Witch Hunter

Chapter Eight: Badlands

Dried sweat caked his face in a fine layer of salty powder.

The scorching sun beat down on him relentlessly. There were no clouds to offer shade and what little wind blew across the land only served to send a wave of heat to wash over him.

He gazed around. As predicted, there were few trees to obscure his vision, but shimmering heat waves danced across the horizon, blurring details so that he had to investigate every single thing that caught his eye. So far, he had found nothing.

The last signs of animal life had been over two days ago. He was cutting dangerously into his rations and water supply, and would be forced to head back soon.

Glancing upwards to see the position of the sun, he estimated at least three hours until sunset, at which point the stifling heat would change to a chilling cold with surprising speed. He had to find shelter soon.

After the first night, he had found that digging into an existing depression shielded him from the worst of the cold. The parched, cracked land retained some of the heat it absorbed during the day, and when that was gone at least it would protect him from the screeching winds that picked up when the sun fell.

He ran through the events of the last few days in his head again and concluded that he was in a pretty hopeless situation. But more than the unmerciful elements, the nagging hunger and thirst, the haunting ache of fatigue or even the sheer depressing sight of a land that was so drained of life that even the earth looked old and withered, more than all of these, it was the feeling of failure that hurt him the most. Some time ago, a part of his mind had admitted defeat.

He had fought off this feeling, knowing it to be the harbinger of failure, but it had sown itself in his mind and grew daily as more searching yielded nothing. The task was simply hopeless; one person could never achieve it.

Deciding that he’d had enough for the day, he cast around for a serviceable shelter for the night. The land was uneven, rising and falling gently in small hills and outcroppings of rock. Either of these would be a better place to sleep than out in the open.

A particularly tall hill stood to his left so he stumbled towards it hoping vainly for some respite. It was unlikely, though, for the night winds were fickle and he would have to wake up and readjust himself every few hours to avoid sand blowing into his face as he slept.

Not only had the heat sucked out all energy and motivation from him, he felt as though it had taken some of his consciousness too. His mind was unusually blank, his thoughts simple and base. He could not form clever plans or make the best of his situation because his brain seemed to have simply shut down. Without even noticing it, he had crested the rise.

It took a long moment for him to realise what he was seeing.

A few black, withered trees littered the landscape, but as they got closer to the hill he was standing atop, they seemed stronger and more alive. It was something that had escaped his notice but he now knew the cause. There was a small spring of water bubbling out of the ground with an obviously man made ring of stones around it to keep it contained in a small pool.

It was a mark of how desperate his water situation was getting that he noticed this pool before he saw the three white tents pitched around it. They were pale ochre like the dusty ground around them and large enough for him to stand in.

His moment of dumbfounded recognition passed and he quickly dropped to the floor, looking around for any signs of life.

It was probably not the witch he was after, for there were three tents, but it was probable that she had rendezvoused with allies along the way. Other possibilities entered his mind, each more unpleasant than the last.