Atalanta creates a stir with her run down the valley. But as usual nothing is simple with her. I do hope you enjoy this chapter,

Chapter 28

My feet barely touched the earth and I felt light as a feather with the wind whipping past my face as I ran across the plains. I covered ground in a sprinters pace that I could keep for hours and I delighted in the freedom and energy that coursed through every fiber of my being.

Nearing the foot of the cliffs I passed an isolated cabin with an old man sitting in a chair on the porch. I lifted my hand in acknowledging his greeting. The land rose sharply behind his cottage and boulders were strewn about haphazardly in his yard; some of which was as tall as the cabin the man lived in.

Lengthening my stride I leapt, striking one such boulder halfway up its face and immediately springing off that foot upward and to my left to touch the next boulder’s hard surface. Without breaking stride I immediately propelled off that leg, up and to the right and higher up on that first mass of rock, and so on until I reached the flat, broad summit. From a distance I appeared to be running up invisible steps.

I crossed the table-like surface still at a dead run, and without hesitation leapt into open space and hung suspended in mid air before making contact with the face of the cliff proper. I didn’t land with a thud or hugging the surface, but I transferred the energy from the jump into my arms and legs absorbing that energy and shifting it to upward motion. From a distance the cliff’s appearance was smooth, but up close there were many irregularities that my hands and feet found purchase on. I knew that speed and energy could temporarily counteract the force of gravity and I counted on my innate agility and balance to keep moving the 100 feet to another flat surface.
From there to the top of the mesa was 300 feet of broken rocky surfaces caused by winter’s snow and ice, freezing and thawing, creating cracks and fissures.

As I reached that demarcation point a single metallic reflection of light from the forest to the east reached my eyes. Even as I started to scramble up the scarred face I noted the light’s distance and location.

In just under a minute I was perched atop the mesa seemingly surveying the conquered landscape I had just vanquished. In reality I was searching for movement among the pines; warning bells ringing loudly. Seeing nothing I ran along the mesa paralleling the cliff, still looking for movement or anything that seemed out of place. From there I ran 100 yards deep into the mesa and back, finally retracing my steps to the funnel that I emerged from onto the butte.

Staring down at the impossibly sharp twisting channel cut into the rock from the dizzying heights, a smile played across my lips at movement below. Seemingly tossing caution aside I plunged downward at a dead run into the teeth of that yawning chasm my laughter echoing. Just as gravity and movement was the key to climbing, descent equally was dependent on reducing gravity’s forces. Pivotal to that end was spreading the headlong momentum created over a larger area, my hands and feet were a blur as I sped over the rocky surfaces; each step and hand hold measured and precise.

The trip down that chute took half the time that ascent had and in seconds my feet were churning across the flat surface of the big boulder that flanked the cabin. In mere seconds I was once again laid out in mid air, two storeys in the air seemingly about to dash myself against the hard ground at my feet. As I soared overhead I flashed a brilliant smile at the shocked old man looking upward at me.
At the last possible second my hands grasped the top of a two inch sapling, riding it gently to the ground where it deposited me gently.

Turning I smiled gently at the old man, “Whadduh’ think?”

“I think you’re crazy,” he replied.

“You’re probably right,” I agreed and once again broke into a run determined to finish the course on time.

Hearing me walk into the kitchen Eloise looked up from her meal preparation, “How was your run dear?”

“That,” I scoffed grinning, “was only a warm up and mildly challenging. Anything I can do to help?”

“No just go clean up for supper.” I nodded, turning to walk down the hall.

Ben came in from the back porch, “You know where she ran?”

Eloise her hands busy shrugged her shoulders, “Down the valley and back I suppose.”

“You’re half right. She went as far as Russ’s cabin to where part of the mountain broke off, and then she went right up the Devil’s Washboard.”

Eloise stopped her preparation drying her hands as she did. The Devil’s Washboard as it was locally known was a proving ground for the young alphas of the clan to make a name and move up the ranks.

In the last few years the sport had become popular enough to combine it with the July 4th celebration and make a day of it. But those who attempted it did so with the best gear they could afford, under the warm July skies, and months of preparation leading up to it. Few completed the climb. That Atalanta had attempted in boots, long coat and in the winter showed an appalling lack of judgment and temperament.

“How far did she make it,” she asked scowling.

“Clean to the top,” Ben answered adding, “Russ said she ran right up the side of the mountain like a squirrel up a tree.”

She turned to her husband of 30 plus years to see if he was teasing her. He wasn’t. “How did she get down …fly?”

“Almost,” Ben chuckled, “Russ said she literally ran down the mountain and never made a misstep. And at the bottom,” he continued his voice rising, “she caught the top of a sapling in Russ’s yard riding it to the ground. He said she did it as easily and naturally as stepping off an elevator.”

She turned back to her work as her mind dusted off memories of failed attempts and broken bones on that handiwork of the devil. The image of Atalanta racing across the porch to attack a full grown moose, and how easily she had brought down that 1,000 pound animal of muscle and sinew. She contrasted that with the subdued images of her riding up last Tuesday and earlier this evening. It would be easy to underestimate her abilities.

“I wonder what other surprises she has for us.”

I showered quickly, careful to keep my hair dry and dressed in the bathroom; exchanging my boots for sneakers and again donning the jewelry from Manny. I carried my clothes to my room and deposited them in a hamper that I found in the closet.

“Anything I can do to help,” I inquired of Eloise after I walked back into the kitchen.

“You can set the table,” she answered pointing to the dishes and silverware drawer.

“How many?”

“Just us three, the kids are visiting friends. You’ll meet them tomorrow.”

Tuesday was Christmas; tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

Eloise continued, “We don’t celebrate Christmas as such but we do celebrate the season tomorrow evening with a feast and dance at the main hall. They will be there.”

I nodded as I placed the plates and silverware on the table. Ben was in the front room on the phone. As I moved around the kitchen I reflected on the domestic duties that came with the change and a tiny little smile played across my lips. Ben, after starting to the kitchen, turned back to answer the jangling phone.

After placing the food on the table we sat down and waited for Ben to finish his conversation.

As he sat down Ben explained the calls, “Russ is a gossip.”

I raised an eyebrow but Eloise continued to eat while Ben mumbled between bites. About halfway through eating Ben was interrupted again by the phone ringing. After a brief conversation he was halfway to the table when the phone rumbled again.

“Ben, leave it off the hook or you’ll never get finished eating,” Eloise instructed him as he answered it.

The looks that they gave each other, told me this wasn’t a usual occurrence during supper. I remained silent during the meal but wondered at the cause of the unexpected activity.

A knock at the front door sounded just as we finished eating, and as I offered to clean up the kitchen for Eloise.

“If you want to help you can put the leftovers in the refrigerator and wipe down the table while I wash the dishes.”

In the midst of the cleanup I was struck by the fellowship with Mrs. Donner from sharing the household chores. It was similar to the unspoken communication that I had developed with my Mom soon after we moved to New Mexico. I didn’t remember that closeness helping Mom before the change. Soon we were both humming some unnamed melody shared by generations of women and dictated by necessary cooperation.

Carefully folding the drying cloth I turned to Mrs. Donner, hastily hugging her, “Thank you, this reminds me of home,” I said, my eyes glistening.

“Maybe you should call your mother,” she replied adding, “and don’t forget to call Sam.”

“I believe I will,” I responded going to my room to call. After hanging up with Mom and promising to call her tomorrow evening, or Christmas Day, I checked in with Sam before going to spend time with my hosts.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know you had company,” I began, intending to detour through the kitchen.

“No,” Eloise waved me into the room, “you’re the reason these people are here.”

“Me,” I replied confused.

“You can blame Russ for that, as he is sort of the unofficial official caretaker of the Devil’s Washboard.”

“The Devil’s Washboard,” I echoed, “what is the Devil’s Washboard, and what has that to do with me?”

“I forgot,” Eloise chuckled, “the Devil’s Washboard is that part of the mountain that broke off and that you went up this evening.”

“Oh-kay,” I responded, “What am I not seeing?”

“Each spring a group of our young alphas train to scale that section of the mountain. Each year at the 4th of July picnic we hold an event and celebration for those attempting to climb that part of the mountain.” Eloise explained adding, “It is a rite of passage that very few complete and the ones that do are honored. Also, not every year sees one that makes it all the way to the top and back down. In fact it has been over a decade since the last person succeeded and he died in the Voodoo attacks.”

“So,” I began slowly, “you’re saying that it’s a hard climb?”

“Much more than that,” Ben interjected, “lately there has been talk of discontinuing the Devil’s assault climb, but your successful run today has created a buzz around it.”

“And,” Eloise clarified, “tomorrow we hold a feast and dance to celebrate both Christmas and the Winter Solstice season. These good people wanted to know if you would kick off the celebration with a demonstration tomorrow evening.”

Ten pairs of eyes turned to me, “Sure if you folks want. I was going to do it anyway.”

After several minutes of questions and answers on when I planned to run the gauntlet, and then what activities to include, a schedule was agreed to for the festivities.

“Please,” I cried holding up my hands, “are you all sure this is what you want. It seems like a lot of trouble to go to for a stranger.”

Darcy Wood one of the women visitors spoke, “Many of our young people haven’t seen anyone successfully complete the climb and interest is dying out. And besides we women get to pick at our men folks if you make it.”

I then excused myself from the group claiming fatigue and retired to my room. Truth is that I enjoyed my solitude and that I still wasn’t comfortable away from home and among strangers.

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The small wooden structure was hidden among the pines placed on the outskirts and stocked for those that got caught in sudden winter weather changes. No windows and a single door attested to the Spartan nature of the outpost. A tiny shaft of pale light peeked from under the threshold. Parked beside the shanty, a pair of ATVs and a late model all wheel drive sedan.

Inside the cabin flickering light from a single candle danced across the ceiling merging with the shadows of the three men gathered near the open fireplace. All three were young men in their late teens or early twenties, dressed in jeans, boots, and brush jacket.

“I don’t like it,” one of the men whispered.

“Don’t worry about it,” another man spoke. He was large, close to filling the cramped quarters. He had to duck his head upon entering and leaving the cabin. “All you have to do is drive; me and Jim will take care of the girl,” he added, careful to keep the anger from rising into his words. He needed a driver to make his plan work but the constant complaints and three days of a self imposed quarantine in a cramped bed worked to keep him on edge.

Jim grinned in return, “Yeah we’ll take care of the bitch. Nobody will connect you with us.”

“Okay,” the third man grumbled, “I need to get back before I’m missed.”

“You do that,” the large man responded, “and we’ll see you tomorrow,” he added guiding the traitor to the door. They watched him get in and drive away.

“You think he’ll come through,” Jim asked his larger companion.

“If he doesn’t I’ll make him wish he had.”