Mountainpeople vs. Invasiverich Part 2.

If the Invasiverich had adapted to the altruistic sense of the Mountainpeople, things would have been different. Had the Invasiverich not introduced the false sense of “those with the most toys win,” their demise wouldn’t have been so gruesome. The Invasiverich saw the mountains as a new opportunity, a new frontier. They loved visiting the quiet communities and longed to experience that community as their own. Their reasons for moving into the rural realm were not without merit, but they failed to adapt to the region, because they could not leave their concrete boxes. Each autumn they would return to their limestone castles and make the money by breaking the backs of the poor. That was the only way they could live in the hills, they thought. They couldn’t make a living in a tiny town, they couldn’t own the property without the enslavement of the many. They wanted to have their cake and eat it, too. And so, each day at their rat race grind, the Invasiverich worked perceptively ‘hard’ to live their mountainlives each spring. They played their game of Marie Antoinette, while all their peers struggled for food, struggled to make rent, enduring days of broken dreams under the feet of their wealthy masters.

The Invasiverich had forgotten that the mountains are not just meadows and deer; they failed to acknowledge the dark side of winter’s bite, of the carnal needs of survival. The Invasiverich had separated themselves from these animalistic tendencies, present in every human being when faced with strife. They failed to understand that the endurance of those they oppressed could only last so long, and that, one day, the Mountainpeople would have enough.

Having spent lifetimes of caste intermarriage, the Invasiverich had become weak of body and frame. They could not endure the carnal winter, but they could enjoy their bodies in the summer sun of mountain skies. The Mountainpeople had no time for play; their bodies were a byproduct of their continual survival and communal cooperation. Wood for winter warmth needed harvesting, and the only way to harvest was with strength of back and bodily girth. The Mountainpeople were as solid as the rocks they lived in, and once awakened, their seething physical might would easily crush any force that came between them and that nature they loved.

The Mountainpeople didn’t believe the Sky stories played across the ionosphere that December in 2012. They figured something was off, that something was manipulated. They had experienced the machinations of the Megarich each summer for decades; they observed the patterns of the Elite, they saw their empty concrete hearts and their failed attempts at filling their gaps. The Invasiverich were more like the deer than the cougar, and the Mountainpeople knew this. They had become weathered like the granite of the peaks, and they knew the difference between true strength and weakness masquerading in the paper facade of money. When the cities were placed under marshal law, the Invasiverich took to their castles in the meadows. They had been planning, they had been stockpiling for this; they knew of the storm before the commonpeople. Their mansion arsenals were great, but their skills in marksmanship lacked as they hadn’t been spending a lifetime seeking food for their table with a gun. Their bars of gold meant nothing to the Mountainpeople, who were more interested in taking in the refugees of the cities than the Invasiverich who oppressed those refugees for so long. The Mountainpeople knew the plight of the cityfolk; they knew their skills would be greater than the elite, and they would unite with them.

The rage of the Mountainpeople came like a blood-red dawn in the dead of winter. Their passion for equality was their purpose, and, united with the refugees, this passion tore into the empty material of the Invasiverich, like rays of sunlight burn through the morning’s fog. The fancy shotguns and AA-12’s belonging to the Invasiverich could hone down the enraged mob, but it couldn’t keep them from the marksmanship of the trophy-hunter, a single rifle shot silencing the hollow concrete heart of the pitiful affluence-hunter. In the end, every Invasiverich finally got the mountain experience they longed for: in every Bourgeoisie death came that final second of carnal survival they missed by avoiding the winters. In that last instant of breath, their concrete hearts were filled with the knowing that experience is greater than wealth.

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Lawspeakers were those who memorized, recited, and created the law in Iceland during the Viking era. Goði (pl. Goðar) were the chieftains in Iceland, who often held both secular and priestly power. I am using it in the sense that the oppressors often hold power which feels supernaturally strong to the oppressed, and to get as far as most wealthypersons do, one must become sort of a believer in the materialistic dogmas of our era.