The Wrathful Mountains

  The Wrathful Mountains

  Tales from Nōl’Deron

  Lana Axe

  Text copyright © 2016 Lana Axe

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Michael Gauss

  For my sisters.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Annin 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 dou
la.

  “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.

  Somewhere deep in the mountain, an ancient mind began to stir.

  Chapter 2

  High in the mountains, Kaiya stood with her eyes tightly shut, her arms outstretched. Silver magic danced upon the palms of her hands, while her violet locks swayed with the breeze. This was one of a choice few places where the dwarf woman could find peace and meditate with the wind as her guide.

  The silence of the mountain caressed her, her skin tingling in response. Magic washed over her, the element of air surrounding her body and filling her lungs. The soft fragrance of mountain pine wafted to her nostrils, reminding her she was at home. Here in the Wrathful Mountains was where she belonged.

  Kaiya’s mind drifted from village to village, from lower in the mountains to the king’s throne farther north, and on to the very summit. Snow blanketed the farthest reaches, concealing a mind that she had not sensed before. Curious, she focused her magic to investigate it, but the presence was fleeting, disappearing into the depths. Whatever it was, it had no desire to communicate with the sorceress.

  Opening her gray eyes, Kaiya witnessed the setting of the sun. A twinge of fear ran down her spine. Something was hiding its thoughts from her. Something didn’t want to be seen. Standing tall, the sorceress showed no sign of her anxiety. What did this creature have to hide? Did it simply desire privacy, or did it fear her? Do not provoke me, she projected with her mind. Whatever it was, it needed to know that she would stand to protect her people, and she was not to be
crossed.

  Wrapping herself in her woolen cloak, she turned her thoughts to the impending darkness. The first stars appeared in the sky, the sun’s orange fire disappearing on the horizon. Perfecting her circular arrangement of stones, she closed her eyes and focused her magic to the south wind. Pulling its heat through her body, she placed a hand upon the stones, spreading silver magic across their surfaces. A fire roared to life—yellow at first, then deepening to red.

  Hours of meditation left Kaiya unable to sleep. She lay back, looking up at the stars. Silver windows into the past shone down upon her, their secrets stretching back to eternity. What had their eyes seen? Reaching out with her magic, the sorceress attempted to find out. No matter how hard she tried, they remained elusive, refusing to allow her entrance into their consciousness. They held fast to the void, defying all worldly magic. Someday… she thought to herself.

  This wasn’t the first time Kaiya had attempted magic beyond her abilities. Growing up with no magical being to guide her forced her to push her own limits. There was no one to tell her she couldn’t.

  Dwarves were not known for their magical talents. With the rare exception of metalsmiths who could carve the ancient runes, no dwarf practiced any sort of magic. Kaiya was born different. She had a natural affinity for the element of air, and it had shaped her entire life.

  For many years, Kaiya was an outcast among her kind. They thought of her as a witch, one who would cast evil magic upon them should they allow her to live among them. Unconcerned, Kaiya had pursued her magical studies on her own, learning from the wind itself. She was content to live with her parents in their country home, tending to the sheep and playing with her dogs.

  The thought of her beloved mother and father brought a tear to her eye, as did the thought of the dogs she loved as her own children. All would perish in time, but Kaiya would remain. Her magic was a gift, one that imbued her with the power of the Ancients, blessing her with the gift of long life. She would live thousands of years, until she chose to leave this world. Assuming, of course, she was not killed by some other means. Disease and age could not harm her, and mundane weapons were no match for her skills, even if she were attacked while sleeping. Only magic posed any sort of threat, but there was little of that to encounter in the mountains. At least that’s what she’d come to believe.