Syth and Axe (Part 11): Shadow over Nahanni, part 1

 

Syth and Axe vol. 11: Shadow over Nahanni

1906 - Nahanni Valley, Northwest Territories

Frank looked up at the spires rising above them. “I don’t care for this at all.”

Willie laughed. “I think you’ll care a lot about the gold we find.”

“If we make it back. Otherwise this will all be for nothing.”

The small canoe wobbled in the water. “I can’t see anything tonight.”

“Let’s pull along the shore and get some rest. Then we’ll see where to go in the morning. Maybe Weir will be back by then.”

“You’ve heard the legends, I can’t believe he wandered off on us.”

“He’s fine. We’ll just head back in the morning and he’ll probably have the information we need.”

“He’d better for what we’re paying him.”

“He’s done the job we paid him for. Besides, Charlie was busy.”

“Like I believe that.”

“Calm down.” Willie stepped from the canoe and onto the bank. The dark shadows were quickly spreading across the river. “Let’s get the tent up. We can argue about all this in the morning. Help me get this thing on shore.”

Frank groaned and stepped along behind his brother. He tied a rope off to the canoe and hefted the other end over his shoulder. He heaved, and between the two of them, the heavy raft slowly slid up the bank. The wood creaked and groaned under the weight of their supplies. “Almost… there…”

And, with a sigh of relief, they were pulled ashore. Frank began to untie the rope. 

“Found a good clearing up here. Nice and flat.”

Frank groaned and stretched. He could feel his shoulders creaking. Hopefully, it would be an easier day tomorrow. Today was rough.

He grabbed his pack and trudged up to where Willie was laying out the tent. He’d already draped a tarp over a rope he’d run between two trees like a clothesline with another tarp underneath to keep out the wetness.

“Not the best, but it’ll do for the night.”

Frank nodded and set down his back. “Let’s get the supplies up and out of reach. Can’t have someone making off with this stuff like last time.”

“That was three years ago. Let it go.”

“I’m just reminding you of how important it is. We don’t know what’s around here, and I don’t want to find out in the middle of the night.”

“You’re paranoid. If you were so worried about our safety, you wouldn’t have taken us through Nahanni. And you wouldn’t have sent Weir off on his own.”

“He’s fine. And he’s not trudging along with all this gold. He’s not a target. We are.”

“No one knows we’re here. And for once, that’s a comforting thought.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“No one was following us. I’m telling you, there’s nothing in this valley.”

“Then what drove out the tribe, eh?”

“Overpopulation, resources, danger.”

“They were the most dangerous tribe in the region and something drove them out in a night!”

“Listen to me, Frank. You… are… paranoid.” Willie replied, shaking out his blanket. “We don’t have to keep rehashing this. There is nothing out there. Nothing but bandits are coming to kill us. And if they try, I’ll put a round between their eyes.”

Frank rolled out his blanket and flopped down on it, checking to make sure his revolver was chambered and ready to go. He drew out a large knife and set it by his pillow.

They drifted off to the gurgling of the river and the chirping of insects.

But Frank couldn’t sleep. Something shifted in the darkness. He rose and stared.

Just some animal coming down to investigate the newcomers. It scampered off. He watched the moving of the water in the moonlight, the slight movements of the back of their canoe. It was firmly planted on the shore and tied off, so it wasn’t going anywhere. He stood and paced down to the water’s edge. He placed a hand on the rough wood of their canoe. They’d found some gold… but he knew where there was more. 

He smiled and drew out a small plank and began to whittle as the water flowed past.

“We’ve found a fine prospect.” He scratched. Then he muttered, “and I’m not telling you where.” He tossed the wood into the canoe and leaned on the edge. A paddle had fallen out when he’d pulled out his bag. He bent to pick it up, and something sailed overhead, bouncing off the dirt before rolling into the waves.

He spun, drawing out his revolver, dagger at the ready.

Another rock - if that’s what it was - sailed past his face and splashed into the water.

Then he felt something crack into his shoulder. He stumbled back with a cry, dropping his revolver in the mud. Before he could retrieve it, another struck the side of the canoe. The back of the boat shifted slightly. He grabbed onto it for support and dodged another stone.

Then the knocking began. It started as a thud off in the trees, followed by an answer across the river. His blood ran cold. Gooseflesh rose on his arms.

Another loud smack, then another.

They were surrounded.

He rushed back to Willie. The tent had drooped. A rock hung in the canvas. He crawled under, trying to rouse his brother. “We need to get out of here. Willie!”

His hand splashed in something wet.

At first, he thought it was mud from a tear in the bottom tarp. He drew back his hand and wiped it on his shirt, and began to pull back the blanket that had been covering his brother. It was soaked through.

He felt something wet strike the tent, and something lighter than a rock, but about the size of one, dropped down through a tear. It landed on his lap with a thud.

Quivering, he turned the object into the light.

He held Willie’s severed head in his hands.

With a scream, he scrambled back as something crashed through the back of the tent, crawling at him on all fours. It filled the air with a pungent reek, and as he pushed up the canvas to run, its furry body blocked out the view of his murdered brother.

He rushed toward the canoe, dagger at the ready. He’d slash the rope and run if he had to. He could push the boat far enough to get away.

The creature writhed in the tent, trying to stand but getting itself snagged in the ropes.

He slashed at the one holding the boat on the shore and pushed the bow, trying to get it to slide back into the river. It slid an inch or two before his feet slid out from under him.

Then a rock thudded into the boat. He heard something shatter.

He ducked, then heaved with all his might. The boat began to shift again.

Tearing from behind him.

He turned with a cry and heaved with every bit of strength he could muster, and as his feet slid out from under him again and his knees soaked with mud, the boat slid free of the shore and began to catch the flowing water.

He rushed forward to leap into the boat.

Something latched on his heel.

With a cry, he felt himself being bodily dragged back onto the shore.

His hands scrabbled at the rope, hoping against hope that he’d be able to somehow pull himself free of the creature - get to the water - he could escape. He could do it! He just needed to get the right grip.

A large foot crunched onto his hand.

With a cry, he released the rope. It slithered out of his fingers and down the groove in the embankment before sliding out into the dark water, following the boat as it caught in the current and floated away.

It was almost peaceful… the rolling waters, the distant cliffs, the moonlight flickering down from above. He chuckled… he hated being right at a time like this.

Then he felt a jerk as he was bodily dragged back into the crushed canvas of the tent. The pressure released. He breathed heavily. Something glinted in the darkness.

He heard strange voices growling and yipping at each other behind them.

The rifle. Willie had left the rifle leaning against the tree. If he could reach it.

He slowly began to crawl toward the weapon, his heart pounding blood heavily in his ears. It was all he could hear - the wump wump of his heart as it raced. His hand quivering, he pulled himself forward, one step, one crawl at a time. Mud and blood soaked through his clothes. The smell of spruce, and the pungent reek of whatever had attacked them filled his nostrils.

He was almost there.

He reached out a hand, trying to grasp the rifle. Maybe, just maybe, he could fire off a few shots. Then he could dive into the river and swim after his lost raft.

The voices stopped.

He rushed forward, hands outstretched. Then his world went dark with a flash of pain.

1908 - Ruined camp, Nahanni Valley (during Paul’s first life)

Paul stood on the shore, staring out across a scene he’d never imagined he’d ever witness again. Nahanni valley. He’d heard rumors of entire tribes fleeing this place. Rumor had it his birthplace was nearby, but his father was killed here and his mother fled south, where she died, leaving him with a band of lumberjacks of all things.

He hoisted his axe over his shoulder and looked out across the quiet river.

“Any sign of them?” he asked Charlie. “That log jam was where they found the canoe, so somewhere along here - right?”

“Yeah… here.”

He turned and eyed the ruined canvas scraps. He’d seen them from the river, but had never thought that they’d be so lucky as to find Charlie’s brothers’ campsite.

“All three of them?”

“No, just two.”

“So they’re…”

Charlie nodded, pulling back the canvas. “Dead.”

“Recent?”

“No. Something’s gotten to them.” Charlie groaned and flopped onto the ground. He pushed up the rotten flap of canvas that had been strung into the tent. “If I’d gotten here sooner.”

Paul laid a wide hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You did what you could. You had no idea they weren’t working a claim all this time.”

“I knew…” the other man muttere, “I always knew…”

“Hey, look at it this way. Maybe one of them’s still alive. We can go find them.”

“Maybe…” replied Charlie. “Look inside, will you? I can’t bear it right now.”

Paul nodded and pulled back the torn canvas. Something large had come through here - a bear or some other animal. The blankets were still disturbed. One had been pulled back, and a headless body lay as if he’d been trying to crawl away when he head had been… removed? Was that the right word?

Dreading what he’d see, he pulled back the other blanket. It was dark brown, smeared with mud or… he sighed. It was dried blood. He pulled it back and found another body. This one’s head had been removed as well. Without a struggle.

It was as if something had just slipped in, ripped off his head, and stolen away in the night.

“Anything?”

“They’re both here. The clothing matches what they were wearing.”

“What killed them?” Charlie asked, clearly dreading the answer. “You think they were sick or something? A bear attack? Bandits?”

Paul had seen his share of strange things through the years. Things he couldn’t talk to anyone about - things he wasn’t even sure he believed - but he’d never seen anything like this. He knew something was in this valley, and he knew something took peoples’ heads.

“Charlie, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”

“What?”

“They’re dead, and their heads are gone.”

“Gone… what would eat just the heads?”

Paul sighed and lowered himself onto a fallen log. “Something’s going on in this valley. A whole tribe gone missing, and now this.”

Charlie nodded. “We need to leave.”

“What about Weir?”

“Probably ran off with the goods once he saw my brothers were dead. I should have been here. I should have died with them.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Paul responded. “That would accomplish nothing, and feeling guilty about it now does nothing to change the fact that they’re dead.”

“Easy for you to say. Have you ever lost anyone close to you?”

“You could say that,” Paul responded. He stood to full, imposing height. “We need to go. This valley’s not safe.”

1959 - Near Willow Creek in Northern California

Syth placed a book on the table. “Guess there’s a name for us, now.”

“Oh yeah?” Paul replied, looking over the winged shoulder to see the pile of articles and papers scattered on Syth’s desk. “What is it?” He picked up a sheaf of newspaper clippings. A book review - an old one - fell out. He read the headline. “‘Lungfish and Unicorns…’ sounds like a biography of my life.”

The article was some sort of book review.

Paul continued reading. “It involves not only lungfish and unicorns but an array of other marvels, zoological and cryptozoological…” he paused, “what’s that?”

“Apparently a term that’s growing in popularity. Saw it in another book I was researching. Basically a term for us… well, me. I don’t know what you guys are.”

“... from the mushrush of the Ishtar Gate to the basilisk, the tatzelwurm, the sea serpent, and the dodo…”

“As a rule, I don’t touch books,” replied Rip. He drew out his pipe and pulled a long drag, letting out a long smoke ring that looped across the room and dissolved against the far wall.

“Term’s been around for a while,” Syth rifled through a collection of papers. “Found a few interesting articles from the 1940’s…”

“‘There Could be Dinosaurs.’” Paul read. “Well, I’ve seen weirder, so, probably.”

Syth accidentally knocked a stack of papers from his table. They flopped to the floor - articles, journal entries, books.

“Did you buy all these out here?”

Syth nodded. “I figured if we’re doing extensive research on these sightings, I might as well know the latest news.”

“With what money?”

“I’ve been able to find a few lost treasures in my days.” He bent to start picking up the papers. Paul bent to help. 

“‘Headless Valley Myths Dispelled’? What’s this one?” Paul asked. It was an article from the Deseret News.

Syth took the article and skimmed it. “Found a few articles about a valley far up north where several have been killed and their heads were taken.”

“Like as a trophy?”

“No, as in they went missing, and when the searchers found the bodies, the heads had been already removed.”

Paul nodded. “Any others about this place?”

“I’m sure I’ve got something in the stack. Lots of weird reports coming in from all over. I’m trying to keep track of it all.”

Rip chuckled and stretched. “Which is why I don’t read. After all, the good book says ‘much study is a weariness of the flesh.’” He patted his belly. “And I can’t afford to weary this flesh any longer.”

“Any word from Bill or Kip?” Syth asked.

Paul winced at Kip’s name. “No. She had to go back and didn’t know when she’d return. I haven’t seen her since we laid Babe to rest.”

“And Bill?”

“I’m actually wondering if he got lost. Haven’t heard hide nor hair from him for years. He was supposed to write.”

“He’s fine.” Syth responded wryly, “He’s got an army of those creatures with him - what were they called?”

“He calls them chupacabra.”

Syth smiled. “Good name.” He rummaged through his papers. Various notes and books toppled free. Several on Cherokee history and lore - pretty much whatever he could find. As he picked up the papers, he asked. “Anything on Spearfinger?”

Paul shook his head. “No.”

“And the bone pieces?”

“We were able to track some of them down and destroy them. She probably has a few with her, so now we just need to find and destroy her.”

Syth scowled. “I wonder…” he began flipping through several of the articles he’d just organized. “It’s not here…” he muttered after a moment. “I found reports of large, white giants –”

“Giants tend to be large, but go on,” replied Rip with a yawn.

Syth seemed to be trying to get his bearings.

“It’s not a popular theory…” Syth began.

“So of course it’s true.” Rip chuckled, leaning back in his seat and groaning.

“There’s a tribe far off to the north,” he paused, then corrected himself. “There was a tribe. Called the Naha, I believe. The valley’s named after them, so I keep forgetting the name.”

“Nahanni.”

“Yes. You’ve heard of it?”

“I was born near there.”

Syth paused for a moment, seemed unsure of what to say, then continued. “So, this tribe just suddenly vanished. Raiders, pillagers - and one night they were gone.”

Paul nodded. “I know of them. So what happened?”

“Something has been taking heads of anyone in that region, so much that it is now being called the Valley of the Headless Men.”

“And what’s the theory?” Rip asked, picking at his teeth.

“Some think that maybe there’s a connection between them and the Navajo.”

Paul chuckled. “How would that work?”

Syth shrugged. “Similar language, Navajo suddenly appeared in that region, Naha suddenly vanished.”

“But when did one vanish and one appear?”

“That’s the sticking point,” Syth responded, “hundreds of years apart. But, what if the Navajo were a branch of the Naha that left, settling down south to escape whatever was going on in that valley. Maybe the group that stayed behind were just trying to hold on, and finally got destroyed for their trouble?”

Paul shrugged. “Could be. I’m pretty sure they’re the ones who killed my dad.” He seemed about so say something more, but paused and fell silent.

Syth spread out a map and placed a narrow finger on the swath of land that represented Nahanni Valley. “So a clump of the tribe breaks off and suddenly appears down here. A more violent part of the tribe stays up here - either guarding something or searching for something.”

“And killing anyone who gets in the way.”

Syth nodded. “Remember that swath of tainted land in Ger’maine’s lab?”

Paul thought back to the glowing map of different-colored nodes, then nodded. “You think that’s the spot?”

“Exactly. Something in that valley has tainted the nodes - and keeps doing it.”

“You think it could be Spearfinger? She’s not any way connected to the Navajo or the Naha.”

“Spearhand,” Syth corrected. “Yes, but…” Syth rummaged through his stacks of books. “I keep seeing references to creatures that are born through evil rituals.”

“Like the wendigo.”

“Sort of.”

He slid the book across. It showed a man covered in an animal skin. “Skinwalker?”

Syth nodded. “Evil witch-like character.”

“Salem witch?”

“No. Just a magic-user that uses forbidden methods.” Syth seemed like he was trying to bring all the threads together and was just struggling with the words. “We still don’t know why or how she imprisoned the wendigo in that valley, or why she herself was kept in those caves. We know there was something dark, and I bet if there had been any nodes in the area, they would have been damaged.”

“So you think something similar might have happened to Nahanni.”

Syth shrugged. “It more started a thought in my head. There’s plenty of differences between the various creatures, but what if the tribe used her as a node without knowing it. There was no node in that location on Ger’maine’s map, but the power was clearly there. What if she’s basically a moving node - a sort of barrier unto herself. And that red-eyed wendigo you talked about - what if it’s basically like me - not able to leave the valley until the node is shattered.”

“How would that be possible?”

“Ancient power so great she thought herself a god… a little bit more energy could be stored in her than me - and Ger’maine said those giants trapped in Baikal were acting as walking conduits.”

“Then she would have shown up on the map, right?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Syth replied, “Unless she was either close enough to a node that we didn’t notice or she had taken the place of a different one.”

“Okay, but what’s this have to do with Nahanni.”

“Well, that’s where this bigfoot creature comes in.”

“We already searched around here and found nothing.”

“They’ve also been reported up there - large white forms staring at people, massive wolves, other strange rumors.”

“Sounds more like Lemurians. Santa Lucia?”

“Who’s to say they’re not the same?”

Rip rubbed his forehead. “Well, you guys have fun with this. I think I need to sit this one out.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

Something flickered on his stub - like someone was trying to adjust the signal, and it was popping in and out of connection. The strange, spectral arm materialized, then vanished, flickered again, and vanished again.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah. I just can’t help much right now. I think I need to sit down and write out what I’ve experienced - make sense of all these conflicting memories.”

1960 - Nahanni Valley

It had been over a hundred years since he’d last seen this place. His legend had firmly grown since then…

For once, Paul was glad the valley was so sparsely populated. He’d have loved to have read those articles about a giant man tromping across the Canadian wilderness, stepping over valleys like they didn’t exist. He moved past the giant falls and stood facing down the ravine. “Seems about as good a place as any,” he boomed to the small figure sitting on his shoulder like a twisted version of the angel and demon from those cartoons.

Syth clung to the edge of his shirt, jostling with each step.

Once he was satisfied that the supplies were secure, he shifted out of his large form, feeling the normal pull of gravity and able to once again take in the grandeur of this world as it was meant to be experienced. He stared around him.

The thunderous crash of the waterfall behind him lived up to its name “Big water falling,” Paul laughed. “I couldn’t think of a better name.”

Syth dropped down from above. “I know this is my idea, but I don’t like this.”

“You never like anything,” Paul replied.

“The darkness here is… I can taste it.”

Paul gazed down the valley.

“I don’t feel the darkness… but… this is a place I never thought I’d return.”

The two stood in silence, watching the flurry of water and wind coming down from the waterfall. Despite everything, Paul couldn’t help but we wowed by it all.

“Breathtaking,” Syth muttered.

Paul nodded. “Yeah.”

He stood at the shore, staring down the waters, past the cliffs. “The Valley of the Headless Men.”

“What’s that?”

“This is what you said they call the Valley of the Headless Men, right?”

Syth gazed down the waters, his wings pulled tight against his back like a broad cloak. He nodded. “What’ve we got ahead of us?” He asked.

“Several canyons, some lined with unclimbable cliffs,” Paul explained. “Things have happened out here - people have died.”

Syth nodded. “That could be said about any canyon.” He regarded the stream. “But I understand what you mean. We’ve both studied this place. I’m not… unconvinced… that the Lemurians haven’t already been here. Something has.”

Paul chuckled in spite of himself. “I wouldn’t be surprised. They seem to have their fingers in a lot of pots. Bill met up with me recently.”

“Your old cowboy friend? It’s been decades, hasn’t it?”

“We catch up every few years.” Paul replied, “Depending on which me happens to be around. He joked about meeting us out here, but I haven’t seen any sign of him.” He paused, “Granted: He spends most of his time traveling through the fairy realm, so maybe?” He trailed off. “Too bad, really. He told me about some things he calls Dark Watchers that inhabit the mountains of Southern California.”

“Dark Watchers?”

Paul nodded. “Seems they’re some sort of wardens of this mountain range, keeping all the creepy things in.”

“Creepy things?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. Like the pedestal kept you trapped in the Pine Barrens.

“And what are these things?”

“He called them dogmen.”

Syth nodded. “I’ve heard of them. I guess the wardens aren’t doing a good job because there are dogman legends from everywhere.”

Paul shook his head. “Apparently it’s just a few packs of them - there’s apparently other packs that have escaped. Bill had one that’s been traveling with him.”

“Hasn’t tried to kill him yet?”

“Oh, they try to kill each other on a regular basis. It’s the closest thing to a daughter he’s ever had - I don’t think he knows how to cope.”

“Does Sue know?”

Paul nodded. “Apparently she’s quite looking forward to meeting her, though this dogman isn’t too keep on sailing across an ocean.”

Syth gave an almost-imperceptible shutter. “I can understand. I’m not keen on traversing any of these rivers.”

“We could try the rope again?”

Syth scowled. “That worked so well in Shasta.”

Paul laughed. “I have an old friend who’ll be helping us. He’s set to meet us here any time.”

“Old friend?”

“When I knew we were heading up this way, I checked in with some old trappers I used to work with. One’s still in the area, works prospecting these days.”

“How old?”

“Nearly a child - about 70, I think.”

On cue, the hum of an outboard motor echoed up the canyon, and a strong, weathered man, pipe in mouth, came motoring his way up the water. His tan pants looked as if they hadn’t been washed in weeks, suspenders covered a dingy which shirt. He wore what may have been a hat years earlier, but now was a battered flop of cloth and stitches that, while still embodying the essence of a hat in function and vague form, had long since passed that mundane description. It seemed held together with determination and sweat.

He pulled the pipe from his lips and stepped off the boat, cutting the engine.

“Is that you, Paul?”

Bunyan nodded.

The elderly man’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, I’ll be… I always thought it was a joke - thought you were some criminal taking on the name Paul Bunyan just to mess with people. But you’re the actual thing, eh?”

Paul shrugged awkwardly. “Well, I guess so.”

“Thought Paul Bunyan would be bigger.”

Paul chuckled. “Sometimes. Couldn’t fit in your scow if I were.”

“That’s true.”

“Need a lift down to Deadman’s Canyon. Can you get us there?”

“Wouldn’t’ve gotten all the way here if I couldn’t. Help me unload these supplies.”

Soon, the barrels in the scow were unloaded.

“You won’t need them?”

Albert laughed. “I’m gonna keep heading up river before winter hits, so I needed to drop this stuff here anyway - portage’ll take a mile or up, then I’ll have to keep going up river on the other side of those falls for a while. I’ll get you down to the canyon and come back to check on ya in a few months to make sure your heads are still on. Got anyone else with ya or are you traveling by yourself?”

Paul pointed toward Syth.

“Have a companion helping me with some research.”

Albert nearly jumped. “Didn’t see you there, friend. My apologies.”

He extended a hand to Syth.

Syth didn’t move.

“He’s got a skin condition,” Paul said, “makes people uncomfortable, so he doesn’t like to shake hands.”

Albert withdrew his hand and puffed at his pipe. “Ah, I’ve had a few of those in my day. Well, best be gettin’ aboard.”

They spent the remainder of the day traversing the various rapids on this upper part of the river. As the sun began to set, Albert pulled along the back.

“We should camp here for the night. I’ve got a cabin nearby. We can settle in and I’ll take you down in the morning.”

It was a rough log-built affair, set off a good ways from the river in the “Y” formed from the Flat and South Nahanni meeting.

“You don’t believe the rumors?” Paul asked as they settled in.

“Rumors? Of the mine?”

“No, the headless men.”

“Oh, I believe them,” Albert said, warming his hands at the cook fire. “But I believe in what they were looking for, and what they found, too.”

“Gold?”

“Yeah. An’ if I find the gold…” he said, his blue eyes steely in the flickering light, his gnarled hands still strong despite his years as he drew out a pipe, “... it’ll be the Nahanni gold rush. Thousands will come… and they’ll remember my name as the one who started it.”

Paul clenched a fist. His hands were stiff from carrying so many. “And what will you do with it all?”

Albert chuckled. “Retire, enjoy the accolades. What am I supposed to say? It’s about the challenge, not the accomplishment.”

Paul gazed into the flickering flames, then shot his gaze up toward Syth, who’d mostly vanished into the background the entire trip. Given his tendency to only be seen when someone was looking for him, Paul wondered if Albert had lost the ability to see Syth altogether.

The elderly man leaned over the fire and pulled a can of coffee free. He offered some to Paul.

Paul nodded, holding out his mug.

“You’re addicted to the hunt, aren’t you?”

Albert straightened, trying to work the soreness out of his body, then thought for a moment.

“I’ve done a lot of things in my life - built that with my own hands,” he pointed at the cabin. “Did what I needed in order to survive.” He crouched over the fire and stirred at the soup. “I want something permanent to strike my name to… so it’s ‘Nahanni or Bust.’”

Paul sat in silence, the fire crackling.

“But you wouldn’t know anything about that. Your name’s already immortalized.”

Paul nodded. “We go way back, Albert…”

“Aye,” replied the elderly man, his gaze trained on the fire, his leathery face inscrutable. “An’ I imagine you go back even farther than that.”

Paul nodded, seeing no need to deceive his old friend. “Under different names, but yah.”

“So how long had you been going by your name when we met?”

“A while. Had quite a head of steam built up at that point - what, forty-fifty years ago?”

Albert nodded.

“You’ve made a difference, Albert,” Paul continued. “Whether you see it or not. Your gold rush may never come, but you’ll bring your thousands to Nahanni - just another way.”

The man stared at the fire, eyes betraying a dam of emotions.

Paul sat in silence again. Albert rose and served soup, deliberately handing one to Syth. “I’ve heard of you before. Legends and lore… come to life.” His gaze shifted back to Paul. “When I first saw you, I thought surely you were the son of my old friend, come to tell me about his death or something… you haven’t changed a bit.” His gaze shifted to Syth and back to the lumberjack. “Wish I could be of more help to you, but I’d probably just get in the way.” He extended a bowl of soup.

Paul took it with a “thanks” and sat staring out into the darkness.

“Even if what you say is true, I’m gonna keep looking,” Albert stated, settling down to his own bowl. As he lifted the spoon to his lips, Paul saw the age that had overtaked the man in the decades since they’d last been together. Albert was more hunched and though strong, his hand still quivered slightly; the laugh lines around his eyes were deeper, and the worry lines were canyons in their own right.

In a way, Paul envied the man. He would eventually die and fade to dust - his legacy would be his legacy. Paul, on the other hand, was a mountain - ever rising, ever crumbling and replacing itself. His legend would constantly fade to dust and be replaced - and he’d never find rest. His achievements and accomplishments would be so far-fetched that all would consider him a long-standing jape. And he’d only survive if he played that old game of switching names and continuing in obscurity until his legend - or opponents - caught up to him again.

They sat together in silence, listening to the rushing river and dying crackle of the fire. The sweet smell of burnt wood and popping sap the only smell other than the ever-present smokiness. As the fire slowly dimmed, the cold evening settled over them all, too soon replaced by the cool of morning and the beckoning of first light.

Somehow, Albert had fallen asleep in his chair. He roused as the slight sliver of light peaked over the distant cliffs, dissipating through the morning fog. “Welp, we’ve got a good ways to go if we’re gonna get you to the deadman’s - lots of rapids. Up for it?”

Paul nodded, taking one last pull of too-thick coffee to try to rouse his senses as they made their way down to the river.

“What sort of things have you seen along the river?”

Albert chuckled, tapping at his pipe. “Well, I’ve seen things that’d curl a normal man’s toes, but, given the… traveling companion you have… I think you’d find it quite normal.”

“Try me.” Paul said with a laugh, entering the boat.

Albert took up position at the motor. “Large, hairy beast - all white, surrounded by snow - moving up the river.”

“In the middle of the river?”

“More walking along the edge or vanishing and reappearing along rim of the canyon.”

Syth and Paul exchanged a glance.

“You’ve seen them?” Albert asked.

“Heard of something like it, down in California.” Paul replied.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been,” Albert replied, navigating the boat through the sweeping canyons. Steep cliffs rose on either side. Caves and hollows dotted - far too high to reach. Albert noticed them staring up. “I wonder if there’s hidden gold up in those caves. One day, I’ll check. I just haven’t found a way in. Seen these large giants round here as well. Eerie things.”

“Giants?” Paul replied, “Like big, normal humans?”

Albert nodded. “Tall, thin, cloaked. Vanished soon as they noticed I was watching them. Weirdest thing. I’d be staring off into the distance and I’d seem them. Watch ‘em for a little bit and suddenly something - without fail - would catch my attention and distract me for the slightest moment. Then they’re gone. Every time.”

Paul watched the lapping of water as they cut through the rapids, making good time with the assistance of the motor, but the sun was already creeping across the sky. As the shadows lengthened, he wondered what Bill would think were he to see these cloaked forms - were they the same as the Watchers in California?

They moved along in relative silence. Paul’s gaze traced the dozens of caves and cracks above them. What could be hiding up there, ever watchful?

“That up there’s called the Gate,” Albert noted as they rounded a bend in the river and made their way toward an outcropping.

Paul looked up at the huge stone, a slope running up its side to the top. Beyond it, the river shot into a cleft-like opening between two steep rock faces.

“Seen things wander up to the top of that ridge and vanish from sight.”

“Vanish?”

Albert nodded. “Could be these old eyes playing tricks, but there’s nowhere else for them to go. It’s like they just…” he seemed to search for a word, couldn’t think of any better one, and shrugged. “Like they just vanished…” he finished.

The boat slid up to one of the banks off the side of the river.

“We’ll probably want to pull off here and make camp. We could probably make it through, but I’d rather not navigate that stretch at all in the dark.”

The light crunch of gravel under the bow announced they’d firmly beached the craft. Its aft bobbed slightly as Paul departed, stepping on shore, leaving a deep bootprint in the soft sand.

“Yer heavier than you look, Paul.”

“I’ve been told that.”

“Legends all true about you being big enough to dig lakes with footprints?”

“I did it once and everyone blew it out of proportion.”

Albert smirked. “Guess I’m gettin’ used to all this weirdness. Anyway, I’m gonna stick with the stuff - if you head up that trail there, you might be able to get a view of the area around - there’s a huge stone sticking up called Pulpit Rock - you’d probably enjoy seeing it. Maybe you can make sense of what’s goin’ on up top there.”

Paul nodded, and he and Syth began the hike up to the top of the Gate.

“What are we looking for?” Paul asked. “I’m not even sure anymore.”

“Anything that’ll give us an idea of what’s happening here. Too much of my research keeps pointing in this direction. Something’s happening.”

Paul and Syth stepped out on the top of the Gate and gaped at the massive pillar of stone before them - Pulpit Rock - and beyond it a broad sandy beach at a turn in the river before it headed off into the canyons again.

Syth crouched and stared, then flared his wings in the air blowing up from below.

“I want to fly.” He said.

“Then do it.”

“There’s enough weird in this canyon without my adding to it,” he replied.

“I’m pretty sure it won’t matter. Fly on over. Let me know what you find.”

Syth nodded, spread his wings, and burst up into the air. He paused momentarily, hovering in the air with a few mighty wing-flaps, then tucked his wings and dove toward the distant sand bar. Paul watched from the top of the Gate, then slowly settled down on the ledge. The canyons and mountains of this region surrounded him - some limned with the setting sun’s final rays, some already vanishing in shadow.

Syth swooped around like a bat out of a cave. He dipped and weaved - always avoiding flying over the river if he could help it.

Paul gazed over the ledge into the rapids far below. What would happen to him if he were to leap from his height into the water. Was he touched enough by the fae that he’d immediately sink down into the waves, or would he swim like he used to? He didn’t spend enough time swimming to know. Did he even remember how?

Something at his feet caught his eye. The remains of some old firepit - it looks as if it hadn’t been used in ages. Why build one up here? Had it been some sort of signal to the area? He used his finger to follow the edge. It was ancient - there wasn’t even any hint of ash. Whatever it had been used for, it hadn’t been used in a long time. He knelt, tracing his finger along a depression in the loose dirt. “A footprint? Big one, if so.”

He stood to full height and stretched. Sitting in those canoes… ugh. His gaze fell down the river. This would have been a good look out, but would have given away any scout’s location. He felt the tightness in his back slowly crack and pop as he contorted this way and that.

Syth swooped off into the darkness, heading off into the darkening night.

Paul took one last glance at the large print, then strode back down the hill toward the shore where he had left Albert.

Something… pungent… met his nostrils. Something was wrong.

“Albert?”

No response.

Something lay over across the clearing.

It was Albert. The man was unconscious, lying in a pool of blood, a large gash on his chin. His shirt was muddy and torn, and his hat lay several yards away. More of those massive footprints covered the bank - human prints.

Paul hadn’t heard a thing.

Whatever had done this had slipped in, knocked Albert unconscious, and fled into the night.

Paul rushed to his side and gently lifted him up out of the mud. “Albert! Albert!”

No response.

He rushed to the canoe, but something had bashed a large hole in the bottom. It was swiftly taking in water and was now firmly stuck in the sediments and muck of the running water.

Something didn’t want them to go any farther.

A swooping hiss, and Syth dropped down into the dirt. His wings flared for a moment as he regained his footing in the soft muck. “Something’s coming - swimming up the river.”

“Swimming… upstream?”

“Yeah. Big!”

“We need to get Albert out of here.” Said Paul, handing the injured man to Syth. “Get him as far from the bank as you can. I’m going to salvage what we can. How far away?”

“Just passing Pulpit Rock.”

“Okay,” Paul replied. He grasped the front of the scow and heaved it up the bank, pumping as much strength as he could into his arm without damaging the wood. The wood creaked and groaned under his grip, and the extra power made his prints sink even deeper in the sand. he could feel the water rushing in around the top of his boots. With a final heave, he dragged the craft, outboard motor, supplies, and all, up onto the shore, dragging it far enough out of the water that it could hopefully be repaired without sustaining too much more damage.

Syth’s voice hissed in his mind. “We need to move.”

Paul nodded and followed him up into the woods.

The lapping of water was the only sound as they crouched on the edge of the woods, watching through the rocks and trees as a large… something… swam past, cutting through the water as if swimming downstream. Mighty paws beat the water, and the large bear-like head rose above the waves.

“What is it?” Paul asked. He’d obviously seen bear before, but something seemed… off about this thing. It didn’t seem entirely ursine.

Syth paused for a moment, as if rifling through the various lore he kept stored away in his brain. “I can’t tell if it’s a dog or bear or a wolf. Look at the size of it!”

The beast crawled out of the water, sniffing at the prints in the sand. It stood twice as tall as any wolf they had ever seen - for with its head out of the water, they could both see it was more wolf than dog. The burly shoulders belied something bearlike, but it stalked forward, sleek and powerful, its white fur long and glistening, almost as if with ice, as the water dripped off. Bits of mist rose up off its body.

It knelt and sniffed the ground, as it seeing what these new prints were.

It stalked its way up the bank, following the scent as it went. It paused at the blood stains, lightly tasting the ground before continuing to the damaged boat. It sniffed the craft and paused, then sniffed again. Its lips pulled back in a snarl, and it began to slowly back away, looking this way and that. They imagined had its fur not been soaked, it would have bristled.

What’s it smelling?

The creature backed away with a low growl, almost imperceptible, and dropped back into the water. It dipped its head into the water and vanished, reappearing a short while later on the other bank, where it pulled itself free and vanished up into the forested cliffs.

Something large stood silhouetted on the other side. It was pale against the evening darkness, with a seeming shimmer - like snow on a moonlit night. Paul felt his gut constrict as a the doglike creature seemed to greet its large master with a low, rumbling growl. Then the creature and its master were gone.

“What was that?” He hissed.

“I don’t know.” Syth replied, his eyes locked on the spot where the beast had vanished. “But whatever attacked Albert scared it enough to cause it to flee.”

“Flee back to its master…”

Syth nodded. “Apparently.”

They watched the far bank for a moment longer, letting the silence rise between them. Finally, Paul tore his gaze away from the distance shadowy trees. He looked down on Albert.

“How’s he holding up?”

“He regained consciousness while you were towing up the boat, but he’s still dazed.”

Paul took one last glance across the river, then nodded toward the woods. “We’d better go check on him.”

Albert was sitting against a tree when they arrived, holding a hand against his swollen jaw.

“Not the first time I’ve had tooth problems out here - first time a large hairy man did it, though.”

“Is that what attacked you?”

“Yeah,” Albert muttered, pausing to spit out blood. “Clocked me and sent me spinning, yelled something in what I’m assuming was French I couldn’t understand, then repeated it in a weird sort-of English. Still didn’t understand.” He paused, flexing his jaw painfully. He took a few practice bites. “Thankfully, I didn’t lose any teeth that time. Ugh, that hurts…”

“What happened?”

“I don’t really know.” He replied, slower this time, talking like his mouth was full of cotton. “Was pulling the boat in when a fist drove past my head and broke the bottom of the scow. I looked up in time to see a handful of fur backhand me - sent me flying. Hit the ground as it started yelling, and everything went black.”

“Human or something else?”

“Mostly human-looking, just all covered with fur with some pretty good-sized scrapes and scars.”

“Sasquatch?”

“Why not,” laughed Albert. “Nahanni probably has dinosaurs too. Time doesn’t exist here.”

“What color fur?”

“Oh, hard t’ tell in the dark. Brown or black, somethin’ like that at least.”

Paul thought of the whitish shape he’d seen opposite - were their multiples? Could the Watchers be a form of sasquatch?

“Are you okay, though?” he finally asked.

Albert chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve survived a lot on this river. Not the first time it tried to kill me. I’ll be fine.”

The night sounds slowly overtook them, and they found themselves sitting fitfully in the darkness, wondering what all lurked just beyond the protective smattering of trees. Something large lurked in the river, and something larger lurked along the shore. And something - or somethings - didn’t want them getting any closer to Deadmen Valley.

Albert was the first to fall asleep, against Paul’s wishes.

“Concussion or no,” he muttered, “I’m the only one that can get up down through the next leg. I’m goin’ to sleep. This valley hasn’t killed me yet. I’m not worried about a backhand from a Bigfoot.”

And then he’d fallen asleep.

Syth technically didn’t need to sleep, though for his sanity he chose to sometimes. Apparently curiosity was getting the better of him tonight, as he’d decided to scout around a little more. Paul watched him flapping silently off into the distance, leaving the lumberjack sitting in a dry camp that was anything but dry.

As the sun’s rays peaked out over the distant mountains, Paul stirred awake. Somewhere, something hammered away at his brain. He blinked several times, groaning, then rose to his feet.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

He winced each time and stumbled forward.

Something was…

… building?

He pushed the trees out of the way and there was Albert, bent over his boat, hammering several new planks into place. He had his axe at the ready, and was chopping at the angles, trying to fix up the damage.

“Will it hold?” Paul asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Albert replied. “Don’t remember how many times I’ve rebuilt this thing.” He continued working at the boards, dragging over a new one to repair the hole. “Any time I have to portage up over Virginia Falls, I basically have to piece it apart, carry it up and over, and rebuild it upstream.”

“Why not just have two boats?”

Albert shrugged. “Just haven’t gotten around to pushing upstream with two of them yet.” He stood, wiping a dirty arm across his forehead. “It’s not that bad. Carrying the drums of oil and the motor are the worst parts.” He chuckled, then crouched again, hammering away at the planks.

“See Syth?”

“Oh, your cloaked friend? He dropped down on the other side a while ago and vanished up into those trees. Didn’t know he could fly. That was… surprising. He really hates the water, doesn’t he?”

Paul nodded.

“Need any help?”

“No, I’m good,” Albert replied. “You did enough rescuing it from sinking into the water. If that’d happened, we’d truly be stuck here for a while.”

“You have a plan for that, too?” Paul said, only half-surprised.

“Well, I’d have to get enough lumber together to make a raft, then get to somewhere I could make some planks - so it’d certainly put our little adventure on hold for a while, but yah. No big problem.”

Paul laughed. “All these skills and you’re hiding out in the woods.”

Albert shrugged again, “When I find the gold, it’ll all be worth it.”

Paul nodded.

About mid-day, maybe later, Syth reappeared over the distant forest and dropped down into the sand on their side of the river, startling Albert. “You appear out of nowhere. How do you do that?”

Syth chuckled and shrugged. He turned to Paul and the large lumberjack felt the tickle in his mind. “Prints of that dog creature crested the hills and vanished along the rocky outcroppings. No idea where he went from there.”

“Any sign of either of the sasquatch things?”

“No to both. They’re apparently very good at covering their tracks once they get away from the shore.”

Albert rubbed his jaw, watching the two of them and their silent interaction. “Paul, you ever seen those hairy men ‘t hit me last night?”

“No,” Paul replied, “at least that I know of. Have a friend who swears he’s seen dogmen.”

“Dogmen?”

“Hairy things, look like dogs walking on two legs.”

“Loup-garou?”

“Cursed to be sure,” Paul replied, “Not sure if it’s completely different from a human or just a cursed human.”

“Well, I’ll be. Seems every legend is true in a way,” Albert replied. “So these dogmen are like Sasquatch?”

“Sort of,” Paul replied, “but they have pointed, dog-like ears and more canine features and I think claws, if what Bill said is right.”

“As if the moose and bears weren’t dangerous enough,” Albert muttered.

Paul smiled sadly. “Sorry for getting you caught up in all this mess.”

Albert shrugged. “I live near a place ‘t’s gettin’ called the ‘Valley of the Headless Men,’ I knew what I signed up for. Gettin’ your head ripped by a bear and a Sasquatch are the same. In fact, if that side-arm is anything, I think I’d prefer the Sasquatch - doesn’t play with ya like a bear would.” He stretched up and placed down the hammer, brushing off his hands on his grimy pants. “Well, that’s as good as it’s gonna get. Help me get the boat in the water and I’ll get you down to Deadmen. We’re pretty close. I think we can be there by nightfall. I know of a spot in Second Canyon where we can camp.”

The boat in the water, Syth and Paul climbed in, and Albert slowly navigated it back out into the current. They slid past the Gate, up the narrow gorge out past Pulpit Rock, and on toward the place Paul was dreading.

“This is where the brothers were found.” Paul said, more a statement than a question.

“McLeod brothers?” Albert clarified. “Yeah. Have you been here?”

“Yeah,” replied Paul. Almost two hundred years had passed for him, but only a third that in real life. “almost… sixty years ago, I’d guess.”

Albert chuckled. “I hadn’t gotten up here then. Still down in the states, I think,” he seemed to do the math in his head. “Yeah. When did I meet you?”

Paul shrugged. “It’s all blurred by now,” he laughed. Probably a short time before that, maybe? Is their campsite nearby?”

Albert gestured along the banks. “It’s somewhere around here. I’ve lost track of it myself. I don’t like to spend too much time on these shores - always feel like I’m tempting fate.”

“And with all that happened last night,” Paul joked, “that’s wise.”

Albert grunted and pulled out his pipe, navigating the river with his free hand. “Just up here a ways,” he said between puffs. “You gonna be okay without me for a while?”

As the sun was setting, they came upon a broad swath of brown dirt and gravel - representing the mouth of a new river flowing into theirs. 

“Prairie Creek,” Albert explained, pulling up to the shore. “I’d recommend starting here and exploring up and down the valley. Follow the creek up that way,” he said, pointing North, “good fishing up there. Should be enough to feed you as you scout the land.”

“Thank you, Albert.” Paul said, stepping off the boat. He grabbed his sack and tossed it over his back, Syth doing the same. “We’ll be in touch, otherwise we’ll see you in a few months. You heading back upstream?”

Albert nodded. “That gold’s not going to find itself. Nahanni or Bust.”

“Well, hope it’s not bust for you, old friend.”

“Be safe, see you in a few months.” Albert replied.

Paul wrapped his old friend in a large hug, and the prospector climbed back into the scow. He waved, turned the motor, and vanished back upstream before the sun could set any farther.

Syth attempted to get purchase on the broad, gravely flats. “I don’t like this feeling.” Then he flapped, hovering a few inches above the ground so he wouldn’t have to clamber over the stones.

The river flowed from off to the north, coming down into the valley, where it joined with the South Nahanni and off toward the East, if Paul’s directions were still accurate. Somewhere off downriver would be first canyon - steep cliffs with caves high overhead. But he’d never explored up this northern canyon. He drew some fishing line out of his sack, strode up to the river, and began a little fishing, hoping to catch a little dinner before settling in for the night.

Syth continue to where a bit of sand overtook the gravel, settling his hooved feet on the dirt. “That’s better…” he muttered, stretching his legs and folding his wings against his back. As Paul sat with the fishing pole made of a fallen stick, Syth crouched nearby.

“What do you think is going on?” He asked. “Were those things after Albert, or after us?”

“After us. No doubt. Albert’s moved up and down this river with no problems. The moment we show up, it’s a threat.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s exactly the same thing that happened with Bill. No problems at all roaming the fairy realm - the moment I appeared in there with him, every chupacabra hunted us and herded us like we had become an existential threat.”

“Big words for a lumberjack,” Syth chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

“No matter what your background, if you live for a few hundred years, you learn a few new words.” Paul retorted.

“Guess I’ll never catch up?”

“Hope not,” Paul replied, dragging in the line with a medium-sized grayling. He handed it to Syth, who began to dress it, using his clawed finger to gut and flay the fish. “Looks like someone left us a half-finished fire ring over here.”

Syth wandered over to it, arranging a few of the errant stones as he moved the wood into place, striking up a fire. “Think it has something to do with your ability to see through things?”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t know, but I imagine so. If your power is to remain undetected and someone comes into your realm that can see you for what you are - that’s probably grounds for instant murder.”

Syth laughed. “When it happened to me, I was more intrigued than anything.”

“Yes, but you’re not nefarious.”

“Another big one,” Syth responded, laying out the fish on a nearby stone. “And I’m not sure what you’d call me other than nefarious. I wiped out a whole town to keep some spiders from escaping. Did you forget that?”

Paul shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I just choose not to bring it up.”

Syth shrugged. “You don’t have to walk on glass around me, Paul. We do what we have to to survive. I chose that, and I’d do it again.”

“So you say.”

“So I mean.” Syth replied, laying out another fish along the rocks. 

Soon the fresh caught dinner was eaten, small bones were returned to the creek, and the two sat near the campfire, quietly listening to the water churning all around them as the various rivers mixed.

“So you’d do anything to serve the greater good?”

Syth shrugged. “I don’t know. Not much I wouldn’t do to protect myself and my friends.”

Paul poked at the fire with the remains of his fishing pole. He’d already packed away the string, hooks, and several bits of kindling. The stick wouldn’t be good for another run at the river, but it could probe at the bed of coals, hopefully flaring them back to life. “I wonder why such a big fire ring was out here in the middle of all this water? What were they afraid of - setting the rivers ablaze?” Paul chuckled. He rolled his stiff shoulders and stared at the ridges around them. “I wonder if they had some sort of signal system set up - saw a similar one up on that ledge by Pulpit Rock.”

Syth’s eyes glinted in the darkness, still mostly hidden beneath the cloak.

“You still intrigue me, Paul, even after all these years.”

Paul jabbed at the fire. “What now?”

“The things we’ve seen…” he seemed to be thinking back over the years they’d traveled together. “After all the things we’ve been forced to do, and you still hold to certain unwritten rules of behavior.”

“Oh, they’re written.”

Syth chuckled. “Are you talking about the Bible?”

Paul smiled. “Yes.”

“I thought you weren’t a Christian?”

“A man can change his mind, can’t he?”

“I guess that is the nature of repentance, as far as I understand it,” the Jersey Devil replied. “Tell me, Paul, can the devil repent?”

“The actual devil or the Jersey Devil?” he replied with a smirk.

“Either.”

“Well, no to the former, yes to the latter. Your name doesn’t determine what you are.”

“Profound.” Syth waved his long fingers at the fire as if willing it back to life.

It winked out, almost a matter of protest.

Then something large - mostly black with a slight reddish stripe running along his fur, dropped down from above - it had leapt from some great height, spraying them with rocks and wet dirt. The fire vanished under a hiss of steam.

Large hands clenched and unclenched as the angry human-like face gaped back and forth between them.

Then it roared and swung a swift punch at Paul.

The lumberjack raised his axe without a second of hesitation, absorbing the majority of the blow along the handle, sending him sailing backward. It spun out of his hand and clattered among the rocks. He skipped along the stones a short distance before righting himself and returning to charge at the newcomer, dragging out a small hand axe he kept on his belt.

Syth vanished into the sky the moment the blow landed, swooping down on the scarred creature like a hawk after a mouse, bladed wings aiming for the kill.

The creature ducked and snapped at the oncoming Syth, snatching him by the bladed wingtips before they could pierce him and hurling him off into the darkness. The beast continued his spin, catching Paul upside the shoulder and spinning him off across the gravel once more.

Nursing an aching arm, Paul scrabbled back to his feet, boots slipping over the loose rocks as he rushed at the large humanoid once more.

“We warned you last night to leave this place!” Came a guttural voice from the beast. He rounded on Paul as the lumberjack dove into his stomach, channeling as much strength as he dared to shove the massive creature back.

The hairy beast stumbled back a few steps and lost his footing, clattering heavily onto the stones, sending the still-hissing remains of the campfire scattering across the area. Paul reared back and planted a blow alongside the creature’s jaw. He raised his fist again, but was stopped by a hairy hand nearly the size of his face. The large hairy man picked up him and planted a fist in his gut, tossing him aside before rounding on him for another attack.

“If you left, you would have been spared.”

Paul rose to height, wiping a line of blood from his lip. “I don’t take well to threats.”

The beast growled, his humanlike face breaking into an approximation of an angry roar, teeth bared, lips curled into a sneer of hatred. He charged against, his feet thundering through the loose stones.

Paul dropped into a crouch and rushed toward the beast.

They struck each other like a thunderclap. The crash rang out, sending both a little deeper into the gravel. Paul’s knee buckled, and he felt his weight shift. A large hand reared in the darkness, and he barely raised his arm to deflect the blow when it smashed into his side, sending him spinning once again.

Something boomed down from above, speared wings forward.

Syth.

The blades pierced through the beast’s already-scarred shoulder, flashing blood as they did.

The beast growled and latched onto the points so Syth couldn’t retract his wings. It then reached up, snatching Syth with his other hand before flailing him like a ragdoll and slamming into the gravel with a violent crunch.

Paul growled his way back to his feet and scrabbled across the stones, barely latching onto the large thing’s leg before he was kicked, viciously. He felt the large foot crack onto his forehead, then his nose. Something snapped. He bared his teeth and bit - deeply - into the muscle at the side of this creature’s furry leg. The taste of lake water and dirt filled his mouth, but he chomped down even harder, feeling his teeth cut into flesh as the coppery taste of blood flashed across his tongue.

The urge to spit almost overwhelmed him and he fought his gag reflex. Hands clamped around ankle, teeth sunk deep into a roaring humanoid’s calf.

Syth pulled himself upright and staggered back several feet, almost losing his footing on the stones again.

The next vicious kick of the leg sent Paul soaring, and before he could hit the ground, the creature had already raced across the stones, where a well-placed punch sent the man skipping along the gravel and into the nearby river.

With a splash, Paul’s dimming senses popped back to life, the cool water startling him awake.

He spat blood - his own or the beast’s, it didn’t matter any more.

His own large hand swiped at the blood on his lip. The sting was another note for his mental inventory. Ribs probably cracked, ankle strained, cut across scalp, broken lip, at least one tooth loose. Problems for later.

He splashed to the surface. The large beast rounded on Syth.

Syth struggled to stand. One wing hung limp at his side, blood dripping from a broken spar of bone that had torn through one of the fingers of it. Syth held a hand over his injured shoulder, and stumbled back, whip in hand, blades extended from his one good wing.

He breathed heavily, a look of fear crossing his features.

The large Sasquatch stalked forward, muscle rippling beneath his dark fur. Blood coursed down his arm, dripping from his fingers. Syth’s wing may have been broken, but he’d gotten a good final strike in.

Paul staggered through the water toward the two combatants, bending to pluck a stone from the ground.

Pain lanced his body.

He pulled his foot forward, feeling the strain of some new pain across his thigh. He jerked his way along - step by painful step. His bones screamed, his muscles ached. He hurled the stone. It fell short.

Syth attempted to hold his ground, whip cracking out at the oncoming beast, raising an 5689 stripe across the scarred Sasquatch’s face, bladed wing raised and ready to strike again.

But the Sasquatch continued unabated.

Paul pushed forward, hurling rocks all the way.

One bounced off the creature’s back. He paused, his broad shoulders pivoting as he turned to look at Paul. A grimace of frustration passed his features. He swung a large arm, catching Syth on his good wing and sending him careening backward into the dirt before rounding on Paul.

Paul hurled another stone. It clattered off the Sasquatch, landing near the fire ring.

His eyes shot to the spot where the fire had been. There was… movement… there. A figure - for the briefest of moments, he’d seen a strange figure - a strange hat. Had Albert come back? No, too tall…

Who had he just seen?

An old memory resurfaced. Before Rip had regained his memories, he mentioned seeing shadows of people from the fairy realm… just glimpses… and wondered if others had seen him. Perhaps…

The Sasquatch rounded, stalking, keeping a watchful eye on Paul as he chose each of his steps. Blood flowed down his leg and onto the stones - sign of Paul’s vicious biting attack. Blood pulsed from Syth’s wound in his shoulder. Several other scars had long-since healed.

How did that old saying go - “fear the old man in a field where men die young”?

This was an old man still holding his own among the young - okay, neither Paul nor Syth were young… but the point still stood. This beast was not going down, and had apparently never gone down in his life.

Paul rolled forward, groaning in pain, and replaced another stone on the fire ring. He hurled a spare one at the large beast, striking him in the wounded shoulder. With a cry of rage, the beast picked up his own stone and hurled it at Paul.

Paul felt strength running to his arms, and he caught it. It pushed him back slightly, but he looked up and with a grin he hoped would shock the Sasquatch, slammed the stone to the ground in the final open spot.

A wave of relief washed over him as the Sasquatch vanished.

A fairy circle!

“Agh!” he cried, dropping to the ground. “Agh, that hurts,” he groaned.

Something new stood just outside the ring of the circle. It was some sort of female… something - not a Sasquatch, that was for sure. Her dark fur shimmered slightly in the directionless moonlight of this place.

“Are you Bill’s friend?” She growled, “the one he was meeting here?”

Paul nodded, confused. “Bill? Yes. Who are you?”

A creature sidled up to her side - what were those things called? Paul racked his pain-laced brain. “Chupacabra. Bill. You’re Bill’s daughter?”

“Ah, that’s sweet,” she growled in what seemed to be genuine, albeit terrifying, appreciation. “Is that how he thinks of me?”

Paul looked between the two. “Where is?” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but winced in pain.

“I’m assuming in your world. He was standing right where you are, we were coming to investigate and he just vanished.”

Paul felt the cold of the fairy cross against his chest. “Ah, crap,” he muttered. “Take my hand.”

He reached out his palm to her. She grabbed it, and the three of them immediately vanished again.

Syth lay on one arm, propped up just enough to watch the events.

The Sasquatch had fallen to one knee a short distance away, blood running freely down a fresh wound in the same shoulder Syth had impaled.

A very-confused-looking Bill stood on the edge of the circle, pistol drawn and trained on the large creature. “This thing a Bigfoot? Lives up t’ its name if so. Ain’t no dogman. An’ where in tarnation are we?”

Paul stepped forward, releasing his grip on Raven’s clawed hand. She stepped out of the circle, the chupacabra at her heels.

“‘Bout time you showed up, kiddo!” Bill cried, his pistol still trained on the creature. “Anyone mind tellin’ me what the blazes is goin’ on?”

Paul pointed at the Sasquatch. “That thing ambushed us - last night and tonight.”

“Apparently, he’s also been destroyin’ every gal-dern fairy circle in this place as well! Can’t find a single way through - been trying for a week!”

The Sasquatch heaved a deep breath, pain thick on his features.

“Yer lucky, big ol’ boy. I was goin’ for yer chest. Yer fast.”

“I warned you all,” growled the Sasquatch, “leave this valley.”

“Yeah, I don’ tend t’ do as I’m told, ‘specially when my life is on the line.”

Paul stumbled forward again. “Let’s see what it can tell us.”

“Better talk quick, my finger’s itchin’ an’ I don’t think I’ll miss a second time.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Shut up, Raven.”

The female dogman laughed. “All right, dad.”

“Paul, I’m gonna have a word with ya about loose lips and ships an’ all that. Now, big ol footed thing, wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

The beast heaved a deep breath and rose haltingly to his feet.

“Don’ try nothin’.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing here.” came the voice again, his grasp of English remarkably good now that he knew which language he needed to use to converse.

The chupacabra skittered about cheerfully, lapping at the blood scattered around.

“You’ve acquired strange friends, Bill,” Paul whispered.

“You should talk. Issat a demon over there? I saw something through the boundary, and didn’t believe my eyes. Flicking in and out of sight as I watch ‘im.”

“Not quite. Jersey Devil.”

“Dunno what that is. He on our side?”

“Yes. Is the dogman?”

“‘er name’s Raven. Yes.” Bill trained the pistol on the Sasquatch. “What’re we doin’ with thiss’n.”

“What’s your name?” Paul asked, his voice as commanding as he could muster with his rib paining him at every breath.

The Sasquatch breathed heavily.

Paul heard the click of the revolver. He turned his gaze to see Bill holding a .357. “It’s double action,” he whispered, “don’ really need t’ pull the hammer back. Do it outta habit.”

“Okay.” Paul replied, slightly confused. He turned back to the Sasquatch. “We’re here trying to figure out why people keep going missing, as well as what strange creatures dwell in Nahanni. We mean you no harm. What is your name?”

“Mean us no harm,” laughed the Sasquatch, trying to stay standing with the pain obviously wracking his body.

Syth continued to lie on the stones a short distance behind him.

“You attacked us.”

“You’ve been trying to drag forces into this region. We’re holding you off.”

Paul shook his head. “We are not.”

The creature stood, clutching a blood-stained hand over the gunshot wound. Blood oozed between his fingers and down his dark furred arm. “There are powers in this valley you can’t understand, and it is our job to protect them,” he growled. “Begone from this place, before the rest find you. Those who lost their heads were lucky.”

“Did you do that?”

“No, far before my time, another ruled at that time - he vanished.” heaved the beast, breathing ragged gasps.

Paul placed a hand on Bill’s revolver and slowly pushed the weapon down. “We mean you no harm. My name is Bunyan, Paul Bunyan. That over there is Syth, and he’s P–.”

“Call me Bill, just Bill.”

“This is Bill, and his companion…”

“Raven,” said the dogman.

“You travel with those - those who hunt my kind. How many rivers of blood do you have on your claws?”

Raven held out her hands. “I only have my own kind’s blood on these claws. And only those who tried to kill me.”

The Sasquatch paused, unsure of himself for the first time.

Paul groaned. “What is your name?”

The Sasquatch growled something in an incomprehensible language. “Your kind would understand ‘Scar.’”

“It is good to meet you, Scar. I’m sorry it was under these circumstances,” Paul said, wincing. “Can we call a truce - make some sense of what has happened here?”

Scar heaved a breath, then lowered his hand. “Fine. For now.”

Paul stepped forward. “Let me see the wound.”

“You will not touch me. See to your wounded, but I will not go along with anything of yours.”

“I just want to help.”

“Your kind has helped plenty. Yours as well!” Scar spat at Raven.

The dogman growled back. “I don’t even know what you are!”

Scar huffed loudly, his large arms heaving as his shoulders sagged. He settled himself to the stones of the river’s bank. “Play ignorant…” He growled. “We’ll find you soon enough. We’ll stop your forces, just like we’ve done every time. You will not gain Nahanni, even if you bring a Remnant with you.”

Paul held out a hand.

“What is this?” Scar growled.

“Peace.”

“I’ve seen your peace, human.”

“You attacked one of my men the other night, didn’t you - on the shore, old man with a canoe?”

“Yes.”

“And you crushed the fairy circles so they couldn’t be used?”

“Yes.”

“Good work, except you left one mostly intact.”

Scar stared behind Paul at the ring in the sand.

“I almost didn’t notice it, until I saw Bill trying to come through.”

“There’s no way you could have.”

Paul tapped the side of his head, wincing with the motion. “I can see between realms sometimes. I see you’re not from here. You have an… essence… on you. Are you from the fairy realm?”

“And what if I am?”

“Surely you can smell it on us if you can’t see it. Each of us has traveled those paths.”

“All the more reason for me to think you spies.”

Paul pointed at each in turn. “Do you think the Lemurians would hire us to do their work? Do we look like the ten-foot-tall elves that have been seen in this valley?”

Scar looked across each. “You have a Deep One with you,” he pointed to Syth. “That bodes ill, shows you’re not to be trusted. Much destruction he has caused, and will cause. The ways are visible to us, at least pertaining to him.”

“We also have a dogman that swears she’s never seen you before.”

“An’ I’ve been with ‘er for years. She’s tellin’ the truth.”

“Why should I believe anything coming out of your mouth, human?” Scar growled at Bill.

“Because I shot ya once and chose not t’ shoot ya again. Many fairies use guns, big ‘n?”

Scar fell silent, then dropped wearily to one knee again.

“I need to look at your shoulder. I can treat a bullet wound.”

“I don’t need your healing.”

“You need to get the bullet out. With the number of scars you have, I don’t think you need my healing either. But you can’t leave that in there.”

Bill holstered his pistol. “Here, this help with the trust?”

Raven scowled.

Paul stepped closer, hands still raised, showing they were empty. “Let me see.”

Scar begrudgingly lowered his arms. “Fine. Look if you must.”

Paul moved to Scar’s shoulder and pushed back the fur. The beast bared his fangs. “Relax. This will hurt, and then be done.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Compared to me you are,” Paul replied, probing a single finger into the wound.

Scar’s roar echoed across the landscape. Raven’s fur bristled. “What was that!?” She cried.

Scar’s muscles tensed as Paul probed into the wound. Finally, he pried out his fingers, drawing out a slug of metal. “It was caught in your muscle. Never seen a thing like that in my days.”

Paul dropped the bead to the ground. It clattered on the rocks, drawing the chupacabra’s interest.

“I can try stitching it,” Paul offered.

“You’ve done enough,” Scar spat, shoving away his hand. “Alma can heal it. I don’t need your help.”

Paul shrugged. “Whoever this Alma is, she’d better get here quick before you bleed out.” He stepped past the Sasquatch and over to Syth, who still lay bleeding on the ground.

“Up you go,” He said, hoisting the damaged form up. “Let’s get you righted.”

A broken spar protruded from the wing, a long section of membrane had been shredded, leaving that whole webbing between those fingers unable to stand the slightest resistance. “It’ll be a bit before you fly again, I’m afraid.”

Paul set the bone back in place, sliding back the membrane and trying to do a sort-of jury-rigged stitch to seal the skin and hopefully allow it to heal. He traced his finger down the shredded web, then drew out a needle and thick thread, which he used to bind the ragged sections of the wing membrane back together.

Syth’s eyes flickered. “Th-thank you,” came his unsteady thoughts.

“No problem,” Paul replied, carrying him back over toward the shocked Raven. Bill seemed concerned, but had mostly gotten over his initial shock at the whole situation.

“Ya have strange friends.” whispered Bill.

“You should talk. Did you adopt a chupacabra as your dog?” Paul whispered back.

“Ah’ll have ya know Goat’s a fine tracker, an’ ‘e cleans up a’ter ‘imself, too.”

Raven stepped up beside the two. “What’re we going to do with that guy?”

Paul gazed at Scar, who stood as proudly as he could - defeated but not crushed. His hand clamped over the bloody wound in his shoulder again, apparently trying to staunch the flow.

“I could shoot ‘im in the head, put ‘im out of his misery.”

“No.” 

“Well, got any better ideas? ‘E probably called help when he roared like that. We could leave ‘im here, exit through the fairy realm and go somewhere else?”

“How many portals have you found leading back and forth?”

“Well, uh…”

“None,” replied Raven. “Absolutely none. And we’ve been wandering this place for weeks.”

“So you weren’t late.” Paul replied. “And here I misjudged you.”

“Jus’ haven’t found an exit yet. There’re still pedestals an’ stuff. You could just break one and drop out from there.”

Paul smirked. “I’ve done enough damage that way.” He turned to Scar, “Who’s this ‘Alma’ you mentioned, and how far away is she?”

“I’m not telling you a thing.” Scar replied.

Paul took a deep breath. “Listen carefully. You will die of your wounds if you don’t get help. I’m not leaving you here like that, so either you let me help or you tell me when help will arrive.”

Scar groaned, “I’ll face my end with dignity. I’ve survived worse.”

“You will needlessly die for refusing help,” Paul replied, slowing his speech, emphasizing each syllable. “I will not allow that. My companions, however, will. So you either let me help or you die.”

“Then I die.”

“Let me rephrase, since apparently you’re hard of hearing. Let me help you or I will knock you out and help you anyway.”

“You couldn’t beat me before, you can’t be me now.”

“Now you have a gunshot wound in your arm and can barely lift it. I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

Paul began to grow until he was nearly the same size as the Sasquatch. “Shall I go farther? Do you wish me to demonstrate just what I’m capable of? Now, yield.”

Paul held Scar’s gaze. He could feel blood pooling inside him from wounds that had grown too large to contain themselves. His various scrapes and wounds were already starting to open. He could only hope Scar would yield before his own body did.

And Scar did, diverting his gaze and bowing his head. “Fine. Do what you will.”

Paul immediately shrank back to normal size with a gasp, stepped back, and motioned to Bill. “You’re going to have to take this one, Bill.”

The gunslinger stepped forward with a chuckle. “You ol’ softy. All right, mister foot. Le’s see wha’s goin’ on.”

Paul limped toward Syth, who was breathing heavily. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine. I can heal on my own.”

“Would you do better in the fairy realm?”

“I doubt it. If I were to go back to the Barrens, maybe. I survived a cannon ball through the wing back there, but this far away, I think I’ll just have to live and heal normally.”

Raven stepped nearby, whispering in awe. “Are you really the Jersey Devil?”

Syth nodded. “So it would seem.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you before, it must have been the chaos of the fight.”

“That’s all right,” Syth replied. “I prefer to fly under the radar, as it were. The only one who can consistently see me is Paul.”

“Well, it’s an honor. I thought you were just a legend.”

He laughed, “I am. But I’m more than that. And what are you?”

She laughed and pushed a shock of fur out of her face. “I’m what some call a dogman.”

“Dogman?”

“I know, it’s a dumb name, but we don’t get to name ourselves, you know?”

Syth nodded. “True, at least most of the time.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she continued, “do you ever use your mouth to speak? Do you only speak to one mind at a time?”

“I do, sometimes,” he replied, speaking audibly. His voice came out a croaking, hisslike sound. “I do it so rarely, I don’t typically get noticed when I do. And yes, I only speak to one mind at a time, unless I choose otherwise. It’s a bit harder to communicate that way, though, so I prefer the intimacy of thought-to-thought.”

“Do you read minds?”

He shook his head. “No. But I can guess. Most are easier to read than they’d like to admit.”

“All done.” Bill declared, stepping back and rubbing his hands on his breeches. “If only Lighting could see me now!”

“Where is ol’ Widowmaker?” Paul asked.

“Oh, keeping track of the pack.”

“The chupacabra pack,” Raven interjected.

Scar watched the proceedings with a scowl. “You butchered my people, your packs hunted us across the wasteland.”

“I told you,” Raven spat with a snarl, “I don’t even know what you are! My people are trapped in the mountains of California fighting for their life. They don’t have time to hunt yours down.”

“Ape Canyon means nothing to you?”

Raven shook her head. “Never heard of it!”

“It’s where your kind slaughtered mine. We were forced to flee all our holdings, then the Remnant, then our own betrayed us.” Scar fell silent, realizing he’d said too much.

Raven’s fur bristled. She crouched beside the heavily-injured Sasquatch. “I did none of it, nor did any of my pack. Don’t judge all dogmen because you got bit by a rabid one,” she spat.

Scar scowled.

“And if you have traitors in your own ranks, seems like you’re no different than us.”

Bill twirled his pistol. “I hate to break up the love fest, darlin’, but we need t’ get movin’. Paul, that canyon up yonder seems like a good adventure - remind ya of a little Afton Canyon?”

“More like a big, wet one. Can we even get up there?”

“We’ll find a way.”

“What about Scar? We’re not leaving him in any danger, but I don’t want to face him again.”

“We take ‘im with us.”

Scar scowled at them, his arm and upper chest constricted with a sling, the bandages already stained through with blood.

“Alma will return. Just leave me here.”

Paul cracked his shoulder. “I would, but there’s an old saying,” he turned to Bill, “Keep your friends close…”

“Keep yer enemies… closer.”