Blood Mountain

by John Stevenson

edge. The Veldts shadow was visible in the moonlight falling and tumbling silently down face of the cliff until the mist swallowed it.

  They were unlikely to have sent just one fast runner, no doubt there were others close after him. Futility enveloped him: he had nowhere to go; he was trapped on the mountaintop.

  He quickly re-primed the crossbow, and tied it; the long handled blade, and sword to Marks pack. He placed his own knife through his waistband, and was off upward again. He now almost ran in some places.

  Every moment he imagined the feeling that had shot through him as the guard gripped his shoulder outside his home. The thought stirred him on.

  ‘More haste, less speed’, his father had admonished him when he rushed the tedious preserving tasks. ‘With haste comes a lack of caution’, he would add; and as Nicholas scrabbled around a sharp bend his foot landed on a patch of gravel looser than that beside it; that was hidden beneath the snow. Immediately it gave way under his foot. He stumbled and fell onto his side, the momentum carrying him in a roll to the edge. Without slowing his feet went over the precipice. His head turning and banging on the ground Nicholas felt the solid earth beneath his legs disappear. His hands desperately grabbed at the moving soil for anything firm to hold or grip; there was nothing. Everything slipped between his fingers, or tore away from his grasp.

  As his chest slid over the edge, his right hand came heavily against a small angular rock projecting above the rest; his fingers locked on it. His arm was tensed against the sudden shock of holding his weight, as he felt the jarring snap in his elbow and shoulder. His fingers seemed to stretch, but he hung on almost digging his fingernails into the rocks hard surface. His mind reeling, he had come to a stop.

  Nicholas hung by his one arm gasping sharp short breaths. His left hand reached up and he scrabbled in the gravel, desperate but unable to find another firm hold. He couldn’t get enough breath; his throat wouldn’t pass air. Fear surged until he saw the jolt had slipped the pack off his shoulder, and it now hung out behind him: the leather thong tightly across his throat. Breath came in forced gasps; the pressure of the strap cut off any normal breathing. Even twisting his head he could hardly breathe let alone climb back up.

  Already he felt hazy, soon he would pass out; he had no option and he reached his free hand for the knot holding the pack and pulled it undone. Immediately there was a burning pain as the departing thong whipped over the front of his throat. Then the weight was gone, along with Marks pack and the valuable food, clothing and weapons. He had lost almost everything.

  Nicholas hung from the edge, his arm slowly going numb, as he tried to control his breathing and build his strength. But long before that he could trust his fingers no more, and was forced to gradually worm his free hand under the other, and carefully curl fresh fingers around the rock. He could feel nothing with his freed hand and ignored it as he tensed the muscles in his shoulder and pulled. His body felt the weight of ten, but he began to move high enough that he could get his chest in a position where he could pivot on his useless arm. Calling on reserves of strength he had never used before, he pulled until his hips teetered over the edge.

  His eyes were full of sweat and dirt, and he had to squint at the black object just in front of his face. It was further onto the path; that he could see, and he quickly released the rock and grabbed desperately for it. A cold sweat passed over him as he felt coarse rubber. He squinted harder, and made out the dirty military boot of a Veldt.

  “Want fly?” roared a taunting voice in his ears. “See if can?” The creature laughed as it placed its other foot gently on his forehead. “Bye Bye,” it said slowly but firmly pushing him backwards. In desperation Nicholas threw out his bad arm hooking it around the creature’s calf.

  The Veldt crouched down, “No, no, no.” he said in a chastising way. “You go fly on own, Bye, bye.” The rough hands felt like clamps of steel as they gripped his fingers. One by one Nicholas felt them pulled away with ease. He desperately twisted trying to hold his grip as the Veldt held his wrists: once it released them he would be gone.

  But instead dangling him over the precipice the pressure on his wrists was suddenly released. Urgently Nicholas grabbed back for the man’s boots, and this time the Veldt made no attempt to stop him, instead he seemed to be leaning further towards him.

  Nicholas looked up expecting the terrible grin; instead he saw an arrow pinned the Veldt’s muscled arm to the side of his chest.

  A hand clamped about his wrist again, a reassuring voice spoke. “Let go.” He didn’t want to and almost immediately the voice said again. “Let go you damn fool or you’re over the edge with him.”

  The Veldt was almost on top of Nicholas: rolling forwards, and to the side. Now Nicholas let go, his free hand clutching at the new hand holding his, as the Veldt’s boot caught a glancing blow against his nose and was gone.

  Nicholas was almost blind, his eyes full of grit and moisture, but he could feel enough to know that this time the hand was pulling and not pushing. Whoever it was pulled him onto the ledge and dragged him over to the rock face.

  “Here. Use this.” Nicolas felt a cloth stuffed into his palm.

  As he cleaned his eyes a soft gravelly voice said. “You look like someone who is in need of assistance?”

  Nicholas looked up at a man a good head taller than he was, with skin the colour of ebony. “Aye that I do and that’s no lie, but I warn you, to help me is to court danger, for many other of his kind follow.”

  “Of that I can see; on both counts, but danger is something I am not unaccustomed to these times. Come safety is within reach.” He helped Nicholas to his feet. “Can you walk?”

  “…As long as it’s not on my hands you want me to.”

  The man laughed showing a great row of white teeth. Then he turned and strode up the track. Without looking back he called over his shoulder. “I go by the name Antony.”

  “I am Nicholas of the family Day.”

  “Yes. I guessed as much.”

  Nicholas was too tired to ask the obvious question.

  They did not speak again; Nicholas was thankful, as he needed what energy he still had to keep going fast-forward and up, as the snow became deeper. In some places as they turned in and out the wind it had pilled it up, and if it had not been for Antony’s deep foot marks leading before them, Nicholas would have believed the drifts were part of the slope of the mountain itself.

  Even so soon there were shouts from behind. Moments later an arrow hissed by and thudded into the rock above, bouncing off and dropping harmlessly into the void. Nicholas was sure he could hear panting and footfalls close behind. But Antony ignored their pursuers, instead urging him on. “Come along Nicholas, keep close to the wall where we may make poor targets, and hurry yourself. I assure you, you do not want to be taken.”

  As feeling had begun to return to his arm, Nicholas’s feet were beyond feeling, the soles of his shoes had gone, and the useless uppers flapped about his ankles.

  They reached a change in levels where the path fell, for the height of a man into a fissure with a flat bottom. Antony pulled him down.

  Here were the ancient structures he had heard tales of. Built by their ancestors long before the cleansing wars. Many of these structures, he had been told, served purposes that were impossible to fathom. Like this one: a caged windmill, twice the height of a man, placed at the end of a narrow gap where there was no possibility of the wind turning it; yet turn it slowly did. He had little time to wonder, as Antony pulled him between the smooth crete walls on either side to the furthest face. Besides the windmill they passed through a small doorway, and once through they slowed, Antony spun him around pressing his body close to his, holding him hard up against the wall as three men moved by them and outside. Nicholas looked back through the door as the men casually loaded crossbows with seemingly little concern.

  “We have no fear...” grinned Antony, his great white teeth occupying almost all Nicholas’s view. “...This entrance
cannot be taken by your pursuers, but they will try sending the least useful to attack.” As he spoke a Veldt came over the lip of the drop, half sliding, and stumbling to the bottom into a crouch; as he stood he died: he was followed by another creature that joined him in death even before reaching the bottom.

  Leaving the uneven fight Antony led Nicholas deeper into the cavern. They descended into a sloping tunnel barely high enough for tall man to stand. “Do you still feel well enough to walk, or must I carry you?” Antony called back.

  “I can walk,” said Nicholas quickly, though not entirely sure that he could, but at least his breathing was now under control.

  They passed another tunnel running horizontally, and Nicholas saw directional signs. “There are more caverns like this?” He said in curiosity.

  “Many.” Antony called back. “They were built in ancient times.”

  “The light is ancient also?”

  Antony didn’t stop to look up at the glowing opaque panels, spaced along the tunnels roof. “The light you see comes from outside. In places there are sheets of material called solars. They collect orb light during the day, and moonlight at night. Don’t ask me more than that, but somehow it is brought here.”

  “I remember the Alderman had a machine that could capture orblight. He would bring it to our celebrations, so