Skadi, the Cursed Daughter
Skadi had been born into a life of insults and scorn. The reason was her cursed white hair and red eyes. To the people of that narrow village, where folks lived out their entire lives without ever leaving, her white hair was an unnatural aberration that defied age itself, and her crimson irises evoked the image of blood.
Difference turned to discrimination in an instant. The villagers branded her a cursed child, muttering about misfortunes that hadn't even happened yet as excuses to justify killing her.
The only reason she survived was her mother, the tribe's shaman, who loved her so fiercely that curses meant nothing. "If anyone so much as touches a finger to my daughter, that flesh will rot away while still alive, and the soul will wander this world without salvation, crumbling in eternal torment!"
A mere ordinary shaman might have gone unnoticed, but Skadi's mother was renowned even among other tribes. The people feared her shamanic powers and the spirits of great nature as much as they dreaded the curse they imagined Skadi carried. If the curse was an invisible terror, the shaman's might was power made manifest.
Skadi's mother commanded a blazing wolf, roots of trees, earth, and a bear forged from stone, using them to declare her will. And so began the uneasy coexistence between Skadi and the villagers.
Apart from their curses, Skadi grew into a beautiful maiden. The irony was that even her beauty struck them as ominous.
"Look at those bewitching eyes. A woman like that must suck the life force out of men to survive. If a young man in the village drops dead too soon, you know that witch bewitched him."
"Lewd slut. That pretty face? She probably sacrificed to some evil spirit for it. She's no shaman—she's destined to become a full-blown witch!"
A wife cheating with the neighbor would point to her suddenly gaunt husband and curse Skadi. A bucktoothed woman would spew insults if the man she fancied so much as glanced Skadi's way.
Skadi was baffled. Why dump their own problems on her? Still, she never voiced her complaints. She'd learned the hard way as a child that no one would listen anyway.
Instead, she spent that time absorbing her mother's knowledge and power as a shaman. Fortunately, Skadi brimmed with talent. She could behold mysteries invisible to others, recite the primordial script left by the gods, and matured into a true shaman.
But she had one problem. She couldn't form a contract with any spirit.
Spirits could be capricious and mischievous, but that wasn't the issue.
"My child... I'm so sorry. Mommy's sorry."
"No, Mother. What do you have to be sorry for? It's all my fault. All of it—I'm the worthless one. Why are you apologizing?"
Not just humans felt unease at her white hair and red eyes. Even spirits shunned her, refusing contracts.
To her dying breath, Skadi's mother begged her daughter's forgiveness, convinced her own sins had passed to her child.
Tragically, Skadi wasn't even granted time to grieve. Before she could hold a proper funeral, the village men ambushed her.
"Kill the witch! Kill the witch!"
"The spirits have abandoned this cursed wretch too. Burn her and please the divine ones!"
Some were lost in superstition. Others sought mere amusement. Or they lusted after a beautiful woman.
With the shaman gone, they swarmed her hut like starving wild dogs. Skadi had no choice but to flee, abandoning the home filled with memories of her mother.
The problem was how relentlessly some pursued her—those who coveted her body.
Heart pounding like it might burst, she raced through the forest and glanced back. Torches flickered in the darkened woods. She trembled as if they were the eyes of beasts.
As she ran, she pleaded with the spirits for aid. Anyone would do—just save her.
"Blazing wolf, bear born of earth! Skadi, daughter of Brunhild, beseeches you—grant me your help!"
She called to the spirits her mother had contracted, but it was futile. Spirits were arrogant and heartless. They wouldn't aid her just for a blood tie to a former contractor.
As they remained silent, she recalled her mother's teachings and cried out more spirit names: the stone-devouring serpent, the giant born from an ancient tree, the eagle that fed on lightning...
Her Spirit Eye caught mysteries darting about. She knew they were spirits, but it brought no joy. If they meant to help, they'd show themselves—not skulk as wisps of mysticism.
Damn this world, damn these spirits!
If they weren't here to help, they must be spectating her death. She could almost hear their mocking laughter.
"The witch is over there!!!"
Skadi wished she truly were a witch. A real one could summon evil spirits to slaughter her pursuers.
Her trembling legs gave out as she missed a hidden tree root in the dark and tumbled. She groaned at the scraped gash on her knee.
"Ahhh... Hic?!"
Misfortune came in waves, it seemed. Before she could shake off the pain, she clamped a hand over her mouth and froze. A massive bear loomed, drooling as it glared at her, poised to rip her apart.
Tears finally spilled. In her despair, she exhaled shakily. Fine, maybe this is better. Better than becoming those men's plaything, suffering until death. A quick end...'
Desire to live clashed with the urge to surrender, muddling her mind. Just as she let go, a massive ice spear hurtled with a boom, piercing the bear's heart.
"Graaaaaah!!!"
She shrieked and curled up. Even then, her Spirit Eye examined the spear. No ordinary weapon—this one brimmed with mysticism, freezing the bear's blood solid. No drop spilled, and the spear, half-buried in the ground, bore not a scratch.
She didn't know every spirit, but none she knew could do this.
What being wields such power?
Her gaze shifted beyond the bear. There stood a being she'd never seen or heard of in her life.
A giant wearing a deer's skull watched her from the shadows. Her heart felt like it would freeze.
The Wendigo sighed. He instinctively knew the woman had spotted him.
How long ago did I swear not to get tangled with humans? Two hours?
The world didn't bend to his will, it seemed. If he'd told anyone, he'd die of embarrassment.
He considered just leaving. The bear was visibly dead, and the only witness was that woman. If she returned to the village babbling about a "monster with a deer skull helmet in the woods," who would believe her? The evidence? A dead bear and a spear. The spear would melt when he reclaimed its power, and no frail woman could drag a bear carcass back.
As he leaned toward departure, he noticed her shouting at him. He tuned in.
"Spirit or evil spirit, I don't care! Great one, please help me!"
Wendigo was caught off guard. He hadn't expected her to speak first. Addressing a hideous monster meant she wasn't ordinary. Begging aid suggested desperation... He tallied quickly. What could he gain?
At least she's versed in beings like me—asking a monster for help. Normal folk would scream and run.
When weird shit happens, ask the weird shit experts. Speaking of spirits and evil ones to a monster meant she knew plenty.
Wendigo leaped toward Skadi. She felt awe at his silent approach.
No ordinary spirit!
He didn't know it, but his body was mysticism incarnate. Chilly and shadowy, yes—but not outright malevolent.
As he neared, Skadi sensed other spirits retreating. Through ambient mysticism, she felt their terror. For haughty spirits to flee in fear, this one had to be extraordinary.
I must secure this being!
That bewitching gaze feels dangerous.
Wendigo eyed her warily. From afar, a normal beauty. Up close? Intimidating stare.
Help quick, learn what he needed, then part ways.
"So, what exactly do you need help with?"
"Skadi, daughter of Brunhild, greets the great spirit. Please, have mercy on this lowly shaman..."
"Cut the formal crap—it's awkward. Just get to the point."
Skadi blinked in shock. Spirits she knew were arrogant as tribe chiefs or famed warriors. Shamans treated them with utmost deference, lest they throw tantrums—torching homes, uprooting fields, even claiming lives. Shamans treaded carefully; spirits reveled in it. But this one? Zero pomp.
A kind spirit despite the looks?
She could hardly believe it. Kinder than a tame ogre? But undeniable...
Her conflicted gaze made Wendigo prod. "Plenty of time for someone begging help. Not serious?"
"Ah! Well, there are pursuers after me..."
"Wait! The witch is there!!"
Speak of the devil—the hunters burst into view, weapons drawn, glaring murderously at Skadi until they spotted Wendigo and recoiled.
That's the normal reaction. But... what the hell?
Wendigo scanned them, disgust rising. He couldn't explain it, but their filthy desires hit him raw, unfiltered.
Another Wendigo perk?
Reading such depravity wasn't pleasant. He yanked the spear from the bear.
Gundar, the tribe's warrior, aimed his axe at Wendigo and bellowed boldly. "The witch summoned an evil spirit! But fear not! A spirit that shows form is just a monster we can slay!"
The hesitant mob rallied at his words. Gundar was infamous for his foul temper but equally for his battle prowess. As other warriors stepped up, cheers erupted.
Wendigo was baffled. Facing a monster twice their size, and this reaction? No fear in this world?
"They aren't scared of me?"
"They don't know your power, great spirit. That's why they spout such idiocy."
Skadi sneered at their folly—throwing lives away for lust and superstition.
Wendigo read her sorrow and rage. Details unknown, but she'd endured persecution.
Definitely not good folk.
He morphed the spear into a sword—a massive, crude greatsword with a rectangular tip, spewing bitter cold even from afar. Warriors shivered as frost nipped their skin.
One voiced doubt. "That doesn't seem like a normal evil spirit. Shouldn't we retreat?"
"Hah, forgot what that bitch is? Unlike her talented mother, she's never contracted a single spirit. How strong could her summoned trash be? That's just a shell!"
Ignorance breeds courage. Gundar's boast steeled them—warriors couldn't retreat shamefully.
Gundar sneered inwardly. His confidence stemmed from his trump card: the necklace. With this exorcism talisman from that neighboring shaman, no evil spirit touches me. While they risk death, I claim honor and her body... Heh heh heh.
He'd fought spirits before. The talisman glowed, weakening them; a few axe swings finished it. No matter what, he wouldn't lose!
"Grab the witch, and the spirit's powerless! Seize her!"
Roaring, they charged Skadi. Wendigo glanced, then raised his greatsword diagonally—telegraphing a horizontal slash. Gundar scoffed. I can dodge that heavy thing easy!
The swing began slow... then exploded with a chilling whine. Gundar gaped as it accelerated viciously—right at his nose in a blink!
He hurled himself aside, dodging. But death came anyway. Frost cloaking the blade swept the area. Gundar screamed as his skin froze and tore free while alive.
"Grrraaah... Urk."
The cold invaded: flesh, blood, even bone. As death crept, fury surged. Why didn't his holy talisman protect him?
Gundar strained his unfrozen eyes to the talisman—blackened and frozen solid. Not inactive; just too weak against Wendigo's chill.
Too late, he realized his fatal mistake.
His head sailed from Wendigo's blade. Rolling on the ground, his face twisted in despair and terror. Beside it lay bisected corpses.
A heavy silence blanketed the forest.