Author's Notes: *grins profusely* I just love your reviews, guys! Thank you so, very much! I know, I know, I told you I'll post this one by Monday… but I wasn't able to come up with anything… well, substantial… forgive me, please? *holds a picture of WS as peace offering*
- To whoever you are, I'm very glad that you're loving this fic… :) I promise I'll do everything I could to make you happy… :)
- Jaclyn, thanks! I'm glad you're intrigued.
- TLWROX… about your question, well, I intended it to be fuzzy :) :) Actually you just have to read on to find out. If I spoil you now… then there'd be no fun in that! :D *scratches head* You're right, I didn't include M and R dancing in here. Hmm. Maybe, in another story, perhaps…? Hmm…
- veggie_5… yes, yes I know that I'm VERY evil… *maniacal laughter* But really, I hoped you had your good night's sleep… you'll need it to FINISH YOUR TWO FICS! I need them! I want them! And I'll bug you till you do!
- Beckers, thanks so very much! This fic is for Halloween? *grin* Yeah… maybe… with all the weird things going around and even weirder things to come…
- Margie, thanks to you, too! I really hope you'll stick around to find out what's going to happen next.
- And a big, big thank you to Suzy… I just read your e-mail. Thanks, hon. You're the best! *hugs back*
I never thought that this fic will become this complicated. When I typed the first chapter it seemed as though everything was easy enough… and only after I read and re-read the four chapters did I think to myself that the original plot just can't be used anymore. So, brace yourselves, everyone… hope you'll enjoy the ride! Just be assured that whatever twist will be explained and delved with in the future chapters.
Disclaimer: Anything related to 'The Lost World' is not mine.
Cry of the Blood
Chapter Four
Marguerite Krux placed a blanket over Veronica. "Now," she said with a slight smile. "Close your eyes and go to sleep."
Veronica frowned at her in return. "I'm not a child, you know." She said. "It's not like I need someone to tuck me in."
"If I don't tuck you in then you wouldn't sleep." Marguerite answered. "Now close your eyes. Come on. Or do you want me to read you a bedtime story first?"
Veronica chuckled at that.
The two women were in their own tent, the one that they were always given whenever they visit the village. It took a little convincing on Marguerite's part to actually take Veronica in for the night, and much, much more to make her rest. Right now, Veronica was lying on her back, with the hand-sewn blanket covering her body, and a soft pillow cushioning her head. Marguerite sat beside her, her long hair free of the braid that had imprisoned it before. Her hat was placed several feet away, and along with it were the jungle girl's other accessories.
Almost reluctantly, Veronica closed her eyes, silently willing herself to fall into the arms of slumber. But, try as she might, sleep won't come to her. With a frustrated sigh, she opened her eyes. "I told you I can't sleep." She said to Marguerite. "There's just too many things going on in my head right now. I just can't… I just can't—"
"Oh, hush." Marguerite told her sharply, bringing a halt to her words. "If you're thinking about what that woman told you, then may I suggest that you just forget about it. I know, I know, I wasn't there and I don't know what exactly happened, but trust me on this one: it's not your fault."
Veronica looked at her. "I wasn't—"
"Blaming yourself?" Marguerite rolled her eyes. "Veronica, I've been with you for the last three years. I know you well enough to say that whenever something unexpected happens to someone and you're within the vicinity, you always, always blame yourself for what happened, even if it's very clear that you have nothing to do with it." She placed a hand on Veronica's face. "You and Roxton are very much the same, do you know that? You people and your guilt and your favorite hobby of blaming yourself. It's almost sickening, actually." But she said this with a smile on her face, so that lessened the sting of her words to an almost humorous level.
"Well, it's not like I like feeling this way." Veronica said. She looked up at Marguerite with an almost childish light in her eyes. "Do you really think it's not… my fault? At all?"
Marguerite shook her head. "Definitely not your fault." She said soothingly. "But if it'll help you feel any better, I promise you that we'll do anything to help that poor woman. Later on I'll speak with George and John about this, but I can almost guarantee that they'll say yes."
Veronica smiled, and then took Marguerite's hand in between her own. She gave it a gentle, affectionate squeeze. "Thank you." She said sincerely.
Marguerite squeezed back. "It's nothing." She said, the sides of her lips giving way to the barest of smiles. "Now go to sleep before you force me to sing you a lullaby."
The other woman nodded, and this time, when she closed her eyes she was already on her way to her dreams.
*
Challenger made his way towards the healer's tent. In his hands he held the leaf that she had used on the fallen woman. Around him, the natives were wild with discussions about the incident that took place. Challenger took note of some, and disregarded others. After a few more moments, he stood at the entrance of Mara's tent. "Good evening," he said loudly. "I wish to speak to you for a moment."
There were several blank moments before he heard the sound of shuffling feet, and Mara emerged from her tent. "Come in." she said.
He entered her tent after she disappeared behind the curtain door. He wasted only a brief glance around her quarters. The interior was no surprise to him; being the healer that she was, he had expected several leaves and roots of trees from the jungle to be hanging on the walls. But there were just some things that belied the constituent of a shaman's brew. On one, small corner, he found several clay jars filled to the rim with insects. And on another one, he found several severed limbs. Some feet, some hands, some heads. All human.
Challenger took a step back, appalled with what he saw.
"What is it that you wanted to ask me?" Mara suddenly asked. When Challenger turned around, he saw that she was already standing behind him, her petite frame undoubtedly showing signs of extreme stress and old age.
"Yes, yes." Challenger muttered. He lifted the leaf in his hand. "I was wondering about your… well, your opinion about the woman's condition." He said.
Mara glanced at the leaf before looking at George again. A sad frown fleeted across her features. "It is unfortunate." She muttered. "The gods have always been harsh to anyone who dared to defy them. This is her punishment. Magda could only pay for her delinquency with her life."
"But are you most certain that her condition is caused by the gods?" Challenger asked. "Or rather, by their punishment?"
Mara looked at him in the eye. "Do you dare doubt my abilities, foreigner?" she asked, a sharp curve tingeing her words.
"Certainly not." George was quick enough to offer an apology. "But I have been hearing several claims made by the natives about her condition."
"Natives." She said distastefully. "What do they know?"
Challenger took a step forward. "That she had been stricken by powerful magic. That she has not been punished by the gods, only by a more formidable practitioner of black magic."
Mara said nothing, only continued to stare at him through eyes that held a great deal of knowledge. Her gaze narrowed, her mouth closed until her lips formed a thin line.
He took it as a sign that she was listening. "She was trying to peer into Veronica's future when something happened." Challenger took note of the sudden shift in her character. She looked adamant, yet something in her eyes… yielded somewhat. "You know something." He said. "Was it… did you deliberately lie to the elders about Magda's condition?"
She averted her eyes.
Again, her silence was a confirmation for Challenger. "What could she have possibly seen to affect her this much?"
"You've already answered your own question."
Challenger frowned at her sudden outburst. "I beg your pardon?"
Mara sat on the bed that was safely tucked into one side of the tent. "Dark Magic." She said, almost wearily. She gestured towards a bowl on the table beside Challenger. "Look at it. Tell me what you see."
Challenger obediently picked the bowl. The frown in his face deepened remarkably, and he looked at Mara. "Is this…?"
"Those are the leaves that I have placed on Magda."
He reached into the bowl and touched one blackened, almost charcoaled leaf. "But how…?"
"I thought that you will also fall for what I have told the elders earlier, but I underestimated your knowledge and skills, foreigner." She said with almost a ghost of a smile. "And now, it may seem that you and your friends are the only ones who can save her."
*
Marguerite stood up from her position as soon as she heard the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping woman. She grabbed her hat and placed it on her head before she went out.
Like Roxton, she, too, was disappointed that something happened to spoil all their fun. She almost thought that in this cursed plateau, she and her friends were forbidden to have anything that resembled a good time. It was almost guaranteed that whenever they were in a festive mood, something will always happen to ruin in.
Like now, she thought. Just when we're all loosing up…
Suddenly, a cry pierced through her senses.
A shiver of fear ran through her body. "Roxton," she breathed, several emotions expressing themselves in that one, small word.
Then she sprinted towards Magda's tent.
*
Roxton stared at the blood on his hands, his heart beating loudly in his ears.
Stabbed… stabbed… I've been stabbed…
As if looking for proof, he looked down on his bloodied torso, to find a large knife wound in his stomach. As he breathed, he felt the pain as it walked all around him, its heavy footsteps trampling his senses, blinding his eyes, deafening his ears. An estranged cry escaped from his open lips; the cry seemed small to him, yet in reality he cried so loud he almost awakened the dead.
He stepped back, again, and again, and again… until his back touched the walls. He stared at his bloodied hands, until he slid down the floor, until he was sitting down…
Oh, God… I'm dying…
In all his days, John Richard Roxton has never known true fear.
Until now.
Oh, God…
"ROXTON!"
He looked up to find Marguerite by the door, her eyes wild and wide. Apparently she had seen him, for she was heading towards him, her face contorted with fear…
Marguerite… Oh, God… she'll see me die… no… don't let her see… I don't want her to see—
"Roxton," she said, as soon as she was already by his side. Her wild eyes widened even more as she looked at his bedraggled state. "Roxton," she said, confusion coloring her tone. "What's wrong? What—"
What's wrong?! I'm dying! I'm…
And that was when it hit him.
The pain was gone.
There was no stab wound.
There was no blood.
John Roxton wasn't dying.
"What in bloody hell?"
* end chapter four
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