Second Chance Spirit Ch. 2 - The Cursed One

Gray Fox drove a dented four-wheel-drive pickup with a covered cab for transporting Big Ass Bow. The christening had been left up to Coyote. Gray Fox refused to name his weapons, no matter how much cooler that made them.

The thought of seeing it in action both excited Coyote and left him with a nagging sense of dread. "So what's the biggest monster you ever killed with Bigass?" he said.

Gray Fox turned his eyes a fraction of an inch off the road to scowl at Coyote's continuous use of crude language, but he had long ago given up arguing about it. "I do not remember," he said.

"Did you ever work out the kinks of killing giants with it?"

"No."

"Great. And how big do you suppose this snake thing is? Thirty feet? Fourty?"

"At least."

Coyote lifted the sheath on his belt and shook it. The weight and sturdy structure of the knife within offered little comfort. "So what's Plan B?” he said. “We just ask it nicely to hold still so we can stab it to death?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Gray Fox's mouth. "In a way, yes,” he said. “You have been doing things on your own for so long you have forgotten there are more honorable means of defeating an enemy. When you respect the manitous they bring you luck in battle. If you are pure of heart and are working to destroy some evil creature, they will return that respect."

Coyote groaned. "Are you sure evil doesn't hate explosives as much as a seal of disapproval from a manitou?" he said.

"You wanted to help, and I am letting you. I do not understand why you are still complaining."

Coyote huffed. "Whatever,” he said. “I'm taking a nap. Wake me up when we get there."

Practiced as he was in the art of napping, Coyote was able to drift off within moments of curling awkwardly against the door. He opened his eyes and found himself in the woods. A rustling noise came from somewhere in the trees, and before he could tell where it was several crashed to the ground behind him to the sound of a terrifying roar. He whirled around and whipped out his trusty rocket launcher. Before he could shoot a voice boomed from the monster's head, but it was not coming from the creature.

The Creative Spirit looked down at him from his seat on a scale between the monster's eyes. He wore the form of a tall man dressed in deerskin robes. A scowl deepened the lines of his ageless face. "What are you doing, Coyote?” he said. “The glory of killing this beast belongs to your brother. Are you trying to steal his thunder?"

Coyote grinned and said, "Eat rockets, Daddy!"

He fired the rocket launcher and was consumed within a fireball which grew until it billowed above the treetops. When the smoke cleared all that remained of the snake was a crater in the dirt and charred scales dropping from the sky like ash from a volcano. He perched at the crater's edge and saw the Creative Spirit lying on his back, arms and legs spread in all directions. "Whose methods do you like better now, huh?” he said. “Admit it, I'm the best!"

The forest shook and the crater sank into the ground until the bottom was out of sight. Coyote leaned further over the edge and saw the white pinpoints of stars. He felt as if he was growing smaller, but that couldn’t be. Could it? "Father?" he whispered.

The earth beneath his feet gave way and he tumbled into the pit. He curled in a ball and screamed.

"Coyote!"

He opened his eyes and saw trees. His head swam with confusion. A wide-eyed face filled his vision.

"Are you all right?"

Coyote connected the voice with the face. He grimaced and pressed a finger to his brother's nose. "Hey!” he said. “Personal space mean anything to you? Are we there yet?"

Gray Fox backed out of driver's side door. He still appeared concerned, but to Coyote’s relief he let it go. "Yes,” he said. “I have our supplies all set up. Come get your pack."

Coyote stepped outside and cleared his head with a deep breath of cool air. They were on a dirt road overlooking clusters of green leaves turning red. He was reminded of the fire in his dream, but quickly pushed the memory aside. Gray Fox handed him a backpack. "Gaah, how long am I going to have to carry this heavy thing?" he said.

His brother adjusted the bow slung over his shoulder and sighed. "As long as it takes for us to track the monster,” he said. “With luck it hasn't moved far from the campsite."

"And how far is that?"

Gray Fox walked past him into Algonquin Provincial Park, or what he assumed to be the park, unmarked as the spot was. "Farther if you keep talking, less so if you stay quiet." He said.

***

"My feet hurt!"

Gray Fox didn’t respond. He stopped and tilted his head, eyes focused on something beyond the trail.

Coyote sagged against a tree. A few days of walking and he felt as out of shape as those blobular humans he saw more of every year. "Thank the creator!” he said. “Is it time to break for camp yet?"

Gray Fox withdrew a knife from his belt and picked his way through the dense brush. "Quiet,” he said, voice low and flat. “You should learn to use your nose more and your mouth less."

Coyote began working up a retort, but the scent hit him before he could finish the thought. It was a rich smell that revealed layer after revolting layer while he followed his brother in silence to its source. The top layer was gangrenous, though he could not quite put his finger on what seemed off about the comparison. There were undertones of carrion and filthy clothing. A memory tried to rise to the surface.

Gray Fox stepped into a clearing leading to a stream and let some of the tension ease from his features. There was nothing noteworthy or threatening in sight, aside from the carcass of a young moose a few yards from the water's edge. He knelt beside it and was silent for several moments, before mumbling under his breath, "What in the world?"

Coyote rushed to his side. "That doesn't look something a snake would do," he said.

The moose's throat had been ripped open with a single savage bite. Loose scraps of flesh were all that remained of the organs once packing the rotund abdominal cavity. The exposed bone of the hind leg still glistened where it had been picked clean, but the teeth marks the predator left didn't match the rest of the scene. They were too small.

Coyote looked up and found Gray Fox examining tracks left in the mud. He followed him and found that the stench grew stronger. He looked at the mud and the memories flooded back with almost overwhelming force, reminders of an ancient time it was difficult to believe he had once lived in.

Gray Fox frowned, shook his head, and said, "What bad fortune this place has fallen under, to be host to so many different types of evil! We will need to return and eliminate this monster after we have taken care of the snake."

Coyote could not tear his eyes off the boot prints. They were wide apart, as if who- or what-ever was wearing them had sprinted away in a great hurry. A wonderfully fun idea was brewing. "Hold on a second!” he said. “I've been here before. I know this guy. Maybe he can help us."

Gray Fox's face fell flat. "You have been here?” he said. “Why did you not mention this?"

"You didn't ask."

"Fine. I am asking now- how do you know of this monster?"

Coyote held his hands up. "He's not a monster!” he said. “He's just… strange. You know, like how some foods smell really disgusting but when you eat them they don't actually taste that bad? I was just passing though, oh, maybe a couple thousand years ago, and we had a nice little barbeque. He's a swell guy, really. Kind of more going on in his muscles than upstairs, but not too bad when you get to know him. I don't know about you, but I'm sick and tired of wandering around looking for giant snake tracks."

A pensive look crossed Gray Fox's face. "I will admit it is strange we have not come across any signs yet,” he said. “Still, I do not think we should trust this creature. My nose is never wrong about evil. This is my hunt. We follow my methods."

Coyote stamped his foot. "And he's my friend!” he whined. “How would you feel if I just up and announced I was going to kill one of your friends?"

Gray Fox's lips drew back in a pained frown, and Coyote knew he had pushed the right button to get what he wanted.

"All right, we will see if he is willing to help or if he is a monster," he said, turning to follow the tracks beyond the mud into the trees. "He must have been here only minutes ago. If we hurry, we can catch up to him."

Coyote grabbed his arm. "Wait!” he said. “He may be a bit, uh, nervous about meeting new people. I'd better ask him first."

Gray Fox stopped and shrugged. "Suit yourself,” he said. “If your 'friend' ends up not being so friendly I will be here to revive your corpse after I kill him."

"Ouch! Your lack of confidence in me hurts!"

Coyote trotted after the trail of stink before his brother could continue his close calls at humor. Sometimes he thought his special power had been a particularly cruel and clever joke, his father's parting gift to repay the years of mischief. Where the other immortals could look forward to immunity as long as they remained on good behavior, he was trapped in an endless cycle of accidental deaths and pity-revivals. Even kindhearted Gray Fox could not resist the occasional jab.

Once Coyote was out of earshot he unveiled his master plan. He stopped, panting to catch his breath, and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Hey Wendigo!” he called in his friendliest voice. “Here boy! I need your help and I've got some nice treats for you if you help me!"

The forest answered with mocking silence. He did his best to follow the scent, but he grudgingly had to admit that Gray Fox had always been the superior tracker. He wondered how his brother would react if he knew what they were really following.

Coyote had traveled far, seeing many strange things that would qualify as monsters, and Wendigo was one of the most unusual. He was a manitou, once tasked by the creator with bringing winter to the cold, lonely north. A human medicine man with an impressive amount of power matched by his lack of common sense convinced him to curse tribemates who committed cannibalism. In a twist that defied logic Wendigo gained an obsession with human flesh, as if the only way to make peace with the horror of humanity was to create something capable of bringing even greater suffering. Coyote uncovered the abuse of power and killed the first host, but the humans had obviously not been wise enough to avoid falling under the curse again and Wendigo continued to play with their bodies.

After several more minutes of walking while nothing happened Coyote's patience was nearing its end. He gave himself a smack on the forehead for assuming this would be easy. Why had he expected a manitou in a human body to be any less a waste of time than one in its original state? Running out of ideas, he removed his backpack and rummaged through it. "Here boy!” he called. “Food! I've got granola bars and dried fruit and MREs- really, Gray Fox? Eww!"

A stick snapped and he froze, trying to pinpoint its location. By the time he thought to look up it was too late to move out of the way of the figure dropping from the tree.

Coyote slammed face first into the ground under the thing's weight, and before he could muster a thought to defend himself he felt five sharp points drive into his skull and grind his nose into the dirt. His attacker turned him over and pinned him with one foot. He looked up into a face that appeared to be human, though the look it wore was more savage than any he had ever seen on a man.

He smiled through the pain. "I'm so glad I found you!” he said. “You're my only hope!"

Wendigo stopped baring his yellow fangs long enough for a look of utter bewilderment to cross his face. He knelt down and hovered over Coyote, sniffing loudly.

Coyote's eyes watered as the rotten, unwashed smell enveloped him.

Wendigo grinned and tilted his head at an impossible angle. "I remember you,” he purred. “You killed my host. You die now!"

For a moment Coyote almost lost track of the tone of worry he was trying to maintain. Wendigo's newest host was a white man with an incredibly thick French accent which, when combined with the weird faces he was pulling, made him want to snort with laughter. He regained his composure and waved his arms frantically. "Wait!” he said. “I came to see you because my brother needs your help. He's about to do something really stupid and you're the only one strong enough to save him. I was told no one here was stronger than Wendigo. You are Wendigo, right?"

Wendigo removed his foot, stepped back, and laid a clawed hand over his heart. "Yes, am Wendigo,” he said, voice gushing with pride. “Yes, am strongest. Dogman was mean. Why should help Dogman?"

Coyote rose, coughed, and glared. He willed the features of his face to snap back into the shape he was created with. His eyes flashed yellow, his ears rose tall and pricked, and black whiskers sprouted on his expanding muzzle. He pointed at his now canine head and said, "I am a coyote, duh!"

Wendigo punched him in the nose, drawing a gasp of pain and a stream of blood. "Not answering question!” he growled. “Why should help Dogman?"

Coyote sighed and let his features melt back to human. Maintaining any mixture of forms was a distraction he could not afford at the moment. "It's my brother, Gray Fox,” he said, using a low, frightened voice. “He's going to shoot a giant snake monster with an arrow. An arrow! I'm so worried about him; I thought I would ask someone who was better at fighting to take care of this for him."

Wendigo tilted his head and stared with wide, pale eyes. Coyote was struck by just how inhuman he looked even without the snarling. He stood poised on the balls of his feet, as if preparing to run, and his arms were bent to let his hands dangle awkwardly at hip level. His tattered clothing hung so far off his emaciated frame he looked like a child trying on his father's winter wear. Moose blood had been lovingly smeared across his face and clung in sticky clots to his short, pointed beard.

He leaned closer and ran his tongue under Coyote's nose, then flicked it between his lips a few times and tilted his head in the opposite direction. "You taste strange,” he said. “Almost like… not food. What are you?"

Coyote resisted the urge to slap his disgusting face. "Animal spirits!” he said, forgetting the “worried brother” character in a fit of indignation. “You know, the creator's children? Did Father never mention us to you manitous, or are you just too dumb to remember?"

He regretted his words immediately. Wendigo seized him by the throat and threw him, sending him cartwheeling until a large rock was kind enough to stop his momentum. His head spun in the strangest way. He felt as if he had become someone else for a moment. When Wendigo touched his skin again he realized he hadn't been imagining things. The original owner of that filthy body was still in there.

Wendigo squeezed his throat and the human presence scratched at his mind like an animal trying to dig out of a trap. He could sense no direct messages projected from it, only the most crushing loneliness and despair he had ever felt. A new idea clicked into place, something even better than watching two monsters fight to the death and teasing Gray Fox over coming all this way for nothing. He went limp and closed his eyes. "Oh great and mighty Wendigo," he wheezed, "accept my apology! If you are unable to help me, you should have just said so. Now please, let me go so I can find someone strong enough to kill this monster and save my brother from his stupidity."

Wendigo dropped him and placed both hands over his heart. "Am too strong enough!” he said. “Not scared of Mishegenabig! Will kill before Foxman."

Coyote rubbed the beginnings of a bruise on his throat. He wondered how many he had collected in the past few days. "Is that what this thing is?” he said. “A mishi-whatsit?"

Wendigo curved two bony fingers over his eyes. "Mishegenabig,” he said. “Horned serpents. Very big and annoying. Talks much. Uses confusing words. Will not play. Boring creature. No worry, puny Dogman. I kill him!"

Coyote wrapped his arms around Wendigo's legs. "Thank you!” he said, working in a sob of relief to salvage the performance. “My brother may not seem grateful at first, but he will thank you too as soon as he sees how much trouble you saved him. As a token of our gratitude, feel free to help yourself to a granola bar from my-"

Wendigo kicked him aside and pounced on the backpack he had dropped. Coyote pushed himself off the ground, rubbing at a new bruise forming on the side of his head, and watched him rip the pack to shreds and claw through the contents. He identified food packets with a quick sniff and crammed them into his mouth, swallowing great chunks of plastic in his haste to devour them.

"Eww,” Coyote said, wrinkling his nose. “And people call me greedy."

After he was finished Wendigo picked through the remaining items, finally settling down to investigate a tee-shirt with a howling coyote painted on the front. He put it in his mouth and stalked toward Coyote with his body lowered in a crouch.

Coyote reached for it. "Hey, that's my favorite shirt!” he said. “That is not food!"

Wendigo jumped aside and landed on all fours. He tossed his head and growled. A dark stain of drool soaked into the cloth.

Coyote gagged. "You know what, keep it,” he said. “I'm going back to my brother now. You coming or what?"

He turned before receiving an answer and began walking. His mind was a giddy buzz of anticipation. There was no telling how many more bruises he would earn before his plan played out, but it would be more than worth it to see Gray Fox learn that his precious methodology was not without its flaws.

Wendigo shot to his feet and raced past him, knocking him to the ground. He skidded to a halt and jumped to his side, then spat the damp shirt onto his face.

The smell penetrated Coyote's sinuses and he writhed in horror. He flung the shirt away and gasped for fresh air. "Gaaah, what is wrong with you?” he said. “Why do you smell like roadkill's BO?"

A toothy grin split Wendigo's face. "Dogman is funny,” he said.

He turned on his heels and disappeared with inhuman speed, leaving Coyote struggling to catch up. It was not until he reached the stream that Coyote found him again. Coyote stumbled out of the brush and almost ran into him where he stood, stretched to full height on his tiptoes, staring at the figure in the clearing. Gray Fox had an arrow aimed at his chest.

The situation would have been amusing if it didn't have the potential to ruin Coyote's plans. He stepped around Wendigo and waved his hands. "Whoa there!” he said. “This is not how nice people say hello."

Gray Fox lowered his bow. "I apologize,” he said. “I thought he had killed you. It is difficult to detect your scent over his."

Coyote shrugged. "I said he would be helpful, not good company,” he said. “Hey, you going to say hello to my brother or what?"

The spirit's rigid posture was unwavering. His head was extended toward Gray Fox and his nostrils flared. A noise rose from his chest, something between a moan and a growl. The wideness of his eyes drew attention to the eeriness of their strangely washed out blue color, which was lighter than any Coyote had seen in a human.

Coyote laid an arm across his shoulders and spoke to Gray Fox in a perfect imitation of Wendigo’s voice. "Hello, am Wendigo! And you are?"

Wendigo shot into the air and landed halfway between him and Gray Fox. He bared his teeth at Coyote. "How you do that?" he growled.

Coyote shifted forms until he was a copy of Gray Fox, aside from a collection of bruises. He jammed a finger up his nose. "Shapeshifter,” he said. “I am special, though not in the same way as my dear brother, who is planning on using a bow to kill a giant mishi-something."

He removed his finger and resumed his preferred form.

Wendigo studied the brothers. When Gray Fox presented no further threats and Coyote no further surprises he relaxed. "You eating my time,” he said. “Help Foxman, then go." He gave Gray Fox a lazy nod. "Use that on Mishegenabig? You stupid. I kill for you. Prove am best hunter."

Gray Fox gave him a suspicious look. "I thought you were just going to help us locate the trail,” he said. “Are you saying you could have killed this creature all along, but chose not to? Innocent humans are dying because of this."

Wendigo hesitated, and Coyote could almost see the wheels turning, ever so slowly, in his head. He gave an exaggerated shrug. "Was not my problem,” he said. “Mishegenabig hates humans. Sets traps, kills them. They ask my help? No!"

Gray Fox shook his head. "One should never be lazy about protecting innocent lives,” he said. “Can you tell me more about this Mishegenabig?"

Wendigo nodded. "Horned serpent,” he said. “Holds worst grudges. Say humans kill family. Last of kind. I find in cave. Wake him up. He not happy. Goes to kill humans. I find here, watch. Uses hiding-power on humans. Still, humans not see. Move, humans see. Works on tracks, too. You not see them?"

"No. And you can?"

A vigorous nod. "Yes! See? Am better than you!" He smiled and bounced like a hyperactive child. "Come! I show you."

They had no chance to ask further questions before he dashed off, disappearing from sight but not smell. Gray Fox furrowed his brow at his brother. "How do you find these people?" he said.

Coyote laughed and said, "What can I say? Life as a walking weirdness magnet is loads of fun."

He was not laughing for long. Gray Fox picked up the slow and steady pace he had kept them to, and Coyote cursed himself for not staying in better shape. He had sworn to long ago, after growing frustrated with being able to imitate other people's appearances without gaining their strengths and skills, but that had gone the way of every other promise he made.

To add insult to injury Wendigo kept bounding back, a seemingly endless well of energy, to see if they were still following. Usually he ran a few laps around them, huffed, and sped off again. Sometimes he nudged and nipped at Coyote, as if to hurry him along, and once he even bit hold of his sleeve and dragged him off his feet. Coyote tried his best to swat him away, but that only seemed to encourage him.

When they at last caught up they found him standing at the base of a small hill. He pointed a thin hand at an outcropping of rocks at its peak and said, "He is sunning. So boring. I wake for you!"

Gray Fox shot Coyote a worried look, and Coyote wondered for the first time if the manitou had been leading them on or was suffering some form of insanity. They watched him jog up the hill.

Wendigo stopped at the pile of boulders and shouted at it. "Wake up, Mishegenabig! We fight now! I am best hunter! I prove to them!"

Nothing happened.

He leapt onto one of the rocks and leaned down, looking at something Coyote could not make out. "I hate horned serpents!” he said, punching the rock. “Glad humans killed family!"

The boulder rose into the air, dragging other rocks with it like a gigantic string of pearls. It flung Wendigo off, but he easily landed on his feet. The rough gray stones melted into each other, smooth at first, then separating into black and brown scales. Two pinpoints of orange glowed on the bulky head that was forming out of the first boulder. The scales above them rose up and over the neck in two long ebony spikes, followed by a cascade of shorter spines running down the back.

The serpent's fiery eyes focused on Coyote and Gray Fox. Coyote felt a voice enter his head, though the wide mouth did not move to utter so much as a hiss. Which of you has the audacity to encourage this insufferable being to disturb my slumber?