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 2 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.”

Chapter 11: Assistance is Obtained (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 11: Assistance is Obtained

Carlyle, Alfred, and Brian moved in grim silence, leaving the bodies in a tangled thicket on the mountainside. By the time they hauled the empty cart back home, the air had grown brittle.

Brian disappeared inside to find Margaret, but Carlyle caught Alfred’s arm, nudging him toward the path. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Where are we going?” Alfred scrambled to keep up as Carlyle’s stride lengthened.  

“To find the group,” Carlyle said.  “We’re going to need some help if we’re going to fight the robbers.  And clearly, we can’t rely on our parents to do anything.  We’re going to have to organize this ourselves.”

Alfred glanced back at the house. “Should we get Catherine?”

“If we go back in the house to get her, then we’re going to have to explain to the adults where we’re going,” Carlyle said.  “And then they’ll argue with us and tell us not to go.  We don’t have time for all of that.”

Alfred nodded, pulling his collar tight. The first few flakes of snow began to drift from the leaden sky, vanishing against the dark dirt.

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

It had begun to snow again.

Catherine sat cross legged on the ground.  She was in one of the wooded sections of the mountains, surrounded by trees on all sides.  She looked at her hands.  She tried again to will the energy glow into being, but it wouldn’t come.  She could feel the energy inside of her.  Why wouldn’t it come out?

She closed her eyes.  She could feel something inside of her.  How could she connect with it? 

While she was concentrating, she began humming absentmindedly.  It was an old tune she had heard Finn sing sometimes.  Catherine didn’t even realize what she was doing until she opened her eyes and saw that her hands were glowing yellow again.  Catherine was so surprised that she stopped humming, and the yellow energy glow slowly faded out.  She started humming again.  The energy started returning to her hands.  She could see the glow start to grow bigger.

Catherine hummed louder.  There were now two big balls of energy forming in each of her palms.   She moved her hands.  The balls of energy moved with them. She continued humming.  The energy balls weren’t getting any bigger, but they did seem to be getting brighter now.  They were like little globs of light enclosed within her palm and her fingers.  They were also warm.  They melted the snow flakes that landed on them.

And Catherine smiled.  At last, at last she was beginning to control it.  Everything had been difficult for her lately, but at least now there was this.

And then, Catherine stopped humming, and began to whistle.  It was the whistle that Branoc had taught her. 

The whistling had the same effect on the energy balls that the humming did.  It seemed to nurture the energy and make it brighter.

Catherine whistled louder.  The mountainside was very quiet, the only sound was the falling snow, and the sound of Catherine’s whistling bouncing off of the trees.

After some time, a cawing sound from the air answered Catherine’s whistle, and there was a soft flapping sound, and Catherine looked over to see Branoc the raven landing on the ground near her.   She stopped whistling, and the yellow glowing energy disappeared.

“Greetings, young one,” said Branoc.  “I have come just as I promised I would.  Tell me how I can be of service to you.”

“I want to talk to the wolves,” Catherine said.  “But I don’t know where to find them.”

“People don’t usually worry about finding the wolves,” said Branoc.  “If you go for a walk in these mountains alone, the wolves usually find you.”

“Not me,” said Catherine.  “They are avoiding me now.”

“Why is that?” asked Branoc.

“They are afraid of my powers,” Catherine said.

Branoc cocked his head curiously.  “What powers?” he asked.

Catherine started humming again.  The yellow energy appeared back in her fingers.

“I see,” said Branoc.  “And what else can you do?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” said Catherine.  “I’m still learning.”

Branoc nodded.  Then he said, “Are you sure you want to meet the wolves?  I do not want to see you come to any harm.”

“Do not worry about me.  I am sure.”

“Very well,” said Branoc, shaking his wings.  “I will find them for you.  I’ll fly around these mountains until I spot them.”

“Tell them to meet me here,” said Catherine.  “Tell them not to be afraid.  I will not hurt them.  Tell them I have an offer for them.”

And Branoc flew off.

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

The teenagers weren't hard to find. They were gathered at the "Eagle’s Shelf," a flat stretch of rock halfway down the slope.  The group was huddled near a rocky overhang that shielded them from the wind. Carlyle saw them all—Lucas, Kevin, Marcus, Paul, Shawn, Stella, Gabrielle, Lucinda, Molly and Abby.  They were laughing about something Lucas had said, the sound echoing thin and bright in the mountain air until they saw Carlyle’s face.

Carlyle approached with a brisk, heavy stride, Alfred trailing like a shadow. The laughter died instantly. Marcus stood up, “What’s wrong?”  

“The robbers,” Carlyle said, his voice flat and hard. “They attacked our house. They killed my father. Alfred’s father is wounded. And they aren't finished. I think they’re going to come back and attack it again.”

Tragedy was not unheard of in the mountains, and it was not the first time this group of teenagers had heard reports of a violent death.  But this sudden announcement still shocked them.  They began talking excitedly, and everyone flooded Carlyle with questions.

Paul stepped forward, his eyes wide. "Are you okay?" 

Before Carlyle could answer, Abby broke in, “How did they get past your door?”

“What are you going to do?” asked Shawn.

“Why did they attack?” asked Molly.

It was this last question that Carlyle responded to first. “The first time they attacked our fathers on the road to rob them,” said Carlyle.  “The second time they attacked us in our house because they didn’t want to leave any survivors.  But now I think they will attack us again because they just want revenge.” 

“We killed three of them,” added Alfred.  “Catherine burned one of them to death.”

“Catherine!” exclaimed Gabrielle.  “How did she do that?”

Carlyle wished Alfred had kept quiet about Catherine.  He ignored Gabrielle’s question, and continued. “There were only five of them this morning, but they will be coming back with more,” said Carlyle.  “Maybe ten or twenty.  Alfred and I can’t fight them off alone, but with the whole group of us, we might just stand a chance.”

Lucas crossed his arms, looking at the fire. “But why should we help you?” he asked.

“Because,” said Carlyle patiently, “You’re not just helping me, you’re helping yourselves.  The next time the robbers attack, it could be your father on the mountain road.”

“But robbers don’t usually attack the mountain folk,” said Marcus.  “They usually just rob the people down in the forest, and then hide out in the mountains.”

“Maybe they’ve changed,” said Carlyle.  “They’ve attacked my family.  Your family could be next.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” said Lucas.

“If you’re not afraid of them, then prove it,” Carlyle said.  “Come and help me fight them.”

Shawn, the oldest of them, stood up. He had a way of standing that made the others go quiet. He looked at the grim set of Carlyle’s jaw and then at the rest of the group. “Carlyle, if your family is in danger, then of course we will help you.  That’s what we do.  The group helps each other.”

A ripple of nods went through the teenagers. Carlyle finally let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since the morning. “I knew I could count on you. Go home. Grab your bows, your knives—whatever you have. Meet at my house before the sun drops. We’re turning it into a fortress.”

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

As the snow fell harder, Catherine sat cross legged on the ground.  She was still humming to herself, and trying to focus the ball of energy.  Her eyes were closed.

Then, she heard the soft steps of the wolves' paws on the ground.  And she heard the panting of their mouths.   And she opened her eyes, and looked at them.

The lead wolf was approaching her cautiously.  He looked wary of her, but he also did not look completely subservient.  The wolves resented the fact that Catherine had summoned them.  That was plain enough to see on their faces.

“Why have you asked us here?” the wolf snarled.  “We do not owe you anything.  We have not attacked you.  The other witches leave us alone if we leave them alone.”

“I’m not one of the other witches,” Catherine said.

The lead wolf growled menacingly.  “If you are not one of the witches, then you are not under their protection.”

“I am not,” said Catherine, calmly.  “I have nothing to do with them.  They do not protect me,” Catherine held her hands out towards the wolves, “nor do they restrain me.”  Catherine started humming again, and her fingers glowed with yellow energy.

The wolves looked at her hands, curiously.  Then, after a few seconds’ silence, the lead wolf asked,  “What powers do you have?”

Catherine stood up suddenly.  The wolves all instinctively took a step back.  “If you touch me, you will find out,” Catherine said in a sharp voice.

The hair went up on the wolves’ back.  They were all growling now.

Catherine sat down again.  “But come,” she said, in a much calmer voice.  “I do not wish to fight.  I want us to be friends.  I want your help.”

“We are not your servants.”

“No, but I assure you, I will be a useful friend for you to have.  Moreover, I promise you that the task which I propose will not be one that is distasteful to you.  You like attacking humans, don’t you?”