Chapter Twelve

Under a clear blue sky, Krinna sat her horse in the middle of a well-traveled road. A worn, painted sign nailed to the trunk of a vast oak tree heralded her arrival at Robber Gulch Gorge. Big, bold, faded black letters welcomed new travelers and settlers. The bottom of the sign warned all wicked men and women against practicing their trades in the Gorge.

“Yeah, sure.” She cynically ridiculed the idea. Someone was fooling himself. She kneed her mount and rode around a brush-lined curve. She refused to believe her eyes.

Homes and small cottages lined each side of the canyon’s entrance. She looked left and right as she slowly descended toward the unseen village.

Young children played in the open yards. Women rendered lard in a large kettle. Other women sat around in the yards sewing quilts and laughing. A pretty brown-eyed child ran out to the road and waved at her. Laughing, she chased her down the trail until her mother called her back. She stood at the side of the road and began waving. “Bye-bye,” she said.

Krinna turned in the saddle and watched her. She waved at the child until a yellow Forsythia bush blocked her view. She looked forward to seeing more of the canyon. Everything appeared blurred. With her left hand, she wiped the tears from her face. She hated sentimentality. It wasn’t in her makeup, but the little tyke reminded her of a long-dead childhood.

Her eyes took in the gorge’s beauty, but her mind wandered to a better time and place when her mother and father visited and played with her in the garden. Her mother’s beauty was worthy of a king. She often gleefully chased her around the flower beds and into the palace.

Krinna shrugged off the pathos that threatened to engulf her. Focusing on the present and leaving the past to fraudulent historians was easier.

“Are you going to sit there all day, young lady?” A cracking southern voice asked.

Krinna searched for the voice and finally spotted the older man leaning against the stable wall. His dark, brown leather skin was glued to his emaciated skull and body. Uncut, straw-filled, tussled hair covered his head. A bug-infested, dingy, grey beard lay in his lap. He spit. The wind caught it and threw it back into his beard.

“Dang wind!” he cackled.

She thought it was the most moisture the dried-up body had seen for years. She stepped down from the saddle and asked, “Can you feed this horse and put him up for the night?”

“Yep! I reckon I can. He’ll go home tomorrow. Are you hungry?”

“I may be, but I don’t know.”

“What! That’s stupid. Either you are, or you aren’t.”

“Yes, I’m hungry but looking for a man.”

Flabbergasted, he stared at her. His eyes sparkled. Beneath the top portion of his flea-breeding beard, he presented a toothless smile. Placing a hand under the flea haven, he ruffled the hair and pulled it away from his chest. He must be exercising the inhabitants. She thought. Slowly, he circled her. She winced from the sharp slap on her backside. He stopped and faced her. A gigantic, tobacco-stained cavern gaped at her. Krinna knew she would puke into the dreadful abyss if she didn’t turn away. She stopped the gorge before it left her stomach.

“I’m available!” he chirped and fluttered his eyelids. Brown saliva ran down his tobacco-stained whiskers.

Wondering how many fleas died in the disastrous flood, she gently said, “I’m afraid you are too much man for me to handle. I should look for a lesser man.”

“Dang it!” he said, “I’m going to stop practicing manners.”

“Can you direct me to a restaurant?”

“Sure,” he said, pointing down the street, “the Trough is open. “You wanna' be careful, though. A mean bunch of slops there.”

“Thank you. What do I owe you for the horse’s care?”

“Nothing, Kyber is a friend.”

She stood looking at the sign. Bold, paint-chipped letters greeted her arrival at the Sweating Hog Restaurant. Two grizzled, older men argued on the front porch. One stopped and ogled her.

“What's it?” he asked, pointing at her.

“You fool,” the second man said, “that is a fem … by the dancing scorpions of Doom’s Boat, it is a young woman.”

“Can you, gentlemen, help a girl in need? I’m looking for the Trough. Can you give me directions?”

“Young and dumb, it's how I like 'em,” the first one said.

“Can you help me?” she queried again.

“Leave her alone and stick with the locals,” two said.

“What locals?” one replied.

“She is a tourist. Stay away from them.” Disgusted, he spit on the porch and said, “Young lady, if you can read, then look up and read the sign.”

“It says Sweating Hog Restaurant.”

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“She is way too smart for me,” one said.

“Why don’t you go inside and leave us alone?” Two said.

From the outside, she couldn’t see much through the large glass panels. She opened the door. A cowbell hailed her entrance. All the tables were occupied except one near the back wall. She noted everyone’s position in the room and decided she didn’t trust anyone. Deliberately, she closed the door and walked to the vacant table. Pulling a bench out from under it, she sat down with her back to the door. She thought she detected an audible gasp from the silent occupants. Every eye would watch her because she was an amateur or knew no fear.

A tree of a man with oak limbs for arms exited the kitchen area and approached her table. He was four men jammed into one massive body. His prominent, black, bushy eyebrows rested on a ridiculously bald head that didn’t fit his size. The floor trembled when he walked.

“What can I get you, young lady?” he asked in a deceptively gentle voice.

Surprised, she replied, “What, sir, do you recommend?”

“We have a great mutton stew. The bread is hot out of the oven. Elple wine, cold goat’s milk, and mountain spring water will help you wash it down. I have a fresh, hot Elple pie warming on the stove. It is served with a block of soft goat cheese.”

“It sounds wonderful. I’ll have everything with cold milk. I was recently introduced to elples. Do you grow your own?”

Ignoring her question, he walked away. She listened to the creaking wood until he stopped in the kitchen. He brought her food on a large wooden tray and set it before her. He left without speaking.

Several times during her meal, she heard the door open and close as the other patrons departed. She concentrated on her dinner. After completing her meal, she perused the room. Plain-cut boards covered the inner walls, and one wall suffered termite damage.

A solitary figure sat with his head on his arms. He slept.

The waiter returned and removed her empty dishes. “You have termites in the wall,” she said, pointing at the boards.

Amiably, he replied, “It enhances the room’s décor by breaking up the monotony of plain wood.”

He placed a small parchment on the table and carried the dirty dishes to the back room. She picked it up and read it. Her bill was paid, and a pack waited outside the back door. She followed him to the kitchen.

Confronting him, she said, “I know I can’t ask questions, and you can’t answer any, but he paid for this, and I won’t be indebted to him. I won’t have it. I pay my way. I won’t accept anything from him.”

“I think you should look at it.”

“Because you are a kind host, I’ll see it.” She looked and came back. “I don’t want and won’t carry extra junk.”

“He said you would refuse it. I told him you would take it, but he said you were too proud.”

“Pride has nothing to do with it. I don’t want anything from him.”

“Lass, why are you following him?”

“Remember, no questions or answers.”

“Fair enough. Please, don’t make him kill you,” he smiled. “I like you.”

“I have to go.”

“Wait, I have something for Gorga,” he said, presenting her with a small melon.

“I will accept it for her. I bid you a fond farewell.”

“I hope we meet again.”

Krinna left extra money on the table. She owed no man, especially her mark. Exiting the restaurant, she didn’t see the older men. She followed her mark northward.

Six miles later, she reached the bottom of the trail and the swinging bridge crossing the chasm. Cliffs ascended five hundred feet into the air. The wind rushing through the canyon created a siren call, causing the bridge to sway precariously. Braving the wind gusts, she walked calmly onto the narrow one-hundred-foot span.

Halfway across, a strong gust hit and threw her against a hanging support. She held onto it with all her strength as she observed the deep water crashing against giant boulders in the gorge bottom one thousand feet below. The bridge righted, and she sprinted for safety.

She began a long, arduous climb toward the mountains. At her present gait, she would reach Pilgrim’s Pass by late day. She knew his destination, so there was no hurry. He would meet his death in the mountains. Now, she determined to enjoy her walk in the sun as she dreamed of gold and silver.

Cresting a rocky, brush-covered ridge, she stopped to survey the land. A cold northeast wind struck her. Storms seldom came from the east. The most severe weather formed in the east. She gathered her cloak around her. Darkening clouds scurried across the sky to join with a storm beginning in the higher mountains. She needed to reach her shelter before the rain fell, so she increased her pace.

The sun disappeared. The clouds turned black and green. Hot and sweaty from her fast pace, she stopped and shook her head. “How can this happen? It doesn’t rain during harvest season,” she asked herself. Distant, snow-capped mountains were no longer visible.

Lightning danced across the sky. Thunder crashed and rolled through the heavens. She started running. A black wall of water advanced toward her at incredible speed. She ran harder to reach a natural rock shelter a half mile up the pass. The deluge fell as she ran under the rock. It’s a good thing I didn’t carry his extra junk. I wouldn’t have made it in time.

Breathing heavily and exhausted from the uphill run, she slipped out of her gear and put on the bedrock. Rain obscured the light under the outcropping rock. Torrents of water rolled down the trail. She laughed as Gorga left the safety of her basket and crawled into the cold water. She recoiled from the icy liquid. She finally entered it, and the current swept her around the rock.

Krinna unrolled the mark’s sleeping roll and lay down. Crossing her feet, she placed her hands over her chest and slept briefly.

She screamed as the cold, scaly viper wrapped around her naked flesh. She sat up as the snake circled her waist beneath her tunic. “Gorga! You are ice cold!”

Large swirling snowflakes blew into her cubbyhole. “It doesn’t snow this time of the year.” Yanking the serpent out of her clothing, she put it in the basket and rose to her feet. Slipping into her pack, she adjusted her equipment and forced herself into the snow. I have to hurry, or I’ll miss him in the storm.

Krinna battled the wind-driven snow for hours. Visibility was limited to ten feet, so she stopped occasionally to get her bearings. Thankful that she could see the windblown trail, she pressed forward.

Her face felt frozen. She struggled against the blocks of ice forming on her feet. Her fingers lost all sensation. Thinking became difficult. She had to stop and find shelter or freeze to death.

Without warning, the snow passed. A bitter, cold wind swept down through the pass. Large icicles reflected sunlight in an array of brilliant colors. A blanket of white covered the mountains.

She laughed. Miraculously, she defeated the stupid gods and their petty efforts to stop her. The shelter she sought was ahead on the left side of the trail. Forcing through a significant snow drift, she stood under a smoke-covered ledge. Hope flooded her waning spirit. A warm fire would change everything.

Panic attacked her. She kicked her numb feet under the snow and felt no firewood. It would be too wet to burn flashed through her wavering mind. To survive, she had to work fast.

Dropping to her knees, she pushed the wet, heavy snow aside with her bare hands. Frozen tears clung to her cheeks as she crawled into the small tunnel.

A tingling fire began in her feet and slowly made its way up her legs, and the pain traveled with it. She attempted to pull her feet out of the cold, but she failed. Rolling to her side, she forced her unfeeling hands into the armpits of her soaked tunic.

As she watched her money and secure life fall into the Gulch's wild current, she knew death was imminent. Her mind tipped over the abyss and followed her dreams into darkness.