The stagecoach rattled through the pinewoods, the dim lanterns revealing a shadowed world of trees, moss and stone. 

And then there was nothing but a few fields and the gigantic mountain. 

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Henrik and Andel briefly opened their eyes as the carriage driver cracked his whip, prompting the sorry mules to begin the climb of Mt Tropin. 

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"From here on out, our troubles worsen." 

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"You're not wrong, Brother Andel." said Henrik, resting his head back on the plush velvet pillow and finding himself slipping gracefully back into sleep. The small carriage was unbearably cosy, and he stifled a yawn. "At least the snow seems to have melted."

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The carriage jolted as it started up the gritted path that had been carved out by some unfortunate sod who'd been landed with the job of cutting a road up an entire mountain several hundred years ago, and as the carriage jolted again Henrik wondered just how little pleasure the man had derived from his work. 

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And then there was a jolt so tremendous that the sound reverberated through the wood and Andel held his head in agony.

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"Are you okay?"

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"Wooden teeth." Andel replied. He leaned out the window of the carriage.

 

The jolt hadn't been caused by the rocks or the grit, but seemed to be something else entirely. As the carriage rose up the thin mountain road, curving up past long-dead flambeaux encased in rusted metal sconces, the two men in the carriage saw a man up on a ledge, waving a shotgun at something out of sight.

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He fired again, the gunshot causing the carriage to rock. Something heavy was felled and the man discharged the dead shotgun round. The horses whinnied and the driver pulled hard on the reins.

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The carriage slowed.

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And that was when they saw the man running towards them, sprinting away from his kill. The carriage passed him and he chased it, slapping on the side.

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"LET ME IN! LET ME IN!

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Andel pulled the door open before Henrik could say a word.

 

The night wind howled and the rain clattered whilst the man scrambled into the carriage. He was red faced and out of breath and pulled the carriage door closed.

The noise outside muted and the carriage continued its cosy clunking up the mountain.

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"The Wendigo." said the stranger. "It's down, but it'll get back up. Take these."

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He passed Henrik and Andel two sticks. They looked like perfectly ordinary sticks.

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"Branches from the miniature O'akanaku Tree. They'll protect you."

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The carriage trundled on in silence. Neither Henrik or Andel had noticed, but they were clutching the twigs close to their chests, their hands shaking.

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It was Andel who broke the silence first.

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"What's a Wendigo?"

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The strange man tutted.

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"You're not from around here, are you?"

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"No." said Henrik. "We-

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"I suppose it's to be expected from the people from elsewhere. Everyone else, from the smallest babe to the oldest gentlemen, know of the Wendigo.

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It's said to be an evil spirit, usually bought about by a murder, that gets trapped inside an animal and warps them into something unspeakable. They develop a taste for human flesh, and stalk the nearby villages late at night.

The mothers will tell their children of The Wendigo when they want them to go to bed, but never mention that The Wendigo can smell weakness, can tell the most frail human and will hunt and stalk him, sometimes for months at a time. And he'll pick off an entire township, one person at a time. Until there's nobody there. Then he'll simply disappear into the breeze. Leaving nothing."

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The carriage was no longer cosy and a cold icy wind seemed to have leaked in. Henrik shuddered. 

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The carriage continued up the mountain. 

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"He'll be back." the man said, checking over his shotgun. "Of that I'm sure. But you'll be fine with the O'akanaku Talismans."

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"They look like regular sticks to me." said Andel.

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"Then give it back." said the man.

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Andel clutched his stick.

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The carriage continued up the mountain path, but there was a growing sense of unease in the wagon. 

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"I'm sorry to have invaded your carriage, gentlemen, and I'm sorry to have given you such a responsibility to bear."

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He nodded at the sticks that Henrik and Andel were both holding. 

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"The truth is that I've been hunting The Wendigo for so many years." said the man.  "I don't know if I'll ever truly defeat the beast."

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"Well," Henrik replied. "At least you've bought us some time. What you're doing, holding your vigil on the mountainside against this demon, is truly noble."

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The carriage slowed to a halt. 

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The driver stepped down and opened the door of the carriage. Andel and Henrik stepped out and saw the small inn they were lodging with for the week. The man stepped out, doing a sweep with his shotgun. 

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After a few minutes, he'd established that The Wendigo was nowhere to be seen.

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"Will you be okay?" said Andel. "I'd hate to leave you here alone."

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The man let out a deep sigh.  "With any luck, I'll survive another night. The Wendigo will chase me over other travellers, for I am sick. I-

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The man coughed violently.

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"It is my duty to keep watch. And to keep the monster away."

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Henrik and Andel gave the man a baleful look.

"Is there nothing we can do?" said Andel.

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"Well," said the man. "You are more than welcome to give me a donation for the O'akanaka Talismans."

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Henrik and Andel both grabbed coins from their pockets and handed them to the man. They were wealthy landowners, and so paying for sacred talismans from a local who was looking out for them seemed only fair.

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"Farewell!" cried Andel, as he headed towards the lodge at a half-run. He tried to pretend that he wasn't fearfully looking around  just in case The Wendigo was nearby, trying to pass it off as exercising his neck, but nobody was particularly fooled.

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"And thanks for everything!" Henrik added, following him.

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The carriage set off and left the man alone, quite alone. 

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He walked across the mountain until he came across his sled, hidden behind a bush. There was a few hundred twigs he'd sawn off a now limbless tree along with a  large box of shotgun shells. He gathered up a few of the sticks and refilled his shotgun before clambering onto his sled and pushing himself off the edge of the mountain.

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The sled flew down, under that cold night sky. Fauna and rocks blurred past.

 

And then the sled stopped at the base of the mountain.

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The man lifted his shotgun and cleared his throat. He made out a carriage from the corner of his eye, lit under the bright moon and twinkling stars.

More people out of town, perhaps rich embassy leaders. The ideal target.

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"STAY BACK!" he yelled at an unmoving tree covered in gunpowder stains.

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Several people leaned out of the window to stare at him, unable to make out the creature that the man was yelling at.

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The man discharged his shotgun at the tree and a branch blew clean off. It hit the ground with a heavy crump as the man began to chase the carriage.

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He hammered on the door.

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"LET ME IN! LET ME IN!"

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