Soul Caller 1 - Chapter 37 (Patreon)

That night, as he rested, his mind continued to churn over the possible paths that the prospectors could take. There were two main passes in the mountains that would lead south. One was around fifty miles ahead of them, further along the path they were on, while the other was nearly one hundred miles to the east, and, as far as Merrick knew, had no path. Still, he did not discount the possibility that the prospectors would head in that direction, and in fact, he had a growing concern that the bearded prospector who he had lost track of was already heading that direction. Merrick's goal was to ensure that none of the prospectors made it back, and if he missed one, he would undo all of his efforts.

When he woke from his meditation the next morning, the sun had not yet risen, but Merrick packed all of his gear and cautiously moved through the forest, hoping to get a glimpse of the prospectors' camp. Climbing a small bluff on the side of the mountain, he caught sight of a faint haze in the air, recognizing it as smoke rising from a campfire. Without actually being able to see them, it was impossible to tell how many people were at the prospector’s camp, and a nagging doubt drove Merrick closer. Hiding his pack, he took his weapons and began to creep through the forest, approaching the spot where the campfire was burning and when he arrived a few hundred feet away he began to hear voices.

"I'm telling you, we're wasting our time. We need to move."

"After the march yesterday, I don't have any strength to move. If we don't eat, the mountains will kill us before that ambusher does."

"Who do you think it is?"

"Probably one of the other mining organizations. They don’t take kindly to Gorgon, especially after the fiasco over in Red Gulch.”

“Was that Gorgon? I heard it was Phillip and Co.”

“Nah, they just blamed it on them.”

“Will you two quit your yammering and hurry up with that stew? I'm starving."

“Shut it, Clyde. It’ll cook when it cooks.”

Hidden in the brush, Merrick frowned. He could only hear four different voices, and after creeping closer, he realized why. Of the nine prospectors that he had expected to see, only four remained in the camp, leaving five unaccounted for. Merrick's heart thumped in his chest. He had been hoping that the prospectors would stay together but judging by the size of the campfire and the lack of bedrolls, it was clear the other five prospectors were either moving in a different group or had already left camp.

He was now a mere seventy five feet away from them, and for a moment he considered taking a shot before a thought struck him. What if the prospectors were luring him in? As soon as the question crossed his mind, his senses began to tingle. Scanning the faces of the prospectors who were in the camp, he could see the clear nervousness on them. Though they kept their voices gruff, there was a slight tremble to their words, an undercurrent of fear that gave Merrick pause.

Slowly, the forest seemed to close in around him, as Merrick realized he had likely stumbled into a trap. There was no rule that said he was the only one who could stage an ambush, and he had no doubt that if he attacked, he would find his position riddled with shots a moment later. Realizing he was dealing with a mind as devious as his own, Merrick didn't move. Instead, he began to scan the surrounding forest, carefully looking for any positions where someone might be hiding. The forest was full of them, but he continued to wait, lying absolutely still, as he watched for any hidden figures. He could hear the birds above him, and an insect crawled across his hand, hopping down to the ground before merrily continuing on its way. Still, Merrick didn't move. Minutes ticked past as the prospectors continued to grumble. Finally, one of them stood up and looked around.

"This is a waste of time," he said. “No one is coming.”

"Hush. Joseph said we were to stay here and keep talking until he came back."

“Joseph can come and act as bait himself if he wants to,” the prospector snapped, causing one of the others to jump up and glare at him.

“You better shut your mouth if you don’t want it ripped off. If Joseph hears what you’re saying you’re a dead man.”

Spitting, the prospector returned the glare.

“I’m not scared of him. Who put him in charge anyway? He bosses us around like we work for him but we don’t!”

“Huh, keep up that talk and he’ll show you. I saw him gut a man once and leave him in the woods for the wolves to snack on.”

The gruesome threat seemed to scare the prospector, who frowned glumly. After a moment of silence, the forced conversation resumed as the prospectors waited for their food to finish cooking. Finally, after another ten minutes of waiting, Merrick saw something. Fifty feet from his position there was a figure behind a fallen log who had shifted, and as Merrick watched from the corner of his eyes, he saw part of a hand flashing in the early dawn light as the prospector scratched at the stubble on his cheek.

As carefully as he could, Merrick slid back across the ground, his body making no sound as he used his fingertips to support his weight. It took him a long time to retreat from his position, but he was confident no one had seen him and he began circling back around the prospector he had seen hiding under the log. He had not been able to spot anybody else, but this man seemed to be growing impatient, and Merrick caught sight of him a few more times, confirming his position. The fallen log that the prospector was hiding behind formed a barrier three feet high with a gap of a foot underneath it. It was in the gap the man hid, his rifle extended toward the camp, and his head under the log.

On silent feet, Merrick crept forward, and leaving his bow and rifle behind a tree, he gripped his spears tight. When he was a dozen feet from the man's back, he paused, his body blending in with the tree as he scanned the forest. He had confirmed that this was indeed a trap, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally get pulled into the middle of it by alerting everyone to his location. To avoid that, his kill would have to be silent. Asking for Snake's blessing in his heart, Merrick moved forward slowly, his weapons held ready.

He had seen the prospector occasionally look up, scanning the forest floor for any sign of an enemy, and Merrick waited until he repeated the action. When he did, Merrick struck with both of his blades, piercing into the prospector's body like the fangs of a snake. One spear slid into the side of the man's neck, while the other pierced through his back and into his lungs. Both strikes were instantaneous, and with a faint gurgle, the man died. Ignoring the experience notification, Merrick remained absolutely still, hidden behind the log. For a brief, tense moment, he waited for the sound of rifles, but nothing came. Silence stretched around him, before the birds, who had been startled by his sudden strike, resumed their songs as if nothing was wrong.

As swiftly as he could, Merrick took the man's rifle, and the pouch that he carried, before fading back into the forest. Retrieving his own weapons, he moved quietly through the woods, distancing himself from the camp as quickly as he could without making any noise. He could have continued to hunt the prospectors, but didn't like his chances. The bad feeling he had woken up with had been growing stronger, transforming from a faint disquiet, to a niggling worry. When he got to where his pack had been hidden, he began to hear indistinct shouting behind him, and knew that they had found the body of the prospector he had killed. Keeping his head down he focused on gaining as much distance from the camp as he could. He almost felt as if he was missing something, missing a piece of the picture, but he had no idea what it could be.

When he was about half a mile from the camp and higher up on the mountain, he stopped on a small overlook, watching the path down below. After waiting about forty-five minutes, he saw the straggling line of prospectors moving along the path once again. Carefully he counted them, frowning when he only came up with seven. There had been nine after his ambush the day before, and eliminating one more that morning left eight. Yet once again, the bearded prospector who had led the group was gone.

Merrick didn't move from his position as he watched the prospectors trudging down the path. The rocky terrain had evened out and they were no longer climbing quite as much. Instead, the path wound over and around sharp ridges speckled with large stones and scattered trees. The mountain terrain was becoming less hospitable the higher they got, and Merrick watched as a few of the prospectors struggled at the back of the group. Spotting the prospector with the bright red hair, he saw him limping, continually dropping behind the others.

When they were nearly out of sight, Merrick picked up his weapons, including the extra rifle that he had gotten in the forest below, and began to move. He took a path through the woods, running parallel to the winding mountain path that the prospectors were on, his mind working the entire time. The fastest way to stop the seven prospectors was to engage them in a direct fight, but that was also the most dangerous. Yet every moment he spent following them made it more unlikely that he would be able to catch up with the bearded man, if indeed he was taking another path.

Staying low as he came up over a ridge, Merrick was careful not to expose himself. He still had a lingering feeling that something was wrong, and a moment later he heard the sharp retort of a rifle in the distance. His head snapped up and he dropped to the ground, his eyes scanning the horizon. Birds flew from the forest in the distance, allowing him to locate where the shot had come from. It was followed by a further volley, and Merrick decided to get closer to see what was going on.

He was separated from the prospectors by a stand of tall trees, and he began to quickly weave his way through them, making sure to keep himself as hidden as possible. It took him a while to arrive at the location of the fight, and when he got there, the prospectors were all gone. Clear signs on the ground indicated that they had fled deeper into the mountains. Further along the path near a small stand of trees, he found two dead bodies, the wounded red-haired prospector, and another man, whose face and chest had been caved in.

At first Merrick thought it might be a bear, but there was no corpse around. And then he smelled the stench, his mind racing as he realized what it was. The enemy that he had seen in the warrior's memories, and the skin he had found outside of the village. A strange feeling of danger began to grow in Merrick's heart as he surveyed the scene. It appeared that the prospectors had been ambushed by these strange creatures, two of their number dying almost instantly, before the attackers were driven off by a volley of blasts. He could see where the rifle shots had ripped through the foliage, striking rocks and tree trunks, leaving deep burn marks.

The thought that the enemy could be in the forest had never occurred to Merrick, and now he grew solemn, his mind churning over what he knew about them. There wasn't much to go on, only brief snapshots from his memory. Hearing another shot echoing in the distance, Merrick turned to go, before a slight sound drew his attention. He spun, his rifle lifted. There, on the other side of the path, he saw the bearded prospector, holding a rifle that was trained on his chest. The two men stared at each other, both frozen in surprise. Noticing the rifles that Merrick carried, it didn't take the prospector long to realize that Merrick was the one who had been attacking them. Deep anger flared in his eyes, but he remained absolutely still, not wanting to risk getting shot. At this range, exchanging fire would mean instant death for both of them.

"Who are you?" he asked, first in the language of the strangers, then repeating himself in a mangled version of Merrick's language. "You, what tribe?"

"Sky Mountain tribe," Merrick replied, quickly following up with a question of his own. "Who sent you to my lands?"

A faint crease appeared between the prospector's eyes as he tried to understand the question.

"This land free, not yours."

Slowly, Merrick shook his head.

"All this land is mine," he said, “from the mountains to the far canyon. You are not welcome here."

Suddenly, a sound in the bushes off of the trail caught their attention, and for a tense moment, they stared at each other, unwilling to take their eyes off of the other. Suddenly, the bushes shook and a prospector burst from them, gasping for breath.

"Joseph, Joseph, there are scaled beasts in the mountains."

For a split second, the prospector looked at his companion who had burst from the woods. And when his gaze returned to the road, Merrick was gone. Taking the opportunity when the prospector looked away, Merrick had leapt into the bush, landing silently on his hands as he bounded across the ground, sliding behind a tree. Making sure to keep the thick trunk between himself and the prospectors, he quickly ran deeper into the woods, his feet making no sound on the soft ground. He could have risked taking a shot, but didn't trust his ability to get out of the way of the return fire that would have inevitably come.

Clearly, the bearded man's name was Joseph, and the scaled beast that the other prospector spoke of must be what they called the enemy. For a moment, Merrick considered turning around to try to take a shot at Joseph from the cover of the woods. But the disgusting smell of the scaled beast seemed to be growing, and the song of the world had gained a discordant note that grated in his mind. A moment later, Merrick heard a loud roar and the smashing of trees, and knew he had made the right decision to flee.