Amarok

by Angela J. Townsend

  January 21, 1865

  I’ve grown sicker by the day. My vision is so poor I can hardly see to write this entry. The native tales of cursed lands and ill fortune ring true. I saw the evil one with my own eyes, and in his hateful glare he cursed me with a terrible blight that has taken over my body. I fear for my wife and son. Beware all those who near his mountain, for inside it lies not a man, but a terrible monster.

  Louis Baptise

  Emma shivered and closed the fragile diary, returning it to the box. She glanced out the window at the mountain, eyeing its dark, oppressive peaks. A terrible dread filled her gut—somewhere deep within those rocky folds, the shaman hid. Maybe he already knew she was there, and so was watching and waiting for her. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was going to get Amarok’s totem, and nothing would stand in her way. Determination steeled her spine; she pushed open the door and headed out. Emma hiked from the cabin up a set of barren hills toward the base of the mountain. She adjusted the heavy pack, keeping the massive landmark in focus. Something about it repulsed her, made her feel cold and unclean, and she fought the urge to turn back. The unsettling feelings only confirmed her belief that this was where the shaman resided, as if his presence had corrupted the place, permeating even the rock with his evil. She lumbered through patches of dead grass and slush, her footsteps the only sound.

  Emma kept to the trees, trying to remain hidden. The back of her neck prickled. All the while, she felt eyes watching her from every angle. She glanced around. Branches snapped behind her and she paused. Her pulse hammered in her ears, an unswallowable knot forming in her throat. She took two more steps, and the shuffle of feet crunched behind her. She whirled, holding the gun high, scanning the land around her. No one—not one sound. She continued a few yards, until a shrill scream broke the silence. Emma froze, unable to move her feet, her heart punching into her ribcage. What the hell was that? She waited a minute, then two, but no threat materialized. She worked her way up and up, peering over her shoulder all the while to make sure she wasn’t being followed. A few steps later, she reached the base of the mountain.

  Emma scanned its heights and focused on a high eave. Behind it, a yawning cave punctured the granite. The rocky surface angled upward from the ground to the cave ledge, making an imperfect set of steps.

  She leaned face-first against the icy wall, inhaling the pungent odors of sage and moss. Using her fingertips, she grasped at tiny protruding ledges, pulling herself up. The weight of the backpack caused the straps to bite into her shoulders. Emma winced, sweat beading her forehead. Gritting her teeth, she climbed higher, muscles screaming, until she reached the lip of the cornice and peered over the top. Loose shale and scattered twigs cluttered the surface. She hauled herself up onto the broad ledge and shrugged off the pack, surveying the sweeping valley below.

  Emma peered down at Amarok’s old cabin. She wrapped her arms around herself as an unsettling thought occurred to her. She could see into the windows. Her stomach knotted, thinking how the shaman must have stalked the family, watching and waiting for just the right time to unleash his deadly curse, keeping himself coiled, like a venomous snake, in the shadows.

  Emma filled her lungs with cold mountain air, trying to take the edge off her agitated nerves. She eyed the cave opening and slipped on her pack. Moss clung to the vertical limestone walls, and an eerie fog hovered in the void between the floor and ceiling.

  Her scalp tingled. What if she ran into a bear or disturbed a nest of bats? She shuddered. An animal encounter would be better than one with the shaman. She could feel his evil presence seeping out of the walls, a presence so strong she could hardly breathe.

  Emma peered into the cave, her gaze swallowed by the impenetrable blackness. She took a step inside, senses on high alert. She clutched the rifle until her knuckles burned. Clicking the flashlight on, she took another step. The clammy interior exhaled a musty breeze, chilling its way into her bones.

  She fought to focus in the haze, seeing tiny flicks of lights appear, then fade into nothing. Emma took another wary step. Something crunched beneath her boots. A chill sliced up her spine. She shone a beam of light over the floor. Hundreds of dead beetles lay scattered on their backs. Bones of all sizes lay strewn across the flowstone on brown stains of dried blood, like a slaughterhouse floor. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag.

  Emma steadied herself, stepped inside, and let the darkness swallow her.

  30

  The windowsill stood cold and barren, empty of life and love. Amarok rested on the floor, listening for any sounds of the owl’s return. Once in a while, he would see the glint of falling snow, or hear the shrill of squirrels preparing their dens for winter, and his pulse would race. How hard it was to just lie there, helpless, worthless. So utterly alone.

  Amarok’s thoughts returned, time and time again, to Emma. He tried to console himself, convince himself, that his uncle would protect her. But what could a bird do? Hope struggled for a foothold. Maybe, if nothing else, he could guide her to where the totem lay hidden, if she made it that far. The need to believe she was out of harm’s way warred with the knowledge of what she faced, and his head began to pound. It seemed like days since her departure instead of hours. Her absence left a hollow emptiness in his very existence.

  A violent wave of fear stabbed through Amarok’s spine. So many dangers lay ahead of her—the river, the plunging temperature, wild animals and, worst of all, Milak himself.

  Amarok closed his eyes, attempting to push the terrible thoughts from his mind. He tried to visualize what life might be like if Emma returned with the totems. His eyelids flew open, and he released a heavy sigh. He knew better than to humor such outlandish ideas, but somehow, it made the pain of his wounds almost bearable.

  Emma deserved to have someone to care for her, to love her. It wasn’t right for her to be left all alone, with no one to protect her.

  He only wished that somehow, he could be the one at her side, but time was his enemy and he feared the endless sleep would take him before he even had a chance to see her once more.

  31

  Emma stumbled through the dark, following the faint beam of her flashlight. Shale and bits of gravel rolled from beneath her boots. The rocks scattered ahead and disappeared with a loud splash. She jerked to a stop, shining the flashlight along the stone floor. Inches from her feet, an enormous sinkhole punctured the ground. Emma sucked in a breath, staring down into the watery pit. One or two more steps, and she would’ve plunged into a boggy grave. She had to keep her wits about her, even though she was painfully aware of the minutes ticking away. Being careless would cost her more than time. Slow and cautious was better than quick and dead.

  She eased her way around the gaping hole and entered a wide chamber. Jagged stalactites, like stone daggers, hung from the ceiling. Foul water dripped down their sharp blades into deep, scummy ponds. A narrow trail wove among them.

  A putrid scent of decay seeped from the walls. Emma fought to stay on the narrow path. She stumbled and stepped ankle-deep into one of the murky puddles, almost losing her boot in the sucking mud. She pulled her foot loose and pushed on. Around a tight bend, Emma came to a massive entranceway, braced on each side by a giant tusk and topped with a massive skull. She waved the flashlight over the colossal skeleton of what must have been a mammoth. Deep etchings of interlacing circles and arrows marred the bone surfaces. Her pulse quickened. This has to be the right way!

  Emma ducked under the skull, passing dark intersections, tunnels, and chasms. Niches of blackness filled with strange sounds made her glad she didn’t know what lurked inside. Palms sweating, she ventured deeper and deeper into the unsettling cave. Her flashlight shone a weak path into the darkness, illuminating a segment of tunnels. Which way? Emma studied the four catacombs and selected the largest.

  The tunnel angled downward, and with every step, Emma’s throat tightened. Something gleamed from the walls. She held the flashlight close to the
stony surface. The beam flickered across faded brush strokes. Muted reds and blacks depicted animals, men, and beasts. One figure stood out in the middle, a giant godlike creature with horns on his head and fur robes draped over his shoulders. At his feet half-men, half-beasts twisted in misery.

  Darkness wound around her, smothering all but the faint beam of her flashlight and shrouding her in panic. Panic shot through her veins. She had to get out—now. Her head spun with terrifying thoughts. She didn’t want to die here, her soul trapped forever. Clenching her jaw, she fought the urge to escape the unholy place. She pressed ahead, forcing herself to go deeper into the dark and dangerous unknown.

  The flashlight winked and faded out. Emma froze. She shook it hard until the batteries nearly fell out. The light flickered, then came on. Fear slithered down her spine. If the light went out for good, she’d be trapped, alone in the dark, stumbling through a dangerous maze. The flashlight flickered again. Emma smacked it against the stone wall. The beam clicked on as wings flapped and the air filled with horrible screeching. She looked up in time to see an army of bats descending from the ceiling. She dropped to the floor and covered her head. Don’t scream, don’t…

  They flew off in a bunch and Emma stood, listening to their leathery wings snapping into the dark. She held the light in front of her, forging ahead, entering another large chamber, taking stock of the room, praying the commotion of the bats hadn’t alerted the shaman to her presence. The enormous cavern resembled a tomb, with stalagmites for monuments. The flashlight played over the pools of stagnant water, reflecting like stained glass.

  A granite altar dominated the center of the room. Suspended from the ceiling, stalks of dried plants hung like dozens of skeletal fingers. Beyond the stone shrine, Emma spied a flash of bleached bone. Her light revealed the ancient ribcage of an enormous beast. From each rib hung a totem. She ran over, searching through the maze of carved animals. She found bears, raccoons, birds, snakes and rabbits. Her heart sank. How many people had been enslaved by this monster? Emma gritted her teeth and snatched the totems one by one, searching for Amarok’s. Only two totems left. One had to be the one she needed. She grabbed the first one. In the dim light she saw the outline of wolf ears. Her breath caught in her throat. She’d found it! She held it to the light, and her shoulders sagged. A fox. She slipped it into her backpack and reached for the last one. This had to be it… please! She snatched the last totem—a wolf, yes!—and slipped it around her neck.

  Footsteps shuffled behind her. Emma froze, listening so hard she could hear the air filtering in through tiny cracks in the walls. Another shuffle.

  Louder.

  Closer.

  32

  Something awoke Amarok, but he couldn’t say what. The blood seeping through his bandages slowed, and the haze in his eyes cleared. His body still ached and with every move, the cuts raking across his frame continued to burn like fire, but something was different—very different.

  His heart swelled. Was it possible? Had Emma found his totem? He laid his head down and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. If it were true and he was really going to survive, the first thing he had to do was make sure Emma was safe, and then he would free the others from Milak’s spell. If he could find their totems and reunite them, the curse would be broken. He thought of Suka, and a shiver penetrated his heart. If the bear were still alive, what would he be like now, as a man? As an animal, he was a mindless killing machine fueled by rage. Would he continue his bloody reign in human form? Amarok hated the thought of sharing a forest with that sort of madness, whether he was man or beast.

  The thought of Suka brought more questions. He knew he could never leave the cursed lands or he’d age and die within a few days. But how long would Emma want to stay in such seclusion? Would she run off to the city? Could he make her so insanely happy that she’d never want to leave? It didn’t matter; he knew it would be wrong to try. She had a real life to lead, not the primitive and isolated existence that was all he had to offer. His shoulders sagged. It all seemed so impossible.

  He loved the idea of living again as a man and it filled him with happiness, but still, a part of his heart ached. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing Emma. What good was it to live if he were totally alone, bound to a land void of everyone he’d ever loved and unable to follow them?

  He’d thought being trapped in the body of a wolf had been the loneliest existence possible. He’d been wrong. It wasn’t being unable to speak. It hadn’t even been suffering from starvation and physical abuse. It was being denied love and companionship. If he freed the others, he might find friendship and camaraderie, but if Emma left, love would be beyond his grasp.

  33

  Emma bolted from the chamber, flashlight jiggling in her hand as she ran. It illuminated flashes of random horror around her, like a strobe light in a haunted house. The murmur of chanting echoed off the cave walls, bouncing back as if it were coming from every crevice, every dark nook. The awkward weight of the backpack threw her off-balance and she nearly lost her footing more than once. If she hadn’t put all the totems inside it, she would have ditched it by now.

  Her boots slapped across the flowstone, adding an eerie rhythm to the voice booming around her. She skidded past a corner and into the next chamber, grasping at mossy stone and who knew what else, to help her keep her balance. The chanting grew louder, seeming to rise and fall, a frightening counterpoint to her pounding heart.

  Swords of daylight speared into the dark from the cave’s yawning entrance. Emma’s pulse picked up a notch. Just a few more steps, and she’d reach freedom. The chanting turned into a yowl as she burst from the dark cave into daylight. A powerful wind shrieked, lashing at her back. It wrapped sharp talons around her ankles. Emma tripped and fell. She tasted blood, scrambled to her feet and fell again. The pull increased. She kicked at the hands, looking at her legs as her feet met no resistance. Behind her, traces of mist seemed to gain substance as it tried to drag her into the darkness.

  A shadow fell over the rocky lip. She shot a glance upward. An owl swooped low and ripped the totems from her neck. It launched into the sky again, dropping bits of rotten leather behind.

  “No!” Emma screamed, flipping onto her back, kicking harder at the nothingness that held her. The grip tightened, pulling her along the cold, wet floor. She managed to flip onto her belly again. Her fingernails ripped as she frantically clawed stone, seeking a finger-hold to buy more time. The thing had dragged her halfway inside when an alarming hum echoed in the distance. A boat motor.

  Her blood froze.

  Ben was leaving her.

  34

  With every breath, strength slowly flowed into Amarok’s battered body. How was it possible? He’d lain here for hours in the clutches of death and now suddenly, the reaper had lost his grip. Granted, every muscle still ached, and the wounds covering his body were just as excruciating, but something had changed. It was the pain of a wounded man, not a dying one. He inhaled deeply for the first time in hours, and his vision cleared.

  It could only mean one thing. Emma had found the twin to his totem! Somehow, she’d done it and now he was soon to be free—forever. For the magic to be this powerful, she had to be somewhere close. He crawled his way to the door and opened it. Please, dear God, allow me this one bit of happiness. This one miracle.

  A sudden shift in the wind alerted him and Amarok looked up as an enormous owl drifted in through the opening on silent wings. It landed on his hip, the black talons digging in painfully, threatening to tear even more flesh until it hopped to the floor. From its wicked-looking black beak hung the two totems. Amarok’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief. He reached out and grabbed the totems, draping them around his neck. His gaze shot to the door, but Emma didn’t appear. He frowned at the owl.

  “Where’s Emma?”

  The owl cocked its head and regarded him with hooded yellow eyes. Then it launched itself into the air, the backdraft of the gigantic wings fanning over h
im. The bird escaped out the door, only to land at the edge of the clearing, waiting. Suddenly, he understood. Emma had been captured, and Uncle Jock was showing him the way. He struggled to stand. His muscles were unfamiliar in his true form, and his near brush with death had left him weak. Although he managed to get up again, he only took a single step before losing his balance and falling. He wobbled like a newborn fawn taking its first steps. He’d have to relearn how to walk upright like a man, but he had no time to practice. Amarok grabbed onto a chair for support and tried again. His knuckles turned white as he held on. He took two steps and collapsed in a heap.

  He slammed a fist into the floor, rose to his knees, and then to his feet once more. It had been so long since he’d stood as a man—almost too long to remember. He dragged himself into the chair and flexed his ankles, feeling his flesh tingle. Amarok took a deep breath to steady himself, determination thick in his veins, and he stood again. His muscles went into painful spasms and he shuffled until he could bear the weight without falling.

  Amarok took another step forward, focused on planting one foot in front of the other. He stretched his memory back to when he’d been a teenager running along the sandy riverbank, when his legs had ached from long, difficult hikes with his father. What a beautiful sensation to stand, but he’d take the time to enjoy it later. Right now, Emma needed him.

  Underneath Weasel Tail’s bed, he found a pair of long johns and wool pants, socks and a plaid shirt. He’d still need boots and a gun. Amarok searched the room. He’d only seen the man with one pair of shoes. Hobbling to the door, he peered out at Weasel Tail’s lifeless frame. Amarok choked down a wave of disgust. The man was already turning back into some sort of beast, his body sprouting a thick coat of gray fur, his features twisting and distorting as he started to decompose. Amarok stepped into the snow, the cold burning his bare feet. He knelt and quickly unlaced the man’s boots, and then pried the gun from his rigid hands.