Warden by Kevin Hardman

darkness as to whether or not it had even a chance of succeeding.  He looked at Gale, who was - for all intents and purposes - still catatonic. She was sitting on a blanket, staring at the fire. He had tried moving her away several times, to keep her out of the danger that was to come, but she kept returning to the same spot. Finally, he had given up and settled for draping a thick blanket over her head and allowing it to hang down, covering much of her face.
    He didn’t bother with warding the camp this time, as doing so had proven to be only mildly effective against the Wendigo, and he might need every bit of power later. Moreover, even if wards had been able to stop it, they were of limited value when the monster’s prey - in the clutch of Wendigo Fever - willingly left the protection they provided and offered themselves to the creature.  No, he would not die like that; he’d rather die fighting, while he was still in his right mind.
    Convinced that he had made the right decision, Errol looked to the horizon, where the setting sun slowly descended, a huge orange orb taking its warmth and protection with it as it continued to drop.  As the last ray of light vanished, a chill wind blew into the camp. As it had the night before, the campfire diminished somewhat, and the horses neighed wildly, maddened with fright.
    The Wendigo had arrived.

 
    Chapter 18
     
    As always, the monster had simply appeared as if out of thin air.  The wound that the silver had made in its stomach was almost completely healed, the only evidence of what had happened being an angry patch of newly-formed, reddish skin in the place where the dart had landed.
    This time, the Wendigo didn’t stand still but strode across the camp, towards Gale.
    “No!” Errol shouted. “Me first!” He had his axe in his hand and dropped into a low fighting stance. The Wendigo made an odd noise, like something between a cough and growl. It took Errol a second to realize that the thing was laughing. Regardless, it seemed to accept his challenge, because it strode over to where he was and stood towering over him.
    Errol moved forward, swinging in a left-to-right arc at the monster’s midsection (which was about the height of Errol’s head).  It lithely stepped aside; following the axe’s momentum, Errol spun in a circle and swung at the creature again.  Once more, it avoided the blow with ease.
    Staying low, Errol circled, apparently looking for an opening but - more importantly - trying to get properly situated with respect to his plan. The Wendigo circled with him.  When it was in the position that Errol wanted – between him and the campfire, with its back to the flames (and with Gale on the opposite side of the blaze) – Errol charged straight at it.  He brought the axe up for an overhand strike in his right hand and swung as hard as he could.
    The Wendigo caught the blade in its claw.  At the same time that it did so, Errol – with his left hand – tossed a seed pod between the thing’s legs and into the campfire.
    Errol released his axe into the monster’s grip and fell back, covering his face as the gas-filled pod exploded, spewing its contents in all directions. For the second time in as many nights, Errol heard the Wendigo scream in pain. It dropped the axe and spun around, still wailing, while reaching over its shoulder with one claw and behind its back with another, trying to get at something.
    As it turned its back towards him, Errol witnessed a sight that gave him courage.  The Wendigo had several great, weeping wounds on its backside, from its shoulders all the way down to its calves.  It was as if its flesh was made of ice and was now melting due to some internal fire.
    It’s working! It’s working!
    Errol’s plan was basically very simple. He had taken the pure silver links from the revenant’s bracelet and – using his knife – had cut them up into smaller bits.  He had then punctured the seed pods, and followed this up