The sun was setting, and the air was cold and dry, but luckily for Benj, it wasn't blowing yet. It was the day after his birthday when he had set out on his trek to the peak of Asven. He was just now nearing the mountain's base and would need to set up camp soon. If he didn't, he would be setting up camp in the dark.
At this rate, it looks like I'm not beating anyone's records, he thought, drifting forward like the river he was following. The wind shot a gust through his brown leather jacket as if to inform him that winter was upon him. When Brahm made the journey, it hadn't been this cold yet.
His pack was heavy, but Benj tried to stay optimistic; he had been waiting to take this journey for a very long time. He jumped over a small river and found a clearing of trees at the base of the mountain. Drawing closer, he saw a fire pit and a good place to pitch a tent for the night. Two hours later, the fire was roaring, and Benj was fast asleep.
In the morning, Benj woke, sat on a log, and looked around his campsite. To his right, large rocks that had toppled from the cliffs lay in a massive pile. On top of the pile sat the largest rock, which, upon further investigation, had names etched into it. Tys, Frejar, Jarlstone, "and look what we have here," Benj said out loud, eyes stopping on a familiar name written with a sloppy hand. It was Brahm's. A few scrapes with his knife later, the rock now read, "Brahm kisses sheep." He admired his artwork and was satisfied.
Without wasting more time, he packed his bags and stood looking between where he had come from and up at the new day's challenge. He really wanted to be done already, but if he never finished, he would never know if he was man enough to.
Benj turned up towards the mountain and started his slow ascent into Asven. It was surprising how often he had to decide whether to climb a rock wall straight up or take the easy option. More often than not, the slow, steady path would lead to a drop-off, causing him to backtrack.
Nearing the late afternoon, he found that there hadn't been any decent areas to set up camp. He needed to hurry before he ran out of strength to go further or it got too dark to see. Again, he was faced with the choice to take a long narrow passage with a gentle slope or a direct climb. He tested a few handholds and decided to go up.
The chill wind tore at his face and handholds. It wasn't looking good. His pack seemed to get heavier and heavier as he climbed. He reached out with his left hand and found a hold above him. He took his left foot off, putting more weight on his hands when his left hand sprang loose, tossing rocks and dirt down the mountain's face. He held on with his right hand and foot, swinging out over the vast drop. He steadied himself and stole a glance downward. He could see down the cliff where there were no gentle landing places. He couldn't feel his hand gripping the cold stone, but the only way out was up.
His pack kept trying to pull him down as he took hold after hold trying to focus on his hand, foot, hand, foot until he reached the top. He swung a leg over the cliff's edge and gradually slid and rolled until he was lying down, facing the edge and breathing heavily. He was done for the day.
The clearing was wide enough for his bedroll with some room to spare. There seemed to be a clear enough path sloping upward to one side and a steep downward slope to the other. He set up camp and checked his supplies. He had enough flatbread and dried meat to last another twelve days without rationing.
"Why did I pack so much?" He questioned outwardly, loud enough for the mountain cliffs to repeat his question, returning his echoed voice. He ate as much as he could and threw as much down the mountain. He set up camp, but it would be a cold, restless night with no firewood nearby.
The following day, he awoke before the sun peeked over the mountain's crest and decided to get an early start. He got up and worked the aches out of his body with visible breath. He packed his bedroll and heard a snapping noise. He reached to his belt where his knife was and held it out. A moment later, a low growl came from his right, where he saw a thin mountain wolf making its way through the clearing of rocks and bushes.
Its thick grey mane had streaks of red and yellow, probably from sleeping on top of his hoarded food in a cave. Foaming saliva dripped off his bared, snarling mouth as it saw Benj and slowly stalked toward him.
"If you're ever face to face with a wild animal, make yourself as big as loud as you can," came Sephus' voice in a flash of memory.
Benj raised his bedroll in one hand and his knife in the other and yelled, "I WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR WHOLE VILE SMELLING FAMILY IF YOU TAKE ONE STEP CLOSER!!"
The beast took another calculated step closer.
"AAAAAHHHH!!!" he yelled, waving his bedroll in the air. It wasn't working, and the creature was still moving towards him. Twenty feet, fifteen feet, ten feet.
Benj tried yelling some more, but it hadn't worked. The wolf crouched, and he knew what for.
"Lord of light, don't let me die," he whispered; the prayer rose out of his mouth as frozen vapor. The wolf's eyes flickered. There was no time to think before it sprang forward, its teeth widening in a nefarious grin.
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Mountain wolves are more scared of you than you are of them, a flagrantly false memory burned itself into his thoughts. Benj held his bedroll in front of himself as a shield and gripped it from both sides. The bite landed on the roll inches from his left hand and knocked the knife out of his hands. Benj smelled urine, blood, and hot putrid breath. He fell backward, the beast on top of him. The grip of the mountain wolf's jaws flattened the roll near his hand and threatened to rip it from his grasp.
Inches from the cliff's edge, he turned and tried throwing the wolf and bedroll down the mountain. The wolf released the bedroll, causing it to fly over the edge, but it staggered as it caught its footing. Benj turned on his back and kicked repeatedly at the animal, which toppled it over near the edge. It caught its grip and sprang forward. Reacting from instinct, Benj caught its front legs in his hands. He squirmed right, avoiding a bite to his neck. He kicked with his legs as hard as he could, pulled, and thrust the animal over the edge. The mountain wolf let out a pitiful cascading cry for several heartbeats as it tumbled through empty air and plummeted down the mountain. It landed somewhere with a loud crack that echoed from the cliff's depths.
Benj realized he was holding his breath and let out a sigh. Relief washed over him like a wave of comfort. He gathered all his belongings with shaky hands and set up towards the continuous incline. Moments later, an old song came to him. It was one he had heard Sephus sing after an exceptionally good night at the tavern. His voice rang out a smooth tenner, and with glory in his chest, he sang out:
"No, brandish swords nor clashing steal shall error to pierce my heart. Not shadows yelling: MOUNTAIN WOLVES!" He changed the lyrics. "Shall rob victory from my soul. Come away, my lads, and soldier up! Tomorrow, we will see. No bows nor bolts nor melee hands will take our victory!"
The mountain ridge pierced the sky like an ax through a log. At the pinnacle, Benj could see the tops of the clouds wisp past the mountain peaks. It was a sight to behold, but most importantly, it was finally time to turn around and start back home. The air was thin, and it was difficult to breathe properly.
After soaking in the view of all the surrounding areas, he realized something. He was on the top but not at the highest point he could go. The highest point was a good twenty-minute hike along the ridge and about a twelve-foot climb straight up a rock wall.
"I made it this far," He said to himself, "And it's not like I'll be beating anyone's record if I start down now." So, he made his way to the highest peak of Asven. It was more for himself than anything else. To become a man, you only have to reach the top; by every definition, he was there already.
The climb was a little more challenging than he'd expected. The holds were smaller and fewer between, but having left his pack at the base, he had more area of movement and an easier time navigating around to the top.
When he got to the top, he found something quite unusual. In the middle of the peak, hidden by ridges from every direction, was a circular table carved out of the mountain's stone. It was almost perfectly round and big enough that if he lay on it with his hands and legs spread out, he might barely touch the ledges, if at all. Even more interesting were the names carved into it.
Unlike the boulder at the base of the mountain, the characters here were carved into the table as if drawn with great reverence. The names seemed to spiral from the center. The most recent one was Mayor Grensald Frojor Hagen. Next was William Stoeger, the shoemaker, and other names he did not recognize: Ava Grey, Seles Laymont, and Mustava Truestorm, all forming a circular list around a central focal point.
He followed the circle with his eyes, reading each name aloud until he reached the one in the center of the table. It was the first name to be inscribed, and it read, "Zilez Kalsidar," and it was written in a small waving script. He felt a shiver. Maybe it was the cold or the altitude, but even though he was reading it for the first time, he felt reverence for the name. To be the first to climb Asven and to become the forefather of a tradition he was now a part of was no small feat.
He went to the outside of the list, just after Mayor Hagen and, with the knife from his belt, inscribed 'Benjos Baker.' He wasn't born with a surname but had adopted 'Baker' soon after he was. After the final stroke of his knife he felt something odd, like he was being watched from behind. He looked and saw nothing but vast space and distance. Still, the tingling on his back lingered for a span of a few breaths, and then it was gone.
"Hmm," he grunted and then walked toward the ledge to figure out how to get down. It was time to go. The drop wasn't more than twelve feet down. It would be no different than jumping off the roof of the bakery. Still, he didn't want to land wrong, so he hung from the ledge, kicked off, turned, and let go.
The cold mountain air rushed past his ears as he fell, except he wasn't falling, at least not normally. He was falling forward and down as if he was carried by a giant bird. He glided six feet past his intended target and was still four feet in the air. The unexpected flight took Benj off guard and off-balance, sending his body backward as if slipping on ice. His descent angle decreased as he flew almost horizontal to the ground. He touched down, slid, and fell straight onto his back, fortunately missing the jagged rocks in front of him.
"What just happened?" Benj asked himself out loud, checking his head and ribs. It didn't feel like he broke anything. After dusting himself off and going over the events in his mind, he stood up and looked back up the peek. He had to try that again.
He climbed back up the ridge, hung, and kicked off again. This time, ready for anything, he stayed balanced as he moved through the air, coasting forward and down. He leaned back, slowing his descent, and slid to a stop. He was still standing this time, which made him smile.
For the next hour, his experiments got increasingly more reckless. There were times that, if the spell or whatever caused him to glide downward had decided to wear off, he would have fallen to his death or broken his legs and then died. He found that he could roughly steer his movement by leaning in either direction and he could fall faster by leaning forward.
He picked up the biggest boulder he dared to carry, moved to the edge of a six-foot drop along the mountain's crest, and jumped. The boulder pulled him at a steeper angle towards the ground, but he was still making a slower descent.
"Doesn't go as far with a lot of weight, got it," Benj noted to himself while he made his way down the mountain's shallowest slopes. He ate dried meat as he hiked, taking the long way down - the way he hadn't seen on the way up.
The air had only started feeling more breathable when the sky began getting dark. He found a flat piece of ground and made camp. Without a bedroll, he found a place to lay down with no sharp rocks jutting up. He made himself as comfortable as he could and went to sleep.