9. A Wendigo in the Wilds
W inter swept through Auro with an icy grip, its arrival heralded by biting winds and swirling snowflakes. In Lysandra, the once vibrant streets were blanketed in a layer of pristine white, the sound of crashing waves muted by the thick veil of frost that coated the harbour. The airships lay dormant on the docks, their sails furled against the relentless cold, while the residents of the city huddled indoors, seeking warmth by crackling fires. Beyond the city limits, the trees of the Feywood stood silent sentinel against the chill, their branches heavy with snow and ice. Shadows danced amidst the gnarled trunks, whispered secrets hidden beneath layers of frost, and the knights waited with bated breath to see what would strike first—the Shadowmancer, on the monsters drawn out by the cold.
Many monsters were less trouble during the cold winter months. Anything serpentine slithered away to warm, dark dens. Manticores and basilisks hampered down and hibernated. Water-based spirits seldom bothered anyone, for most kept out of the water when the days were dark and long.
But for a few, winter was their spring, the time they crawled out of their hiding holes and went hunting for the long warm months ahead. Trolls and mountain ogre sightings increased, moon wolves heightened in their howling, and frost giants were rumoured to be heading down the mountains in the north. King Jax sent extra soldiers to patrol the Farm and keep it safe from intruders, but Viola remained behind in the capital, trying to anticipate the Shadowmancer’s next move .
He’d been quiet since winter truly hit. Either even he had trouble in the cold, or perhaps the short days and lack of light didn’t suit him. They certainly didn’t suit Viola. The cold crept into her bones, the darkness muddled her thoughts, and any time they were clear, she became aware that everywhere she went, fires and crystals burned brightly in hearths and sconces.
Viola didn’t like flames. She kept her own chambers heated with firestones, even though she knew it was somewhat of a waste and that the crystals could be better spent elsewhere. When she could, she toughed it out, relying on multiple blankets and Freya’s body heat and ignoring the questions about why she couldn’t just light a fire like a normal person.
She’d liked fire, once. She’d liked warming her toes by the hearth beside her brother and sister, and watching her father cast shadow puppets on the walls. She liked the stories her mother would tell them as the logs gave way to embers and the hot drinks her grandpa made, spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg.
She doubted she would ever like fire again. Every time she heard one crackle, she thought of burning flesh. Which is why she avoided them wherever she could, forcing herself to go on patrol despite the bitter, freezing winds, volunteering for any task that could keep her mind occupied and out of the warmth.
For the second year running, she asked the Captain if she could go to the Farm to Feed a Thousand instead. The weather there was more tepid in her recollection, despite being situated in the northern mountain range. It was sustained by floramancer magic, no doubt. She had no memory of fire there. But the Captain refused. Knights were rarely sent there more than once a year, and, in any case, Viola needed to be here to lead the hunt for the Shadowmancer.
There was nothing to be done but soldier on through the cold, and everyone’s attempts to dispel it.
“You don’t have to sit with me,” Viola told Heindrich, watching him trying to hide a shiver as he joined her at the very end of the mess hall.
“Does it ever occur to you that I want to sit with you, and you’re worth a freezing bottom?”
“I don’t want you to be cold for my sake.”
“I don’t want you to sit by yourself, so suck it up.”
Freya joined them, together with a jar of something red and sticky. “Jam, Heindrich. Like you wanted.”
“Ooh, the good, seeded stuff?”
“Um, no. Sorry.”
Heindrich sighed, but helped himself to the contents nonetheless, tutting about how he missed proper strawberry jam like the stuff they used to have back home, and how nothing tasted quite right in the capital so far from fresh produce.
Flameborn and a couple of the other young knights came over to join them, although the other two soon realised how cold it was and shuffled over to a table closer to the fire. Flameborn helped himself to the jam and made some clumsy attempts to flirt with Heindrich, who remained blissfully unaware. Flameborn knew it to be a hopeless case, but he didn’t seem remotely put out.
A bell sounded, calling the knights to attention. Captain Drakesbane and her assistant stepped into the mess hall.
“Wendigo spotted,” Captain Drakesbane boomed. “Edge of the Feywood. West of Florenwall. Wiped out half a flock of sheep.”
Murmurs of concern drifted through the room. Wendigos were fearsome creatures with an insatiable hunger for living flesh. It was a miracle no people were hurt.
Oh, well, Viola had wanted a distraction. “I volunteer!”
“Me too,” said Freya.
A few others put up their hands. The Captain swept them into the war room and unrolled a map of the forest, jabbing in a black pin where the monster was last spotted.
“We need to move quickly,” she told them. “There’s a snowstorm coming in. If we can’t get to it before nightfall, it will have the advantage. We’ll divide our forces across this area. Take sky support. If darkness falls before you spot it—or the snowstorm gets too bad—pull out. Understood?”
Everyone thumped their fists against the chest, where they sported the crest of royal knights of Auro—a flowering plant against a sun. “Understood!”
Weapons were secured, supplies were packed. Stablehands readied their mounts. Viola swung up into Blackberry’s saddle, giving him a quick pat on his feathered head. Freya mounted her pegasus next to her, a shining bastillion of silver and white. A warrior goddess, unhampered by the snow and ice.
“Wait,” Freya said, leaning over and grabbing Viola by the cape. “For luck.” She pressed a kiss to her lips. Viola slid a hand around her neck, holding her closer, savouring the last bit of warmth she might feel for a while.
Then she dug her heels into Blackberry’s flank and they shot off into the sky.
Nicodemus sat at his desk, staring out over the snowy treetops. He sighed wistfully. He had no qualms with winter in general—in fact, he quite liked being curled up inside with a book beside the roaring fire—but the inclement weather made crimes more difficult and several of the names on his list had gone abroad for the season. Murder would have to wait until spring.
Cordelia appeared with a tray of steaming tea and a couple of biscuits, setting it down beside him. “No nefarious plans today?” she asked.
“Not today. There’s a snowstorm approaching and I heard in town earlier that there’s a wendigo on the loose.”
Cordelia’s dark eyes lit up. “There’s a wendigo on the loose?”
“That does seem to be the rumour—Wait, why do you sound excited?”
“Do you know what I could do with wendigo blood?”
“I know you’re going to tell me and I’m going to regret being told.”
“At its base, wendigo blood can be used as a strength enhancer, and in the right quantities, incorporating wendigo blood into a spell can render the user immune to extreme cold temperatures—”
“That doesn’t sound too bad—”
“Wendigo blood can also be used in a number of enchantments to instil an insatiable hunger within the user, driving them to consume vast quantities of food or even human flesh unless properly controlled through—”
“Yup, there it is.”
Cordelia continued to rattle off a number of facts until she was pink in the cheeks. She looked up at him, her eyes shining and bright, not unlike a cat presenting its master with a mouse—a mix of ‘praise me’ and ‘you are foolish for not knowing how to do this yourself’.
“Wait—do you want me to go out and hunt a wendigo for you?”
“Well, not alone. I’d come with you.”
“Lela, what do you even want an ‘insatiable hunger’ spell for?”
“A special occasion.”
Nicodemus sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “I better not regret this.”
Visibility was poor over the Feywood, the wind and snow like daggers against Viola’s exposed skin. Only Freya looked at home in it, but she’d lost sight of her almost an hour ago when the group split off in search of the monster. They’d followed the bloody trail from the farm towards the mountains, but the snowfall had eventually covered it. If they couldn’t find it soon, they’d have to give up for the night. The wendigo wouldn’t let the snow stop it. The wendigo would return to the farm and pick up where it left off.
And it wouldn’t stop.
The Captain had posted freshly-runed knights at the edge of the forest, and had doubtless moved away any civilians in the immediate area, but that wouldn’t matter if the wendigo found another trail to follow.
Viola thought of the girl she’d met when she first saw the shadowmancer. She still didn’t know who she was, or where she’d come from. Perhaps there was a family living wild in the Feywood, a small settlement no one knew about.
It was enough to turn her stomach.
Flying low, just above the boughs of the trees, she scanned the icy tundra below, the branches snagging at Blackberry’s claws and hooves. In the distance, she spotted something moving. No, not something, someone—a figure wrapped in a long black cape, ascending up the icy slopes, a trail of ice-white hair trailing behind her in the breeze.
She’d obviously not heard the horns blaring earlier, warning of danger. Viola dropped in closer, trying to call to the figure, but her voice was lost beneath the roaring wind. She had to get nearer—
“Civilian spotted,” she said, calling into her brooch. “Frey—can you hear me?”
“ Just, ” came a muffled reply. “ Any sign of the wendigo ?”
“No. I’m swooping in to extract the civilian.”
“ Don’t linger .”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Freya whispered something else—either liar or love you. Viola hoped it was the former.
She pulled on Blackberry’s reins, trying to direct him closer to the ground—a move the hippogriff seemed to appreciate, though he stiffened as they landed, ear feathers pricked .
“Stop!” Viola called out to the cloaked figure. “It isn’t safe—”
But whether or not she heard her, Viola wasn’t sure. Her eyes leapt instead to the dark, shadowy figure rearing out of the snow.
It stood at eight feet tall, dragging arms across the snowy ground—arms almost as long as its thin, bony body. A deerlike, skeletal face with black, empty eyes peered out of the gloom, a crown of blood-red antlers cresting its face. The worst part of the abomination was its almost human stature, the way it moved across the forest, like a person twisted, a body broken.
The awful smell of rotting flesh pervaded the air.
Viola moved to reach her brooch. “Freya, wendigo spotted—”
The monster lunged. Blackberry reared, scooting into the sky so fast that Viola was thrown free of his saddle. She unsheathed her sword just as the creature reached her, slashing across its chest as she struggled to her feet. She couldn’t fight it here. It was larger, stronger, faster. She had to get somewhere higher, contact her lance—
“ Viola!” Freya’s voice screamed from her chest.
Viola thumped her brooch as she sprinted through the snow. “Wendigo spotted,” she rushed, “south of—”
Her foot caught on a tree root, sending her sprawling. She climbed to her feet. Claws yanked at her cloak, dragging her back to the ground. She unclipped it, scrambling up, realising too late that she’d left the communication brooch pinned to her cloak.
Fuck.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t go back.
Viola’s breath came out in ragged clouds as she sprinted through the dense, snow-laden forest, her heart pounding in her chest. The icy air burned in her lungs with each gasping inhalation, her muscles protesting the unremitting pace as she fled through the labyrinth of twisted trees. Behind her, the haunting wails of the wendigo echoed through the frozen silence. Unearthly. Shiver-inducing.
The snow crunched beneath her boots as she fought to maintain her footing on the treacherous terrain. Tall pines loomed overhead like skeletal sentinels, their branches weighed down by the weight of winter. Long shadows danced eerily in the dim, fading light.
It was almost dark, and she was being hunted by a wendigo.
Viola risked a glance over her shoulder, catching sight of the wendigo’s twisted form gaining ground behind her. Its empty eyes glowed, its antlers scraping against the branches as it pursued her, unrelenting despite its chest gushing with blood.
At least it will be easy to find my corpse.
A voice called her name, followed by another, then another. Five voices in all .
Five graves in the dirt.
I’m not joining them, Viola told herself. Not yet.
With a sudden surge, Viola pushed herself harder, her muscles burning with exertion as she wove upwards through the maze of trees. The frigid air clawed at her skin, numbing her fingers and cheeks.
But the wendigo was relentless in its pursuit, its unearthly speed closing the distance between them with each passing moment. Its icy breath ghosted the back of her neck, the thunderous pounding of its hooves drawing closer and closer.
With nowhere left to run, Viola skidded to a halt, her chest heaving with exertion as she turned to face her pursuer. The wendigo loomed before her, its twisted form silhouetted against the darkening sky.
Viola raised her sword, her hands steady. The wendigo let out a bone-chilling howl, its voice reverberating through the silent forest.
She let out a scream to meet it.
No one answered. No one was coming to her rescue.
Perhaps the voices hadn’t been telling her not to give up at all. Perhaps it had been a welcome.
The wendigo charged.
Steel met antler. Viola sliced through one, but the other collided against her middle. She panicked, screaming again, dropping her sword. Both hands gripped hold of the wendigo’s antlers, trying to push it out of her. Pain and blood erupted at her stomach. Her back met the floor. The wendigo continued to burrow into her. Any minute now, it would start eating her flesh.
She was going to die here, alone in the cold.
She hoped they’d take her body home.
Blood merged with the snow. The pain was less now. That probably wasn’t good. She let out a final, plaintive cry, kitten-weak. She didn’t want that to be her last sound, but all other words had turned gummy in her mouth.
The last thing she saw was a shadow, slicing through the trees, and the cloaked figure of the woman with ice-blond hair, standing in the distance.
Nico knelt down beside the beheaded wendigo and kicked its body aside. Below him was the knight. His knight. Ser Scowl-a-lot, unconscious and bleeding. He’d heard her screams whilst out with Cordelia. Awful, pain-ridden, terrified sounds.
Sounds he’d made himself, long ago.
Perhaps they weren’t so very different after all. Perhaps…
Cordelia finished collecting her wendigo blood and peered under his arm. “Is she dead?”
“No.”
“Well, if she’s going to die, can I use her bones?”
“No.”
“They’ll just go to waste if you don’t let—”
“She’s not going to die. We’re going to save her.”
Cordelia blinked at him as his shadows wrapped around the fallen woman’s body, staunching her wound, lifting her off the ground. “What are you doing?”
“I have a plan.”
“You always do, but this looks like a dumb one.”
“It isn’t gallant to kill a wounded knight.”
“Since when do you care about being ‘gallant’?”
“I don’t,” he snapped. “But she saved your life. We ought to repay that debt.”
“You’re a literal thief. You don’t care about debt. Why now?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Just in case there are gods still walking amongst us, and they take pity on those who offer mercy?”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Just trust me. Have I ever been wrong?”
“What about the time with the chimaera—”
“It was a mere miscalculation—”
“Or when you thought manticores weren’t poisonous?”
“I remembered before anything bad happened!”
“Or when you went out and found me a whole bunch of newts when all I wanted was mustard-seed?”
“You asked for ‘eye of newt’! How was I to know that—”
“Who cooks using newt eyes , Nico?”
“You use crushed bones in seventy-percent of your recipes!”
“I was making a stew!”
The knight murmured in the arms of his shadows, reminding Nico of more pressing matters. “Come on,” he said to Cordelia. “Let’s get her back to the castle.”