For some reason, to Neeko, To’cani had not made the savanna sound quite so far away as it was. They had hiked and tumbled and climbed and cut through dense foliage and canopied rainforest for over two weeks. They bathed twice during that time, stopping near shallows to wash away their sweat between the fish and the fowl. It didn’t really help—today Neeko’s weathered skin felt so crusty with salt that it added to the stiffness of the kibroot and left him in a rather sour mood.
Thankfully, an afternoon shower covered the forests with a light drizzle. Given the humidity and debilitating heat, the warm drips were relatively cool. Neeko ran his hands through his wavy grey hair and smiled at Pais. She blinked painfully and, squeezing her left eyelid, she aggressively wiped it. Her muscular arms returned to the pommels of the machete on her right hip and a dagger on her left.
The precipitation seemed to mute the sounds of the jungle. The chirp of critters under the foliage and the whistling of birds seemed to fade a little. As they picked their way down a mossy slope, between fallen branches and rocky burrows, Pais’ca spoke up. “You know, I’ve guided plenty of merchants up here to trade with the tribes,” said she. “Maybe not this far though.”
She had not looked at him, and didn’t offer to remark more. “Are you saying we’re lost?” Neeko asked. He cleared his throat roughly.
“No, nothing like that. I mean, I have no idea where these Field Roamers are, but I know how to get back to where we came from. I just mean that the merchants go out, trade, go home, and repeat,” she explained. She kicked a branch out of the way, sending a little cardinal flitting away. “Are we just not going back?”
“You can go back if you want,” Neeko told her, gently stepping over the log she had broken. “But I am not. Not until I find what I’m looking for.” He hoped she would stay though, he though, as he stretched his shoulders up and down stiffly.
“I just don’t understand why.” Pais slowly came to a stop, looking sideways at him. “I know you’re looking for something truly miraculous, even more-so than that kibroot you keep munching on. But what drives you?”
Neeko stopped once he stood in front of her. “How old do you think I am?”
“Fifty years,” she quickly said, then, with an awkward frown, added, “Forty-five?”
“And a year from now, I’ll be a year older,” Neeko muttered. He stood there, his worn skin hanging around his hard muscles, his grey hair matted on his arms and his chest, and a few grey lines from past injuries.
Pais’ca, in a similar state of dress, was like the opposite extreme. Her flat torso was devoid of mark or marring, her arms were tight and hairless, her face symmetrical and her nose unbroken. She shrugged her shoulders and kept walking. After a few paces she looked at him and asked, “Is it really that bad?” She chuckled.
“Yes,” replied Neeko, with no humour in his voice. “It is.”
A few hours later, they found a dry spot for a fire in a crevasse between a mossy stone rise and a nutmeg strangled by an umbrella tree. The smoke from their fire filtered through the web of branches over head, filling their cave with the warm smell of burnt kindling. They wore their stained, damp tunics again, as they devoured greasy bits of jumping mouse. Pais ate several times as much as Neeko.
Once she was done, she leaned back against the rock face and told Neeko. “After we find these Field Roamers and learn what we can from them, for a few Moons, I’d like to go back to Hawsi for a few weeks. No, I don’t just want to, I am going to.”
“Fine,” Neeko said, quietly. The fire popped on cue.
“You can hire me again, if you want, but I’ve been out here for months straight now. A little too long for me.”
Neeko sighed, and pulled his knees toward his chin as far as his back would allow. “I don’t think you realize how close we are,” he said.
Pais looked at him as though uncertain how to respond. “Still, the offer stands.”
The knotted wood against Neeko’s back itched a spot between two ribs, and then he leaned toward her, gazing into the fire between them. “Where do you think magic comes from?” he asked.
She smiled. “Not the Field Roamers,” she replied. Her smile faded. “No, people are either born with it, or they’re not. Every child is told that when they want to know why they can’t be witches and warlocks.”
Expressionless, he looked across at her. “And what is the kibroot to you? Medicine? Herblore? Anyone who says something is impossible has not seen enough of the world.”
“I’m not saying it’s impossible,” she said, defensively. “Kibroot might have a bit of magic, but how should I know. I’m not the apothecary here. Surely kibroot doesn’t allow you to manipulate the world with your mind. It just improves your body’s functioning.”
Neeko shrugged. “The world says you’re hungry and need to eat.”
“So let’s say that the world says you’re old and you need to die.” Her voice was flat. “And let’s say that there is a kibroot for that too—Why are you so confident you will find it here?”
“Look around you, Pais,” Neeko said, chuckling. “How can it not be out here? When you’re searching for the unknown, you have to head into the unknown.”
“I guess we’ll see,” she said, gazing into the fire.
Neeko picked up his stick and poked one of the logs they had set near the fire to dry into the blaze. “Yes we shall,” he said. They sat in silence for a while and Pais’ca started to doze off. Neeko made a few notes in his journal, encrypted notes of course, before turning in for the night. He wondered how long he would have to wait before meeting the Field Roamers.