Rising

by C B Samet

  He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Did I ever tell you how Paul and I met?”

  I heaved out a “no” as I pushed myself up with my legs. Joshua explained that he’d gotten accepted to the university on an athletic scholarship and had to maintain a minimum grade point aver- age in order to stay. Fearful he was doomed to fail, Joshua decided to hire a tutor his first year.

  “I found an ad posted in the Commons Room for a math tutor, so we met up. The first time I met Paul he seemed to be a tall, lanky, brooding sort. But he dutifully tutored me, and my math scores rose. After my finals, I had scored so well I insisted we have celebratory drinks. He relaxed a bit, talked about his parents and you. Then, he drank too much, picked a fight, and I had to carry him home. It was rousing fun, and we became good friends and then roommates until he graduated. After he went to work for the Queen, I missed our current events discussions. The only thing left to do after that was to harass you, but then you left, too.”

  I tried to imagine my Paul in a drunken fight—stammering, swinging aimlessly, half enraged and half laughing at himself.

  Reaching for the next icy nook, I asked, “What did he fight about?”

  “Nuts,” Joshua replied.

  I looked back at him incredulously.

  Joshua gave a wry smile. “He turned towards me—glassy-eyed and mischievous—and said, ‘Watch this!’ Then he swipes a bowl of nuts from the adjacent table and picks a fight with the guy who tries to take them back.”

  Laughing, I hoisted myself up to a ledge. “Fighting over nuts?”

  Joshua reached the ledge and sat beside me. We took our packs off to rest and seemed shielded from the cold gusts of wind that were gaining strength as we gained altitude. He handed me a slice of almond bread from a loaf that Alencia had given him. We drank water and ate, and every few minutes I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of a nut fight. It was refreshing to think of a fun, somewhat belligerent side to Paul that would have been a reprieve from his big brother, parental role.

  I explained to Joshua that it was another few hours’ hike to the next ledge where we would camp for the night. After that, we were just a half-day’s journey to the gypsy camp. Hopefully, we would not encounter any Muglik raiding parties.

  “The next leg is tricky,” I added, “because of the freezing fog.”

  “Freezing fog?”

  “There’s a dense ring of humidity around the mountains this time of year. We won’t be able to see each other even though we’re just an arm’s length apart. The climb needs to be steady. If you stop, the fog will freeze to your furs, stiffen them and steal your heat and mobility.”

  “Never heard of freezing fog.”

  “Welcome to Karnelik,” I said, and we began our ascent again.

  By the time we reached the next ledge, my hands and nose felt frozen. The thick gloves seemed inadequate defense against the cold. The rest of my body was still warm under my snow leopard outfit, thanks to the rigorous climb.

  We resurrected the tent, which brought relief from the chilling wind; however, the temperature was dropping with the descent of the sun. There would be no cooking outside over a fire on this trip. We huddled close, drank icy goat’s milk and ate dried, cold sticks of smoked lamb.

  Too cold and tired for conversation or other activities, we lay close and slept restlessly, tormented by gusty winds.

  The next morning the air was cold and still, but the fog had lifted. We packed hurriedly, anxious to start the physical activity that would warm our cores. Our steep ascent leveled off and we were able to walk on a wide ledge of the mountain. It opened to a terrace with a man- made path up an ice-covered stone staircase.

  “We’re close,” I explained. “A half-hour walk or so.”

  Joshua nodded as a flash of concern crossed his face.

  I followed his gaze and saw that all around us large wooly beasts were emerging and forming a hostile circle. With raised wooden spears jutting out from their mountain goat furs, I recognized the familiar dress of the Dubik gypsies. It was odd for them to raise weapons, given their pacifist nature. I wondered if things had changed since my internship in Karnelik.

  “Abigail?” a familiar voice boomed.

  I turned to the voice and saw a straggly, bearded man in snow- speckled black goat furs. “Vallik?” I stammered.

  The youth I had been captivated by only a few years ago now stood before me as a hairy, burly man.

  He tossed his spear to one of his comrades and wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug. I returned the hug, relieved to see a familiar face, but somewhat overcome by the pungent smell of a man in need of a bath. They must be a hunting party—out for days stalking mountain lions and goats.

  “Come. We’ll go back to the camp and get warm. You can introduce your friend, and we’ll get reacquainted.” He shook my shoulders enthusiastically as everyone relaxed their attack pose.

  I nodded with a smile.

  As I followed Vallik, I introduced Joshua as my friend from the university.

  “What brings you to the mountain again, Flatlander?”

  I was direct. “I need to see Mama Duski.”

  Vallik glanced back at me incredulously, as if to say, No outsiders see the gypsy leader.

  “It’s important,” I emphasized, though I thought the fact that we climbed a mountain to see her would have already conveyed this.

  He considered me for a moment as we hiked closer to the gypsy camp. I knew he would be weighing the risks of Mama Duski’s wrath if he broke the rules versus helping me, a friend in need. Hopefully, the fact that I was not a complete stranger to the gypsies would be in my favor. He was not objecting, so I let the silence continue.

  He led us through twists and turns in the mountain, and in a half hour we reached the gypsy camp. Set in a cleft within the mountain, it was shielded from wind and severe weather. Swirls of smoke twisted out of the several dozen wooly tents dispersed along the rocks. It was a welcome sight after a night of bitter cold on the mountain face.

  When we entered a large tent, I was immediately struck with the warmth and silence. The frigid air and constant bellow of wind were blocked from entering the abode. The warm air was heavy with the smell of pine. We set our bags down by the entrance.

  Mama Duski was seated toward the back with a half-dozen advisors seated around her. Her throne was made of thick pine covered in snow leopard furs. She sat unmoving, and my eyes were drawn to her thin, crooked fingers and emaciated legs, barely visible beneath her furs. Wrinkled lips curled over toothless gums, and she squinted as though straining to see.

  I approached and sat before the gypsy ruler with Joshua at my side, following my lead.

  Vallik addressed the aged leader from a distance. “This is Abigail Cross, who interned with us a few years ago. She and her companion, Joshua Colt, have come to ask assistance.”

  Mama Duski appraised Joshua and then me. With a crooked, toothless smirk she asked, “Still falling off cliffs?”

  I heard Joshua barely suppressed a chuckle, which earned him a brief glare from the corner of my eye.

  I hesitated, considering the question and all of the hazards I had recently endured. I had escaped Marrington Castle with the Queen, fought in an alley in Taxco, plummeted down a waterfall at Aithos, crawled through the black caves of Optato, and survived the desert heat. The last several days had been a string of near misses.

  “Yes,” I admitted with a deep sigh. “Thank you for seeing me, Mama Duski. We have come to Karnelik as part of our quest to raise a Champion to defeat an ancient evil that has invaded our continent. If I fail, it threatens to conquer even the world. To succeed, there are specific items I must collect, and one of them is a Chevorik Ambria—the Che stone of strength, also known as the Warrior Stone.”

  “So the Malanook have risen,” Mama Duski began in a gravelly voice. With no teeth, her speech required some deciphering.

  Murmurs of surprise and disbelief resonated among her advisors. “I didn’t t
hink dis would happen in my lifetime. The world’s population must be growing faster than we anticipated, causing de accumulation of evil to accelerate.”

  There was a flicker in Mama Duski’s eyes when she leaned slightly forward, as though eager to help. But instead she sat back abruptly, saying, “I do not have de Warrior Stone.”

  My shoulders fell. There was no time to search three mountain peaks for a tiny rock.

  After a moment’s silence Mama Duski added, “But I know some- one who may be able to help.” She paused, discreetly surveying the expression of her advisors.

  I watched the old woman’s gaze.

  Realizing the problem, I replied, “I don’t have anything to offer.”

  Joshua whispered into my ear, “What’s going on?”

  I whispered back, “Mama Duski wants to help, but gypsy culture mandates that anything given to outsiders—even information—be done so as a trade. She is scrutinized by her advisors and cannot diverge from tradition, even for something as important as this. To do so would undermine her authority.”

  He nodded, appraising the gypsy.

  To my surprise, Joshua stood and approached Mama Duski. There were outbursts of protest and Vallik descended upon him. Yet, when the amber glow of the Healing Stone filled the room, everyone fell still and silent.

  I remained frozen.

  He laid his healing hands on the hands of the leader of the Dubik gypsies and eliminated the joint disfigurement and returned her eye- sight. It took several minutes for the transformation to complete.

  Mama Duski gasped, and delight flashed in her vibrant green eyes.

  “I offer you health as a trade,” Joshua said. “It is temporary since aged disability will always return, but it should give you a few more years of mobility. Your muscles will still be weak from disuse until you rebuild your strength. Your eyesight should be better for many more years.”

  Mama Duski moved her fingers fluidly and freely while cackling with laughter. She looked around the room in amazement, as though it was a wondrous sight she had not seen in years. Murmurs of excitement reverberated through the tent.

  Seeing the Che stone glow and heal Mama Duski’s crippled limbs was like watching a miracle. Judging by the expression on everyone’s face, they thought so, too. They had the chance to watch one of their sacred stones animate and heal their leader. Surely, it would do much to reinforce the many lifetimes they spent searching the mountaintops for Chevorik Ambria.

  With tears in her eyes, she turned to me, saying, “You must cross de gorge to Mount Karn and seek de hermit. He is de last known possessor of de Warrior Stone. Let Vallik be your guide. Restock your food supplies and leave at once. A storm approaches.”

  Joshua’s genius had only endeared him to me more. There was something mesmerizing in the concentration in his expression mixed with the glow of the stone across the skin. He had been brilliant. He had looked brilliant. I hugged him in gratitude and stole a fleeting kiss on his lips.

  I had mixed emotions about us getting the information we were seeking. I wanted to keep the pace of our mission going, but also want- ed to linger in a warm tent a bit longer.

  We restocked our food supplies and were underway shortly as instructed. Bundled securely, but still feeling the frigid air, I stepped in line behind Vallik to find a hermit with a stone.

  The gorge was steep and wide between mountaintops. A narrow wooden bridge covered in ice was the only path to traverse. We crossed, one at a time, holding the slick icy rails with gloved hands, hoping the spikes on our boots provided us with enough traction to keep from falling to our death. We tethered to each other with a rope, which would only provide safety if I was the one who fell. If either of my traveling companions fell, their bulk would take the rest of us with him. Cautiously, Vallik crossed first, then Joshua, then I.

  Cold wind blew upward from the icy gorge. I tried to think warm thoughts, like how good it would feel to be back in Sam’s house, sitting beside the fire surrounded by friends. My eyes watered from the sting of the cold air. My fingers, even beneath my gloves, felt cold and numb as I gripped the rope railing of the bridge. We arrived at the other side with a fleeting sense of relief, and Vallik explained what difficulties were next.

  Because the upcoming descent was somewhat steep and rocky, we remained tethered. Again this would be an effective safety measure if one of us slipped, unless that someone was Joshua, since his size and weight would take us all with him.

  The wind strengthened, preceding the coming storm which Mama Duski had foretold. We were spread out along the mountain face when my scar became a dull ache. I scanned my surroundings. Rock. White snow. More rock. Then a great burly beast roared from the ledge above me. It blocked out the sky with its enormous body. Raising its hand over its head, I could see that it was human-like.

  Muglik.

  A long, thick Ballik blade caught a shimmer of sun on its worn edge. This time there was no soft pile of snow into which to fall. Beneath me were Joshua, then Vallik, then the sheer cliff face of Mount Karn. As the sword thrust toward me, I pressed myself into the mountain, trying to make myself smaller, a more difficult target, but my head was still within reach.

  “Abbey, jump!” Joshua cried. I could feel him tugging at the rope around my waist.

  Too afraid to jump or move, I braced myself for the deadly blow, but none came. When I looked up again, the Muglik warrior was swinging at me with repeated strikes, but each time the blade stopped short, refusing to hit me. The energy and momentum of his every swing seemed to reverberate back through his burly arms. I thought of the legend that those who had survived an assault by a Ballik blade could never again be its victim. I was never more relieved to have been stabbed than at that moment.

  I resumed my descent, faster now.

  Then something large hurtled past me with ferocious speed. It barely missed my shoulder. I looked up to see that the Muglik warrior had abandoned his sword and resorted to throwing boulders at us. Shouting erupted below me. A boulder must have struck Vallik because he dangled like a puppet by the rope around his waist—his life in Joshua’s hands.

  “Hold on!” Joshua was shouting above the roar of the wind.

  Vallik pulled out a long knife with one hand and held onto the tether with the other. He motioned for Joshua to swing him to a distant ledge. With amazing strength, Joshua swung Vallik to and fro. When he had enough momentum, he gave one final heave. Vallik sliced the rope at peak height, allowing him to continue an upward trajectory onto a distant ledge.

  With Vallik safe, I turned my attention back to our attacker. The rock throwing had ceased as a massive snow leopard had come to our rescue, fiercely battling the warrior. Although half the size of the barbarian, the snow leopard was larger than I’d imagined one would be. He clung to the back of the Muglik warrior, who thrashed about trying to rid himself of his attacker.

  As I watched the battle, I realized the snow leopard was actually a man dressed in a snow leopard suit. The Muglik warrior hurled the man off his back with brute force. With lightning speed the man picked up the warrior’s own sword and took the offensive once again. He fought with impeccable skill and prowess. The larger beast was more powerful, but the attacker was too fast and never took a direct hit. His back was to me, but I could tell the Muglik warrior swung heftily in frustration. He lost his footing on the cliff’s edge and finally plummeted past me to his death.

  Our rescuer motioned for us to climb back up the ledge to him. Any man capable of defeating a Muglik warrior had my trust. Joshua and I made it back up quickly, but that still left Vallik. I looked for his dark furs against the wall of white ice. With dismay, I realized that from his current position, he would have to scale the cliff face all the way back to the gorge and cross it again to reach us. The bursts of wind were now so forceful that the bridge was even more dangerous.

  I looked at the snow leopard, who was also surveying Vallik’s predicament. His furs were worn and yellow, his face unshaven and his app
earance haggard.

  Such a man might be called a hermit, I thought.

  Despite his tousled appearance, there was youthfulness to his movements and vibrancy in his blue eyes. There was something familiar in the contour of his eyes, but the beard and shaggy hair masked my ability to recognize him.

  Inexplicably, he vanished. Then, just as quickly, he was back again, with a puzzled-looking Vallik at his side. I looked at Joshua, who wore an expression of admiration and amusement.

  “I’m going to deposit you on the other side of the gorge so you can make it back to the Dubik camp by nightfall,” he said to Vallik over the roar of the wind. Then turning to Joshua and me, he added, “I’ll be back to get you two indoors to safety before more Mugs arrive.”

  Indoors?

  He vanished again with Vallik.

  I turned to Joshua.

  “Think it’s another Che stone trick?” he asked.

  “The Vanishing Stone.” I invented a name then shrugged. “I don’t care what it is as long as it’s on our side.”

  When our rescuer reappeared, he led us through a half-hour maze in the ice to a hut made of stone and ice. It was quite camouflaged by the side of the mountain except for a small stream of smoke that was quickly dispersed by the stirring winds.

  Once inside, the warmth of fire engulfed us. The walls were lined with fur and the whole hut was one large room complete with table, bed and kitchen. It was tidy, though with a musty, smoky smell. We all peeled off layers of clothing, and he was soon handing us warm cider as we sat at his table.

  Once free of his heavy hood and motionless, I remembered where I had seen him. Eliminate the beard, brush his tangled, matted hair, and dress him in a suit, and it was him—the famous anthropologist.

  “You’re Baird Potts!” I exclaimed.

  He gave a slight smile with a twinkle of flattered surprise in his eyes.

  “Joshua,” I eagerly began, “this man is the famous world traveler who wrote A Study of Cultures.”