If We Look Hard Enough, We Can Cure Everything

We were the last two remaining. The past nine days had tested us beyond what words could capture. We had begun as a group of seven people - travelling through the deadliest forest known to man. Its reputation was well-earned. We encountered mud that would stick to our boots as a second skin and swamps that would engulf us, leaving only our nostrils above the surface, gasping for air. Every time we emerged from these death traps, we were forced to confront every choice that had led us to this hell on Earth and to question whether any mission was worth this merciless torment.

How exactly did we end up here? Multiple texts spoke of a potion crafted by an ancient civilization that could cure all diseases. It sounded promising, but there was no easy way to get it. Many teams had already tried and failed. We were told that over 500 people - skilled hunters and collectors, even their animals—had died trying to reach the Ruins of Malley. I suspect we were told a reduced reasonable number not to down our spirits. Each of us had been given a map with two key symbols. Point A was where we started and where we would regroup with government officials after retrieving the potion. Point X marked the Ruins. It was supposed to take about ten days on foot. In the beginning, the mood was joyous, even cocky; on paper, we were the team with the perfect relevant skillsets of our time to traverse through the forest. It was also well-established that if a group can succeed now, it is us.

The first day was simple, unfolding as expected. The sun shone brightly, the humidity was low, and occasional clouds drifted by. A light breeze rustled the leaves—all in all, it was a glimpse of paradise. But the second day was different. The sky darkened with an ominous weight, and a steady drizzle had begun as we broke camp. Horvath, our stoic commander with his signature dark moustache, led the way, slicing through dense vines. Close behind was Ortiz, his sharp-eyed second-in-command. I was the group’s strategist—the brains, as they called me. A decade ago, I had led a search party for a lost explorer. That mission forced us to cross a river with a strong current. Our beloved mascot dog, in a brave but doomed attempt to uplift our spirits, leaped into the torrent and was swept away. Waiting for calmer waters wasn’t an option, so I engineered a crude slingshot—the world’s first human slingshot transporter, if you will—to ferry us across. Well, speaking about the transporter, we had Bartosz, who could pack and transport supplies in impossibly tight spaces. With their keen vision and expert marksmanship, Richards, Vorster, and Campbell kept watch for lurking dangers.

The remaining two, Horvath and I, stood frozen, locking eyes with fear etched into our expressions. The brutal losses of our comrades had instilled a chilling certainty - death could be just around the corner. Horvath, once proud of his record of never losing more than two people on an expedition, had now lost five. The weight of failure hung heavy on him. He looked at the stairs in front of us that led to the top of the Ruins of Malley and then turned to me with a faint, weary smile as if to say, "At least we’re still alive. The potion is within reach—we just need to finish this." With renewed resolve, he took the first few steps but glanced back to see that I was still at the base. He returned and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, one last push!" he urged. "This is it—the final stretch. Once we do this, our names will be etched in history."

By noon, with the sun beating down relentlessly, Richards began whining about his stomach. His steps grew sluggish, his movements drowsy. Fearing he might misfire his rifle, we urged him to rest under a tree. Slowly, he leaned back and closed his eyes - we thought this was a natural response. Minutes later, violent seizures overtook him, and then, just as suddenly, he went still. Dead. Shock and fear paralyzed us. What had done this? Could it happen to us, too? The answer came swiftly—Bartosz collapsed similarly. In mere minutes, a quarter of our party was gone. We stood frozen, expecting the horror to spread. But nothing else happened. Only the forest noises remained.

Their deaths stalled our progress. We arranged their bodies as best we could, marked the location, and sent a coded message to the officials before making camp. The next three days passed uneventfully, and we assumed no more misfortune awaited us. But on the sixth morning, we woke up to find Campbell gone. Two minor puncture wounds near his ankle gave us the answer—a venomous snake bite. Ortiz assumed Campbell’s role, doubling his alertness alongside Vorster. That evening, we entered the territory of the Kah’onou tribe. According to past records, a peaceful approach could earn us shelter. As we neared what looked like a marketplace, the chaos fell into eerie stillness. All the eyes locked onto us. We hesitated, afraid that any movement or word might be misinterpreted. One man from the crowd stepped forward, "Why you here?" A bit of relief, now we can communicate. "Need place to sleep. Morning, we leave," said I. He turned to the crowd and spoke in his native tongue, and the tension was dissolved. Without another word, he asked us to follow him to the chief. 

I extended my hand, and Horvath pulled me onto the first step. He was more than a leader—he was an inspiration. He could have been a great motivator if he had not dedicated himself to these dangerous expeditions.

"Once we reach the top, we’ll sleep our asses off for an entire day," he said, grinning. "But first, we drink the potion—we’ve earned it. After everything we’ve endured, it should heal our wounds, cure your fever, and we’ll be ready to run home. I’m just glad you’re here. I can’t wait to share our story, honour those who made this possible, and commemorate their heroics." 

For a moment, I wanted to applaud. Instead, I simply said, "I have no grand words, but I’m lucky to have you as my commander on this journey." We exchanged a nod and, without hesitation, sprinted up the stairs. I reached the top first. Turning back, I extended my hand—this time, to pull Horvath up.

When my friends woke up the following morning, they had no idea why warriors had surrounded the hut. Earlier, I had walked to the nearby lake to freshen up. Turning back, I saw Horvath sprinting toward me, Ortiz and Vorster close behind. Then, suddenly, Ortiz stopped. Two arrows—one piercing his left eye, the other buried in his heart—had ended his run. Horror paralyzed us for a split second. Then Vorster made his choice.

"Commander, you must survive for this mission to succeed," he said firmly. "I’ll hold them off. Go!" Horvath refused, desperate to fight alongside him. But Vorster—being Vorster—had already made up his mind. As the commander hesitated, Vorster charged into the advancing warriors, taking down nearly ten before he, too, fell to the same fate as Ortiz. Now, only Horvath and I remained. With heavy hearts, we pushed forward to reach the base of the Ruins of Malley.

There it was—the magical potion, the prize for which so many had perished. It was finally within our grasp. Horvath stepped forward, picked it up, and turned to face me. Then, a sharp pain shot through his stomach. His eyes widened in shock. I pulled the knife out, drove it back into his chest, and snatched the potion from his hand.

"You…?" he gasped, staggering. "You murdered us all… Why? Why would you do something so monstrous?" His voice cracked, his eyes brimming with tears.

I smirked. "Because I wanted to revive my career. A decade ago, adventurers like us were legends. People followed our every move. But times changed—now, the world is obsessed with city life. I needed to prove I was still the best, the only one who could survive when others couldn’t. The fame, the fortune, and the legacy would all be mine." After a moment's pause, I continued, "I poisoned the wild berries, but only Richards and Bartosz fell. I lured the snake to Campbell. I slit the chief’s son’s throat and walked out of the village, leaving you all to die. Honestly, I’m surprised you escaped that hut. I wonder how." I turned for a final look—but Horvath was already gone.

"Well then," I murmured, "this secret dies with you."

I uncorked the potion and took a deep sip. A surge of euphoria coursed through me—intoxicating and electrifying. Then, the dizziness set in. The world spun violently. I lay down to avoid falling from the height. Then came the convulsions—twitching fingers, jerking legs, burning pain ran through every part of my body. I coughed up some blood. And more. I was dying. Maybe when they said it cured all diseases, they meant it eradicated greed, too. Maybe it erased all vices from the world. Maybe death is the cure for all diseases.

Maybe.

We will never know.

Siba Smarak Panigrahi

(If you know what inspired the names of the people, you are a true legend)