Explore stories tagged with mountain on Nightscribe and discover reads shaped by this mood, theme, or genre.
This was supposed to be a radio documentary.
"Lady Valtin! Lady Rudova!" Béla, who had dozed on the steps of the gazebo, lifted his head and mustered a lazy bark toward the path. An elderly man, wearing a messenger's garb, stood past the bed of daffodils and looked around in confusion. The presence of my large hound didn't seem to concern him, or perhaps he sensed that Béla was not in the mood to cause any trouble on such a nice day.
The mountain was tall and malformed. It jutted out of the earth as a singular monolith, unbothered and undisturbed in its growth from any other rock formations budding up against it and contorting its growth or shape. For millions of years, it was left as a black sheep in the vastness, just barely far enough not to fall into the fold of the Appalachian Mountains that eclipsed its height and size. Mount Ostium, as it was known to us outsiders who came to it for study, was a nexus of mystery…
One day a terrible plague entered my village and wiped out most of the population. I should have died back then, but my father made a deal with the healer, an old lady whom lived on the edge of our village. In return however we would be enslaved by her, unable to disagree with her and forced to work until we drop. My father knew full well that this was the outcome, but he didn't want to let me go.
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