[This is cross-posted from my other blog HERE. As I explained in a previous post, I'm eager for any feedback you might have on anything from prose level concerns to story level concerns. Give me your feedback in the comments.] Google: docs, pub
Catherine pushed the door open. The door was one of the strongest things in the house. It had to be, in order to keep the monsters out.
The outside of the door was made of wooden planks standing vertically, but the inside of the door was reinforced by iron bars going horizontally. The wood was plentiful enough in the mountains, but the iron was rare. Her father, Finn, had had to pay a lot of money for it. But he had paid it gladly. They all knew that at nighttime, a strong door meant the difference between surviving the night and being eaten.
“House” was what they all called it, but it was actually more of a cave. It was a small indent in the mountain. It probably wasn’t deep enough to be considered a proper cave, but it was cave-like--a little hollow space in the middle of the mountainside, just large enough for a man to stand up under. Finn had used this space as the ceiling and three of the walls of his house. The only wall that he had to construct himself was the wall at the entrance of the cave, which he had made using wood and whatever large stones he could find.
There were no windows, so when Catherine pushed the door open, she saw the snow for the first time. It seldom snowed heavily in the mountains, but a light covering of snow was not unusual, especially in the mornings. But it was the wind that made the mountaintop so cold. The wind whisked through the open door. Catherine rubbed her hands together to warm them up. Next to her stood her brother, Carlyle, who cupped his hands around his mouth and blew into them to keep them warm.
“Come on then,” said Finn, pushing past them and walking outside. “You two will warm up once we start the work.” As he was stepping outside, Finn turned to call back into the house. “We should be back by noon,” he said.
“I’ll have the food waiting,” answered Margaret. “Be careful now. Don’t strain yourself.”
Finn simply growled in response, and started walking down towards the trees. He walked briskly, and held the axe in his right hand, which hung loosely by his side. His sword was in an iron sheath which was strapped loosely to his back with some frayed rope.
Carlyle and Catherine both went to get the cart. They each grabbed one of the shafts and pulled forward. The wooden wheels were stuck in the frozen ground, so it was difficult to get the cart moving. The cart rocked forwards and backwards slightly until they gave a final heave and the wheels broke out of their rut and the cart lurched forward.
The journey was downhill, so once the cart was moving, the challenge was to make sure it didn’t get away from them and roll down the mountain on its own. They moved quickly to try to catch up with Finn, but they also braced their backs against the front of the cart as they led it down the slope.
As they were walking, Catherine noticed the tracks in the snow. “They were here last night,” he said. “I thought I heard them.”
By this time they were close enough to Finn that he could hear them. “They were here,” confirmed Finn matter of factly. “They came around midnight.”
Like most people in the mountains, Finn had developed the habit of being a light sleeper out of necessity. The slightest noise now woke him up, and it had been years since he slept solidly through the night
“But they didn’t try to attack,” Catherine observed, looking at the patterns of the tracks.
“I think they thought about it,” said Finn. “But after the fight we gave them last time, they probably thought better of it.”
“How soon before they try again?” asked Carlyle.
“Who knows,” Finn answered. “You two are old enough to try to work these things out for yourselves. How often do they usually try to attack?”
“It depends on how well we defended ourselves the last time,” said Catherine. “Maybe about once every two months?”
“Not quite that often,” said Finn. “I’d say three to four months is closer. But they check the house almost every night. So if our wall or our door ever shows signs of damage or weakening, they’ll know it.”
Finn stopped walking as he got to the first few trees.
They lived right on the part of the mountain where the treeline was beginning to thin out. There were still trees, more than enough for Finn to survive off of, but there was also plenty of space between these trees. These were thin pine trees, and they had a barren look. The lower parts of the trunk were bare, and the upper parts were only sparsely covered with pine needles.
Finn unstrapped the sword from his back and laid it on the ground. In the mountains it was always useful to keep a sword nearby, but it wasn’t always convenient to have it strapped onto your body when you were doing work.
Finn then knelt down in the snow beneath the tree. He raised his hands up before the tree in supplication. In a loud voice, he cried out to the tree, “Forgive me, for what I am about to do. I must do this to survive. If there are any spirits or other beings who have made this tree their home, let me know now in order that I may not harm you unknowingly.”
Carlyle and Catherine looked at each other. They always felt slightly embarrassed of their father in these moments.
After a suitable pause, Finn continued. “If there are any spirits or nymphs in this tree, I beg your forgiveness. I declare that I am ignorant of any beings who live in this tree.”
The ritual then completed, Finn stood to his feet.
“Why do you always do that?” asked Catherine.
“You’ve asked me that before,” said Finn, as he gripped the axe in both hands and carefully planted his feet. “You always need to be careful of the woodland spirits.”
“But nobody else does it,” said Carlyle. “None of the other woodsmen in the mountains ever do it.”
Finn swung the axe, and struck the tree. The first hit barely cut through the bark.
Finn grunted. “None of the other people in these mountains know what I know.”
He swung again. This time with more force. The axehead buried itself in the wood, and Finn had difficulty pulling it out again. He had to wiggle the handle back and forth to free the blade.
“Why do you know so much?” asked Catherine.
There was a cynical tone in her voice. Ever since they had become teenagers, they had started to question Finn more and more.
Finn noticed the tone, and snapped back. “Because I’ve lived a long life. And because I’ve lived in a lot of different places.” He swung the axe again at the tree. “And believe me, if these yokels up here in the mountains knew anything, they would do what I do.” Finn knew his children were beginning to doubt him, and it worried him. He paused from the chopping to point his finger at them. “Don’t listen to what anyone else up here says. You never harm a tree without first checking to see if any spirits are living in it.”
Finn went back to chopping. Catherine and Carlyle exchanged another glance.
“And best not to harm a tree at all if you can avoid it,” Finn said. “The only reason I’m doing this is that we need more supplies.”
After a couple minutes, Finn stopped chopping again, but this time it wasn’t because of his children. His hands were having trouble gripping the axe. It was frustrating growing old. He still had plenty of strength left in his arms, but the aches in his hand and his fingers were becoming worse. He dropped the axe to the ground, and tried to massage away the pain by holding one hand inside the other, and rubbing his thumbs on the sore points. Finn’s hands were wrinkly and splotchy. And gaunt. The skin was tightly wrapped around bony knuckles and enlarged veins.
Carlyle took a step towards him. “Father, let me swing the axe,” he said. “I’m young and healthy.”
But this show of filial piety did not please Finn. “I can do it,” he growled. “I’m not old and useless yet.”
“I know,” said Carlyle. “But I can also do it.”
“Your job is to do the sawing,” said Finn. “I’ll handle the chopping.”
The sharp tone of Finn’s voice made it clear that the discussion was over. Carlyle stepped backwards to where he had been standing. After a minute, Finn picked up the axe again.
Finn’s hands were becoming his weak point. And although he tried to hide it, his knees were also beginning to get sore frequently. But overall, Finn had aged fairly well. The muscles on his arms and chest were still big, and their outline was noticeable even through the thick shirt that he wore. His hair had turned white years ago, but it still looked full and healthy. His face looked worn and withered, but that was normal in these parts. At least the skin around his face looked taut instead of saggy and wrinkled.
The thing that made Finn unique was that he didn’t have a full beard, like most of the other men in the mountains did. This wasn’t entirely a matter of choice--for whatever reason, Finn’s face just wasn’t predisposed to grow breads. There was some prickly white stubble that came around his chin and parts of his cheek, but it was never enough to grow a full beard. Because the scattered whiskers looked ridiculous when they grew too long, every few days Finn shaved his face. In between those days, he just had rough looking stubble, like he did now.
“Stand clear,” Finn said loudly. Carlyle and Catherine moved behind Finn as the tree toppled over.
“Right,” said Finn. “The saw’s in the cart. You two know what to do. Make sure the logs are long enough that I can trade them, but short enough so that they’ll fit in the cart.”
Finn trudged down a little ways further down the mountain, and then knelt on his knees in front of the next tree. He repeated his ritual, raising his hands again, and yelling up to the tree. “Forgive me, for what I am about to do. I must do this to survive. If there are any spirits or other beings who have made this tree their home…”
While Finn was still yelling, Carlyle walked around to the cart to get the saw out, and brought it back to Catherine. Catherine grabbed the handle on one side, and Carlyle grabbed the handle on the other. And then, pulling back and forth, they started sawing through the tree.
Once the air was filled with the sound of Finn’s axe chopping again, and Carlyle was sure that Finn could not hear them, he spoke. “Where did you go yesterday?”
Catherine glanced up from the saw to fix Carlyle with an annoyed look. “What business of it is yours?”
“You left the group,” said Carlyle. “You wandered off all by yourself. I didn’t see you again until dinner time. I didn’t want to ask you in front of mother and father, but…”
“There were things I wanted to see.”
“It’s dangerous to wander off by yourself like that.”
“I know these mountains as well as you do. I can take care of myself.”
“Where did you go?” Carlyle insisted.
“That is my concern. If I go off by myself, it is because I do not desire company. If I do not tell you where I have gone, it is because you do not need to know. Besides,” Catherine added, “I grow bored with you and Alfred the other boys and all the fighting and wrestling that you do. I couldn’t care less about who wins which fights.”
“The other girls don’t seem to mind watching. Besides, what else do you propose we do with our time? If you have an activity you would like the group to do, you can feel free to--.”
“The group bores me.”
“Okay, but you can’t wander off by yourself like that. It’s dangerous. You could run into bears, wolves, goblins, witches, vampires--”
“The vampires can’t come out during the day,” said Catherine.
“Fine. Any of the rest then. You remember what happened to Jack.”
“I remember.”
“Well be careful then. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.” Catherine looked up again. “I mean it,” said Carlyle. “I’m not trying to be difficult, I really--.”
“Stand clear!” Finn shouted out. Catherine and Carlyle ran several steps to the right side of the mountain slope while a second tree fell to the left.
Finn looked with disgust at how little progress Carlyle and Catherine had made. “We’ve got two trees on the ground,” he said. “And you’ve barely started to saw that one. I don’t know what you two are chatting about, but you can talk later. Concentrate on sawing for now.”
“Yes, Father,” they both answered.
“I need to get the logs loaded in the cart before noon,” said Finn, “because it will take me all afternoon to get down to--.”
Finn stopped talking as he saw a large brown bear lumbering up the side of the mountain. The bear saw the humans at the same time that they saw him. The bear stood up on his hind legs and let out a loud roar.
Finn dropped his axe immediately and scrambled up the mountain to where he had left his sword. He quickly drew the sword out of its sheath, and held it in front of him. “We are armed,” Finn shouted at the bear.
“I wish for no trouble,” said the bear. “I am simply returning to my home.”
“Go in peace, then,” said Finn.
The bear dropped back to four legs, and continued lumbering up the mountainside. Finn kept the sword raised and kept his eyes on the bear until the bear disappeared out of sight. Finn knew that very likely, the bear was telling the truth when it said it was simply returning to its home. However Finn also knew that equally likely the bear might have tried to attack and eat them opportunistically if they had not been armed.
Once the bear disappeared, Finn turned back to his children. “Right, let’s not spend any more time out here than we have to. The sooner we get that cart filled, the sooner I can take off. Get back to the sawing, and I don’t want to hear any more talking until the cart is full.”
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