Rise of the Underdogs: Jasper

Thresholds

The trip from Nain to Blanc-Sablon unfolded in a unique rhythm, marked by a blend of chanting and joking among the group. Moments of lively conversation were interspersed with occasional stillness, allowing the vastness of the landscape to settle in around us.

Instead of relying on traditional boat routes, we were fortunate to travel along safe paths specifically marked for skidoo use by the Wilderness Search and Rescue Authority. These designated routes provided both guidance and reassurance in a region where ice conditions can change rapidly.

The ice itself was thick yet unpredictable, sometimes cracking beneath us with thunderous sounds that echoed for miles through the chilling air. Each crack served as a stark reminder of the environment’s power, reinforcing both the beauty and the danger of our journey. Nature was an unforgiving mistress, and we had to respect her through the good and the bad.

After travelling more than one hundred kilometres, and spending several hours traversing the marked skidoo routes, we finally saw our destination appear on the horizon. The journey required a stop to refuel—not at a conventional gas station, but using additional canisters crafted from a specialized plastic. These canisters proved essential for carrying enough fuel to make the trip safely across unpredictable ice and remote stretches, ensuring that we could continue without interruption.

Reaching the town limits, our group pressed forward, guided by anticipation and curiosity. Before us stood a narrow, yet remarkably tall building, its façade adorned with enigmatic supernatural sigils that seemed to shimmer faintly in the cold air. The structure's entrance was framed by a staircase, each step appearing to be carved from single branches carefully selected for their strength and shape.

We paused at the base of these unique stairs, gathering quietly as the atmosphere shifted from light-hearted camaraderie to solemn expectation. Guilliam, moved by a sense of reverence, stepped forward. With deliberate care, he removed his hat and ascended the staircase, approaching the door as though entering a space of significant importance. The rest of us waited below, holding our breath as Guilliam reached the threshold, ready to cross into whatever awaited us inside.

Guilliam paused at the doorway, his movements deliberate and respectful. He slipped two fingers into the knocker, which emitted a faint metallic scent suggesting it was made from hammered iron. With measured force, he struck the knocker three times against the door that bared spirals, intricate knots, and sigils that spoke of old magic. The kind that was spoken of in hushed whispers around campfires in stories about Witches, Sorcerers, and Druids. Not the good kind, but those who were considered Tainted.

Each bang was heavy, solemn, echoing through the silence that had settled over the group and the surrounding twilight. The sound reverberating around us, underscoring the significance of the moment and heightening the anticipation of what lay beyond the threshold.

We stood in silence, every eye fixed on the door, our collective attention sharpened to a near-maniacal focus. The anticipation was palpable, as if the very air around us had thickened with expectation. Amidst this tense stillness, Andrew quietly drew me aside, his expression serious.

“Is it true?” he asked, his voice low and purposeful.

Momentarily caught off guard, I responded, but I was not entirely sure what he meant. “Sorry?”

A knowing smile crept across Andrew’s face. “Levi told me that your pack had magic users.”

I nodded, clarifying, “Certain bloodlines, yes. Specifically, the golden-eyed Seers are often Mated to a magic user from a southern coven. A powerful one who holds the power of equilibrium in such a way that it tempers the Seer’s ability to manage their visions.”

Andrew’s grin grew wider, the gravity of the moment becoming clear. “Because this house belongs to the one called the Boundary Witch. She is a Solitary magic user who keeps to herself and rarely leaves her home.”

The weight of his words settled over me, deepening the mystery that surrounded the imposing building before us and the person who resided within its walls. I glanced up as the door opened—not abruptly, but with a subtle, almost soundless creak that carefully heightened the tension and fear within us. Each second felt weighted, the anticipation building in measured increments as we waited to see who would greet us.

There, standing at the top of the steps, was a woman clad unmistakably in the attire of an Element Witch. Her presence was commanding, yet deeply grounded. It was as if she could sense the weather’s shifts while remaining firmly anchored to Mother Earth, often referred to as Gaia by Witch, Sorcerer, and Druid covens. She seemed to look at and through us at the same time. Every detail of her appearance spoke to her connection with the elemental forces.

Her robes were intricately embroidered with silvery threads, which traced out patterns of stars, the phases of the moon, and other celestial symbols that shimmered softly in the dim light. Around her waist hung a slender silver chain belt, from which a small pouch dangled at her hip. The scent wafting from it was unmistakable: Moonflower, Wolfsbane, and Sage – herbs well-known for their protective qualities.

Wards against the darkness called Taint that drove magic users mad with power-lust and created Rogues.

I would assume by now many of you reading these chronicles have been extensively educated on the ins and outs of identifying a Tainted. The inescapable hunger, the drive to want more, the thrill of holding something no one else had.

When she spoke, her words held an otherworldly echo. “Welcome, child of the Bear. It has been many moons since your shadow crossed my threshold. What brings you? What words of wisdom does Geraldine have for me?”

“No news, Mistress Pearl. Mother sent me to accompany the pack pups who were displaced by a nighttime decimation. They are trying to get to the Grand Alpha’s land,” Guilliam stated, his voice clear and calm.

She tilted her head, her smile both inviting and threatening as she regarded us. “I see,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of old wisdom, “Pack shifters, Vampires, and other magic users could, potentially, cross the threshold of a Witch, such as myself. Quite easily, might I add, but only if their intentions match their thoughts and words. Empty promises would not allow entry.”

Her statement lingered in the air, making it clear that the boundary between safety and peril was not merely physical, but also deeply tied to honesty and resolve. The magic that guarded her home was attuned to truthfulness. Only those whose intentions were genuine, whose thoughts and words aligned, would be permitted entry. Falsehoods and hollow assurances would be revealed and repelled, leaving those with deceit in their hearts stranded outside the protective threshold.

I straightened my back, hauling in a deep breath of courage, then spoke. “Mistress, please. We seek only sanctuary until the ferry crossing.”

“Words are empty, Werewolf,” she countered, cutting me off.

Guilliam took a step back, allowing for a clearer path to the door. “Boys, Akita, this is Mistress Pearl Hunt. In order to gain her acceptance, you must first attempt to cross her doorstep. Should you make it into the porch, then her protection spells have accepted you are worth guarding.”

I looked up, watching as her eyes scanned each of us like she was looking for a fissure in our united front. Someone moved past me, and I was too late to capture my sister in time to stop her ascent. “Kita!”

Without a word, she climbed the steps steadily. Standing ramrod stiff, she stood in front of the Witch. “I wish to enter under the celestial bond of aid given and received to those who require it.”

To my surprise, the woman smiled. “Your power is strong, child of the North Gate. What is your standing?”

“None until I reach age,” my sister declared, her voice tight. “My brothers protect me. The eldest, Jasper, protects us all.”

Pearl Hunt’s eyes widened, her jaw falling slack. “A female Alpha?”

I stepped in then, my hands out in a placating gesture. “Mistress, it is not safe for my sister to speak of things out in the open. Please, may we enter? Master Diggory and his son also need a small respite before heading back to Nain.”

“We will take your test, Mistress,” Levi answered. “Life has been a cycle of tests for us over the last two and a half months. Of learning and fighting to stay alive. This test of yours is not like anything we’ve had to face, but we don’t mind. As long as our unshifted kin are safe, those of us who have a wolf can stay out.”

“Please!?” River’s knees hit the snow, his eyes burning with exhaustion and hope. “I am the Veil-Walker! The wolf who walks between worlds. I call on our celestial connection for protection against those who would rather see us dead.”

Her figure faltered, a hand going over her heart as her face turned ashen. Pearl licked her lips, her gaze flickering to each of us in turn. “It cannot be. A wolf like that hasn’t existed in centuries. Many of the old ways have died out with the change of the tide.”

“Yet I bear the mark of the twinned crescent,” River challenged.

I neared him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I said, “How did you know to say that?”

“Don’t you remember? Ujurak said to assert where necessary. I’ve seen the mark reflected in your eyes. I know what I’m doing, but will you trust me to do it?” He asked, and I felt pride swell.

“Very well, little brother,” I said.

Rather than speak again, he stripped right there on the front lawn and shifted into Auraliq. I heard Pearl’s gasp of shocked awe. “By the Gods. Come, quickly. Gather your things and get inside before anyone else sees.”

Finally, I thought. Though it had taken one of us to basically show off, we’d gained access to the second safehouse on our route to freedom.