1

After following his former team south, Brett turned around and flew a diagonal path through the forest. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, he thought as he levitated above the trees, then added, As the crow flies.

He grinned.

Emma was right. I am full of clichés this morning. But he knew she wouldn’t be amused with him now. He estimated that by the time he returned to the A-frame, he would have been gone for two or three hours. That’s a long time to be getting breakfast.

He thought about lying to her, but he wanted to tell her the good news that her former team was going to open up the second realm for them. She might still be angry, he thought. As the wind blew back his hair and the late morning sun warmed his skin, he decided he would take that chance.

The pines and Douglas firs sped by below him in a blur of browns and greens. As he reached his top speed, Brett could see the river and the northern rip just ahead. The water that was bursting out of the glitch that morning had subsided to its usual flow. He wondered what had caused the surge. Doesn’t matter, he thought. Soon, we’ll be able to go to the water realm and find out for ourselves. Even though he wasn’t fully cognizant of it, the notion soothed the anxiety that had seeped into his subconscious. Brett could see that the earth realm was deteriorating. He knew that moving on to the next realm was a good thing.

As he reached the river, he slowed his pace but didn’t proceed to the shore. Instead, he glided toward the glitch much like a junkie reaching for a syringe, pushing aside his rationalizations, wanting the impulse to drive him. He hovered in front of the ichor void.

“Master?” he asked over the din of the rushing water.

No response.

The dread in Brett’s mind increased. He was detecting a widening gulf between him and the Wendigo. He had thought that his union with Emma would please the beast. Fuck. She might already be pregnant, he thought. Surely, that would have pleased him.

Brett tried again. “Master?”

When the beast answered, the tone of its voice stunned Brett. Gone was the deep tenor he had heard before. It had been replaced by something haggard, dry, and raspy. Is the Wendigo dying? Brett wondered frantically, and with that thought, dozens of frightening scenarios rushed into his mind.

“What is it?” the new god asked impatiently.

“I… I… I’d like to ask some questions, if… if you don’t mind?”

Without warning, the red tendrils sped out of the black void and drilled into hands and ankles. Brett didn’t have time to pull away—not that he would have had the gumption to do so—but he did notice one thing: the skin surrounding the tendrils was cracked and discolored.

“No,” he moaned as the appendages started drawing his blood.

“I have to feed,” the husky voice told him. “You may ask what you want.”

Already feeling faint, Brett pressed through his questions quickly. “Wha… where is the second dungeon located?”

“At the stone carvings. Where you were.”

“Then… then why did they go south?”

While the Wendigo explained that the dungeon could only be accessed through a long tunnel, Brett saw Warg scamper out of the woods. The alpha wolf panted as it watched him suffer. The red streaks that flowed from its ears onto the wolf’s coarse white fur were more pronounced now.

“Wha… what isssss hah… happening to Warg?” he asked.

The beast chuckled with a spiteful tone. “It’s changing, like everything else in this world.”

With his head drooping and his consciousness wavering, Brett spat out the last question he could muster. “Wooo… wha… Why isssss it aaaah-tacking me…aaah.”

If the Wendigo answered, Brett wasn’t aware of it. He swooned into the black lake of unconsciousness, descending like a dead leaf on a winter’s day. The beast sucked his blood for a few more seconds before settling the defenseless healer at the paws of the wolf that had attacked him.

2

Brett opened his eyes sometime later, stirred back to wakefulness by the sounds of the crashing waves. He felt like he was on a turntable, the world around him spinning slowly. The cold, damp air made him shiver. His worn leather brigandine armor didn’t do much to warm his body. His hands and ankles ached from the lacerations he had sustained. He cast Basic Heal, wishing that Emma was around to use her more advanced healing spell.

As he lay on the rocky shore, he wondered why she hadn’t come looking for him. Now, on his second Basic Heal, the cobwebs in his mind cleared and he remembered Warg. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as sat up and snapped his head around, looking for the alpha.

There was no sign of the wolf.

He lay back down on the cold stones of the riverbank and continued with the healing spells. Incrementally, his strength returned and his wounds closed. After thirty minutes, he staggered to his feet and used his levitation ability to pluck ten salmon from the river. After killing them with his wolf-bane sword, he dropped them into his inventory.

Before leaving the area, he glared at the blackened glitch that stretched to the sky. Hate and frustration boiled inside him, but he knew better than to vocalize his thoughts. If the Wendigo had answered his last question about Warg, the response had eluded him. However, the beast had confirmed where the dungeon was. Brett decided he’d be happy with that for the time being. He raised his arms and rose above the trees before speeding the short distance back to camp.

3

Emma had spent the morning puttering around the camp, becoming more irritable as the minutes passed. She hiked to the river on two occasions, only to find that Brett wasn’t there. She levitated back to the A-frame the last time, figuring she had gotten enough exercise for the day.

With half the day gone now, her stomach grumbled, and her mood worsened. She paced around the camp before eventually sitting near the fire, petting the wolves. She tossed twigs and small stones into the flames, trying to amuse herself.

Waiting for the husband to come home, she thought with ill humor. Emma had never seen herself as the domestic type, yet here she was, in a dedicated relationship with an apparently wayward man. She had never planned on giving up her freedoms for the sake of a “marriage.” So, why this? Why now? she wondered.

“Because you’re not in New York anymore,” she answered. “The circumstances are different.”

But she was cured now. The effects the glitch were gone. The only part of her system that was still off-kilter was the third ability she’d been granted by the Wendigo. So why was she staying with him?

“Because I owe him,” she whispered, and her words seemed to hang in the silence like a judgment against her character, but she fought against it. I could be dying right now if it wasn’t for him, she argued against that reproachful voice. Emma pushed the thoughts away and walked to the edge of the camp. The cold air of the shadowy forest fluttered against her sunlight-warmed skin. Her stomach grumbled again. Resigned to waiting, she walked back to the fire and sat with the wolves again.

4

When Emma saw Brett soaring above the trees, she stood, planted her feet, and prepared to tear a strip off of him.

As he lowered himself to the ground, Brett saw the anger in her eyes and raised his hands disarmingly. “I know, I know.”

“Where the hell were you?” she seethed.

He paused. Do I really want to tell her about the dungeon and risk more of her wrath? he thought. Maybe this is something I can ease into the conversation later on. Brett knew he’d want to go on another run, to keep tabs on his former team. Maybe I can tell her then.

He decided to go with his instinct.

“I went to get the fish and the Wendigo attacked me,” he sighed. As he expected, Emma’s anger vanished and she ran to him.

“What happened?” she asked.

He told her, milking as much sympathy from her as he could. In the end, she apologized for her anger, and they cooked one salmon for their belated breakfast. As they finished their meal, Brett told her he believed the beast had drained his blood for its own sustenance.

“Do you think it’s dying?” she asked.

Brett was sure that wasn’t the case, but he pretended to reflect on the question. After a few seconds, he answered, “Maybe. It could be that a creature like him doesn’t have a long lifespan.” He paused, then added another lie. “He certainly didn’t appear god-like this time.”

Emma considered his words. “How are you feeling now?”

Brett wolfed down the last bit of fish. “A lot better, thanks. I think the food helped.”

She winked at him. “That’s good. Because you’re not done being drained.”

As he stammered, trying to understand her implication, Emma stood, took his hand, and led him into the A-frame.