Gods of Green Mountain

by V. C. Andrews®

  Dray-Gon walked to the rim of the cave, looking down into the abyss. Down there a tiger river raged, seething with white water that cascaded over the rocks. He looked upward toward a sky that no longer poured rain, but there was no way to reach the top from where they were. They couldn’t climb the insurmountable—or descend to the unnavigable! They were trapped in the dim and dark cold cave…and they had the desperate need now for full sunlight. Up there was a sky with two suns, life-giving twin orbs of light, but they had no way to benefit from them. He turned to Sharita, who stood at his side, and tightly embraced her. “We are going to die here, all of us. It will take days for that river to recede!”

  She put her arms around him, tilting back her head. “No, your mind is befuddled. We have the puhlets. They have led us into this canyon, and they can lead us out. All of this black land is riddled with hollow tunnels and tubes. There will be one tunnel at least that will travel upward into the light.”

  His smile was slow and crooked. “By the Gods, you do believe in them! I was hopefully thinking while we were feeling so desperate you might make an unconsidered declaration of some kind.”

  Laughing, Sharita drew him by the hand back to the others. Rule number one her father had taught her: Never make an unconsidered declaration of any kind.

  The horshets were roped and linked together, and Sharita urged the lead male puhlet on into the depths of the cave. “Go on,” she pleaded patting the animal’s head, for she could make them do what the men couldn’t, since she had played around with them more, and they loved her most. “Find us a way out of this dim dark place. Lead us up into the sunlight where the grass grows.”

  Dray-Gon wanted to tell her to just order them, not talk to them as if they could understand, but kept quiet since she was holding tight to his hand, showing some affection that she had held in restraint before.

  With their illuminating lights held high, all followed the lead of the puhlets. Needing to crawl in some places, forcing the horshets down on their knees and dragging them forcefully through the lowest places while the horshets cried out in hurtful protest. Then from the darkness ahead, a sudden commotion among the puhlets! From the leading male came a bull-like roar as he angered, and clawed his hooves on the stone surface. Sharita saw—and she screamed!

  Clarified by the lights they held was a huge wormlike thing, horned and clay white, with two bulging eyes that caught light in a thousand facets—and a gaping mouth that incessantly ground—and in that terrifying mouth was Ramaran! Sharita sobbed as Ramaran was chewed and swallowed, and the thing sluggishly humped its back to reach for another tidbit.

  Dragging a weapon from his belt with hands trembling and weak from the overlong sleep, Dray-Gon aimed his laser light. The pencil-thin beam struck the tunnel wall, slicing it, causing smoke—but he had missed! The worm thing turned its head their way, sensing danger apparently, and not just food. “Use my shoulder to steady your aim,” whispered Sharita, stepping in front of him.

  Closer the thing humped, its head turning right, left, appearing near blind, and the projecting things on its head that they had considered only horns were feelers used to guide it, for they vibrated as it inched closer. Placing his weapon on Sharita’s shoulder, Dray-Gon took more careful aim this time, waiting until the monstrous head turned fully their way, and then he fired. The beam of light split the head into two sections, and blood and brains flew everywhere as a momentary bright orange light lit the tunnel. Hugging Sharita tight against him, Dray-Gon asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think I need a bath,” she said, looking down at the mess that adhered to her clothes.

  Someone laughed. “The princess needs a bath!” Suddenly they were all laughing, almost hysterically.

  “By the Gods, it looks like a maggot, or an insect larva,” said Dray-Gon in awe as they crept past the pudding-like mess that had devoured Sharita’s pet puhlet. They all agreed: a giant larva of some kind. “I hope we don’t meet up with other members of the same family,” said Raykin, casting his light everywhere.

  Somberly, fearful with every foot they took forward, they crept on, following the puhlets that rilled, as if crying.

  9

  At the Feet of the Gods

  Hours later, they emerged and turned their faces upward to drink greedily of the lights of the two suns in a sky of brilliant turquoise.

  We are alive! thought Dray-Gon, despite everything, we are alive! It was a good feeling. Then he sobered, seeing Sharita sitting slumped over with the small image of Ramaran cupped in her palm, the one he had so patiently whittled as a small gift for her, not knowing when he made it how it would end for that small, dainty pet of hers. “I’m sorry, Sharita,” he said, very low and soft. “I wish it had been another, not the one you loved so much.”

  “I’ve got a little bit of her. See how you captured her expression, and the way she held her head.” And then she was crying, turning to lay her head on his shoulder.

  “Princess, don’t cry!” called out Arth-Rin. “Look around and see where we are!”

  Without realizing it, they had reached the Scarlet Mountains! They were now in the very midst of them, sitting in a lush green valley, surrounded by jagged red mountain peaks! The red foothills of the Gods! They had come upon them at last!

  The green home of the Gods rose tall and mighty just beyond them, very close. It was frightening, sobering, awesome.

  From afar they had viewed the Green Mountain every day of their lives, and wondered. Up close, they were fearful. Fascination rounded their eyes as they marveled at its smooth, rounded top, so different from the pointed jaggedness of the mountains before it. So near they were, so close to the Gods. They looked at each other speechless, quelled and cowed with the utter insignificance of being only what they were.

  They were hungry, and thirsty, and they ate and drank in silence as their animals grazed about them. While they ate, drank, their eyes never left the Green Mountain.

  “I thought that when we were near it, it would be as most everything else is: less than perfect,” whispered Raykin, as if the Gods would hear his remark and take offense. “Even up close, it is still smooth and glossy, without a flaw.”

  “It’s almost not a mountain at all,” mused Dray-Gon.

  “Well, of course, it is not just an ordinary mountain,” said Sharita in the lowest possible voice, “that is why we have always known Gods lived there. They would choose the best.”

  “So they would, so would I, if I were a God, which, at this very moment, I am glad that I am not. At this very moment, I am very glad to be me.” Dray-Gon leaped to his feet with surprising agility, considering that only hours ago Sharita had to pull him to his feet. “Let us ride on and see if the Gods are at home.” With that, he extended his hand down to Sharita and assisted her up on her mount. For a second her hand rested lightly on his head, as her eyes searched his face, and then she smiled so tenderly, his heart lurched upward.

  Stronger now, invigorated, full of vitality and restored youth and zest, they rode on with high expectations. To speak at last with Gods—their Gods! It was a thought to intoxicate the brain, like too much wine, and music, and beautiful dancing girls throwing provocative glances, like when he was a boy first experiencing the heady adult life. Dray-Gon cast his eyes to the princess. Her silvery, almost gold hair caught the sunlight, shimmered with it. She radiated, though she was dirty, covered with black soot, nasty green slime, and blood from that underground thing, like they all were. She was still the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever rested on. For a moment, his thoughts took wing back to Ray-Mon, and how she had said he would change. He looked down at the cheap silverlike ring on his finger with the small blue stone, and an ache started in his heart.

  At that moment Sharita looked at him, seeing where his eyes were fastened. The happy smile left her face. The words she had started to say she kept unsaid. Maybe I will never say them, she thought.

  Traveling slowly, not from caution, but from respectful
awe, they curved down a mountainside, constantly winding down lower and lower. More and more of the home of the Gods was revealed to them. Since childhood they had looked here, toward the Mountain, fearing its power, worshipping its might, respecting and believing in the rightness and the justice of its decisions. Even when they suffered, they had kept the faith, doubting only once in a while.

  Now, in entirety, they could see every bit of the Mountain, from the monumental swelling top, to the flat level bottom—to the four shining silver legs that supported it!

  Legs. Four silver legs. This caused them to rein in their horshets and stare in stunned surprise! They were legs of a kind, weren’t they? A mountain on legs? A rounded, smooth, glossy, green mountain supported by four silver legs. Oh, yes! Now, indeed, for a certainty they knew—this had to be the home of the Gods!

  “But it is not a mountain of earth at all, or even stone,” cried out Sharita. “It is a green, metallic thing!”

  “Well, why not metallic?” answered Dray-Gon, imitating her manner. “Don’t we prefer to construct our homes of something better than dirt and stone?”

  That was reasonable, good logic. Yet, they had not suspected this. Raykin rode up alongside of Dray-Gon. “So, we have reached the Green Mountain. Look what we have. Now tell me, Captain, how are we going to climb those long, slick, slanting legs, to knock upon that green door?”

  It was Arth-Rin’s turn now. “Why should we have to knock upon their door? They are Gods. They see and know everything. So it is reasonable to presume they are looking at us this very minute. We will wait for them to speak to us.”

  This was discussed. They were not, any of them, too certain of the soundness, or protocol, of Arth-Rin’s theory. They would obey the rules of etiquette, if only they knew the rules. However, they had no other solution as yet—and the silver legs were indeed a most formidable obstacle!

  Sharita looked down at herself, shuddering at what she saw. Hoping very much the Gods in their high home would be looking in another direction this very moment, and would give her time to bathe and change into clean clothes before she was invited inside. She had a special gown packed carefully for the occasion.

  Upon a high level plateau they hurriedly set up camp, the big tent for the princess first, so she could take that bath, and wash her hair, and make herself presentable with the jewels and crown appropriate for this presentation that went beyond imagination. They staked the horshets with long ropes so they could graze, and allowed the tractable puhlets to amble about as they would. There was verdant growth everywhere, between the rocks, on the ground, even sprouting long around the silver legs.

  For the remainder of the day they waited for the Gods in their green home to see them, to take some notice of them, sitting so respectfully quiet in their clean and very best clothes. The gold and silver on the smoke-blue uniforms sparkled in the dying sunlight. The crystal crown, studded with jewels, shimmered a myriad of colors on the beautifully coiffured head of the princess. At first they stood and waited to be seen and invited inside, but soon that grew tiresome. Then they sat on camp chairs that could be folded compactly. As the two sunsets flared brilliant, and then blackened into night, they knelt and prayed, and politely suggested an audience. Not demanding, not speaking of the long, arduous journey to get here, just reminding that they were here.

  “Tomorrow,” said Sharita. “It’s too late now. Let us go to bed, and do this all over again tomorrow.”

  Up early, the ate hurriedly, bathed, combed, brushed, cleaned teeth, and made themselves as presentable as yesterday, wearing again their very best.

  “Are you beginning to feel like a fool?” whispered Raykin to Arth-Rin.

  “No, just tired and bored.”

  “Tired and bored, I am disappointed,” said Sharita crossly. “I hate wearing a crown, it tires my neck. And this gown fits so tight, I feel uncomfortable.” She looked reproachfully at Dray-Gon. “Do something!”

  “What?” he asked, as tired and bored and disappointed as any of them.

  Sharita pouted her lips, growing impatient. She wasn’t accustomed to being ignored! She had thought the Gods would welcome them, at least in some small way, and recognize their unprecedented daring and courage for braving this long dangerous journey—to say nothing of their untiring quest for the truth. She threw an angry look at the high green home on silver legs, and jumped to her feet. “I’ve had enough of sitting around and waiting! Let’s eat our dinner and go to bed! At our palace, we never kept our guests waiting outdoors!”

  Retiring to their tents, they ate, grumbling at each other. To go through so much, and to have no reward. Yet, when it was dark and Sharita lay on her bed, she had a secret hope the Gods would not choose this time to invite them inside their high green home and hold an inquisition.

  Five days and six nights passed while they waited for an audience, and the Gods in their four-legged green mountain home did not deign to see, or to hear them. They made fires, and dampened them with wet cloths, so that smoke rose dark and curling. They made other fires and smothered them alternately, so the smoke rose fat, white, and billowing. They kept fires burning all night, huge fires that kept them slaving to feed them, and still the Gods didn’t see! They prayed long hours, on their knees, even the princess, reverent, respectful prayers, and received absolutely no response. Their prayers became louder, and more demanding, and less respectful, and even impatient and a bit irritated, and nothing happened! Nothing!

  Now they were annoyed, angry, filled with frustration and a sense of hopelessness and defeat. Had they traveled so far, and suffered so much, for nothing? Were they to sit here until they grew old and withered, and browned into eternity? No! Damned if they would! They had come to question the Gods—and question they would! But still the problem was there, despite their tenacious resolve. How? They had prayed from afar, and the Gods didn’t hear, their ancestors had sacrificed without results, and here they were, so near, and as ineffective as ever.

  “But we will find a way! There has to be a way!” said Dray-Gon. Somehow, there had to be a way to force the Gods to hear them.

  Again they broke camp, packed the supply horshets, and descended from the high level where they had been on eye level with the Gods—if they even had a window. They hadn’t seen any—but it was so huge, their mountain home. They reached the flat plain where the Gods’ home rose on its towering sliver legs, and set up a new camp at the foot of one of these giant spindles. “Aha!” cried Raykin in satisfaction, vindicated as he peered closely at the leg. “It is as I supposed—not so perfect after all! Look—up close it has brown rusty splotches, and charred places!”

  He made Sharita laugh, for he was a notorious complainer, and could find fault with any- and everything. She stepped up very close to the stocky young man in a uniform no longer so splendid, but beginning to show signs of wear and tear. “Look me over closely, Raykin, and tell me what faults you find.”

  He blushed and stammered and shuffled his feet, and hung his head in humility. “I really can’t say that you have any,” he muttered in embarrassment.

  “Yes, I do. Of course I do. Everyone has faults. I’ve heard those very words from your own lips. Now tell me truthfully, as if I were just any ordinary girl, and not a princess.”

  “Yeah, Raykin,” encouraged Dray-Gon, “tell the princess how she could improve herself.” He flashed Sharita a mocking grin, suggesting she was asking for it.

  Challenged, Raykin looked up. “All right, Princess, you have one damn, great big flaw that makes me so mad, sometimes I toss and turn on my bed all night because of it!”

  “Oh,” murmured Sharita, taken aback and wishing now she hadn’t asked, but bravely she said nevertheless: “Go on, tell me what it is, and I will try to rid myself of that fault.”

  Raykin flushed as he spoke, his eyes turned to study the ground at her feet. “It’s your eyes. They never look at me. All they seem to see is Dray-Gon. And he is not one bit better-looking than I am—nor is his position o
ne bit higher than mine. I am as qualified to be your husband as he is, and my marriage proposal has been in your father’s office longer than anyone’s.”

  Ashamed, and ill at ease, with all the young men watching and listening to hear her reply, she put her hands on Raykin’s shoulders. “Raykin, you and I grew up knowing each other. We attended many of the same school classes, and you were at every one of my birthday balls, and though I like you very much, you seem more like a brother, and I love you in that way.” Then she kissed him on the lips in a sisterly way that made Raykin break free and turn and run into a tent.

  Now everyone was embarrassed, and they set to with grim determination to find the way to attract the attention of the Gods. It was decided to construct a huge hammer. When they had, it took three men to lift and swing it, and then they appointed teams to swing it, and strike hard against the silver leg. To them the blows of their giant hammer resounded with a thundering noise that hurt their ears. But some voiced the opinion that to the Gods in their high home, it might be only a small tapping, hardly discernible. Not once did they consider that it might not be heard at all.

  All day they beat upon the leg with timed and repeated rhythm. When one team tired, an alternate team took over. Their meals, their exercises, the order of their lives were scheduled so that one single beat wouldn’t be missed. Only at night did they cease, to begin again at the first sun’s dawning.

  If the Gods couldn’t be attracted with respectful prayers and smoke signals, they would attract them with annoyance, at the risk of ire, anger, or their destructful wrath. Anything would be better than the ignominy of being ignored!

  For days and days and days they hammered on the silver leg, until arms ached, and heads ached, and ears hurt. Not ceasing from the first sun’s upping to the second sun’s downing. Week after week they hammered, banging with impatient temper, angry now at Gods who were so damned indifferent!