Mountain Top: Magda's Saga, #3

By Ann Stratton

Magda of Ferrin had been promised the Sunset Ocean, and she is going to claim it. She has to earn a living first, trading goods between far flung settlements in hard to reach places. With a load of goods for Mountain Top, she sets out on the mountain roads into disaster. Bankruptcy, poverty, and abandonment await her there. Can she escape Lowbrow's iron fist and save Leilani and her family from starvations and worse? Will she and hers survive the downhill trip, alive, intact, and with a few coins left in her pocket?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Stratton
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201446123

Ann Stratton

Ann Stratton started writing at age thirteen with the usual results. After a long stint in fan fiction, honing her skills, she hopes she has gotten better since then. She lives in Southeastern Arizona, trying to juggle all her varied interests. 

Book preview

Magda’s Saga, Book Three:

Mountain Top

The E-book edition

Ann Stratton

A Blind Woman Production publication

Copyright © 2022 Ann Stratton

To give the reader more of a sample, the front matter appears at the end.

* * *

The Mountains That Hold Up the Sky grew taller and more intimidating as the land rose to meet them. Magda of Ferrin had been watching them for a good three turns of the moon, following the well trodden trail of freight wagons and haulers. Across the endless plains, over hill and dale, through rivers broad and flat and high and raging, through fields of grass gazed to dust close to the trail and taller than a man further away, between wandering tribe and trade town, the mountains had grown from a mere idea to a ripple on the horizon, gaining height and detail until the sheer wall of rock stretched from one end of the world to the other.

Dust, the inevitable product of the road when it wasn’t wagon deep in mud, clung to her, her wagon, her animals, and turned the sky a tan color. She had to wear a cloth mask over her face so she wouldn’t breathe it in. The plodding feet of her hrsen raised clouds of it, as did the hooves and feet of every draft animal on this trail, and all the wheels on all the wagons. Mail riders on their swift striders or fast horses raised even more, a swift patter of hoof beats and a flash of color, and they were gone but for the dust.

The heat was oppressive and the sun pressed down on her shoulders from the wide vault of the sky. Today there was no wind, and she would have welcomed it. If she thought about it, it would be to argue with herself as to whether wind or no wind would be the greater profit. Out here in these wide dusty plains, the wind either blew or it didn’t. There was no in between, and when the wind did blow, it blew more dust and everything else and brought with it great howling storms. Magda and her husband Armin and her wagon had already been through two of them, hunkering down in some way station or trading post to wait it out.

Great long trains of processed ore rode from the mountains to the Industrial Towns on the shores of the great Inland Sea. Each wagon crew went armed, and each wagon had its own escort, along with outriders who ranged along the line and shooed away the curious. Long trains of goods, paid for by the ore, headed for the towns and settlements that served the miners who worked the unforgiving slopes. Magda carried fine pretties in her wagon, along with more useful goods like work clothes, winter clothes, boots, work gloves, anything a miner might want or need to protect himself from the harsh mountain conditions. The pretties were for those who served the miners in their more personal ways and liked to remind themselves that there was a world beyond the mountains.

Magda was looking forward to spending the night, or maybe two, in this trading post with the glorious name of Mountain Foot, at the very head of the main road up the mountains. A long hot bath and a rubdown by the attendants would be just the thing to clear away the dust and soreness of the long days in the wagon seat. She’d had it refitted with more padding and support over the miles, but there was only so much her back and buttocks could take. She knew Armin felt the same, wanting to relax his legs after the long journey. He couldn’t walk fast anymore, even at the hrsen’s slow pace, and had to ride all day. Sitting like this made him itch. Traveler men were used to walking everywhere, talking to everyone they met, paving the way for Traveler women’s wagons with all their goods.

Walking took its toll, and Armin had paid more than most. His knees were worn down to the bone and his ankles and hips were not much better. Magda’s adopted son Maker had refitted her wagon with all manner of grab handles so that Armin could haul himself up and down the steps. His arms and shoulders were still strong, and better yet his hands. Magda blessed them every night when he worked the kinks out of her back for her. She did her best to return the favor to him, though there wasn’t much she could do for his joints.

Tata, Magda’s lead hrsen, shook her head and sneezed, trying to clear the dust from her nostrils. Her partner Een snorted, also covered in dust. They needed the break too. They were strong and steady and could pull the wagon all day long at their own pace, but they had their own limits.

Whistles and calls broke out from the drivers and lookouts from the wagons in front of them in the train. We are getting close to Mountain Foot! Chava of Severin, riding lookout on the roof of Magda’s wagon, called out. She turned and whistled to the wagons behind, who took up the relay. Tata and Een perked up their ears and maybe moved a little faster.

Soon enough, the incoming and outgoing trails diverged. The way station mothers had seen to it that traffic going either way took two different routes through their settlement to reduce traffic congestion. Magda thought that was a useful idea so that the ore wagons could get through their own checkpoints without having to wait for the freight wagons to get through customs. Speaking of customs...

The freight train came to a complete halt, waiting for the first wagons to be checked through. Armin lifted himself through the front hatch onto the seat next to Magda as inspectors trotted down the line, taking inventory to keep things moving. The next one, a man of one of the local wandering tribes, stopped at Magda’s wagon and called out, You are carrying what? He wore a bandolier of tangled strings over his shoulder, wearing only a breechcloth and moccasins otherwise in the heat. He extracted one of the tangled strings from his bandolier and held it in both hands, waiting for Magda’s reply.

As Magda recited her inventory, he made swift knots in his string. Magda couldn’t tell what kind of knots they were, but they were spaced along the string in a sequence that definitely made sense to him and the establishment he represented. When she finished, he looked over her wagon and made a few more knots, then handed it to the boy running knotted strings back up to the inspectors up front.

He waved his hand in farewell and trotted off to the next wagon without an inspector. In short order, the wagon in front of Magda jolted forward and she lifted the reins. With this system in place, it didn’t take very long for Magda’s wagon to arrive at the actual inspection station, where a woman of the local tribe ran a knotted string through her hands while a crew of nimble young people checked Magda’s inventory. Magda handed the reins to Armin and climbed down off the driver’s seat to direct them herself.

You are carrying what you say, the woman said at last, untying the last knot in the string she held. Beside her an older Traveler man of an unfamiliar clan, missing a leg, knotted another string and tied it into a band with many other knotted strings. Be paying the fee. Iron hand.

A little surprised, Magda pulled her coin purse out of her breast band. She fished out the required coin and handed it over. Gold must be cheap here in this last stop before the refineries on the shores of the Inland Sea, and iron far more desirable, since local resources were scarce. Be you telling me, she asked, where am I parking my wagon? Be you telling me, where is the market?

The woman handed the coin to the Traveler man, who dropped it into a secured box at his side. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled, loud. One of the runner boys, a long legged lad, jogged up to her and she addressed him in stern tones. The long legged boy looked up at Magda, who held up an iron knuckle to him, and made a follow me gesture.

Magda flipped the coin at him and he caught it with ease. Armin clucked to the hrsen and took up the reins. Tata and Een followed the boy through the settlement, a haphazard rawboned place of shaky wooden structures, tents of every type and style and variety, grass thatched mud huts that didn’t look any more permanent, and the original way station, a massive edifice that towered over the other buildings in town.

There were no defined streets in this place, just meandering paths of dust or mud or both between the buildings. People thronged these pathways, dressed in every possible style, from over decorated city men to the breechcloth and moccasins of the local tribe, who called themselves ‘sachan. Many wore work clothes that had been scrubbed clean, along with their bodies, and went in and out of various establishments. Music and laughter came out of those buildings, along with the cleaned up work men. They didn’t always stay clean, though. Magda saw several who had fallen into mud puddles and lay there too drunk or impaired to climb back out again. She shook her head and looked where the runner boy was leading her.

She didn’t see a dedicated marketplace on the way through town. Goods must go directly to the stores that sold them, which meant if she wanted to sell any of the goods she kept for discretionary cash, she’d have to go directly to those places. She looked forward to that. She could exchange more of her iron coinage for gold here, she thought.

Still, the profit for this journey laid further uphill. Most of her inventory was destined for settlements in the high mountains, where most of the mining was done.

The runner boy stopped at the entrance to a campground not far from the main way station after all. He spoke to the Traveler woman there, who nodded and waved him off. The Traveler woman wearing Orrin clan markings came over to Magda’s wagon. She studied the markings on Magda’s face and wagon that declared her clan loyalty and lineage.

Disapproval went over her face and Magda’s heart sank. So the story had come this far, had it?

Feetha of Orrin, memory woman for this settlement, the woman said, her tone just as disapproving as the expression on her face. You are being?

Magda of Ferrin, Magda said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Armin of Pothrin, Armin said, just a hint of stern.

Chava of Sevarin, Chava called from her lookout perch on top.

Gold hand, Feetha said, looking over the exhausted hrsen and the dusty wagon they pulled.

What? Magda yelped. We are paying only iron for coming into town!

Feetha waved her hand at the campground. This is being Orrin clan territory. Be staying here or not, but be paying a gold hand for the space.

Another wagon rumbled up behind Magda’s, and another runner boy jogged forward to tell Feetha about it. She nodded, waved him off, and resumed watching Magda. Chava crawled to the front edge of the roof and hung her head over.

What is being the trouble? she asked. What an innocent child she was.

I am Ferrin, Magda said, through her teeth. Chava had been not traveling with her for very long, and had not heard the story. Magda was not inclined to tell her either.

I am not understanding, Chava protested.

Be paying the hand, or be going away, Feetha said. Tata snorted at her and she flinched, but she didn’t give way. The lookout on the wagon behind them whistled. Chava returned to her lookout post and whistled back.

Be you deciding now, Feetha said. Paying customers are waiting for you.

Magda ground her teeth. This again. She thought she’d left it all behind in Delta City, but apparently not. She pulled out her coin purse again, shook out the required coin, and threw it at Feetha. Feetha let it fall in the dust, but she stood aside and Armin lifted the reins.

Ten down, three left, she called. The girl is guiding you there.

Magda, Chava said, hanging over the roof again, What is that about? Are Ferrin and Orrin feuding?

No, Chava. Magda mentally counted rows of wagons or marked spaces as they passed. She is not liking me, that is all.

Are you meeting before? I am thinking you are not in these lands before.

No, I am not meeting her before. She is being new to me.

Then why? Innocent, and persistent.

A half grown girl waved at them from the tenth row down and stood aside so Tata and Een could turn into the lane. She pointed out the third parking spot from the end and ran back to direct the next wagon in. Tata and Een parked the wagon with the ease of long practice. Magda climbed down from the driver’s seat, grabbed the chocks out of a side bin, and jammed them under the wheels.

After that, it was a short matter of unharnessing the hrsen and getting the rest of the wagon set up for living. Magda took the hrsen down to the river where they could drink their fill and then wallow around in the muddy shallows to clean up and cool off.

As Magda watched the hrsen submerge themselves in the cool water, she paid close attention to Een. She was quite sure the mare was pregnant, but because a hrsen’s pregnancy was a long one, it was hard to tell just yet.

She let them wallow until the next team came down the bank, then got them rousted out to go to the common pens. She took the chance to study Een a little more on the way and still couldn’t tell. She did pay the attendant an extra coin to make sure Een got the more nutritious supplements, just in case.

Back at the wagon, Armin and Chava had gotten everything set up and ready. The fire pan had been set up with the hot water kettle hung over it on the tripod, but not yet lit. Armin sat in one chair, his crutches beside him while Chava was just setting out a third chair when Magda walked up. Oh Magda! she exclaimed. You are here! Are you finding out where the bath house is? I am wanting a bath so bad!

Another wagon rumbled past, and conversation was lost for a moment in the bustle of getting the new wagon parked and set up. Magda took the opportunity to drink water from the bottle Armin handed her. It was warm from the day’s travel but it cleared the dust from her mouth and throat.

Probably down by the river, she said, handing the water bottle back. I am not seeing any place that might be a bath house, but this settlement is being scattered out along the river.

Chava screwed up her face into a thoughtful grimace. Be you all right here, I am going looking, she declared. She grabbed up her carry sack from where she’d dumped it on the back steps. Be you safe without me? she asked.

On the one hand her consideration of them was sweet. On the other hand, it rubbed Magda up and down the wrong way. Just because her back was a little sore didn’t mean she was helpless, like her mother. She waved her hand at the girl. Be going. You are knowing we are not being helpless?

Chava wrinkled her nose. Yes, Aunt, but it is being hard for Uncle Armin to walk. I am not wanting him to fall, and I am not wanting you to not be able to pick him up.

Armin laughed and waved his hand. Be going on with you, child. I am not that unsteady that I am falling down everywhere. I am walking into town to the bath house, and Magda is coming with me. She is calling a passerby to pick me up if I am falling.

Chava looked worried. She bit her lip, then she threw her carry bag over her shoulder and walked away down the lane, waving. Don’t be waiting for me! I am finding what’s in town to do!

When she was gone, Magda and Armin sat next to the fire pan and looked at each other. Are we going? Armin asked.

Yes, Magda decided. She got up out of the chair and went into the wagon to find their bathing supplies, along with fresh clothes. She checked her inventory, mentally assigning which goods stopped here at Mountain Foot and which goods she could try to sell for extra cash. Tomorrow, maybe. Tonight, the bath house and maybe a sampling of what Mountain Foot had to offer. She put a few more coins in her coin purse and climbed back down the stairs.

Armin levered himself upright, putting the crutches under his arms. As they walked slowly through the campground, Magda studied the wagons parked there, looking at the clan and owner symbols painted on them. Some she recognized, many she didn’t, but this was far out of her usual territory, so that was to be expected. Most of the names she didn’t recognize, and a few she had heard of only by rumor, but as far as she could tell, there was no one here who knew her.

Feetha of Orrin did. Someone had told her the story with enough details that she knew who Magda was and what her wagon looked like. Magda could guess who the blabber mouth was, and how the story spread from there. Word of mouth had always flown faster than any bird.

She growled to herself and put the thought out of her mind. This was all new territory. The past had no place here.

The way station was a great rambling building that looked like it had started as a simple sod building, probably a mail stop or local trading post on the banks of the river. It had grown considerably since then, adding or incorporating more rooms and wings, built of more sod or timbers from the high mountains. Set back from the river bank in case of flooding, it rambled along almost as big as the Traveler campground. Most of the wings apparently served as a hostel for those staying the night or month or year. Those might have rough windows carved into the walls, and open doors where people went in and out.

Magda opened the wooden door to the main building, holding it for Armin to get through. The interior was cool and dark, and packed full of more dust and smells than the outside. Magda sneezed. Thankfully no manure, though.

Also crowded. Magda held Armin’s arm as they made their way through business being conducted right there in the aisles between stacked goods. Sales clerks and customers haggled over this or that item, often with waving arms and raised voices. Mutually beneficial negotiations ended in clasped hands and exchanges of coin. Failed pitches ended with more shouting and arm waving of fervent declarations of going elsewhere, which seemed to involve going over to the next clerk and yelling at them.

The sight and sound of all this warmed the cockles of Magda’s heart. She could do business here.

The squat Digger man behind the main counter, dressed in a heavily embroidered and very nice version of the common work clothes and whose long black beard was braided with gold beads, seemed to be the proprietor. He did mostly money changing here, swapping iron coins for the gold customers handed across the counter. He studied Magda with narrowed beady, suspicious, eyes when she asked for the bath house.

Gold knuckle each, he said in a high pitched raspy voice.

Steep. Magda would have expected a copper finger at the most. She reminded herself that Mountain Foot was a trade town, specializing in mining. Gold was cheap, iron expensive. Inflation was rampant. She took two gold knuckles out of her coin purse. He studied them closely, bit them with broad square teeth, dropped them below the counter, and put two wooden tags on the counter.

As Magda picked them up, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The sudden shrill blast silenced the entire way house it seemed, all the occupants turning to see what the noise was about. Seeing nothing wrong,