Mountain Spirit
Piers Anthony
Part One: Background, dull but necessary
The Village of Mire was not much of a place, as its descriptive name indicated, but its denizens liked it because it had one outstanding asset: Mt. Miracle. When the villagers had a problem, they could appeal to the mountain, and the mountain would solve it. It had done so many times in past centuries. Once there had been a killing drought, and the mountain had brought copious rain. Once there was an invasion by a foreign power, and the village had been directly in the path of the marching enemy army, certain extinction. But the mountain had spewed out major rivers of lava that encircled the village, causing the invaders to hastily detour around it; later when the lava cooled and weathered it became fertile soil, another benefit. Once the king was going to set aside Mt. Miracle as a tourist attraction, moving all the villagers out and razing their houses; kings were like that. The mountain shook the ground warningly and blew out volcanic dust and clouds of villainous looking gas, satisfying the king’s men that this was no safe place for a resort. Once the village had gotten in a bad financial bind, so had asked for money; the mountain issued a lava stream of solid gold that forever solved that problem. When there was a crop blight, the mountain gave them access to blight-resistant plants on its lower slopes. The mountain always came through without stinting.
But there was a price: a lovely sacrificial maiden. She had to be the prettiest nubile virgin available, and of good mind and character, a perfect young woman. What the mountain did with her no one knew; she was never seen again. That meant there would be one or more heartbroken young men, not to mention her family. So the villagers were cautious about asking the mountain’s favor.
Now they had a crisis: almost all their marriage-eligible young women were gone. A recruiter had come and lured them away with the promise of fabulous notoriety and wealth as showgirls in the big city. Only homely women remained. Rather than marry them, the young men were about to go off to the city themselves to seek their fortunes. That would effectively wipe out Mire, which would slowly fade as the older citizens died out. Something had to be done.
The Village elders cogitated and finally, by dint of much discussion facilitated by several kegs of ale, came up with the answer: they would have to appeal to Mt. Miracle. But how could they meet the mountain’s price, when there were no remaining pretty girls? It was not possible to pass off any ugly one; the mountain knew the difference and would only be annoyed if they tried. They could not risk that.
But there was one saving grace: the recruiter had taken only girls of the age of consent, planning to return a year later to pick up some more as they came of age. There were some promising prospects, for the village was known for its lovely women. One outstanding girl had been one day short, and so was left behind, to her immense frustration. She would have to wait another year. This was Faire, smart, talented, sweet, virginal, and so lovely that mirrors brightened in her presence. Unfortunately she was also honest, so had refused to lie about her age, to the recruiter’s considerable disappointment.
The village men clustered about her, each eager to marry her. But Faire had been bitten by the bug of fame, and no longer wanted to settle for life as the dull wife of a dull farmer, miller, or mechanic. She wanted excitement and fame, plus maybe a really hunky rich young man who would forever dote on her. Nothing like that offered in Mire. So when the Village elders approached her, she agreed to become the Mountain Spirit. That at least would give her celebrity for a day, and who knew what surprises the mountain might have for her thereafter?
Thus it came to the ceremony of sacrifice: the village elders stood on the designated foothill of the mountain and made their case. “We beseech you, Mt. Miracle, to solve our problem: we need a coterie of nubile attractive young women to become loyal hardworking village wives. We offer in exchange Faire.”
Some of the older denizens shook their heads. It seemed impossible for the mountain to grant this particular wish, assuming it even wanted to try. What could it do? Advertise for immigrants? Girls of that description were notoriously fickle, and were unlikely to settle for the backwoods life. In fact, that attitude was the cause of the problem.
Faire stepped forward. If the mountain accepted her, it would grant the beseechers’ favor. And it did: a delicate gust of wind ruffled her skirt to show her marvelous legs, and tousled her lustrous hair, and the Spirit of the Mountain infused her. Suddenly she was twice as beautiful as before, a manifest impossibility, with an expression of rapture on her face. “Farewell, friends,” she said. “My destiny calls.” Then Faire spread her arms and floated up into the air and on over the forested slope of the mountain’s base. She glided up to the steep rocky faces, and disappeared in the swirling mist of the peak.
The elders visibly relaxed. They had known their offering was lovely, but there was always a bit of a fog of doubt when dealing with the mountain.
There was another part of the ceremony. If any man were able to climb the mountain to the top within two days, he could claim the girl and bring her home, and the mountain still would grant the favor. This was a compromise worked out in the mists of antiquity, so that the villagers could maintain hope that the sacrificial maidens could theoretically be rescued, though it had never happened. So there were a number of husky young louts eager to join the chase, the more fools they.
Part Two: Challenge, as it starts to get interesting
Heroe considered. The other young men were forging ahead, following the route that the Spirit Maiden had taken, albeit on the ground. This was bound to be mischief. So Heroe chose to walk around the base of the mountain, studying its avenues. He had two days, and a straight climb could be done in one, if unimpeded. That of course was the rub. He knew the reputation of Mt. Miracle: it did not like to be climbed. It tolerated birds on its higher reaches, and ants, but not much else. Finesse was required.
Heroe didn’t hurry. He was passing a turnip field, careful not to step on the plants. He had a sense that there was something here for him, if he just let it catch up. What he needed was not the fastest route, but the right route. That was not necessarily purely physical.
A mature villager fell in beside him. “You’re not from Mire,” the man said.
“I believe the challenge is open to all,” Heroe said.
“Oh, sure. But I’ve seen you before, somewhere.”
“The sister village of Bog.”
“That’s it! At their Challenge two weeks ago, petitioning their mountain spirit. I was there delivering a load of turnips. Hi; I’m Tunsley, turnip farmer. This is my acreage. I saw you crossing my field and thought I’d check.”
“Heroe, adventurer.”
“In fact you were one of the entrants. Bog had the same problem we did: their pretty girls getting raided. My daughter was one of them, here in Mire; we couldn’t hold her back. I had to get on home before dark, so I didn’t see how that turned out. You gave up on the chase?”
“No. I won it.”
Tunsley stared. “But nobody ever won against a mountain!”
Heroe shrugged. “Believe what you will.”
“But if you did, what are you doing here? I mean, you would have the prettiest girl of your village to love, cherish, and marry. I saw her take off; she was almost as lovely as our Faire.”
“No. I did not take her.”
“Now I’m not the brightest man extant, which is why I’m a farmer; turnips are easy. But this doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“She was a closet lesbian. She enlisted with the mountain so that she wouldn’t have to fight off the men any more. The mountain doesn’t care about sexual orientation, just beauty and dedication. She confessed that, in tears, when I won her, knowing that she had no further choice. But I didn’t want to do that to her, so I let her go. It would be like forcing me to marry a man; I’d never be happy, and knew she wouldn’t. I spoke to the mountain, and it allowed her lady lover to come up so they could live together in privacy, protected by the mountain.”