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Tags: writing no mountain too mountainous nanowrimo lostwinds
Published : 3 weeks, 6 days ago (Tue, 10 Nov 2009 05:46:20 PST)
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This assortment of scenes is what gets produced when I'm tired and I have no idea where I'm going. It is, in truth, pretty much utterly devoid of content. On the other hand it is also about four thousand words.
No Mountain Too Mountainous
Chapter Two, Part One
"Toku! There you are!" Deo stormed over, waving his arms wildly in the air, as the boy came jogging towards him, apparently utterly oblivious to his mood. "Honestly, do you have any idea how worried you've made me? Why, if Magdi was here to see this, she'd... hey, lad, where do you think you're going?"
By the time Notea wandered up, the boy was already an indistinct blur in the distance, heading for Homeset Village and possibly beyond. Deo watched his departing back with a distinctly resigned air.
"Sometimes I feel I'm not getting through to the boy," he said glumly, staring after him. "I blame the mother. Really, if she hadn't run off, she'd still be here to talk some sense into..." He trailed off and shook his head wearily. "She wouldn't talk sense into him, would she? She'd just laugh and say he was growing up just fine."
"It's a perfectly fine opinion," said Notea reasonably.
"Maybe." Deo sighed and turned back to the explorer. "Oh, I do apologise. Thank you for fetching him back again. I am grateful, honestly."
"I know," Notea replied evenly. "No need to worry about it. What are explorers for, if not for exploring?" He brightened up. "Why, if you hadn't asked me to go and find him, I would never have made a fascinating Discovery!"
Deo gave him a quizzical look. "Another of your Discoveries?" He chuckled softly under his breath, his mood lifting. "What is it this time, Notea? Another strangely shaped rock? Another old hoe?"
"There are times," said Notea stiffly, "when I suspect that you view my adventures and exploits with a certain degree of cynicism."
"Not at all, old friend, not at all." Deo smiled. "What have you found?"
"I have found," Notea said, lowering his pack to the ground and rummaging around in it, "a fragment of an age-old Spirit Stone!"
Deo gave him a blank look.
"A what?"
"A Spirit Stone, Deo," Notea said patiently. "It was used in the Old Days to seal away one of the long-lost Spirits of the land, or so I am told."
"Well, that would explain their disappearance, yes," Deo said mildly.
"Deo?" Enril's voice said from somewhere around Notea's right shoulder. "Did you say Deo?"
Notea glanced up. "Sorry, what was that?"
"What?" said Deo, puzzled. "I said, that would explain their disappearance."
"Deo?" Enril continued. Her voice seemed to be coming from Deo's direction now, and Notea found that if he peered closely he could make out the old man's robes billowing about slightly in a breeze that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Is that really you? You look terrible!"
There was an awkward silence. Notea stared vaguely in the direction her voice had come from, which unfortunately meant that he was staring at a point slightly to one side of Deo's head. Deo returned his stare, confused.
"Deo?" Enril said again, her voice falling. "Can you hear me?"
"I don't mean to sound rude," Deo said slowly, "but are you all right, old friend? Did I say something surprising?"
Notea thought for a moment.
"No, no, not at all," he said, focusing back on his backpack. "But if you could just hold on one second..." He delved deeper for a while, until eventually his hand closed around something rough and sharp, and he hauled it out with a faint grunt of exertion. "Aha! Here it is!"
He pushed himself back to his feet and held the thing out. In the evening twilight, it sparkled faintly, as if a star had somehow fallen from the sky. "Take a look at this!"
Deo leaned closer and peered at it. "Well, it... It's unusual," he finished lamely. "And you say that this is a... a Spirit Stone?"
"Part of one, yes." Notea held it out to him. "If you would allow me to test a hypothesis... could you hold this for a second?"
"Pardon?"
"Just... take hold of this." Notea thrust the stone at him. "Satisfy an explorer's curiosity?"
"Very well..." Deo reached out one spindly arm and took the shard from him, holding it up to the light to get a better look at it. "I must admit, I've never seen stone like this before... Oh, what do you want me to do now?"
"Just stand there," Notea said firmly. He glanced back over his shoulder, in the vague hope that for some reason Enril might now be behind him. "Try saying something now?"
"Say something?" Deo repeated.
"Deo?" Enril said optimistically, at the same time.
There was another pause.
"He can't hear me at all, can he?" said Enril sadly.
Notea shook his head. "It appears my hypothesis was incorrect. Shame."
"I'm sorry to disappoint," Deo said, still inspecting the stone shard with his brow furrowed, as if he felt there was something about it that seemed noteworthy but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. "Dare I ask what you were expecting to happen?"
"I..." Notea hesitated. "I admit I'm not quite sure. I'll try again later. May I have that back again?"
"By all means." Deo handed it back over, and Notea promptly stuffed it back into his pack. He glanced at the sky. "It's getting late. Shall we walk home?"
"Well..." Notea hesitated. "Actually, I think I might wander off on my own and study this in more detail. While my great Discovery is still fresh in my mind, you understand."
"I understand." Deo smiled beatifically. "I understand all too well. Enjoy yourself, Notea."
"I just might," said Notea, hauling his pack over one shoulder. "I will keep you informed of my progress whenever you are daft enough to ask me."
"He couldn't hear me!" Enril said sadly as Notea strode purposefully off towards his house on the northern edge of town. "Not at all."
"It is odd, isn't it?" Notea agreed thoughtfully. "I wonder if by picking up the shard first I have somehow attuned myself to you, or something like that." He sighed. "I'm not quite sure how one would test this hypothesis, though. At least, not without a second shard."
"He didn't even remember me," Enril continued, as if she hadn't even heard him. "I don't understand that at all."
"I was going to enquire about that, yes," Notea said, glancing over his shoulder as he walked. He was starting to realise how disconcerting it was to talk to someone he couldn't see; he had a permanent suspicion that she was hiding just behind him. "You know Deo?"
"Oh, yes. Deo's a Spirit like me." Enril's voice was cheerful and perfectly matter-of-fact, which seemed somewhat at odds with what she was actually saying. "But he was a lot younger the last time I saw him."
"Aha!" Notea said triumphantly. "Now I know you're just making that up. Deo was never younger, you see. When he was born his mother fainted because he was already older than she was."
"That's not funny," said Enril sulkily.
Notea chuckled. "I jest, my girl, I jest. But you must appreciate how ridiculous the idea sounds, yes? Deo's not a Spirit. He's just an old man. Perhaps you knew a Spirit long ago who just happened to have the same name?"
"Maybe," said Enril unwillingly. "But he did look familiar."
"You'd be surprised by how often that happens," Notea remarked casually, placing one foot on the first step leading up to his house. "Why, once over near the Castor Springs I met a man named Noteo who looked just like me. Names do that."
Enril sighed.
Notea's house was a small, two room affair atop a low hill on the outskirts of Homeset. There were no other houses for a good distance around it; in the past he had used it as a workshop, and while most of his inventions were relatively stable there was usually one every couple of months or so that had a tendency to emit noxious clouds of smoke, produce ear-splitting noises, or just explode violently and level his house entirely. He was a bit better at that these days, but the rest of the village had decided that caution was a more sensible approach than valour and had stayed well clear. Notea, for his part, hardly minded; it wasn't as if he spent much of his time in there, anyway.
"Why didn't you tell Deo that I was speaking to him?" Enril enquired as he pushed open the front door and waddled inside. Her tone was more curious than petulant, which he took to be a good thing. It implied that she thought he might actually have had a reason for doing so.
"Tell him that a voice only I can hear was talking to him?" Notea shook his head resignedly. "Hardly. He'd just have thought I was going mad. It's happened before. And you saw how he reacted when I mentioned the Spirit Stone, didn't you? He didn't have a clue what it was. Even if he once was the Spirit you knew - which, by the by, I must admit I doubt - he doesn't remember anything about it now."
Notea's house had only a single floor, divided into two roughly even areas by a single wall. The rear room was his workshop, which he kept well out of sight for fear that anyone who saw into it might suddenly fear for their safety. The front room sufficed as entrance hall, reception room, bedroom, kitchen, and pretty much everything else.
His bed was set up just to one side of the front door, tucked away in the corner with a small table beside it. He lowered himself down onto it, removed his hat and pack, and placed the former on the table beside him and the latter on the floor at his feet. "No, telling him wouldn't do us any good. If anything, we would need to show him."
Enril's voice perked up. "How can we do that?"
"I haven't the faintest idea." Notea shrugged. "If we were to find another piece of your stone and he were the first person to pick it up... maybe that would work?" He sighed. "Of course, one can come up with hypotheses left, right, and centre, but the fact of the matter is that I'm just guessing here. I can hardly claim to be an expert on the subject. What we really need is someone who actually knows what they're talking about. I don't suppose any of your other Spirit friends would still be around?"
"I... I don't know." Enril thought about this. "I can't think of any reason why they wouldn't be, but... I was in the Stone for a very long time, and if Deo can't remember or hear me, then -"
"If indeed our Deo is the same man as your Deo, which we've not proven yet," Notea cut her off pointedly. "Do Spirits age?"
"We shouldn't," said Enril, with a touch of pride. "We were made to last."
"There you go, then," Notea said firmly. "More proof that Deo isn't Deo. And it does imply that your other Spirits might be still around... somewhere." His eyes lit up. "And just think what a Discovery it would be if they were! Can you imagine that?"
"Not really," said Enril politely. "But I... I would like to see them again. I hope nothing did happen to them..." Her voice trailed off. "Oh."
"Oh?" repeated Notea.
"And if they are around, I need to tell them about Balasar," Enril said, her tone suddenly distinctly less cheerful. "If he's escaped..."
"Sounds like a plan!" said Notea brightly. "So, we go on a hunt for your Spirit friends, yes? And they can tell us what to do about restoring you to your true majesty, and about stopping this Balasar from... from doing whatever it is he wants to do. How about that?"
"I think I would like that," said Enril, already audibly starting to cheer up again. Notea found he rather liked her voice when she was happier, and resolved to do his best to keep her that way. "I would quite like to see the world again."
Notea laughed. "Seeing the world, my dear Wind Spirit, is what explorers do best! You and I... we are going to have an Adventure."
"And you're... leaving?" Elder Atticus said, in obvious disbelief.
"Aye." Smith nodded. "For a little while, at least."
Much of the village had gathered in the town square, informally, at least. As people had emerged, blinking and glancing nervously back and forth, from their houses, one by one they had seen Smith, Markov, and their village chief standing together and talking, and they had all independently decided that they suddenly had something very important to do within earshot. As the crowd had grown they'd become less and less circumspect, and were now all clustered around the group in a little circle. Smith found that he approved of their new-found honesty.
Atticus was not a hugely tall man, but he was thin and spindly, and when he was sitting down on a bench directly in front of Smith's gargantuan bulk he just looked like he had been left out to dry for too long and had shrunk in the sun.
"Because of that... that whatever it was?" he asked. "You think it's dangerous here now?"
Smith chuckled, faking a bravado he wasn't sure whether he felt or not. "Hardly. That thing's long gone. But if it's not here, then it's going to be somewhere else, yes? So we're going to go after it and hit it with something big and heavy."
"I... I see." Atticus looked up at Smith's face. Standing over him like this, the man blocked out the sun. "What was it?"
"Just a mountain creature," Markov said firmly. "I've seen a few of them in my time. People in the east call them the, er, the abdominal snowmen."
Smith gave her a blunt look. "Do they now."
"I've always wondered why, actually," Markov said, giving him a big grin. "Stupid name, isn't it?" She turned back to Atticus. "But anyway, that's all it is. I'm not sure what one's doing quite this far west, but I'm sure we can send it packing easily enough. I've dealt with them before."
"Just an animal?" Atticus repeated, clearly sceptical. "But... did you see it?"
"Of course," said Markov happily. "Why, what did you see?"
There was something in her open, cheery tone that seemed to stymie him a little. "Well, I... there was a huge black cloud, and some kind of... smoke... monster..."
"Oooh. That's a new one." Markov beamed. "Yeah, that's something weird they do. Pheromones or something, I think. It makes people see all sorts of strange things." She grinned and clapped Smith on the back; she could just about reach his shoulders if she stretched. "Thankfully it takes an awful lot to get to someone this size, you see. To me it looked like the thing was actually a walking tree. You should have seen what it looked like when Smith here started beating it up."
"Oh. Haha. Yes, I suppose... I suppose that must have looked strange." Atticus laughed nervously; it was evident he wasn't quite convinced, but also that he very much wanted to be and that in an hour or so he'd have talked himself round to believing her. "What should we do if it comes back and you're not here, though?"
"Like I say, it won't," Markov said firmly. "It's been scared off now. But, if you're still worried, just remember to go inside and shut your doors the moment you see something really odd like that again, and you'll be fine. They're a bit stupid, really. They won't think to come inside after you, even if they see you go in. Just sit tight and it'll go away again after a few minutes."
"We will." Atticus nodded firmly. "But... if they're not dangerous, why are you going after it?"
"Not dangerous to you lot now," Smith said. "You know what to do. Other fellows out there, they might not. No telling what they'll do if they see it and panic."
Markov gave him an approving look.
"Oh. Yes, yes, I suppose so." Atticus gave them a resigned look. "Don't be gone too long, all right? We'll miss you. Both of you."
"We'll try not to get too distracted," said Markov firmly. "Can't promise anything, though. The world is an interesting place! There's always something new to see, you know."
Smith gave her a long stare.
"That there is," he said solemnly.
"Abdominal snowmen?" Smith said to her in obvious, indignant disbelief once the two of them were back in his hut.
"Well, I thought I did very well," said Markov cheerily, pouting exaggeratedly. "Besides, have you ever seen an abdominal snowman? Then you don't know that they're not like that."
"I do know they... oh, confound it." Smith turned away from her and got back to the business of packing his important belongings. "Now you're just talking nonsense, woman."
Markov laughed. "I do that, yeah. When you've been around as much and as long as I have, you start to realise that truth or even sense aren't really all that important, in the big scale of things. It's kind of fun to just say something and then run with it."
"Never been much of a wordsmith," Smith said gruffly.
"That's all right." Markov settled herself down on a table near one wall and swung her legs idly back and forth. "I'll teach you."
"I can hardly wait."
It took Smith maybe ten minutes to pull together everything he thought was an essential for a long trip, which Markov seemed quite impressed by. By the time the two of them stepped back out into the open, he had packed a massive leather sack containing a pair of hammers, a couple of spears ("in case of fish"), a spare pair of trousers, a few handfuls of assorted misshaped lumps and lengths of iron, and an anvil. He had tried to bring his bellows and enough coal to get a good roaring flame going as well, but Markov had pointed out that if he really felt the need for a strong fire then he might just have to rely on his good taste in travelling companions, and so he had left those. Nevertheless, as he hoisted the thing onto his back and fastened straps over his shoulders and around his chest and waist, there must have been a good four or five hundred pounds of solid metal in it.
Markov watched him with genuine admiration in her eyes. "Are you... sure you can carry that? For days on end?"
Smith shrugged, which was quite an achievement given the load on his shoulders. "Can barely feel it. Just have to remember to lift with your legs."
"I'll... be sure to remember that," said Markov, wide-eyed.
The crowd had mostly dispersed by the time they stepped outside again, people doing their best to return to their daily lives and not to think too deeply about what they had seen earlier, but the moment the pair reappeared they all immediately hurried together to bid them a fond and in some cases tearful farewell. Smith had to admit that he was touched, if a little puzzled. They had been pleasant acquaintances during his time in Summerfalls, but he had to admit that he could not in all honesty have considered any of them genuine friends - though he would willingly have admitted that the fault for that lay solely with him and his reclusive, rather terse nature. It seemed a little odd that they would suddenly all gather together the moment he left them, but he did appreciate the gesture.
He and Markov set off to the east with the setting sun at their back. The path led up into the mountains, he knew, where it wound aimlessly about a bit before descending back down on the other side and branching out to a veritable civilisation on the other hand with a good half dozen other villages all within easy walking distances of one another. Smith had visited a couple of them, years and years back, and vaguely recalled them to be pleasant enough, even if their inhabitants did have a slightly cosmopolitan outlook and a tendency to view those who lived in more remote, secluded villages with a certain smug pity. He guessed that if they made good time, they could probably reach the closest of the cluster - Marble Gardens, if he remembered correctly, which he probably didn't - in a little under two weeks. Something told him that Markov would not exactly slow him down, but even so, a fortnight felt like a long time when they were chasing... whatever the hell it was. Something that had once been the Spirit of the Sun, anyway.
"Pardon my asking," he said thoughtfully after they had been on the road for maybe ten minutes, and Summerfalls had well and truly receded into the distance behind and below them, "but where exactly are we going?"
"Where?" Markov repeated, as if she didn't understand the question. "We're going east." She pointed at the sky. "Look, the sun's over there and everything."
"Yes, yes, I know that," Smith said patiently. "But why east?"
Markov slowed her pace a little and fell into step beside him. She was smiling, Smith noticed abruptly. It seemed somehow incongruous with their situation, but he could hardly begrudge her it.
"Well, it's not really where we're going to as where we're going from, I think," she said. "At least for the moment."
"Explain yourself?"
"It's me he wanted," Markov said matter-of-factly. "That's why he came to Summerfalls, because I was there. So I think the first thing we need to do is to put some distance behind us, so that if he comes back again, we're nowhere near them."
Smith nodded slowly. "Reasonable, yes. So why east?"
She grinned at him. "Ah, now that part's thinking ahead. You see, if he does come back for us, it doesn't matter which way we go, right? He'll find us."
"Right," said Smith, not quite seeing where she was going.
"So it only matters which way we go if he doesn't come for us." She gave him a playful prod on one massive forearm. "Come on, work with me here."
Smith sighed. "And he wouldn't come back if... what? If he's scared of us?" The thought seemed unreasonable. "You did say the fellow was the Spirit of the Sun, yes?"
"Yes... well, or whatever he is now." She grinned. "But yes, I think he might actually be scared, kind of. When you broke that mask he had... he just vanished, right there and then. So that must have done something, right? Maybe you actually hurt him."
"So what?" Smith shrugged. "What has that got to do with him going this way?"
"All right, here's what I think." Markov stared aimlessly up at the sky as she walked, as if she thought it might give her answers. "Well, first... he came from the west, didn't he? When he arrived at Summerfalls?"
"Aye." Smith nodded expectantly.
"He's searching for the rest of us Spirits, I think," Markov said. "So he's probably searched over that way, and he's sweeping from west to east. And," she smiled wryly, "if I remember him properly, he was always really proud and convinced that what he was doing was the right thing. So I don't think he'd turn round if he didn't have to. I think he'd just keep going in one direction no matter what."
Smith snorted. "That's your reason? That the fellow is a prat?"
Markov laughed, genuinely amused by the turn of phrase. She had a pleasant, almost melodic laugh, Smith noted. "Well, not in so many words. You saw that girl with him?"
Smith's brow furrowed. "Aye. Who was that?"
"I don't know." Markov shook her head sadly. "But she didn't seem happy, did she? I don't think she's with him willingly. He must need her for something. So he's dragging the poor thing around with him as he goes."
"Then we stop him doing that," Smith said flatly. "Defeat the monster. Save the girl. That's how these things go, right?"
"Maybe," Markov said uncertainly. "But that part's neither here nor there, really. See, if he needs her with him, then he needs to look after her. So I think he has to be stopping off at every town he comes to, so she can get some good food and a bit of rest. Ancients' wake, she must need them."
Smith nodded. "And she can't go back to a place once she's been there before," he said slowly. "They'll recognise her."
"Exactly. You would if she came back to Summerfalls, wouldn't you? After she came through there with a terrible cloud following her like that? Someone would have noticed." Markov pounded one fist into her open palm. "No, they'd have to keep going east to the next village along. Which is where we're going."
Smith considered this.
"That actually almost makes sense," he said, impressed. "Took you long enough to get to the point, though."
"Hey, I'm an explorer and storyteller," Markov said cheerfully. "I've practised dragging stories out. People like that. And it's not like I was working all that out as I went along or anything." She patted him on the back. "Come on, no point in second-guessing ourselves, is there? Might as well just enjoy the trip while we can."
Smith gave her an odd look. "You're a strange woman."
"I know." Markov grinned. "It's difficult to grow old without getting a bit strange."
"You're hardly old."
She laughed. "Come on, you know what I am. I'm... well, I'm older than the oldest story you've ever heard, let's just say that. But thank you. That was a surprisingly chivalrous thing to say, you know."
Smith shrugged. "Let us say, 'young at heart,' then. Or perhaps you would prefer, 'childish?'"
"Now you're just making fun of me."
"Perhaps."
She grinned up at him. "You know, I think we just might get along at this rate."
"Perhaps." |
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