voice.
"That is for you to decide," Mordan replied meekly, not fooling Marguerite for an instant with his sudden change in attitude.
"Listen to him Marguerite." Veronica spoke, surprising Marguerite with her words, the rumble of thunder booming closer now. "You have to choose, but I will not let you do so blindly. Mordan will tell you that my line guard the power, not allowing its use for any purpose, either good or evil. It is something mostly beyond even our comprehension after aeons of study, but it has a purpose and destiny of its own. Something that mankind is not supposed to meddle in. Mordan's line feels differently – that it is a tool to be used. And it is a powerful one. With it they can rule the world, eradicate disease, lift mankind from its daily struggle for survival to one of higher ambition. But that is only a possibility, and considering the nature of those who would wield that power… a very small one."
Veronica paused, daring Mordan to disagree with her.
He did not do so outright, but continued to urge Marguerite to his cause.
Marguerite held up both hands as if warding off attack. "Stop it!" She felt overwhelmed, not only by what they were saying, but what they were expecting from her. Lightning flashed ominously, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the ground. When her vision cleared, two more shapes had appeared at the head of the triangle, one on Veronica's side, the other on Mordan's.
Ned Malone stepped forward, glancing around in shock. One moment he'd been talking to Professor Summerlee, the next he was here. His shock turned to amazement as he took in the tableau before him.
"Veronica!" His eyes lit up with joy and he quickly closed the distance between them.
"Ned!" Veronica gave a happy laugh, hugging him to her with a fierceness that spoke volumes.
Marguerite had also been pleasantly surprised by Malone's arrival, but her gaze was drawn back to the other shape, still crouched in shadow. The shadow rose, becoming that of a man, shoulders hunched in an aggressive pose.
"John?" Marguerite's voice was barely above a whisper, unable to believe her eyes. She was not about to be fooled again, but her heartbeat sped up nonetheless.
"Marguerite?" he replied, her name barely recognisable as he stumbled on the word, his voice gruff as if from long disuse.
"John Roxton, please tell me that's really you this time." Marguerite's eyes brimmed with emotion as he stepped forward into the diffuse light.
Ned gasped as he got a good look at the man he'd come to regard as a brother. His appearance was frightening – he was dressed in ill-fitting clothes obviously not his own. His eyes were bright, too bright, burning with a feverish intensity. In fact, his very presence burned brightly, as if he was a force of nature incarnate. He had always been a physically imposing man, but now he dominated the very space around him.
"Something's not right," Veronica spoke, breaking the astonished silence.
Mordan kept quiet, but a triumphant light shone in his eyes. Finally – the last player had arrived. He kept his distance, willing to let matters play themselves out.
John tore his gaze away from Marguerite to snarl at Veronica and Ned, one side of his upper lip lifting to reveal a slightly lengthened incisor.
Veronica's eyes widened in shock, her hand blindly reaching for Malone's as she sought comfort in the contact. Only once before had she seen Roxton in a similar state, and even then there had been a spark of humanity left in him. But the Kanu tribe and their sacred stone that had turned everyone into animals were long gone, and so apparently too was the man she knew.
Dismissing them with a glance, John turned his eyes back to Marguerite, the hostility he'd shown towards Ned and Veronica vanishing to be replaced by something more primal, and more daunting. He looked at Marguerite with undisguised lust, his eyes smouldering with barely controlled need to possess her, right here and right now.
Without further warning he launched himself over the stone platform before him, his sole focus on the trophy before him. She was his; her life, her body, her soul – his to do with as he pleased.
Marguerite's look of undisguised joy had turned to horror as she too saw the changed John Roxton. As he jumped forward she stepped back, feeling once again as if the world had been yanked out from under her feet. The one man she had come to trust with her life, and her love, now looked ready to kill her.
Veronica was about to step forward, but she was pushed aside by Ned who'd started moving a fraction of a second before she had. Acting without thought for his own safety, Ned launched himself at Roxton, the pair crashing in a jumbled heap of arms and legs on top of the altar.
"Ned!" Veronica cried out as she watched him struggle, unable to believe what was happening.
Marguerite stood frozen, her back pressed to the standing stone behind her. Mordan watched with open glee as Veronica darted closer, trying to find some way of helping.
The blur of fighting finally resolved into a terrible scene. Ned was on his back, half off the altar on Veronica's side with John crouched on top of him, pinning the younger man to the stone as his large hands were squeezing the life out of Malone.
"Ned!" Veronica desperately pulled at John's closest arm, trying to break his vice-like grip on Malone's throat. When that failed she tried pummelling him with her fists, even kicking him, but he only grunted and renewed his efforts to wring the life out of whoever had tried to block his way to Marguerite.
Ned's eyes were starting to roll back in his head, a sure sign that the end was near. Unable to bear watching the man she'd finally admitted to loving being killed in front of her eyes, Veronica was forced to take drastic action.
"Stop it John!" Marguerite had finally unfrozen, stepping forward.
It was enough to break the focus of the growling beast she used to know as Lord John Roxton, ultimate gentleman and the only man she ever truly loved. His eyes found hers, an indefinable look passing between them that ended in Roxton's surprised grunt.
Marguerite's eyes lifted from his to see Veronica stepping back, a bloodied knife in her hands that dropped from her lifeless fingers as she realized what she'd done.
Roxton's gaze stayed focused on Marguerite, but he released Malone, catching his own weight on trembling arms that threatened to give way. And they did.
He fell down on the altar, next to Malone, half-turning on his side as his life spilled from a deep wound in his back. Veronica's attack had been brutal, but her aim true.
"No, no, no…" Marguerite sobbed, trembling fingers reaching out to caress his rapidly paling features. His breath came in short and shallow gasps, his eyes filming over but still focused on her.
"Marguerite…" he whispered his last word.
"Naaaaooooo!!" Marguerite wailed as his last breath shuddered from him. She bent over his lifeless body, sobs wracking her slim frame as she vented the soul-wrenching despair that ripped through her.
Ned had pushed himself off the altar, breath still wheezing in his throat as he reached for Veronica. There were no words between them, nothing that could explain that they both recognised what just had to be done. What they had just killed was not the friend they knew.
The winds buffeting them climbed another notch, whipping at hair and pulling at clothes.
Marguerite finally raised her head, a broken woman looking out from her eyes. Wordlessly she looked at Veronica and Ned, both of whom were expecting her to fly at them in a rage. But she did nothing; just looked at them. Or rather, through them.
"My Lady…" Mordan started, his words freezing on his tongue as she turned that same blank gaze in his direction.
Marguerite was caught in her own world, a veil lifting from memories and half-remembered dreams as her true self was revealed to her.
This struggle had been played out a thousand times before, her knight dying in her arms a hundred times over, his broken body on the altar of power. The stones of power around her suddenly seemed familiar as the part of her that was Morrighan stepped forward to offer her memories and experience. Marguerite suddenly knew her destiny; her role in this eternal battle between the two families struggling for domination. And no longer was she an outcast orphan struggling to survive. She could feel the line of women who'd been in similar situations stretching back through Morrighan to the dawn of time; women who'd faced the same choice, the same loss of their soulmate. Marguerite frowned as she sensed something else, a line of descendants, mostly faceless, that stretched off into the future. When their time came, they too would face a similar situation to the one she was in.
She was no longer alone, but she was utterly lost.
"My Lady, it is time," Mordan spoke again, his voice more urgent now.
Time…
For some reason that word stood out from the rest. Her thoughts danced around it as she considered it with cold clarity. Morrighan – the priestess who'd set her followers adrift in time, cutting them loose from its constraints. Kathryn – her great granddaughter that was never born, who'd travelled back through time to right the wrongs she'd been about to commit.
Time.
That was the key!
She pushed herself up slowly, fingers still clenched in the material on John's back, as if she was not ready to let go yet. She stared at her hands, her gaze still focused someplace else as she held on to him.
Mordan was wrong. This was not the time, not this way…not on her watch.
Reaching deep within herself and drawing on the power that had only been hinted at during her life, Marguerite gripped time itself…and twisted.
Time is not the linear progression of past to future by way of the present, but more of a road marker, a way stone, along the many possible trails of life.
And now the path had shifted, the players shuffled;
…and the dice rolled again…
"Mother! I thought you'd come to me! I thought you'd show me!"
The storm grew fiercer as the winds swirled around the treehouse faster than ever. The pain increased as Veronica screamed out in agony.
"Am I saving the plateau or destroying it?! Am I the Protector?!"
The trion glowed bright as the plateau went black.
The end