The Ascent(64)

Petras gathered a number of the water bottles in his arms. “Give me a hand with these, will you?”

I helped him load the bottles into our various packs. While we worked, I said, “You want to hear something crazy?”

“What’s that?”

“Earlier today I thought I saw a man down in the valley below the ridge. Just before I had my little, uh … attack, I guess.”

“A man?”

“He was too far away to see very clearly, but I was certain of it.”

“Are you certain of it now or just certain of it then?”

“I don’t know. Hard to say.”

“It could have been a hallucination. You were babbling when I got to you and when we carried you away from the ridge. A couple of times you even called me dad.” Petras smiled warmly.

“Strange thing is, I thought I saw someone following Andrew up the pass after Shotsky died.”

Petras froze. I didn’t realize what I’d said until he very slowly turned to face me. Then it all rushed back, and I felt like hiding my head in the snow.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

“Shotsky’s dead?”

I sighed. “Yes. The end of the first day taking him back to base camp. Heart attack. We tried to revive him, but it was quick.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Andrew and I agreed it would be best not to tell anyone. Morale reasons or whatever. I don’t know. It made sense at the time, but now … well, shit, everything’s f*cked up now.”

Petras’s eyes bored into me, heavy on my soul. I told him I was sorry for deceiving him and the others.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t bring Shotsky back.”

“No,” I admitted, “it doesn’t.”

“And there’s no good reason to tell Mike and Chad now. Especially after what happened with Curtis. This whole thing’s turned into a f*ck-a-row.” He handed me one of the fresh bottles. The snow inside had already melted. “Here. Drink this. Stay hydrated.”

I gulped down half the bottle, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweatshirt once I’d finished. Out in the snow, I refilled the bottle, while Petras, in contemplative silence, rearranged some of the items in his pack. When he swiveled in my direction, his expression was telling.

“What’s the matter?” I said after the silence had become overwhelmingly obvious. “What are you thinking?”

Petras chewed at his lower lip. “Not quite sure yet. Working over some things in my head but nothing that’s—”

He stopped as voices floated down to us from the top of the pass. A moment later, three darkened figures sauntered toward the lean-to.

“I’ll tell you later,” Petras promised and zipped up his backpack.

“Look who’s decided to join us again,” Chad said, his heavy boots kicking up clouds of snow dust as he approached the fire. “You were babbling like Linda Blair for a while there, Shakes. Was waiting for your head to spin around and pea soup to come spewing out of your mouth.”

“Lousy company will make people do strange things,” I retorted, although since the incident on the arch where he’d saved my life, I no longer felt any genuine disdain for Chad Nando. It was all playful shtick now.

“Well?” Petras said. “What’d you guys find?”

Andrew sat on a roll of tarpaulin near the fire and unfolded a map in his lap. “The entrance to the Hall of Mirrors is just where the Sherpas predicted it to be. It’s a cave—a mouth—right in the center of the mountain. Maybe fifty yards up the pass.”

“The opening’s maybe a hundred yards from the ground,” Chad added. “We’ll have to do a short climb to reach it, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Do we know what to expect once we’re inside the cave?” I asked.

“Legend says it’s just a straight tunnel that empties into an antechamber called the Hall of Mirrors,” Andrew said.

I asked him why it was called the Hall of Mirrors.

Andrew snickered and rubbed two fingers across his creased forehead. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Then from there?”

Andrew continued to rub his brow. “There’s supposed to be an opening, a doorway of sorts, somewhere in the Hall of Mirrors. It leads directly to the Canyon of Souls.”

“But no one’s ever seen the canyon,” I said. “Right?”

“Well, no … but so far everything has been verified—the Valley of Walls, the Sanctuary of the Gods, the stone arch and the icefall, and now the opening to the Hall of Mirrors.”

“How wide is this canyon supposed to be?” Petras asked.

Andrew shrugged. “No clue. Two feet wide … or two thousand. No one knows for sure.”

“Someone must have been there,” I suggested, “to know it exists.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Andrew agreed, “but it’s never been officially documented. Could be stories passed down from bands of monks or Sherpas or Yogis. Could be campfire tales told by ancient yak herders who once lived in the valleys around these mountains. Christ, for all we know, it could be the equivalent of the stories from the Bible, Jesus of Nazareth, water into wine, and all that. How do any of these talessurvive from one generation to the next? I don’t know.”