Artavus Quill

The unidentified naked man never saw the strike that ended his suffering. The sickening thud of Felix’s club, combined with the wet crunch of bone against chitin and the lurching of limbs as the shock rippled through limp flesh, was enough to challenge even Felix’s stomach.

Felix stood over the lifeless corpse, examining the scene. He felt a little queasy after the act, but not remorseful or sad. Felix looked up, high above, toward the mouth of the ants’ cave.

“Well… guess we figured out who was in that other cocoon.”

At that, Felix felt something bordering on pity, knowing the terror of first emerging and imagining what the man’s last moments must have been like.

He likely refused the cocoon milk offering, tried to flee in a weakened state, and fell to his doom, his crippled body lying here until Felix happened upon him.

“That really fucking sucks. I’m sorry.”

Felix wondered who he was. The woman hadn’t looked familiar, and this guy was definitely unrecognizable.

He looked around.

“This was not in the brochure… umm…”

Felix tried to decide what he was expected to do in a situation like this. Barely clothed, carrying supplies he’d found hidden inside a tree after being pooped out by an ant, he’d stumbled across a dying man and granted him mercy. Was he supposed to bury the guy? Bring the body somewhere? Leave a note?

Felix knew what would happen if he simply walked away.

What if the man mattered to someone who came looking for him? A smashed-in skull would look incriminating, especially since the weapon was probably unique enough to identify.

“If I knew how far… or where…” Felix muttered.

“Fuck it.”

Felix whistled loudly.

A few ants passing near the edge of the forest turned toward him and started his way.

“Sorry about your luck,” Felix said to the corpse with a curt nod before turning to leave.

Behind him, he heard the tearing sounds as the ants reclaimed the remains. Without looking back, Felix continued walking toward the wisps of smoke he’d seen earlier.

The trees were massive, likely hundreds of years old, their trunks clad in thick moss. The forest floor was carpeted in millennia of peat, ferns, and decaying leaf litter. Fallen limbs lay scattered throughout the forest, making Felix’s progress slow and deliberate. He cautiously hopped over one downed trunk after another. Occasionally, the scraping, chittering, or cawing of some unseen creature would cause him to pause and soak in the majesty of the place. The air smelled elemental, rich with damp earth and living things, and vibrated with life just beyond his senses.

Light shone through gaps in the canopy, and by its angle Felix approximated that the day was just beyond noon. Without knowing the season, however, he couldn’t be certain of either the time or his heading. He found a small clearing where a broad column of sunlight reached the forest floor. Gathering a handful of dead sticks, he pushed them into the earth around the illuminated patch.

Keeping track of where he had set up his baby Stonehenge, he wandered the immediate area, searching for useful items. Within a few minutes, Felix found a small stand of what looked like young ash saplings. Using one of the obsidian blades, he sawed and hacked through a trunk about an inch and a half in diameter. He stripped the bark and branches from the stave, then trimmed the opposite end until the staff stood as tall as he did. Digging through his bag, he found the remaining leather cord. He split one end of the staff, inserted the butt of the obsidian blade into the cleft, and lashed it tightly in place. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

Returning to his crude sundial, Felix found the column of light had shifted noticeably. He marked the new position with another ring of sticks. Standing with one foot in each circle, he drew a line between them with the butt of his spear.

East.

West.

He rotated ninety degrees.

North.

South.

Comparing the line to the distant plume of smoke, he estimated it lay east-southeast of the ant colony.

Close enough.

Felix studied the surrounding trees and the shifting columns of light one last time, collected his equipment, slung his grappling hook over his shoulder, and set off at a hurried pace. His improvised compass suggested the afternoon was already well underway. He would either reach the smoke before sunset or be forced to make camp. The forest offered little in the way of food or fresh water, making the decision easy. If people lived there, there would likely be both.

At a light trot, Felix estimated he’d covered nearly three kilometers and should be nearing the source of the smoke. The forest, though lush and beautiful, was not a place he wanted to be caught after dark.

Abruptly, the ground fell away.

Felix skidded to a halt at the edge of a rocky precipice.

The treetops below spread outward in a living sea of green, teeming with birds and insects. Beyond them stretched an immense grassland reaching south to the horizon. A broad river wound through the center of the valley, while another mountain range rose in the distance.

The thing that drew his attention, however, was the thick column of smoke rising from the center of an opening beside the river.

Several thatched roofs poked through the low canopy, half hidden beneath the trees as though the village had grown around the forest instead of replacing it. At its center stood an open-sided cooking shelter. Beneath a broad stone slab, a wood fire burned steadily. The roof beams supported a myriad of fish hanging from cords, drying in the smoke and afternoon sun. South of the tiny settlement, along the river’s edge, stood a square framework of tall poles laced together with lines, functioning as an enormous drying rack.

Felix studied the perimeter of the homestead.

Hundreds of sharpened stakes jutted from the earth, angled outward toward the surrounding wilderness.