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Together, the three of us slash and chop at the Wendigo’s neck like frenzied warriors. Blood splatters across my face, hot and thick, mingling with the sense of exhilaration coursing through my veins. The creature’s fear and desperation fill the air, overwhelming me with determination to end its life.
This Wendigo was not born, it was creature. Some say it’s a corruption of humanity, how twisted our lust and greed can make us. But I can smell the truth.
The Wendigo ate a person and doomed itself to eternal hunger.
Finally, we sever the last of its flesh, leaving the creature’s head hanging by fragile bones. The once formidable monster lies still, defeated. The shadows go slack around his body. They seem pleased with our efforts. One by one, they slither like snakes back into the tree line.
I look down at the shadow, still bracing my right arm. I’m going to be sad to see it go, I realize. I stroke my finger down it, and it vibrates with acceptance. “Thanks for coming to our rescue,” I mutter down to it. It releases its grip on my forearm and slithers down my body, following its companions through the carnage.
I turn to my blood-soaked friends with a mixture of exhaustion and pride. Tulip and Max, now drenched in the creature’s gore, stand by my side, their resolve unyielding. They look disgusting.
But they also look so powerful.
With a deep breath, I place my foot on the Wendigo’s neck, gripping its antlers tightly. With a mighty tug, the bones crack, disintegrating into dust beneath me. I cast its head back into the forest, a final dismissal of the horrendous monster.
Swiping my hand across my forehead, I feel the blood dripping dangerously close to my eyes.
And I have never felt so alive.
Chapter 18
Viola
Thegoreremovedfromour bodies in a small stream, Max, Tulip, and I find refuge in yet another cozy cave nestled on the mountain’s face for the night. Exhaustion weighs heavily upon us, dragging our bones down with its relentless grip. We lie side by side, our bodies too weary to remain vertical. With a sigh, I reach into my pack and retrieve the last of the dried meat I stole from Jaz, passing a piece to each woman on either side of me.
The rhythmic sound of our quiet chewing blends with the wet dripping of the cave, enveloping us in a cocoon of calm. We savor the salty jerky, the taste only enhanced by the weariness in our bodies. We cannot speak for a while, the horror of our battle playing at the forefront of our minds.
Max’s voice is the first to break the silence, its timbre laden with curiosity and a touch of skepticism. “What was that with the shadows, Viola?” Her question hangs in the air, demanding an explanation I knew was inevitable. Slowly, I shift my position, sitting up and pulling my pack closer. I retrieve the Witch’s Ladder from its hidden compartment and stretch it before us. Max and Tulip rise in tandem, their eyes fixed on the unassuming string adorned with feathers.
“This is a Witch’s Ladder.” I pause, allowing the weight of the revelation to settle. “The night I stole from Jaz…”
Max interjects with a low and knowing tone, “I fucking knew it!”
I choose to ignore her interruption, focusing on delivering the explanation instead. “The night I stole from Jaz, I found this in their pack. I had read about objects like this before but had never seen one in person.”
Tulip’s brows knit together in confusion as she reaches out to touch the ladder. “Just a bit of string and feathers?”
Shaking my head gently, I trace my fingers along the intricate pattern of the feathers, feeling the faint hum of their latent magic beneath my touch. “It’s more than that. Winter Seasonale have the ability to infuse their magic into these ladders, turning each feather into a spell.”
Tulip’s eyes widen in astonishment. “But there haven’t been any Winter Seasonale in ages.”
Max interjects again, her voice laced with venom that has become devastatingly common during our time in the Race this year. “So, you stole a cherished family heirloom, passed down through generations without encountering a Winter Seasonale for decades, if not centuries.” I nod, acknowledging the truth in her words but feeling no remorse for what I did. I remain unable to tear my eyes and fingers away from the mesmerizing Witch’s Ladder.
“Can’t you feel the magic emanating from it?” I mutter softly, the pleasant buzzing from the ladder spreading up my arms like a subtle current of energy.
Tulip and Max exchange uncertain glances before shaking their heads in unison. “No... to us, it’s just feathers.”
Finally tearing my gaze away from the ladder, I meet Max’s narrowed eyes. Her scrutiny doesn’t waver. “You stole that from Jaz, knowing it must have held significant value in their family,” she accuses. A flicker of guilt in my gut barely registers.
“I did, and I would do it again. It saved us, Max. Did you not see the shadows ensnaring that creature, buying us time?”
Max’s gaze softens slightly, and she replies, interest finally overtaking her anger towards me, “I saw the shadows, yeah. But it seemed like the darkness itself was growing. I couldn’t quite discern what they were doing, only that they exploded from you.”
Tulip, who until now has been silently absorbing our conversation, grasps my arm, her touch a reassurance in her gratefulness. “I’m glad you stole it, Lola.” The use of my childhood nickname, a remnant of my father’s affection, warms me. I knock my shoulder against her, a grin spreading across my cheeks.
Max still doesn’t look convinced, but her face slacks, and ultimately, her curiosity gets the best of her. “Do you know what the other feathers do?”
“I didn’t even know what that one did!” I say through a laugh. “I just knew we needed some help. I’m lucky it didn’t backfire on me.” Tulip’s face turns up to the stares in the sky.
