Into the Raging Mountains Page 13

  Destruction was immediate. Vestin started crying. Jaspin was covered in mud up to his bellybutton. Enraged, Vestin hit Jaspin, who being slightly bigger, then threw Vestin on the ground. Azure, recovering from her initial surprise at the intrusion of Jaspin into her mud fort, tried to intervene, pulling the twins off of each other. Characteristically tight, the twins then forgot their own petty concerns and turned on Azure with zeal.

  “Get off of me!” she cried.

  Lunging away, she made it half-way down the garden pathway towards the woods when the grabbing hands caught her. They all went down in a dysfunctional somersault. Hands, legs, and skinny, mud-covered rear ends all combined into a large, thrashing mass. Jaspin pulled Azure’s hair.

  “Quit it, brat!” Indignantly, she cried, “Let go of my hair, now!”

  The scuffling continued. By the purest of accidents, Azure’s elbow hit the edge of a buried rock, into blazing, instant pain. She howled in unexpected agony.

  *

  Predator eyes focused on her still form, no longer moving. Vestin and Jaspin still continued to play, oblivious. Through the edge of the woods, through the dying vegetation, barely disturbing a host of winged insects, they came. The distressed cry of an injured animal always brought them close.

  Snouts close to the ground, the pack silently crept forward, intent on the finishing moves to kill prey. Their grasp over the greater mindlink was tenuous and depended still on their ability to concentrate. In contrast, their connection to their mother’s mind and thoughts was effortless. Even when she did not leave the shelter of the forest shadows, her guidance was always with them throughout each excursion.

  Slowly, they came to the Hunt, learning every sunrise the ways of stealth and patience. As they eased toward the wounded animal, their snouts lifted slightly from the pungent, overturned earth and tasted iron on the wind. That is good, sent the mother’s thoughts. Wounded animals are easier to attack. Go quietly still, until the prey is visible. Onward they came, cautious and hungry.

  *

  Azure’s arm gash was not so great as to impair her ability to walk. After the initial surprise and unwelcomed intrusion of pain, she could tell her little brothers were too involved with their tussling to even notice her injury and her parents’ concerns were concentrated on loading the wagon for the trip into the village center. No one appeared to notice or care that she was injured. A few sniffles later, the little girl decided to go to the kitchen for help.

  Crossing her legs to rise, she began to stand and halted. Still half-crouching, half-rising, her vision met six intently focused pairs of eyes, stare for stare. Like their mother, they were, in coloring and in hunting prowess. Although they were but a third her adult size, as a coordinated group they were already formidable.

  *

  Little stomachs had come to feed and sharp nails had arrived to rip and tear. Blood lust was upon them. Encircling the wounded animal, they prepared to strike as one.

  Then, the voice of their mother came commanding: Stop! Stop! She is one of us. She is the older daughter. Do not claim her injury. Seek elsewhere for food!

  Stunned, every eye slowly blinked, including Azure’s. Licking their jawlines in disappointment and acceptance, they turned as one to go, except one. One very bold lurker brought her sharp teeth close to this foreign beast and licked Older Daughter on the nose and cheeks with her slithering, silver tongue. Then, she turned to follow her pack into invisibility under the dying vegetation.

  *

  Chapter Seven

  The Price of Deliverance

  Recovery sped onward at the Corded Family Farm. Each day seemed to just begin and suddenly finish in great haste. So full of activities, so full of love, and the joy and awareness of new life. Alizarin knew she would miss this special place dearly. She could feel her transitory part in the tight-knit family’s patterns drawing to a close.

  She had extended her stay initially to ensure Gretsel’s complete recovery. Now even that allotted time had almost concluded. As she started to repack her clothes and necessaries, her normally skilled hands hesitated. She fumbled and dropped oft-used items; her heart did not truly want to travel away.

  She had been away from the shop a full mooncycle and a half. She should have been eager to leave, eager to return to the familiar—to her work. Instead, the baker felt only regret at the thought of leaving the apple-dotted, sun-drenched farm for the cold, quick life of the bustling city. Finally, she had found a place and a group where Alizarin felt she fit in. It was a comfort from the recently hectic and often bizarre occurrences surrounding her life.

  There had been no contact from Ver. Mixed emotions flew through her mind regarding the time she had spent with him. That mysterious carved staff was a wonder, though. Sometimes she could still feel its coolness across her palm.

  Throughout her various interactions with him, she was never quite sure she had possessed the whole truth. She felt a mixture of relief and disappointment that he had not come to her, invisible, while she routinely walked in the orchards. Her face softened when she remembered their shared cup of cacao, and his kindness. Sometimes she missed him, a man she barely knew. That was strange; there was so much danger in her brief acquaintance with him. It swirled around him like an air plume: exciting, intoxicating, possibly even addicting, but very tiring as well.

  Two sunrises from now, she would travel back to her mother’s shop in Tamborinton with Rethendrel and Samton as they embarked again along the trade route. Feeling stronger now, she set her hands to repacking, even as her heart begrudged her actions. There wasn’t much to account for. Gretsel had given her a new skirt for the coming cold, spun of dense wool and lined to prevent itching, and packed a large basket full of preserves from the apple orchards to cheer her.

  In her private purse, Alizarin had the sapphire of her mother’s and the topaz she found down the travelers’ well. She also had a few odds and ends, and a piece of ribbon for her hair when she braided it and needed to hold it away from her perspiring neck. She still had all the coins she had brought from her little house. Everything was ready to move. Everything was accounted for.

  Everything, except … mother’s cloak!

  She felt panic. Where was it? Tenuous as it was, the cloak’s link to her brief farewell to her mother made her feel a welcoming embrace when she placed it on her shoulders. Searching under the bed, in all the corners of the guest room, her fingers met only air. Checking again in the emptied drawers, she found nothing.

  Warm and buttery yellow, her newmade cloak was accounted for, so she would not freeze. Yet, because of it’s emotional meaning, Alizarin knew she must find the missing garment. Already, she had lost the serpent comb. She could not bear to lose another of her tiny, precious connections to her mother.

  She thought, reviewed, and played back the last half of the mooncycle. When did I have it last? She was certain she had packed it and brought it to the farm. Alizarin sat in misery, wracking her brain, trying to remember when she wore it and where it was left. Nothing.

  In some despair, Alizarin’s hands of their own accord opened her already packed private purse. She started, as if awaking from a troubled dream, and looked to find her hands passing the yellow topaz back and forth between them. My personal worry stone. It flowed in exchange patterns between her hands, soothingly. She stared into the sunny yellow twinkle that leapt from the heart of the stone. Suddenly, her thoughts focused.

  With blinding clarity, she remembered fleeing the barn that night, that terrible night she had imagined seeing a monster in Samton’s stall. She had thrown a cloak onto the wall peg at the kitchen doorway! Since her new cloak was packed, it must be there! Joyfully, hopefully, she hastened to the line of wall pegs inside the doorway.

  She searched through the outer clothing of a full household. There! There it is, underneath two other overcoats and Gretsel’s knitted cream bonnet! There it hung, just waiting for her hands.

  Eagerly, she released it from its support. Twirling, Alizar
in drew the delicious warmth over her shoulders, so filled with relief that traces of tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. A glorious smile filled both face and heart. True, she did not want to go from this special place, but having the cloak in her possession again, the leaving would not be quite as distressing.

  After the emotional alarm caused by its temporary loss, Alizarin was determined to keep the cloak with her until she got back to the lonesome security of her mother’s little cottage. From there, she would plan an expedition to find where her brave mother had been before she had died. Alizarin rolled the fabric tightly, and folded it several times. The end result was a little more than a thick rope that she tied around her waist. Then she re-tied her working apron over the bulk for protection while cleaning.

  That nightfall was merry. Baby was sweet and calm. The only noise that escaped from the bundle of clothes that wrapped around him was the occasional coo or a loud blast of gas. The latter occasioned an equally loud guffaw from all the men around, and a sigh of exasperation from the women.

  Theress seemed slightly distracted in the midst of all the chaos. If Alizarin had felt a personal relationship with the woman, she would have offered a listening ear. As it was, the most she could do was steer clear of the preoccupied matron, hoping to avoid any outburst. After several seasons of working next to Trellista as a baker and as an assistant birthingfriend, Alizarin could sense when quiet people around her reached a boiling point. It was always better to be distant from the gathering storm. Watching Theress from the corner of her eyesight, Alizarin enjoyed the hilarity and joshing that engaged the rest of the family.

  With her mother’s cloak wrapped securely around her waist, she found a glibness she never knew she possessed. She laughed and drank cacao mixed with fresh cream, until it was almost mid-nightfall. Slowly the tight group began to disperse, and seek the comfort of their own warm beds. She remained close to the hearth and enjoyed the heat rolling off the fieryorange light of the dying embers.

  Resting her head against the tall back of a wooden chair, Alizarin knew she would miss moments like this. Unwinding her mother’s cloak she covered her shoulders with it, using the rest to make a bundle for her head Heavy eyes drooped and she drifted away into a spiraling warmth. She found her awareness within a dream, walking in darkness:

  She walked with a purpose, with great determination. No light beckoned or guided her. Yet, she walked unfailingly, not faltering, ever moving forward, towards a destination she could not quite remember but had never forgotten. She walked in the quiet serenity, ever forward, her goal certain. Each foot landed on solidness, each step continuing her journey. This continued for such a long time that she seemed to age while she dreamt.

  Then, ahead in the vagueness of the dream darkness, she made out the tiniest glimmer of a light. She knew it was the conclusion of her search. Taking no rest, she hurried forward. Onward, she went onward. Passion mixed with conviction. The flickering light never grew brighter, although it gradually turned more of a blue tint. She never seemed to come closer to the distant beacon.

  Only then, as she walked on, did Alizarin become aware of a warmth on her thigh. Only then, she sensed a power in the warmth that became burning. The heat began to sting. She stopped walking.

  At that moment, right as she began to awaken, pulling away from the dream consciousness, the ever distant tiny beam of light flew at her. From the far reaches of impossible, the blue tinged light sped to her, becoming the size of the sun, the size of the moon, the size of enormous, incomprehensible, pulsating, flashing power. It leapt at her in a rolling moment; for a split second she was encompassed and then passed over. She felt the power enter and leave her body, felt the loss and awoke.

  Awoke to pain. Her dress flamed and smoked. Singed cloth sizzled and retreated from the burning ember’s area of first impact. The skin beneath the coal was blistered and bubbling. Shock distanced her mind from the entire disaster. She awoke to being burned alive.

  Flames crept up her leg and down her skirt, growing ever brighter. Beating at them with her hands, she could not even scream. She ripped off her work apron, smashing and flailing at the evergrowing flames. The coal stuck to her skin, an angry red glow. In an instant, the cloak tied around her waist became unknotted and fell.

  Throwing herself to the ground, she rolled to put out the flames, unable to remove the burning power that sank deeper into her thigh. Growing strong on her flesh, devouring her own fat with the smell of over-cooked meat, the essence of fire invaded her body. The pain was distant from her, overwhelming in its fury. Her dress fell off in flaming rags, undergarments dissipated from the intense heat. Her hands beat and fought and she rolled, engulfed. It is unstoppable! Fire claims me!

  In the midst of the panic and the intensity of struggle, she saw the blue light again. It beckoned to her. Still fighting the flames that threatened to consume her completely, she staggered on charred knees to her private purse. It had fallen when she discarded the apron. All she could think to do was to reach for the light.

  The hair on her arms had already burnt. The skin began to pucker and ignite. Conflagration was imminent. She enclosed within her hands the fire-blackened leather of her purse, brittle in its heated destruction. Blue light twinkled from within the sack. The hardened casing cracked and the sapphire fell on to her blistered palm. That was the last thing her swollen eyes saw.

  Returning, just like in her vision or maybe truly from her dreams, the light of the gem caught the natural power of the flames on her hands and engulfed them. The light fed on and consumed the raging beast that had taken her so completely. Alizarin could not see the power but the advancing of the blue essence was like a cool flood of water to her angry, parched skin. She could feel the progress of the saving energy arcing across her body, growing, traveling over her arms, encircling and enclosing her in a pulsating cocoon.

  Extinguished. It is contained. Subdued but not defeated, the fire retreated to the heart of the ember, still burning into the flesh of her thigh. Alizarin lay on the ground, curled in on what was left of herself. She no longer fought an unanswerable fire, but she was terribly, terribly burned. Dizzy and disoriented, she collapsed.

  She was disfigured at the least. These wounds will require cycles of care, she thought almost rationally. Then the remote pain hit her senses. Within the encompassing safety of the cerulean light, she lived but was not healed. Apparently, the power coming from the sapphire gemstone repelled the flames but did not or could not fix the damage to her destroyed body.

  Her awareness floated away through the natural coping ability of the physical shell, removed from indescribable pain. Her physical eyes could not open, damaged and puckered as they were. She would never see again. Yet, though she knew not how, Alizarin looked all around the room taking in the cheerful firesplace and the horribly burned girl whose corpse lay on the stone floor. Even now the blue light that came from the dying girl’s hand was fading. Alizarin ran a silver hand through silver bangs and then stared at her glowing feet and arms. Death? Death.

  Knowledge of herself, her true self was instantly complete. Moving away from the dying remains by the hearth, Alizarin looked with silver eyes toward Tamborinton. She was drawn there by something indefinable, something real. As she began to leap toward the finally revealed true goal, the corpse’s dying hand still clutched the last bit of sapphire light.

  With her last physical breath, as she collapsed into an irresistible death the dead baker saw, as an outsider watching a tragic accident, that her second hand fell down with the last life-fading. The charred form began to collapse. Her little finger’s tip touched the scorched remnants of the destroyed purse and came to rest on the corner of the found topaz stone. Even as she prepared to leave mortality for her higher purpose, even as Alizarin’s poor, wracked, and wretched body expired, sunflame yellow light bloomed from her dying hand.

  *

  Fuzzy awareness came around slowly. She crept from a sleep so deep that a rooster crowing right i
n her ear would not have woken her. Emerging from her dreams, Alizarin rubbed her eyes to remove the sleepdust and stretched her body. It always felt good to wake to the new sun and the ease of a well-earned rest.

  As she stretched out her length, her hands glided along her rib cage: a slight, tickling sensation. With the sunrise, everything was whole and clean and newmade. Questioningly, her hands patted her skin more brusquely, searching.

  Completely naked. Not a shred of clothing was on her body, everything including undergarments were just gone. Vanished. Startled, Alizarin looked around the gathering room off the kitchen and was very pleased to find no other person had yet awakened. The sun’s light was just beginning to enlighten the darkness of nightfall, though almost everything was still in deep shadow. Trying to remember the events of last evening, she recalled drifting to sleep in the wooden chair by the hearth—with her clothes on.

  Now, she was naked. Where have my dress and undergarments gone? She felt a mild panic. Raising her body up with one elbow, she looked around to locate them, hoping to see them thrown on another chair or crumpled in a pile discarded, with no resulting reward. Shaken at her nudity and lost to its cause, the bewildered woman knew she had precious moments before the entire farm awoke.

  Taking a deep breath, she attempted to stand and was almost overwhelmed by an intense pain in her thigh. Inspecting her leg, Alizarin was dismayed to find a large bump right in the middle of her thigh, slightly red around the edges. Half as big as her fist, it looked to be a wound of a cycle ago, nearly healed. Experimentally, she pushed on the swelling. Tough as callused feet, any reaction she had was almost lost to outer pressure. Only when she tried to stand on it did the muscles of her thigh scream with the sensation of deeper pain and destruction.

  Searching the ground near herself, she saw her mother’s cloak puddled a step away. Reaching her arm out to steady her rise, her fingers easily snagged the soft, gray fabric and drew it back to cover her nakedness. Grasping one of the wooden chairs by the turned spindles decorating the armrest, she carefully stood. A bit dizzy, but otherwise fine.