Garrison Fawkes’ POV

I was led to the edges of the field by Uriel. I can’t remember if they had taken turns or if they had taken any at all. But it didn’t matter. Uriel gently guided us to the outskirts of a crop field, where wooden huts stood not far away. There were people working; they looked normal. One of them noticed us. A child.

“Who are you?” she asked, wandering close but not within reach. Curious, blue eyes studied us. Some of the people watched us and the child cautiously.

Uriel answered for us. “We are here to see Cassiel,” they tell the girl, who looked like a ten-year-old human girl to me. But perhaps Uriel would know better.

“Grandma Cassiel?” the girl says.

“Take them to Grandmama,” someone else directs. “They are guests,” he tells her. 

I nod our thanks to the man. He offers a terse smile and goes back to whatever he was working on, but still keeping an eye on us. Such scrutiny would never be unexpected for strangers in a village, of course. Still, it is uncomfortable. Uriel squeezes my fingers, as though in reassurance. I squeezed back.

It occurs to me that these people are Wendigoes, though they don’t look like it now. I remembered Cassiel, the Wendigo whose human appearance was of a kindly, old lady. The girl leading us must be her granddaughter.

In a hut only slightly wider than the rest, Cassiel was waiting for us. There was tea and Cassiel in her human form. 

“Welcome to our humble village,” she smiled warmly. Like this, it felt like a normal visit to Granny’s.

There wasn’t much furniture in the hut, but we were invited to sit on soft cushions. Carefully, I watched Uriel and Cassiel as they poured tea. Uriel handed me a cup but didn’t take one for themselves. So, I drank when Cassiel drank, until our cups were empty.

Only then, she said “Now, we begin. Tell me what you know.”

“We think it is an illness,” I said. Uriel nodded once beside me.

Cassiel frowned. “I’ve never heard of this illness that vanishes,” she said. “How do you know?”

“We came from the Isles of Crete,” Uriel told her. “Azrael imposed a lockdown right before we left.”

“We found a connection between those who had disappeared,” I continued. “Though we have not quite figured out the symptoms, it seems to spread like a plague—through close contact with other infected individuals.”

“If it truly is a disease, it is a strange one,” remarked Cassiel.

I nodded. “Have any of your people disappeared?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Cassiel shook her head. “No.”

Uriel is staring intently at Cassiel when I glance at them. There is this feeling that she isn’t quite telling us the full truth.

“Your granddaughter, the girl who led us here, she has remarkable control for such a young one,” Uriel commented.

“Yes,” Cassiel replied, strangely wary. “She has learnt to control her shift.”

“Has she?” asked Uriel softly. “She did not seem to be able to shift at all.”

I watched the exchange with trepidation. “What aren’t you telling us?” I asked Cassiel.

She shoots Uriel a dark look. “She doesn’t shift because she’s human now.”

“What do you mean now?” I frowned. It was such a strange thing to say.

She sighs. Uriel is silent; I press on my line of questioning. 

“The children of the village have not been able to shift for a while now.”

“How long?” Uriel asked, voice taut with distress. I squeezed their hand in concern. 

“A few months,” answered Cassiel. 

Even I was shocked. Months was a long time to say anything when shifting—as far as I knew—was such an intrinsic part of shifters. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked incredulously.

“Who would I tell? What would I tell? That my people are losing their ability to shift into a monster that eats and eats but will never be satisfied? No, why should I say anything? If our children never have to feel this hunger again, it would still be too soon,” Cassiel said sharply. 

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Is it such a bad thing?” wondered Cassiel. Put that way, it certainly seemed like their loss of power was a boon, but did it have anything to do with the vanishing diseases that Uriel and I were investigating?

Uriel and I shared yet another glance. I didn’t know how to answer her, and I didn’t think they did either. It didn’t matter. Cassiel had more to say.

“Do you know what kills a Wendigo?” she directed the question at me.

Tentatively, I shook my head.

Cassiel snorted. “Don’t look so afraid. It is of old age, like any human. Except for the prolonged lifespan. I don’t look it, but I am the youngest of the council.”

That…was news to me. Of course, I’d known they were old, I did not know how old. 

“But throughout our lives, we must control our urges to become monsters that feast on human flesh. If we didn’t, humanity would disappear. Our beasts are cursed with an insatiable hunger for human meat that will only hurt us the more we consume. 

“We are tired of this hunger,” said Cassiel. “I don’t know what this disease is or whether it is the same kind as the one on the Isles, but whatever it is, it is not a bane here. It is a blessing that we’ve stopped praying for.”

“I see,” Uriel says finally. Somehow, it feels like they aren’t talking about the true nature of Wendigoes. “We thank you for your help then.” They stand. “Be careful,” are the parting words Uriel leaves Cassiel.

I stand with them. I’m filled with more questions again, but I wait until Uriel and I are far away enough to ask.

We had ventured back into the crop field again. But Uriel is looking a little tired, which they probably are, so I sit them down in amongst the plants. The tall wheat provides some shade from the sun when we are seated.

“Do you think Cassiel should ignore their growing…humanity?” I asked absently. All the shifters I’d met sometimes preferred the human form or their other form. But I’d never met a shifter who had staunchly preferred their humanity over their other shape. Let alone a whole race of them. “How old is Cassiel? Is she really the youngest of the council? How did you know the girl couldn’t shift?” 

“Which should I answer first?” asked Uriel with a wan smile. 

I blushed. “Any of them?” 

“Only Cassiel can answer your first question,” they said. “I don’t remember how old she is, exactly. I believe…a little over a hundred perhaps.”

“But she’s the youngest?” I was shocked. Everyone on that council had appeared relatively young, though with eyes that spoke of ageless wisdom. Even Uriel. But they could all still pass off as someone in their third decade of life. Possibly even their second. 

Uriel nodded. There was a tiny twist at the corners of their mouth, as though my reaction bothered them. 

I hurried to clarify. “It’s not that I don’t like it or anything. It’s just surprising because you all look really young! Except Cassiel, I mean. It’s not weird,” I insisted.

They smiled then. “It is a little strange.”

I huffed a laugh. “Alright. It is a little bit.” As I opened my mouth to ask how they had known about the girl’s humanity again, Uriel spoke first.

“We should go,” they said.

I watched them doubtfully. “You’ve rested enough?”

Uriel nodded. “Come on. We can’t sit in a field all day.”

So, I took their hand. Cool fingers pressed into my palms and the air shifted as soon as I closed my eyes.