The Farthest-Away Mountain by Lynne Reid Banks
“A little brass troll my father found on the far edge of the wood,” she said.
“Where is he? Where did you see him?” Zog asked with what sounded like excitement.
“I brought him from home, but in the wood he came alive, and ran away when he heard where I was going.”
“So he would, so he would indeed!” said Zog. “If Drackamag ever lays claws on him again, he’ll melt him down and make a brass button out of him for his waistcoat!”
“Why? What’s he done?”
“He stole something very important.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you—I dare not.”
“Oh well, I can’t bother about that now. I can’t hang on here all night. Is there nowhere I can lie down and rest, Zog? Surely you can tell me that.”
“What is wrong with here?”
“But this ledge is too narrow to stand on. much less lie on.”
“Move along a little to your right.”
Dakin did this, and suddenly, for the first time in hours, her heels were on solid ground. She carefully felt about with her feet and found herself standing on a broad ledge. It even had some dry grass on it to make it softer. She sank down with great relief, put her knapsack under her head for a pillow and almost at once felt herself falling off to sleep.
“Good night, dear Zog,” she said. “In the morning I’ll think what to do. Will you guard me in the night?”
“Aye. Don’t fear.”
Dakin drew her warm cloak around her and fell asleep instantly.
8
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
The Tunnel
When she woke, the sun was up, but on the other side of the mountain, so that her ledge was still in shadow. But she was not cold. Zog must have been breathing on her in the night, because she could feel the icy wind blowing on her, yet she didn’t get chilled by it.
At once she looked around for her gargoyle friend. She was very touched to see that he had moved around to the edge of the ledge, where he had curved his long neck upward into a kind of stone hook, to stop her from rolling off in her sleep. He was staring out across the valley, far below, where the vast pointed shadow of the mountain fell across rivers, fields, and villages like a witch’s hat.
Dakin laid her hand gently on his stone head.
“Good morning, Zog,” she said.
Zog started as if in fright when she touched him, but then he seemed to push up against her hand like a cat being stroked, and she knew he was going to start moaning “Ahhhh” again, as all the gargoyles did when she was kind to them, so she quickly said, “Now I must eat some breakfast and think about what I’m to do.”
“Yes,” said Zog. “You must not delay. Drackamag sleeps late, but the witch is still about until the sun falls on her. She is a night creature, of course.”
“And Drackamag is a day creature?” asked Dakin, munching bread and cheese.
“Oh yes, he’s not a specter. He is all too real.”
“What is he?”
Zog stared at her. “Do you not even know that?”
“No.”
“He is an ogre. One of the biggest in the world.”
“Oh.” Dakin swallowed hard. Her mouth was suddenly too dry to eat. “Could I have another drink, please?” she asked in a small voice.
Zog glided along the rock face until he was above her, and then opened his mouth and trickled water into hers. She thought he had a dear little face now that he didn’t look wicked any more, and she patted it when she had drunk her fill.
“Thank you, Zog. You’re so sweet.”
“Ahhhh...” he groaned dolefully.
“Now, don’t start that! Everything’s going to be all right. I don’t think I’ll bother about the Lithy Pool, though I do wish I’d known what it was at the time. Are there any other hints you can give me?”
“When you arrive at the snow line, wait until the sun is shining where you are. The Colored Snow Witch will be asleep then. When you’re walking through the snow, be sure only to walk where it’s white. The colors are not natural, they’re the work of the Colored Snow Witch, who stains them with great splashes of dye from her caldron. They have their own evil magic. Then there’s the Winged One.”
Dakin dropped her last piece of cheese, and it rolled to the edge and fell down, down, down—lost forever.
“The what?” she gasped in horror.
“It is a flying monster,” said Zog. “It lives in a cave, just below the summit of the mountain. It’s Drackamag’s watchdog, his slave. I don’t know what you can do to save yourself from that, if you’re not willing to go back and bathe in the—”
Just at that moment, a faint trembling went through the very rock of the mountain. Zog stopped talking and a look of terror came over his face.
“It’s him!” he whispered. “He’s making his morning rounds early! Oh, do go on. If he catches you here near me, he’ll break me off and throw me down the mountain and I’ll be smashed to a thousand pieces! Hurry ahead, you’ll find a cave just around the corner—with a tunnel too small for him. Good luck, be brave—now go! Do go!”
The vibrations were getting stronger, and now Dakin could hear the thunderous muttering she had heard in the cabin when Drackamag was coming. Giving Zog a very quick kiss and then stifling his “Ahhhh...” with her hand, she picked up her knapsack and ran nimbly along the path which, where it led off from her sleeping ledge, was much wider than before.
As the thunder and the shaking increased, she rounded a corner and saw the cave before her. It was quite small, a little round hole in the wall, just about big enough for her to crawl into. This she did, and only just in time, for at once the mouth of her cave grew dark as a huge hand passed in front of it.
Drackamag, it seemed, was lying somewhere above, and feeling with his huge fingers along all the ledges to make sure no one was on them. The hole into which Dakin had crawled was big enough to let in only Drackamag’s little finger—if you could call that great thing like a pink tree trunk little—and now in it came, poking about to see if anyone was in there. Dakin crept backward, staying out of its reach. Heavens, how big the whole of him must be! The little light that still came in around the root of his finger showed the most horrible nail she had ever seen—a great curved horny claw. She simply shivered with horror as this awful thing wiggled in front of her, but she knew not one more inch of Drackamag could get in, and there was plenty of tunnel behind her, so for the moment she was safe enough.
At last Drackamag’s finger was taken out of the cave, and then she heard his voice roaring:
“Zog! Vog! Og! What have you to report?”
She heard Zog’s voice, very near, calling back, “Nothing, sir!” and then two other voices, each a little fainter, echoing: “Nothing, sir!”
“Nothing, sir!” Drackamag muttered and grumbled a bit and then said, in tones that made the mountain tremble: “Graw thought he smelled something in the night—human flesh, lads, human flesh! What do you say to that, eh? And yesterday I could have sworn I heard someone laugh, down in the meadow. I warned Croak, and now I’m warning you—if there’s any treachery, heads will roll—stone heads—you get it? They’ll roll a long, long way!” Then Drackamag gave vent to a really fearful roar, so loud that bits of rock from the roof of Dakin’s cave broke off and came tumbling down.
Then it seemed that Drackamag must have gone off to another part of the mountain, for the trembling grew less and everything got quiet. Dakin was just going to venture out, when she thought perhaps she would try following the tunnel for a little way to see where it took her. She would be much safer in here—who knew when Drackamag would make his rounds again?
So she crawled and crawled, right into the mountain itself. It was pitch dark, of course, after the tunnel turned its first corner, but Dakin remembered that she’d put a candle and some matches in her knapsack, and soon she had a friendly little light to help her find the way.
The tunnel was all ice-cold stone, and
9
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
The Painted Snow
In a few more minutes, her head and shoulders came out into brilliant sunlight. The glare was too much for her eyes after the darkness and she had to close them at first, but gradually she peeped through her eyelashes and saw that part of the reason for the brightness was that she was high above the snow line. All around her was snow. She knew it was snow because of the cold, but it was very odd, just the same. The Colored Snow Witch had clearly been hard at work here. All the ground looked like a piece of paper on which some child, without the least idea of colors, had been playing with paints—a bad-tempered child, rubbing and scrubbing with his brush and pouring daubs of paint here and there at random. It really looked unpleasant, especially to Dakin, who was used to the shining, pure white of the valley snow in winter and did not like all these purples and reds and oranges where they did not belong.
She looked about her. There was no one—no thing— in sight, only the wild, clashing colors, all glinting evilly in the sun. She searched the slopes for a patch of white, and at last she saw a very small triangle, like a bit of white paper that the child has, quite by accident, forgotten to color. But it was at least ten steps up the mountainside from the mouth of her cave. How would she reach it?
She saw no other way than by just wading through to it.
Zog had warned her about the colored snow, but he hadn’t actually told her not to walk on it. She pushed her knapsack out first and dumped it on a patch of green snow, then pulled herself out. There was no snow on the very rim of the cave, so she sat there to put on her knapsack. But when she picked it up, she caught sight of something on the bottom of it which made her drop it again very quickly.
Every part which had touched the snow was crawling with green caterpillars.
Now it wasn’t that Dakin minded caterpillars in the ordinary way. But these were not ordinary caterpillars such as you find on cabbage leaves. These were big, slug-like things, slimy-looking, and. Dakin suddenly saw, they had small but busy jaws, munching, munching—
“Heavens, they’re eating my knapsack!”
Holding it up by the straps, she banged it hard against a rock to shake the witchy creatures off. They fell off all right, and disappeared at once into the snow. But the whole bottom of Dakin’s knapsack was gone—eaten by them in a few seconds—and everything that was left in it tumbled out and fell into the snow, too. She just managed to grab the book of poems before it disappeared.
The snow everything fell into was a blazing red, and when Dakin tried to reach into it to recover the bread, matches, candle, and the knife and mug, she snatched her hand away. Have you ever touched what they call “dry ice”? It is so cold it feels red hot. And this is how the red snow felt. Dakin could not touch it.
She could have cried when she examined her knapsack, or what was left of it. It was impossible to put anything into it now—it was like an upside-down bag with a couple of straps attached. No food, no candle, nothing! Well... but at least she had the poems... She opened the book and read one to cheer herself up a little.
Child of wisdom, child of courage,
You are nearer than you know.
Underneath the ugly colors Seek and find the honest snow.
“That’s very funny,” thought Dakin. “I thought I knew every poem in this book, but I don’t remember that one.” She wanted to read it again, but having taken her eyes off it for a moment, now, when she looked down at the page, she couldn’t find it again. Wait a minute, how did it go? “Child of wisdom, child of courage...” Oh, pooh to all that, thought Dakin, who had no conceit. “Nearer than you know.” To what? To the summit, perhaps! Oh, what was the rest? Suddenly she remembered. Of course! The witch’s colors would only be on the surface of the snow. The proper, white stuff must be underneath!
She stood up and with the toe of her boot gave the red patch of snow a sudden kick. It was like putting your finger very quickly through a candle flame—it didn’t burn. The red snow scattered, and underneath lay whiteness. Ahead lay a purple patch, like a big splash of poison. “Wheel” cried Dakin and, sticking the toe of the other boot under the edge of it, sent it flying upward in a scurry of glittering violet crystals.
From then on it was not only easy, but fun. She walked boldly forward, kicking the colored snow aside, until she stood safe on the island of white. Behind her lay ten white bootprints through five different colors.
“I’ve done it, I’ve done it!” she shouted. She turned again to face upward. The colored snow stretched ahead of her, but she feared nothing from it now. But above that loomed a tall, jutting rock that looked like a rough sort of castle. It stood straight up from the top of the snow, black, high, forbidding. “It must be the summit,” she thought, and her blood froze. Because just where the door would be, if it had been a real castle, was a vast black cave.
All this happened while the echoes of her foolish shout of triumph were still booming around the crags—”Done it! Done it!” There was a moment’s silence, even deeper and more frightening than the silence of the Wicked Wood. And then she heard a sound that turned her heart to ice.
10
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Graw
It was a wild and terrible cry, not the sort of cry we ever hear in the world now, but something from the far past, before there were any men on the earth, when weird and fearful creatures had it all to themselves. Then came something even worse: the slow, low whistling of great leathery wings beginning to beat.
“It’s the flying monster!” thought Dakin, rooted to the ground with terror.
And so it was.
Out of the black mouth of the castle cave it came, flying very slowly and deliberately, twisting its great, horned head from side to side, with its wicked eyes catching the sunlight and throwing off sparks of light. One look at its face told Dakin at once that here was no poor goodhearted creature like the gargoyles, imprisoned by some evil spell in an ugly body—here was the evil itself! Its enormous, narrow wings, black and shiny like those of some gigantic black bat, sighed through the air, as if it were in no hurry, for no prey could escape it.
But the most awful part about it was its great, hooked talons. These hung down under its huge featherless body, and every few seconds, as it flew, they opened and closed, as if getting ready to—
Ah! It had seen her.
It turned, wheeling, and swooped toward her, with its spearlike beak pointing straight at her, its terrible eyes glaring. Dakin turned too, and tried to run, but she forgot about the colored snow. As soon as she stepped onto a big, mustard-yellow area, she stuck fast—the snow held her like tar—and she couldn’t run! It was like the most terrible nightmare in the world. It was coming—its great black shadow was over her—and now—and now!
It was picking her up—yes—lifting her up in its terrible claws! Luckily the sharp talons only caught her cloak. It lifted her clear out of her boots. Dakin felt the icy air on her bare feet as she was whisked higher and higher into the sky. She closed her eyes tight, wondering why she didn’t just die of fright and have done with it. After a while, though, when nothing else happened—that’s to say, the dreadful creature neither dropped her nor ate her but simply flew through the air with her—she cautiously opened them.
She quickly closed them again after a glimpse of the ground, far below, but curiosity soon got the better of her. She actually managed to look around this time. The monster was carrying her down the slopes of the mountain. The colored snow was left behind, and now they were flying over a wid
In a matter of moments, the creature had brought her right back to the place it had taken her nearly a whole day to climb up from!
Oh, it was too bad! Dakin forgot to be frightened. All that walking, all that climbing, all that cold and thirst and being frightened! She’d teach that horrible, rotten monster to leave her alone!
She began to jump and struggle. She reached above her head and took hold of one of the talons which was locked in the strong folds of her cloak. She pulled herself up by it until her face was level with its black, bony leg. Then she bit it as hard as she could.
The creature let out a shrill squawk of pain and surprise, and would have dropped her. but she hung on. It swooped low, flexing its claws, trying to fling her off. It made awkward passes at her with its beak, but because she was underneath it, it couldn’t see her.
And now they were right above the cabin. The monster was hovering in the air, trying to get at her. Looking down, she saw the chimney opening right below, not more than a few feet away. Quickly she tore the buttons off her cloak, and in another second she was falling free.
11
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Croak Again
Whoosh! Down the chimney she dropped, as smoothly as a letter falling into a letter box. As she landed in the fireplace, she heard the clash of the monster’s talons, clawing at the roof, and saw its shadow flash across the dusty window. Its angry cries circled the cabin once or twice, then faded away back up the mountain.