The Heart in the Mountain

The Valley wasn't always under the sole dominion of humans.

Before us there were the feathered ones; the river carvers and mountain shakers. The first children of the Gods: the Earathskin.

Around campfires, our elders whispered tales of their grandeur. Rumored to be larger than the mountain peaks that towered over the Valley, their wings alone could darken the skies. From their jaws came eruptive lightning storms that drenched the land, and from their shedding feathers, came the seeds for life, and from their battles came the impressions of rivers and lakes and mountains and valleys. For all the elders told, these beasts were the catalyst to the making of our world.

They were tales for grown-ups to scoff at. Even I, with all of my child-like wonder and imagination, let the stories be just that: stories. Dragons were the only creatures to have ever ruled the skies of our Mother. Their bones were proof of it.

Yet, the Valley is known to hide many things; from the deep western woods of the Lord of the Hidden Path's domain to the northern mountainside underneath the benevolent gaze of the wolf goddess, Anu. All shadows could hide something magnificent or terrible. But, to hide a race of demi-gods who could crumble mountains seemed quite childish indeed.

"Beneath the looming dark and stagnant stone

lies the rhythm of creation

a hollow ticking clock with sleeping teeth

and prickling feathers ready to unleash

nature's fury."

- The Mountain is Alive by Amanda Starks

...

Drenched grass leaked cold and wet into Dagny Nialldottir's fur wrapped boots. No one had expected a torrential downpour this late into the season, especially when snowstorms were frequent upon the Great Mountain. It'd been the one single element in her clan's battle plans that hadn't been accounted for, and it had cost them.

Dagny lowered herself to her knees, ignoring how the water-logged mud seeped into her pants. She looked across the field of soggy grass where horse tracks carved a chaotic story of struggle and desperation, while decimated bodies told the finale of that tale.

Somehow, by Anu's blessing, she'd survived.

It had been bloody. The rain had turned the ideal battleground into a killing field where warriors and horses alike became suctioned to the ground, becoming mere target dummies for their enemies to cut down. They'd used a storm of arrows to thin them out and then swept in on their own mounts once Dagny's people were crippled.

She'd been lucky to receive a bow before the fight, or else she would have been here, half caked into the earth, her guts and bones flattened and ground to dust.

Several others wandered around her collecting fallen clansmen's weapons and belongings. Normally, they would be preparing pyres to prevent their comrades from turning into unmoored; undead creatures possessed by ancient spirits and deities of the forest and mountains. But, it was too wet to burn the bodies. They would have to dig deep and cacoon them within the earth father's embrace.

A muted voice drifted up from the decomposing bodies. "Dag...ny..."

Her round shield flopped onto its side, splattering more mud onto her tunic. Near her position, a mud-caked body lay prone on the ground, but it was moving. It was still alive.

She scooted forward on her knees and hastily began wiping away mud from her comrade's face and eyes. Soon, she was able to identify the hard brow and pale blue eyes of Harrow Jotunson, her commander.

"By the Gods, you're alive!" she rejoiced, sitting him up onto his knees so his wounds could be assessed.

"Dagny...you must gather the banners. We can't withstand another assault," he rasped, clasping his side where blood oozed from a wide slash wound. His leg too held the impression of a horse's hoof. He had been trampled.

Trepidation gripped Dagny's throat, closing off any immediate protest. Instead, she dug into her medicinal pouch at her belt and pulled out a pinch of green paste, offering it to her superior to spread onto his wound.

Harrow refused the herbal remedy with a rough hand and gave her a stern, expectant look, still waiting for her response.

"I...I'd have to cross back over the mountain to reach the clans," she said finally, reluctantly. "What's the point if you are all dead by the time I get back?"

"We will be lost either way; at least if you go...we might have a chance."

Dammit, he has a point, Dagny thought bitterly. She knew why it needed to be done, and she also knew why he was choosing her out of the several others who had come out of the battle mostly unscathed.

She'd been a hunter first before she ever became a warrior. She knew the mountain paths; the way they winded and curved along cliffsides and through patches of forest. She knew what did and didn't lurk around those trails, which is why she was so reluctant.

"Take my horse, Ash. He is sturdy and fast. He can take you over the mountain within the day," Harrow said firmly, finally taking the paste Dagny still held outstretched in her hand. "He ran off after I was de-saddled. He shouldn't be far."

Dagny bit back more protest, picking up her shield and pulling the strap over her head and across her chest so the shield rested on her back. "Please...be here when I return," she said quietly.

Harrow nodded, his blond braids moving stiffly from how much mud was caked onto them. "I will do my best...now go, before the weather on the peak changes."

Dagny swallowed her reservations and left with haste, quickly hunting down Harrow's steed Ash; a large grey war-horse whose hooves were twice as large as her head. She had to squirm a bit to settle onto the beast's back, her hands grasping the reigns tightly as she urged the horse into a gallop.

In a full sprint, it only took an hour for Dagny and Ash to reach the base of the Great Mountain: the main obstacle to their goal which lay on the other side of its massive cliffs.

The mountain had long been a symbol of protection for the clans. It had kept out invaders and provided an area for Anu's black wolf host to hunt game and not their small children. But here, underneath its shadow, Dagny felt it had become her enemy.

Misty white clouds hung low over the peak, obscuring much of its faces. Fear found Dagny's gut and took root there, festering as she urged Ash further up. She prayed the blizzard would stay high in the mountain and leave the lower trails clear and warm enough to travel.

But it would not be so. Another hour passed, and heavy flakes were already falling onto Dagny's shoulders and hair. The sun which had been slowly climbing to the apex in the sky was now obscured by layers of white clouds.

Her fear was now a bubbling cauldron in her stomach, passing off fumes into her throat. She didn't know if the fear came from likely failure or her own mortality.

She ignored the rising heat within and ripped up part of her lower tunic, using the strip of cloth to wrap around her head and nose, knowing that she would be of no use to anyone if she succumbed to the cold. It would have to be enough until she crested the mountainside.

The higher they climbed, the thicker the snow came down, and the harder it became to navigate the thin tree line and massive boulder fields. One stream she came across was slowly trickling through icy sludge and clumps of snow. She allowed both Ash and herself to stop briefly to drink from the source, but the cold bite of the water on her throat made her regret the choice immediately.

Within what felt like moments after leaving the stream behind, Dagny was engulfed by a howling wind and waves upon waves of icy snow battering into her sides. She huddled close to the neck of her horse, her hands rubbing warmth into her fingers and the horse's flesh.

An eerie howl pierced through the growing storm, halting both her and her companion in their tracks. She raised up on her stirrups, her shield resting on the tail end of the saddle beneath her. She looked for shapes moving in between the snow gusts, for shadows prowling underneath the icy branches of the pines.

Ash began to shuffle in place, his head tossing side to side. Dagny knew then that her senses would not help her here, but her animal companion's instincts could.

"Ride on!" she urged Ash, snapping his reign and giving him a hearty pat on his flank. He snorted and responded quickly, trotting purposefully through the snow in the opposite direction of the howl.

More haunting cries echoed along the cliffs as Dagny let Ash lead. She kept her head high, her body spread out and tall to make her and her horse appear bigger than they were in hopes to drive off the pack from investigating. Depending on how hungry they were, they might not care.

Soon, the storm became so intense that Dagny could no longer see any of her surroundings. She could only pick out the grey mane of her steed beneath her and the occasional rock or tree branch underneath his hooves. Her fingers felt stiff, and her eyelids burned where her tears had turned to ice.

The only benefit of this storm would be their scents becoming harder to track, which gave some relief to their situation. Regardless, she'd have to stop and seek shelter, or else she would die, and this trek would be made pointless.

Dagny once more took control of the reigns, gently steering Ash along a line of large rocks and boulders that signaled the nearby presence of a cliff. She hoped, with some luck and close observation, that she would be able to find a cave or small outcropping that could shield her and Ash from the storm.

It didn't take long for Ash to start shivering, his pace slowing. Dagny knew she couldn't push him much more, so she slowly and painfully slid off his back, gathering his reigns close and trudging forward. She placed her free hand on the cliff wall, letting her fingers feel for openings. Dagny couldn't risk missing possible shelter now. Any crevasse would have to do.

After what felt like an eternity of pushing through the biting wind, Dagny's hand finally met open air; warm open air.

Not pausing to question why a cave entrance would be emitting heat, Dagny quickly pulled her and Ash into the opening, sighing with audible relief as she found it was deep enough to get them completely out of the storm.

In the dark, Dagny dug into the one pack she never went anywhere without. Inside contained a deerskin pouch for water, two pieces of flint, emergency herbs, and several pieces of dried venison.

She chewed on a piece of meat while she gathered dead leaves and twigs from the edge of the cave entrance, carrying them to where Ash stood and dumping them on the ground. With shaking hands, she furiously struck the two flint pieces together until a spark lept from their collision and fell onto the dead foilage. After a few minutes, she had a small but stable fire burning away the cold.

However, her victory would be short-lived. Chilling howls of several wolves echoed into the cave from outside, sounding much louder and much closer than before. Somehow, they had tracked her and Ash through the blizzard.

Terror forced Dagny's frozen limbs to move. She considered putting out the fire but instead reached for a larger clump of twigs on the ground. She tore off another strip of cloth from her tunic and wrapped the end of the bundle, shoving it into the campfire and lifting it high over her head as she turned to the cave mouth.

At the entrance, the silhouettes of three wolves awaited her.

Dagny's breath came fast, her heart gasping for more room to beat inside her rib cage. She stepped forward, putting her makeshift torch between her and the three wolves who were now growling, their eyes bright and hungry within their black pelts.

Behind her, Ash whinnied, his hoof striking the cave floor in warning.

"Get back!" Dagny yelled at the wolves, waving the torch furiously at them, hoping to scare them off. "You will not find a meal for your goddess this night!"

The wolves barked and whined, shifting back and forth across the worn entryway. They did not come closer, though it appeared they wanted to. The edge of the cave mouth seemed to be providing some invisible barrier that they would not cross.

"What..." Confused, Dagny shuffled forward again, foolishly testing her growing theory. She lowered her torch, letting it rest on the ground. Yet, the small pack did not move into the cave.

Again, Ash whinnied and stomped the ground behind her, though this time it sounded much more panicked. Turning to look over her shoulder, Dagny witnessed her war steed rear up on his hind legs, shaking his neck and head furiously as if to dislodge a tick. He wasn't facing the predators outside, but the shadows deeper in the cave.

That was when she heard it; a dull thump. Like the loosened skin on a drum beating without proper adjustment or like a timid child testing the instrument for the first time. It was slow; the beat drawn out and soft.

The wolves snarled and barked, their tails tucked between their legs and their ears flattening to their skulls. Hackles raised, the beasts fled from the cave mouth, vanishing like ghosts into the winter storm.

Dagny slowly turned, taking in the cave walls with new wary interest. The orange light from her torch danced upon the stone encompassing her, highlighting thick, cylindrical formations and casting strange colored patterns into stark relief.

She walked up to the wall before her, resting her hand on one of the patterns. It was faded and old, but she recognized the shapes to be a runic language, one she hadn't seen since she was a little girl learning the ways of her clan.

She squinted, leaning forward to interpret the clearest pieces. "...let the flames guide you...child of green, of old, of new..."

The drumbeat came again, a little louder this time.

Dagny continued reading despite the noise, moving down the cave wall. Curiosity drove her now. "Gods forsake you...left to drift in time...unmoored and untethered to the world. Asleep."

Ash was suddenly next to her, pushing his nose into her side. Dagny brushed a hand over his head absently, her mind slowly working to catch up to where her eyes were reading.

"What is this?" Dagny wondered aloud. "A story?"

As the strange beat continued to echo in the cave, the cylindrical formations wrapping around the cave began to shake, shedding tiny bits of loose dust and rock. Dagny gasped, clutching Ash's neck in fright, afraid the cave was going to collapse.

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. The drumbeat quickened to that of an almost regular heartbeat, further unsettling Dagny. With each pounding, the tube-like protrusions rattled.

They needed to leave.

Ash then turned away from Dagny, slowly walking toward the fire and then past it, wandering deeper into the cave.

"Ash!" She called, leaning down to grab her discarded torch. "Ash, get back here!"

But the horse did not respond, so Dagny chased after him, cursing herself and her terrible luck while praying to Anu to continue sparing them from harm.

Further, into the cave, the rocky cylinders became more numerous and entangled, focusing around one or two wider tubes that shook the hardest. Several more runes and strange patterned shapes appeared in between, but Dagny didn't stop to read or observe them. Her only goal now was to grab Ash and get out; find another cave that didn't threaten to close them in.

She finally caught up to Ash before an archway where the stone roots were thickest and another line of runes curved overhead. The horse was still, staring straight ahead into the next opening. He barely shifted when Dagny grabbed his reigns, tugging on them to pull him away.

"Come on, let's go find a warmer spot," she said gently, though admittedly it was just as warm here in the dark with her single torch as the small campfire at the entrance.

Ash snorted, stomping the ground. Without any warning, he lowered himself to the floor, grunting as his side made contact with the stone.

"No, no, no!" Dagny cried. She shook him, pushed up on his shoulder, and even offered some of her dried venison even though she knew he wouldn't eat it anyway. She was afraid he had been exposed to the cold for too long and was going into shock.

That was when her torch was blown out by a sudden warm wind coming from deeper into the cave. Dagny cursed, her hands shaking just as hard as she was shaking the horse.

Then, the cylinders began to glow.

Dagny's breath sounded too loud in her ears as she watched the pale red glow light up in time with the drum beat, like a living pulse. The thumping was steady now, and there was no mistaking it for what it was: a heartbeat.

Before them in the next room, Dagny could make out a hulking rocky formation hanging from the roof of the cave where all the stone roots converged. Slowly, the suspended boulder-filled up with the red light, until Dagny could distinguish its shape.

"By the Gods...," she whispered.

It was a giant stone heart slowly beating to life.

The roots that she now knew to be veins lit up the runes above her head. There, she read them:

Beneath the looming dark and stagnant stone , lies the rhythm of creation...

Stone feathers and scales became identifiable as the pattern of the walls, and Dagny's terror entangled with awe. She knew without a doubt what she had stumbled onto.

It was a sleeping Earathskin, coming awake.

...

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