Dread Mountain

As the sun sank in a blaze of red, the Kin circled lower and lower, searching for the place where they planned to spend the night.

“There is water there, and food, and shelter from above,” Ailsa called to Lief. “It is a small forest where long ago we always broke our journey between the Mountain and the grove. We call it Kinrest.”

It was almost dark by the time they dropped to earth, their great wings beating hard as they sank between tall trees to the soft shelter below.

Lief, Barda, and Jasmine climbed unsteadily to the ground. It felt very odd to have firm earth under their feet again. They looked around. Kinrest was indeed a peaceful place. Ferns thickly edged the small stream that bubbled through it, and toadstools grew in clumps under the great trees. Somewhere near there was the sound of a waterfall.

“How the trees have grown!” Merin exclaimed excitedly, brushing leaves and twigs from her fur. “They hide the stream completely. And, see, Ailsa — the entrance to the big cave where we used to play is choked with ferns.”

“Everything looks quite different,” Ailsa agreed. “No wonder we took so long to find it from above. We should have visited it in our dreams long ago, instead of always going to the Mountain.”

Wearily Lief, Barda, and Jasmine sat down by the stream and watched as the three Kin began to explore. Jasmine put her head on one side, listening to the rustling of the trees.

“What do they say?” asked Lief eagerly. “Are we safe?”

Jasmine frowned. “I think so. The trees are happy to see Kin again. Many of them are hundreds of years old and remember past times clearly. But I sense sadness and fear in them also. Something bad happened here. Blood was spilled, and someone they cared for died.”

“When?” demanded Barda, suddenly alert.

“Trees such as these do not speak of time as we do, Barda,” Jasmine said patiently. “The sadness they are remembering could have happened one season ago or twenty. It is all one to them.”

Suddenly she shivered. “I think it would be safe to light a small fire,” she said. “The trees will surely hide the light. And I feel in need of cheer.”

The friends were crouching over the warming blaze of their fire, eating dried fruit and slices of nut and honey cake, when Ailsa called to them out of the dimness beyond the stream. Her voice sounded odd. Jumping up in alarm, they lit a torch and found their way to where she and the other Kin were standing by a large cave thickly overgrown with ferns.

“We were exploring our cave,” Ailsa said in a low voice. “We used to play here as young ones. We found some — things inside it. We thought you would like to see them.”

The three companions followed the Kin into the cave. The light of the torch flickered over the rocky walls and the sandy floor, showing the objects lying there: a few pots and pans, a mug, some old sleeping blankets lying on a bed of dust that had once been dried fern, a bundle of old clothes, a chair made of fallen branches, a dead torch fixed to a wall …

“Someone has been living here,” breathed Lief.

“Not recently,” Barda said, picking up a blanket and dropping it again in a cloud of dust. “Not for many years, I would say.”

“There is something else,” said Ailsa quietly.

She led them back to the cave entrance and parted the ferns that grew thickly on one side. A flat, mossy stone stood there, set firmly upright like a marker.

“There is writing scratched upon it,” whispered Bruna.

Barda lowered the torch and the three companions saw that there were indeed words carved carefully into the stone.

“A strange name to find on a gravestone,” muttered Barda, glancing at Lief and Jasmine meaningfully. “And a strange message to go with it.”

Stunned, Lief stared at the words. “Doom of the Hills is dead!” he breathed. “But this grave is old — ten years old at least, by the look of the stone. So the man we know as Doom —”

“Is someone else entirely,” Jasmine finished crisply. Her face was flushed with anger. “He is going by a false name. I knew he could not be trusted. For all we know he is a Shadow Lord spy!”

“Do not be so foolish! That he does not use his real name proves nothing,” growled Barda. “We ourselves were going by false names when we met him.”

Lief nodded slowly. “He needed to conceal his identity. So he took the name of the man who lies buried in this place.”

“A man he betrayed and murdered, perhaps,” Jasmine muttered. “For he was here. I feel it!”

Barda would not answer her. Gently, he began to clear the ferns from around the stone. Lief bent to help him. Jasmine stood aside, her eyes cold and angry.

The three Kin looked helplessly on. Finally, Merin cleared her throat and clasped her paws. “It is clear that our find has caused you pain, and for that we are sorry,” she said softly. “We have eaten many leaves, and drunk from the stream. Now we will curl, and sleep. We must leave early in the morning.”

With that hint, she, Bruna, and Ailsa moved away and disappeared into the darkness. Shortly afterwards, Barda and Lief finished their work and moved back across the stream, with Jasmine silently following. By the time they reached the fire, the three Kin were huddled together, looking like a cluster of great rocks, and apparently fast asleep.

Lief wrapped himself in his sleeping blanket and tried to sleep also. But suddenly the forest seemed less welcoming than it had before. A veil of sadness seemed to hang over the trees, and there were noises in the darkness: the breaking of twigs and the rustling of leaves, as though someone, or something, was watching them.

He could not help thinking about the man who called himself Doom. Despite what he had said to Jasmine, he had been shaken by the words on the gravestone. Doom had helped them, saved them from the Grey Guards. That was true. But had it been all part of a greater plot? A plot to gain their confidence? To worm from them the secret of their quest?

… the Enemy is clever and sly, and to its anger and envy a thousand years is like the blink of an eye.

Was it by chance that Doom had appeared in their lives once more? Or had he been acting under orders?

It does not matter. We told him nothing, Lief thought, pulling his blanket more tightly around him. But still doubts plagued him, and the night seemed to press in on him, the darkness full of mystery and menace.

Tonight we have all drunk from the stream, he told himself. We have not been drugged by the Dreaming Spring. We will wake if an enemy approaches. Kree is on the watch. And Jasmine says the trees feel we are safe.

But still it was a long time before he could sleep. And when he did he dreamed of a lonely grave and a dark, bitter man whose face was hidden by a mask. Thick mist swirled about him, now parting, now closing in.

What was behind the mask? Was the man friend, or foe?