Robert Charrette - Find your own truth

Ghost looked Sam over and nodded, seemingly satisfied that he would survive. Otter limped her way to them. She was bruised but had sustained no serious injuries. She had Rikki in tow; he was grimier than usual, but unhurt. Hart arrived at a full run, weapon in one hand and spell energy glowing around the other. At Ghost's "It's over," she let the spell fade away and dropped her weapon to hang from its sling. She threw her arms around Sam, who returned the embrace. "I'm all right," he told her. "I was too far away," she said. "Janice?" "I don't know. She was fighting one of the dzoo-noo-qua. They rolled that way into the brush." "That fight's over, too," Ghost announced. "Janice?" Sam said. Ghost said nothing.

Fearing the worst, Sam bolted in the direction he had seen the fight heading. Hart raced at his side. They did not have to go far, for the combatants' struggle had taken them no more than a dozen meters from the clearing.

Janice was alive. Her wounds were closing as Sam watched hi shocked silence. It was not the magical healing that shocked him, but what she was doing.

Janice was eating her former opponent.

When she realized she had an audience, she stopped and looked up. At first, Sam saw no recognition in her eyes, only hunger. Then the feral gleam faded a bit, and she slunk away into the shadows. Stunned, he didn't follow. Hart laid her hand on his bruised arm, but he was too numb to flinch.

The beast was rising.

Unnoticed, Father Rinaldi had joined them. "This is very bad, Sam. These dzoo-noo-qua, they are not animals."

Sam refused to believe that. "Paterson's Paranormal Animals lists dzoo-noo-qua as nonsentient. And the Salish-Shidhe Council offers a bounty on them as vermin."

"The Council also offers a bounty on wendigos," Rinaldi pointed out.

The priest's cruel reminder made Sam clench his jaw to repress a sob. Books and bounties weren't always right. Paterson's guide also said that dzoo-noo-qua were trolls that had been turned into something subhuman by an infection of the transforming HMHVV virus. Some researchers thought the same virus turned orks into wendigos, but what did the scientists really know about magical beings?

Rinaldi and Hart coaxed Sam away from the corpse of the dzoo-noo-qua and got him back to the clearing. The priest began to dress Sam's wound. As he was finishing he said sadly, "I'll have to talk with Brothers Mark and Paulus about this."

Sam nodded without meeting Rinaldi's gaze. "Do what you have to do, Father. I understand." "I hope you do, Sam."

Another nod. "Each of us does what he must do." The priest eyed him strangely but said nothing. Gray Otter appeared at Rinaldi's shoulder with an offer to guide him back to the metroplex. The priest thanked her and began to gather his things. Over his bent back, Otter caught Sam's eyes. He mouthed the word "slow," and she nodded. Each of us does what he must do. As Rinaldi and Otter departed, Dodger stepped up to Sam's side. Sam didn't wonder how or why the decker had come to the clearing; he was just glad that Dodger was there.

"Time to fall back and regroup?" Dodger asked. "You know what to do, Dodger." "Verily. Implementation shall take but an elementary command. Fear not, Sir Twist. The good brothers shall receive their recall orders before the padre can reach them. He, too, shall receive a summons home. They shall not be around to interfere." "Will they suspect?"

"For shame, Sir Twist. Though I cannot bespeak the activity of their paranoia, I assure you that they shall not see through my deception until they confront their superior in Rome. By then it will be too late for them to interfere. There is, however, another matter." Sam didn't know what could be worse than tonight's disaster, but Dodger's grim expression promised more calamity. "I don't want to know, so you'd better tell me."

The cottage was Hart's private hideaway in the mountains north of Saint Helens. Dodger hadn't wanted to use it, suggesting instead that they hold their conference somewhere in the woods. Pointing out the threat of inclement weather, Sam had overruled him. The air in the one-room cabin was too warm for comfort, but the windows had to be shut against the driving rain. The rising scent of damp earth and wood competed with the sweaty odor of tightly packed people. The table that normally dominated the cabin's center was shoved to one side and piled with the runners' gear, but that still left the room crowded. Sam's agitated attempts at pacing only made it worse. Hart and Dodger were constantly having to remove their feet from his path or have them trod upon by the distracted Sam. At length he halted, facing the blank log wall that was the cabin's back.

"It's not doing any good putting it off, Sam. None of us likes it any better than you do." Hart's voice was full of concern for him, her tone belying the content. "We all wanted to see Janice saved, but it looks like only one way is left."

"No." Sam spun and faced her. "There is a way to defeat the wendigo. I felt it during the ritual. I know it's still possible for her to change."

"Even with Rinaldi's help, you couldn't design a ritual to do it.''

"We didn't have the power." "We've been through that."

"And I still say that the ritual failed because I'm not powerful enough. We need a stronger shaman to perform the ritual."

Hart exchanged a glance with Dodger, then sighed. "When we started this, you wanted to get other people out of it."

"That was before I knew I couldn't do it alone."

"You couldn't do it with Rikki and Manx, either."

"The ritual never really drew on their power. Besides, they were just small-time. I picked them because they would go along, not because they were really good shamans.

"Who could we get?" Sam found his companions' faces closed to him. "Come on, you two. You've both been in the shadow trade a lot longer than I have. Who do you know? Who's the most powerful shaman around?"

"So you think power's the only problem now."

' 'I think it's the critical factor.'' The ritual had been well designed. What else could have been lacking? "So who might have enough power? How about the archdruid of England?''

Hart chuckled sourly. "An unlikely source of help, considering last year's events."

"Don't you think they'd be grateful for our help in disposing of their renegades?" Sam asked.

Shaking his head, Dodger said, ' 'I believe their point of view would be somewhat different. Considering our complicity in abetting the escape of a certain wendigo, they might actually align us with the villains against." Turning to Hart he asked, "What about Dr. Kano at Cal-Tech?"

She shook her head. "A theoretician, mostly."

"Well, Mistress, is there not a theory problem as well?"

"Our local expert seems to think not, but I'm afraid there still exists a serious question of practical knowledge." She turned to Sam and gave him a sad smile.

"Not to slight your talent and diligence, but you haven't been a practicing shaman for very long. Mastering the Art, whatever the tradition, does not come quickly or easily. The problem with the ritual may not even be what you think it is. You might have all the raw power you need and just not know how to channel it. This transformation magic of yours may just be too subtle."

"And how would I know?"

"By learning more."

"Janice doesn't have the time."

"Always in a hurry."

Sam thought that remark unfair. "I spent a year working with Rinaldi to develop that ritual. I'd hardly call that rushing."

"But it didn't work."

"It could have worked. It should have." Visions of Janice and the dead dzoo-noo-qua swam before his eyes. "We've got to hurry now, whether I want to or not. Janice is succumbing to the wendigo nature. We've got to find someone who can do the ritual properly as soon as possible. We've got to enlist the help of a shaman who has the power, experience, and skill we need."