The Wrathful Mountains Read Online Free PDF Page A

swallowed
hard and stared at the man before her. He was large, a warrior among her
people. He stood bare-chested and proud, determination in his dark eyes.
Numerous strands of beads hung around his neck, and a row of precisely carved
scars adorned his ribs. He would have fought many battles were there battles to
be fought. Instead, his marks symbolized the hunt, and the animals he had
bested to feed his tribe. He was not a man to be argued with.
    “I am High
Priestess,” Tashi said, stepping forward. “No man or woman commands me.”
    “The gods command
you,” Koli shot back, “and they demand a sacrifice.”
    “And they have had
it,” she replied, finding more tears than she believed she possessed.
    Koli shook his
head. “It is not enough,” he said, his manner softening. “Please, Tashi. For
the child to be named, there must be a sacrifice.”
    “The gods have not
found their way to our people in many years,” Tashi said. “What makes you think
this time will be different?”
    “Because it has to
be,” he said.
    Tashi stared into
his eyes and saw his certainty. Too many still believed in the gods, too many
still so foolish. “I will assemble the villagers,” she finally said.
    Koli grabbed her
wrist as she began to walk away. “The death of the infants these many years
were not your doing,” he said. “You were not High Priestess when this began.
Your mother was.”
    Looking him up and
down, Tashi said, “My mother was a faithful priestess.” How could he dare blame
her mother for such tragedy?
    “She drove the gods
away,” Koli went on. “You must bring them back.”
    Jerking her arm away
from him, Tashi crossed the center of the village and stared at the horizon.
Koli could not possibly know. He was older than her, but he knew nothing of the
lot of a priestess. Tashi’s mother had revealed to her the truth behind her
profession. It was merely the crafting of potions and singing of chants. The
rest fell to the villagers to believe or not. The gods had nothing to do with
it. One either chose to believe or didn’t. It mattered not. Tashi’s mother had
chosen to believe, as had her sister. The deaths of so many infants had another
cause, one unknown to the priestesses and doulas.
    Koli proceeded to
gather the villagers as Tashi continued looking toward the sunrise. Seeing them
all assembled, she shook her head. A sacrifice will not fix our problems, she thought. We need true magic, not this shameful display.
    Standing before her
people, she announced, “Koli insists on a sacrifice to protect the life of his
child. Is anyone willing?”
    One old woman
stood, propping herself on a wooden stick. “I will go to the gods in the
child’s place,” the woman said proudly.
    “No,” Koli said.
“You are old and near death anyway. Such a sacrifice means nothing to the
gods.”
    The old woman bowed
her head and took a seat, not willing to argue with the warrior.
    “I will go,” Koli
continued. “The gods can have me.”
    The life of a
strong man had always carried more weight with the gods, at least in centuries
past. Only the most pressing matters were handled in such a way. It was preferable
to sacrifice enemy tribesmen who had been captured in battle, but Tashi’s was
the only tribe left. It had to be one of her own.
    “Very well,” she
said. Pulling a thin dagger from the holster on her arm, she held it up to the
first rays of the sun. Its golden hue reflected in the metal as Koli knelt
before her and tilted his head backward. Shouting to the gods, Tashi implored
them to take the life of this man and look favorably upon the life of the
infant. The villagers trilled in time with the priestess’s chant, granting
their approval of the exchange.
    All fell silent as
Tashi plunged the blade into Koli’s neck, the red life force spurting back at
her, coating her arms and legs. She turned her head away, feeling the eyes of
the gods upon her. They were laughing, mocking the futile effort. Koli had