Ammon flipped the rope to make certain it curled on the small carpet he had laid out behind him, then pulled out the last of the slack. “On belay,” he answered.
Luke moved to the wall. “Climbing,” he said.
“Climb on,” Ammon replied.
Luke stretched his hands over the rock, feeling for the tiny crevasses and finger holds that a non-climber would have never seen. His gummed-soled shoes were like fly paper, giving him an extraordinary sense of security against the rock. He stretched, reaching over his head and pulled himself up, using his feet and legs to support his weight as much as he could to help save his upper body strength for the ledge. As he climbed, he was extraordinarily aware of his body and used every part; his knees, his elbows, his fingers and palms, he even forced his chest against the rock in order to evenly distribute his weight. He easily climbed the first fifteen feet, using tiny protrusions as handholds and forcing his feet into thin cracks. Halfway up the rock, the wall became suddenly smooth and he had to hang on a tiny ledge while he searched for the next handhold. Scratching over his head, he felt for a crack that he could hold on to.
Ammon watched, all the time looking up. He kept the rope tight enough to break Luke’s fall, but not so tight as to interfere or help support his weight. He watched his brother search in vain for a handhold, then called up, “Luke, there’s a place to put your foot a couple of feet to your right.”
Luke stretched out his leg and tried a place or two, but couldn’t find anything that would support his weight.
“Higher up,” Ammon shouted. “If you can get your right foot on that tiny ledge beside you.”
Luke stopped and scowled down at his brother. “You must mean this ledge beside my ear!” he shouted in sarcasm.
“Come on! It’s not that high. You can do it, buddy, if you get your knees high enough.”
“I’m not a contortionist Ammon. How many people could lift their feet above their chest?”
“You’re exaggerating, Luke. Now come on, you can do it!”
Luke stared at the tiny ledge by his waist, hesitating. He lifted his leg a time or two, measuring the height, but his other foot almost slipped. He looked at Ammon. “Would you like to come and demonstrate?” he called down.
Ammon started to answer but Luke ignored him. After several more minutes of searching, he descended the rock a couple feet, moved two arm lengths to his right, then started climbing again. There was a better route there, with handholds enough for him to sink his fingers onto. Fifteen minutes later he had climbed up to the overhang that extended out over the face of the cliff.
“How you feeling?” Ammon asked as Luke studied the overhang directly over his head.
Luke took his free hand and dipped it in the chalk bag strapped to the back of his harness. “Little tired,” he called back. “That wore me out, getting stuck halfway up. Took a lot longer to get up here than I thought it would.”
Ammon glanced at his watch. Luke had been on the rock for almost thirty minutes. He knew Luke had to be exhausted. A less experienced climber would have fallen a dozen times by now. A beginner wouldn’t have made it ten feet up the wall. But Luke was just getting started. The most difficult part of the climb was directly over his head.
Luke craned his neck back as he held on with his fingers, his feet turned sideways to fit on a one-inch crack in the rock. Above him, the face of the cliff jutted outward at a sixty-degree angle, extending behind him for five feet or so. His hands trembled and his calves were beginning to cramp from the constant strain of holding his weight on his toes. He had to move quickly to find a way to get over the ledge or he wouldn’t have any strength left to pull himself up.
He searched in frustration, dribbles of sweat pouring down the side of his face.
* * *
Roth stood in the air beside him. “You can do it!” he whispered into the exhausted man’s ear. “Ammon doesn’t think you’re strong enough, but you know that you are! Samuel could do it. Is he that much stronger than you?”
Luke passed an exhausted hand over his eyes as he thought.
“Sam has always been stronger,” Roth hissed bitterly. “He’s better at everything! But you know you can do this. Now prove that you can do this.”
Luke looked down. His brother stared up. He clenched the fingers on his left hand against the tiny cracks in the wall, then leaned back. He clung there, suspended, barely hanging on the cliff. He moved his hand across the overhang, feeling for the crack they had identified from the ground, searching for anything he could sink his fingers into. His shoulders ached, his arms trembled, and his neck muscles cramped.
“Luke,” Ammon warned. “Be careful up there.”
“I’m okay,” he shouted.
Luke moved a few inches away from the wall and the safety rope went slack. “You got me!” Luke called as he glanced down.
“I got you!” Ammon answered as he put pressure on the rope to tighten it up. Bracing himself, he planted his feet and leaned back, anticipating Luke’s fall.
Luke gathered his strength and reached back again. He put more weight on his toes and his leg muscles cramped with excruciating knots. He stretched out his fingers and lifted one leg. He . . . couldn’t . . . quite . . . reach . . . it! He huffed in exhaustion, then shifted his weight to his left foot, and lifted up on his toes again. He clawed overhead and behind him. He could see the crack there, but it was two . . . inches . . . too . . . far.
Two inches. Might as well be two feet. He wasn’t going to make it.
* * *
Jump!” the dark angel told him. “Let go of the wall. You can do it, Luke! You have the rope to catch you. Jump! You won’t get hurt even if you fall!”
* * *
Luke stretched out again, almost at the end of his strength. He extended his fingers. Just . . . a . . . few . . . more . . . inches! He dropped his head and looked down, relieving the cramps in his neck, then gathered his strength and repositioned himself on a tiny ledge on the cliff.
“You got me, right?” he called down to Ammon.
Ammon looked worried. “Come on, Luke,” he answered. “Let’s call it quits.”
Luke shook his head. Not when he was this close!
He looked back up and stretched a final time for the handhold he had been reaching for.
It was simply too far.
He only had two choices now. It was jump or climb down.
He made his decision and swallowed hard.
He braced himself against the wall as he gathered his strength, then leaped for the rock while twisting in midair, extending both hands, stretching them as far as he could reach over his head.
He grasped the crack with the fingertips of his right hand, and he hung there, suspended, his feet swinging wildly through the air. He flailed with his other hand, forcing it against the crack in the wall, scratching and pawing desperately for something to grab.
Ammon braced himself below him, waiting to absorb the weight of his fall.
Luke almost screamed from the pressure on his arm. The adrenaline shot through him and he clawed like an animal with his free hand. As he pawed at the rock, tiny pieces of sandstone and dust tumbled into his eyes. Hanging by one hand, he scratched with the other, then felt a tiny crack in the rock. Stretching, he grabbed it with all the strength he had left.
He was slipping. He was exhausted.
He caught his breath as he hung there, four stories above the ground, then moved his right hand for a better handhold. He pulled himself upward and moved his left hand. Inch by inch, hand by hand, he moved upward toward the tip of the ledge. Another inch, another handhold, he moved on the overhang.
His arms ached. It was agony. He could hardly breathe. His fingers trembled with exhaustion and his shoulders knotted in pain.
He wasn’t going to make it. He couldn’t hold on any more. It took everything he had just to hang on the rock. He was growing lightheaded. His entire body was shaking and his arms were cramped in pain.
Ju
st a few inches more. But he did not have the strength.
It was time to let go. He had tried, he had failed. Now his body was done.
He huffed in pain and disappointment, then reached desperately for the rope, while hanging by one hand.
The instant he put weight on the rope, it started sliding through his fingers. He watched in terror as it snaked from the overhand above him and through the air, falling toward the rocky ground so far below. As they passed in front of his face in slow motion the carabineer and safety bolt flashed in the sun. The rope fell with a light whisp before the metal devices clinked against the hard rocks below.
* * *
Ammon saw the rope fall and almost threw up on himself. The bolt had broken free from the crevasse! It couldn’t be! His mind flashed and he rushed to the wall. He legs turned to jelly and his gut crunched in a sick knot of dark fear.
He glanced up at his brother who hung from the edge by one hand. “Oh God!” he frantically whispered. “Please, don’t let him fall!”
He dove on the rope in a panic, as if it could help him now. He laced it through his fingers, finding the bolt. The carabineer was still attached and he grimaced in pain, then stared at it blankly, a disbelieving look on his face. He turned for the trail, rope in his hands, and started to run, then stopped. He did not have enough time! Luke could not hang on long enough for him to get to the top of the rock and secure the rope again!
He looked up in horror.
He did not want his brother to die!
Then the bitter truth hit him like a baseball bat in his chest. He exhaled in pain, almost doubling over with guilt. He clenched his teeth and looked up, his eyes wide in gut-wrenching fear.
He thought the bolt was safe. But he hadn’t been sure.
His brother was going to die. And it was his fault!
He looked up, his mouth agape, his throat too tight to scream. “I’ll catch you, Luke!” he tried calling, but his voice only croaked.
* * *
Luke knew he was dead. He simply couldn’t hang on. He had drained all his energy, every ounce of his strength. His fingers were slipping and his arms cramped in pain. He tried desperately to hang on, but there was nothing more he could do.
He felt his grip slipping and he closed his eyes for the fall.
Time stopped, the world froze in place. He heard his heart beat and felt each pull of breath in his chest. He thought clearly and precisely as his mind raced ahead.
He opened his eyes and looked below him where Ammon was waiting in terror, his face sick and grim. It seemed as if he was trying to call to him, but his voice didn’t come. His brother reached up as if waiting to catch him when he fell. The rope lay curled at his feet, completely worthless now.
Lifting his head, he looked up to the overhang. He was so close. Just another few inches. But he simply did not have the strength. He was hanging by one hand now. His fingers slipped again, and he held on by his last knuckles.
He listened to his heartbeat. Then he started praying. “Please, I do not want to die.”
He closed his eye. Numbing pain in his arms. A sickening fear in his chest. “I don’t want to die!” he cried again.
“Then fight!” something told him.
He opened his eyes and looked around.
“Fight! This is your choice!”
The voice was so clear, it was as if someone had whispered in his ear. He blinked in confusion, feeling sudden strength in his arms.
“This is not your time,” the unseen voice whispered. “You have more work to do. Now, are you going to fight so I can help you or are you going to let go?”
Luke tightened his grasp on the rock.
“Look to your right! There is a firm handhold there.”
Luke turned his head and saw a large protrusion in the rock he had not noticed before. How could he have missed it? Was it really there before? He reached out and grabbed it. It fit like a glove in his hand and he curled his fingers around it, a perfect handhold. He felt a sudden rush of strength and he reached with his other hand. Another crack in the rock provided another handhold and he moved slowly upward on the ledge. He reached the edge of the overhang and hung, still suspended, then started swinging his legs while pulling himself up with his arms. He got one knee up and clawed at the overhang with his feet while pulling up with his arms. His other foot brushed the rock and he felt another rush of strength. He pulled one final time and his feet caught the top of the ledge. With strength beyond his own, he heaved himself over the top, then collapsed in a heap of quivering flesh.
He couldn’t move his fingers. He couldn’t move his arms. He was so numb and exhausted he barely had the strength to breathe. His head dropped to the side and he saw bloody scratches on his arm. His stomach turned to water, bitter and tart, and he rolled to his side and threw up a gush of clear fluid. Then he lay back, exhausted, barely able to think.
Below him, he heard his brother’s desperate sobs.
* * *
Ammon had fallen to his knees, then rolled onto his side. He pulled his arms to his chest and held himself tight while great tears of horror and relief rolled down his cheeks to dribble across his neck.
He had almost killed his brother. The whole thing would have been his fault! He shuddered again as his face went pale. A cold sweat drenched his face, his lips almost turning blue.
God had saved him! He had reached down from heaven and pulled Luke up and over the ledge. Ammon had watched it. There was no doubt in his mind. Someone had saved him, someone from above.
He looked at the rope that lay curled at his knees, one end still attached to Luke’s harness, then picked up the bolt and carabineer and felt sick again.
He sobbed with emotion, overcome with guilt and relief.
He had almost killed his brother! How could he have gone on if Luke had fallen? Would he ever get over this moment? Would the dread ever pass?
He felt sick and alone. And he knew in his heart he would never be the same man again.
* * *
A long moment passed. How long, Ammon didn’t know, it felt like only a few seconds, but it could have been much longer. He finally pushed himself to his feet, untied the rope from his harness and ran up the trail to the topside of the rock. Looking over the ledge, he saw Luke waiting there, leaning against the cliff, his arms hanging weakly at his side. Ammon looked down at his brother a moment before Luke noticed that he was standing over his head.
Ammon couldn’t speak. His mind was a haze.
“Hey, that was kind of exciting.” Luke said with a smile.
Ammon shook his head. “I’m so sorry . . . so sorry . . . .”
“What for?”
“The rope. The bolt! It was my fault.”
Luke shook his head and waved a dismissive hand, barely lifting it from his lap. “Come on, Ammon. Don’t go soft on me, brother. It’s one of those things. Anyone who climbs knows that it could happen. There was no way you could know. Just one of those things.”
“I should have known the bolt wasn’t sure. The rock was starting to crack. I should have stopped you.”
Luke pushed himself up, leaning into the rock. “That’s a crock! There was no way you could know. Now don’t go girly on me, brother! Besides, I’m OK. And now I can say I made it over the ledge. Without a safety rope even! Let’s see Sam beat that!”
Luke smiled, but his voice trailed off and both of the young men were silent.
After a moment of quiet, Luke said, “I heard something.” His voice was solemn, almost reverent.
Ammon’s eyes narrowed. “I saw something,” he replied.
“I felt such strength.”
“It was as if a hand lifted you up and over the ledge.”
They both fell still for a very long time. Then they looked at each other and Luke lowered his eyes. “Can you secure the rope? I want to get off of this ledge.”
Luke stood weakly. He barely had the strength to gather the rope from where it dangled over the side of the overhan
g, coil it up loosely and throw it up to Ammon, who secured it to the tree before pulling him the last ten feet to the top of the rock.
The two young men drove in silence the entire way home. “Should we tell Dad when he gets back from his trip?” Ammon asked as they pulled into the drive.
Luke shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Maybe someday, but let’s not mention it for now.”
SIX
The prince’s family was returning to the city. There were two young teenage boys and a daughter who had just celebrated her tenth birthday. Princess Tala hurried them forward and they moved smartly into the long limousine, a black BMW with bulletproof windows; steel rails in the side doors, surrounding the battery and the radiator; blast-proof metal plates welded underneath the floor; and run-flat tires.
Princess Tala, first wife of Crown Prince Saud, followed her children into the limousine’s backseat. She moved carefully, her hand subconsciously protecting her stomach. She was just weeks away from delivering her third son, another prince for the kingdom, and she had developed a habit of resting her hand on her abdomen as she walked. Dropping into the back seat, she adjusted herself, smoothing her white dress and blowing away a stray curl of hair from her eyes. Tala was slender and beautiful, with deep green eyes and rich chestnut hair hidden under a silk scarf and thin veil. She sat gracefully, every move elegant, her eyes soft and wide like her ancestral mothers, the ancient Egyptian queens. Her dark skin was perfect and flawless, and the sight of her long neck and green eyes revealed enough beauty to command the attention of any man.
The Crown Prince had chosen wisely. Tala was a princess in every sense of the word. Which was both a great blessing and a weakness. Depending on how long she lived.
The three children sat across from their mother in the long sedan, their backs facing their bodyguard and driver. The princess nodded to the men in the front seat and the convoy began to move down the circular drive that led from the villa to the front gate that protected the grounds. The Royal Family’s modest summer palace, a mere forty-five rooms and three pools, fell behind the line of cars, and the princess sighed deeply and looked out her bulletproof window to see the receding summer palace.
Wrath & Righteousnes Episodes 01 to 05 Page 20