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Old mountains are clever.
The warning was my mother’s favorite and one she repeated often. Most recently, and earnestly, on the phone that morning.
I parked the car and as I mounted the steps of the porch, her head swung toward me, milky eyes unseeing, but every other sense judging the weight of my footsteps.
“Ally?”
“Mom.”
She nodded once, as if confirming something she knew, and went back to her latest warding. At the moment it was nothing but a series of loops and knotted thread wrapped around a small black pebble, but soon it would take the shape of a cat or a spider or a snowflake, and join the others hanging from the eaves of the roof.
I sank into the rocker next to her and glanced out over the front field to the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond. They rose crisp and clear against the October sky, covered with a patchwork blanket of orange and brown from the changing leaves. They turned to rosewood when the sun set. At night, they were misty and mysterious. They were so different from their cousins, the Rockies, half a continent away. Those were young and wild, but stupid as the young often are.
It was not the young, but the old you needed to watch, Mom always said. They were the cunning ones and often unpredictable.
“Did you make yours?” She lifted the warding slightly in her lap.
“Hm? Oh, yes. A couple of days ago. Two of them. Josh brought the stones by. I told you I would get it done.”
She shook her head. “I wanted to make sure, what with your ‘oh so busy’ schedule. It’s important.”
I rolled my eyes. It was an old argument. “I told you I would and I meant it. Besides, it’s Nathan you need to worry about. He wasn’t finished when I went by his place earlier.”
Her lips formed a firm, thin line. “I called him. Text him, please, to remind him.”
I pulled out my phone and punched my brother’s number. “Are you sure it will be tonight? It just seems so… quiet.”
Mom chuckled lowly. “Oh, I’m sure of it. I know it’s tonight; I can feel it in my bones. I can sense it in the curves of the hills. I just wish your father were in town to weave his wardings. It makes me nervous that we don’t have them. Aunt Carolyn has been making hers all week.” I nodded, unsurprised. Aunt Carolyn was in a key position, her house right against the mountains’ feet. The rest of the family was stretched out from Front Royal down to Lexington, outlining the fragile space where the mountains bled onto the land. Some, like my parents and Aunt Carolyn, were closer to the mountains than others and took the making of their wardings much more seriously than I ever did.
My phone vibrated. “Nathan’s is finished. It’s on his porch. He wants to go to bed early.”
She nodded. “Fine, he doesn’t need to stay up. Are you staying with me?”
“That’s why I came. I’ve never seen this before.”
“Good, then you can help me.” She dumped a pile of string and pebbles into my lap. I took them in my hands and began to loop, tie, braid, repeating patterns I had learned over and over again in my youth.
The light began to fade and the sun blazed to a death behind the mountains. Above us, the stars came out. A butterfly, sparrow, and trillium now sat at my side.
“Ah!” My mother leaned forward, blind eyes searching the air for the unseen energy that only she seemed to sense. “It’s almost time. There!”
I followed her pointing finger. The ridge along Hawksbill Mountain began to tremble, shake. Folds in the mountains, outlined by moonlight, turned into hands, into arms that reached out and tugged free the blanket of trees. The mountains groaned. Arms flailed, bodies twisted out of the earth, dripping boulders. I gaped as I watched them struggle, trying to change position, trying to move so they could crush cities, homes, change the course of rivers, and leave new valleys in their wake.
Our house began to tremble, and wind whistled beneath our porch, sending wardings dancing and twirling. “Keep them steady,” my mother was shouting, starlight hair whipping about her head. “Ah! Catch that!” An intricately woven flower began to unravel in the mountains’ need. “If we lose too many we can’t hold them!”
I grabbed it, heart beating against my chest. I had heard stories but never expected something like this. Behind me, I could hear groans, old as rock and earth, as the mountains tried to move again. A head, a giant head, arched toward the sky, blotting out the stars. A butterfly warding floated away on the wind.
“How much longer?” I shouted.
“Not much! They know they can’t keep this up! We have them surrounded; we have their roots woven into our wardings, bound in place by string and twine.” She laughed, high and wild against the wind. “They think they’re so clever! But they forget that this family knows them well.”
The mountains gave one last valiant effort. We lost another warding. Then, with a sigh of defeat, they sank back down. Arms and legs settled, and they pulled their blanket of trees back over their heads.
The wind quieted. The world became still.
“God…” I breathed finally. “I… thought I knew, but I never would have thought it was… this or so real or so…” I couldn’t find the words to finish.
My mother rose to her feet. “I should call Aunt Carolyn and see if there has been any damage.”
I nodded mutely.
Sensing again, the way she did, she patted my shoulder. “Now, you truly understand. Don’t worry, this doesn’t happen every autumn, only when the mountains think we’re unprepared. But we never are. Just remember how important this is and — ”
“That old mountains are clever.”
Jennifer R. Fierro lives among the rolling hills of the Appalachian Mountains and is a lover of speculative fiction. She just completed a Master’s thesis on the exciting subject of sand.
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34 Responses to “AUTUMN IN THE SHENANDOAH • by Jennifer R. Fierro”
Comments
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April 15th, 2011 at 12:33 am
A wonderful modern day fantasy with perfectly realized characters and setting. Five stars!
April 15th, 2011 at 1:42 am
This was freaky in a good way. I was completely captivated.
I’d think about trimming the paragraph that initially describes the mountains (the seventh paragraph) and maybe strengthening the ending.
That said, five Blue Ridge stars.
April 15th, 2011 at 3:01 am
Bravo! I felt as if I was back in Bueno Vista, Va. Her description of the Blue Ridge was breath taking as are the Mountains.
5 stars!
April 15th, 2011 at 3:07 am
I couldn’t make much sense of the mountains moving or being clever etc, although the Chinese revere them for being near to Heaven and Wordsworth was awe-struck in the Lake Distract. I do like the sound of warding.
Sheila
April 15th, 2011 at 3:24 am
Really good premis but I stumbled over awkward phrasing such as ‘her head swung toward me’ (on what?!),’The rest of the family was stretched out from..’ (I saw them lying end to end across country). I was also confounded a bit by the ignorance of the MC, and while I’m at it, the rest of the world with their TV cameras and Flying Eyes). Something this freaky happens and she hasn’t seen it? There aren’t reporters everywhere?
Ok, maybe I’ve stepped outside the mythology a little too far but the apparent lack of internal logic felt a bit jarring.
Good writing style though and ‘starlight hair’ is wonderfully evocative.
April 15th, 2011 at 3:34 am
Sorry you’re having a tough time stumbling. phrasing was okay, if she had written “her head turned toward me” you still would have said (“on what”). Yes, you have stepped outside the mythology of imagination.
I’ll bet you’re one of the few who always criticized “The Twilight Zone”.
But, this is America and you are entitled to your opinion.
April 15th, 2011 at 4:22 am
No,this is not America.
April 15th, 2011 at 4:28 am
Three stars.
April 15th, 2011 at 4:52 am
I liked the descriptions, especially of the patchwork- leaved mountains turning to rosewood and the bodily eruptions of the peaks.
Perhaps I lack enough imagination to see this as fantasy, or maybe it is a dearth of geographical knowledge, but I thought this was a minor volcanic eruption and they believed their lace needlework symbols could ward off an event like Pompeii- just me? Oh,ok. No change there,then!
April 15th, 2011 at 4:58 am
to P.M. Lawrence, The last time I looked the Blue Ridge Mountains are in America!
Rose, sorry no volcanoes, but the mountains are alive and beautiful.
April 15th, 2011 at 4:58 am
I thought this was a very fine story. I love the Appalachian Mountains (went to college in western NC), and they are indeed mountains swathed in legends.
The only part I stopped on, briefly, was the sentence, “The light began to fade …” The transition from the previous paragraph (“… in my youth”) to that one felt a little too abrupt to me–only when I got to the sentence about the completed wardings did I realize that significant time had passed between the two graphs, and I wondered if there was a way to signal the time shift earlier. But that is a minor detail and maybe it’s just me.
April 15th, 2011 at 5:06 am
What an excellent folk tale! This story rings with old truths and mountain lore.
A wonderful story and a big grin (thank you for that, Mr. Freeman) – a perfect way to start a Friday.
April 15th, 2011 at 5:16 am
Twelve hundred stars. Captivating is a good word already used and I’ll endorse it.
Love the opening line. Love the comparison to the Rockies. I saw the mountain unfolding and reaching and then settling back. Certainly had no problem with her head swinging.
I’m thinking this author could make sand sound exciting.
April 15th, 2011 at 5:18 am
This reminded me of when I lived in the Smokies. Fantastic story. Beautiful, lyrical language.
April 15th, 2011 at 5:43 am
Oops, my bad. It was Mr. Lawrence, not Mr. Freeman who pointed out that “this” isn’t necessarily America.
More coffee, please…
April 15th, 2011 at 6:53 am
Stephen Rosenthal, when you wrote “this is America”, in the context of “this” being a place where “you are entitled to your opinion”, you conveyed the idea of the place where we are – not the idea of the place where the Blue Ridge Mountains are. And we aren’t – taken as a whole – in America. I know that for sure because I for one am in Australia (which is why I am often one of the earliest comenntators around “here”, for time zone reasons).
April 15th, 2011 at 6:54 am
Drat. Finger trouble led to “comenntators”.
April 15th, 2011 at 7:10 am
@Stephen Rosenthal:
‘“her head turned toward me” you still would have said (“on what”)’ – yes, I would because heads are not independently animate, they have to be moved; unless the world in which they’re set says differently and this one doesn’t.
‘Yes, you have stepped outside the mythology of imagination.’ – no, imagination is not a myth. I stepped outside the mythology, but only because FOR ME, it did not contain me. Clearly it did for you and others here.
‘I’ll bet you’re one of the few who always criticized “The Twilight Zone”.’ – Nope, sorry to disappoint, I loved it.
‘But, this is America and you are entitled to your opinion.’ – I think @P.M.Lawrence covered this, although I’m a bit slower off the mark, being a Brit.
This is a great story, but for me, myself, the whole me, and nothing but the me, it could have been better.
April 15th, 2011 at 7:34 am
Love love love love love this. I’m so glad you found a place where you could share it with the world. Great story
April 15th, 2011 at 7:56 am
Nice! Four stars….
April 15th, 2011 at 8:04 am
Oh, I enjoyed this very much! The mythological feel was perfect, and I really got a sense of the danger of the situation.
Wonderfully done – five stars.
April 15th, 2011 at 9:29 am
Oh never mind !!
I’m standing alone,
on the other side of nowhere
with this one.
Hmmmm…too much sun maybe ???
April 15th, 2011 at 10:19 am
Wow, I really enjoyed this!! I loved the real sense of magic in it, coupled with the family traditions of making wardings. Very imaginative and well written!
April 15th, 2011 at 10:30 am
@ Suzanne
I think I agree with all of your points above except for one, about the head swinging/turning (on what?) I don’t think this story is really an exception in that manner. I can’t even count the number of stories where I’ve read where, so and so’ head turned toward me, or to the east, or west, or whatever. I’ve never read that so and so’s head turned toward me while pivoting on their neck and moved with the power of their muscles. Or did I misuderstand what it is you want the author to write in such a situation?
April 15th, 2011 at 11:05 am
I love how the geography came to life! It reminded me of stories published by Woodland Press and how they lovingly evoke Appalachia. The mood is just perfect.
April 15th, 2011 at 11:44 am
@Paul Friesen: I think you’re right, it does happen all too often (and it does make me laugh, which probably isn’t the intent!). I think the solution is just to stay with the PoV: ‘I parked the car and as I mounted the steps of the porch, I saw her head swing towards me’, or ‘she swung her head towards me’. By now, the verb is beginning to sound as though it’s not quite up to the job so I would probably start looking for a different one, or phrasing that led me to a different sentence structure. It’s a detail, and it obviously doesn’t bother quite a lot of people. For me, it grates. I commit my own sins that get up people’s noses!
April 15th, 2011 at 1:51 pm
This was my kind of disaster tale. I loved that she and her mother have to knit little creatures around the rocks in order to keep the mountains happy. This was a great mix of fantasy and apocolypse.
April 15th, 2011 at 2:05 pm
Such a beautiful story. It made me smile.
April 15th, 2011 at 3:11 pm
Awesome story. Great imagery mixed with fantasy mythology that fires the imagination.
5 stars
April 15th, 2011 at 7:20 pm
How does ‘She swung her sightless gaze on me’ sound?
Then we can all ‘turn’ / ‘swivel’ / ‘transpose’ our attention to today’s story.
April 16th, 2011 at 6:16 am
Great story. Very original. Many thanks for the read – I was very caught up in it.
April 17th, 2011 at 8:54 am
Captivating. I definitely enjoyed this tale.
I love the mystical aspect of it and the inclusion of wardings.
Very well done. I aspire to this level of creation
April 18th, 2011 at 6:46 pm
Very original and a pleasurable read. I loved the imagery of the mountains and appreciated the build up of suspenese.
August 25th, 2011 at 1:07 pm
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