The Last Hunter
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Legacy of Evil: Little Gray Cells
🕑 Added 2024-04-11 01:30:26 +0000 UTCAfter that impromptu performance and the shaman's somber speech, the settlement began to prepare themselves for war. As they did, Conan and I sat and watched in silence, both of us simply digesting what we had seen before I spoke aloud. "When a doctor goes wrong, he is the first of criminals." Conan glanced at me, his silver hand tapping gently to a beat on the log he was sitting on as he raised an eyebrow and quoted back. "'He has nerve and he has knowledge.' That however, was beyond anything I expected and more than what I thought we were getting into when we decided to hide the caravan in Montana. I fear not even Sherlock Holmes can help us now, especially against such a creature as that... That thing." He finished in disgust, before looking uneasy as he huffed out.
"I am wishing I kept my gun now."
"I doubt it'd help." I said offhand, Conan mistaking it to mean that bullets would be useless... Which it likely would be, at least to kill it for good. But I was operating with the benefit of hindsight, or foresight in my case perhaps? It was confusing to contemplate, but I had a good idea of what we were dealing with as well as the luck of some meta-knowledge that allowed me to click the puzzle pieces together as I scowled to myself.
In I suppose the 'official' canon, Skinwalkers were not a thing. According to Rowling, they were just mundane humans confusing animagi or something and in doing so, basically crapped all over her story. In her official canon, wizards used to shit their pants too and like Skinwalkers, THAT had never actually showed up here or even mentioned in any history book (I had checked out of morbid curiosity and breathed a sigh of relief, finding that gone). So, what was that creature? What did it mean for the world I was in, was my presence and the lack of Voldemort as a whole somehow changing the script?
Fuck if I knew, I just live here now. That aside, the thing we were dealing with.
That story had rung too many alarm bells for me to discount it, up to and including its method of survivability. Unbidden in my own head, I heard a voice-higher pitched, colder with a sibilant hiss and the words it spoke resonated in me as two, red eyes glowed with a fell light in my mind's eye.
'Pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost … but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know … I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.'
Was the Skinwalker one of those seeking immortality, centuries before our lifetime were even a consideration? The thought was chilling, but in this we had one bit of hope. Whatever method it had sought to use, it was certainly related to a horcrux but not one of those things at all. Hopping from host to host, constantly fleeing whenever there was a chance it would be overpowered bespoke to quite another story entirely. This thing could be fought, this thing could feel fear, could feel pain. And it did?
"If it bleeds, we can kill it." I said aloud and Conan blinked and hummed quietly to himself before nodding. "I like it. Is very macho, very confident. But speaking as someone who is not so clever, how exactly are we going to do that?"
"I was thinking fiendfyre till even the ashes were ashes." I said frankly and Conan paused to consider that before he spoke somberly. "You're a very scary man when you wish to be. But be careful what you fling around. MACUSA tends to come down hard on those who fling around dark magic like that, as if it were easy." I could sense the question on his lips, his curiosity burning to ask just who I was, why did I know these spells before he finally huffed out and changed his question.
"We still don't know by the way."
I looked him full in the face, confused as Conan grinned and spoke. "The boy. Clint Slade. We know he was ambushed by the creature; we know he fought hard and had his arm ripped off. But this creature, it transforms, yes? Takes a shape that inspires trust. Who was Clint visiting, that would require privacy?" I opened my mouth and closed it again, thoughtful before scowling.
"..... A good question. Couldn't have been family or farm hands, not in proximity. It had to be someone outside of town, someone he trusted. But we don't really know much about that sort of thing."
"Not much time, no." Agreed Conan as he closed his eyes and scowled. In the darkness, the sound of a barn owl screech echoed before he opened his eyes and spoke. "Clint was a scholar and the only one in his family to attend Ilvermorny. He also mentioned John Audubon. Perhaps that has importance?"
"In a manner." I admitted, wand out as I began to draw glowing designs in the air, needing to keep busy as preparations were being conducted about the settlement. In the corner of my eye, I saw tribal women pouring out some kind of dark liquid into small clay containers, sealing them before stacking them with others to the side as the shaman sung over arrows and bowstrings, my thoughts momentarily disrupted before I continued.
"It's rare to find wizards who pay attention to the Mundane side of things. So, he has an open mind and a thirst for knowledge." I closed my eyes again, tried to think about the man. His shy smile, the glasses, his easy gait, the bracelet with-my eyes flew open.
"He was missing his charm."
"What?" Conan asked in confusion as I rose up and turned to him, speaking swiftly. "When I was talking to him, I saw a glimpse of an odd-looking charm on his wrist. Not something someone like him would usually wear. It was also hidden mostly by his sleeve, so it was something he cherished but didn't want his immediate family to see. There was no mention of it when we found him, so where is it?"
"Could be just a red herring? Maybe it got lost by the fence post?" Said Conan with a shrug as I nodded myself and spoke. "Alright then. So, we're going to find it ourselves."
He stared at me, incredulous before I added. "Quick look, in and out and we're done." Conan thought a bit before he finally growled. "I will want to get my rifle too."
"Works for me." I said quickly, moving to inform the shaman we were leaving temporarily.
And with that done, he grabbed my arm and with a crack of displaced air, we were gone.
=====
An hour later, having checked on the caravan and letting Momma Greyback know we were just fine, we proceeded to the property line. Dark at this point, the only light from my lumos spell and a lantern carried by Conan awkwardly, as he cradled his rifle under one of his arms. The place had been cleaned up, repaired and fixed but this was where they had said it was, so as I looked around, I started to think quietly.
Conan, absently shooing an owl away from the fence post as he leaned on it spoke aloud. "Right. So, I suppose we're going to have to search by grid pattern, until we-" I swished my wand and called out.
"Accio Bracelet."
From the tall grass, something zipped out and landed in my open hand as Conan stared and snorted. "Oh sure, if you want to do it the easy way." I wasn't listening, staring down as I realized what I held in hand.
I had few ideas concerning the traditions of the Lakota, something I would remedy in future. But there was no describing the care put into what I was holding now. Glass and clay beads intricately worked. Some bone charms, signs and blessings-this was not simply a gift, it was a Lakota-crafted thing. Something made to bless the owner, to watch over them as I ran my thumb over one of the charms engraved upon it and was greeted with a simple bit of magic. A woman's laugh, happy and clear followed by a scent of wildflowers and rain. Conan, far more experienced than me in this particular field stared over my shoulder at it with an odd expression before he spoke somberly.
"He was meeting someone very special it appears."
"Someone he didn't want anyone to know about." I added grimly, before I breathed out. Clint Slade had a lover... A Lakota lover. This early in history, I could see why he'd want to keep that secret, especially with a squib father who had married an afro-american woman. Learning from their experience, he had opted for a quieter road in which to conduct his suit... Or so I thought. Whoever the woman was, perhaps the Shaman would know?
And then suddenly, there was a crack of air as on all sides came a cry of 'stupefy!'
Conan cursed and as he moved to bring up his rifle, I pushed it down with a flick and immediately cast a shield charm, like I was back in the midst of the stampede.
Spells cracked and bounced off my shield, my scowl increasing before I yelled out.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE, YOU FOOLS!"
Silence fell and then various lumos spells lit up as what could only be a posse stared at us within the circle of light. Ten wizards, wands out of the holster as Sheriff Jeff scowled and spoke from a bit beyond the circle before stepping closer. His spurs clinked, his black coat flicked in a way that'd have Snape taking lessons as beneath the brim of his black hat, Jeff growled to see who it was. Conan frowned in turn, his nose wrinkling as he leaned back, though Jeff ignored him as he stared at me intently before smirking.
"They say the criminal returns to the scene of the crime. Might be, we got what we've been looking for."
"As I recall, it's only been a single day." I retorted before adding. "I still have two days left." Jeff smiled my direction amiably and I felt the tension rise before he drawled.
"Well, can't say I'd be feeling right to deal with an innocent man with the full weight of the law." I blinked, disconcerted as Conan's reaction became more surprised as he almost stumbled before Jeff nodded.
"Your story checks out. I did a little investigating of my own and now? You provided us with the final piece of the puzzle."
He gestured with a finger and the bracelet I was holding flew out and into his waiting hand as he looked at it and grinned, far more savagely before turning to the posse as he held it up.
"INDIANS ARE ATTACKING OUR PEOPLE! Y'ALL HAD PROBLEMS WITH THEM IN THE PAST! YOUR HERDS, YOUR PROPERTIES! HELL, EVEN THE WATER YOU DRINK! WELL, THEY CROSSED THE LINE NOW!" The posse growled and I snarled as I spoke up.
"That's not theirs! I mean, it is of their origin, but that belonged to Clint Slade!"
Jeff raised an eyebrow, scratching his lower chin as he spoke. "I don't recall him wearing anything like this. Anyone else?" They all shook their heads as my blood ran cold and Sheriff Jeff spoke, condescending and faux-earnest in a way that had me wonder what'd he would look like, cursed.
And I knew so many, many of them now as a creak of leather was heard and I glanced to the side. My eyes darted back and forth, looking at the posse all ready to use their wands before Jeff spoke again.
"The MACUSA thanks you for your aid. But it's time for y'all to leave. We'll be holding negotiations ourselves and we wouldn't wanna accidentally have you get between us. Accidents happen after all."
Conan actually growled, a deep rumble in his throat as his flesh fingers turned white, clutching his rifle tightly. With eye contact with Jeff, I made a subtle gesture caught by Conan and he stopped before I smiled icily, turning on the old Riddle charm and mindset.
"Crystal clear, you fuc-"
=====
The cell door slammed. With a laugh, the deputy locked my wand away in front of me and stomped out. Next to me in the same cell, Conan with a black eye and an incredibly satisfied expression on his face huffed out.
"Even if this was not part of the plan, I am very much happy. But now what do we do?"
"My dear Conan." I returned as I clutched the bars, letting out a grin more teeth than an actual smile as I stared at our surroundings.
"Everything is going exactly as planned."
