The sun had barely crested the rim of the canyon when the men gathered at the mouth of the cave. Their boots were caked with red dust, their shirts patched and faded from too many seasons under the harsh desert sky. Each man carried a battered lantern and a pickaxe, the tools of their meager trade. Their voices were low, wary, as they eyed the shadows that clung to the cave's entrance.
"Best get to it," muttered Enoch, the oldest of the group. His beard was streaked with gray, and his eyes darted nervously to the brush beyond the trail. "Don't want to be caught out when the sun's high."
Beside him, young Caleb shifted his weight, glancing at the others—Ephraim, broad-shouldered and silent, and little Tom, barely more than a boy but wiry and quick. The four of them made up the core of the coal crew, the only ones in the settlement stubborn or desperate enough to brave the caves.
The settlement itself was a huddle of rough cabins and tents, perched on a ledge above the river. The settlers had come from far-off places—some fleeing debts, others chasing rumors of gold or land. But the only thing the canyon had offered them was coal, black and brittle, buried deep in the earth. It was enough to keep the stoves burning and the traders interested, but not enough to make anyone rich.
The cave was their lifeline, and their curse.
They lit their lanterns and ducked inside, the cool air swallowing the heat of the morning. The walls closed in quickly, the ceiling low enough that even Tom had to stoop. The flicker of their lanterns revealed seams of coal, glinting like obsidian in the rock.
They worked in silence, the only sounds the scrape of metal on stone and the occasional grunt of effort. Enoch kept a wary eye on the shadows, his mind never far from the stories the natives told—the warnings to leave the caves alone, to let the spirits rest. But hunger was a louder voice, and the settlers had long since learned to ignore the warnings of those they called "savages."
Still, the rivalry was fierce. The natives watched the caves, sometimes ambushing the men as they left, their arrows whistling through the dusk. Ephraim bore a scar across his cheek from one such encounter, and Tom's left hand trembled when he was tired, the result of a poorly set bone after a raid.
But today, the cave was quiet. Too quiet, Enoch thought, as he swung his pick into the wall. The coal came away in chunks, filling their sacks with the promise of warmth and trade.
It was Caleb who found her.
He had wandered deeper than usual, drawn by a thin seam of coal that vanished into a narrow crevice. He squeezed through, cursing as his lantern scraped the rock. The passage opened into a small chamber, the air colder here, tinged with something metallic.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the light—a bundle of rags, maybe, left by the last crew. But as he drew closer, he saw the pale shape of a hand, fingers curled as if clutching at the earth.
"Enoch!" he called, his voice echoing off the stone.
The others squeezed in behind him, their lanterns casting wild shadows on the walls. Enoch knelt beside the figure, brushing away a layer of coal dust. It was a woman, her hair tangled and dark, her dress torn and stained. Her skin was cold, but when Enoch pressed his fingers to her throat, he felt a faint, fluttering pulse.
"She's alive," he said, wonder in his voice.
Ephraim frowned. "How'd she get here? Ain't no women in the crew."
Tom shook his head, eyes wide. "Maybe she's one of the natives."
Enoch looked closer. The woman's features were strange—her cheekbones high, her skin paler than any native he'd seen. Her dress was made of a fabric he didn't recognize, finer than anything in the settlement.
"We can't leave her," Caleb said, his voice trembling. "She'll die if we do."
Enoch nodded. "Wrap her in a blanket. We'll carry her out."
They moved quickly, fear prickling at their backs. The cave seemed to close in around them, the air growing colder with every step. Enoch felt the weight of unseen eyes, the spirits the natives spoke of, watching as they carried the woman through the winding tunnels.
They emerged into the sunlight, blinking against the glare. The settlement was already stirring, smoke rising from the chimneys, the traders setting up their stalls. The men hurried to Enoch's cabin, laying the woman on his narrow bed.
Word spread quickly. By midday, half the settlement had gathered outside, whispering and speculating. Some said she was a witch, others a spirit sent to curse them for their greed. The preacher, a stern man named Reverend Pike, insisted she was a sign—a test from God.
Enoch ignored them all. He cleaned the woman's wounds, wrapped her in blankets, and spooned water between her cracked lips. She did not wake, but her breathing grew steadier, her color returning.
That night, as the settlement huddled around their fires, the natives came.
They moved like shadows, slipping through the brush, their faces painted with ash and ochre. Enoch heard the first shout, the crack of a rifle, and rushed outside. The air was thick with smoke and fear, arrows hissing through the darkness.
The men of the settlement fought back, their guns flashing in the night. The natives retreated, but not before setting fire to two of the cabins. By dawn, the air was heavy with the smell of charred wood and blood.
The preacher gathered the survivors, his voice ringing out over the ruins. "This is a sign," he declared. "We have trespassed on sacred ground, and now we pay the price. The woman is the key. We must decide her fate."
Enoch stood at the edge of the crowd, the woman's hand in his. He felt the weight of their eyes, the fear and anger swirling around them.
"We can't just send her away," Caleb said, stepping forward. "She's not one of them. She needs our help."
Reverend Pike shook his head. "She brings trouble. The natives will not stop until she is returned—or until we are all dead."
The debate raged through the morning. Some argued for mercy, others for caution. Ephraim, usually silent, spoke up at last. "We found her in the cave. Maybe she knows what's down there. Maybe she can help us."
Enoch nodded. "We'll keep her safe. Until she wakes, she stays with me."
The preacher scowled, but the crowd began to disperse, uneasy but unwilling to challenge Enoch's authority.
Days passed. The woman lingered in a fevered sleep, her dreams haunted by voices no one else could hear. Enoch sat by her side, watching over her as the settlement rebuilt. The natives kept their distance, but their presence was felt in every shadow, every whisper of wind through the canyon.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the woman stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, wide and dark, filled with confusion and fear. She spoke, her voice barely a whisper, in a language none of them understood.
Enoch leaned close, speaking softly. "You're safe now. You're among friends."
She stared at him, her gaze searching, as if trying to remember something lost. Slowly, she closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep.
The settlement watched and waited, caught between hope and dread. The cave loomed over them, its secrets buried deep. And in the darkness, the anomaly pulsed, unseen and hungry, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.