Into the Raging Mountains Read online

  Her head was spinning as if she had been out with the carousing wastrels that littered the sunrise streets of Tamborinton. Her vision spiraled to black and stars and a pin-point pain. Vomit was on the verge of becoming reality. Closing her eyes to steady herself, she hung on to the support of the tall-backed chair for all of her balance.

  Breathing deeply, she slowly exhaled and relaxed the muscles around the knot of pain. The nausea subsided and her vision cleared from the center outward. Her leg ached.

  Taking a tentative step, she began to walk out of the gathering room and away from the bizarre, mysterious circumstances that had overtaken her there. Already cautious with her injured leg, she wasn’t expecting the pain of stepping on something sharp. Quickly, Alizarin lifted her foot off the offending object and scanned the floor for the painful intrusion. That was when her eyes caught the glimmer of blue and yellow stones laying together, discarded on the hearth stone.

  My gems! From my purse. Speaking of, where is that? There was neither trace of the strings nor of the leather bag. Gone to wherever my dress and undergarments have vanished, no doubt. She scooped up the remaining treasures, and hastened to her guest room.

  Nothing was disturbed there. Tidy and compact, her bundle waited for her, still packed neatly in the corner, ready for her nextday journey. It was a new sunrise, and for her sadly, the last at this farm. Donning her second best undergarments and a sturdy work dress, Alizarin covered her shoulders again with her mother’s cloak and decided to stroll out into the falling leaves of the magnificent orchards.

  Pulling the kitchen doorhandle closed behind her, she set off, glad that her best walking shoes hadn’t also been whisked away. The cherry-size inflammation on her leg was awkward at first, and gave her a small limp, but she found she could easily move amongst the tree-formed lanes. Too bad I don’t have Ver’s staff or my baking paddle to balance. With a bit of soreness in that peculiar spot, Alizarin knew she wanted to find some strong wooden stick for support until it healed completely.

  The unburdened orchards were ghostly beautiful: trees half-bare of their leaves, with a thick mulch of color on the ground in all the colors of harvest. Fog wended its way between the lines of plants, making her feel as if she was alone in all the world, alone in the midst of a great and beautiful wilderness. Slipping in and out of the lanes she wandered through the man-made patterns. On the ground, she could see the gathering of squirrels, apples in a neat pile, slightly eaten.

  One last day and I am gone from the Corded Family Farm—one last time to enjoy the company and laughter. Although, certainly, several odd events seemed to have occurred over the last moon, they did not intrude on her overall contentedness and appreciation of her vacation. Settled in mind and spirit, she breathed in deeply of the crisp fog and smelled the smell of fallen apples and the beginning of decay. The hard cold season was upon the land.

  Grateful for her shelter at the farm, Alizarin was surprised to find that she looked forward to returning to the steady routine of baking and tending store. She felt a strong longing this sunrise for Tamborinton, its smells, and people. Most of all she missed the bells of Bira Tre opening and closing each full day. There was something there that called her home.

  A breeze rustled through the mostly barren limbs of the nearest tree, sending a shower of falling leaves around her. Her hair was lifted by the gentle wind, which caressed her jawline. Turning around, she walked back to the farmhome. Limping past the overflowing granary and turning the corner at the side of the mud-daubed, wooden animal barn, Alizarin gazed at everything with the regret of farewell.

  Beckoning smells of warm cacao floated across the open yard from the kitchen doorway. As eager as she was to head inside to the companionship of the sunrise cookfire, she had one other errand to accomplish. Striding to the side of the barn, she grabbed some juicy carrots from the food bins and went to give Samton a sunrise treat. Alizarin felt somewhat abashed by her suspicion of the hardworking little animal. It all seemed so unfounded.

  Thoughts flitted through her mind as she walked to the door. Her leg ached a bit. Later, when Theress and Gretsel had awakened, she would show them her newly acquired wound. Maybe there is a local insect that leaves such an angry bump? Peeking into the quiet of the animals’ shelter, she slipped in the doorway and headed to Samton’s stall.

  A large tendril of nightfall passed through her, almost a heaviness of cold and empty space that caught on her hair, like walking unintentionally through a clingy, gossamer spiderweb. Stubbornly, she walked on, feeling the ice and emptiness of the air but intent on focusing her thoughts on the reality of the situation. Samton is just a small donkey after all. As her eyes adjusted to the cool morning darkness, she came to the gated enclosure on the far corner.

  “Here’s a treat, Samton!” She called out. Offering up the carrots with a gestural simplicity that comes from repetition, she saw two images at once. Samton’s half-awaken eyes looked up at her with thanks and a welcoming nicker. Angry, baleful eyes also glared at her intrusion, meeting her almost eye to eye. She started for a moment. Unable to back away, completely confused, Alizarin stared in frozen terror.

  Samton came to the gate eagerly seeking the bright orange carrots. Maw gaping open, the blackest monster accepted the offering and tossed the bunch of plants aside with contempt. Samton happily chewed each carrot delicately, skimming her open palms with his soft breath and strong teeth. The fearsome creature gibbered at her.

  “Why would I accept this paltry food when soon your blood will fill my rumblings?” The appalling words came, filled with bile, from the source of wretched emptiness, echoing in its deepest innards.

  She was frozen—completely frozen. Alizarin was scared so stiff, she thought her fingers would crack if she tried to move them. There was nothing to do. Truly, there was something to do, if only she knew what.

  Alizarin’s eyes saw a common sight: tiny, gray, and very familiar Samton. He contentedly nudged her hands for more early sunrise treats. Overlaying that, some kind of separate sight showed an enormous creature of foul power. The creature’s speech echoed low and deep as it spoke again.

  “Only the crack of your bones will satisfy me. The rich marrow will fill me. Sipping on your blood, I will feast and drink deeply from the pain of your death.”

  Attempting to force some semblance of a smile onto her face, she thought her heart would stop from fear.

  Then it continued, staring directly in her eyes, “You will trust me!” the abomination ordered in a singsong voice of command. Devastating destruction said, taking her hand almost caressingly in its mouth. “Trust me until it is the time of attack. Until my teeth will chew on your pathetic little body and I will erase you from all memory. Trust me now, Prey.”

  Soft lips nibbled upwards at her hands, pleading donkey eyes begged for more treasures, more rewards. Perhaps a scratch behind the ears? Suddenly, they flicked forward at an intruding sound. Something was coming.

  Completely petrified, Alizarin had stood woodenly during the whole revelation. Now, her eyes darted and her head turned seeking the origin of the advancing noise. Within her mind, Alizarin was terrified. Hopefully, the new arrival would be her rescue.

  “We are all up early this sunrise I see,” said a nonchalant voice, cheery and bright in the soft light of the barn. Underneath those words floated a buzzing throaty greeting, “He is not pleased. Why aren’t they all dead? Why did you let one escape?”

  Into the row of stalls, walked tidy, brown-haired, immaculately controlled Theress, dressed plainly for chores this sunrise. Turning to greet Alizarin, she did not skip a beat, “Did you enjoy your sunrise stroll? The colors of the orchards are quite a sight when the leaves fall,” she asked, smiling. Great gray razor claws flickered in and out of her fingertips. Snidely, the buzzing noise continued, “We must deal with your failure. At least this one is too stupid to run and too preoccupied with the squalling baby and its tearful mother to see the coming of real power.”

  “Uh, ye
s, thank you for asking,” returned Alizarin haltingly. Initially paralyzed by incomprehension, only slowly did she begin to understand. Not that comprehension brought relief.

  The gray being that was and was not Theress continued, “Prepare for this nightfall. The moon is in full darkness, it will be an easy thing.” Grasping, smoking, spiraling vines of emptiness flowed off of both of the beasts now visible to her. Yet, Theress and Samton stood there as well, fading in and out of her sight. “Well, we’d best see you packed then for your return trip next sunrise,” Theress said crisply.

  Forcing her tongue and jaw to speak her will, commanding calm, Alizarin replied, “It has been a pleasure to stay with you. Your family is so warm and welcoming.” Theress nodded her head politely in distracted dismissal. No monstrous attack seemed to be forthcoming. Did they not know she could see and hear the other conversation?

  Taking a deep and full breath, Alizarin secured the painted smile on her face. Then she turned and tried to appear casual as she walked out of the barn, seeking safety away from the newly revealed predators of empty, inky, and despair-filled nightfall. As she left the row of stalls and headed for the barn doorway, her ears heard the last bit of conversation carried on the breeze, buzzing, “My family welcomes you too, Prey. You will serve Him well by dying. Then, I will inhabit your face.”

  *

  Options seemed few. Running away physically from whatever resided in the barn would be farcical. Her newly acquired wound saw to that. As Alizarin headed toward the welcoming doorway, her feeling of relief teetered.

  If monsters are in the barn, then what’s waiting in the farmhouse? Apparently, she walked from one viper’s den into another one. At least, now I know an enemy is here. Words of her mother’s came pouring into her head, encouraging her. She knew her time to fight was coming. Action was required. But what, what can I do?

  Just last nightfall, she had gathered with the family and workers and laughed and shared life stories around an intimate fire. Were they all secretly empty, darkness-filled, fearsome predators? What or who would be inside the bustling kitchen, visible only in the stunning light of daybreak? She was afraid to go forward, and it was impossible to go back to the barn.

  Alizarin knew she had to do something. It just did not seem obvious to her rattled mind. What is the vitally correct choice? Uncertainty clung to her every decision, so she simply stopped. In the midst of the gardens, a few paces away from the open kitchen doorway and the cheery conversation burbling within, her feet halted.

  Alizarin closed her eyes, bowed her head and prayed to anything that could help her, asked for all the wisdom in the world. Devastated and confused, Alizarin prayed. She prayed to the Goddesses, reciting the prayers of her mother. She prayed to the circling sun, intent and pleading. Not knowing who or what could save her, she simply asked for guidance and strength. Entreating and destitute at the same moment, her words lifted up a chain of requests.

  Finished with her pleading, the bewildered woman waited for some sign of divine intervention. She did not see any clearer a pathway to safety. Bracing her shoulders, Alizarin decided to enter the kitchen doorway and determine her best course of action from what she encountered within the walls of the Corded farmhouse. She took the last few steps to the doorway.

  Whirling, her thoughts dwelt mostly on Rethendrel. Was he one of the monsters? Was he just as foul as that thing that wore his wife’s skin? Or the travesty that was the core of Samton? Was her friendship some hidden bear trap, waiting to crush Alizarin in its steel grasp?

  No intuition came, no miraculous guidance from deity. The outcome of this day was solidly on her wits and desire to survive. Am I just another meal for these horrid creatures? She braced herself and entered the doorway.

  She saw more double images. Everyone in the room was and wasn’t there. The familiar faces gathered around the wooden tables chewing their morning eggs and fried meat, all nodded a sunrise greeting to her entrance. All of those cheery faces, all flickered back and forth.

  Things sat at the tables: great, gray, clawed things! Faces shadowed, vaguely human in shape, they perched more than sat, a row of vultures waiting for the coming of inevitable death to feast. On the surface, normal, quiet, jovial conversation was ongoing. They talked of which field to plow under, which to lay fallow, what animals to sell or slaughter for hard cold season provision, the complex day-to-day decisions of running a large holding.

  Walking straight up to one of the gray bird-like things, Alizarin greeted Londer. Sickened with the revelation, she blustered on bravely, “How are the dear mother and child this sunrise? Did you sleep better this last nightfall?”

  “Ah, babies are such a gift,” Londer replied with a chuckle. “And ones that don’t stop giving in return. He filled three full swaddlings yesterday, and absorbs the constant attention of his mother.” Underneath she heard the higher shrieking of the foulbird say, “The little one in particular will be so sweet to eat!” causing a cawing sound to rise from several of the other predators.

  Keeping the smile in her eyes as her only shield, Alizarin nodded for so many reasons. Exuding a confidence she did not have, Alizarin inquired, “And is Gretsel doing well? She seems to be recovering quickly from the hard labor.” All of the pairs of sinister eyes glared at her, watching everything. Not knowing what to say, she continued on, “Younger women seem to have an easier time of it.”

  Both replies happened simultaneously. Londer said, “Yes, I hope younger women do recover faster because I need her help around the farm. We are stretched pretty thin with most of the seasonal hands gone.” At the same moment, she heard the buzzing sound, as it burbled on, “Yes, and young women taste so much better after their first birthing.”

  Staring and glaring, the other predators pretended to eat. Alizarin’s heart was thundering. Jesting of the cruelest sort began amongst the monstrous beasts. All the while, Alizarin also listened to ribald stories of the carousing of one of the farmhands the last break day in the nearby town.

  Whichever voice spoke, no matter what was said, always seemed to reach the punchlines at the same moment. She heard carousing, goofy, jovial stories of bar exploits and sickening, depraved, detailed descriptions of slaughter and feeding. The monsters all laughed at the same moment as their human images and created an eerie double audience. As far as she could see, she was alone in the room, the only human amongst intelligent predators who would eat her as quickly as a bird slurped down an unfortunately early daybreak worm.

  She turned away from the terror and discomfort of the disgusting revelation on the pretense of taking off her morning cloak. Lifting the soft gray comfort of her mother’s last gift off of her shoulders to the waiting peg, she readied herself to turn back to the stark emptiness that sat amiably at the kitchen table, engulfing the room. Returning to the conversation and reaching for a plate to fill with warm eggs and meat, her ears heard only one set of sounds. Alizarin was perplexed.

  Looking over at the men gathered at the breakfast table, congenially sporting and inhaling their food as quickly as possible, there was no second-split conversation., just farmhands she had eaten with for the last mooncycle. Regular people. Not a monster in sight. The mood in the room was convivial and light-hearted. No cause for alarm here. What has changed?

  One of the farmhands, slightly bearded, and tall of shoulder, looked over and saw Alizarin’s face. With a quizzical furrow on her brow, she stood there with confusion spilling off her face.

  “Why so dour so early in the day, Alizarin?” he asked. His name was Wethor and she had conversed with him several times in the past few days. She knew him—knew him well and liked him. She also knew he was a gray thing, a sinister bird-monster on some other level. But now she did not see the predator inside.

  Taking a breath, shaking her head to clear her emotions like making a new bed with clean sheets, Alizarin answered, “Not enough cacao to warm me after a long walk this daybreak, I suppose.” Holding out her mug, she continued, “Pour me some?�
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  Where did the fearsome gray creatures go? Why could she not see through the camouflage of humanity anymore? For she was certain she had seen truly the walking, stalking nightmares that surrounded her. Once again, she was surrounded by contentment and geniality. The only thing that had changed was … was …

  I have it!

  “I think I left the last of the apples from my walk this daybreak out in the yard. I will be right back!” she said, talking to no one in particular. Stepping to the wall pegs, she picked up the collar of the cloak, and watched as Wethor and Londer emphatically argued which field was to lie fallow the coming year. It fell in graceful folds around her shoulders, not that any of the other people in the room noticed. As it fit along her collarbone and floated easily down her back, Alizarin opened her eyes.

  The double vision returned of predators overlaid with a veneer of humanness. Claws to rip and tear, talons to eviscerate and butcher flickered in and out of sight. Creatures discussed with avid eagerness the coming slaughter. They would kill stupid Alizarin first, then the rest of the herds and last, the helpless newborn. A feast! Blood, Blood! Blood!

  Unmistakably, the deeper truth at Corded Family Farm was revealed by the unknown power of Trellista’s travel cloak. Wearing it somehow shows a different reality than my physical eyes can perceive. However, a ferocious burning pain was emanating from within the skin of her wounded leg. Its oncoming flare was directly linked to the donning of the grey cloak. Somehow, it hurt her more. Like an old battle wound cried out in remembrance of deep pain, the injury responded in some uncanny way to her mother’s deathgift.

  With a smooth pull of the kitchen doorhandle, Alizarin was outside once again, her path to survival becoming murkier as the emptiness stood revealed. Other than her mother, she had never had a true feeling of family. The closeness that she had enjoyed during her stay at the farm was not a sensation she would readily give up. Yet, it appeared that most of her interactions with trusted people had been a deep deception.