by S. Young
After a quick respite, I was back on the horse, racing him faster than ever as the mountains drew closer. I didn’t see much from the trade roads, only a farm or two visible from the road, but I wasn’t interested. My magic was beginning to hum and vibrate through me the closer I drew to the Somna plant.
The Silveran Valley wasn’t huge; most of Alvernia was covered by those mountains. It could be crossed in under a day, and as midmorning crept past, the horse and I were finally enveloped within the shade cast by the mountains.
Up close, they were utterly mammoth.
I watched a bird circle up ahead and then fly in among the trees.
Disappearing forever.
“Stop being maudlin,” I hissed at myself.
Soon we drew around a bend in the road and the Aran trees stood before me, an entrance into the wooded hills, dark and foreboding. I slowed the horse and trotted forward. The horse snorted again, feeling my thighs squeeze him in my fear. My stomach was so full of butterflies, they were brimming over and touching my heart, their stupid wings tickling against the organ and urging it to react in kind. When we drew closer, I could make out a crude wooden sign nailed to one of the trees:
ALVERNIN MOWNTINS
TRED WIF CAYR
I closed my eyes, trying to draw in breath and calm. Shakily I slid off the horse, leading him over to a humble lane cut into the surrounding field. Pitched into the ground was another sign in the same carving:
HEVERS FARM
I soothed my companion and thanked him before hitting his rump, sending him into a canter up the lane where hopefully the Hevers would find and take care of him. I couldn’t take him up into the steep mountains. It would slow me down and be unfair to him.
For a moment, I stood at the opening of the woods, looking up the hill into the gloomy forest. I could hear the creak and twitch of the woods themselves, branches snapping, woodpeckers pecking. Insects buzzed around me, small animals skittered over crushed leaves and twigs, and in the far, far distance, I even thought I heard the howl of a dog. I shivered.
I imagined the overwhelming aroma of the forest might calm me with its musky floral, honey, laurel, and freshly cut grass all breathing beneath the heady scent of rich, dark soil. It was wonderful.
But I was still quaking.
With another deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and took my first step into the mountains.
“Only for you, Haydyn,” I whispered, and continued on in resignation.
The climb was almost immediate. One, two, three steps and the ground began to tilt upward. There were no more signs posted to the trees giving me directions to towns or settlements or whatever it was these people had in here, but I was following my magic, managing to keep to the rough track that already wound its way up through the mountains.
The longer I climbed, the more I wondered where the people were. My ears were practically pinned back, my heart jumping at every little noise. I must have stopped and spun around a hundred times, my eyes probing the shadows between trees for signs of life. So on edge, I wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
I climbed for hours, my feet blistering inside the maid’s boots. I fought off the pain by refusing to think about it, thinking only of the growing darkness within the woods and how cold it was becoming. By dusk I was beginning to panic that there were no signs of life. My magic told me the Pool of Phaedra was still days off yet, and I had hoped to find some safe place to shelter for the night.
Safe, I snorted.
Was that even a word in the Mountains of Alvernia?
I stopped, my ears kicking back at a familiar noise.
Water!
The trickling in the distance set my heart racing again. Surely where there was water, there would be people! I followed the noise, tripping over a thick root and taking my first tumble of the day. I landed on soggy leaves and damp soil, dirty circles staining my trousers at the knees. I grunted and got back up, determined not to feel foolish considering no one had seen me. The sound of water drew me to a stream, and I followed it, making sure it didn’t pull me too far from the direction of my magic.
Surprise rippled through me as the woods broke, the stream leading out of the trees and into a clearing.
Stretching before me, encircled on all sides by the Arans, was a town. Shacks I gathered were houses dotted here and there, some by the stream, some farther off until they looked like little black squares in the distance. Lights shimmered in the dark. An extremely well-lit larger shack, some way off, caught my eye.
“Can I be helpin’ ye, son?”
I jerked and then froze, my mouth falling open, my eyes wide, my palms and underarms instantly giving in to cold sweat. Slowly, afraid of what I’d find, I turned to confront the gruff voice with its strange burr. A man, exactly what I had in my mind when I thought “mountain man,” stood before me, burly, tall, and wearing a frown of suspicion. He was wrapped up warm in worn clothes, a furry hat covering his head. I gulped at the sight of the huge ax laid casually against his shoulder.
I was threatened by more than just his height. I was a woman alone, and I had been caught by a strange man. But then … he’d called me “son.”
Glancing down at my boy’s clothing, feeling the boy’s cap on my head, I exhaled in relief. He thought I was a boy. I deepened my voice and tried to emulate a rough accent.
“Just lookin’ for a place to rest before I pass through.”
He straightened a little, eyeing me closely. “Oh yeah? And where you be headin’, boy?”
I’d never heard such an accent before. It was clipped and tight with trilling r’s and dropped g’s. I shook myself from my momentary distraction and thought about my answer. It was well known to everyone in Phaedra that the Pool of Phaedra was considered mystical and fascinating. There had been many an adventurer who’d dared the mountains to find it.
“The Pool of Phaedra.”
The man smirked. “An’ what would a sprite like ye want with the Pool?”
I shrugged. “I’m on a spiritual journey and that is all I wish to say on the matter.”
He laughed, and I bit my lip. I’d sounded far too well-bred. But he didn’t say anything, just chuckled. “Well, don’t be gettin’ all ornery, yer business is yer business.” He laughed again, shaking his head. There was something jolly about him. I began to relax.
“My name is Brint,” he told me, his booming voice carrying beyond us. “Brint Lokam. I’m about the closest thing Hill o’ Hope has to a mayor.”
“Hill o’ Hope?” I asked in confusion.
Brint grinned and gestured to the open land before us. “Hill o’ Hope.” He winked. “We here at Hill o’ Hope have what some folks call an ironic sense o’ humor.” He drawled out the i in ironic.
I couldn’t help but return his smile. “My name is Ro—” I stopped, remembering I was supposed to be a boy. “Rolfe. My name is Rolfe.”
“Nice to meet ye, Rolfe. Well, ye don’t look like ye can cause much trouble. Why don’t ye join us at Hope Tavern?” Brint pointed to the larger shack lit up in the distance. “They’ll give ye some gristle and grub, maybe a splash o’ ale.” He winked again. “It’s no’ much but it’s somethin’. Plus, folks are in a good mood lately, what with the Iavii people who used to crawl all over these parts havin’ taken off for greener pastures.
“Once yer done fillin’ up, ye can come back with me.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and I noticed the shack up the hill behind us. A single light flickered in the window. “The wife will be more than happy to put a pallet by the fire for ye so ye can get some rest before movin’ on in yer spiritual journey.”
I smiled at his teasing. I knew I probably wouldn’t get a better offer, so I nodded in thanks and followed him down the hill toward Hope Tavern. My first encounter with an Alvernian mountain person was not unfolding as I’d always imagined. The preconceived notion that they were all awful, uncivilized, ill-mannered people was further challenged when we entered the tavern. Brint introduced me t
o the roughest-looking people I’d ever seen. Even rougher than gypsies and the rookery thugs. I couldn’t decipher age among them; they were all so weather beaten and worn, laughter wrinkles tickling the corners of everyone’s eyes.
Despite the obvious fact that their lives were hard, that they didn’t have much of anything, they were so friendly and jolly and happy. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. No, they weren’t well-mannered as a rule, but in spite of that, no one was ill-mannered to me. And, if I were to go by the stories they regaled me with, amidst this uncivilized, isolated community of theirs was a true civilization of camaraderie and teamwork.
More shocking for me still, I watched the barkeep—who had thrust a plate of strange food and the darkest ale I’d ever seen at me—kiss a man who slid over the bar and wrapped his arms around him. Wide-eyed, I glanced around to see if anyone was looking, but no one cared.
Brint caught my look and laughed, explaining the two men were old lovers. Back home in Silvera, I knew of rumors of men who preferred other men, but society pretended it didn’t exist, happy to ignore it as long as the men in question kept it hidden. I’d always believed that people should be free to love whomever they chose, and it amazed me that up here, in the heart of savage country, people were freer and more loving than back in Silvera.
My worry eased. The situation in Alvernia wasn’t nearly so bad as we’d been led to believe. Mayhap Haydyn need never marry Andrei, whose father perpetuated the telling of tales of the uncivilized Alvernian mountain people.
Once again, I had been ignorant and prejudiced.
I decided then and there, as I enjoyed the rambunctious company of the people of Hill o’ Hope, that I would never again draw an opinion on a subject until I’d researched said subject thoroughly. I thought of Haydyn’s long-forgotten failed philanthropy regarding these people. If we’d listened to her, we would have done a lot of good. Once again, I was ashamed.
After I’d eaten, I relaxed beside Brint, listening as his neighbor Dru regaled me with the story of Brint, who organized a search party for a little girl who’d been kidnapped by the Iavii.
“We were lucky that the group who’d taken wee Amelia were few, because no matter what, Brint would be ah takin’ us into the woods to fight the buggers and bring her back.”
I stared at Brint who looked marginally embarrassed by the story. “And did you?”
“Oh, indeed,” Dru went on. “We snuck up on the buggers and dealt them out a booting they wouldn’t forget. We got wee Amelia and brung her home to her folks. The Iavii departed the mountain no’ too long after that.”
“You were very brave.” I lifted my cup to them.
“Are ye brave?” A girl appeared at my side, swishing her dirty skirts and smiling at me, her teeth yellowed. I squinted, feeling warm and fuzzy from the ale. She would have been pretty had she been given the comforts of Silveran living.
“No,” I replied promptly.
“Ye’ve come into the mountains by yer lonesome. There’s a certain amount of bravery to be said for that.” She brushed her fingers down my face before dropping into my lap.
Bewildered by her sudden proximity, it took me a minute to realize she was reaching to kiss me. I squealed under my breath and jerked back, thankful when her weight was lifted from me.
Brint gave her a look and patted her bottom. “Be on with ye, lass. This one is shy.”
The girl huffed in disappointment, striding off before throwing me one more longing look over her shoulder. My cheeks felt hot and Brint laughed again.
“Tera is a bit free with her favors.” He shook his head. “Gotten worse since the Iavii have gone. Everyone be a bit more relaxed these days.”
“I can’t believe the gypsies were that awful to their own.” I bit my lip. Up here, Haydyn’s evocation did not reach, up here where life was hard enough as it was.
Brint glowered now, looking as fierce as I first imagined him to be. “We weren’t their own. You never knew which hill they’d come barrelin’ into next, takin’ that which wasn’t theirs to take.”
“Then I’m glad they’ve left you alone.”
“Me too, son. I pity the buggers who they be botherin’ now, though.”
I grunted. I would be one of those buggers.
I shook off my memories and smiled, looking around me. “The mountains aren’t anything like I was told they’d be. Everyone is so friendly and nice.”
Once again, Brint’s lips thinned and he leaned in. “In Hill o’ Hope, we are. We be good people. But don’t ye be gettin’ all mistaken, son. There are folks in these here mountains who’ve gone crazy with the isolation. Ye watch yerself in this journey o’ yers. Stick to the trails. There’s a place one hill from here called Shadow Hill. Ye be bypassin’ around the outskirts o’ Shadow, ye hear? No’ nothing there for strangers but a world o’ suspicion and sorrow. And the closer to the Pool ye reach, be warier. There be dogs in packs up that way, hungry and feral as any an animal starvin’ and uncontrolled.”
I gulped.
My fear returned.
I should have known it couldn’t be as easy as I’d begun to hope.
Hah, I snorted inwardly. Hill o’ Hope. It was really called so because it gave hope that the mountains were as kind and easygoing as the people here.
“Thank you,” I replied softly, grateful for the warning.
Brint nodded grimly, as if seeing past my deception and into the truth of me. He seemed concerned.
“Come.” He stood. “Let us get ye home and to some sleep.”
It was even colder out now.
I thought about the nights ahead. I wouldn’t have a home to sleep in, a roof to shelter me, to give at least the pretense of safety. I thought of Brint’s caution. The thought of sleeping under the stars was nothing compared to the thought of facing the horror in his eyes when he issued his warning.
Chapter 23
Brint’s wife, Anna, was just as friendly as her husband.
She laid out blankets by the fire and stoked the flames to life to keep me warm. She insisted I stay for breakfast in the morning, but I explained I had to leave extremely early. I was afraid of Wolfe and the Guard catching up to me. Anna ignored my protests, insisting she and Brint were early risers. But I knew I couldn’t stay. However, I told them I would, and made sure I thanked them so they’d know, when they found me gone in the morning, that I had been grateful to them.
I slept a little, but I was so nervous for the day ahead that I was up before the sun broke the horizon. I slipped through Hill o’ Hope before the roosters woke everyone up. I held on to my magic like a child holding a parent’s hand tightly in the marketplace, terrified of being lost to the wildness of the mountains.
The morning air was chilly, but as the sun rose and filtered through the trees, I grew warm in the humid environment of the forest. I had to take off my jacket. With no one around, the fact that the trousers were beyond indecent on me wouldn’t matter.
Stopping at midday for a quick snack and some water, I mulled over Brint’s words of warning. He’d told me the next town up from theirs was full of good people. However, I decided I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d been lucky with Brint and his townsmen and women. Remembering how badly things had gone in the past, I wasn’t going to press that luck. Instead, I stayed on the outskirts of the town, keeping to the trees and treading slowly and quietly so as not to draw any attention.
Through the trees, a town, smaller than Hill o’ Hope, flashed in and out of view. Children helped their parents milk cows, sort out wool being clipped from sheep, and collect eggs from hens. They worked in tandem, a machine of teamwork, just like Hill o’ Hope.
By late afternoon, I was exhausted. My shirt was soaked with sweat underneath my waistcoat and my feet were in searing pain from the blisters populating my soles, toes, and heels. If I kept walking, I didn’t feel it so much. But then I’d make the mistake of stopping for water, and when I moved to walk again, the agony would start over tenfol
d.
I pushed on through the night until my eyes began to droop. At the sight of a tree with a large root curling around the soil like an arm, I took off my pack and slumped down behind it, hidden from view. Every muscle in my body screamed. The pain in my feet made me whimper. I shook my head in disgust. When had I become this soft, genteel creature who couldn’t withstand a little exertion? I felt miserable and incompetent.
When I’d lived on the farm, I could run for miles without stopping. I could climb trees like a trapeze artist, walk and climb and walk some more and never want to stop. Living outdoors had been second nature. Now I was pampered and useless, and everything my parents had abhorred. I thought of Wolfe and had to hold back frustrated tears. I just kept betraying them over and over again.
Even angrier at myself for being pitiful and maudlin, I exhaled and looked at the little bed I’d made for the night. A large spider with spindly brown legs crawled slowly up from the soil onto my leg. It tickled through the fabric of my trousers. Gently, I leaned over and scooped up the spider, putting it down on the ground behind me so it could scuttle off and not get squashed beneath me as I slept.
Watching it, I was reminded of my little brother. He hated spiders, was terrified of them—said he didn’t trust their fast little legs. It was the only thing he ever squealed at, and I knew to come running to rescue not only him but the poor spider from his fear. Despite the spider, he would have loved this, I thought, gazing up through the thick branches of the Arans above me, hardly able to see even a drop of sky. He would’ve thought this was quite the adventure.
I dug through my pack and pulled out my dagger, clutching it in comfort as I waited for exhaustion to give in to the inevitable. Somehow I did drop off to sleep, fatigue tugging me under despite my nervousness about being alone in the mountains.
My neck tingled, the feeling turning to something sharp enough to pull me out of semiconsciousness. I groaned and slapped my hand to the spot and pulled away a huge centipede, its legs clambering frantically as it dangled between my fingers. I yelped under my breath and threw it away, shuddering as I touched my neck to make sure there was nothing else there. I winced. The damn thing had bitten me!
