Cut the thread (chap 5)
Summary: Jamil gaining trust within the camp
Main character(s): Jamil Viper, Ruggie Bucchi
Word count: 2659
A/N: Sadly, I have no experience working in a geological research camp. I hope my research attempts (bingewatching Youtube videos and diving in some subreddit) pay off and this doesn't feel too unnatural...
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity
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Jamil opened his eyes to the sight of the tent’s canvas roof, with the pale light of dawn seeping through and the smell of dust, ash, and medicinal herbs in the air. He stayed still and started listening, a habit he’d picked up from the mornings at the inns. To count footsteps outside the doors and decide whether the voices beyond them were drunk, curious, or dangerous. This morning, he could only hear carefree chatting, some muttered curse, a few jokes and a lot of laughter.
He pushed himself upright and checked his bag (again, out of habit). Knife. Coins. Spare clothes. Dried food. Water flask. Needle. Thread. Bandage. Medicine. Nothing missing. Of course. He knew that if Ruggie had wanted to rob him, he would have woken up with less than his boots.
He stepped outside. The basin was caught between night and day, shadows still pooled beneath canvas shades while the ridge above them began to catch gold. The camp looked more orderly in daylight: survey poles stacked near the rocks, sample bags sealed and labeled, communication rods fixed in their anchors, medical supplies stored beneath an awning, water barrels gathered near the cooking area.
Jamil stood at the edge of the basin and let his eyes move. And by the time Ruggie found him, Jamil had already reached the map table and marked three flaws in pencil.
Ruggie stopped beside him with dried meat in one hand. He looked at the map, then at Jamil. “Wow,” he said. “Good morning to you too.”
Jamil didn’t look up. “Your eastern evacuation route crosses loose sediment.”
Ruggie paused. “Does it?”
“Yes.” Jamil tapped the map. “It may hold for a few people. Not for a group running during a mana surge or attack.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It is.”
“Great. Love that.”
“Your communication rods are clustered too close together. One disruption at the center could cut off both the ridge team and outer patrols. And your medical supplies are stored beside equipment that could become hazardous in a fire or magical backlash.”
Ruggie stared at him.
Jamil finally looked up. “What?”
“I was wondering if you usually start conversations by telling people they’re one accident away from dying.”
“Only when they are.”
“Fun habit.” Ruggie took a bite of dried meat. “You eat yet?”
“No.” Jamil returned to the map. “The western path should be marked as the primary evacuation route. Split the medical supplies into three caches. Move two rods to higher ground. And someone needs to watch the northern slope during guard change.”
Ruggie’s chewing slowed. “You got all that from standing outside for, what, five minutes?”
“It’s basic observation.”
“Sure.” Ruggie leaned against the table. “Just because we agreed on field coordinator last night doesn’t mean you have to become a safety inspection nightmare before breakfast. Good grief, you’re reminding me of Riddle.”
Jamil ignored his jab. “These are preventable risks.”
“Uh-huh.” Ruggie studied him. “You planning to breathe at some point, or is that scheduled after you reorganize the entire camp?”
Jamil’s expression cooled. “If you would rather I stop, say so.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That all-or-nothing thing.” Ruggie pointed the half-eaten piece of dried meat at him. “Real annoying.”
Jamil folded the map in half. “I am correcting preventable risks. If that offends you, I can return to being useless.”
Ruggie’s ears angled back slightly, but his grin didn’t disappear. “See, nobody said useless.”
“You implied it.”
“No, I was about to say breakfast.” Ruggie tossed the remaining meat into his mouth. “But sure, fight the version of me in your head. He sounds like a jerk.”
Jamil looked away. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that no one here had asked him to earn the water, the blanket, or the temporary safety of the basin. But the feeling persisted. Usefulness told him where to stand, what to notice, what to prevent. Much easier than waiting for someone else to decide whether he belonged.
“The northern slope still needs a watcher,” he muttered.
Ruggie sighed. “You really don’t know when to stop, huh?”
“I know exactly when to stop.”
“Yeah? When?”
“When the work is done.”
Ruggie looked from the map to the camp. “Bad news, Viper. Work’s never done.”
Then, after a moment, Ruggie pushed off the table. “Fine. Show me.”
Jamil paused. “Show you what?”
“All the ways we’re apparently gonna die before lunch.” Ruggie jerked his chin toward the camp. “I have a feeling that you’re not gonna shut up about it anyway.”
Jamil let out a sigh, then opened the map again. “We should begin with the evacuation route.”
“Of course we should,” Ruggie muttered. “Seven forbid I eat sitting down.”
“You can eat while walking.”
“Wow. You and Leona really did go to the same school of ruining my day.”
“Just this time, I’ll consider it a compliment.”
—
They began with the western path.
Ruggie trailed after Jamil with the air of someone being dragged to class against his will, though his eyes missed very little. Meanwhile, Jamil walked the edge of the basin, map in one hand, his gaze moving from the slope to the tents to the marked ridge beyond.
“The western path is wider,” Jamil said. “Less direct, but safer. If the camp needs to evacuate quickly, people can move in pairs without crowding.”
“Sounds nice. Shame it looks like nobody uses it.”
“That is why it should be cleared.” Jamil crouched near the ground. The sand here was packed hard with gravel underneath, not soft enough to swallow weight, not loose enough to break under pressure. Good. Not perfect, but good enough.
He stood again. “This should be marked before the next survey team leaves.”
“Mm-hm.” Ruggie glanced toward the camp. “You planning to tell them that?”
“I assumed that was why you asked me to show you.”
“Sure.” Ruggie’s grin widened. “I just like watching people react.”
Jamil gave him a flat look. “How charming.”
By the time they returned to the center of camp, more people had gathered. The morning had sharpened into full light, turning the basin gold and harsh around the edges. Researchers moved between crates and sample bags. A healer was grinding dried herbs in a small bowl. Two guards adjusted the straps of their gear while speaking with one of the local guides, a broad woman with sun-browned arms and a scarf tied over her hair.
Ruggie clapped his hands once. “Good news. Our new field coordinator thinks we’re all gonna die.”
Several heads turned and Jamil closed his eyes briefly. “Ruggie.”
“What? Concise and still deliver the sentiment.”
The guide raised an eyebrow. “Field coordinator?”
One of the researchers, a thin man with ink smudged across his fingers, looked from Jamil to the map in his hand. “Is there a problem?”
“Several,” Jamil replied before he could stop himself.
Ruggie’s ears twitched, the amusement radiating off him.
Jamil unfolded the map on the nearest crate. “Your western path should be marked as the primary evacuation route. The eastern one is faster, but the ground beneath it is unstable. Your communication rods are clustered too close to the supply center, which creates a single point of failure. Your medical supplies should be divided into separate caches, not stored beside volatile equipment. And the northern slope is unwatched during guard change.”
Silence followed, for a full minute. Then, the guide crossed her arms. “We have used the eastern path for months.”
“I am aware.”
“Then you should also be aware that it has held for months.”
“For normal movement,” Jamil said. “Not for a panicked evacuation. Not during a mana fluctuation. Not with people carrying equipment.”
One of the guards frowned. “The western path is slower.”
“Slower is preferable to collapsing.”
The researcher with ink-stained fingers leaned over the map. “We tested the eastern path when we established camp.”
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“Before or after the last wind shift changed the slope?”
The man’s mouth closed. Jamil pointed to the ridge line. “The surface is packed, but the sediment beneath is fractured. You can see it from the exposed edge near the lower bend.”
The guide’s gaze sharpened, just briefly, but Jamil still caught it. “We know this land, boy,” she said.
The words struck harder than they should have. Jamil was suddenly reminded of the many times he had heard them before in different forms, from different mouths.
“You see stone. We see where the wind breaks before reaching the houses.”
“Careful, traveler.”
For a moment, the camp disappeared behind memory: dyed cloth shifting in the heat, old looms creaking, a ridge full of metal no one wanted to touch. His own voice, too sharp, too certain, laying out improvements to people who hadn’t asked for them. Their faces closing one by one as his presence had become an insult. He had told himself he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The guide continued, voice measured. “I appreciate the concern. But this camp has functioned without major incident. We can’t move half our layout because someone who arrived last night saw a possibility.”
Jamil straightened slowly and folded the map. “Of course, you know the terrain better than I do. I overstepped.”
He turned away from the crate before anyone could answer and moved toward the equipment awning. Ruggie caught up beside him after a few steps. “That was fast.”
“What was?”
“You backing off.”
“They rejected the recommendation.”
“Yeah, people do that when they don’t like being told their camp is a death trap before breakfast.”
“Then pressing the matter would have been counterproductive.” Jamil stopped near the shade of the awning and began checking the nearest crate, more to give his hands something to do. “If they have used the eastern path for months, they may continue using it.”
Ruggie watched him for a moment, then he gave a small shrug. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess so.”
—
For the next hour, he kept his comments to himself.
When one of the researchers carried an overloaded case toward the ridge, Jamil noticed the uneven latch and said nothing. When the healer left all the burn salves in the same kit instead of dividing them between stations, he said nothing. When the guard change at the northern slope stretched too long because one of them stopped to joke with the cook, Jamil looked away.
He reminded himself that he had only been invited into the camp for one night, one meal and his job as field coordinator was only agreed on by Ruggie. That wasn’t the same thing as belonging. So he held his tongue.
It lasted until the eastern path gave way.
First there was a dry crack, then a sliding hiss of sand. Then someone shouted.
Two workers had been carrying a crate of stone samples along the eastern bend, taking the shorter route from the lower survey point back toward the camp. The first had already crossed the narrowest section. The second hadn’t as the packed surface broke beneath his heel. Then the slope peeled away in a sheet of sand and gravel.
The crate slammed down and split open. Sample bags spilled across the path. The worker fell hard, caught himself with one hand, and slid toward the ravine edge.
“Stay still!” Magic gathered in Jamil’s hand as a thin line of force struck the ground below the man’s boots to compact the loosened sediment into a temporary brace. The slide slowed. Still, the worker froze halfway down the broken path, one leg buried to the shin, both hands clawing uselessly at the crumbling ground.
Jamil reached the edge and dropped to one knee. “Don’t move.” Then he braced one foot against a firmer rock and extended his hand. “Give me your left hand. Slowly.”
The worker extended his hand, Jamil caught his wrist and pulled. However, the ground shifted again. Jamil was about to cast another spell when Ruggie appeared at his side. “Need a hand?”
“His belt,” Jamil said. “Stay behind the dark line. Anything past it is loose.”
“Got it.”
Ruggie dropped low, hooked one hand into the back of the worker’s belt, and planted his feet exactly where Jamil had indicated.
“On three,” Jamil said. “One. Two. Now.”
They pulled together. The worker came free with a rough gasp, boots scraping over gravel as they dragged him back onto solid ground. A second later, the rest of the eastern bend collapsed, spilling sand, stone, and the broken crate into the ravine below.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then the worker let out a shaky breath and clutched his ankle. The healer rushed forward with a kit. Jamil helped move the injured worker to the tents while feeling the entire camp’s gaze on him.
Ruggie crouched down near the broken slope, checking the ground with one hand. “West route, then?”
The guide turned her gaze from Jamil to the collapsed path. Then she exhaled. “West route.”
She approached Jamil, her eyes went once to the broken slope before returning to him. “Earlier,” she said, “you mentioned the western route.”
Jamil turned to her. “Yes.”
“Show me.”
They walked together towards the western edge of the basin. The guide crouched down and scraped aside the top layer of sand with two fingers, testing the gravel beneath. “Ground’s firmer here. Turn’s bad for carts.”
“For stretchers too,” Jamil said.
She followed his gaze to the bend, then stood. “Dust rises there after noon.”
“Then markers before the turn.”
She nodded and called for stakes.
That became the pattern.
At the medical awning, the healer had already sorted everything into sealed rolls and labeled cases, each bundle tight against dust. Jamil looked from the supplies to the ridge, then toward the west exit.
The healer noticed. “Placement?”
“If the center is blocked, so are the supplies.”
She was quiet for a second, then pulled two empty cases from under the table. “Ridge and west exit.”
Near the communication rods, one researcher adjusted the crystal casing while another checked the barrier range against his notes. Jamil watched the needle twitch on the dial.
“It only spikes if the output is pushed past normal survey range,” the researcher said.
Jamil looked toward the broken eastern bend.
The researcher’s mouth tightened. “Right.”
The rod was moved upslope.
By midday, the western path had been cleared. By late afternoon, the supplies were split between three stations, the rods spaced farther apart, and the guard change no longer left both men facing inward.
However, Jamil wasn’t satisfied. Jamil noticed the marker before the bend still leaned too far into shadow. Then he noticed the cache labels were inconsistent. He fixed one thing, then noticed the next, rinse and repeat.
By the time the camp went quiet, Jamil was still at the map table. The lantern hissed beside him, turning the paper yellow. Red marked unstable ground. Blue marked water traces. Black marked stone density. Notes from older surveys crowded the margins in several different hands. His eyes burned but he still dipped the pencil again.
“Wow.” Ruggie’s voice came from the other side of the table, rough with sleep. “You trying to defeat the map?”
“I am updating the hazard zones.”
“At midnight.”
“The eastern collapse changed the risk pattern.”
“Will it collapse again tonight?”
“No.”
“Then it can wait.” Ruggie plucked the pencil out of Jamil’s grasp then looked into his eyes. “Viper, nobody’s kicking you out tonight.”
Jamil averted his gaze. “That is not what this is.”
“Honestly, I don’t care what this means to you. But at this rate, you’re very likely to collapse yourself tomorrow and that’s annoying.” Ruggie folded the map and weighed it down with a stone. “I’d prefer you last longer than a few days.”
Ruggie handed Jamil the pencil back. He took it and after a moment, slid it into the map case. Tomorrow, and many days after, he’d still be here, and they’d still welcome him.