Within the Sanctuary of Wings (The Memoirs of Lady Trent #5)

It was madness, of course. The decision to leave Scirland at all had been a gamble; this was a much larger one. The weather was clear now, but how long would that hold? “When we were here before,” Thu said, with the cautious air of a man offering up a slender thread of hope, “we planned out what I think is a route to the col. We did not attempt it because there was no point—it had no military use—but I believe our group could manage it.”


Assuming our skills were adequate to the task. Assuming the weather did not take a turn for the worse. Assuming that Gyaptse did not live down to its reputation, and crush this group of foolhardy humans who thumbed their noses at its power.

I had not travelled halfway around the world only to give up at the end.

Tom shook his head, not in disagreement, but in a gesture so familiar to me from years of partnership: disbelief at what he was about to say. “Well. If we’re going to get ourselves killed, we might as well get started.”

*

By the standards of modern mountaineering, Thu’s route up to the col is accounted a moderate challenge, but not a tremendous one. It is more than enough to deter the casual passerby, but within the reach of those equipped with ropes, alpenstocks, crampons, and the techniques of belaying. For this I am eternally grateful, because were it any more difficult, we should not have made it at all—and then not only my life but the field of dragon naturalism and, indeed, the world as a whole would have been quite different.

The first part was simply hiking, out of the valley and toward the ramparts of the neighbouring peak of Cheja. There we climbed the ridge I mentioned before and traversed the mountain’s lower slopes, heading for the dark tower of Gyaptse once more. But two technical hurdles stood in our path, and these tested my own meager climbing abilities to the utmost.

To attain the higher elevation of that traverse, the shoulder which would permit us to approach the col, we had to ascend a narrow chimney: a gap in the rocks where one climbs not by clinging to the outside of the stones, but by bracing against their inward faces and using this pressure for support. This is most difficult, and most hazardous, for the one who goes first, as that individual climbs without the safety of a rope from above. If he falls, there is nothing to catch him. This chimney was only about four or five meters high, so our leader might hope to escape serious injury at the first impact—but the terrain at the bottom was such that he stood a great risk of tumbling out and over the nearest edge, whereupon those behind him would have to arrest his fall. And our own footing there was none too secure, as by then the friendly ridge which had borne us to that point was deteriorating into crumbling, rotten rock.

Thu insisted on leading the way up the chimney. Chendley granted this only when we pointed out that Thu was smaller than anyone save myself, and thus we had the best chance of holding on if the worst should happen. Our Yelangese friend made short work of the chimney, but I do not think I took a single breath until he was safely at the top. And then I had to hold it again while Thu belayed Tom up. This done, Tom edged past him to a better spot, anchoring both Thu and himself while I made the climb.

In the mountains of Anthiope, in those places where the climbs are considered suitable for the frailty of ladies, it is not uncommon to see women in skirts being hauled up such obstacles by the main force of the men above them. Indeed, experienced women mountaineers such as Miss Collier and Mrs. Winstow have often had to argue strenuously to prevent themselves from being subjected to the same assistance. Had I been in need of that kind of aid, I would have found myself in dire straits that day: the footing above was no better than at the bottom, and while Tom could loop the rope around a nearby stone for support, he and Thu could not have lifted me without endangering themselves. Although I had their belay for safety, I had no option but to do the work of climbing on my own. My shoulders and knees ached by the time I reached the top, and I did suffer a stabbing pain or three from my cracked rib … but I must confess I felt pride in the achievement, and grinned broadly at both men while I took my place in the line.

The second obstacle was the location we dubbed, by universal agreement, the Cursed Crack. This is without a doubt the most absurd bit of terrain I have ever set myself against, and I hope never to see a worse. This too is a chimney, but one far too narrow for a climber to fit inside. The only way to ascend it is to wedge one hand and foot into the crack, and with the other pair to grip whatever discolorations in the stone might pass for holds. One’s instinct is to huddle as close to the crack as possible, but this will not do: safety lies in spreading oneself broadly, as if hugging the mountain. This is far from a reassuring position to be in, and Suhail exercised his creativity on the way up, formulating oaths in an astonishing medley of languages.

I felt no pride when I finally reached the top of the crack, for I was too exhausted. We had ascended at least a thousand meters since leaving Hlamtse Rong, likely more, and the change was palpable. The smallest exertion had me gasping for breath, much to the detriment of my ribs, and my heart never ceased its frantic pounding. Even the knowledge that our only remaining obstacle was a relatively easy trek across the icy expanse of the col to the area of our search could not put much life into my limbs, for each of them felt as if it weighed at least three times as much as usual.

No force in the world could have turned me back, though. It was difficult enough to accept that we must pitch our tents at the top of the crack, as the day was much too far gone for us to reach any other shelter before night fell, and the winds through the center of the col were vicious. (A fact for which we must be grateful: were it not for those winds, the snow there would have buried any specimens much too deep to ever be recovered.) But I do not think I slept more than two winks that night.

Dawn comes early in such a place: at that high an elevation, there are few peaks to block the sun. I was awake even before then, and although the air was most bitterly cold, I must confess that dawn ranks among the most glorious of my life. The light came first to the peaks of Cheja and Gyaptse, igniting them with brilliant fire, while below the shadowed slopes remained grim and dark. There is no contrast more stark in all the world, not even in the deserts of Akhia. It felt as if the descending line of the dawn was bringing life toward me one meter at a time, and when it arrived, the world transformed. Gut-curdling doubts about my decision to come to Tser-nga gave way to a bone-deep certainty that our quest would be successful. I had no scientific basis for this change of heart; but I was sure.

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