The Skeleton 3

{ Yesterday: (click: "Yesterday")[ Earth stained hands on your shoulder forcing you to wake. Salted porridge, a mug of bitter tea & an apple hastily eaten. A heavy pack forced onto your back. A mother's tears & a fathers words; "[[Now gerroff lass.]]"] }

Today: (click: "Today")[ [[Obelisks]]. Thousands of them, obsidian scratches spread over the mountain. Tormented metal tangles, now covered in shimmering, [[green brocade]]. They squeal as you walk past them. High pitched and playful. The [[sheep]] that huddle round them pay no heed.]

Moss. Patterned like nothing you've ever seen on the flats. You scratch some off with your knife, patterns crumbling into green threads, and... [[pack it into your bag]] [[eat it]]

The sheep cover this part the mountain. Their gluttony sated by the [[green moss|green brocade]] that grows quickly over the obelisks. They huddle at their bases in groups of half a dozen. Most pay you no heed as you pass, though some lift their heads and regard you with lazy eyes. They're [[different]] to the sheep on the flats.

You scrape some off with the tip of your knife and put it in a jar in your bag. You are feeling hungry though. Maybe you should [[sit and eat a sandwich|sit]] [[press on]]

You've heard your dad & his mates brag about the eating moss before. Apparently it's 'fortifying'. You scrape some off with the end of your knife & try a [[little bit]].

Last couple of springs you've helped out with the birthings. You know sheep pretty good. These ones are fatter than the ones on the flats. Longer coats too, you reckon because it's colder up here. They seem to like the [[obeslisks|Obelisks]] too - could be the noise, or the warmth the spreads around them.

You've heard some say the obelisks make them uneasy. It's the humming they say. Like the sheep, you don't mind it so much. There are hundreds of them on this part of the mountain. All making a slightly different sound, together they sound like a messy song. They weren't always here, according to dad. You're not sure quite where they came from. [[Sit for a while|sit]] [[Press on|press on]]

y̴͡o̸̸͘ú̀r̷͘͘ ̶̨͟t̷̸̢̡o͞n̵͟͠g̡͝ư̵̧͘͡e̷͏̷ ͟͢͝͡b̷̧̢u̵̕͜r͘͟͝͞ń͞͏͝͝ś̶́ ̵͘͘͜͜c̷̸̶̀͞ò̀̕l̛͝d̵͢͜͟ ̸̕a̧̢͢͡s̀҉͜ ͘͏̶̧͡s͠ǹ̵o̷̴̡w̷̵̧҉͡d̸̨͢͟҉r̢҉̡͢͡o̢̕p̨̛s̸̢ ̷҉a͠͞s̸ ͏̶̧ǫ̴̷͘b̀͜͝͝͝j̷̵e̶̕c̛͞t̴̵̨̡s̷̀͞ ̡͟͞҉͘i̡̡n̡̕͝͡ ҉̕y͜ǫ̀̀͟u̶̴͢͟ŕ̨ ̧̨̡͢͠v̡̀i҉̨̀s̵̀i̴͢ǫ̀n̵̢ ̵̧͡t͞w̶̶͘ì̢̛ś͜t̡͘̕͜ ̴͢í͢͝͡ņ̵̀̀͜t͜͟͜͡͡ǫ̶̵̸ ̴̸̨̕͞c̴͘͏o̢͏̀͝ĺ̵o҉̕͏̧̕u̷҉̵̛͠r̸̷̡͢f͏̷̨̧̀ų̶͞҉l̛҉͘͢ ̨̢f̶̛́̀r̨̧͢o̷̡̧̢n̴̢̡͟d̸̷͝ş͢ ̶̡͜͝͝f̵̨́͢͞r̸͞͡o̡̕͢͜͡m̷̧̢̛ ̕͞y̵̧͢͞o̴̢͜͢ų̀̕͡͞r͏̴̡̀ ͟͞͠͡n̸҉e͜͏͘҉x̧͜͜t̶̛̕ ̸̛̕͠t́̀͜ò ̨̨̛͡t̵͠͡h̵̶͟͠e̸҉̧̡̛ ͜t̴̡̀́͡o̷̵͜͠p̵͘͡ ͞͏̸͡o͜͢͞f̸͘͘͜͞ ̵̢͜͜y͏̕̕o̧̡̡͡͏u̕͝r̸̷͠ ͏̸̢͝h̶́̕͡e͘͠a̶̶͜͜d͏̧͏͏ ̀a͠ ̡̧̢͠ļ̸̧͡͝i̵̷̡͜g҉҉h̷̷͘͢t̴̕͡͞n̶͟í̶̷͝ņ̢̕͢͟g͏҉ ̷̷̕͝s̴̛t͏̴̨̀͝o̵͜͡ŕ̵̸̨͞m͢͢͡͡ ҉̵̸̨͠g̴̵̢͝͏a̴̛̕͠t̸h̴͡͝é͜҉̶̴r҉͢͡s̸̡̡͠͠ ̸́̀͞&̢́͟ ̡̧͜t͏͠h̸̶̛͜e҉̡͟ń̨̀͠ ́̕͠͠͏b̴̛́͠r̛͠e̸̢̡͢͠a̛̕͟ķ̶̷͜͠s̛҉̸̴͟ [[awake]]

The second day: (click: "The second day")[ Head like shattered ice, mouth filled with must and thorn and skin filled with pins, you awake. It is morning and you've woken in your tent, twisted but miraculously erected. You greedily eat food from your pack, stretch out limbs and try to cool the bitter heat in your body. You force yourself to continue your walk. Just after midday you reach Lake Solace. A thin mist snakes up from flat water, answering the sun's summons. A heavy bird sweeps through it, vapour curving round the wake of tailfeathers. It dips its beak into the still, coming away with a gob full of black water. You spend noon watching the lake. Blistering toes dipped in cool water, shaded by a tree. The smell of drying algae rising with the mist. [[Focus on the animals]] [[Focus on the lake]] [[Focus on what's to come]]]

You decide to press on, eating cloth-wrapped sandwiches from your [[pack]] as you walk. Your destination is at the top of the mountain - you have [[no time to waste|day 2]].

You find a flat rock to sit on. It's a little high so your legs swing off the floor. You unwrap a sandwich from your pack. A thin layer of crumbly cheese between two slightly stale wedges of bread. You [[think about home]] [[think about the mountain]] [[think about the skeleton]]

You've spent all of your life in the shadows of the Ilkearns. Mostly in Houmgar, the village where you grew up. The last couple of years you've been travelling to neighbouring settlements of Haerve with your father. You'd trade your village's mountain-stuff and share stories. Despite their similarities the other villages always felt like strangers. People spoke different words, wore their hair differently, or mixed strange spices into their food. This is your first time up the mountain, and your first real journey alone. [[The day passes|day 2]]

You've lived all your life under Mount Sleir. It's the most famous montain in the Ilkaerns, though not the tallest. It's reputation comes from both the huge area it [[curls]] across and the [[ghosts]] that are rumoured to haunt it.

The skeleton skulks at the top of the mountain. Thrawn shards of black metal that look over the flat. You've only ever seen it from the flat, on the days when the cloud lifts and light silhouettes giant bones. They work there; the people from the village that aren't farmers or who didn't leave when they got old enough. You guess, with this job, you're working for the skeleton now. The [[rest of the day|day 2]] passes with you trying to untangle thoughts of what they told you about the skeleton. The crooked, leering thing that'll make us rich.

Contents of pack, start of journey: 3 sandwiches wrapped in cloth, with apple & mint cake 3 tins beans & sausage Notepad, pen & 2 refill cartridges Sleeping bag Tent Portable stove Box of matches Changes of socks & underwear Hat & gloves [[Message]], sealed in envelope [[Back|press on]]

The second day: (click: "The second day")[ At midday you reach Lake Solace. A thin mist snakes up from flat water, answering the sun's summons. A heavy bird sweeps through it, vapour curving round the wake of tailfeathers. It dips its beak into the still, coming away with a gob full of black water. You spend noon watching the lake. Blistering toes dipped in cool water, shaded by a tree. The smell of drying algae rising with the mist. [[Focus on the animals]] [[Focus on the lake]] [[Focus on what's to come]]]

"Keep it safe, wha'ever you do," said your dad as he pressed it into your hand. "Give it te Gerald at the top, he'll know what to do." It's sealed in a waxed envelope, tight & waterpoof. All you know about it is that it has something to do with [[the skeleton|think about the skeleton]].

You have only ever been to the foot of the mountain before. Thick with ferns and conifers. Your parents took you and you spent your day learning the names of trees and animals. You roll some of their names silently across your tongue. Dotterel. Roe. Scallen. Wheatear. [[The day passes|day 2]]

You've spent too many nights tucked in bed too alert to sleep. Imagining the twitch of the curtains as the inquisition of a redcap; the bleat of a sheep as the curse of a lost soul. Your father was always a good storyteller, the tales of the ghosts in the mountains his favourites. Off the top of his head he could tell you the story of Ilka, the selkie; Fresia and Urghan, the lost loves; and the thrawn-hearted knight, quest twisted into evil purpose. Later in the day your head fills with their stories when you lay down to sleep. This will be another [[sleepless night|day 2]], alone in the ghost's kingdom.

In between mouthfulls of food you make quick sketches of the animals of the lake. The pelican that skims the water and the trout that flops out of his mouth. The distant deer that tentatively drinks from the lake and startles when you drop your flask. The bobfly that carries away the crumbs of your bread. You watch the chats flicker in and out of the rust-knot thickets that hang from trees. Hairs of the Sylph, your father called them, in some places just a handfull, in others they form thick forests. Between the thickets you can see the Sewg face at the other end of the lake, the place you were told to climb up. You should be there by [[nightfall]].

The lake is too still. The only movement you can see in it are the ripples created when you flex your toes. The only other thing to disturb the surface of the water are the tangles. Rust knots that hang off trees and fall into the water like hair. In some places there are only a couple of strands, in others they create thick forests. You can see birds flickering in and out of them, to nests buried inside. Between the thickets you can see the Sewg face at the other end of the lake, the place you were told to climb up. You should be there by [[nightfall]].

Beyond the still lake - punctuated only by strange rust-knot tangles that fall like hair from trees - is the Sewg face. This is the place that you have to climb. You should reach it by [[nightfall]]. After that it should only be half a days climb to reach the skeleton - the thing that has starved your village, the thing they say will make your village rich. Half of the villagefolk have lived there over the past two years, rotating each season. Your father said that the message you carry will allow most of them to come back home.

The landscape rusts as you approach the escarpment. Thistles fade, grasses thin and the rocks turn amber and flint. The sun is dipping below mountain peaks as you arrive at the bottom of the [[Sewg Face]] - it's cutting rays catching the tips of the lakes lapping waters. You hear the occaisional plonk of trout jumping for fish. [[Climb]] [[Make camp]]

A spray of slate that's slid from the mountain above. It's a fairly gentle slope up, though the rocks look like they might shift. [[Climb]] [[Make camp]]

The rocks shift under your feet as you climb up the cliff face. The scree shivers under your wait, loose shards of slate surfing down to the bottom. Echoing. It takes an hour or so to climb - taking careful steps to balance the weight of your pack. By the time you reach the summit the pink sky has turned deep blue. A cresent moon has risen over the East peak. [[Set up camp]]

You rest tired limbs while digging in to one of the tins of beans and sausage, heated on the stove. Your feet ache more than you remember them ever having before. When you peel off your socks they stick to several nicks and blisters. It is cold, breath spreading in front of you as you look out over the lake. You look over towards the opposite shore, invisible now in the darkness, where you started your day. After food and a few scrawled notes in your journal you [[rest]].

It is bitterly cold when you set up camp. Frost gnaws at your fingers as you set up the tent. Later you thaw them over your stove, while your body shakes under clothes, coat and blanket. Reheated tea, and a tin of beans and sausage, do a little to warm you up. The thing that doesn't warm, causing restless sleep, are your toes - now like icicles. When [[morning|Day 3]] comes, your head feels like it's suffocating in fog.

You find sleep quickly - finding the warming deep, absent of dreams. It seems like only moments later when you hear the scratching outside of your tent. [[An animal]] [[A ghost]]

You listen for a moment to scratches on a rock before, slowly, sneaking to the front of your tent. Opening a gap you peak out into the night. Below stars and moonlight you see the cat. Tufted ears and dark furred, it grooms itself against the scree. You hear it's purr as it rubs it's body on rough stone, and scratches as it tests claws. After a couple of minutes it leaves, casting a glance directly towards you as it disappears into the [[night|day3]].

You remember the stories of your father; the ones about ghosts that always stuck with you. The thrawn-hearted knight; Rusk, the hermit who swore vengeance on the village folk who burnt him alive in his hut; and Caitlen, the messenger robbed of her eyes by mountain-spirits after she tore up plants and discarded junk. You don't sleep well. When [[morning|Day 3]] comes, your head feels like it's suffocating in fog.

{ The third day: (click: "The third day")[ You exit your tent into an embrace of cloud. Your vision flooded white. You pack away your kit. Everything sodden, droplets running down the waxed flank of the tent as you fold it. Apprehensive, you start your hike to [[the Skeleton]].] }

{ The third day: (click: "Yesterday")[You exit your tent into an embrace of cloud. Your vision flooded white. You pack away your kit. Everything sodden, droplets running down the waxed flank of the tent as you fold it. Apprehensive, you start your trip up the [[slate escarpment]].] }

You walk the rest of the morning. The climb at the top of the mountain is gradual, sapping energy from already tired limbs. The excitement of your destination silences their complaints. The withered grass of the mountain top gives way to snow, largely undisturbed by animals. There are no trees at the top of the mountain. Fresh white, dotted with only rocks, mosses and tawny shrubs. The only thing that stands tall is the Skeleton. Distant freak, a spindle of rusted limbs stood still. From here it looks bigger than you ever imagined, an oppressive simulacrum, ready to come to life. In a couple of hours you'll reach it, this is the last leg of your trip up the mountain. [[Dawdle a little]] [[Head on]]

The rocks shift under your feet as you climb up the cliff face. The scree shivers under your wait, loose shards of slate surfing down to the bottom. You hear them echo behind the white. It takes an hour or so to climb - taking careful steps to balance the weight of your pack. By the time you reach the peak the fog has lifted, leaving a faint haze filtering the world around you. Apprehensive, you start your hike to [[the Skeleton]].

You walk slower than normal, lost in the silence of the mountain. You spend some time looking towards home, back over your journey. You can see yesterday's lake, sunlight shimmering across its surface. Towards the base of the mountain you pick out the white dots of sheep huddles. Beyond that, the flats, a belt of greens, greys and browns. Snow begins to fall as you get closer to the skeleton. Gentle snowflakes, sinking down. Slowly you are covered with gradually melting fractals. Then, behind a mask of snow, you see [[the fox]].

You allow yourself a quick glance back, down towards home, and press on. Snow begins to fall as you get closer to the skeleton. Gentle snowflakes, covering you with slowly melting fractals. The skeleton grows bigger as you approach. Spindly limbs grow to be several feet thick. It is taller than you ever pictured. The bones that appeared black from afar are, up close a mix of obsidian, rust and freshly fallen snow. At the base there is a huddle of wooden buildings and snow gives way to mud. As you get closer the mountain loses its silence. Your ears welcome the familiar rough voices of home, that rise over the sounds of work. [[You are here]].

The white-coated fox runs across your path. It freezes when it sees you, eyes meeting yours. You freeze, matching its gaze. In those seconds there is something like an understanding, a feeling. Then the fox is gone, on its own journey. Holding the image of the fox in your head, to sketch later, you make the [[final walk]] to the skeleton.

You go ungreeted as you walk into the camp at the base of the Skeleton. Women and men rush past - carrying tools and materials, shrugging off mud-caked clothes, sharing stories with friends. You find yourself lost in the smell and noise of other people. A voice cuts through, "Petal." A bundle of leathers and furs approaches. Face obscured by scarf and hood and goggles. "Yer look lost, you meant to be up ere?" [[Hand over the message|hand over the message]] [[Ask for directions]]

The skeleton grows bigger as you approach. Spindly limbs grow to be several feet thick. It is taller than you ever pictured. The bones that appeared black from afar are, up close a mix of obsidian, rust and freshly fallen snow. At the base there is a huddle of wooden buildings and snow gives way to mud. As you get closer the mountain loses its silence. Your ears welcome the familiar rough voices of home, that rise over the sounds of work. [[You are here]].

The figure laughs, furs shivering. "Don't think tha's for me, petal," they say, "For th' gaffer? Letme tek it. You can get some rest there." They points towards one of the larger buildings. The smell of food drifts from it. Your stomach grumbles. [[Let them deliver the message and rest|rest2]] [[Deliver it yourself]]

The canteen is loud and filled with the smell of food. Groups of workers group round wooden benches, eating hunks of bread and bowls of broth. You help yourself to a bowl and sit, alone, at the edge of a bench. The broth is good and simple, warming you through. You'd forgotten the joys of freshly baked bread. You watch the folk as you eat. Some are locked in noisy conversations - their jokes, theories and arguments fill the room - you find comfort in the familiarity of their accents. You're not ready to talk to them yet, but it is good to be with kin. A couple of benches along someone starts a song. They sing quietly, almost to themselves, though a channel of benches fall silent to listen. "Away to the north where they know will be waiting. Frost and black ice and the lash of the gale. Trawling and hoping and anticipating. A ship bumper-full and safe homeward to sail." You listen too, while watching the canteen staff. You notice how, silently, they clear the mess of the room - cleaning up spillages and taking away unused bowls. [[The day passes|day 4]]

{ The fourth day: (click: "The fourth day")[ You sleep deeply, summonned into a dreamless void. You wake with the world trembling. [[The Skeleton wakes]] alongside you. The world is as dark as your sleep. Everything is screaming.] }

{ The fifth day: (click: "The fifth day")[ Climbing down the scree is difficult. The melting slush makes purchase difficult and, as you climb down, runs beneath your clothing. You reach the bottom as a bundle of shivers. In the light of day you look over the lake. [[Everything has changed]]. ] }

{ The sixth day: (click: "The sixth day")[ Tears. For the last two days your eyes have been filled with them. Alongside them shuddering breaths and pained whimpers. You're not sure anymore which ones are caused by the fumes and which by the [[sights]]. ] }

"To the gaffer? Sure, follow me." They lead you through the camp, moving at a fast pace that your tired legs struggle to keep up with. A couple of times you bump into the workers that flurry around you. "First time up ere, ay?" they say, catching you staring at the mess of metal above you, "Impressive ain it?" The size of the Skeleton makes your heart flutter. This dark, rusted structure that has altered the whole mountain. [[The gaffer]]

"Okay then, I'll tek yer to the gaffer." They lead you through the camp, moving at a fast pace that your tired legs struggle to keep up with. A couple of times you bump into the workers that flurry around you. "First time up ere, ay?" they say, catching you staring at the mess of metal above you, "Impressive ain it?" The size of the Skeleton makes your heart flutter. This dark, rusted structure that has altered the whole mountain. [[The gaffer]]

"Now then," the gaffer says as you walk into her office, "How can I help?" The first thing you notice about the foreman's office is it's warmth. The heat from the fireplace helps you to realise that you haven't been warm for days. The second thing you notice is the foreman, a broad-shouldered woman wearing a false smile. She leans across her desk as you enter, clasping your hand. [[Give her the letter]]

She doesn't open the letter in your company. She takes it with barely a word, asking your new companion to find you some food and a bed. Weary, you can't find the words to protest as you're taken to [[the canteen|rest2]].

You dress and rush outside. A weak sun tries to pierce a sky turned ashen. The busyness of yesterday is doubled, frantic workers rush around you. Above you the once stationary Skeleton moves. Its limbs fold and stretch, murmuring as they stir. As you watch one of the cumbersome limbs lifts high like a scorpions tail, before forcing its way into a screaming earth. [[You cannot be here anymore]]

By nightfall you are back at the shelf above the lake. Message delivered you left the camp as quickly as you could - forcing down a tasteless meal, trying to block out the cries of the earth. After packing you left, unnoticed by the preoccupied camp. You did not look back. You couldn't bare the sight of the Skeleton. It's groans following your every step are bad enough. The pristine white snow that spread across the top of the mountain has turned into a mire of blackened ice and mud. One footstep would splosh into slush, the next slipping from under you. [[Now you stare across the lake]]

A hard stare into night made blacker by smog. The stars have abandoned you. The moon is merely a lighter circle of black. There are lights, out over the lake. Sparks fly from the hairlike tangle that spreads across it, matched with a noise like tinnitus. Your tent is somehow pitched - somewhat precariously near the edge of the scree, shielded by low rocks from the slush that oozes down the scree. [[You force yourself to sleep|day 5]]

The tangle of wires above the lake is alive. Turning and twitching under the compulsion of an evil current. There is a terrible smell than makes your head groan - burnt rubber, chemical and copper. You try to forget the birds that made their nests in the tangle. Broken wires from the tangle snap towards the lake below. The waters steam, aching into black crystal. Across the surface, a graveyard of fish and insect. You try to keep your eyes away as you [[continue your walk|day 6]].

{The pyres... (click-replace:"pyres...")[pyres. Those obsidian scratches spread over the mountain. Tormented tangles, once covered in shimmering, green brocade. Now they scream a thousand torments. Black curses, tearing through the mountain. The sheep that huddled around them should have paid heed. All that is left of them are [[burnt remains|No, I don't need to remember this]].] } [[No, I don't need to remember this]]

Home. Your heart quickens as you near, and your stomach. You would say it had filled with butterflies, but these were sharper, daggered things. The first thing you notice are the colours. Missing are the oak browns of building timbers, the red brick of walls and ochre of cobble. There are no greens on the branches of trees, nor the yellows, blues or pinks of flowers. The black has fallen here, coating everything like [[hell's snow]].

You wait a moment at the bridge that crosses the beck on the east side of your village. There is an absence, the lapping of water bursting around child-made dams. The stream has dried. There is no movement in the village, other than the fall of false snow. The square is empty, windows are shuttered and the churches doors are barred. You can see, beneath covered windows the lights of new electrics and or fires. There are faint shadows of people moving inside. This is true of your own home. You approach your own house. Hand brushes black residue off the doorknob when you [[twist]].

There is warmth. Warmth from the fire, in the light, in the greetings of your family. There is warmth in the stew and bread that they feed you. There is warmth in your bed, wrapped in blankets. That warmth disappears for a moment, as your father catches your eye when he says goodnight. --fin--