Syth and Axe (Part 4) : Bunyan vs. Wendigo
1920 - Brown Mountain, NC
Paul stared out across the valley.
He’s been here before - probably a century earlier, following the rumors of strange ghost lights in the distant hills. He wasn’t much of a reader, but the legends he’d heard spoke of ghosts, long-dead maidens, strange visitors from other realms… he’d heard it all.
But he’d never seen them. He squatted on a stone and stared out across the hillside, toward the strange dip in the distant mountain where the lights were rumored to appear - seemingly at random.
Where was his other self at this moment?
Another Paul, roaming across the countryside, trying to keep a low profile, but unaware that his future self had performed no shortage of feats, securing his spot in the larger-than-life history of this land.
Paul chuckled and stared out over the vast darkness of the Appalachians. He’d investigated “Paul Bunyan” sightings for years, roaming the countryside, trying to figure out where these “larger-than-life” stories had come from. Well, he knew now. And he’d known just about the time his other self would show up, so he never crossed paths with his twin.
And he had thought immortality to be the strange part of his life! If he was right, it would be another thirty years before he could come out of hiding and walk openly as himself again - though he’d probably change his name again for a while. He’d assumed a few identities through the years. It was probably time again.
Night settled on the Appalachians. He remained, perched on the overlook, staring out across the silent valley, listening as the night creatures began to move.
Nothing.
Just like last night.
And the night before…
And the months before that…
He shrugged and muttered to himself. “I’m not sure what I expected…”
“Always trying to find the next weird thing, aren’t you?”
He turned.
A small fox sat nearby.
“Again with the disguise?” he asked. “Are foxes even native to this area?”
The fox seemed to shrug, then settled down, resting her head on her paws. A few extra tails floofed out of the back. “Not any foxes like me.”
Her voice reminded him of the way Syth typically communicated - a strange rumble at the back of the head. A voice heard everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. Instinctively, he tickled at his ear.
“Still trying to see if these are legends or truth?”
He nodded. “Yah. Too many stories of strange lights for it not to be something, but whether it’s something from another world or not… well, I can’t tell.”
“Gonna just hit it with your axe when it shows itself?”
“I don’t solve all my problems that way.”
“Most of them, if my experience is anything to go by.”
“And how else should I solve my issues?”
“Intelligence, manipulation, maybe a knife in the back…”
“Ah, yes, because I could sneak up to get a knife in the back. And no one’s ever accused me of being subtle enough to trick people into doing what I want.”
“You’ve managed to avoid yourself for nearly seventy years.”
“Pretty sure that’s easy when I knew where I tended to roam. Travel isn’t exactly fast in this country, at least it wasn’t fast in the mid-1800s. It’s come a long way. And can you imagine the look on these people’s faces when those planes take off?”
“They spread?”
Paul nodded. “Oh, yah. Become able to fly across continents and to other lands.”
The fox looked up. “For a world with no magic to speak off, the things you people accomplish is amazing. We have flying structures, but no science to speak of - at least no purely-physical science. Our structures fly by other means.”
“I wonder if there’s a science behind it somehow?” Paul wondered, staring off across the valley to the distant range.
“Could be. I never cared enough to find out. Since the Nexus World fell and vanished, very few live who know the secrets of binding and scribing. Could be some magic, something science - to me, it’s all the same.”
“But you do magic?”
There was a blinding flash, and the fox vanished.
“My tricks are who I am. I don’t call them magic.” A lithe, beautiful woman stood before him, her red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her pale skin almost glowing against the evening moonlight. “When you fart, is that magic?”
Paul released a hearty guffaw. “So your fireballs are you farting?”
She paused, realizing what she’d said.
“I was wondering about the smell.”
“You know what I meant!”
“I only know what you said,” he chuckled.
“What I meant was you don’t consider it magical when you perform a bodily function.”
A smile split his bearded face. She swatted him.
“What?”
“You’re being dumb on purpose!”
“Better than being dumb on accident.”
She flopped next to him and stared out into the darkness.
His hand wandered to her leg. “Try it and you’ll pull back a burnt nub.”
He chuckled again and gave her thigh a playful squeeze. A little spark jumped from her finger, flickering momentarily against the back of his hand. He pulled back with a “Youch” that was more play than sincere.
“Ugh, the smell of burnt hair…”
“Better than a fart,” she replied with a smirk.
He blew at the burnt hair. “So sensitive.”
She chuckled and stared out over the valley. “You should have seen my younger sisters when they were trying to learn how to control it. So much singed hair. My parents were partly bald for most of my childhood.”
Paul stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back against his elbows. “When I was in Japan, I heard of these creatures.”
“When were you in Japan?”
“Oh, the 1940s.”
She chuckled. “So your past life?”
He smiled. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s been years, yet will be years before I go there.”
She nodded. “I’ve known a few time travelers in my time. How long did it take?”
“To take?”
“How long before you got used to the paranoia of running into your past self?”
“Oh, that.” He sighed. “Still not used to it, I guess. I spend a few years in one place I know I wasn’t, then whisk off to the other coast, keeping a low profile, another name, change up my features - you know how that is.”
Two fox ears appeared at the top of her head. “Mine’s a little easier to do.”
He nodded with a smile. “Yeah. If I could transform…”
“But you can.”
“Yeah. I become a walking signpost every time I transform. A little different than your particular trait.”
She manifested a few tails and winked. “These get looks, too, you know.”
“Heh. Yeah, I bet. How many do you actually have?”
She gave a gasp of fake embarrassment and swatted his arm. “A gentlemen never asks a lady how many tails she has!”
“Fine. Keep your secrets. Someday I’ll count them.”
“Only if I let you.” she replied with a wink.
Paul blushed and coughed. “Anyway. About Japan…”
“And the creatures you met and will meet?” she provided.
“Yeah.”
“I know of them.”
“Are they from your world?”
She shrugged. “You say ‘my world’ like every one is from the same. Oni’ja is a ‘hub city,’ I guess you could say.”
“A hub city? Like a crossroads?”
“Not in the sense of ‘making a deal.’ I guess in the sense of Grand Central Station in New York City.”
Paul nodded, having seen the glorious buildings there on more than one occasion. “You’ve been?”
“Not as such. I’ve seen it from afar. But I understand its purpose.”
“So travelers from all around come and go?”
She nodded. “It’s a pilgrimage site, with massive structures all around.”
“We’re talking Oni’ja, or New York City?”
She smiled. “Both, I guess. But Oni’ja is probably much more ancient.”
“You say that like there’s doubt.”
“Well, time works differently as you hop between realms. So, in the grand scheme, Oni’ja might not even be founded yet according to how time works here.”
Paul’s head hurt just thinking about that.
“But, I think it’s pretty old. So yah, it’s older than your cities.”
“Always a mystery with you.”
She shrugged. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“So are there any natives to Oni’ja?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Those of us who live there drove out the natives centuries ago and built the city. That’s when we made it what it is. But we’ve reopened the land to some of the original inhabitants so they can visit their holy sites, but they’re not allowed to stay permanently.”
“Why not?”
“That’s complicated…” she trailed off. The evening noises soon settled over the conversation. Crickets chirped, wind rustled. Paul stared off across the valley.
“We drove the natives out of our area as well…” he observed.
She nodded. “I’ve heard. Probably a similar event?”
No response.
“At least it wasn’t you who did it.”
He chuckled morosely. “Most could claim that,” he replied. “But I’ve lived long enough to see it. I was there when they were driven out. I was there to watch the Trail of Tears. I’ve tried to make it right since… but my hands aren’t clean.”
Kit stared at hers. “Neither are mine.”
Another moment of silence hovered between them.
Paul sighed deeply. “I wish I could look over these valleys and say ‘think of what it looked like!’ with wonder like some of the newcomers. But, I can’t. I was there. I’ve seen what it looked like. I saw Boston before it was expanded. I saw New York before those big buildings. I saw these lands embroiled in battle with those who lived here before us. And I helped. I can’t claim innocence or ignorance.” He stared at his hands. “And I look back and don’t know what I would have done differently. People can’t live together as one unless they are one. Conflict will break out and…” he paused and seemed to chew over what he could say. “... the stronger will win. That’s just how nature works. For right or wrong, my people won…” he clenched his fists. “Wrong was done, but I don’t know what I’d change.”
Kit pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, staring out across the valley. “I saw some of what we did, too. It was harsh, and it was brutal…” she sighed. “I’ve driven others off their lands before, thanking Andren that I wasn’t part of the weaker army.”
Paul nodded. “My people have slaughtered each other for centuries, and nothing changed when we came here.”
“Seems it’s destiny for any race…”
Paul nodded.
The crickets resumed their conversation.
“So the people of this land, were they united?”
Paul shook his head. “Not really. They were busy warring with each other, battling over the land. We allied with some and fought others. In the end, we took it all - even fought each other for what was left over. We’ve never really had peace… just a broadly-agreed-to-ceasefire.”
Kit nodded. “Nothing new, indeed.”
“We drove most tribes out West, allowed a few to keep some lands here and there… but overall, it was a mess. At the end of the day, I think I feel the worst about the betrayals.”
“Agreements made… not kept…” observed Kit, again, as if staring off into another world.
Paul sighed and planted his broad hands on the ground before pushing himself up. He stretched. “What’s done is done. And what I helped do I can’t undo. Can’t really do anything at all until I’m back in my normal timeline..” he replied. “What about you?”
She shrugged. “It’s weird being in a world that’s not your own. Supposedly, I can’t change anything, but if I could… would I?”
“Would you?”
“I don’t know. What if this event that killed a thousand was necessary because it prevented another event that would eventually kill ten thousand? Which is worse?”
“Depends on if you’re one of the ones killed or not, I guess.”
She nodded in response. “Exactly. How do you put a value on a life? How do I step in and choose that these over here will die so those over there can be saved? What if my actions make it worse?”
“So… do nothing?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s why I don’t rush into any timeline-changing event. I leave that for overconfident fools and morons. If they want to debate with the gods, I’ll let them handle that wrath.”
Then the conversation ended… the pregnant silence of sadness and regret - of frustration over what had been, what could have been… Paul sighed again.
“Don’t burden yourself with things you can’t change.”
“But, I’m in a place where I can.”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. Focus on what you can do. Don’t worry about what you can’t.”
Something flickered in the distance.
“What was that?”
Paul took a step forward, then remembered the edge. “The lights.”
Something flared up on a distant rise. It swirled up and around, twirled back on itself, then dropped back down into the trees.
“So it is real…” Paul muttered.
“What is it?”
Paul shook his head. “Not sure.”
The lights shot back up, reaching some of the lower bows of the distant trees, shot along above the ground, then dropped again. There seemed to be some sort of clearing - it was hard to tell. Paul quickly took stock of the silhouettes of the distant hills, turned back to try to get a gauge of where he was. Satisfied he’d gotten enough points to get a bearing, he pulled out a compass, laid it down on one of his maps, and tried to pinpoint exactly where the distant lights had appeared.
“Can you find them from just this?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.
“I’ve been roaming the woods for hundreds of years,” he replied. “I don’t get lost. If that cliffside over there exists, I can find it.”
Two weeks later.
Paul and Kit stepped from the forest into a small clearing.
“Is this it?”
He drew a creased map from his pocket and began to look around him. He stepped to the edge, where a small circle of trees ended with a rather steep cliffside. “As far as I can tell. Seems to map.”
“So… anything out of the ordinary?”
Paul shrugged. “Not that I see. You can’t tell?”
She smirked. “Our definitions of ‘ordinary’ are quite different, I’d imagine.” A small flame sparked into her hand, then extinguished just as rapidly. “What were you expecting to find?”
“Something. A scorch mark, a burnt limb, a pile of sacred stones. I’d settle for an old-fashioned fairy circle.”
“Like this?”
A small circle of rocks sat near the center of the clearing.
Paul examined it. Small chunks of soot-covered wood lay inside, half-buried under mounds of dirt.
“Firepit. Someone was camping.”
“Maybe that’s what we saw?”
“Could be. Doesn’t explain the floating light.”
“Maybe they carried the fire around a little bit - you know, like I do.”
“Humans can’t carry fire.”
Kit shrugged. “Maybe some of my kin made it over here. Haven’t seen my sister for years - maybe she’s on earth somewhere?”
“You couldn’t tell?”
Kit shook her head. “No. We’ve had to hide our presence from each other for… reasons. I won’t be able to find her for some time. But I doubt it’ll be that simple. She wouldn’t have need for a firepit anyway. Our fire doesn’t spread like normal ones.”
Paul sighed and looked around him. “It can’t be this simple. Electric lights, railroads, firepits. People are seeing something else out here.”
“Spirits?”
“Maybe.”
He dug in the dirt.
“What’s that?”
Something shifted.
“A figurine?”
He pushed the dirt away and produced a scorched statue. It was vaguely human, with large lips, hollow eyes, and carvings that implied clothing - an old shirt and the faintest tracings of where the legs would be.
“Nails?”
Paul nodded. “I’m not sure why.”
The hollow eyes were filled with nails, three in each. He held the figurine in his palm, turning the scorched wooden statue over as he talked.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Paul plucked the statue by its head and lifted it up to eye level. “I think I have… some of the tribes out of the jungles made these… fetish statues. There’s one recently acquired by a museum in London - at least I think they recently acquired it. They’d had it for quite some time when I learned about it in the forties.”
“What was its purpose?”
“Not sure, probably some pagan ritual or something.”
“Pagan?”
Paul gestured, trying to conjure up the meaning of the word for someone with no context. “Those who worship demons, I guess.”
“What are demons?”
“How do I explain centuries of religion… um…” he gestured at the figure in his hands. “There are those who think these figures contain their gods, and worship them, set them up in their house, offer sacrifices to them. The works.”
Kit nodded.
“And there are those who don’t?” he said, realizing that it was more of a question than a statement.
He paused.
“There’s a religion called Christianity that worships one God, and says that he doesn’t inhabit any sort of statue. And so… anyone who didn’t worship this God was known as a pagan.”
“Seems pretty short-sighted. How would these Christians know?”
Paul shrugged. “I’m not completely sure. It’s been a long time since I was in church. Their God came back from the dead.”
“How’d he die in the first place?” she asked, now visibly confused. “We have things we call ‘gods’ that have died, but we never thought of them as creators or anything. Is that what this god is?”
“No. They treat him as a creator.”
“A creator that can die?”
Paul shrugged. “I don’t know…” he said in exasperation. “I - I just know how the story goes. Don’t ask me to explain the reasoning. Their God became a man somehow and then died and came back to life.”
Kit folded her arms, her face a combination of incredulity, confusion, and… respect? It was hard to tell in the setting light.
“So this came from some pagan place?”
“It looks different, but maybe.”
“Why the nails in the eyes?”
Paul turned the figure over again, feeling a wave of unease roll over him. “I don’t know. But someone tried to dispose of it.”
“So did they destroy it to break a seal or were they trying to break a curse?”
Paul chuckled. “I have no idea. I’ve never come across anything like this.”
“But you said…?”
“Yes, I heard rumors of statues in museums. I’ve never found one in the wild.” He said with a chuckle. He placed the figurine back in the pit. “I don’t like this…”
He took a step back away from the firepit and everything went black.
He heard a startled cry from behind him.
“Kit?”
“What’s going on?” She exclaimed.
“It just went dark, I have no idea!”
Something brushed his arm.
“Kit? Is that you?”
“Yes.” Came the whisper at his elbow. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Me neither.”
The night sounds didn’t come. Other than when they spoke, it was as if their ears had been stuffed with cotton. A stifling silence bore over them.
“Where are we?”
Kit held tight to his arm. “I’ve never been in a realm like this. Hold my hand. We can’t afford to get separated here - wherever we are.”
Their fingers entwined.
“Your flames?”
“Already on it,” she responded, and a light flared in the darkness. But it cast no aura, no shadows, nothing. It was a flame floating in the middle of nowhere. Paul could see her, his body, and nothing else.
The flames winked out.
“Why?”
“We don’t know where we are or what else might be here.” She replied in a tense almost-stage-whisper, “best to see them before they see us.”
Paul began to creep forward, but Kit resisted.
“What’s wrong now?”
“We’re a short distance from a cliff.” she replied. “If we haven’t left the hillside, and we wander too far, then we will fall to our deaths.”
“I could probably survive,” he replied with a slight smirk.
“This is serious,” she hissed. “We don’t know what that figurine did, or where we are. Certain abilities don’t carry over from realm to realm. Don’t get careless.”
“It was a joke.”
“I don’t know that. I can’t afford to lose you.”
“You can’t afford to lose me?”
He felt a stronger-than-should-be-possible squeeze on his hand. He let out a little whimper.
“Fine. I’ll stay still. What do you suggest, then if we can’t see, can’t hear, and can’t move?”
“We wait.”
And with that, she sat down. He groaned and followed suit.
After what seemed like hours, she lit up a small fireball and lobbed it. It traveled in a small arc before dropping back toward the ground and whispering out of existence.
“What are you doing? I thought you didn’t want to be seen?”
“I’m trying to see where the end of this region is.”
She lit up another ball and tossed it straight up. It seemed to strike something, skittered along sideways for a while, then dropped straight down before falling to the ground.
“Weird.”
She lobbed another. This one was about ninety degrees from the first. It flew straight out, hit something, then dropped down before seemingly falling out of existence.
“I thought so.”
“What?”
“We’re not in a different realm at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re still on earth somehow. Our…” she thought for the word “... essences have blinked into another region, but in all reality, it seems like we are still on earth and can still interact with the things we left.”
“Any idea on how to get back?”
“Working on it,” she replied.
A few more hours seemed to pass.
“I think I’ve got it.”
“What?”
“First, what is that amulet you were wearing?”
Paul fingered the small fairy cross around his neck.
“A fairy cross?”
She nodded. “Okay. I know this sounds like a dumb question, but where did you get it?”
“Um… on earth.”
“Where did you empower it?”
“The fairy realm?”
“That’s not earth, right?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Okay. I’m going to open a portal, and if we step through, if you have anything empowered by that realm, you’ll be sent somewhere else. I just have to make sure before I do this. I think that statue took us into a small pocket world.”
“But you said…”
“I know. I’m simplifying. We are about to step through into earth, but there are various powers at work. I need to make sure nothing would interfere.”
“This is the only amulet I have, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Okay,” she responded, and with a strange sequence of steps, she produced a small amulet, grabbed his hand, and stepped through reality.
And the stars returned, the trees sprouted around them, and a small, dangerous object lay at their feet, now partially scorched by the fire she had dropped from the other realm. Paul instinctively kicked it away. It bounced slightly and came to a stop at the edge of the fire ring’s edge, its nail-pierced eyes staring up at him.
He released her hand. “You want to explain what on earth just happened?”
She shrugged. “There are a few items that allow you to travel between the realms - apparently that was one of them.”
“And why’s it up here?”
“A trap - a seal - I don’t know.”
Paul stared down in horror at the object.
Kit slid the medallion back into her breeches and knelt at the item.
“We can’t leave it here.” she stated.
Paul shook his head. “I’m not touching it again.”
“I’m not asking you to.” She pulled a small scarf from the inside of her blouse. A small figure materialized. It started as a small pile of sticks, which clicked and snapped into a weird approximation of a skeleton, about her height. Vines and tendrils, grass and leaves twined up around to form the muscles, and then a thick layer of mud and dirt oozed up the sides. Soon, a weird little naked androgynous humanoid thing stood before them. It stared at her.
She pointed at the statue and held out the scarf.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what to do.”
It stared back, unblinking.
“Ah, forgot that detail. Open your mouth.”
The clay golem obeyed.
She conjured a small flame and gently placed it inside the mouth, then slowly closed the jaw. The lips obediently folded over, “closing” the mouth as a light glow slowly permeated down into the throat and chest, as if a fire had just kindled inside the being. Then the glow faded, save for in the area of the eyes, which seemed to now sparkle with a lifelike essence.
The golem then turned and gently plucked the figurine off the ground with mud hands, wrapped it in the scarf, and presented it to Kit.
She held up a single hand. “No, you hold on to it for now.”
“Yes, mistress.” It rattled.
“Impressive.” Paul responded.
“Not my best creation, but I’m working with what I’ve got. There’s something wrong with the soil around here. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold this thing together for long.”
Paul shook his head. “Why can’t anything be simple?”
Kit chuckled. “Because this is the real world.” She examined the statue in the golem’s hand. “Okay… I’m sensing it now. This is strange.”
“What is it?”
“Whatever you did when you held it ‘activated it,’ it seems.”
“So… is it going to blow up or something?”
“Nothing so sudden, I’m afraid. But it will summon something to it if we don’t find where this thing came from.”
“Summon something?”
Kit nodded. “There’s an aura it’s giving off. Like a cry for help.”
“And what can hear it?”
“I don’t think we want to know.”
A light shimmered off in the darkness. Paul pointed. “Look!” On the overlook where they had been just a short while earlier was a light. It hovered about chest height.
“A flashlight?”
Then it moved straight forward and hovered across the expanse. It moved back and forth, as if searching for something, then dropped down into the valley and began moving through the trees.
“I’m not just sounding paranoid when I say I don’t want to be here when that thing finds its way across the valley?”
Kit shook her head. “No, you’re wise. Let’s go.” She gave a head nod to the golem and vanished into a puff of fox. Paul hot on her heels, she rushed off into the forest, leaving the strange glowing light far behind.
Three days later, on a distant ridge, they watched the strange light move through the valley far below. “How are we going to explain this is anyone sees it?”
Paul shrugged. “Humans have an ability to explain away anything they see. This’ll be a train, or some sort of car lights or something.”
“A train moving through where there are no train tracks?” Kit responded.
“I’ve seen worse explanations. If humans don’t want to believe, they’ll say anything.”
The shape continued to move through the ravine below, always angling toward them, even as they maneuvered from ridge to ridge. Currently, they were working their way along the ledges, hoping to keep some awkward distance as the creature attempted to creep through the nooks and crannies below.
“It can go downhill simply… can it not climb?”
“Some beings cannot pass living water.”
“Living water?”
“Moving water,” Paul explained. “Maybe this creature is of that type?”
“It would seem that way. So, if we stay on the other side of a river, it cannot cross?”
“I hope so.”
“But what is it?” She asked.
The light moved around in the darkness below before vanishing behind a ridge. Paul shook his head. “A spirit of some kind - seeking vengeance, if what you felt is real.”
The small golem stood nearby. Kit glanced at it. “This thing makes my brain itch.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I think there’s something inside it.”
Night settled over the land. A fire flickered in the darkness, and a small golem sat beside the fire, the soot rising up, darkening his front. It was obviously a ruse - a distraction. There would be no concealing its presence, not as long as it held the small effigy in its hands. It could hide, it could run - but the indefatigable beast would always lock onto it.
And so Kit had forded it off to this island in the middle of the river, and as the river flowed out and around it, forming a sort of cutoff, she knew it was safe from the creature. It may not be able to walk much any more, having lost most of itself fording the waters, but at least the statue would be safe from whatever stalked those shores.
A large shadow loomed on the other side of the river.
By all appearances, it was a corpse - withered, shambling, immaciated. Bone-like talons protruded from the ends of its ravaged fingertips. Same with its shoeless feet. Its skin was pulled taut across disjointed bones, a strange starvation gut hanging from its skeletal ribs, drooping pendulously over whatever remained of its genitalia, which had long since shriveled back into its grey, death-soaked corpse.
The only sign of life other than the movement came from the eyes.
Those eyes, like the golem’s, were glowing. They produced such a glow that the area was immersed in an unhealthy ruddy palor.
The golem felt no fear, but the eyes that saw through it did.
“It’s arrived. What is that?” Kit asked.
Paul watched as she sketched what she was viewing, her hand twitching as she scribbled out a rudimentary sketch of the monstrosity poised across the river.
Paul pulled the paper over and whistled for the barkeeper.
The innkeeper strolled over. “Your wife is a strange one, Joe.”
Paul nodded. “That’s what I keep telling her. She’s been hanging out with a shaman, I think.” He whispered conspiratorially.
“Watch out what you say. People don’t take to kindly to that stuff.” the innkeeper winked, then pulled out a small feathered talisman. He put a finger to his lips. “Found this out in the caves by the overlook. Gives me good luck.”
Paul smiled and returned the wink. “May I see it?”
The innkeeper unfasted the strand and slid it across the table. Feathers, a few small bones, some beads.
“It’s an old piece. Where’d you find it?”
“That overlook, there’s an old cave underneath it - couldn’t tell you specifically where. Found it out hunting one time. Keep it. My gift to you. What’s your wife drawing there, Joe? Looks like a dead body to me.”
Paul nodded. “I know. Seen a lot of weird things in my day. Thing looks familiar, just can’t place it.”
“Nothin’ of its sort in these parts.” He called to the cook. The man wandered in, wiping his hands as he did. “Ever seen anything like this?”
The cook adjusted his apron and squinted at the paper. “Nothing I’ve ever heard of. Man in town might now. Works for the church, keeps some records of things. Hear he’s always getting books sent over. Maybe he’d know.”
Paul waved his hand. “It’s fine. No big deal at all.”
The chef wandered back to the kitchen. The innkeeper was about to wander away, when Paul reached out. “Sorry, just another question. You said you’re familiar with the area. Have you ever seen those lights off in the gorge?”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Collect them, actually…”
Syth’s journal: The Brown Mountain lights, as they’re called, have appeared for centuries, glowing over the gorge, visible from near and far. Probably one of the best places to view them is a ridge known as Wiseman’s View, named for “Fate” Wiseman, who was scared witless while viewing these strange lights off across the valley. Just what he witnessed has been up for constant debate, stemming from the paranormal to the supremely mundane.
To some, perhaps even Wiseman, the lights represent the lost slave and master who are constantly seeking each other through the valleys and vales of the Linville Gorge. To others, they represent long-lost love. To others, deepest betrayal and murder most foul.
Whatever the truth, or a combination of the above, the lights are still visible to this day, though they have dimmed since a geological survey of the area in 1922 resolved that the electric light and nearby train trestles are to blame. I wonder what a government team of researchers would conclude were they to research my home here in the Barrens. From what I hear, they would probably conclude whatever they were paid to conclude… and the supernatural is never on the payroll.
I’ve tried to ask Paul what he witnessed, but the closest thing he’d admit was that it reminded him of the creatures in the rim of Mount Shasta, or perhaps the creatures that escaped from the depths of the fairy realm that day he released Rip from his long imprisonment.
I’ve only met Kit a few times, but she never confessed either, and for the two of them to refuse to speak of such an adventure after everything else we’ve endured. Well, I only pray whatever it was that they sealed it away for good, as that kind of evil doesn’t die easily.
Paul leaned forward. “Tell me what haunts these woods.”
“I’m not sure. I can only tell you what I’ve heard.”
“Then, please. Tell me.”
“I’ll recount three tales that I’ve heard… I have evidence that may verify each one, but I’m not sure if any are the truth.”
1782
Something moved in the darkness. George stood in the doorway, rifle in hand.
“Is everything all right?”
He nodded. It had been years since the valley had seen the bloodshed of the wars between the Cherokee and the Catawba. Whatever caused it, he didn’t care. Just as long as they killed each other and left his family alone…
But something was out there.
Large shapes moved just beyond the treeline - a slight glow.
His skin prickled.
“George?”
He jumped. “I’m sorry… just one edge. Things are…”
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t leave you like this. In this place.”
“It’s fine,” his wife replied, placing a hand on his arm. “We agreed to this. We can take care of ourselves. You have to go.”
His hand clenched around his rifle. He could practically hear his own skin creaking against the metal of the barrel. His hand quivered.
“There’s nothing out there,” she continued. “Just go. The sooner this war is over, the sooner you can return and we can move on with life.”
1783
George limped his way back up the trail.
The tightly folded paper seemed to weigh him down. He’d read it so many times, he could see the large printed script, with the notice “The within certificate shall not avail the bearer as a discharge, until the ratification of the definitive Treaty of Peace; previous to which time, and until proclamation shall be made thereof shall be made, he is to be considered as being on furlough.”
At least it would give him some time… maybe at least a week.
He rounded the bend and saw his house. His body aching, his legs awash with exhaustion, he mustered up the strength to force himself forward.
He hobbled his way up the final stretch to his cabin, his stomach tight with anticipation.
His hand reached to push open the door, but he paused.
Something was wrong.
He lowered his hand. The knob had become rusty in his absence.
No. That wasn’t rust…
He’d been by the medical tent enough times. That wasn’t rust at all.
“Blood.”
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the light of the setting sun giving him just enough to see the floor.
And he wished it hadn’t.
Stains - dark brown and gruesome - covered everything. He felt his knees begin to quiver, as if his whole world had suddenly begun to spin. He dropped to his knees, hands exploring vainly along the floor. The blood was dry - long since shed. A torn quilt hung from the edge of the fireplace, parts of it singed. There had been a fire here… and then he saw it.
A hand - or parts of one - stuck out from between the soot.
With quivering fingers, he pulled the bones free. The arm had been severed cleanly at the elbow.
He felt his heart pounding in his ears, felt a weird euphoria, as if none of this was real.
He pulled himself along the floor.
Another bone over here.
A head.
More pieces.
In the setting light, he continued his grisly task, his fingered scraped and bloodied - his own, theirs - it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was finding his family. Finding their remains.
He paused about midnight, too exhausted to continue, and sat in the corner, staring out over the void of the mountains beyond his door. Where had the neighbors been? Why had no one noticed? How could this have happened?
Morning sun awoke him what he could only assume was the next day. He blinked against the light, raising a mangled hand to shade the rays. In the newfound light of the new day, his grim responsibility was simpler, if not all the more gruesome.
He found another head under the bed, a few more parts scattered around.
Not trying to think which of his family members he was holding, he dragged the pieces back, assembling them the best he could. A scrap of a dress here, a shred of a small shirt there…
As he placed the final pieces, he noticed the quivering again. He clenched his fist, trying to stop the insufferable shaking. How could he shake at a time like this?!
But the arm wouldn’t stop!
Taking a deep breath, he clamped his fist on his arm and shoved it down to his side.
“Stop…”
His breath came in a heave, and he felt his upper lip twitch slightly.
“Count them…” he muttered to himself. He had a task to accomplish. He had a mission. Count the parts. He had to count the parts.
One head. A small one. One of the children.
He tried not to look at the scars bored deep in the bone. He could only pray that was done after death.
Another. Another one of the children.
“Two arms. Small. Four legs. Children.” He wheezed a shallow breath and continued. “Three… torsos.” one was almost shattered beyond recognition, but it was a rib cage, even if just part of one. And the spine was mostly there.
Between sobs, he counted again, his quivering hand moving from body to body.
He finally clenched his ragged fish and pressed it against the ground, using the other arm to cover his eyes. Tears rushed freely now, and the wracking sobs broke free. A dam had given loose.
His whole body seemed to contort with the strain.
Three heads.
Three torsos.
Six arms.
Six legs.
One of his children was missing.
By the time his thoughts returned, night had fallen over the distant mountains. The cold touch of night woke him from his reverie.
One of his children was missing.
He had to find them.
He crawled across the floor, sending a few bones sliding out of their place. He found the fireplace. Nothing. It had long burned out.
The lantern.
He kept it near the door.
He crawled his way over, slowly rising to his feet and fumbling along the door’s edge. He followed along to the window, fumbling blindly, though he could see. His quivering hands closed around the glass casing around the outside of the lantern. He pulled the latch free and swung the door open.
His hands rummaged for flint.
The wick, the oil.
The spark flared to life, blinding him momentarily. He winced and dropped it.
“Flint. Tinder. Wick…” he muttered.
Another spark.
His eye twitched against the sudden brightness.
Candle flared to life.
Ghoulish shadows.
He fastened the wind shield and raised the lantern.
“Three skulls, three torsos, six arms, six legs…”
Sightless eyes stared back at him. They were pleading. Begging him to save the lost child.
“I’ll find him…” he muttered. “I will. I won’t return until we’re all together again.”
And with that, he left the cabin.
Paul leaned back. “Too many of those stories through the years. That was a dark time…”
The innkeep nodded. “So it would seem.”
“You think he’s still out there, looking for his lost child?”
“Something’s out there.”
Kit flinched.
“What is it?”
“Don’t worry about it. Keep getting those stories, but we don’t have much time before I have to move the golem on.”
“The creature’s about to cross the river?”
Kit shook her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She flinched slightly. “The thing is finding prey on the other side.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“Just keep getting the stories. They might help us.”
1840
“I present to you this fine specimen. Thirty-five years old, fit, strong. A gentle, submissive spirit. Goes by the name ‘Jim.’ Bidding will start at five hundred dollars!”
“Six hundred dollars!”
“Seven!”
“Seven hundred and ten!”
“One thousand!”
Things fell silent.
“Mr. Henry, did I hear you right?”
“One thousand!” he repeated.
The auctioneer stammered for a moment. “Do I have one thousand and ten?”
Silence.
“One thousand and ten?”
Silence.
“One thousand going once. One thousand twice. Sold, to Mr. Henry! Winners may pick up their property after the auction. Paperwork and funds must be transferred before anyone’s possessions are transferred to their property.”
Within the week, Jim was sitting in wrist irons outside the cabin of his new owner, a white man he was to simply call “Mr. Henry.” And so he did. And for month, he was at Mr. Henry’s beck and call.
Days passed, then weeks, months, even years. The night settled over the valley. Mr. Henry lit the lantern and leaned over his ledgers.
“That bad?”
He looked up. His wife stood nearby.
He nodded.
“We don’t have to go through with it. People will understand why you went back on your promise.”
“No. He’s a good man. This is the least I can do.”
The night sounds were absent, save for the whooshing of wind and nearby gurgling of the stream.
“I’ll get him.”
“Thank you.”
“Y’ called for me, Master Henry?”
“Just ‘mister,’ Jim.”
“Mister Henry.” Jim corrected.
“Thank you, Jim. Please, stand there. There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Ah know things’ve been bad, but we can make it up. Winter’s still a month or so off. We have time –!”
“Hold on,” Henry paused, trying to catch his breath and settle his thoughts. “Things are bad, and there’s been something I’ve been needing to talk with you about.”
A pregnant pause hung between the two men.
“I’ve been looking over the numbers… and we just can’t afford to keep you.”
“Masta’.”
“Hold.”
“You’ve been good for us. Better than we deserve, to be honest…” Henry tapped at the ledger. “And I don’t blame you for this at all. It’s just the way things are. However, we’re having to cut things… remove a few lines from the ledger, if you will.”
Jim stood still, waiting for the blow to fall.
“I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time… but I just didn’t know how to.”
He pulled a collection of papers from a drawer and slid them across.
Jim waited.
“Take them.”
“Master?”
“I’m not your master anymore, Jim.”
The man’s heart sank. “Mista’ Henry?”
“Can you read them, Jim?”
“No.”
“They’re your papers.”
“Ma’ papers?”
“You’re no longer my slave.”
Jim nodded sadly. “I understand. When will I be transferred?”
“Whenever you wish.”
“Wheneva’ I wish?”
Henry nodded.
“Mista’ Henry. I don’t understand.”
“Oh!” realization washed over Henry. “Jim, I’m a fool! These are your papers - your freedom! You’re free!”
It took a moment, then the other man’s face lit up.
“You’ve been faithful to me for all these years. I can’t afford to keep anyone. I’ve sold the rest, but I’m freeing you. It took months, drained what else I had. But that’s fine. I’ll turn this ship around. But, you’re free.”
“Master.”
“No. I’m just Mister Henry.”
Winter came on like a thief, cold and merciless.
Henry looked at his stores. “We’re almost empty. Jim, I need you to look after my house and family. I’ll bring back enough food for all of us.”
The other man nodded. Though free, he had chosen to remain with his former master to keep up with the work, a promise of a share of profits when the business turned around. The record had dipped deep in the red, and the supplies had finally run out.
“At this rate, we’ll starve by December.”
Henry drew down the rifle from over the door.
“Jim, I’m taking out of the rifle. Keep watch. I’ll be back.”
Jim nodded. “I will, Mister Henry.”
With that, Henry strode out into the cold.
Four days passed.
“That was our last reserve. He’ll run out of light if he doesn’t come back soon.”
Jim nodded. “I’ll find him.”
Mr. Henry’s wife measured out the last bit of oil and handed it to Jim. “Please be safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you two.”
“I’ll find him, Missus. Don’t your worry none.”
And with that, Jim stepped off into the forests of the gorge and was never seen again. Rumor has it, the lanterns still burn to this day, a dark reminder of the concern these two men had as they searched for a way to help each other, losing themselves in the process.
Paul leaned back and looked over at Kit.
Her eyes were closed, her brow pursed. He could see movement under her eyelids - it was as if she were in a waking nightmare. Her hands twitched, then she grabbed at her wrist.
“You said you had a third story?”
“Yeah, just a few years after Henry and Jim went missing, a family moved into town.”
Kit shocked forward. “We have to move!”
“Why?”
“The creature, it’s trying to find a way across the river!”
“Creature?” the innkeeper asked.
Paul nodded. “Don’t worry about it for now. Quickly, what is the final story?”
“We don’t have time!” Kit gasped.
“Summarize?” Paul asked.
“Do you know of Fate Wiseman?”
“Not really.”
“He frequented the gorge - there’s a ridge on the western side with a bit of a clearing, looks out over the ravine toward that pointy hillside that looks kind of like a Table.”
“I know the place.”
“A woman was found, about fifty years ago. Her name was Adeline. She vanished into the gorge one day, and her headless body was found just underneath that ridge. The people tried to find it, but no one ever did.”
Kit’s hand closed around Paul’s forearm. Her eyes popped open, a slight flame flicking from around the edges of her eyelids. “We need to go. Now!”
Paul slid a few dollars to the keeper. “Thank you. Sorry, we need to go.”
Something dark moved just beyond the river, its skeletal form contorted as it glared at the golem. Sharp, claw-like bones scratched at the ground. It roared and hissed, stalking back and forth along the riverbank.
A deer lay dead, the latest prey to wander too close, the monster’s insatiable hunger only growing as it tore into the flesh of the carcasse. Red eyes glared out across the coursing waters at the golem, but more specifically, at the strange artifact.
The creature scratched at the ground, clawed at the corpse, then paced again, returned and scratched at the ground some more. It ventured off into the woods, then reappeared a short while later.
One foot touched the water, but pulled back. It was too fast. The curse of crossing living water was too strong.
The creature growled, stalked up the river and back, clawed at the ground, then returned to the kill.
Meanwhile, the golem sat still, unblinking, watching the monstrosity growl and hiss its way up and down on the opposite shore.
Kit and Paul watched from the opposite shore. “We cannot allow that creature to reach the figurine.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been examining it while you were collecting stories.”
“And…?”
“It’s made of bone.”
“Bone? It was wood!”
Kit nodded. “Yes. But that’s more or less a box encasing it. What’s inside is bone.”
The golem turned toward them. Behind it, the strange creature was pacing back and forth.
“It’s only a matter of time before it finds a way across. We have to move.”
The golem stood and strode toward the island’s bank, its back to the creature on the far side.
Then something quivered on the far bank.
The creature growled in the darkness.
Paul and Kit watched. “Do you think any of the stories have weight?”
“I don’t know. They’re all too different. I don’t think any of them make sense.”
Kit eyed the golem and the creature on the far bank. “Tell me the main points.”
Paul watched the strange silhouette pacing back and forth. “Why does it keep digging?”
“Don’t worry about that. Tell me the stories. There’s something in them, I’m sure of it.”
“Um… a man finds his family slaughtered and one entire body’s worth is missing - so he goes out in search of it.”
“Okay, and the next.”
“A man tries to go and find food for his family and doesn’t return. A former slave of his goes out as well and neither return.”
“Creepy, but not unexpected. And the final one?”
“I didn’t get to hear all the details, but a woman was murdered by her husband and they found her body beneath the ledge where we first saw the lights.”
“Where we were standing or where we found the artifact?”
“Where we were standing when we first saw the lights.”
Kit watched the creature, its eyes shedding an eerie glow across the far bank, accenting the blood of the deer that had already been spread across the shore.
“Do you think that creature appeared from that same ledge?”
“Where we first watched the lights? I think so,” Paul replied.
“So people go missing or are killed and dragged off into the gorge, someone is murdered and their head is never found, though their body is located near where this monster appears…”
Then the creature looked up and vanished back into the forest, loping like some overgrown humanoid dog.
“What happened?”
“Dunno.”
“Disappearances, murders, and that thing. Paul. What is that thing? You’ve lived in this country for hundreds of years - tell me you’ve heard something of the native legends.”
“There are hundreds of legends. I can’t keep them all straight. A vengeful corpse returning for a statue? Nothing.”
“What if it has nothing to do with the statue… what if it’s the bones.”
“Okay?” Paul replied. “I’m still not seeing what it could be.”
“Think. There is a creature, obviously supernatural with an unbelievable ability to hunt. And it is trying to find a way across that river so it can recover a set of bones.”
Something shook on the far side of the creek, and the creature bounded back into view, dragging another corpse. Another deer. It tore into the fresh kill.
“Unbelievably hungry, good at hunting, seeking bones for some reason.”
Paul stared across.
“What?”
“It has nothing to do with most of the stories. Really nothing to do with anything… I don’t know why it would be here…”
“What?”
“When I was in the fairy realm, there were these creatures. These pale beings that followed me and Kneelength through the gateway. I’m not sure where they went. I certainly wouldn’t think they’d made it this far.”
“Okay… so they’re not from here, they’re from the fairy realm?”
“That’s not one of them… but it reminded me of a legend I heard once.”
The creature on the far bank tore out a chunk of flesh, then buried its face into the side of the deer’s gut, pulling and ripping. Blood sprayed. It moved along the bank again, clawing and digging.
Paul watched.
“Centuries ago, legends state there was a man who, in the depths of winter, performed the greatest taboo.”
Tearing sounds from the opposite bank.
“When things were dark, and his tribe was starving to death, he killed one of hunting companions and ate him.”
Kit watched the monster as it shredded and tore at the corpse before it.
“A curse fell on him then. A ravenous, insatiable hunger.”
Red eyes glared at them from the opposite bank, then they closed as the face dug into the fresh corpse again.
It was finally all returning. He remembered the legend, but how did it end?
“That’s good. But what is it? How do we destroy it?”
“I’m not sure its name…” Paul replied. “I’ve only heard it whispered - an unbelievable hunger caused by the most vile taboo.”
Kit nodded. “Yes, and how do we reverse it, or stop it, or whatever?”
“I don’t know if we can.”
“Silver? Steel? Your world is full of these legends. Can we just stab it or burn it or something?”
Paul watched as the glowing eyes returned, glaring across the river bank. No longer was it looking at the golem. It was looking at them! His blood ran cold. Across the dark expanse of the river, beyond the tended fire of the golem, was that devilish form. Its ragged lips were cast in sharp relief by the glow of those demonic eyes. Something intelligent lingered behind that death. Something recognizable.
“Whatever that thing was, it must be facing the same curse.” Paul muttered, meeting the creature’s unblinking gaze. The ruddy glow never dimmed, but seemed to roll off the monster.
The golem twitched, its finger fumbling with something.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying something.” Kit replied.
“What?”
The fingers scrabbled, and Paul heard something crack.
“Kit, what are you doing?” He whispered.
The red eyes now shifted to the golem, and the creature began scrabbling at the ground again.
“Wait a moment…” she replied.
Then something cracked even louder, and the the golem raised something.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
“I found the bones!” She whispered excitedly.
The creature on the far bank shrieked in rage.
“Oh… this isn’t good…” Paul muttered.
The golem tossed town the broken pieces of the statue, then, in a way mirroring Kit, raised the bone pieces out toward the creature on the far bank, taunting him.
“Not good, Kit. What are you doing?”
Then the golem tossed whatever it was holding into the fire.
The creature released a blood-freezing cry of rage, and rushed back into the forest. Paul watched the red glow vanish over the bank, then reappear high in a nearby tree.
“What’s it doi–?” his question died on his lips as the creature launched itself out of the topmost boughs of the tree, arcing over the stretch of river before landing next to the golem.
Reacting swiftly, Kit used the golem to snatch the bone fragments from the fire before the creature could get its footing, in a swift motion, it caked them into a muddy ball and slung it across the next length of the river toward where Paul and Kit were waiting.
“That didn’t work!” Kit exclaimed as the creature cut down her golem, splintering to muddy bits before slashing at the fire.
A muddy thwok landed beside Paul.
He crouched, fishing pieces of the bone out of the mudball. “What now, Kit?”
“That’s as far as I’d planned…”
Red eyes narrowed at them from the island. Bloodied lips snarled.
“No trees out there at least…” Paul observed.
The creature roared at them.
And, in a moment that froze their blood even more, several hissing roars answered from deeper in the valley.
1848 - Linville Gorge, North Carolina.
“Listen, Adeline’s been missing for three days, and I don’t care what he has to say about it. She hasn’t left town, at least not of her own volition.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Call it a hunch.”
Thomas looked at his friends. “You’ve seen the lights.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“Fine, then trust me when I say that I have. Something’s out there.”
“Ol’ Jim and Henry, if reports are to be believed!” laughed one of the men.
“Very funny.”
“Oh, lighten up, Tom. Weird things happen in the gorge - strange without you spreading rumors that Jim and Henry are still alive.”
“I never said they were alive.”
“Then what, their ghosts? Dead for years and you think their ghosts are still wandering around looking for each other?”
Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know. I seen something in those hills. Dunno what.”
“Let it go, Tom. Adeline’s gone, and no one’s to blame. It happens. People move out of the valley all the time. Just can’t cut it.”
“She’s murdered.”
“Proof?”
“I’ve seen her.”
“Yeah, an’ what’s she look like? All features there an’ such?”
Thomas fell silent.
“Heh, dunno what she even looks like?”
“It’s her.”
“But ya can’ describe her? Why would we possibly believe you?”
“You saw the bruises.”
“Yes, and?”
“It was her husband. He killed her and tossed her into the gorge to hide what he’d done.”
The men chuckled. “And the fairy lights showed you this?”
Tom fell silent.
“Heh. Get outta here. Fairies and ghosts…”
A short time later, Thomas stood on the ledge overlooking the valley. The distant mountains cut a beautiful swath in the setting sun. He settled down on a nearby rock and watched the shadows lengthen.
“Adeline, what happened to you?”
Then a light sparkled off in the distance. He perked up. Something hovered upward before vanishing.
Then another.
Another.
Several lights flickered and danced. He watched in the distance, mesmerized, when suddenly he saw… his own shadow?
He spun.
An orb hovered behind him, glowing and pulsing. It had no shape to speak of… but… what was it? His heart racing, he watched the orb. His breath caught in his throat.
The orb sped toward him and then vanished of the edge.
He raced after it.
“Wait!”
The orb shot over the edge and dropped straight down.
Thomas gazed over the edge and down into the gorge.
The next day, several grumbling men watched as he pointed over the edge.
“Yer tellin’ me some fairy lights led you over this ledge and down into the valley and now you want us to climb down there an’ look?”
Tom shrugged. “I can’t explain it. But she’s down there. I know it.”
“Yer gettin’ on our last nerve, Lafayette, you know that?”
“Please? Just trust me this once.”
The men began the climb down into the gorge. Tom stood looking down at them.
As night began to settle, they returned, hats in hand.
“What happened? Did you find her?”
“We found her all right…”
Two of the men appeared in the darkness, carrying a bier between them. Something was draped with a cloth. A hand hung down.
“Was it her?”
“Thomas… how’d you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“We found her, and we don’t believe for a moment you just happened to know where she was.”
“What’re you implying?”
“Only one man’d know she was murdered an where she was put. Just got one question fer ya.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?”
“What’d ya do with the head, Thomas?”
1920 - Overlooking Linville Gorge, looking out toward Table Rock
The sun was setting behind them when they finally crawled back out onto the ledge.
Paul pointed over. “Her body was found down there.”
“This is where Fate saw the lights?”
“Yes, but they found a body down there - a woman had gone missing a few years earlier. Never found her head.”
Off in the darkness, they heard the yowls and hisses of things moving through the gorge, heading toward that island where the one creature was trapped. It may have been free by now, they couldn’t tell for sure by the sounds.
“We don’t have much time.”
They stared out across the valley, off toward the distant mountains. Nothing tonight. It had been weeks before he had seen them the first time.
Kit held the muddy ball in her hands. “These are pieces of a skull. You said she was found…”
“... without a head. Yeah.”
Kit rubbed her forehead. “I’m not sure about this one. Is it the spirit of the woman or a cannibal?”
“Why not both?”
The two spun. An old woman stood there.
“Who are you?”
She smiled. “Sorry, I come up here to reflect on the past. I disturbed you?”
Paul eyed her. “I’ve been up here every night for the last month and I’ve never seen you before.”
“I’ve seen you, white man,” she responded. “Defending the driving out of these people, taking over their lands. Do the ends always justify the means in your world?”
Paul scowled.
The old woman shrugged, tucked a hand up close against her side, and limped away.
Kit went to follow.
“No. We have nothing to say to her.”
“But she could be in danger. That thing’s off to the south, if it gets off that island.”
Paul shrugged. “Not our problem.”
“She could be of help to us.”
“And she could be the death of us. I’ve known enough of Cherokee lore to follow a mysterious woman into the woods. I like my liver right where it is.”
Kit’s eyebrow cocked. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Old Cherokee legends coming back to haunt me, I guess.”
“And what she said about ‘white man’?”
Paul nodded. “I guess I am - ancestors came from another place, took her land. I’m sorry it happened the way it did, but I’m not sorry I have a home here. She resents us for it, and I don’t blame her, but I can’t change it.”
“And that creature?”
Howling off in the wilderness, far off to the south.
“I think they’re trying to free it. Let’s hope more of these stories aren’t about to come to life.”
They lowered themselves down the slope and pushed on into the brush and tree cover below the overlook.
“Her body was found fifty years ago?
A distant howl.
Paul froze
“What’s wrong.”
“Get ready.”
Kit shook her head. “What do you mean, get ready?”
“If sounds close, it’s far.”
“Okay…”
“And if it sounds far… it’s too late.”
A look of realization came across Kit’s face, and her hands immediately erupted in flame.
A zombie-like creature lunged out of the treeline, blood pouring from its face.
Its face erupted as Kit launched a blast of spectral flame. It fell back into the forest with a scream. “Run or fight?”
Paul hefted his axe. “We won’t outrun these things.”
“What are they?”
“Wendigo.”
“What?”
“Sorry, it took me too long to figure out. People who gave in to despair and cannibalized others to save their own skins. They’re cursed and reduced to this!”
Another dropped down into the clearing and lunged at Kit. Paul charged in, catching the creature with his shoulder and sending it spinning off across the grass. It scrabbled in an attempt to get its footing, then turned with a hiss-like cry. Broken teeth split through ragged lips. Blood flecked from its form as bone-like fingers attempted to halt its slide.
Paul stepped in front of Kit and held out his axe.
“You might have to get a bit bigger for this one.”
Paul shook his head. “These creatures gain the strength of whatever they’ve eaten… Can’t risk it.”
Kit hurled a ball of foxfire at the closest beast.
“Thankfully, these look starved.”
“They’re always starved,” Paul replied, “but yah, they don’t look like they’ve eaten anything - anything large at least.”
Two two creatures - the one Paul had checked and the one Kit had lit on fire - now began a more strategic attack. One began to loop around, apparently trying to flank from the right. The other, its face singed with the flames and part of its cheek torn off, flanked to the left.
“Back to back, don’t let them get you.” Kit whispered, her hands already glowing. “How do we kill these.”
“Decapitation, burning, pretty much a way you’d kill a human. They’re just faster and don’t feel pain, so we won’t be able to weaken them. We need a clean kill.”
“Couldn’t ask for a more fitting foe, though,” Kit laughed, flames exploding to life in her palms.
“Glad you’re relaxed about it,” Paul grunted, hefting his axe.
Kit giggled. “You’ll only ever catch me off-guard once, so you’d better make sure you take me out on that first strike. Otherwise, you’re in for it.”
With that, small forms began to swirl up from the dirt. Little figurines - dirt golems - crawled up from the mud and grass. The creatures looked confused for a moment, and the one with the burned face seemed caught off guard as the small golems latched onto its legs, pulling it down to its knees.
Something growled nearby.
Kit froze for a moment, her gaze shifting toward the sound.
The wendigo wrenched itself free of the golems and leapt back.
“No, you don’t!”
A fireball shot across the span, striking the beast in the shoulder. It spun awkwardly, landing in a heap. Before it could rise, several of the squat mini-golems lunged onto it, pinning it to the ground.
Paul couldn’t spare a glance to help. His was crouching, moving to try to find an opening.
“Kit, afraid you’re on your own.”
“That’s fine,” she replied, striding toward the golem-covered wendigo, her hands wreathed in flames.
Paul’s wendigo struck, lunging up into a nearby tree, using it to gain altitude. It lunged from the treetop, dropping down on them from above. Paul swept his axe up, but the beast landed neatly on the tip of the blade with a mocking grin, the vaulted back off, knowing him off balance as it did.
Paul staggered, and the beast landed neatly on a nearby rock.
Paul attempted to regain his footing, but the beast lunged again, launching itself in an almost straight line, claws raised, eyes blazing. Paul had barely righted himself when the claws sank deep into the flesh of his back. Pain tore through him, and he felt himself fall forward.
Face his dirt. Blood filled his mouth. Something cracked. His nose?
His mind buzzing, he attempted to rise, but a line of pain tore through his shoulder and lower back.
“Paul!” He heard from nearby.
He pushed himself up.
Sharp pain in the back of his neck.
Then everything lit up.
He smelled burnt flesh, heard the hair on the back of his neck crackle, and felt a blossom of hot pain rip across his back and shoulder. His body pitched forward, and in the momentary illumination, he saw a burnt corpse strike the ground.
Red eyes stared out at him for a moment before a flash of more tails than he could count. Something pounced on the corpse-like beast, and the creature’s eyes went dark, like a coal being extinguished.
The tailed creature turned, claws extended, fur bristling.
“Kit?”
Then it vanished.
Paul staggered upright, gasping. He turned. The other wendigo was gone. A pile of broken golems lay around it.
Scorch marks. Blood. Paul stumbled forward, using his axe as a crude crutch.
“Kit?”
She was gone. The wendigo she had been fighting had vanished as well.
The night was silent. Even the crickets didn’t dare chirp.
Something rustled nearby. A low growl.
Then an old woman stepped from the underbrush. She shuffled forward, her body drooped with age, her right hand tucked tight against her side.
“Well, it seems you can handle your own, white man.”
“What are you doing here?” Paul asked.
“Is that any way to talk to your elder?”
“I highly doubt you’re my elder.” Paul replied. He was in no mood to pander to someone who had just tried to kill them. “Those beasts on your leash?”
“No one controls the wendigo,” she replied. “They are cursed. They come and go as they please. But if there is a leash, it is because I’ve prevented them from leaving this valley.”
Paul held a hand over a spot on his shoulder. He pulled his hand back. It was slick with blood.
“I’d love to stay and chat,” he replied sardonically, “but as you can see, I’m not in any state.”
The woman smiled mirthlessly. “Let me look.”
“No, thanks.”
“If I mean you harm, I have but to call them back in. And besides, you can’t stop me. Let me see the wounds.”
Paul grudgingly turned his back toward her.
“Uwe la na tsiku. Su sa sai.”
“What?”
“Just singing the song of my people, to remind you of your place.”
Rough hands moved along his back. Paul winced. “Your skin is rough as stone.”
She chuckled. “Complain if you wish, it’s these rough hands that will save your life. But I require a favor.”
Paul cringed again as the rough fingers continued to move across his ragged flesh. He felt something like a sharp stone being probed into the piercemarks, then felt it being withdrawn. A few stitches here. A poultice there. A cool, soothing wetness moved across his back and shoulders.
“The wounds are deep,” she muttered, “but none reached the organs within. Pity…”
“Where’s my companion?” Paul asked, wincing as she stitched his back.
“She pursued one of those fleeing creatures.”
“Were they wendigo?”
“Yes. You saw them for what they are. Most do not.”
Paul winced.
Then a cool numbness spread across his back again.
“What do most see them as?”
“Whatever the wendigo wishes to appear as. But you see them for what they are - grotesque. Inhuman. Devoid of life.”
“And how do you tie into this?”
He felt the burn mark across his back flare to life, as if he were reliving it. He cried out.
“You dare…” she hissed.
“It’s a natural question.” He spat through gritted teeth. “You arrived before and after the attack, and yet remained unharmed. You’re clearly powerful, but I can’t see how. Are you with them or against them?”
“I have kept a seal on this valley for time immemorial. Those beasts cannot leave.”
“Why not kill them?”
“We have a… pact.”
“So let me guess. You need me to eliminate them for you?”
“Maybe.” She responded. “At the end of the day, though… I owe you.”
“For what?”
She wouldn’t answer. Paul heard her clap her hands, then she wandered out from behind him. “Your skin is stitched. Do be more careful, if you hope to survive these woods.”
Paul stood.
“And what shall I call you?”
“Whatever you want…” she replied as she began to shuffle off toward the forest. “You’d never be able to pronounce it properly anyway.”
“Try me.”
She turned with a smile. “When the wendigo of this place are dead, I’ll come visit you again.”
Paul watched her shuffle off toward the edge of the forest, humming to herself.
“Uwe la na tsiku. Su sa sai.”
His skin crawled, and despite himself, he found himself scratching at his shoulder. The stitches were fresh, the skin was slick. He sat, watching the distant Table Rock, and the ghost lights that danced there. Exhaustion finally claimed him, and before he knew it, morning sun had breached the horizon, and the valley was filled with light.
He blinked several times. Had it been a dream?
He turned to look and felt the tight skin on his bare back stretch, threatening to pop free of its stitches and the now-dried poultice.
Nope. No dream.
He stood, his legs creaking, and caught his breath. The valley seemed so… peaceful.
He turned. “Kit?”
No response.
Something chirped nearby. He looked up. A small bird sat in the nearby tree. It lighted down, pecked at the ground, then fluttered off.
“Heh, little chickadee.”
He watched it flit off across the valley.
“Paul?”
He turned.
Kit stood there. “Are you okay?”
He nodded.
“What happened to your back?”
He craned his neck back. “The creature got me. Someone fought it off and an old woman stitched me up.”
Kit chuckled. “I don’t know much about this world, but if a strange old woman appears after a violent attack, she’s not a strange old woman.”
“I know.” Paul replied, “but I had no choice. I would have bled out otherwise.”
Kit turned him and examined his back. “This is good work. Though, you’re going to have a few scars.” He felt her delicate finger trace down the length of one long gash. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it in time.”
“It was fast.”
She nodded, draping her arms gently around his good shoulder and resting her head. “I’m sorry. I was so busy trying to keep that other one restrained I didn’t even see what happened until it was over.”
“It’s fine, Kit.”
“But we’re a team, and I almost got you killed.”
“We were blind sided.”
“That’s no excuse. I got cocky.”
They sat for a moment, watching the shadows shift and dance across the valley below.
“Where’d you go?” Paul asked after a long while.
“The one I was holding broke free, so I had to pursue it through the woods.”
“Did you get it?”
“No. It was fast.”
Paul chuckled. “Clearly.”
The shadows moved through the valley.
“I saw the lights again last night.”
“No rhyme or reason?”
Paul shook his head. “None I’ve been able to detect.” They sat for a while longer in the sun, then Paul rose with a groan. “Guess we’d better find that burial site. Return the bones…”
He pulled open his pack and pulled out a shirt. He gingerly pulled it on over the scars and began the work of buttoning it.
“How do we find a burial site?”
Kit knelt and felt the ground. “Sacred sites have a certain… vibration to them. Oni’ja has several that are pilgrimage points. Battlefields, death places of heroes and blood traitors, founder’s posts - they all exude this sort of … aura. If you haven’t felt it, then that won’t make sense.”
“So, like a fairy ring?” Paul asked.
“I guess so, though portals tend to leave a scar in the world. That’s detectable some other way. Places of power tend to be an itch on the back of your mind. The itch shifts and ‘guides’ you to where you need to go.”
“Sounds unpleasant.”
“It is,” she replied.
“What’s a ‘founder’s post’?”
“The point at which a city was established.” She replied. “Sometimes, it can be a gate, or a main thoroughfare. Sometimes it can be deep underground, depending on how old the city is.”
Paul nodded. “So this burial site, is it a place of power?”
She nodded. “But only slightly. I can only sense it because we’re so close.”
“Lead on, then,” he replied with a smile, gesturing to the edge of the cliff.
“I can jump straight down. Can you?”
“Normally, yes. After last night. I’ll take the long way.”
And, after a few hours of the long way, they did finally arrive at a small cave recessed off into the side of the hill. A huge stone lay down below, as it if had fallen free of the cave’s mouth at some point, and several large stones lay here and there.
Kit pulled back some brush. “Here.”
“This is a place of power?”
“Something big happened here,” she said with a nod. “It left an echo on the world.”
“That place where we found the statue… was it a place of power?”
Kit thought for a moment. “I think so.”
“So, can we enter that same realm again from here?”
“Not sure why you’d want to, but maybe.”
Paul pushed back the underbrush and entered the cave. It was hardly even an indentation in the hillside, but there it was - a pile of stones. A cairn.
“Strange for a European burial.”
“I don’t think it’s a burial.”
“But the headless woman?”
Kit stepped into the darkness and examined the collection of stones. “This was sealed at one point. Someone set up these stones to block in whatever was buried here.”
“Do you think?” Paul began.
“Yes.” She replied, anticipating the question. “I think this is where the statue came from. Look.”
In the pile, there was small channel. It had been carved through the central stone, and looked to be just about the right size to fit the statue they had found on the opposite bank. “But how did it get over there?”
Paul set a hand on the pile of stones, and again, everything went black.
“Kit?”
“I’m here. You did it again, didn’t you.”
“Site of a great betrayal, you said?”
“Yah.”
“There’s one more legend I’ve heard of this valley. I didn’t believe it, but I’m wondering if I should have…”
“I’m not going to like what I’m about to see, am I?”
The cave filled with light. A pile of stones reached the ceiling of the cave, and several warriors - clearly Cherokee - stood over the mound. They muttered to each other in their own language. Paul only understood the basics. He whispered to Kit. “They’ve sealed away a darkness here. They’re afraid she’ll return, so they broke her into pieces and sealed her inside something she couldn’t control.”
“Wood and stone?” Kit asked. “What kind of being?”
“One of their gods, a monster. I’m not sure.”
A chickadee flapped out of the cave, and the warriors bowed to it.
“A bird?”
“They’re thanking it. It led them here… I’m not sure exactly what’s happening.”
The warriors laid a collection of broken weapons against the pile of stones. One nursed a large scar across his stomach.
“Is this the burial spot of the wendigo?”
“I don’t think so…” Paul replied “Look, this cave was quite a bit larger back then.”
Sure enough, the backside of the cave, which was in present day collapsed and covered in roots, held several bodies. They were other warriors, a few villagers. All dead.
“They will guard this place…” Paul observed, feeling his blood run cold.
“Or were they sacrifices?”
“I can’t tell.”
The warriors began to leave the cave, then their gaze shifted to the wounded one. Paul recognized something about him. That feathered necklace - the beads and bones… He knew what was about to happen.
“Paul, what’s happening?”
“He’s being accused of… something. I’m not sure what.”
Then the warriors struck out at their wounded man, driving spears through his gut. The necklace snagged one one of the spears and broke free, falling to the ground in front of the pillar. He gasped and staggered back, blood welling from several wounds. The others warriors’ faces hardened in rage and… pity? remorse? Paul couldn’t tell. The group pushed more spears into the man, pushing him back into the darkness of the cavern, then wrenched their spears free.
He stumbled in a spray of blood, landing among the dead, knowing he would join them soon.
The warriors muttered something at him, then turned and left the cave, leaving him to bleed out on the floor.
“What did they say?”
“They accused him of a great betrayal. His forbidden love almost doomed them all. He’ll be forced to be here for an eternity, guarding over their greatest foe. It is how he’ll be redeemed.”
“I don’t understand.” Kit replied.
They stood there for a long while, and soon, a woman entered the cave. Her clothes were covered in mud, drenched and torn.
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.” Paul replied.
She held a torch forward as she stepped into the cavern. She took a step and paused. The ground was slick with blood, and her feet were now wet with the stuff. She eyed the strange tower, then her gaze dropped to the necklace. She knelt to examine it.
Then her gaze fell on the scene behind the pillar. The necklace fell free of her quivering fingers as her skin paled.
The betrayed warrior lay in a growing pool of his own blood. He was still alive, but just barely.
As they watched, she rushed to his side, raising his bloodied hands to her lips and muttering to him in another language.
A weak smile played at his lips. He whispered something to her.
“What’s he saying?”
“He’ll always protect her. He will linger for all eternity in this place if need be.”
Then the light went out, and everything went dark.
Reality snapped back to the present.
Paul’s gut quivered, and he took a rasping breath. “So… it wasn’t any of the people who’ve gone missing…”
Kit examined the pillar. “But the wendigo…”
Paul crouched. The pillar had been disassembled, and so lay in a heap around them. He moved the rocks. “Look…”
Bodies. Long buried in the dirt, and half-hidden under the rubble - bodies.
“Something’s been feeding.”
A creature shuffled outside the door.
Paul stood. “We need to go.”
“But the sound.”
“If it’s near, it’s far. If it’s far, it’s too late. That creature’s nowhere near us.”
“But the darkness?”
“The other warriors sealed them in this cave. Someone, or something, broke free - quite some time ago, it would seem.”
The scar left by the large stone had largely healed, but had done a good bit of damage on the way down. That kind of destruction rarely went away completely.
“So all those who went missing through the years?”
“Probably taken by whatever broke free from here.”
“But what?”
“My best guess is that wendigo we trapped out on the island.”
Something rustled nearby.
“Let’s return the bones to the pedestal and hope that ends this.”
Paul opened his bag. He rummaged around inside. “Not here. Where did you put it?”
“I thought you had it.”
“No. You had it in that little mud ball up on the overlook.”
Kit shook her head. “I haven’t seen it since last night. I thought you picked it up.”
“No.”
They paused. The bones were gone.
“It was a trap.”
Kit growled. “I should have known…”
“I guess we only have one other thing we can do…”
“Kill the creature?”
Paul nodded. “If we can find it.”
“Find them…” Kit corrected. “There are two of them out there.”
Night fell across the valley.
“These lands saw their share of conflict between the Cherokee and other tribes. I’d guess she was Catawba. They warred across this region.”
“So, that was a forbidden love?” Kit asked, “she was from one side and he was from the other?”
“No doubt.” He flexed his shoulder, feeling the itch of the scars through his shirt. “The warriors felt betrayed by their brother, and executed him for his crimes, but only after they took down whatever they sealed in that pillar. When she arrived, they sealed her inside the cave with him.”
“That’s a bit dangerous, isn’t it?”
Paul shrugged the strap of his backpack off and shifted it to the uninjured side of his back. “With enemies creeping in from all sides, what would you do if one of your own betrayed you?”
Kit fell silent.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’d make sure they could never threaten me or mine ever again,” she replied, suddenly cold.
Paul paused. “Well, not everyone’s that way. By the looks of it, I imagine they thought he’d die in the sealing of that creature, and when he didn’t, they killed him. Or thought they’d killed him. Perfect cover-up, if you think about it.”
Kit nodded.
“And then she showed up, or maybe they thrust her into the cave. I don’t know… all loose ends taken care of. Except for one thing…”
“What’s that?” Kit asked.
They were far off to the south. The lake was almost in sight. Paul hadn’t realized they’d roamed this far down the gorge originally… but with the falls far off upriver and the lake far down river, he’d realized this was the only spot the wendigo could have been trapped.
The river branched off around the island where the golem had been set as decoy.
They saw the glow before they saw anything else.
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before…” Paul stated, staring out down the river toward the island. Years in the future, it would be considerably smaller, but now, looking out at it, it was just wide enough the creature could not find a way free. “Wendigo don’t belong here.”
“They don’t?”
“No,” he replied. “the wendigo was part of tribes farther north - where it’s cold, and one could freeze to death. It’s that very nature that would lead someone to become a wendigo in the first place.”
They came to a stop on the edge of the river. The red-eyed wendigo glared at them from across the river.
“It’s been over a hundred years. One forgets a few things in that time…” Paul muttered. “I’m sure you’ve experienced the same?”
Kit nodded.
“Sometimes, all it takes is a reminder of what we were, of what we saw… then it all comes back to us.”
Red glow from across the river.
A distant roar.
Kit spun, hands flaring.
And the shadow dropped from above.
Paul reared, axe at the ready, knowing there was little he could do in his state. The other wendigo dropped into the dirt with a heavy crunch. Its charred face was wet with fresh blood. Its muscles were longer and larger, and it looked as if it had gained twice its size.
Paul turned back to the red-eyed creature on the island. It watched them calmly, showing little concern for what it was witnessing.
Kit’s flames roared up and around them, and the other wendigo shied back, having clearly learned its lesson. Flames licked hear and there, sizzling steam as it struck wet rocks.
“Watch the river,” Paul cautioned, keeping half an eye on the trapped creature while he and Kit engaged the newcomer. Water licked at his boots.
Like a caged lion, the red-eyed creature on the island paced back and forth, as if looking for a way out. It was too close to the surface of the water to pass.
Flames on one side, water on the other. Kit and the scarred-faced monster danced a deadly waltz of flames and claws. Paul deflected a blow here or there, but for the most part, the creature seemed focused on Kit, as if Paul was no threat at all.
Another blow shot his way. He blocked it with the axe and shoved back. Flames struck where the monster landed. Paul winced and stepped back onto the river’s bank. Kit’s flames whirled around her, looping out and striking at the beast. It singed along the surface, but didn’t do much more harm than that.
“This isn’t working. I can’t get a good strike in.”
They were practically ankle deep in the river’s edge now. Water roared behind them - the fresh flow off of the distant falls. The creature struck out again, and soon, Paul could feel the water licking at the tops of his boots, threatening to soak through.
The red-eyed wendigo glared at them.
Paul raised the axe, ready to deflect another blow. Flames shot after the attacking beast, but Kit, too, had fallen back.
Three scenes of taboo trapped in the same valley. If the old woman’s words were true, then she had trapped them here herself. But what was her angle? Why had she done it?
Paul turned, noticing the red-eyed wendigo staring at him. The glow seemed to resonate off the creature’s form, rolling off of it like head off a stove. It was almost inflamed, so hellish was the glow. Paul watched as Kit’s flames shot out and around the other - but they were ever being pushed back into the water.
“Is this what you’re planning?” Paul asked.
“What?” Kit yelled.
He turned to the creature on the island. “Driving us closer and closer to you? What’re you waiting for? Strike! Kill us both right here!”
The creature on the shore, its face scarred with Kit’s flames, broke into a broken-toothed smile and roared. The sound seemed to resonate from the distant hills.
Paul turned to the beast on the shore and yelled. “Go ahead! You’ve betrayed everyone else! Make your final blow, you coward!”
Kit’s flames froze in midair, and a creeping thread of ice began to crystallize across the river, spreading like a feather across the rushing waters. Everything stopped, and a dark chill seemed to spread across the land.
Paul was on shore. Dry.
Across from him stood a woman. Her clothes were torn, her hands bloodied, and her skin pulled tight against her bones.
“Coward?” she scoffed. “You don’t know me.”
Paul stared across the void to the reddish glow roiling off the woman’s form. “You’re the woman from the cave.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded and held out her bloodied hands.
“They thrust me into that tomb to die along with him. But where he would die of betrayal, I would die of hunger. There, buried beneath the bones of the mountain, I would die and be forgotten.”
“And so you committed the great taboo yourself.”
“What choice did I have?” She screamed. “What would you have done? I held off, but the hunger… the darkness… the whispers. The thing they sealed in there with me. So, yes. I committed the great crime.”
“And you were cursed?”
“This isn’t a blessing…” she spat.
“Then why’d you turn others?” he accused.
“Others? They turned themselves! I didn’t do this to anyone! More got trapped in the wilderness and resorted to the same crime I had. And they were never able to leave this valley, so more were slain.”
“You say that like you didn’t kill anyone.”
“I didn’t.” she glowered. “I didn’t feed at all for almost two centuries. It ate me from the inside, but I refused to ever commit the taboo again. Then the seal was broken and the thing I guarded was set free.”
“The statue.”
“Yes. The statue.” She spat. “Freed from the chamber. So you can call me coward…”
Paul felt the water flooding into his boots again. He turned back toward the creature on the island. Its eyes glowed still, but there was a sort of recognition now. He turned to Kit.
“Trust me.”
“What?” Her flames licked up again, driving the other wendigo back.
Paul turned toward the red-eyed creature and held out the necklace. “I will help you escape the island. But make it right.”
The wendigo growled at him, then a light seemed to shimmer as its gaze fell on the necklace.
“My love…” came the whisper at the bag of his mind. It tickled like when he talked with Syth - it had been too long since he’d talked with Syth.
Then, the creature lunged. It landed deftly on Paul’s shoulders, almost knocking him over, but he’d been ready. He hefted, launching the wendigo over Kit and onto the far shore. The red-eyed wendigo slid in the mud of the river bank and let out a piercing, human-like cry, then leapt onto the back of the other.
With a violent tear, it ripped back on the head of the burnt monster, exposing its neck.
Paul splashed his way out of the water and, as the two monsters fought, he slashed, severing the flesh of the scarred wendigo’s neck. The red-eyed wendigo ripped the head free and heaved it off into the darkness.
The headless body twitched and fell to the muddy shore.
Then the darkness overtook them all one last time.
Kit and Paul stood on the shore. Opposite, illuminated by shadowless light, stood the Catawba woman. She held the necklace in her hand. She gazed at it. “In the darkness, I couldn’t see it. I didn’t realize what I had done to his memory…” she looped the cord around her neck. “I don’t know that I can be redeemed for what I have done.” She gazed up at the two of them. “You probably plan to take my head for this.”
Paul shook his head. “There’s been enough death lately.”
Kit’s fists clenched. “Why were you pursuing us.”
“You carried the bones of the one who was sealed. I needed to return them.”
“Then where are they now?”
“I do not know. One is near, but concealed somehow. The rest are in her possession now.”
“Her?”
“U`tlûñ'ta. The Spearfinger. The one my love died sealing away. The one who keeps me trapped in this valley.” She clenched the necklace in her hand. “So what do you intend to do?”
“I will let you go free.” Paul replied. Kit cast a shocked gaze his way.
“We are in the spirit realm, are we not?”
The woman nodded.
“Then he can be reached as well. I need you to teach me how to enter this realm at will. In exchange, you will be free to go.” Paul replied.
“You can’t be serious?” Kit replied.
Paul folded his arms. “She is the only wendigo in this valley left - and she controlled herself up till this point. I choose to trust her.”
“You would trust a monster?” Kit growled.
“Yes.” Paul replied. “I’ve done so in the past, why change now?” He turned to the woman. “Train me. I need to know how to enter this realm myself.”
Kit stood on the shore of the river. The flames in her palm flickered and died.
Paul was gone, as was the red-eyed wendigo.
The crunching of twigs alerted her gaze, and a tall man strode from the shadows. “Excuse me. Where am I?”
“You’re in North Carolina, along the Linnville River,” she replied. “Who are you?”
The man looked around. “Name’s Cole,” he replied, “Are you all right? What happened here?”
“Nothing good,” she responded. She looked around. The body of the dead wendigo had vanished already. Paul was gone, as was the red-eyed wendigo. All that remained of their fight was the muddy banks and a few burnt spots from her flames.”
“I’m sorry, but can you show me a way out of here?” the man asked. “I came while exploring the lights, and I seem to have found myself turned around.
“The lights are a good way off upstream,” she replied. “I’m heading that way, I can take you.”
“You’re too kind.” replied the man.
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