Powder Burn (Burn with Sam Blackett #1)

by Chisnell, Mark

  The lost Kingdom of Shibde – a vast spread of mountains and snow – rolled out from the towering twenty-seven-thousand-foot peak beside her. She was really here, treading in the footsteps of the early explorers, lording it over the cool silence of the roof of the world. The place that many believed was home to the real Shangri-La.

  There was no going back now. If she wanted to be a real journalist, if she wanted to write stories that had an impact, stories that told the truth about the world, stories that could change people’s lives, then this was where she should be. Whatever happened from here on in, this was what she wanted to do. She felt a mixed rush of fear and excitement. She knew her father would be proud of her.

  “It’s looking good, plenty of snow to ride,” said Pete, almost bouncing towards her in his anticipation. He turned round to follow her gaze. “It’s awesome, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, rubbing her cold nose against the raised collar of her jacket. “So where next?” she croaked.

  “Getting your breath back?”

  “Slowly.”

  “OK, you know to watch out for that? It’s an altitude-sickness symptom if you don’t get your respiration back to normal after ten minutes or so.”

  She nodded again, letting herself be mothered this time. “So, where next?” she repeated.

  “First thing is to pick up the food we stashed by that rock last time we were here.” He pointed downhill to the spot.

  “You’ve already been up here?”

  “We climbed up to do a reccy and were going to leave it at the top, but when we got here we all felt great, so we figured it would be good to get into Shibde, even if it was just a few metres. And it’s just like Lens said, right? Nothing, no people, absolute wilderness.” He waved out at the vista.

  She muttered an affirmation.

  He pointed down to their left. “Once we get down to the bottom, there’s a nice campsite, bit like Scotland.”

  “Isn’t that in England?”

  “Not really ... it’s ... doesn’t matter. Anyway, we’ll camp there tonight, and then we follow this valley to the west, until it joins another one that runs off towards the northeast. We turn down that, and walk until we can see a notch, a gap in the crest of the northern side of the valley. We climb up to the notch, and Powder Burn is just over the other side. It’s an easy three days, maybe one more to find a film spot and get organized for the descent.”

  “We’re getting close,” she said.

  Pete sat down beside her. “And only one more big climb for you.”

  “Thank god for that,” she said, heartfelt. “The patch is coming off your jacket, by the way, the one on the back.” She tapped the offending material.

  “Oh, thanks, I’ve got some more duct tape. I’ll sort it tonight, kit’s getting pretty tired.” He smiled. “I had a quick look with the binoculars and there’s a really nice spot by a stream down there.”

  “Thinking ahead again.”

  “All care, no responsibility, that’s me.”

  She smiled.

  “I’m going to see where Lens has got to.”

  “You don’t mind if I stay here?”

  “No, ma’am ...” He started to stand up.

  Then she remembered: “Oh, do you have any sunblock to spare? I’m getting pretty low,” she said.

  “Yeah, right here.” He pulled a small tube out of his pocket as he spoke, and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, but he was already gone. She pulled her camera out of her pack and flicked the switch to turn it on. This, she thought, is going to make the front page of National Geographic, or maybe even the New York Times. It was going to be a first step to finally righting the wrong of ten years ago. The unexplained death of her father in action in Iraq.

  Sam chucked her spoon into her empty bowl and leaned against her pack – she was so sick of powdered tomato soup. She arched and stretched her back, soaking up the scenery around their lunch stop. The pleasant, supposedly Scottish campsite of two days previously had faded to rocky wilderness as they toiled up the valley. But now they had reached the corner and were headed northeast, and there were the first signs of a watercourse that marked the start of this new valley’s descent.

  “Hey, Pete, have you got the binoculars?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Pete put down his soup bowl and rummaged in his pack.

  She had noticed something on the valley side above them, and as it came into focus through the binoculars she let out a low whistle. “There’s some kind of ruined building up there,” she said. They all followed her gaze upwards.

  “Let’s have a look,” said Lens, holding out his hand.

  Sam held on to the binoculars until she could feel Lens’s impatience. Then she passed them to Pete, who in turn passed them on. “We should go and have a poke around,” she said.

  Vegas was first to speak. “Like, why?”

  “Because it could be interesting,” she replied.

  “You’re gonna have to come up with a better reason than that to get me to climb an extra five hundred feet or so,” retorted Vegas.

  “Looks like an old monastery,” said Lens, lowering the binoculars. “Probably worth a look.” He waved down the valley. “We can see the notch we’re looking for, so it can’t be more than an hour or two’s walking from here before we camp. We’ve got loads of time.”

  Pete nodded, Vegas slurped at his soup.

  “OK, let’s do it,” said Lens. “You want to stay here with the gear, Vegas?”

  Vegas looked around the three of them, then up at the building. He frowned. “Kind of lame sitting here on my own ...”

  With time on their hands and no packs, it felt like a Sunday-afternoon stroll – albeit a stroll up a very steep hill at high altitude – but for once, the four of them ascended the final rise almost together. They all stopped. The building was set back a little way on a flat section, a steep rock cliff rising beyond it.

  “Bloody hell,” said Pete.

  The others just looked in silence. The building had originally been bigger than it looked from the valley floor, but over half the walls had been flattened down to the foundations. What was still standing appeared to bear centuries of wear, but some wooden window frames and brown-grey cement indicated a more recent pedigree. Someone had strung a raggedy curl of barbed wire between rough posts, from which filthy, ragged prayer flags hung sadly.

  “I wonder what happened here,” said Pete, moving through the door into the one remaining complete room.

  “There isn’t much left is there,” said Sam, as she stepped gingerly over the wire to follow him.

  “I think Demagistan happened here,” said Lens, kneeling down to line up a shot of the building through the barbed wire.

  Sam stepped into the room. There was nothing, just crumbling brick and dust, a dirt floor. She stood for a moment and tried to imagine the place occupied, but the wind and the isolation had exorcised any ghosts; the place was a ruin, a shell, nothing remained to tell of the lives lived in this desolate spot.

  “Hey, look at this,” called Pete from behind the building.

  Lens started over the wire with Vegas, and they were close behind Sam as she rounded the corner.

  “Cool,” said Lens, pulling up in front of the painting on the rock face.

  “Not bad, huh,” said Pete.

  “Huh ...” said Vegas.

  Sam ignored him, running her hands over an ochre stain that had spread across the rock below the painting. “I wonder who it is,” she said.

  “It looks a bit like pictures I’ve seen of Drolma, or Tara in Sanskrit. She’s the female version of Chenresig, Bodhisattva of Compassion,” replied Lens.

  “There wasn’t much compassion shown round here,” said Pete.

  “I think if you look in the dictionary under ruthless, you’ll find Demagistan,” said Lens.

  “What do they want with the place anyway?” asked Pete.

  “Minerals probably, who knows what’s locked under the
se mountains. That and a military buffer zone – once you control the uplands, no one is coming in that way.”

  “I don’t understand why the West doesn’t do something about this,” said Pete, kicking a toe into the dirt. “Your lot must know what’s going on – they have the satellite images you used.”

  Lens shrugged. “I guess they figure it isn’t in their interests to advertise the fact. If we bring it to people’s attention there will just be public pressure to act, and they’ve got plenty to worry about right now.”

  “But it’s weird that no one even knows what’s going on – that the Shibdeese haven’t asked for help, that there are no refugees or anything,” said Sam.

  “They’ve isolated themselves in these mountains for over a hundred and fifty years – all very well until you need friends. Or maybe they just believe in solving their own problems,” said Lens.

  “But how did they do that in the first place?” asked Pete.

  “It was one of yours, that Brit that got in here in 1854, Harry Spedding, he brokered a deal,” explained Lens. “The British Empire guaranteed Shibde’s closed borders in exchange for all the lowland territory. That’s why the place doesn’t have a single border below fifteen thousand feet. When India gained her independence, there was some sort of follow-on treaty negotiated, and that was the last anyone heard of Shibde, until these stories started surfacing about the invasion a few years ago. Spedding wrote a book about the place as he found it in the nineteenth century though. Island of Altitude – you should check it out when we get back, it’s quite a story.”

  “Well, isolation ain’t working for them now by the looks of this place ...” replied Pete.

  “Maybe not, but then look at Afghanistan, or any number of places laid to waste by the superpowers fighting their proxy wars. I wouldn’t wish that fate on Shibde,” said Lens. “Would you mind just pulling to one side, there won’t be sunlight on it for much longer,” he added.

  “Sorry,” said Pete, stepping back. “It might give the game away if you use that in the film,” he added.

  “It’s just for me,” said Lens, starting his shot, panning round to take in the ruined buildings and barbed wire.

  “There’s nothing to see here,” said Vegas. “I’m gonna head back down, maybe move on up the road and see if I can find us a camp spot.”

  “Grab the stove out of my pack, then you can get a brew on when you get there,” said Pete.

  Vegas grimaced and left.

  “Nothing to see here?” said Sam, spreading her arms wide to take in both the foreground of ruined culture and the background of high Himalayas. “I’m worried about him.”

  “It’s just Vegas,” said Pete.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “He’s been quiet, and even moodier than normal the last couple of days.”

  “He’s fine, don’t worry about him. It’s cold and rough and there’s no oxygen up here, gets everyone down at some time or another,” Pete replied.

  “Maybe,” she said. She flipped up the collar on her down jacket and nestled a little deeper inside it, leaning back against the monastery wall. Pete smiled, and wandered off along the cliff.

  “I wanted to apologize again,” said Lens.

  She turned.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’re pretty unhappy about the way I set this up. I just want you to understand how important this film is to me, everything depends on it – my whole life.”

  She eyed him skeptically – he had squatted with his back to the cliff, facing her, hands deep in the jacket pockets.

  “No, really, I’ve mortgaged the house up to the roof beams to get the money for this film,” went on Lens. “If it doesn’t work, I lose the family home. I’ve got a wife and kid. The publicity from your article is such an unbelievable opportunity. It might make the whole difference between success and failure. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d not come if you heard it was in Shibde before we left – and leaving you in a position to tell other people where Powder Burn is – do you see?”

  It was so tempting to prick his little bubble and tell him the limits of her actual journalism. But saying something now would only jeopardize the whole thing. And she needed to get this done just as much as he did. No, that glorious moment would have to wait. So in the end, she just said, “That’s what worries me.”

  Lens looked at her for a moment before catching on. Then he said, “Pete will have the final say on the mountain, I promise you. Even if they don’t ride the top, some of it will be safe – and it’s still a story. It’s not getting there at all, or losing the film, that idea really freaks me out.” He paused. “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So do you accept my apology, can we try and get on a little better?”

  Sam looked down to hide a satisfied smile – at least she’d been getting to him, but it was probably time to call a truce. She still had her ace to play when the moment was right. “OK. I accept,” she said, with a little sigh for her reluctant concession.

  “Thanks,” said Lens, and held his hand out.

  Sam took it firmly, and shook.

  “I’ll get a couple more shots and then we should be getting back down,” he said.

  “Yeah, me too,” she replied, pulling out her camera.

  “You’re taking pictures?” said Lens. “What about our agreement?”

  “Our agreement says I won’t use them to tell people where Powder Burn is, and I won’t. So you have nothing to worry about. For goodness’ sake, Lens. Chill out. I just want some memories.”

  He was silent for a moment, his gaze locked on hers. Then he seemed to relent. “OK. Sorry.”

  Chapter 10

  “Hey, Vegas, hold up a minute.” Pete’s yell echoed out into the expansive silence of the valley, and Sam glanced up just in time to see Vegas stop and look back at them. They were almost halfway up to the notch, scrambling through a mix of rock, snow and ice. “Not sure that’s the best way. Hold on a minute while we check the pictures,” called Pete.

  She watched Vegas roll the pack off his back, awkward with the snowboard strapped to it, and then slump down beside it. She waited with Pete for Lens to catch up with them. Even after the exertion, she was cooling off fast in the freezing air. Pete pulled the satellite photos out of the side-pocket of Lens’s pack, and they crowded round to take a look. Pete stabbed at the image with a grubby finger and chipped nail. “Yeah, this is what I’m worried about. This is the notch that we’re aiming for, and we’re heading to the right side of that huge slab of rock.” He looked up and pointed. Grey cloud scudded above the top, but the visibility was good where they needed it. “The section above that rock slab looks like some pretty technical ice climbing.” Pete glanced at the photo again and then turned to his left. “But if we go across from here, under the rock slab, then we can get onto the broken section of rock running up the left of it. That’s just a scramble, it’s much easier.”

  Sam and Lens both examined the photo and then the terrain. Lens was the first to speak. “Uh-huh, so there’s just the little issue of getting across this ice cliff then,” he said.

  It was easy to see why Vegas had carried straight on up. The massive rock slab finished in a broad field of ice that dropped away to an overhanging face. One slip on that ice cliff and the only thing between it and the bottom of the valley was an awful lot of very thin air.

  “It’s worth doing it,” said Pete. “It’ll be a lot easier crossing this than getting us all up that other ice face.”

  “I thought you said there wasn’t any technical climbing required,” said Sam. “Only you and Vegas have harnesses, crampons and axes.”

  “Well, I guess I lied – let me have a look at your boots,” said Pete, kneeling. “I think I can get my crampons to fit these.” He stood again, caught Sam’s doubtful expression. “It’s OK, I’ll lead it. I don’t have a lot of gear, but we’ll tie a safety off on that rock, and then I can get a few ice screws in for protection on the way over. Once
the rope’s in place we’ll use it as a fixed line, and the rest of you can come across one at a time using the second harness and a couple of slings. I’ll take both the ropes over so we can haul the harness and slings backwards and forwards. It’s not perfect, but it’ll be all right, and once we’ve done it, it’s just scrambling to the top.”

  Lens nodded. “I’ll set up to film you on the crossing.”

  Pete turned and looked back up to Vegas and waved. “Come on back down, we’re going across here,” he called.

  Pete broke out his gear, and while Lens looked for a good spot for the camera, Sam found a rock and sat down. By the time Vegas had retreated back to them, Pete was already in his harness. He explained the plan while he fastened his crampons, and Vegas followed his lead without a word. It was ten minutes before they were ready. Pete set up the safety line and a position for Vegas and then made sure they were all quite clear on the order of things and the techniques. “You come across last, Vegas, pull out the gear as you get to it,” he finished up. “I’ll have you on a safety line from the other side ...” Pete hesitated and leaned forward, flicking the rope connecting him to Vegas so that he could see properly. “Other way.”

  “Huh?”

  “Thread it through the other way.” Pete started untying himself to give Vegas the rope tail.

  “It’s good to go,” stated Vegas, peering downwards at the rope and his harness.

  “Nah, it’s not. And since I’m the one that might be dangling off it, I’d prefer you to do it my way.”

  Vegas looked up, and for a second Sam thought that he was going to argue. Then he started rethreading the proffered rope.

  Pete twitched his head at Sam as he took the awkward steps on his crampons to the start of the ice cliff. She joined him, and he asked her, “Did you do any climbing while you were chasing those bears in Vermont? Can you tie a figure-eight knot?”

  “No and yes.”