Face of a Wendigo

Their children play with instruments of killing, but the spectacle lies in how they do this so innocently. It is as if they think the bow is a tool for shooting dummies, or the spear a tool for dancing. Their culture was totally foreign to me, but to them I was an automaton beneath a clay face, but as one, I confess I felt at home in my own private way. I told a boy that many parts from my own body could be found inside an automobile, and when I clarified that this was something like a mechanical steed, the boy told me he once held a horse’s beating heart. He put my hand to his chest; we were worlds apart, but our relation to our worlds was the same. It was all the echo in the canyon, a gust from the planes, the dry sound of bones in a wind chime.

They instead saw me as an anomaly, rightfully so except they were bewildered by my white robes long before they saw the body underneath. Only once I’d raised my palm did they realize I looked enough like their kind to be threatening. To me it was also a mystery. I lowered my hand, the spearmen receded into the canyon. They took me to be following and so split up to deceive, but I knew where I was going; I walked into their tall limestone village with its defenders behind me.

It was there I met the boy who held the heart of a steed. He may have been why this society accepted me, but they still remained three steps away. Three steps of mine. I retracted my mantle into my body, thinking the onlookers would appreciate our biological similarities; they instead fled into housing, a woman coming to take the boy.

The spearmen remained behind me, their weapons still pointed my way, but now from a lower point as if halfway to hide. A man asked what had happened to my moth wings. After minor pattern change, I put the cloak back on display. In simple terms I explained that I was here to evaluate life’s complexity, after which I provided my designation: Hunter Three.

“That is not a hunter,” the leader, an older man said. “That is a blade.”

“You could call me ‘Three,’ if you like.”

“Hunter will be your name.”

This was vaguely upsetting. “Well, there is a kind of appreciation for art and the circle of life you have, which I suppose counts for something.”

“You will help or you will leave.”

“Naturally!” I stepped a few paces away. “Though first, I would like you to shoot an arrow at me.”

Certain dares compel people. The chieftain stopped his right hand man, opting to participate personally. As he drew I could see where he was aiming. In the sound of a whistle the arrow was in my hand; he had aimed right between the eyes.

“Just testing,” I said. The rest of his men stepped back as I approached to return the arrow. “Where do you need my aid?”

His expression was unchanged. “A blade,” he said, and rather than take the arrow, he handed the bow to me; “Step back that way.”

“I shouldn’t really—”

“I would like you to shoot an arrow at me, jackass.” His men held their ground as he told them, “if I die, that is your chieftain,” while pointing to me. He then tapped the center of his forehead twice, and then got into position, knowing I had nowhere else to aim. The narrowness of his gaze was all consuming. I could hear his men making sounds, stomping, and then he shouted so I released; he caught the arrow in both hands, the splitters from when I’d grasped it causing him to bleed. He raised his cut palm high; “A hand with no soul cannot kill me.”

His men cheered. I scanned the top of the canyon for boulders or any natural way to die, unsure if it made sense to apologize for not shooting somebody.

“Your clothes were more interesting,” he said. “You will weave clothes with the women. When the sky rains arrows, I will call for your aid.”

He waved his men off then headed back into the canyon, afterwards beckoning me. The surrounding faces seemed to make complying a necessity, and so I complied.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“You know your way around these canyons?” he asked me.

I had a map in my files. “I have a guide, I’ve seen everything.”

We walked about a half kilometer around striped plateaus, taking long enough for the sun’s position to sink to our eyes; we made it above the plateau line and watched the last of the sun slowly sliding behind a mountain past the planes.

“That is the kiss of time,” he said. The sun’s reaching rays were the creases, the mountain was the mouth’s opening. Stars could be seen on the lip’s meat. In hindsight, it was breathtaking. “Why are you here?” he asked me.

“How did you dig out those holes—homes—in the canyonside?”

“With a chisel.”

“I see.”

He exchanged a breath from a gust of air. “Do you have any further interest in my tribe?”

“Well, I need a place to stay, and I’m still supposed to study.”

“Supposed by who?”

“Knowing won’t be necessary.”

He shook his head. “A sentiment contradictory to your cause,” he said, lighting a pipe.

I looked away, but obliged, pointing over the dark mountainside. “I come from above the sky,” I said.

“But from what tribe?”

“Why would you think I belong to such a thing?”

“Because you think less freely than a newborn child,” he rebutted. “You cannot even properly lie, you just avoid things.”

“Well, I am sorry.”

He blew smoke against the moonlight. “What would it mean to inscribe an apology on a blade?” he asked. “Your masters practice a profound trickery, Hunter.”

“Thank you for your insights, chieftain, ah...” I had forgotten to ask his name.

“Chief Kay.”

“Right.”

He stood up. “I must sleep. There will be a hole marked for you, through the front entrance, down the right. My wife should fetch you for work by sunrise. Follow me or stay and meditate.”

“Oh, I have reserves burning, I won’t need to enter my sleep cycle until tomorrow night.”

He turned and left, muttering “I will pretend that’s not frightening” before vanishing down the ravine.

I was now alone. The moon lit the tops of the plateaus like the surface of pale skin. The cells of my face stretched into the shape of a skull I had seen in the planes, while my white mantle divided into a voluminous, frayed mane. I used my four-legged form to bound from platform to platform, searching.