Dr. Alex Nolan II's Arc

Chapter 13 of 13

Nolan finished the water and stood, feeling every pair of eyes track his movement toward the door. The artifact pulsed once against his chest, warm but steady. He'd learned what he came for—the symbol was known, the fear was real, and somewhere in this settlement there were answers about where others had gone before him. He stepped outside into the humid air and turned toward the trading post, where supplies and information both had a price. A large man stepped into his path before he'd taken three strides. He wore traditional dress, colorful woven patterns across his chest and feathers in his dark hair. His arms were thick as logs, his stance wide and immovable. He pointed at Nolan's chest where the canvas sat beneath his shirt, then spoke in a language Nolan didn't understand. When Nolan tried to step around him, the man moved with him, blocking the way. He reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a small golden idol, no bigger than his palm. A skull with flames rising from its crown, skeletal hands reaching outward. The pattern matched the one on Nolan's canvas exactly. The man spoke again, his voice hard and certain. He gestured at the artifact, at himself, then pointed toward the dark boathouse that sat beside the river. Nolan's brand burned beneath his sleeve. The artifact against his chest went cold, then blazed hot enough to make him flinch. The man grabbed Nolan's good arm and pulled him toward the boathouse, not rough but firm, like someone reclaiming stolen property. Nolan tried to resist but his injured arm couldn't manage a grip and the man was twice his strength. They reached the boathouse and the man shoved him inside, then stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. The only exit, blocked. Nolan touched the canvas through his shirt, feeling the skull pattern there. The artifact pulsed once, warm and insistent. The man spoke again, slower this time, and though Nolan couldn't understand the words, the meaning was clear. He wanted the artifact back. He believed it belonged to him. Nolan pulled the canvas from his shirt with his good hand. The skull pattern caught the light filtering through the doorway. The man's expression changed—not anger now, but something like recognition, or grief. He reached for it. Nolan's brand ignited, pain shooting from his forearm through his entire body. He gasped and stumbled backward, and the artifact flared purple-bright in his hand. The man froze, his eyes going wide. The light spread across the walls of the boathouse, and the wood began to twist, planks bending like living things. Nolan felt the compulsion in his chest, the same force that had dragged him into the river days ago. The artifact wasn't his to give. It had never been. The man backed away from the doorway as the purple glow intensified, and Nolan walked forward, his body moving without his permission. The artifact led him past the man, past the settlement, toward the river path south. He walked for hours before the glow faded and his arm stopped burning. The artifact settled against his chest, warm and satisfied. Behind him, the settlement disappeared into the jungle. Ahead, the river bent south toward places he'd never mapped. Nolan had survived the journey back to civilization, had walked into that tavern with the artifact in his hands, had shown it to people who knew what it meant. But he hadn't shown it off. He'd learned the truth instead. The artifact wasn't his prize to display or his discovery to claim. It was his sentence, and it would take him where it wanted, when it wanted, for as long as it chose to keep him. He'd stopped pretending otherwise. The jungle closed in around him as he followed the river south, and he didn't look back.