Chapter 11: Well Past The Point

"My sister was bitten by a dragon and you didn't think it important to tell me?" It was phrased as a question, but Elizabeth was all but yelling.

Darcy had been affronted. "Excuse me Miss, but as I recall, you didn't even know of the existence of dragons until this morning. Dragon, ogre, or troll, the information would have made little difference to you."

"How can you be so arrogant? She is my sister, not yours, and you should have been honest."

That blow stung badly. "She is your sister, and yet, I have been the one protecting her for the last three days and counting. Given your family's inability to rise to the occasion, we shall trust my judgment, including when and what information will be shared," he said coldly.

"You lied!"

"On the contrary, your village chose to believe that an ogre bit Lydia, and I did not correct them."

Elizabeth had scoffed. "Of course, I forgot what pleasure you seem to derive from keeping the truth to yourself. I can't believe I ever fell for a man like you."

Darcy had frozen. "I beg your pardon?"

"We knew each other years past. Unfathomably, we were in love. You may have tried to hide it when we met, but I remember enough now. And you still couldn't be honest with me, if for no other reason, then at least in respect of our shared past."

He had laughed bitterly, using anger to mask his hurt. "You toy with me. You expect me to respect a past that you have no inkling of. You want me to risk my life – risk all our lives – telling you secrets that are beyond your comprehension, and for what? For respect of a past that I feel and you use as a bargaining hold."

Elizabeth had bristled. "You think I am a little child who cannot understand? Well, perhaps I would understand as well as you if you treated me as an equal! And I do have more than an inkling! I remember…I remember the little yellow flowers…and walking through a market wearing your green cloak…and…"

"Remember? Remember? Aye, indeed, you remember. You remember fragments of things that hold no meaning for you. You can remember everything, but what use is that when you feel nothing? Perhaps you remember that boatmen look for a bond of so love so strong that it shines out from your soul, not for the recitation of a story."

"I…"

"Please, Miss Elizabeth, I've heard quite enough. This is about your anger at being helpless in the face of danger to your sister, your frustration with your father, and your inability to take charge. This not about you and I and any past we may have shared. A past you remember only smidgeons of, a past you feel nothing of. Bigger the fool I, risking my life to bring you comfort. Tomorrow I deliver you to the monastery and then we part, and that cannot happen a moment too soon."

Darcy winced as he recalled the argument.

He was almost blind with exhaustion at this point. He couldn't remember the last time that he had slept; after they had rescued Lydia, he and Charles and taken turns keeping watch, afraid that the villagers would do something catastrophic to Lydia during the night. Now with Wickham prowling about, Darcy knew that he could not risk sleep, even if Wickham seemed to have been shocked into silence.

Grave being dug, Darcy had made sure they hiked further north before securing a safe spot to camp for the night.

After the fight with Elizabeth, he had forced Wickham to walk with him to find firewood. He needed to get away, and could hardly leave Wickham alone with the women.

"What it did look like?"

Darcy looked at Wickham morosely.

"The dragon," Wickham clarified, with an expression that said it should have been obvious.

"It was in infancy. A vicious little creature, something the size and shape of a cockerel, though with no beak or feathers. It attacked with teeth and claws, all the time letting out a shrill squawking. It had a tail, and that alone was as strong as a half-grown wolf. Maybe like a plucked chicken, though with the head of a serpent."

Wickham nodded, awe-struck. "How did it attack Lydia? Did you see? Where did it come from?"

Darcy shook his head. "I have no idea. She was already injured when we found her. I suspect the ogres found the creature wandering away from its den and just took it."

"Then Querig…"

"Querig is disturbed. Surely, you sense it," Darcy said. He may not like Wickham, but couldn't deny the advantage of Wickham's cunning mind.

Wickham scratched his head in contemplation. "The slight recovering of memories in those around us…Querig is disturbed and so the mist is disturbed…Darcy, this bodes very ill."

"Of course. It is a matter of time before she goes on the warpath, in search of her offspring, and then…"

"…and then she will kill everything and everyone she comes across," Wickham completed. "Unless you kill her first."

"Yes, unless that."

"Darcy, I will help you. We can escape. We can make it out of here before it is too late!"

"Wickham," he said tiredly. "Surely even you realise that it is well past that point? Querig is going to be turned on the people, through the search for her offspring or through Brennus. Saxons will not be spared either way. Someone has to kill her, and kill her soon."

Wickham paused to think. "That old fool Bennet must know?"

"I can't see how he wouldn't. He cannot be so addled as to not recognise the bite, which he clearly saw. He fought with Arthur."

"And?"

"And, as you can well see, he took off to Brennus' camp without a word. He either takes me for a fool, or my knowledge does not make him pause to wonder. Whichever it is, he also cares not one jot to protect his daughter. I do not trust him." Of course, Darcy did not trust Wickham either, but at least he knew why he couldn't trust Wickham.

"Did you kill the creature?"

"No, that would have unleashed Querig's wrath like no other. The creature gets killed after we deal with Querig, not before."

"Where is it? Why did you not bring it with you?"

"I can hardly travel with it, with no way to control or disguise it! Besides, it would attack Lydia again, or try to. Charles and I could not keep the two anywhere near. I remember those stink-filled ogres…they had fashioned a rickety cage wherein they carried it. Lydia must have gotten too close and been bit at least twice, I imagine. Maybe the ogres also had been bit, but they were too demented to realise it. The more I think, the more I think the ogres were contaminated somehow. They must have been bit."

"Where is it?" Wickham repeated.

"In the Great Plain. Charles and I reinforced the cage the best we could, and then further hid it. Under the guise of reinforcing the village, Charles was to put together a stronger, iron cage to put the current one within."

"That's why he isn't here!"

"Yes. We cannot leave Lydia back there. We cannot have the creature travel with her. One of us has to ensure the creature remains imprisoned, and one of us has to deliver Lydia and slay Querig."

Wickham raised his eyebrow. "Or die trying."

Darcy remained silent.

"I have an idea."

"Yes?"

"In exchange for a full pardon – I trust I will have your word of honour?"

Darcy knew that he should not make bargains with the devil, but he also knew that he was on extremely dangerous terrain with not a single ally. "If your plan works, you have my word."

"Good enough for me," Wickham said. "I will travel back and tell Bingley what has happened so far. He will come with the creature. The creature will give you the edge you need; Querig will be distracted."

"That is too dangerous a plan; Querig will be unpredictable with the creature nearabouts. Also, we do not know where Querig is, and travelling with that creature along the countryside is a risk I will not take."

"It takes an animal to find an animal."

Darcy looked at Wickham, his mind briefly coming alive with a new idea. "The monastery is on top of the mountain. I will have the help I need once there to know which direction to travel to find Querig," Darcy said. He looked at Wickham, waiting to see if the other man's mind would have reached the same conclusion.

"The animal I can bring to you is a safer bet than the animal you have."

"But a far more dangerous companion; no Wickham, there is no plan, and therefore no pardon. But on the bright side, I have determined to not kill you in the light of day."

"He is so handsome, is he not?" Lydia said dreamily, staring at Wickham, who was turning over fish he had caught over a small fire.

Darcy rolled his eyes, but mustered enough self-control to not look at Elizabeth. He marvelled at how quickly Lydia had forgotten Wickham's rejection of her. He almost admired it.

"This is what being in love must feel like…I am in love!" Lydia moaned dramatically, and this time Darcy scoffed openly. As if this girl knew anything about love, he thought. She was nothing but a wayward child who knew nothing of the world.

"You laugh at me," Lydia said accusingly. "Maybe that's because you're just a lonely man who's never been in love and will always be alone."

"Hush, Lydia, that's enough," Elizabeth said quietly.

"We're all alone," Darcy said, looking at Lydia, but truly speaking to Elizabeth. "If not now, then later. We're all born alone and will die alone. Love is like a wind; it'll blow past you violently making you think you've been lifted up by it, but eventually it's going to fade away elsewhere, leaving you just as you were…alone."

"That's not true!"

"It's joy and fun and love and excitement first, like when a fair travels through your village, but then one day it's all gone, and all that's left is sadness. Everything ends, Lydia, sooner or later. Birds sing, flowers bloom, and then they too die. This is what living is. Everyone believes themselves to be in love at some point. And when that love you believed in leaves, when the heartbeat fades, all that's left is heartache and loneliness. Always."

Darcy could feel Elizabeth's eyes bore into him, but he ignored her. Nothing he said was untrue. He had been young and stupid to believe that their love would move beyond all fronts, like magic. He should have realised, instead, that love was like a star, shinning bright but dying with the dawn. Remembering love was without meaning in the absence of feeling it. All this time, he had foolishly been bitter that Elizabeth could not remember. Real pain was to hear her speak of their past, with none of the feelings that should have been there.