by MK Schiller
Things changed at lightning speed on the Karakorum, especially weather. It took approximately five seconds before the wind sped up to the roar of a plane engine. Pots and pans and supplies were picked up and scattered. Everyone scrambled to grab hold of their objects and seek shelter inside the tents. She managed to catch her pack, but her camera bag was lighter and blew from her grasp. She tried to chase it down, but the wall of wind physically blocked her from moving forward.
She fell to her knees, curling into a ball, trying to keep herself low, centered, and attached to the ground. She said a silent prayer that she not become another object for the mountain to whirl and toss at its will. She lifted her head, trying to focus on where she was. She watched in disbelief as her tent ripped from the ground and flew like a bright yellow parachute until the night sky swallowed it whole. A canopy of stars illuminated its flight right over the edge of the precipice and into the dark. It resembled a flapping dress, a sari to be exact, yellow silk with a golden boarder. She heard Amma’s laugh, smelled the rose and vanilla of her perfume, and felt the warmth of her hug. Remember child, you have my blood and his. The blood of queens and whores mingles inside of you. You have to decide which one you are. You can be either.
I don’t want to be either, Amma. I choose none of them.
Panic flooded her veins, pumping as fast as a tidal wave. The fear consumed her entire body. She could not breathe. She could not think. She could not even cry for help. Her feet and hands scraped along the rocky dirt without her permission. The wind pushed her in the same direction as her tent, bit by horrific bit. She would spiral into the dark abyss.
I’m dying, she thought. Death wasn’t calm and serene with a white light in the distance. It was overlapping memories and quick flashes of regret and insanity intensified. It was pleading and fighting and struggling to breathe. Most of all, it wasn’t quick and short like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings. No… It was long, so bloody long that time stretched like an elastic band, growing larger, and then larger still, until it finally snapped.
She let go of all her yesterdays and forgot about all the tomorrows. There was only this moment. This moment where she would die. Something popped in her ear. The elastic band maybe? She heard the call pulling her back into the now, away from the abyss. She felt something. An arm wrapped around her waist. A man screamed in her ear, calling her name, his hot breath spilling onto her skin.
“Farah. Farah. Farah. We have to get inside.” She could feel his presence and the vibration of the words against her body, but his voice barely cut through the howling echoes. The mountain cried like a wounded animal.
She broke from her paralysis. “My camera!” His arms tightened around her before she could escape and go after the bag that contained all the photographs of the expedition, which amounted to a large percentage of her wages for the next few months.
“Leave it. It’s gone.”
He all but picked her up, his arm secured around her as they fought against the storm and battled the strong forces of air, bit by bit. He pushed her into the tent. She sputtered to catch her breath as he zipped it up. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the dark, breathing hard and coughing as they struggled to get air into their lungs. He clicked on a flashlight. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the brightness.
“Look at me,” Tristan said, his voice much calmer now. “Are you all right?”
“The others?” she asked. Her voice came out ragged and choppy, each syllable requiring too much strength. She pressed her face to the windowed flap of the tent, but it had grown too dark to see. It had happened so quickly. Did they lose someone? Her heart began beating so hard it pounded in her eardrums. Or maybe that was the wind. She placed her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, trying to block it out. But she could still hear the horrible sound. She could still see the haunting image of the yellow tent flying across the night sky and diving into oblivion.
He held her upper arms. She opened her eyes. He looked composed. How could he be this calm in the face of chaos?
“Breathe with me.”
She did, fast at first. She focused on his eyes. Her heart stopped jumping and her lungs only had a dull pain now. “Did we lose anyone?” She was afraid to hear his answer.
“They all got inside.”
She swallowed, but her throat was dry and parched.
“Drink.” He unscrewed his water bottle and handed it to her. “They are safe. I saw them all get inside, except for you. I went to look for you. What happened out there? You froze.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Where is Ahmed? Edelweiss?”
“Safe, Farah. They are all safe. I promise you.”
She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around herself. A shiver ran down her spine, one that had nothing to do with the weather. Had she been inside her tent, she may have blown away with it, right off the mountain’s edge. Just one more spirit doomed to roam the Savage for an eternity.
“Shhh,” he said. “You’re okay, Dimples.”
She’d been through these close calls before. Why was this different? Her reaction wasn’t normal. She didn’t want to think of the reason, but no matter how hard she tried to block it, the razor-sharp memory pierced through all her shields. The yellow tent reminded her of that day in Islamabad when her mother slipped on the marble staircase of the Jat’s mansion. Amma had worn her favorite yellow silk sari, the one with the tiny pink flowers embroidered into a sparkling gold border. The material was so soft Farah imagined it was spun by angels.
At ten, she’d watched in horror as her mother tumbled down the stairs wearing that sari. Amma never screamed, not once. But Farah did. At least she thought she did. The shrieks echoed in her ears for weeks. Her throat would dry up and she’d start shivering even on the hottest days. The shiver followed her, invading her body without warning, no matter how much time and distance had passed. She had become paralyzed then too, helpless and hopeless in that moment. Her mother’s body lay limp, a pool of crimson circling her head like a halo as it seeped onto the pristine, white stone floor.
“Farah?” he whispered, rubbing her shoulders. She barely felt it through the thick material of her coat, but she realized it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name. She gazed at him. He looked concerned for her. “I keep losing you. Stay here with me. Where do you keep going?”
“I… I don’t know.” She wanted to beg him not to ask her more. Dear God, was she having a panic attack? She hated being vulnerable. Hated the way he looked at her now as if she needed rescuing. She straightened her shoulders and sat up so she was looking him in the eyes. “I’m fine. I’m fucking fine, Tristan.”
“Okay.”
“I am.”
“I believe you.”
“I just really loved that tent.” She cursed the way her voice cracked.
He looked perplexed for a second, but maybe he sensed what she needed because he smiled. “Yeah, it was a nice tent. It really sucks.”
She wanted to back away, but his arms felt too warm and comfortable. “I’m tired.”
“Me too. Let’s rest.” He opened the sleeping bag for her to climb in.
“There’s only one. We have to share.”
He nodded. They had to sleep on their sides so they could both fit. Outside, the wind sounded like a million screaming women, full of grief and agony and despair. She wondered if the Goddess of the Mountain was warning them to turn back. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears.
“It’ll pass,” he said.
She hated how weak she’d become. How did one single memory have the power to transform her back to the scared child she once was?
She thought about other things, trying to force her mind to shift focus with images of chocolate cake with whipped butter cream frosting, the laughter of her students, the sun setting over Hunza Valley…the man lying beside her. Of all the odd thin
gs in her head, she remembered the photo of him in the magazine. The cover had clearly been a staged shot. But inside the article, there was a picture of him hanging off a long, jagged piece of vertical rock in the Rocky Mountains. He was shirtless, his pants covered with chalk, a dozen carabineers looped around his waist. His fingers griped the tiniest handhold in the rock, his head tilted toward the sky as the high sun shone in the background. Not a woman in the world could have resisted a second or third look at that photo. He was attempting a complicated climb, but he had a genuine smile on his face. She’d seen him smile that way a few times on this trip.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked her, his voice low and edged with concern.
“Just thinking.”
“What are you thinking?”
Bloody hell. She could hardly tell him about her lusty, inappropriate thoughts. “Why did you start climbing?”
“I figured out a long time ago that I’m the happiest when I’m on the mountain. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. What about you? Is it really just about proving the world wrong?”
“I can’t explain it, not even to myself.” She doubted she’d ever been so honest.
“Try.”
“There were obstacles all my life. Politics and social rules and things I couldn’t see, but I felt them. At least up here, I know the challenges I’m facing. They’re not whispers behind my back or judgments made my bitter people.”
“I understand,” he said. “I admire your strength.”
Strength was the last word she would use to describe herself right now. She wanted to ask him about the ink on his bicep, but she wouldn’t risk bringing him into a dark place too. She had no inclination to talk about herself. “What supplies do you think we lost?” The real question was if they would be able to move on with the journey.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will take care of itself. Tonight, we need to take care of each other.”
Each other? As far as she could tell, it was only him taking care of her. But she didn’t have the right words to voice her gratitude. “Okay.”
The wind howled outside, pushing against the tent. But their shelter gave them a reprieve, almost as if they were in their own little snow globe. He put his arms around her. “Don’t worry, I secured the tent with more anchors as soon as the storm started. I just didn’t have enough time to get to yours.”
“I’m surprised you had time to do any of them.”
He frowned. “Farah, it was at least forty minutes from the time the wind started to when I got to you. I thought you were already in your tent, and when I couldn’t find you, I went in search.”
How had so much time passed with her being stuck in a trance? “I’m sorry. I should have helped. I’m better than this.”
“Don’t be sorry, not with me.”
She wanted to say more, but the words didn’t materialize. He seemed so calm when faced with chaos. She wanted to know how he was able to keep his wits about him. “Tristan, what is your weakness?”
“My weakness?”
“What makes you mortal? I’ve done this trip with some of the best technical climbers in the world, but even they would have a hard time coping with what happened.”
“I have a lot of experience, not that I don’t have my fair share of weaknesses too.”
“Give me one so I know you’re real.”
“Go to sleep.”
She sighed and shut her eyes. Her eyes felt heavy. The wind didn’t sound as ominous, or maybe she had gotten used to the sound. Everything had gone quiet. She felt his breath against her skin. He whispered her name slowly, the raspy cadence of his voice filing her up like a balloon. She didn’t stir. Her mind was creating another illusion. This time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to wake up.
“The girl with violet eyes and a dimpled smile. The one who captures me with her stories. She talks with her hands, and she’s incredibly strong with enough grit to keep a man on his toes. She…she is my weakness.”
Chapter 14
Supplies were lost during the storm, but not as many as they thought. Lino and Bjorn had gathered many of the loose supplies, while the others had secured the tents. Sadly, she’d lost her professional camera and the digital photos she’d taken, but at least she still had her less-expensive camera. Most of all, she still had her life, thanks to Tristan. When she woke in the morning, she tried to thank him, but he shook his head.
He locked eyes with her. The intensity of his gaze, sharp and penetrating, left little room for coherent thoughts. “Are you able to do this? Or do you need to turn around, Farah? There is no shame in heading back. Just tell me, and I’ll support you.”
“I can do this, Tristan.”
“Then we don’t need to say anything else. If you need to talk about it, I want all of it, not bits and pieces. Until then, there’s nothing else to say.”
She understood that also meant the words he whispered to her. Exploring those ideas would cause a fissure that could not be mended. So she didn’t reply.
The weather had cleared. In fact, the following days were warm. So they continued on. He’d offered her his tent and bunked in with Ahmed. He never mentioned her breakdown or made her feel uncomfortable in any way. He didn’t tell the others either. She was relieved for that.
They made it to Camp III, an area known for avalanches. This would start the most technical part of the climb. Lino and Bjorn were going up to bring supplies to the next camp. Tomorrow, it would be Malcolm and Ahmed’s turn. They had stayed at Camp II longer than planned. The storm had left them surprised and in need of recharging. Securing ice screws was dangerous and back-breaking work. They needed more rest at the end of each day as well as to acclimatize and get their bearings. They were already at seven thousand meters, though. The summit was in their sights.
She’d decided to go for a hike to capture some more pictures. Tristan joined her. Usually, he walked like a man with purpose, but at other times, he looked as inquisitive as a young boy, especially when they came upon an amazing view.
“I think there should be a rule that every climber should be a poet,” he said. He swept his hand across the sky. “It’s a shame to get to see things like this and not be able to put it in words.”
“I don’t think words could do it justice, even if you are a professional wordsmith. This is a view only birds and adventurers get.” She understood his feelings. It was probably one of the reasons she started investing in photography equipment and educating herself. The money supported her climbs, but it seemed a shame not to capture some of God’s greatest work for posterity when she had the chance. She lagged behind today, trying to snap photos of the brilliant afternoon sun casting a glow upon the silvery snow caps. Tristan stayed back with her. She hoped it wasn’t because he feared for her, but rather because he enjoyed being with her.
“Can you stand in the frame?” she asked.
He dragged a hand through his hair. “You want me to pose for you?”
“Well, you are a professional cover model.”
“Very funny, smartass.”
Come to think of it, a shot of him might just increase the dollar value. “Actually, I was looking for some perspective.”
He moved in front of her, his figure creating a focal point, even amidst the backdrop of sharp snow-covered peaks and blue sky.
Even the heavy mountain gear couldn’t mask his muscular form. They both wore dark sunglasses to protect their eyes from the sun’s harsh glare, but his glasses highlighted his strong jaw and sensual mouth. She snapped a few pictures, both with and without him. He made a show of flexing in one of the frames, causing her to laugh.
“How’s your perspective?” he asked, a mischievous smile forming.
“Getting foggier by the minute.”
“It’s a clear day,” he said.
Shit, she hadn’t meant to say
it out loud. Of course, he was looking at her with complete sincerity.
“Have you heard anything?” he asked.
“No.” Unlike at ground level, talk about the weather was a topic of great importance and debate up here. She ignored his amused smile. He was probably replaying her statement. “We’ve been lucky.” She snapped a few more shots. She could not get the night they spent in the tent out of her head. But she knew she had to try. A different, more turbulent storm was happening inside of her. The tall man beside her was the cause.
She pointed to the other climbers, almost a kilometer ahead. “You can go on. I have a feeling when the sun hits the horizon, it’s going to cast everything in a soft glow. I want to wait for that.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
He looked as if he might say something more, but instead he just leaned against the mountain wall next to her. He watched over her shoulder as she scrolled through her pictures.
“I’m sorry you lost all your other photos.”
She shrugged. “I’m actually getting some amazing pictures.” Neither had brought up that night until now. He’d told her not to unless she was ready to talk about all of it, but how could she keep silent? A conversation was long overdue. At times, she felt his eyes on her, a gaze that bore through all the layers of clothing and those other layers she’d put up to protect herself.
“I never thanked you for what you did. That was very impolite of me.”
“No need to thank me.”
“Of course, there is a need. I’m sorry I froze. I don’t know what happened.”
“I think you do, Farah. You don’t want to tell me though. But for God’s sake, don’t apologize. Everyone has their own version of dark. Sometimes you just need someone to flip on the light.”
That is what he did for her. He acted as a light when she needed one the most. Maybe he deserved to know what triggered her darkness. She wanted to explain herself.