Into the Raging Mountains Read online

  “You know, we shouldn’t take the baby outside for the unveiling of this silly prank. Let’s just wrap him warmly and leave him here in his bed.”

  “Gretsel, we can’t. If I am right and this is some kind of disease or worse, we will have to get out of this farmland and go to the city for help. I insist!”

  A deep sigh of forbearance escaped the younger woman’s lips. “Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with. To the barn and the fields then. You do know that Londer is having a tremendous laugh at us at the moment, wherever he is.” The smaller woman strode out the doorway, her baby wrapped in a bundle in her sling and walked with purpose to the barn.

  Alizarin followed, and said hurriedly, “Perhaps we should check the orchards first? Make Londer cool his heels while waiting for his laugh.”

  With a sigh of exasperation, the younger woman was turned away from the barn for the immediate moment, and arm in arm, the two friends walked out on their expedition into the orchards.

  Ilion could only watch them go.

  Chapter Ten

  The Worth of Friendship

  He knew she would have to die. And, truth told, Rethendrel Corded felt bad about it. But a bargain sealed with my word and blood is binding. There is no way out. Even if he wanted to save her, there had to be some sacrifice.

  Grateful as the farmer was for the bounty that had flowed into his hands, it had irreversible requirements. Though the cost was not to himself, it was painful nonetheless. He did not want her to die, not Alizarin, so close to his heart. But the cast die kept rolling and spinning and when it came to rest, sealing the rewards, he would have to pay the caster for the blooming fortune he had received.

  With a heavy guilt, he walked down the hard-packed dirt road in silence. Rethendrel wished someplace within his ordinary soul that the little, hardworking donkey of his had never, ever talked to him.

  *

  Out amongst the stark beauty of naked branches under open, slightly cloudy sky just beginning to fade towards dusk, the two friends walked and talked, as if there were no cares in the world except for Baby’s grasping, clumsy hands which were bent on scratching his own dear face. As they walked, Gretsel gently sang a light-hearted tune which had a neverending repeat. As friends are wont to do, there were long stretches when there were no words spoken, just companionable silence.

  Then they encountered a pile of clothes, abandoned, with footsteps going to the items but none returning.

  “Oh, no! Gretsel! You see?”

  Her friend just stood there, staring.

  Alizarin dared not speak the truth, even then. Although it was obvious that the disease explanation was flimsy, she could think of no other. And it was some kind of disease: a plague of insidious locusts, an infestation that surrounded them.

  At first, it was slightly comical, the thought of men running naked around the farm. After the third found grouping of cloth and shoes, Gretsel raised an inquiring eyebrow, quizzical in her incomplete understanding of the situation. By the fourth collection of pants, underclothes, shirt, necklace, shoes and scarf, even Gretsel’s sheltered mind began to show the troubled state of her awareness.

  “Something is wrong, Alizarin. I can see it. You are right.”

  Alizarin could only nod. Does my guilt show on my face? Does it matter? None of these things were innocent. None of these people lived anymore. I did the right thing, striking first! I did.

  Gretsel’s voice began to rise. “But what is it? Why these piles of clothes? No one has ever pulled a prank anything like this.” Leaning down, she gently picked up two silver chains with pendants. They were not things a prankster or thief would leave behind.

  Alizarin kept her face blank, mirroring her friend’s confusion.

  Gretsel suddenly yelled across the wide open lands, “Where is everyone? Where is my family? Where are you?” Panic was in her voice. Her brow wrinkled in concern.

  Turning back to the forlorn, abandoned garb, Gretsel sighed, “At least none of these are Londer’s. Surely he is safe somewhere. Right, Alizarin? He must be safe. I will find him and if he laughs at my worry over this stupid prank, I might just wring his neck!”

  Alizarin’s heart broke at the thought of Gretsel’s lost family, but when Gretsel called out across the fields, it filled again with unspeakable dread of what might answer her. She had to convince Gretsel of the danger in the barn.

  How to put this? “I think I should tell you the odd thing I discovered this morning. Samton, Rethendrel’s little donkey? Well ... well, he spoke to me in the barn.”

  “Spoke? A donkey? Ridiculous!” Disbelief’s sound boomed off the nearest trees.

  “I know it sounds crazy, I know it is crazy, but let me explain?” A deep moment of silence occurred and dwelt between the two women like opaque glass. Alizarin tentatively told the basics of her encounter that sunrise and the bizarre double vision of Samton and the monstrous thing that was also there. She left out all the details of Theress for the present: one abnormal scenario at a time. As she concluded her recollection of the encounter, Alizarin waited nervously for Gretsel’s response.

  It was slow in coming. Finally, as her eyes sought Alizarin’s, Gretsel said tremulously, “If all that is true, why have I never seen this dark and fearsome beast? Why has it never spoken or threatened me? Do you have some mysterious power that I am not aware of? Some hidden talent in discerning nightmares?”

  Alizarin spoke quickly, “I assure you Gretsel, I only tell you this now because of the disappearances. Could it all be linked together? Even if you discount my story, you must remember, I have always been honest with you, and I wish you no harm. I am trying my best to protect you from the frightening beast and whatever else lurks behind us at your family’s dwelling!”

  For some reason not definable, Alizarin was reluctant to reveal the power of her mother’s cloak. Even though she knew it might reveal the truth to Gretsel, it was too precious to her, and she was uncertain of its abilities.

  In the blink of Gretsel’s eyes, she became a stranger to Alizarin. All fondness aside, Alizarin still wanted to save her and Baby and yet it was as she had feared, her story was too improbable. Gretsel flat out refused to grasp the secret monster that could not be seen. She refused to be afraid of a phantom. Which was one of the reasons Alizarin loved her so dearly, that courage.

  Gretsel stepped away from Alizarin’s company, backing away as if the woman she was friends with was different from the baker standing in front of her. The openness of her face vanished and was replaced with a hardness. “Well, Alizarin, we will see this story for what it is.” In a breath, she turned quickly and sped back to the farmhouse.

  Alizarin felt shock numb her reactions. She wanted to scream, she wanted to grab her friend and never let her go back inside the building that had housed such deceits. She stood there like a boulder. Her eyes and mouth were wide open, but Alizarin was unable to act.

  It was one thing to be disbelieved. She doubted she would have believed the story of the nightmare in the barn from anyone else’s mouth. But surely, she had some credibility? Gretsel’s lack of any caution, even in the face of all of the disappearances, was terrifying.

  Gretsel went in full dudgeon, walking with purpose directly back to the farmyard calling, “Londer? Londer? Where are you, Londer?” Several calls later as her yelling went unanswered, as Alizarin knew it must, Gretsel’s voice could be heard, “Rethendrel? Wethor? Lanscom? Trydan? Castol? Is anyone here?”

  Alizarin ran to her side, attempting to shush her. Gretsel dodged her hands and ran to the barn doorway. Opening the wooden gate, she called into the barn, “Anyone? Anyone at all? Is anyone here?” And was met by silence. Whatever the monster was that lived inside the barn, whatever Samton was, it wasn’t home. Alizarin’s heart thudded loudly in her ears.

  Gretsel’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob of desperation. She threw off Alizarin’s comforting hands. Grabbing the bundle of Baby, she tore across the yard, leaving the barn gate open, not carin
g. Gretsel ran for the house, and plunged within.

  *

  Dinner time at Azure’s house meant the smells of slow-cooked chicken, simmering in the sweet juices of ripe tomatoes and fragrant, chopped onions. It slipped under the doorway, through the walls, around the corners, and filled the mountain house. There was no room that was not imbued with the succulent heat of home-cooked, falling-off-the-bone, tender bird. Easily the most noticeable event in the home and extending far outside the yard, Tatanya’s dinner oven always produced the whiff of delight caught on the breeze. It was a smell that made old men remember their mothers’ kitchens and the warm embrace of early childhood. What that woman could do with the simplest, plain ingredients was often lusted after and never seemed to be duplicated by the other village wives, who lived their culinary lives in her long shadow.

  From the kitchen perched on the farthest rise at the end of town, the gentle breeze or tearing wind sent the smell of each lovingly prepared meal winding through the rest of the village. When the villagers smelled that day’s tasty odor, many men thought sadly of the poor fare their own wives slopped down before their waiting plates. Consequently, depression soared around the fall of the sun and the beginning of nightfall’s bloom. It was never a good idea to compare their dinners with the smells that wafted out of Tatanya’s house.

  There might have been more resentment from the other villagers, but Tatanya seemed relatively unaware of the disturbing distribution of her cooking fragrances. Whenever another family fell ill, or a new baby was welcomed into the village life, Tatanya’s cookies, rolls, and cakes always appeared unannounced on the doorstep, brightly wrapped.

  A few mothers even approached Tatanya for recipes and for instructions in the arts of cooking and growing for their blossoming daughters. Skill like that shouldn’t be neglected. Without meaning to, Tatanya’s welcoming house and her teachings had made more than one rocky marriage stabilize.

  Azure was vaguely aware of the awe that the men in the village had for her mother’s cooking. She also saw the keen gladness that the grateful recipients of her baskets of goodies displayed. At the tender age of six cycles though, Azure didn’t appreciate her mother’s cooking. It just was what it was. Cookies were supposed to taste that way.

  At school, children often bargained with Azure, trading her mother’s snacks for theirs. That is how Azure began to see the value of a well-done dessert. And, much to her chagrin, she discovered the awful taste of burnt cake covered in thin frosting. Bad cooking cannot be hidden under sugar. That bargain was particularly sad because she had traded two cookies for the pretty cake, thinking she was getting the better deal. When she looked to complain, only crumbs were left on Cethel’s face; her tasty cookies were gone.

  The schoolyard was a valuable place to learn the nature of people. Along with Brigget and Yelton, she would watch all the other children play and see how they treated one another. She learned by observation, although she would not have known it. Slowly, as the cycle progressed and the hard, cold season’s power landed with its might upon the land, she began to see the conflict and the compassion within her playmates.

  Her awareness of the concepts of right behavior and wrong action brought Azure to the inescapable conclusion that Cethel was truly no friend of hers. She didn’t know why it was so. Azure had no comprehension of jealousy. Azure only knew that Cethel was the first to say the mean phrase, the first to jeer, the first to take advantage of another’s ignorance. Hard as it was for her to see, Cethel did not seem to want to be Azure’s friend. After several encounters ended badly, Azure decided that Cethel was a fine boy, just not someone she would choose to play with anymore.

  Little Lorayn, on the other hand, was the greatest friend for Azure. Lorayn with the sunny personality, big smiles, and lots of giggles, was happy to explore the forest with her sister and Azure for company during the growing season and harvest. They spent the difficult weather of the hard cold season shuttling between their home and Azure’s. As girls are wont to do, they disregarded Azure’s twin brothers, who were cute but disgusting at the same time. Over the many days spent indoors plotting, dreaming, playing, and goofing around, the three girls became all but sisters, inseparable.

  Azure was growing fast and learning quickly—quickly for six cycles old, but not fast enough to understand the consequences of the growing fear amongst the villagers, people in whom she saw only kindness and goodwill exhibited. A child’s mind could not grasp the hidden monsters that emerged within a group of reasonable people when the rational mind was worn down by constant and growing paranoia. What was a safe and happy time for a precious girl, an idyllic childhood, was easily the scariest cold season in the village’s recent memory. Tatanya spent most of the passable days visiting the sick and the weary, attempting to calm frayed nerves and ease tempers that grew shorter and shorter.

  The crystal frost that covered the ground was replaced by blankets of blue, whitish fluff, effectively sealing off the village from the outside world. Trudging a few steps between homes became treacherous as the fluff half-melted in the slight daylight and then froze solid in the dark of nightfall’s embrace. The beat of the village’s heart slowed in its rhythms as it always did. But this season’s hibernation from outside cares and worries became an unyielding cage of fear and uncertainty.

  It did help that food supplies and water were secure until the thaw came, so starvation wasn’t an immediate concern. And, though the Rat Thief was driven away from the precious storerooms with Roach’s banishment, caution was the driving force in the hearts of each villager even in the short moments of weak sunlight. For now, there were no more raids on trash heaps, no more fear for farm and house cats gone missing. It appeared to be a break in the storm of worry that had been gathering ominously all through the harvest season’s plenty.

  Everyone in the village came to attend the religious services, gathering for comfort and rare conversation in the warm and cheery church with little else to occupy them. The best activities of the cold season were the home preparation and individual family’s manufacture of articles of clothing. Intricate stitches, twisted yarns, reams of cloth with their accompanying needles and curse words, all emerged anew with the first coldsnap and fled with the beginning of thaw.

  While the villagers gladly toiled away in their separate houses, intent on the necessities of life, when they gathered every Godsday to listen to their priest, they came together searching for emotional comfort, challenge and mental stimulation. Azure’s mother always said: The only thing worse than a bevy of busybodies is a bevy of busybodies in close quarters.

  Azure accompanied her family each worshipday to the schoolhouse that was also the meeting place of faith and the village council. All talk of practiced religion aside, Azure came for the playtime with infrequently seen friends and the marvelous teachings about Light.

  As they eagerly colored the thin black boards, as they sat and listened to the teachers, the small children gained a little understanding of the imposed order of the land. It was meant to be a comfort for them against the murkiness of adult interactions and activities, which always seemed tinged with blurriness of purpose. While the pious, pompous priest droned on in the main room of the building, Azure played and wrote and colored in the small side room, sitting cosily next to Lorayn and Yelton.

  After the typical, sonorous sermon and services were over, the population of the village quickly dispersed, ideally full of good intentions as they trudged back to real life. The shortened days went on, tense and yet dull, like a drugged sleep: quiet and yet not refreshing. Cold season ran its course and nothing happened, nothing at all, until the first leaf unfurled.

  Double chins rippling, the prodigiously porcine pastor spoke for a great while that sunrise about the power of Hope and Returning. It was a beautiful, well-produced sermon, full of uplifting words and promises of Circle Present, and yet no one listened.

  It was of little import to hear fine words about vague things when the thaw was upon them and th
e mystery predator would come again. Wives gathered. Widows talked. Women scratched their heads and pecked at each other, a roost of hens waiting for the first worms of gossip to emerge from the sunrise soil. They worked themselves into a dither over the few scraps of information already commonly known.

  Opposite them in nature and personality, the men were all for action, but unsure of what to do precisely. So they stood by the walls, clumped in quiet groups and talked about the weather. Everyone was looking for a leader to rally them with courage and camaraderie. None seemed to be emerging.

  Aware of his flock’s worries, although he discounted most of the stories as pig baths, the joviality-radiating priest ventured forward with a simple comment after his sermon was finished, “What’s to worry about, truly? The cold has probably killed it anyway.”

  Silence fell amongst the other conversations as all the villagers paused to hear his wisdom and sage advice. “We must continue with caution, of course. But, I seriously doubt we will have any more trouble as we did in the cycle past, simply because our clear mountain cold drives away all the monsters. It has always been so, from our oldest stories.” Nods in agreement seemed to wave through the room. “I believe it to be true now.”

  Warming to the reception of his much-sought-after advice, he strongly cautioned, “We must, of course, be ever vigilant. We must help one another, and be quick to seek amends. We must stand together! Then, no hidden monsters or plainly seen enemies can ever defeat us!” A small chorus of coos and agreement echoed after his words. The priest was always good for the positive ideas. The crowd waited expectantly for the next words, the call to action.

  None came.

  Grandly walking through the crowded room, the noble-aspiring priest opened the cold season door, and stood in the porch patio. With his concept of encouragement finished, he saw no need to stay longer. With a small flourish, he waved his hand and harrumphed loudly, turning to face his journey home. The heavy wooden door was slammed shut by the driving wind.