Free The Ascent by Ronald Malfi Page A

something that’ll get my life back on track. It’s no death wish coming out here. The death wish would have been to stay home.”
    Petras nodded. “Fair enough. It’s as good a reason as any I’ve ever heard. Better than most, probably.” His eyes narrowed. “You know, you look awfully familiar. Any chance we’ve met before?”
    “Doubt it. I’m pretty good at remembering faces. I’ve been on a couple of magazine covers a few years ago. Did several sculptures for some important people.”
    “Well, then,” Petras said. “You were more than just an artist. You were
successful
.“
    I shrugged. “Depends on your definition of success.”
    “And,” he added, grinning, “your definition of art.”
    Smiling, I rubbed my upper lip with one finger. “What is it about him?” I asked in a quiet voice, as if I were talking to myself. And perhaps I was. “What is it about Andrew Trumbauer that gets us all jumping just because he tells us to?”
    “I’ll admit I don’t know him that well,” said Petras. “In fact, I was pretty surprised he asked me to come out here. In truth, we didn’t particularly like each other near the end of our expedition together.”
    “He’s a tough guy to understand.”
    “We’re all tough to understand. Especially to ourselves. That’s why we do stupid stuff like this. Didn’t you figure that out yet?”
    I leaned back in my chair and watched the fire dance in the hearth. “There’s quite a bit I haven’t figured out about myself yet,” I said, and it was like an admission.
    4
    THE TEMPERATURE HAD DROPPED CONSIDERABLY
    while Petras and I talked in the lounge. Walking across the wooded clearing toward my cabin, my hands stuffed into the pockets of my cargo pants for warmth, I could smell the smoke from nearby chimneys and the alpine scent of the wilderness around me.
I’ve never seen a darker night
, I thought, pausing to stare at the blanket of stars. There were full clusters of them, too many to count.
    I mounted the steps to the cabin and was about to reach for the door handle when a large shape materialized at one end of the cabin, causing me to freeze. I heard the boards creak beneath the man’s considerable weight as I tried to make out his features. But it was too dark; I could only discern wide shoulders covered in a wool coat and a whitish face dense with a heavy beard. I couldn’t see the man’s eyes.
    “Can I help you?” My voice shook.
    “You are one of the Himal climbers?” the man said, his voice deep, his English laden with a dense regional accent. “Your party leaves at the end of this week for the Canyon of Souls?”
    “Who are you?”
    “You must not go to the canyon,” he went on, ignoring my question. “To do so will mean great disaster for your party. The canyon was not meant to be crossed. Do you understand?”
    “No, I don’t. How do you know about me? How do you know where we’re going?”
    “My name is Shomas. I live in the village. I am often hired to navigate climbers through the Churia Hills. I know this land very well, as I know the climbers who come here to conquer it.” He took a step out of the shadows, illuminating his face with moonlight. He was hardened, his forehead and cheeks a patchwork of creases and ancient scars, his eyes steely beneath an extended brow. “I know your party is planning to cross the canyon.”
    “I appreciate the concern, but we’ll be fine.”
    “It is a canyon not meant to be crossed. If you do not listen to me, you will find this out firsthand.”
    I opened the door. Warm, milky light from the hallway spilled out. Shomas’s face was once again cast into shadows.
    “Thank you,” I said, “but I’ve come a long way to just turn around and go home.”
    “Do not be a fool,” Shomas cautioned, his voice steady and without inflection. “Do not be the foolish American. I have seen many of them in a short time already.”
    “Good night,” I said and quickly pitched myself through the door,