12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Ten
Troubled Endings
As Albie chanted, the threads of her scarf started to give off a dim glow. They created sigils and shapes like the ones the native shamans used. The dust surrounding her swirled around her ankles, faster and faster.
The wendigo roared and tried to pounce. Crow saw Nathaniel tense, but the monster couldn’t reach the wolf, since it looked like a giant invisible hand had got hold of it. It screamed its frustration, even as its limbs started moving erratically, as if under their own volition.
Crow had reloaded, and he started chanting himself.
It had been a long time since he had needed to do that. The banishment spell in the bullets was usually more than enough. This wendigo had taken six shells and was still fighting. Albie was binding and draining it, but they wouldn’t get rid of it with that.
“Nathaniel, back up now!”
The wolf took a step backwards.
Crow shot. Again, six times in rapid succession, each bullet accompanied by the ending of his own enhancement spell. Each one draining his own energy. Each one followed by a wish that it was enough. Each one impacting the beast and leaving a spot of vibrant green light on its skin.
For a moment, the monster raged. Then it tried to swipe with its claws.
And couldn’t. Its arms broke, folding themselves in unnatural ways as if they were made of paper. Its legs crumbled, and it fell to the floor. Its body bent over itself and then, it was gone.
The echoes of its screams of rage still rang in the mine corridors for minutes.
“Let’s get out,” Crow whispered.
What a sorry sight they must be, limping away from the mine, Crow reflected. Leaning on one another.
The kid, Nathaniel Horner, whom they had just met and had shown his bravery, or his foolishness, or both, faltering in his step though all he seemed to have is bruises and scratches. Still untaught, he didn’t even know his recovery would take longer in human form.
Albie knew that and was still in her metis form, yet she winced in pain with each breath she took. And Crow’s heart cringed with each silent whimper of hers.
And himself… Crow felt as if he had aged ten years in the last few hours. He hadn’t exerted himself so much in decades. When had magic become so exhausting? Well, fact was it had always been. It was down to him, then. He wasn’t the same man he had once been.
He sighed and whistled. Nathaniel stared at him curiously.
Moments later, Coal and Amber appeared, trotting happily. Thanks for the small things, Crow thought, taking some jerky from Coal’s saddlebag and passing it along. Not the best, but it would have to do for the moment. He chewed and took a large gulp from his canteen, then tossed it to Nathaniel. Albie was already sipping from hers.
“What was that?” Nathaniel finally asked.
“A wendigo. The embodiment of hunger and cannibalism. One of the worst spirits I’ve ever faced. And that one was particularly nasty.”
“12 bullets, Crow.” Albie growled.
“12 bullets. I’ll need to make new ones. And that’s not all.”
He drank again before going on, shaking his head.
“It shouldn’t be here. The wendigo belongs to the North, to the ice. It’s cold here this winter, yes, but there’s snow only up in the mountaintops. It shouldn’t have been able to take shape so far south.”
“What does it mean, Mr Crow?” Nathaniel asked.
“It’s just Crow, son. It means that something has removed the spirit barriers. And that’s not good.”
Albie changed back to human in a flurry of fur and scarf. She started picking clothes from Amber’s saddlebag.
“Something,” she said, “or someone.”
Crow nodded. He was indeed getting too old for this.
“I think you’re stuck with us for the moment, son. Let’s go,” he said.
“Where, Mr, eh, Crow?”
“To get you some clothes, first of all. Not from your village, of course. What? What is this?”
Crow picked up some black tatters up and glared at Nathaniel.
“Ah… when I changed again I… I forgot to take your jacket off and… it teared, Mr Crow.”
“Alright then, new clothes for me, too. But you’re on foot.”
