THE PATHFINDER

 

A Man and His Walls

Eric sat in his cramped single-room apartment, staring at a particular spot on his wall. He had no other reaction — just that spot where the paint was peeling. It had been a hard life trying to make it, but the struggle was something he guessed he could never withstand. Eric was a handsome young man with a well-trimmed beard, tall and heavily built like a weightlifter, though to be honest he had never lifted a weight before. He had a remarkable smile that disarmed you, and when he flashed his dimples coupled with those sky-blue eyes, you just had to love him and give him a chance.

He sat there wondering where he had gone wrong in life, how he could be starting with poverty — or better still, walking hand in hand with it. He shook his head, coming out of his thoughts, and looked around his room: a flat mattress, a rickety chair, and a ceiling fan that had seen the best of its life, making a noise that sounded like a dog barking.

"What a dump," he murmured, wondering how he would ever make it.

The Friend at the Door

There was a commotion at his door and he raised his head to see his friend Fred. Fred was just like him, but slimmer, with no beard and eyes that, when you looked into them, you could swear held a lot of sin. He was tall, wearing blue pants and a sleeveless vest, with eyes as hard as steel. They surveyed the room until they landed on Eric.

"There you are, my fellow rich man," he said, mocking their poverty.

"I'm so rich that my stomach is eating me inside," Eric said, not even standing to welcome his friend.

"You will die of ulcer. Try to find something and eat," Fred said, sitting down in the rickety chair that groaned and wobbled. But he was used to it and knew a way to balance his weight.

"Have you eaten?" Eric asked him.

"No, don't even ask me. I'm just hanging on free air."

"Want to have a glass of water?" Eric offered.

"Yeah, that's better than nothing."

"Don't blame me if you start peeing frequently."

"No need — bring the water. I got us a deal."

Eric paused and slowly turned around, looking at the grinning face of his friend. "What sort of deal?"

A Shot in the Dark

"To be honest, I have no idea. I ran into an old pal of mine, saw him cruising in the latest whip, and I asked him to show me the way."

"And?" Eric prompted.

"Well, he gave me a contact number. When I called, I was given an address. So I guess I'm here so we can check it out."

"How far is it?" Eric asked. "I'm too tired to trek a long distance."

"We can manage, man. It is a life-changing opportunity, so distance is just a barrier to overcome," Fred said, taking the glass of water and with a sigh, taking a drink while Eric watched him. When he was done, he hiccupped. "I really needed that, man. Been trekking a lot on an empty stomach."

"Shame we're broke in a very rich way."

"No need to dawdle," Fred said, standing up. "We need to check this deal out now."

"Sure. Let us go."

The Dark Path

The two friends went out to find the address given to Fred. It was a hard trek, but with determination they pushed on, knowing their destiny lay at the end of the tunnel. When they reached the end of the street where the address was located, they paused. It led to a dark, bushy path — so dark it seemed to emit a black fog. They stood there looking at it, not knowing what to do.

Finally, Eric could take it no more. "What is the meaning of this? I hope this is not a joke."

"I don't know. This is the address I was given — no other instruction," Fred said.

"Do you think your pal is playing a fast one on you?"

"I don't know. I was too desperate, bro. I'm confused just like you."

"I'm tired, man. I don't have the strength to keep standing. I could faint any moment," Eric said, sitting on the floor, sweat drenching him. He used his index finger to wipe his brow, grimacing as his stomach growled.

The Pathfinder

At that moment, a young, beautiful woman approached them. She was slender, of average height, and wore clothing that, if you looked closely, you would know was from ancient Greece. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile that made you unable to look at anything else.

"Good day, gentlemen. Do you need help?"

"Yeah — who are you?" Fred asked.

"I am the Pathfinder," she said with a smile that made them gawk at her.

"Never heard of such a name," Eric said, standing up.

"It is no name, but a title. I show people the path."

"And your fee?" Fred asked. "We are broke — not even a penny to our names."

"I don't need cash payment," she said with a laugh. "I could smell your brokenness from far away."

The two friends were embarrassed, but that never stopped them. They knew they were drowning men. After all, there was no shame in being broke — they were not the first.

"So what is your fee?" Eric asked her.

"Well, it is simple. Just clip three of your fingernails and give them to me."

"Just our nails?" Eric asked.

"Yes," she said, smiling.

"Deal," he said, looking at her. "Do you have a preference?"

"Sure — the thumb, the middle finger, and the index finger."

They went about clipping and giving the nails to her. After she had collected them, she led them along the dark path. As she walked, the fog parted before her. They looked at each other and hurried to catch up.

After walking along the path for about four hours — a period in which they had seen strange things: the severed head of a snake with no body, still hissing; a white fog that burned a bush clean, which the Pathfinder had asked them to stay clear of; and two dancing corpses that waved at them as they passed — it came to a point where Eric whispered to Fred, "What is the meaning of this?"

"I don't know. My pal never said anything about such stuff."

"This is sorcery at work. We are in trouble." And before Fred could reply, the Pathfinder's voice cut in.

"Hush. No more words, or your voices will be taken by the children of the fog."

They fell silent. Eric tried to turn back, but what he saw made him freeze. Behind them, a crowd of dead in skeleton form followed close, spears, arrows, and axes gripped in their bony hands. He faced forward and kept walking.

Now they stood at the entrance of a mud hut. The roof was made of thatch and there was no door — just an ink-black darkness where the entrance should have been. Here the Pathfinder stopped and turned to them.

"Go ahead. You have about a minute before the dead attack."

They hurried toward the dark entrance of the hut. At that moment they had no choice. They had no idea what Fred's pal had led them into. Seeing him cruising in the latest whip had clouded their sense of reasoning — all they had thought about was making it, all they had reasoned was the end of their poverty. And yet here they were, entering the mouth of a dark hut with no idea what lay beyond.

They groped their way silently along the wall, making sure not to fall. There was only forward, because backward led to the dead. Then they spotted a candle flickering in the distance and used its light to guide their way. When they reached it, they saw words carved into the ground in what looked like blood:

PULL OFF YOUR SHOES AND ENTER. THE CHAMBER OF PROSPERITY COMES WITH BLOOD.

Wordlessly, they pulled off their shoes and entered the chamber. At the far end of the room sat a man, naked except for a loincloth covering his private parts. They shuffled slowly toward him. You could practically smell the fear on them as they moved. When they drew near, Eric observed the man closely. He was bald, with three colours of chalk forming a dagger symbol beneath each eye and one mark on his forehead.

"Sit."

The voice reached them, but the man had not moved his lips. They scrambled to sit down. He looked at them with eyes shaped like a snake's slit, a white beard on his chin, his frame as slim as a broom.

"You both want riches?"