Into the Raging Mountains Read online

  What in Drogos is it? This creature of unfathomable nightmare and dread was pulling Rethendrel’s cart?

  Ilion’s knees buckled. He caught himself but only with the staff’s assistance. Was the trader the owner or keeper? Was he the friend of a darkness so vast as to consume the sun?

  All the while walking away from the inn down to the main travelers road, the merchant farmer talked to himself and seemed to be lost in a one way conversation. Ilion did not dare speak to a man as oblivious as this one seemed to be, especially in the presence of death’s harbinger stalking not an arm’s length away. As Rethendrel passed the spot where Ilion stood concealed, he overheard the man’s ongoing soliloquy.

  “So it is, so it is,” he said. “And I agree. We have made this bargain and you have done all you have been asked.” After a pause of a few moments, the man continued as if he had heard some reply. “I know. I know, I swore allegiance to you and your cause, but this is too much! You can’t truly mean to kill her! There must be another way. What if I could find a replacement? Would any person do?”

  A pause of several more breaths occurred. It would have appeared to be silence to any other onlooker listening with mere human ears. Ilion, fortunately or not, was given by some enhancing power of the staff the ability to discern the responding conversation and heard again the distinctive buzzing that surrounded the dreaded conversation of two nightfalls past. It seemed to be just beyond the edge of his hearing this time, as words drifted in and out of clarity within the buzzing.

  “Must … the one … demand. … cannot … serve … purpose … or your …”

  The burdened cart rolled on.

  Ilion was only too grateful to let it pass. This collaboration of Rethendrel and the great, gray beast was the most dangerous alliance Ilion had ever heard of. Of course, he had never before heard of invisible, gray beasts riddled with insatiable hunger and destruction, either. A theme of entrapment and devious murder ran through their conversation.

  Every part of him wanted to be as far as possible from the sickening beast. He did not know where the trader was headed, but as long as Alizarin’s safety was unknown, the wiser choice was to follow discreetly behind the forsaken pair. Ilion could not help praying to whatever power had assisted him before, as he walked along. He asked for some insight, some sign of weakness, any way he might be able to defeat or drive away such awesome power as emanated from the false-fronted donkey.

  Even following at some distance in their wake, almost-visible touches of dark thoughts and savagery were continually dissipating from the very being of the creature. Occasionally they floated through Ilion’s body in the wake of the cart, leaving him heartsick, queasy, and weakened for a few breaths at a time.

  Yet, he followed them still. Alizarin had traveled willingly in the company of the pair, surely ignorant of the fell thing at her side. He persisted out of his need to know that his actions had not led to dire and intense danger for Alizarin.

  For most of the day, the trader headed in the general direction of his farm, turning down one of a few dozen curving roads that departed the main thoroughfare. Alone, Ilion never would have found the right one. As it was, he walked as far behind the lone, oddly cheerful man and the malicious beast as he could without losing sight of them. Afraid to be noticed by the otherworldly creature, and certainly not sure what might draw the baleful and destructive eyes toward his presence, Ilion logically figured distance was the safest buffer.

  He was not terribly worried about being followed himself as he had kept his footprints on the main road’s travel-hardened surface, and had permanently borrowed three different pairs of shoes to alternate impressions. Confuse your enemy and you have better odds of survival. It was not a particularly cheerful thought, given the circumstances.

  On the bright side of events, he did appear to have gained control, if not mastery, over one aspect of the mighty staff. A little bit of skill, a little bit of bravery, and a little bit of power just meant a slightly slower death unless he used them deftly and with utmost care.

  The barely lukewarm heat of the falling sun began to dim and shadows stretched together as the weary merchant guided the heavy cart on creaking wheels off the track and through the orchard surrounding the farmhouse. Ilion stood under the bare boughs of the venerable apple trees which had been recently relieved of most of their precious burden. Only a few stray fruits clung to their branches, defying the loss of the harvest season’s nurturing sunlight. Others lay scattered on the ground, bruised and shriveled. Between those two sources, though he was tired, scared, and hungry, Ilion was still able to make a small pile of edible apple bits.

  Initially, he had thought to simply walk unseen inside the farmhouse and snoop around until he came upon either confirmation or denial of Alizarin’s presence within the complex. That changed quite convincingly when he observed the comings and goings of other members of the farm community. Within a few heartbeats of first glance, Ilion saw that a horde of the shadow beasts inhabited all the interiors of those men and women working the farmlands. They wore the skins like puppets. Problem upon problem.

  Keeping well out of sight of the farmhouse proper, Ilion scavenged the surrounding lands and lived off the foraging for several days before he managed to catch a glimpse of the sunny yellow of Alizarin’s new cloak. She is alive! It was lucky that the cloak was recognizable from a distance. Ilion’s immediate problem was the matter of getting her attention without alerting the rest of the household.

  How could he explain her danger? To her, these people were friends and he would only sound like a man half mad and delusional. The honey-white staff had worked in her hands, but would it make her vanish as it had him? Would it show her the shadow beasts? Ilion did not know how she had banished the couple that assaulted her in her bakery. Perhaps the facets of the staff’s abilities varied from user to user.

  Ilion knew that he would sound ludicrous without proof and that obtaining proof would most likely be the end of both their lives. He watched her as she walked the orchards every sunrise, but he did not immediately approach her. She seemed blithely unaware of any imminent danger in a cozy and hospitable place.

  One misty sunrise she nearly startled him in his nightfall hiding place, cloaked in a strange gray fabric. The different color made her almost indistinguishable from the heavy mists. He reached out to touch her face with his hand, barely moving her hair and skimming her cheekbone as she limped past him, oblivious to his presence. What happened to her leg? Ilion watched as she strode out of the orchards and then turned purposefully to visit the barn.

  He feared for her safety every time she entered the place. He was unsure when Trizzanen would strike or if she was the target spoken of on that conspiratorial night. He watched from the edge of the orchards as a stern-looking, spare, and confident woman entered the barn as well, knowing the lie that she was. Ilion crept forward and stood at the edge of the wall, ready to flee if he had to and ready to fight if Alizarin should need him.

  Through the thin wooden wall he could hear the rumble of a conversation buzzing with secondary meaning. He did not understand or comprehend the threat, but was not surprised to clearly hear a second, higher pitched, caw-like response as well as Alizarin’s answer. Her clear, honest voice never showed any concern or fear on her part, while the other woman’s responses were both human in moderate tympany and screeching in otherworldly patterns. So close to true danger!

  Ilion was uncertain what to do. Unsure if those terrible things could detect his presence or not, he was reluctant to expose himself to their notice without striking the first blow. And probably my last.

  Edging toward the half-opened doorway, Ilion’s ears strained to hear any warning or part of the conversation, hoping to determine the best action. Most abruptly, the doorway swung wide and hit Ilion, pinning him for a moment directly between the door’s panel and the rough, wooden wall.

  Taken by surprise and already on full warrior alert physically and emotionally, he barely withhe
ld himself from attacking Alizarin. She strode out of the barn with a deliberate casualness, all the while noticeably containing herself from looking wildly back at the barn. She walked with purpose directly toward the farmhome and the beckoning open door full of the sounds of false life, but then suddenly his friend stopped dead in her tracks. She stared at the doorway to the kitchen and then back at the barn, lost in thought.

  A determined look of calm filled her face and she closed her eyes. Ilion could see her lips move silently, but could not make out any words. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and breathed in deeply, looking around expectantly. She did not hear him or see him standing four paces in front of her. A brief flash of disappointment flickered across her face and was gone.

  Gathering up her skirts, she walked into the kitchen with purpose. She stayed in the main eating room, surrounded by shadow beasts. Ilion’s heart took up residence in his throat. After a slight passage of the sun’s light, Alizarin emerged again. She appeared to be rattled by something, but even as he watched, she gathered her composure and plunged back into the house, back into the nest of vipers that only he could discern.

  Does she know of her danger? Has she seen through the deception? Ilion moved to be closer to the doorway. He listened to banal conversations with cawed screeching undertones, but he sensed no imminent threat. Alizarin moved through the kitchen area to another room deeper in the farmhome, beyond his perception. He waited patiently outside, adopting the position he was infamous for in bidding circles: the Hunting Crane.

  With great inner purpose in her eyes, Alizarin emerged from the main farmhouse and walked with her packed bags to the far side of the granary. Ilion followed discreetly. He watched her hide her things under a shock of grain. As she turned to move past him, back into the farmhouse, he reached to comfort her again. Misjudging the contact, his fingers only grazed her hair as she hurried onward.

  Then, just as quickly as she had appeared, the woman was gone again. Though now he could see her, moving in and out of the open doorway’s vantage point. Alizarin must know something is wrong. Else why did she hide her baggage?

  From the glimpses of her that flashed through the doorway, he could tell she was intent, focused on some project. She appeared to be, to be— baking? Baking? At a time like this?

  For a moment, Ilion had thought that perhaps she had seen the truth of the danger she dwelt amongst. Yet she gave no inkling of any new perceptions. Dessert making in life and death situations? Who does that?

  Then, Alizarin’s talent filled the air with a thick and luscious aroma, intermixing sugars, berries, and spices. The deep and musky tang of vanilla invaded his senses. It was surreal in its sensuality to Ilion, who was certain he no longer filled out any of his clothes stored in Tamborinton. After a diet of rotting apples, found berries, and discarded grain, the plethora of odors rushing toward him and surrounding his senses was the slap of a giant’s hand, bowling him over.

  He did not faint, but his suddenly weak muscles forced him to slide down the wall. Ilion completely lost his gathering pose, a first for him. It was something he would have thought impossible. I am far hungrier than I thought.

  There he lay, semi-prone, and watched the costumed monsters gather. It was an altogether fright-inducing spectacle. Ilion felt little protection in being invisible to the human eye, as these creatures of power were distinctly not human, not remotely. The shadow beasts gathered like a flock of clawed, sinister vultures come home to roost because of Alizarin’s reckless call.

  Wings lifted aggressively. Claws flickered in and out in shows of dominance among the horde. Weakened as he was by the sheer sensual overload of the enticing food, Ilion could only watch as the first overeager predators attempted to feast. He saw the whole spectacle from his slouched position. Control was barely a gloss over the passion of these men-beasts.

  Then, Alizarin began to orderly disperse the dishes.

  Each walked away with what smelled to Ilion’s nose like a small piece of treasure. How can I sneak some? There had to be a moment when no one was looking when he would be able to lift a plate for himself. Unfortunately, after a few quick bites, the first scavenger returned to the line, waiting for seconds and telling glorious tales of the succulent sweetness and the oozing of the sweetened cream to his companions. Ilion felt sick with desire for the food.

  Then the shadow beasts began to chant aloud under their human conversation, “Feed the flesh, then feed the Mighty One!” They repeated the chant over and over, monstrous lust swelling with each breath.

  Alizarin did not know the depth of the hunger around her. Ilion feared they would both pay with their lives, surrounded as they were by an overwhelming army incensed by heady appetite. As a young acolyte in survival training, Ilion had once seen seven boys roughly his age fight over the tiny portions of one cooked rabbit. The image of Alizarin torn to shreds between razor talons filled him with cold dread.

  He overheard the brief conversations that each farmhand had with the comely cook, and heard Alizarin put aside two slices of pie. That knowledge alone overpowered the ironbound will of his mind-body, gripping his lax muscles with the fierce demands of his own stomach. Pushing his weight against the staff for leverage, he regained his footing. Slowly he moved closer to the kitchen sill.

  With great patience and even greater caution he reached for the plate closest to the sill, glistening in the sun’s light. It was apple dripping with caramel on light, fluffy, layered crust that looked to dissolve on his tongue. Alizarin’s able hands intercepted the plate just as he reached to touch the cream, whisking it away. She left a steaming mug of parsimint tea next to the last pie piece, and took her own slice and cup outside the kitchen, walking right past Ilion.

  That solitary pie fragment screamed at him. To eat and be filled! In his mind, the ditty Kalina would sing as she sipped her nip of beer ran jubilantly, “If lovin’ you is so barking wrong, I don’t think I want to be right.” It was an odd song on any occasion. It was funny it should float to his consciousness in the midst of such danger.

  Even driven as he was by hunger, he found he could not take the unattended pie piece. At least, not yet. He was almost over the edge of the hunger precipice but could still fight the survival impulse. Ilion turned his attention to the yard, although he couldn’t help sipping hurriedly all the cooled and steeped tea. Ugh! He had always hated the bitter bite of parsimint.

  Some tastes never improve. Setting the cup down, empty to the dregs, he watched Alizarin’s exchange with the straggler farmhand. He was almost angry when she generously gave away her own slice so flippantly. When he had a moment to reveal his presence to her, Ilion was going to have to tell her that she needed to value herself and her skills a bit more.

  Always observant, even when he talked to himself, still Ilion almost missed the first man falling.

  He was watching Alizarin, torn between his desire to talk to her and the scent of the last bit of pie. She smiled slightly at something, and he naturally followed her gaze in time to see three men’s backs as they quite suddenly knelt and then uncontrollably collapsed in the dirt, falling away from his line of sight.

  What? What is that? What just happened? It took no guess work to see the truth. The look on Alizarin’s face was decidedly satisfied. She took little notice of the decimation of her former friends.

  “Alizarin!” he whispered. Alizarin must know! And she did something! Something to the, the … Disgust mixed with relief, and he glared at the tempting dessert finally within reach, knowing death waited within its flaky crust. So simple. So deceptive.

  He made a mental note, a rather large one, to never under any circumstances offend Alizarin. It was clear that was not a good idea.

  Chuckling to himself, he watched her and watched the vast group of monstrous hunters as they were exterminated so pitilessly. Not one even suspected the cook’s devious plan. Shaking his head in admiration, Ilion thought to finally announce his presence, but found he was too late. He turned to Aliz
arin to speak and found she was gone again. He saw the edge of her skirts as they entered the open doorway.

  What is that woman doing? “Your things are already outside! Run, woman!” he cursed under his breath. Ilion decided to wait a few moments and then go searching for her in the suddenly much less populous farmhouse.

  Although the pie slice continued to cast its enchanting smells through the open window, he knew better than to bite that rude dessert. With a small amount of grace and almost no noise, he was able to open a shelf of larder and grab a few bags of crackers from a sealed wooden crate. At least, this meal won’t be my end! Uh, assuming there is no other poison in here. Ilion eyed every ingredient and container with newfound respect. Safety trumped hunger.

  He ate crackers. It was not exactly the meal his stomach’s rumblings were hoping for. Yet, it did quiet the pitched battle between appetite and reason. Taking his meal outside, he finished it off and once again adopted the Hunting Crane.

  After a small interlude, his ears heard again the cheerful tones of Alizarin’s return. She was talking quite animatedly. Was it with the new mother she came to assist? Ilion supposed the mother was the reason Alizarin had stayed so long on the farm. He could easily hear the closeness of the banter between the two women.

  One said, “See, no one is here either. I don’t know where they’ve gone.”

  And the other replied, “Let us check the yard and outbuildings, although I am telling you, Alizarin, that this is all probably more of the juvenile jokes that Londer and Rethendrel really like to play on me. I simply refuse to get worried.”

  The second voice continued after a pause, “The pies you baked do smell delicious. I hope you won’t be too offended if I pass? Pies are really not my favorite.”

  Ilion heard Alizarin respond, “No, No. No offense taken. I am saving that pie slice for Rethendrel anyway.”

  “Oh, he will adore it. He loves great baking, but no doubt you already know that. How many free cakes did he wheedle out of you as he passed your shop at closing?” Both women laughed warmly.