halla and the mountain

“Halla, away from the window now! Get back to your schoolwork!” Halla looked at her mother. Her face was red; she was madder than usual. She’d drunk a bit more tonight than on other nights.

“All right ma,” Halla said. She took one last look out the window at the mountain, rising above the city like a great tooth, like a thorn, like an arrowhead pointed at the sky. There was nothing she liked doing more than looking at that mountain and thinking, daydreaming, imagining a thousand things that might happen there, animals that might live there, and even (like the stories said) wicked magical beings that might haunt its flanks. 

She turned to her schoolwork: a study she and her classmates had done about the soil near the bog. A lot of things lived in the soil. She had to map and chart them. It was boring; who cared what lived in the soil? She cared what lived on that mountain. She looked out the window again. A cloud, lighted silver by the moon, passed across the upper half of the mountain, obscuring the peak for a moment. 

“Halla!” her mother shouted. “Do your work, stop staring at the mountain!” She slapped her hand on the counter. Her words were slightly slurred. “I don’t know what your obsession is with it anyway…we’ve told you a hun…a hundred-and-more times what darkness lurks there! When I was…when I was a girl we didn’t even look at the cursed thing. We respected it because we knew it could take any of us any time it wanted to! You know the Seen’s boy disappeared six weeks ago. You know the danger, so stop staring at the cursed thing!”

Halla worked on the soil chart. Her own face was hot with anger—she was tired of being yelled at by her mother. Her father didn’t yell but he didn’t say much either; he didn’t stop her mother from yelling or help her when she needed it. Her brother Lonn helped her, because he understood how she felt. He was four years older than her—he was sixteen now—and he’d been yelled at and ignored for years before her. He’d somehow found a way to not be mad himself. True, he wasn’t around much, he spent most of his time with his friends or down at the shore…still, Halla was amazed, even awed, by his strength. No matter what happened, Lonn was there. He had something inside him, something different. She didn’t know what she would do without him. 

Halla finished the soil chart. It was good; she’d get a high grade. School was mostly easy for her, even though it was mostly boring. She knew she was smart. But…she didn’t want to just study things in books. She wanted to explore…she raised her eyes again to the window. The mountain was shining grey-white in the moonlight. She wondered, for the thousandth time, if any of the stories they told about the mountain were true at all. So much of the rest of what they said was wrong; why should they be right about the mountain? And, it didn’t look evil. It looked…mysterious, alluring, beguiling. With all her heart she wanted to see for herself what it was like close-up. Was it rocky, or covered with trees and bushes? Were there streams and rivers, snow, canyons? Was in smooth and flat? She could see, on the clearest days, the sharp edges of what looked like massive rocks sticking out of its sides, and in certain lights the slopes looked green, as if they were forested; but you couldn’t really tell what it was like. It was almost as if there was a mist or fog surrounding it which prevented you from seeing it. They said that was the Veil of Wickedness. Halla thought that was stupid. If none of them ever went there themselves how did they know it was a Veil of Wickedness? It was mist or fog and she wanted to see the mountain.

She heard her father coming in the front door. A breath of fish and sea air came with him. 

“Hullo Halla,” he said in his quiet, unexcited voice. 

“Hi Pa,” Halla said. She did not ask him about his day because he never wanted to talk about it—packing gutted fish into crates down at the docks. Every day was the same and he just wanted to forget about it when he got home. 

“Joss?” Halla’s mother called out. “Joss is that you? You’re late. It’s already dark.” She came around the corner, her face still red with anger and drink.

“I’m only a little late,” Halla’s father said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“More than a little late! And it matters to me!” Halla’s mother shouted. “I’m cooking and getting things ready and if you’re not here I’m left to do it myself!”

“Fine,” Halla’s father said. “I’ll help you. Just stop yelling at me.”

“I’m not yelling!” Halla’s mother shouted. “You want to hear what yelling is?” She went on shouting, while Halla’s father went to get his own glass of ale from the cask in the kitchen. They argued and argued, Halla’s father’s voice getting louder as he drank more.

The mountain was shining through the window, beautiful and dark and real. 

At once Halla stood and slipped quietly into her room. She stuffed a sweater and her rain slicker into her rucksack. She poked her head out of the door and looked for her mother and father. They were in the parlor now, still yelling. The sound was like the claws of a vicious animal ripping into her ears. She got to the kitchen without them seeing her—or at least without them noticing the rucksack. She stuffed some bread and cheese in on top of the clothes, and, before she could think further, before she could tell herself how young and small and powerless she was (those were things her ma told her) she went out the back door next to the kitchen. She opened and closed it quickly so they wouldn’t feel the ocean breeze coming into the house. 

It was a brisk evening, the spring sea air flowing in steadily from the bay. Halla walked swiftly through the shabby, tightly-packed wooden houses in her neighborhood. She didn’t want to run, not yet, because someone might notice that, and wonder about it, and go to ask her parents where she was going. Everyone knew everyone in the neighborhood.  

But she knew she didn’t have much time before her parents would notice she was gone, and come looking for her. She wondered if they would know right away she was going to the mountain. No—they wouldn’t think she’d have the courage—which they would probably call stupidity. They would think she’d go to Thea’s house, or maybe Aslen’s. They’d leave her for a while, waiting for her, then eventually go to look for her. She probably had a couple hours or so until they realized she was really gone. Still, she wanted to go as quickly as she could—she wanted to be far away when they started their search.

Then she thought about Lonn. He’d be so worried about her—and he would know right away where she went, because she told him all the time how much she wanted to go to the mountain. He always told her she shouldn’t, but he didn’t say it with the same conviction that her mother did. It was almost as if he wanted her to go to the mountain. Halla knew Lonn would come looking for her too; but she wasn’t afraid of him finding her. He wouldn’t stop her—he might even come with her. 

 She made it out of her neighborhood and walked quickly through the twisting streets of the Heights, where the houses were larger and more solid and spaced farther apart. She glanced at one as she passed—clean, gleaming windows, bright white paint that wasn’t peeling and flaking off. But then she saw something that made her stop. There, propped on the side of the house, was a bicycle. She could go so much faster on a bicycle. Hers had been broken for years, but she knew how to ride one. 

 She looked over her shoulder, up and down the street. There was no one. She stepped off the road onto the stone walkway leading to the side of the houses and got to the bicycle fast—so fast. She had wheeled the bicycle halfway down the walkway to the street when someone called to her.

 “Hey—what are you doing?”

 Halla stopped, thinking quickly. “I was just…” she turned, expecting to see the owners of the house. But there was only a…boy, stepping out of the shadows beside the house. 

 “Just what?” he said. Halla thought she recognized him, from school. But she wouldn’t know him well, because he lived here, in the Heights. She and her friends wouldn’t mix with him and his friends.

 “Just going to borrow it, just for a little,” Halla said. “But I’ll put it back. I’m sorry.”

 The boy peered at her. He was standing in the light coming from one of the windows. He was thin, and seemed frail. His hair was cut short, the way they liked to do in the Heights.

 “Where are you going?” he said.

 “What do you mean?” Halla said. “I’m just…” 

 “You have a rucksack.”

 “Oh. I just…”

 “You’re running away,” the boy said. He didn’t say it accusingly, and in fact there was something else in his voice, maybe even admiration.

 “No, I’m—”

 “You’re going to the mountain,” the boy said, as if he were stating an obvious fact: it was nighttime; or, she was a girl. 

 “What? I—” Halla pursed her lips. “No I’m not,” she said. “I’m just…going.”

 The boy looked at her for a moment without saying anything. He furrowed his brow, and tilted his head a bit to one side. There was something about him that Halla recognized. Not just that she’d seen him at school—though she was certain of that now, he was in the same level as she was—but something else. The way he stood, the way his shoulders slumped a little forward. Even the little scowl on his face. She knew him.

 “You’re going to the mountain,” he said again. “I know you are. Why?”

 “I…I’m…” She felt herself scowl, just like he was doing. “I want to see it,” she said. There was no point in lying anymore. “I don’t believe what they say, that it’s bad, or haunted, all that stupid stuff.” The boy looked at her with his head tilted. “And…I want to get away from my parents.”

 There was another moment of silence between them. 

 “I want to come too,” the boy said. 

 “I…what?” Halla said. 

 “They don’t know what they’re talking about,” he said. Then he turned and went to the side door of the house. 

 “Wait,” he said over his shoulder.

 “But I—” He was gone before Halla could say more. 

 She stood uneasily for a moment, holding the bicycle. Why in the world should she wait for him? She didn’t even know his name. And why in the world would she want to go to the mountain with a strange boy from the Heights? She looked down the road in the direction she’d come from. Her parents would be coming after her. She looked at the bicycle. She’d just take it, and return it when she got back. She tried to walk toward the road, but she couldn’t. Cursed boy. She’d just…

 He came out the side door before she could decide what to do. He had his own rucksack on his back. 

 “Just a minute,” he said. He disappeared into the shadows behind the house and emerged in a few seconds wheeling another bicycle.

 “Let’s go,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at his house. Halla knew that look.

 “All right. Follow me,” she said. There was nothing else to do. 

 She mounted the bicycle and pedaled up the street. The boy followed close behind. In a moment they came to the top of the Heights, and the mountain rose before them in all its dark, alluring glory. It seemed so much bigger from here, thrusting up into the sky, spreading its massive flanks like an entirely separate world. Halla felt the familiar thrill inside her, but stronger than ever. Her whole body shuddered with anticipation, excitement, and…fear. Because…what if they were right about all the spirits and magical beings? No, she assured herself. They were wrong. 

 They pedaled on, past the last houses of the town, past the factory, across the salt flats, over the low border hills, through the scrub oak forest. The moon lighted their way; they were lucky there was no rain. The boy stayed right close behind Halla; she could hear the workings of his bicycle’s chain, the wheels crunching along the road, and also the boy’s breath, huffing in and out when they went up and over a hill. She’d rather he wasn’t with her, but…there was a small part of her that was secretly relieved she wasn’t alone. And there was that thing about him that she recognized. It had to do with his parents, she knew. He was not happy. Maybe they fought like hers fought; maybe they yelled at him. This was unfathomable to her. She’d never imagined that anyone from the Heights could be unhappy. She’d always thought the families who lived there—all of them—were free of any cares, because they were all rich and could do anything—have anything they wanted. But this boy was angry, and hurt, like her. 

 The mountain was farther away than Halla thought it was. They must’ve been pedaling for over an hour. But, she finally felt like they were getting closer. The road began to climb and veered to the right, as if it was avoiding the mountain. And now the mountain filled the entire sky; it was everything and everywhere. Halla felt another pang of uncertainty. What if…she hadn’t even completed the thought when they rode into the mist. She felt its cool damp fingers on her face, and she gasped. 

 “What, what’s wrong?” the boy said behind her. 

 “Nothing, just…the mist,’” Halla said. 

 “Yes, I know. That’s what they talk about, the—”

 “Veil of Wickedness,” Halla finished.

 “Yes,” the boy said. “Do you…believe it?” He was gauging her, seeing if she was afraid or not, before he decided how he felt himself. 

 “I…well, no,” Halla said, trying to hide the doubt that had crept over her. “I don’t believe anything they say about it. I think they’re just afraid of it themselves and they make up stories.” With each word she felt a little stronger, even if it was just pretend strength. “I think there are…I think it’s just a mountain. I want to see it.” She did, again. 

 They had stopped pedaling their bicycles; the road was turning completely away from the mountain.

 “We should walk from here,” Halla said.

 “Yes, all right,” the boy said. 

 They dismounted and lay their bicycles in the scraggly brush beside the road. The moon shining through the mist created a strange silvery glowing light. Halla felt as if she were walking into a dream.

 “What’s your name?” she asked the boy.

 “Gordie,” he said. 

 “I’m Halla,” she said.

 “I’ve seen you at school.”

 “Yes, me too. Seen you, I mean.”

 They were both quiet for a moment, walking in the silvery mist through the bushes up the mountain’s lower slope. Halla realized now they could never explore the whole mountain in one day—or even a week, a month. It was too massive. They would just have to see what they could see; and also, she had no idea how long they’d be there.  

 “What do you think is here, if there are no…spirits?” Gordie said.

 “Well,” Halla considered. “Animals, probably. And maybe big forests. Maybe waterfalls. I don’t know. I’ve just always wanted to see.”

 “Me too,” Gordie said. “My parents are always telling me how bad it is, and how bad…” he didn’t complete the thought. Halla knew what he was going to say: how bad I am.

 “Mine too,” Halla said. “I think they’re stupid.” 

 “Yes, I do too,” Gordie said. There was something new in his voice, something like surprise, or a little happiness. Halla felt it too: she never imagined she’d be walking through the mist at the base of the mountain with a boy who felt the same things she felt.

 They went up and up; the bushes were replaced by trees which grew taller with each minute they walked. There was a feeling, a smell in the air, different from anything Halla had known. It was crisp and fresh and full of so many unfamiliar scents it almost made her head spin. It made her think again that the mountain was a completely separate world from theirs. She kept walking, looking at the big trees, smelling the air. Behind her Gordie was breathing hard with effort. 

 “Are you all right?” she said.

 “Yes, just…it’s hard. But I’m fine.” He was frail, Halla thought, but he was also strong, underneath.  

 There was something in front of them, a large shape, rising out of the silvery mist. They slowed their steps. 

 “It’s a boulder,” Halla said when they neared. The slight relief in her voice spoke for both of them. They weren’t sure...

 “What is that?” Gordie said. There was something behind the boulder, between two big trees. Was it moving? Maybe it was a…bush, swaying in the breeze. But, there was no breeze. 

 Halla and Gordie stood next to each other. The thing moved more, swaying left, then right, and then it began to move toward them. It was…not really a thing, just mist, or tendrils…but it moved like something alive. 

 “Oh!” Gordie said in a small voice. “What…” he didn’t say anything more. Halla couldn’t speak. The thing came at them, slowly. Somehow she and Gordie were holding hands, squeezing courage from each other. 

 There was no point in running away from a misty thing. And…neither of them believed in the wicked spirits of the mountain…did they? 

 When it got to them they were gripping each other’s hands so hard it hurt. The misty thing touched them, dampness on their faces, enveloping them; and then it moved past them. It was gone, just like that. Halla opened her mouth to say something, but there was a sound, coming from…everywhere, or nowhere. Was she even hearing it? It was high, tinkling, ringing, but not quite ringing. It was…laughter. It couldn’t be laughter. 

 “Do you…” Gordie began.

 “Yes. What—?” Halla couldn’t say more. 

 The laughter—or whatever it was—echoed, faded, echoed more; and then it was gone, and the forest was as quiet as it had been before. Had they even heard it? 

Halla shivered violently.

 “Are you…all right?” Gordie said, looking at her. They released each other’s hands. 

 “Yes,” Halla said. She tried to stop shivering. She was not afraid of some stupid mist. And also, it wasn’t real. She was sure.

“That sound, what was it?” 

“I don’t know,” Gordie said. “Maybe…”

“It was—maybe it was water, a stream somewhere,” Halla said. 

“Um…” Gordie said. “Yes, maybe.” His voice was doubtful. He knew it was laughter. And so did Halla. She started walking.

“Where are you going?” Gordie said.

“I don’t know,” Halla said. “I don’t want to just…stand there.” She knew if she stood there any longer she would not be able to go on. She would turn around and run home. She was not going to run home.

“Wait,” Gordie said. He caught up with her and walked by her side. Neither of them said anything more about the mist or the laughter. They wanted with all their hearts for it not to be real.

The trees went up into the night sky like church towers, but there weren’t as many of them now. There were more boulders scattered along the ground. The whole thing had the feel of a kind of set, as if the trees had been made by someone and put there, just so, and the boulders placed between them at specific locations. It wasn’t all even, or exact; it just seemed designed.

They passed two more towering trees and went around one particularly large boulder, and there they were. There they were. This is what Halla thought: they’d arrived. In front of them was a jagged wall of rock—a cliff, but only fifteen or so feet high, and curved, so that it made a kind of arena, which they stood in the very center of. The jagged part of the rock was made up of chunks and veins of crystal, which shone like white flame in the misty moonlight. 

At the top of the cliff there was movement. Halla was afraid to look; she knew what would be there. But she had to look, and she was right: more misty things—three of them, four, five, six—swaying left and right; now falling slowly down the face of the cliff, lighting the crystal even brighter as they passed. 

Halla and Gordie again found each other’s hands. This time they each felt as if they’d held hands a thousand times, as if they’d known each other forever, they’d spent whole lifetimes together that they couldn’t quite remember. Halla felt that if she let go of Gordie’s hand she might fall into the center of the earth and burn in a scorching fire, or be stuck in the deep darkness, so far down it couldn’t be measured. She feared it was all true, the Veil of Wickedness, the evil enchanted spirits of the mountain. Gordie’s hand was the only thing left that could help her. 

As the misty things reached the base of the cliff, thirty feet away, the tinkling, ringing sound began again. First just barely, so quiet it could’ve been their imaginations; and then it grew, as if it was being directed by a conductor, louder, clearer, stronger. It was everywhere; it was coming from inside them and under them and above them. Laughing, giggling, chortling. It was in the trees, like a million glass ornaments clinking together, and in the crystal in the rock, all the particles rubbing and ringing as one. 

The misty things—which Halla knew, now, were spirits, just like they'd all said—moved toward them. Halla turned, pulling Gordie with her, and ran. Toward the big boulder they’d passed, around it, down—they had to get down and off the mountain or they’d be here forever. They were running, running…but they could not get past the big boulder. They were still in the arena, running, going nowhere. The laughter rang around them, so happy with how they were running, so happy they were here.

Halla felt Gordie squeeze her hand. He stopped running—trying to run. He looked at her. He was so afraid, like her, but Halla saw in his eyes the strength she’d felt from him before. She couldn’t imagine where that strength came from, how he felt it, now. But it calmed her, just a little bit. 

Gordie turned to face the mist-spirits. Halla reluctantly turned with him, still gripping his hand. The spirits were there, five feet away, not moving. The laughter was theirs, but it felt like the very air now, in everything, surrounding everything. There was nowhere that was not saturated with the laughter of the mist-spirits. She thought of her mother—she was sorry she hadn’t listened to her, sorry she had disobeyed her.

The mist that made up the spirits began to churn and swirl in spirals. Halla inhaled a sharp breath—the spirits were growing faces, not on top of their shapes, but right in the middle, as if they had faces in their stomachs. The one in front of her was looking at her through grey filmy eyes—and Halla knew that look. The rest of the face became clearer: it was Halla’s mother. She was smiling at Halla, but not in a happy way—that was the smile she gave Halla when she was angriest. The spirit—her mother—kept laughing, laughing, staring at Halla. 

Her mother had told her not to come to the mountain, she had known that the spirits were real, because she was a spirit. Halla looked at the spirit next to her mother; it was her father. They were both wicked evil spirits. Now they would punish her for disobeying them by making her stay here forever, listening to their laughter. But she couldn’t; she would lose her mind if she had to listen to that; she would simply explode. 

“Papa,” she heard Gordie whisper next to her, over—or under—the laughter. She didn’t hear any trace of his strength, only fear. She wished she could help him, but she couldn’t…she felt herself being pulled toward her mother’s mist-spirit, and she lost her grip on Gordie’s hand. Her mother’s mist-spirit somehow had a hold of her, and they were rising, going up along the cliff, up, up, past trees and rocks, high up on the mountain’s side, until they came down and landed in another great, wide arena surrounded by cliffs much taller than the first ones.

The arena was full of other mist-spirits, swirling and writhing this way and that. The laughter had swelled as they’d arrived, and Halla felt as if the air would burst like a balloon if it got any louder. But it didn’t. Instead, it began, finally, to subside, fading away so very slowly. 

When it was quiet Halla looked around at the other mist-spirits. They all had something inside them. With a terrible lurch to her stomach she realized it was people. And she realized she was inside her mother’s mist-spirit. She saw Gordie next to her, inside a spirit with a man’s face on the outside. It must’ve been his father. She looked at the others…the people inside the spirits were all children, some very small, some a little older than her. They had been swallowed by the spirits. She had been swallowed by a spirit. 

It couldn’t be happening. She had to be making this up. She looked at Gordie, who was already looking at her. He was not a real boy; she’d just imagined meeting him. What boy would want to come with her to the mountain? She’d made this whole thing up. She was sleeping somewhere near the mountain, that’s what was happening. And she was dreaming all her fears together as one terrible nightmare. 

She looked at Gordie again. It was amazing to her that she could dream such a particular boy. His eyes, even now, were so familiar and true. And then, the dream-boy opened his mouth and said something.

“I’m real.” She could just barely hear him, through his mist-spirit and then through hers. “This is real.” She stared at him. She saw what she’d seen before, how he was like her, how much he felt inside that was similar to what she felt. She saw the face of his father in the mist-spirit. He was angry and mean, like her mother. Gordie was real, she knew. And so was everything else. It was impossible, terrible, but real.

“Oh,” was all she could think to whisper back to Gordie. 

The face of Gordie’s father’s mist-spirit scowled, bared its teeth…it was angry that Gordie was talking to Halla. Halla felt her mother’s mist-spirit squeezing around her, as if she was trying to make Halla stop. But she didn’t want to stop—looking at Gordie, talking to him, was the only thing that could help her. He was looking back at her just as hard, as if he felt the same thing. 

Halla felt her mother’s mist-spirit swirling around her, like a tornado. Gordie’s mist-spirit did the same—and then all the mist-spirits in the rock arena were swirling around the people inside them. Another sound started to swell up and out from the mist-spirits, not laughter. It was…moaning, keening, sighing. The spirits were all so angry. The moaning got louder, the spinning went faster…and they were making more mist, it was flowing off them in billows, going up into the air and spreading all around. It was getting hard for Halla to see through the mist, to keep her eyes on Gordie—and also the mist was making it hard for her to think. Her head felt as clouded as the air. The mist was mucking up all her thoughts. She felt something from it she’d felt her whole life, something she’d been fighting her whole life. It was the anger of her mother and father, grown beyond them so it was huge and enveloping. But, it also seemed thin, despite its largeness and the thickness of the mist. Thin, but strong, like a fishing line. She couldn’t quite understand, but she knew it was important to remember that underneath it all the strength of the mist was thin. 

Halla tried to keep her eyes on Gordie, but the mist was getting thicker and thicker, and her thoughts were mucking up. The last she saw of Gordie’s eyes was just two dim brown circles in the mist. 

Immediately the moaning of the mist-spirits changed back into tinkling laughter. They were happy again; they hadn’t wanted Halla and Gordie to look at each other. 

The laughter didn’t last long. The mist thinned again, quickly, and Halla’s thoughts cleared, just a little. Something came down out of the sky. Halla could not help but watch it. It was another mist-spirit, but larger than all the others, like a big glob of cloud. It had a face on it too, not one that Halla recognized. It was neither man nor woman, but somehow both at once. And it wasn’t, Halla knew, the face of any particular person, the way the faces on the other mist-spirits were. Halla had seen that face—the look on that face—on many people, not just her parents. It was the face of bitterness and disappointment and rage.  

Halla’s mother’s mist-spirit moved toward the big one. Halla sensed Gordie’s father’s mist-spirit next to them, also moving at the big spirit. But she couldn’t turn her eyes toward Gordie. Somehow her mother’s mist-spirit was preventing her from looking at him. 

When they were in front of the big spirit it turned its hard, ugly face toward them. Halla tried to close her eyes, because she did not want to see that face—she hated that look, whether it was on her mother or her father or anyone else. It seemed to hold everything that was bad in the world, all the feelings that could hurt others. It was what made her most sad and afraid. But she couldn’t close her eyes away or turn away—her mother’s mist-spirit was making her look at it. 

The big mist-spirit looked at them without making any sound. There was no more sound from the other mist-spirits either, not a whisper of laughter or moaning. The big mist-spirit was soaking Halla up—that’s what she felt like. It was absorbing her into itself, so that she would always feel the way it did. And then she would always be on this cursed mountain, inside her angry mother’s spirit, and she would never feel anything good ever again. 

Halla’s twelve-year-old mind was young, it hadn’t seen much, but it was wise. She felt that now; she felt that she could see something the mist-spirits were trying to hide from her. And at once Halla understood what had happened to her mother. Somehow, sometime, she had given her soul to the mountain—to the big angry spirit. Probably a long time ago. Probably when she was a child herself. And probably her own mother’s mist-spirit had brought her here. But, the thing that confused Halla was why her mother had shouted at her so, telling her over and over never to go to the mountain. If her own soul was here why wouldn’t she want her daughter to come too?

But somehow Halla understood that too. Part of her mother didn’t want Halla to give her soul away like she had. Part of her wanted Halla to be free from the big spirit’s terrible curse. She loved Halla, she wanted desperately to protect her. But another part of her couldn’t help but push Halla toward the mountain, because it is where her own soul was trapped. Her mother had taught her and she must teach Halla. So she yelled at Halla and told her bad things about herself. That is what pushed Halla to the mountain. But…Halla didn’t want to give herself to the big spirit. She didn’t want to be trapped forever like her mother. She refused…she refused to believe that she must be.

As these thoughts came to her, Halla saw the flicker of something moving beyond the big spirit—through the spirit. Or maybe it was inside it, she couldn’t tell. But it was small, flickering gold, and it was decidedly not a mist-spirit. Maybe it was another kind of spirit. It was too small to have a face; and also, it was faded from the mist of the big spirit. Halla couldn’t quite see it clearly. But it was important, she knew that—just like the thin strength of the mist-spirits was important. That flickering gold thing felt…glad. Not about anything, just the feeling. Gladness. It truly didn’t belong here…

The big mist-spirit was thickening itself, making more mist again, so that Halla couldn’t see through it. She knew that’s what it was doing. It was trying to stop her from seeing the little flickering gold spirit. She concentrated on it harder. It occurred to her that the little gold spirit was a part of the big spirit. That did not make sense to her; but it was true.

Her mother’s spirit began to moan, and then all the other mist-spirits started up as well. They were…confused. Halla felt her mother’s grip on her falter, for just a second, and she ripped her eyes away from the big spirit and looked to her left, trying to find Gordie. He was there. His father’s mist-spirit was glaring at Halla as hard as it could, trying to make her stop looking at Gordie. But she saw him, and, like the first time, he was already looking at her. 

They knew each other so well. It couldn’t be that today was the first time they’d seen each other. And maybe they’d been on the mountain for a month or a year—Halla didn’t know any more. But she knew Gordie. It made her so glad inside; she’d never known someone like that; she’d never known it was possible to know someone like that. And her gladness felt exactly like that little flickering spirit inside the big one. Then Halla knew: the mist-spirits were not as powerful as they seemed. Their thin strength could be broken. She could see by the look in Gordie’s eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

They kept looking at each other, feeling what they shared. It made Halla warm, even here, in this terrible place. After a few seconds the little gold spirit appeared between them. It was outside the big spirit—and suddenly all the spirits in the rock arena were moaning and wailing and keening so loudly Halla felt as if her ears would explode. But the little gold spirit flickered more brightly—as if it was telling her, and Gordie, to concentrate on it, not to listen to the moaning. So they did, both of them, looking at the little gold spirit together. It absorbed their gazes, soaking them up inside itself; and then it was moving, flying in a fast circle around Gordie’s father’s mist spirit, and then around Halla’s mother’s spirit. Halla felt it immediately: the little spirit had cut the thin thread of bitterness. She and Gordie were free. 

Halla looked back into Gordie’s eyes. She did not want this to be just her imagination, it needed to be real, and Gordie’s eyes were the realest thing she knew of. As they looked at each other the moaning faded, gradually, reluctantly. After a moment it sounded like the moaning of wind through the trees, not the wailing of mist-spirits. And, it was. The spirits were gone and the wind was blowing through the big trees surrounding the rock arena. 

She and Gordie paused, for just a second, before they took hold of each other’s hands and ran. They ran out of the arena, through the trees, down the flank of the mountain. They ran around rocks and through bushes and under trees. The moon was still out, lighting their way, but the mist was gone, the air clear and bracing on their faces. 

They ran until they couldn’t anymore. When they stopped they both looked all around, but there was no sign of any mist-spirit. The woods were quiet; the wind had ceased. They might’ve been the only living beings on the entire mountain.  

But then out of the darkness came a low, vibrating moan. Halla started. She and Gordie glanced at each other. There were a few seconds of silence, and the moan came again.

“What is that?” Halla whispered. “Let’s go! They’re coming back!” She gripped Gordie’s hand again and tried to turn, but he stood in place. And, he was smiling at her. A chill ran through her. He couldn’t be…

“It’s an owl,” he said. 

“What?”

“It’s an owl. The sound. Just an owl.”

Halla stared at him. He was still smiling, and now it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen. His face was so bright and happy. An owl. Yes. She’d heard one, only once. A real animal, a normal animal. They were free—truly free. She felt it all down her arms and legs into her fingertips and toes. She smiled back at Gordie.

It took them a long time to get to the bottom of the mountain. The eastern sky was turning pale grey when they reached the final slope above the place where they left their bicycles. And just as they entered that field, a group of six dark-bodied stag deer jumped up in front of them, not thirty feet away, and thundered off into the dawn. 

“Oh!” Halla said, her heart pounding with excitement. 

“Wow,” Gordie whispered. He smiled at her again.

At once Halla realized how hungry she was; in fact, she was ravenous. She took the bread and cheese out of her rucksack and the two of them sat at the top of the field, stuffing chunks into their mouths, watching the dawn color the sky pink and gold. They could see their town below them, spread out against the sea like a stain on a tablecloth. It seemed so small from here, a tiny, insignificant gathering of people. Halla liked that feeling. 

She thought of her brother Lonn. She knew, right away, that he’d been to the mountain too. He’d seen the mist-spirits and had gotten away from them. That’s why he was able to be the way he was—strong, good, kind. She couldn’t wait to see him to tell him what had happened. 

Halla then thought of her mother. The old fear swept through her: she knew her mother would be the same as when she’d left. Her mother’s mist-spirit was still on that mountain, and it might be there forever, until she died. She might be angry and bitter and mean until she died too. But, there was also something else: Halla felt sorry for her mother, so very sorry. To be imprisoned like that, in endless torment…it was terrible. Maybe Halla could help her. Well, at least she’d try. She’d be kind to her. Maybe if she came back to the mountain, she could…she didn’t know what she could do. 

But Halla knew she could come back to the mountain without fear of the mist-spirits, without fear of her mother. This time she could truly explore the mountain. She was free. She turned to look at Gordie. He was already looking at her. 

“Let’s come back,” he said. 

“Yes!” Halla said. “I was going to say the same thing!” They smiled at each other, walked through the field to their bicycles, and pedaled side by side on the quiet road toward town.

END