Wild Tiger Chase - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

— Léon —
"What's taking him so long?" Léon muttered, supporting his hands on his waist. He looked around and tried to see anything through the dense curtain of cold mist around him.
It's been some time since Modraniht had walked away in search of the bridge they had seen earlier, while still on top of the hill surrounding Aíbetama Valley. More than once, when the wind blew past and thinned the mist, Léon thought he heard Modraniht's voice talking to someone, but he discarded the thought every time.
It just wouldn't be possible, would it? Modraniht had the phone with him, yes, but he would've told Léon if he had managed to fix it... right?
Phillip coughed and Léon pulled him closer. His coughing fit intensified.
"Easy... take deep breaths, Phil."
"Cold." Phillip hacked and his shoulders shook until a dense, black liquid escaped the corner of his lips. "Cold. Too cold, Leo."
"I know," Léon answered in a whisper. He cleaned the dark spit from Phillip's lips and huffed. "Let's continue walking. Modraniht will be back soon."
The words had barely left his lips when the sound of steps reached them. Modraniht's large body pierced the mist.
"There you are," he said. Modraniht rushed to Léon and pulled Phillip's free arm, lacing it behind his neck. "C'mon, I found a way through the chasm."
Léon followed him to the edge of the broken earth.
The view was breathtaking. The mist thinned here and there as a strong gale spread shivers on Léon's arms. Three twenty-meter-long cracks cut the terrain, showing the land's dark depths. Along their edges, several small rivers poured into the fissures, creating thin, foggy waterfalls surrounded by green.
Here, different than anywhere else Léon had visited, the trees were filled with life—little birds, insects, and small critters feeding on the fruits.
"That's curious," Modraniht murmured, his eyes set on a little monkey nibbling at a shock-pink fruit.
They stopped before a wide wooden bridge. It seemed sturdy enough, if only a bit old. Léon tested the planks with the tip of his foot before stepping on it. "Where exactly are we going, Modraniht?"
"To the center." He pointed at the thick layer of canopies ahead.
Léon and Modraniht crossed the bridge while Bonee scouted ahead. Pointy ceilings and square buildings sprouted from the trees, cloaked in vines. The forest was swallowing the city; it was taking back what belonged to it—but something was weird. In Léon's memories, this village was so colorful and full of life. It was so different from the swamp in front of him. It was also filled with two-story buildings, street posts, and low fences everywhere, but those were all empty. Léon looked around him. Why did everything look so... low? And couldn't he see entrance doors anywhere? As they walked through the deserted paths, goosebumps formed on his arms.
Léon gritted his teeth as memories washed over him.
Shit.
Images flashed in his mind. Léon watched those memories as if he was an astronaut out of orbit. He saw himself raising his hands and shaping his cosmic trace into the giant claws that had created the very canyons he had seen. He remembered how he had attacked Rob and Anhangá, and how the latter had done everything in his power to shield the village and its people.
Then, he remembered lying in Anhangá's arms, bloodied and drained, as the horned spirit caressed his cheek.
Don't you dare to die, sweet one. Take a piece of me and live; I offer it to you.
Take a piece of me. What did he mean by that?
Léon's breathing caught in his throat. Even after four years in prison with his memories back, he still hadn't gotten used to them. When a scene, object, sound, or scent reminded him of something, Léon was often startled to see himself remembering his past so well. It was also funny to notice that his mom's and Satina's stories weren't always as accurate as he thought they were....
Still, there was nothing funny in the scene before him, nor in the memories it brought.
This was Aíbetama, his home-village. Léon was expecting to see people living in buildings covered in overgrown vines, not an abandoned town half-swallowed by a bog.
Léon placed his free hand on his forehead and let out a trembly sigh. "Where is everyone?" he asked in a whisper.
Modraniht raised an eyebrow. "Nobody has lived here for the past ten years, kid. One of those cosmic trace wielders went crazy and attacked the city. I'm only alive 'cause some mysterious hero saved us. The people stayed for a while, but... when the ground turned to shit and the buildings started to sink, our deputy decided it'd be best to leave this place and find another. Most of us went to Senibetama; I went to Cidade Santa."
The first step Léon took sent a shiver up his spine. His sneakers sank into the mire and he needed a good dosage of strength—plus courage—to give the second step.
"Léon? Is everything okay?"
Of course it was Léon's fault. Of course his powers had caused all this. His cursed powers!
"Kid? You're... pale. What happened?"
He raised his eyes to look at Modraniht. Only then did Léon notice he had stopped walking. At his side, Phillip tried to pull his feet from the mud, muttering about how cold it was. Léon's sneakers were already half-covered by the wet soil, his body sinking faster and faster after each second.
"Léon?"
"Yeah. Let's go." Léon tugged at Phillip's waist, bringing him closer.
Phillip's lips were purplish and trembling, but he still cracked a smirk. "Possessive much, Tiger?"
Léon ignored him. "Modraniht, are you sure this is the only place where that green moss grows? You sure we'll find the child thief here?"
"I can't know every square meter in OC, but I'm pretty sure this is the only place around this area."
"All right." Léon sighed, reaching for Phillip's face to dry a renewed trail of black ichor. "Modraniht?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you for... everything."
Modraniht sighed. Something darkened his gaze; he lowered his eyes. "You have nothing to thank me for, Léon. Nothing."
They spent almost three hours combing through the sinking city. From time to time, Bonee raced back to Léon and told him there were nothing and no one in that place.
As the sun downed and their hopes of finding the druid snuffed out with the afternoon, Phillip's situation worsened. When he could no longer walk, Léon and Modraniht placed him on Bonee's back, hoping the added weight wouldn't make the tigress sink like the buildings around her.
Then the night came and with it, a chilling wind that pierced through Léon's clothes, slicing all the way to his trembling bones. They could barely see what was before them—their only light came from the small led lantern Modraniht had taken from the barbarians.
Modraniht rubbed his big hands on his arms and shuddered. "Oi, kid. Maybe we should camp—"
"No."
"It's freezing, Léon. If your friend catches a cold in his state—"
"No! We need to find that child thief. First, I'm gonna punch them square in the face for what they did to Phillip. Then, I'll yank their skin off and use it to warm my stupid, freezing feet!"
Phillip chuckled, his words cut by his heavy breathing. "I always forget... how moody... you can get... when your socks are wet."
"Shut it, Phil."
Modraniht sighed. "All right. But if we're going to continue, let us try to keep the violence to a minimum. And let's hope we won't pass out with exhaustion."
Léon clicked his tongue. No matter how tired he was feeling, he couldn't give up. "My tiger is starting to slow down. We'll need to—"
He didn't have time to finish the sentence. The hairs on his arms stood on end as a dense layer of fear licked his back.
"I smell someone," Bonee murmured. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but those words were carried by the wind and joined by the softest rustle of leaves.
A twig broke.
"Did you hear that?" Modraniht asked. He walked to Léon, stopping at his side.
Léon looked around them, studying the dark mist. He wasn't seeing any lights. In fact, he could see nothing but darkness surrounding him. He stretched a hand and his staff took shape between his fingers. The weapon seemed to hum against his palm, almost as if it had missed its owner. "Can you see anything, Bonee?"
"A shape in the bushes ahead. Seems humanoid, although... small," she answered.
"So your dust tiger can speak, huh," Modraniht mumbled.
Léon shushed. He could make up an excuse for that later. "Stay close, Modraniht."
The older man nodded and stood beside Bonee. Modraniht placed the lantern on the ground and pulled Phillip's body, freeing the tigress' back.
A noise at Léon's back caught his attention. He pivoted around, raising his weapon, but there was nothing there. He stretched a hand backward. "The lantern, Modraniht."
A loud clack and a thud filled the silence. When Bonee roared, Léon turned around again to see Modraniht falling face-first on the mire. Léon's eyes widened.
He noticed the strange presence way too late.
A dull thud caused an strong pain on the back of his head. When Léon fell of them floor, the last thing he saw was Bonee's widened eyes as she turned into purple, ethereal fog.
Something weighed on his chest, and a direct light burned through his closed eyelids, painting everything in dark-orange.
Léon frowned and raised a hand to shield his face. His fingers felt cold, dehydrated, and coated with something parched and crumbly like clay forgotten in the sun. Dirty. His hands were dirty. He breathed in. Something smelled like wet soil and grass while, from a distance, came a strong, sugary smell he couldn't recognize.
He opened his eyes, and a perfect row of rounded, pearly-white teeth greeted him. He blinked. The eyes staring back at him were brown and warm, half-hidden by a long, sleek bang that danced at the teenager's smallest movements.
"You're alive," the teen whispered. They jumped to their feet. "Granny Caicai! He's alive!"
Léon frowned. Where the hell was he? And why did that kid look so familiar?
The teen rushed to an elderly woman a few paces away. They shot their arms around the shorter woman and supported their chin on her shoulder. The old woman patted the kid's head and turned to face Léon. The kid matched the woman's movements as if they were her shadow, glued to her in a childish embrace.
"Up already?" asked the old woman. Her voice was broken by what sounded like years of tobacco. Léon could recognize things like that—his mom sounded pretty much the same. The woman coughed, hacked, and sighed. "Help me with breakfast if you're good enough to get up."
Léon blinked a few times and looked around him. He was inside a small cottage with wooden walls and a moss-covered ceiling. He couldn't see any doors or windows, but there was still a cold draft breezing through his hair from time to time. Besides a few pieces of wooden furniture and one especially thick rug made with dark fur, the place was empty. Léon was lying on the rug and Modraniht was beside him, still passed out.
His heart raced. Someone was missing.
"Did you hear what I said?" the woman insisted.
"Where's Phillip?"
"Never heard of him." The old woman kissed the top of the teen's head and handed them two bowls, gently pushing him towards something that looked like a moss curtain.
Léon got up; his legs felt weak and wobbly. "Phillip... blond, stupid face, possibly violent. He's sick. Got black veins all over him... his fingers are black too. Like coal. He's coughing and feverish, and...." The words stuck in Léon's throat. Shit. What if something had happened to Phillip? His eyes stung. "And I need to see him. I need to know he's... safe? Alive?" His breathing shallowed. "Holy fuck, I don't know. How did you even find me?"
The old woman approached him. With an unchanged, unreadable expression, she handed him a bowl. "No swearing in my home." She patted his shoulder. "Come."
"But—"
"Come, Léon."
Hearing his name gave him pause. The old woman stopped before the curtains and peeked over her shoulder. With a tiny, cold smile, she completed,
"It's high time you discover what's happening around these parts." She narrowed her eyes and turned away. "Only then you'll be ready to do anything."