The Mountain Withers
From the uncensored, self-published book “The Personal Accounts of Great Heroes Vol. II”
Chapter 1. The Mountain Withers
I look under my bed and grab my Idol. I then take my hair, which has grown long and unkept, taking a pair of sheers and cut off all the excess hair. Still griping the end with my one hand I place them in my bowl, using a roll of paper I bring the flame to the hair. I pray quietly before the day begins.
The young males of the village always poke fun at my appearance. They like to say horrible things about me; my body is to rigid to birth children. My breast are to flat to attract a mate. That I look to much like a male to be courted. Nasty things that break my heart inside. For I look at my reflections and see these things. My breasts are too flat to attract a male, I am to rigid in my body, and I do look like a male. In the mirror is see it, my fur is poorly kept with knots and patches of ugly colors.
Mother would tell me to ignore them when she wipes away the tears from my face. Her soft paws rub the dirt from my face and hands. Father tells me to be strong. “If they see you as a male then act as such, knock them to the ground! Make them eat the dirt they rubbed in your face. Make them respect you just as any male!” He would say vigorously.
I had learned to endure the insults and take it in stride. To carry the burned as the gods would want from me. Our priest would read me a passage from the Holy Book of the Sky. “For the mountain must withstand all punishments from the sky. The mountain knows it’s place on the ground, yet it withstands the sky’s relentless punishment. Great is the sky’s might, but so too is the mountains resolve. Be the mountain in life, resilient in defiance to the punishments of the sky, yet humble under it’s all knowing gaze it remains on the ground.” I take try to hold the words true, yet I am no mountain. I tie the open end of my day dress, crossing over the two edges. Taking the waist belt, I wrap it around my stomach. It is no mystic tailors work; however, it does bring some curve to my body.
I entre the living area of the house and see mother dashing around the room trying to cook three different meals. With the harvest season ending mother is preparing the sacrifice, food for the festival and our harvest diner. I try to help her, but I am far to hard with the delicate aspects of inside work always breaking everything I touch. I help father while my older sister Holdia and younger brother Drexan help mother inside.
I see father in the fields, twirling his whiskers he leans against our fence watching my oldest brother cut down the wheat. I walk over to him
“Father have you moved the reaped crops yet?” I ask him to tie my long-split skirt around my legs, ready for the field. Father looks at me and leans over the fence.
“Well I have my crops for the sacrifice ready.” He says in a low gruff tone still twirling his whiskers. “But for our Lord? No, I’m afraid not. My legs are getting sore and I must rest. The day is still long, and I must have my cart full for the Lord’s collectors.” He says.
“May I help fill the cart up, does the wheat need to be tied or has that been done already?”
Father took a moment, looked around the field and sighed. “The pile over there.” He points over to my brother, to the right of the house on our small plot of field. “He is starting a pile. You must tie the wheat together and load it on the cart. Once it is full take the cart to our barn, place them in the section for our Lord. Then I will see what must be done.” I give him a kiss on the cheack and run over to great my brother Nicovati who is bent over reaping.
“How is the harvest going dearest Nico?” I ask with a comically bright demeaner. He turns around, hunched over, eyes rolled in the back of his head, tongue laying out of his mouth.
“It has turned me into a ghoul, forced to work the lands for all eternity.” He moans. “The gods will never let me rest until all of Duol has been reaped.”
I stand, arms crossed. “Please maybe little Drex would have ran screaming, but you expect me too?”
“Well I can’t scare such a burly figure, such as yourself.”
“If the fields where finished I swear I’d beat you till the sky splits.”
He lets out a laugh and goes back to work. I take some wheat strands laying on the ground and tie the bunches of together.
“Have you been fighting with anymore of the pups from the village?”
“No, a Lady does not fight. She uses her mind to outwit her opponents.”
“I see, our Lady cannot handle some dirt being thrown at her.”
I finish my first bundle and proceed to the next, the process becomes instinctual allowing me to focus on my brother. “Funny Nico. But I have decided to withstand the insults. I shall be better, I shall endure and suffer.”
“What other myths has that “priest” filled your mind with.”
“Myths are made by scholars sitting in a dark room. The priest has scripture.”
“Same idea, different name.”
I move the cart to gather more of the wheat clusters.
“A rock.” I hold up my left hand. “Your mind.” I hold up the other.
“The priest has his scripture. We have blistered hands and infertile land.”
“The scales do not work for you.”
“Nor for you.”
I keep silent. We both keep working the field. My cart piles upward, creating a small hill of fresh, pure yellow wheat. When the hill becomes too much I grab the cart and work my way back to father. Nico steps in front of me.
“You need to learn how to take a punch.” He takes a quick step back and lightly hits my shoulder.
I look right at him, I slowly walk towards him, we hold each other.
“Sorry Ves. I know how you feel about the gods. I am not trying to disrespect them. Only that priest, so fat and smug.” He says with a softer voice.
“He gives to the Gods. They in-return let us prosper.”
“I know. But still he can at least do something for us.”
“You may have your grievances, but he keeps the balance.”
“I’m afraid the only balance he keeps is with the baker.” We both let go and chuckle. I continue with the cart walking past father is glance over to see his nod of approval.
I make it to the barn, open the main gate and take the cart inside. The late harvest winds blowing outside, I move the cart to the corner where the Lord’s storage is kept. The warmth of the inside put me at ease, I take a moment to rest before I have to drop the hay into the Lord’s storage. Then I hear a creak. Looking over my shoulder I see a figure, short, thin, and pure white fur. I turn quickly to see Altriah. The son of our neighbor who we share the field and barn with. He leans against a beam staring at me, with his soft green eyes. A cat just like me, though with cleaner fur then myself. A rich white coat unlike my dirty spotted one.
He silently walks over to me and we share a kiss. Gentle and warm. When we take our lips away from each other he speaks “Since when does a fine madden such as yourself work the dirty fields?” he asks me sweetly, nothing can ruin this moment.
“Must you poke fun at me?”
“I meant no harm my lady.” He holds my hand and kisses it, bowing his head as one would do with a Lord.
“I reserve my love for those far above the likes of a commoner such as yourself.” I joke.
“My fair lady I have gone to battle against the worst souls in all of Duol.” He says dramatically posing, playing pretend fights, against mighty yet, invisible foes. “I have travelled across the endless seas and come back with riches beyond your wildest dreams. I am a hero worthy of your love.” I come over and he kisses my hand again.
“Talk of pure fantasy.”
“My Lady, My Fair, Noble, Righteous, and Beautiful Vesildi. Dreams are what lead me to you.”
“Oh, great warrior, your words speak true.”
“Then will you.”
I lightly hit his shoulder, before he can finish, giving him a faint smile. “So how is your mother?”
“The fever has passed, and she is on here way to full health again.” He says regaining his normal joyful tone.
“The gods be praised.” I sigh out. “Can you help me with the wheat? Can’t have father thinking I’ve taken a nap.”
“Of course, Vesildi.” He says, immediately removing the wheat and placing them in the Lord’s storage. He is the only one who still uses my whole name. We both move together, I take the bundles off the cart, he places. We move quickly and have an ordered pile in minutes. Before we can embrace again the gate on our side of the property opens. I turn to see my father. He moves to me and sees Altriah and our pile.
“Hello Altriah. If only you could work for me. A fine job you two, our Lord shall be pleased.” He smiles at him and pats me on the shoulder. “Forgive me but I need my daughter. When the harvest is done I’m sure the two of you can talk more.” Father turns, me and Altriah share one last look before I go with father.
We leave the barn and the sun is making it’s decent to the horizon. He leans over to me and whispers. “You two need a better spot to have your “talks” or you get in trouble.” He smiles.
“Father I would never commit such an act. You have foul thoughts.” I reply normally
“Ha, you make a great farmer, but a poor liar. I too sneaked off to “talk” with the local ladies of my village. Yet I found a better spot then the shared barn to do so.” He laughs and rubs my head.
“It is hard to find a place with so many eyes around.”
“A cunning mind can figure a way around any obstacle.”
“What did you need from me?”
“Our Lord is expecting his taxes soon. The pile you made will be collected as part of the villages crop tax, however our tax must be given to him in person. We have a bag of fresh fruit, preserved from our garden. I need you to take it to our Lord’s Keep. This is very important, they cannot be damaged or misplaced, less we pay a high price.” He hands me the sack filled with fresh apples, cold even through the bag. “It is only a short walk to the Keep. You should be back in time for the sacrifice and the festival.”
“I shall return as swiftly as I can.”
“Thank you.” He kisses me on the forehead. I turn towards the village center, down the main road no more than a ten-minute walk from the village center is our Lord’s Keep. I pass through the barn and see Altriah storing his harvest on his side of the barn. I walk over to him, gently placing the sack down I walk right behind and hug him.
“I have to take, these apples, to our Lord himself. When I get back, we may talk of fantasy’s.” I breath out the words, softly.
“Where?” he blows out quietly, holding my hands as I wrap them around his stomach.
“You shall meet me, where we can look out to the world and see all.”
“I shall wait for you there my lady.” I let go, he turns, and we kiss. Moments wisp by and I feel my lips going numb. I unlock my mouth from his and take my sack. I exit back through my side of the barn, making sure to be unseen. as I walk through the shared fields. I make it out of the property and now make my way up towards the village center. As I walk I think of Altriah
Father is far more approving then mother of our relation. She prefers I stay a proper lady and wait until I am ready, wait for a male who has an income and a profession instead of mere wishes and dreams. But she is a farmer’s wife, where I shall be an adventurer’s wife. Our children will live in the city of a Count or even a Duke. Our children will be told stories like those of Captain Flinn or, perhaps their fathers adventures.
His family is no better. They coddle him like he is a frail egg. They are afraid I may break something else. Either way there is no way we can live outside of the shared farm. Not unless we come across lost relics, unclaimed chests, fertile land or…
My thoughts have lead me to the home of Rahvin. Old Rahvin, an old crow sits on a bench in front of his home. He waves for me to come over. Looking up the trail I see the village and the Lords Keep to the left, up a large hill. I am not far off, so why not amuse his old mind.
Walking over to Rahvin I can smell the Fog Root burning from his leaf wrap. “What flavor is the wrapping today Rahvin?” I ask clearly and slowly.
“Mint.” He wobblily shrieks out.
“A good choice.” Its been mint for the last 3 years. “And how is your wife?” Who has been dead for 2 years.
“She is doing just fine, see” he holds his burning leaf wrap with tow talons and shakily points to a stump with a feral Tilting Lily. He waves at the flower blowing in the breeze.
“Yes, she is. So how has the Fog Root doing, has it cleared your mind yet?” To every other soul they would have turned into Rahvin.
“The dreams.” He speaks with a clear voice.
Strange I have never heard this one before. Maybe I gave him to much of the root.
“They have lead me too far off lands. Where I have meet the Fire Keepers. They bestowed great knowledge of fire. Fire that cleanses one’s soul and brings it closer to the end.” He raises his hand and creates a small flame in in his talons. Not a roaring flame but a steady glow. “I know fire, and fire I see tonight. My Dreams where the sails to this shore.”
“Did you have a nightmare?” I ask.
“No. I, forgot…” he begins to shake slowly, and his normal wobbling voice returns.
“You just rest, I will see about getting you some better root. Maybe even some Faltilli. How does that sound?” He nods his head yes. I make my way out and see the priest coming this way. I bow and wait for him to bow back. once he does I ask. “Brother, what are you doing in this part of the village?”
“Sister, I need to have a word with Rahvin. He will not miss the festival this year.” He quickly responds.
“Rahvin is not feeling well, I believe he smoked to much root.”
“He rots his mind away, smoking. He could be doing more for the village, that dirty crow.”
“Brother. You must be kind, Rahvin has served his mortal form, now he waits for the change.”
“Don’t you listen to a word he says, understand Sister?” He says authoritatively.
“Yes, brother.” I say defiantly.
I continue my way to the village, still hearing the priest yell out not to listen to him. Nico is right, the priest can still try to lose some weight. I can still smell him.
I finally make it to the village center, now being decorated for tonight’s festival. The local musicians, mostly cats, dogs, and mice. They tune their heavy stringed lutes, strumming a few low tones. Then some begin to sing a bit of a myth.
A lovely tale from what I remember. A wandering mage fights valiantly against a wicked blood wraith. He is defeated yet he fought with all his might. So great was his defeat that the Gods proclaimed the land sacred. The land shall be balanced, to accommodate all souls. That is the reason the land I stand on right now has seen no war or bloodshed, since that valiant mage died.
The music brings me to the one trained mage in the entire village, besides Old Rahvin. Kristoli an expert fire mage. He is showing the spell slingers a few tricks. He obviously spots me and runs over. I look to see if anyone is paying attention. Luckily everyone is busy with preparations.
“My young novice.” He says humorously taking a slight bow. “How has your practice been going?”
“I’m afraid that all I have been able to do it plant a staff in the dirt, nothing more.” I say disappointedly. “What makes you believe I have any ability with ground magic?”
“When I was still an apprentice of the academy I saw plenty of, “ground” mages as you are so fond of calling them. They have similar features.”
“Do the women have bad luck and no talent.” I coldly reply
“They are stubborn and thick in the head.” He says jokingly as he flicks his finger at my forehead.
“I can do the forms, yet with a fine staff I can only sling a pebble, useless.”
“We all begin with embers, soon an ember grows becoming a fire.” He says placing his hand on my shoulder.
“How does a pebble form a mountain?”
“You need practice, then you will see.”
“I must be going. I need to pay my families taxes.”
He moves away as I make my way towards the Keep. He continues to perform simple tricks like using his staff to catch an ember and make a flame. Then using a different staff, he slings the fire in the sky. where he catches it with the non-burnt end of his staff and extinguishes it. All I have done is move a simple pebble and he believes I am a mage. While I dream of being able to move boulders with a single wand or take a staff and form an axe with the slightest dirt around the tip. Like the rest of the ground mages can do.
The village’s younger males stare at me, whispers and laughs are exchanged. Ignore them, nothing to worry over. I finally make it out of the village center and on the road up to the Lord’s Keep. Thank the gods, I walk up the road. the leaves on the trees almost completely yellow and orange, all float to the ground. The river moves along quietly. I hear the bustle of the village die down and the noises of nature fills the air. Falling acorns taken by feral squirrel.
I look over and see the smaller village of Frogs. They chose to live outside of the main village as the language barrier is to strong. They also need less space being most of them are the size of a child. They also work in the river beds and underground, so the rest of the village sees them as disgusting. I look away as one of the guards’ blinks at with, with one eye then the other.
This time I keep my attention on the road and up to the keep. Its only two minutes away. I then see a rider coming down the road, must be from the keep. The rider is wearing a bright yellow coat, with a deep red hood hanging on his shoulders. With the silliest blue pants, Sir Gredlin messenger and tax collector for our Lord. A very charming yet peculiar squirrel. He slows down as he approaches me. I stand to the side of the road and give a bow.
“Good evening Ves.” He says giving me a slight bow.
“Good evening Sir Gredlin” returning his bow with a deeper one.
“What business, do you have with Lord Rohmir?” he casually asks me.
“I am going to give him our personal tax, a bag of preserved apples.”
“Hmm yes Lord Rohmir has been talking about making an apple stew or possibly a pie. Well he is not busy now, so you may be able to greet him in person. Though please brush off the dirt. Don’t want to see you in any trouble.” He laughs a bit and rides off without a goodbye. Strange how fast he talks to you then how quickly he moves on. Must be how his kind acts, always jumping from thing to thing.
Soon as I am in view of the gate the guard, Telbrim rushes towards me. I stop and wait for him to address me.
“Ves, what business do you have with Lord Rohmir?” He politely asks me.
“Personal tax in apples. Father asked me to deliver them in person.”
“A heavy task to ask his daughter to do.”
“Father is busy finishing up the harvest. With our tax collected he is getting his personal wheat tied up.”
“A fine soul your father, always ahead of schedule. Lord Rohmir will be glad to receive the apples. Go inside and ask one of the servants.” I bow as he opens the gate to the Keep. A fine partial stone Keep. The stone foundation is wonderfully crafted with a fine white wash over it. Though from the stories I was told there are keeps far larger then this, castles that overshadow the entire village. Wonderful sights I will see.
I find a servant girl who tells me to wait by the doors to the great hall, Lord Rohmir will call for me when he is ready. So, I wait.
I see a tall figure enter the great hall, without a word being said. A few minutes pass and I hear, “Next!”
I enter the great hall, Lord Rohmir sits in his wooden throne, the throne is draped with pelts and furs. His tail sits behind him and curls over the back. He raises his hand and I stop.
“Wait, let me guess, covered in dirt, yet smells as if she washed yesterday.” He says in a high playful tone, ignoring the tall figure to the right of him. “You are Vesildi, my most humble of peasants. You have my tax yes?”
“Yes, Lord Rohmir.” I say bowing again.
“Are they golden?” With the same tone, he shoots a hidden remark.
“No, my Lord.” I softly reply.
“Are they large?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Are they apples?”
“Yes, My Lord.” I move to his large wooden table and place the sack. He reaches inside taking out one and bites into it. His large front teeth leave two long valleys in the apple. He is a squirl, a Grand Red Squirrel. Long hair on top of his ears, clean coat of orange fur, the finest linen around and even silver rings marked with symbols, that I cannot read.
“Oh” he says holding his mouth before swallowing. “Quite cold, very well preserved. Your father knows how to keep his stock in fine quality. I must know how a humble soul keeps such a fine stock.”
I cannot speak for a moment, as the hidden daggers he so casually shots at me, keeps me silent. He smiles, turning to the tall figure and speaks, with a strange language I don’t understand. I know its dragon, my priest speaks it, the distinctive harsh guttural voice, blending with sharp hissing sounds. All lords know it even a “humble” Lord such as Rohmir.
One word I can understand among the conversation shoots out at me. “Holvali.” Rohmir spoke it with our native tongue, strange. Hol is the word for soul, or blood. Vali, I have never heard before. Yet so familiar in the way its pronounced. Rohmir looks at me. Have I shown my interest in the conversation?
“Vesildi. You may ride with my other messenger. He will take you into the village. I thank you for the swiftness of your payment.” He says, quickly going back to the conversation.
I am lifted up and placed on a mount with a rabbit messenger. We move quickly to the village I try to speak but the wind is making my choke. The sun is going down and the world turns a pale blue, then a dark blue. He drops me off the mount and into the village.
