Chapter 2: Scout Sekunla

Late at night, the wind over the savanna cut like a saw, whining across the withered grass tips with a dry, coarse texture. Oluwafemi woke with a start at the sound of gunfire, cold sweat soaking his back, the icy liquid sliding down his spine and raising a shudder.

He rolled sideways out of the shed, his movements swift without a single wasted motion. The rusty iron door slammed shut behind him with a grating screech, shutting out that cold, threatening voice. He gasped for breath, the air thick with the mingled smell of rust and dust.

In his hand, the needle of the bone compass spun wildly, its blue light piercing the night like a great eye opening in the darkness, its cold halo dancing over his tightly clenched knuckles.

He dared not linger, and charged into the depths of the grassland on muscle memory alone. Dry grass bent beneath his feet with a rustling sound, like countless snakes crawling, and every breath carried a thirst that scorched his throat.

The moment his body crashed into the thorn thicket, the world fell into a muddled darkness. Countless tiny spikes pierced his trouser legs and skin, yet he felt no bleeding, only a cold numbness spreading rapidly through his whole body. He mechanically swung his arms, brushing aside vines that coiled toward him like dead snakes, digging his way forward step by step through the thorn pile.

Behind him the firelight drew closer, and searchlight beams swept over the riverbed above, briefly lighting that dead zone before going dark again. In the instant the beam passed, Femi felt a burning gaze rest for two seconds on the spot where he had stood, then move away. That was the temperature of death brushing past.

Femi did not back down. He only gripped the compass tighter, his palm whitening with the effort, and said with a cold laugh, "Your picket line is too loose. The compass guided me here. It is keener than your ears." Sekunla gave a cold laugh, the corner of her mouth curling into a scornful arc, her smile carrying the particular arrogance of a grassland hunter: "The grassland does not recognize compasses. It only recognizes footprints.

If you do not understand the rules here, the beasts here will swallow you." In the distance, a dazzling searchlight beam swept across the night sky, its light cutting the darkness like a sharp blade, accompanied by the roar of vehicle engines. That was Adetai's search party, drawing steadily closer.

The firelight danced in the night like eyes peering into an abyss. Heat waves twisted the air, and Femi could smell the distinctive bitter scorch of burning acacia wood, the scent drilling through his nostrils into his brain and making the ringing already in his ears grow even sharper.

He looked up and, behind the firelight, could dimly make out several figures in black tactical vests, their firearms gleaming with a cold metallic luster, muzzles sweeping slowly over the surrounding bushes as they moved. Adetai's search party was like a net steadily closing, and he and Sekunla were the two goldfish in the net, about to suffocate.

When they finally reached the edge of the dry riverbed, Femi felt his heart hammering against his ribcage, as if it would burst out of his chest. He looked down at the dense, barbed black thorns and knew clearly that once he touched them, his skin would be torn and the poisonous barbs would spread through his blood. But he had no time to hesitate.

He closed his eyes, and a kind of intuition granted by the compass flashed through his mind--not vision, but a precise mastery of his threshold of pain. He drew a deep breath, and in the moment before stepping into the thorns, he forcibly controlled his nerve endings, temporarily stripping away the very concept of "pain."

The next second, a golden figure flashed past like lightning, bursting from the pile of dry grass to the right and lunging at the spot where the two had just been standing. Its claws gouged several deep furrows in the earth, dust flying. The cheetah landed, turned, and gave a low warning growl, its golden eyes glittering in the darkness, then vanished into the night.

The two lay prone in the hollow, their hearts pounding like drums, not daring to raise their heads for a long time, their breathing deliberately held to the lowest possible level. Sekunla slowly rose to her feet, the scorn in her eyes gone, replaced by a shock and reverence she could not conceal.

A dark figure leaped down from above and landed steadily three meters in front of Femi, cutting off his path. It landed almost silently, with only the faint hiss of cloth rubbing. The newcomer wore camouflage tactical gear, with a curved blade hanging at her waist, the wear on its scabbard showing it had survived countless fierce fights, her eyes as sharp as a hawk's.

This was Sekunla, the tribe's scout, famed for her agility and sharpness. She narrowed her eyes, and the short staff in her hand tapped the ground lightly with a dull "thock," sounding especially clear on this silent grassland.

Sekunla stared at Femi, her voice somewhat hoarse: "Just now... how did you see it?" She pointed at the patch of flattened dry grass. "No sound, no scent, only this subtle wrinkling of the earth. You read the breathing of the land?" Femi was silent for a moment, then admitted frankly, "I only read the traces.

The compass gave me direction, but what truly saved us was this grassland itself. I have not yet fully grasped the price of the compass, but I know it is demanding repayment."

The two quickly decided to ally for now. Sekunla led the way, passing through a dense acacia forest toward the safer tribal camp, to escape the closing search net. As they moved, Femi felt the compass growing hotter and hotter, and could even feel that it seemed to be draining his strength.

His vision began to blur, and a slight ringing arose in his ears. This was the signal that the price of the pact was accumulating. He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to fall, each step heavy and difficult.

Sekunla stepped forward, her voice very low and openly hostile: "Outsider, this is forbidden tribal ground. How did you pass through my picket line?" Her gaze locked on the compass in Femi's hand, and that eerie blue light unsettled her, as if the light could pierce flesh and look straight into the soul.

By the rules of the grassland, no living thing could cross a scout's territory silently, unless it possessed some supernatural ability.

Before her words had finished, a burst of hurried shouting came from the distance, mixed with the roar of engines. Sekunla's face changed abruptly, and she said in a low voice, "Adetai's men are hunting a traitor from the mine, and that traitor is hidden somewhere nearby. They will soon discover the bloodstains and footprints here."

Femi gripped the compass and felt a burning heat from his palm, as if it were on fire. He knew he had to leave this place immediately, or he would be swept into the mining conglomerate's vortex of violence.

Femi's mind raced, instantly predicting the cheetah's exact lurking position. Without hesitation, he pointed sharply at a hidden hollow to the left and shouted, "Left! Quick! There is a cheetah there, coiled and ready to spring!" Though puzzled, her brow furrowed, Sekunla's years of wilderness instinct made her trust him by reflex.

The two quickly moved toward the hollow on the left, their boot soles grinding over gravel, avoiding the route the cheetah was about to charge along.

The situation instantly grew critical, with the two caught in the middle. Femi's gaze passed over Sekunla's shoulder and fell on a seemingly calm patch of withered grass in a hollow. He keenly noticed that although the grass blades there were withered and yellow, they bore an unnatural pattern of pressure, and several beetles were fleeing in terror, their antennae waving wildly.

That was the trace left by a huge body pressing down, the peculiar stillness of a predator lying in wait, the air seeming to congeal there.

"Follow me." Sekunla was the first to slip into the shadows beside them, moving as lightly as a wild cat. Femi followed close behind, and the two figures vanished in an instant at the edge of the acacia forest. Like two ghosts, they crawled close to the ground, each step deliberately avoiding the brittle snap of dry twigs underfoot.

Wind blew from the direction of the rift valley, carrying a hint of damp earth--the scent of life, and also a signal of danger.

Before reaching the camp, Sekunla suddenly stopped and turned back with a low warning. Her eyes were grave as she pointed at the faint firelight ahead and said, "Adetai has already led his men to surround the exit. The road ahead is a dead end." At this life-or-death moment, Femi looked again at the compass in his hand, its needle trembling violently once more, its blue light turning deep and dangerous in that instant, as if answering the crisis to come.

Femi said nothing, only nodded. He glanced at the compass in his hand. Its needle no longer trembled violently, but pointed firmly at the pitch-black thorn thicket to the rear left, its blue light as dim as the breathing of someone at death's door. The price was still accumulating, and he could feel the moisture in his body being drawn away by some invisible force, his throat as dry as sandpaper rubbing. But he had no choice.

"Adetai... he is inside." Sekunla's voice trembled as she pointed at that pitch-black cave mouth, where the darkness seemed thicker than the night outside. "No, not only him. Adetai said he is waiting inside, holding a fragment of your compass. He said that unless you hand over the compass, he will leave you there to become the mine's new warning sign."

"We cannot take the main road," Sekunla's voice was pressed extremely low, almost indistinguishable from the wind. Her fingers gripped the curved blade at her waist tightly, her knuckles whitening with the effort. "Thirty meters to the left, there is a dry riverbed rift valley, with poisonous thorns growing below, but that is a blind spot on Adetai's patrol line. If you can bear the sting, we are to climb over there."

After an unknown length of time, a narrow gap finally appeared at the far end of the thorn thicket. Femi practically tumbled out, kneeling on the ground and coughing violently, his breath carrying a rusty, sickly sweetness. He raised his head and saw Sekunla standing behind a rock several meters away, holding a black stone in her hand, her expression tense.

Femi wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth and forced himself to stand. His legs were as soft as noodles, his vision blurring again, the scenery around him doubling. The compass's temperature had dropped to freezing, and that bone-piercing cold drilled from his palm into his marrow, making him realize that the price of this reading far exceeded what he could bear.

Femi staggered after Sekunla, and the two ran madly in the darkness. The shouting and gunfire around them grew denser, like the roar of some wild beast. Just as they were about to reach the entrance of that dark, damp cave, Sekunla suddenly stopped and spun around, her face full of disbelief, despair, and fury.

"They heard the noise!" Sekunla shouted, shoving Femi hard, pushing him deeper into the shadows. "Stay close to me. There is a collapsed cave entrance there. Once inside, we will be safe!"

Just as he tried to steady his breathing, a bullet whistled past his ear, shattering a small chip of stone on the rock ahead. Sparks flew, lighting Sekunla's terrified face.

"Are you all right?" Sekunla's voice sounded hoarse from holding her breath for so long.

Femi looked down at the compass in his hand. At that moment, its needle was actually pointing into the depths of that cave mouth, its blue light suddenly extinguished, turned completely to a deathly ash-gray black.