* * *
Sam could not believe what he was hearing. The voice from the dead wendigo was something he feared would haunt his nightmares. But as terrifying as that was, the words the voice spoke were worse. Was this great furry thing, this female wendigo, his sister Janice? God could not be so cruel.
He shifted to astral perception and studied the being’s aura. He knew now how to recognize a wendigo aura, and he had no doubt that he was seeing one. But he had not been magically active the last time he had seen his sister. Nor had she gone through the change. How would he know if this was she? He could not be sure. Like a half-remembered dream, something in the being’s aura nagged with familiarity.
"Janice?"
The red-rimmed eyes that turned to him were bleak. The face in which they were set was totally unfamiliar. He could not find a hint of his sister’s fair features. He had already heard this wendigo’s voice and found nothing to recognize in it.
"Sam?"
His throat constricted when he heard her pronounce his name, "Sa-am." His doubts fled. "Lord in Heaven, it is you."
There was so much to say, but Sam couldn’t find the words. Ever since he had heard of her goblinization, he had feared for her. His attempts to contact her through Renraku had been inexplicably stifled. But he had never forgotten her, never stopped trying to figure out a way to contact her. She stood before him now and the moment was nothing like any he had imagined. He had been afraid kawaru had left her an ork, or worse, a troll—but this! Ever since he had learned what wendigo were, he had hated them.
Janice only stared at him, her dark eyes an enigma. Finally he stammered, "I want to help."
"Where were you when I needed you before?" she asked accusingly.
"I tried to—"
"If you had really fragging tried, you would have done something. Dan was there when I needed him. You abandon me, then you come back into my life, and you take him away from me. You want to help me? Bring him back."
"But he was a wendigo."
"And what do you think I am?" she shouted, slamming a great paw against her chest.
"There has to be a way to help you."
Her laughter was bitter. "And I grew up thinking I was the romantic and you were the practical one. There's no redemption for me. Don’t you see I’m already damned?"
44
"I can’t believe that you just let her leave."
Estios stormed back and forth across the short space afforded him. The apartment was one of Hart’s safe-houses. The back room had been roomy for Willie and her rigger board, but with all the runners gathered, space was at a premium. Most of the fine furniture had been pushed back against the walls to make room for the Mitsuhama Medical Technologies Home Convalesence Bed in which Hart lay. The runners, both the unscathed and the wounded, and their gear looked absurdly out of place among the wainscoting, natural fiber rugs, and timber-beamed ceiling.
As soon as Estios passed him, Dodger stuck a foot into the open space. Estios’s attention was focused on Sam; he remained unaware of the obstruction as he retraced his path. Teresa elbowed Dodger in the ribs and he retracted his foot just before Estios would have stumbled over it.
Monitoring the readouts on the MMT bed, Sam was only half-aware of Estios’s ravings. Sam was no expert, but he thought the readings indicated that Hart should be conscious. Though her eyes remained closed and she didn’t respond when he whispered her name, he felt sure she was awake, refusing to acknowledge anything around her.
He was afraid that he was what she was avoiding. But it might have been that she didn’t want to deal with the loud-mouthed Estios, or maybe she just wanted to rest. Either made sense. They had all been through a lot and no one wanted to hear Estios rant.
Sam looked around the room. Dodger and Teresa were holding a private conversation where they sat on the long couch. They were intense and Dodger looked unhappy. Willie sat hunched over her rigger board and was ostentatiously busy with the controls. Father Rinaldi, when they had been exchanging tales in the Shidhe holding cell, had told Sam chat he disliked any kind of computer-human interface, but he was helping Willie watch the viewscreen. From what little Sam could see of the pictures relayed from her spotter drones, nothing much was happening. Obviously, Janice was still inside the rundown tenement where she had gone to ground.
Sam suddenly realized Estios had stopped talking and was looking at him. The elf must have asked a question. With no memory of having heard the question, Sam had no hope of answering it.
"Look," he said with a sigh. "It's over. The Circle’s broken."
"Weren’t you listening? It’s not over as long as Ashton and Wallace are still out there."
"If you’re so worried about them, go do something about it. I think they were just minor players. With the others all dead, especially the wendigo who built the Circle and fed them the power they thought their sacrifices gained them, they won’t be a problem. An anonymous message to the Lord Protector’s Oversight Board will get them their comeuppance."
"They might still escape and recruit new members. Even if they do not, the monster’s mate is still out there."
Sam buried his face in his hands and tried to massage away the anger he felt toward the obtuse Estios. "Forget her. She wasn't part of the Circle."
"I can’t forget her. She's a wendigo. That’s enough reason for her to die."
Sam got to his feet. His ribs ached within the restraint of his torso bandage. He was wobbly, but the walking cast on his leg made a limping shuffle possible. He hobbled across to Estios and looked up into the elf’s face.
"You’re not going to kill her."
Estios curled his lip; he put his hand on Sam’s chest and shoved him backward. Sam landed in a chair with an agonizing shock that sent a wave of blackness and wheeling lights across his vision. He was glad he had fallen in the cushioned chair; hitting the floor or a wall might have caused him to pass out. He didn’t think Estios would have cared.
"You’re too emotionally involved, Verner. I will assume that the painkillers have fogged your reasoning, and overlook your criminal shortsightedness. She stopped being your sister the day she grew fur." Estios surveyed the room. "We’ve wasted enough time. Put the drones on standby and transfer control to your van. rigger. Priest, you’ll stay here with the wounded. Everybody else, grab your gear. We’re going hunting."
Willie looked to Sam. She had never liked Estios and hated taking his orders. She seemed torn between her loyalty to Sam and the weight of the elf’s arguments. Her eyes asked for a release from the burden of decision.
Seeing that no one else was going to stand up to Estios, Sam gritted his teeth. There was a table next to the chair, and he grabbed it, hoping to take some of the pressure off his ribs as he attempted to stand. Pain rocked him as he tried, and he collapsed back into the chair.
Dodger was across the room and crouched at Sam’s side in an instant. The elf used one hand to steady Sam in the chair while his deft fingers adjusted controls on Sam’s torso wrap. There was a brief hiss as more gas pumped into the bandage’s tubes to increase its rigidity.
"He’s going too far, Teresa," Dodger said. "This is a dangerous plan."
"If you're scared, alley runner, you can stay behind. We’ll be playing in the real world where people get really hurt. You wouldn’t like it. Why don’t you go hide in your electron fantasies?" Estios took a step toward the couch and held out his hand to Teresa.
Dodger stepped forward. "Don’t go with him, Teresa."
Teresa stared past Sam, obviously meeting Dodger’s gaze. Sam could see wavering emotions on her face. Dodger was out of Sam’s line of sight, but he felt Dodger’s tension through the elf’s grip on his arm. The grip tightened as Teresa dropped her eyes and took Estios’s hand.
Estios helped her up, then bent, retrieved her weapon, and tossed it to her. All the while Estios grinned at Dodger like a kid who had won a prize at a carnival.
"Get a move on, rigger," he said, slapping a hand aga
inst the back of Willie’s chair. "We’ve got vermin to exterminate."
Estios reached for his own Steyr, which leaned against the table with the rigger board, and froze as a new voice entered the conversation.
"Touch it and your boss will need a new number one, Ice Eyes."
Hart’s voice was hoarse. Her eyes, sunken and dark ringed, were open and burned with fever. Their gaze was fixed on Estios. Her left arm lay across her body, which took most of the weight of the gun she held. She pointed the muzzle at Estios. Sam had no idea where she had gotten the weapon, but she wasn’t in any shape to use it effectively. He thought he noticed a slight tremor in her hand.
Estios looked at her, his face stony. Then, apparently dismissing the threat, he started to reach for his gun.
Thunder boomed in the room. Estios recoiled as splinters of wood exploding from the table drew blood from his outstretched hand.
"That was your one warning," Hart said. Her complexion was paler, and fresh sweat plastered locks of hair to her forehead. The recoil from the shot had obviously caused her pain. Her hand shook visibly now.
Estios rubbed at his small wounds with the thumb of his uninjured hand.
"Put the gun down. Hart. I could hit you with a power dart before you could fire, and I don't think your spell defense is up to competition levels right now.
"You can try me. drekhead. It’s the only way you’ll know."
Estios appeared to be weighing the odds.
Rinaldi reached across and grabbed the Steyr by the muzzle. He set it down again against the wall, well out of Estios’s reach.
"I think that you might reconsider your position, Estios. One cannot condemn a person for possibilities. If that were so, all people would have to be condemned, for we are all capable of crimes. As far as we know, Janice has killed no one yet."
"But she has eaten human flesh," Willie said. "The other wendigo said she was just like him. We know he was a killer"
Rinaldi shifted his stance so that he could speak to Willie without taking his eyes off the stalemate between Hart and Estios.
"We also know he was a liar. If Janice has eaten flesh, then she has committed a crime and a sin. But the crime is not a capital one, and the sin may be forgiven. I do not find it beyond the bounds of reason to think that she was under the influence of the evil she called Dan Shiroi and did not fully know what she did. If she repents, there is hope for her redemption."
"Redemption," Estios repeated in a mocking tone. "As long as she is a wendigo, she will crave the meat. Tell me, priest. Can you change her back to the way she was, then?"
Sam’s heart raced, ignited by hope.
But Rinaldi turned away from Estios and gripped his left hand in his right. He rocked his hands up and down at waist level and shook his head sadly. "Alas, no. But neither can I condone murder. That is what it shall be if you kill her without evidence that she has succumbed completely to the wendigo nature. Coldblooded murder."
"Let her kills be on your head, then."
Rinaldi shifted as if Estios’s suggestion made him nervous. "Her actions are her own responsibility. As yours are your responsibility. Every individual must make his or her own choices."
Each of Rinaldi’s minor changes of position had put him closer to Hart’s bed. In a sudden lunge, he snatched Hart’s gun. She was too weak to fight him as he easily removed the weapon from her grasp. He slipped on the safety and tossed the pistol into a corner.
"As I said, I will not condone murder," he said to Hart.
She threw back her head and clenched her teeth. Sam could hear her fist pound once against the edge of the bed.
"Nice move," Estios said. "For a priest. Thanks for saving me the trouble."
"I did not disarm Hart for you alone," Rinaldi said. "And I still maintain that you are premature. Janice must live as her own conscience demands. If she is weak and embraces the demands of her parabiology. I will help you hunt her down."
"I don’t want any help from you, priest."
"That will not stop me from joining the hunt," Rinaldi said resolutely.
Their casual talk of hunts and death and murder was finally too much for Sam. Janice wasn’t an animal.
"Shut up!" he shouted. "Shut up, all of you! There won’t be any hunt. She’s my sister."
"She’s a wendigo," Estios said. "You’re a fool to protect her. Verner. That kind of collaboration would get you the death sentence in the Tir. We know how to treat those who help the wendigo. If you think that being her brother will save you from her, you’re a double fool. The wendigo is conscienceless evil; it knows no family,"
Sam looked at Estios, but his eyes were seeing the events of the previous night. He saw the spirit of humanity wrestle with the spirit of Blight in its wendigo embodiment. He heard the wendigo’s voice pleading with Janice. That hollow voice had spoken words that didn’t fit Estios’s evaluation. Those caring words had come from a husk that had been burned clean of evil, but they had been born of one human spirit, twisted as it was, reaching out to another who responded. He had seen the tears of the wendigo Janice and knew that the human Janice was still alive somewhere inside.
"You just don’t understand," Sam insisted. "She’s sick."
"You’re crazy, Verner," Estios spat back at him. "She’s a killer. She has to be stopped."
"She has killed no one," Rinaldi said. "Hunting her down and killing her would be murder,"
"She’s a wendigo. It’s necessary," Estios said.
"It’s murder," Sam said.
"It’s moot," Willie said. "At least for now. I’ve called back the drones."
"You stupid halfer," Estios screamed. He grabbed his Steyr and headed out the door. "Come on. If we don’t hurry, the beast will get away."
Teresa slung her weapon and started after him.
"Teresa!" Dodger called, stopping her halfway to the door.
"You’re not like him, Teresa," Dodger insisted. "Don’t go with him."
She stood still for a full five seconds, then ran out the door. She didn’t look back. Dodger slammed his fist into the wall, then sought out a corner and collapsed in it, arms folded over his drooping head.
"Willie, what have you done?" Sam asked.
"Got rid of a real loser," she said. "Sorry about your bird, Dodger."
"She made her own choice," Dodger said glumly.
"But they’re going after Janice," Sam said. "They’ll kill her."
"Neg. She’ll be gone. I dropped a drone in to spook her. All they’ll find is an empty squat."
"But you have lost her to us as well," Rinaldi pointed out.
"Neg, again. Got a pair of drones still on her tail."
"Clever, Willie," Rinaldi said.
"Affirm," the rigger agreed as she returned her full attention to monitoring her drones’ progress.
Sam forced himself to ignore the pain and rose to his feet. Unsteadily, he limped to Rinaldi. Taking the priest by his arm, Sam leaned close. "You’re an expert on magic, father. Tell me there’s a way to cure her. There must be a way."
Rinaldi bowed his head for a moment, then looked Sam in the eyes. "I just don’t know, Sam. Science knows next to nothing of the wendigo metatype, and magical tradition adds precious little. If the tales from the north are true, the wendigo nature is a curse. If that is the case, it may be that she can be restored. But if it is a biological change and nothing more, I fear there is little hope. I will pray that your faith and love be rewarded, but I just don’t know."
"You won’t really hunt her, will you?"
Rinaldi turned his head away.
"First things first, Sam. You and Hart are hurt and must be taken care of. Janice is fresh and strong, while we are tired and weak. I have no doubt she has been well trained in combat and magic by the evil. If we try to restrain her she will fight, and she might kill most of us."
"She would never kill me. I’m her brother."
"You could be right. I pray that you are. That might be her way to redemption."
Might. Could be. Maybe. Wasn’t anything certain?"I’ll never be sure, will I, father?"
"In this life? I think not, Sam. But one can always pray, and trust in the Lord. He is always with us."
Sam said nothing for a few minutes, quiet as he thought about Janice and about what Rinaldi had said. Finally, he said, "I think you’re right, father. I think He will be with me in this. You might even say that He’s dogging my path."
Frowning, Rinaldi said, "You sound like a shaman I once knew."
Sam just smiled. All those mights, could-bes and maybes were full of possibilities. All kinds of possibilities. It was only despair that made the future seem dark. He didn’t have to look at it that way and vowed that he wouldn’t. Dog had shown him the enlightening and redeeming power of hope.
Sam knew he’d find a way to do what had to be done.
About the author:
Robert Charrette is an award-winning game designer and miniature sculptor as well as a writer. He continues to pursue these careers, as well as sculpting the occasional fine art bronze while constructing assorted items for his fourteenth-century reenactment hobby and attempting to keep current on a variety of eclectic intcresls, including dinosaurian paleontology and Japanese history. He currently resides in Springfield. Virginia, with his wife Elizabeth, who patiently listens to his constant complaints of insufficient time.
Copyright
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Lid. 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England
Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, 182 190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
First published 1991
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Copyright © FASA, 1991 All rights reserved
Choose Your Enemies Carefully Page 32