Barker Cartwright's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

By the second morning past the cabin, Barker knew the pairing would not work. Cornelius shuffled along on his cane, three steps to Barker's one. The old chihuahua stopped often, wheezing under his dark hood. They had crossed a single ridge in two days. At that pace, the wildlands would kill them both before the route ever mattered. "You need rest again," Barker said. It was not a question. Cornelius lowered himself onto a stone. "My legs are done. I told you that at the door." He tapped the ancient book against his knee. "The map moves fine. The mapreader does not." Barker looked at the country ahead. Broken rock. Steep folds of land. He could not carry the old dog on his back through that, not for weeks. He unslung his pack and dug out rope and a rolled canvas. Maybe a sling, a litter he could drag. He was still measuring the rope when the brush cracked. Something huge stepped into the clearing. A gecko, wide as a cart, scales ridged like tree bark. It moved slow and calm, tasting the air. Old leather straps crossed its back, cracked but whole. Someone had once ridden this thing. Barker went still. Cornelius did not. The chihuahua rose on his cane and hobbled straight toward the beast. "Stop," Barker hissed. "It wears a saddle, you fool." Cornelius reached up and laid a paw on the giant's flank. The gecko blinked but held. "Wild things near this frontier remember men. Help me up." Barker weighed it. A beast that size could carry the old dog and the pack both. It could cross rock he'd never haul a litter over. He gripped Cornelius under the arms and lifted him onto the saddle. The old dog settled between the straps and gripped the ridged scales. "Now we move," Cornelius said. He almost smiled. Barker took the lead rope and led the gecko forward. It walked steady over the broken ground, faster than Barker had gone alone. For the first time since the cabin, the pace felt like an expedition instead of a funeral march. They came around a stand of trees. The gecko froze. Ahead, filling a gap in the rocks, grew a plant the size of a house. A great pink bloom split open, ringed with teeth. Thick vines coiled across the only path through, twitching, waiting. The air stank of rot and sweet meat. The gecko backed a step. Barker held the rope tight and stared at the thing blocking their way. Cornelius pulled his hood low. "There," he said quietly. "The book warned of that one. It sits on the route. There is no way around." Barker had solved how to carry the old dog. Now the path itself wanted to eat them.