Seasons of Summerland

Wendigo

Winter

Chapter 1

Once, when she was traveling to visit distant relatives near the mountains, something happened. The winter had been harsh that year, and stories began to spread of a wendigo. People had begun to disappear and the murmurs of an ancient darkness born of despair and ice travelled as far as her village.

At the time, Emma Jane was new to being on her own. Samuel had barely finished training her and, while he promised to always be available for questions, he no longer figuratively held her hand, nor led her in the mission. For the first time since coming into her powers, Emma Jane was truly on her own.

This was her first trip away from her small village alone, and away from the place she’d grown up where the memory of her loved ones remained strong. But with Samuel’s teachings still fresh, and the knowledge her abilities were strong, she followed the whispers to the source the same way she’d done many times under Samuel’s watchful tutelage.

The town she travelled to was small but familiar, and set up like many others she’d visited closer to home. Houses that weren't owned by the people who lived inside them while children ran free through the backyards, playing the way all children do.

But this town was too quiet. Although otherwise unremarkable, it had an air of fear that made her spirit vision tingle, and a feeling of wrongness which instantly put her on edge.

Samuel had made arrangements for her to visit the local elder. He said now was time for her to meet and learn from others who’d been touched by the ancestors, as well as to show respect. The elder was known far and wide in the magical community as a great medicine man, and Samuel had spoken highly of him many times in the past.

Keeping her mission firmly in mind, Emma Jane went to the elder’s house first, bringing with her the traditional offerings of sweet grass and tobacco. But when the man opened the door and looked upon Emma Jane, his expression was one of deep sadness.

So, Samuel has sent you to me now, has he?

While the man had worded it as a question, she heard the tone of finality in his words. She was confused as to what he meant, but the old man simply shook his head, and held the door open for her to enter.

Sit. We have much to discuss.

She sat down on the chair he gestured to, waiting as she had been taught, as she had learned to do over the years. As Samuel often told her, There's too much talking and not enough listening in the world. Do not speak and prove your ignorance when you can listen and learn from others instead.

Emma Jane waited as the elder moved around the small kitchen, shuffling his feet as he put a worn kettle on the stove to boil water. She wasn't sure how he appeared to others, but with her spirit vision, he shone as bright as a star that had fallen to earth. His body may have been stooped and old, but his spirit was more vibrant than any twenty-year-old she’d encountered.

Legend tells us of two great hunters from a place far away, the man began, facing away from her, almost as though he was speaking to himself. The Fiddler brothers were wise. They were called upon to hunt all over Canada and the United States whenever someone was possessed by the spirits, and turned wendigo. But, in 1906, they were taken away by the authorities, charged as criminals for things the white man did not understand. The world lost two powerful medicine men at that time, and since then rumor says the spirits have multiplied, becoming hungrier with each passing winter they have remained unchecked.

She tilted her head, listening in between his words. But still she did not speak, merely waiting while he sipped on the tea he’d made as his words left their vibration through the room.

This winter has been a long one. People have become fearful. As the daylight has shortened, the concerns of the community have grown.

The man sat at the kitchen table with her, putting a cup of steaming tea smelling faintly of mint in front of her before drinking from his again. She dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment, blowing on her cup while she waited for him to continue.

Last week, an old man went missing. It was said he had been touched by the ancestors in his youth. People mostly stayed out of his way when he came to town to buy supplies, but no one has seen him for over a month now. When the local RCMP went to check on him after hearing the murmurings around town, he was not there.

She bit her lip, wondering if it would be appropriate for her to speak yet, but just as she was about to open her mouth, he spoke again.

The man was missing, but they found enough evidence to raise concerns. The elder looked at her, reading her expression accurately. The two RCMP officers we have now are good men; one even grew up around here. They are familiar with our ways, and have open minds. As a result, they came to speak with me after making their official report.

This time, the silence stretched long enough she knew it was her turn to speak. Why would they come to you, sir? She asked, sipping on the tea when she’d finished.

The man sighed, and she heard the weight of responsibility in the mournful noise.

Because I am the medicine man. Therefore, whenever people notice something not easily explainable by science or logic, they bring their troubles to me to unravel the knot. Constable John Flett was the one who spoke to me of his concerns, and the reason he came to me first is because he is related to a man the Fiddler brothers healed from his affliction over a century ago. He saw blood at the man’s house, and hoped it was not human. But when he followed the trail, his worry deepened instead of being assuaged.

Why was that? She leaned forward, every part of her tensed for action.

She suddenly knew this was the reason Samuel had sent her to visit, not to learn more about their culture as he’d told her, or even to pay her respects. It was because of what the medicine man was about to tell her.

At the end of the blood trail, John found a disturbing piece of evidence.

She nodded, knowing beyond a doubt what the village was dealing with.

Upon seeing her acceptance, the man pressed his lips together, then confirmed her suspicion. You already know. He found human remains.

He didn't elaborate, but she didn’t need details. She’d heard the stories from Samuel, about how winter could drive a man or woman mad, causing them to turn their back on their community, on their family.

She’d learned the story of Swift Runner as a cautionary tale. How a man who’d been an honourable and decent warrior had been driven mad one winter, killing and eating his entire family. While he’d been tried and executed at Fort Saskatchewan for the human crimes of murder and cannibalism, the magical community had known better.

Swift Runner had been possessed by the spirit of the wendigo.

Where does the constable think the man went?

The man shrugged, looking off into the distance. The constable thinks he is out there somewhere, ravenous the way all such creatures become. In the last week, two more people have gone missing.

His eyes rested on her face. Samuel has spoken of you. He believes you are ready. He says you will do great things.

He considered her for several long moments while she sat still, waiting as he decided what he thought of her. That Samuel had mentioned her in such glowing terms stunned her, and made her heart glow with pride. He was not one to throw away compliments, so that made them all the more valuable.

Hunting a wendigo is not an easy task. Eating human flesh gives them an insatiable hunger. They will stop at nothing, spare no one in their attempt to quench their hunger. They gain superhuman strength, speed, eyesight, and hearing in return for this bargain, but as a result they lose their humanity. Eventually, they become nothing more than monsters. The more they kill the less human they become, until finally they are nothing but hunger in a vessel barely resembling the human they once were. In order to defeat a wendigo, first you must track them down. Then you must destroy it so completely it cannot rise again.

While Emma Jane was familiar with the tales of the wendigo, she continued to listen, hoping to glean new information to help her track the missing man. He had quite possibly turned into this monster, but it was equally possible he had become another of the wendigo’s unfortunate victims.

The old man swallowed the last of his tea and allowed the silence to stretch in the room until she started to wonder if he’d said all he intended to say. She began to rise, ready to make her excuses to leave, but as she did, he stopped her.

In order to kill a wendigo, you must burn the heart. You can kill it with silver or fire, but it will return unless the heart has been destroyed. The heart is where the last remnants of the human soul remain. Once a man or woman has turned, there is no way to stop them. The only way to return them to the ancestors for a peaceful afterlife is to bring them a merciful death.

Emma Jane sighed, mentally running through her toolbox. She had one silver knife. It was special, given to her just last week upon the completion of her training with Samuel. She now suspected the gift had been given with an ulterior motive.

At least he’d given her the tools she’d need for her first hunt.

She looked at the elder, and he did not flinch at her opaque white eyes which swirled as she studied him. He simply sat with calm stillness as she ran through what she should do next.

Where might I find Constable Flett?

The man’s lip curled. I thought you might ask. But first, you will need food. It will be a difficult night.

Chapter 2

Emma Jane ate the meal offered by the old man with quiet gratitude. The dish was a simple but filling rabbit stew, and reminded her of the meals her grandmother used to make. He'd even made bannock, and as she dipped the fresh, fragrant bread into the stew, she ate with a greedy joy. She’d saved a piece to put jam and butter on for the end of the meal, unable to recall the last time she'd been lucky enough to have fresh bannock for dessert.

But, as all good things do, the interlude passed. The old man wrote an address down on a piece of paper, giving directions for where she could find John Flett. She nodded, thanked the man for his time and his wisdom, then set out to find the RCMP officer.

The paper with the address remained crumpled in her pocket, as she couldn’t read it. Instead, she’d listened to his instructions carefully and committed them to memory. She could read in braille and she could see with her spirit vision, but she couldn't read the way others could. Dead paper carried no remnants of soul, so the written words of others remained dark crinkles in her hand, completely useless unless she showed someone else what she was searching for.

Today, she’d taken the paper to be polite. For the most part, Emma Jane relied on word-of-mouth and legends to find what she was looking for. Over the years, Samuel had instructed her in braille and taught her to use the resources libraries could provide. He was wise, and knew learning came from many avenues and differently to different people. In her youth, Emma Jane had resisted his assertions until it became clear to her how right he was.

In this case, she had to find the constable to ask him directly what had happened. If she was lucky, maybe he’d be able to take her to the place the trail began.

To her relief, the instructions the medicine man had given orally were clear and easy to follow. The constable lived in a house on the Rez, and it was easy to tell which one was his. It was almost as though he had an invisible wall around his home; children played together in yards on either side, without once crossing the boundary onto his property even though no fences marked the divisions.

She wondered if he was known to be fair, or if he was one of the authorities she'd learned throughout her life to watch out for. Emma Jane had an uneasy respect for police; a common side effect of growing up in the North, a place that saw more than its fair share of violence and death, often meted out by those in authority who were supposed to protect the vulnerable.

She carefully mounted the stairs, knocked on the smooth metal storm door, then waited. The sound of approaching footsteps rang through the small framed house, followed by the jiggle of a chain as the door opened a crack. The faint glow of a man lit up the darkness that surrounded her, and she glimpsed one eye in a weathered face before the door closed again.

The sound of the chain being removed with a loud scrape broke the silence as the door opened all the way.

Did Christopher send you? The man asked, his head cocked to the side.

For a moment she was confused, but then she remembered the medicine man’s first name was Christopher. She'd never thought of calling him that, but then again, she was taught never to refer to elders by their first name. Perhaps things were different for this man.

She nodded, holding her hand out for him to shake. Yes, I'm here to ask a few questions about what you found the other day.

The man nodded, stepping back to allow her entrance.

His house was set up the same way the elder’s had been, but with the touches she expected from a younger man. The furniture felt new and comfortable, without memory attached to them the way older items developed with time.

The sound of a TV came from the other room.