Chapter 52 - Nyal's Story part 1

The mountain had always been.

In that, it was like the heavens and the earth: eternal. Or near enough, reckoned against an old woman's lifetime, to be called eternal. It had stood against the sky for as long as she could remember, a gray-blue sentry guarding the valley where her people made their home. Strange that she had never given it more than a passing thought, if any at all, it was such a familiar sight to her, but it had been there all her life and she had never been given cause to think on it. She had never journeyed to it or climbed it, nor passed within its shadow. It was like the clouds in the sky. Always there, ever beyond her reach.

Until this day.

She was so high up now she didn't dare look down. If she did she would freeze in terror, or her head would swim and she would lose her purchase and fall, just like her brave grandson Gilad, and despite how old she was, she didn't wish to die. Not yet. Not until she had saved the children.

She looked up instead, up along the sheer, blue-gray face of the mountain, searching for a ledge or crevice she could use to continue her ascent.

Not much further, she promised herself, her bony arms trembling, her thin white hair, fragile as spider silk, whipping around her face. The wind was strong up here, so high above the valley. It stole away the heat of her body and tried to pluck her from her perch. The sound of it, hooting in all the tiny cracks and crevices that riddled the escarpment, frightened her almost as much as the thought of falling. To her ears, they were the voices of spirits, speaking in some foreign language she couldn't comprehend.

Look at me, Eyya! she thought, directing it toward those keening spirits. Aren't I the adventurous one now!

Eyya had always been the adventurous one when they were young and strong and carefree. Before the Evil One came and took away their husbands, one transformed into a strange white god, the other crippled and tormented by his memories. What would her sweet Eyya say if she could see her clinging to the face of this mountain, so high up now she might reach out and pluck a cloud out of the sky, like a bit of seed pod fluff?

You'd say I was crazy, that's what you'd say! the old woman thought, and she laughed.

I was the outspoken one. I was the one who always had to have the last word. And stubborn--! It was my way or no way, but I was never adventurous. Not like you, my dearest, always traipsing off after those men, even when there were demons on the prowl!

But for her grandchildren, she could be adventurous. For them, she could be brave.

The old woman extended her arm, curled her fingers around a narrow ledge. She tested her hold and then pulled herself up.

Her entire body trembled with the effort. Her breath came out in gasps and hitches. Her heart thumped in her chest like a drum, each percussion a little stab of pain.

When did she get so damn old?

Just a little further! she promised herself. A little further, and then you can rest!

She hauled herself up again, then paused to shout, "Gon! Come to me! The Foul Ones have taken our granddaughters!"

She tried to shout above the howling of the wind, but she knew it would be a miracle if he heard her. He might not even be there to hear!

She had sent her grandson, Gilad, to find her husband's lair when Eyya died. He swore it was somewhere on this mountain, but she was never quite certain when he was telling her the truth. Perhaps he was just humoring his senile old grandmother, but if so, if he had been humoring her, why carry her all the way here? Why sacrifice himself trying to climb the sheer face of this mountain, which he called Old Stone Man?

I guess I'm about to find out, she thought. Or die in the trying.