Summit

Three large birds flew in a delta around the mountain. Up here nothing aside from tiny insects and worthless rodents lived; any major food animals were long gone. All the good prey lived down in the forest and out on the plains, but the birds’ species memory told them that threats could and did appear from the top of the mountain, so a constant vigilance was maintained. One of the birds jerked it’s head upwards, and saw a tiny speck on the grey hulk of stone. It’s eyes magnified it until the speck morphed into a logical shape. The bird ran it through the collective memory.

‘’Standing bear?’’ No. ‘’Fire-breathing scale flyer?’’ No. ‘’Strange pink-creature?’’ Yes!

The bird squawked to it’s wingmates, and in one graceful move they turned and started to fly up the mountainside.

Bruce Brysworth’s fingers closed around another rocky outcrop. For several hours the mountainside had been proceeding vertically on all sides, with not one diagonal he could try to walk up. So he had precariously been climbing his way, trying to reach a large rocky outcrop that preceded the final, smooth diagonal of ice and snow. He pulled himself up, and looked ahead to realise that now he was in front of a narrow but safe ledge. He raised himself onto it and sat down, resting his arms and taking a quick drink. Then he looked down. In the far distance he could see the huge brown ledge which he had escaped from two days beforehand. Tiny pinpricks of red and crimson dotted the ledge and the sky. But three larger dots appeared, just of the mountainside, and slowly growing. Bruce squinted at them, then realised what they were. He immediately packed his bottle away, stood back up and started climbing again.

By some feat of nature and extraordinary bad luck Bruce was arriving at the top of the cliff in the middle of a catastrophic rainstorm. As his palm touched the freezing stone he almost lost his grip – but his feet found a steady hold, and he lifted himself up. With some difficulty, he released a huge burst of energy that sent him over the edge and rolling onto the snowy ground. He lay there for a second, eyes closed, body strength slowly regenerating. Then he opened his eyes.

Three tall figures in sky-blue hooded cloaks stood around him, each carrying a long wooden pole. Bruce lifted his upper body to try and show he meant no harm. Beneath each hood a stern, pallid face glared down at him, although all he could so far see were their lined mouths. Bruce smiled sheepishly. Suddenly, the figures threw their poles into the air. Bruce watched, bewildered. Suddenly each one threw his cloak off, revealing three strong, athletic men in another set of light blue robes. Each held his hand in the air, in which the poles landed exactly. They started to swing them, performing strange moves that seemed somewhere between ritual and show-off. Bruce got up and backed off. His backpack hit a door, preventing him from moving any further. The three figures closed in. Bruce raised his hands, again trying to show he meant no harm, but to no avail. The figures spun their poles. Two leapt in the air, flying towards Bruce. He raised his arms in the air to protect himself.

And then they were snatched out of the air by two huge birds. Bruce lowered his arms to see the gigantic avian predators dig their talons deep into the two fighters. The third fighter spun around just as a third bird spun into him, ramming him in the chest with it’s gigantic beak. Bruce leapt aside as the bird-propelled body slammed into the door behind him with such force that the wood splintered. The bird flared it’s wings, stopping itself just in front of the door. The fighter stood up, moaning in the pain of broken ribs and bones everywhere. As he raised himself the bird pounced forward, snatching the man in it’s beak and carrying him away, front body flailing, legs deep inside it’s mouth. The three birds rejoined their formation and flew off. Bruce watched gobsmacked. Then he quickly ran indoors.