Page 83 of The Voice of Wild Places
Watt followed the tracks out of camp.Well defined mud gave way to trampled grass, debris, and snapped sticks.He kept alert, scanning his surroundings with keen, if not tired, eyes.The water continued to roar in his ears at the same volume, as if he were walking alongside a raging river, not between mossy trees and towering ferns.A fluttering on the trail ahead caught his attention.At first he thought it was a butterfly, but as he got closer he realized it was a shred of fabric.He removed it from the branch it’d been caught on, then rubbed it between his fingers.It was Cornelius’ shirt, the one he'd cut up to bandage Maggie’s leg.
But why?
Watt looked back the way he came, then the trail still ahead of him.It was becoming fainter, the vegetation ahead was unwieldy and easily swallowed any signs of passage.As much as he loathed to do it, Watt tied the fabric around the branch once more.He had a feeling Cornelius had put it there for a reason.Perhaps there was a nearby area of interest.About ten minutes later, the reason solidified when Watt found another scrap of fabric.
“Of course,” he whispered, touching the fabric tied around a thin sapling.“To keep from getting lost.”
He shook his head, cursing himself for not thinking of such a brilliant idea.How much time had he wasted worrying about getting lost, when there was an easy solution like this?
Hope bloomed in Watt’s heart for the first hour.Without the fabric, he’d have lost their trail ages ago.He focused on one step after another, one marker after another.But after walking for twenty minutes without finding a sixth scrap of fabric, despair began to take root.He slowed his step, searching every area he passed through for signs of a struggle, of Cornelius passed out on the ground, or Maggie’s tail swishing through the air.But there was nothing.No evidence of where they’d gone next, and the water—
A harsh glint of light teased Watt through the trees, as if reflecting off the surface of water.It was there and gone again, its source veiled by crowded plants and distance.Without much else to rely on, Watt headed in that direction.He walked for about five minutes before stopping.He rummaged through his pack for his own spare shirt, then sliced it into pieces.The fabric parting beneath his blade was oddly cathartic, and his mind drifted.
Where had the shirt been made?Where had the splitting threads come from, or the buttons that popped and flew?Did it ever expect to be torn to pieces in the middle of a jungle?
Watt shook his head.It was a shirt.A piece of fabric.Nothing more.
He tied a piece around a low hanging, spindly branch, then pushed on.He wondered, afterwards, why he’d bothered.So they could find their way back to a camp that was now abandoned?To find their way back to the place they’d been lost at before?It was human nature, he supposed, to have the illusion of control.To know what one was doing, even if they truly didn’t.
Watt’s head throbbed with a passion, and his legs were so damn heavy.He walked for what seemed like hours, but the sky, or what he could see of it, never seemed to change.The light refused to dim into the evening, and no clouds passed over the sun.Watt came upon a quartz that looked suspiciously like the one he'd given Cornelius, but he refused to believe it.He began to stop more often, not to place markers, but to catch his breath.The water was all encompassing, maddening, suffocating.Water, everywhere and nowhere.He was drowning in solid earth and liquid worry.If he lost Maggie, he lost a part of his heart as well.But if he lost Cornelius, he lost the entire damn thing.
With shaking fingers, he pawed through his options for food.Four cans, two of beans and two of condensed milk.A cloth satchel filled with an odd mix of dried fruits.His stomach was in knots to begin with, and the thought of eating anything nauseated him.Despite the fact they’d been shitting in the jungle all along, the idea of doing so without the meager protection of a nearby camp and companion to warn him of trouble was unnerving.He thought perhaps he could manage the condensed milk, but not the entire can.They were supposed to be sharing them, anyway.He’d wait to eat together.
Watt stood, then stumbled beneath the weight of their packs.He gritted his teeth, righted himself, and kept going.
Human Nature
Duskarrived,toWatt’ssurprise, and so did a permanent chill that settled deep into his bones.Thought ceased to exist eons ago, save for those that required the body to put one foot after another.To gasp for air, and push through the pain.
His fabric ties had long since been devoured by the jungle, and the shirt he wore now was saturated with sweat, blood, thorns, and the smeared remains of insects and plant material.His burden was lighter, he'd combined their belongings into his pack, leaving Cornelius' bag with everything they could bear to leave behind buried beneath his last fabric tie.They didn't need Cornelius' camera, film, or his notebooks, but Watt couldn't bring himself to bury them.It was like burying a part of Cornelius himself.Despite carrying less, Watt was as downtrodden and fatigued as ever.He heard nothing but water, and saw nothing but moss covered trees.He’d entered an endless monotony of step after step, tree after tree, breath after breath.
And later, Watt would mark this as the moment that saved him.Devoid of thought, overwhelmed with the sensation of living in the moment, existing as a mere thread in life’s tapestry.In short, he’d let everything go from his mind, making room for the truth to take hold and unfurl.
It started, as life so often did, with a light.
Watt stumbled over a rock, and as he steadied himself on hands and knees a flash of color danced on the edge of his periphery.He shook his head, sure it was another trick of the eye.But when he focused again, there it remained.A pulsing dim light that wasn’t entirely green, but not entirely yellow either.It reminded Watt of fireflies in the height of summer, flickering between the blades of grass and grain.
His heart seized, and reality shuddered.No.It couldn’t be.
Watt groaned as he pushed himself to his feet.He set his course, direction unknown, and made his way towards the light.The moment he stepped off the unmarked path he’d been blindly following, pebbles crunched beneath his boots.Watt didn’t want to take his eyes off the light again, but he had to.There’d been no rocks before, only dirt and grass and moss and—
And tiny bones and stones populating the riverbanks, bleached by the sun and eroded by time.The origin of the river lay dead ahead, breathtaking and heartbreaking all at once.Water crashed from a great height, hundreds of feet above his level, if not more.Great slabs of stone cradled the mouth of the waterfall in a bowl like fashion, all red rock, withered vines, and scorched plants.Skeleton-like, bone white trees sprouted from the riverbanks, their roots clawed out of the packed red dirt, desperate for water and stifling air.The swelling tide threatened to overtake the banks, water churning in a fierce torrent that rendered it a foamy and disturbing brown.Steam rose from the river, as did a great boiling stench that reeked of dead fish, rotten plants, and pollution.
Watt blinked, and the vision faded.The stones and water remained, as they always would in one fashion or another, but the smell, steam, pollution and bones, that all disappeared.The waterfall’s surrounding flora was no longer dead and aged, but thriving and taking root in every red crevice it could.Fish dove in and out of the water, which was still foamy, but it churned with the debris of a healthy riverbed instead of rot and death.It was breathtaking, unreal and heavenly.
And of course, high above Watt and out of reach, was a stone tower full of light.Pulsing.Waiting.Beckoning him to try his luck, and climb to the top of the waterfall.
If Watt had undertaken this trip alone, he would’ve gone right for it.Exhaustion and injuries be damned, he would have found a way to scale the sheer cliff faces and see once and for all what that damn light was.If there was evidence that Fawcett had found it too, and left his mark in one way or another.But he had not undertaken this trip alone.Watt was swiftly reminded of that fact by the persistent barking that cut through the waterfall’s raucous noise.He staggered, heart pounding as he searched the area for Maggie.She was close, but out of sight.
Birds, monkeys, and other small animals occupied the area, unafraid of his presence.They watched him from a distance, curious and on high alert.Maggie’s barking didn’t bother them, which led Watt to believe she’d been doing it for some time.As he got closer to the base of the waterfall, her barking was dulled by its roar.Watt stared at the powerful curtain of water, his hands curling into fists.Darkness had started to fall in earnest, and there was no moonlight yet.It was difficult to see what was behind the falling water, whether it was a cavern or more sheer rock.Or perhaps a small, shallow area.Shallow, but deep enough for a man to fall down and drown in.
A cold, heavy feeling settled in Watt’s gut.He called, “Maggie?”
Maggie stopped barking.A second passed.Then she redoubled her efforts, both in volume and ferocity.Watt realized the sound was not coming from the waterfall, but above it.Watt craned his neck back, trying to catch sight of her.The peak of the waterfall was nearly impossible to see from here, and it was clear he wouldn't be able to climb the rock face even if he wanted to.If he wanted to reach it he'd have to go around, approach it from the side.He backed up, trying to get a better look.
There, right the precipice of the cliff before it gave way to water, stood Maggie.Upon seeing her, Watt’s heart cracked.Upon seeing him, Maggie went wild.
“I’m coming!”
