Terrors From the Red Mountain, Ch. 4: The Red Mountain
The Red Mountain
Once more continuing from yesterday with chapter 4 of “Terrors From the Red Mountain,” my submission for the fantasy mega contest hosted by
, , and . Revisiting the brothers Blackpaw and White-eye, the stars of my previous primitive fantasy novella “The Claws of the N’longu,” this new adventure will see them pushed to the very brink as they attempt to reach the volcanic Red Mountain and save their kin from the flying terrors which stole them away.Chapter 1: Death Descends | Chapter 2: The Midnight Hunt | Chapter 3: As Our Foe Flies | Chapter 4: The Red Mountain | Chapter 5: Cat Skull’s Gambit
Of all the great landmarks of the primeval jungle, none were so revered or feared as the Red Mountain. Ugly and massive, the peak appeared like a diseased and swollen wound among the northern mountains which lined the jungle’s edge. Where the surrounding peaks had a majesty to them thanks to their grand slopes and tall summits, the Red Mountain was bulbous and jagged. It reminded Blackpaw of a burst boil or a festering cut that swelled and leaked. The difference was instead of leaking pus and blood, the mountain leaked smoke and liquid fire.
Everything surrounding that horrid peak felt inhospitable. The trees at its foot were freshly scorched and scoured, and no ground flora of any sort remained. The jungle’s beasts tended to steer clear as well. Even the mightiest of them, such as the long-necked thunderfoots, never ventured so close to the Red Mountain. The air, hot and sticky, reeked of sulfur and other foul odors which only worsened the further up they climbed. It had taken the hunting party half the night to reach this point and Blackpaw could see that some among them were considering breaking off and leaving. He didn’t blame them. The thought crossed his mind as well.
He couldn’t understand how it was that the bat-like fiends made their home here. Surely these conditions would kill just about any animal before very long. A smaller beast might survive for a couple days hiding out in a place like this; a man for a day or two longer. At the very least, predators would likely be kept at bay. Yet those seemed small comforts compared to the heat and the stink and that slowly encroaching feeling of lightheadedness. To his mind, this was further proof of just how unnatural the fiends were. That lone thought, paired with his desire to rescue whoever he could find from his village, kept him pressing forward.
Cat Skull was the only one who seemed unperturbed by the mountain’s evil landscape. The tall rocks and steep slopes didn’t appear to slow him, nor did the smells and heat bring him pause. Even White-eye couldn’t claim to be so unbothered by these harsh environs, and Blackpaw knew no man tougher than his brother. Had it not been for a sheen of sweat on his ebon skin, the Blackpaw might’ve believed Cat Skull didn’t feel the heat at all.
“Dai mannok weh!” Cat Skull called out. He’d climbed some ways ahead of them. Standing upon a stone outcropping further along their rough hewn path, the rangy warrior looked down at his motley band while pointing to a place further up the hellish mount with his spear.
Blackpaw’s gaze followed his outstretched weapon. Up along the slope, steaming vents partly obscured his view. They hissed as they spewed that scalding, poisonous vapor, but after a moment the steam receded and the hissing stopped. When it did, Blackpaw’s eyes widened. Thumping his brother’s chest, he pointed along the same path as Cat Skull.
“Ihmanhu wahn mo lessho!” Cat Skull cried out. When he did, those of his ilk within the band raised their arms and hooted vicious war cries.
Before now, their long trek through the jungle had been frightful and draining. This in turn made their climb up the Red Mountain exhausting. Blackpaw wasn’t sure how exactly long they’d been at their hunt, but much of the night had passed. The bright gibbous moon had dipped low in the sky and he could see the deepening dark of pre-dawn off to the east. At least, he could see it along what little of the silhouetted eastern mountains were visible in the distance. Arms and legs heavy, chest burning with tiredness and the heat of this wretched mountain’s air, Blackpaw and the others had all been feeling the effects of this long night.
Now those effects felt as a distant memory. Now his heart and spirit surged, for Cat Skull had spotted the entrance to the caves. Pounding his chest, Blackpaw called out with a ferocious roar of his own. One by one, the others in their band took notice, and their voices joined the chorus of warriors.
“Dasho kolah!” hollered Cat Skull, mixing his strange words into their warrior song. “Dasho kolah! Dasho kolah!”
Blackpaw didn’t need to understand him to take his meaning. For the first time since they’d met outside his people’s hideaway, Cat Skull’s face showed an expression other than his stone faced glare. Determination and vengeful fervor played across his slender features, and as he chanted the men who followed him felt inspired to charge forward. Crying out as one, they scaled the mount as swarming insects, bounding over stones and leaping past steam vents with all the ease of walking over a flat plain.
Upon reaching his level, Cat Skull was quick to join them. He ended up running between Blackpaw and White-eye, who were the first of his band to charge. Old Scars was only a short ways behind them, as were the cliff dwellers, the other men of the lower jungles, and Cat Skull’s fellow high folk. With adrenaline running through their veins, the hunters made a mighty push up the steepening slope to the mouth of the great cave.
The entrance to the cave had an appearance which reminded Blackpaw of a creature’s maw. It took him a moment to place why and what, but as he took notice of the squat and knobbly stones surrounding the entrance, as well as the short and relatively round overhang that jutted above, it came to him. It was as if the head of a gargantuan long-necked thunderfoot - one even more colossal than the already massive beasts usually were - had been encased in stone, its mouth wrenched open for all time. In reality, this illusion was nothing more than a basic association of shapes and forms made deep within his primitive mind.
When the party entered the caves, they found themselves met with a veritable maze of channels and chambers. Unbeknownst to them, isolated and primitive as their peoples were, they had entered the remains of the Red Mountain’s original volcanic structure. Some hundred years prior, surveyors from the old Bayelan Empire made a journey into the jungle to study the volcano. At that time it wasn’t the ugly thing it had since become. It was once tall and smooth-sided, its slopes a match to the majestic range that it now jutted out of like an infected lesion. Highly active in its day, the surveyors had been curious as to why the Red Mountain was so volatile. More than that, they wished to know how it was that the surrounding jungle always seemed to regrow so quickly despite its frequent eruptions.
Those surveyors never returned to the glorious empire they once called home. In fact, they never made it off of the mountain with their lives. Whether or not the volcano itself or something else entirely was the cause, the end result was the same: all of those ancient men were slain, and their bones could be found amongst the many others that littered these labyrinthine tunnels. That in itself was something of a miracle, for within the years that followed the loss of those surveyors, the Red Mountain had erupted in spectacular fashion. An entire facing of it had exploded, and a devastating pyroclastic flow swept through a massive swathe of the jungle below. The chambers which Blackpaw and the others now stalked through were all that remained of the original mountain.
Not that he or the others knew any of this. To them, these bone strewn caverns were nothing more than the hellish realm of the Red Mountain’s fiends. Sure enough, evidence of their presence could be found everywhere. The scattered bones bore the markings of their teeth and claws, while the cave walls and floor were littered with dried guano. Dryness did nothing to stop it from stinking, adding to the already malodorous stench of sulfur that permeated everything around them.
There had been three paths which branched from that first chamber. Blackpaw, White-eye, and Old Scars went down the one to the right, while Cat Skull and his people went down the middle. The remaining few went off to the left. They would never be seen again.
As they traversed the right hand path, they found it branched many more times. Some of these branches led to dead ends, while one took them back towards the surface higher up the mountain. Many of the branching chambers were too small for them to walk through. Considering how large the bat-like fiends that made their home here were, they saw little point in exploring these lesser tubes. At one point they found themselves with a path that branched to the left. Unlike the others they’d followed, this was every bit as large as the main tunnel they’d been exploring.
Turning to White-eye, Blackpaw gave a grunt and a shrug. Old Scars was quick to chime in with a response. Pointing his spear down the path they were already going, he was set on continuing forward. White-eye wasn’t so certain, though. In a rare instance of deliberation he looked back and forth between the two tunnels. Stepping closer to the new path on the left, he cupped a hand around his ear and frowned. Then he did the same with the forward path, sniffed the air, and repeated both of these once again for the leftward path.
Finally, he turned to Blackpaw and Old Scars and motioned down the leftward path. Old Scars wasn’t convinced, but White-eye demanded he step forth and listen. Turning to Blackpaw, he nodded, a silent request that he do the same.
Cupping his hand to his ear, Blackpaw did as he was asked. At first all he could hear were the same muted hisses and rumbles they’d heard since entering the caves some quarter hour ago. However, as he listened more closely, a familiar sound reached his ears. Eyes widening, he looked up at White-eye with a mixture of awe and shock. Old Scars soon wore a similar expression, then frowned as he glanced back at the path he suggested. Shaking his head, he looked up at White-eye and assented.
Faint though it was, all three had heard sounds they recognized coming from the tunnel to their left. Whimpering. Crying. The sounds of the frightened children and old. Hurrying down the tunnel, it soon opened up into a huge dome-like cavern, its roof lined with stalactites. On its floor, huddled all along the walls and in the middle, were the survivors from Blackpaw’s tribe. And on the ceiling, hanging from those great stalactites, a swarm of sleeping fiends.
Thank you for reading the first chapter of “Terrors From the Red Mountain,” my entry to the Warrior Wednesday/Sword & Saturday Mega Contest being hosted by
and in partnership with . Chapter 3 will be made available Tuesday, Jan. 28th.Chapter Word Count: 1,788
Total Word Count: 7,900
Chapter 1: Death Descends | Chapter 2: The Midnight Hunt | Chapter 3: As Our Foe Flies | Chapter 4: The Red Mountain | Chapter 5: Cat Skull’s Gambit
My first novella, In the Giant’s Shadow, is available for purchase! Lured to the sleepy farming community of Jötungatt by a mysterious white raven, Gaiur the Valdunite soon finds herself caught in a strange conspiracy of ritual murder and very real nightmares.
Purchase it in hardback, paperback, or digital on Amazon now:
Bat fight incoming! Looking forward to ch. 5!
Thanks for sharing this with us