Chapter 55: Aftermath
A moment later, its massive form disappeared beyond rocky slope, down where trees should have been but weren’t anymore, where avalanche had taken them, swallowed by snow and mist, by mountain’s own cloak.
The trembling ground gradually settled, like mountain exhaling after holding breath too long, like chest falling after roar.
Falling snow continued as though nothing had happened, as though six-limbed god had not just walked road, had not just taken tithe. It covered gouges claws had left, softening edges, filling trenches with white, making road look almost imperial again. In few minutes, you would not know fight had happened here, except for dark stain that snow could not quite hide yet, pink turning brown, and broken imperial stone where claw had shattered empire’s work.
Danny remained frozen in place, feet stuck, boots frozen to thin ice under snow.
They were alive.
He should have been happy. Should have been Tch, should have laughed stupid laugh of survivors, should have felt relief flood like warm water.
Instead, he stared at patch of snow where prisoner had disappeared, where thin man had been dragged and offered, where offering had been accepted. There was hollow there now, shape of body, then drag mark like sled track, then nothing, just disturbed snow, just boot print. Mirebeast had not left blood. Had not left anything to bury, not even boots, not even garb. It had taken everything, like debt collected in full, like tax man who takes shirt and trousers too.
His shoulder ached, deep ache, bone bruise from hitting ground. Hands still shaking, could not stop, fine tremor that started in fingers and went up. He put them under arms to stop it, tucked like bird, like wings, but shaking went to shoulders, to teeth.
Grey-haired man approached him slowly. Not fast, not sneaking, not like he had approached prisoner. He made noise with boots, crunching snow on purpose so Danny would hear him coming, not startle, like approaching wounded animal, like approaching horse that might kick.
"Kid."
Danny didn’t answer. Could not get mouth to work yet, tongue frozen, words frozen in throat with fear that had nowhere to go now that monster gone.
"Are you hurt?"
He shook head. Half true. Shoulder was bad, but not bleeding, not cut by monster. Rest was not something you could point to, not something bandage would fix, not something old man could fire away.
Man studied him for moment, blue in eyes almost gone now, flicker dead, just grey eyes same as hair, before glancing toward mountain’s edge, again and again, habit of old soldier, checking horizon, making sure shape did not come back, making sure trade stayed accepted, making sure road toll stayed paid.
"It’s gone. It won’t come back tonight. Not after feeding. It sleeps."
Danny finally looked up, eyes red from cold and snow glare, and from not blinking, from watching man be swallowed.
"Why?"
Grey-haired man frowned, broken sword dripping meltwater now, fire gone, snow melting on steel that was still warm from hand.
"Why what?"
"Why did it let us go? Why did it leave? Why one was enough?"
Man was silent for moment, long moment where only snow falling made sound. He turned broken sword over in hand, edge chipped even more now, bent nearly useless, almost not sword anymore, just crowbar. Looked at it like old friend who died but you carry anyway.
"I don’t know."
It was honest answer. He did not try to make story out of it, did not make myth about sacrifice and mountain gods wanting one soul, did not pretend to be wise. He just didn’t know, and said so, and that was rarer than myth.
Danny lowered gaze to snow, to stain that was now just faint pink, to drag mark filling with fresh.
Mirebeast could have killed all three of them. Easily. It had been strong enough to crush eyeless wolves with single strike, to shatter imperial road that had survived empire, and their weapons had done nothing against it. Danny had seen his own knife bounce off its leg like twig, like toy. Old man’s fire only left black mark that snow already covered.
Yet it had waited. Stood there while they argued, while prisoner begged and plotted and tried to trade boy. It had waited like it was listening, like court.
It had watched them argue. Like it understood language, or at least tone, like it knew human math of one for three.
And after receiving prisoner, it had simply left. Not chased. Not circled to finish wounded. Just taken what was bleeding and gone down slope, back to where it slept, back to crack in mountain.
Was that what thin prisoner had sensed? Had monster truly wanted one of them as sacrifice? Had it understood enough to wait for them to decide who was extra, who was weakest link? Old stories said mountain wants toll, old roads always want toll, empire road especially.
Danny didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Some things were easier if you did not give them name. If it was just animal, then it was hunger, simple, and feeding it bleeding man was just survival, like feeding wolves meat to get away. If it was more, intelligent, more than beast, then what had they just done? What had old man done? What had Danny allowed by standing still and watching and not stopping?
Grey-haired man rested broken sword against his shoulder, habit made him look less dangerous, less like executioner, less like man who cuts tendons, but Danny had seen what that sword could do when it had to, even bent, even broken — could cut tendon, could cut choice, could cut future.
"We need to move before another monster finds us. Blood will bring wolves again. Or worse things that didn’t sleep through avalanche."
Danny nodded slowly. Man was right. Blood in snow was signal on this mountain, dinner bell for wolves, for other things that woke up after avalanche, for things that lived deeper than Mirebeast. Mirebeast gone but road was still not safe, never safe.
But when he took first step, legs nearly gave way, locked straight too long, cold had got into them, into marrow, into joints. Knees buckled, ankle wobbled on uneven stone.
Man caught him by arm, firm, not rough, fingers strong despite being old, despite bleeding from mouth earlier, hand that dragged man now holding boy up.
"Easy. Slow."
Danny steadied himself and pulled away quickly, too quickly, flinch, he did not want to be held right now, not by those hands that had just dragged man to death, not by hands that had cut. Shame immediately after, because those hands had also saved him.
"I’m fine."
Grey-haired man didn’t argue, didn’t get offended, didn’t show hurt. He let go, hands up slightly, empty. He walked half step behind instead of in front now, so Danny had to lead, so Danny wouldn’t feel dragged, so boy could choose path with own feet.
They began walking along mountain path, leaving shattered stone and bloodstained snow behind, leaving boot that had fallen off, now covered. Wind came again, thin and cold, pushing at backs, helping them away from scene, erasing footprints as they made them, like mountain wanted no memory of trade.