Chapter 15: Carlyle Comes Home (Revised)

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[This is a revision of this earlier post and contains some revisions inspired by the Gemini Storybook version and this Gemini Chat.]

Chapter 15: Carlyle Comes Home

  The day had been a long one.  They had spent the day creating an inventory of all the goods, treasures and food that the robbers had stashed away in their caves.  But now it was late in the afternoon, and everyone in the mountains knew the one unbreakable rule: It was deadly to be caught out after the sun goes down.  They had to start thinking about shelter for the night.

“I hope Mother is alright,” Carlyle muttered, kicking a loose pebble. Shame pricked at him; he’d been so caught up in everything  that he’d hardly thought of her at all. “We’ve been away all day.”

“She’s fine,” said Catherine, confidently.

“How do you know?” asked Carlyle.

“I’ve been getting regular reports all day,” said Catherine, gently stroking one of the ravens on her shoulder.

“Oh, of course,” Carlyle said.  “I forgot about those birds.”

“Your father is perfectly safe as well,” Catherine said, turning to Alfred.  “In fact, he’s with our mother now.  They’ve been eating supper together.”

“Is he still angry at me?” Alfred asked.

“My raven friends can’t tell what he is thinking,” Catherine replied.  “They only report to me what his movements are.”

“I bet he’s still angry with me,” Alfred said.  “He was furious when I joined you in the battle yesterday.  We had a huge argument last night.  He was so mad he nearly broke the table. And then this morning, I snuck out before he woke up.”

“You’re welcome to stay in the caves tonight with us,” said Catherine.

“Yeah, thanks.  I think I will,” Alfred responded.

“I’m not sure it’s a smart idea to stay in the caves,” said Carlyle.  “I don’t trust the robbers.”

“Neither do I,” said Catherine.  “That’s why I’m staying here.  We need to keep a close eye on them.  Now that the robbers have surrendered to us, it would be a mistake to go away and leave them by themselves.”

“Fine, keep a close eye on them in the daytime,” said Carlyle.  “If you go to sleep next to them, they’ll cut your throat while you sleep.”

“My wolves will protect me,” Catherine said.

“Will they?” asked Carlyle.  “Or are your wolves just as likely to turn on you once you’re asleep.”

“The wolves are too afraid of me to try anything,” said Catherine.  “And also, right now they’re very pleased with their new den in the caves, and the soft quilts and blankets that they are sleeping on.  And, I might add, they didn’t say no to all the food that was given to them. They often make a big deal of talking about how they like to hunt and catch all their own food, but when the food was placed in front of them, they curled up like lapdogs.  They’re learning my value.  And if they forget, I can at least count on the ravens to keep watch and to alert me before danger arrives.”

“We are delighted to serve,” said Branoc, bowing his head.  “I and my children will keep guard through the night while you sleep.  Ravens can see in the dark much better than humans can, so you’ll be safe with us.”

“I still don’t like it,” said Carlyle.  “But I can see that your mind is made up.  Very well then.”  Carlyle turned to Alfred.  “Alfred, you don’t have to stay here,” he said.  “You can stay at my place if you’re worried about your father.”

Alfred offered a weak, ironic smile.  “Didn’t you hear? “My father’s at your place.”

“He’s probably not going to stay the whole night,” Carlye said.

“I’d rather not chance a run-in,” Alfred said, shaking his head. “Besides, I’d like to stay and help Catherine and the others.”

“Which others are staying?” asked Carlyle.

“Shawn, Gabrielle, Kevin and Stella have agreed to stay with us in the caves for the night,” Catherine said.   

“That leaves Lucas, Marcus, Paul, Lucinda, Molly and Abby,” Carlyle said.  “I’ll see if they’re ready to go.”

Everyone on the mountain understood that they should never walk anywhere alone.  Bad things happened to children who walked off alone, such as Jack, who had once been their playmate, before he had walked off alone one day, and never came back. They had never found so much as a scrap of his coat.

Carlyle walked down with the group until they got near his house, then he said goodbye to them and ran the short distance to his house.

He knocked on the door.  “It’s me,” he yelled through the wood.

He heard someone removing the barriers, but as the door was moved away, Carlyle saw Brian’s bearded face instead of his mother.

Carlyle nodded at Brian, trying to ascertain if he was still mad at him.  “Hello,” Carlyle said.

Brian scowled.  He had evidently still not forgiven Carlyle.  “Where is my son?” asked Brian.

“Alfred’s safe,” Carlyle said.  “He is staying with Catherine at the robbers’ cave.”

“What?”

“It’s okay,” Carlyle explained.  “The robbers have surrendered.  Catherine and Alfred and a few others are just staying up there to watch over things.”

Brian reached out his right hand and grabbed Carlyle by the throat.  “If anything happens to my son…,” he yelled.

“Stop it, Brian,” Margaret’s voice said from inside the house.  “Threatening Carlyle won’t help Alfred.”

Brian’s grip tightened for one agonizing second before he shoved Carlyle away. He spun on Margaret, his face purple. “Then you tell him! Control your children before they get the rest of us slaughtered!”

“I can’t control them anymore,” Margaret said. She sounded hollow, completely drained. “They stopped listening to me the day Finn died.”

Carlyle rubbed his bruised neck. “Alfred is safe. He’s with Catherine.”  Carlyle actually wasn’t so sure that Catherine and Alfred were in the safest place right now, but he didn’t want to further upset Brian.  “He’s decided to stay up in the caves because he was afraid you would still be angry at him.”

“So is that what he’s thinking,” Brian said angrily.  “He thinks if he just stays up there in the caves then he won’t have to worry about his father? I’ll go up there myself and drag him down by his hair.”

“Brian, no,” said Margaret, and again Margaret’s voice sounded tired.  “Look outside. The sun is almost down now.  You can’t make it up there and back before dark.”

Brian glared at the doorway, the reality of the mountain rules settling over him. 

“He’s safe for the night,” Carlyle repeated.  “Catherine’s with him.  She can protect him.”

“Catherine!” Brian spat the name like venom. “I’m more terrified of that girl than I am of the bandits. Is she going to burn him alive like she did the others?” 

“She won’t harm him,” said Margaret.  “She’s not like that.”

Brian shook his head in bewilderment.  “I don’t understand any of this,” he said.  “I’m going back home.”  He turned his head and addressed Margaret.  “I’ll be back in the morning,” he said, and he left.

Carlyle came into the house, and helped his mother replace the door, and put the bolts back in place.  

Then, Carlyle turned at last to Margaret.

“Are you alright, Mother?” Carlyle asked.

“No, of course not,” Margaret said walking to the back of the cave.  “I’ve been sick to death with worry all day.  For fifteen years, your father and I have endured all kinds of hardship to keep you two safe on this mountain.  And now you are deliberately putting your lives at risk.”

“But our lives were always at risk,” Carlyle said.  “Father’s death proved that.  Father thought we could just keep to ourselves and the robbers would leave us alone.  But he was wrong.  The robbers attacked us anyway.  Sitting still doesn't make us safe. Striking first does.”

Margaret let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to rattle her old frame.  “I see that I cannot stop you,” she said.  She walked over and took Carlyle’s hand in hers.  He looked down, struck by how frail and wrinkled her skin looked against his own.   “I only ask one thing.”

“What?”

“You and Catherine shouldn’t make yourselves the leaders.  Let the others lead.”

Carlyle frowned. “The others wouldn’t have done anything unless I convinced them.”

“But now they’re doing something.”

“They still need to be told what to do.”

“Then let Shawn do it,” Margaret pleaded, her grip tightening. “He’s the natural choice. The others love him. He’s popular.”

“He is,” Carlyle admitted. “But—”

“Let him be the leader.  You and Catherine can still tell him what to do in secret, but in front of all the others, you can let him give the orders.”

“But why?” Carlyle asked.

“Because,” Margaret threw her hands up, tears of pure exasperation welling in her eyes. “Because it’s what I want.  Why do you two always have to argue about everything?”

“But I don’t understand,” Carlyle said.

“It’s dangerous to be seen as the leader of anything,” Margaret said.  “You make yourself a target.”

“I don’t mind,” said Carlyle.

“Have you no care for me?” Margaret wailed.

“But it’s not fair to Shawn then,” Carlyle said.  “If being the leader is dangerous, then why put Shawn in danger?”

“Listen to me,” said Margaret.  “Your time has not yet come.  When the time comes, you will become a leader.  But you’re still too young.”

“I’m as old as Shawn is.”

Margaret burst into tears.  Carlyle had never seen his mother cry like this before.  Margaret and Finn had always been so strong.  He didn’t know what to say.  He simply waited until she had stopped crying, and when she had dried her tears, he helped her into bed.

Chapter 14: The Robbers are Subdued (Revised)

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[This is a revision of this earlier post and contains some revisions inspired by the Gemini Storybook version and two Gemini Chats: here and here.] 

Chapter 14: The Robbers are Subdued

The pale light of dawn had just begun to creep over the mountain, but it brought no warmth. Near the summit, the air was particularly thin and biting, carrying a frost that seemed to settle in the marrow of the bone.

Fraisale and Blocare huddled on two weathered tree stumps, their hands outstretched toward a flickering fire. As the designated lookouts, it was their job to ensure the cave entrances remained undisturbed while the rest of the gang slept off the previous night's haul. At the moment, however, the chill and their own curiosity were far more pressing than their duty. They were more concerned with their conversation than with their lookout.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Fraisale muttered, his breath hitching in the cold. “Who ever heard of a girl who can control wolves?”

“She’s not a girl,” Blocare countered, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames. “She’s a witch.”

“Is she, though?” Fraisale leaned in. “We know every witch on this mountain. We’ve seen them; we’ve made our pacts. We don't touch their trinkets, and they leave us alive. But this one? No one has ever seen her among their circles.”

“Maybe she’s new.”

“But you heard what Cap said.  He said she wasn’t living with the witches.  He said she was part of the family that they robbed.” 

“Well then maybe—” Blocare stopped abruptly, his head cocking to the side like a startled hound. “Listen!”

Fraisale froze, straining his ears. The mountain was vast and filled with a labyrinth of five caves that formed a natural, defensive ring around their clearing. Usually, the wind whistling through the crevices was the only sound, but now, a heavy silence had fallen.

“Did you hear something?” asked Blocare.

“I don’t think so,” Fraisale said, though his hand drifted instinctively toward the hilt of his blade.

“I thought I heard something,” Blocare said.

Fraisale looked around.  “I don’t see anything,” he said.

“There’s something out there,” Blocare insisted, peering into the dense stand of pines that bordered the clearing. “In the trees.”

“Well, have a look then,” Fraisale snapped, trying to shake off the unease. “We are supposed to be keeping watch, after all.”

Blocare stood, his silhouette dark against the gray morning, and vanished into the shadows of the timber. Fraisale remained by the fire, his gaze darting between the cave entrances. To his left were the two smaller storage caves; to his right a third cave entrance; and directly behind him, the large, vine-draped mouth of the main treasury.  And a fifth cave was slightly further down the mountain, and faced opposite the big cave.

All five of these caves formed a little ring, and in that ring was a rather large clearing area, free from trees and bushes, where the robbers gathered and held meetings.

And in the very center of the ring was the fire pit, which is where Fraisale sat now.

Fraisale kept sitting on the tree trump, and waited for Blocare to re-emerge from the trees.  But Blocare did not come back.

“Now what do you suppose is keeping him?” Fraisale muttered to himself.

“Could be any number of things, I suppose,” a voice replied.

Fraisale nearly jumped up in surprise. He spun around, sword half-drawn, only to find a raven perched on the very log Blocare had just vacated. It watched him with a single, glittering eye. “What are you doing here?” Fraisale demanded. 

“I beg your pardon,” the raven replied, puffing out her iridescent chest feathers in an offended manner. “We ravens live on this mountain as well, you know. And you ought to know that birds come and go as they please.”

“Yes, well usually birds keep to themselves, and don’t bother people by talking to them,” Fraisale spat.

“Well, if you didn’t want me to talk to you, then you shouldn’t have asked me a question,” the bird replied tartly.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Fraisale snapped.  Fraisale’s eyes darted upward as two more dark shapes cut through the mist. “Who are they?”

“They are my brothers, Baldrick and Balsamer.  Oh, and my name is Bettina, by the way.”

“And what are they doing?”

“Keeping watch.”

“Keeping watch for what?” Fraisale’s voice rose in agitation.  “This is our camp.”

“Keeping watch for the wolves,” Bettina replied coolly.

As if on cue, three massive wolves stepped from the treeline. Their fur was matted with frost, and their low, rhythmic growls vibrated in Fraisale's chest.

Fraisale jumped to his feet, finally clearing his sword from its sheath.

“I doubt that sword will do you much good,” Bettina chirped, tilting her head.  “Your best bet is just to run for it.”

Fraisale looked at the raven in bewilderment.  Who was this bird, and why was she giving him advice?  But then the snarling from the wolves quickly refocused Fraisale on the threat at hand.  Fraisale was momentarily paralyzed as he waited to see what the wolves would do.  But then when they started running towards him, he dropped his sword and ran into the trees as fast as he could. 

Once he entered into the trees, Fraisale kept running.  He didn’t dare turn around to see if the wolves were still behind him.  He just ran as fast as he could down the mountain slope.  He ran blindly, branches clawing at his tunic like skeletal hands. He didn't dare turn around to see if the wolves were snapping at his heels; he simply threw himself down the mountain slope, his boots skidding on loose shale.

Suddenly, the world vanished from beneath him.

A thin, taut rope had been tied between two trees, and caught him across the shins.  Fraisale hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, the air driven from his lungs in a sharp gasp. Before he could even realize he'd been tripped, the shadows of the forest seemed to coalesce into solid forms.

Six teenagers swarmed over him, pinning him to the dirt. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but a thick wad of cloth was stuffed into his jaws, muffling the sound into a pathetic grunt.

Rough hemp rope was coiled around his wrists and ankles, cinched tight until it bit into his skin. Once he was completely immobilized, they dragged him through the underbrush and plopped him down like a sack of grain.

Fraisale rolled his eyes to the side and found himself staring into the wide, terrified eyes of Blocare, who was already bound and gagged right next to him.

***********

Alfred sprinted low across the brush, dropping beside Catherine. “We’ve bagged the second lookout,” he breathed, catching his breath.

Before Catherine could answer, a rush of dark wings sliced through the canopy. Bettina the raven landed on her shoulder.  “That’s both of them,” the bird rasped. “No one else is keeping watch.”

“And their weapons?” asked Catherine.

“They keep their weapons by the cave entrance for the most part,” said Bettina.  “A few of them sleep with knives or daggers by their side, but all the big weapons—the broadswords and axes—are all stacked at the entrance are at the entrance to the cave.”

Catherine smiled. “Excellent.”

“Right, you know what to do,” Shawn whispered to everyone in the group.  “Go out and collect all the weapons.  And quietly.  Don’t wake up any of the robbers.” 

The teenagers stepped out from the trees and silently flowed through the hideout.  They moved like ghosts toward the gaping stone mouths of the caves, carefully lifting heavy iron axes and bundles of arrows, carrying them back into the safety of the treeline.

“Now,” Catherine murmured, turning to Carlyle, “let’s wake our hosts.”

Carlyle gave a nod, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

Catherine turned to look at her shoulder.  “You may begin, Bettina.”

With a sharp launch, the raven soared into the grey dawn sky, circling the cavernous peaks with a piercing, jagged caw. Moments later, her brothers, Baldrick and Balsamer, rose to join her. The sky filled with a chorus of birds cawing in the sky.

Below, the caves stirred. Muffled curses echoed off the stone.

“What’s that bloody racket!”

“Someone shoot those damn birds!”

“Hey—where are my arrows? Where’s my bow?”

“Fraisale! Blocare! Where the hell are the lookouts?”

The robbers began stumbling out of their caves, still stupid with sleep.  Some of them were beginning to realize their weapons were gone.

Catherine then turned to the wolves.  “Remember,” she said, “today you are not to kill any of them unless absolutely necessary.  You may frighten them, but do not kill them.”

The wolves growled their acknowledgement.  Then they bounded up into the clearing and started barking furiously.  The robbers started yelling in fear.

Some of the robbers wanted to run away, but the wolves had the clearing surrounded, and would not let any of the robbers out.  A few of the robbers, who still had daggers or knives on their bodies, took out their weapons, but it was obvious that a single knife would do little good against a full grown wolf.

Catherine emerged from the trees.  “Put down your knives, and you will live,” she said, her voice ringing over the chaos.  Most of the robbers immediately obeyed her, and the air sounded with the clatter of iron on stone as daggers were tossed away.

Carlyle marched out behind her, flanked by the rest of their forces. Lucinda stood with her spear poised; Gabrielle had her bow drawn to the cheek, an arrow notched and aimed at the crowd. The rest held their swords and clubs at the ready.

“Do you surrender?” Catherine asked.

A rugged man near the front spat on the ground, though his eyes darted nervously to a snarling wolf inches from his thigh. “What do you want from us?”

“I want your surrender,” said Catherine.  “I want you to acknowledge that we have beaten you, and that you have lost.  You agree not to fight us anymore, and in return we will show you mercy.  Do you surrender?”

The wolves barked threateningly, and there was then a clamor of desperate voices shouting their submission.

“Put your hands on your head,” Carlyle ordered, stepping forward. “All of you, out of the caves and onto the dirt. Sit!”

They complied, sluggish at first, until a low growl from the pack snapped them into motion. Soon, nearly two hundred robbers were packed into the clearing like herded sheep. Alfred, Paul, and Marcus swept the five caves, checking every dark recess to ensure no one was hiding. The rest of the group kept their weapons pointed at the robbers the whole time to make sure they didn’t try anything.  And the wolves growled at any robber who made any sudden movement.

“The caves are all clear,” Marcus said finally, after emerging from the fifth cave.  “We’ve got them all.”

“And that’s not all,” Alfred added, a wry grin on his face.  “They’ve been busy.  They’ve got a lot of stuff hidden in these caves.  The back tunnels are bursting with gold, jewelry, winter stores, fine clothes, and casks of wine.”

“It must be nice to live so richly,” said Carlyle bitterly.

“The mountain folk could survive three winters on this,” Paul muttered.

“They shall have it,” Carlyle promised.

Catherine walked to the edge of the tightly packed crowd. “Who commands this rabble? Who is the robber king?”

Eyes shifted instantly toward a heavy-set, middle-aged man in the center. “Bring him out,” Catherine said.

Lucas and Kevin hauled the man to his feet by his collar, dragging him through the dirt to throw him down before Catherine and Carlyle. He looked to be about forty, his face leathery and lined from a hard life in the elements, but his frame was still thick with muscle.

“Kneel,” Catherine commanded.

The man looked at Catherine sullenly. He looked at the circle of drawn bows, the glittering spears, and the panting wolves.  And then he slowly lowered himself down to his knees.

“Are you the one that they call the robber king?” asked Catherine.

“I am,” he said.

“You are king no more,” Carlyle said.  “We are now the leaders of the robbers.”

The robber king sneered.  “If they will follow you,” he said.

“They will follow us,” Catherine said.

“What is your name?” asked Carlyle.

“My name is Verus.”

“Why did you rob and kill our father, Verus?” Carlyle asked. 

“I did not,” said the robber king.  “That was my men.  I was not there.  The king of the robbers never goes out on the expeditions himself.”

“Why did your men do it, then?” Catherine asked.  “He had almost nothing worth stealing.  Just the supplies for the winter that he got from the forest.  Usually you robbers leave the mountain folk alone.”

“We used to,” said Verus.  “But it’s gotten more difficult lately.  We’ve had to pay a lot more out.”

“What do you mean pay a lot more out?” asked Carlyle.

Verus let out a bitter laugh. “Do you think the monsters who live on this mountain would leave us in peace?” he asked.  “The ogres demand gold just to let us sleep at night. The vampires want diamonds and jewelry, or they take my men as cattle. The Minotaur demands half our food. We have to pay the toll constantly just to keep our throats from being slit in the dark!  But we have no choice, because we are all wanted men in the forest.  We’d be hung if the forest people caught us down there.” He shook his head. “Lately, the monsters are getting greedier and demanding more.  So we’ve had to keep paying more.  But too many trips down to the forest are dangerous with the royal guards patrolling, so my men got desperate. They started hitting the mountain folk.”

“But why did they have to kill our father,” said Catherine.  “Wasn’t it enough to rob him?”

“The forest folk we can rob and then run away from,” said Verus.  “But we live on the same mountain with the mountain folk.  And most of the mountain folk are crazy.  It’s not usually a good idea to leave them alive after you’ve robbed them.  They might try to get their revenge, or get their stuff back. It is cleaner to leave no witnesses.”

“What foolish thinking,” said Carlyle.  “You see now where that thinking got you? Killing the mountain folk only makes their families angrier.”

Carlyle started to draw his sword out, but Catherine held out her hand and stopped him.  Then she looked down at the kneeling king.  “We should punish you,” she said.  “But instead, we will reward you.  You will find yourself better off under us than you were before.  We will protect you from the ogres and the vampires and the minotaur.  You will finally have peace and security in these mountains.”

Verus scoffed.  “How can you possibly protect us against the monsters?”

“We won’t do it alone,” said Catherine.  “You will help us of course.”

“You expect us to fight the ogres?  You’re crazy!” Verus exclaimed.

“You can join us, or you can die,” Carlyle said, and he fingered his sword again.

“It strikes me, Verus,” said Catherine, “that you are the crazy one.  What does it profit you to spend all your time robbing, if you have to give everything you steal to the ogres and the vampires?  The whole point of robbing is that it’s supposed to be profitable.  If you’re not going to be any better off than the other mountain folk, then you may as well just join the woodcutters, and make an honest living.  But think how rich you will become if you don’t have to share your treasures with the monsters.”

“Of course, you’ll have to share some of your plunder with the mountain folk,” said Carlyle.

“Of course,” said Catherine.  “But don’t worry about that.  The mountain folk are simple people.  They won’t demand your gold or diamonds, like the monsters do.  If you simply give them a bit of your food, and maybe some of your warm clothes, they’ll be satisfied.  You’ll be able to keep all the really good stuff for yourself.  Oh, and I almost forgot. We must make sure that my wolves are well taken care of as well.  But that’s even easier.  The wolves don’t need clothes, and they generally hunt their own food.  But they could use somewhere warm to sleep.  These mountains can get so cold and windy at night.  I’m sure you could make room for them in your caves.”

“We can,” said Verus.  And here, Carlyle thought he could see the robber king smiling slightly.  “The caves are very deep.  We have room for many more.”

“Excellent,” said Catherine, adjusting her cloak against the morning chill.  “Because we also will be staying in the caves with you from now on.”

Chapter 13: The Meetings (Revised)

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[This is a revision of this earlier post and contains some revisions inspired by the Gemini Storybook version and two Gemini Chats: here and here.]

Chapter 13: The Meetings

Catherine sat cross legged on the frozen earth.  Baldrick the raven, son of Branoc, sat on her left shoulder.  Balsamer, another son of Branoc, sat on Catherine’s right shoulder.  Branoc had a large family.

The wolves had come, but they were not happy.

“The ravens told us that you sought us again,” said the lead wolf, his fur bristling.

“Why so angry?” Catherine asked.  “Did you not eat well today?”

“We are hunters, not hounds,” the wolf snarled.  Behind him, a dozen throats joined in a rhythmic, rolling growl.  “And we are capable of finding our own food.  We have aided you once, but we are not your servants.  How many more times will you summon us?”

Catherine leaned forward slightly. “There is much work to be done in these mountains,” she said.  “And I will have need of faithful helpers.”

“We are no one’s helpers,” The lead wolf’s lip curled, revealing ivory fangs.  Once again, all the other wolves growled their agreement.  

There was even now a part inside Catherine that was afraid.  But Catherine knew that to show any fear in front of the wolves would be fatal.  If she wished to come out of this alive, she must project strength.  “Do not try my patience,” said Catherine.  “I will have need of you in the coming days.  You will get my summons from the ravens.  We have many more battles to fight, and I require you to be ready.”

“We fear your power,” said the lead wolf, “but we will not be turned into slaves without a fight.  If you wish to rule us, then you will have to fight for that privilege.”  Without another word, the wolf lunged at her.

The world slowed to a crawl. Before Catherine’s mind could even register the gray blur of his leap—before his jaws could snap shut over her face—her hand flashed out with a speed she didn’t know she had. Her fingers locked around the wolf’s throat mid-air.  The wolf was almost as big as she was, and the impact of his jump knocked her to the ground, but Catherine kept her fingers tight on his neck, and her outstretched arm held the snarling animal at bay.  All this happened without Catherine even realizing what she was doing.  It was as if her hands and arms had moved by themselves.  In fact, Catherine herself only slowly became aware of what had just happened once she was already on the ground.

But Catherine also knew that by herself, she would not have been quick enough to catch the wolf, nor strong enough to hold him. She knew, with a cold shiver of clarity, that she wasn't the one moving.  Something had taken control of her body.  It was the familiar energy again.  It lived inside her, and yet it was not her.  It was some foreign intruder, a guest made of fire that seemed to live in the marrow of her bones.  And then, that energy flowed through her arm, into her hand, from her hand and into the wolf’s body. 

The wolf’s snarl died instantly. He yelped, then broke into a high-pitched, pitiful howl of pure agony. Catherine watched, detached and horrified, as the smell of singed fur rose in a bitter cloud. She was burning him from the inside out, just as she had done to Zed.

She hadn't intended to kill him, but the energy didn't care for intentions. It felt right. A wave of dark euphoria washed over her, a predatory rush that made her heart hammer against her ribs. She didn't want to stop; she wanted to feel the life fade under her palm.

No, her reason finally screamed through the fog of heat. Stop.

First of all, she had no reason to revenge herself on the wolves.  Unlike Zed, the wolves were not her enemies—not yet. But if she slaughtered one of them now before the others, she would surely make them into enemies.  She needed to scare them, but not seriously harm them. 

Reluctantly, Catherine fought to regain control over herself.  The energy could be controlled if she just tried hard enough.  With a guttural snarl of her own, Catherine fought the intruder. She visualized the fire retreating, dragging the energy back into her chest by sheer force of will.

As soon as Catherine released her grip, the lead wolf scrambled backward, his movements frantic and undignified. He fled down the mountainside, yelping with his tail tucked tight against his belly, his pride as scorched as his throat.

The remaining wolves erupted into a chaos of barking and defensive growls. Catherine picked herself up from the ground, and stood up, her legs steady and her eyes glowing with a lingering, unnatural light.

“Who’s next?” she demanded, her voice echoing off the granite crags. “Fight me if you dare!”

The pack continued to snarl, but they began to drift backward. Not one of them crossed the invisible line she had drawn in the dirt.

Catherine sat back down, the sudden silence heavy in her ears. Baldrick and Balsamer, who had fluttered into the safety of the pines during the fray, returned to her shoulders with a soft rustle of feathers.

“Do not be upset,” Catherine said to the remaining wolves, her voice regaining its calm, chilling edge. “As I told you before, I will demand no unpleasant duties. You were born to hunt; you like to attack. I am simply giving you a direction. You will have plenty of blood in the days to come—but only the blood I choose.”

**********************************************************

It was late in the afternoon now. The shadows were stretching long and jagged across the mountain slope, bleeding into the valleys below. The sun hung low, a bruised orange against the peaks. The group sat in a tense circle; some perched on lichen-covered boulders, others huddled on the cold, hard earth, pulling their cloaks tight against the rising mountain chill.

Carlyle alone remained standing. He stood at the head of the circle, his silhouette sharp against the fading sky, his hands moving with restless energy as he tried to pull them into his vision.

Catherine sat just outside the circle, listening to the discussion with an expression of contempt on her face.  On her shoulders, the ravens Baldrick and Balsamer sat like twin gargoyles, their black feathers ruffling in the wind.

Paul shifted on his rock, his voice thin. “I just—I don’t understand what you want,” he said, shaking his head. “We defeated the robbers. We saved your home. And we lived to talk about it. Isn’t that enough? Shouldn’t we quit while we’re ahead?”

“But we’re not ahead,” Carlyle countered, his voice echoing off the rock face.  “We’re right back where we started from.  What have we gained from that fight?  The robbers are still alive to terrorize the mountain.”

“That’s the life of the mountain folk,” said Marcus, kicking a loose stone into the darkness.  “It always has been.  Life up here is dangerous.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” said Carlyle.  “We are terrorized because we let ourselves be terrorized.  But we could fight back.  What if we were to eliminate the robbers completely?”

“You mean kill every last one of them?” asked Molly.

“Why not?” Carlyle stepped into the center of the circle. “Kill them or force them off this mountain.  We beat them once already. We can do it again.  Why shouldn’t we?  Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to walk around the mountain without worrying about being attacked?”  

“But you can’t make these mountains safe by just getting rid of the robbers,” Gabrielle interjected.  “The robbers are the least of our problems.  What about the goblins, and the werewolves, and the vampires and the ogres, and everything else?”

“Yes, but listen,” said Carlyle, and he paused to make sure everyone in the group was focusing on him, “What if we were to get rid of all of them?  We don’t have to stop at just the robbers.  We could fight against all the creatures on this mountain, and finally make it safe.  Imagine, no more cowering in our homes every night! No more goblins.  No more werewolves, vampires or ogres. We make these mountains ours. Completely.”

“You’re crazy,” said Lucas with a harsh laugh.  “You’d never be able to kill all the monsters on these mountains.”

“Why can't we?” Carlyle demanded. He drew the heavy blade—Finn’s old sword—and held it up. The dying sunlight glinted off the steel. “We’ve all held the door against them. We’ve all seen them retreat into the woods. My father killed ogres and werewolves with this very steel.”

“Standing in your doorway and keeping the monsters out is one thing,” said Marcus.  “Fighting them in the open is different.”

“Your father was lucky,” said Molly.  “But we all know plenty of people who fought the monsters and died.  And remember Jack?”

“Of course I do,” said Carlyle.  “But Jack died because he wandered off by himself.  If we all stick together, if we fight together and protect each other’s backs, we can win.”

“My father says that you’d be crazy to trust the mountain folk to protect you in a fight,” said Lucas.  “He says that you can never trust the mountain folk.”

“My father always said the same thing,” said Carlyle.  “But I’m not talking about our parents.  I’m talking about us.  Maybe the older generation on the mountain is untrustworthy.  Maybe it’s true what they say--maybe the mountain folk are mostly criminals who came up here from the forest.  But that’s not us.  We didn’t flee to the mountains, we were born on the mountains.  We all grew up here together.  We trust each other.  We’ve already proved we can fight together, haven't we?”

“Yes, we did,” Paul answered.  “But then we had a reason to fight.”

“We still do,” said Carlyle.

Shawn looked up, his face grim.  “What exactly is the plan, Carlyle? Do you want us to march up into the caves and fight the robbers where they live?”

“Yes,” said Carlyle.

“And then?” Shawn asked.

“And then,” said Carlyle, “once we’ve killed all the robbers, then we get rid of the bears.  And then the wolves.  And then the goblins.  And then--.”

“You fool!”

The words crackled like a whip. Catherine didn't move from her spot, but the silence that followed was absolute. Carlyle stood frozen, his sentence hanging unfinished in the cold air.

“You complete and utter fool,” Catherine repeated. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that Carlyle’s shouting lacked.

Carlyle was momentarily taken aback by Catherine’s anger.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“We don’t need to get rid of the wolves,” Catherine said.  “We can control the wolves.”

“Yes,” Carlyle said.  “I know, we all saw what you did this afternoon.  But--.”

“And we don’t need to kill the robbers either,” said Catherine.  “Why kill them when we can control them?”

“Because they killed father,” Carlyle responded immediately.

“I know,” said Catherine firmly, standing up slowly..  “But we’ve already avenged him.  We’ve avenged him ten-fold now.”

“It’s not enough,” said Carlyle.

“It’s enough,” Catherine said firmly.  “You need to decide what you want.  Do you want a blood feud?  Or do you want to make these mountains safe?”

“We can have both,” Carlyle insisted.

“We cannot,” Catherine stepped toward him, her silhouette merging with the deepening shadows.  “Not by ourselves.  If you want to make these mountains safe, you’re going to need to realize who your potential allies are.  The ogres cannot be reasoned with.  They must be destroyed.  The goblins cannot be reasoned with.  They must be dealt with.  But the robbers are human.  They fear. They hunger. They can be reasoned with.  They can be dealt with.  They can be controlled.  And if you can control them, then you can use them to help us fight the real monsters on this mountain.”

“How will you control them?” asked Carlyle.

“We need to subdue them without killing them,” Catherine responded.

“And how are you going to do that?” asked Shawn.

“We need them to surrender to us.  To do that, we’ll have to overwhelm them.  We don’t have the numbers to overwhelm them, but we could surprise them, if we knew where their main hideouts were, and if we knew when they were least prepared.  And fortunately,” Catherine stroked the feathers of Baldrick, “I have a way to get information.”