Syth and Axe (Part 12) - Valley of the Headless Men, part 2

 

Syth and Axe vol. 12 - Valley of the Headless Men, part 2

1960 - Nahanni Valley, near the mouth of Prairie Creek

BIll looked out over the gurgling river. “Quite impressive. Guy could get used t’ the solitude out here.”

Paul eased the pain out of his shoulder.

“How ya feelin’?”

“Sore. I think I broke a rib, or at least bruised it.”

“Looks like ya got off easy compared to yer devil friend. Where is he, anyway?”

Paul pointed to the shadowy figure crouched by the fire. “By Raven.”

“Ah, yah. Lost sight o’ him already. Really does vanish unless yer lookin’ for ‘im. Wonder’f that’s how them Watchers are.”

“You said they vanish when you stare at them?”

Bill nodded. “Well, ‘s more like they force you to get distracted. Can’ really explain it… i’s a feelin’ - ya know they’re watching, then when they knows ya watching, they force ya t’ look away so’s they can vanish.”

Paul nodded. “Similar things reported around here, though I haven’t seen them.”

“So, what’s the deal with the Sasquatch?”

“His ‘Alma,’ whatever that is, still hasn’t showed up.”

“Think he was bluffing?”

“No. But there’s something else going on - I just don’t know what.”

“Well, I suppose we should take his warnin’ seriously.”

“Which one?”

Bill pointed at the circle of stones. “If he was going around destroyin’ these cuz he felt that threatened, then somethin’s tryin’ to invade. I din’t make it up into the mountains yet, but there was at least three circles so far along the route. Each one was destroyed, not counting this as the fourth. As much as I hate blockin’ my way back into that realm of solitude,” he said, picking up a stone from the circle. He lobbed it into the river, then followed suit with the others, then kicked gravel across the once-firepit. He turned to Scar, who was watching with interest. “I think we need t’ heed his warnin’. If some’n that powerful’s scared, we’d do right t’ be scared’s well.”

A week later, deeper in the Prairie Creek canyon, off to the north of the South Nahanni River

The snowmelt had thankfully tapered off, and a fallen cluster of debris had diverted a good bit of the river this season. The fording was still treacherous, and a makeshift raft had still needed to be constructed to carry the more… wounded of the party.

But, with a little luck and a lot of skill, they’d managed to navigate upriver into the headwaters of Prairie Creek.

Syth sat on the raft beside Scar, both too injured to move too much.

Paul, his ribs aching and his injuries crusting over, insisted on doing his part to help pull the raft ever forward, sometimes from the middle of the river in his elevated size, using his bulk as a water break, sometimes from the shore so his wounds could seal again.

Every fall they came to, he led the portage, and every culvert and gully, he led the way.

Finally, Bill grabbed him and pulled him aside.

“I know I’m the best fighter in the bunch, and this party would die without me, but ya need to calm down. Can’ have ya dyin’ of us. Goat over there keeps eyein’ ya like yer gonna keel over at any moment.”

Paul shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Gotta find out wha’s goin’ on in this valley.”

“We’re wanderin’ aimlessly, no set direction.”

Paul looked ahead, toward the distant mountains. “Surely you’ve felt it.”

“What?”

“The warmth of the water, the tingle as it touches your skin?”

“This water’s freezin’. What’re you gettin’ on about.”

Scar watched on.

Another week passed, and they found themselves hopelessly lost in the wilderness of Nahanni. Scar limped along, most of his more serious injuries having healed. Syth still couldn’t fly, his wing membrane sealed but unable to bear any weight.

Paul sat in a rock field. “One more circle.”

“Destroyed.” replied Bill with a hint of regret. They’d attempted to place the stones back in a ring, but something had been fundamentally broken about the last few they’d found.

“We shattered the connection between worlds,” Scar finally explained, “keep your kind from slipping through.”

“How?”

Scar stayed silent about that one. Apparently that one circle had been the only point for miles he hadn’t found - the only door he hadn’t shut.

Scar’s broad forehead cast a shadow over his eyes. They cast a glance over to his bandaged shoulder. The gauze had been changed the previous day. One of them would come to treat him today. He gave the shoulder a subtle motion, opened and closed his hand. He was recovering… not as fast as he’d hoped… but recovering.

Paul sighed heavily, looking out over the mountain ranges. The warm water had led him this far, but had vanished into a cave - a cave he could not access - none of them could. So they’d traipsed across the countryside, trying to find any sign of anything even remotely out of the ordinary.

But all was silent.

Nothing was amiss.

He turned to Syth.

“You all right?”

Syth nodded, cowl pulled low across his face, wings pulled tight around his body like a cloak. “Not a fan of the sun, even in this wasteland.”

“How long before they work?”

“Maybe a month,” Syth replied, stretching out one scarred wing. “The bone’s still setting, and the membrane’s still too thin.” He gave it a test pulse, watching as the strain threatened to tear the fabric. “Something around here’s hampering my ability to heal.”

“Maybe closing off all the fairy circles?”

Syth shrugged. “It could be.”

Paul turned to Scar. The Sasquatch held a hand over the wound, scowling up at him.

“I need to change the dressing.”

Scar shook his head. “It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

“You can, if you want to tear open every bit of progress you’ve made. Let me see.”

Scar’s arm shot out and clenched around Paul’s jaw. “You’ll leave me alone, little human, or I’ll crush your bones to dust.”

Paul clutched the Sasquatch’s massive forearm as he was lifted bodily from the ground.

“You’ll release me from this bondage and let me return to my people. And you won’t follow me.”

Click.

“An’ you’ll put ‘im down or I’ll add a new breathin’ hole to the side of your cranium.”

“Everyone, stand down.” Paul said, noting Raven slowly rising from where she had been sitting at Syth’s side, her claws extended. “Scar, let me go.”

The Sasquatch’s fist clenched a little tighter around Paul’s jaw. He could feel sections of his beard tearing, raw flesh rising up as the meaty hand closed. Pain began to well around his teeth.

“Release me…” Scar commanded.

WHAM!

A fist the size of Scar’s chest crashed into the side of his face, and he sailed across the plain. Paul dropped to the ground, his hand slowly shrinking as he rubbed his face, grimacing. New veins of blood welled against his flesh. He’d broken open the unhealed wounds again.

“I coulda’ shot ‘im,” Bill said, eyeing the stunned Sasquatch. “We could sell ‘im to that Forteen society, or what’e’r it’s called. Bet they’d pay big money fer a ‘squatch.”

“I’m not killin’ anyone.” Paul replied.

“Oh, come on, man. You’ve killed all sorts’a things.”

“Only things that deserved it.”

“An’ ‘e doesn’t?”

Paul shook his head. “No. And I think he’s the key to figuring out what’s going on here.”

“‘E won’t tell us, you know.”

Scar slowly rose from the ground.

Bill pointed his revolver. “Stan’ down.”

Paul strode over. “Now, I think we need to have a little heart-to-heart.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Click. “Oh, I think ya do.”

Scar scowled. “Fine.”

Bill slightly lowered his revolver. “Start with the what - an’ I mean ‘what’s goin’ on here?’”

“The Remnant have been making incursions into our land with the help of someone in the fairy realm. And you reek of it.”

Bill sniffed. “I’ll have ya know, I reek of a lotta things, but not that.”

Scar’s gaze shifted between the two. “You’re both touched by it.”

“What are these ‘Remnant’?”

“Giants, of the original tribe.”

Something stirred in the back of Paul’s mind. “The nephilim.”

“I’ve heard that name, too,” Scar replied, something in his features seeming to soften.

“So these Remnant are trying to take Nahanni?”

“Already have.”

“And do they have large bear-dogs?”

“The waheela, yes.” Replied Scar.

It was Bill’s turn to look confused.

“The night you attacked my friend,” Paul explained, “one swam upriver. When it saw your print, it fled.”

Scar nodded with a slight smile. “Then they’re learning.”

“You’ve faced them before?”

Scar nodded. “They’re scouts - eyes and ears for the Remnant. Most Remnant were cursed with blindness for their trespass.”

“Blindness?” Bill asked. 

Paul nodded. “They saw the daughters of men. It’s an appropriate curse for the lustful. But that waheela went to a large white being - it was no giant. I thought it was one of your kind.”

“Couldn’t be,” Scar replied. “You saw wrong, human.”

Paul shook his head. “I saw what I saw. Whitish shimmer, almost like ice.”

Scar’s face went hard. He seemed about to talk, then thought better of it.

Something roared across the field.

Scar straightened. “Something’s coming.”

“One of yours?”

“No.”

Paul drew his axe. “Shall we face it together?”

Scar looked about to flee, but the uncertain foe seemed to split him - face the enemy he was hunting or take the opportunity to leave. “Fine.”

They rushed back to Syth, who was standing, slightly hunched from his injuries, whip dangling, wing barbs extended threateningly. Raven stood at his side, clawed hands ready for the strike, fur bristling down her back. Even Goat seemed primed for an attack.

Paul stopped beside Syth. “What’s happening?”

He saw Raven exchange glances with Syth, then he turned to Paul. “Something large - Raven says smells similar to Scar.”

Paul looked to Scar. “Raven says it smells like you. One of your kind?”

Scar blanched - as much as a dark skinned Sasquatch could.

“No. Not exactly. We need to run. Now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re safe. Follow me. There’s a canyon system nearby.”

Paul latched onto his arm. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“If it’s my people, I could turn on you here. Why would we flee, unless you have secret allies?” he paused for just a beat, “We don’t have time to argue.  Let’s go!”

Howls rang out across the plain.

“Dogmen?”

“Waheela.”

“I thought they were scared of you?”

“When they’re alone, yes.” Scar began to sprint across the field, heading off to the south toward the distant hills. Raven helped Syth along, and they ran together, following Scar. Goat looked to Bill, who nodded for him to follow.

“What’re we doin’, partner?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

Bill playfully spun the chamber of his revolver. “‘S long as I have a round in ‘ere, there’s always a choice.”

“I don’t know that we have a wiser choice,” Paul replied with a smirk, his hand clenching around the grip of his axe.

“Sounds good t’ me. Meetcha at the mountains.”

Paul nodded, and he and Bill turned heel and rushed after the others.

Something rumbled up onto the plateau. The sparse treecover blocked it from view at first, but as the howling and yipping of the waheela rumbled up from below, they saw a silhouette - white against the distant mountains, its fur shaggy and unkempt, its shoulders hunched and rippling with muscle.

“Run!” Scar commanded.

The waheela hadn’t detected them yet. It lolled about its master - the hairy beast probably twice as tall as Scar.

As they ran, ducking into tree cover to avoid any detection as the beast crested onto the top of the rise, Paul grasped Scar by the shoulder, almost earning a slap for it. Scar withheld the blow. “Is that a Remnant?”

“No, they’re even bigger. That’s the traitor of our kind.”

“Traitor?”

“Yes, a Warden of Frost who went missing generations ago. I was tracking his whereabouts when you showed up.”

“What is he? Is he Sasquatch?”

The creature rumbled forward, ice crackling around him, turning the ground to snow with each step. Cold seemed to roll off of him like fog. He paused, his white fur catching the cool air pouring off his body. He was covered in small ice crystals. His eyes - pale blue as fresh ice - stared across the plains.

The cold seemed to draw all life out of the ground around him, layering the region around with a thin sheet of rime as he stood. The frozen crystals slowly spread, creeping rotlike across the soil.

Scar motioned. “We need to go.”

They rushed toward a distant ridge, rushing around the ridgeline toward the west, trying to keep as much tree cover as possible between them and the beast. The ridge folded into a treelined canyon, which the slipped into, following an old creekbed until it led up into some steeper hills.

Content they had avoided detection, Paul stopped and rounded. “What was that?”

“A Warden of Frost.”

“Say it like I know what you mean!”

Paul exchanged a glance with Bill, who nodded to Raven and Goat. The trio moved to the entrance of the canyon, perching at the ready for any sign of trouble.

Syth shuffled up. “I’m not sure what a ‘Warden of Frost” is,” his voice rumbled to both of them. “But was that a Yeti?”

“Some of your kind call it that.” Scar looked toward the entrance to the canyon. Bill stood with his back to the stones, rifle drawn and ready at the slightest sound to step out and blast whatever came. Raven crouched in a small nook in the rocks, acting as his eyes. Goat was curled up on the ground, tongue lolling like a mutant alien dog.

“So it is a Sasquatch?”

Scar shook his head. “Yes and no. I’ll explain later.”

Paul scowled, “And what are we going to do about it?”

“We need to find my people and we need to capture him.”

“Capture him…” Paul nodded, incredulity creeping across his face, “how?”

My Warden will know of a way.

“Is that the Alma of which you speak?”

Scar nodded.

“And where is she? Where are the rest of your people?”

“In our settlement. I’m not sure where Alma is.”

“We got trouble.”

“Yeti?”

“No… Watchers.”

Scar’s face creased with worry. “What are they doing here?”

Large forms stood on the rise above them.

Paul felt the crawling sensation in his mind.

“These what you saw in California, Bill?”

“No. Similar, but different.”

The forms weren’t cloaked - they seemed to be attired in something distinctly Lemurian - robed, with fancy silken garb lined with gold that belied something… otherworldly. Something triggered Paul’s attention elsewhere. He looked away for a wink, and when he looked back, they’d vanished. Paul’s blood ran cold.

Bill muttered a curse. “Not here, too.”

Something scrabbled, and pale forms appeared along the ridge.

Paul pointed.

“Those aren’t what I think…”

Syth’s voice cut through their minds. “We’ve got Pale Crawlers coming down over the lip over here.”

Scar growled. “This was why I was destroying every entrance to the fairy realm. They must have an opening somewhere nearby.”

Bill raised his pistol to shoot.

“Stay your hand!” Syth cried to their minds.

“Why?”

“If you shoot, you’ll alert everything to our presence! Let’s at least get to open ground before we get ourselves trapped in here.” Paul turned to Scar, “can you take us to your village?”

Scar hesitated.

“Clearly we’re not with any of them!” Paul barked. “I’m not sure what more you need to hear to trust us.”

The Sasquatch watched as the pale forms scrabbled down the steep hill, moving from tree to tree, their long arms grappling and half-swinging, half-crawling from tree to tree. One by one, they dropped to the ground and continued their half-crouch toward the party.

Bill’s finger itched at the trigger.

“Flight or fight, everyone, can’t do neither.” Bill warned, his finger moving across the trigger. “You don’ choose, I’ll be choosin’ for th’ whole gang o’ us!”

Paul turned to Scar. “We need you to take us to your sanctuary - now! Otherwise, we’re about to fight every monster in this valley. You ready for that?”

The crawlers had moved even closer now, eyeing them from the dark trees.

Paul rounded on Scar. “You take us to that place or we start shooting.”

Raven crouched in her nook, claws at the ready. Paul stood at the base of the hill, axe brandished. Syth stood a little farther back, whip loose in his hand.

“Fine! Follow me!” Scar growled.

Evening of the Same Day, Elsewhere in Nahanni

Scar pushed aside a small bramble and dropped inside, beckoning the others to follow.

A small tunnel led deeper into the earth for a short distance before looping out to the edge of a cliff.

Paul peered out. “Is that the Nahanni River?”

Scar gazed out. “Part of it,” he didn’t say much more.

Paul gazed down.

Bill stepped up beside him. “No wonder he was able t’ track ya. Bet there’re caves all over the place like this.”

Scar seemed to give a look of begrudging admiration at the cowboy’s insight, then motioned them on. “Keep moving.”

Raven seemed on edge, her fur rising in small waves each time she brushed something.

“Ya ain’t sceered o’ the wind, are ya?” Bill teased.

“Shut up, you know I can’t stand being in someone else’s den! You can’t smell all that?”

Bill sniffed. “All I c’n smell is you an’ that big Squatch up there. Ya both smell like ye could use a deep cleanin’ with some Borax.”

Raven growled and took a swipe at his arm.

“This’s my good shirt!”

“Smells like an outhouse behind a gold mine.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, dogbreath.”

She swatted at him again. “Yeouch, girl. Knock it off!”

Scar rumbled. “Keep it down.”

“Ah, relax. River’ll cover up any noise we make.”

Scar pointed up. A series of holes rose through the ceiling. “Don’t want to reveal our location. These air holes run up through to various places on the surface. If any of our friends hear us, they’ll track us down. I bet those Pale Crawler things could even crawl down the cliff face and find a way in through our spy holes.”

Raven elbowed Bill in the side, then placed a claw to her lips with a silent laugh.

He pretended to threaten her with the back of his hand in return.

She cowered and stifled a laugh.

Paul chuckled at the silent banter and turned to Syth. “Why don’t we have a friendship like that?”

“Because I’m not a child,” Syth replied, trying to control the hitch in his step. “And because I’m I can’t pretend I’m your daughter.”

“You could try. I’m about a hundred years older than you.”

“On a technicality.”

“Pretty big technicality - getting tossed back in time.”

Syth seemed to chuckle mirthlessly. “Well, I’m not accepting applications for a new father. My parents failed quite profoundly.”

They padded along, watching the two exchange barbs and insults. Goat, meanwhile, trotted along behind, taking it all in.

And then there was Scar. He hulked his way through the tunnels, leading this way and that. Various chutes led off to either overlook the river or to head deeper into the cliffs, but their path seemed to always take them parallel to the waterway below.

Scar stopped. “Now, the dogman will be blinded.”

Bill let out a curse, “On mah grave.”

Scar held out a strip of cloth. “Wrap this around her eyes.” He then produced a small device, “and slide this around her nose so she can’t smell her way back.”

“I’m a dogman, not a dog.” She spat as she begrudgingly fasted the cloth around her eyes.

“I’ve had your kind track me several miles by scent.”

She muttered something in a deep growl and secured the device over her snout and nose. Her teeth instinctively twitched and bared.

“Follow.”

They turned deeper into the cliffs.

“Did you just feel the cold?”

Scar paused and turned back.

Paul stared up through one of the channels leading up through to the surface. Scar joined him.

“You felt cold?”

Paul nodded, “Coming down there here. I don’t feel it any more.”

Scar stared up. “We move silently from here on out. Watch me closely. I will not be responsible if you die.”

He wove his way down deeper and deeper into the earth, moving silently a way that didn’t seem possible for something of his size and bulk. But he moved breathlessly, not even the whisper of a noise, as if every sound was completely absorbed into him.

Hand to the right, then the left. Moving through openings in the wall that didn’t seem to have been there a moment earlier. Then crouching down through a slot in the floor, moving underneath the ground in ways incomprehensible.

Paul finally stopped.

Something shifted ahead of them.

A stone slid sideways and then down, forming a sort of ramp down into a lush, verdant plain.

Scar stepped down into the newly-exposed valley. Gases vented up from the ground, forming a sortof misty dew that covered the ground. Paul stepped down after him, then Bill, guiding Raven. Goat trotted down, keeping close to its master’s side. Scar half-stumbled down the ramp, refusing any help from Paul.

A broad, grassy plain stretched out before them. Redwoods as tall as they could see rose up toward the nearby cliffs, their tops lost in a mist that hung up near the peaks of the nearby ridges. Ferns, dense grasses, and moss clung to everything.

“Feels like we were just dropped back in California.”

Syth looked around, lost in the wonder of where they had just arrived. He ran his hand through the mist. “It’s beautiful.”

Bill drew his pistol, more on instinct than anything, gazing around, looking for open shots.

“Put the weapon away, human. Any threat you face here won’t go down with a bullet.”

“Took you down with one.”

Scar’s silent feet carried him forward. “I believe you humans have an expression ‘getting the drop on someone.’ You ‘got the drop’ on me. You won’t be so lucky in my realm.”

Bill reached over and began to unfasten Raven’s blindfold. Scar eyed him.

“I’m doin’ it. You got a problem?”

The Sasquatch strode forward. “Keep her contained.”

The muzzle slid free of her snout and she choked in a deep breath. “I’m not –!” She growled, then seemed to think better of trying to argue, and fell silent, casting a scowl at Scar’s retreating back. The Sasquatch, if he noticed at all, didn’t show it, plodding along through the misty forest, leading them deeper and deeper into his realm.

Paul tapped at one of the trees with his axe.

“They’re real, I can assure you that.” Scar observed without turning around.

Paul shouldered the blade and gave an appreciative whistle. “One of the few remaining stands of old growth forest.”

Bill chuckled and elbowed Paul. “Pretty dangerous bringin’ a retired lumberjack into yer forest. Might just relapse.”

“You’d know all about that!” Paul retorted.

“Yep!” Said Bill, patting a flask on his hip. “Quittin’s the easiest thing t’ do - done it forty-seven times!”

Raven snatched the flask away from his hip. “You said you stopped!”

He held up his hands. “Oh, don’ even pretend ya didn’t smell it on me!”

“I can’t make sense of the smells coming off you! You think I’d smell moonshine!?” She hurled the flask into the woods. “Get rid of that stuff!”

Bill’s normally collected features dropped in what appeared to be genuine distress as the flask sailed off into the dense fog of the forest. There was a slight clatter as it struck a tree.

He moved to retrieve it, casting a dirty look at Raven as he did.

“No.” Scar barked. “We stay on the trail. Leave it.”

Bill’s body showed he was considering an act of disobedience, but he yielded. He’d angered the Sasquatch enough in the last few weeks.

“Yer buyin’ me a new flask.”

“To put water in? Sure.” Raven replied with a scowl.

“You humans talk too much.”

“Oh, so now I’m a human.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Scar growled. “You have your own issues.”

Bill reached for his flask, remembered it was gone, and frowned. “Well, we’s just tryin’ to the bottom of whatever’s haunting this place an’ you attacked us. So, this is all yer fault, if ya think about it.”

Paul brushed his hand along the bark of one of the redwoods. “How is this here?”

Scar trekked on. “Just up here. Keep your mouths shut and let me talk.”

They stepped from the forest into… more forest.

Paul looked around, confused.

“This is your sanctuary?”

“Git lost, or somethin’?”

“I said, be quiet.” Scar replied.

Raven sniffed at the air. “You burn campfires?”

Scar began to turn to bark at her, then paused. He sniffed the air. “No…” He trailed off.

“Wait, that’s not a campfire…”

“Someone’s burning the forest.”

Scar shook his head. “That can’t be. No one could generate that level of heat…”

Raven sniffed. “Feral.”

“What?”

“The Feral have found this place.”

Scar looked over, his broad face now a masque of confusion.

“Feral are uncontrolled dogmen,” Raven translated, “they’ve given in to everything that makes them powerful, but have given up everything that makes them even remotely human. Most don’t even have the ability of sane speech anymore.”

One lunged from the forest, fire blazing behind it.

Scar planted an uppercut, snapping the beast back. “We have to contain the flames!”

Syth flexed his wings, giving a few practice beats.

“Don’t even try, Syth!” Paul cried, drawing out his axe.

The dogmen closed in from several sides. Paul swiped with his axe, missing. The beast leaped around, taking a swipe at his flank, only to be driven back by a well-placed shot through the paw.

Raven dropped instantly into a crouch and leapt onto the nearest of her kin, dropping it onto its back and burying her maw into its throat before it could react. Blood sprayed as she wrenched back, tearing out a broad section of the windpipe. She let out a howl, and the other dogmen stopped, cowed by her presence.

She dropped again into a sort-of crouch and stalked toward the next. It hesitated, stepping back away from her. Her fangs dripped red, her claws the same. Though slender and lithe, every bit of her was muscled strength. She’d grown lean adventuring alongside Bill. These were Feral, brute beasts that had either grown emaciated eeking out a living in the wastes or letting their instincts dull.

Raven pounced on another as it hesitated, and without a single warning, tore into its throat as well. She lifted her bloody maw and barked out at them in their own language, daring them to defy her.

They balked, backing slightly, then vanished, leaving their dead and dying comrades behind.

“They were weak,” she growled. “Sent to kill themselves burning the forest.”

Paul stomped on the flames that had attempted to catch on the damp earth. “Fools. Why throw away the element of surprise on something like that?”

Raven turned the corpse of the one Scar had punched. It was clearly dead, its neck hanging limply to the side. “These aren’t just weak - they’ve been held in some sort of prison for some time. No wonder they went down without a fight and fled so quickly. None of my kin would have yielded that quickly - especially in a pack.”

The fur along its body barely covered several large, mangy scars. The skin had worn away around the wrists and neck, leaving large rashes.

“Barbaric.”

“They deserve no better after what they did to my people.”

Raven’s claws dug into the soil.

“Keep your nose active. We need to find out whether there are more of these beasts around.”

Raven slowly stood, shaking the bloody dirt from her claws.

“Easy, girl. We have a common enemy right now.”

She bristled at Bill’s words and was about to bite back when Syth placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Be at peace,” he said. “Let it play out.”

Paul looked towards Scar. “So, where are you people?”

“Gone. There was a colony here. It’s been driven off.”

“By the dogmen?”

“It’s been weeks since they were here. Could’ve been anything.”

Scar stepped up a nearby tree, then vanished inside.

Bill pointed. “All ya see that, right?”

Paul tapped on the surface with his axe. “It’s solid.”

“Illusions,” Raven said. “We use them to hide our prisons. Invisible and impossible to enter unless you know what you’re looking for.”

“Illusions don’t typically work on me.” Paul said.

“There are older things in this world than fairy magic.”

Scar reappeared. “All gone, even Alma.”

“Your… warden?”

“Yes, the representative leader of my people.”

“See, even Sasquatch ‘ave a democracy!”

“She comes from our world to lead our forces. She represents the power of our homeland.”

“Then what’s happened to her?”

“She said the were exposed, and she was falling back toward the hotsprings.”

“How far?”

“Several miles.”

A Day Later, Hot Springs, Nahanni Sanctuary

The hotsprings flowed from a rise of ground lifting up from the surroundings. Mineral-rich water flowed down, leaving yellows and blue and browns in its wake. Scar knelt, examining a patch of claw marks. Begrudgingly, he turned to Raven. “Your people?”

She placed a paw down next to one of the prints, then withdrew it. “Feral, yes.”

“Several weeks old.” Bill interjected. “Came through here, heading in this direction.”

Scar traced a strange print in the sand. It was human-shaped, but a little smaller. 

“Is there a human with them?”

“No,” he replied.

Paul examined the print. “But this looks exactly like a human print - a teenager at the oldest.”

“It’s not a human.”

They followed the prints a while longer, tracing down and around the warm hot springs.

“Blood.”

Scar stepped over, muscling Raven out of the way. He knelt, his finger splaying out along the ground as he made some comparisons.

Goat sniffed at the stains, then wandered away, giving a little shake.

Raven brushed her fur where Scar had nudged her away. “Goat only reacts like that to tainted blood, so unless your people are corrupted, that’s the blood of a Feral.”

Scar scowled down at her.

“As is fitting.”

Goat licked some blood closer to the forest.

“That belongs to your people,” she spat.

Scar didn’t spare her a glance. He strode to the edge of the hot springs barrenness, where some scrubby trees had attempted to grow, and traced out a print in the soil - a print filled with blood. Then another print - this one the small, human-sized one again.

Raven gazed around, spotting several snapped branches, some sporting fur of various shades - none of which she had seen any of her people sport - her’s ran either dark or white, none of the reddish shades present here. She gestured to Bill, motioning for him to point it out.

“‘Ey, Big Guy. Wha’s this?”

Scar scowled, his gaze passing between the two. He strode toward the branches. “She pass through here.”

“Alma?” Paul asked.

Scar nodded.

“With a child?” Syth’s voice rumbled through their minds.

Scar rounded.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. A big Bigfoot is a big human, so in the company of its elders, then a small Bigfoot would be human sized.”

“So Alma is fleeing with her child, or someone else’s?”

Scar didn’t respond.

Syth spoke again. “It’s your child, isn’t it. And she’s your mate.”

Raven sniffed the ground.

“Not a word, dogman.” Scar warned.

Bill knelt by the prints this time. “These dogmen are similar in size to the ones we dealt with back at your first settlement. Either same ones or there are roaming bands from the same pack.”

Raven sniffed, eyeing Scar disdainfully. “They’re the same. They pursued through here, then rounded back to try to burn down the forest - too far gone to understand the foolishness of their action.”

Scar eyed the prints. “They’ve been trapped here for weeks, probably. There’s no natural game to be found, so they’re starting to starve.”

Raven nodded. “Starving and wounded - not a good combination.”

“Never follow a wounded beast into its den.” Bill observed. “Desperation and pain makes for a deadly combination.”

Paul stood a short distance away - never a good tracker, but it was pretty obvious which direction they’d gone. “Over here.”

“More blood. More prints.”

“If these’re weeks old…” Bill observed.

“Hush.” Raven replied.

Scar and Paul were on the other side of the bubbling pools, following the stains and prints. Most had worn away by now, but a few easily-discernible patterns still emerged.

Bill pointed at the ground, crouching. “What do you smell?”

“I smell fear.”

“Still? After all this time?”

She nodded. “Potent, the scent of a parent with a child.”

They followed the path the best they could to Paul and Scar. The two large-than-life beings stood over a set of small prints that suddenly diverged from the larger - heading off to the left while the larger headed off to the right.

“You choose, we’ll be with you. These prints are weeks old, so we’re not rescuing, we’re recovering at this point.”

Scar’s body quivered slightly, but otherwise portrayed no emotion - no revelation as to how he felt one way or the other. It was as if no matter which choice he made, he would be broken at the end of the trail. His gaze followed the large prints to the right and the smaller to the left. The smaller prints, mostly worn away by now, seemed to pause and circle back before the larger prints returned, walking with the smaller for a short while.

Scar knelt. “And here’s where she tried to erase the prints - leaf fall protected them longer than possible, but those leaves got blown away.”

Bill stepped up and crouched for a moment. “Beasts followed the mom.”

“And where did the baby go?”

“Up there. Looks like the mom got little one up in them trees then rushed off that way. Raven?”

She nodded, then stepped back without a glance at Scar.

Syth stood back a ways, arms folded, watching the proceedings. He half-suspected that he was invisible to several of the members of his group.

Raven stepped up beside him.

“The child is…”

“...his. Yes.” Replied Syth.

“You sensed it, too?”

Syth nodded. “He shows a concern deeper than just someone looking out for one of his kind. She’s obviously a mate and the child is obviously theirs.”

“I could tell by the scent.”

“Can you track the child?”

“I could, if he’d let me. He doesn’t trust my intentions.”

“Fool.”

Paul and Scar were deep in discussion. Bill examined something on the ground, and pointed back and forth between the tree and the ground.

“How’re the wings?”

“Still sore.”

Raven sniffed the air, her brows creaking.

“What?”

She turned to the distant ledges. They were occluded in fog, but there was something about it…

“Something up there?” Syth turned and gazed up at the barely-visible ridge.

“It’s more of a… feeling…”

“What kind?”

“Of being watched.”

Something shuffled nearby, catching their eye. The pressure dissipated.

Syth turned to Raven. “Was that?”

She nodded. “Watchers.”

“Why are they here?”

She shook her head. “We never figured it out. The only way we could escape was using an abandoned fairy circle - thankfully Paul had the amulet needed to access it.”

Syth pondered this. “I wonder… do Lemurians need to use the fairy circles?”

Raven looked at him sideways. “Lemurian?”

Syth nodded. “Long story. They’re the ones who made the fairy realm in the first place. They live in California.”

Raven laughed - a remarkably sweet laugh for one with such an intimidating form. “You say that so calmly, like it’s just another day.”

“Well?” Syth replied, “Isn’t it? Look at us - a devil and a werewolf trapped in a secret glade in a cursed valley, hunting Bigfoot.”

She swatted his arm in pretend offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m no werewolf.” She laughed again. “I guess weird is just what you’re used to.”

The hot springs hissed and bubbled around them, rolling out more steam and vapor into the atmosphere. The cliffside began to vanish behind the clouds. 

“We should tell the others - maybe they’ll know more about the Watchers.” Raven paused. “They’re gone.”

Syth looked up. “They went after the young one. Let’s see if we can figure out what the Watchers are doing here. We’ll connect with them later.”

He crouched and scrawled a message in the sand.

“How will that help?”

“Paul and I have a series of codes we leave when we’re separated,” Syth replied, using his long finger to continue to scribble the message, “he’ll know what to do when he finds this.”

Syth stood.

“Can you smell anything else in the valley? Anything that would hint at where the other dogmen came from?”

She sniffed the air. “I can’t smell much here - the sulfur and other chemicals. Maybe if I get to a place that’s clearer?”

Syth nodded, scrawled one more line on his message, then stood. “Lead on.”

Paul pushed through the brush, Scar at his heels. Bill crouched and examined the tracks. “Raven, I need you to look at somethin–.” He stood. “Where’d she go?”

Paul looked behind them. “She must not have seen us leave.”

Scar shouldered past. “We don’t have time to wait. She doesn’t want to help, let’s keep going.”

He paused at the print in question. “The child came down at this point, then returned back up into the tree - broken branch there, small tuft of fur from her - from its forearm there.”

Paul and Bill exchanged glances.

At least there wasn’t any blood… yet.

Bill followed Scar’s gaze.

“What color is the child?”

“A reddish color.”

“This fur is black.”

Large fingers pinched it and pulled it down.

Paul let the two trackers follow the paths. He watched as the sadness seemed to creep over Scar.

“Are you all right?”

Scar snarled. “I’m fine. I’m just trying to track down my people.”

They moved on in silence for several more strides, the soft leaves and detritus dampening any noise. The smell of the redwoods filled their nostrils. Despite the strain, Paul could see the tension - or at least what he thought was tension - roiling through Scar’s body. “I lost a child,” he said, finally. “I know the fear of following small prints into the woods, not knowing what’ll be on the other end.” 

Snarl. “Don’t try to comfort me, human.”

Paul sighed and turned to Bill. “Anything else? Any other signs of where she went.”

“There.”

A small trail of broken branches led off to the right.

“Trying to get back to the mother?” Paul asked.

“Prob’ly jus’ panicking and running.”

“And what would you do differently?” Scar retorted.

Bill stood to full height. “We havin’ a problem?”

Paul placed a large hand on each of the men’s shoulders. “Easy. We need to find that child.”

Scar huffed, his face dropping into a scowl, and shoved Paul’s hand from his shoulder. “Keep your hands off me, human.”

He shouldered his way forward, following the trail of broken branches leading deeper into the grove. The smell of damp earth and rotting logs met them as they clambered up and over fallen trees and through banks of ferns. A light fog rolled around them.

“‘S gettin’ cooler. Night must be comin.”

“Hard to tell with all this cloud cover.”

Scar muscled along silently. Any logs he couldn’t move out of the way, he clambered over, following the path forward, pausing every now and again to trace the child’s path, which continued ever off toward the path the mother had taken.

The diffuse light that made up most of the atmosphere began to dwindle.

Scar gazed up. “We need to hurry.”

Bill scoffed. “We’re trackin’ a quarry from weeks ago. This ain’t the easiest thing in the world, ya know.”

Paul felt the hope, for lack of a better expression, but he also knew the despair. He remembered the loss of his own son centuries earlier when he had wandered off into the ice and snow. Paul had learned some tracking leading up to that point, but none of what he’d learned was good enough for him to track a child through fresh snowfall. After days of searching, he’d found him…

If he’d gotten to him two days earlier, when he’d first gone missing… if he’d been a better tracker… if he’d been watching when the door was left open…

He’d tormented himself for decades - probably a normal lifetime - over it.

Then, though the ache still lingered to this day, he’d forced himself to move on. He’d lost so many since then. His wife, his other children had all died of old age. Every friend, every companion, every acquaintance. With rare exception, every living person on earth had lived and died twice since he was born.

And here was a Sasquatch desperately hunting a lost child.

Paul placed a firm hand on Scar’s shoulder. This time, Scar couldn’t shake it free.

“Sit.” Paul commanded.

Scar looked defiant.

“Sit.”

Scar obeyed, settling himself down on a nearby log, his breaths coming heavily.

“We are going to rest so we don’t miss crucial details. Between you and Bill, we’ll track the child down and find out wherever she went.”

Scar’s broad hands opened and closed in irritation.

“You need to prepare yourself for two things - both of which require rest.”

“Yeah, and what are those?”

“You need to understand that we may find more dogmen and be forced to fight or we may find her. You need to be ready for whatever that entails.” Paul said, leaning on the broad handle of his axe.

He remembered finding the body - cold, still holding a straw figure of a man Paul had carved for him, no doubt hoping to be found. Paul remembered that little face, and the hole it wrenched through his heart. He chuckled sadly to himself. Almost three hundred years later, and just thinking about it still broke him…

“What if?”

Some of the most dangerous words ever spoken - they’d broken so many men… they’d broken him for a long time… and now, no doubt, they were running through Scar’s head in whatever form his language understood them.

Paul felt the calluses on his hands with the tips of his fingers.

The Sasquatch stood and paced.

“Sit.” He barked.

The Sasquatch paused.

Paul eyed him, then pointed to the log. “You need your rest, and you need to recoup. Sit.”

“You don’t know me, human.”

“I know enough.” Paul replied as the cool of night settled over them. “I know you’re a fighter who doesn’t quit and who wears that attitude on your very skin.” Paul turned his hands upward, showing his palms, weathered and scarred from years of work. “I’m much the same, and while I don’t know a lot, I know not all injuries stay on the flesh.” He clenched his large fists and reached for his axe’s handle, using it as a prop to stand fully upright. “If you’re going to face down what’s coming tomorrow, you need rest.” He placed a foot on the stump and leaned over to be on face level with Scar. “There are things tomorrow I can help you face, but that child will need you at full strength - and I can’t help you with that.”

Scar begrudgingly agreed.

Paul plucked up his axe and strode to Bill, where he sat, petting the head and spines of the chupacabra.

“Nice work.”

Paul chuckled. “I’ve been in his shoes… well, you know what I mean.”

“Big shoes. I wonder’f he could fit in yers.”

“Maybe,” Paul said with a laugh, settling down beside Bill on the log.

“Yer a big man with a big heart.”

“And you’re a small man…” Paul joked, trailing off intentionally.

Bill spun the cylinder on his revolver. “Watch it, ‘r ye’ll get a big hole in yer big stupid head,” he replied with a laugh.

The two sat for a moment longer, watching as Scar settled in finally, leaning on his elbow and shoulder, curling his arm up over his chest, then resting down. A large hand folded up under his head as a sort of pillow.

Bill soon popped his hat down over his face and leaned against Goat, wagging his finger in warning. “You so much as poke me and I’ll break them fangs out.” Soon, they were both asleep.

Paul yawned and watched the sleeping Sasquatch stir in his sleep.

He eased himself down onto the soft ground and propped himself up on a broken tree. He felt the pains of the day slowly ease out of his legs as he loosened his boots, wiggling his toes to try to wake them up. These weeks of travel had made his feet start to swell.

He groaned and pried his boots free, setting them down on the ground. He slowly pulled his socks free, setting them out on a log as he rummaged for new ones. Something about the feeling of clean socks - he didn’t get that feeling too often these days.

A low fog began to roll through the forest, coming from the direction of the hot springs.

He slid the socks on, picked at a spot of dirt on his pants, and stretched once more before pulling his boots back on. He laced them up and stood. The dirty socks would sit on the log for the moment. He could grab them on the way back. He stepped back onto the trail, looking back the way they had come. No sign of Syth or Raven.

Raven was a master tracker and Syth could find him if he really wanted to. Whatever reason they had for separating from the group - it was a good one. He’d see them when they were done, otherwise, he’d just backtrack to those hot springs and look for a message. He and Syth had an agreement to always return to the last place they had seen each other - that’s how they’d communicate.

He rolled his shoulder and hefted his axe, taking a few practice swings at a nearby tree, but refusing to actually bite into it. At this juncture, they couldn’t afford to draw any more attention than just moving through the forest would.

Something flickered in the darkness, just beyond the lines of the fog. A dancing, spiraling flash of orange and yellow, tinged with white.

Something scrabbled in the dark - tall, pale forms moved just on the edge of his view, passing in and out of the fogbank. Paul watched. Shadows a little taller than him, only accentuated by some sort of eerie backlight, shifted and morphed. Something was carrying a flame?

A figure dropped out of the shadows, taking a swipe at his face. It was tall and elven, its features identical to the crawlers that had escaped with him from the fairy realm so long ago. Its claws, stained with blood from who-knows-what, just barely missed his cheek. He ducked back, raising his axe.

The next blow pinged harmlessly off his axe head.

A creature lunged onto his back from behind, claws closing around his broad neck from behind. He felt the flesh on his neck giving way as razor claws dug into it. His head wrenched backwards. A sharp clawed hand, held like a spear, swung toward his exposed throat.

“Nraaaah!” He cried, lurching forward at the last minute. The spear hand jabbed through his cheek instead, but the sudden movement launched the creature forward, smashing it against a nearby tree. Paul spun, scraping the flesh off of him and raising his arm as another creature leapt, cutting down at him with another claw.

Paul parried the blow with his axe, using it as a bludgeon to catch the creature in the face, knocking it back several feet, rounding on another that was trying to sneak up on him, then returning to the original attack.

One swift chop, a backhand, a recovery of the lodged blade, and another chop ended those two.

Paul clutched his throat, waiting for another to drop, but they moved into the shadows again.

He plucked up a body. It was tall - slightly taller than he was. Its body was long and irregular - arms nearly too long by half, its neck extended a few extra vertebrae worth, its legs a bit longer but torso shorter. Its eyes were large and almost vampire-looking, dark pupils with no trace of white. These creatures were nocturnal - had been for quite some time.

Their pale skin vanished into the surrounding fog. Had there not been a torch somewhere in that assembly, he could have never seen them appear.

Something stirred just beyond - the flame bearer approached.

A Lemurian!

Paul readied the axe. “What are you doing here?”

“Good evening to you, Mr. Bunyan,” came the overly polite response, “what brings you here, is what I could ask as well.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Paul spat. “Were those creatures yours?”

“A little project, if you will. I’m seeing how they handle life outside the realm.”

“You know full well they’re already in this realm - have been for decades.”

“I know nothing of the sort. These wayward souls are suffering from prolonged exposure to the fairy realm’s toxins. None have escaped the realm, for they were my own kind once, and could come and go as they pleased. These, regrettably, became imprisoned and were unable to flee to another realm, and thus were corrupted.”

“You’re telling me those are your people?”

“Of course. They were tasked with guarding various sites around your world, with very clear instructions to return to Telos on a regular basis. These went missing a generation ago, and I’ve only just located and freed them. You will forgive them if they’ve gone a bit… stir crazy - is that the expression you humans use?”

Paul shook his head. “Why are you here?”

“Why, this is a Lemurian sanctuary,” the elven being replied, holding out his arms. “This is where we contain and harvest our resonant crystals. The great Ger’maine found this place while looking for a suitable location for Telos, but only the magnetic anomalies of what you call Shasta would allow us to settle our realm safely. This ‘fairy realm’ is a bubble created across the surface of your world, sustained by crystals mined from this very valley, monitored from this site.”

“So the Watchers?”

“Oh, the wardens in the valley? Yes, they are guards to make sure nothing escapes without our notice.”

“And these crawlers?”

“Just fallen Lemurians,” replied the elf, in his melodious, almost sing-song voice. “On the way to recovery.”

Paul watched as the being slowly plucked up the bodies of the dead, vanishing them with nary a wink. Soon, like a shepherd leading a strange, corrupted flock, the Lemurian strode away, taking the vicious creatures with him.

Paul felt the stinging pain of the wound rise in his neck.

Bill stirred. “Boy, what ‘appened t’ you? Yer covered in blood!”

Paul nodded, wobbling now that the adrenaline began to subside.

“Crawlers attacked.”

“Where are they now?”

“Lemurian… showed up.” Paul groaned, settling down on a log. “Said they were fallen Lemurians who spent too much time in the fairy realm and became those things.”

“A Lemurian? Those alien things you met with in Shasta?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. This is apparently their land.”

Scar stirred. “What happened?”

“Our big guy was attacked by elves.”

“Elves? What kind of elves?”

Paul shrugged. “There are more than one? They have always called themselves Lemurians. I’m not sure.”

“Lemuria?” Scar repeated, confused. “Lemuria’s been destroyed for centuries - maybe millenia.”

“So I’ve heard,” Paul replied, holding a cloth to his neck while Bill examined the gash on his cheek. “Friend of yours?”

“Hardly,” spat Scar. “Exploitative monsters.”

“Aren’t you from the fairy realm?”

Scar eyed Bill with incredulity. “What would we have to do with this ‘fairy realm’? We don’t need it and we don’t use it. Why do you think we destroyed every portal into that realm we found?”

“I assumed they were moving troops under the Lemurian’s noses.”

“Those are Lemurian troops,” Scar replied.

“But this valley, he said it belonged to the Lemurians, that they harvested their crystals here.”

Scar’s face dropped into a scowl. “We need to leave this place.”

This time, Paul didn’t argue. Too many pieces were moving, too many forces were mustering across this place. They needed to find Alma and the child.

Scar muscled his way down the path, the tight tree cover barely hindering his mass. Occasionally, Bill would call out a direction, and they’d migrate in that direction for a while. About an hour after encountering the Lemurian, they began to see the diffuse rays of light that heralded the return of the sun.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, burning away the last vestiges of the fog, they finally arrived at a clearing, lined with redwoods on all sides. In its center was a circle of sticks, surrounded by a ring of mushrooms.

“That what it seems to be?” Paul asked.

Bill nodded. “Not like any I’ve seen… but it’s a gate.”

Paul sighed. “Exactly like the one in the Pine Barrens.”

“Then that means?”

Bill crouched. “Child went there.”

“But we can’t access that realm.”

“Then someone took her in.”

Scar exchanged glanced with the two men. “Took her in?”

Bill tapped at his chest, where he kept his amulet. “Raven cannot enter or exit that ol’ realm if not physically touchin’ me. She ain’t native and has none of these items. Goat ‘ere can come an’ go as he pleases. It’s his land. Yah said yer not from the fairy realm?”

“No,” replied Scar. “We have nothing to do with it.”

“That’s too bad, cuz that means yer little one was stolen.”

Scar stared across the field, the prints of the child still evident in some of the softer patches of loam. “How could this be?”

Bill pointed. “Yer valley’s been overrun an’ your people have scattered. It’s clear the little one came here fleein’ those dogmen and had a choice - face ‘em or go with whoever dragged ‘er to that realm.”

“I won’t enter,” Scar insisted.

“Wait! These prints are fresh, the child was just here.” Bill exclaimed

“But the ones farther back were from weeks ago!” Paul replied.

Scar seemed unsure of himself. “We leave it; we go to find Alma.”

“And she has a way in?” Paul asked.

Bill strode toward the gateway, looking for some sign of the child.

“No.”

“Then searching for her would do no good. We have to go in after the child.”

“I will not taint myself with that place.”

“Then stay here and watch to make sure no one follows.”

Scar paused, as if considering this.

Bill seemed to anticipate the response, but Paul interjected first. “You know she won’t trust anyone but you. You have no choice. If you want to save your daughter, you enter with us.”

“Don’ bother denyin’ it, Sasquatch.” Bill replied before Scar could respond.

Scar grumbled and stepped toward the portal.

A howl tore the night.

Elsewhere in the sanctuary, previous evening

Syth and Raven stood on a ridge overlooking the valley. Large cliffs rose up behind them. The scents they had followed - seemingly days old despite the prints being weeks’ old - had led them up here, or at least near here. Raven sniffed. “I think it’s down below us somehow.”

Syth shrugged. “You have the scent; I don’t smell a thing.”

Something flickered far below them, off toward the hot springs and the dense forest beyond them.

“There,” Raven said, pointing. Shadowy figures moved far below them, holding some sort of flame. “Does that look like a torch to you?”

Syth shook his head. “Looks like a free-floating ball.”

Raven eyed it. “How is that possible?”

“Are you familiar with the will-o-wisp?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all I can think of.”

“Then what and who is it leading astray?” she asked.

Syth shrugged. “No idea.”

“But you do see movement down there?”

Syth nodded. “Yes. Several forms. Are they dogmen?”

“They don’t smell like it… too much fairy realm on them. I can smell it from here.” She scrunched her nose.

“Are you sure it is not the residue on your fur?”

She elbowed him. “I bathe, you cur.”

Syth raised his hands. “I just meant that you and Bill have spent so much time in that realm - couldn’t it rub off?”

“Yes, and it rubs back off,” she said with a smile.

“We have a friend who lost his memory by spending too much time in there, then began to fade away himself.”

“That’s terrible! What did you do?”

“We were given an amulet that anchored his form to our realm.”

“How did that work?”

Syth shook his head. “The elf who invented the fairy realm apparently still has some secrets.”

The strange fireball floated down below.

Something seemed to shift as the orb floated out over the hot springs. It truly was just floating on its own power.

Then a flurry of shadows burst underneath it, and began to rush straight in their direction.

Syth scowled.

“I see them,” Raven growled, low in her throat. “Coming right at us.”

“And they probably aren’t coming to shake our hands.”

“Or claws.”

“Shall we show them what we can do?”

“I think it’s our moral obligation.”

Something rolled ahead of the beasts, a wave of… something. A low growling rumble - sound, but lower than sound. Syth felt his insides tweak. He always imagined this is what the people of that town felt as he terrorized them, night on end, trapped between him and the deadly spiders.

“A wave of… fear?”

He felt his nerves attempting to shake it off, but his pulse quickened uncontrollably. He could feel his hands clenching and unclenching. He scowled down at these monsters, his tail flicking with irritation.

Raven seemed uncertain, invigorated, even.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“I don’t know. You don’t hear that?”

“The growling?”

“Something lower than a growl - it’s rumbling my very bones. I can’t explain it.”

Raven looked up, then her teeth bared, her whiskers plastering back along with her ears. Hair rose along her hackles.

“Fear.”

Then the first of the pack struck them. They were strong - far stronger than the emaciated beasts the crew had fought to a standstill yesterday. These were hale, and virile, with muscle bulging and fur shimmering.

“They’re feeding well,” Raven observed, rearing up and slashing. “But that means I’m feeding well.”

Syth froze in place, unsure of what to do. He felt his fingers hesitating, the blades opening and closing along his wings.

A sharp claw to his face broke him out of his revelry, and he staggered, wings flaring to keep him from toppling. He rounded on his assailant as it reared up for another blow.

The wave of fear was now replaced with a hot anger that roiled over him.

The blades burst from his wings and he drove forward, impaling the dogman through the chest and stomach. It roared and flailed, catching Syth in the shoulder and the tender membrane along the bottom of the wing.

He growled back and hoisted the beast into the air, impaled between his spikes, and used his wings’ full strength to rip - the body tore in two with an explosion of gore, and the two halves flopped sideways.

Then the new wave of fear crashed into him - physical in its strength. He staggered, blocking it - as if he could - with his torn wing. A claw entered the membrane and shredded downward, leaving a gaping windowed ribbon of bleeding black flesh in its wake.

Syth staggered, pain raging through him.

He punched at the beast, feeling a dizzy haze rumble over him.

Raven cried out as a claw lanced across her back. She dropped with a cry.

Another creature vaulted up the path and lunged. She rolled free as a handful of claws slashed the ground, leaving a splash of blood a clutch of hair in its wake.

She rose against a blow from behind and dove on Syth, tackling him to the ground as a blow came from behind, just barely missing him, and the two cascaded down the ledge and toward the verdant valley below.

Something snapped in Syth’s wing - one of the finger bones caught awkwardly and dislocated, another stretch of membrane snagged and tore free.

They came to a stop at the base of the hill.

“In here, quick!” She growled, rising, and dragging him into a small hollow at the base of the cliff.

Syth felt a claw dig into his shoulder, and his body was physically dragged into the darkness.

They lay silent for a moment as the beasts scoured the hillside.

The word “flask” rumbled down to them, a lot of snuffing and snorting.

“Fear… can’t smell. Too much.”

“This way!”

Syth lay as pain washed over him. They had followed Raven’s scent on the flask to here! That’s how they knew where they were.

“That was stupid,” Raven growled. “Now, I’ve put them all in danger.”

Syth pulled himself upright and took his bearings. “Where - where are we?”

“In a root-ball, apparently,” Raven replied.

Syth coughed and straightened his wing, snapping the finger bone back into place. Lances of pain shot through him - he felt it in the nerves of his back - it radiated through his head. Flashing.

He groaned and gently probed at the membrane.

“Ah… it had just healed,” he groaned. “What was that?”

Raven leaned forward, delicately probing at the scars down her back. The fur was matted and smeared with gore. “That feeling?” She asked.

Syth nodded.

“Fear.”

“I don’t feel fear,” Syth replied. Not exactly the truth, but close enough.

“This is something special that the Feral produce,” she replied, dabbing at the wound, wincing as she did. She’d need to get it stitched. “It rumbles just under what a human can hear, and scrambles their ability to think. Then, they feed on the fear produced. Some Feral we’ve tracked don’t even kill their prey, they just terrorize and feed on the energy produced.”

“So the ones we fought off in the woods?”

“No fear, no food.” She nodded.

“But didn’t you and Bill fight off a whole pack of Feral?”

She nodded. “We don’t tend to use it on each other, since any dogman can feed on fear - and fear is fear,” she replied, “so if they’re feeding on it, so am I. And as for Bill?” She laughed, wincing. “He’s too bullheaded to be scared - I don’t think the sound has any effect on him.”

Syth shifted into a more comfortable position. “So, what do we do now? We obviously can’t fight them.”

Raven turned and gazed deeper into the tunnel. “We could explore. Their attention is elsewhere. I also need to get this stitched up.” She turned her back to him, long, ragged gashes visible even in this light.

Syth stretched out his wing, then thought better. “Same. I don’t think I have much that’ll do the trick, though.”

The cavern stretched back a ways into the hillside.

“I can never enjoy the open air anymore,” Syth griped. “I have wings for a reason.”

“I love these tunnels,” Raven replied with an almost-purr. “Reminds me of where I grew up, back when things were simple. Back before the Feral were released.”

The tunnel closed a little tighter, forcing them to crouch as they navigated the darkness.

“Smell anything?”

Raven turned. “No. You?”

“No, but I can sense that there’s something up ahead. It seems… familiar.”

“Familiar?”

“Not sure…”

The tunnel widened as they crept around the large root of an old tree. Syth ran his fingers along its hard, bark-like exterior. “A root this low? Where’s the tree?”

Raven ran her claws along it. “Definitely a root. This doesn’t make sense.”

They crawled through a strange loop of root-like tissue and into a broad underground cavern. A waterfall roared down from somewhere across the way, lost in the darkness. Strange lights shimmered and sparkled here and there, illuminating the area like tiny stars.

Dim shadows moved far below.

Syth limped forward, allowing his night sight to accommodate him to the darkness. He could finally see that waterfall - it was hundreds of feet tall - cascading down into the valley below. Large… trees, it seemed, rose up from the valley floor, stretching up into the darkness. A low mist hung over everything, rising up from the ground below, cascading ethereally from the wall-caverns and dripping down into the gloom far below. 

Raven gaped. “What is this place? It can’t possibly exist underneath Nahanni!”

Syth shook his head. “It doesn’t seem real.”

Raven stepped forward, gently placing a paw onto the stones jutting from the mouth of the cave. A crude staircase - broad and wide - had been carved into the side of the cliff, and though the fog was lightly dusting its surface, they could still see just enough to take the next few steps.

The stairs wound down into the darkness, and they soon found themselves several hundred feet below their entrance tunnel, standing among giant trees.

“Redwoods shouldn’t grow like this.”

Raven shook her head. “I wouldn’t think anything could grow like this.”

“What are you doing here, dogman?” Syth and Raven turned. A large Sasquatch stood, her form clearly showing signs of exhaustion and irritation in equal parts. She scowled at them. “Did you come to finish the job? I smell Scar on you. What have you done to him?”

Syth spread his wings. “We mean you no harm.”

“Get out of my head, demon.”

“I am no demon. And this is how I communicate. We are explorers who were attacked by Feral dogmen and fled in here for safety.”

“You led them to our last sanctuary? I’ll crush you both for this.”

“Alma?” Syth asked.

The Sasquatch paused. “Who told you that name?”

“Scar. He’s alive and tracking the child. We were separated and ended up here.”

“How can I trust you?”

Raven turned her back, exposing the long claw marks. “My own kind did this. Recognize those marks?”

“All too well,” the female Sasquatch replied, showing a wound down her shoulder and toward her left arm. It had mostly healed, but the hair hadn’t grown in yet. “So, there are dogmen fighting the others?” She replied, raising an eyebrow ridge in an approximation of human incredulity.

Syth nodded. “Yes. We’ve been fending them off for weeks. We were hoping to reconnect with you in this valley.”

“So Scar brought you here?”

Raven nodded.

“You lie. He would never!”

“We didn’t have a choice!” Raven barked. “We were being hunted by something called a ‘Yeti.’”

“What’s that?” Alma snapped. “You were chased by a ‘what’?”

“A Yeti.”

“Liars.”

“How would we make up something like that?” Syth interjected, stretching out a shredded wing. “And why would we hurt ourselves in order to deceive you?”

Alma seemed to consider what he said. “You smell of Scar, but also of humans.”

“Do you have a problem with humans?”

“I don’t know.” She challenged, “you with the one that stole away my child and sicced a pack of Dogmen after me? Or are you with those cursed Lemurians scouting this whole area like they own it?”

“Neither,” Syth replied.

“Don’t lie. I can smell the presence of that cursed fairy realm on you.”

“I haven’t seen a living Lemurian in years.” Syth replied, “And even that was accidental.”

Alma paced around them. “And what’s your story, dogman?”

Raven shrugged. “I escaped California when they tried to kill me.”

“Escaped, how?”

“By using a friend to enter the fairy realm.”

“So you are allied with the Lemurians.”

“No. We work on our own, we just use their portals to travel safer.”

Alma considered this. “And you as well travel with a human?”

“Yes,” Syth replied. “We both do.”

Alma folded her arms. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. Where is Scar and where is my child?”

“Scar traveled through the forest after leaving the hot springs. That’s the direction your child went.”

“Don’t imagine I don’t already know that.”

“We followed your scent to a cliffside, when we were attacked. We found a cave entrance that led to hear.”

“You are fortunate. Most of the caverns lead nowhere. Very few enter this realm.”

She watched them for a moment longer. 

“Let me see your injuries.”

Syth obeyed, holding out his wings. She ran her hands along them and the flesh slowly melded back together, sealing in small membranous scars that were just slightly thinner than the surrounding flesh.

“How did you…?”

“You next, dogman.”

Raven turned her back, and felt the itch as flesh slowly knitted together.

Alma stepped back. “That will stop the bleeding at least.”

“How did you do that?”

“You seem an intelligent sort, dark one,” She replied, folding her long arms across her chest. “What do you think?”

Raven sniffed the air.

“Don’t ruin the surprise, dogman.” Alma warned.

Raven turned to Syth. He seemed lost in thought, comparing all the things they had seen. “Those prints were weeks old, yet the smell still lingered - far too fresh.”

“Yes…” Alma replied, inviting him to continue.

“And you have not been hiding here for long.”

“Right again.”

“Then you have the ability…” He examined his wing. The flesh seemed slightly wrinkled, and the scab had formed and fallen off. It had healed naturally. There had been no special magic or anything of the like. It was as if…

Alma smirked, clearly enjoying this.

“You can manipulate time?”

She shrugged. “That’s a brutal way of putting it, but yes. At the end of the day, I can manipulate time - speed it up, slow it down, give the appearance of more age, make something appear at least slightly younger than it is.”

“So you…”

Raven interjected. “You aged the prints to make them seem far older.”

Alma nodded.

“But the scent?”

“I did what I could. I’m fairly weak in this. Other wardens are far better.”

Syth stretched his wing. “If this is weak…” Then he continued, “So, you just escaped into here?”

Alma nodded. “Yes. I’ve been leading my people out through a secret network.”

“Where will you go?”

“I can’t tell you that, dogman.”

“I have a name.”

“I haven’t heard it,” Alma retorted.

“It’s Raven.”

Alma nodded. “Fine. I can’t tell you that, Raven.”

“What are you going to do to find your child, then?”

Alma’s fist clenched. “I will hunt after her when I get the rest of my kind safely out of here.”

“That is quite the sacrifice.” Raven acknowledged.

Alma nodded. “Yes, and my duty.”

“I’m sorry.”

Alma stared off back down the cavern. “I’m trusting you both not to reveal this location to anyone. But, I must go, and I must lead my people somewhere safe,” a deep melancholy seemed to wash over her, a weight too heavy to bear.

“Let us come with you,” Raven said, “We can help protect your people.”

Alma gazed back. Syth seemed taken aback.

“Why? What part do you have in this?”

“Though they are far from being my people, the Feral dogment caused this. Let me help make it right.”

“And you?”

Syth shrugged. “I go where she goes. I don’t care about any of these feuds, but if people try to kill me, I tend to take it personally.”

Alma smirked. “Very noble.”

“That’s what I keep Paul around for. He’s the muscle and the nobility.”

Alma sized him up, then turned. “Fine. Follow me. And know this,” she turned, her face filled with hatred and disdain, “if you’re likely to betray me, know I have far more powerful things than time magic to crush you out of existence.”

Syth felt a slight thrill of the challenge. He wanted to test the limits, but with his recent destruction at the hand of a pack of dogmen, he decided discretion was the better part of valor and so, with slight hesitation, fell in behind Raven as she and Alma ventured off into this strange, underground forest, seeking the surviving Sasquatch clans.

Fairy Realm

Scar growled and scratched at his skin as he stepped through the portal.

“This realm is unnatural.”

“Well ain’t that obvious?” Bill retorted. Around them stood a small ring of mushrooms. Paul and Bill held out their amulets and stepped through, dragging Scar with them. He stepped on the strange soil and looked around.

“Everything is off about this place. Who would make this?”

“Well, the Lemurians.”

“Well, curse them for it.”

The world around them mirrored the forest they had just exited, yet the trees seemed… stilted, fake. The spines were too large, and there were sharp needles where there shouldn’t be. It was as if someone had been given a drawing of a redwood and then made it reality.

A shape moved in the darkness. The pale crawlers.

Paul readied his axe.

They watched him, then slowly retreated.

Scar stared back at the portal. “All this time I was hunting these out there, and this was right under our noses. I let them into our sanctuary… and I wasn’t here to protect any of them.”

Paul stepped forward, brandishing his axe toward the pale creatures in the shadows of the strange trees. “It’s not your fault. You’re not attuned to this realm. You had no idea where to find them. These beasts, on the other hand,” he stated, pointing his axe at the creatures, “they know exactly what they’re doing.”

The creatures seemed to hesitate.

A slight click from behind.

“I’ve had about enough ‘o these beasts.”

Bill leveled his revolver and fired off several rounds. One caught one of the creatures full in the face, spinning it backwards. The others seemed to hesitate, then retreated, slowly.

“Go back to yer masters’n tell ‘em Bill has more with there name on it!”

Scar looked around. “You humans have a desire to die, don’t you?”

“Nah, it’s the desire to live spectacularly!”

Paul shouldered the axe. “I just won’t take these beasts sneaking up on me any more.”

“They seem intent on escapin’. None o’ them can get out of that portal, though.”

“What do you mean?” Scar asked.

Paul pointed. “Try to stick your hand over that ring.”

Scar did, but something prevented him.

“If you don’t have this,” Paul replied.

“Ya ain’t goin’ nowhere.” BIll concluded.

Scar felt at the border of the portal. “Then, if I crush these mushrooms?”

“Wouldn’t do that,” Paul warned, “then whatever wants to cross will. Let’s keep some of these ghastlies trapped in here.”

Scar paused. “Fine. Then how do we find the child?”

Paul looked to Bill. “Anything?”

Bill nodded. “Bootprints lead this way, child in tow.”

Paul examined the prints. “These?”

“Yah.”

Something tugged at the back of Paul’s mind. “It can’t be…”

“What? Ya know who made these?”

“I think so.” Paul’s fist clenched over the axe. “I should’ve known…”

“Known what?” Scar asked.

Paul stood, shouting off into the darkness. “Cole!”

The voice echoed, cascading out and back against the distant cliffs.

No response.

“I want to see that cowardly face - whichever one you’re wearing this time.”

“Which one’s Cole again?” Bill asked.

“Indrid Cole - the creature that sent me into the fairy realm the first time, tried to trap me in there once, too.”

“What’s he doin’ out here?”

“About to get himself kicked into some other realm,” Paul growled.

Scar scowled. “Is he dangerous?”

“Deceptive, but otherwise harmless.”

“Oh, I take that personally…” a smooth, offended voice wafted from the darkness. A jet charger appeared at the edge of the forest, materializing with the fog. On his back, draped in a dark cloak, was a headless form.

“Cole.”

The horseman gave a slight bow. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” He said, turning his shoulders toward the Sasquatch. “I believed you a myth… up until I met your child.”

“Give her back or I’ll…”

“Or you’ll what?” came the disembodied voice from somewhere in the vicinity of the horseman’s neck. “You’ll rip my head off? I’m afraid it’s much too late for that.” A deep chuckle rumbled through the clearing.

“And you, Paul. You never write. I thought we were friends!”

“You tried to kill me,” Paul spat, hefting the axe again.

“Oh, did not. We ventured the death realm together, I couldn’t possibly have killed you. I told you all those years ago - we’re the same, you and I.”

Paul glared.

“You have a surfeit of life and I am a surfeit of death. You could say that we… complete each other. We both have what the other needs.”

Scar roared and charged the man.

The horse reared and almost casually batted the Sasquatch away with a kick of his hooves. Scar spun away, landing in a heap against the portal’s invisible barrier.

“Ah, I see our friend has not… attuned to this place.” Cole chuckled. “Good thing, too. I have a pack of Feral dogmen outside… just waiting to feast on whatever exits first - whether it be pale crawler, Lemurian, or this filth…” He sneered down at Scar. The horse slowly cantered forward.

“Back off, Cole.” Paul warned.

“Or what, lumberjack? Your axe can’t touch me. I should knock you into the next realm like I did before. Where did you go, anyway?”

“So you don’t even know what you did to me?” Paul growled.

Bill drew his pistol. “Wait just a minute… I know that voice…”

Cole turned and gazed down at Bill as if noticing him for the first time. “You… I haven’t seen you for over half a century. Tell me, ol’ Bill… was that rain stone worth it?”

“It was you!” Bill spat, spinning up his revolver. He leveled it at the spectral mist where Cole’s head should’ve been. He fired a round through the air, cleaving nothing. He lowered his aim and popped a round straight through Cole’s chest. The horseman toppled back off the horse. The horse charged Bill.

“In the X between the eye and ear!” Bill cried, popping a single round into the middle of the horse’s face. The bullet tore through with a puff of blood, and the horse kept coming.

“Damnable zombie horse!” Bill furiously fired off another round, then clicked as the cylinder came up dry.

He dove out of the way as the horse rampaged over where he had been, then rounded, blood still coursing down the front of its face. As Bill fumbled to empty the shells from his revolver, the horse reared and bore down on him.

Paul swooped in, swinging the axe toward the unprotected chest of the horse. The blade bit deep, nearly decapitating the steed in the process.

Its head hanging by a strip of muscle and skin, the horse slid to the ground, nearly crushing Bill in the process before slapping messily against the soil, the flailing legs and kicking hooves churning up the dirt, blood splashing from the stump that had been its head.

Paul rose to full height and turned on Cole.

He leveled the axe toward the location of Cole’s missing head. “Where’s the child, Cole.”

There was a beat of silence, then Cole slowly rose to his feet.

“She’s already dead.”

Something visceral exploded behind them.

Scar, who had just risen from his dazed state, heard the declaration. In a moment of fury that would put any father to shame, he rampaged over the corpse of the horseman’s steed and planted a mighty fist into the chest of the spectral rider.

Cole crumpled under the blow, his body shattered. A broken bundle of rags and clothing fell back under the barrage of blows from Scar. The beast had killing intent.

An explosion blasted out from Cole’s form, throwing Scar back several feet. Before the Sasquatch could engage, the hooded form cried “Enough!”

Scar hesitated - just a moment.

Cole slowly reconstituted his broken body, “Regrettably, that doesn’t work on me.” He replied. “However, you have thoroughly inconvenienced me in the matter of my steed.” He crossed his arms, regarding the bleeding corpse before him.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on the steed.

Nothing happened.

“Wait…” He hissed.

Then the horse twitched.

The horse rose from the ground. The severed head stared up at them, the eyes glowing slightly, but otherwise devoid of life. The headless horse cantered back to his master. Cole climbed up into the saddle. “Your child is dead, and there is nothing you can do to avenge yourself upon me, beast.”

Scar roared, and in a fit of rage stomped down on the only piece of the horseman that would give him even the slightest satisfaction - the horse’s head. There was a crunch as the skull split and the brains splattered. The Sasquatch roared, plucking up the severed head and neck and heaving it toward Cole.

The horseman was about to react when the horse dropped out from under him. He toppled to the ground as the horse slowly vanished into vapor and dust.

Cole’s hands cradled his horse as it slowly dissolved. His shoulders squared, and he slowly rose to full height. “Clever ploy, beast.”

The final bits of ash and bone slowly vanished.

Scar bellowed and charged him again. He drew out a sword - a large cavalry blade - from his hip and slashed across the Sasquatch’s chest. A glowing wound erupted on Scar’s front, and he staggered back. The spectral blade vanished back into the sheath.

“No more surprises.”

He turned to Paul and Bill.

“I’ll admit,” he said, pacing over the barren patch of ground where his horse had died the final death. “I didn’t expect that.” He scoffed, “And I didn’t expect this thing to follow me into this realm, either, I thought I’d led him far away so he wouldn’t be able to get back in time.” he said, pointing at Scar. The wound across his chest still glowed with the dying embers of whatever the blade had done.

“Paul, you never cease to disappoint. You only had one job, and that was to keep him trapped out there in the wastes of the Nahanni. I even let a few things slip to keep your interest piqued. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get you here?”

Paul felt his fist clench and unclench. “So all the way back?”

“Those McLeod brothers?” Cole laughed. “No. That wasn’t me. The Sasquatches in the area did that one. But there were others… and a few intrepid reporters received some anonymous tips. No matter, I got what I wanted.”

“Where’s the child, Cole?”

“The Sasquatch baby?”

“Yes. She followed you willingly. How’d you convince her to come?”

Scar groaned and tried to rise, but the flaming spectral scar flared up on him again. Cole lowered his hand, and the line of flames slowly dimmed.

“You’d best stay down, creature.” Cole warned. “I control the length and severity of those flames, and I will not hesitate to turn to you ash for what you did to my horse - if you further test me.”

Scar growled something incoherent from the ground, and the flames raged for a moment before dissipating again.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Cole asked.

“Where’s the child, Cole.” Paul demanded again.

“Dead.”

Scar roared - this time from anger and despair.

A spectral face seemed to take on an almost physical form on Cole’s shoulders. He grinned down at the Sasquatch, reveling in the pain he was causing. He turned up to Paul. “I heard you had a little runin with an acquaintance of mine.”

“An acquaintance?”

“Yes, heard you and your precious Kit released her for a millennium of imprisonment. You just can’t help screwing up everywhere you go. And now, you’ve given me the means to destroy a little more of the Lemurians’ hold on this world.”

“What did you do, Cole?”

Bill drew out his revolver.

“Save your ammo, cowboy,” Cole replied, “You’ll only hurt the trees. Now, I must be going, especially now that you’ve destroyed my ride. I might have to borrow that Yeti. I know it so badly wants to kill you… but I have places I need to be,” he turned to Paul. “I have never regretted letting you live. Don’t make me start now. And you, cowboy,” he gazed down at Bill, “thanks for breaking my friends out of prison. Please don’t get in the way next time I try it myself. I’ve got to be able to have some fun, you know?”

And before either of them could respond, Cole strode past and vanished into the portal. Then he reappeared for a moment. “And… I’m not sure the child is completely dead, so rather than following me, you should definitely head in that direction until you find her.” His spectral facial features evaporated, leaving an empty space on the top of his shoulders, and he vanished back into the to iris.

The flames swiftly extinguished, leaving a long, cauterized burn across Scar’s chest.

Paul helped the Sasquatch to his feet. “We need to hurry. Can you move?”

Scar nodded. “Let us not waste time. We can save her.”

They rushed in the direction Cole had pointed, Goat trailing along behind, seemingly oblivious to all the goings-on.

“Here! This way!”

They rush forward, Scar staggering in the lead, led on by sheer parental fear. Trees toppled out of his way, underbrush vanished, and anything that thought to tamper with their advance fled, knowing the instant punishment that would be rendered for interfering between a father and child.

Then a path.

Then an opening in the treecover.

Then a clearing.

And a pedestal…

Paul stumbled forward. A young Sasquatch, about half his height, lay strung up against the pedestal. His heart sank. Around the young thing’s neck was a small stone.

Scar shuddered slightly, reaching out for the child.

The young Sasquatch’s eyes fluttered, and she looked up. The first thing she saw was the two humans, and a well of panic washed over her. She struggled against the restraints - feebly but as furiously as she could manage.

Scar wrapped her in a broad hug, burying her bruised face in his wounded chest. He muttered to her in his language, trying to comfort her.

Paul motioned to Bill, and the two retreated, leaving the Sasquatch to care for his daughter.

Unspoken words passed between them.

They’d find Cole.

They’d find a way to make him suffer for this.

The pedestal cracked.

“What are you doing?” Paul asked.

“Freeing her.”

The Sasquatch heaved on the chains again. They were fastened firmly to the block of stone.

“Don’t.” Paul warned.

“Don’t free my daughter?” Scar growled. “You humans are mad!”

“No, don’t break the–!”

The pedestal shattered as Scar heaved on the chains. Something exploded, and they were immediately dropped free of the fairy realm and into the depths of a forest.

Paul hit the ground. Hard.

He coughed up blood as the axe struck him along the face.

Bill didn’t fare much better, crashing backwards into a nearby tree.

Paul wiped the blood from the side of his face and stood.

Scar lay in a pile of rubble, a shattered swath of trees marking his reentry into this world, and in his arms - a lifeless child. Her body broken.

Scar cradled the youth to his chest with a growl of misery that could only be produced by a parent who had lost a child - a grief, a self-loathing, a piteous wail that broke the night.

Then the creatures descended on them en masse.

Paul had barely stood to his feet when one took him from behind, tackling him to the ground.

Bill fared much the same - three dogmen pinning him down with claws and teeth before he could muster a single shot.

Scar vanished under several others.

But there was one thing they had miscalculated.

There was a simple fact they had ignored.

They had been partner in the death of his child, and for that reason, all inhibitions, all failsafes, all limits to protect one’s life were now gone. Scar let a single roar split from his throat.

Two dogmen vanished in a spray of blood and viscera. Scar bellowed in a demonic rage and plucked another from off of Bill, slamming it against a fellow - snapping bones in both. A large foot crashed down, splattering one’s head and another’s spine before it could escape.

Bill rolled free, drew his pistol, and fired a round into one of the ones hovering over him before a second crack shot freed him completely. While Scar stomped down on the broken form of one of the dogmen, crushing it into a furry paste, Paul struggled to his feet, bringing his axe around, burying it in the face of another.

As quickly as the battle had begun, it ceased.

Scar’s fur was dripping red. He growled and turned to Paul and Bill. “Humans have brought nothing but trouble to this land,” he spat, returning to cradle his child, “Leave, and never return.”

Paul and Bill hesitated.

Goat sniffed at the blood, but avoided drinking it. He turned and cowered at Bill’s knees.

Scar seemed preoccupied with something around the girl’s neck. Paul heard the word “keystone,” and “why here? How?”

“Leave.” Scar commanded.

They obeyed.

It was mid-morning when the three of them arrived back at the hot springs. Small rivers of heated water bubbled and steamed. Bill crouched, examining the prints. “Still don’t make no sense - these prints’re weeks old, but we were on a day-old trail at most. The child, Cole, dogmen, it was like we were being herded along - but these prints. They’re… I jus’ don’ get it.”

Paul gazed around until he found it.

“Whatcha found?”

“Syth left us a message. Looks like they were following a trail up into those cliffs - apparently they figured the mother headed that way. He says we left them behind so they figured they’d split from us to cover more ground.”

In the depths of the mountains, moving along with the Sasquatch survivors.

It had taken the better part of the evening and into the next morning before the tribe was ready to move. Young ones, elderly - a whole assortment - began to migrate along the ancient passages. Alma pushed them along. They’d lost too much time. It was no time at all before they’d be discovered. They had to leave Nahanni, and these ancient paths were the only route open to them now.

If only she had her keystone - she could move this entire colony in the blink of an eye.

But it was gone - lost to who-knew-where - and she wouldn’t see another until a new warden arrived and relieved her of her duty.

She herded her people through the tunnels, eyeing the two newcomers. They hadn’t been a threat, yet. They’d actually helped. The dogman… Raven?... had seemed especially keen to please. Whatever that dark winged one was, he seemed more curious than anything, ambivalent to their actual plight. 

But they showed no signs of betrayal, and for that, she could afford to let them live.

She had killed dogmen before, and a Remnant, and several other beings of power. She could kill either of these if she so desired. She cast her gaze back into the settlement. Her child was out there… somewhere… she could only hope Scar would find their child and return her safely.

Something shuffled ahead of them.

A low mist crept down the tunnel.

An elderly Sasquatch, his fur gone white with age, stared through the choking mists. “I thought you were dead…” He muttered, his voice cracked with age.

“I was.” Came a hollow voice from down the way. “But I have been reborn. I come to invite you to join me once again, as you did so long ago.”

The voice was hollow, devoid of expression and life, as if someone were speaking through a hole from a great distance.

Alma watched as the elderly Sasquatch vanished in a cloud of fog. A cool breeze flowed from deeper in the tunnel.

“Welcome… home…”

Several Sasquatch hesitated, looking to Alma for guidance. “Where did they take Grandfather?”

“What’s happening?”

“Is it winter out there?”

Then a blast of ice crystals.

“Grandfather,” as they had called him, strode back toward them, his fur rimed with cold. “Yeti calls, and I answer. I have returned to my warden.”

Alma froze, her hand automatically opening, drawing in any moisture she could.

The roiling fog was mostly crystalline, but a few droplets here, a few there.

Another elder Sasquatch stepped up, his fur a pepper of white and red.

“I prayed for your return.” And he vanished into the mist.

Alma paused, looking around at other elderly Sasquatch - ones that had been on this planet for nearly a century. To a one, they seemed determine to rejoin whatever was in that fog. Could it be? The Warden of Frost had gone missing almost sixty years earlier! He was dead… wasn’t he?

Then a Sasquatch, if it could still be one of their kind, stepped from the shadowy white fog. According to legend, when Yeti had been young, he’d possessed the deepest of black pelts, as smooth as it was jet. His power had always given him some sort of white-blue aura, and that had only added to his allure.

It was he who had first conquered Nahanni, driving out humans and scaring off any who dared settle too long in this place. Then, he had vanished, and the Warden of Frost’s domain fell to darkness. It took the Warden of Fire, Alma’s precursor, to drive back the remorseless winters and reclaim the Nahanni, though he, too, had fallen back toward the St. Helens region.

Now, Alma stared in shock at Yeti.

His fur was no longer jet - it was white as his snow - so pure as to almost be blinding. An ethereal white-blue aura pulses and rolled off his body - a visible fog manifesting as his power interacted with the warmth of the tunnels.

And, in his grip, slowly crystallizing under his touch, was an elderly Sasquatch, her face alight with elation at being reunited with her warden once more.

“No…” Alma gasped.

Yeti smiled up at her, his eyes so pale blue as to be lifeless.

Around his neck hung a broken keystone, long since shattered and frozen into the flesh and fur of his chest. He raised an icebound hand, beckoning to some of the younger Sasquatch.

“Your wardens have failed. They have worked with your enemies to drag you into ruin. Join me and we shall once again return to ruling this world from the shadows - no longer will humans continue to hunt us wherever we go.” His airy voice was breath through a narrow canyon - hissing and deceptive.

Something shimmered in the shadows behind him.

He turned. “Ah, you’ve returned. I take it your mission was a success.”

“It was. Had to resort to plan B since one of your… younger generation… managed to get into the realm before I escaped.”

“Ah… so impetuous and bold.” Yeti turned with his new companions, and they immediately vanished back down the tunnel. “The offer is still open,” he beckoned to the others.

“I’m afraid I must request assistance in departing this place. My… mount has been… removed from existence.”

Yeti turned, “it is what it is. Let us go, then.” He replied in an airy growl.

And the two were gone.

Alma stood, the mists slowly receding from her. Nearly half her tribe had joined Yeti, choosing to surrender themselves to his icy clutches rather than continue with her. How many more would have turned had that mysterious stranger not shown up?

She had thought the dark days were behind them…

… but at least Scar was still out there, and he had put an end to that newcomer’s schemes. Had he rescued their child? That must have been what happened…

“Mistress Alma?”

She looked down at a young Sasquatch.

“What’s happening? Where did Grandfather go?”

She felt the words catch in her throat. “I-I… don’t know.”

“Are we okay?”

“Are we going to be safe?”

“Why not use the keystone? We could get out of here instantly. It’s what the other Wardens have done.”

The voices continued to swirl around her.

A clawed hand closed on her arm. “We need to keep going.”

Raven.

In the darkest of times… she would be comforted by… a mortal enemy.

She groaned and nodded.

Then a voice touched her mind, and though she couldn’t see its source, she thought maybe it was that dark figure with the wings. “Flee this place. We are in grave danger if we linger too long.”

Spurred on by the mental touch, the tribe shambled forward again. The fog and mist had vanished in its entirety - they were safe, for now. Yeti was gone, as was that mysterious human.

So was Scar and so many of her friends… her family…

Something scampered up the tunnel behind them.

“Run!” She cried, and they surged forward.

She stepped to the back of her tribe, awaiting the oncoming forces - whatever they were. Raven appeared at her side. “Lead them on.”

“No, you’ll need me here.”

“Your people are fine. We’ll hold them off.”

Then the form appeared deeper in the tunnel.

“Bill? Goat?”

“Paul?”

Three forms - two humans and a medium-sized spiny dog - appeared from the darkness.

Alma hesitated, had this been the betrayal they were waiting for? Had they ensnared them, giving hope only to crush it now?

A large human, about as tall as she was, limped from the darkness, leaning on an axe. Had one of those lumbershacks she and Scar saved years ago finally caught up to her? No, he was far too young. But his eyes… he had a weathered, aged look - one far older than any eyes she had ever seen.

The other man was disheveled and filthy, wearing torn clothes, a worn-out vest, and some sort of rawhide pants that looked far too old. Even the old man who rode up and down the river didn’t dress this raggedy. His hip held a pistol and a knife, and a rifle lay slung across his back.

And at their feet was the strangest dog-creature she had seen - about knee-high, with large spines that seemed transparent, its eyes were dark and hollow.

Raven rushed forward, wrapping the raggedy cowboy in a hug. He winced and gently petted her back. The dark winged one - Syth was it? - gave a nod of recognition to the large lumberjack.

They seemed to be communicating somehow, but she couldn’t hear, other than when the lumberjack responded.

“We went into the fairy realm.”

“Dogmen, yah, you?”

“All dead, I think.”

“Angry Sasquatch.”

The lumberjack’s face fell. “Yeah.”

“Dead.”

“Cole.”

Syth seemed to bristle at the mention of the word - name? - “Cole.”

The lumberjack made eye contact with her.

Syth nodded.

The man approached her, softly stepping despite his bulk. “You must be Alma.”

She nodded.

“Scar told us of you.”

“Where is he?” She muttered, dreading the worst. She fought to contain herself.

“He’s alive… wounded, but alive. He’s chosen to stay behind in the grove.”

“Why? Did he find the child? Is she safe?”

She could see something… a betrayal of something on the face of the lumberjack.

“I told him we didn’t need to hurry…” he stated. “The trail was weeks old, another day wouldn’t make a difference.”

Her heart slowly froze as she listened.

“We paused overnight to rest, regain our strength.”

Don’t continue. Don’t say it. Say it. Just tell me what I need to hear! I want to hear! Her mind became a buzz of conflicting, chaotic emotions.

Paul looked up, his great eyes gentle and sympathetic.

What did he know? What did this child know about loss, about pain? How dare he pity her? Where was the child? Where was she? Where!

“She died… just as we arrived. It was a trap.”

Alma’s world imploded - ice seemed to freeze around her. Her fist clenched at her side, then slowly opened.

“It’s too late…” she muttered.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late…” she repeated again.

The raw, icy-hot slash of pain that ran through her. Her senses dulled… sharpened… pain… a weary ache draped over her shoulders… the edge of her vision stung… my fault… his fault… week’s old trail… she’d done that… she’d deadened the trail… no, he’d slowed the hunt… he did it… his fault…

A sneer rose across her lips, an angry twitch on her lips and a slight rising of the nostril. She could feel the furrowing in her brow.

The spear of water shot from her hand before she could control it.

It struck flesh - a wing - and deflected just enough.

A gunshot rang out, catching her in the shoulder. She fell back as every one of the newcomers rounded on her.

The lumberjack seemed to be trying to calm the others. Raven dropped into a crouch, preparing for another strike. The cowboy had his pistol out.

“Next time I aim for the head.”

Syth lay on the ground, a long, raw slash running up his back. Her blast had been impetuous, unintentional, a spasm of rage…

She stepped back, a mixture of anger and frustration - a feeling of intense regret draining the strength from her limbs.

Pain blossomed in her arm.

The smaller man held his hand extended, ready to fire another round.

“Alma, these are your friends!” Raven growled.

“That one got my daughter killed!” She bellowed.

Intense pity and regret passed over the lumberjack’s face.

Raven cast her gaze between the two, clearly not understanding what was happening.

The cowboy spoke up, barking out over the chaos, “Tragic though it was, it’d happened either way. It was a trap, monster’s waitin’ for us.”

“You don’t know that!” Alma cried, droplets coalescing on her hand again. “An hour earlier, a few minutes!”

Paul shook his head. “She’s right. We could have. But the trail was weeks old. We didn’t know.”

“The trail was a day old.” Alma groaned.

“Impossible!” the smaller man scoffed. “No way - those print’re too far worn to be a day old.”

Then something stirred behind them. Alma turned away from the newcomers as Scar appeared from the darkness.

“It’s done…” his gaze fell on the assembled crowd. “What are they doing here.”

His eyes met Paul’s, then to Alma’s stunned expression and bleeding arm. His face burst into a sneer of rage.

Click. 

“We’re all gonna die down here if ya take another step.” The cowboy cautioned. “This won’ put ya down, but the next one, or the next one… I know full well I’ll die here, but you c’n bet I’m takin’ ya all with me. Now, we can walk outta here as misunderstood enemies or we can all die. Yer choice, big Scar.”

Alma exchanged a look with Scar, then gazed back to the lumberjack.

Guide me, Scar. What do I do? How do I avenge our people now?

Then a small object appeared in her hand. The keystone.

“Send them away. It doesn’t matter where…”

She gaped. “What?”

Scar seemed defeated. “Just… send them away.”

She obeyed, calling open a portal and sending them as far as she could. They vanished with barely a sound, leaving her and Scar in the dark. She placed the keystone back in his hand. “I - I can’t keep it for now… I’d be too tempted to abandon this world altogether…” 

“Oh, Scar… what will we do now?”

“We start over,” he whispered into her hair, holding her gently.

1960 - Prairie Creek, Nahanni Valley

Albert pulled up alongside the small collection of rivers flowing down out of the north. Paul wasn’t there. He frowned.

“Oh, well. I guess I’ll catch up with them some other time.”

Something caught his eye.

He stepped out of his makeshift boat, cutting the outboard motor. As he sloshed through the water, he saw it again - a duffel bag, peeking out from around some stones.

He pulled it free and untied the top.

He reached inside and drew out a small glass container.

“What’ve we got here?”

A note.

“Albert, my old friend. If you’re finding this note, I’m afraid we didn’t make it back to this spot. We’ve explored farther upstream, and will probably not make it back in time. If you’re reading this, we’ve either chosen to winter there or we’ve come back another way and were unable to retrieve this package. Thank you for all your help. I’ve included a thank you in the can. Don’t lose it by capsizing - the river doesn’t need any more gold. Your old pal, Paul.”

Albert chuckled and dumped the can over.

Several large nuggets fell free.

“You old beast, Paul… now, where’d you find these?”

Something tickled in the back of his mind. He looked up in time to see a tall form on the nearby peak, staring down across the valley. He quickly scooped up the gold, stuffed it in his pack, and hurried off toward his boat. He looked back.

“Gone…”