Mountains

by Saissa Teruel

Chapter 1

Between

Four days of travel. Four days in which the baron had come to appreciate the estate which had been granted to him several years ago - not so much for the estate itself, but the lands around it. They were an exhausting four days, but the journey itself was well worth the effort.

"Hold," he shouted out the side of the sturdy wooden horse-drawn carriage. The driver made a soothing sound with her rough-edged voice, and eased the pair of steeds to a graceful stop. The gray one whinnied a bit.

The baron stepped out of the carriage. His boots made tiny thumbs as he stepped firmly on to the sandy road.

"Something wrong, sir?" asked the driver.

The baron paced slowly towards the front of the carriage. He stood between the two horses and ran his hands through their rough manes, complimenting them on a journey well done. He offered carrots to each of them, which they crunched gleefully.

"Sir, they get plenty to eat. You spoil them."

"I know," said the baron, with an air of resignation, "but this is their first journey to this place. It has been much rougher than I expected. Even I took a nasty bump yesterday over that particularly rocky piece of road we traveled in the early afternoon. That carriage is smaller inside than you might think. We all deserve a small reward for this, especially our equine friends, Yin-Liang" - he stroked the gray one a bit - "and Shan-Ben-Shu." He rubbed the neck of the brown one. "Don't worry."

The driver paused, and looked down at the baron for a moment. "It was no more pleasant for me up here, sir."

"I am certainly aware of that. I may be a noble of sorts, but I'm no stranger to laboring for others, or the various hardships along the way." He looked straight at the driver. A breeze picked up a lock of her flaxen hair and tossed it around a bit. It settled across her nose.

"Really, sir?" she asked as she tucked the errant hair up under her leather cap.

"Do you think I was born into this position?" The baron widened his stance, and put his arms akimbo. "If it weren't for the man we are going to visit, I might be in your position. Or worse. And I have no idea where you'd be. I'd probably be competing with you for those extra silvers."

"He sounds like a generous fellow, sir."

The baron's face went immediately into a ponderous look.

"He isn't?" asked the driver cautiously.

"No, he is, just probably not in the way you're thinking."

"Oh."

The baron and the driver shared an uncomfortable pause.

"But that's not why I asked you to stop, my dear," continued the baron nervously. He motioned to the driver. "Come down here for a bit, I want you to see something."

"Certainly, sir." She set the worn leather reins down cautiously, nervously maneuvered over to the edge, and jumped down. She let out a slight "mmph" as she landed.

"Yes, sir?"

The baron looked at her again. "When I asked you to come down here, I meant both down and here." He gestured at the spot of ground next to him. "I don't bite, you know that. Come here." He held his arm out to welcome her.

She strolled reluctantly to his side, avoiding his gaze. "I'm here sir." She hesitantly looked up at the baron. For the first time she could see the deep mahogany in his eyes. None of her previous employers had dared asked her toe so close to them. Some of her tensions eased as the baron put his arm around her shoulder; he felt her relax a little. She came up a little past his shoulder as she leaned slightly into him.

He smiled pleasantly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Her eyes were nearly the colour of the angry, eternal ocean; they possessed a quiet blue fire which he had not seen before.

"You look much better up close than you do on the carriage, you know?"

"Thank you, sir," she stuttered.

He turned his head towards the sun. "It gets dark early this time of year, does it not?" he asked.

"Thankfully, I can still find the light," she replied. It was a brief conversation she had experienced a few times before; it once held meaning for her.

Another breeze picked up - a cold one. She instinctively put her arms around the baron for warmth. She was distracted for a moment by the glints of copper as the afternoon sunlight played through the baron's pony-tailed hair.

"It's not that cold, is it?" he asked. "No matter." He pointed at the mountains to the north. "Do you see it?"

"See what, sir? They're only mountains."

"Only mountains? Then maybe you do not see."

The driver looked about for a bit. "No, I think I do not..."

"Here, maybe this will help you see." He took the driver's arms from around himself and backed off a few steps. He untied his hair, to let the wind play with it. "Take off your cap."

"Pardon me, sir?" She seemed a bit appalled.

"Please. Remove your cap."

She avoided his gaze again, but reluctantly obeyed his request. The sunlight imparted the gleam of refined gold to the hair that now flowed down her right shoulder and stopped at the pocket on her breast.

"Now, the jacket," the baron said. "Let the breeze play with your shirt." The baron started fiddling with the fine brass buttons on his woolen overcoat. His strong hands delicately pushed them through their holes - slowly at first, though more quickly for the lower buttons. His coat fell to the ground.

She slowly unbuttoned her leather jacket. It took her a bit longer than the baron to get all the buttons and bows and buckles undone, but her gloved fingers managed them all with relative ease. Her jacket fell to the ground as well.

"And the gloves. No more clothing after this."

Two little flops were heard as her leather gloves hit the ground.

"Stand facing the mountains, with your arms out," he ordered quietly. "Just a few moments. Starting now. Look, feel. Smell. Breathe deeply." The baron turned a bit and followed his own order.

"But we'll be later than we already are, sir," the driver mentioned.

"Then we'll be that much later than planned. What's that much time on a week-long visit, with four days of travel at either end? Not very much. Now, please, just do as I ask. Nothing bad will come of it. I know it's an unusual request, but please indulge me."

"Yes, sir," she muttered. She took a deep breath, turned to face the mountains, and put her arms out to her sides. The breeze picked up immediately.

"You'll see it. Believe me, you'll see it," said the baron quietly.

She turned her head to look at the baron. He was ignoring her, apparently; his face was expressionless as he stood spread-eagle. The breeze grew into a steady wind which came down from the mountains. The hardy grass fields to either side of the road undulated in shades of deepest green. The wind grew stronger. The baron's white cotton shirt flapped vigorously as it came loose from his pants. A small smile appeared on his lips. His hair rose up as the wind tossed it around. He inhaled deeply as his smile broadened. He opened his eyes wide as he quickly released the invigorating air from his lungs.

The driver looked back at the mountains. She decided to take the baron's example. She slowly put her arms out and broadened her stance, imitating his spread-eagle. Her fine hair was being kicked around violently, and it occasionally caught on her smooth face; she ignored the otherwise irritating sensation. Her shirt was pushed back against her. The wind dislodged the stray locks of her hair from her cheeks, curled around the back of her neck and played up under her hair. She shivered briefly as she remembered why she never liked to wear her hair short. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her parted lips, letting the wind swirl into her mouth and tickle the back of her throat. Her eyes flew wide open as her deep breath expelled itself from her chest. She squeaked audibly.

The baron looked toward the driver to check her progress. Her hair waved evenly and periodically under the influence of the wind. She was trying to keep her eyes wide open, but she was blinking furiously. Her head was tilted up and back ever so slightly, allowing the air to enter the nostrils of her gracefully-curved nose. Her pink lips wanted to stay closed, but they could not. Her shirt was pressed tightly against her, highlighting the finer points of her slim but sturdy figure.

He turned his attention back towards the mountains. The bold granite spires pierced the layer of clouds straight through. The clouds bled white, granting the green tinge to the lower slopes of the mountains. The green continued on in waves, through distant coniferous forests, thinning out into meadows, and finally grassy field that was interrupted only by the narrow road on which the baron stood. The grass beckoned the wind to increase its efforts, and that it did; the waves were fiercer now. The trees around the meadows began to sway, and birds leapt from their branches. The forests of the foothills seemed unmoved by the wind's efforts. The clouds moved on down the range, to be impaled by the next set of spires. The mountains stood proudly.

The driver gasped briefly as she felt unfamiliar hands on her shoulders. "Keep looking and feeling. Only a little longer," the baron said in a low voice which she did not so much hear as feel.

Her eyes darted back and forth across the mountains. The wind in her ears stirred up voices asking questions: Do I see it yet? What am I looking for? Is it here? Is it there? What is the purpose? How are my horses? What is the baron doing? The cacophony of queries escalated inside her head.

The baron could feel the tensions building in her shoulders. He rubbed her shoulders a bit with his firm hands. "Now, now, you have to relax a bit more. But keep it up."

She took another deep breath. This one she was able to release normally. She tugged at his hands a bit, silently asking that he drape his arms around her to brace against the cold. He obliged, and could feel her anxiety quickly evaporating.

She turned her head to the left, and slowly tracked the mountains down to the right, towards the valley to which the baron was headed. Her head came back center, and her eyes traced left and right across the mountains, looking for "it." She tensed up again and her breathing quickened. She looked in the shadows created by mountains occluding mountains. She looked in the canyons where streams trickled, animals laughed, and trees held their royal court. She turned her head back to the left. She looked at the bare plateau where lightning would dance during a storm. She looked at the fields where the deer played and the wolf stalked. Her head whipped back right. She looked down the valley, scanning every contour as the mountains turned into hills, a flood plain, and then back into hills and more mountains. Back center. The silver moon peeking over the rocky crags. Orange reflections from the setting sun. Gray turned to purple, and then to black. The sky deepened. Left again. A rumble of thunder in the distance. Right again. The river that made the valley fertile. Center.

She froze. Her pupils dilated. Her shoulders tensed and became as rocks under the baron's hands.

The last light of the sun ducked behind the mountains to the south.

The wind disappeared.

The driver took a breath. Her shoulders softened up. She relaxed against him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

The pair stood facing the mountains, each partaking of the warmth of the other's body.

"Did you see it?" asked the baron quietly.

"Yes, I believe so."

Chapter 2

Burden

The countess tried to look at the shadows on the bed. She wanted to see what shapes would appear tonight. The shapes would stay in her mind, impress themselves upon her heart, and ultimately form the stuff of her dreams. It was an odd effect, but it was certainly one of the more fortunate accidents of the Cosmos.

The oak trees outside her window always cast such intricate patterns upon the loom-spun comforter, especially in the moonlight. They were soothing, even when the wind was at its fiercest. If she was lucky, she would be awake when the shadows were cast on the wall opposite the window - and there they would interact with the shapes and textures of the tapestry, which depicted a celebration in the streets of a small town.

There was a certain thrill she got, however, when there was a bonfire out in the courtyard, or the smith worked at his forge all night. Then the shadows would come alive. They would probe out everything in the room. They would congregate and discuss. They would perform old rituals of sacrifice, dancing, feasting. Or perhaps a drama in a language long forgotten, improvisationally performed by the collected members, towards some unfathomable conclusion.

But tonight she was not looking at the fabrics which kept her warm. She instead looked over to the wall with the tapestry; there was only the distinct shadow of something rhythmically undulating. Something large and lumpy. If these were its breaths, it breathed very quickly for something that size. Unless it was doing something else.

It was a familiar motion. She gazed at it. It sped up a bit. She remembered this experience - she knew she had seen this at least once before. But not from this angle. Perhaps it was in a dream, or some other place where one's perspective is highly distorted, and perhaps even completely disconnected from one's physical self.

She stared more intently at the wall. The motion increased in frequency and intensity. It started to write in pain. The bucking shadow gasped - straight in to her ear, no less - as it tried to hide the unfortunate consequences it was experiencing. It froze. The shadow developed a human-like head that asserted itself from the otherwise amorphous mass. But the head collapsed back whence it came.

The shadow barely moved now. She remembered why it was there. She looked back towards the ceiling. Instead of the playful shadows, she met the dull gaze of her husband, the marquis. He breathed heavily as he lay on top of her. Oh, yes. That's what it was. They were copulating. Children and heirs were necessary. That's why the beast on the wall was moving that way. To bring his family and hers closer together - to ensure that the right to rule would not end with their generation.

The marquis planted a little kiss on the lips of the countess. "Good night, Rebecca."

She stroked the back of her hand along the marquis' neck a little bit, and placed a little kiss on the tip of his nose. "Good night, Andrew."

He slid away fro her, towards the foot of the feather bed that they had shared for the past few years. She watched listlessly as he rolled over to her left and sat up. He brought his pyjama pants back up from around his ankles; the shirt had stayed on through the whole incident. He finally flopped back down again, turned over onto his stomach, with his head facing the other way, and pulled his share of the covers up over him. His bare feet dangled off the edge of the bed.

She pushed her silk nightgown back down to her knees, but quickly realized that it would not be enough; most of the covers were now resting with the marquis. The tightly-woven cotton sheets may have been an expensive import, but were not sufficient on this climate. She needed the heavier wool fabrics that were native to the region. The same wool fabrics that were dyed bright colours and spun into intricate patterns; the same wool fabrics that the marquis was hogging. She wrestled some of them back to her side of the bed, and pulled her feet back to where they felt safer. At least she could look for her shadows now.

Or, she would. But the act of reaffirming her marriage to the marquis had left her spirit a bit worn; she decided that it would be better to let her spirit heal by letting her body rest. She could probably do without one night of shadow-driven wonder; though she had not abandoned childhood completely, she was a bit too old to indulge in such fantasy every night.

She sank back into her pillow. She looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling was covered in one giant shadow. No intricate patterns, no movement. No signs of life. It was a blank ceiling. It cleared her head, in a manner of speaking. When she looked at it, she could not think about anything. She felt as blank as the ceiling: no distinguishing features. Time to act like all the other good countesses and marquesses and ladies who went to sleep every night. She let her eyes close.

Her eyes did not close all the way; she wrinkled her brow in contemplation instead. The moment she had just "shared" with her husband was certainly a fine excuse to stay awake for a while longer, staring at the rest of the room. The shadows had watched the whole incident, even though she could not watch them; they would certainly forgive her for being distracted from them for but a few moments of "marital bliss." She could make up the lost time right then and there.

She sat up and focused on the corner of the bed closest to her feet. The shadows were bound by regions of brightest silver tonight; the smith was not at work to bring out the tribesmen that might otherwise have been there. In this patch over here, there was a leaping rabbit. Its tail was a foul-looking black mountain, on top of which was a castle with a foul sorcerer inside. The foothills of the mountain formed the bow of a ship, teeming with sailors who knew well that the sea could swallow them forever. The sea was right there, too, about to eat the ship as a light snack. But on the other side of the sea, there was a shoreline, where waves did not throw themselves against the jagged rocks, but rather lovingly polished the beach. And on the end of the beach there was nothing but the hard line cast by the edge of the window.

Perhaps beyond that line there was a country more beautiful that this one. In that country, the people would be artists and engineers, not nobles and peasants. They would live simply and harmoniously. They would engage in sport, not in war. They would not be afraid of the sea. And, perhaps most importantly, they would accept people for who they were.

They would not accept the countess. They would, however, accept Rebecca. And her fantasy world of shadows.

Did they have marriage over there? Was it based around some sort of political hierarchy, or did they do as peasants did - marry for silly reasons like love? If only it were possible to speak to someone in that world. What language did they know? Had they found some better way to communicate than the verbal, not prone to the slight misunderstandings that eventually grow to become feuds and wars? Were they people, just like herself? Were they some other beings?

The countess flopped back into her pillow. The marquis had apparently already fallen asleep; the occasional light snore injected itself into the conversation of crickets outside. She took the opportunity to steal back that woolen comforter that the marquis had stolen from her some moments ago. She rolled over onto her right side, away from her husband, and stared at a spot on the wall.

For a spot on the wall that was completely in shadow, with nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the shadows, it was pretty interesting. More interesting, perhaps, than the act of procreation with her husband. Which was to say, of course, that it wasn't really interesting at all. Her eyes moved to the stone floor.

At the other end of the land of shadows, by the other hard line that marked the edge of who-know-what, there was an interesting shape. She had not seen it before. As many times as she had watched her shadow world, she had not seen this one. She was downright surprised to see it. She lifted her head a bit from the pillow.

A man, walking? Beckoning? It couldn't be. That was too complex a shape for the moonlight and the trees to cast. Not with that level of detail, that precision.

She slipped out of bed and quietly paced over towards the window. The stone floor was its typical cold self, but that did not concern her now; she was too busy wondering about the third person in her bedroom. She looked back towards the bed. The man was still there, though he faced in a different direction now. She looked out the window to find the source of the shadow. Nothing obviously responsible; pondering the precise arrangement of leaves and branches and moonlight was beyond the mental capacity of most people she knew. She looked at the spot on the floor again, but he was not there.

She walked back to the bed and slipped under the covers once more. That was certainly one of the more interesting tricks the moonlight had played on her. She raised her head a little to look at the floor of the bed, to see if any other creatures had come out to play.

The man was there again. He had climbed up from the floor.

The countess sat up quickly, fixing her gaze upon the shadow-man. He flickered a bit, but was still clearly discernible. Except now he was floating towards her. She pulled her knees up to her chest to keep her feet away from the intruder.

Wait a minute, it's just a shadow.

She put her hands on the bed behind her for support and extended her legs again. The man continued his silent approach, wandering his way to her left foot. He curled around the place where her toes elevated the blankets, lingered there for a moment, and started meandering up her leg.

What did he want? Nobody in the shadow kingdom is ever this forward. Nobody tries to make contact. Is this man insane? Does he know the significance of the woman onto whose leg he has mounted an expedition? Such an affront to the honor of her family would not be tolerated.

The man did not heed her thoughts. She must be an oddly-shaped mountain to him, a mountain that needed to be conquered in a short amount of time. He flickered a bit more as he continued up past her knee and onto her thigh. He did not trek upon the ridge top, but rather along the rock face that was her inner thigh. She tensed a bit, but not enough for him to notice. He climbed up on to her hip and continued his march, scaling up to her waist, and then cutting over towards her centerline. He paused briefly at her navel for a rest, but plodded straight up fro there. Between her breasts, and then over a bit to her left. He stopped.

The countess held her breath. The man was not concerning her anymore - it was his unclear intentions that were the problem. Uncertainty never sat well with her, doubly so when she had to deal with it alone. Her eyes were open as far as they could go. She focused all her attention on the man.

He vanished. She felt only a strange sense of warmth under her breast.