Disclaimers: See Chapter One
WENDIGO
By Susan Zell
Chapter Eight
"Sanity is Fleeting"
Leair's home was much like the old man who had long ago befriended them the first time they encountered Osric. An iron dome in the middle of the jungle. Perhaps Leair had taken over for that old man. Marguerite realized she didn't even know his name. The rest of Leair's people hadn't returned, which suited the explorers. At least this way, Roxton had a small measure of privacy in which to recover, if he could.
Her heart still weighed heavy at the thought that they had survived this far only to now fail. It wasn't fair, not to Roxton, not to her. It was even more bitter since she had thought with the death of Osric that everything would be as it was. Only now things seemed even more dire. This Leair for all his power could do nothing to help Roxton through this ordeal. He just blindly accepted Roxton's foretold demise because he knew of nothing else.
But Marguerite knew better. The explorers had endured much this last year and a half and had done so because they supported each other. Their sense of family, the first Marguerite had ever known, gave them strength. She knew that such power was enough to overcome incredible obstacles, sometimes so unbelievable that it would stretch the faith.
She sat at Roxton's side, as he slept. He had not regained consciousness since that time in the cave, twelve hours past. Her only consolation was that he had now relaxed somewhat. No longer did he lay in a rigid fetal position, every muscle strained to breaking, his breath only shuddering gasps.
That alone made the ache in her chest ease. But she was desperate for him to wake though at the same time terrified that when he did, he wouldn't be himself. What Leair had told them of past retransformations made her go cold. Challenger however believed that Roxton being an educated man would aid his recovery. And also that Roxton had far more heart and soul than most people. Thusly armed, he could overcome what happened to him, like any rational human being.
But Marguerite had doubts. Roxton tended to covet his pain and this one was one that would never go away, much like the pain of his brother's death. He would carry it forever, and like his brother's, it was one that he shouldn't bear, but the nobility in him would not permit him to let go of it.
And if he didn't then it could quite possible destroy him. Her only hope was that now that his soul was whole once more, he could withstand the torment that lay ahead of him. She only prayed that it was enough.
Challenger had cleaned and tended her own wounded leg, and now it throbbed incessantly. Leair had offered to tend her, but she had refused venomously and the man had slunk away. Roxton's wounds were fierce but healing at a rapid rate while he lay in his stupor. Bruises faded in hours; raw rips in his flesh knitted before her eyes. She didn't claim to understand how or why, but she was relieved that it was so.
Roxton shifted slightly and it startled her. She jumped up from the chair and approached his pallet.
"John!"
Challenger and the others came forward at her cry, Leair included. Marguerite only spared him a scathing glance before her full attention was turned on Roxton.
His eyes opened and he lay there staring at the ceiling, assimilating to sounds and smells that were vaguely familiar but achingly elusive. The cold gray texture above reminded him of the cave. His face contorted with the pain that he hadn't escaped his prison. An arm flung up to cover his eyes, but it never reached its destination. Someone grabbed it. Terrified, he scrambled back, jerking his arm away from the touch and shoving the figure aside. His flailing, open hand struck the figure smartly across the face; his eyes were wild and unfocused.
Such sudden violence shocked Marguerite. He had never struck her before. Her cheek burned at his touch. Pain and fear welled up in her at his panic.
"Easy, child. He's disoriented." Challenger laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and then leaned in toward Roxton so that the man could see him. "John, it's Professor Challenger. Do you recognize me?"
There were no signs of it. He was like a wild animal, crouched and panicked. Marguerite did the first thing that came to mind. She spoke to him in a soothing voice, almost a singsong. His eyes darted to her, and though he shrank back from her, she had his attention.
"We're all here, John. Please try to remember us. Don't leave us. I beg you. I couldn't bear it." She couldn't tell if it was helping, but it had worked in the cave. He had become docile then; maybe it would comfort him now, bring him back from the edge of the terrible abyss he stood beside. "You're all right. The curse is over. No one is going to hurt you here."
His eyes narrowed, full of dread and confusion, but he didn't run. His frantic panting soon subsided to shallow gasps.
"Keep looking at me, John. It's Marguerite. Stay with me. You're confused right now, but it's over. Osric is dead."
At the mention of the name, Roxton looked frantically around and his gaze found Leair. The white robe and amulet triggered more panic. He lunged away, toward the open door and escape, but Veronica and Ned caught him. He reacted badly, striking out at them with ferocity born of sheer terror. Ned merely ducked his head down and held him around the chest while Veronica tried to seize his flailing arms.
"Hold him," shouted Challenger, coming forward.
"Don't let him escape. We'll never find him!" Veronica ducked under a wild swing.
Fist upon fist cracked down on Ned's open back but he didn't let go. He knew what was at stake; Roxton was not himself. He didn't know what he was doing. Challenger tried to grab Roxton's arm to stop his rampage.
A scream erupted from Roxton's throat, first only a low whine but it soon built to an insane shriek. Challenger stepped back and landed a powerful blow on Roxton's jaw. The hunter slumped abruptly. They all collapsed in a pile on the floor.
Marguerite sank to the floor also. "Oh God," she whispered. "We've lost him."
Ned and Challenger eased the man back onto the pallet; the professor gently laid Roxton's head back onto the makeshift pillow.
"No, we haven't, Marguerite. It's only the first round. He needs time to adjust."
"It will take more lifetimes than he has," Leair spoke softly.
Marguerite strode over to him. "You didn't give him a chance! Not from the start. You're the one who condemned him to this."
Leair's head bowed. "You are right. Forgive me. My fate is yours to do with as you please."
That took her by surprise. "What?"
"I have taken your sentinel from you. I didn't know and I should have."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. You're more insane then he is, you know that." Her anger deflected, she turned back to Roxton. Blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth where Challenger had struck him. She quickly cleaned it before he could wake and taste it.
"Is there nothing we can do to help him?" Veronica demanded of Leair.
"Surely there is something you've witnessed that could help?" Ned asked.
Leair stared into their hopeful faces, but he could offer them nothing. It would take a power greater than his to bring this man back from the brink of insanity.
With sudden realization, he regarded Marguerite. "You may have the power to make him whole."
"Yeah right. What can I do?"
"He reacts to you, listens to you, whether he understands or not. Speak to him, remind him of who and what he is."
"I tried that. It didn't work. He ran screaming from me."
"No," Challenger said, understanding now what had happened. "Not from you, Marguerite, from Leair."
"You should go," the old Noir said. "Take him from this place, away from me. Take him into a jungle that breathes with life. Let her," he gestured at Marguerite, "speak to him, sing to him. It will be his only chance to return to you."
Marguerite regarded him warily. The way Leair kept reacting to her made her very uncomfortable. It was as if he knew what had happened in that cave. But thankfully Challenger and the others did not. She wanted it to remain that way.
Thankfully, Challenger was thoughtful and distracted Leair with a theory. "Those other prisoners had no family, no one to claim them and help them through the ordeal. No one but you. That is why they couldn't survive the retransformation."
Leair nodded dejectedly. "There is some truth in what you say. We are only observers, sentinels if you will. We can no more help a soul in need than we can help to heal madmen like Osric. Only human beings can reach out and bring back a soul from the beyond. In that way, you are far more powerful than even us."
Challenger understood now what they had to do. They gathered Roxton and their things and departed, heading for the dense jungle with hopes and prayers that they were doing the right thing.
***
The night was deep and dark and it did not lack silence. For the first time no one complained of it. The strident noise filled their ears and resounded in their heads. They hoped it was doing the same for Roxton who lay unresponsive near the fire surrounded by his friends.
Marguerite sat gently humming beside him, brushing light fingers through his damp hair. He was running a mild fever and continually shivered in his sleep, or whatever it was he was experiencing. They couldn't rouse him; they had tried. She fought the despair that welled up from the pit of her soul to consume her, shoving it time after time back down. Such anguish would do no good. But her hold was tremulous at best. Her voice struggled not to break and it took all her years of training to maintain control.
Hours later though, with her throat rubbed raw with the strain, she still continued to sing. It was if she knew that if she stopped, he wouldn't find his way back to them. Challenger brought her some tea but she wouldn't even stop to drink it.
"You have to cease, child. It will do him no good if you exhaust yourself. He will wake when he's ready."
But still her song continued. Challenger sighed and gently cradled the top of her head with his hand before returning to the fire.
Her eyes closed and her thoughts drifted, distracting herself from her own pain, remembering every gentle word and small gesture of Roxton's that had ever touched her heart. There were so many of them: the waterhole in South America; the tent on the mountain; a selfless offering of his life for hers in an enemy camp; the kiss in the cell. So deep into her ruminations that she failed to notice the small wisps of energy seeping out of her fingers and into Roxton.
Time passed and she had no idea how much. Her mind was filled of happier times. It was a safe haven for her, one she didn't want to leave. She almost missed his hesitant voice.
"Marguerite?"
She jerked back to the present. "John!" His eyes were open and looking at her. They were bloodshot and glassy, but at least he was cognizant of who she was. "You know me?" It was almost a plea.
His eyes closed wearily and then flickered open again. "Yes."
Her heart leapt. "Do you know where you are?"
He squinted into the darkness, seeing nothing but blurry shapes. "No."
"We're on the plateau. Do you remember?"
He nodded then and made to rise. She tried to stop him but he would not be deterred. The others noticed and came over.
"Roxton?" Ned voiced excitedly.
"Are you all right, John?" Challenger inquired.
Too many questions bombarded him and his head pounded. Marguerite thankfully answered for Roxton and let him collect himself for a moment. There was something different about him, but he couldn't place a finger on it. Things hurt, his arms, his jaw, his head. But it was more than that, nesting far deeper.
His friends touched him and he couldn't help it, he flinched. Roxton's green eyes mirrored fear and shame. He shook from fatigue, and because he was damp and chilled. All he wanted was to be left alone but he knew that was not possible. His friends would not let him. They needed to be around him, their concern evident. He tried desperately to withstand the overwhelming urge to run.
His brain filled with images and impulses that scared the hell out of him. He knew somehow they were his; they had happened to him and they were horrible and violent. He didn't want to remember them.
Challenger was suddenly before him and repeated his question.
Roxton quickly turned his face aside, unable to meet his friend's concerned eyes. His shoulders moved in one convulsive shudder. That was all. He didn't make a sound, but when he finally looked up at Challenger, his eyes glistened, all the anger and self‑loathing and helplessness that was inside him desperate to spill out. But he held it in, somehow, and nodded his head slightly. "I'm fine, Challenger." His voice was harsh and strained. He took a deep breath and settled. "I remember. It's all right. I'm all right."
Challenger didn't believe him for a moment, but knew that pushing the issue would not gain them anything but a dangerous repeat of the earlier reaction in Leair's shelter. Roxton's face was chalky and glistening with sweat. He was holding onto sanity by his fingertips.
Challenger finally nodded and offered the hunter his canteen. Roxton grabbed it and drank greedily. While the man was occupied, Challenger tried to take another look at the wounds on his arms and face. They were healing far faster than normal. Perhaps Leair had made that possible. A relief of sorts and one less thing to be concerned about.
The hunter was still horribly pale, and there were tight drawn lines on his face; Roxton closed his eyes and seemed to make an honest effort to get control of himself, but it was several minutes before he was able to stop shaking and breathe normally.
Marguerite hovered anxiously. The man seemed fine, but she knew that he wasn't, not really, but at least this was one hurdle over. He recognized them and knew where he was. The terrified, insensible man in Leair's home had frightened her almost more than the beast in the cave. Insanity continued to creep at the edges of John's brain. He was treading on the rim of a very thin blade and in the end it would be up to him whether he fell off one side or the other.
His thirst finally sated, he handed the now empty canteen back to her. She took it from him and her fingers brushed against his. Even that small sensation made him jerk aside. Such a reaction cut deep into her, but she said nothing, only left him alone. She wished Challenger would do the same, but the man was once again grilling him.
"Do you remember all that happened to you?"
Roxton cast him a hard look. "Enough."
"Do you recall Osric?"
The pained expression that filled the hunter's face made everyone uncomfortable and tense, waiting to see if Roxton's reaction would be as bad as before.
There was an uncomfortable silence but finally Roxton hissed, "Yes."
"He's dead now, John," Marguerite assured him.
Roxton stared at his hands, all his mind could see was the blood that saturated them, imaginary or not. He dimly remembered striking the child over and over.
Marguerite quickly told him the truth. "I killed him, John. Not you. He won't bother us again, ever."
He regarded her. "You killed him?"
"Surprised, huh?" She offered a small smile. "You know sometimes I amaze even myself."
"How is that possible?"
"Well, you softened him up a bit for me. I just offered the coup de grace. A plesiosaur femur if I'm not mistaken." She covered up her lie well.
"A dense bone to be sure," said Challenger. He too held a gentle smile. "Marguerite has an incredible knack for survival."
"Maybe I should trade in my knives for a nice femur," jested Veronica.
"I recommend them highly." Marguerite still waited for a smile to break across John's face at their banter but it was in vain. Still, he at least accepted their presence around him. It was something.
"You hungry?" Ned asked.
Immediately, Roxton paled and shook his head.
"No problem," Ned hastily added. "It's here if you need it."
They decided to go about their normal duties in camp and give Roxton time to come to terms with his return to them. Perhaps by acting as if everything was all right then maybe it would be so.
Marguerite wrapped her blanket around Roxton's shoulders before he could even protest. It bothered her when he didn't, but only grasped the ends tightly, drawing them close about him like a shroud.
Veronica stoked the fire higher making it flare hotter to warm the hunter. It was risky but right now she'd rather try to ease his discomfort than worry about what might see the campfire.
Roxton finally settled off to the side, away from the others. Marguerite approached the fire to get a cup of tea for the man. She overheard Challenger's quiet discussion with the others.
"…amazing that he's rational. Especially after yesterday."
"Are you saying that this might not last?" Ned asked, his concern evident.
"Quite possibly. Leair indicated that there were a few people that evidently regained their sanity only to lose it once more a few hours later."
Marguerite could stand it no longer. "Stop it!" she hissed. "He's fine. He's going to be fine."
"I hope so, Marguerite," Challenger soothed. "But let's not drop our guard just yet."
"I'm just afraid that he's going to bolt on us," Veronica replied softly.
"What?" Marguerite spun to her.
"Look at him, look at the way he's staring into the jungle."
They all turned their attention to the oblivious hunter. His back was to them, sitting cross-legged on the ground, his gaze aimed at the murky jungle.
"He's going to leave us," she repeated.
"He wouldn't." Marguerite said, abject fear lacing her words.
"Don't be so sure," Challenger told her quietly.
***
to be concluded in Chapter Nine