Guardians of Treasures Untold

Part One: 6/10.

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers n' notes, see part 1.

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"You've got to be kidding me," Lord Roxton began to guffaw aloud. He turned to Challenger, whose bemused face quickly darkened. Roxton glanced back at Bochra and felt his stomach drop. "Oh my god, you're serious."

"Ever so much more than you know. These are desperate times. If these men succeed, if they overthrow our peaceful reign" Bochra's voice cracked with emotion. "War will overtake our lands and will spread far and wide. If there is no opposition, it could mean the end of existence."

"That's impossible, man! Wipe out existence? It's a scientific improbability!" Challenger scoffed.

"Science cannot explain all that exists- surely the plateau has taught you that some things require faith in other methods?" Bochra raised an amused eyebrow at the scientist.

"Magic? Hocus-pocus and other tomfoolery? You must have hit your head harder than I thought," Challenger said derisively.

"We have kept order throughout the planet for many ages of men and only once before had the Shadow Men ever come close to destroying everything we had worked so hard to maintain and protect," Bochra continued, now focusing most of his attention on Roxton.

"What happened then? How did you stop them?" he asked in a low voice.

"By the power of the Three. The Protector got our people to the relative safety of the plateau while the Chosen One and the Guardian defended the other world. But only the Chosen One can vanquish this evil- alone, with only one confederate at her side."

"But how? If what you say is true, if this evil has existed before time began, how can Marguerite stop it?" Roxton asked pleadingly.

"It is in her blood. Her -"

"Destiny. Yeah, you've mentioned that," Roxton said disgusted, rising to his feet. He paced from one end of the room to the other then leveled a stare at Bochra. He appeared to be telling the truth- there was little reason for him to make up such an elaborate lie. And the man's anguish over his tribe was too great to be insincere.

His heart told him Bochra could be trusted but his gut instinct and years of hunting experience warned him not to loosen his guard around the old man. There was still something

He approached the bed and bent down as to be eye to eye with Bochra. "And what happens now that Marguerite has forgotten who she is? Is destiny still enough then, friend?"

He left the room and left Challenger to his patient.

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Meanwhile

Marguerite awoke to raised voices within the kitchen. As she pushed her hair out of her face and attempted to resituate herself (at the bloody treehouse still!), she vaguely recognized the voices to be that of the blond women.

"My stove! She can't cook a single meal without burning everything yet she can completely dismantle my stove! I don't believe this!"

Marguerite's cheeks began to burn as she inched closer to the kitchen. Guess I was right about remembering a horrible meal in Paris, she mused. Apparently, her domestic skills had not improved in the last three years.

"Aw, common, Vee. It's not that bad. I think I almost got it uh, except for this thing."

"What is that?"

"Don't look at me. Should we save it?"

"Yeah- in case it doesn't work. I can bludgeon her with it."

Marguerite winced. She guessed that she and the women were not on friendly terms.

"I've never heard you talk this way about Marguerite. What gives? I thought she was like your sister or somethin'."

Sister? No way in hell. But like a sister? Had she really found that close of a friend in the middle of the wild? Marguerite decided she'd take that with a grain of salt, considering that possibly other attacks involving blunt instruments had originated by the jungle girl's hand during their stay.

"A sister? Sure, one minute I love her, the next I want to rip her hair out. I guess that's about right." The woman laughed. "You don't understand, Finn, it took awhile to get Marguerite to be civil, much less endearing. I've accused her of every crime I can think of and I think she's committed half of them in her lifetime. But that doesn't mean she's not entitled to a fair chance to start over. But so help me god, if this turns out to be another treasure hunt"

The woman's ominous tone made Marguerite shiver. 'Vee' knew her, all right. And that did explain the numerous bags of precious stones. She wondered how her path could have ever crossed with these people, who seemed so different from herself. Moralistic. Loyal. Brave. She had a sinking feeling that she was the black horse of the house and that made her sad for some unknown reason, that she had let these strangers down.

"Whatever. Speaking of treasure hunts, do you know what she was looking for?"

"No. But I'll bet Roxton does."

Roxton! How would he know? How could he possibly? Marguerite scuttled back into a dark corner as she heard the two women exit the kitchen. The whole situation was intolerable. If she could just find the ouroborus, if she could just remember where she had put it, things would right themselves.

The red-haired doctor entered the living room and headed off to Marguerite's right, down the steps to his laboratory. She glanced up again to make sure the coast was clear when she noticed the garden outside. Outside! Maybe she had buried her treasure, like all good storybook pirates do.

But how the hell could she get down there?

She heard heavy footsteps in the hall- must be Roxton. Well, if he knows so much about me and this place, then he must know how to get down. Raising herself off the floor, she began to smooth out her khaki pants and slightly rumpled lavender shirt. Straightening her shoulders, she made her way to the balcony just as he was entering the living room.

"Marguerite! You're awake!" he said, coming to her side.

She gave him one of her best smiles and was taken aback when she received one in return. Scruffy, disheveled, unshaven and seemingly without clean clothes and yet he certainly had a smile! Pearly white from ear to ear and it transformed his face, not bad to look at for starters, into something dangerously attractive. She curiously found herself imagining what he would look like with longer hair.

"Roxton," she said and turned back to gaze out over the rail.

"You remember me?"

"Of course, you told me your name yesterday. Or are you suffering from amnesia this morning too? I hope it's not catching," she said, her tone light.

"So I did. Remember anything else?" he asked, not so subtly.

"Sorry."

His brow creased with worry but quickly smoothed out. "Well, these things take time," he said, though he didn't sound thoroughly convinced himself.

"Look, Roxton, can I ask you a favor?" she asked, half-turning towards him and doing her best to imitate innocence.

"You hardly need ask," he said, coming closer to where she stood. "Just name it," he said, a huskiness creeping into his voice as her hands lightly came to rest on his lapels.

She stared for the shortest moment at her hands and marveled at how natural that movement had seemed, almost if she was walking into an embrace. Shaking it off and resolving to analyze that later, she continued with her plan. "Can you show me what's out there? Perhaps it'll jog my memory."

"My lady, are you asking me to show you the sights?" he asked, his eyes crinkling with humor.

"Whatever's to be had- I don't suppose that there's a more luxurious place in this wildnerness, is there?" she rolled her eyes melodramatically.

"You live in the lap of luxury, Marguerite- this is the best the Plateau has to offer. But if you'd like to see the rustics" he said in a mocking tone and gesturing towards the living room. "Then I'll just get my hat."

She blinked at this statement and stood rigid for a moment before adding, "Thank you."

She followed him out into the living room and towards the gun rack, near which hats also hung. She grabbed one and placed it on her head only to find it taken from her grasp.

"Try this one," Roxton said, handing her a dark brown hat and placing the tan one she had grabbed onto his own head. Odd, that, thought Marguerite, twisting her lips. Something was very familiar about that hat, something

"Your pistol," he interrupted her thoughts and produced a small revolver before her eyes. She took it from him and examined the chamber. Two bullets left. She was about to ask for ammunition when warm hands snaked around her waist.

"And your ammunition," he purred into her ear, as he snapped the button of her bullet pouch onto her skirt's belt.

"I suggest you tread lightly, Lord Roxton," she said in her most supercilious tone. "I'm armed now, who knows what I might be capable of?" She turned to face him and raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"I think I can handle it," he replied in the same joking tone.

"Three years without a scratch?" she asked, shocked at his suggestions and apparent candor. Had she really been so close to this man that she had allowed him all these liberties?

"My wounds are all but healed." He wasn't rueful or disdainful, he carried on in the same flirtatious fashion. He probably was that way with all the ladies, her brain rationalized. Probably got bored with the two blondes and decided to try the female of the different flavor. Or maybe he's got a thing for amnesiacs?

"Well, let's not open them again, shall we?" she said peremptorially, her tone harsh. "Or add new ones," she added baring her teeth. "Can we go now?"

He grunted unintelligibly and turned his back on her to holster his pistols. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot loudly on the wooden floor, telling herself that she imagined that fleeting look of hurt across his face.

"Alright," he said, pulling down his hat and momentarily obscuring his eyes. "Let's get a move on then, since we're in such a hurry."

Marguerite stood there, dumbfounded. Don't tell me he thinks I know how to get down from this infernal wooden contraption!

Almost as if sensing her befuddlement, he brushed past her and into a small alcove at her right. "Get in."

"Get in what?" she said, warily stepping forward.

"It's an elevator," he said and flung the switch to lower them to the ground floor.

"A wooden elevator. How quaint. I'll be sure to notify the Resplendent when I return to London," she said sarcastically as she walked out into the yard.

"Unless you'd like to sleep in a bed of leaves, I suggest you appreciate it. Veronica's parents engineered the treehouse with a great deal of ingenuity and Challenger's added his own, er, improvements. Like the fence," he added, holding open the gate for her.

"Made out of his own iron ore and the sweat of his brow?" she remarked nastily.

"And your underwear," he replied in kind and began to lead her into the surrounding jungle.

After several minutes of tense silence, she spoke again. "Where are you leading me?"

"I thought we'd visit the Zangas- they have a village close by. Veronica practically grew up with them and we regularly visit them to get supplies."

"A savage Harrods," she muttered, stepping over a fallen tree branch.

"They were some of the first people we encountered on the plateau," he continued. "They're as good as anybody to jog your faulty memory."

"And this is as good a place as any to make my departure," she said, swinging the heavy branch directly at his head. He fell to the ground with a thud and after assessing that he was definitely unconscious, she left with all haste.

It wasn't until many minutes (that had seemed like hours) later that Marguerite realized that she was hopelessly and utterly lost. It is one thing, she supposed, to make a dash in a city foreign to you- at the very least, there are people and transportation and roads and buildings- but to find one's way out of a jungle is a completely different thing. How she ever expected she would remember where she had buried the ouroborus- had she buried it? - how did she expect that she would remember how to get there?

She stopped and kicked a nearby tree, cursing in German. She shot a nervous glance at the direction in which she had come and wondered if Roxton was still lying where she had left him. Maybe she could pretend nothing happened or a really large bird flew into his head from behind

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud screech and whipping around, she saw what the Oriental manuscript writers had named dragons: two Raptors, dinosaurs. She couldn't move; all she could do was stare, cold terror gripping and paralyzing her limbs as they shrieked and came closer to their prey

TBC