Short Story: El Saldoa

El Saldoa: The Sacred Mountain

The sun begins to caress the morning dark. Barely able to see as the dark still beats the sun, the two men wake from the forest floor and begin to dress in their light leather armor, strap their weapons and backpacks on and equip themselves for the task ahead.

Diego: Can you see it now? (he asks as he continues to pack his satchel, arrange his weapons and tighten the armor).

Memo: Yes. I see it now (he lies as he tries to calm his nerves).

They had hiked through dense forest for three days and had reached the clearing late in the night. Darkness enshrouded the mountain when they arrived last night. They ate their remaining tortillas and dried beef last night in pitch black. Something they were now used to after months and months of war. They had fallen into deep but brief sleep and had risen before the dawn. Also what they had learned through training and war. 

Memo: Now that the sun is rising, I do see it clearly.

It was only a few paces forward now that it emerged from the earth and touched the sky. El Saldoa. The Sacred Mountain.

Diego: Not many of us see it from this side. Amazing, huh?

Memo merely nods as he stares up the face of the mountain. For a thousand feet, the cliff reaches straight up with its crags and crevices. Difficult but not impenetrable. Then, a thousand feet up, “the Child” ruptures out: a massive boulder affixed to the side of the sheer cliff. Beyond that another thousand feet up, a copse of trees that grew nearly horizontal at the top of the cliff, peppered with bramble bushes and more boulders. There was a reason no one had ever climbed this side of the sacred mountain, peak of the valley. They’d have to contend with those hazards soon. But not now. Now they must begin the climb to assault the enemy at the top of the cliff. 

Diego: Before we begin, look into my eye (he grabs Memo by the shoulders). We are scared. We should be. But if we can surprise them and distract them from the assault, we can end this war now. Let’s be afraid but let us also be brave. We are the ones. We are the ones (he speaks seriously and confidently).

Memo: We are the ones (he repeats, less confidently).

They ascend.

No ropes. No safety harness. They use their fingers and feet to push up the cliff. 

At first, they climb together, next to each other. Both are well trained, athletic and committed soldiers. Their leather armor and swords clank quietly. The wind plays a rhythm to their climb. The dark sky gives birth to clear blue, the sun doing its work. 

After some time, they separate. Diego, just past his prime but as impressive as ever. His shoulders, arms and legs full of muscle, his natural abilities married to years of practice, sacrifice and commitment along with all the King’s resources. 

Up the cliff, his body straining to find another foothold, Diego glances down just as he nears the Child. Memo is far behind.

Memo: (breathing heavily and whispering) Why? What am I doing? En demasiado profunda [in too deep] (he continues to climb with the choices being no choices at all. Going back down is not an option. He looks down, but only briefly. Looking up, sees Diego high on the face, nearing the Child).

Diego: (whispering to himself) Should I have come alone? 

But the mountain waits for no one and endures no self doubt. El Saldoa suffers no fools. Diego reaches the Child, a mountain upon a mountain.

He glances back once more at Memo. Waves him up. Memo sees and tries to be inspired. This assault is reckless but the potential is...staggering. In most situations, they would yell to each other at this distance. So many battles together, they know each other well, but today, silence, as well as speed, are essential. Diego begins the overhead climb necessary to traverse the Child. His arms straining to hold his entire weight as he grabs another rare hand hold. Swinging himself towards the edge, shaded by the Child and thankful for the relief from the midmorning sun. But troubled as well, his feet dangling over the forest floor 1,000 feet below:

Diego: How will Memo do this? 

Diego finds a fissure in the face of the Child and feels his fingers of one hand into the slot, pulling his body and using its momentum to hoist himself higher onto the jutting face. Moments from the relief of being on his feet again atop the giant stone. But as he begins to swing himself up with all his effort, the snake from within the fissure strikes. No warning at all. 

The teeth pierce deep into his neck as he swings over the cliff and perches atop the Child. The snake is still affixed to his neck delivering its poison, quickly mixing slow death with Diego’s blood. With amazing speed, Diego grips the snake’s head, squeezing the back of its skull and forcing its jaw open to release its bite. In one hand, he crushes the snake’s head and throws it over the cliff. It is dead far before it lands a thousand feet below. Its damage has already been done.

Diego thinks to himself, “days. I might have a few days.” The pain of the bite is intense but reminiscent of so many other pains he has endured. It is no more than a nuisance. The venom will take much longer to inflict its pain but it will be insurmountable. Amazed at the coincidence of being bitten by a snake, he does what he must and continues.   

Standing on its parallel, resting for a moment, Diego waits for Memo, hoping the snake was alone. He cannot warn Memo that there may be more. He simply must wait. Memo starts his climb beneath the Child, hand over hand and fails to find a handhold as he swings, his feet dangling over certain death if he fails. 

Memo: (straining and grunting and whispering) Madre de Dios (nearly in tears, he swings himself forward and grasps a hold but no relief. His body dangles. No time for fear he swings again and slips...with his desperation nearly killing him, he clings the craggy handhold with four strong fingers and goes on, swings to the next handhold and reaches the tip of the Child) I can’t. But we are the ones (he says weakly and swings his bodyweight forward until he’s on the edge of the Child. He is spread eagle, facing the sky and his back at rest, his legs now giving relief to his arms, his body like a frog waiting. He then puts his hand into what was previously the home to a serpent. Unaware that there may be more danger within, he puts all of his weight onto that hand as he swings his body up past the fissure. There are no more snakes.  

Diego: Come, mijo (he grabs his panting squire by the shoulder and pulls him up to the flat of the Child).

Diego: Water (he offers him the bota bag. Memo uncorks the bag and takes a small sip. Diego does the same). Vamos.

(The early morning light has given way to late morning heat that blankets them in deep humidity. They walk across the Child and are back on the next phase of the mountain’s face. The next stop will be the plateau, their destination where the work will begin. For now they must climb. Diego starts and Memo soon follows. All morning the silence was rarely broken. But as they ascend, that changes and the beat of distant drums whispers down from the plateau. Though it is far away, they can still make out the foreign rhythm that is unhinged, aggressive and nearly maniacal. They climb towards it).  

They had been climbing for many hours and evening approached. Having crossed over the Child and ascended the face of El Saldoa, exhausted...bruised...bloodied, they desperately rest. They had reached the brush, brambles. boulders and gnarled trees that formed a halo around the plateau. That halo enshrouded them from any onlookers above as the land began to flatten on the halo. Resting now, they could hear enemy voices in the near-distance, muffled but unmistakable. In the morning, they would confront that enemy, the source of what soon became nearly deafening drums and chanting. The sun sets and the drums continue and the chanting filled the air for many hours into the night. Diego and Memo began reviewing–for the last time–their strategy for tomorrow’s attack. 

Neither said it aloud but they knew that it was likely doomed. The bold mission had started with 50 of El Rey’s best soldiers. Now it was only the two of them. Even with more than 50, the mission was bold, arrogant…some might say foolish. But they had courage. When they started. Now the doubts could not be kept at bay, swirling quietly, unspoken for fear of saying “retreat” would lead to distrust. The two of them knew they were likely seeing their final night on la tierra.  

Diego (unfolding the vellum map from his leather backpack): Here. We are here. Santiago’s division will be attacking at first light. 

Memo: And his division is outnumbered, yes?

Diego: Yes. We’re always outnumbered. 

Memo: But our skills are superior. We are the ones.

Diego (proudly and inspired by Memo): Yes. We are the ones. For now,  we must sleep. Before Santiago engages--at first light--we will surprise them. They will be focused on his encampments before them. Our attack from this side should truly be a surprise. Together, we will force them from El Saldoa and they will be unable to harvest. We must stop their harvest... (his voice trails off, worried).

For months, the Sacred Mountain had been a great source of shame for the King. In private conversations with Diego and the war council, the King had lamented “what a great insult this is. Our sacred mountain, held by this filthy scourge. They have no right. It’s ours.”

El Saldoa holds strategic importance for its symbolic value. But there is more. Along the mountain’s plateau--and nowhere else in such quantities--dormhongo grows. The enemy has been harvesting this fungus for generations and have a mysterious method for transforming it into a weapon of war. In all of the realm, it was believed dormhongo was nearly extinct. But several years ago, vast quantities were discovered upon the mountain. El Saldoa then became more than a symbol. Diego, Memo and Santiago’s forces now have a chance to disrupt access to this vital tool, this mysterious fungus. 

Before first light they begin moving. First to pray. Then, quietly, they wrap up their camp, prepare their weapons, and set upward towards the enemy. Memo’s sword, quiver of arrows and bow strapped firmly to his back. His satchel of bombs on his hip. Diego, his broadsword and mace affixed tightly, even a slight rattle of the weapons could alert their targets. Silence was paramount.   

Diego doubts that he and Memo will see the fruits of the victory.

When they reach the plateau, they separate to wrap around the enemy camp, Memo will wait on Diego’s signal to light the fuses. Though this is the rear of the enemy camp, they plan to make it a front in the battle. Diego has seen their camps many times and they always have the same arrangement. The children and their guardians will be in this area of the camp. There will be warriors but this area will not be heavily guarded. No one expects an attack from the face of the mountain. Even though the war had been brutal, no one expects an attack on the civilians. Panic should result. Santiago’s army will reap the advantage. The Kingdom will gain massive advantage if the plan is successful. Diego doubts that he and Memo will see the fruits of the victory.

At the plateau, Diego goes east, Memo west. For the first time in days, they walk upon level ground. Small huts made of animal hide dot the landscape in no particular pattern. Cook fires have not yet been lit. The camp still sleeps as the sun barely peaks through the morning’s dark. 

Diego sees a small basket on a tree stump outside the circle of huts. The distant constant crash of La Cataraca conceals the sound of his steps. But a guardian must be nearby. He approaches slowly and quietly. He accelerates to a quick step and approaches the basket expecting--hoping--it is empty. It is not. 

The swaddled baby begins to stir. Then she wails. With little hesitation, Diego crouches by the basket, reaches in and removes the child. In a flash, he squeezes her tiny nostrils and covers her mouth. The wailing stops. Forever. 

He returns the lifeless husk to the basket and covers it in a blanket. Quickly 

he retreats to a nearby tree. Waiting for the inevitable guardian. She comes. Naked and wet from the nearby stream. Nearing the baby basket, and before she knows the truth, Diego approaches her from behind and his mace arrives at the back of her head. She is dead before she hits the ground, spared from seeing the contents of the basket. 

Swiftly and soundlessly, Diego bends to her body confirming she is dead. He drags her into the trees. The sun continues to climb and illuminates the early morning, shining a light on the sin Diego wished would remain in the dark. Light of the early morning creates shadows as the dew burns off the grass and trees. Huts around the camp begin to burgeon with life.  

On the other side of the camp, Memo removes the mud from his pack and begins to assemble the explosives. Once complete, he places the mound of explosive clay behind one of the huts, inserts a long fuse and begins to roll it towards the trees. When he hears Diego’s signal, he will light the fuse.

The hut he is near suddenly comes to life with a child’s laughter. Adults in the hut begin to speak. Even though their language is foreign, their customs a mystery, Memo hears the groggy complaints of a sleep interrupted. The child is gently reprimanded and laughs no more.  Though Memo does not understand the Castigo tongue, the tone is unmistakable. Silly, fun, full of love for the child. On the other side of the hut, a flap slaps open. Someone emerges. Memo slides quickly down the modest exposed incline to the trees that surround the camp. Newborn shadows of the developing dawn, he hopes, are enough to cover the fuse should anyone make their way behind the hut.

Crouching in the trees, he assembles a small mound of the abundant twigs and dry leafy material. With his flint and dagger at the ready, he anxiously awaits the moment.  

The Castigos–hundreds of them–emerged from huts with harvest baskets. The ones who did not have baskets emerged in crude leather armor, adorned with bird feathers, tortoise shells, snake skins and nearly anything that added color to their martial appearance. Each harvester had three guardians to protect them as they did their difficult work that made them so vulnerable.  Because they had the high ground, were unmolested for so long and were only human, they had fallen into complacency. A few guardians kept watch overnight but months of no action led to comfort, normalcy, life. None of them expected an attack especially from within. Diego’s appearance was unexpected, 

But there he was now emerging from the trees, mace in one hand, short sword in the other. Guardians gawking at him. Their harvester paralyzed–at first– quickly realized what was happening, dropped his basket and sounded his small drum in what was surely a call for help.

Spreading out quickly, Diego is surrounded by the guardians but continues forward away from the trees, away from la cataraca and towards the guardian before him. One lets an arrow from a crossbow fly. Quicker than is possible, he parries and slaps the arrow away with his short sword and descends upon the Costigo before him. He is a fine soldier. Young yet experienced. Strong and quick. His ax swinging through the air is stopped by Diego’s catastrophic force. Along with Diego’s mace, his ax and leather helmet collapse into his skull as Diego makes his way through him. Flying out of their huts now, Castigo soldiers edge closer to Diego as he tries to draw them in. Any moment, he will shout the signal for Memo regardless of when Esteban decides to begin his attack. He is already late. 

But the waterfall is too loud. This wasn’t accounted for. Diego can not yell above its song. His only chance is to get deeper into the village but he knows, “I am to draw them out, not force them in.” At that moment the shelling begins. 

Miles away, Esteban’s troops assembled their artillery overnight. Now they loaded their artillery pieces with the rocks they had borne through the night in caissons. Some had collapsed beneath the weight of millions of stones. But many had made it. Their rain of pain would now pour down upon the Castigo position. The cavalry and marchers awaited the signal to ascend through the hilly forest and remove the enemy from their crude but ominous defended stronghold. 

Hundreds of them blocked his way. The harvesters had now taken up their own arms. “I will go around,” he thinks as he turns back to the forest, “shit” he whispers. The stones are falling in the forest in a tumult. Esteban has begun.

Making short work of the two Castigo soldiers who were so recently behind him, Diego is in the forest now as the stones fall around him and, occasionally, on him. He begins to list all that is wrong:

I killed a baby 

The artillery is landing short of the camp,

Hundreds of enemy soldiers in pursuit,

Memo cannot light his fuse until given the signal, 

Esteban’s troops will be vulnerable without Memo

Perhaps worst of all, the venom begins to work

Light-headed, Diego nearly collapses. The wound in his neck a bother but what it allowed to enter his blood stream, far more dangerous. Running through the pain and weakness he heads back towards the point where they first entered the camp. While he is weak and getting pummeled by stones, he is still far faster than any of his pursuers.

“Something is wrong,” Memo thinks. “It’s been too long.” Unaware of Esteban’s progress or Diego’s whereabouts, how long to wait? How long is too long? What if they aren’t ready? Swirling doubt, debilitating anxiety. But only for a moment. He decides to act. He lights the fuse. 

Diego emerges from the trees, now far enough away from the sound of the crashing water, he runs towards what he believes is the hut Memo is behind. The venom continues its ascent to his brain. Nearly staggering now, disoriented he inexplicably runs straight at the hut with the explosives. This makes sense to him at the time, “I will find Memo and we will light the fuse together.” He is unable to shout or sound any kind of signal as his vocal cords and esophagus begin to swell shut. 

Just outside the hut, enemy forces firing arrows from behind, he is steps away when it happens.

The fireball isn’t meant to be destructive. It’s meant to be distractive, to draw the enemy's attention away from Esteban’s assault. It will do that but first it knocks Diego off his feet and takes much of the skin on his face and chest with it. Memo sees it happen as he emerges from the forest. The enemy is stunned and singed as well but no one has borne the brunt like Diego. 

“NOOOOOOO!” Memo shouts. Just then Esteban must have corrected his aim and the stones now fall directly on the heads of the enemy. Their armor smoking, their weapons dropped and dizzy from the explosion, the Castigos begin to right themselves, believing Diego is no longer a threat and unaware of Memo’s presence, they begin to run towards the only feasible entrance to their camp away from the face of El Saldoa. 

Kneeling over the burnt hulk of a man, Memo cannot believe this is the Knight. He is broken. One leg has bent under his body from the force of the blast. A broken arrow is lodged in the back of his shoulder. His body is contorted in a most unnatural way. Worst of all, his head is nearly reduced to a skull. Most of the skin is gone, leaving only blood smeared bone and ashen scrapple of flesh. But his eyes are open and alive, just barely and only momentarily. Despite all this damage that would have taken his life regardless, Memo will never know that the snake bite is what actually killed him.

“This is my fault, my fault,” not quite in tears, Memo kneels over his master as Diego tries to whisper something. It is no use, he cannot articulate the truth and unburden his friend, his pupil. Diego thinks “The snake did this. The enemy did this. The King did this. You did not. You did the right things. Always.” His life slips away along with all his skill, his sins, his triumphs, his wounds and his pain.

Memo prepares for his last battle. Grabbing anything useful from the fallen enemies throughout the camp. The stones have stopped falling and he can hear the clashes between his people and the Castigo’s. The plan has worked. He will not see its fruition. He steps into the fray far from any allies. Alone, he angrily, viciously battles the Castigo and his tears begin to fall.