The Wrathful Mountains (3 page)

With a wave to her
brothers, she proceeded to her own house. Greeting her were two dogs, one a
black-and-tan herding dog named Doozle, and a smaller red-and-white dog named
Flip. They greeted her with gusto, nearly knocking her to the ground to lick
her face.

“Settle down,
boys,” she told them. “You behave for Mum while I’m away.”

The dogs looked at
her with all-too-knowing eyes. They missed her already.

“None of that,” she
said, stroking each on their backs and scratching at their ears. “I’ll be back
soon.”

Grabbing a leather
bag from her closet, she stuffed it with her warmest clothing and a blanket. Despite
it being summertime here, higher elevations would still be bitterly cold. As
she opened the door to leave, the dogs bolted into the field, greeting her
brothers and prancing playfully. They were in good hands.

Kassie stood on the
porch, waiting for her daughter to pass by. As Kaiya moved into sight, Kassie
called, “Take this with you.”

Kaiya retrieved the
bundle containing a fresh loaf of bread and some dried fruit. “Thanks, Mum,”
she said. Her mother had always prided herself in her kitchen, and no child of
hers ever went away hungry.

“You stay safe,”
her mother said, squeezing her close.

“I will,” Kaiya promised.
“You take care of Papa—and yourself too.”

Glancing back only
once, Kaiya pressed on along the rocky path that would lead her into town. It
was the best place to start her investigation. News didn’t reach the farmlands
quickly, but the town was always full of chatter. Besides that, there was a friend
she had neglected to visit.

Continuing along
the path, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was tracking her
movements. She turned around and scanned the area but spotted no one. Still the
feeling remained. It was different than the feeling of being watched. She
couldn’t quite describe it, but it was as if someone were aware of her
movements, without being able to see or hear her. It could only be using magic,
which troubled her further because she could not sense who or what it was. This
was a force unknown. Whether it was friend or foe remained to be seen.

S
quinting her
eyes at the afternoon sun, Tashi cursed its brazenness. How dare it rain down
its light while Annin still lay abed, suffering convulsions and fever? What
right did the world have to continue to turn when one so beautiful was dying?
Tashi was no fool. She knew her sister would not last the day. Whatever she
did, Annin would perish, and no god would intervene. How she hated them, both
the good and the evil. What use were they to anyone?

Over the past few
days, Tashi had gone from doubting all gods to begging for their assistance.
She had finally come to this conclusion: Anything being worshipped as a god was
a god, whether real or imagined. All that was certain was that she detested
them all. They had refused to help her people, and that made the gods her
enemy.

As High Priestess
she was expected to tend to the spiritual needs of her tribe, but how could she
continue to do so when she no longer had faith? If she spoke against the gods,
her own tribe would exile her. That meant she would not be allowed to care for
her sister’s child. Tashi had no option but to play along, filling the role she
was born to until the day she died. And then the burden would pass to her
niece.

The child, who
would not earn a name until she passed one year of age, would be forced into
the same life as Tashi, never being free to choose any other path.
Perhaps
the girl will truly be able to converse with the gods, assuming they listen to
anyone,
Tashi mused. She had failed, but there was always a chance for the
child, as long as she managed to survive. So far she had taken well to the
goat’s milk, readily suckling it from the tip of a ram’s horn fashioned by the
doula. The thought of her lovely niece brought a smile to the priestess’s face.
I will not fail her as I have my sister.

Nearing her
sister’s hut, Tashi paused outside the flap. At the edge of her vision, she
spied a shadow, moving in the distance, but when she turned to face it, nothing
was there. She stepped inside, observing first the doula, who cradled the
cooing infant in her arms. Annin lay motionless upon her mattress, her face and
hair dripping with sweat. Tashi’s feet grew heavy as she approached her sister’s
form.

“Annin,” she
whispered, squeezing the girl’s hand.

Annin stirred, her
eyes barely opening, but a weak smile appeared on her lips. “My daughter,” she
struggled to say.

“She is beautiful
and strong,” Tashi replied.

Annin attempted to
nod, but her head was far too heavy. Her heart yearned to hold her child, to
nurse her at her breast and clutch her to her heart. Those days would never
come. Her life was at an end, and she had made peace with that. “Sister,” she
whispered.

Tashi leaned closer
to her sister. “I’m here,” she said.

“You must care for
her,” Annin said, struggling for breath. “She…she…”

“I swear to you,”
Tashi stated. “She will survive, she will grow strong, and she will want for
nothing in this life.” She combed her fingers through her sister’s hair and
patted her cheek. Tears dripped from her eyes, splashing against the mattress.
Her head felt heavy and thick, throbbing from back to front.
Be strong for
her
, Tashi thought, squeezing her eyes shut.
For both of them.

Annin fluttered her
eyelids but did not speak. Her sister’s words had not gone unheard. Despite her
weakening body, she could rest peacefully knowing her child was safe. Resigning
herself to her fate, she allowed her muscles to relax. She never spoke again.

Refusing to let go
of her sister’s hand, Tashi sat cross-legged on the dirt floor despite the pain
in her heart. She wanted to run from the hut, screaming and raving. All in her
path would flee in terror, or she would curse them as she had the gods. Her own
people would fear her, ever believing the High Priestess had power over all
their lives. But she could not leave the hut. There was nothing to do but sit,
waiting for the end that was soon to come.

Wracked with fever,
Annin’s body faded quickly. Each breath came at great effort, her heart failing.
Tashi could do nothing but watch. As the sun disappeared from the sky, Annin
sighed softly to the evening’s first star, her soul released to the night.
Tashi laid her head against her sister’s chest and sobbed, too grief-stricken
to utter a sound. Her sister and dearest friend was gone forever.

“Tashi, you must
tend her soul,” the doula whispered softly, still clutching the baby to her
breast. “She must find her way to the life that follows.”

Tashi shot up from
the ground, a fire in her eyes. “I know my duty,” she spat. Without another
word, the priestess pulled her sister’s arms, forcing the girl into a sitting
position. Bending Annin’s knees, she pushed them against the girl’s chest.
Positioning the girl’s arms around her knees, she whispered a prayer for the
dead. Her sister had been ever faithful to the gods, and Tashi would honor her
as such.

Wrapping the woolen
blanket around her sister’s body, Tashi pulled it taut. Annin’s body would sit
in prayer posture throughout the ceremony to come. Stepping outside the hut,
Tashi looked upon the faces of her tribe. Many had gathered outside the young
mother’s hut, offering their support to one in need.

“Annin’s soul has
departed,” Tashi announced. “Who will carry her to the pyre?”

Three large men
stepped forward, one of them Annin’s mate. Their heads held low, they spoke no
words as they entered the hut and gently lifted the young woman’s body. Tashi
led the procession, followed by her sister’s shell. The rest of the villagers
followed single file, bearing torches to light the darkness.

High on a hill
stood a mound of stones, the only permanent structure made by these nomadic
people. Annin’s body was set upon it, and the men backed away in silence.
Despite her growing dizziness, Tashi began the death chant, beginning with a
single mournful cry to the darkness. Two women joined at her side, bearing the
wooden masks of death. Together, the trio donned the masks, representing the
three judges one meets in the life to come. One face of sorrow, one of anger,
and one of joy. They danced among the villagers, crying to the night, their
voices shrieking.

For nearly an hour,
the dance continued, all the while Tashi’s head continued throbbing. Her neck
was stiff, her skin too hot. The dance could not end soon enough. The dancers
dropped to the ground, landing on their knees and lowering their heads. The
villagers followed suit, kneeling before the mound.

Removing her mask, Tashi
stood and offered one final prayer to the gods. Her voice cracked as she
uttered the words, her heart believing none of them. There would be no beauty
waiting for Tashi in death, but perhaps there was for her faithful sister.
Finishing the prayer, she approached the mound and laid a hand gently on her
sister’s head. “Goodbye, sweet sister,” she whispered. Tossing a handful of
powder over the blanket, she stepped away and looked up at the stars.

The villagers
walked forward, each with a torch in hand. Offering the flames to the bundled
woman, they freed her from her worldly restraint. No longer would the shell
inhibit her spirit. She would rise again in a better world.

Tashi stumbled
through the darkness, not bothering to carry a torch of her own. She had to get
away. There was no more to be done for Annin. Sobbing, she blindly found her
way back to her hut and collapsed onto her own mattress. Burying her face in
her pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep.

Nightmares of
monsters, their dark forms dancing, invaded Tashi’s mind. They moved closer and
closer, approaching the flaming remains of the young mother, but Tashi did not
fear them. “You will not take her soul!” she shouted. To take her sister, they
would have to get through her first. She would fight them with her bare hands
if she had to. The shadows closed in on Tashi, forcing her to the ground, but
she refused to cry out. “Take me,” she hissed, “but you will never take her!”

Tashi woke before
sunrise, the pain behind her eyes proof enough that she had barely slept. A
shadow moved across the central fire of her hut, but it disappeared before she
could identify it. The fire sizzled, but no vision appeared.

“Stay away,
Mother,” Tashi said to the flames. She would not have her mother blaming her
for Annin’s death. “I did all I could,” she whispered.

Another shadow
moved outside the flap, and Tashi rushed forward to catch it. Instead of a
monster, she found the huddled form of Koli, who had been Annin’s mate.

“Priestess,” Koli
said. “What will you do to safeguard the life of Annin’s child? My child.”

What could Tashi
do? She couldn’t save her sister, so how did she plan to save her niece? “I
don’t know,” she admitted. “The gods…” she started to say, but found no fitting
words to finish the thought.

“There must be a
sacrifice,” he said. “Without it, the gods will do nothing.”

For centuries the
Ulihi tribe had offered blood sacrifices to the gods in exchange for blessings.
There were tales of great successes in battle as well as the ending of droughts
thanks to the sacrifices made by the tribe. However, there had been many
sacrifices to save the children these past ten years, but nothing had removed
the curse from the tribe. No child had survived, and the sacrifices had been
wasted. The gods refused to act.

“My sister has
already been sacrificed,” Tashi said. Her eyes stung from the tears that could
no longer run, and she rubbed her fists against the dryness.

“We must be ready
by daybreak,” Koli insisted. “It will be done.”

Tashi swallowed
hard and stared at the man before her. He was large, a warrior among her
people. He stood bare-chested and proud, determination in his dark eyes.
Numerous strands of beads hung around his neck, and a row of precisely carved
scars adorned his ribs. He would have fought many battles were there battles to
be fought. Instead, his marks symbolized the hunt, and the animals he had
bested to feed his tribe. He was not a man to be argued with.

“I am High
Priestess,” Tashi said, stepping forward. “No man or woman commands me.”

“The gods command
you,” Koli shot back, “and they demand a sacrifice.”

“And they have had
it,” she replied, finding more tears than she believed she possessed.

Koli shook his
head. “It is not enough,” he said, his manner softening. “Please, Tashi. For
the child to be named, there must be a sacrifice.”

“The gods have not
found their way to our people in many years,” Tashi said. “What makes you think
this time will be different?”

“Because it has to
be,” he said.

Tashi stared into
his eyes and saw his certainty. Too many still believed in the gods, too many
still so foolish. “I will assemble the villagers,” she finally said.

Koli grabbed her
wrist as she began to walk away. “The death of the infants these many years
were not your doing,” he said. “You were not High Priestess when this began.
Your mother was.”

Looking him up and
down, Tashi said, “My mother was a faithful priestess.” How could he dare blame
her mother for such tragedy?

“She drove the gods
away,” Koli went on. “You must bring them back.”

Jerking her arm away
from him, Tashi crossed the center of the village and stared at the horizon.
Koli could not possibly know. He was older than her, but he knew nothing of the
lot of a priestess. Tashi’s mother had revealed to her the truth behind her
profession. It was merely the crafting of potions and singing of chants. The
rest fell to the villagers to believe or not. The gods had nothing to do with
it. One either chose to believe or didn’t. It mattered not. Tashi’s mother had
chosen to believe, as had her sister. The deaths of so many infants had another
cause, one unknown to the priestesses and doulas.

Koli proceeded to
gather the villagers as Tashi continued looking toward the sunrise. Seeing them
all assembled, she shook her head.
A sacrifice will not fix our problems,
she thought.
We need true magic, not this shameful display.

Standing before her
people, she announced, “Koli insists on a sacrifice to protect the life of his
child. Is anyone willing?”

One old woman
stood, propping herself on a wooden stick. “I will go to the gods in the
child’s place,” the woman said proudly.

“No,” Koli said.
“You are old and near death anyway. Such a sacrifice means nothing to the
gods.”

The old woman bowed
her head and took a seat, not willing to argue with the warrior.

“I will go,” Koli
continued. “The gods can have me.”

The life of a
strong man had always carried more weight with the gods, at least in centuries
past. Only the most pressing matters were handled in such a way. It was preferable
to sacrifice enemy tribesmen who had been captured in battle, but Tashi’s was
the only tribe left. It had to be one of her own.

“Very well,” she
said. Pulling a thin dagger from the holster on her arm, she held it up to the
first rays of the sun. Its golden hue reflected in the metal as Koli knelt
before her and tilted his head backward. Shouting to the gods, Tashi implored
them to take the life of this man and look favorably upon the life of the
infant. The villagers trilled in time with the priestess’s chant, granting
their approval of the exchange.