If you missed the previous episode, read Izal and the Mountain of Peace!

The sightings of Ya-kure could not escape everyone’s eyes forever. Others on the ridge eventually saw it too, without the help of Izal, and they spread the word until it also reached the ears of Tiroa himself.

The light and colors on the mountain became brighter and resilient to the clouds’ smothering, even casting an occasional vivid stream of light into the blackest of nights. Many people, not just the Ozhehron, found gazing upon it a calming diversion from the routines of work and going to market.

All of this made Tiroa uneasy. The crowds were dwindling at the market, reducing their debt and not filling his coffers. He feared losing power by the mere fascination with this remote mountain, and its mere suggestion of an alternative place to be.

At first, he denied the mountain existed, and mocked people as fools who claimed it was real. Failing that, he decreed that meditating on the mountain would poison the eyes, and persons caught doing so would be quarantined as a risk to public health.

But of course, everyone on the ridge already knew they were outcasts and sick from the consumption of Tiroa’s material waste, so his decree did nothing to change their minds.

Unable to dissuade them further, Tiroa decided to send some of his bandits into the Syr valley to find a way to take control of the mountain, defuse it, or if necessary destroy it.

Upon hearing of Tiroa’s plans, Izal the Ozhehron painter went to the garrisons of the bandits the night before their departure and stowed away inside of the carriages. At the deepest part of the night when all the town was asleep, the bandits’caravan quietly left Tiroa’s city and descended into the valley Syr, making crooked turns all the way down the ridge. They passed smoldering fires by the roadside belonging the most destitute who dig out holes for homes in the escarpment of Tiroa’s mountain.

Down they went, as quiet as a snake in water, until at last they reach the basin of the Syr, covered in the heavy blanket of fog.

Even the bandits were afraid to go further into the dark forest, but their captain persisted and ordered them to be vigilant for any sign of trouble. Bandits are not great warriors and carry few weapons, but they can inflict harm by other means, using the tools of the mind.

Deeper into the forest they went, and Izal peered out through a flap in the canvas, finding in the trees a beauty that was disarming, so much so that he soon fell asleep. He dreamed about Ya-kure, and saw himself on the other side of the summit. There he entered a great house filled with many people, from every race and nation, dressed in all their different colors, making their different sounds, dancing and playing music, and sharing the gifts they brought with them, all while the turquoise star swam around their feet and heads as it moved from one end of the house to the other.

But then, the caravan stopped and it woke Izal from his dream. He could hear the bandits above and around him whispering, and he wondered if he had been discovered.

However, they had stopped because in front of the caravan was a yellow-skinned woman in a brilliant white dress, holding a lizard over her shoulder as affectionately as a baby. They feared getting any closer, thinking this was one the terrible man-eating lizards.

Then, one of the bandits worked up enough courage and approached the woman, smiling and holding in his breath to make himself look bigger. He held gold in his hand and waved it in front of her, while the other bandits watched from a distance.

The woman watched his arms waving about and his incessant talking, a pitch that went up and down and changed tempo, until the woman thought he was inviting her to sing, which she did.

The bandit was stupefied, for extracting a song was not at all his intention. And yet, her voice was spellbinding, so clear and melodic it was as if the whole forest was inside of her singing, exuding more power than the bandit and all his companions put together.

The bandit in front of her stood completely still. He had become a prisoner of her song, never having heard such power and grace that was being given him for free.

She reached out and took the bandit’s hand in hers, and while continuing to sing, walked him back into the forest until they disappeared and the singing stopped.

Then the remaining bandits understood the real meaning of the man-eating lizards, and rushed away before she could return and seize them all.
They rode the caravan at a faster pace for the next day, bouncing Izal back and forth between boxes and crates whose contents were a mystery to him, and made him wish to be free.

After three days without further trouble, they could hear the cascading rush of many waterfalls falling into a canyon, and they sensed they were near their prize.

The Ozhmehron waited on the biting cold side of the Tiroa’s mountain, on a recessed ledge some 200 feet below the ridge. From there they could watch for a sign from Ya-kure without being discovered.

The air of the night was damp and a strain upon their bodies, so to keep ice from forming on their hands, they huddled tightly and sang songs – haunting songs that sounded like echoes of the wind.

But they did not sleep, nor curse the night. They kept their eyes open, because the Ozhmehron by now had become most adept at night vision. They always gathered in the night without the aid of fire or light, and thus their eyes and bodies were able to now use the night to their advantage. They breathed in the cold air with pleasure instead of shirking from it, and looked intensely across the valley to Ya-kure.

What they were looking for, they did not know. But they hoped for something that would assure them Izal was alive.

They occasionally saw here and there in the fog bank, outlines of either animal or human figures, but loose enough that they never took a clearly recognizable shape. When one of these figures formed, the Ozhmehron on the ledge stopped and listened, paying attention for the ghostly things to speak, to tell them something, to give them news or hope or warning.

The Ozhmehron composed many songs to call upon the ghosts of Syr to speak. They were quiet and pleading songs that reflected the chilling aloneness of the night.

The wheels of the bandit’s caravan near snapped as they moved over boulders and faults approaching the cascades. It occurred strange to Izal that the bandits seemed to know exactly where they were going, that despite their fear of the valley they had gone this way before. The sound of the rushing water grew more deafening, and eventually the caravan came to a halt.

Unable to bear the pain anymore, Izal moved to slip out of the back of the caravan while the bandits were mustering in the front. He succeeded, and sneaked off to the side of the caravan behind a large tree.

Copyright 2013 by Kalina Kucera. All Rights Reserved.