by MK Schiller
Even though he was craving chocolate like crazy these days, the chips made his stomach grumble.
“Hardly seems fair.”
“Giving up one of the few luxuries we have is a big deal.”
It was a huge deal.
“I mean it doesn’t seem fair because I’m gonna win. I’ve been winning most of our games.”
Malcolm laughed so loud it echoed. “So make the wager then.”
Tristan held out his hand so they could shake on the deal. They set up the board. They moved their pieces. He saw Farah in his peripheral glancing up from the book she was reading. One by one, the other climbers watched them too. Farah finally marked her place and came over.
Rana even added some commentary as the game progressed, explaining the moves to Farah. “Tristan is taking many risks,” he said.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she responded.
Tristan grinned before cutting them a warning look. “I get this is the only entertainment for a hundred miles, but if the peanut gallery could keep it down, I’d appreciate it.”
Rana frowned. “What the hell does peanut gallery mean? Is it an art installation for peanuts?”
“He means you guys need to shut the hell up,” Malcolm said. He moved to capture Tristan’s rook.
Tristan studied the board. The game was close to ending.
“Even at this altitude, I can smell the bullshit,” Tristan said.
“What do you mean, Sinclair?” Malcolm feigned innocence. He sucked at acting.
“You’re probably a Grand Master.”
“Not quite.”
“You’re definitely much better than you lead on.” Tristan moved his queen out.
“Maybe. Sorry, I couldn’t refuse the chance to hustle a silver spoon like yourself.”
“A silver spoon?”
“C’mon, Sinclair, you come from wealth. You’re a pretty boy.”
Ah, smack talk, one of the best methods of intimidation. Too bad Malcolm underestimated him.
“I’m here because I’m an experienced climber.”
“Sure, sure, but you’re also a pretty boy. I’ve never really cared for hotshots like you. Where I come from, if you’re dumb enough to fall for a hustle, you deserve the lumps.” Malcolm took another of Tristan’s pawns. “Care to resign?”
“Never.” Tristan moved his knight.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of those binoculars.”
Tristan rubbed his chin, hoping the board would talk to him. It did. He made his move and looked up at Malcolm. “Don’t think I didn’t suspect. There is something off about a man who brings a chess board on a trip where every inch of space has to be accounted for and then claims he doesn’t know how to play very well.”
“What does that mean?” Malcolm moved, almost too quickly. His cockiness would be his downfall.
“It means, don’t get too comfortable.”
“Why not?” Malcolm asked.
Tristan leaned in. “Because you’re not the only one who can hustle. I’m better than I led on too.” He slid his queen into position. “Checkmate.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the board. “I didn’t see the surprise attack.”
“I believe that’s the point of the surprise attack.” He grabbed the chips from Malcolm’s hands and popped one into his mouth.
The others laughed and clapped. Grams had once told him gloating was the weak man’s prize. Tristan held out his hand. “Good game, really.” He offered Malcolm a chip.
Malcolm pushed the bag away. “Enjoy them.”
“Sore loser,” Tristan muttered when Malcolm left, leaving him to put away the board.
Farah took his seat.
“Do you play?” Tristan asked her.
“Not yet. I’ve seen matches though, and I’m intrigued so I’m going to learn.”
“Oh yeah? When?”
“Now.” She started setting the pieces up again. She had a few in the wrong spots. He corrected them.
“Who’s going to teach you?”
She looked around, then back at him. “You. You seem a capable teacher.”
“I don’t know about that, but I won’t argue with you. All right then.”
She held out her hand. “Pass the chips.”
Chapter 13
If she wasn’t surrounded by earthly beauty, she might have noticed Tristan Sinclair more often. She might have studied the ways his muscles bulged against his shirt. She might even have chanced a few long looks of his backside and broad shoulders. Or observed how often he dragged his hand through his thick hair when he was frustrated or gritted his teeth when he was angry. Surely, she would have wondered a thousand times what the band of black with tiny roman numerals tattooed around his left forearm meant. It was a date, exactly one year ago from today. Did that have anything to do with why he was acting so somber?
But everything else was too beautiful, and she was far too busy so she just didn’t notice. And if she kept telling herself that, she might just start to believe it.
She was doing the cooking tonight. She stirred a kettle of soup and studied the landscape. They were at Camp II. They would be upon the serac soon, a solid ridge of glacial ice. The days would be colder, leaving less time and energy for wayward thoughts. Their days were filled with hiking, setting up supplies, and acclimatizing. Each time the group reached higher ground, they had to settle in and get used to the thinning air for several days. Otherwise they would risk exposure, pulmonary edema, or possible aneurysm. The human body had to adjust to the physical changes.
Ahmed and Tristan discussed the routes they were taking over the next few days. In a big ice climb, there was usually a ratio of ten to one between planning and actual mountaineering. Tristan suggested they leave behind more supplies so they could reach higher elevation earlier. Ahmed was quick to agree.
Tristan had the kind of presence that turned heads. The few women she’d noticed at the Shalimar when they had dinner had paused in conversation to drink him in. Men seemed to affirm and favor whatever direction he gave. His confidence never shifted toward arrogance, though. Tristan Sinclair was wisdom interlaced with wit. A methodical explorer whose crooked smile made the air at these high elevations even thinner.
She quickly looked away when he glanced at her. This was getting ridiculous. How could hormones live and thrive at six thousand meters? The way he gazed at her, sought her out during hikes, and sat next to her at meals left little doubt the feelings were mutual. That didn’t make them any less dangerous. He released both the calm and the chaos inside of her. If she gave into those feelings, it would result in a tragic storm.
Being the only woman in the expedition meant she had to remain professional and distant. There were strong expectations placed on her, and her failures would be judged more harshly. She had always listened to a tune that others didn’t hear. It had been a difficult road for her, especially when non-conformity was often confused with disrespect. But she had endured the struggles to carve out a life she loved. She wasn’t about to throw away all those years of hard work and a chance to summit for a stupid crush.
“So what does someone need to do to get a cup of coffee around here?” Malcolm asked, jerking his head toward the fire.
“Make it,” she responded. “I could use a cup of tea myself. Thank you for offering.”
Malcolm laughed good-naturedly, a pretty rare occurrence for him. Except for Ahmed, she hadn’t known the others in the expedition very well when they started out. They’d had a few meet-and-greets via video chat set up by Ahmed. But the days of hiking and camping had caused an easy camaraderie among the team. Even Malcolm seemed less grouchy.
Ahmed still narrowed his eyes whenever Tristan and she talked, but he never repeated his warning to her. Then again, she and Tristan had remained friendly, always edging that symbolic
line in the sand, the one that had a huge sign posted no trespassing. They had both drawn the line out of necessity. Neither of them crossed it, like an unwritten pact.
Everyone took their seats around the campfire for the evening meal. As usual, Malcolm and Edelweiss sat together. Tristan sat next to Ahmed. Farah sat between Bjorn and Lino. Lino was teaching her phrases in Italian, a language far too beautiful for her course tongue.
“You and Malcolm met at Kala Patthar last year, right?” Tristan asked Edelweiss. “My uncle hiked it too.”
“Yeah, it was nice,” Malcolm answered. “My brother bailed on me at the last minute. I met Edelweiss there, and we decided to climb it together. We discovered we were both interested in K2. Edelweiss because of his gramps and me because… Well, because it’s always been a dream.”
“What happened during your grandfather’s expedition?” Farah asked.
Edelweiss removed the breathing apparatus. “He was with a horrible team that left him to rot and die.” Bitterness coated the man’s voice. The others used oxygen masks intermittently when needed, except for Farah and Tristan. Edelweiss, though, wore his mask all the time now, removing it only to speak and eat. Tristan didn’t respond, but Farah could see the disapproval in his expression, not over Edelweiss’s statement, but most likely for the amount of oxygen he consumed on a daily basis.
She pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them. “It’s hard to imagine climbing the mountain so long ago without the technology and tools we have.”
“Yes, but there were still summits,” Ahmed said. “Never underestimate a man’s will.” He laced his boots, making sure each knot was tight. Soon, they would get into the colder climates and have to rely on their warmer clothes, leaving behind the lighter items at one of the camps. The higher they got, the heavier their garments and the lighter their packs needed to be.
“I don’t remember ever hearing of a summit bid in 1940, or even in that decade,” Farah said. She’d studied every summit, pored over the volumes of text, internet articles, magazine spreads, and even personal journals of the climbers who had made the journey before her. She had wanted to read everything when it came to the subject of K2.
“Yeah, well, not everything was recorded, especially back then,” Malcolm said.
Edelweiss took another helping of soup. “It wasn’t a well-known expedition, just a few men who wanted to test their limits on the Savage Mountain. They didn’t want notoriety like so many climbers today. It was a special mission of sorts to test their strength. They didn’t summit, but my grandfather paid the ultimate price.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice as if relaying a secret. “He was a bit crazy, you know.”
“From lack of oxygen?” Farah asked.
Edelweiss shook his head. “Before that even. He believed in the occult and thought this mountain had its own spirit, one who was both good and evil. He thought summiting would rid him of a curse.” Edelweiss gestured up to the sharp peak, so high the clouds obscured it. “He called K2 his own Koh-i-Noor.”
“After the diamond?” Farah asked.
Edelweiss nodded, his eyes lighting up. “He thought the only way to kill a curse is with a curse. You know the tale of the Koh-i-Noor, dear?”
“Of course,” she said. “The nickname makes sense to me. K2 is carved from two tectonic plates crashing.” She angled her hands, touching the tips of her fingers together in a pyramid. “It is the ultimate diamond in the rough. I believe Koh-i-Noor is Persian for ‘mountain of light.’”
“Hate to break up this theater of the macabre before Act Two, but let’s discuss our route for tomorrow. Sinclair, have you mapped it all out?” Malcolm interjected.
“I have.” Tristan jerked his head toward Farah. “What is the story of Koh-i-Noor?”
“Everyone knows it,” Malcolm said, not hiding his irritation.
“I don’t,” Tristan said, his eyes narrowing on Malcolm. “Can someone enlighten me?”
Farah looked at Edelweiss, but he gestured back to her. “Please, you tell the story.”
“We should be focusing on our route tomorrow,” Malcolm said, the familiar scowl appearing on his face.
“We need time to relax, and a little entertainment wouldn’t hurt,” Ahmed said. He gave Farah a smile of encouragement.
She’d always thought the stories behind the Koh-i-Noor were interesting. As a child, she’d read the book about the mystical gemstone from cover to cover many times. “First of all, it’s not a fable. It a real story about a real diamond. I would argue it’s the most famous diamond in the world, even more so than the Hope Diamond. The legend says it came from India, excavated from the first diamond mine that ever existed. It weighed almost eight-hundred carats.”
Ahmed let out a low whistle. “I had no idea about the eight-hundred carats. That has to be over a hundred grams.”
Edelweiss tapped the fire with a long stick. “Closer to two hundred, and about a third of a pound. It’s been cut down and polished several times. Now, it weighs closer to one-hundred carats. Still, quite large by any measure.” He nodded toward Farah. “Please continue, my dear.”
“Well, over the centuries, kingdoms have been won and lost by this single gem. It has caused a great deal of bloodshed. In the seventeen hundreds, when the Persians conquered India, the Indian Emperor hid the Koh-i-Noor in his turban to keep it for himself. The jewel made even the wisest men greedy.”
“Was the man’s name Gollum?” Bjorn asked.
“No.” Farah crossed her arms and pretended to be annoyed.
“I’m sorry,” Bjorn said.
She smiled and wiggled her fingers at Bjorn. “But it was everyone’s precious,” she said in her best imitation of the Lord of the Rings’ character. “Anyway, the Persian leader had been warned about this. So he insisted the two leaders take part in a tradition where they exchanged turbans to symbolize their new-found friendship and peace among their lands.”
Ahmed clapped his hands. “The old turban trick.”
“Not the old turban trick. That was where the trick originated.” She loved telling stories. The best ones were plucked from the history books in her opinion. The team seemed to agree, since they were hanging on her words. That was everyone except Malcolm, who had a permanent frown on his face. She ignored him, focusing on the other faces around the campfire. “When the Persian ruler unwrapped the turban and first laid his eyes on the large brilliant stone, he proclaimed ‘Koh-i-Noor,’ which roughly translates to ‘Mountain of Light.’”
“So what happened to the diamond?” Tristan asked.
“The diamond traveled from India to Persia to Afghanistan to Lahore. Finally, when the British placed their flags on Lahore and the Punjab was proclaimed part of the British throne, the diamond was presented to her majesty. It still resides as the centerpiece of her crown today. Of course, it’s a point of great debate as both India and Pakistan claim rights to it, which the throne refuses to acknowledge. There is a Hindu curse on the Koh-i-Noor that states any man who owns the diamond will own the world, but they will also come to know all its misfortunes. That knowledge will ultimately destroy any man. Only God, or a woman, can wear it without punishment.”
“Are you bullshitting us, dear girl?” Bjorn asked.
“I swear I’m not,” she said.
“She speaks the truth,” Edelweiss confirmed.
She took another spoonful of her soup before it went cold. When she looked up, they were all staring at her with rapt attention. “What?”
“Why God or a woman?” Tristan asked.
“Not exactly sure, except maybe because women aren’t slaves to power or something philosophical along those lines. The curse actually held true for all the men who claimed the gem. They all amassed amazing power and conquered many lands, but they all died horrible deaths.”
“Sounds contradictory,” Tristan said.
; She shrugged. “Legend and logic are rare bedfellows. In a way, the Koh-i-Noor is both a talisman and curse.”
“The ultimate corruption of power,” Tristan said.
“Exactly,” she agreed. “Strangely enough, if a woman possesses the diamond, it is said to protect her. Maybe that’s why the queen’s crown is the best place for it.”
“How do you know all this?” Tristan asked.
“I studied history at university. Folklore has always been my passion.”
“Like the legend of Maiden Shina?”
A heat crept across her face, but she wasn’t exactly embarrassed. His smile, boyish and full of light, was contagious. “Yes, like that.”
“Maiden Shina?” Ahmed asked. “Tell us that story, Farah.”
She shook her head. She was content to let that lie as a private joke that lived somewhere between here and Quebec. “Another time.”
“My dear, your knowledge of Koh-i-Noor is impressive,” Edelweiss added.
“Thank you. But how did your grandfather think climbing K2 could rid him of a curse?”
Edelweiss paused for so long she almost repeated the question.
“Who cares?” Edelweiss said, dismissing her question. “As I said, he was crazy.”
Malcolm laughed. “Curses, huh? For someone who feels unlucky, the last thing they ought to do is attempt a mountain referred to as ‘killer’ and ‘savage.’”
“Indeed,” Edelweiss agreed.
Questions rose to Farah’s head like bubbles rising on a steaming pot of water, one after the other until the whole pot almost boiled over. But the wind picked up. It echoed and howled around them, an ominous warning of the long night to come. Rocks started to hurdle across the terrain along with their tools and equipment.
“Secure the supplies,” Malcolm said, jumping to his feet.
They yelled orders at each other. The shouting became necessary to compete with the wailing wind. The group scattered in different directions. Farah put out the fire and gathered the cooking utensils. They needed to secure their tents with more anchors so they wouldn’t blow away in the night. They had to shelter the supplies and tie everything down as best they could.