Dark Ice

by Connie Wood

  “It was you who performed the atrocities that got me sent out here, not I.” His voice was rich and thick with his Italian accent. He was a long way from home.

  “I commit no atrocities. It is merely the fact I live that makes your kind hunt me.”

  “Then what do you call this?” He pointed the tip of his sword toward the shattered window and the dead family inside.

  “I had no part in this.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

  The stranger lunged toward Dane with a skill and speed that surprised him. He parried the blade, it missing his forearm by millimeters and side stepped the sword. The man raised it again, swung it in a short arc and aimed for Dane’s side. Dane leaned his upper body backwards, narrowly missing the strike again.

  Hissing, Dane stepped in toward the man as he raised his sword once more. Dane swung out his fist, side swiping the man’s jaw and sending him flying. He landed hard in the snow with a grunt but managed to keep hold of his weapon.

  Dane advanced on him in two massive strides, leaned over the man and grabbed a fist full of snow jacket. Ignoring the sword in his hand, Dane lifted the man from the ground and stood him upright, keeping hold of his jacket.

  “I had no part in this massacre, venator,” Dane growled.

  The man bought the hilt of his sword up and smashed it into Dane’s shoulder. Dane grunted and started to fall before he righted himself, still not relinquishing his grip on the man. Irritated, Dane grabbed the sword handle in his massive fist and ripped it from its owners grasp.

  The sword was cold despite the heat from the man’s hand. The intricately engraved sword glinted beautifully and even in the heat of battle, he could appreciate the craftsmanship. Dane twisted the sword in his hand, looking at both sides of the majestic handle.

  A single word was engraved on the sword in ancient roman.

  Silvan.

  “Silvan’s your name, venator?” Dane asked, barely able to keep the rancor from his voice. Silvan grunted his answer.

  “I did not slaughter this family, Silvan. While you waste your time on me, the creature that did escapes.”

  Silvan squinted, his heavily-browed blue eyes for a fraction of a second in contemplation. Then simultaneously reefed the sword from Dane’s hand and kicked out. His snow boot landed against Dane’s shin, leaving a dent and enough time to pull away from Dane’s grip.

  Dane stepped back as Silvan turned in the snow, swung out in a roundhouse kick that hit its target. Dane stumbled, winded he grabbed at his stomach and went to the ground. He automatically tumbled and rolled, landing upright next to the venator. Dane reached up, grabbed him and pulled him to the ground.

  The venator twisted and raised his sword preparing for the kill at the same time as Dane bared his teeth to dispose of the hunter.

  A terrible scream rent the air. Both men stopped mid action and looked up. Dane scanned the fields as another scream echoed through the silence before it was abruptly cut short.

  Dane and Silvan rose to their feet at the same time, panting from exertion and adrenaline. Dane waited for a sound, a glimpse or something that would tell them what nature this foreign creature was. Silvan stood next to him, stiff and coiled as if waiting to spring into action, his sword at the ready.

  Then the smell of a fresh kill, newly spilled blood came to him on the breeze. He tried not to groan. Silvan moved first, he treaded quickly but silently around the edge of the cabin, his sword now at his side. Dane followed until they were both at the side of the building looking out into the openness, the hills of snow obstructing their view but not Dane’s smell, his hearing, his knowing.

  Dane jerked his head up, slightly to the left and saw it. A creature, huge and bloody heading away from them. The animal in Dane reared and demanded to be freed. It needed to kill this unknown assailant; it knew this scent as the thing that had been stalking him and Lea. It had to die.

  “Fuck me, it’s a wendigo!”

  The man’s voice brought Dane’s attention away from the creature. He’d forgotten the venator stood next to him. He’d been about to transform. Silvan wore a look a loathing and horror, his knuckles whitening on the hilt of his sword as he raised it once more.

  An angry bellow of pain and frustration made both men look up. The wendigo stood off in the distance, watching them, its yellow eyes glowing dirty in the pristine white snow. It stood a moment longer before turning and slinking off.

  Next to Dane, Silvan moved with speed and grace as he took off after the monster, his snow boots slowing him slightly. Dane watched him go. The hunter had no chance of catching it.

  Dane cursed. If the creature was a wendigo, they were all in for a lot of hell. They were myth, legends, the darkest nightmares, even worse than his breed of shape shifters.

  He swallowed, watched the hunter move across the snow and turned the other way for the long trek home to his den. He wanted to transform, but in bear form the animal in him would want the blood of the wendigo spilled and demand to go after the creature. Neither option would do at the moment.

  Dane needed time to plan. The creature had been stalking him, it would be back, there was no doubt. Dane halted, that animal had been there last night as he made love to Lea. Hot rage flew through him, there was no way he would allow that thing anywhere near his woman.

  He continued on and started to jog. He wouldn’t sleep until that thing was dead. And if it truly was a wendigo, then there was now something more deadly and rancid then Dane ever was. And Dane would kill it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  God damn, he hated the snow. Silvan’s wet, numb legs continued to obediently lumber across the icy plains, following the wendigo’s footprints. Nearly frost bitten fingers were now shoved deep within the pockets of his snow pants. But he was sure he’d ever know if they could ever work properly again until he felt the warmth of his Mediterranean sun thaw them out.

  “Bloody stupid fucking snow,” he growled as he stumbled and tripped in the soft snow. His quick reflexes allowed him to pull his hands from his pockets to prevent him landing on his face “Whose god damn idea was this?”

  Silvan would grant the leader of the venators any favor, but crouching in the snow, he was starting to regret it.

  He twisted as the cold steel of his sword bit into his side. Grimacing, he heaved himself upright, aching and sore. He’d been tracking this beast for miles to no avail. Silvan knew how to track, he’d learned from the best and through this wilderness, it wasn’t exactly rocket science. The heavy creature left tracks as deep as the snow, but it was fast and it had been eons since Silvan had experience in the snow. It was a lot more wearing than he remembered.

  His body ached from the trek and the fight with the shape shifter. The bear seemed different from most shifters he’d encountered. Silvan had been a hunter for more years than he cared to remember. He couldn’t recall a versipellis talking first and only defending instead of attacking.

  The bear said he hadn’t killed the humans. Silvan didn’t want to believe him. Until he saw the wendigo appear in the distance.

  Silvan looked down at the tracks the beast left in its wake; they stretched out to the horizon where the sun was ebbing slowly into a soft whitish yellow. There was no way he’d find the creature before nightfall. And he didn’t want to be stuck out here in the dark freezing temperatures unprepared.

  “God damn it, Tithe,” he said. “You damn well owe me for this.”

  Silvan scanned the horizon one more time and turned to follow his own tracks back to the cabin of the slaughtered family on the outskirts of town. The shifter was long gone when he finally arrived. Just as he had expected. The animal probably fed on the poor hapless victims then went home to rest.

  Repulsed, Silvan stepped up to the broken window once again, hardening his heart against what he was about to see. The mess that was once a happy family would no doubt be congealed and slightly frozen over. It was semi dark inside now as the sun touched the horizon. Surprise cr
eased his heavy brow. The bodies hadn’t been touched since he saw them laying dead earlier. The bear hadn’t fed.

  Silvan stepped away from the scene. He was now certain the wendigo had massacred the family. He’d arrived just in time to hear the father’s last feeble remaining cries. By the time he’d made it to the porch, he saw what he believed to be the shifter escaping the scene. But he’d been wrong, it wasn’t the versipellis. He was sure the bear would take advantage of the flesh.

  How many of the other deaths in the area were linked to the wendigo and not the bear? Silvan cursed. This assignment was turning more complicated than he had hoped for. He needed his leader and friend’s assistance.

  Saying a quick Italian prayer for the innocent who lay slain, Silvan walked off the porch and back into the snow. The hike into town wasn’t as far as he had travelled today, but the sun sunk quickly now and the darkness set like a veil over the once white snow. Now the night made an optical illusion of a vast empty void stretching out in front of him and Silvan felt as if he was walking into nothingness.

  Finally a light flicked in the distance, followed by another until the outline of the small town was visible. Silvan headed toward it, grateful he hadn’t been lost in the blackness before now.

  The small hotel was cozy and inviting and Silvan forced himself to head for a telephone before dinner by the fire and then bed.

  “Can I use your phone?” he asked the barman.

  The gormlessly annoying man ogled him for a moment before answering. “Yep.”

  “Thank you,” Silvan replied, with an obvious eye roll that went undetected.

  “But ya can’t call out,” the barman added.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Line’s down isn’t it?” he looked Silvan up and down as if weighing his intelligence. “Snowing, ya know.”

  Silvan thumped the counter in frustration, his hand now aching as it began to thaw out in the warmth.

  “Um, excuse me.”

  “Yes?” Silvan twisted, making sure to keep his left side to the bar to hide his sword, even though he tucked it into his snow pants before entering the hotel.

  A young woman stood in front of him, tall, elegant and casually dressed, which complemented her perfect hair and make-up. She smiled at him, a flirtatious grin she had perfected with practice.

  “I’m Georgia,” she smiled again. “My mobile can get calls out if you would like to borrow it.”

  “Thank you, Georgia,” Silvan smiled back putting an emphasis into his Italian accent. He wasn’t below a little flirting to get what he needed in times of crisis. “But I would hate to put you out.”

  “No trouble at all,” she replied, proffering her phone.

  “Thank you,” he bowed his head in thanks and took the phone. “Let me buy you a drink in appreciation.”

  “That would be nice.” Georgia took a seat next to where Silvan stood, showing a fair amount of leg in the process.

  “Tell the barman what you’ll have. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Silvan took the phone to a quiet corner of the bar where he couldn’t be overheard and dialed the number he knew off by heart.

  “Hello. Hall and Respite care. Joan speaking,” answered a proficient voice on the other end of the line.

  The spiel was a rouse, a cover just in case someone accidently dialed the wrong number. He was sure the truth would cause a few more questions.

  “Tithe please. It’s Silvan,” he said getting right to the point.

  “One moment please, sir,” the voice said clinically.

  Silvan heard the tinny classical music as he was put on hold. He clamped the phone in impatience, happy to be able to move his fingers again.

  He turned on the spot, taking in the crowd, the exits and the layout of the bar. Georgia sat at the bar eyeing him with a mixture of hope, attraction and trepidation. She was pretty in a classical sense of beauty. She crossed her legs, fingered her cocktail glass and smiled coyly at him as soon as she realized he was watching. She’d done this before.

  Silvan smiled back. He’d done this before too.

  “Silvan, what news, my brother?” Tithes deep melodic voice came over the phone bringing him back to the reality of their situation.

  “Not something you’d like old friend.”

  “You’ve disposed of the bear?” Tithe asked, his voice edged slightly with disappointment.

  “No.” Silvan paused and looked around to make sure nobody overheard. “I don’t believe the bear is responsible for all the killings.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s a wendigo.”

  Silence met his statement.

  “Are you sure?” Tithe asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he paused. “I don’t know enough to dispose of one. I’m going to need some assistance.”

  “You certainly are.” Tithe paused for a moment, he phone crackling with bad reception. “Christ, it’s been a long time since I’ve dealt with a wendigo. They’re notoriously evil, vicious things. And bloody hard to kill.”

  “Terrific.” Silvan crossed over to the open fireplace to warm up. An old man slumbered in a worn, patched up chair as the flames crackled merrily. “What do you suggest I do, boss?”

  “So now I’m boss?” Tithe laughed.

  “You are when we’re dealing with shit like this.”

  “Come home, brother,” Tithes voice dead serious. “We need to discuss a plan.”

  “I’ll be on the first flight back,” Silvan answered, unable to hide the relief in his voice at being sent back.

  “Don’t get too excited. I’ll probably send you back into the snow again.”

  Georgia stood and came to stand beside him, smiling suggestively.

  “It may not be so bad after all,” he said and he ran a hand down the length of Georgia’s arm, lingering at her sensitive fingers. “I will see you soon.”

  Silvan hung up and handed the phone back.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you going somewhere?” she asked, obviously overhearing the last part of his conversation.

  “Yes, first flight out.”

  “Well, we have a little time to get to know each other before then.” She stepped closer to him and he felt his energy levels perk a little.

  “I’m sure we could,” Silvan started.

  Her phone beeped and vibrated. Irritated, she clicked a button. “Oh, it’s only my friend, Lilith, with a text message,” she said airily.

  The name went through Silvan like a dagger. A name he never mentioned, the name he couldn’t bear to hear. He turned toward the heat of the fire and gripped the mantle place with white aching knuckles.

  “Are you alright?” Georgia asked with more disappointment than concern in her voice.

  “Fine,” he bit out. “Listen, it’s been a long day. Thanks for lending me your phone, but I think I’ll call it a night.”

  “Oh, umm. Okay, fine then.”

  He didn’t look at her face, he could hear the disappointment and anger. He could almost feel it radiate from her. She stood there a moment longer before stomping back toward the bar.

  Damn it. He closed his eyes and then wished he hadn’t and he flung them open. When he shut his eyes he could see the massacred family laying alone and helpless this afternoon. He could hear their screams in his mind, smell the lingering stench of blood and death.

  Then if he closed his eyes again it would be the memories of his own slain family that lingered there. And he refused to see that again, to feel it, to live it. He clenched his jaw shut to stop from shouting out. He stiffened his body so he wouldn’t crumble to the ground.

  Amongst his pain, Silvan found the anger and allowed it to grow. He needed to be angry, any emotion other than the unimaginable heartache. His hostility grew until it festered just below the surface.

  He wanted revenge and he knew there could be no retribution for his family. He would have to get it for the innocents lost today.

  He needed to ki
ll something.

  ~* * *~

  The crystal white sand lay across the ground, covering the ugly cracked cement that was prevalent in cheap apartment buildings. Rin racked the sand into perfect geometric lines, concentrating on each grain. He allowed his mind to wander to a time when the white sands covered pristine grounds, encased by perfectly manicured gardens.

  A place of peace and tranquility before the storm of pain and revenge ruined his life. And the lives of many others, his family, friends and his students. Slaughtered and scattered to the winds.

  Or to fly on its currents like an eagle, he thought bitterly.

  Rin snapped himself out of his melancholy, chastising himself for the weakness of memories he could do nothing to alter. He placed the rake beside the splitting plaster wall and went inside.

  The dark dingy room was shabby but ultra tidy and clean. The sparse furnishings of a futon bed, cupboard, and floor cushions were cramped in the small space. Two doors led off to the kitchenette and bathroom.

  Rin reached for his sword placed in a horizontal cradle of two grasping stone hands, bowed his head and strapped it on. He looked up at a statue of a hawk in flight and swallowed. It was there as his penance, his reminder of what he had done, of how he was now to spend his life in servitude to protect rather than destroy.

  Rin gripped his sword, tucked it in behind his black floor-length coat and walked out the door. The walk across to Lea’s house took longer with the alternative route. He kept to the back streets, making sure he wasn’t followed. It paid to remember procedure. It kept you alive and allowed you to know your place in the world.

  Though his place in the world was feeling a little skewed after everything that had happened. The return of Avery shook him to the very core. But it was the small idiosyncrasies that confused him. His empathy for the bear and Lea. His reluctant respect for the bear and his cousin, the Husky. It offended his sense of order.

  He continued along the back streets until he reached the picturesque cottage and slid around to the rear garden.

  “My thanks. I have come to relieve you of your duty,” Rin said to the seemingly empty garden.