Nahanni's grandmother was the village shaman. Many reckoned her to be the wisest shaman for many days travel in any direction. Even the shamans from the great village at the river mouth sometimes made the journey upstream to consult with her. Nahanni had lived in her lodge ever since the winter her father had vanished, and she loved the old woman. She was also afraid of her. Everyone in the village loved and feared the old woman. Nahanni felt a great deal of trepidation approaching her. She sat down on the other side of the small fire burning in the fire pit in the floor of the lodge.

"Grandmother, I've been having dreams."

The old woman smiled. "Everyone dreams, child."

"These aren't like any dreams I've had before," said Nahanni. "And there are other things. There's something different about me. I've changed. I've grown stronger…stronger than anyone should be."

The old woman frowned. "Tell me about your dreams."

"I'm fighting," said Nahanni. "I'm always fighting. I'm fighting men…but they aren't men. Their faces are horrible, and they don't die from wounds that would kill anyone else. They move faster than any man could move…but I move faster."

Nahanni's grandmother hissed her breath through her remaining teeth. She turned away and reached into a bowl of herbs by her side and took a pinch between her fingers. She muttered something in a language that Nahanni couldn't understand, and tossed the herbs into the fire. The fire flared and a small cloud of smoke rose toward the hole in the roof. The old woman watched it carefully. She seemed to see something that Nahanni could not. She did not look happy about it.

"What do you see grandmother?" asked Nahanni.

The old woman didn't answer. She reached aside again and picked up a knife. Her hand moved faster than Nahanni thought someone so old could move, and the knife flew at Nahanni's head.

Nahanni's hand moved faster. It flashed up and she caught the knife, its handle inches from her forehead. Only after she caught it did Nahanni realize that if she hadn't it would have been the handle of the knife that hit her. Anger and confusion warred inside her. "Grandmother! Why…?"

"It's true," said the old woman. "Oh, child. I am so sorry."

"What, Grandmother? What is happening? Why did you throw this knife at me?"

"The wendigo are coming," said her grandmother.

Nahanni shuddered. The wendigo were the most horrible of legends. Men transformed into evil creatures, who ate the flesh of other men. "Wendigo, Grandmother? But they're just—"

"They aren't stories child. They are real. They come at night, and they drink the blood of the living. The daylight kills them, and they fear the sun sign." The old woman drew a cross on the floor. "Wounds do not kill them, unless their heads are taken, or wood pierces their hearts. Fire will destroy them. Other than that they are ageless. They do not die."

"But what has this to do with me?" asked Nahanni.

"When the wendigo come, there also comes a Protector," said the old woman. "Always a girl…always young. She is given the strength to fight them, and the dreams to guide her."

Nahanni sat for a moment. "Grandmother, in my dreams, some of the wendigo…they look like people I know."

"Yes, child. The wendigo mostly kill, but they can make more of their kind, by mixing their blood with the blood of their victims." The old woman could see that Nahanni was upset. "Who do you recognise child?"

"Mostly, they're just people I feel I know." said Nahanni. "I don't remember after the dream ends…but one of them…one of them is Father."

"If the wendigo took him, he is not your father anymore," said her grandmother. "He is a creature of evil. Do not let his face, or his words deceive you. He may try to trick you, pretend to be the man he once was, but he is no longer a man…no longer my son. He is dead, and when you see the wendigo that wears his face, you must show it no mercy."

"But I don't know how to fight, Grandmother," said Nahanni. "I mean…I wrestle with the boys, but that isn't the sort of fighting that happens in my dreams."

"You must learn," said the old woman. She sat and thought a moment. "Go fetch Ashiwut."

Ashiwut was the old woman's apprentice. She had been teaching him the ways of the shaman since he had been a small boy. He was now a young man, and though no one thought as highly of him as they did of her grandmother most of the village thought that she had chosen a worthy successor for herself.

Nahanni found Ashiwut by the smoke house, chanting the incantations that would ensure that the fresh catch of fish being smoked would be preserved through the coming winter. She waited patiently for him to finish—you never interrupted a shaman when he was chanting—before telling him that her grandmother wished to speak with him.

They returned to her grandmother's lodge, and the old woman had Nahanni tell Ashiwut about her dreams and her new found strength. She looked at her apprentice. "What does this mean to you?"

Ashiwut took a pinch of the same herbs that her grandmother had used and tossed them into the fire. He watched the smoke rise, as her grandmother had done. Nahanni still didn't see anything but smoke. She wondered if this was just a trick shamans used to give themselves a chance to think before they spoke.

Ashiwut watched the smoke longer than her grandmother had. He didn't speak again until it had all vanished through the vent hole in the lodge roof. "She is the Protector," he said at last.

Grandmother nodded. "Very good. I am too old to teach her much of what she must learn, and must learn quickly. You must teach her the skills of the warrior. I can teach her of the wendigo, and other demons, but you must teach her how to fight."

"Grandmother…" The old woman wasn't really Ashiwut's grandmother, but she was the true grandmother or great grandmother to much of the village, and very few ever called her anything else. "…I do not possess the skills of the warrior myself."

"You know more than you think, and what you do not know you will learn, to pass on to Nahanni. No one must know that she is the Protector. You must ask the other warriors to teach you what you do not yet know, so you can pass the knowledge on to Nahanni.

"This will not be as difficult as you may think. The Protector is given the talents that she needs. Even before her calling Nahanni has learned the use of the bow." The old woman smiled at her granddaughter. "She is already known as the best shot in the village, and I think she will find that she has greatly improved. I think we will need to get her a stronger bow too."