Chapter Three: Down the Mountain

Moma packed a hiking bag one of the visitors had left behind years ago. The battery for the rain veil no longer worked, but it hadn’t rained in so long, she didn’t think it mattered. The bag was weighed down with a tent, bedding, a change of clothes, and an old, battered guide to edible plants. On her waist, she wore a belt strung with a folding knife and a pouch with a small notebook and a waterproof pen. If she needed anything else, she’d have to find it when she got there.

“You’re certain?” Selan was shading his eyes from the bright glare of the cloudwashed sun, but it didn’t hide the concern etched into them. He’d come to her door at dawn, already knowing what she would have decided. He’d been the one to give her the backpack, which he’d been using to hang his socks on to dry.

She lifted the bag onto her back and tugged the straps tight. “It’s the logical choice, as well as the right one. If I didn’t go, I’d regret not having tried, you know?”

He did. “But why leave before the others are up?”

She glanced at the row of colored doors, each one a shiny gem closing up a friend inside like a gift. “I need to get going. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, and I’d rather not put up a tent in the dark.” She forced a laugh. “I’m not even sure I remember how to do it.”

“You’re afraid you’ll change your mind if you see them.”

She sniffed and looked away, not ready to agree. “I’ll make sure I reserve enough of myself to make it back up the mountain.”

He chuckled. “Maybe you can get the gondola working again, and you won’t have to strain yourself.”

“Maybe so.” She reached out and clutched his shoulder. “Take care.”

They both knew she meant for him to take care of the others as well as himself. He frowned for a split second, then tapped at the backpack. “Take care of my clothes hanger.”

The path down the mountain began at the very bottom of the terraced garden beds. There was a little landing spot there for the gondola, where tourists and wanderers would emerge like squinting moths from a cocoon. The poles and wire still hung, despite the changes, despite no one coming up the mountain anymore. On the opposite side of the gravel lot, a faint trail cut through the rocks and disappeared around the curve of the mountain.

Even when the visitors were here, no one used that path. It had been obsolete, and far more treacherous than the solar-powered pods hanging on a hook from the skywire.

At the trail’s beginning, she stopped and gave the Wilting Slopes one last look, noting how it slept, and when she took her first few steps, she thought of that old story about the princess who’d slept for a thousand years, only to awaken when a prince cut through the bramble.

For a woman of her age, climbing is sometimes easier than descending. Her knees didn’t feel up to the task, especially with the added weight on her back, and each time she bent one, she was worried the other would crumble and leave her rolling down the slope, head over heels over lumpy nylon backpack. To fight this, she took narrow steps and thought of mountain goats and other creatures with magical hooves and infallible balance. She kept her eyes on her toes, which was fine considering the view down to the valley was shrouded in the clouds that had affected the last chapter of her life. She passed little gray rocks and larger boulders streaked with lichen. Occasionally, she spotted a bit of color in a brave little flower or a butterfly that had clearly lost its way. She clung to these like gemstones, stringing them along the path of her mind.

She descended all morning and through part of the afternoon. Then, finally,  the going grew easier, her knees less wobbly, the pain in her thighs faded as the mountain melted and the flatter, softer fields tugged at the hem of her skirt.

It took her a moment to notice, after looking down for so long, that the cloudcover was gone. The sky was a clear, shining blue dotted with bright clouds. It was such a shocking sight that she reached up at the sky and laughed, loud and long. 

They’d been hidden from the sun for three years, and all they had to do was hike down the mountain.

She should look back, but she didn’t want to. She could feel its muffling presence behind her, soaking up the sound, soaking up the rain, soaking up all she and her village had lived for.

Instead, she faced the blazing sun and let it shine on her cheeks.