Maximus Jones's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Maximus followed the water down for two days. Hawk Eye's map lived in his head, but his pack was empty. The last hard bread had gone yesterday. His hands shook. His coat had split at the shoulder, and cold air slid in with every step. The split rock still lay somewhere ahead. He knew he would not reach it. Not like this. The wolf walked slow beside him, ribs showing under grey fur. Smoke saved him again. A thin grey curl rose past the trees. Maximus stumbled toward it and found an old log cabin, its timber walls stacked and weathered, its stone chimney breathing steady heat. Someone lived here. Someone with food and a fire. He nearly wept. He knocked. No one answered. He pushed the door. The room was warm and empty. A pot of stew hung over low coals. Dried meat swung from the rafters. Wool blankets sat folded on a bunk. Maximus's stomach cramped at the smell. This was theft, and he did not care. He ate first. Then he stuffed his pack with meat, filled a skin with broth, and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. His hands stopped shaking. For the first time in days, warmth reached his bones. He stepped outside to fill his water skin. Behind the cabin stood a small privy shed, its boards worn smooth and grey. Beside it rose a boulder. Maximus stopped. The stone was covered in carvings. Painted figures marched across its face. Birds. Wolves. And tall shaggy men with long arms and low heads. Half-man shapes. The same beast Hawk Eye had drawn in the ash. Maximus reached out and touched the cold marks. Whoever built this cabin knew the creature. Maybe they hunted it. Maybe they worshipped it. The carvings were old, but the fire inside was fresh. A branch cracked in the trees. Maximus turned. Something stood at the tree line. It was tall, broad, and covered in dark fur. Its shoulders rose above his head. Its face was flat and wrong, part man, part ape, watching him with pale eyes. It did not move. It only breathed, slow and huge, steam rolling from its mouth. The wolf pressed low against Maximus's legs and did not growl. It whined. Maximus's throat went dry. He had spent nine days chasing proof. Now the proof stood forty feet away, alive, and he had no rope, no cage, no plan. He had only a stolen blanket and a full belly. The creature took one step forward. The ground shook under its foot. Maximus backed toward the cabin door. He would live tonight. He had food, warmth, and shelter. But he had walked straight into the beast's own ground, and the beast had seen him first. He pulled the door shut and slid the bolt. Through the small window, the shape stood in the falling dark, still watching the cabin. Waiting.