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.”

Chapter 12: The Battle on the Mountainside (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 12: The Battle on the Mountainside

Carlyle and Alfred sat on the frozen earth outside the cave mouth that had once been a home. Carlyle’s focus was narrow, locked on the length of steel in his lap—Finn’s sword. Nearby, Alfred gripped the handle of a heavy woodsman’s axe, his knuckles white against the dark wood.

The afternoon was unnervingly still. The snow was falling more heavily now than before, falling in fat, lazy flakes, covering the ground in a white blanket, and seeming to muffle all other sounds except that of Carlyle’s scrubbing. 

Carlyle was trying to clean the blood off of Finn’s sword.  He had an old coarse burlap cloth in his hand, but no soap or water.  Nevertheless, he scrubbed at the sword. The silent air was filled only by the rhythmic scritch-scritch of Carlyle’s work.  Some of the blood flaked away like dead skin, revealing the cold glimmer of the blade beneath.

Alfred was supposed to be keeping a lookout, but he kept looking over to watch Carlyle’s progress.  After a while, Alfred finally spoke up.  “When do you think the robbers will come?

“I don’t know,” said Carlyle, not looking up from the sword.

Alfred nodded and was silent for a bit longer.  He went back to keeping a look out, and scanning across the mountainside.  Then, after about a minute, he asked, “How many of them do you think there will be?”

“I don’t know,” said Carlyle.  “I think they’ll come with at least twenty, but it could be more.”

“If everyone from the group arrives, if they actually come, there will be twelve,” said Alfred.  “Counting me and you of course.  Oh, and plus Catherine.  That’ll make thirteen.  Where is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Carlyle.  “She must have gone off with our parents to your home.”

“It’s strange that she’s not here with us,” Alfred said.

“You know what she’s like,” Carlyle said.  “She always wants to do her own thing.”  

Alfred nodded again.  He brushed some of the falling snow off of his face.  “You saw what she did this morning, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t see much,” he said.  “I was busy fighting.”

“You must have seen it though,” Alfred said.

Carlyle stopped scrubbing the sword briefly.  He stared at the blade, his reflection distorted in the semi-polished steel. “I saw enough,” he said.

“It’s just like what she did to me,” Alfred said.

“Maybe,” Carlyle said.

“What do you think is going on with her?” asked Alfred.

“I don’t know,” Carlyle said.  

A sharp, grating caw echoed from the grey sky. Both boys looked up as a raven spiraled down, its black feathers iridescent against the falling white. It landed a few feet away, hopping closer with an unsettling, intelligent gait. It tilted its head this way and that, and appeared to be studying them carefully.  

“Are you Catherine’s brother?” the bird asked. Its voice sounded like dry leaves skittering over stone.

Carlyle exchanged glances with Alfred, and then looked back at the Raven.  “I am,” he said.  

“Pleased to meet you,” the Raven said, bowing his head slightly.  “My name is Baldrick.  I am one of the sons of Branoc.”  The raven stretched his wings out.  “I must go now and tell my father that I’ve found you here.”

“Why?” asked Carlyle.  

But the raven did not wait for an answer.  It fluttered its wings, and flew away.

Carlyle and Alfred watched as the raven became a black smudge disappearing into the treeline.  Then Alfred turned and looked at Carlyle.  “It’s been a very strange day,” he said.

“It has,” Carlyle agreed.

Then another voice sounded from down the mountain slope.  “There you are!” Margaret came scrambling up the rocky path, her breath coming in ragged gasps, with Brian following close behind. “What are you doing?” she cried, reaching Carlyle and grabbing his shoulder. “You have to leave!”

“This is our home, Mother,” Carlyle said.

“But it’s not safe,” she said.  “The robbers are coming.  You know that.”

Carlyle stood up and held up Finn’s sword, the steel catching the dim afternoon light..  “When they come, we’ll fight them.”

“You can’t fight them with just one sword, boy,” Brian said.  “Your father knew that.”

“You can’t reason with them either,” Carlyle said.  “You know that.”

Alfred, who had returned his gaze to the mountain slope, suddenly stiffened. “Carlyle. Look.”  High above them, descending down from the top of the mountain, there was a large group of  men.  “Here they come,” Alfred said.  

There must be fifty of them,” said Margaret, her face ashen.

Carlyle and Alfred quickly stood up.  Carlyle held his sword firmly.

One of the men at the front of the pack—the one Carlyle had wounded earlier that day—stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth. “I see you still have the old man’s steel, boy! Do you think it will save you from all of us?”

Carlyle felt a hot surge of adrenaline. He stepped forward and brandished the sword high. “You seem much braver with fifty friends at your back! Come down and see if my steel has grown any softer!”

“Insolent pup!” the robber roared.  “I’ll have your head on that blade by sundown!”

Margaret tugged desperately at Carlyle’s arm, her eyes swimming with tears. “I’m begging you. Run. Stop this nonsense and run away.  There’s still time to run away.  You can’t fight fifty of them by yourself.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Alfred shouted, a grin breaking across his face. “Look!”

Alfred pointed across the mountain slope.  Coming into view was Shawn, who came running from across the mountainside, carrying his father’s sword.  Behind him, Lucinda appeared, a spear in each hand and a look of grim determination on her face.  And then came Gabrielle, with a boy and a quiver of arrows on her back.  And next came Lucas and Kevin, each carrying huge clubs, and Paul and Marcus, with their swords drawn, and Stella carrying a battle ax, followed by Molly, who had a giant wooden staff, and Abby who brought her slingshot with her.

Without a word, they all planted themselves behind Carlyle.

Carlyle looked back at the group and smiled.  He knew that even with the twelve of them, it was still a suicidal battle.  But at least he had not been wrong about the loyalty of his friends.

Carlyle turned back to Margaret.  “Mother, I will fight here,” he said.  “If I die, I die.  But I will not run from the men who murdered my father.  You are too old for this battle.  Go inside the house quickly, and shut the door.  Don’t come out again until it’s safe.”  Carlyle looked over at Brian.  “Go with her and keep her safe,” he said.

Brian turned to Alfred.  “Come on, boy,” he said.  “Come with us.”

“I’m staying with Carlyle,” Alfred replied.  

Brian grabbed Alfred’s arm, trying to haul him toward the cave. “Come on, son. Don’t be a fool.”

“I said I’m staying,” Alfred said, planting his feet.

When Brian tried to pull harder, the group surged. Shawn and Paul stepped in, anchoring Alfred, while Lucas and Kevin firmly pried Brian’s fingers away.

Brian’s face turned a deep, furious red.  “You ungrateful whelp!” he spat out at his son.  “Is this how you repay me for raising you all those years?  Are you going to throw your life away like this? I raised you to survive, not to throw your life into a ditch for a lost cause!”

“Don’t be angry,” said Carlyle.  “Would you have him run away, and leave his friend behind?”

Brian’s cheeks reddened at Carlyle’s insult.  His eyes glared at Carlyle, but his voice stayed calm.  “I would,” he said.  “If it would save his life.”

“Alfred’s doing the honorable thing,” Carlyle replied.

“You fool!” Brian spat out.  “There’s no honor among the mountain folk.  People who struggle to survive don’t worry about honor.”

“There isn’t time to argue, father,” Alfred said.  “You must either join us, or go to safety now.”

Brian looked back at Carlyle.  “You are a child of evil,” he said, his voice seething with anger.  “It’s not enough that you have to throw your own life away, you have to take everyone else with you as well.  Very well.  Since I cannot let my son go into the fight without me, I will join in the fight with him.  And you will be the death of all of us.”

The robbers began running down the mountain.  Carlyle’s friends braced for battle.  There was very little time left.  “Mother, quickly,” Carlyle said.  “Get in the house.”  

“What do I care now for my own wretched life!” Margaret wailed.  “I did not spend fourteen long years on these mountains only to allow you to throw your life away in some pointless battle. If you’re determined to die, then I will also die.”

“Mother, please!” Carlyle yelled in anguish.  But the time for arguing had  vanished. The first wave of robbers were almost upon them now.

As the robbers neared the group, Lucinda stepped forward and readied her spears.  She balanced one in her hand, ready to throw.  Gabrielle reached into a quiver, took out an arrow, fitted it to the bowstring, and pulled back.  And Abby put a rock into her slingshot.

“Steady,” Shawn shouted.  “Don’t let them scare you.  Wait for your chance.”

There was a cawing sound in the air.  Carlyle looked up, and saw what looked like three different Ravens flying above.  The ravens seemed to be watching everything intently.  

“Now!” yelled Shawn.  Lucinda let out a war cry, leapt forward, and threw her first spear.  It whistled through the air to catch a robber in the chest. Gabrielle’s arrow followed, finding a throat. A stone from Abby’s sling cracked against a robber’s temple.

Then the lines collided. 

It was a blur of screaming and steel. Carlyle ran forward with his sword, and swung wildly.  The robbers frantically dodged his sword or tried to block it.  Shawn also fought with his sword, and he got into a duel with one of the robbers. Lucas swung his huge club and managed to hit a robber on the side of the head and knock him over.  Molly swung her wooden staff from side to side and kept the robbers at bay.

Alfred swung his ax and hit a robber on this chin with it.  Another robber tried to run Alfred through with his sword, but Brian was watching out for his son, and tackled this robber to the ground, where the two of them then continued wrestling and fighting on the ground.  

It was chaos and fighting everywhere.  Even Margaret, old and unarmed though she was, had started grappling with one of the robbers.  So far, Carlyle and his friends were keeping the robbers at bay.  But as the robbers kept surging forward, everyone could see that the thirteen of them would soon be overwhelmed by the fifty.

Then, a shrill sounding whistle pierced the air.  Some of the combatants turned their heads briefly to see Catherine walking up the mountain slope.  She was whistling that old tune that Finn used to whistle.  Her hands were glowing.  

“That’s the witch!” one of the robbers yelled to the others.  “Kill her!”

But then, from somewhere down the mountain slope, the sound of a wolf howling came in answer to Catherine’s whistling. This was followed by several more howls.  The howling grew more and more, until it sounded like a whole chorus of howls.

And then, from down the mountain, about fifty wolves came running up the mountainside.  

At the sight of this huge pack of wolves, everyone started to run.  But then, it became apparent that Catherine was directing the wolves.  She pointed to the robbers, and the wolves ran right past Carlyle, Alfred and the rest of the group, and attacked only the robbers.  They sank their teeth into the robbers’ legs and arms.  They jumped up and went straight for the throat.  The robbers tried to fight back with their clubs and swords and axes, but when a snarling wolf is leaping straight at you, it is a hard thing to defend yourself against, even with a weapon.  Pretty soon, the whole group of robbers was put to flight.  The wolves chased them up the mountainside.

Shawn, exhausted from the fight, came over next to Carlyle.  “I don’t believe it,” he said, wiping a smear of blood from his forehead. “We lived through it after all.”

Carlyle surveyed the scene.  There were several dead robbers strewn across the rocky slopes of the mountainside.  But all the members of the group were still standing.  Lucas, Kevin, Marcus, Paul, Shawn,Stella, Gabrielle, Lucinda, Molly and Abby, they were all still alive, and standing.  Battered, bruised, but standing.  Brian and Margaret had also survived his fight.

It was Alfred who ran over to Catherine first.  “How did you do that?” he asked.  “How did you control the wolves?”

“They owed me a favor,” Catherine replied.  “Plus, I told them they could eat whatever they killed.”

Some of the group seemed a little repulsed by this comment, but Catherine simply surveyed the mountainside.  She turned to Carlyle.  “There are ten dead here on the slopes, and we put the rest to flight,” she said.  “Who knows how many the wolves will take before they’re done.  Father’s death has been avenged today.”

Carlyle looked out over the mountains, his grip finally loosening on the sword.  “It’s a good start ,” he answered.  “But we’re not done yet.  There are many more robbers still left in these mountains.”