Chapter 4

     Pilar ordered the breaking of camp early the following morning. The storm that threatened to break late last night still hovered above the hills. Pilar, Tarkin, and Jess discussed the conversation with Grendale and the strange manner of his actions. All three were greatly concerned. Bal'ma-ki and Softol'dor showed little regard for these matters and shrugged their shoulders when told about Grendale's words. They objected strenuously to getting up so early in the morning, but understood the party's concern over the pending storm. Finally, they were content to get underway.

     As the party meandered up the gentle grade into the hills, it began to drizzle fine drops of rain. In the distance thunder could be heard and faint strokes of lightning momentarily lit up patches of the gray dark sky. Soon, puddles formed and eventually small rivulets ran down the road opposite to the march of the company. The steady pace, splash of hooves, and distant thunder soon rendered concentrated thought impossible. The party became hypnotized by the measured pace and effort of forward motion.

     By midday, the storm began to break, and the first signs of the afternoon sun began to peek through the clouds. Pilar and her companions took advantage of the break in the rain to build a fire and dry out. The Morg-arn warriors had carefully loaded the wagon with dry kindling the previous night. They had even cut some larger logs from fallen trees with their axes. Everyone welcomed the warmth of the fire.

     Occasional breaks in the low clouds provided an opportunity to survey the countryside. Behind them, they could see the large grove of trees that housed the cottage of Grendale. The forest seemed alive and green, soaking up the rain, reveling in the moisture. In the distance, the farthest outskirts of the Crossroad's farm and grasslands were just visible, at peace with sheer existence. By contrast the land lying before them seemed harsh and unbending. There was something cruel about the land. The very air felt sinister.

     When the clothes were dry, no one felt like pushing onward, so the group decided to make camp. The Mal-tokii warriors were sent out to look for a dry place to spend the night, and while Pilar and Tarkin talked of the road ahead, Jess busied himself with the horses. Besides his own steed, the wagon horse was his favorite. He spent his time talking softly into the horse's ear, stroking his nose, and feeding him small morsels saved over the past few days. Soon the two warriors returned. A small distance ahead, stood a large tree on a slight rise in the land. The ground beneath the tree was dry and sheltered. Without further encouragement, Pilar, Tarkin, and Jess joined the Mal-tokii in moving toward the spot.

     The night was spent peacefully, the air still and warm. The soft lulling song of the crickets was occasionally accompanied by the mournful sound of distant wolves from the western plains.

     When the party woke Tarkin was gone. Tarkin's absence alarmed Pilar even though outwardly she showed no sign of distress. The Mal-tokii cared little that Tarkin was gone. They grunted in their usual fashion and were loath to get up that morning. A few hours past sunrise, Tarkin returned plodding slowly up the road from the west.

     “By the Catarn's fire! Where were you?” demanded Pilar.

     “Don't be snippy, girl! Do you think I'd leave you?”

     “You haven't answered my question,” insisted Pilar. “Where were you?”

     “Didn't you hear the wolves last night?” asked Tarkin.

     “Sure,” replied Jess, “we all heard them.”

     “They came only from the west,” said Tarkin.

     “So,” queried Pilar. “Is something wrong?”

     “I don't know,” returned Tarkin, thoughtfully. “I only know I didn't like it. So I had a look.”

     “And?” asked Jess. Now the Mal-tokii were also listening.

     “Nothing,” said Tarkin. Tarkin sensed palpable danger. He didn’t completely understand why he had this feeling, but it was strong and undeniable.

     “Bah,” inserted Bal'ma-ki, “the worries of children.” Bal'ma-ki and Softol'dor laughed and exchanged a few words in their own language as Tarkin glowered at them. Seeing Tarkin's mood they moved away, gesturing and calling to Tarkin in the Mal-tokii tongue. Tarkin said nothing as they returned to their horses. These “brothers” of his, thought Tarkin, are too careless! They ignore the signs of danger. They are not long for this world.

     After the Mal-tokii left, Tarkin spoke again. “There were some tracks though,” he remarked, looking at the party. “They were huge, larger than I've ever seen. Giant wolves! And a pack of them by the signs. I couldn't follow them too far since the trail led to a sharp drop off. I don't know how they descended, but I decided it was time to come back.” No one spoke, not knowing what to say. Pilar just nodded her head in acknowledgement. She could feel Tarkin’s sense of danger, and this put her on edge. Still, nothing could be done. She redoubled her resolve, reminding herself to be cautious, to be aware of every sound, and to be ready.

     The day's weather proved excellent. No trace of the storm remained. The midday sun shone yellow and bright and the hills teemed with life. White butterflies flitted from one grove of golden flowers to another and the sound of bees eagerly collecting nectar filled the air.

     After a long morning's travel, Pilar and her companions had reached a high cliff overlooking the western lands. The low afternoon sun cast long shadows behind them, and painted the hills with glowing red-orange light. Beyond the party stretched the infamous west. The tales and warnings heard by the company now made the lands ahead seem larger than life, and the horizons wider than possible. Time stood momentarily still as the travelers stared at the sight.

     “It's getting too late to go down,” said Tarkin.

     Pilar and Jess stood transfixed by the ominous presence of the western plains. Tarkin and his half brothers moved away to unpack the wagon, leaving Jess and Pilar staring over the cliff. After a few minutes, Pilar turned.

     “Come on Jess,” she called. Jess slowly moved her way, and the two went back to the others.

     Most of the provisions were already unpacked and a crackling fire burned cheerfully in the center of camp. The smell of a roasting rabbit, snared late yesterday, filled the air.

     The glowing afternoon had turned into a magnificent evening. The sky would be clear all night, and a gentle warm wind carried the scent of the roadside flowers to the resting travelers.

     “Look at that!” shouted Jess. “What is it?”

     Jess stood up abruptly and ran to the edge of the cliff. The others also stood, baffled by Jess' obvious concern. When they reached the cliff, they too were transfixed. At the edge of the southern horizon a blazing red glow lit the sky.

     The glow persisted for nearly an hour, increasing in contrast against the darkening sky. Finally the glow diminished and all was dark. The company remained standing, looking to the south for several minutes, then turned toward the campfire.

     “By Flaal's flame,” declared Jess. “What was it?”

     “I don't know,” said Pilar, contemplating the amazing sight.

     “A large fire, perhaps,” suggested Tarkin.”

     “Fire Mountain!” stated Softol'dor as he sat down. He immediately began talking to Bal'ma-ki in the Mal-tokii tongue.

     “What is that?” Pilar asked Tarkin. She needed to know. Did this impact their safety? Would this affect their goals?

     “An old tale, girl,” replied Tarkin. “But don't take much stock in that. I doubt if Fire Mountain exists. But if it does...” Tarkin paused. “If Fire Mountain does exist, well...” the Morg-arn's eyes burned hot with red, contesting the mountain's bright color. He thought back on old tales from the campfires of his father. He thought back on the jeering laughter of Mal-tokii boys as he grew up, kicking him as he lay on the ground, trying to protect his face.

     “What are you talking about?” asked Jess.

     “Don't concern yourself,” said Tarkin gruffly, and sat down.

     “Tarkin!” demanded Pilar. “What's this all about? If you know something you'd better tell me.”

     “Lady,” started Tarkin, “it's personal!” Tarkin’s voice was gruff. He didn’t like this intrusion into his privacy. He turned in his seat, away from Pilar, and continued to warm his hands at the fire.

     Jess was about to speak, but Pilar shook her head. “Listen, Gray,” said Pilar in as comforting a voice as she could manage, “we're good friends. You can tell me.” She looked at Tarkin, who continued to stare into the fire, his back towards the girl, saying nothing. “You and my father have been friends for a long time,” continued Pilar, “now what's this all about?”

     “An old Mal-tokii tale, and I don't know if it's true.” Pilar sensed some reluctance to continue, but she also sensed something else, perhaps a need to talk, to unload a great weight. A slight, barely perceptible sigh emptied from the Morg-arn’s chest.

     “Well?” asked Pilar. Tarkin shook his head, stood, and hesitated as if he might change his mind and speak. Abruptly, however, Tarkin turned and walked out of the firelight and vanished in the darkness.

     “Tarkin!” shouted Pilar. Her eyes flared hotly, then she abruptly plopped to the ground, glaring into the fire. What was wrong with Gray? He knew he could trust her! By the gods, she thought, why are the Morg-arn always like this? What inexplicable thoughts drive them?

     The night was glorious, the sky cloudless with countless twinkling stars. While the others slept, a fascinated Jess watched the skies to the south.

          ****               ****

     Early the next morning the party awoke. Despite Jess’ fascination with yesterday's occurrences, he too had fallen victim to sleep. Pilar found him curled up in a deep slumber near the cliff edge. The weather promised another near perfect day. The sun shone crisply on the eastern horizon.

     The descent into the western plains was difficult. Bal'ma-ki and Softol'dor worked strenuously to keep the wagon upright and the provisions safe. This was not simple travel, and Pilar and Tarkin were amazed that such a road could be used for commercial purposes.

     By early afternoon, the travelers reached the foot of the western plains. The land now spread before them like an infinite sea. They had finally reached the terrible west. Up close, however, the land seemed friendly and inviting. Birds and insects were in great abundance, singing and buzzing merrily from tree to tree and flower to flower. The tall grass looked soft and lush, blowing softly in the breeze. Happy brooks ran bubbling down from the hills to feed the thriving plants of the western plains.

     The sight of a prosperous land filled the party with renewed hope. Travel now seemed free and easy. Pilar hoped for further adventures and conquests that she could list among her accomplishments when she returned home to Fol-bear. Jess shared tales with the horses, and Bal'ma-ki and Softol'dor exchanged lively conversation. Soon, it was time to stop for the night.

     The carefree feelings of the day carried into the evening. Everyone was in good spirits. The Morg-arn warriors were playful, and told stories of great adventures, acting out their histories with exaggerated animation. Tarkin, Pilar, and Jess sat back watching the plays performed by the two brothers. They happily laughed, teasing Bal'ma-ki and Softol'dor. This is more like it, thought Pilar. Why can’t the Mal-tokii always be like this? The Mal-tokii also seeing the humor in their actions, challenged each other to greater feats. Just before dusk, the southern sky again became ablaze with red light. Softol'dor spoke softly to Bal'ma-ki, and again Jess was transfixed by the sight.

     “If that's a mountain,” said Jess, “I'm going to climb it.”

     “If that is a mountain,” answered Tarkin, “I'll join you.” The Morg-arn said this matter-of-factly, showing no emotion. His eyes were transfixed on the glowing sky. Then he quickly looked down, his facial expressions hidden in the growing darkness.

     The sight of the glowing southern sky stilled the camp's lighthearted mood. Meals were eaten silently. Finally, everyone settled down for the night.

     The following morning, everyone was eager to be underway. Long clouds hung over the western plains, making the early morning light dimmer than usual. By mid-morning the sky cleared and a bright cheerful sun flooded the land with warmth. By noon, the travelers had covered a good distance, leaving behind the hills crossed the previous day. The land ahead and to the south stretched flat as far as the eye could see. The long grass blew easily in the wind. To the north rose a range of hills, far higher than those the party had crossed.

     Having ridden all morning, the party decided to take an extended stop for lunch. Almost immediately, a likely spot presented itself. To the left of the road was a large pond surrounded by bulrushes. The party had almost passed the hidden pond, but a chance glance back by Softol'dor revealed its presence.

     After lunch, Pilar and Tarkin decided a brief look around might be fun and produce a tasty dinner. They decided the pond might be just the place to catch unwary game, and so headed in that direction carrying their bows. When they reached the pond, they found that the northern bank consisted of a huge flat rock, bleached white by the sun and water. More surprising, however, were the large scrape marks running from the water's edge up over the rock and to the dirt beyond.

     “Looks like someone used a boat here,” said Pilar.

     “No,” disagreed Tarkin. “A boat would leave softer scrapes. These are made from drier wood.” The two decided to have a more careful look around.

     “By Catal's beard, look at this,” shouted Pilar. Tarkin ran to where Pilar had pushed back the rushes to reveal a large wooden bucket. “It's huge,” exclaimed Pilar. “The top stands higher than my waist. What's it for?”

     Tarkin stood back, cautiously looking around. “It's for water, girl, water for a giant.”

     “By the gods,” uttered Pilar a bit shaken, “So big? I didn't think giants got so big.”

     “You've never seen one, girl! Giants can be huge. I once saw one grab a man by the legs and rip him in half, armor and all.”

     “We have to warn the others,” said Pilar, now quite alarmed.

     When they returned to camp the others were already aware of the presence of giants. The two warriors had done their own scouting and discovered a crude trail leading up into the northern hills through the grasslands. Large footprints unmistakably indicated that the path was used by giants.

     “Perhaps we better go,” offered Pilar. “Some distance down the road might provide more safety.”

     The party rapidly packed and soon was on their way. They rode quickly and cautiously the remainder of the day, and only reluctantly stopped for the night. They decided it might be wiser to camp off the road due to the possible presence of giants. This was not their only reason for caution, however. Ahead in the distance loomed a strange forest. It was too far away to view clearly, but there was something unnatural about it. Even the Morg-arn warriors seemed to want to avoid the forest for as long as possible.

     “I want guards tonight,” asserted Tarkin. “I don't like the feel of the land. The air is thick and confining.” He inhaled strongly with a scowl on his face as if testing the air. Tarkin felt danger was close at hand. He could almost taste that something was about to happen.

     “Good idea,” agreed Pilar. She, too, felt the danger and Tarkin’s mood worried her further. She respected his sense of caution. It was rarely unwarranted. “Who should watch first?” asked Pilar. After loud argument, Tarkin convinced the Mal-tokii to take the first watch. With the guard posted and the evening fire burning low, everyone settled down for the night.

     After several hours of dream-tortured sleep, Tarkin turned restlessly in bed. It was getting close to his appointed time for the watch and his internal clock always woke him minutes before he needed to rise.  But this was different.  Something was wrong. Then he felt very odd. He spun around in bed, looking toward the fire. There stood two figures partially illuminated by the dying embers. Tarkin jumped to his feet, grabbing his axe.

     “Who are you?” he yelled. “Bal'ma-ki, Softol'dor, get over here. Pilar, get up!” The two figures moved slowly towards Tarkin. They certainly were not giants.

     “Hold off, Tarkin. We want to talk to you and Pilar. My name's Seth, and this is Fakir.”

Reviews

[James Watts]

The imagery, the characterization, the dialogue...all nicely penned. I love the interaction between the characters. Seems so natural, even if it is set in a fantasy world resembling our middle-ages. The flow was just right and story just gets better. Very nice work.

[Charles D. Moorer]

One can sense the story building. However, as chapter 3 ends, one gets the vague intimation that the group is going to travel west, wwhen the narrator says here now is adventure. This statement is troublesome because it seems that the narrator is speaking for Pilar. Additionally, it is not until well into chapter 4, the we get a definite sense that the party is actually travelling west, a more definitive statement would do. But the end of the chapter begins the dovetail I spoke of. You have pulled it off very nicely. You have created enough mystery and tension to move the plot forward, while at the same time providing background for those chareacters that need it. Nicely done.