Descending White Death Mountain: The Second Steps

Descending White Death Mountain: The Second Steps

Chaha started her descent. The mountain was so tall that the trees could not grow, which meant that she could see her path down easily, several kilometers. However, the wind’s constant tossing of the white snow kept her from seeing her path all the time. Even that did not stop her from seeing the snow and rocky ground. So, as she walked, her slender yet firm legs for her age slowly carried her down the mountain. Every step is taken deliberately, avoiding the many ice patches, waiting to make someone slip and tumble a long stretch of death. For over an hour, she stepped this way, making her way down. The snow obscuring her vision of what was ahead and what she left behind. 

“Walking the road would be easier, but I would just get caught.” She said to herself, almost trying to convince herself that she made the right decision. “This mountain path is close enough to the road. I’m hidden and going forward.” 

Another gust flung snow in her face, and she stumbled back for a moment. Instead of the rock, her foot hit a slick ice piece, and she could feel herself beginning to be flung down the cliff. Desperately her gloved brown hands reached out to grab onto something. Still, as she fell to her right, she could only breathe in fright as gravity took her body and tried to fling her down a brutal stretch of ice and rock. As she began to tumble, she remembered the strangers from the valley. Unlike the maidens and sisters that she lived with, they had rough hands and bushy hair on their chins. She remembered a story they told her when they gave her a favorite doll with some cheese as a treat. 

“It’s easy to fall and hurt yourself,” they said quietly, “White death mountain has a way of killing people. If you feel like your falling, tuck together. Bring your legs close, cover your neck with one arm and your face with the other. If you’re curled up like a pebble, you will get hurt less than if you stretch out like a noodle.” 

The memory hit her in a moment, causing her to involuntarily curl up. Thankfully with the backpack and her turtling, she did not fall far. Unfortunately, her chaotic fall down the white death mountain hit something hairy with muscle. This mound of hair and muscle rose up, and this flung her in the air. Yet, she landed on a flat piece of the mountain with a large snowdrift. She quickly picked herself up and rose, the world still spinning in her mind. Chaha, dazed and confused, was barely on her feet when she saw … that.   

Back at the grey building, the man finally came to the part of the fence with the torn blanket. 

“That’s Chaha’s!” He quickly rushed to the fence and saw small red streaks, her blood, her torn blanket marking the struggle to go over the fence. He reached out to the fence to climb over the fence and find her. 

The older woman behind him said quickly yet perfectly under her breath, “Pānī ra batāsakō sātha, rahanuhōs.” and the man stopped moving. The sudden stillness knocked the wind out of him. Looking down, seeing blue and purple lines forming multiple snowflakes, interwoven with each other, like frosted ropes holding him in place. It covered almost his whole body, from his toes to the right under his nose.  

“You stopped me?!?!” he tried to scream out his question, “She will die -“

“Even you will die without protection and a jacket.” The older woman interrupted. Even without hearing him, she could guess his thoughts. “There is no guarantee that she is still alive, but for all, we know that … will turn around and come back.”  

In response, he breathed deeply and felt a burst of molten energy in his chest. He pushed that feeling out from his chest and into his hands, and from his hands, a red and orange liquid fire pushed out to meet the interwoven indigo prison. The heat met the ice, and the fire was cooled, the ice barely scorched. That did not stop him from pouring reddish-orange energy from his hands again and again. 

The older woman shook her head in frustration and said clearly, “Pānī ra batāsakō sātha, ēka kama uṭhnuhōs.” and as she spoke, her eyes glowed a faint mix of purple and blue. She pointed at the ground next to the blasting man, and there water and wind came from her. They twisted together to form a pale indigo ball, which then the ball shrunk, with five easily sized protrusions coming out. It then used two of them as legs, two as arms, and one for a stubby head with no facial features, and came up to their knees. The little one then saw the older and the younger woman and waved, like a small child happy to see them. 

The elder rolled her eyes and said, “Carry that inside.” At the cold dismissal, the figure froze in shock then dejectedly turned around, limbs and head bent over. It grabbed the ice prison and the man inside and put it on its back with one appendage. It then, with sorrow in its steps, slowly walked towards the building. 

“Overdramatic.” the elder said. 

The younger woman that followed her said, “Chanted helpers often reflect the person forming them.” 

The elder glanced at her with disgust, causing the woman to step away and find the ground extremely interesting. 

The two walked behind the figure carrying the man still blasting thick liquid fire from his hands, only stopping for brief moments to scream out something wordlessly. 

As the figure finally came to the doors opening the heavy wood with its other arm, the man’s fire finally pierced the pale indigo prison. With one opening a meaty arm with sheer will, ripped a hole in the bindings and with his bare, leather-like palms grabbed at the ice by his face and tore a massive hole that was covering his mouth. 

He screamed out with all he had, “CHAHA!” and the doors closed on the group. The elder pointed at the door and muttered something. The doors glowed, and various crunching sounds were heard. With that, the man knew he was trapped in the building. The figure dropped him on a nearby couch, and the man also seemed to lose his spirit, his body lying there like a corpse. 

The younger woman asked, “What now, Head Maiden?” 

In response, she sat on a couch on the opposite side of the room and shooed her away, saying, “Leave the fence gate open. Even that can knock.” Relieved, the woman almost ran out of the room, leaving the two alone. 

“She will be fine. Probably” The older woman said. 

“What if she meets a Chyangra?” he whispered out. 

With a snorting harrumph, she said, “Goats don’t eat meat, they eat weeds … well they might nibble on her.” 

“The wild Chyangras of the mountain grow to be almost twice as big as the ones we keep. They have gone back to being wild; their horns are curved, to sharp points. They are more stubborn, aggressive, and they can walk through snow and rock silently. On top of that, they are usually white like the snow and sneak up on you. Even a glancing blow from a wild one can kill a man. She …” The thought horrified him, a tear flowing down his cheek. 

A way down the mountain, Chaha also let out one teardrop fall. Before, she was a massive Goat. Unlike the goats back home that came to her waist, this one could look her in her eyes with its foreign oval pupils surrounded by a very light blue iris. Snorting and shaking, its thick whispy-white fur shook under its lean muscles. Hooves blacker than a moonless night stomped the ground shaking her. Its pale tan and white horns curved to a nasty point, looking more like a sharpened cudgel than bone from a beast. 

Chaha took a step back in fear, facing the mankiller goat. It lowered its head at her, ready to charge.  

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