“But for a climb like this,” continues Izabel, “it’s important for the leader to stay fresh, focused. So it’s good to switch off. So that we can take turns scouting the terrain and also, um, listening for hazards.” Another scream echoes off the mountain, far to our left, as if to punctuate her words.
We climb on in grim silence.
The falling bodies slow as the morning wears on, presumably as groups spread out and focus on surviving their own climb. Still, every so often another echoing scream comes, and we all press ourselves as tight as we can against the craggy, icy rock.
A couple times I feel them passing near us, their fall creating an eerie wind. One time, the guy was still alive, falling close enough to touch, and his hand knocked into me briefly as he fell, too fast for me to think to do anything.
I wouldn’t have made it even this far without Venna’s tips as she climbs, shouted up from below.
“Grab that left handhold, watch for the ice on the right.” Every time she calls up an instruction, I follow it carefully, not wanting to take any chances. Venna seems to have a preternatural sense for the smoothest path upward. My respect for her grows.
After the second time that Izabel pauses to survey the route above her, starting again only to lead us at a different angle than before, I call up to her.
“How do you know the way up? It all looks the same to me.”
She pauses in her ascent, wedging an arm against the rock ledge she’s currently climbing. Her feet are balanced on a small outcropping, barely wide enough to provide a place to rest. With her other hand, she grabs for her waterskin, taking a few swift gulps.
“They teach us all,” she says. “The ones from Bonded families, I mean. Our families want us to make it to the top. We’ve been training for this a long time, hearing stories and directions and advice…”
Her voice sounds exhausted. Below us, Venna’s also paused to survey the area.
“We also have our own tricks, each family,” Izabel continues. “Tips on which routes to try. Landmarks to look out for. Sharing information with anyone outside of the family is… not encouraged.”
“Well, I’m lucky then, to have you two as guides,” I say lightly, hauling myself up to where she is so that our faces are level. I carefully balance my feet and let myself rest for a few blessed moments.
The longer I stay motionless, the more my own sweat cools against my skin, making my clothes cling to me like ice.
“Shall we?” I joke, as if we are taking a nice evening stroll. Izabel laughs, and shifts her weight—and the ledge her feet were resting on gives way, tumbling down toward Venna.
I shout a warning, though Venna’s a step ahead. She’s secured herself against the rock, one arm over her head to prevent any head injury.
Shards of rock rain down on Venna’s arm and back, but she has a thick coat on, and none of the pieces are that large. She should be fine.
Izabel needs my help though, and fast. She’s hanging on by the left arm she had wedged into a space between the rocks and is using her right hand to reach for the next handhold, something to get her to a more secure position, but all she’s grabbing is air.
“Hang on, just hang on,” I say and spring into motion.
There’s a larger resting spot just above us, and I quickly calculate the least dangerous route up, and then haul myself up to it as fast as my muscles will take me.
“Rope, above you,” I call, looping one end around a stubborn tree that has somehow managed to survive up here, then tossing the other down to Izabel.
It’s lucky that she insisted we all put harnesses on from the start, even before we get to the ice climbing where it’ll be really necessary. Izabel’s face is white and her hands are shaking, but that doesn’t stop her from quickly and efficiently pushing the rope through the loops of her harness.
Bracing my feet against the tree trunk and an outcropping of the rock, I haul Izabel toward me far enough that she eventually finds another grip and can climb up to me on her own.
There’s barely room for the two of us on the ledge, and the wind is howling stronger, slicing through every small opening in my clothing, but as Izabel and I pant and grin at each other, I find I’ve never loved a slab of rock more.
Moments later, Venna’s head pops up over the ledge.
“Should we move on, give Venna a chance to rest on this beautiful, beautiful rock?” My words come out labored as I struggle to regain my breath.
Izabel nods, and I watch as she visibly shakes off the near-fatal experience. She unwraps the rope still securing her to the tree and holds it back out to me. I tie it back at the top of my pack, in easy arm’s reach, as she begins to make her way further up.
Only moments later, though, she stops again, sooner than I expect based on the pace she’s been setting.
I pull myself up next to her. “What is it?”
Izabel’s brow is furrowed as she takes in the dangerous mix of ice and gravel and sheer rock face above us. “This route should have avoided terrain like this. It must have shifted since the lasttime our family brought information back.” She stares at the treacherous path above her.
