CHAPTER 28

BAIT

Sometimes you have to use what little you have to catch the bigger fish.

“No no no no no!”

Tugging the blade from Sawyers back, Wendell carelessly let it drop to the cave floor. Placing both hands upon the gaping wound, he applied pressure, hot sticky liquid bubbling up between his fingers.

Chest clenching tight, Wendell gasped for air through moist eyes, “Please don’t die, Sawyer. Come on, man—pleeease!”

This can’t be happening, he choked. His head dropped forward, eyes clenching tight, trying to shut out the red.

Ithari!

Where are you, girl? I need you!!

A howl pierced the night in the distance.

The robe swayed in front of the prone body, blood seeping out across the dirt, trailing through the sand and dirt towards the fire.

HE IS GONE, HERO.

“SHUT UP!” Wendell shouted, light flaring from his chest, its greatest concentration hitting the robe dead center.

“SKREEEEEEE!!!!”

Appearing more solid in the light—its sickening, oily shape seemed to fold over the beam, as if struck by a bat. Sailing through the air, it slammed against the far wall of the cave and sunk to the floor.

“I’ve had enough of you,” Wendell growled, shoulders and arms now trembling. The light from his chest dimmed, its glow slowly hovering over his body, providing enough light to address the wound.

But the robe, Wendell knew, wasn’t the only problem here, placing himself and everyone else he knew, in jeopardy.

He’d been in danger before, and if anything he’d heard about the mantle of the hero was true, danger was going to be a center theme of his life.

The main problem was far deeper.

How can I do this when I don’t have you to guide me, to show me the way?

Nothing.

Wendell’s teeth clenched so tight, his cheeks budged over his jawbone.

Fine.

You wanted me to be me?

Without lifting his hands from the wound, the thick brown coat and tunic melted away, revealing black hair and fair skin. Leather pants faded into blue jeans.

…and two crisp blue eyes blinked to life from a yellow circle set squarely in the center of his black cotton tee.

Then I will be me.

Shutting out the world around him, Wendell closed his eyes.

Imperfect, stubborn, determined, me.

He collected all the moments when he’d seen a flicker of kindness in Sawyer.

Misguided as he was, he did care for Elsa, even if it was in his own way.

He cared for a family that hadn’t wanted him.

He cared for a father that refused to accept him.

You’re not lost, Sawyer, he repeated in his mind.

You are NOT LOST.

With a deep breath, Wendell braced himself for the pain to flood his mind and body. Pushing firmly on the wound he whispered, “Päräntää.”

Nothing happened.

“I care,” he whispered aloud, focusing all his attention on what he felt under his palm.

Come on. We can do this, Wendell. Come on.

“Päräntää.”

Nothing happened.

We can!

“Päräntää.”

Yet there was no sensation. No tingle through his body—no pain in transference.

Nothing.

“Please…”

AS I SAID, HERO,….HE IS GONE.

Rising from behind the table, the robe crawled up onto its surface, pulling its mass forward until it was squatting on the woods’ edge—just outside the heat of the fire pit.

Its hood flickered from side to side, matching any movement Wendell made.

Another set of howls echoed from the forest outside.

“And now I’m next,” Wendell said sadly, finally looking up.

He let his hands slip form Sawyers body.

There was no fear on Wendell’s face.

The smiley glared up at the robe, eyes burning like fire. “So what’s stopping you?”

KILL YOU?

The hood slowly cocked unnaturally to one shoulder.

YOU ARE YET TO UNDERSTAND, BOY.

MY INTENT IS NOT TO KILL YOU.

Wendell mimicked the robe, his head unconsciously falling to the mirror opposite—the smily on his shirt raising a single eyebrow. “Then what do you want of me? Why are you DOING all this!?!!”

The light surrounding Wendell faded.

In the blink of an eye, the robe covered the length of the cave, weaving around the open flames, and knocking Wendell back to the floor. Its thread-fingers wrapped securely around his throat…and squeezed.

The infinite black abyss of the hood loomed so close to Wendell’s face, it could have eaten him.

MY INTENT IS TO DESTROY YOU!

Wendell gasped for breath, but didn’t fight the grip. “I don’t…understand…why,” he choked out.

Tiny threads, reached up and caressed Wendell’s cheek.

DO YOU NOT YET KNOW WHO YOU ADDRESS, MY ENEMY?

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

The beat of his heart raged in his chest, sending quivering vibrations through bone and sinew.

It was then that Wendell’s eyes grew wide.

Chuck had warned him.

Dax had warned him.

The Iskari Council had warned him.

…and in that moment, he swore he saw the faded impression of eyes…and a smile…appear within the abyss of the hood.

I…SEE…YOU…BOY.

Wendell gasped.

“Mahan.”

AHHHHHHHHHH, IT SOUNDS SO SWEET FROM YOUR LIPS.

“But you’re,” Wendell choked, the words barley making it past his lips. His mouth and throat felt so dry, his tongue produced a cracking sound against the roof of his mouth. “…imprisoned.”

The hood inched ever closer, its words frightfully soft, matching Wendell’s own.

Not for long.

Wendell coughed loudly as the robe pulled away.

NOW THE GAME BEGINS.

Head spinning, Wendell pushed up onto his elbows.

The robe fell back against the cave wall, floating along its edge until it found the cave mouth. Rising up to the height of a man, both fleshless arms spread outward in a final gesture.

HOW MANY OF THEM CAN YOU SAVE BEFORE YOU FALL?

“No,” Wendell gasped.

…but the robe was already gone.

A wolf howled somewhere nearby…followed by another.

No, no, no, no….

Rolling to his knees, Wendell pushed himself up. Hands still drenched in Sawyers blood, now caked with sand and dirt. He looked from the knife to the body, completely unsure of what to do.

Where would Mahan go first?

Who would he want to harm the most?

He said he wanted to destroy me, but…what did that mean? I was right here. He had me in his grasp, and Ithari wasn’t helping.

Questions flooded Wendell’s mind.

If Mahan wasn’t actually back—then what is that creature? How was he able to communicate with me? Is the Demoni Vankil seal still safe—or had it been destroyed?

No, Wendell assured himself, I would have felt it break—like the one at Til-Thorin,…wouldn’t I?

STOP IT!! he shouted at himself. NOT THE TIME! Evil sicko bad guy is now on his way to hurt your friends!!

“Right,” he said a loud, “sorry about that. I think we need to,” he looked down at his hands, the blood quickly drying on his skin.

The river!

“Good idea!” Dashing outside the cave, Wendell plunged his hands into the water and scrubbed as fast as he could.

“Sawyer!”

Wendell flinched so hard he almost fell into the river.

Two figures appeared along the bank of the water, walking briskly towards the cave. Wendell could only make out a faint silhouette, the glow from the cave the only source of light. Both were carrying what he guessed to be walking sticks—possibly spears.

“Sawyer, are you ready?” called the voice again. A voice which sounded familiar.

Mailian.

They think I’m Sawyer. They can’t tell because of the light behind me.

The near lightless sky was turning out to be an advantage, if only for a moment. The closer the men got, the clearer Wendell’s features would become.

Think, Wendell…THINK! You’ve got to get out of here and get back to the village!

“No,” he replied—trying his best to imitate what he thought Sawyer sounded like. His voice was shaky. “I’mmm…not ready. You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

The two men slowed.

“Meet us?” Mailian said cautiously. “We’re here to get the kid, like we planned.”

The second figure gripped his weapon more securely.

Ohhhh boy. They’re getting too close. They’re going to enter the cave, find Sawyers body and…

Right. Okay. Plan B.

Clenching his eyes tight and covering his face with his forearm, Wendell willed a single, brilliant flash of light, just feet in front of the two men approaching.

They both screamed, dropped their weapons, and with a good shove from Wendell as he sprinted past them…fell into the river.

****

There was no time for being careful.

Wendell sprinted through the forest towards Putäyäl’s general direction. It had taken far too long to find the path up from the river, but now he had a focus.

Get to Elsa’s.

A perfect sphere of light kept pace, floating nearly six feet in front of him and several more above his eye level—giving Wendell a complete view of his surroundings.

Go, go, go, he encouraged himself, hands up as he ran—to protect his face from the smaller limbs of trees as he flew by.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

No. Not this time. Wendell clenched his jaw tight as he pushed up over the next ridge of trees. I needed you. Sawyer was dying and I needed you, Ithari.

No, he repeated, this time I’m going to do this alone.

Heart pounding, Wendell ran faster than he’d ever run before.

The ground felt incredibly solid under foot. Muscles tense, he leaned into the run, weaving around the larger trees and hopping effortlessly over bush and stone.

Again he heard the howl of the ridge wolves,…but the sound seemed so distant.

“Go get ‘em,” Wendell shouted out. “Tear that thing to pieces!”

Mahan was real.

An actual being that wasn’t the imagination of paranoid people?

Well that sucks.

That did settle some of Wendell’s questions though.

Mahan was most definitely here for him, not the people of Putäyäl. That also solved the question once and for all about the robe and the wolves. They were hunting it, and in turn, Mahan.

So far so good.

But what still didn’t make sense was why Mahan would say he’d destroy Wendell, and then flee the cave.

I was right there, in his grip. He could have choked me to death. In their first encounter, the robe had even pierced Wendell’s mägoweave—so he knew Mahan could cut him.

Even kill him if he wanted to.

That got Wendell wondering what ‘destroy’ truly meant.

“Woah, woah, woooooahhh!” The light wavered as Wendell skidded to a halt, his feet sliding up to the edge of a ravine.

Below him the river crossed in front of his path, a cliff dropping a good fifty feet or more.

Wendell sent the light ahead of him, allowing it to sink between the two ravine walls, giving him a better sense of the distance to the other side.

Twenty five feet maybe?

He huffed and leaned forward, bracing himself on his knees. Crap. He’d already passed the log bridge somewhere behind him and he didn’t have time to go back looking for it.

Peering over the edge, the light weaved back and forth, hovering near the water.

No paths or vines going down.

Fine.

You said you’d support me, being me.

Here’s being me.

The light rose once more, stopping at the lip of the ravine. In the darkness of the night, it almost looked like an arching bridge.

Wendell backed up, giving himself plenty of room.

This is me.

Making no sense.

Being desperate.

Being determined.

Wendell sprinted as fast as he could to the lip of the ravine.

…and jumped.

Afraid he wasn’t going to come close, he spread his hands and feet, doing the best impression of a flying squirrel he could muster.

He landed solidly, face first into the bushes on the other side.

Red-faced and coughing, Wendell spit the leaves from his mouth and gulped air.

I made it.

Wait, I made it?

Eye’s popped open as he looked back at the other side.

“I…made it,” he said aloud. “HAHAHAHA!”

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Wendell looked down at his chest.

The smiley winked back and gave a tiny shrug.

“Yeah, I think you’re right, buddy.”

Thank you.

He felt a warm surge of strength wash over him.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Still not sure if I’m talking to you yet.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Later.

Hopping to his feet, Wendell dashed off again.

Trees whipped past at incredible speed, but he couldn’t see the village. No lights, no signs….no…

Wendell slowed, finally stopping in a tiny clearing.

Turning around and around, he sent the sphere of light out in a quick arc, trying to find some part of a path or sign of civilization.

Did I go too far?

Nothing looked familiar, and the sound of the river was gone.

Thoughts of the robe popped into his mind. Visions of Mahan sliding under the door of Elsa’s home and attacking the children.

Dropping to his knees, he screamed, “Where’s the blasted village!?!!”

A faint howl echoed in the distance.

Is that…a sign?

The howl faded into silence, followed by the rustle of brush to the side of where he knelt.

Wendell pushed himself up and stumbled away from the direction of the sound, pressing his back against the trees. Crap, crap, crap, he panicked, What do I do, what do I— Seeing a dead branch on the ground, Wendell snatched it up and held it like a bat, ready to strike.

Alrighty, bring it. Come meet the Wendellizer!

The sound quickly picked up speed and…split.

Something was definitely charging towards him—but another, faster presence veered off, quickly circling around the small opening.

Stepping away from the trees, Wendell held the branch tightly in both hands, ready to swing. Problem was, he wasn’t sure which way to face.

Both threats rushing in from opposite directions.

Maybe if I…

He never got to finish the thought.

Exploding through the brush behind him, Wendell turned in time to get hit with enough force to render him weaponless and knock every ounce of air from his lungs.

Arms sprawling out to his sides, his feet left the ground longer than the rest of his body.

Shoulders hit first, then his chest, followed by his head in a whipping motion that provided a full on fireworks show. Brilliant white flashes of light danced within his peripheral vision as the back of his skull bounced off the ground.

“UNGH!”

Wendell found himself pinned to the ground.

“Mouse,” shouted Jan, “get OFF him!”

The pressure instantly eased, smaller hands lifting Wendell into an upright position.

“Wow—that looked painful! You okay?”

Wendell sipped in air as he turned and gripped the lumberjacks jacket. “They killed him!”

“What?!? Who got killed?!” Jan helped Wendell to his feet, brushing the dirt from his back. “And what are you wearing?”

“Sawyer,” he stammered. “The robe. Jan, it’s…,” but he hesitated. “We need to get to Elsa’s now. Right—wait, how did you find me?”

Mouse nudged Wendell’s thigh with his meaty shoulder.

“Dont’ look at me,” Jan confessed. “That’s one amazing hound. The moment he got outside, he took off after you. All I did was follow.”

Kneeling down, Wendell wrapped his arms around Mouse and gripped him tight. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, buddy.” Pulling back, he scratched behind an ear with his hand, slobber flipping over his forearms. “Now I need your help, boy.”

Mouse gave a short bark, followed by a soft whine.

Wendell grinned. “How fast can you lead me back to the village?”

****

Darting through trees and brush, both men found themselves hard pressed to keep up with the canine. Wendell was pleased to discover he wasn’t too far off—though he was unlikely to have found Putäyäl without help.

“So the trappers don’t know that was you?” Jan asked, huffing.

Wendell lept over a fallen tree. “They’ll know it was me whether or not they saw my face. They were coming there to get me. Their plan was to tie me up in the middle of the forest somewhere, and let the wolves kill me. Most likely eat me.”

“But the wolves won’t hurt you, will they?”

Wendell dodged another tree, “I don’t know for sure. I mean, they haven’t so far. They didn’t harm you either. But I have a feeling they would have killed me and blamed it on the wolves if the wolves hadn’t done the job they wanted.”

Jan hopped over a bush, landing roughly and almost tripping. “You’re one popular guy, Wendell.”

Wendell frowned. “Not funny.”

“Maybe not,” Jan replied, “but you’re going to be a lot more popular when you show up in the village wearing that outfit!”

The smiley gave Jan a wink and then laughed its silent laugh.

“Yeah,” Jan shivered, “that’s not creepy at all.” Ducking to avoid getting a branch in the face, he turned back to Wendell. Who now sprinted through the forest in a thick leather coat, dark leather pants and heavy boots for field work. “What the…?”

“You’re sure Elsa and the kids are safe?”

Jan nodded, though still confused. “When Sawyer hauled you off, two of the trappers went back to their camp. The other two escorted me back to Elsa’s home. The moment they stepped in the door—Mouse jumped them. Hound scared them so bad, it gave me time to react. I punched one, and Tim knocked the second one out with the fire poker. I tied both of them up, and set out to find you. When I opened the door, well—like I said, Mouse kinda took over.”

Mouse let out a deep huff, followed by a growl, slowing his pace.

“We’re here,” Jan breathed hard, dropping to one knee in exhaustion. He pointed at a small rough-worn path, just on the edge of Wendell’s light. “That…leads down the hill…to the main loop.”

“Right,” Wendell replied, and turned to the path.

Jan grabbed his arm. “Probably a good idea…to douse that light.”

Wendell nodded and the glowing sphere winked out.

The three followed the path as it curved around the hillside. The main looped path Wendell first set foot on when he’d arrived was crowded with bodies.

Most, if not all of the village, was up, dressed, and up in arms.

A frigid wind cut through the trees. Jan shivered and even the corse fur covering Mouse was being tossed about, causing the canine to shiver.

“What’s going on?” Wendell asked.

Jan frowned, “I’m…not sure. Come on.”

Fires were lit around the village and candles were blazing from every window. And at the center of town, right in front of the The Den, a largest group had gathered—their voices elevated and tense.

An elderly woman, hunched over and desperately trying to keep a heavy blanket about her, waddled out onto the path.

“Luna,” Wendell called out, “what’s going on?”

Luna, or more appropriately called ‘Laughin’ Luna’ stopped and turned her head towards them, shielding her face from the biting wind with the edge of her blanket.

“Good evening’ young Wendell,” she smiled, “you’re just in time to see the worst in people I’m guessing’! Looks like those roaming beasts have had enough of our kind. Trying to wipe ‘em out is what I’m hearin’.”

“What do you mean?” Jan added, “Has there been another attack?”

Luna gripped the blanket wrapped around her face tighter. “Not ‘an’ attack, boy. Many. Those beasts have run through this town, slaughtering most every animal that could be found! There’s not a cow or goat left to give milk. Most the chickens are gone, also.”

Wendell’s heart sank.

Jan started walking towards the crowd. “Did anyone see the wolves doing this?”

Luna started chuckling. “Goodness, boy, you think anyone can see through a night like this? I’m gonna say no.”

Mouse let out a deep growl from the pit of his stomach.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP.

Wendell stepped forward and took Luna’s arm, studying her as she walked. “Let me escort you to the group.” He gave her a big, genuine grin. “Last thing we want is to have you fall.”

She patted his arm appreciatively. “From day one, you’ve been a nice boy. Thought you a bit odd—but you done prove to me that it’s our youth here that seem to be odd.” Pulling him a bit closer, Luna gave Wendell’s arm a solid squeeze. “I’m glad you came. Very glad indeed.”

Wendell opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

That is—nothing but gasping and hacking.

The end of the leather whip wrapped so tightly around his throat, Wendell couldn’t get enough air to speak.

“There he is!” growled Varick, tugging hard on the whip. His attention shifted for a brief moment, his snarl fierce as a bear. “Move along woman—this boy won’t be of any use to you!”

Luna hobbled away as fast as she could towards the gathered group outside the tavern.

Mouse let out a deafening series of barks, moving in between Varick and Wendell.

He lunged.

A net hit the hound solidly, engulfing his body—weighted ends flipping around Mouses legs. The motion was smooth and fast, knocking the dog to the ground in a single yelp.

“If only those damnable wolves were this easy to catch,” laughed Mailian. “We wouldn’t have to deal with the rest of this rabble.

“Let him go!” Jan snapped. Pulling his hunting knife from its sheath, he turned to the whip, making a slicing motion at the whip, ready to set Wendell free.

“ARRRRRRRGH!!”

Instead, Jan fell to the ground, an arrow piercing clean through his thigh.

Mouse erupted in a rapid fire series of barks.

“It’s time we collect what we stayed for,” Mailian snarled. Grabbing Jan and yanking him to his feet, “So get moving!!”

“What about that noise?” Varick nodded at Mouse.

“Easy enough,” Mailian grinned and nocked another arrow, aiming at the bound ridge hound.

“No!” A fist struck the trapper solid in the ribs—the arrow sailing harmlessly into the night air. Jan spun around, holding his hands in front of him. “It’ll be okay, Mouse. No barking! You hear me?”

The barking dropped to a soft whine.

“Nice trick,” Mailian growled himself, grabbing the arrow shaft in Jan’s leg and snapping the fletching off its end.

Jan dropped to the ground, both hands grabbing his wounded leg.

“But I don’t take kind to being hit.” Mailian loomed over the lumberjack—then set his boot on the wounded thigh and lowered his weight onto it.

Jan shook violently with pain, but didn’t cry out.

“You make another move like that and I’ll place this entire quiver into the belly of that hound—you hear me?”

Jan nodded fiercely.

Varick looped his whip around Wendell’s neck and kept a firm hold of it, his forearm and elbow against the hero’s back.

He pushed Wendell forward.

The crowd had gathered around a single delivery wagon only partially loaded. Its immense size, covered the front path entrance to The Den, newly carved chairs and a small table still waiting to be loaded.

Old Mayson was there, trying to calm the swelling anger of the people. Some yelling, a few crying—and some had dragged pieces of their livestock up to the tavern in sheer anger to prove their cases.

Mayson bellowed, “Stop yelling at me as if I’m obliged to do anything other than offer you food and drink! I’m not!”

“Then you should stop weakening their brains by selling that fermented poison,” Silas grumbled under his breath.

“You’re not helping, Silas O’Brien,” Mayson hissed, though there was a slight chuckle in his tone.

Silas scratched behind Tam’s ear as he leaned against the wagon for support. “You invited me for a seasons end drink to celebrate. You never said the mob was going to run us down, demanding retribution for their pets being put down.”

“Jan!” Elsa screamed, causing more than some to turn their attention to the approaching situation. She pushed through the crowd and ran to Jan’s side.

Shoving the lumberjack at her, Mailian growled, “Remember what we talked about…Jan.”

Forehead beaded with sweat, Jan collapsed to the side of the path as Wendell, still gasping for every sip of air, was pushed past them.

“Let that boy go!” Silas bellowed, pushing past the villager. “Get that whip from around his neck this instant—he can’t breathe!”

Tam growled.

A long knife went to Wendell’s throat.

“You keep that dog at your side, old man, or I swear I’ll bleed this boy out faster than he did Sawyer.”

The remaining sounds of the villagers fell into silence.

Silas halted in mid-step. “What did you say?”

Milian grinned wide.

Silas’s cane struck the wheel of the wagon with a deafening crack, “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!?!”

Reaching into his pack, Mailian pulled out a blood-covered knife and tossed it to the ground in front of the wagon.

The wind howled around them as Putäyäl stared at the red blade at their feet.

“This one,” shoving Wendell forward, “plunged that there blade into the back of your red-headed Sawyer.”

Mailian grabbed Wendell by the shoulder and spun him around. He looked into Wendell’s eyes, lifting his blistering red face with the end of his blade. The veins in Wendell’s forehead bulged with pain. The trapper grinned in satisfaction. “Killed him outright, to keep his secret, I’m wagering.” Knocking Wendell back against the wagon wheel, Mailian pulled rope from his pack and tossed it to his brother. “Tie him.”

Tam growled again.

“That’s impossible,” Silas grumbled, “This youth has been in my employ for over a month now and he’s one of the kindest, most respectful young men even to grace this village.”

Old Mayson stepped forward—stopping as the knife edge pushed into the crease of Wendell’s throat.

“I’ll second that word,” the tavern owner nodded. “That there is a good lad. He’d not hurt a soul—not even that rascal, Sawyer.” Looking out over the crowd, “Many here were guests at his peace offering towards Sawyer, were you not?”

A few mumbled out loud.

The tavern owners glared back. “You damnable fools! Can not ONE of you stand up for what’s right?!?”

“What’s his secret?” shouted a voice.

“Aye, I want ta know why he killed our Sawyer!” cried another.

Our Sawyer. Wendell grunted as Varick pulled the cords tight around his writs and ankles. They didn’t care a bit about him, unless it fit their own needs. No compassion. No charity. No love for one another unless they can get something from it. He looked up at Silas but said nothing.

The old man’s face was ripe with worry.

Wendell slowly shook his head.

Don’t do it, Silas.

Tam growled louder.

“I know you don’t trust us,” Mailian shouted aloud, turning to address the crowd, “but we have visited Putäyäl enough to know you, like us, detest the mägo way!”

The villagers erupted in clamor, turning to one another, brows curling down in both confusion and anger.

“You heard me right,” Mailian continued, grabbing Wendell by the back of his head, weaving his fingers into the dark hair and yanking back to expose his throat. “THIS one is a full-fledged, practicing mägo!”

Several gasps erupted louder than the wind.

Mailian lean close and whispered into Wendell’s ear. “You give me some display to prove my point, boy, or I swear I’ll take that young girl and those children she houses, into the woods. The people who find their bodies won’t know what kind of animal mauled them to death.”

Pulling back, the trapper gave Wendell a wide smile and winked.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

I’m sorry, Ithari. I don’t know what to do.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

I can’t let these men hurt Elsa and the children.

Without a sound, the mägoweave rolled in on itself, stretching and warping, until he stood there in his blue jeans, sneakers and black t-shirt with a yellow smiley on the front.

The smiley looked up at Mailian and silently revealed its teeth in a fierce-looking snarl, its cheeks turning from yellow to blistering red.

The closest villagers stumbled backwards at the display—but all who saw the change gasped and grumbled in disapproval.

Gripping Wendell’s shirt, Mailian shouted, “THIS is what’s been hiding among you! THIS is what has been calling those beasts to your village, to consume your livestock and hunt down your people!” Gripping Wendell’s chin roughly, he screamed, “And he has performed a blood ritual with THAT KNIFE, to bring destruction down upon your heads!!”

The mob erupted into screams for blood and vengeance. Once peaceful faces curled into snarls and vicious contortions, fingers now jabbing at Wendell directly.

It’s no use.

Wendell averted his eyes and clenched them tight, his head falling forward in defeat. I just wanted to help people. Now I’ve put my new friends in harms way.

“What a load of bear-turd,” snapped Silas.

Stepping forward, he struck Mailian’s hand from Wendell’s face with a sharp swipe of his cane.

“This is what happens when mothers don’t breast feed and love their babies. You grow up to be bitter and outright stupid.”

Mailian yanked his hand back, pumping his hand in a fist to ease the pain.

“You obviously don’t understand people. You cannot get good fruit from a bad tree. Haven’t you learned that?!?” Turning to the villagers, “This boy has done none of you harm. Not one of you. But he HAS been kind. He’s even saved a child when not one of you we’re willing to do the same!”

“But he controls the wolves!” cried one.

“Oh Poo,” snapped Silas, “then my dogs would have ripped the boy to shreds you idiot! Even when I paid his wages this day, he was more concerned for the welfare of the children none of you would take in when there parents died! He asked me to give his wages to Elsa.”

Staring down the sharp gazes in the group, “Does that SOUND like an evil person?”

“You’ve been fooled, O’Brien,” cried a voice from the back. “You’re getting old, and being alone has blurred your thinking!”

“Someone push the old man aside and let’s get on with this!!” shouted another.

Two men stepped towards the carver and we met by Tams snapping jaws.

“Steady girl,” Silas whispered, touching the canine’s back with his fingers. “Don’t bite them.” He looked at both men, his eyes narrowing to slits, “Yet.”

Pulling Silas back, Old Mayson stepped out front, his round belly still covered by his kitchen apron. “One of you touch O’Brien,” he glared at as many as would make eye contact with him, “and I mean ANYONE…and the whole of you can tell your children and neighbors that you killed them yourself. For I’ll not help a single soul who lays a hand on my oldest friend. You hear me?”

He stood there, hands slowly curling into fists. “HAVE YOU HEARD ME!??” Mayson boomed out over the bite of the wind.

Heads bobbed up and down rigorously.

A howl cut through the air in the distance.

Wendell’s head popped up.

Oh no.

“They’re lying!” Jan cried out.

The crowd turned to see Elsa helping him limp up the path. The wound in his leg was bleeding, the tip of the arrow protruding from the back of his thigh.

Jan looked pale.

Ithari, please tell me you’re there?

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Thank goodness. I have an idea.

Wendell flinched as he felt tiny hands gripping his calves.

“Wendell,” whispered Bartleby, “it’s just me! Hold still.”

Wendell wiggled his leg, afraid to draw attention from Mailian and Varick.

“I have a plan,” the gnome whispered again. Using a small knife, Bartleby cut the ropes from Wendell’s ankles and lightly looped them over one another to keep them firm but easy to escape from. Then he cut the ropes around Wendell’s writs, placing the ends into Wendell’s palms. He patted the large hands, “Hold those tight. When I give you the signal, create a bright light directly overhead. About fifteen feet.”

Plan? What plan? I already have a…

Another howl. This time loud and close enough to make the people notice.

The howl was met by another.

And another.

“See,” shouted Mailian, “Wendell is summoning his evil hounds!”

“Moron,” grumbled Silas, now holding onto Tam’s collar as she tugged—growling at Mailian.

“I am a mägo.”

The people fell silent.

They’re afraid and they’re not going to listen to reason. It was painful to learn that even here, people acted like he’d always seen them. Without reason, without constraint.

Back home, on Earth, people would persecute one another just because someone had a differing opinion. Mocked, harmed, berated, and if possible—lives were destroyed.

Such people needed someone to blame.

Someone to hate.

…so they could stop hating themselves—even if for a moment.

For all the evil they embraced in their own lives, all the lied they spread, all the shame they felt for not being more, living for more, or being of service to help others.

Wendell looked out over the villagers.

Some of them looked mad, but most of them looked…worried. Some even terrified.

“I never meant to scare anyone, or to offend anyone. My whole purpose of coming here was to run away from this life. To,” he looked to Silas, his chest and shoulders suddenly feeling heavy once more with the burden of the mantle he’d accepted, “find out who I really was.”

He tried his best to smile out at the faces he was growing to know. “So many of you were kind to me, especially when you found out I was running away and looking for a new life. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what life I was running from!”

Ready to support who I am?

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Taking a deep breath, Wendell held his gaze over the crowd. “I am a healer! Which would explain why my…family has put so much pressure on me. It was too much—so I ran away.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Silas shouted back, “Healers are extremely rare.”

“You didn’t know, Silas?” one called out. The crowd looked to the artisan, who stood there in shock.

Silas shook his head. “I never knew there was a healer under my roof.” He looked down and whacked his braces with his cane, “Would have been nice to have known.”

That got a couple chuckles from the people.

Smart man. Tell the absolute truth.

Wendell nodded toward Jan and Elsa. “Those two have been kind to me. I owe them much. If you will allow me, I can help Jan.”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Wendell looked out over the sea of faces, his gaze pleading. “Would you allow me this opportunity to prove who I am?”

“No!” Mailian snapped, stepping forward and grabbing Wendell roughly by the throat. “You just want to weave a spell to hurt us!” He leaned in closer to whisper, “You think I’m stupid, letting you heal someone who could cause me trouble?”

Wendell shook his head violently, forcing Mailian to release his grip. “I do think you’re stupid, Mailian. Think of what these people will do when they find out Jan died at your hand.” He grinned wide at the trapper, “A person who didn’t even know I was a mägo.”

“Let him heal Jan!” shouted several from the crowd. “Then you can do what you want with the boy!!”

The trapper snorted, considering.

“Besides,” Wendell continued, “you don’t have to untie me. Just get his arm to touch my arm and I can heal him. Just let me save you both. I know you aren’t bluffing about Elsa or the kids. I won’t fight you.”

Mailian stared at Wendell, studying him.

“But you’re dead wrong about me,” Wendell added coldly.

“Wrong?”

“The wolves. They’re not mine.”

“You lie.”

“It’s not me who is influencing them. Never was.”

Again the chain of howls erupted around the village.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

The trapper’s brows narrowed.

Wendell grinned happily. “But you’re going to found out who does.”

Mailian turned to his brother. “Bring them over here. We’re going to let the mägo heal him.”

Varick snarled, “You’re not serious.”

“Just do it,” Mailian snapped. “Before he dies on us.”

Pushing through the crowd, the trapped grabbed Jan by the back of his jacket and practically lifted him to Wendell’s side, Elsa hitting him repeatedly on the back and shoulder.

“Be careful,” she cried, “he’s hurt!”

Mailian tapped the flat of his blade on Wendell’s cheek. “Remember,” he whispered.

Wendell nodded. “Roll up his sleeve and hold his forearm against mine.”

Letting Jan flop to the ground next to Wendell, Varick yanked Jan’s coat from him and pulled back one of his sleeves. With a firm grip of the lumberjacks wrist, he pushed it up against Wendell’s exposed arm.

Step two—save our friend.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Are you with me?

Yes.

A warmth he’d been craving for weeks, washed over him, filling his muscles with strength and his heart with courage.

I still don’t understand why it happens this way.

You will.

Right. I will.

Closing his eyes, Wendell drew on the memories of the conversations he’d had with Jan Downing.

His openness.

The willingness to forgive and encourage others.

Things Wendell admired about the lumberjack, and how the man had come to Wendell’s rescue time and again.

He’d always shown a pure form of friendship.

Taking a deep breath, Wendell opened his mind and heart to those images. Those feelings. Things Wendell deeply valued in his own life.

“Päräntää.”

The wave of pain struck him in the head and chest, his muscles locking up as the fire dropped to his leg. Wendell’s body shook violently and his head flipped backward, smashing against the wood surface of the wagon.

Varick flinched, backing away from the convulsions, loosening his grin on Jan’s wrist.

“Do not let go!” Mailian reached out and locked his hand over his brothers. “He said they need to be in contact!!”

“This isn’t right,” Varick panicked. Even the village was backing away in fear, unsure of what was happening. “This isn’t natural!”

“Look!” Mailian nodded down at Jan’s wounded leg.

The lumberjack, unlike Wendell and the rest observing them, had a restful countenance—like he was taking a peaceful nap. Head tilted back, body relaxed, hands drooped to his sides…not a single stir.

…except the arrow shaft protruding from his leg.

“No, no,” Varick stammered again, “this just ain’t right, Mailian.” Yet the trapper couldn’t seem to look away.

Quivering, the piece of wood jutting out from beneath Jan’s trouser wiggled back and forth.

Inch by inch, it raised from the wound, first the wood of the shaft—then the metal. Back and forth the barbed tip pushed upward for air, meeting no resistance from the skin.

Completely free of the wound, the broken arrow fell from Jan’s thigh and into the mud.

That’s when Wendell screamed.

Chest heaving, the veins in his neck, forehead and arms, pulsed under the pressure—the sound trailing off once his air was gone. Yet his body still heaved, every exposed vein beating against the surface of his skin.

Blood ran freely from both nostril’s of Wendell’s nose.

“What’s wrong with him?” Elsa cried out. Rushing up to the wagon, Mailian pushed her back.

She glared at the trapper in fury. “He needs help!”

I am here, Wendell. Accept my help.

Again that pinpoint of light appeared in the back of his mind. It looked a great deal like the speckled flashes surrounding his field of vision when he’d helped the alpha.

The light pulsed, shifting into a cool blue, drawing closer.

Again he heard the Ithari….

Accept my help.

The light also had a vibration to it. The closer it drew near, the less Wendell was aware of himself.

Good Wendell.

Very good.

Images flashed like rotating picture frames. Spinning, revolving. He was looking at…himself?

Mouse was barking from under the net, and then Mailian pulled his bow from his shoulder and in one fluid motion, knocked an arrow and fired.

Again pain flared from his thigh, right where he’d bee shot.

It is not your pain, Wendell.

He was seeing through Jan’s experience. Through his eyes.

It is not yours, Wendell. Leave it behind.

Not my pain? Well that did make sense. I’ve taken the wound from Jan.

You have taken more than the wound, Wendell. You have taken the memory of the pain.

It hurts so much!

You suffer, Wendell, because you hold onto the memory.

You believe you deserve the pain.

This is the lie.

Body quivering in agony, another voice popped into Wendell head. This one resounded in his mind AND his ears.

“People make their own choices, son. Take responsibility for your own. Leave the rest for other folks to figure out the best they can.”

…Chuck?

“We can always council, uplift, and encourage…but the final decision isn’t ours to make.”

Agency.

With an exhale, Wendell’s body shuddered…and relaxed. He blinked and opened his eyes.

It’s not my memory.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Silas let out a cry as Tam stated barking fiercely, lunging forward and he had to drop his cane to hold onto the canines’s collar with both hands.

“What’s wrong it you, girl?”

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Mahan’s voice boomed painfully in Wendell’s mind and heart.

He’s here.

Yes.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Mahan will hurt these people if I don’t stop him!

Yes.

Squeezing his fists, Wendell felt the ropes still firm in his hands.

He almost dropped them both when the chill sensation ran up the side of his neck, followed by a deep whisper in his ear.

LOOK AT THE FACES OF THE CATTLE BEFORE YOU.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tam let out a barrage of barks, so intense, all nearby felt the vibration through the air and ground.

People started falling back from the wagon.

“DOWN girl!” Silas yelled. Dropping to his knees, the artisan wrapped one arm around Tam, the other keeping a firm grip on her collar. “What is wrong with you?”

The villagers continued to move back from where Wendell was propped up. Stunned looks covered most of their faces, others held frozen expressions of fear and distrust.

Those closest to Silas and the ridge-hound retreated to the back of the crowd, lest they be mauled by the ridge hound. Yet there were some—not many, but some, who looked between Wendell and a comfortable Jan Downing, propped up against Wendell’s leg.

These few had seen a miracle—and one of their own had been spared.

WHY DO YOU HEAL THINGS MEANT TO BE USED UP?

“Shut up,” Wendell hissed through his teeth.

If Mahan…or the robe, is so close, why can’t the people SEE him? How is this even possible? But Wendell had to bring the creature into the light for Jan to have seen… OHHHHH!

“Do you SEE,” shouted Mailian, “this boy is indeed a mägo! My brother and I saw him kill Sawyer with that very knife, with our own eyes—and he is the master of those ridge—!”

“LIAR!” Elsa screamed back. Standing firm at the front of the crowd, she raised her arm and with a finger—pointed directly at Mailian. “These men broke into my home! They threatened me, and they threatened the children under my care!”

The words cut through the stunned crowd, each turning to this new accusation.

“If it wasn’t for one of Silas’s hounds and Jan Downing, we might be dead ourselves!”

Mailian sneered back, “Girl, I’ve never been in your home—and you come to accuse ME in front of these good people?!?”

Elsa’s fierceness faltered for a moment, “Well, it wasn’t you who broke into my home—but men from your group did!”

“I’ve had about enough of your interference tonight, child. Where is your PROOF!? We have a knife. We are at least two witnesses as required by LAW!” Folding his arms, “What have you got to prove YOUR accusations, eh?”

Turning to address her neighbors, Elsa shouted above the wind. “Two of these men invaded my home. Jan Downing, the children, and I, turned on them in defence of ourselves.” She gave Mailian a glance from over her shoulder, “And we have those men—HIS fellow trappers—both tied up IN OUR HOME. They are being guarded by our young Tim right now. Come with me, all who doubt, and I’ll show you your PROOF!”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Looking to Mailian, her eyes sparkled daringly.

Mailian smiled back. “There are but five of us, child. Myself and four brothers. Cal has been wounded deeply and rests here at The Den in a room I pay for.” Turning to Old Mayson, “Is that not so, barkeep?”

Mayson nodded confirmation.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

“My brother Varick here,” he gestured to the spearman standing next to Jan’s sleeping body, “you have all met. Which leaves my brothers Ethan and Manel.”

Pointing to the back of the crowd, all turned to the men standing calmly behind them, listening to the confrontation.

“Are you tied up, Manel?” Mailian chided.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

The broad shouldered man patted himself all over his chest and arms, then looked up with a feigned shock expression. “I—I think I might be!”

Many in the crowd chuckled.

“You KNOW me,” Elsa cried aloud, “why would I lie about this?”

“Because I am told that you also had a brother,” taunted Mailian, “and if I am told the truth from this village, was he not also a mägo?”

Elsa bit her lip an anger, tears welling up in her eyes.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tam, still standing next to Silas, let her head drop—ears folding back as she fired off another series of barks—each erupting from her chest.

Silas wrapped both arms around her neck. “You stay right here, girl!”

“This boy,” Mailian stretched forth his arms, “is evil! You don’t know him. Good, moral people don’t use magic…”

A woman screamed from the crowd.

The fear was immediately echoed by several more voices throughout the people.

AHHHHH,…HERE COME YOUR PETS.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Wendell stared past Mailian and Varick.

Just outside the reach of the firelight, four-legged silhouettes prowled among the trees and between the dwellings.

The longer he watched, the more appeared.

Ears back, heads low, teeth bare in snarls, giant wolves moved inward toward the wagon.

“FOOLS!” Boomed a voice, deep and ominous. “YOU THINK THIS CHILD RESTRAINED BEFORE YOU CONTROLS THE BEASTS OF THE MOUNTAIN?!?”

The sound echoed all around the gathering.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Right, Wendell gulped, I’m guessing that’s the signal?

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

On it!

“BEHOLD THE TRUE THREAT!!”

Gathering his will, Wendell called forth light that wiped away the darkness overhead. Not a sphere of concentrated light, but a soft, sustainable light that pushed back all the shadows in a radius of a sixty feet.

Reeling up from Wendell’s shoulders, the robe screeched under the light.

The black and oily cloth rippled, floating atop the wagon and standing directly behind Wendell.

Women screamed in terror.

WHAT TRICKERY IS THIS?!

“Mahan be damned,” spat Mailian, yanking his sword from its sheath, “what in hell is THAT?!?”

Without a word, Varick threw his spear as Mailian knocked an arrow absentmindedly and let it fly.

Both struck the robe squarely overhead.

To no effect.

Like a snake, the folds of cloth rolled down and around Wendell, light reflecting off the loose weave of the robe. Tattered and frayed, the ends of the armless sleeves twisted together into a curved, pointy spike.

…and slashed the throats of Mailian and Varick.

I AM NOT THE ONLY DAMMNED HERE.

People screamed and scattered.

Those close enough to there homes, plunged through doorways and slammed the thick wooden barriers shut. Others sprinted towards their homes until they caught motion of an equal threat looming in the shadows between them and safety. Terrified, they ran back towards the wagon.

Bodies convulsing on the ground, the robe slithered through the seeping blood, rising up in front of where Wendell stood.

Threads slowly wove together at the end of each sleeve, black blades to deal out death.

The hood turned slowly to the barking of Tam, as well as the cowering figures of Silas and Old Mayson, now shielding Elsa with his own body.

SO MUCH TO DO, SO…MUCH TIME.

The hood then looked down at Jans comatose body and raised an arm.

LET’S START HERE.

In a blur, Wendell threw himself in front of Jans body as the blade fell. His mägoweave split cleanly, allowing the threads to slice across his side and ribs.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Wendell fell across Jans lap in a solid scream of pain.

…to which the robe followed suit.

Pulling away from Silas’s grip, Tam launched forward, teeth bared and covered the distance in time to sink her teeth into the hem of the robe.

“SKREEEEEEEE!!”

In a backhanded motion, the robe whipped around and struck the ridge hound hard enough to send the canine skidding across the gravel path.

“Tam,” Silas yelled, struggling to use his cane to rise.

LET’S PUT THE CATTLE OUT OF ITS MISERY.

Oh no you don’t!

Slapping a hand over his wound, Wendell redirected the light overhead, concentrating it between Silas, Mayson, Elsa, and the robe.

The cloth reeled back, unable to withstand the light of Ithari.

It’s hood turned its attention on Wendell.

YOU DARE…

The movement was swift, silent, and deadly.

Wendell never saw it coming.

Mouse lunged over his head and hit the robe head on.

Black greasy hood colliding with an open maw of daggers.

Clamping down on the folds of the hood, over three hundred pounds of muscle collapsing the remaining folds like an accordion. Skidding into the mud, Mouse whipped his powerful neck violently from side to side.

“SKREEEEEEEE!!”

“SKREEEEEEEEEEE!!”

“SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!”

Blood flipped up onto the wagon, Wendell, and Jan, as the robe slashed at the ridge hound.

Mouse didn’t stop.

“SKREEEEEEEEEEEE!!” the robe flailed about clawing and slashing uselessly.

“You shouldn’t have hit his momma!” screamed Silas. “Rip it to shreds, Mouse!!”

Wendell pulled himself up with the wagon wheel. All around him, the ridge wolves had walked calmly into the village.

Not one turned to or even acknowledged the villagers.

Those still frightened ran to their homes. Some stood painfully still, bright eyed but watching the truth unfold before them.

This can’t go on, Wendell winced. His wound was already closing, though it hurt fiercely to breathe.

If I let Mahan go now, he’ll kill more people.

Maybe everyone.

I have to end it.

That-THUMP-THUMP!

I can only think of one way to do it.

“Mouse!” Wendell called out, “Let it go.”

“Do WHAT?!?” coughed Silas.

Elsa whimpered in terror just behind him.

“Have you lost your mind!??” He gasped, “And here you had me finally believing your generation wasn’t completely brain dead.”

Bloodied with innumerable cuts across his face, neck and shoulders, Mouse flipped the robe towards the wagon.

It flipped and tumbled to a stop a few feet from Wendell.

Quivering, the robe took on more mass in the open light. Almost…inflating, becoming once more half a corpse which had escaped from its grave.

The main difference now, was the robe had been torn across the face, shoulders and upper chest.

Torn to tatters.

Stray threads now jutted out from rips and tares.

The hood looked up.

I WILL KILL YOU.

Looking around him, around the village circle, Wendell expanded the light he’d formed, expelling the shadows as far as he could see, as well as the hill behind him.

Which revealed several dozen ridge wolves, poised silently in a ring around the tavern. Each with ears back, teeth showing—and yellow eyes locked on the creature of darkness.

“Here’s your chance,” Wendell said loud enough for them both to hear. “You have no shadow to run too. Your enemies are here to dispatch you, evil one. I’m giving you one path to escape.”

The robe hissed loudly, but didn’t move.

Wendell thumbed the tavern, “I’ll meet you inside.”

Old Mayson raised a trembling index finger, “I’m sorry young man, did you say you’re going in…”

Wendell gave the tavern owner a glance as he turned and walked around the wagon.

Mouse trotted up next to Wendell.

“No boy,” Wendell sighed, “you can’t come with me.”

Mouse rolled his head to one side and gave a soft whimper..

Wendell stroked his wounded head softly. “Stay.”

As he walked to the front door of The Den, he looked up at the Alpha upon the natural roof of the hillside. It stood majestically over its pack, glowing yellow eyes following Wendell until he vanished into the tavern.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Rushing up to the main counter that stretched around the back wall, Wendell started too hyperventilate. I hadn’t thought past this part. The tavern was completely empty.

He was alone.

Completely and totally alone.

You are not alone.

I just wanted to get it away from the people. He slapped his palm against his forehead…AND YOU JUST INVITED MAHAN TO KILL YOU!!

He whimpered out loud, pacing the floor, eyes upon the doorway, “What were you THINKING?!?”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

I need to throw up.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

So he did.

…spewing the contents of his last meal all over the floor.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

In one swift motion, the front door to the tavern slammed shut.

Ohhhh, now I gotta pee!

Then the candles around the tavern winked out, one by one.

Leaving Wendell in the dark.

“Välo.”

A small light pulsed overhead.

“ARGH!” Wendell cried out, as a sharp object pierced his thigh. The weapon entered the side of his thigh, exiting the inside of his leg, just above the knee.

Gripping the wound with both hands, he collapsed to one knee and his light winked out.

Mahan’s voice taunted him.

CONCENTRATE.

“Välo.”

Again a small light pulsed overhead.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Wendell inspected the wound in his leg. Blood seeped up between his fingers. He watched as the mägoweave restitched itself, covering the wound up.

I think I might have made a bad choice in challenging the super bad guy.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

“ARGH!” Wendell cried out again.

Something cold pierced his lower back, sending spasms up his spine. Reaching back with one hand, trying to get a grip on the object, he gurgled.

“UUURK!”

Pushing through his side, the object jutted out his stomach, protruding just under his floating rib.

Then it was gone.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Both hands slapped over his stomach as he fell to the floor.

The light winked out.

I SAID CONCENTRATE.

No one was there to see the wound.

No one was there to see Wendell at all.

Eyes watering, he tried to focus his attention.

“V-välo.”

A tiny light trembled to life just overhead. It was yellow and dim, not much more than what a match might generate.

Wendell swallowed the blood in his mouth.

CONCENTRATION IS MORE CHALLENGING WHEN ONE FEELS PAIN.

“AHHHR—RRRH!” Wendell cried aloud, choking on blood and saliva.

Four more needle points pushed through his shoulders and arms, piercing him from the back.

But these remained.

…and lifted him up to a kneeling position.

Wendell screamed through tears of pain.

…and the feeble light winked out.

STRANGE.

The voice was close.

Sure of itself.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN WRONG, AND YET—HERE YOU ARE.

Coughing and unable to raise his arms, Wendell did his best to swallow so he could speak.

“Wrong about…what?”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Wendell could feel the warmth growing in his limbs and muscles. A warmth that started at the center of each wound.

YOU ARE NOT THE HERO.

Yet as the pain eased, cold tentacles slithered from the base of Wendell’s head, wrapping around his neck. Around and around the threads slithered, thickening until his flesh from chin to collarbone vanished under the black cloth.

Wendell’s hands trembled with a desire to pull at his neck, but his arms would not obey.

“Välo,” he whispered.

A glow faded into view.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Another needle pierced Wendell’s leg.

The light immediately winked out.

YOU ARE NOTHING.

The threads about his throat tightened, and Wendell gasped.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Hands trembling at his sides….. Ithari, help me!

Please.

Wendell’s body twitched and trembled, eyes wide in terror that no one could see.

…please…ithari….

………*

“B-TANG!”

“OW!”

The threads stopped squeezing.

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“OWWWW! STOP that!!”

The threads loosened enough for Wendell to sip air. Again his wounds received a surge of warmth, the pain reducing.

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG! B-TANG! B-TANG!”

“AAAAAAARGH,” the voice screamed, “You’re giving me a HEADACHE already! So help me, if you do that ONE MORE TIME, I won’t talk to you for a week!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“That’s it—I’m going to be sick.”

Small but firm hands, steadied Wendell, quickly pulling the robe from his neck.

Wendell gasped, gulping air with a heaving chest.

“Wendell? Hey. You’re gonna be okay.”

Still trembling, he reached out a hand…and found a very small shoulder. He took a shuddering breath, blinking the tears of pain from his eyes.

“Bartleby?”

“Yeah. It’s me, kid.” Then, “Oh, wait a sec…”

“B-TANG!”

“You are just EVULLL!”

“I’m sorry, Huey, but it’s the only way. Need to give Wendell enough time to heal so we can get OUT of this place.”

“Fine,” replied Huey, “But I’m serious—you create a single blemish and I swear I’ll make you look bad when it counts.”

A quiet giggle escaped Bartleby. “Uhh, you forget that it’s me that makes you look good, Huey.”

“Whatever,” then, “Ooo-OH! It’s moving. IT’S MOVING!!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“Still…twitching…”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

“B-TANG!”

Strange sounds, similar to what Wendell might imagine drunk finches might sound like filled the air.

“There,” Bartleby said, satisfied, “we have a moment or two. The Ithari should heal you enough by then and we can get out of here.”

Wendell was indeed feeling a surge of strength from the Ithari. “Wait a minute,” swallowed, “I never told you about the Ithari.”

A small hand patted Wendell’s shoulder. “No, you didn’t.”

“Välo,” Wendell whispered, and a solid white light popped overhead. The light revealed the gnome musician squatting on the clump of black cloth, with his beautiful lute. Wendell looked around the tavern, increasing the light overhead, but there was no one else present. “Who…were you talking to?”

The gnome grinned. “No one.”

“Oh not this again,” came the high-pitched, whining voice.

“It’s funny,” Bartleby chided.

“No it’s not,” challenged the voice.

“It’s funny because you are NOT a ‘who’.”

“It’s NOT funny because you’re an idiot and no one likes a bad joke—because then it’s NOT a joke if it’s a bad joke, now is it. It just becomes…a joke.”

Wendell eyed the robe—which lay motionless under the bard butt. What is going on? His head snapping back up to the gnome, “Wait…are you a ventriloquist? Because I know that voice.” His eyes narrowed to slits, “It’s the voice that’s been following me and watching me in the woods!”

Bartleby frowned deeply. “I told you you were being too loud, Huey!”

“Shut up.”

The gnome scratched his head, “What’s a ventriloquist?”

“Someone who throws his voice. Like holding a puppet and making it seem to others that the puppet can talk.”

“Oh!” Bartleby’s brows popped up. “Thennnnn YUP! That’s me!”

“Liar,” said Huey.

“Says you,” Bartleby countered. “How you feeling, Wendell?”

The bleeding had stopped, and nearly all the pain had faded to a dull ache. He stared at the robe and clenched his hands into fists. “Done.”

“What?”

Wendell knelt forward and gently pushed the gnome off the robe. “I’m done. With running, hiding, and letting this thing threaten the people of this village.” Grabbing his coin purse out of his pocket, he handed it to Bartleby. “Take this and hold onto it. Now get out of here and don’t let anyone enter the tavern.”

“I don’t think anyone wants to get close to the wolves, so you’re free from any sudden company.”

Wendell gave the gnome a smirk, “Like you?”

“Hey, I was just being true to myself and fleeing to protect my own skin. I came in here and hid behind the bar.” He nodded at Wendell, “You people have serious issues around here.” Bartleby turned to leave, “Wait—what are you going to do?”

Without looking up, Wendell scooped up the mass of robe. Holding it tightly against his chest, Wendell stared at the bard serenely.

The Ithari flared from under Wendell’s shirt.

“Time to flee, Bartleby.”

The gnome let out an ‘eeep!’ then ran from the tavern, slamming the door behind him.

The Den exploded with light, every crack and crevice free from shadow.

Brighter and brighter Wendell willed the light to grow.

Nowhere to hide this time. Nowhere to run.

“SKREEEEEEE!”

“You were right, you know,” Wendell said aloud. “I’m not the hero. Not the one the people on your world wanted, anyway.”

RELEASE ME!

Smoke rose from the threads of the gripped robe, and Wendell locked his wrists tight, leaning over it to use some of his bodyweight.

“But there are a few things I believe…”

Gripping the robe tighter.

“SKREEEEEEE!”

“I believe people should be given every opportunity to turn from evil.”

The robe squirmed and shook, rocking Wendell back and forth across the floor.

“I believe that some people choose evil over good, and in the end, will have to take accountability for their actions.”

RELEEEEEASE MEEEE!

Pulling downward, the robe tried to wiggle between Wendell’s legs. Locking his ankles, he secured the robe once more.

“SKREEEEEEE!”

“I also believe that I’m willing to endure, and if need be  suffer, if it means good people, like those in this village, are safe from creeps like you.”

THESE CATTLE HATE YOU!

Again the robe fought violently against Wendell’s grip, smoke billowing from its withering form.

“Maybe,” Wendell said firmly, “but I don’t hate them.”

It was then Wendell took a shuddering breath.

Be me?

Yes, Wendell.

Be you.

Leaning his heard forward, Wendell whispered, “But you know what the most important thing you’ve helped me learn?”

The robe slowly ceased struggling.

“I can do this.”

Wendell clenched his eyes tight.

“PÄLO!”