The Wrathful Mountains
Read The Wrathful Mountains Online
Authors: Lana Axe
The Wrathful Mountains
Tales from N
ō
l’Deron
Lana Axe
Text copyright © 2016 Lana Axe
All Rights Reserved
Cover art by Michael Gauss
For my sisters.
Table
of Contents
A
nnin slumped
back against the mattress, her muscles aching from exertion. Too many hours had
passed, and the baby had not come. Like too many others, this child was doomed.
A mixture of despair and grief plagued the young mother’s heart, and she wept
for the daughter that she would never meet.
Cradling her sister’s head in her arms, Tashi
whispered, “You must hold on, Annin.” Their own mother had died giving birth to
Annin, and Tashi feared she would lose her sister the same way.
“It can wait no longer,” the doula said, wiping
blood from her hands. “I must remove the baby or both mother and child will
die.” Her dark eyes stared at Tashi, daring her to refuse.
As High Priestess of the Ulihi tribe, Tashi had
final say in all matters of the body. The doula could not proceed without
permission, otherwise she risked unleashing a plague of evil upon the tribe.
Glancing down at her sister, Tashi knew what had to be done.
Gently placing Annin’s head upon her pillow, Tashi
jumped to her feet. Stepping outside the birthing hut, she dashed through the
village center to her own hut. A flame burned brightly at the center of the
one-room dwelling, and Tashi paused before it. The image of her mother, her
ebony skin glistening in the firelight, stood before the priestess. Flames
replaced her once-raven-black hair, but her black eyes stared knowingly at her
daughter. A mirror image of her mother, Tashi looked upon this face with
regularity. The image in the flames did not unnerve her, nor did it give her
cause for concern. “She will not go with you today,” she stated. The image
vanished, leaving behind no trace of its sudden appearance.
Her eyes scanned the piles of bones and sacred
stones that littered the numerous tables of her hut. The tools of her trade, a
High Priestess was charged with the care of her tribe’s most prized
possessions. Many of these items were irreplaceable, thanks to the dwarves who
had taken the tribal lands away from her people. Tashi did not care. She tore
through the items like a whirlwind, knocking many of them to the dirt floor.
Hidden beneath a stack of dyed furs lay a dagger of obsidian. Clutching the
blade in her hand, Tashi returned to the fire.
Extending the dagger over the flames, she spoke an
incantation. “
Weevodo kee-uma
,” she repeated, her eyes fixated on the
blade. Its edges glowed orange, but still she held it to the fire. “
Errda
kee-omo
,” she said as she flipped the blade over. The fire sputtered,
sending a rain of orange sparks over the priestess’s head. With a fluid motion,
she lifted the blade high, casting her gaze to the small opening at the top of
her hut. The moon shone down upon her, lending its silver rays to the black
blade. “
Lu-omo, kee-vodo
!” Tashi shouted to the night. Hugging the hot blade
to her breast, she darted from her home.
All was silent as the ebony-skinned priestess
stepped inside the birthing hut. Her heart raced as she scanned the interior,
her senses on high alert. Every step felt like an eternity as she moved closer
to the curtain that separated her sister from the hut’s entrance. Gripping the
dagger tighter, she reached for the curtain and peeled it back. Annin lay
unmoving upon her bed.
“Does she live?” Tashi asked, her voice thin.
“Barely,” the doula answered, snatching the knife
away. She returned to the motionless girl and lifted the sheet from her belly.
Tashi moved to her sister’s side, once again cradling
her head in her arms. Annin’s eyes fluttered slightly, proving that she still
had breath in her lungs. Tashi closed her eyes, imploring the gods not to take
her sister this night.
Combing her fingers through Annin’s soft curls,
Tashi whispered, “Stay with me.”
From the herb pouch on her hip she retrieved a
small pot of medicine. Annin winced as her sister rubbed the foul-smelling
substance onto her gums, but she had not the strength to protest.
“It will dull your pain,” Tashi promised.
The doula took a deep breath before positioning
the blade against the young mother’s abdomen. Whispering a prayer to the gods,
she slid the knife over Annin’s skin, creating a passageway for the struggling
child. Tashi closed her eyes to the sight of her sister’s blood. Squeezing the
girl’s hand, she muttered an incantation, imploring the gods to preserve the
life of both mother and child.
Despite her lack of recent experience, the doula’s
hand moved steadily as she lengthened the cut. Setting the knife aside, she
reached in to retrieve the child. The mother showed no sign of pain, and the
child did not move. As she removed the infant girl from her mother, the doula’s
heart sank. The child was blue. She immediately began clearing the child’s
airway, but still she drew no breath.
“I’ve waited too long,” the doula said, clutching
the child to her breast.
Tashi moved away from her sister and approached
the doula, a savage look gleaming in her dark eyes. “Give her to me,” she demanded.
Hesitating a moment, the doula handed the child to
the priestess. Tashi grabbed the child by her legs, holding her upside down
with one hand. Stepping through the curtain, she exited the hut and held the
child high, calling upon the Moon Goddess. “Shine your light upon this child,”
she pleaded. “Do not take another from us.” For the past ten years, no child of
the Ulihi tribe had survived infancy. Most were stillborn, and too many mothers
were lost in the process. Despite all of Tashi’s efforts beseeching the gods
for their blessings, the situation had not improved. Now her own sister and
niece hung in the balance. It was too much to bear.
Seeing no change in the child, Tashi spit on the
ground. “You are no Goddess,” she shouted to the moon. Darting back inside the
hut, she grabbed a woolen blanket and swaddled the child. Rubbing vigorously
against the child’s chest, she implored her to breathe. “Just one breath,
Little One,” she whispered. Turning her over, she smacked the child’s back,
doubting it would do any good. The doula had already tried everything.
“Your sister is dying,” the doula said.
Tashi did not hear the woman approach, and
startled at her words. Turning sharply, she said, “You will save this child.”
Thrusting the child into the doula’s arms, she focused her attention on her
sister. “I will not let this happen,” she said, squeezing the girl’s hand.
Annin’s face grew pale, her breathing barely perceptible. Tears splashed on her
sister’s forehead as Tashi leaned in to kiss her.
A gentle cry sounded behind the curtain, and
Tashi’s heart nearly stopped. Walking toward her was the doula, her face
beaming.
“The child lives,” the woman said.
Tashi stood and looked down at her niece, so
fragile, so small. No power of this world or the next would take this child
from her. She would live and grow under the watchful eyes of Annin and Tashi.
She would become the next High Priestess, or there would never be another. The
tribe was too small, the lack of children reducing their number to near
extinction. “Our people will survive,” she said to the child. “You are our
future, our hope.” Gently she kissed the girl’s forehead. “Give her to her
mother,” she told the doula.
“But she is too weak to feed her,” the doula
protested.
“Prepare some goat’s milk for her,” Tashi replied.
“And give Annin some as well. She must keep her strength.”
The doula nodded once, but her eyes betrayed her
true feelings. She did not expect Annin to survive, and the child was weak.
Neither of them were likely to live out the night, but she would not disobey
the priestess’s orders.
Looking to her sister, Tashi said, “The gods be
damned. I will save you.” Glancing at the baby, she added, “Both of you.”
Once more Tashi stepped out into the darkness,
bound for her own hut. At three hours past midnight, there were no other
villagers about, no one to witness what she was about to do. Cold and still,
the night alone would bear witness to her transgression.
Her steps heavy, she made her way back to her hut,
the fire reflected in her eyes. On a low shelf sat dozens of clay and wood
statues, all depicting the female form. These were fertility symbols, sacred to
her tribe. Some had been crafted centuries earlier, when her people reproduced
with ease and reared healthy children to adulthood. Those days were long gone.
Lifting an idol in her hand, she turned it toward
the light. A wide smile stretched across its clay face, its belly round and
full. In a swift motion, Tashi threw the idol into the fire, smashing it
against the burning logs. Statue after statue followed suit as she screamed to
the night. “No more will you mock my people!” Her voice harsh with anger, she
cursed the gods who had forsaken the children of her tribe. “You are no longer
gods,” she said as she tossed the last of the idols into the flames. Falling to
her knees, she covered her eyes and wept.
After several moments, Tashi finally looked up,
fixated on the scene before her. The destruction of a sacred object was known
to invite evil into one’s home. As High Priestess, she was expected to protect
these items with her life. But Tashi did not regret her actions. In her mind
flashed images of dead children, infants who would never know the love of their
mothers. All of them she had offered to the gods, their tiny remains bundled
and burned, returning to the gods who had sent them to this world. Never would
they return. Tashi’s heart ached from the loss.
Guilt crept into her soul as she remembered the
eyes of grieving mothers, women whom she had instructed to trust in the will of
the gods. All of them had done so, believing Tashi to hold the power to
converse with these holy beings. Looking to the ground, she admitted to herself
that she had no such gift. Her entire life was a lie, as were the lives of all
priestesses before her. They held no power; they could not sway the gods in
anyone’s favor. Still her tribe believed, despite decades of failure. Had there
ever been a priestess who could truly converse with the gods? Did the gods even
care what a woman had to say? Tashi shook her head. “There are no gods,” she
whispered to the fire.
Lying back on the dirt floor, Tashi tried to calm
her mind. The tiny cry of Annin’s daughter echoed in her ears.
The child
must survive at any cost,
she decided.
I cannot sway nonexistent gods,
but I can awaken the darkness.
Dark magic was forbidden among the Ulihi. It was
widely believed the use of such spells were responsible for the downfall of her
people, that they had been punished for summoning dark spirits and requesting
their favors. But if the gods did not exist, who would punish Tashi for her
actions? Everything had been a lie. Perhaps the dark spirits did not exist
either. The priestess decided to find out.
On the far wall of her hut hung a series of ritual
masks, each placed precisely according to the constellation it embodied. The
heavens themselves were represented, each deity’s face looking upon the
priestess. One mask beckoned to her, the one representing a long-dead god. He
had slept for millennia, banished to the center of the mountain, never again
allowed to roam free. His crimes against the benevolent gods earned him this
punishment, and to call upon him could unleash a plague of evil upon the world.
Tashi strode to the wall and looked upon the
mahogany mask, its surface cracked and lined with age. It bore the likeness of
the dead god, his grim expression a warning to all who dared worship him. “You
do not scare me,” Tashi said, reaching for the mask. “There can be no evil if
there is no good.” The other gods were deaf to her pleas, they cared not for
her people. Perhaps this one would take action.
“Darkness take me,” the priestess said as she
placed the mask upon her face. “My life for my sister, my life for my niece.” With
careful steps she approached the fire and began to dance. Chanting the words
she had learned as a child, she summoned the dead god to aid her. These words
were forbidden, and she had been warned against using them. Her grandmother had
beaten her after that lesson simply to drive home the message. This was not to
be taken lightly.
Raising and lowering her arms, Tashi imitated the
movements of the Night Heron. Slow and methodical, she praised the graceful
bird, all the while continuing her song. Her dance became wilder as she worked
herself into a frenzy, the birdlike movements becoming those of the She-Cat.
Her voice crying out to the night, she pounced and leapt with the grace of the
predator. Slowing once more, she stalked the flames as if they were her prey.
Within the flame something awoke, the eyes of
Tashi’s mother flashing a warning. Tashi leaned close, defying the apparition,
the dead god’s mask grinning in reply. Her mother’s eyes vanished, leaving the
priestess alone with the flames.
The chant went on for hours, her voice changing
from soft to booming, smooth to shrill. A series of different creatures joined
the dance, the priestess summoning all their spirits to assist in calling the
dark deity. More and more voices joined her own, each imploring the ancient
spirit to waken.
Nearly exhausted, Tashi continued, her sister’s
life hanging in the balance. If she stopped before the dead god answered, there
would be no hope. If he still existed, she must wake him. There was no other
way.
As the stars faded from the sky, Tashi collapsed.
The fire burned low, nearly suffocated by the presence of so many spirits. The
dead god had not answered, and Tashi could do no more. Lying on her side, she
wept, her tears falling upon the earth. Her heart cried out for the sister she
would lose, and the child who would not live to know her. Was the dead god as
useless as all the others? Tashi feared the answer.
As she lay motionless, the ground beneath her
rumbled, stirring her from her rest. Wood and clay items rattled on her
shelves, some of them falling to the ground. Still the earth continued to
quake. Stumbling to her feet, the priestess swallowed hard. A loud groan
sounded beneath her, the presence of evil was near.