Thomas and Osman slept in the stinger as it soared beneath the starry sky. The waning moon shone a white glow across the thrashing waves beneath the stinger. As the Stinger neared the coast, Osman began to awake. He tried to wake himself by staring out the window and slapping his cheek but found it no use. He sparked a cigarette; the flick of the lighter woke Thomas.
“Where are we?” Thomas snorted as he jolted up and banged his head on the roof of the stinger. He slowly sat back down as he rubbed the top of his head.
“We just crossed into Estria, we gotta stop to refuel soon but after that we’ll be in the sky all day.” Osman groggily replied still rubbing the dust out of his eyes.
“We finally going after Wyatt?” Thomas gleefully asked, his eyes glimmering as he spoke.
“In a way,” Osman flatly replied still focused on the sky in front of them. The rising sun began to slowly fill the cab with light. Thomas yawned as he stretched out in his chair, kicking his feet up on the dash in front of him.
“What’s that mean?” he asked as he closed his eyes upon finding a comfortable spot in the chair with.
“No one’s seen Wyatt in three years, there’s a chance he bit it out on the lam.” As Osman spoke, Thomas’ eyes rocketed opened, and he slowly sat up in his chair facing the old man.
“We are gonna go find a tracker, I got a couple of mementos from the old gang. They’ll lead us to Wyatt himself or to one of those guys who should know.” Osman continued.
“What if they don’t know where Wyatt is? And what if we can’t find him?” Thomas asked, his voice quickly consumed by his own fears.
“Don’t worry, Wyatt is alive I can feel it. I’m sure he’s kept in touch with his old gang, they’re all outlaws themselves now too. Some of ‘em have gone and made quite the name for themselves, no way he isn’t using them behind the scenes.” Osman reassuringly said to Thomas as he turned to face him, he extended out his pack of smokes, but Thomas declined. He fished in his jacket pocket and found the fresh pack he had gotten at the dilapidated hut in the jungle. He sparked a cigarette and smoked as he watched the magnificent landscapes pass beneath them.
Thomas faded in and out of sleep as the morning passed. Waking up for the longest when they landed to refuel. Thomas exited the stinger to see a large city made of sandstone at the edge of a vast sea of sand. The massive desert stretched across most of the continent, with civilizations dotted around the edges of it like algae at the banks of a river.
The desert city sported very different architecture to what Thomas had seen in the Spice Kingdoms or Palacia. The many square buildings often donned small sandstone domes as roofs. Detailed columns and pillars marked the corner of every building, often portraying some kind of religious depiction on them. Bright blue and yellow stone lined the trim of the buildings, creating a uniform sense of color across the city. The many windows of the buildings had intricate stained glass windows.
The sun directly overhead, heated the city like it was the center of an oven. The scorching sands of the desert refracted light making a wavy appearance within them. Sweat began to form on Thomas’ forehead as he stepped out into the arid hangar. The dry heat sucked the moisture from the young man’s body, evaporating his sweat as fast as he could form it.
The hangar Thomas found himself in, sat at the edge of the city just before the sea of dunes. Thomas noted the wide variety of peoples he saw scrambling about the hangar. Many people wore large white robes that extended down to their ankles, with detailed headpieces of cloth that stretched down from their heads over their shoulders. Thomas noted many slaves within the hangar as well, often following their owners in chains or carrying them through the bustling hangar. Fair skinned people, dark skinned people, tan skinned people, all had slaves. The slaves looked just like the ones from the Spice Kingdoms, very dark skinned and covered in scars.
“Slaving is big here; this is one of the first port cities beyond the Slavelands.” Osman said to Thomas as he filled the stinger with fuel from a large tanker. He held a large hose that was inserted into the back of the stinger from the large tanker, pumping gallons of fuel per second into the stinger.
“We’re near the Slavelands?” Thomas asked shakily, thinking of the vision he had seen of Calamity’s childhood.
“Couple hundred miles, we aren’t going that far south. Madibya is only about a hundred from here. We made pretty good time.” Osman replied as the hose stopped with a loud clunk sound.
“Madibya? That’s the clan ruled country?” Thomas asked as Osman removed the hose from the stinger and closed the open hatch on it. He hung the hose nozzle back into the tanker before turning back to Thomas.
“Tribal. Tribes are different than clans, at least to them. One tribe rules half the country through its monarchy, the other half of the nation is locally controlled by four different tribes.” Osman said as the two entered the stinger. He began to flip the switches on the control panel and slowly walked the stinger out into the take-off bay. It quickly ascended into the sky and began to soar over the massive mountains of sand.
“They have formal alliances with the ruling tribe, agreeing to vassalage as long as they are left to themselves. One of those tribes is known for their tracking abilities, we gotta pay one to come with us,” Osman finished as he punched the jet controls and the stinger lurched forward at astonishing speed.
The stinger continued on towards the marshy jungles of Madibya, a country filled with strife. Deep within those damp jungles, lies a small village of maybe forty inhabitants. They are a small clan of the Ba’ktur, the tribe known worldwide for their tracking capabilities. The village is made up of a series of small huts, surrounding a large communal firepit. The inhabitants wear little clothing, men cover their genitals with small loincloths and women wear tight clothing over their breasts and small skirts made of leaves hang off their hips. They sport stone age weapons, spears, and bows. Their dark skin resembles that of the scarred slaves, as does their hair.
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Within the village, a young man swiftly follows a young woman as she storms off into the wet jungle marshes. She slings a bow around her shoulder as the young man catches up and grabs hold of her arm. She wears a quiver over her other shoulder, it contains a vast array of arrows with vibrant feathers on the ends.
“Sal’é, don’t be stubborn. Your farauta will come in time, do not rush yourself into danger,” the young man pleaded as he pulled the girl towards him. She pulled away and continued back further into the jungle.
“Ngozi, I must do this myself. The elders doubt my ability, I will prove my worth when I return with a Zaki bigger than yours,” Sal’é hissed back at the young man as she pointed the large cat skull over Ngozi's right shoulder. She continued on into the jungle, leaping into the trees and disappearing into the canopy.
Ngozi stood and watched as Sal’é disappeared, his eyes never leaving her until she was out of view. She delved further into the wet marshes of the jungle. Being raised in the tribe she was, Sal’é developed a keen sense of energies from a young age. She could feel the thousands of energies within the jungle around her, acutely sensitive to each and every one of them.
As the sun lowered, the canopies of the jungle began to trap more and more light from getting through, darkening the jungle floor beneath them. Sal’é kept up through the canopies, rising as the sun set to stay within the light. Eventually she found herself at the edge of the dense jungle, overlooking a wet marshland that fed into a large open savanna. Sal’é crouched on a large branch of one of the massive jungle trees, staring out into the savanna beyond. She closed her eyes and began to feel for her target. She felt the gazelle and the zebras drinking at the marshlands, the hippos bathing beneath the mud, yet she could not find a Zaki.
Zaki are the kings of the savanna, large cats that hunt in female led prides only for the males to feed off the hunt. Within the Ba’ktur, a male Zaki is a sign of confidence and power in a hunter. To get to one means to have passed his elite guard of females, and to still win the battle with the male. The males sport exquisite manes that many distinguished Ba’ktur warriors wear to signify their strength.
Sal’é wanted to distinguish herself as the strongest female warrior in her clan, no in her whole tribe. She wanted the story of her farauta to be heard by all the young girls across the clans. A story of how she killed a great beast was sure to last generations. She was patient, she knew the Zaki hunted at night. To find a male one must track the females back to him. A Zaki hunt was no easy task, it was a brutal struggle between man and beast that could last for days. If the Zaki became aware of a person’s presence, it could mean death. The hunter must never give away their presence.
The young woman waited in that tree as the sun finished setting, and darkness was cast across the land. Sal’é could feel a few new presences approaching from the savanna. The sharp prick of their energy told her they were predators, but they’d have to get closer for her to know if they were Zaki.
Slowly the energies neared, there was at least five of them. Sal’é waited patiently, staying keenly aware of the approaching energies. She attempted to use her eyes to locate the source of the energies, but it was too dark for her to make anything out. She could feel the energies as they neared the edge of the savanna into the marshland.
As the energies entered the marshes, they disappeared one by one until there was no energy for Sal’é to feel at all. Alarmed at the sudden disappearance and the chance that somehow the Zaki noticed her, Sal’é began sliding down the trunk of the tree. She hit the ground and began racing back into the jungle.
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Sal’é heard a fast whistling zip past her and saw an arrow stuck deep into the trunk of a tree in front of her. She turned to hear another whistling, which stopped as an arrow pierced through her shoulder knocking her to the ground. Sal’é attempted to remove her own bow but the pain of her new wound jolted down her arm into her fingers. She screamed out in pain as she let go of her bow and slumped further to the ground.
Sal’é heard the approaching footsteps of multiple people, slowly their energies appeared again, the same sharp energies she had felt approaching minutes before. Five men neared Sal’é as she unsheathed a knife hung around her waist. She madly swung the knife at the men while she hissed at them. One of the men kicked the knife out of her hand before kicking her in the jaw.
The pain rocked the young woman’s skull, making her vision blur. Sal’é slowly stumbled up and began to try to crawl away from the men in a last desperate attempt at escape. The men walked and followed her until she eventually collapsed. One of the men threw a heavy net over Sal’é, trapping her on the ground. She writhed and fought the net to no avail as she further its wrap around her. The men picked Sal’é up and tied the net around her ankles and her wrists before carrying her back towards the marshland from where they came.
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Thomas and Osman exited the stinger after landing it in the quiet hangar. They had finally arrived in a city in Madibya, the first step to their journey to get a tracker for Wyatt. After retrieving their bags from the storage area, they set out from the small bay.
“The jungle is much too thick where the tribe we are looking for lives, we got to go the rest of the way on foot.” Osman said as he sparked a cigarette. He tossed the keys to a scarred man standing aside the hangar and held up both his hands.
“We’ll be back in ten days, don’t touch her,” Osman called out to the man as the two lawmen slowly exited the bay.
The hot humid air of the lush jungle filled the city too. Its tall glass buildings reflecting the beaming sunlight. The skyscrapers reached far into the sky, standing out in the yellow savanna that surrounded it. Many cars and automobiles filled the streets of the small city. Passerby filled the streets, while many aircraft could be seen flying in and out of the city’s many hangars.
“The east is very modernized; it is the first major trade point beyond the Slavelands.” Osman spoke as the lawmen left the hangar. Osman flagged down a horse-drawn carriage. He paid the driver before he and Thomas jumped into the back of the wagon.
“Slavers and traders alike set up tons of markets and auction houses in the cities of the East. The west is a lawless jungle, with scattered villages.” The old man continued as he leaned back in the wagon.
The bumpy road jostled Thomas around while he sat, he held the sides of the wagon tightly so not to be completely thrown around. The wagon followed a road out of the city and into a large savanna. The road eventually turned to nothing more than a thin dirt trail in the knee high grasses. The yellow grass stretched out for miles in every direction from the city.
“I thought you said it was jungle and marshes.” Thomas muttered as he stared at the sea of yellow. The occasional trees were scattered throughout the savanna, like they had to stay far away from one another.
“The east is a big savanna. That savanna feeds into the marshes that surround the jungles of the west. It’ll take us a day or so to get deep enough.” Osman gruffly said as he sparked a cigarette.
“Where are we gonna sleep?” Thomas asked as he turned to the old man.
“We’ll find a spot and set up camp.” The old lawman replied monotonously.
The wagon traveled through the savanna for the rest of the day, the sun beating down on the two lawmen as they rode. Thomas used his hat to shield him from the sunlight before giving it to Osman to shield his bald head from burning.
They each smoked about ten cigarettes before Osman finally whistled to the wagon driver. The man halted his horses, allowing Osman and Thomas to get off and remove their bags before nodding his head at them and continuing on the trail. Thomas turned away to stare out at the edges of the once endless savanna.
Thomas could see the marshlands, flat lands with little to no trees but covered with standing water and reeds. The marshes stretched for a few hundred meters until it reached a large jungle.
Massive trees stretched far into the sky, mimicking the skyscrapers from the city. The trees cast a giant shadow across the savanna as the sun set behind them. The canopies trapped all that was left of the sunlight from reaching down into the jungle, leaving the lawmen no sight within.
“We’ll get to the edge of the jungle and set up camp,” Osman said as he tightened the strap on his bag and trudged onwards. Thomas nodded before following the old man. They walked to the edge of the savanna before beginning their wade through the muddy marshes.
Osman lead, forcibly kicking his foot up with each step before slamming it back down in the mud. Thomas could feel the marsh attempt to hold him in place with every chance it got. He pushed on, raising his foot from the mud with as much strength as his legs could muster. It was a treacherous walk for the men. They panted as they walked, ultimately barely moving through the mud.
In just five minutes they were no closer to the jungle then they were to the banks they had entered in from. Osman still pushed on; Thomas still followed. The men fought through the mud grabbing hold of every stray branch or vine to help pull themselves along. By the time the sun had finished setting, Osman was just making his way to the edge of the jungle, Thomas just behind him.
Osman set his bag down and began fishing through it before removing a tent. He and Thomas set the large tent up before each removing a sleeping bag from their bags.
“Get some rest boy, I’ll take first watch.” Osman softly said as he sat down on a small stump. He lit a cigarette as Thomas climbed into the tent. Thomas passed out quick, the grueling walk through the mud had taken it out of him.
Osman stared out into the savanna, waiting patiently for the watching energies to show themselves. They never crept closer to the lawmen, but Osman felt their presence all night. He forgot to wake Thomas; he was too focused on who was following them. By the time the sun began to rise, the energies faded, and Osman finally retreated into the tent. He woke Thomas and went to sleep still keenly focused on those energies he had felt.
Osman woke around noon, Thomas was out in the marshes practicing his breathing technique he had learned from Kang’e. Osman found the boy had already folded and packed his bag, his excitement bleeding out into his actions. Osman packed up his bag and the tent before waving Thomas back over to him.
“The village shouldn’t be too far from here. Maybe an hour or so walk into the jungle,” Osman called to the young man as he approached. Thomas simply nodded and the two set out into the jungle. They weaved over the thick roots that covered the ground, while gliding in and out of the hanging vines and creepers. The massive canopies of the jungle cast a dark shadow across the jungle floor, only the occasional beam of sunlight made it all the way through.
The humidity worsened as they got deeper, layers of water sticking to the men’s skin as they walked. The wet air was blistering hot, almost scorching the men’s lungs with each breath. The birds of the jungle sung in a great symphony, each hitting notes and tones just an octave or so away from the last bird’s song. The apes high in the trees above zoomed through the branches screaming and howling at one another as they did.
Thomas could feel the energies of everything around him. He was amazed at how much life there was in such a small jungle. Thomas felt at peace within that mass of energies, like he was just another piece of a bigger entity.
The lawmen delved deeper into the jungle, occasionally Thomas could pick up human energies, but they were faint.
“You feel them too?” Osman asked the young man.
“Yea we must be getting close,” Thomas eagerly replied. Osman nodded and pushed harder, walking faster and swifter. Thomas kept right behind the old man, making sure as to not lose track of the old man’s energy.
Eventually the two men came across a series of wooden effigies in the forest. Wooden sticks carved and tied together to resemble men were hung up by the dozens from the branches of the trees. Thomas reached out to one and as he touched it, he was awoken to a few dozen human energies just ahead in the jungle.
“Osman, I found them! They’re up there,” Thomas yelled out as he raced ahead towards the source of the energies. Thomas burst from the jungle into a small clearing with multiple small huts and a communal firepit. He stopped as he leapt into the clearing, and he held his hands straight up as a group of men held their spears facing the young lawmen.
Osman eventually appeared from the jungle as well and managed to calm the men down by offering them coins. The people of the village were dark skinned, much like the scarred slaves, they had similar hair too but no scars.
The village chief, a large man with long braided hair and an intricate headpiece of a Zaki skull, approached them.
“Lawmen hold no power in this jungle, state the reasoning behind your unannounced visitation,” the chief boomed as he puffed his chest out to the lawmen.
“We need a tracker, I hear your tribe is the best there is,” Osman flatly replied. He fished in his bag before removing a small bag of coins.
“I’ll pay but I want the best you have,” he continued. The chieftain stared at the coin purse before visibly contemplating Osman’s offer.
“We are not slavers, I cannot promise you the service of any of my people. I can point you in the direction of our best tracker, but the decision lies with him,” The chieftain loudly responded, clearly speaking so that the entire village could hear his words. Osman nodded and the chieftain waved them to follow him.
The lawmen followed the chieftain to the edge of the village. He pointed to a large tree that sat in a small clearing alone.
“He is beneath that tree, much luck to you,” the chieftain boomed before bowing to the lawmen and returning to the village. Osman and Thomas approached the tree, finding a lone man sitting on the other side.
He wore a small Zaki skull over his right shoulder, and the mane of it around his neck. His waistband held many daggers, and he had a bow and a quiver slung around his back. The young man, who was no older than Thomas, looked up at the two lawmen approaching him. His eyes were red and puffy, tears still running down them.
“Are you a tracker?” Osman asked the young man. He held out his hand to the sitting man.
“I’m Osman, this is Thomas,” he said as the young warrior shook his hand. Thomas waved awkwardly at the young man as he shook Osman’s hand.
“I’m Ngozi,” the young man replied softly.
“Why are you crying?” Osman asked Ngozi, crouching down to meet him at eye level.
“My sister, she’s been missing for three days now. She left on a spirit hunt, but no one has found a trace of her.” Ngozi started as he began crying profusely.
“Is that sort of thing common out here?” Thomas asked. Ngozi and Osman turned to face him, Osman visibly angry.
“Slavers kidnap my people all the time, most of the world cannot tell us apart, so we are easily kidnapped from our homes and sold into slavery. I fear Sal’é was captured by some.” Ngozi wept.
“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Osman cooed as he rested his hand on Ngozi’s shoulder.
“We’ll save your sister, we are lawmen.” Osman continued. He stood up and backed away from Ngozi.
“But we need a tracker, I think you can help. That sound like a deal?” He finished. Ngozi’s eyes lit up, he swiftly crawled to Osman and grabbed ahold of his pantleg.
“Please I will do anything just please return Sal’é home. It’s all that I ask.” Ngozi choked on his tears before catching his breath and slowing his breathing. His eyes, still lit with excitement, danced across the clearing towards the edge of the village.
“I will show you where she left to go hunt,” He continued as he stood up and began racing out of the village.