Frustration and hunger. Hunger and frustration.

  A source of unending vexation, this task from The-One-Who-Wakes, but It would not fail Its task, nor would It give up on the unmarked Vessel. A stubborn specimen. Willful. Obstinate. All of the Vessel’s desires had been laid bare, desires It twisted into subtle temptation and provocation, but still the Vessel resisted without the added benefit of barricades of wood and magic and wrought havoc upon Its spawn. This display of strength and will only made the Vessel all the more promising, for It would only grow stronger once ensconced within. It yearned to take the Vessel, to send Its spawn to surround and capture this prize, but the needs of the The-One-Who-Wakes must always come first. Kill the prey-things and bring back the initial Vessel and freak-prey, this was the task bestowed upon It, so It spurred its spawn to action and graced them with speed, strength, and durability to complete Its task, but still the prey-things resisted.

  Foul Radiance and protective magics defended the prey things hiding inside their bastion, while the real prize, the unmarked Vessel It yearned to claim for Itself, lay vulnerable and exposed outside. It could not allow the Vessel to come to harm. A broken Vessel was far less useful than one that is whole, but this prize was developing with haste, destroying the spawn It had tasked to with safeguarding its life using a Magic so very different from the structured, logical Magics most prey used.

  Inferior Magics created by The-One-Who-Wakes for their unthinking spawn, but It was graced with power and knowledge to use the True Magics, ones this Vessel touched upon. The Vessel was learning, growing in power, and should it grow too much, The-One-Who-Wakes would take notice and claim the Vessel for its own. This could not be allowed, for then It would be denied Its prize, a prize It desired for itself. If the Vessel would not yield, then the Vessel could only be made to yield, a difficult task that would require time and patience.

  Time and patience which It lacked, for there were many things to do for The-One-Who-Wakes.

  Tasking another spawn to safeguard the Vessel, It turned its attention to the bastion, one housing all the prey-things The-One-Who-Wakes hungered for. First, the bastion must fall, the prey-things delivered, and then It would be free to claim Its chosen Vessel for Its own. The stink of foul Radiance was faint, but unmistakable, emanating from one small freak-prey that was much too weak to be a threat. The true danger was still lying in wait, the older, cannier freak-prey hiding its presence so that it might strike a deathblow should It ever emerge, but emerge It must to take the bastion in short order lest The-One-Who-Wakes comes searching.

  Though desire spurred It to action, instinct and experience cautioned It to patience as it watched and waited for weakness. The prey-things were all weak and fragile, scared and flighty, so easily tempted and controlled, and yet surprisingly resistant in ways It could not understand. Some would gleefully kill for shiny bits of dead matter, only to balk at killing their young spawn for the same or even exponential amounts more, and It could not understand the reasoning. Spawn were tools to be used, yet the prey-things refused to use them optimally in a most illogical manner. Other prey-things cared nothing for the dead matter, but valued other dead things. Shiny stones. Polished contraptions. Companionship. Dominance. Still more lacked ambition and motivation, happy to toil away without progress or development so long as their beds were warm and bellies full, and thus nigh immune to temptation.

  The prey-things were a strange bunch, inferior creatures whose only purpose was to serve as nourishment, and It would know satiety soon enough. It only needed to find one weak prey-thing, one who could be tempted, guided, or controlled to do Its bidding, to throw open the barriers of the bastion to allow Its spawn inside. Those same barriers would dull Its voice and enable the prey-things to better resist Its commands, commands which would be even more easily resisted once they became aware of Its efforts. This was known, but this was the only option that came without risk of oblivion, of being consigned to the endless sleep by the freak-prey and perhaps never to be awoken again by The-One-Who-Wakes, not as It was and is.

  And so It rejected oblivion, for the unmaking and unknowing was unfathomable and incalculable. To never know satiation, or even hunger ever again, this was an outcome best avoided, so It chose Its target with care. The prey-things were so full of fear and agitation, primed for panic and instruction with little to no effort on Its part. It reached out to touch every mind and emotion, to taste and partake and delight, but also study and discern the most malleable prey-thing to target. Some were too staunch and steadfast to bother with, another protected by Spells and Spirits, and still more too agitated to take proper instruction.

  Such fragile, flighty creatures, these prey-things. Some would make for acceptable spawnlings, others good for naught but fodder. First, It must seek purchase however, access into the bastion to slaughter the prey-things and secure what belonged to The-One-Who-Wakes before claiming Its prize for Itself. None of these prey-things perfectly suited its needs however, though there were a few promising leads, so It left Its spawn to their own devices whilst studying the offerings to pick out the best available.

  And when Its decision was made, It acted without haste, whispering, tempting, and most importantly of all, heeding Its target’s emotions given off into the Void, all in the service of seeking access into the prey-thing’s mind and thoughts. Survival was at the forefront of Its deliberations, but pride too, for this was a leader of prey-things who could not afford to be seen as weak. The prey-thing thought of its spawn with fondness and concern, for one was there inside the bastion with two more too young and feeble to fend for themselves. So inefficient, these prey-things, with their spawn taking so many cycles to develop, unlike It and Its brethren who woke fully formed and capable.

  A flaw which would be mended once the prey-things were subjugated, but this was work for The-One-Who-Wakes, work which would transform this world to better accommodate The-One-Who-Wakes and all its brethren and spawn.

  So It knew to do Its part, though it came at great cost. Disjointing the very fabric of Its existence, It dispatched a sliver of significant self out into the Not-Void to break through the bastion’s defenses at great cost. So much was lost in the struggle, so much significance that would take many prey-things to recover, but this was all in service to the cause. Once inside the bastion, the sliver acted with haste, assaulting the target and breaching the prey-thing’s feeble psyche at further cost to Its significance. Most of the sliver had been consumed in the journey, but that which remained would be enough. Would have to be enough, for should this gambit fail, then there was no option left than to face the freak-prey head on in order to complete Its task.

  A prospect which filled It with the echoes of foreboding, fear and agitation, emotions It tasted and savoured in the prey-things, but did not much care for when the source stemmed from Itself.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Elodie and Little Claw were too small to see over the walls, so they stood in the courtyard with fangs bared and talons at the ready.

  For a time, then Little Claw grew bored and hungry. She was always hungry, for she had never known a full belly in life, and the earlier conflict had left her torso riddled with cuts and bruises she did not care for. Their fur, hide, and Spells had protected them from the hailstorm of Bolts, but that did not mean they had emerged unscathed. Little Claw was still a cub after all, and would forever remain one, so when her bones ached and belly rumbled, her instinct was to retreat to her den and sleep.

  Not to set forth and forage like a grown diamondclaw would, or even endure and abide as needs must, for they were embroiled in battle with the Great Enemy, so food and respite must wait. Little Claw did not understand this however, so she begged leave to depart, and Elodie did not have the heart to deny her. Heaving a breathy sigh, she released her hold on Little Claw, and the little cub returned to her den to lick her wounds and rest, leaving Elodie all alone without clothes or weapon in hand. Nor did she have Warrior’s Ward to protect her, for that Spell was Little Claw’s to maintain, meaning Elodie had only Mage Armour and bare skin to defend against claw and fang.

  Noora’s clothes would not fit her, so Elodie sought out Adsila of the Wind instead, who was busy dancing and chanting yet still noticed her approach and found time to throw something over to her. It was Elodie’s pack and billhook, inside of which was her spare dress, one she threw on even though it would offer scant protection against the Zombies, Ghouls, and Wights outside. There was some food in her pack, but not enough to entice Little Claw back out for a second bout, not unless Elodie demanded it, but here in the tight confines of the waystation, she believed she was better off in her own skin as opposed to wearing Little Claw’s. Should the puppets break through, then Little Claw would have no room to maneuver about, not without getting in the way of their allies, so better for Elodie to fight with her billhook and sling which she had neatly secured to its haft.

  Up on the wall, Elodie unleashed shot after shot at the puppets below, lead balls Imbued with power from the Magic Stone Cantrip Papa taught her to hunt with. Elodie did not have many Cantrips, or much cause to use them, but here and now, it proved most useful against these puppets. Though their flesh was Imbued with protective magics to defend against steel and Bolt, they did little to guard against her Magic Stones. Of course, they were still just lead balls, so not every shot was a lethal one, but any puppet she did put down would likely stay down for good.

  Not because the Wendisa lacked the ability to raise them again, but rather because it would cost them more effort to do so than they cared to give. Better for those fallen puppets to be used as nourishment for the others, devoured whole by ravenous, reawakened puppets whose flesh Mended as they ate before throwing themselves at the walls once more with reckless abandon.

  A level of resolve matched by Howie zipping in and around the horde atop his Floating Disc with a big, beaming grin stretched across his face. Not a happy grin, though he was having fun, for he was a hunter in the midst of a hunt, with fangs bared and talon flexed. As he fought, he sang a song of battle in his heart, one the Magic responded to as he wielded axe and armour like claw and hide to a skin he had yet to Shape. This was the Howie he showed the world, the lone wulf who needed no one and nothing, a Path he chose for himself even though there were so many others left open to him.

  And one he excelled in as his axe came to life both in and out of his hands, smashing aside every puppet who came within range. Same as the stones empowered by her Cantrip, Howie’s axe was a weapon of magic and power, one that cut through not only flesh and bone, but the foul magics holding those puppets together. Against a foe of flesh and blood, the axe would be only an axe and nothing more, but here against these Zombies and Ghouls, he was like a tiger given wings, an apex predator with even more of an advantage against prey who could never stand against him.

  Unless they came in numbers great enough, and today, they most certainly had. No matter how many Spells, stones, arrows, or Bolts they collectively slung, there were still more puppets to destroy. Soon Elodie had emptied her pouch of lead shot, but the horde looked none the thinner for it, so she took up her bill hook and started sweeping climbers off of the wall while others shot, stabbed, and otherwise fought against the shells. Throughout it all, she felt the presence of the Wendisa lingering overhead, faint and distant yet aware and in attendance as it watched over its minions from the safety of the other side. Where that might be, Elodie could not say, only that it was here and not here, hiding and acting all at once.

  Nor would it be lured out, for this Wendisa had sensed the death of its brethren, one killed by Adsila of the Wind only a few days ago. Thus, it was careful and cautious, for it feared the Enemy-Ghost-Capturing Way, knew that it would be captured and killed should it emerge from wherever it hid. This was both good and bad, for it meant the Wendisa could do little more than what it had already done, empower its puppets and Mend them as they broke down, not without exposing its true self.

  It tried though, tried so desperately to trick Adsila of the Wind, sending out a significant sliver of itself to try and trick her into action. Were it Elodie, she would have snapped her trap closed around the decoy and wasted all her efforts to date, but Adsila of the Wind continued to dance and chant her silent song without so much as a blink. It was only after it all settled down that Elodie pieced together what happened, and she pouted to see how cunning and crafty the Wendisa could be. This was an agent of the Great Enemy, a base soldier without form, so what might it be like to go up against a more powerful agent clad in the flesh of a corpse or worse, a willing puppet?

  As Awenasa of the Rain had said, this was merely a single Herald of the Great Enemy, the forerunners who signal their approach. The least among the Great Enemy were already so powerful, and Elodie shuddered to think how fearsome a corpse-walker or flesh-bound might be. Death Knights and Revenant Mages as the outsiders called them, or the Great Liches who were flesh and spirit entwined together to become more and less than the sum of their parts. Mama and Papa told Elodie stories of how their ancient foes who walked the Path of the Broken Way ultimately opened up their minds and bodies to the Great Enemy to become monsters in flesh and spirit, ones who hungered for warm blood and took great delight in inflicting pain and suffering, whether it be inflicted upon others or themselves.

  That was not what they faced here, only a Wendisa and its puppets, one too scared to act directly. Or so Elodie believed, until she heard a scuffle below and glanced over to see mean Leonard turning his pistol upon poor Pathfinder Blake who’d been set to safeguard the gate. Ting-Ting went the gun, a sharp and strangely melodic note for a traitorous weapon of death that had been turned against one of their own. Elodie gasped to see it, and could only tug on Remi’s sleeve to show him what just took place, and by then, it was already too late.

  For caught in the throes of the Wendisa’s magical compulsion, Leonard lifted the crossbar and threw wide open the gates, and the strongest puppets of the Great Enemy pushed forward into the waystation to secure it for themselves. Even Leonard was not spared, his head sent flying with an errant swing before he regained his clarity of mind, and Tammy screamed to see it even as Elodie leaped down to join the fight.

  For there on the ground was Adsila of the Wind, her Teacher who was akin to family. Though Elodie did not truly believe it, the other woman had treated her as such, so she would do the same. Imbuing her billhook with the energies of the Green Flame, she lashed out at the closest Wight who blocked her blow with ease, and weathered the burst of fire and heat without so much as a flinch. Its retort was swift and immediate as it closed the gap in a single stride, wielding its massive, two-handed sword with its wavy edge as easily as Elodie might wield a knife. A twist of the wrist and its sword had her billhook locked in place, and though she abandoned the weapon and darted back right away, its arm snapped out and its fingers closed around the trailing tangles of her long, unruly hair.

  Her lovely green hair which Howie liked so much, even though he never offered to brush it and had to be asked, but now it proved her downfall for this counted as contact enough for the Wight to unleash its Draining Touch. One which sapped away all heat and strength in Elodie’s body and bones and left her gasping for breath as she fell to her knees. It did not stop there, for it chipped away at her Spirit and resolve, an icy, chilling sensation that made her nauseous to bear. Little Claw squealed in alarm to feel the Wight’s cold touch, while Dancing Hooves screeched in fear and Drifting Tide swam for distant horizons without ever moving so much as an inch. Hopping Cloud was the brave of his flock however, and he proved it here today as he puffed up his tiny chest to help Elodie bear this burdensome touch. This left only Destroyer of Burrows, whose hair trigger of a temper had her hissing up a storm as she launched all her rage and hatred at the enemy Wight only for it to fall upon empty ears.

  Or perhaps not so empty after all, as the Wight recoiled ever so slightly, only to narrow its cold, dead eyes and yank Elodie towards it by her hair. It hurt so very much as she crashed against its armoured chest, her head banging against the tarnished red cross emblazoned upon the rusted breastplate. Weak and feeble though she might be, she still grit her teeth and fought back, pushing, striking, and squirming in a futile effort to free herself from it’s cold, steely grasp. The pain was more than she had ever felt before, all the pulling and scraping and bruising, aches and pains that would not go away when she Wildshaped again, but still she fought because she had no other choice. To not fight was to surrender, and she would not submit to her foe, for she knew well what the Great Enemy would do if she should ever be captured.

  And still the Wight continued to drain her strength, until she could fight no more, and then she was thrown into the mud behind it, where its identical brethren closed in around her. They all carried the same wavey edged sword and wore the same breastplate with the tarnished red cross, but there were subtle differences among them that spoke of their strengths. Some were larger, up to a head and a half taller than the smallest, while others had longer limbs, thicker skulls, meatier legs, or other such oddly shaped proportions. Different iterations of the same Wight made in response to the Wendisa’s whims, or more accurately, its concerns. Longer arms for better reach to do battle against spears and polearms. Thicker skulls to better resist the bludgeoning force of a hammer or axe. More muscle to pierce through the armour of its foes, the Wight took shape depending on the Wendisa’s focus, showing just how callow and unfledged it truly was.

  Not that this would help Elodie as she lay gasping in the mud, unwilling to simply lay there in defeat but unable to draw strength enough to stand. At least she had fortitude enough not to whimper, not to cry out and plead for help, for the others were hard pressed enough with all the Zombies and Ghouls streaming in. The magics of the waystation still stifled the puppets so, made their movements awkward and their attacks clumsy, but with so many of them packed together in this tight space, they could hardly miss their foes so long as they tried to hit.

  And try they did, stampeding through the open gates in a silent, bloodthirsty frenzy. Elodie saw little, but she felt the magics in play, heard Tammy’s sorrowful screams of defiance, and smelled the sour sting of Acid upon the air as Noah’s caustic arrows ate away at dead flesh. Brilliant Radiance flared around her, a strike centred around the Wights, but one too weak to even make them flinch. A flash of Electric lightning followed soon after, a powerful blast emanated by Noora’s gauntlet, while the foremost Wight was struck by a Radiant Arrow which lodged itself in its flesh and burned a crater all around the point of impact until the Wight toppled over two seconds later.

  All this and more happened in the blink of an eye, and yet still the Soulless kept coming, surging through the open gate and into the waystation proper. Elodie wanted to get up and fight, to call upon Little Claw and grow as large as they could to block the way with their flesh, but neither she nor the cub could muster up any strength after the foul Wight’s draining touch. Elodie hated her weakness, and hated her fear even more, for she could not shake the terror that had taken hold of her bones as she fixated on all the stories of those who turned from their Path to learn the methods of the Broken Way.

  For not all had turned aside by choice. The Great Enemy was well-learned in breaking the minds and spirits of their prisoners, a prisoner Elodie would soon become after the Pathfinders and Noora’s comrades fell.

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  “Call upon me, Child of Many Names,” whispered Awenasa of the Rain, her voice so faint and distant Elodie could barely make out her words. “Call, and I will fight.”

  “I know not the ways of the Caller’s Path,” Elodie mewled, sniffling as she wished she’d worked harder to learn Papa’s skills. “I cannot Call upon you.”

  “You can, Child,” Awenasa of the Rain whispered back. “You can and you will. This is your Path, one the Earth Mother and Sky Father have prepared for you, a Path that only you can walk. Think back to the steps that have brought you here, the labours you have wrought to become who you are today, then look forward to the path laid out before you, and know that you are capable. You are child no more, so become the brave you were meant to be.”

  Awenasa of the Rain fell silent, leaving Elodie alone with her thoughts. No, not alone, for she had her Spirits here with her, with Hopping Cloud guarding her fallen form and Destroyer of Burrows yearning to lash out at her foes. Little Claw was hurt and scared, but she snuggled in close to Elodie’s spirit, ready to fight if she should be called upon even though she wanted nothing more than to flee for the safety of her borrowed sleep. Dancing Hooves was nervous as ever, but she pranced about while inviting Elodie to run, to seek out their stallion who would no doubt fight this foe for them, while Drifting Tides was ready to carry them all away on the currents.

  They were Spirits one and all, free and untethered. The carved wooden Totems she wore around her ankle did not bind them, only allowed Elodie to reach out and call for them, but they were never far from her side. Since the day they first met, they stuck close to her at all times, for she offered them something no other Shaper dared. Sun Keeper Daniel had said as much, that to be a Shaper was to call to the Spirits and beseech them for their aid, but Elodie only cared for their company, and for this, they made her tribe, herd, pack, and family. The others heard this and gasped, but Elodie still did not entirely understand why, not really.

  Mama and Papa said it was bad to give too much of herself over to the Spirits, and the Earth Mother and Sky Father warned her of the dangers this entailed. The Spirits were not meant for this world, merely passengers who had yet to move on from it, passengers in her journey, her Path here on the Frontier. Their Paths had ended, so to give too much of herself over to them would in turn mean an end to her path, but still there was more to be gleaned.

  For there had been no reprisal or condemnation from the Earth Mother and Sky Father, and any shame over it all had been her own. The Sun Keeper even said as much, that her Path was fraught with danger and hardship, that she could no longer be allowed to walk blindly into the future, but she had not understood what he meant. Now she did though, for the Earth Mother and Sky Father’s message had been one of warning yes, but also of potential and possibility, as Elodie had given so much of herself to the Spirits, so they in turn were willing to give much to her.

  They called her Child of Many Names, but the great shame was not for her Many Names, but rather that she was still a child yet, so she would be a child no longer.

  “Awenasa Ugiga,” Elodie whispered, for the names of the departed were not to be spoken lightly. “We Call upon you. Elodie Willis. Hopping Cloud. Drifting Tide. Prancing Hooves. Destroyer of Burrows. And Little Claw. Together, we Call upon you not to continue your Path, but to join us in ours, a journey we have embarked upon together.”

  There was no surprise from Awenasa of the Rain, no abhorrence, revulsion, or aversion, for to Call upon a Spirit in such a manner was Anathema to the Shaper’s way. However, Elodie was no Caller, nor was she truly a Shaper, not in the traditional sense. No, she was the Brave of Many Names, and now she would bear one more to Shape into Awenasa of the Rain.

  The joining was immediate, the bond made whole in the blink of an eye as they rose in place with strength and vigor renewed. Awenasa of the Rain’s memories flooded through Elodie’s mind, and she watched them all unfold as they washed over her like raindrops in a deluge that would leave her cold and wet, but the warmth would return once the rain fell no more. For now though, Elodie bore it staunchly, with help from Hopping Cloud, Drifting Tide, Prancing Hooves, Destroyer of Burrows, and Little Claw who all bore the strain of the Pathfinder’s powerful Spirit as it blazed new, temporary paths into Elodie’s mind. It was so very unlike Shaping, where Little Claw’s Spell Structures remained with her, for those were part and parcel of her Spirit and her’s alone.

  With Awenasa of the Rain however? There were too many similarities, too much in common between Elodie and her, so their Spirits melded much more closely together than any Spirits should. It did not hurt, but it placed a burden on her mind and Spirit both, like a child clad in her father’s heavy furs and struggling to stand upright, and Awenasa of the Rain had many such furs indeed.

  The Spell Structures blazed into existence one after the other, Echoes of memories from the person Awenasa of the Rain once was, but even an Echo could be deafening if the source was loud enough. Sisters of the Storm, that was what the Pathfinders called Awenasa of the Rain and Adsila of the Wind, but it was more than just a play on words and names. It was a title, an honour, a mark of their strength, and while Adsila of the Wind’s strengths lay in the Enemy-Ghost-Capturing Way, Awenasa of the Rain’s strengths lay down a different path.

  For she was a brave among braves, and her Echo was all the more powerful for it. The Spell came to mind before Elodie even knew its name, but she knew enough to follow Awenasa of the Rain’s lead as they Intoned the Chant and manipulated the flows with their hands and fingers to Call Lightning down upon them with a thunderous impact. A flash of crackling Electric energies crashed down from overhead, directly onto themselves no less, striking them and everything around them in a 3-meter radius, which Awenasa of the Rain’s memories said was twice that of what the Spell allowed. It hit harder too, so hard the Wights all around her blew apart in a single flash, and yet their body was untouched and unscathed save for the scrapes and bruises they had picked up in the process of her capture.

  For Elodie stood here not in a Wildshaped body of Ectoplasm and Aetheric Energy, but her own skin, with Awenasa of the Rain taking control to show her how the brave she once was had fought.

  And she fought as the Heart of the Storm, channelling the fury of her Electric energies and redirecting them back out around her. That was how they destroyed the Wights in a single flash of Lightning, because not only were they struck by the initial blow, but also by the secondary arcs funneled into them by Awenasa of the Rain. This was her Ability, one which made her a formidable Vanguard on any battlefield, for even if her foes were nimble enough to avoid the flash of Lightning crashing down from overhead, she could easily catch and redirect those Electric energies for a second chance of a strike.

  Together, they Concentrated to maintain the Spell as they strode forth to block the opened gates. A dark, crackling storm cloud hung over their head, but the puppets were not dissuaded. They came in droves clambering over the smoking remains of their comrades, and Awenasa of the Rain smiled to see it. The thicker the crowd, the more damage her Spell would inflict. The Electric energies of the storm cloud surged overhead and gathered strength for another strike, one that would not come for precious seconds yet, but they themselves were the Heart of the Storm and capable of calling the winds and rains. The Zombies sprinted forwards, so Elodie and Awenasa of the Rain jumped back, riding the winds and floating away like a leaf caught in the breeze. At the same time, a gust of wind brough Elodie’s billhook back to their hands, and Awenasa of the Rain struck out with strength enough to fell a Whitewood. Strength she did not possess in life, but borrowed from Elodie who borrowed from her Spirits. Without assistance or guidance, even though this was Awenasa of the Rain’s first time trying, and she utilized that strength to perfection.

  The billhook was the same weapon of steel and wood as before, the same weapon Elodie had wielded for almost two weeks now. Unchanged and unimbued, with no Spell to bolster its strength, but this was the first time she truly felt what it was like to swing the weapon in truth. Swish-slash went the blade, arcing to the left before shooting back to the right, two swings in one motion that left nothing to waste and sliced oh so very many Zombies in twain. Then they did so a second time, with Elodie lending her strength to the cause, and they cleaved through so many on the first swing, they had to pause and wait for enough Zombies to enter into their range before swinging the weapon again.

  And again more Zombies fell, enough to expose the Ghouls hiding within their ranks, Ghouls that ran headlong towards her as the crackling Electric energies overhead reached the peak of their strength. Again, the Electric energies came crashing down at their feet, and again, Elodie and Awenasa of the Rain became the Heart of the Storm to redirect those energies away, striking Ghouls and Zombies both to explode their bodies apart. Elodie laughed with glee to see it, and Awenasa of the Rain laughed with her, as did the Spirits who all joined together to share in their joy and welcome a new face to their tribe, herd, pack, and family.

  One Elodie had no reservations towards, even though Papa told Howie that this was forbidden.

  “An animal Spirit is difficult enough to co-exist with,” Papa had said, sounding all grave and dire as can be as he explained it to Howie. “A human Spirit will drive the caster to madness without fail. They are the worst of the Skin-walkers, the truly depraved monsters in human flesh.”

  For Elodie though? She had always given herself wholly over to the Spirits, melded with them to become more than what they were. This was dangerous because others found it difficult to know where the Spirit ended and the Shaper began, but Elodie had never had this trouble. Elodie was Elodie, and her Spirits were her Spirits, and so too it would be with Awenasa of the Rain. They both knew this to be true, for they knew each other’s heart for pure as they shared their minds and memories while fighting in perfect harmony upon the field of battle. The Spirit wanted to fulfill her duty, while the Shaper yearned to share in the Spirit’s Path, to fulfill their needs and help them move on from this world and prepare for their journey into the next, while having fun and making merry all along the way.

  Like today, where they were joined by Howie who’d come zipping over with Cowie to save Elodie, and fought with vigor and ferocity at her side so he could keep her safe. He wielded his Conjured Axe overhead while swinging one of steel in hand, circling around them like a protective mother hen while Awenasa of the Rain grumbled about how he kept getting in their way. Still, he was so sweet and valiant, ready to throw away his life to save hers, but she did not need saving with Awenasa of the Rain here by her side. He gained high marks all the same, not just for his ability with axe, gun, and Spell, but also his presence of mind to dart away from their side every five seconds in the fight so as to not be caught in their strike.

  Even then, Awenasa of the Rain remained guarded against him, for much like with Adsila of the Wind, her Storm Sister saw herself as Elodie’s teacher and guide, and thus saw her as a daughter to cherish and protect. “Perhaps he means well,” Awenasa of the Rain conveyed without speaking, her thoughts and emotions made clear to Elodie without any effort to communicate, “But he is still a young man all the same, and they all only want one thing.”

  Elodie did not know what it was young men wanted, for Awenasa of the Rain guarded that thought fiercely, so maybe she would ask Howie or Noora later on. The battle was far from won, but the storm clouds overhead summoned by their Call Lightning Spell would remain in place for a full ten minutes, enabling her to send Electric energies coursing through their body every five seconds without fail and destroying whole swathes of Zombies and Ghouls every time. That was with only one cast of the Spell mind you, while Elodie could cast it at least another three times, so she wasn’t all that concerned about the remaining puppets, ones they swept away time and time again with Spell, gust, and billhook as they fought alongside Howie’s axe and gun to guard the waystation gates.

  Even then, it took long minutes to clear the area enough to close and bar those gates shut, with Elodie and Howie on the outside of course. Cowie was smarter, having run in before the gates closed, but the two of them stayed outside to hold the tides back. Reaching over to pull him in close, Elodie and Awenasa of the Rain wrapped their arms around his waist, and Elodie beamed brightly to see his surprise as they summoned the winds to lift them both up off their feet and over the walls of the waystation. There, they helped clear out the rest of the puppets who’d made their way inside, which was slow-going as they had to be more careful with their flashes of Lightning because the others weren’t as clever as Howie. Awenasa of the Rain was well practiced however, and knew many tricks to ensure her allies remained unharmed, whether it be sending them off with gusts of Wind or arcing the strikes to skirt around the edges of the fray and impact only against their enemies.

  Just as the battle was almost won, shouts and shots sounded out from the north. Summoning forth another gust of wind at their feet, Awenasa of the Rain brought them up to the battlements, where they saw a squadron of armed men emerging from the swamp bearing Aetherarms that glowed with Radiance. Every shot left their wielders blinking at the light, but those Radiant Bolts exploded in a cloud of purifying energy that struck puppets who all dropped like flies in their wake. These new arrivals all bore the same white armbands that Leonard had worn, something to do with some order they all belonged to. Awenasa of the Rain was not happy to see them, nor was Howie when he climbed up to join them, growling something unintelligible under his breath.

  “Course they gotta show up after the battle is won,” Howie said, once he was ready to speak in regular English again, looking all sour as he no doubt thought about how they were supposed to split all the Aberrtin and Spell Cores. He was always so concerned about money, which Awenasa of the Rain believed spoke of poor character, but Elodie knew he almost never blinked when spending freely to help others. She had a very expensive potion in her pack that he had given to her without so much as mentioning the price, and Elodie had almost drunk it out of curiosity before Astrid told her of its value.

  He also never dwelled on money for long, as he flashed her a grin that Awenasa of the Rain called trouble, but one Elodie liked very much. “Hey there Ella-Dee,” he said, heaving a big sigh while looking oh so proud of her achievements. “That was some fancy Spellslinging you done down there. A gen-u-wine Storm Caller, if we wanna get technical with it, though I wouldn’t go around saying that in front of the Pathfinders. They might take issue, as that’s a fairly high rank that got nothing to do with Spell really, but still, the parallels are there.” Cocking his head in curiosity, he studied Elodie a little closer, and she realized it was because Awenasa of the Rain was being standoffish, keeping their distance and behaving all cool and unimpressed when Elodie would have leaned in for a headpat or hug by now.

  And perhaps sensing as much, Awenasa of the Rain sighed and said, “Call upon me again if my Sister of the Storm will not see reason and believes you have stepped foot upon the Broken Way. That is not so, but hold Sun Keeper Daniel’s warning in mind. Yours is a path fraught with danger and hardship, but at least now, you proceed along it with both eyes open.”

  With that, the other woman left, and Elodie was back in control again. All too suddenly it would seem, for Awenasa of the Rain had done nothing to bolster her flagging strength, leaving her still drained and enervated as before thanks to the Wight’s deadly touch. It was pure willpower that drove the other woman on in spite of their utter exhaustion, and without it, Elodie stumbled forward into Howie’s arms and lay weak and helpless in his embrace.

  Which she enjoyed very much, and though Howie grumbled about how it wasn’t proper, he wasn’t so heartless as to put her aside. Instead, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back down to rest, giving Noora and Tammy’s entire group a wide berth to approach the Pathfinders instead.

  Who met their approach with guarded vigilance, if not outright hostility as those who knew the histories of the First Nations thought that Elodie had broken their taboos. Not so with the others, like Noah who only spoke English and did not understand the significance of what Elodie had done, so he came over to clap both her and Howie on the shoulders and marvel at how well they had fought. Adsila of the Wind was busy tending to the wounded, but she had time enough to scowl at Elodie every now and then, no doubt wondering if the student she’d taken on had gone and profaned the Spirit of that which had once been her Storm Sister.

  Which seemed like an odd name for the pairing, for Awenasa of the Rain seemed like a storm unto herself. What then did Adsila of the Wind bring? The query brought a laugh to the Spirit’s lips, but she refused to explain, only saying that if Elodie wanted to know, she should ask Adsila of the Wind herself, with the undertone being that it would be a mistake.

  Though Elodie had done nothing wrong, she still felt obligated to explain everything to Adsila of the Wind, except she did not know how except to say that she had not diverged from the proper ways. She was still Elodie, and no different from how she was after Shaping into Little Claw, Hopping Cloud, or any of the others, with the other’s memories fast melting away leaving only the core of who Elodie was behind. That was how it had always been, and while Mama and Papa had once worried that Elodie would one day swim out with the currents or climb up into the treetops and never emerge again, she knew that neither she nor her Spirits wanted that.

  Adsila of the Wind was doubtful, but she asked few questions and only said they would speak on this later. To make matters worse, Howie left Elodie with Cowie amidst the Pathfinders to go help tend the wounded, though she noticed he was happy to use his own supplies to help the Pathfinders, but took the supplies from the others to tend to them. He also checked on Noora first, but she waved him aside, as she was busy tending to Tammy’s wounded Spirit as she cradled her father’s headless body. Leonard was not a good leader, and he did not seem like a good father either, but he was still Tammy’s family, so Elodie understood her grief, even if she did not agree with it.

  “Alright then,” a voice sounded out at the gate, as someone from Noora’s party had been quick to let the people with white armbands in. “Who wants to tell me what in the hell – ”

  The speaker was a grubby, greasy man who looked much too wide for his height, one who stopped short as soon as he saw Howie. Then his eyes went wide and his hand went for his weapon, but not before Howie had his pistol and rifle both aimed at the grubby man and his friends. “Easy there now Crockett,” Howie said, with fire in his eyes and hate on his lips, for he wanted to kill the man dead. “By all rights, I ought to kill you dead for what you done, but I say we’ve all lost enough today. How about you then? You think the same, or you fixin’ to lose a few more?”

  No one answered, not the greasy man Crockett or his friends, nor did anyone in Noora’s party or the Pathfinder’s deign to speak. That’s how forceful and domineering Howie could be, an aggressive and commanding presence who could be overbearing to his enemies, and Crockett was most certainly his enemy. It took long seconds before he found the courage to speak, his beady eyes flicking back and forth to better calculate his odds, ones he did not like as Howie’s eyes promised death no matter what move he might make. Whatever the ultimate outcome might be, should Crockett choose to fight, then Howie would most certainly kill him first, and everyone present could see it.

  So Crockett did what most would do, and raised his hands to the sky. “Should’ve known you were mixed up in this,” he growled, spitting off to the side. “Whole thing stinks to hell it does. First we hear a firefight break out, and then we show up and find a horde of Abby beating at your gates. Who’s your partner then? The one who done took the shipment. Was already gone by the time we got there, so it looks like you been cut out of the deal then.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Howie replied, which was a lie. A convincing one if you did not know Howie, but his delivery was too tense and strained in a way that had nothing to do with the current circumstances. “I don’t got no partner besides Cowie, and I don’t know nothing about no shipment, missing or otherwise.”

  “That so?” Sneering to hear it, Crockett looked around and asked, “Then what are you even doing here?”

  Howie kept his explanation short and sweet, which again spoke to his intention to deceive. Were he innocent, he would stubbornly refuse to explain anything, and happily gun down Crockett and all his men before dealing with the aftermath. Maybe Howie didn’t want to fight because he was worried the others might get caught in the crossfire, but he was too eager to claim innocence and clear his name. Elodie did not say anything though, just sat and listened as he told them how he had gone hunting on his own and got stuck outside at night. Supposedly because he ran from a horde and lost his way, which again, was a lie Elodie did not believe, as Howie could find his way back home from here with both hands tied behind his back and a blindfold wrapped around his eyes.

  According to his story however, he set camp for the night outside because he did not care to travel in the dark. Another lie, and still more as he claimed that while he was camped out at night, his Alarm Wards had alerted him to the presence of people moving nearby, people he overheard talking about a ‘big score’. So in his greed and curiosity, he followed behind them, making no secret of his intention to let the two parties fight it out before seeing if he could capitalize on the survivors. Which did not sound like a lie, but Elodie believed to be one, because even Howie wasn’t so greedy as to seek profit from the blood of innocents. Regardless, he went on to claim that when he saw the men were lying in wait to ambush the Pathfinders, he shot the ambushers to warn them. As for the rest, there was no need to explain, and Howie did not bother, falling silent once his piece was said before quirking a brow as if to ask, “So, you still fixin’ to die, or do we call this a wash and walk away peaceably?”

  Crockett was braver than he looked, or perhaps more desperate too, because he would not accept the lie so easily. “Hey,” he said, directing his attention at Tammy who was still grieving over her father’s body. “You’re Leonard’s brat right? Is what the Qink saying true? Did he really save your bacon back there?”

  “Yes,” Tammy replied, sniffling as she came to her feet with a fire in her eyes. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” Crockett asked.

  “What are you doing here?” Tammy asked, her hand reaching for a gun that was not there. It was with Noora, who’d taken it at some point without anyone noticing. The action did not go unnoticed however, as Crockett backed away a step, while Howie moved to the side to keep both groups in his sights. “You’re here to shadow us, aren’t you? Double up on security for the shipment. Which means you were close by when the shooting started. Close enough to hear and react, but far enough to be outside of the Zombie horde encircling us. Lucky you, and lucky us too, because you were all in perfect position to come in from behind and take them by surprise. With all your fancy guns no less, those Radiant Arms rifles that no one else can afford the ammo for much less the guns and maintenance costs. Would’ve made short work of the horde, saved us all in a pinch, but instead of coming to help us, instead of saving my daddy’s life, you all went and checked on your precious cargo first?”

  All truth, but Crockett did not want to look weak in front of his men, so he sneered and said, “I don’t much care for your tone, missy. If your daddy wasn’t dead, he’d be on the hook for all this, so I was just trying to help you out here.”

  Tammy’s eyes went red as her whole body trembled in fury, but she didn’t say another word, nor did anyone else until Adsila of the Wind interjected. “We must be away,” she declared, giving Elodie a look that said they were leaving regardless of what anyone else decided. “The Mimic ultimately did not show itself, and could well soon return with more reinforcements. I do not intend to wait here and find out.” Turning to Crockett with a cold, hard stare, she added, “Nor will I travel with men who left their own to fight and die alone, to say nothing of the rest of us. If the Firstborn sees fit to spare your lives, then I suggest you depart quickly before me and mine decide to take our own pound of flesh.”

  “If all y’all are willing to keep quiet, I got no compunctions about killin’ ‘em all here and now,” Howie said, sounding bright and chipper as can be. “We can say Abby done got ‘em, and won’t no one be the wiser.”

  Crockett flinched to hear the truth in Howie’s tone, but Tammy turned on him in a heartbeat. “You’re a fucking psychopath,” she snarled, and Howie shrugged to hear it, even as Noora winced in the back. Turning around, she addressed the survivors of her group and said, “I’m leaving. The rest of you can stay or go as you please, but if you stick with me, then know that I intend to continue in this same line of business, and would appreciate any and all help I can get.”

  And with that, the stalemate was broken, as they all parted ways, with Crockett and his men heading north once more while Tammy and Noora left to reclaim what they could from their abandoned sleds. As for the Pathfinders, they had wounded who could not travel through the swamps and dead to be carried away, so they followed alongside Tammy. So too did Howie, who was hiding so many secrets and unwilling to share a single one as he Conjured up a Floating Disc for Elodie to sit on with the injured Noah and Aubrey. Elodie wanted to ask him so very many questions, but she did not, for she worried that Awenasa of the Rain was right, that Howie was mixed up with the men who ambushed them and only changed his mind because of her. Had the Pathfinders not been here, he might well have stood back and watched as those men gunned down Noora and the rest, then continued to watch as they fought against Crockett’s men and the Soulless.

  He had good reason. Elodie knew he would. Whatever his reasons though, she was sad to not be privy to them, if only because he believed she was better off not knowing. But that only reinforced her decision to leave and learn from Adsila of the Wind, and now she had Awenasa of the Rain to learn from as well. Though parting from Howie so soon again would be difficult to bear, Elodie could do so with her head held up high, confident in the knowledge that she had finally embarked upon her chosen Path, and was child no more.

  From hence forth, Elodie would be the Brave of Many Names, a brave and future hata?ii who would one day stand alongside Howie as a peer and equal to help share his burdens, rather than adding to them.