Waltz
By Alekto
Chapter 2: Methought I heard a voice cry "Sleep no more..."
"Roxton, wake up man!"
The voice - Challenger's - seemed to come from so far away. But the urgency in it cut through the fog of the dreams... nightmares that had dogged my sleep. I had the brief if surreal, fading mental image of him stood at the end of a long, dark tunnel calling out desperately: 'Roxton, wake up!'.
"Dammit, Roxton. Wake up!" Challenger said again. I felt myself being shaken.
With effort I forced my eyes open, only to throw my arm up to shield my face from the brightness of the dawn light streaming in through the side of the tree house. I felt terrible, almost like I was hung-over from the most appalling bout of drinking and partying. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep for twelve hours. At least.
"No, no no, no. No, you don't," said Challenger, grabbing me as I tried to slump back against the chair I'd been sleeping on. "John, stay with me. Here, have some of this coffee."
I tried to ignore the coffee that he held out towards me: the smell of it alone was enough to turn my stomach, but in the end I relented and swigged it down with as much pleasure as if it had been medicine. It did its job, though. I was more awake, but it was not an improvement. I felt like the room was tilting about me and falling sideways. I closed my eyes experimentally to see if that made it any better. No. I opened them again and peered owlishly at Challenger. "Wha' happen'd?" I finally managed to ask.
Even my sleep-addled brain caught the disappointment in his gaze at my question. "I was rather hoping you could tell us," he replied. Us? I looked past his shoulder at Veronica and Malone standing beside the door. How long had they been standing there?
"Tell you what?" I asked, feeling the first inklings of alarm.
"We were hoping you knew what had happened to Marguerite," Challenger said gently, indicating with a nod the obviously empty bed on the other side of the room.
I gazed over towards the bed, for some reason still expecting, hoping to see Marguerite there, but she was gone. With a surge of effort I got up out of the chair, pushed past Challenger and staggered over to the bed. It was no more than ten feet away, but by the time I got there my legs shook as if I'd run a marathon. The bed was unmade, and the covers thrown back. The bandage that had been wrapped around Marguerite's head lay discarded on the floor next to it. The strength which had carried me that far faded and my legs began to fold. Challenger and Malone caught me before I could fall, and laid me out on the bed.
I tried to fight them, but I might as well have been a child for all the strength I had left. The room seemed to sway around me, as I finally lay back exhausted. I could just about hear the others talking over the rushing sound in my ears.
"What's wrong with him, Challenger? Some sort of drug? Fever?"
"I don't know. I'll have to run some tests. It could be a bout of Malaria I suppose. I'm sure he's had it in the past, but I don't like the coincidence that he's fallen ill at the same time that Marguerite's gone missing."
"I'll have a look around outside, see if I can make out any sort of trail or if there are any signs of a struggle."
"Good idea, Veronica, just be careful. If she was kidnapped and none of us heard anything, it was obviously by some unusually stealthy and probably very dangerous adversaries."
"I'll be careful."
"I'll go with you. There's not a lot I can do up here."
The voices faded as I drifted into sleep.
*********
I dreamed...
Seven huge wooden doors, blood seeping from between the grain, blood dribbling from the keyholes...
A faceless, hooded figure, a golden key held offered up in its outstretched hand...
Three tall women, crowned and robed as if queens of old, the glitter of countless jewels doing nothing to lift the chill aura that hung about them like shroud...
*********
It was dark when I awoke. Cautiously I opened my eyes, and noted with unashamed relief that the room stayed still. I could hear the faint, rhythmical sound of someone snoring quietly in the corner, in the chair where not so long before I'd watched over Marguerite.
Marguerite! She was missing, wasn't she? Or had I imagined that. It all seemed fuzzy: the fight with the apemen where she'd been hurt, carrying her back to the tree house, falling asleep watching over her. And then there were the nightmares whose origins or significance I couldn't begin to guess.
Through the moonlit gloom I could just about make out Malone's form slouched in the chair. He at least, it seemed, was sleeping soundly. Taking as much care as I could not to disturb him, I began to ease myself out of bed. The bed, however, did not co-operate in my efforts and audibly creaked as I moved. Quiet, it might have been, but it was still enough to rouse Malone from his slumber.
"Hey! You're awake!" I could hear the genuine relief and happiness in his voice and had to wonder why the simple act of my waking up could engender that level of emotion. It wasn't as if I'd come back from the dead or anything.
I stood up and stretched, easing out the stiffness in my back, then glanced over at Malone. "Evidently so," I agreed.
Malone rushed to the room's doorway and leaned out into the hall. "Veronica! Challenger! Roxton's woken up," he called. I looked at him in confusion of the fuss he was making about it.
Scant minutes later, Veronica and Challenger entered the room. "How do you feel?" asked Challenger, naked curiosity in his voice.
"I'm fine. A little peckish, but otherwise fine. Why do you ask, and for that matter, where's Marguerite?" The three of them exchanged worried glances as I finished, and I could feel the breath catch in my throat. "You haven't found her yet, have you. She's gone, isn't she?"
"John," began Challenger solicitously. "You might want to sit down."
"No, I damn well don't want to sit down! Tell me what's happened to Marguerite!"
"We're not really sure--"
"What the hell do you mean: 'we're not really sure'?" I cut in angrily. "You've had all day to look around and Veronica's one of the best trackers on the plateau. You must have found *something*." Silence stretched out and they looked uncertainly at each other again. "Well?" I prompted them tersely, trying to keep some sort of rein on my anger and worry.
It was Malone who finally spoke. "Roxton, you've been asleep for three days," he said quietly.
My anger evaporated into confusion as I sat back down on the bed. "What?" I breathed in stunned disbelief. "Three days? How?"
"I don't know," admitted Challenger. "I've run all the tests I could think of. Even made up a few. All of them came back the same: negative. I can find no scientific rationale for your having spent the past sixty hours essentially comatose." His rancour at such failure was as plain as the weariness I could see in his face. I knew how relentless Challenger could be in pursuit of knowledge and realised that he must have spent much of those sixty hours in his laboratory, searching fruitlessly for answers.
"What about Marguerite, though? What's happened to her?"
There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "Whatever it was, there was no sign anywhere of a struggle," replied Veronica evenly. "Nor any sign of any strangers in the tree house. I found her trail heading out into the jungle. I followed it for a couple of miles or so - there was no sign of her meeting anyone. It was so easy to follow: a straight line, no deviation. Wherever she was going, she knew exactly which direction to follow."
"Which direction?" I asked.
"Back towards where we were jumped by the apemen," Veronica went on. "And Roxton - when she left, she didn't take any gear with her: no weapons, no water, and no supplies. It was like she just got up from her bed and walked out."
"Why didn't you go after her?" I asked, not bothering to hide the dismay I felt at such an omission.
"I *did*," she retorted harshly, stung by the implied criticism that she had abandoned Marguerite. "By the time we were sure she wasn't anywhere in the tree house, she'd had several hours' head start. When I was a few miles out from the tree house, it began to rain: a real downpour. It lasted more than an hour. By the time it eased and I had a chance to look around, there was no sign left of a trail to follow."
"It was getting dark by the time Veronica got back," Challenger continued, "and you showed no signs of waking. We thought it best that if we were going back into apeman territory that we went at full strength. None of us had any idea that you would be out of it for so long."
I looked at him steadily for a while. He held my gaze; standing by a decision that both he and I realised was rationally the only one he could have made under the circumstances. Eventually I nodded my acquiescence that what he had done had been right. "How long until dawn?" I asked.
"About five hours," Veronica answered immediately, without recourse to a watch.
"Then everyone get some rest," I ordered. "We leave at sun up."
*********
Before the sun had cleared the tree line we were on our way, burdened with several days rations, medical supplies and well equipped with guns and ammunition. Whatever happened, we were not going to make the mistake of being caught unprepared.
Veronica confidently led us to where she had lost Marguerite's trail after the rain had hit. She was right: Marguerite's route from the tree house was taking us back to where we had been attacked only days before. We continued, alert for the slightest sound that could warn of danger and looking eagerly for any hint, any slight proof of Marguerite's passage.
Despite mine and Veronica's best efforts we found nothing. In the afternoon we passed the clearing where the apemen had originally ambushed us. After just the few days that had passed, little was left of the corpses except scattered bones; shreds of hide and churned up ground, scarred by raptors' claws as they fought over the feast. The jungle's scavengers did their work well. I had taken a moment to study the marks the raptors had left: none were recent enough for us to be too worried about.
We slept lightly that evening as if we hadn't spent a long day hiking through torrid jungle. I wondered about Marguerite, how she had coped, whether she had slept. I'd long been impressed with Marguerite's self- sufficiency, independence and determination, and hoped-- prayed that they were enough to see her through whatever was going on. We took watches through the night. For once none of us having any problems staying awake.
A little after noon the next day, Veronica called me over to where she was standing and pointed at the ground. "What do you make of that?" she murmured.
I crouched down and studied the patch of clear earth that lay half hidden from view by the remains of what had been the massive trunk of a long fallen tree. Laid out on the earth was a simple pattern made from a few sticks and two stones. "Some sort of hunting marker?" I hazarded.
"Hm. If it is, it's not one I'm familiar with. Look at it, though. Whoever marked it out did it recently - no more than a few days ago or that rain storm would have washed it away."
I nodded and stood up. "Well, it means there's certainly someone else around here other than apemen. Any ideas who it might be?" I looked at Veronica.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. Oddly, I haven't heard of any of the tribes I'm familiar with living in this part of the jungle. Perhaps there's some sort of local taboo or something that keeps most of them away..." Her voice trailed off, as if she was thinking about something else.
"Okay. We'll continue on. Everyone stay alert."
I don't know if it was my imagination, but the jungle seemed to be getting heavier, more oppressive somehow. The undergrowth had become denser, the ground wetter and the temperature hotter. Tendrils of steam drifted amongst moss cover boughs, hung with endless loops of vines. We were all on edge, starting at the slightest sound that might have warned of danger.
"What the..?" Exclaimed Malone softly as he pushed aside the fronds of a huge fern. Behind it was a lump of stone of barrel-like proportions. It was crudely carved to resemble an only vaguely anthropomorphic depiction of a squatting figure. His initial shock quickly overcome, Malone looked at it with interest. "Seem familiar to anyone?" he asked.
"I can honestly say we've never been introduced," I answered with an attempt at a smile.
"There are some similarities to certain Meso-American styles of sculpture that I can see," began Challenger. "The depiction of the face seems particularly reminiscent of Olmec statuary... Fascinating!"
"I'm sure I've seen it before," murmured Veronica.
"Where?" asked Challenger curiously, his comparisons with Meso-American sculpture immediately dropped.
"In one of my Father's journals. I remember seeing a drawing of it, or something very much like it." Her eyes grew distant as she thought back, trying to remember any more details.
I looked back at the statue and pushed away some more of the fern that had hidden it. Malone came over to lend a hand and in less than a minute it was clear. We both took a couple of steps back to get a clearer view of it. It was truly grotesque. "Ugly looking chap, don't you think?" I commented quietly to Malone. He snorted in amused agreement.
Challenger crouched down to study the statue while Malone got out his notebook to make a quick sketch. I turned my attention back to the jungle, my rifle in my hands. I suddenly *knew* there was something out there, that we were being watched. Veronica caught the change in my stance and was immediately on the alert. Seconds later the others were on their feet.
I felt a sting on my upper arm, glanced down and noticed the splinter of wood sticking out of it. I reached up and pulled it out. It was difficult, and my arms seemed impossibly heavy. I looked up and watched as from the undergrowth a number of pale, grey-white figures emerged carrying spears and blowguns. I tried to bring my rifle to bear, but it had become a struggle just to keep hold of it - a struggle that I quickly lost. From the corner of my eye I saw that Challenger had collapsed to his knees. Malone had staggered a few paces but was losing the fight to stay upright.
Then from somewhere nearby I heard Veronica speaking. "Kothoga. They're the Kothoga."
I dimly noticed that I was no longer standing, that the jungle was darkening around me. I wanted to ask Veronica to tell me more, to tell me who the Kothoga were, but however hard I tried to speak, I somehow couldn't. All I could manage was an inarticulate: "Wha'?"
Apparently it was enough. "Ghosts," she explained faintly as my vision faded to black. "They're ghosts."
To be continued...
A/N:
Kudos to anyone who can work out where I borrowed the name for the Kothoga from. (And for the record - I don't own anything to do with them either.)
By Alekto
Chapter 2: Methought I heard a voice cry "Sleep no more..."
"Roxton, wake up man!"
The voice - Challenger's - seemed to come from so far away. But the urgency in it cut through the fog of the dreams... nightmares that had dogged my sleep. I had the brief if surreal, fading mental image of him stood at the end of a long, dark tunnel calling out desperately: 'Roxton, wake up!'.
"Dammit, Roxton. Wake up!" Challenger said again. I felt myself being shaken.
With effort I forced my eyes open, only to throw my arm up to shield my face from the brightness of the dawn light streaming in through the side of the tree house. I felt terrible, almost like I was hung-over from the most appalling bout of drinking and partying. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep for twelve hours. At least.
"No, no no, no. No, you don't," said Challenger, grabbing me as I tried to slump back against the chair I'd been sleeping on. "John, stay with me. Here, have some of this coffee."
I tried to ignore the coffee that he held out towards me: the smell of it alone was enough to turn my stomach, but in the end I relented and swigged it down with as much pleasure as if it had been medicine. It did its job, though. I was more awake, but it was not an improvement. I felt like the room was tilting about me and falling sideways. I closed my eyes experimentally to see if that made it any better. No. I opened them again and peered owlishly at Challenger. "Wha' happen'd?" I finally managed to ask.
Even my sleep-addled brain caught the disappointment in his gaze at my question. "I was rather hoping you could tell us," he replied. Us? I looked past his shoulder at Veronica and Malone standing beside the door. How long had they been standing there?
"Tell you what?" I asked, feeling the first inklings of alarm.
"We were hoping you knew what had happened to Marguerite," Challenger said gently, indicating with a nod the obviously empty bed on the other side of the room.
I gazed over towards the bed, for some reason still expecting, hoping to see Marguerite there, but she was gone. With a surge of effort I got up out of the chair, pushed past Challenger and staggered over to the bed. It was no more than ten feet away, but by the time I got there my legs shook as if I'd run a marathon. The bed was unmade, and the covers thrown back. The bandage that had been wrapped around Marguerite's head lay discarded on the floor next to it. The strength which had carried me that far faded and my legs began to fold. Challenger and Malone caught me before I could fall, and laid me out on the bed.
I tried to fight them, but I might as well have been a child for all the strength I had left. The room seemed to sway around me, as I finally lay back exhausted. I could just about hear the others talking over the rushing sound in my ears.
"What's wrong with him, Challenger? Some sort of drug? Fever?"
"I don't know. I'll have to run some tests. It could be a bout of Malaria I suppose. I'm sure he's had it in the past, but I don't like the coincidence that he's fallen ill at the same time that Marguerite's gone missing."
"I'll have a look around outside, see if I can make out any sort of trail or if there are any signs of a struggle."
"Good idea, Veronica, just be careful. If she was kidnapped and none of us heard anything, it was obviously by some unusually stealthy and probably very dangerous adversaries."
"I'll be careful."
"I'll go with you. There's not a lot I can do up here."
The voices faded as I drifted into sleep.
*********
I dreamed...
Seven huge wooden doors, blood seeping from between the grain, blood dribbling from the keyholes...
A faceless, hooded figure, a golden key held offered up in its outstretched hand...
Three tall women, crowned and robed as if queens of old, the glitter of countless jewels doing nothing to lift the chill aura that hung about them like shroud...
*********
It was dark when I awoke. Cautiously I opened my eyes, and noted with unashamed relief that the room stayed still. I could hear the faint, rhythmical sound of someone snoring quietly in the corner, in the chair where not so long before I'd watched over Marguerite.
Marguerite! She was missing, wasn't she? Or had I imagined that. It all seemed fuzzy: the fight with the apemen where she'd been hurt, carrying her back to the tree house, falling asleep watching over her. And then there were the nightmares whose origins or significance I couldn't begin to guess.
Through the moonlit gloom I could just about make out Malone's form slouched in the chair. He at least, it seemed, was sleeping soundly. Taking as much care as I could not to disturb him, I began to ease myself out of bed. The bed, however, did not co-operate in my efforts and audibly creaked as I moved. Quiet, it might have been, but it was still enough to rouse Malone from his slumber.
"Hey! You're awake!" I could hear the genuine relief and happiness in his voice and had to wonder why the simple act of my waking up could engender that level of emotion. It wasn't as if I'd come back from the dead or anything.
I stood up and stretched, easing out the stiffness in my back, then glanced over at Malone. "Evidently so," I agreed.
Malone rushed to the room's doorway and leaned out into the hall. "Veronica! Challenger! Roxton's woken up," he called. I looked at him in confusion of the fuss he was making about it.
Scant minutes later, Veronica and Challenger entered the room. "How do you feel?" asked Challenger, naked curiosity in his voice.
"I'm fine. A little peckish, but otherwise fine. Why do you ask, and for that matter, where's Marguerite?" The three of them exchanged worried glances as I finished, and I could feel the breath catch in my throat. "You haven't found her yet, have you. She's gone, isn't she?"
"John," began Challenger solicitously. "You might want to sit down."
"No, I damn well don't want to sit down! Tell me what's happened to Marguerite!"
"We're not really sure--"
"What the hell do you mean: 'we're not really sure'?" I cut in angrily. "You've had all day to look around and Veronica's one of the best trackers on the plateau. You must have found *something*." Silence stretched out and they looked uncertainly at each other again. "Well?" I prompted them tersely, trying to keep some sort of rein on my anger and worry.
It was Malone who finally spoke. "Roxton, you've been asleep for three days," he said quietly.
My anger evaporated into confusion as I sat back down on the bed. "What?" I breathed in stunned disbelief. "Three days? How?"
"I don't know," admitted Challenger. "I've run all the tests I could think of. Even made up a few. All of them came back the same: negative. I can find no scientific rationale for your having spent the past sixty hours essentially comatose." His rancour at such failure was as plain as the weariness I could see in his face. I knew how relentless Challenger could be in pursuit of knowledge and realised that he must have spent much of those sixty hours in his laboratory, searching fruitlessly for answers.
"What about Marguerite, though? What's happened to her?"
There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "Whatever it was, there was no sign anywhere of a struggle," replied Veronica evenly. "Nor any sign of any strangers in the tree house. I found her trail heading out into the jungle. I followed it for a couple of miles or so - there was no sign of her meeting anyone. It was so easy to follow: a straight line, no deviation. Wherever she was going, she knew exactly which direction to follow."
"Which direction?" I asked.
"Back towards where we were jumped by the apemen," Veronica went on. "And Roxton - when she left, she didn't take any gear with her: no weapons, no water, and no supplies. It was like she just got up from her bed and walked out."
"Why didn't you go after her?" I asked, not bothering to hide the dismay I felt at such an omission.
"I *did*," she retorted harshly, stung by the implied criticism that she had abandoned Marguerite. "By the time we were sure she wasn't anywhere in the tree house, she'd had several hours' head start. When I was a few miles out from the tree house, it began to rain: a real downpour. It lasted more than an hour. By the time it eased and I had a chance to look around, there was no sign left of a trail to follow."
"It was getting dark by the time Veronica got back," Challenger continued, "and you showed no signs of waking. We thought it best that if we were going back into apeman territory that we went at full strength. None of us had any idea that you would be out of it for so long."
I looked at him steadily for a while. He held my gaze; standing by a decision that both he and I realised was rationally the only one he could have made under the circumstances. Eventually I nodded my acquiescence that what he had done had been right. "How long until dawn?" I asked.
"About five hours," Veronica answered immediately, without recourse to a watch.
"Then everyone get some rest," I ordered. "We leave at sun up."
*********
Before the sun had cleared the tree line we were on our way, burdened with several days rations, medical supplies and well equipped with guns and ammunition. Whatever happened, we were not going to make the mistake of being caught unprepared.
Veronica confidently led us to where she had lost Marguerite's trail after the rain had hit. She was right: Marguerite's route from the tree house was taking us back to where we had been attacked only days before. We continued, alert for the slightest sound that could warn of danger and looking eagerly for any hint, any slight proof of Marguerite's passage.
Despite mine and Veronica's best efforts we found nothing. In the afternoon we passed the clearing where the apemen had originally ambushed us. After just the few days that had passed, little was left of the corpses except scattered bones; shreds of hide and churned up ground, scarred by raptors' claws as they fought over the feast. The jungle's scavengers did their work well. I had taken a moment to study the marks the raptors had left: none were recent enough for us to be too worried about.
We slept lightly that evening as if we hadn't spent a long day hiking through torrid jungle. I wondered about Marguerite, how she had coped, whether she had slept. I'd long been impressed with Marguerite's self- sufficiency, independence and determination, and hoped-- prayed that they were enough to see her through whatever was going on. We took watches through the night. For once none of us having any problems staying awake.
A little after noon the next day, Veronica called me over to where she was standing and pointed at the ground. "What do you make of that?" she murmured.
I crouched down and studied the patch of clear earth that lay half hidden from view by the remains of what had been the massive trunk of a long fallen tree. Laid out on the earth was a simple pattern made from a few sticks and two stones. "Some sort of hunting marker?" I hazarded.
"Hm. If it is, it's not one I'm familiar with. Look at it, though. Whoever marked it out did it recently - no more than a few days ago or that rain storm would have washed it away."
I nodded and stood up. "Well, it means there's certainly someone else around here other than apemen. Any ideas who it might be?" I looked at Veronica.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. Oddly, I haven't heard of any of the tribes I'm familiar with living in this part of the jungle. Perhaps there's some sort of local taboo or something that keeps most of them away..." Her voice trailed off, as if she was thinking about something else.
"Okay. We'll continue on. Everyone stay alert."
I don't know if it was my imagination, but the jungle seemed to be getting heavier, more oppressive somehow. The undergrowth had become denser, the ground wetter and the temperature hotter. Tendrils of steam drifted amongst moss cover boughs, hung with endless loops of vines. We were all on edge, starting at the slightest sound that might have warned of danger.
"What the..?" Exclaimed Malone softly as he pushed aside the fronds of a huge fern. Behind it was a lump of stone of barrel-like proportions. It was crudely carved to resemble an only vaguely anthropomorphic depiction of a squatting figure. His initial shock quickly overcome, Malone looked at it with interest. "Seem familiar to anyone?" he asked.
"I can honestly say we've never been introduced," I answered with an attempt at a smile.
"There are some similarities to certain Meso-American styles of sculpture that I can see," began Challenger. "The depiction of the face seems particularly reminiscent of Olmec statuary... Fascinating!"
"I'm sure I've seen it before," murmured Veronica.
"Where?" asked Challenger curiously, his comparisons with Meso-American sculpture immediately dropped.
"In one of my Father's journals. I remember seeing a drawing of it, or something very much like it." Her eyes grew distant as she thought back, trying to remember any more details.
I looked back at the statue and pushed away some more of the fern that had hidden it. Malone came over to lend a hand and in less than a minute it was clear. We both took a couple of steps back to get a clearer view of it. It was truly grotesque. "Ugly looking chap, don't you think?" I commented quietly to Malone. He snorted in amused agreement.
Challenger crouched down to study the statue while Malone got out his notebook to make a quick sketch. I turned my attention back to the jungle, my rifle in my hands. I suddenly *knew* there was something out there, that we were being watched. Veronica caught the change in my stance and was immediately on the alert. Seconds later the others were on their feet.
I felt a sting on my upper arm, glanced down and noticed the splinter of wood sticking out of it. I reached up and pulled it out. It was difficult, and my arms seemed impossibly heavy. I looked up and watched as from the undergrowth a number of pale, grey-white figures emerged carrying spears and blowguns. I tried to bring my rifle to bear, but it had become a struggle just to keep hold of it - a struggle that I quickly lost. From the corner of my eye I saw that Challenger had collapsed to his knees. Malone had staggered a few paces but was losing the fight to stay upright.
Then from somewhere nearby I heard Veronica speaking. "Kothoga. They're the Kothoga."
I dimly noticed that I was no longer standing, that the jungle was darkening around me. I wanted to ask Veronica to tell me more, to tell me who the Kothoga were, but however hard I tried to speak, I somehow couldn't. All I could manage was an inarticulate: "Wha'?"
Apparently it was enough. "Ghosts," she explained faintly as my vision faded to black. "They're ghosts."
To be continued...
A/N:
Kudos to anyone who can work out where I borrowed the name for the Kothoga from. (And for the record - I don't own anything to do with them either.)