Wendigo Rising: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode Three) (Yancy Lazarus Series Book 3)

by James Hunter

  Obviously Winona had never met the Lady Fate. I was essentially a homeless, gambling degenerate with a drinking problem. Other than Fast Hands Steve, there was probably no one on the planet more unworthy. I brushed it off.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it, Gigantor. There’s no reason to get all self-loathing on us. You should’ve told me earlier, but you didn’t, and for reasons that seemed right to you at the time. I can respect that.” How could I be pissed? I’d done exactly the same thing, by failing to tell Ferraro about James. Ferraro grunted and shot me a look that told me she knew exactly what I was kicking around in my head. “It’s all water under the bridge,” I said, both for Ferraro’s and Winona’s sake. “So let’s just put it behind us and figure out how to survive the next twenty-four hours.”

  Winona straightened and offered me another warm smile, before silently blurring toward Ferraro and I, scooping us up like a couple of grocery bags, and darting into the forest.

  TWENTY-ONE:

  Seal Bearer

  The trip to the cave took twenty minutes, each and every second pressing down on me as though it had physical weight. When we finally arrived, we found Kong standing statue-still next to the entryway, the planes of his face stony and unreadable in the ghostly moonlight. Winona gently set us down once we drew close enough to walk, and backed up a step, offering a deep bow to her father. Wasn’t sure what was going on here, but it appeared Winona was in the doghouse, so to speak. Maybe he wasn’t thrilled about his little girl spilling the beans on the whole sacred-Seal-of-God thing.

  “Welcome back, mage,” the silver-haired Bigfoot said tersely. “Human.” He rendered Ferraro a slight nod.

  “It’s Agent Ferraro,” she supplied. “Though I guess human works, too.”

  “Very well then, Agent Ferraro. I am Chief Chankoowashtay, the leader of the People of the Forest, and you have our thanks. My daughter told me you fought bravely against the Little Brothers and their ilk. Be welcome to our home and hearth, protected by the laws of hospitality. You need not fear me or my daughter, we are people of peace.” He turned and glanced back over his shoulder. “Come. We have much to discuss and our time is short.” He blurred, disappearing through the nearly invisible fissure in the rock face that lead back into the cave proper.

  Winona escorted us to the entrance, moving slowly enough for us to follow, and into the winding stone passageway, which led into the cavern home. After walking for a handful of minutes, we emerged into the oval room with the bearskin rugs I’d woken up in, approximately a million years ago. We didn’t stop there, however, but instead made our way to the tunnel at the other side of the room. The passageway angled sharply downward for a hundred feet before ending at a spiral staircase, which bore its way ever deeper into the earth like a giant corkscrew.

  Kong squatted at the end of the hall, waiting for us. “This way,” he said, before disappearing down the stairway. There was nothing left to do except follow, which sucked a colossal bag of Bigfoot-ass, let me tell you. The stairway was too narrow for Winona to carry us, and the steps hadn’t been fashioned with humans in mind: each carved stone stair was a yard by a yard, so the descent turned into a winding set of lunges, which closely resembled my own personal version of Hell. Not only do I avoid exercise whenever I can, but my legs still stung and ached from all my injuries, courtesy of the Little Brothers.

  After fifteen minutes and a drop of a couple hundred feet straight down, we emerged in another cavern, this one broad with a high ceiling. Giant stalactites and stalagmites grew from the floor and ceiling, beautiful spears of rock lit from within by ambient golden fire. On the far side of the cavern, the black waters of an underground lake yawned off into darkness, vanishing from sight.

  A closer look at the rocky columns revealed glyphs and sigils inlaid into the stone, some meticulously chiseled into the surface, others inlaid into the stone with gold, silver, or precious jewels. I let out a low whistle—had to be a large fortune imbedded into the walls, floors, and pillars. The sigils were responsible for the strange light, but there were a whole helluva lot of glyphs and runes I didn’t recognize at all.

  They must’ve served some other, unknown function. I was sure of one thing, however: the Chiye-tanka weren’t responsible for those wards. They were old, powerful things that reeked of Vis. Mage work, or something even more powerful, and constructed a millennia or more ago.

  The chief waited off to our left, next to a slowly simmering hot spring recessed into the stone floor. “You are the first humans to put foot in this place. Only my family line have come here since the Burning Ones first set the wards. Since they entrusted my grandfather to stand guard over the Seal. Welcome. Come, bathe in the waters. Be refreshed while we speak.”

  I was damn near flabbergasted—from Kong, that many articulate sentences in a row was practically a rant. Watching the whole spiel was like watching a dog attempting to tap-dance: awkward and unnatural.

  “Holy shit. You’re amazingly articulate when you want to be,” I commented offhandedly.

  His green eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t waste my words, like a foolish man.” His pointed glare told me he thought I was just such a foolish man. “Some things require much speech, while others require little. It is wisdom to know the difference.”

  “Burning Ones?” Ferraro asked, her eyes roaming over the sigils and lingering on the dark waters.

  “Yes. The Malakim,” said Kong. “Seraphs. Those who walk among the stars and tread among the fiery stones.”

  “Angels,” I clarified, “he’s talking about no-shit angels. And not your run of the mill angel either—the Seraphs are among the first sphere of angelic counselors. They dwell in the presence of God.”

  Kong merely grunted. “Enough of the Malakin. They are of no concern and we have much to discuss. Bathe, you will feel better and so will my nose.” The comment lacked inflection, but if I didn’t know better I’d say Kong had cracked a joke.

  My muscles ached and the smell radiating off me was bad enough to warrant a month-long shower or possibly a CDC biohazard quarantine. Taking a dip in a giant underground jacuzzi was something I could definitely get on board with. I stripped down to my skivvies and carefully picked my way over to the pool, easing into the scalding water.

  It rose around my ankles and legs, the burbling water stinging my flesh and burning my wounds. But the sensation was pleasant, so I eased in further. A series of natural shelves lined the pool edges—like benches, all at varying heights—I picked one that let the water come all the way to my neck, the water sluicing over my chest and lapping up against my chin.

  The spring was clear as good moonshine, but felt slick, oily even, and smelled lightly of violets. I settled back, letting the heat work its way into my skin and muscles like massaging fingers. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply through my nose, enjoying the scented water. “You’ve got to get in here, Ferraro,” I said. “This is friggin’ amazing. Absolute Heaven.”

  I took another couple of deep breaths, the tension melting away, the pain from my wounds numbing and vanishing. I opened my eyes in time to see Ferraro pulling her pants free, leaving her clad only in a black sports bra and a pair of black boy shorts. Her body was slick with sweat, the glowing light playing over the hard lines of her muscle. Considering all the shitty, nightmare-inducing things I’d seen on this case so far, it was nice to finally have something worth remembering.

  She padded over to the pool without trying to cover up in the least—completely comfortable in her own skin—and leisurely dipped into the pool with me. She let out a small groan as the water licked up over her thighs, swirling into the nasty gash on her leg, before gliding through the water and joining me on the stone bench.

  “Nice digs you got here,” I said to Kong, who stoically waited for us to settle in. “I’m assuming this is where you keep the Seal?”

  He was quiet, some internal war playing out across his normally sullen face. Finally he shook his head. “No. You misunderstand the nature o
f the Seal. Many believe the Seal to be an object. A scroll or key. But this is to misunderstand the true nature of the Seals. Each is a portion of a demonic essence.” He hesitated, unsure. “Such a thing cannot be kept in an object of stone or metal or wood. It must be held in a host body.”

  He took a deep breath, his barrel chest swelling then depressing as he uttered a grunt. He lifted his right index finger, the digit as big as a banana, and traced it along the centerline of his chest, muttering a string a nonsense syllables.

  The skin and hair parted. A slash opened in the muscle and a crack resounded in the air as his bones stretched apart, giving us a glimpse into his open chest cavity. His massive heart, a dark red ball of meat, thudded and pumped. Imbedded in its center was a shard of brilliant red crystal, threaded through with streaks of smoky-black. A malformed ruby, the size of a pigeon’s egg.

  Ferraro’s hand latched onto my leg, squeezing down. Boy, this certainly wasn’t going to help her with the nightmares.

  “That can’t be sanitary,” I said to no one in particular, feeling more than a little squeamish myself.

  “You must see this,” Kong said, “so that you understand. The Bearers become the Seal. Not guarding an object, but becoming both guardian and object in one.” His hand dropped away and his chest snapped closed with a pop, the tissue reknitting itself in a flash. “This cavern”—he waved a hairy mitt around—“helps to contain the essence. The glyphs and runes suppress the nature of the soul fragment. The waters in which you bathe are holy. Diluted waters which once flowed in the Eden, the garden of God.”

  I glanced through the crystalline liquid, inspecting my leg—my wound had nearly vanished and I already felt like I’d had a good night’s sleep. “Is this the friggin’ fountain of youth?”

  It was Winona who answered. “Yes. One of thirteen scattered across Inworld. It does not offer eternal life as the legends tell. Yet it does fortify the body and soul.” She pounded her chest with a beefy fist. “By bathing in these waters, my Father can better control the demonic nature.”

  I grunted and nodded my understanding. “What’s your role in all this?” I asked her.

  She averted her gaze. “I am in training. Should the time ever come, I will take on the mantle of Seal Bearer.” With her face downcast, she looked crestfallen as she spoke the words—a woman doomed to an unavoidable fate she didn’t want. “Until that day, I comfort my father. Help him to control the creature within. The Seal is not a gift—it is a terrible burden. A dangerous one. If my father should lose control of the demonic essence … it could cause terrible havoc.”

  Visions of the freaky-deaky creature who’d mopped the floor with the Wendigo danced around in my head. “I’m assuming that’s what happened in the scuffle at the clearing?”

  Kong turned away, surveying the dark water of the underground lagoon, and nodded. He spoke, and though he kept his back to us, the acoustics of the cave carried his words. “It is complicated.” He faltered and ran a gargantuan hand over his broad neck. “A word of explanation is needed to understand this transformation. The Seal may pass from me in one of three ways: I may give it to a new guardian—one I deem worthy to bear the crushing weight and responsibility. Or, should I die, the Seal shall pass to my nearest blood kin.”

  He stole a sidelong look at Winona, his lips peeling back in a thin cut that almost resembled a smile, before turning back toward the dark waters. “The third way is through treachery. The Seal can be stolen from me. If someone can take the beating heart from the guardian’s chest and consume the organ and the soul shard contained within … The power will be theirs.

  “But this is no easy thing.” He shook his head, his locks swinging back and forth. “The Seal defends itself. When the host is endangered, it is possible for the demonic essence to gain control. Usurp the body to ensure the survival of its guardian. That is what you saw. It is a dangerous thing, though. After many, many years with the beast, I have some control. But the creature cares only for survival. It cares not for the life of any except its host.”

  “Okay, so let me just try to fill in a few gaps,” I said. “I’m guessing someone approached you a while back, probably tried to convince you to hand over the Seal?”

  Kong’s body tensed, but he didn’t say anything for a long while. “It began with Achak Kinslayer—though he had not yet slain blood of his blood. He is not of my flesh, but, once, he was as a son to me. For a time, I believed he would marry my daughter and succeed me as Chief and Seal Bearer. When he discovered the power of the Seal, his true heart was revealed.” He slammed his fist down, the ground rattling from the blow. “He did not hold to the ways of peace,” he spat. “He desired to use the Seal to throw back mankind and rule over the land as we once did in days long ago.” Silence fell, the waters burbling around me.

  “And what happened after that?” Ferraro asked.

  “I confronted him,” Winona finally offered, sad but resolute. “When he made known his treachery, I broke my betrothal and Father expelled him from the People. Cast him away without kith or clan. To wander the wilderness alone.” She turned away, body shaking as she sobbed softly.

  “Achak returned with a woman of fair complexion and golden hair,” Kong said, speaking over the sound of Winona crying. “I did not recognize this woman, but I do not think she was human. Half a year ago, he came. He threatened us, threatened the People. Boasted that he would enslave the Chiye-tanka and bring a time of terrible suffering on us unless I relinquished the Seal.”

  Winona shuffled to his side, draping an arm around his broad shoulders.

  “I was a fool,” Kong said. “I dismissed his talk …” He trailed off, lapsing into silence. “After many months, Achak returned once more, this time in the dark of night. He murdered his mother, father, and sister—consuming their flesh and gaining great power. He attempted to take the Seal by force, but we fled, hiding in this place—known only to us.”

  That definitely answered a few questions, while raising many more—most importantly, who was the mysterious blonde and how did she fit into this whole thing? One of the Fae maybe, working on behalf of the Guild traitor, or even the real brain behind this operation?

  “But it’s not too late,” Ferraro said, her voice hard-edged. “Whoever is behind this needs both the Seal and Achak’s blood to accomplish their goals. Well, they don’t have the Seal and if we can stop the Wendigo before Doctor Hogg perfects the virus, the bad guys lose. We’re not in optimal shape, I’ll admit, but we aren’t beaten either. We have a real chance of winning this, and we do have a plan. Trust us.” She looked at me. “Trust Yancy.”

  Kong turned his head, his gaze landing on Ferraro, his green eyes contemplative. “My daughter and I are not violent creatures by nature, but in this …” His lips compressed into a feral snarl and he nodded his head, as though reaching a decision. “In this we will fight. We will follow the lead of the Hand of Fate and do as you ask.”

  “Alright,” I said, rubbing my hands together under the water. “The deck’s stacked against us, ladies and gents, and there’s a damn good chance we’re all living on borrowed time, but long shots are sorta my specialty. Here’s the game plan.”

  TWENTY-TWO:

  Avengers Assemble

  Ferraro, Kong, Winona, and I stood outside a dumpy townhouse: a two-story hovel with worn boards covering the windows and a splotchy, matte-white paint job in urgent need of some TLC. Who was I kidding? The only way you could fix this place up was to burn it to ashes, burn the ashes again for good measure, salt the land as an added level of precaution, and rebuild from scratch. The place was nestled amongst a slew of other hovels positioned squarely in the Remington corridor—a disgusting slum, home to interdimensional refugees and a frequent haunt of the Little Brothers. It was the kinda place even most residents of the Hub avoided.

  The street, stretching off in either direction, looked like it belonged in an active warzone. The roadway was narrow and devoid of sidewalks; trash, refuse, and even di
scarded body parts were strewn carelessly wherever there was space. The air stank of death and rot, raw sewage and the sharp fragrance of burning rubber—courtesy of a pile of slowly smoldering tires. The shops and homes were poorly constructed things of concrete or cinderblocks, most sporting tin roofs and reinforced black rebar over the windows.

  A fat rat—a bold furry sucker, who looked like he should be hunting cats instead of the other way around—regarded our party with glossy black eyes, its nose sampling the air. Though the nasty critter couldn’t talk, I could almost hear its chirping thoughts: These people do not belong here. And I had to admit, we certainly did look a bit out of place.

  Sadly, I’d ditched my typical blue jeans and leather jacket combo in favor of the fancy-pants tuxedo I’d rented for the occasion: a black coat and trousers with a silver waistcoat and bow tie. I felt like a complete chump—some awkward high school schlub getting ready for his homecoming. I also felt terribly exposed without my bulletproof jacket in place; a paranoid itch settled in between my shoulder blades. At least I had my hand cannon, stowed in its holster beneath the suit jacket, my K-Bar, and my fingerless, fairy-smiting biker gloves. Small comforts in the grand scheme of things, but I’d take any advantage I could get, however slight.

  Ferraro, dressed in an elegant silver dress that dropped just past her knees and had a split running up one side, looked like she belonged on the red carpet. The dress was a helluva lot more flattering than the no-nonsense pantsuits she normally wore. Clinging to her curves and offering a guy just enough skin to intrigue without entering into the floozy-zone—not that I mind the floozy-zone. Hell, some of my fondest memories come from women who stood boldly and unashamed in the floozy-zone, flaunting who they were without fear of judgment. To me, there’s nothing sexier than a woman comfortable and confident in her own skin, regardless of how she looks.