We had escaped the monster, but the old woman had turned deathly pale with fear and stood frozen. In one of the baskets there was goat’s milk. I took the leather flask from it and poured some into her mouth. The cold milk trickled from Arwa’s lips. I clasped the woman’s worn hand and looked into her eyes.

  “Arwa, come to yourself! I’m here, I’m beside you!” I called, trying to rouse her.

  For a while it went on like that. She stared at me as though she scarcely believed I was real. Then she threw her arms tightly around me.

  “My child, you weren’t hurt, were you? My heart was filled with dread that something would happen. What was that sound you made? When I heard it, my skin prickled,” she said.

  I glanced at her and replied, “Arwa, I made up a sound — I thought perhaps if the beast heard something even more dreadful, it might falter. And my voice frightened it away. I didn’t know it would work,” I added, with the faintest note of pride.

  “I see, my child. You did well. By the grace of Tarhun-Tata we survived. The gods protected us. Come now, up — this is no safe place. Let us not linger in this cursed ground. We must leave at once,” the old woman said, drawing a deep breath.

  I put my arm about her shoulders and carried the baskets in my other hand. We continued along the path towards the village. When we found a safe spot, we rested awhile. The more one came to know Arwa, the more she surprised you. She had been afraid, yet she had not hidden it. The strangest part was that she asked nothing about the voice I had made — perhaps some things are not meant to be questioned.

  With that thought, and with a gentle warmth in our smiles, we carried on carefully. I turned to the old woman.

  “Arwa, I did not care at all for the girl you recommended. That girl called Walma… she is irritable, impatient, and also… and also…” I faltered, unable to finish the sentence.

  At this, the old woman’s fear vanished at once, and her eyes sparkled mischievously. She gave a soft laugh.

  “You little rascal — you’ve found the pear, and now you complain of the stem? Walma may be spirited, but her heart is as soft as wool.

  It is that impossible mother of hers who makes her so. Her heart is full of love. Tell me — what matter if she is a little older?

  You will not easily find one as capable as she. She cooks, ploughs the fields, chops wood, carries water — there is no task she cannot manage. Perfect for a lazy fellow like you. And do not think I have not noticed — you care for her,” she said, winking slyly.

  As ever, she proved herself incorrigibly mischievous.

  We continued on our way, keeping in contact with my assistant, Siri, to check for any danger. This time Siri was most helpful. We waited and, encountering no threat, proceeded safely.

  Before us rose a vast mountain. Between its two halves there lay a narrow cleft, as though carved by human hands. The mountain had been split, leaving a small passage.

  The pass was roughly hewn. Though somewhat dangerous due to rockfalls, it lay within the village boundaries. Ahead, the village came into view; we knew we were nearing home.

  The lower slopes were covered in blue wild lilies, while the upper reaches were bare stone. Jagged rocks looked as though they might fall at any moment, yet they stood firm enough. A faint breeze carried the scent of lilies. After the terror of the beast, the place felt calmer.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  We drew the fragrance in together, faint smiles touching our faces. Arwa was weary from the long walk without rest.

  “Alek, my child. This place is called Pass Mountain. It is one of the entrances to the village. It may not look safe, yet since my youth no ill event has happened here. One of the village elders carved it alone, before I was even born. It is well protected. We have walked far; my back aches. Come, let these old bones rest awhile,” she said.

  I heeded her words. My hand ached from carrying the baskets, and she too needed rest — though she would never admit it. The sabre-toothed beast had shaken her deeply. I helped her sit upon a rock, and we rested for a time.

  As I gazed at Pass Mountain, I wondered: how could a single man carve a way through so vast a mountain?

  The level of technology in this world lagged far behind what I knew — how could he have achieved such a feat alone? Setting my thoughts aside, I turned to Arwa. She was adjusting her black headscarf patterned with pink flowers.

  “Arwa, I wish to ask you something. What is the story of this pass to the village? Do you know it?”

  “You are curious, are you? Come closer and I shall tell you. I do not know whether it is true — my mother told it to me when I was small.

  I warn you, it is a heart-rending tale. Very sorrowful.”

  She paused for breath as she spoke; her voice trembled at times, yet she continued:

  “Many, many years ago, before my family came from the east and before this place was called Pass Mountain, a newly married couple lived at its entrance. The man had no son, and he grieved greatly for it. He prayed to the gods for a boy.

  The mightiest of the gods spoke to him in a dream: ‘My servant, I shall grant you a son — but until the child is born, at every crescent moon you shall stand watch at the mountain’s foot and guard my wolves.’

  The man accepted, though with hesitation.

  In time his wife conceived. From the shape of her belly they believed it would be a son, and the man rejoiced, believing the Father of the Gods was protecting him. Yet he was known as a great coward. To avoid facing the wolves, he devised a cunning plan. At each crescent moon he began sacrificing one sheep from his flock. Month by month the flock dwindled. At last none remained — the final sheep had been given the previous month.

  Thinking the birth was near and that the wolves were satisfied, and fearing they would tear him apart, he went to sleep. The wolves came to the village and wrought great harm.

  Tarhun-Tata, Father of the Gods, grew wrathful and thundered in his dream: ‘O servant who breaks his word! I never had need of you to guard my creatures. I heard your pain and sought to ease it. Now I shall test you with a calamity small to me, yet great to you.’

  Time passed. His wife went into labour, but the village midwife had died. He set out upon his donkey towards another village, but the donkey fled and left them stranded. Bearing his wife upon his back, he ran with all his strength; yet before reaching the village he lost both his wife and his child upon the road.

  For seven days and seven nights he remained beside her without food or water. The villagers buried his wife and brought him to their homes. For a long time he stared at the mountain before his house, his hair and beard unkempt. One day he began digging into the mountain with pick and shovel. Some pitied him; others mocked him. But he did not stop. For twenty-one years he carved the mountain and opened the road to the other village — to Pass Mountain.

  When he finished, he vanished. Some say the Father of the Gods forgave him and took him to his side. Others say he wandered the roads like a traveller. Who can know his end? Tell me, what did you understand from this tale?”

  I considered a moment.

  “Arwa, it was sorrowful, yet thought-provoking. The man repented, and though he had erred, he carved the pass so that others would not suffer as he had.”

  She nodded with a gentle smile.

  “Well done, child — your mind is sharp as a blade. Today we faced a beast with spear-long fangs. Though I was afraid, I would not have hesitated to give my life for you. Fear, hatred, pride — we may turn them towards goodness. That man transformed his remorse and grief into something that would protect generations yet unborn. You understood rightly.”

  She struck the ground with her wooden staff, its rhythm almost musical.

  “Come, my son, let us reach home before sunset. Daneel will worry, and there is much to be done before nightfall.”

  Leaning upon her stick, she rose slowly to her feet. The evening chill had begun to settle in earnest. Slipping my arm through hers, we set off along the earthen road towards the village.