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“The way it’s done. I haven’t found knots like these ones anywhere in this world unless a ranger did them. We used a lot of similar traps in the southern lands.”
“Maybe someone else learned,” I suggest.
“True, but I doubt it. It’s like a signature. You can duplicate one if you want, but the original always seems to stand out, an indication of the world its creator came from.”
“What’s a signature?”
“It’s your name written on a paper in a way unique to you, so someone knows that you were the one who wrote it. That’s what we did back where I’m from.”
I pause and look at Wade hesitantly, unsure if I should seize the opportunity to push for more.
“What’s it like where you’re from?”
He turns away for a second, and I feel foolish, until he starts speaking again.
“Dry, like the canyons around Sanctuary without the lava. Not much of a home, but better than none.”
I feel for him and despise the strange magic that stripped him of his former life. We talked about it a couple days ago, about the world stone I carry with me. He doesn’t understand the forces that bring people and creatures across the stars and abandons them here any more than I do. That makes us similar in a way. We’re both exiles. We’re both survivors.
Beyond where we stand is a hill of rock, and Wade suggests that we climb to its top to get a better idea of where we are. The climb doesn’t end up leading to a peak, but instead to a wide fissure tunneling far beneath the surface of the marshes. Without water draining into it, the cave fades into darkness, and I tremble at the thought of what might dwell deep within.
“This is a place Yori would be,” Wade says quietly.
“Of course,” I lament, “right near the belly of the beast.”
We make our way down steep slopes, slipping and sliding on the dark, flaky rocks that fill the cusp of the cavern until we reach more passable areas below. Wade moves faster the further we go, perhaps excited at the prospect of finding his old comrade. After not
too long, we locate what has to be Yori’s place of residence, a crudely constructed shack built up against a wall of rock in a crevice partially hidden from view.
As Wade approaches the front door, he hovers his hand warily over the handle of his gun, but then a horrendous roar bellows from further down and pulls our attention back the way we came. The ground shakes and then stops several times as though the cave itself is taking deep, heavy breaths.
The tremors freeze me in place until Wade grabs my arm and pulls me toward the entrance to the shack. He swings the door open, and we duck inside, immediately turning around and locating a small opening through which we are able to see a limited amount of the cave. The quaking becomes stronger and louder each time until, at last, a monstrous beast appears.
The creature’s great size astounds me. Its head alone is several times as large as the unexpectedly spacious shack we are in and has the shape of an elephant’s, with several short, jagged tusks protruding from its jaw and a short trunk hanging in front it. Its skin looks darker, though, and rougher, almost like a black onyx, or thick glass that has become opaque and clouded.
As the creature continues to climb, the rest of its gargantuan body comes into view. It has four legs, the front two pawing before it like a lion or cat and gripping the rocky terrain to aid its ascent. The back ones also remind me of a cat, but bend even more closely together before springing and launching the whole beast up with great agility and force.
Last, its
tail swings behind it, like that of a lizard, but it curves with great flexibility as though it is a fifth limb that could protect it from behind. Of all the terrifying imaginations I had had of what lurked in the marshes, nothing could compare to what just flashed before us on its scramble to the surface.
“So you’ve come to join the hunt,” a deep, peculiarly accented voice resonates softly from behind us.
I turn stunned and discover a man of Wade’s height and stature gazing at us, presumably Yori. His outfit matches Wade’s in style, though it has been dirtied and tattered beyond repair, Yori’s skin revealed in many places where the fabric is torn and ripped. But only in attire are he and Wade alike.
The two of them share no other resemblances, eliminating the possibility that they are somehow related. Wade’s curly locks look even lighter against Yori’s dark, long hair and full, scraggly beard. He appears altogether much older than Wade, meaning he had to have started off with a good number of years under his belt since rangers supposedly don’t age much.
They stare at each other for a moment not saying anything. This is hardly the reunion I would have expected between two old friends. Then again, they probably share a history I couldn’t even begin to appreciate, so I decide to stay silent and not interrupt. Wade eventually speaks after the long pause.
“What makes you think I would come all this way for sport?”
“Well, you brought the bait,” he says, looking over at me with a small grin formed on the corner of his mouth.
I smile back.
“I wouldn’t take it as humor, Kaela,” Wade warns. “Yori has always been a little mad.”
Yori steps toward me speaking quickly, fervently.
