“Hang on,” Julian told Justine.
None of them spoke as Karl and Ophelia pulled themselves back over to them on their bellies, breaths heaving and the puff of steam from their mouths a joy. When they got close enough, Justine pulled Karl into her arms, and Julian did the same—hauling Ophelia the last foot and rolling over onto his back.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he breathed, his eyes closing for the first time since the horrific sound of their slide. He opened his them and inspected her. Smudges of dirt streaked her face, and a small cut on her forehead oozed bright red. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Only scared. But that was temporary. My mittens are a bit scuffed.”
Which was an understatement. The drab brown things had an open flap, displaying the innards of undyed wool. He held her close.
“We’re nearly there,” she said, calm and unflappable.
“I thought you were scared,” he said, thinking she might need longer to steady herself.
“I was scared. When I was sliding. But now I’m not sliding, so I’m no longer scared. We should get to the top.” Ophelia rolled off him and pushed to her feet, pulling the rope line clear of the others. “Let’s get to it.”
Julian shook his head in amazement. He thought he was good at keeping his feelings at bay.
They got to their feet, restored axes to pack loops, and carried on. For they couldn’t exactly stop there on the scree field, could they? He admired her. More than he’d ever thought possible. Her bravery. Her skill. Any person—male or female—would not be thought a fool if they sank into a babbling wreck after such a slide. But Ophelia lifted her head and told them to climb.
*
Nearly there. Opheliawas sweating beneath her dress, and the accordion bunching had failed early on. She no longer had the luxury of hands-free skirt hiking. It was her damned skirt that caused her to slip and lose her footing, and she might never forgive dresses for nearly killing her. Karl had turned to see what the issue was and misstepped, which had startled her in turn, and down they both went.
She appreciated Julian’s concern, but they needed to focus. Past the scree field was one last climb, and then they would be at the top. Head down and eyes open. The air was cold in her lungs, but her icy veins only invigorated her.
Fog enveloped them, misting around them and obscuring everything but the rock in front of her. It was difficult to see Karl ahead or even Justine and Julian behind, their outlines obscured, the edges of the mountain a mystery. But then they trudged clear of the fog, and she felt the sun strong and warm on her back. The sweat dripped from her temples and she wanted to tear the woolen cap from her head, but she didn’t.
Suddenly, Karl stopped and ushered her forward. “This is it. Ophelia. You first.”
They’d done it. They were here. She took the final steps up the ridge. And there was the top. She summited.
This was no peak, but a flat stage, small and mighty. Her eyes welled up. This was what it was for. All around her was a lake of clouds. She stood in the sky.
Julian was beside her. She smiled, no doubt like a lunatic, but she didn’t care. This was it. They were here. She gripped his hand hard. How she’d wished her father could have seen this: the stretch of clouds, the incalculable blue of the sky, the yellow sun hot and bright. But he would have been proud of her. After all, she was Ophelia Bridewell, and when she got an idea into her head, it was going to happen. And she’d gotten that from him.
“This is incredible,” he whispered.
She stifled a sob. “Welcome to the sky.”
