Guardians of Treasures Untold

Part Two: 2/? (12)

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers and notes, see part 1.

"Hey Challenger- c'mere a second," Finn waved to the professor anxiously, motioning for him to come closer to where she stood by the kitchen.

"Finn, I cannot possibly imagine what you could tell me that you couldn't say with me sitting down over there," he grumbled, folding his book closed on one finger, marking his place.

"You won't believe this. The guy-" she jerked a thumb in the direction of Bochra's room- "He asked for a bowl of water," Finn said conspiratorially, raising one eyebrow.

"Recovery from severe injury can leave one dehydrated, Finn. I see nothing unbelievable in that the poor man is thirsty," Challenger scoffed, opening his book to make further notations.

"No, Challenger- listen to me: he asked for a bowl of water... not a glass or a cup but a bowl... and then didn't drink a drop! Who asks for a bowl of water just to stare at it?" Finn threw her hands up in exasperation. "Guy's nuts, if you ask me."

"A bowl of water?"

"Yep."

"Hmmm... it is believed, in some cultures, that staring into a pool of still water can provide the seer with visions."

"You mean, like staring at a crystal ball?"

"Similar methods have been usurped by charlatans of cheap thrills," Challenger said, nodding.

"So, like, d'ya think he's actually gonna see something in there or what?" Finn asked, narrowing her eyes skeptically in the direction of the occupied bedroom.

"Other than his own reflection... the bottom of the bowl," he quipped and took up his former seat, bending his head over his book with a deeper concentration, hoping Finn would take the hint and leave him in peace.

"VEE!"

"Child, one of these days we will teach you how to speak in a normal tone of voice," muttered Challenger as Finn rushed to the balcony, waving her arms frantically to Veronica, who was hard at work in the garden. She smiled up at Finn and waved back cheerfully.

"Vee, I need to talk to you."

"Can it wait? I really want to finish up out here. We're going to need to be careful that our vegetables don't die on us in this heat," she pointed out, squinting up at the treehouse balcony before going back to pulling weeds.

"Yeah, sure," Finn called back, dispiritedly. "Geez. I hope Marguerite and Roxton get back fast," Finn muttered to herself underneath her breath. "This place is getting boring." She moved to the doorway of the back bedroom where Bochra was resting or seeing things or re-hydrating himself and listened for signs of any of the above.

"Miss Finn?" she heard his voice call out.

In sheer surprise, her head jerked up quickly, hitting a low beam. Muffling her curses and rubbing her head, she entered his room. "You called? And it's just Finn. None of this 'miss' stuff, I told you before," she pointed out childishly, waiting to see what he wanted.

He did not speak, nor made any motion towards her or the bowl that remained on his lap.

"Well, are you seeing something or what?"

Laughter spread out on his grizzled face. "You're very curious, aren't you? Would you like to assist me?"

"You're really going to have a vision?" she asked, open-mouthed.

"I hope to. Pull up a chair. You must promise to be quiet, it takes a great degree of concentration," he warned.

"Mum's the word, then," she promised eagerly, abruptly moving over a wooden chair and thumping down in it.

"You also might not see anything for quite some time. It takes patience, M-- Finn."

She compressed her lips together tightly and inched her chair forward slightly towards the bed. "It's either this or helping Challenger in his lab. I'll take this. I won't say a word, I swear."

"I cannot promise that you will see anything. If I speak aloud, you must remember what I say. Can you do that? Good. And of course, I will share the vision with you when I am done."

"And if I have one, I'll tell you too," she said impatiently. "What do I do?"

"Sit. And watch the water. Wait."

Finn did as she was told, though a voice in the back of her head told her she would have been better off with Challenger's smelly experiments.

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Drumbeats led the women to where the feast was being held. Four great bonfires had been built, their flames shooting high in the air, lighting the entire area with a golden hue. Marguerite shivered at the abrupt temperature change as she approached, the warmth radiating from the field driving away the bitter chill of the night air. She was buffeted too, by an array of strange yet comforting smells: the burning wood and wet leaves, sickeningly sweet incense and freely flowing wine.

Musicians played instruments, the fires highlighting their clothes arrayed with semi-precious stones, belts, gorgets and ancient gems that sparked with the flames. Women and children robed in vibrant colors were dancing or reclining in groups on furs laid out on the ground, laughing and talking, picking morsels of food from large communal platters on nearby low tables.

Hardly the kind of people she had seen in her vision, screaming and writhing around in pain. These people were content, well nourished... and bejeweled, she noted, quelling the old mercenary instincts. Power struggle or no, they didn't seem to be that upset with the status quo.

Marguerite looked around in vain to find Roxton. It figures, she told herself disgustedly. Probably off cavorting with the local women. For some reason, that idea rang familiar. And because it seemed to fit with her patchy memory, she became more nonplussed.

Hatha seemed to sense her uneasiness. "The men sit apart at the beginning, dear. Over there," she pointed a crooked figure to two of the bonfires at the fringes of the field.

Marguerite recognized some of the faces of the men from earlier in the day. Their heavy armor was gone, replaced with short leather jackets and woolen tunics. She did not notice Roxton or the large man who had led him away among their number. Her anxiety swelled again, and she began to subtly scan the darkened huts beyond the field for any sign of her erstwhile companion.

"Here, here," Hatha tugged at her arm, depositing her on a series of rugs near one of the closer bonfires. "Sit. Sit and eat."

Marguerite slowly lowered herself to the ground, rearranging her red skirts and the soft furs underneath her. A giggling child approached her side and offered a bronze goblet filled with dark wine. She looked around for Hatha, assuming the offering was intended for the older woman, but she had vanished. So Marguerite accepted the cup herself with a wary smile, and picked meat from the bones of a small roasted pheasant. Until she had begun, she had forgotten how hungry she was.

Distracted by the wine and the warm food, the heat and the music, she did not notice when the men rose to admit new visitors to their circle. She did not notice either when they eventually dispersed, finding women with whom to bide time, in dancing, talking, or watching the children perform tumbling acts or pantomimes, some drifting off towards the nearby huts for enjoyment of a more private nature.

"Is this rug taken?" a voice rumbled over her head.

Turning quickly, she watched as Roxton claimed the seat beside hers. He had found new clothing too, now wearing a dark tunic similar in style to the other men's.

For his part, he had had no trouble noticing her amongst the throng of villagers. Her dark hair had melted into the darkness of the night, but her dress, its brazen color, snug fit and shining gold accessory, could hardly have been missed. She looked radiant, flushed with the firelight, her lips slightly apart in surprise at his sudden appearance at her side.

"I'll take that as a no," he said, crossing his legs in front of him.

"Well, you certainly took your time," she managed in a contemptuous tone, picking up her goblet and idly swirling its contents.

His eyes narrowed slightly, though with indignation or amusement she couldn't tell. Then he grinned and reached across her to grab a handful of candied fruit pieces from her plate.

"Hungry, were we?"

"Mmm," he murmured throatily, mouth full. She watched his throat as he swallowed, highlighted with the fire and corded with muscle. A shiver swept down her spine and she redirected her attention to the fire. "You would be too if you were out catching pheasant all afternoon."

"They forced you to hunt for the feast?"

"Not so much forced as asked politely for a bit of last minute assistance. I obliged, of course."

"Of course. So I take it that you and Setes have made friends?"

"Not exactly. Let's just say we've reached an understanding," he nodded at an acknowledgement from another man walking past. "I don't think they're the type to make friends easily. Whatever is going on, the men are taking it pretty seriously. It'll take more than a couple fowls to gain their trust."

"But whose trust do you want to gain? Setes'?" Marguerite asked pointedly, scanning the other groups of people. "Hatha specifically mentioned a power struggle- that they have no leader."

"You mean, are we backing the right horse? I have no idea. I don't even know who the competition is," Roxton said with a sigh, shifting position slightly to better see the rest of the fires.

"They're deliberately vague about everything. Hatha practically converses in riddles," Marguerite said in a low voice. "If Bochra is right, and I see no reason to doubt him, the entire existence of a group of people will be wiped out if we don't do... whatever it is we're supposed to do. And these people, they just don't seem like they're worried."

"Maybe they don't know about what's going on. Kept in the dark to prevent mass hysteria," Roxton offered.

"Or maybe it's not them we should be helping," Marguerite finished darkly, returning her gaze to Roxton.

He returned her gaze thoughtfully for a moment and then spoke. "Have you always been this cynical?"

"I'm the one with amnesia, remember?" she said, with a small smile.

Roxton shifted again on his rug, suddenly uncomfortable with the way the conversation was headed. She had been deliberately avoiding the subject all throughout their journey; each time he brought it up had coincided with a violent argument in which he continually found himself forced into the ridiculous position of disowning her (which he knew now that he could never do).

"Has anything seemed familiar?" he asked tentatively.

"Bits and pieces. But nothing here," she said mysteriously, looking into the fire, the wind blowing ringlets of her hair across her face as her brow crinkled with thought.

"So. What's the plan?"

"Don't ask me, Priestess. This is your mercy mission. I'm just along for the ride," he commented, provoking a glare and a surreptitious kick from her. "Right. We need to find someone who'll confide in us the details of the current political situation."

"I agree," Marguerite said, with a familiar gleam in her eye as she waved her hand to attract the attention of a small boy carrying a jug of wine. He approached and with a smile, she relieved him of his burden. "You know what they say, in vino veritas."

His stomach sunk a bit when he realized what she was proposing. But then, it always did work and he had no doubt that tonight, resplendent in red, she'd find her quarry ready and willing enough. "Fine. You charm the men, I'll dazzle the women."

Her laugh rang in his ears as they split up to roam amidst the others.

TBC...