Disclaimers: See Chapter One
WENDIGO
By Susan Zell
Chapter Six
"Truth Unveiled"
The sound of the boulder being pulled back jarred Marguerite out of her stupor. She jerked away and shrank back against the stonewall. The beast had returned.
It came in dragging something pale and white behind it. The carcass was bloody and still. Marguerite couldn't tell what it was, only that it was dead. Leaves and dirt matted the meat as if the thing had dragged it clear across the plateau, or wherever the hell they were now. She couldn't tell if the carcass was animal or human. The creature's black obsidian eyes stared at her as it stalked across the way and then fell into a crouch over its prize.
Its massive jaws tore off great chunks of raw flesh and swallowed them whole. Marguerite's stomach rolled and she forced her gaze away. She realized then that the boulder was still cast aside and the path to freedom lay before her. Escape might be possible while the thing fed. The way it was ravenously devouring its meal seemed to suggest it might just ignore her if she carefully made her way to the cave entrance.
It was worth a try. Anything was. She had the sinking feeling still that she was destined to be the dessert. Using the wall as leverage she slowly gained her feet, her eyes never leaving the creature. The sounds as its jaws crushed through bone and gristle was a horrifying cadence, one that gave her the motivation to continue moving. With her hands braced against the rock, she eased around it, heading toward the entrance.
She was almost to the tunnel leading out when its black eyes fell upon her. It stopped chewing. She froze. It rose up from its meal, lips curling back over its long teeth.
Marguerite knew she'd never get another chance. She ran. Her breath escaping in frightened sobs, she tried to make it outside. But suddenly a massive clawed hand swiped her aside. She crashed into a wall and lay there stunned, not able to tell if the roaring in her ears was from the blow or from the beast.
It was right over her. If only she had her knife she could have stabbed its heart. Then her eyes fell upon a small amulet buried in the fur. She let out a startled cry and almost reached out.
The design, she recognized the design! It was the one that the figures in white had draped over Roxton before they threw him into the light.
"Roxton!" Her voice was hoarse and plaintive.
The beast stepped back at her voice, its roar fading to a quiet growl.
"John," she tried again. "Oh God, please tell me its you." She reached out hesitatingly, praying she was right.
The creature slashed out at her and she barely pulled her arm back in time.
"Well, no need to get surly about it," she snapped out.
What if she was wrong? What if all things in this horrible place wore these things, like shackles? Maybe this was where all evil things were banished. Perhaps this was their version of a prison. She could be trying to make friends with something vile.
The creature retreated to its meal. It continued to eat but its eyes never wandered from her.
But if this thing were Roxton, it would explain perhaps why it hadn't killed her yet. Some faded memory or deep-rooted intuition was keeping him at bay. She remembered what the old man had said: 'now he will be consumed by that which he has become.' Did he mean that Roxton would pay by living off the flesh of animals? Of people?
Marguerite's face formed into a horrified grimace.
"Roxton," she tried again, desperate to fire some sort of recognition in him.
If she was right.
If the damage was reversible.
If she would survive the gamble.
Too many ifs. But she had run out of other options. Yet in her heart she knew she was right. The amulet has the same. Wasn't it? She had seen it only briefly but it was familiar. She had sensed it then and she knew it now.
The beast stared at her, its lips curling back over the long row of dagger like teeth, dripping with saliva, its muzzle stained crimson with drying blood. Yellow-red eyes narrowed but that meant little. It could be sizing her for a meal much less trying to grasp a lost memory.
She took a step closer, her hand reaching out. It rose above her snarling and threatening, a mass of bristling, antagonized muscle. She shrank back, making herself as small as possible. It stalked over to her, its long arms trailing behind it. To Marguerite, this was the end. She had taken the gamble and lost. It wasn't Roxton, merely her death sentence.
But then once again, it stopped in its advance, seemingly indecisive and angry that it was doing so. It retreated back to its corner finally, content to eat its other meal.
"Oh John. It is you, isn't it," she whispered. "What did they do to you?" There was no other explanation. Why else would such a savage beast keep her alive?
How many hours had it been already? Twelve hours at least. She was a perfect meal for the creature and yet it continued to hunt elsewhere. She really didn't want to know what it was eating.
And it wasn't an "it" anymore. It was John Roxton. The man she loved.
"You won't eat me, will you, John?" she said softly.
The beast looked up from its meal and regarded her, its head tilting slightly, watching her, almost as if it was listening to her.
Marguerite continued to speak, keeping her voice low, her tone soft. "I understand now. And we'll find a way to get through this. Challenger is probably working on getting to us right now. He'll fix all this. I'm sure of it. You just have to hold out till then. Don't give in to the blood lust. You did it before; you can do it again. Right?"
The creature huffed and resumed its meal. The sounds of which were most horrifying, as its teeth gnashed through its gristly feast. She tried to think of something else, concentrate on more immediate concerns, like keeping John at bay. Her talking seemed to calm it.
Yes, she lamented. And that should have been her first clue that she was insane. The real Roxton would have started an argument with her in record time.
Her foot throbbed incessantly now and blood was continuing to drip from it. She ripped off the sleeve of her blouse. The creature—Roxton—was watching her, but at least he didn't react as if it was a threat. Trying to stifle her gasps of pain as she removed her boot, she prayed that she wasn't sounding like an aperitif. Thankfully the strong leather of the boot had protected her foot somewhat. The gashes were deep but manageable. Unfortunately, she had nothing to clean it with. So she just quickly wrapped up the wounds as best she could with the material from her sleeve.
She glanced over at Roxton and was startled to see him in a half crouch, his eyes locked on her leg. He swayed back and forth like a patient in an asylum, crazed and torn with indecision.
"Brilliant, Marguerite," she chastised herself. "Go ahead and remind John that you're bleeding like a rare slice of filet mignon." Her voice became firm, more reminiscent of her natural tone. She directed it at him. "Don't even think about it, Roxton. Go back to gnawing on whatever it is that you brought with you. I'm not on the menu."
Rising to his full height, the beast roared. Instead of cringing, she met his reaction with resolve and strength. A little bit of fear had foolishly vanished with the realization that it was Roxton and not some unwitting beast. "Complain all you want," she chided.
She was taking a horrible chance and she knew it. But she was tired of being afraid. If she was going to die here at the hands of this creature – at the hands of John—then so be it. She was exhausted, in terrible pain, fed up with feeling dirty, dragged around in the dark, and kept in a dank and smelly cave. There were just some things that she couldn't tolerate.
Roxton was pacing a path in front of her, obviously torn. His blood lust must be raging but somehow he was keeping it suppressed when it cried out for her blood.
"That's it, John. Don't let it win. You're stronger than that. If you really love me you can do it." She almost laughed. Here was the test of his true devotion for her if ever there was one. If you really love someone, don't eat them.
The battle waging over him was a terrible thing to witness. It was driving him mad. Its own claws raked up and down his arms as Roxton tried to distract the instincts that were surging to the surface in his bestial state. It broke Marguerite's heart to see it.
"John, it's all right. We'll get through this. Like everything else in this godforsaken place, we'll get through it together." Her mind cast back to a time long ago when she was singer in a seedy club in Paris. She had calmed rowdy patrons with a song a time or two. Perhaps that would work here also.
"I've always heard that music calms the savage beast." She racked her brain for a quiet melody. After all these years, the words were a little rusty and her throat had long since grown weak with disuse. Still, she started humming a quiet song. It was a sad song, which had been her forte in those days. Adrienne had been the one to sing of romance and passion back then. By then, Marguerite had already lost her faith in love.
Adrienne Montclair. There was a ghost from her past that she hadn't thought of in a long time. Now twice in just a few days. It was her necklace Roxton had rescued from that treacherous little monkey. Her necklace that Marguerite now held as her own as a reminder of all that had happened to them in Paris. She missed her good friend who deserved a far better fate than the one that had been dealt her.
Lost in the memories, she glanced up to see that Roxton was listening to her again. He was standing over her, breathing normally, head once again cocked to the side. He was so close she could reach out and touch him. But she didn't, recalling how badly it had turned out before. His silver fur was drenched in blood from his wounds but he didn't seem to notice them. She averted her eyes and concentrated on her singing.
Most of the words were wrong and if the Fat Man, her sleazy boss, had heard her, he would have fired her on the spot. But it didn't matter. Roxton was intrigued.
She sang for twenty minutes. Her dry throat had given out but she was afraid to stop, afraid that it would only agitate Roxton. But when she saw his ears flick back and a grimace flit over his lips, she let the last note trail off. Roxton's eyes remained rooted on her. There was a rumble in his chest that wasn't a growl. He was much too relaxed for that.
Marguerite forgot herself and reached out to him. "John…"
The ears immediately went flat against his head and he reared back out of reach. She let her arm drop.
With a deep sigh, he rose and retreated to his corner. Settling himself, he began licking his wounds.
Marguerite scowled. "Really, Roxton. That is so unsanitary." His eyes flicked to her and his great dark tongue paused in its ministrations. "If you would stop being so stubborn, I could take care of it."
But even as a beast, Roxton was incredibly willful. He resumed his own treatment and Marguerite decided to get a little rest while she could. She lay down but didn't shut her eyes. The light from outside was fading and soon the cave would be dipped in darkness once more. It terrified her. She would be alone in the cave with him and she would lose track of him. But she had no choice. Her head was pounding madly and exhaustion was beating down her defenses. Eventually she would drift off. It would be better to do it now while Roxton was calm and occupied.
Soon she could hold out no longer and sleep settled over her, her body wracked by occasional shivers as she huddled to preserve warmth.
Roxton watched her from where he was, his wounds forgotten. A memory flickered in him: cold, snow, a woman, a child, and then death. Then another memory surfaced: a cage, a hot iron, a woman beside him, tending a wound.
The constant was the woman. The one that lay before him. The one that challenged him. The one that he wanted to kill.
Every moment that thought consumed him. Eventually he would not be able to hold it back. Already it was difficult to fight. His brain could barely grasp another thought, so desperate he was for the taste of her sweet blood.
However, the thought of killing her made another part of him shudder with horror. There was a cursed piece of his soul that was poised to become even darker with that single act. And that alone was what held him in check. But it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.
****
The rip in the fabric of reality shimmered in front of the explorers. Leair had agreed to enter into the prison to determine Roxton's innocence by evidence of his own acts. If Roxton had killed anything human, then he would remain a prisoner.
One thing kept nagging at Veronica. Leair kept saying that Roxton's punishment fit his crime, but she didn't understand what that meant. At first she thought it was just that Roxton would be left with his disease, lusting after blood to feed his hunger, fighting to survive unarmed against ferocious beasts and madmen. But a small part of her felt that there was something more to it than just that.
Leair led the way through the hole, telling them that the ride would not be pleasant but that he would deflect as much of the effects as he could. The old man had not exaggerated.
Ned thought seriously of being sick, while Challenger staggered to his knees. Veronica only barely managed to keep the professor from falling face down to the ground. Leair was unaffected by the trip.
He quickly touched each of them on the shoulder and the dizziness and pounding within their skulls eased abruptly, allowing them to get a good sense of their new surroundings for the first time. It didn't calm their fears.
It was a dark place full of shadows and fog. There wasn't a speck of green anywhere and the trees were gnarled and diseased. How anything could thrive in such a place perplexed Challenger. But Leair indicated that they were not alone in this place, this prison. The Noir had banished many criminals here and other things as well that did not belong in the Lost World. Challenger had seen enough of the strange and bizarre creatures that inhabited the plateau normally, that he shuddered to think what other things were too horrible to share their jungle space.
It had been hours since Roxton and Marguerite had been sent here. Hours to be subjected to the horrors that this unregulated prison could throw at them, alone and defenseless. In any other normal situation, Challenger would have hoped that the two wayward members had somehow found each other. Roxton would protect Marguerite with his very life. But in this instance, such a thing could mean Marguerite's death at Roxton's hands. Which meant she was better alone. Challenger couldn't determine which was a worse fate for the young heiress.
Ned was already scanning the ground looking for tracks of either of the two missing explorers. Veronica though was standing near Leair, her face a mask of dread. She finally turned to the old man.
"You said that Roxton's punishment would fit his crime. What did you mean by that? What did you do to him?"
Leair looked almost sad for a moment before answering the young woman. "He was made a wendigo."
The blood in both Challenger and Veronica's faces drained. Only Ned looked confused.
"What's a wendigo?" he asked.
Veronica snarled at Leair. "Why didn't you just kill him? It would have been more humane."
Ned touched Veronica's arm. "I don't understand. What did they do to Roxton?"
"They turned him into a creature of sheer myth and legend," whispered Challenger. "One that strips the flesh of human beings."
Horror and nausea washed over Ned. "I've never heard of it."
"It's a legend of a man who once tasted human flesh and was then cursed to continually crave it. The act eventually transformed him into a ghastly beast for all eternity."
"The Zanga have a similar legend," Veronica hissed. "It happened much the same way. Warriors have claimed to have seen this creature, but only a very few. Many deaths have been attributed to it."
"We tried to banish as many of them as we could find," Leair offered, hoping to ease their despair. "The plateau has been free of them for many years. We learned to recognize the signs early. That is why we were watching Roxton. We had hoped he would not give in to his blood lust."
"I still don't believe he did!" Challenger snapped, his anger manifesting again. "For a race as old as yours obviously is, you are still barbaric. How dare you seek to judge us?"
"That is our purpose. Life cannot be allowed to continue unchecked. Otherwise, the entire plateau would soon be led into barbaric unrest. It teeters on that as it is. This world must advance on its own merit, undisturbed by demons and monsters."
"But you're messing with the lives of people who have done nothing wrong." Ned was outraged by the Noir's moral superiority.
"So you keep telling me. We shall see."
Veronica took point and began a widening search pattern in order to find their lost friends, hopefully in time.
***
To be continued in Chapter Seven