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.”
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