Syth and Axe (part 8) : Attack of the Dogmen

Read part 1 here: https://parallaxrealms.blogspot.com/2024/04/bunyan-went-down-to-jersey-part-1.html

 Syth and Axe vol. 8 - The Dogmen

1967 - Bluff Creek, California

Alma crouched, holding her small child in her arms. She pressed a finger into the soil.

Hoof prints. The humans would be returning soon, and would be on horseback. She’d have to be quick.

The child squawled. She placed a large finger against his mouth and shushed him. She didn’t have time to feed - not out here. She’d have to get back to the tribe or just forge on to her next location. But, staying here was not an option - not anymore. The one human had passed her hiding spot on his own earlier. If he’d caught wind of her, he’d be back, with friends no doubt.

She sniffed the air. The wind was at her back, blowing from upriver, off toward the north. Both the wind and the water were heading off to the south - the same direction those humans would come from. She wouldn’t be able to smell anything coming. She’d have to be alert, then. She slipped off up the road and nestled her babe in the denser foliage, hoping against hope he’d stay quiet long enough for her to slip back to the river bed and retrieve her prize.

Her heart pounding, she slipped through the trees, her eyes peeled for any sort of movement, any smell on the wind. So far, nothing. She was safe for the moment.

Years ago, a flood had raged through this area, leaving just enough cover for her to slip from log jam to log jam, avoiding sight from the nearby path. Had this flood been his doing? She’d heard he was attempting to make an alliance with other forces - what was he up to? Had he found a way into this world? She couldn’t worry about that, now, though it filled her thoughts. Right now, she had other worries. Human worries.

She slid down the embankment and back onto the gravel of the riverbed. Fallen trees could cover her for the moment, but there was little else she could do to hide herself. The cache still sat in the limbs of that tree - right in the middle of all this. If she could slip in, grab it, and be gone, any footprints would wash away in the rain. EIther way, it was a risk she had to take. She couldn’t let anyone get that material.

She pulled herself up against a particularly large pile of fallen limbs and tree. This was the place. She peered into the opening. Something glittered inside.

It was still there! If she could fit the key into the socket, she could seal this place.

She pushed her broad arm into the opening of the rotten log. Just… beyond… reach… a finger barely brushed it again. She could feel it start to shift. Why had he left it in such a place!

Then she heard it. Hooves. Coming from the south.

Cursing, she thrust her arm deeper in the opening, desperately squirming her hand and finger. She could just barely…

It shifted and rolled.

Then clattered to the depths of the log.

Clop of hooves.

She peered up in alarm. Nothing on the road. And she couldn’t smell anything on the air. Had it all been in her head? She peered around.

Nothing.

Determined, she wedged her arm back into the opening. But it was too late. The keystone had rolled away from her into the depths of the log. She pulled back a chunk of the rotten wood, shoving her shoulder deeper into it, trying to reach the rotten little pocket at the base. She could just heave the entire stump up and toss it, but she didn’t risk drawing that level of attention - not right now, not near a gate.

Then she heard it.

She wrenched her arm free and slowly peered over the pile, every muscle tense, the very cords feeling like they would rip free at any moment. Then she heard them.

Horses. Voices. Human voices. They were talking in low tones, but just loud enough for her to barely hear them over the running of water and rushing of the wind down the riverbed. And that insufferable hum of an open gateway. If she could reach the keystone, she could seal it, but that would draw too much attention now… and they were heading up the road.

Up the road! She’d hidden away the babe up that way, thinking she’d be done with this project with plenty of time!

She’d have to slip away - if they came upon her babe, they’d no doubt shoot him and take the body back. She was a fool to leave him hidden off the road of all things. Cursing her dumb luck, she slid away from the pile of logs and began to creep away toward the road. She’d have to find a way to create a distraction.

The horse seemed troubled. She heard a man shout as the horse toppled over. It had caught wind of her. She’d been seen. No use hiding now.

So she stood to full height. 

The first human’s horse whinnied and began to panic.

The man toppled from his saddle, his foot catching in the stirrup as she watched. He scrabbled around the horse, pulling his foot free and leaping for the saddle bag. She hated having to do this, but she needed to draw their attention toward the river - she needed to lure them away from the road. Then she could loop back and get out of there.

The man was as frantic as his horse. He wrestled with something on the saddle and staggered free, just as the animal galloped away downstream, taking the rest of his supplies with him. But he had gotten something strange from the saddle.

She wasn’t familiar with what he was holding. It wasn’t like any of the firearms she’d seen men use, but maybe they’d invented something new. She braced for what she knew would be a shot. She waited to feel the pain as their bullets pierced her skin.

But nothing came. As she strolled her way across the riverbed, she heard the shouts and cries.

A second man rode up, drawing out a firearm - a rifle by the looks of it. 

Now she was in trouble. She strode her way across the dry riverbed, across the piles of dead logs, hoping to get as much distance between them and her babe as possible. She didn’t dare run.

She hated them for making her do this. Did they not understand what was at stake? Did they not see the danger they were putting everyone in by leaving that item unprotected in a rotten log of all things?

She heard a cry, and turned to see the man falling to a knee to do something with a strange device. She braced for a shot, sparing him a glance as she did.

He froze, holding the item, his face awash with shock as she turned away from him. If he were going to shoot her, let him shoot her. She strode off toward the woods, hoping to get out of their line of sight. If she could achieve that, she could sprint away. She hoped they couldn’t shoot what they couldn’t see.

She pushed through the trees, vanishing for a moment. She paused to catch her breath, listening to their cries. No gunshots. Nothing too chaotic. She held her breath for a long moment, then began to stride toward the road. If they were preoccupied with the riverbed, she stood a chance of slipping up onto the path, retrieving the child, and fleeing before they could see her.

She stepped from the trees, and there was the other man. He was back on his horse.

She had no choice. She turned and walked away as fast as she dared.

“Go ahead, human, get closer and see what happens.” she muttered to herself, feeling her hackles rise. “Give me an excuse to rip you limb from limb.”

He seemed as nervous as she was. The horse snorted in irritation, kicking and pulling. The man, with trained ease, kept the beast as calm as possible as he followed, always at a safe distance.

She could do it. She could seize a rock and strike him from the back of that horse before he could raise that gun. She’d done it before - she could do it again. But something stayed her hand. There’d been enough bloodshed today. There was no reason to taint this land any further.

She growled to herself and continued trekking. If he stayed back, she wouldn’t kill him.

Then the other man cried out, and the one following her turned. He seemed to hesitated, then turned his horse and began to ride back down the river toward his companion - the one who had pulled out the strange device.

As soon as both men were out of sight, she rushed up the bank, scrambling as fast as she dared, rushed across the road to where her child sat, weeping quietly. She seized him and brought him to her chest. He cooed happily. With a final gaze over her shoulder, she pushed her way up the embankment and vanished into the trees.

This area was no longer safe. Once word of this sighting got back to the human settlements in the area, they’d be pouring over this place. The gate was open, but nothing could get through - not yet. She’d have to give it time to die down, then she could complete the ritual and protect this region.

Grumbling, she trudged through the underbrush, doing her best to cover her tracks as she went, hoping they didn’t bring any of those tracking hounds. She was in a hurry, and to properly distract them would take time she didn’t have. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold things together in this region… she’d have to call for aid - soon.

But the gates were weakening. If she didn’t get someone out of the containment enclosures out here to patch them up soon, this whole region of the country would destabilize.

The babe was sleeping. She muttered softly to herself as she shouldered her way through the dense foliage. “And what were you thinking, leaving the keystone in the middle of the river? How long did you think it would actually stay there?”

She growled angrily, using her forehead to push her way through the lower-hanging branches. She felt something scrape her flesh, felt the sting of sweat in an open wound.

“This day keeps getting better and better…” she grumbled.

1924 - Near Mt. St. Helens

Alma stepped through the gate into this new world. Her people had talked about it - it’s beautiful forests, glacial peaks, formidable mountains - but nothing could prepare her for what she was seeing.

As the gate hissed shut behind her, she pocketed her keystone and stepped forward into the encampment a few of her people had established. 

“Lady Alma, great to finally meet you.”

She bowed graciously to the newcomer. His fur was dappled, blue and silver, with several red streaks to show his affiliation with the realm of fire.

“Se’sxac, it is a pleasure. I trust your guard in this place was peaceful?”

“It was. We believe there is fire in his mountain’s belly, but it will sleep for long. Our people grow tired. Thank you for relieving us.”

She smiled, clasping both his broad hands in hers. “It is my pleasure. Any word from our cousins to the north?”

He shook his head.

“Well, I shall make a venture there as soon as possible,” she replied. “Until then, enjoy your respite. You’ve earned it.”

“Is Sune still in Oni’ja?”

“That, or in his cave. He returned with some dire news. You should see to him when you can.”

“That I will. He owes me a drink.”

“He promised that almost a century ago, I doubt he remembers.”

“Oh, he’ll remember.”

She chuckled, embraced her old friend in a bone-crunching hug, and waved him off toward the gate.

He began to walk toward the gate, keystone in hand.

“Se’sxac, I’ll need that.”

He hesitated for a moment, then unlooped the thong from around his neck and handed it to her. “Best of luck out there. Hopefully, it’s as peaceful for you as it was for me.”

“Enjoy Oni’ja.”

He nodded his thanks. She waved the keystone through the air, feeling a slight tug as the portal stabilized. She turned to her friend. His eyes passed from her to the stone. “Keep good watch on things. I’ll see you in a few.”

A blast of warm air struck them both, pushing back their hair. He stepped through, and the doorway sealed behind him.

Fog rolled about beneath them. Her hair prickled.

“Calm yourself, it’s just fog - natural, low-lying clouds.”

Breathing slowly, she stepped away from the sealing gate and strode into the camp. She needed to look the part - she was guardian now. The safety of the clans fell to her, and so did any trouble they got up to.

But she was the Warden of Water. Why had she been sent here? What even was this place?

A fellow stepped from the camp and bowed low to her. She smiled. “It’s fine. Hello.”

He was young, perhaps her age, maybe a year or two younger. His features were distinctive, a red stripe across his head showed his affinity, with a light scar from something with three claws causing his dark skin to appear under that reddish fur. It ran down the length of his shoulder, from collar bone to his right breast.

“Lady Alma?”

“Yes,” she replied. It was her turn to bow, now. “Commander, would you like to report now, or later?”

“My soldiers are just returning from scouting around the mountain,” he replied. “Let me get their report and I’ll tell you everything later today.”

Alma nodded. “That is fine. Any word from the north?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure when the last report came through. I just returned from scouting myself. Your arrival has come as a bit of a surprise, to be honest.”

“To both of us…” she muttered.

“Commander…”

“My men call me Scar,” he replied with a smile.

She nodded. One name was as good as another. “Then gather your report, Commander Scar, and I will have you fill me in on all matters once I’ve rested. Can you take me to my chambers?”

“Yes, Lady Alma. Please, accompany me.”

He led her to the edge of the clearing to a large tree.

“The illusions should keep this from being located, but the position of honor at the entrance of camp is still yours.”

She nodded her thanks and entered the opening in the side of the tree. It parted, expanding out to a modest opening in the middle of the illusory tree. A bed, a chair, a table, several piles of books, a few pieces of paper from the local population centers.

“What are these?” She asked.

Her guide nodded to the papers. “These are from some of the human settlements. They call them newspapers. They give somewhat up-to-date information about the comings and goings of their kind. We keep an eye on things to see if anyone has reported seeing us.”

“That’s smart. I’m surprised we haven’t done that for any other world.”

“The humans of this world enjoy printing their words on this disposable paper, and appear to have no perceivable binding or scribing.”

“I’ve heard that. So their words carry no power?”

“Not that we’ve seen. They’ve created some powerful weaponry to aid them in battle. We believe this is a very material-based plane by everything we’ve been able to observe. I’m honestly surprised any of our illusions work here.”

“I’m surprised as well.” She fingered the keystone she wore around her neck.

A moment of awkward silence fell between them.

“Well, Lady Alma,” sputtered her guide, “I’ll leave you to your rest.”

“Y-yes,” she replied. “Thank you.”

He left, the illusory door sealing behind him and leaving her in the undirected glow of whatever light had been bound into the walls of the hollow. It was directionless, but filled the room with a uniform, warm glow.

She plucked the papers from the table and rummaged through them. They felt so small in her hands. Were the humans this small in this world? Were they the same size across all worlds they settled, or did they adapt to the location? These felt extra small. She supposed she’d find out sooner or later.

“The Sunday Oregonian…” she began, looking over all the scrawled text, bold letters, and little flourishes. The people of this land took all of this very seriously. And most of the articles were trivial. She pushed away a few stacks, finally settling on one. “This must be their dating system. I wonder… let’s see,” she muttered to herself, “July? Is that a person, an animal?” She continued reading. “July 13, 1924. Those appear to be their numbers. I guess the small one represents some small segment of time and the larger one… Oh, who am I kidding? I wish Sab’el was here. He understands all this far better than I do.”

She skimmed over the articles, looking for anything interesting or informative.

“‘Fight with big apes reported by miners.’ What’s that mean?” She asked. “What’s an ape?” Her grasp of languages was fairly good, but sometimes these location-specific words confused her. She continued reading the little column of writing. “And what’s a ‘mountain devil’? Have more things from the other planes come through?” She placed the papers on the table, the weariness of her travels finally overtaking her. She’d figure it out in the morning.

And boy, did morning come.

She stepped out into the morning glow.

“Lady Alma”

She nearly jumped from her fur. Trying to hide her surprise, she nodded to the scarred warrior standing nearby. How long had he been there? “Good morning. I’m sorry. What was your name again?”

“Scar.” replied the soldier.

“Okay, Scar. What do you have to report?”

“I’m afraid we’ve had an… incident.”

Her mind immediately snapped back to the articles on her desk. “This wouldn’t have to do with the humans that were attacked?”

“You heard, then…”

“I read it, actually. The human newspapers are already reporting on it.”

Scar frowned. “I had hoped it wasn’t true.”

“So these ‘apes’ and ‘mountain devils’?”

“Yes, those are terms they use for our kind, apparently.”

“I was told things were peaceful - that there was nothing to report.”

“I wasn’t sure of it myself, Lady.”

“Tell me everything.”

“The best I can tell, there was an attack.”

“Why?”

“I’m still trying to get to the bottom of it, Lady.”

“We attacked them or they attacked us?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Show me where it happened then, and I want any of ours that were there to accompany us.”

“That’s the thing…”

“What?” she barked.

“I can’t find any of ours that were there. It seems they’ve only heard rumors.”

Alma growled. “Fine. Then just show me where it happened.”

“It’s a canyon, not far from here. We can be there by high sun.”

She gazed up at the sky. Through the trees, she could see the sun slowly trekking its way through the cloudcover. That would be a short hike. “Let’s go.” She replied.

The hike down into the valley was an uneventful one. A few footprints here and there - mostly human or bear, a few deer here and there, and some birds. But none of their kind.

“What do they call us these days? The humans have always come up with creative descriptions, or so I’ve heard.”

“They’ve taken to calling us ‘sasquatch.’”

She nodded. She didn’t know what it meant, but it was a pleasant enough word - fitting. “Why?”

Scar shrugged. “Not sure.”

The two continued in silence for a while longer, crossing a few streams, skirting the edge of a clearing, and finally making their way to an old trail.

“This is where the reports originate. One of the humans built a cabin up here.”

“Are they settling this area?”

“No, we believe it’s some sort of supply location - for local hunters.”

Indeed, the old cabin looked rough-hewn, as if it had been built out of wood harvested nearby, cut and planed into shape somewhere local. It had stood for a good bit of time as well. The logs and beams weren’t rotten or anything - they just had that weathered, damaged, time-worn look things get when exposed to the elements for long enough.

“The ground is disturbed here,” Scar mentioned, crouching.

She nodded. “Human tracks. Those look like boots.”

“And over here, and over here. They were running.”

Something shiny lay half-buried in the mud.

“That’s a bullet casing. Someone was firing toward the woods.”

They now noticed that the ground was covered with shells. At least a dozen outside the cabin, and as they pushed open the slightly-open door, scaring away a small pack of rats, they noticed several more, as if someone had fired at something from inside the cabin - a few different sizes.

“Why are they different sizes?” Alma asked.

“Humans carry quite the variety of weapons. There’s no way to accentuate your strength or disguise your presence - outside of ordinary means - so humans depend on various firearms. I believe the different sizes are either different weapons or different power of the same weapons.”

“So they were trying multiple ways to drive us off.”

“We’re still not sure any of us were involved.”

“Was anyone missing from the camp?”

Scar turned a small shell in his large fingers. “Our forces are constantly roaming the land. At least twenty of us are currently ‘missing’ from the camp - but they could be stationed elsewhere, lost, or just hunting. I receive word back from them about once every human year, at most.”

Alma knelt, tracing a finger along the dirt that had piled up on the cabin floor. The disorganization of her people would drive her crazy.

“Where are our major locations, Scar?”

“I’m not sure outside of this region of the world, but I believe there are a few camps a few days walk south of us, a few on the other side of the land, beyond the spine of mountains that seems to divide east from west, and there is another colony protecting something up north.”

“So none far to the south.”

“We have a few locations that we’ve stationed some permanent scouts in, but no large presence, no.”

She sighed. “Something happened here. Did our people leave any prints?”

Scar nodded. “A few outside. Some of our larger scouts, apparently. I’m not sure which.”

She examined them. “We grow large here.”

Scar nodded. “Yes, we do. There’s no dampener, like in Oni’ja, so we’re able to get to full height.”

Alma ran her finger along the print. It was massive. She put her own track up to it. She was maybe a half, maybe a third smaller. Whoever had made these was larger than any of her kind she’d ever seen - even the ancients didn’t get this large.

Scar pointed. “Look, blood.”

Spattered across a tree and ground nearby was a large gout of blood - or at least dried blood now.

“By the height of it, I’d say one of ours got grazed in the head. Look - there’s a mark in this tree.”

“How tall is he?”

Scar eyed it for a moment. “I’d guess by human standards, about seven feet,” he replied, holding up his hand at about his own height. “He could be seven and a half,” he continued, raising his hand a little higher. The bullet had come from a lower point, and the blood had sprayed up at the tree.

“The humans were shooting from here,” he observed, pointing at a large gap between the logs that made up the wall of the cabin. There were a few of them - spots where the filler they had used to seal up the gaps had either been rotted away or torn away.

“Did ours die?”

Scar looked around the edge of the clearing. “Doesn’t look like it. There are prints here. One of ours - probably the one that was shot - went down into a crouch here,” there was a large scuff in the dirt, and a few more drops of blood, “and it appears he used his hand to push himself back up before…”

“What?”

“Getting shot again. Look.”

More blood - dark blood - stained this area.

“That bullet didn’t go through,” he continued. “This tree cover is dense and there’s not a single hole from the bullet. That lodged in deep and didn’t come out. He bled from here to there - apparently covered it for a while before using that hand to balance himself here.”

Sure enough, there was a smear of blood on a nearby tree.

“What happened?”

“Well,” Scar replied with a sigh, “it looks like our people trapped them in that cabin until they shot their way out.”

“But why?”

They followed the human footprints back into the cabin. In the corner lay a broken pick axe, a few metal plates, and some wooden boxes.

“Gold miners.”

Alma thought back to the article she had read. “So they were searching for gold in the mountains and our people attacked?”

“Or they attacked and we chased them back to the cabin.”

Alma lifted the pick axe. “Is this a weapon?”

Scar shook his head. “The dwarves use those. It’s for chipping away at rocks and such. It’s called a pick axe. Humans use it for mining.”

“It’s bloody.”

Scar sighed. “Yes, it is.”

He took the blade and wiped his hand along it. “The fewer bits of evidence, the better.” He plucked a few hairs that had gotten stuck to the edge and balled them up in a fist. “This whole scene is a mess.”

“And I was told there had been no trouble,” Alma griped, “that our secrets were safe.”

Scar crouched and tried to look through some of the gaps in the logs. “Well, if we cause enough disturbance, then hopefully the other humans will ignore whatever these men saw.”

“But that doesn’t answer ‘why?’”

Scar shrugged. “Until we find who did this, we won’t know.”

As they disturbed the soil around the camp - some had already hardened and was more difficult to stamp out - she realized just how much had happened. Bullet holes all over the place, disturbed stones, muddy and bloody footprints everywhere, and a large drag mark leading away from the scene.

“Someone was dragged away, here.”

“One of ours or theirs?”

“Ours - footprints are too deep. Our people were dragging a large weight.”

They followed the dragmark - the disturbed patches of dirt, leaves, and grass. Broken twigs and branches, even an uprooted tree. Then the path just ended.

“Did they throw the body into that canyon?”

Scar knelt and examined the marks. “It appears so.”

“We never leave bodies behind - that’s the first directive. They are immediately retrieved and disposed of, even if a gate needs to be opened and the corpse tossed through.”

“I know, Lady Alma.” Scar muttered. “Nothing about this is right.”

“This was done by our people?”

“I don’t know who else could. And I’ve known some of our own to throw rocks at humans to scare them away, so it all matches.”

Then he paused and looked at the ground one more time. There was a clear track - about as perfect a step as could be recorded.

“Claws.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look here…” he replied. “Huge footprint, but compare.”

The ground was still a little bit soft, so he pressed his own foot into the muck, pushed the toes down into it, and carefully drew the foot back. A bit of dirt caught in the seam toward the front of the pad, wadding up and leaving a definite “step” impression, but there were no prints of claws - not even nails.

“What could have done this?” Alma asked.

Scar gazed over the edge of the canyon. “I’m not sure, but it wasn’t one of us. That body may have been, though.” He tamped out his own print and dragged his foot along the clawmarked one to hide it. “We’ve seen enough, I think?”

Alma nodded. “Let’s see what was dropped into that canyon.”

They carefully slid their way down into the valley, following the signs of where the body had fallen, cleaning as they went. And then they found it. The large sasquatch, jet black, with wounds covering his body, lay caught up in some trees where he had fallen.

Scar carefully climbed into the bows of the tree, lifted the body from its perch, and slowly lowered the dark sasquatch back to the ground. He had been dead for quite some time, and a small collection of large flies buzzed around the corpse.

A large groove in the side of his scalp showed where the bullet had grazed him, carving a good-sized line of fur in a straight scar, nearly taking off his ear in the process. Another wound in his shoulder matched the evidence from above. Another wound in the bicep, and another in the hip. He had been shot multiple times before falling.

But then another strange injury.

Around his neck.

“Are those… teethmarks?”

“Yes,” replied Scar. “And that mark looks like it was made by a wolf.”

“Do they grow this large as well?”

Scar shook his head. “I’ve heard some rumors of giant wolves, but none around here. Certainly none that walk on their hind legs.”

“Then, what?”

The marks ran deep – almost to the point of ripping out his throat.

Scar’s mouth opened and closed, but he found no words. “I - I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Alma heaved at the body. “Help me move him. We have to hide it and get back to camp.”

“I can open a gate and send him back?” Scar offered.

“Only as a last resort. Too much is happening. I don’t want to risk destabilizing anything else this close to another active gate.”

“Understood.” Scar hefted the body. “I think I can carry him. You lead the way.”

Night began to fall by the time they reappeared from the depths of the canyon. Scar lowered the body to the ground, breathing heavily. “He’s probably the largest I’ve seen.”

“Do you know him?”

Scar shook his head. “No. He must have come from farther north - maybe Nahanni?”

Alma shook her head. “I’m not sure where that is.”

“A good distance north of us. They protect a fairly powerful gate.”

Alma nodded. “That’s where it is,” she said with realization. “I knew several had been stabilized, but I wasn’t given all the locations. I was told the information would be provided when I arrived.”

Scar shrugged. “Maybe it was left in your lodgings?”

She nodded. “I hope so. I’ll be lost without it, and I don’t dare reopen the gate this soon.” She eyed the dead soldier. “If he were from Nahanni, why would he be here?”

Scar shook his head. “We have scouts coming and going all the time. Maybe he was dispatched with a message? Maybe he’s from somewhere else entirely. I’m sorry, but I really have no idea.”

Alma shook her head. “I just can’t believe we have no record of where any of our people are. If one of them were to die in the wilderness and a human were to find the body…”

Scar nodded. “Yes. It’s a problem, but one we cannot solve here in the wilderness.”

Alma sighed. “You’re right. Let’s get back. Need help carrying him?”

Scar shook his head. “No, I think I’ll be all right. Let’s just stick to the road for a while. It’ll be easier than tromping through the brush.”

The road was barely passable - more of a hiking trail. Loggers had long since stopped using it, and weeds, brambles, and even some smaller trees had begun to take advantage of the clearcut. But it was, Alma had to agree, still better than forging their way through the dense undergrowth.

The hours crawled past, and probably what was just after midnight, or “high moon” as she called it, they arrived at the outskirts of the camp. It was silent, still, and invisible to all but the most astute observer. Nothing stirred. The best defense to them was to remain utterly invisible.

She could feel, ever so slightly, the tug of power at the edge of her senses, a series of bindings that allowed the illusions to stand, even in this world. The gate, though sealed to travel, still oozed just enough energy to power everything in the vicinity.

The strode into the protective barrier.

“No guards,” whispered Scar.

“I noticed,” she replied.

The wind shifted, and Scar immediately froze.

“What is it?”

“Something… on the wind. Something…” he paused, his flat face turned to face the breeze blowing in, his nostrils flared. “Blood.”

He slowly set the body down on the ground and turned to fully face the source of the odor.

Alma felt her hands clenching. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something is moving over there.”

She sniffed the air this time. It wasn’t the familiar musk of her people, or the scent of the trees, or even the slight must of the forest floor. This was clearly blood and something else… something living. Something growling.

She felt it before she heard it - a low, almost imperceptible growl that rumbled through the air. She froze. Her hands opened, and she could feel beads of moisture slowly coalescing around her palm. The hair around her wrist clumped, now damp with the dew, and small rivulets of water began to trace their way up her forearm to her elbow.

“Another to the north,” whispered Scar, “and to the east.”

She smelled them, too. So, they were surrounded on all sides but west.

Something growled from behind them.

Surrounded on all sides. Something had slipped around behind and they were now penned in.

“You’ve returned! Oh, thank the crafters! Where have you been!?” came a cry, and the same guard who had shown her to her cabin came rushing forward. He had jogged about halfway across the camp, and before they could so much as cry out, something dropped from overhead, pinning him to the ground.

It was large - easily as tall as any sasquatch, but instead of the flat, somewhat-human face, it had a long, doglike snout and two pointed ears that stuck a few inches off the top of its head. It growled like a dog, then sank its fangs into the back of the young guard’s neck.

His face awash with shock, the young guard choked, a hand reaching forward, twitching as the strange beast clamped tighter, then wrenched to the side. A crack echoed through the trees, and the guard lay still. Blood dripping from its maw, the dogman lifted its snout and growled at the two.

Almost without thinking, Alma shot her hand forward, and a lance of water split through the air, cutting easily through the creature’s face. It gaped for a moment, then a spray of blood issued from the front and back of its skull, and it convulsed to the ground, twitching violently over the corpse of the guard it had just killed. Blood pulsed from its wounds as its snout twitched, clenching and unclenching as its claws dug furrows into the earth.

Then it lay still.

Alma felt more water congealing around her open hand.

Growls rumbled from the forest, and she felt the slight vibrations as the one behind them charged, apparently hoping to catch them unaware. Just as it seemed close enough to strike, she spun, throwing up a wall of water.

The beast leapt into the air, claws outstretched, and dropped down to her. It fell through the curtain of water as she dove aside. It missed catching her in its attack, struck the ground, and slid several feet before getting its bearings. It rears on her, slowly rising from all fours to a strange, semi-human crouch. It was just about to shake off the water when she reached out a hand and clenched her fist.

The water droplets struck true, closing from all corners into the flesh of the beast. Then she twisted her hand and pulled, and several red droplets exploded from its skin. She could feel her own blood pulsing behind her eyes, could feel pressure building in her skull. Her abilities were so limited here! 

She heaved, and a dozen small streams of bloody water ripped from the wolf-like creature’s body. It howled in pain, then dropped to all fours. It lunged forward, and she heaved, pushing all the droplets straight back into the monster’s face.

Something in the snout snapped as a jet of water pierced through. A hole ripped in the membrane of the left ear, and one of its eyes seemed to implode as a stream of nearly-solid water pierced through. Milky fluid streamed down its cheek.

“Tough one.”

Scar let out a groan.

She turned to see one of the other creatures had struck from behind while she was occupied with the fight.

The large sasquatch’s forearms were slick with blood, but he was still holding the beast at bay.

“B-behind you!” he cried.

Alma turned just in time to see a blood-stained snout, gore dripping from one eye, close on her face. Almost on instinct, she swept one hand up, clamping the beast around the mouth and sealing its gaping maw shut. She used its weight to propel it behind her, moving the dogman’s entire body in a graceful arc that ended with its full weight slamming its snout straight into the ground.

It let out a yelp.

Before it could recover, she straddled its back and began to pull with both hands. The dog’s neck resisted, and she almost lost her grip. But she heaved anyway, wrenching back on its snout, its ears, the whiskers on the side of its face - anything she could use to get a grip on the beast’s head.

She could hear the low growl, could see the anger raging in its good eye.

She snarled back, plucked a large stone from the ground, and slammed it against the dog’s throat.

The creature released a gurgling moan.

She struck the rock again, feeling the rush of blood across her hands as she did. Then, using all her strength, she grabbed the flesh and heaved, listening with satisfaction as tendon and muscle and flesh ripped free. Soon, the head was loose from the body. She rose, drawing out the liquid from the corpse as she tossed the head toward the other creature - the one still attacking Scar.

It hesitated for just a moment, but that was all the time she needed. The volume of blood she’d been able to extract from the corpse was enough to power what she needed.

“Get back!” She commanded.

Scar obeyed, and a wave of blood struck the beast in the face. It tried to struggle free, but she held it fast, coating the entirety of its snout - nose and mouth, in a layer of the red liquid.

A look of realization came across the wolf’s features, and its rage and arrogance evaporated into a look of fear tinged with abject panic. Its claws rose to its face, pulling and tugging at the ever-shifting layer, attempting to free itself from the choking waters.

It was drowning in midair.

Scar watched on in horror, one hand clamped over the blood gouges on his forearm. He cast his gaze back at Alma.

Her face set, her gaze that of pitiless judgment, she held out her bloodied hand, a headless corpse at her feet.

The creature across the way struggled again, twitched and fell dead.

She released the liquid, and a broad pool of blood oozed out and around its corpse. 

She held out a hand to Scar, who took it and rose. “Now I know why they send the Wardens.”

She smiled. “I’m not all meek and mild.”

She then turned toward the forest, knowing there would be a fourth somewhere out in that darkness. “Tell whatever packleader you have that these forests are under my control. Begone, and don’t you dare touch any of mine again!”

As if to accentuate her point, she began to congeal an ugly wad of blood around her palm.

“Do you hear me, you sniveling mongrel? You leave these forests of you’ll answer to me! Alma, Warden of these lands. And I will drown you in your own blood!”

Still no response, but somewhere, off in the distance, she could hear the tramp of claws in the leaves as something large scampered away in fear.

Morning broke over a slaughtered camp.

Scar held his arm. “Wish one of the healing Wardens had come.”

“Combat or healing - you don’t get both,” Alma replied with a wry smile. “Let me see. I might be able to at least seal it.”

She held out a hand over the wound, and it slowly sealed over, though the hair around the edges began to bleach slightly.

Scar flexed his arm. “What just happened?”

“I was able to speed up the time just on that spot. That little section of your arm may have aged a little … prematurely. I don’t dare do too much.”

He chuckled. “You’re the only Warden who has ever demonstrated powers like this.”

“I imagine the others just never had opportunity.”

“Maybe, but this scar was just left to heal. I was told it was better I suffer through the healing if I was going to make everyone else suffer because of my stupidity.”

Alma examined the wound. “That actually looks as if it would have been an easy heal. I probably could have mended that one completely.”

Scar shrugged and slowly rose to his feet. They had both spent the better part of the night and the early morning finding all of the dead bodies and bringing them to the middle of the camp. Every single member had been slain - most with bite marks to the neck. Some had suffered a fatal bite mark to the throat, others, like the young guard, had been ambushed and their necks had been snapped from behind.

“It was a massacre. A complete massacre.”

Alma stared down at the nearly dozen corpses - these were her people, her warriors, her agents to keep this land protected - and they were all dead to a man. What had happened? How had these beasts known exactly where each would stay - how had these monsters seen through all of their illusions?

Scar eyed the dead dogmen.

“I’ve never seen or heard of their like.”

“No, but you can see how they’d be confused for us in the dark.”

He nodded. “Where did they come from?” He seemed to wonder aloud.

“You said you wondered if that one was from Nahanni?”

Scar nodded.

“Why Nahanni? Why there and not somewhere farther to the south, or even the ones farther east?”

“I heard talk of trouble there, of warriors being sent and recalled. It seems we wiped out an entire human tribe for treading too close to some important locations. Then these giant dogment show up and start killing our people.”

Alma nodded. “Yes, it does seem possible. Either way, we’ll have to go see if there’s any help they can spare. Our outpost here is completely gone, and until we can reestablish it, there is little reason to continue. I’ll seal the gateway and we can head off to the north. Can you dispose of the bodies?”

Scar nodded.

“Good. Give our people the honor they deserve, and dispose of that trash however suits you best.”

The warrior eyed the mangled bodies at his feet. “Yes, my Lady. With pleasure.” With a scarred arm, he wrenched up one corpse, dragged it off into the woods, then returned. By the time he finished, Alma had just about completed her own ritual over the dead. 

She looked up, and a wordless acknowledgement passed between them. The corpses of those vile beasts were food for carrion, and soon, the leaves and vines would overtake their own, returning them with honor to the earth.

She reached out her palm, and as she touched the plants nearby, they blossomed and flourished. She continued to guide one specific vine, gently prodding it slowly by slowly around the body of the first. It wove its way around, and before long, the young guard was drawn down into the soil.

She could feel it draining her strength, but she had no choice. This duty fell to her, and her alone.

The large black sasquatch - the one they’d retrieved from the ravine - was next. His mangled form slowly succumbed to the sprawling carpet of vines, and he slowly sank into the mossy ground, which sealed back over him as if made of liquid.

Alma staggered.

Scar rushed to her side, lifting her up. “We can wait.”

“No. We can’t risk it,” she replied. “Every body must be interred with proper rites.”

“Then I should scout the area, make sure we are safe. If more return tonight, you’ll be in no condition.”

She nodded, and knelt over another body.

Her strength flagged with every ritual, with every body drawn back into the depths of the soil. She crouched over the final body, her breath heaving, sweat dampening her body. It had been a solid day of work, and she’d barely slept since leaving camp the previous day. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion, but her hands still moved, as if on their own accord. How many had she laid to rest today? How many had she drawn back down into the earth with her last gasps of power?

Muscles screaming, she placed an open palm, still stained with the blood of that dogman she had decapitated with a stone and her sheer anger, on the ground. The vines coiled around her charge, and slowly drew it down into the earth.

As the final seam of the earth stitched itself shut, she released a shuttering gasp and fell to her hands and knees, her chest heaving. Sweat stung her eyes. Her arms quivered with the strain as she attempted to rise. It was too much.

Scar slid a large arm under her and hoisted her to her feet. She staggered, but he stabilized her, escorting her form to the nearby shelter. She could feel herself being lowered into the bed, then she let go, and everything went black.

Fire and blood, burning trees. A mountain erupting into gouts of flame and death. She winced.

From Syth’s Journal

It is believed that what we call “Sasquatch” or whatever other names there are for it comes from a parallel dimension to our own - or a tangential dimension I guess would be more accurate. In short, our universe and theirs join at a fixed point (or maybe a few densely-packed points) that can be traveled through by way of tunnels, which they refer to as “gates.” Each warden is given a powered key that functions as the power source and opener of these gates, both unlocking the dimension while also calling to that location a sort of tunnel that will allow for travel between our world and theirs.

I suppose its entirely reasonable to assume that these gates could be opened anywhere. However, they tend to open them only in specific spots. Whether they function similar to the other types of portals we’ve run into - leaving a scar behind or something of that nature - is yet to be seen. The few I’ve witnessed didn’t seem to scar the dimensions, but I know so little of it that I cannot make a definitive statement at this time.

These “Sasquatch” are known to their own people as “Quiennish Trolls.” I’m not entirely sure if there’s a good translation from their language to our own. These trolls are apparently a considerably varied race where they originate, almost how we would refer to any denizen of the “fae” realm as a “fairy.” These “trolls” can encompass a broad variety of beings - some might go so far as to include several of the elven races of Oni’ja as “trolls,” though they are typically too proud to consider themselves such, thinking the designation is beneath them.

The Quiennish that have come to this world seem intent on dealing with locations settled by the former-Oni’jan Lemurians. How these two races are connected, I have yet to understand - at times, they’ve seemed hostile, and at times, they’ve seemed to be working together.

1924, Mt. St. Helens

Alma woke in a fog.

Literally.

Around her, the room seemed coated in a layer of smokey vapor. She groaned and sat up, her head swimming.

Fog… or smoke…

She sat up, her large feet settling onto the floor. She stepped forward, looking around. Everything was where it had been the last time she’d been here. Only… the fog. The smoke…

She stumbled forward, trying to clear her minds, but unsure of even where she was, much less why she should care. She stepped out the door and looked around. More fog… more… she looked around.

“Scar?”

The cloud seemed to be rolling in from the mountain. She watched as it seemed to twirl and writhe around her.

“Scar?” she cried again.

Nothing.

She stepped to the clearing, where she had, just recently if she was remembering correctly, buried their fallen. The grass had begun to flourish, and several saplings were currently pushing their way up out of the soil.

She sniffed. For the first time, actually.

Smoke… noxious, deadly gasses. She covered her nose and looked up through the trees to where the mountain rose above them. It looked different, somehow. It… she couldn’t quite place it.

Her head was swimming, but… but the mountain seemed… was it pulsing?

She watched for a moment longer. The mountain swelled, cracking at the seams.

Then exploded.

Gouts of flame erupted, so suddenly that she couldn’t even hear it as the sound waves were blasted up and away. All she saw was the sudden flash as the top of the mountain was shorn clean off. Then in a wave that only broke its silence once it hit the forest around her, the side of the mountain collapsed, burying everything around it.

Then she awoke for real.

No fog. No smoke.

She leaned over the side of her bed and placed her feet on the floor. Leaning forward, she slowly rose to her full height, feeling the straining muscles unbunching as she did. Alma rolled her shoulders, grimacing as she did.

“How long was I out?” she muttered to herself.

She sniffed the air, dreading the smell of smoke.

But it was there. Smoke. Burning flesh.

She rushed outside. The seam in the earth was still there, covered in fresh grass. A light cloud hung in the air. She cast her panicked gaze at the sky. The mountain was silent, serene - absolutely flawless.

She sighed in relief. There was no mind-turning, gut-wrenching… just the smell of nature.

And yet, still smoke and fire.

Scar stepped out of the woods, his hands dark with soot.

“What’s happening?” She asked.

“You said to dispose of those creatures. So I did.”

“Burned them?”

“Only way to be sure nothing will come back,” he replied, bluntly.

She nodded. “That’s wise. Just don’t draw any extra attention. Who knows what humans are around.”

He agreed, and returned to tend to the fire.

She stood near the crack in the ground. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” she whispered, crouching down and placing a hand on the strange mound. As she channeled a little more of her remaining energy, the ground began to erode, wearing away at the edges until it smoothed over. Grass slowly crept up from the now-smoothed soil, probing up at the sky as if it had been growing there for untold seasons.

Around her touch, the ground, the grass, the trees - all things that she could feel and touch - began to age, giving the whole region an appearance of having never been lived in. The scars in the ground were gone - the bloodstains were feathered away. The touch of time wore every rough edge.

Scar stepped back out of the forest. “Done.”

“Same,” she replied.

“What are you commands, Lady Alma?”

“Just Alma is fine, Scar. It’s going to be just the two of us for a while, no sense in formalities.”

“But, you’re a Warden, lady.”

She chuckled. “A Warden with no colony, not guards, and no idea what’s going on. Right now, I’m just another troll.”

“L- Alma, what would you have me do?”

“Are you familiar with this place called Nahanni?”

Scar nodded. “I have not been for some time, but I believe I can guide you there.”

“Then we seal this gate and leave.”

Scar nodded.

Alma stepped to each of the houses, holding the keystone and sealing off their entrances. To all outside eyes, they would be what they were from now on - just normal trees. Tree by tree, she ventured, sealing off each entrance, returning them to their normal form. Then she stepped up to the spot where She had entered just a short time earlier.

“Strange…”

“What happened?” Scar asked.

“The gate is propped open.”

“How is that possible?”

She shook her head and held up the keystone.

“Can you still seal it off?”

“Yes.”

After about a minute of waiting, the gateways was gone. She looped the keystone around her neck and gazed at the vacant spot in the sky for a long moment.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wondered… had they been betrayed? Had someone propped open the gate to allow something to enter Oni’ja - or to let something else into this realm?

1924 - Somewhere near the Toba Inlet, British Columbia

Weeks of travel had passed.

Alma watched as another collection of her people headed off toward the south. The scouting parties Se’sxac had sent out had established small colonies all over the place - but since none had gates and there was no Warden among them, they’d been forced to eke out a meager existence - small nests in secluded sections of the forest - hiding the dead in hand-dug graves covered in old logs.

“Living like animals,” Scar had observed.

She’d ordered them on to Nahanni or back toward the Six Rivers region. Supposedly Se’sxac had established a community there at some point. Though she hadn’t had any connection with them, she was trusting there would still be a sizeable community nestled away in that sprawling Redwood forest… she hoped…

“Okay, so Nahanni, Redwoods, Louisiana - where else?”

Scar shook his head. “I just don’t know. Maybe Lord Se’sxac left information in your dwelling?”

“Which I currently can’t access until we establish a new gate.”

Scar nodded. “I wish I knew, but I had just returned to camp shortly before you arrived. I was going to be sent back out when you and he switched. I’m not sure he was expecting you that soon.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“The days leading up to your arrival were… hectic. More hectic. More scouts coming and going - a few new items being moved here and there. The plan to send me out was put on hold, almost as if he didn’t know what to do with me.”

Alma nodded. “That makes sense, though. If his tenure was ending, no reason to start new missions.”

“It’s strange, though. I can’t quite place what made me feel nervous about the whole thing. Anyway, to your original question - I’m not sure… I think there are a few settlements between here and there, but nothing defensible.”

“Clearly the that gate location wasn’t secure, either.”

Something crackled just beyond their view.

Scar held up a hand.

Alma’s hand immediately dropped to her side. Water began to coalesce around her fingertips.

Something shimmered just beyond their view.

Looks exchanged, head shakes. Scar stepped cautiously toward the noise, the fur running across his body bristling slightly. Alma stood behind, hands slightly apart. Her brain started to itch.

Something shifted from above, dropping down on them with a flash.

Her first blast of water went wide, striking through the top of a nearby tree and sailing out into the sky like a reverse meteor. Her second blast, a bit weaker, struck the beast in the chest and launched it back, doing little damage, but buying them some time.

The creature rose to height, nearly eye-level with her.

Scar was taller, but something had struck him already, and he was trying to right himself.

Another dropped from behind, and Alma felt the pain as something slashed across her back. She rounded with a growl, using her claws to catch a different one by the throat as it tried to rush past. Her hands immediately closed as tightly as she could. A resounding crack rang out, and she tossed aside the body as another struck at her - black fur-covered blurs and yellow-white fangs.

Scar had recovered, and lunged onto one as she rounded, turning her back to him and face toward the forest from whence they had just come.

The assault came from above and beside at the same time.

One dropped down from the trees as two came from each side. Three opponents - claws raised and teeth bared.

She held up a broad forearm, letting the overhead one latch on. She pivoted, using its weight and her remaining strength to drop a fist onto the oncoming head of the one to her left. Just as the one from the right was about to strike, she dropped completely to the ground, sweeping up with her mighty foot. She caught the creature somewhere in the belly, her foot sinking into the soft underside and launching it skyward.

She wrenched her arm free of the one that had been latched onto her arm, drove her elbow down onto the other, and leapt back. Blood began to coalesce around her hands as she drew the water out of the crimson liquid, forming a sort of water-bound ring around her.

Scar pummeled downward onto another of the creatures, then rose to face off against two more that had appeared.

Something thudded to the ground.

The one she’d launched had apparently clipped its neck against a tree branch and now lay nearby - stunned.

“No time like the present,” she muttered, then struck at the other two.

The spinning swirl of bloody water flashed around her, then, like a whip, she shot it out at the face of one of the creatures - probably the one that had been latched onto her arm by the blood running down its snout.

It lunged forward, and even as the spear pierced through its eye and out the back of its skull, the momentum of its dead weight carried it onto her. Claws dug into her shoulders, and the weight of the creature dropped her onto her back with a startled cry.

A dead eye gaped at her, jaws hung open, blood pulsing from the fresh wound through the skull.

The back of the head pulsed a few spurts of blood.

Not wasting any time, the last surviving creature lunged at her.

She welled up whatever liquid she could as the other beast made a rush for her throat. With a single arm, she blocked its maw while using her other hand to drag in every drop of water in the area.

The slavering jaws and razor teeth clenched and ravaged at her arm.

Through the pain, she dropped as best as she could into a focused state, trying not to let the agony distract her. Hot pain lanced down her arm. Her jaw clenched. Her fingers spasmed. Just a little longer. She just had to hold on a little longer.

Scar pummeled another creature on the other side of the path, his fists rising and falling with vicious abandon. He wouldn’t be able to help her.

She recoiled as a claw caught her face. She spat blood.

Her muscles tensed.

Only a little more.

Then her vision filled with bloody yellow teeth and the smell of death.

She could feel her face contort into a sneer. She wasn’t just some beast to be devoured by wolves - even these wolf-men! She was a Warden of Oni’ja! She growled and unleashed her disgust in a cascading wave of blood that blossomed out from under the corpse that had her pinned.

It started as a small sphere and exploded outward, sending the corpse flying before catching the other beast in the shockwave. The bloody explosion launched the creature straight upward. It roared in defiance as its body, now sprayed with the released blood bubble, shot into the trees, snapping and cracking the branches as it did.

Then it began to rain.

The droplets flew high enough to dissipate and then began to drop down on them - a red downpour.

Alma stood, heaving, her arm scarred and shattered. The blood rain fell on them.

Scar dropped his prey and turned to her.

“Lady!”

She sat on the ground, pointing at the unconscious beast across the path - the one she’d kicked up into the air in the first attack.

Understanding her unspoken warning, Scar rounded on the stunned beast and latched onto it. He dragged it toward her as she slowly healed her own arm. It was draining, but she had no choice at this juncture - heal herself or bleed out.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

Scar shook his head. He’d taken a superficial wound in the first strike, but had been able to hold his own easily after that. Despite the violence, the entire assault had only lasted just over a minute.

“Ambush or random attack?”

Scar looked around. “More of those dogmen. This was vengeance.” He held up the unconscious beast. “Scrawny. Young. Inexperienced. They weren’t sending their best, that’s for sure!”

Alma stumbled upright.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “It’ll heal on its own for now. I stopped most of the bleeding.”

The red rain tapered off.

“Was that you?” Scar asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. Water’s my element.”

“I knew that, but that was amazing.”

She smiled weakly. “Thank you,” then she laughed, “never thought I’d be able to use it other than to sooth injuries… never know what you’re capable of when you’re backed into a corner.”

Scar laughed. “Draining blood to make a spear - they don’t teach that anywhere.”

She smiled back. “No. And I think my tutors would be horrified for me to use such a peaceful element to enact such devastation.”

The clearing was a literal bloodbath - as if something had exploded. At least seven of the beasts lay dead, one captured, and who knows how many had fled.

“What did they want?”

Alma shook her head. “No idea. We’ll have to ask that one when he wakes.”

“And the bodies?”

“We can’t wait to burn them. We have to keep moving. Are you all right?”

Scar nodded. “Just scrapes. They were after you. Why?”

She shook her head.

“Where’s your stone?”

Her hand rose to her neck. “The blow must have knocked it free.”

Something stirred. The creature in Scar’s clutches was waking up. It looked around the clearing, eyes bugging in fear.

“If you want a quick death, and don’t want me to strip your fur off piece by piece, tell me what you were doing here.”

The creature’s eyes narrowed on Alma, then crossed to Scar’s face.

Scar tightened his grip. “I won’t repeat myself.”

“We have what we came for,” hissed the beast. “And you have nowhere to go, now.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve taken this region, and it’s only a matter of time…” the beast trailed off.

Scar gave the monster a violent shake. “Matter of time before what?”

The beast was already dead.

“He could have talked!” Alma protested.

“I didn’t kill him!” Scar retorted.

The silence returned, saved for the drip-dripping of blood from the trees.