Chapter 10
The stark isolation he experienced with every step made Ainsworth feel as though life had been suspended around him and that he and Honey were the only two creatures in motion…and in existence.
“This mountain has a heart, you know.”
Ainsworth gripped his pack tighter. “Does it now?”
Honey nodded and continued looking forward. “Oh yes. And I do not think it a heart of darkness.”
“Even with all the dark magical beasts who call this place home?” Ainsworth asked, eyes darting, once again, to his surroundings.
“Magic is just magic,” Honey said quietly.
He did not have a reply for that, and he was in no mood for a philosophical debate.
A rogue gust of wind once again took him by surprise, and he shivered in its wake.
The hilly landscape leading to the lowest slopes of Mount Vengeance was not exactly lush with vegetation, but spongy thickets of heather littered the vast space, and the rocky path they followed was often interrupted by intruding, spiky roots shooting upward with stinging leaves.
The boots Ainsworth wore belonged to Ruraidh, and although he was grateful for their hard exterior—which protected his toes against protruding rocks when he often and inevitably tripped over them—he was less grateful for the blisters he could already feel forming at the edge of his smallest toes, and the chafing against his heel.
“Would you like to stop soon, so you can document the journey thus far?”
Ainsworth shuddered. “I suppose so, although I’d rather not be stationary for long.”
“You needn’t be worried. Ashe is in her mountain cat form and is scouting for us just out of sight. Once we officially step onto Mount Vengeance, the standing stones are only a couple hours’ ascent from there, so you have time.”
“After the couple hours we will spend walking to Mount Vengeance,” sighed Ainsworth.
Only a few hours prior, Honey had suggested this preposterous trip—to see some standing stones on the mountain.
And it had only been a few hours since Ainsworth had agreed, giving little thought to the perils of the journey.
Who was he to set foot on this range when all the brave adventurers before him these past couple weeks had, he suspected privately, cowered away from its presence, its threats?
Admittedly, they had not come across anything in the hour since they departed—the closest thing to a beast encounter had been Ashe, stalking Ainsworth in her cat form and giving him a terrible fright until Honey shooed her away.
The landscape, Ainsworth initially thought, was barren, desolate.
But he soon realized there was…something looming, always, just beyond his comprehension.
It was not magic, nor some lingering, hiding beast, but something about the land itself.
Whenever he tried to grasp what he was seeing, what he was feeling, he would get distracted by the sharp sting of his toes or blasted by the frequent gusts of chill wind that had him fearing for the skin of his face, and he would lose whatever thread he had been following.
“On the bright side, you will be able to write your own descriptive accounts of the lower slopes in your book.” Honey passed him the water container.
He accepted, a little embarrassed at how the journey was exhausting him already.
His grandmother would be furious that her grandson, with her binneach blood, was so out of his depth.
“You can say without reservation that you climbed Mount Vengeance.”
“Climbed? You said we weren’t going anywhere near the top!” Ainsworth yelped. They didn’t have enough supplies to last more than an afternoon—
Honey laughed. “Of course we aren’t; that journey would take days, and more climbing than we’re currently prepared for.”
He frowned. “Well then, I can’t say that. I won’t have climbed it.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then: “Climbing a mountain is more than simply striving for the peak, Ainsworth.”
Before he could answer, Ashe briefly coasted into view in front of them.
Her gray coat was dappled with brown stripes.
He had never seen a mountain cat, but Ashe reminded him more of an enormous brown wildcat.
She looked back, once, and then shot off ahead of them, her huge paws navigating the harsh, jagged path easily.
His chest was tight at the sight of her.
After their last exchange, she had emerged in her shifted form without any word to him or Honey.
This was the usual arrangement for any of the staff should they wish to go wandering or foraging around the mountain, Honey explained, but it still pained him.
He did not want to apologize to Ashe when she could not speak back, whether it be to accept his apology or otherwise—though he hoped it would be the former.
They continued on for another few hours, with Ainsworth occasionally stopping to take notes.
A small, false peak was drawing ever closer, and Honey indicated what they sought was beyond it.
Ainsworth steeled himself while trying to take in the surroundings.
He would dedicate a chapter to this excursion—one aiming to describe, explore, perhaps marvel at how, well, normal the mountain range was.
He hoped, soon, he would have the extraordinary accounts of the higher slopes and peaks, riddled with beasts and treasure and a dragon’s hoard.
A part of him even wished he was brave enough to see it for himself.
Then he shook his head. That was not his job.
His job was not to experience things firsthand, but to make sure experiences were preserved so more people could experience them secondhand throughout history.
To be inspired, to learn, to build upon, and…
well, to know. There was so much to know about this world, and to play a part in making sure others got a glimpse of it…
Honey’s tail tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“Water, please.” Ainsworth passed back the leather bottle, and then they started the steep ascent.
The ground seemed to jump upward as if startled, and among the tough grass and rocks, small pieces of gravel ground almost to dust by the harsh conditions rolled recklessly under his boots.
He felt like a mountain goat at one point, as if the hill had suddenly oriented vertically, leaving him helplessly looking for footholds.
Despite the wheeze in his lungs, the sweat beading along his skin and seeping into the fine fabric of his shirt and trousers, he felt…
well, elated. And when they finally reached the top of that particular hurdle, Honey looked at him with what felt like approval.
“Goodness, I thought you would have moaned your way up that,” she said breathlessly. “But not a peep!”
“I know when to keep my mouth shut sometimes,” he responded, and found himself pleased at the laugh it won him.
Up here, that high-pitched laugh of hers contrasted wildly with the deep roaring in his ears from the wind, but it did not seem to get lost or swept away in it.
It cut through it to reach him, and he would have caught that sound in his hands if it were possible.
As they continued on, they found themselves briefly descending into a somewhat sheltered dip on the landscape, wherein a small body of water resided.
“My favorite spot for a drink—and a picnic,” Honey said as she led him toward a small array of what he thought were boulders but turned out to be grayish quartz sticking up from the ground.
“A picnic on Mount Vengeance,” Ainsworth said, feeling somewhat dizzy.
He wondered if he had just walked the same path as Artan and looked ahead at the jagged peaks in front of him.
He heard Ashe give a roar somewhere out of sight below them.
For the first time, he felt a true trickle of fear being here, the binneach blood in him urging him to bolt from the predators that roamed these hills unseen.
“ ‘A Picnic on Mount Vengeance’ has a nice ring to it. Maybe that’s what you should call that book of yours,” Honey said. “Well…I suppose we’re only just on the actual mountain. I count this area as the beginning, but you’ll probably find a map or something in the attic that disagrees.”
Ainsworth pulled back his wandering mind. “Yes, I have found a few maps of the area. But none of the mountain itself, of course. I planned to send some of the others back home to a cartographer colleague of mi— What are you doing? That’s a stagnant pool of water!”
Honey turned to face him with a mouthful of water she had just scooped from the loch. “We are in the mountains, Ainsworth,” she told him after she swallowed. “Also, my gut is not as weak as a human’s.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose the touch of your grandmother’s heritage might serve you well.”
“I won’t chance it,” he responded coolly. Privately, he resolved to keep the waterskin to himself for the remainder of the journey.
“You know, at one point the dragon here was rumored to be a beithir, living in this very loch.” Ainsworth froze, but Honey snorted in laughter. “Well, if it’s true, it’s never bothered me when I’ve stopped for a drink.”
“S-surely it’s not true? I mean, this is quite a small loch for a water dragon…right? And the little scholarship I’ve read suggests they primarily reside in the ocean.”
Honey unpacked the selection of apples, nuts, and auldfruit from her pack; Ainsworth took the hard cheese from his own. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”
He was reassured by her casualness, but he became acutely aware of his surroundings nevertheless. “I think I’m fine, thanks. Should we— Should we call for Ashe?” he asked.
Honey shook her head. “She will most likely hunt small game for her lunch.”
Ainsworth balked inwardly but, considering their last conversation, tried desperately not to let judgment lace his voice. “How…unusual.”