The Ascent(40)

Chad had talked a mile a minute about how he’d almost died, grinning and clapping us on the back. He recounted what had happened to Andrew without seeming to realize Andrew had been missing. Only Petras noticed my unease with Andrew, but he didn’t say anything. Apparently I had been the only one to see Andrew watching all that had transpired from his perch on the ridge. I considered mentioning this to Petras but decided against it.

“I was taking a leak,” Andrew said now. “I didn’t even realize anything had happened.”

“Okay,” I said, my fists clenching. “Cut it the f*ck out. Chad was on that ledge because he was looking for you. If I hadn’t followed him and grabbed his coat as he went over the side, we’d be scooping him up off the rocks down there and carrying him home in our canteens.”

One of Andrew’s shoulders rolled. “What would you like me to say? It’s a scary thing, but this isn’t exactly a trip to the zoo. We’re all grown men. We know what we’ve got ourselves into.”

“I saw you.” I took a step toward him. “I saw you sitting on that f*cking ridge, watching the whole thing.”

“You’re wrong. Calm down.”

“Don’t f*cking tell me to calm down. I saw you sitting there.”

Andrew sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He looked caught between a laugh and a sob. “I was taking a piss on the other side of the hill. When the rain hit and the mud started pouring down the side of the hill, it became too slippery to climb up. And when I did climb up, you guys had already pulled Chad over the ridge. It was all over before I could do anything.”

“So you just sat the f*ck down and watched us?”

“I was exhausted from climbing through the mud.”

I glanced away from him in the direction the wolf had gone only moments before. “You were gone for a long goddamn time just to take a piss.”

“I told you. The rain and the mud—”

“Before that,” I said, glaring at him and taking another step closer. “You’d disappeared long before that. The rest of us were bullshitting by the fire, and you were off gallivanting.” My fists were shaking, and my vision began to blur. “What the f*ck’s going on here?”

“Go to bed, Tim.”

“Answer me.”

“I said—”

“Who do you think you are?” I growled. “Don’t tell me what to do. I swear to God I’ll flatten you right here.”

“This was a mistake.” Andrew threw his hands up. “I thought you were ready for this. It’s my fault. The whole goddamn thing was a mistake. When the rest of us take off for the first pinnacle, you can go back to the valley with the Sherpas. They’ll take you to the roads that lead back into town. You can get a bus from—”

I hit him in the face. It was a poor, clumsy punch, but it hit with solidity, and I could feel Andrew’s jawbone through his cheek and against my knuckles.

Andrew stumbled backward seemingly more shocked than hurt, a hand up to his jaw. His eyebrows knitted together, creating a vertical divot between them, and he didn’t take his eyes off me.

“I told you not to tell me what to do,” I said quietly.

Andrew’s gaze shifted to the fist that had struck him, which was still balled at my side. His face was expressionless. “Okay, Tim. Okay. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I’ve been distant and aloof and removed from the whole damn thing, keeping all you guys in the dark. So, yeah, maybe I deserve it. I’m sorry.”

I wanted to tell him to shut the hell up, but my body refused to cooperate. I sat on a large white stone and pulled my legs under me.

I kept my eyes locked on Andrew for fear that if I looked away he might vanish into the night.

“You said you’d left us in the dark,” I said finally. “What haven’t you told us? And no more games.”

Andrew took a deep breath and sat down beside me. “That maybe we shouldn’t be here.” He chuckled. “All right, you caught me. I wasn’t just taking a piss tonight.”

I stared at him.

“I was praying,” he said. “Meditating. Trying to lock into the power of the land. The power of the gods.”

“Meditating,” I repeated. “You don’t believe in that stuff.”

“That doesn’t matter here.”

“Why shouldn’t we be here?”

“Because there are a lot of people who think no one should climb the Godesh Ridge,” he said. “You can forget about the folklore, the campy stories, or even the facts—the men who’ve died trying. You can’t deny those things, but that’s not all of it. Fact is, we’re some big-time violators for coming here. The Godesh Ridge is sacred, a holy land, a temple not to be pursued, not even by the monks, the Yogis. No one. And the same holds true for the Canyon of Souls.”

I thought about Shomas, the hulking man who’d been waiting for me that night outside my cabin and whom I’d chased—or imagined I’d chased—through the streets of a rural village days later.

“A beyul,” I said, which seemed to catch Andrew’s interest.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Petras. You’re familiar with the term?”

“Sure.”

“Is that what this canyon is? A beyul? A hidden land not meant to be found?”