Chapter 7: The Age of the Gods
Catherine managed to rejoin the group just as things were breaking up, and Carlyle and Alfred were starting to head home.
“There you are!” said Carlyle. “Where did you go this time?”
“None of your concern,” Catherine said as she strode past. Catherine went right past Carlyle, and kept walking towards their home.
Because Catherine was walking at a swift pace, Carlyle and Alfred jogged to catch up with her. “Catherine, you can’t wander off by yourself like that,” Carlyle insisted. “You know it’s dangerous.”
Catherine remained silent and kept walking.
“Catherine, I’m serious. This is twice now.”
“I’ll handle myself, thank you,” Catherine replied.
“I’m going to tell Mom and Dad,” Carlyle blurted out.
Catherine stopped walking and turned to glare at Carlyle. There was an unspoken code between the siblings that they never report on each other. After glaring at Carlyle for a few seconds, Catherine started walking again. “Fine,” she spat out. “Fine, go ahead. You can tell them whatever you want.”
In the tone of Catherine’s voice, there was an unspoken message: if you report on me, you will be dead to me forever. Carlyle picked up on the tone, and he realized he had gone too far. “Catherine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Catherine, wait!”
Catherine had picked up her pace, and Carlyle had to jog to catch up again. “Catherine, stop a minute. I shouldn’t have said that. I won’t tell Mom and Dad. But you can’t go off on your own like that. You remember what happened to Jack.”
Catherine kept walking. She wanted to tell Carlyle to be quiet and mind his own business, but she was too tired to argue with him. So she found it easier to keep quiet and keep walking.
Soon they reached the door. They knocked, and Margaret let them in.
As she got dinner ready, Margaret could tell that there was tension in the air. Carlyle and Catherine weren’t talking to each other, and Alfred looked like he wasn’t sure what to say.
Carlyle and Alfred sat by the fire, but Catherine seemed unusually eager to volunteer. She helped Margaret chop up vegetables for the stew, and as they stood next to each other, Catherine asked abruptly, “Where did you learn so much about medicine?”
“I told you yesterday,” said Margaret. “I studied it.”
“Who did you study it from?” asked Catherine.
“No one you would know,” said Margaret casually.
“Why wouldn’t I know them?” asked Catherine.
Margaret stopped chopping her vegetables, and looked at Catherine. “Why so many questions?” she asked.
Catherine stopped chopping as well, and looked back at her mother. “Why do you never answer?” she retorted.
Margaret stared at Catherine for a moment as if she was thinking about how to respond. Then Margaret went back to chopping the vegetables. “You wouldn’t know my teacher because she died before you were born. And also because she didn’t live in the mountains.”
“Where did she live?” asked Catherine.
“Hmmm?” asked Margaret, pretending not to hear.
“I asked where she lived.”
Margaret stopped chopping again. “Catherine, why does it matter? You wouldn’t know her anyway. It was someone from my past who has no connection to you.”
“Some people think it’s unusual,” Catherine persisted. “You know things that no one else does.”
Margaret smiled. “Maybe I know some things that the mountain people don’t know. But the world is a very big place. Your father and I have lived in many places and we’ve learned many things.”
“Then why do you live on the mountains now?” said Catherine.
“Catherine, so many questions!” Margaret exclaimed in an exasperated tone. “You tire me out! Be quiet for a while and help me stir the stew.”
Catherine knew this was supposed to signal an end to the conversation. But she had decided that tonight she wasn’t going to be dismissed so easily. The witch had told her that she needed to get answers from her mother, so Catherine tried again. “Mother, what happened to me yesterday?”
Margaret again acted like she didn’t hear. She looked over at the fire. “The fire is going to die out,” she said. “Carlyle, Alfred, go out and gather some dry branches. Hurry, before it gets too dark out.”
Carlyle and Alfred got up and went outside. Once the door had shut, Margaret turned back to Catherine. “Nothing happened to you yesterday.”
“But Alfred’s arms--”
“You and Alfred had a fight, and you must have grabbed his arms a little bit too tightly. His arms were a bit bruised, but nothing more. Honestly, if he hadn’t been crying so much, I wouldn’t even have bothered treating it. Catherine, I know you’re upset about what happened, but Alfred understands you didn’t mean it. You just don’t know your own strength, that’s all. The best thing for you to do is to stay out of fights entirely in the future. Don’t fight Alfred again. Don’t fight any of the children on this mountain again. Now quit asking so many questions, and go ahead and start boiling the water.”
One more try, Catherine told herself.
“Mother, sometimes I feel like…,” Catherine began and then stopped. She didn’t know exactly how to put it into words what she felt, and it was difficult to find the courage to try to express herself when she could feel the disapproving gaze of her mother. But she forced herself to blurt it out. “I feel like sometimes there’s an energy inside of me I can’t control.”
Catherine expected her mother to tell her again to be quiet or to stop asking questions. But instead, Margaret simply looked at her with a scrutinizing gaze. “Wait one second,” Margaret said.
Just then, the door opened, and Carlyle and Alfred walked back in. “That’s not enough branches!” Margaret said sharply. “It’s going to be a cold night. Go out again!”
Alfred and Carlyle went back out.
As soon as they left, Margaret went to her shelves at the back wall of the cave. After rummaging around for a bit, she found what she was looking for, and came back with a herb. “Be careful with this,” she said, as she handed the herb over to Catherine. “It’s poisonous. If you eat the whole thing, it will kill you. But in small doses, it could help you. Whenever you feel like there’s something inside of you that you can control, just take a small bite. The tiniest little nibble, you understand? No more than this.” With the tips of her front teeth, Margaret bit off a tiny part of the herb to demonstrate, but then immediately spat it out. “The herb is very bitter. It will taste awful, and it will make you sick to your stomach. It may even make you throw up. But it will temporarily get rid of that extra energy.”
“But what’s wrong with me?” asked Catherine.
“It’s nothing,” said Margaret. “Sometimes people feel a bit strange when they’re growing up. It’s part of being a teenager, at least for some people. But just the same, don’t tell anyone else about it. You don't want other people to find out about these things. It’s embarrassing. They might make fun of you.”
The door opened again, and Carlyle and Alfred came back in.
“Enough now, let’s have no more talking about it,” hissed Margaret quickly. Catherine knew from her tone that the conversation was definitely closed.
“These are all the branches we could find,” said Carlyle. “There’s nothing else without moving away from the house, and that’s not safe this time of night.”
“It’s not,” Margaret agreed. “Stack it up by the fire, you two. Then sit down for dinner.”
After the dinner was finished, Margaret suggested they read another chapter from the book. She thought that this might be the best way to dissipate whatever tension was there. She brought the book down and gave it to Carlyle
“I want to hear more about The Age of Monsters,” said Alfred. “You said that after all the heroes got killed, some of the humans still survived. Can you read that part?”
“There are lots of chapters about that,” said Carlyle.
“It’s best to read the section in order,” Margaret suggested. “You can start with the second chapter, right after what you read yesterday.”
“Okay,” said Carlyle, sitting down in the chair and finding the right place in the book.
Alfred settled into the opposite chair. Catherine remained standing stiffly by the fire. Margaret knew better than to suggest that Catherine sit down. Catherine would sit when she was ready to sit.
“It was in this time that the Teritha, the ancient monsters, roamed the world, and all the human cities were destroyed. All the human crops were destroyed as well, and humans lived like the animals did. They scavenged for food in the forests, and in the rivers. They ate whatever plants they could find. In their desperation, many humans resorted to eating animals again, and humans and animals once again became enemies.”
“Why does it say ‘once again’?” asked Alfred. “Were humans and animals enemies before?”
“Yes, during the Second Age, the Age of Beasts,” Carlyle said. “We skipped that part because you wanted to start at the Age of Monsters.”
“Well, what happened in the Age of Beasts?” asked Alfred.
Catherine sighed audibly. She was getting frustrated with Alfred and his questions. But she didn’t say anything.
“Loads of stuff,” Carlyle replied. “It was a whole age. Each age contains many different stories in it. But basically, when humans and animals were first created, they were constantly fighting. Humans ate animals, and some of the animals ate humans. There were years of war between humans and beasts before peace was made, and the laws were established.”
“But the wolves and bears still eat humans,” said Alfred.
“The mountains are a special case,” interjected Margaret. “There is no one to enforce the laws in the mountains. But in the forest, the ancient laws are still enforced. It is forbidden for a human to harm an animal, or for an animal to eat a human.”
“Really?” Alfred’s eyes widened. “So you mean in the forest, I could walk anywhere I wanted to, and I wouldn’t have to worry about bears or wolves or lions or anything?”
Margaret nodded.
“I want to hear more about The Age of the Beasts,” said Alfred. “Could you read that section?”
Catherine sighed again, and plopped herself down into a chair with an air of frustration. Carlyle and Alfred ignored her. Margaret thought this was progress. If Catherine was annoyed at Alfred, then at least she was no longer thinking about whatever had been upsetting her earlier.
“It’s a very long section,” said Carlyle. “We can’t read it all in one night.”
“Maybe we should start from the very beginning,” Alfred said. “What was the first Age called again?”
“The Age of the Gods was the first age,” said Carlyle. “We could start there if you like, but you're only going to be staying here three more nights until your father gets back. It’s not enough time to read the whole book through from the beginning. We should just choose the most interesting parts for now.”
“Is The Age of the Gods interesting?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty interesting. There are no humans or animals in that section, but there is lots of fighting among the gods.”
“Well then start there,” said Alfred.
“Good idea,” said Margaret. “Some of the best stories are at the beginning. And Alfred, if you like, we can continue the book even after your father gets back. You can come over every afternoon. I’ll teach you how to read the book for yourself.”
Catherine groaned again. Everyone ignored her.
“I don’t need to read it myself,” Alfred said. “You can just read it to me.”
“As you like,” said Margaret, with a smile. “Carlyle, why don’t you start reading again. From the very beginning this time.”
“Okay,” said Carlyle, flipping back to the beginning of the book. “In the beginning, there was the Ocean. He was the first god, and he covered the whole world. At that time, there was no land, only deep water.”
“Where did Ocean come from?” asked Alfred.
“I don’t know,” said Carlyle. “It’s not in the book.”
“No one knows,” Margaret said softly.
“But he must have come from somewhere,” Alfred insisted.
“In the beginning, there was the Ocean. That’s all it says,” said Carlyle. “That’s how the story begins.”
“Don’t we know anything about where Ocean came from?” asked Alfred.
“Alfred, stop asking questions,” Catherine said, exasperated. “It’s just a story. Every story has to begin at some point.”
“Is it just a story?” Alfred said, looking at Margaret. “I thought the gods were real.”
Margaret shrugged her shoulders. “These are the stories the ancient ones have left us with. They may be true or they may not be true. Or they may be partially true. But these are the only stories we have about the beginning of things. So we study them, and then pass them on. Where the Ocean came from, or what existed before the Ocean, we cannot say.”
“Alfred, just be quiet for a while. You can ask questions after the story finishes,” Catherine said. She motioned for Carlyle to start reading again. Her impatience was visible on her face, but Margaret noticed that she was also starting to look more relaxed in the chair. She was reclining in it, and she had begun to put her feet up on the table.
“We can talk about the stories tomorrow, if you like,” Margaret said to Alfred. “For now, let’s just listen.”
Carlyle began to read the story again. He read about the ancient Sea Dragons, that the Ocean gave birth to, and how the Ocean next gave birth to the new gods, who fought the Sea Dragons and slew them, and used the bodies of the sea dragons to create the land.
The fire crackled as Carlyle read, and the warmth filled the room. And eventually, Catherine and Alfred began to relax, and then slowly nod off to sleep. And Margaret smiled approvingly.
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