The Mountains Sang Their Silent Melody

III

It was customary among the townspeople when a baby was born to bring the child up the mountain. They would wash the newborn in the stream a little ways away from the highest gondola station. The stream was supposedly holy. Though the Corpus disapproved of this local expression of piety, they did not forbid it. They knew doing so would create a disturbance among the townspeople, and the Corpus did not want to have to deal with a riot.

Frances, for their part, had never been to the spring on the mountain. Their mothers had adopted them from the city at the age of two. By that time it seemed too late.

Perhaps this trip up into the mountains was long overdue.

The operator did not speak to Frances as the gondola ascended the mountainside. People did not simply request to be taken to the top of the mountain without reason. Whatever journey Frances had embarked on, it was private, individual, esoteric. There was a sacrality to it that Frances had not predicted.

As the gondola lifted, Frances began to appreciate the complexity of their situation. If they could not contact Ophelia's mother, she would have to continue living with her abusive father. On the other hand, if they did manage to contact Ophelia's mother, Ophelia would move away to the city.

Frances did not want to lose Ophelia. They wished they could somehow convince the Corpus to arrest Ophelia's father so her mother could come back to the valley.

Nine-year-old's minds work in a very simple way. Frances was no exception to this.

The gondola creaked to a halt. The operator tipped his hat to Frances. They slid the gondola door open and stepped gingerly onto the platform. A line of stones stood ahead of them, marking an unseen threshold.

Frances glanced behind them. The gondola operator had already started his descent. Feeling a surge of nervousness, Frances considered pulling the wire to ring the operator back to the station, but Frances rejected this impulse. They had to do this.

The wind whispered to Frances, speaking unheard words. Frances breathed.

They had to do this. They had to do this for Ophelia.

Frances crossed the threshold.

The path to the spring was clearly marked. Within a short walk, Frances was able to follow the water's path down to the clearing where it pooled.

Frances could not understand it, but they felt compelled to preform the ritual that they missed as a newborn. Frances strained to remember the explanation that had been provided to them.

"First the feet," Frances whispered, "to walk the correct path."

They removed their shoes and their socks and dunked their feet into the pool. The water was chilling, even though it was nearly noon.

"Next the eyes and the ears," Frances continued, "to see holy sights and to hear holy sounds."

Frances cupped water in their hands and poured it over their eyes and ears.

"Next, the mouth, to speak holy words," Frances said. They cupped another handful of water and drink it.

"Last, the hands, to do holy deeds." Frances stuck their hands in the water and rubbed them together.

Having finished the ritual, Frances sat back on their knees. They felt utterly unchanged.

Wondering where to go from there, Frances glanced around for their shoes and socks. They were gone. Frances took a more thorough look around the spring, but the shoes and socks were nowhere to be found.