Matha Tere’s Challenge

Matha Tere’s Challenge

by James Rumpel

James Rumpel is a retired high school math teacher who enjoys spending his free time trying to turn a few of the odd ideas circling his brain into actual stories. he lives in Wisconsin with his wonder wife, Mary.

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Bartock took a deep breath and reached out to touch the statue. He knew what was going to happen, still he was startled when the stone before him instantly transformed into a living woman. At first glance, she looked normal, though her beauty was undeniable. However, as Bartock looked closer, he realized her hair was formed by green blades of grass with tiny yellow flowers growing intermittently. Her long flowing dress looked to be made of silver cloth with green stripes but was, in fact, tree bark with vines wrapped around it. She looked at Bartock with eyes, the color of the sky.

“Matha Tere,” said Bartock, addressing the goddess by name.

The goddess grinned. It was a smile that should have charmed Bartock with its loveliness. Instead, it made him shiver. “You have come to take the test?”

“I accept the challenge,” replied Bartock. He glanced back at the edge of the clearing where the entire village stood, watching. His gaze wandered from his parents, looking both proud and fearful at the same time, to Nemees. She stood there with her folded hands resting on her chin, at first expressionless but then, when she noticed Bartock looking at her, she flashed a nervous smile.

Matha Tere took a closer look at Bartock. She walked around him, looking him up and down. “And you are the best your people have to offer?”

“I have been chosen.” Bartock strayed slightly from the script the elders had given him. He was not doing this of his own will and was unwilling to say so. Again, he looked at his people, this time focusing on Larg who was standing near Nemees. Larg had always been Bartock’s rival in all things, including Nemees’s love; one of the few competitions in which Bartock had come out the victor. That is until the elders proclaimed that contests would be held to determine the village’s representative in Matha Tere’s challenge. Larg was bigger, stronger, faster, and more confident than Bartock, yet somehow, during the elders’ trials, Larg had managed to finish behind Bartock in all but one event. The only contest Larg had won was knife throwing but that was only after Bartock was already guaranteed overall victory.

“Here are the rules,” said Matha Tere. “You must climb to the top of Skytouch Bluff. To honor the five elements; animal, wind, rock, water, and plant, I will make five attempts to take your life. If I am successful, your sacrifice will earn your village ten more years of prosperity. The ground will yield bountiful crops. The sky will give refreshing water as needed. The sun will warm your lands. If you reach the top, your village will be given fifty years of prosperity and you will be awarded a golden crown giving you great wealth and power.”

Bartock was well aware of how the contest worked. He also knew that these tests had been going on for as long as the scribes had recorded history and that no one had ever returned from Skytouch Bluff. He took a moment to look at the gathered villagers. His eyes found Nemees, his love, but they did not remain on her. They focused on Larg who had managed to move even closer to Nemees, no doubt preparing to console her when Bartock failed to return.

Bartock turned back to Matha Tere. This time, he followed the script word for word. “I accept the rules of the test. I and my people thank Matha Tere for her generosity and ask for her mercy.”

“You will receive no mercy but you will be given the chance to survive.” Without another word, Matha Tere stepped back onto the small stone pedestal and morphed back into the statue that had stood in the clearing for as long as anyone could remember.

The first two hours of Bartock’s assent to Skytouch Bluff were not strenuous, though the trek was far from comfortable. He made his way through the thick underbrush, slowly climbing higher and higher. The air was stagnant with no breeze, not even a warm one. Gnats and mosquitoes buzzed around Bartock’s head, dive-bombing his eyes and ears. The bugs’ assaults got more intense as he became drenched in sweat. It wasn’t long before he discarded the dark green, ceremonial cloak the elders had given him. If he had to, he would retrieve it on his way back down the bluff. In all likelihood, he would not be returning so what happened to the heavy coat was no concern of his.

Eventually, Bartock reached the point where the hill turned into a mountain. He began to notice large boulders scattered all about. The further Bartock walked, the more numerous the boulders became until he found himself standing before a rock wall. His climb was about to become more difficult and more dangerous.

To his surprise, there was a small clearing between the forest and the rocks. Bartock stood in the clearing enjoying the presence of a faint but still welcome breeze and the absence of insects. Even more surprising was that there was a small patch of pickleberries, just like the ones he used to steal from his grandmother’s garden when he was young. The rules of the challenge forbade him from bringing any water or provisions on the climb so the thought of the berries and their sour juice made his dry mouth water just enough to make him realize how hungry and thirsty he was.

After picking a handful of pickleberries, Bartock started to lift them toward his mouth but he stopped. Why would pickleberries be growing at the base of a mountain? They were usually very difficult to keep alive and needed rich soil. His grandmother had often talked about how proud she was that she was able to maintain her tiny patch. He let the berries fall to the ground.

He turned to look at the wall of rocks before him, looking for some sort of path that would allow him to climb toward the top which loomed over a hundred feet above his head.

“Very good,” said the voice of Matha Tere. Bartock turned around expecting to see the goddess standing behind him but she was nowhere to be seen. “The berries would have poisoned you. You have survived the first attempt.”

Not knowing what to do or say, the elders had provided no script for this portion of the test, Bartock approached a nearby boulder and pulled himself up. The task before him did not look impossible. A few trees still sprouted out of the rocks, there were fallen trunks and limbs scattered among the many layers of boulders. Because of the trees and the jagged nature of the rocks, there were numerous handholds and places for him to set his feet as he tried to scurry toward the top. Things would get more difficult the higher he got, but it appeared he would be able to make it over halfway before running into more challenging terrain.

He tested each step and hand placement. It would be very easy for Matha Tere to have a rock give way and cause him to fall. Yet, he did not think she would do so this early in his climb. The real danger would come when he was high enough that falling could be fatal. As he worked his way upward, he thought about how else the goddess could make an attempt on his life. The most obvious would be some sort of animal attack but he had already climbed out of the reach of most predators. Wolves and coyotes would not climb up the rocks and he was certain that a bear would have a difficult time balancing on some of the rocks he had already made his way past. He could only think of one creature that could still be a threat.

Bartock grabbed a bunch of small pebbles. Each time he was about to reach into a gap in the rocks or step over a large stone he tossed a pebble before taking any action. He was about to step over the trunk of a fallen tree when he tossed another pebble. Instead of the expected plink of stone against stone, he heard a dull thud. He peered over the top of the fallen tree and started at the sight of a coiled rattlesnake; its rattle surprisingly silent.

He retraced his steps until he was at least ten feet from the serpent and began looking for a new route. He was reaching down to grab more pebbles when he, once again, heard Matha Tere’s voice.

“You have survived the second attempt. You will encounter no more silent snakes on your climb. If you do meet another it will not have been sent by me.”

Twenty minutes later Bartock had made it further up the bluff than what he had left to climb. He was being extra cautious with each move. Though he was tired, hungry, and thirsty, he refused to make any move without carefully checking his grip or foothold. As he rested on a flat outcropping of rock, he examined his hands which were calloused and bloody. He ripped off the bottom portion of his shirt and wrapped it around his right hand. It might be difficult to climb with the makeshift bandage on, but for now, the cloth felt good against what remaining skin he had.

With a deep sigh, Bartock stood and took a step toward the cliff’s wall and the small gap between the rocks that would be his next handhold. A thunderous crack was immediately followed by the rock giving way beneath his feet.

Instinctively, Bartock jumped onto the face of the cliff, extending his hand toward the tiny fissure he had hoped to use. He missed. His right hand slammed against the rock and began to slide down the surface. Meanwhile, the overhang that had been his perch moments earlier began sliding down the side of the mountain with Bartock about to follow.

At the last possible moment before losing contact with the wall, the cloth that was tied around Bartock’s hand caught on a sharp piece of rock. It held for only a fraction of a second but it was long enough for Bartock to fling his left hand towards the gap between the rocks. This time he successfully found the opening and clamped down, stopping his fall. He hung there for a short time before bringing his right hand up and finding another spot to grab a few inches above his left hand. Soon, his right foot found a place to rest on the broken stone that was all that remained of the rock he had been sitting on earlier.

He exhaled, the sound of the air passing from his lungs was drowned out by the loud crash made by the falling boulder hitting the ground fifty feet below. With a mighty effort, Bartock was able to climb to a wider and, hopefully, sturdier place to stop and consider his next move.

“You have survived the third attempt,” said Matha Tere.

When Bartock continued his climb, he considered Matha Tere’s attempts to stop him. He had been smart to avoid the berries and the snake. Luck had been a major part of his survival of the falling rock. He had passed the tests of plant, animal, and rock. All that remained were wind and water. He tried to guess how the goddess could use those elements against him. Looking up at the remaining portion of the climb he selected a path with those possibilities in mind.

It wasn’t long before he noticed the storm clouds forming to the west. Either wind or water or both would be coming soon. In the next five minutes, the wind began gusting stronger and stronger. Instead of trying to reach the top of the bluff before the storm hit, he stopped climbing and waited, gripping the rocks with all his might.

The wind whipped against his body. It took all of Bartock’s strength just to hold his position. He held on for as long as he could. Withstanding winds strong enough to topple the trees in the forest below.

Finally, he could not maintain his grasp any longer. He had to hope his plan, as farfetched as it was, would work.

In one fluid motion, he pushed off from the wall and jumped sideways, letting the wind push his body. The combined strength of his jump and the crashing wind allowed him to fly nearly fifteen feet only dropping a short distance compared to his horizontal movement. He landed with a heavy thud on a ledge that he would never have been able to reach by any other means. The wind continued to attack him but now it only served to push him against the cliff face. As long as he stayed tight against the wall, he was in no danger of falling.

When the winds died down after five more minutes of assault, he heard Matha Tere once again.

“You have survived the fourth attempt.”

Bartock examined his new location. It appeared that it would be a relatively easy climb from here to the bluff’s peak. He didn’t dwell on his good fortune. There was still another trial to be faced.

It didn’t take long for Matha Tere’s water attack to begin. The deluge of rain that fell from above was almost immediately unbearable. Bartock had once stood under a waterfall on the Ever-Flowing River. The pounding of the water had nearly knocked him over then. This time the water hitting him was as powerful, if not more so.

Again, Bartock pressed against the wall of rock, trying to use the bluff to block some of the rain. It did not do much good.

For the next hour, rain peppered him from above without any respite. The icy water had felt refreshing at the beginning. Now it was torturously cold. He found himself shivering uncontrollably. It was all he could do to maintain his perilous position on the ledge.

Another forty-five minutes passed and the rain showed no sign of letting up.

He could not take the pounding much longer. Just as decades of water could erode even the strongest rock, his body and mind were being chipped away by the endless torrent. What had looked to be a simple climb before the downpour was now going to be a treacherous assent over slippery rocks and through small, raging rivers. It would be easy to just give up and let Matha Tere have her victory. The only thing that kept him from conceding was a picture in his mind. His parents and Nemees were staring at Skytouch Bluff, their eyes wet with tears. Larg was there also, his arms wrapped around Nemees.

Bartock let out a primal scream and left his position on the ledge, renewing his assent. He seemed to slip on every other step as he fought against the current of the water flowing from the mountaintop through every crevice and possible path he wished to follow. It was only by luck and pure desire that he was able to catch himself from falling multiple times.

As impossible as it seemed, the rain increased in intensity as he neared the top. Matha Tere was not going to let him off easy. Bolts of lightning were dancing across the sky, constantly getting closer.

He was only a few desperate steps from reaching the peak when he began to be pelted by hail the size of potatoes. Pain shot through his left side as a ball of ice bounced off his shoulder. With another scream, he drove forward, half falling, half diving.

He landed on the very edge of the bluff’s top. For a second he started slipping back down the cliff. In desperation, he reached out and grabbed the jagged edge of a boulder. He could feel his skin being sliced open by the sharp rock. He did not let go. Instead, he pulled himself forward until he had solid stone beneath him.

Bartock collapsed onto the cold, wet rock, his body drenched to the point where every breath found him gagging on the water that clung to his face and hair.

The rain stopped and warm sunshine descended from above.

“You have survived the final challenge,” said Matha Tere. Bartock looked up to see the goddess standing before him. He tried to rise from the ground but could only lift his torso a few inches.

Matha Tere extended her hand toward him, offering to help him up. When Bartock touched her, he was immediately filled with energy. He stood, feeling as fit as when he had first started to climb toward the bluff. His clothing was instantly dry and undamaged. He was even wearing the ceremonial cloak he had abandoned in the forest.

“Let us return so your people can watch you receive your reward,” said Matha Tere.

Bartock and the goddess were standing in the clearing.

It took a moment for the villagers to notice their arrival. When they did, a loud cheer erupted and they all began to race toward Bartock. Nemees and his parents lead the way, followed closely by Larg and the elders.

When the crowd was about ten feet from them, Matha Tere held up her hand and they stopped. Bartock couldn’t take his eyes off Nemees’s face. She had always been beautiful, but the expression of pure joy on her face gave her a beauty that rivaled even that of the goddess standing next to him.

Matha Tere spoke. “The challenge has been completed. Your people shall have prosperity for the next fifty years. In addition, Bartock, your representative, a man of intelligence, bravery, and great skill has defeated the five elements of nature. His accomplishment has earned him untold wealth and power. He will be a great leader for your people.”

An ornate golden crown appeared in Matha Tere’s hands. “Please kneel and receive your reward.”

Bartock dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

The goddess slowly extended the crown toward him.

Bartock cried out, an explosion of pain shooting through his back. Nemees screamed and his parents gasped.

Bartock fell forward, a knife embedded in his back. The dark red color of his blood combined with the green of his cloak to create a sickly purple hue.

Nemees, still crying out, ran forward toward the spot where Bartock lay.

Larg fled in the opposite direction, only to be tackled by a group of villagers.

“Do something,” cried Nemees. “Please, Goddess, save him.”

Matha Tere put her hand under Nemees’s chin and lifted her head, looking into the young woman’s eyes.

“I cannot,” replied Matha Tere. “I hold power over the earth, the sky, and the seas. They are not what have defeated Bartock. He was felled by human greed and jealousy. Those things are the realm of some other god or demon.”

Bartock’s mother and father were now examining the body of their son. He did not move. He did not breathe.

The goddess turned and addressed the villagers. “I will still honor his victory and you shall have your prosperity but after that, I will not help you ever again. You are not worthy.”

The goddess took a step backward and disappeared, once again replaced by the statue.

The sound of Nemees’s sobs filled the air.

Nemees came back the next day and every day for rest of her life. She begged Matha Tere to return and to bring Bartock back to her. Her wishes were never granted. As the years went by, Nemees took little comfort in the second statue the village elders had erected in front of Matha Tere. The sculpture of a young man kneeling before the goddess, a crown upon his head, only made Nemees miss him more.