Kiss the Sky

by MK Schiller

  Farah nodded. “She had surgery today to remove her gallbladder. She’s recuperating. Thank you for asking.”

  “I’m glad she’s okay. But I am curious. Was the shopkeeper really telling me the story?”

  She shook her head. “No. We were discussing the weather. The story was mine. It’s one my amma used to tell me when I was a child.”

  Not exactly a warm and fuzzy bedtime story. “You’re a very talented actress to keep up with two different conversations at once.”

  She frowned. “I don’t believe that’s a compliment.”

  He inhaled a lungful of air. It smelled of wild jasmine and chocolate. Why did she smell so good? “It’s not.”

  “You shouldn’t hold such a grudge. There’s a long history of western climbers being careless in their shopping habits when they arrive here.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “There are cases dating all the way back to Eckenstein. He was—”

  “I know who he was. He was in charge of one of the first expeditions on K2 back in nineteen hundred.” Eckenstein’s partner, the famous Aleister Crowley, an openly bisexual man who believed in the occult, received more attention in the history books. Of course, his likeness was prominent on the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band cover. Interesting she had brought up Eckenstein.

  “A little earlier, actually. This was his first expedition, the one he didn’t consider successful. Anyway, he spent hours negotiating the price of a jeweled dress, bartering until the shopkeeper finally accepted his terms.”

  “So, what happened? The guy took his money and ran?”

  “Just the opposite. He made the purchase, but he no longer wanted it.”

  “What was the problem?”

  “It turns out he wasn’t negotiating for the dress after all, but rather the woman in the dress, although he had no idea. Quite a scandal.”

  Tristan laughed, a gut-busting laugh, something he hadn’t done in a long time. “Well, guess it could have been worse for me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why don’t you want me on your expedition, Farah?”

  She tilted her head down. “It’s too late for us to take on any joiners.” With that, she climbed back into the trailer of the truck. She turned on a flashlight and jotted notes on her clipboard.

  Tristan wasn’t about to be dismissed so lightly. “It’s not too late. Did you forget I owned my own tour company? I understand how expeditions work.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Her tone had enough salt to season a dozen pretzels.

  “I don’t believe that’s a compliment.”

  She kept adjusting boxes and opening them up to count the contents. “Look, I’ve seen what companies like yours have done to Everest. People treat it like an amusement park. One huge rubbish pile where everyone is clamoring to get to the top, not caring what they leave behind never decomposes.”

  He understood her argument. Everest wasn’t the same mountain climbed by Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay. Somewhere down the line, mountain climbing became a business. Summiting Everest developed into a rite of passage for anyone who’d ever handled an ice axe. Farah, being a purist, held Tristan responsible in part for ruining nature at its best. In truth, most climbing companies left a carbon footprint the size of Sasquatch.

  “My company isn’t like that.”

  “Whatever it’s like, I don’t want you polluting my mountain.”

  “K2 belongs to you now?”

  “Yes. It belongs to me and everyone else. I decided a long time ago it’s my job to protect it. I won’t let people like you turn it commercial. Why are you here? Is there not enough money to be made on Everest?”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing? Starting a new company on K2?”

  She let out a long breath, the curl on her forehead lifting. “Aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m not scouting out a new business venture. I’m here for myself.”

  “I’m sure there are other expeditions for you to join.”

  “Not this late into summer. Look, I get it. When you’re up there, you have to be able to trust every man on the team.”

  “I have to trust myself most of all, and my instincts tell me you’re not good for me.”

  He arched his brow. “Good for you?”

  She swallowed, her eyes widening as he repeated her words. “I mean, good for our expedition. I’m sorry, Tristan. I really am.”

  “It’s because I don’t pray, isn’t it? C’mon, be honest. At least give me the courtesy of looking at me.”

  She turned her head, giving him a full-on stare with her intense eyes. He’d thought her eyes to be mysterious, but they revealed everything. Her fear, her uncertainty, her vulnerability, her pride, and most of all, her strength.

  “I’m not some religious zealot. I just think of this as a spiritual endeavor, not another line to add to my biography. I’ve seen what you have done. It’s impressive.”

  “But not to you.”

  “We’re just very different in our goals. You’re the man who skied off Denali and snowboarded Everest. But I’m the climber who’s tried and failed four times. This will be my last attempt. I won’t risk an exhibitionist slowing me down.”

  Even as she pounded his hopes into dust, he still admired her tenacity. The fact she was out here checking equipment spoke volumes, especially considering her teammates were inside indulging in a meal. No doubt she’d worked damn hard to get here, probably moved mountains in the process. Tristan had worked hard himself, but doors opened with less resistance for him. Her world was a million times harder. Hell, she couldn’t even give her friend money for an operation. She stood and went back to her work. He watched her count out packs of freeze-dried food.

  “You’re wrong about me, Ms. Nawaz. I am not your problem. I’m your solution. I will make sure we both summit.”

  This caused her to stop and look up. Her mouth parted. “You can’t promise that.”

  “I can, and I can back it up too. If we don’t summit together, then I’ll pay for your next trip.”

  She tilted her head, the disbelief clear on her face. “Are you serious?”

  “I am.”

  “You understand that even though I’m a local, the cost is still the same for me. It’s almost a hundred thousand.” She sighed. “And that’s US dollars.”

  “I’m aware. We can draw up a contract if you’d like. One that states I will fund your next expedition so long as you allow me to go on this one. Is it a deal?”

  “Why do you want this so much?”

  “I have my reasons. Why do you want it so much?”

  “Because ever since I was a child I was told I couldn’t do it. That made me want it even more.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Everyone. The entire universe.”

  “Ever consider the universe is right?”

  “Never.”

  “So you want to prove them wrong?”

  “I want to prove me right. Do you understand the difference?”

  “Yeah, sister. I’ve been where you are.”

  “It wasn’t just that I shouldn’t do it. It was that I couldn’t. It was physically impossible no matter how hard I worked or how much I wanted it. My DNA wasn’t made for great things.” Her laugh bordered on sad and cynical. “As if having a vagina is a handicap.”

  “We’re not so different, you and I.”

  She quirked her brow. Tristan held up his hand, wishing he could erase the last two seconds. “Not that I have a vagina. Definitely no vagina.”

  The melodic sound of her laughter bounced around the metal walls of the trailer. “Didn’t think so. I don’t have balls either.”

  “Glad we could clear that up. C’mon, Farah, let’s prove the universe wrong together.” He held out his hand. �
�Deal?”

  She didn’t respond for a few moments, her expression thoughtful. “Let’s get some dinner. You should meet the other climbers.”

  He almost asked her to repeat herself. “So I’m in?”

  She nodded and gripped his hand. She squeezed tight. “I hope you’re ready for this, Everest. I’m counting on you.”

  Chapter 6

  It’s been argued that the long, arduous journey to K2 through the rocky streets of Skardu was more dangerous than climbing the mountain itself. As the creaky old passenger van screeched and bounced along dirt roads and made hairpin turns around steep, rocky cliffs, Tristan was inclined to agree. The Karakorum Highway, commonly known as the KKH, or the old Silk Road to historians, was not for the faint of heart. Cut into the steep cliff of a mountain, it resembled a highway in some places, but in others, it was only small patches of rocky road no wider than a railroad track and just as smooth.

  On one side of them stood a monolith of rock, and on the other a cliff dropped off straight into the Indus River. There were more than a few times a wheel or two didn’t connect to the road. During those seconds, every passenger leaned to the left side to keep the weight distributed. God forbid, they encountered a vehicle traveling the opposite way. Whenever this happened, the drivers negotiated who would be allowed to pass because there was only room for one car at a time. They typically won as their driver, a loud, boisterous man, seemed hell bent not to let anything slow them down.

  Occasionally, they would pass a government checkpoint where a military official would climb aboard the van and verify their credentials. It all seemed surreal, especially with the Rolling Stone’s Bridges to Babylon album playing on the radio. Apparently, Rana favored western rock and roll.

  Tristan distracted himself by focusing on Farah. She sat in the first set of seats on the bus, looking out the window, unfazed by the drive. She must be used to it. He couldn’t understand how anyone could be used to this. Then again, she’d had four failed summits so she must have taken this ride before. If she summited, she’d be one of twenty elite women and the only Pakistani to hold that distinction.

  He wondered if there was a deeper meaning to her words from the other night. You’re not good for me. He shook the thoughts from his head and turned to the other members of the team. The blond man, Malcolm Ball, didn’t seem all that welcoming, but he tolerated Tristan’s addition. Then there were three more men in the group. A hulking, broad-shouldered, jovial Swede named Bjorn. A short, stocky Italian, Lino, who he recognized from the article. Meeting him last night, it was clear he took great pride in sharing the same name as the first man to actually summit K2 back in ’54. Edelweiss was the seventh member of the team. He was the oldest and had the least experience. Tristan had watched him while they loaded cargo. Edelweiss’s hefty muscles left little doubt about his strength, but on K2, stamina trumped brute force.

  The number of oxygen canisters labeled with the man’s name was a concern too. Tristan always made sure there were plenty of canisters for his clients, but he never used supplemental oxygen himself. The canisters were heavy and weighed him down too much. Although it helped at high altitudes where the air was incredibly thin, the canisters became a drug. He’d seen climbers become disoriented when their supplies ran out. Even when changing canisters, a climber could make a stupid mistake. Tristan relied on his body to give him warning signs and confirmations if he should continue a climb. Supplemental oxygen might rob a climber of those natural defenses. The mind could be more dangerous than the mountain.

  Rana sat next to him. Tristan nodded occasionally as the man rattled on about the trip. A few rocks hit the top of the van. Tristan tightened his grip on the arm rest. Their driver uttered “Inshallah.” Rana went into a long narrative about the time a group of climbers were wiped off the road by a mudslide before they even set foot on base camp.

  Um…not exactly the kind of story he needed to hear right now.

  “What’s wrong?” Rana asked.

  Tristan tilted his chin toward the first row of seats. “What’s her story?” He wanted to change the subject, but he was also genuinely curious. He kept his voice low, but there was no need. The wheezing of the engine over rocky terrain masked the question.

  “She’s succeeded on a few of the peaks on Karakorum. She did Eiger too.”

  Farah Nawaz surprised him at every turn. He didn’t peg her for a Swiss Alps kind of girl. “Really?” Then again, there weren’t that many female alpinists to begin with.

  “She studied in Europe. Anyway, K2 has always been her goal. Like me, she’s tried and failed. We both have scores to settle. She’s pretty impressive.”

  “Very,” Tristan said.

  Rana elbowed him, wiggling his brows. “And she’s pretty pretty.”

  “So I noticed.”

  He frowned. “Do me a favor and stop noticing.”

  Clearly, Rana had a crush on Farah. Tristan couldn’t blame him. The more he got to know her, the more interested he became. She was intriguing. Yeah, that was all there was to it.

  “Understood. I’m just surprised I haven’t heard of her before.”

  “She keeps a low profile.”

  “Do you know her well?”

  Rana looked at Farah and back at him. “Well enough to know she is not for you.”

  The warning was clear. Back off.

  “Understood, brother. Just asking a question.” Rana was right. He had to trust her, but he needed to remain detached. His interest in her was careless, and nothing spelled danger in brighter letters than carelessness.

  He turned his attention to the other climbers. “Do you think everyone on the expedition is up for this challenge?”

  “You’re worried about Edelweiss. I get it. He’s old. He may not have as many big ice summits as the rest of us, but he’s got solid credentials. Malcolm’s an asshole, but he knows his stuff and he vouched for the man. They hiked Kala Patthar last year. Besides, this trip is as personal for him as it is for you.”

  “You know about Drew?”

  “I read about it. Let me offer my condolences. It had to be very difficult.”

  “Thank you.” Tristan did not want to open up those wounds now. “How is it personal for Edelweiss?”

  “He has history on the mountain too. His grandfather attempted a summit bid back in forty.”

  “I didn’t know there was a summit bid in forty.”

  “Heard he received special permission. He went with a small group. They faced a severe storm. When the team cut their losses to head back, the man refused to descend. They had to choose between leaving him behind or all dying together.” Those were the kinds of decisions men needed to make at eight thousand meters when the air was so thin breathing became a luxury.

  “So Edelweiss wants to finish what his granddad started?”

  “Quite a bit more, actually. Last year a group of climbers took the same route as us. They came upon his grandfather’s remains. They took a picture. The man is surprisingly intact. Edelweiss wants to bury him.”

  It wasn’t unusual to find remains on the mountains. It went without saying if you died on the mountain, you’d be buried there. All climbers accepted that possibility, but it was rare to hear of someone going in search of the dead.

  “Don’t tell me we’re going to look for a body.” They were explorers, not archeologists. Then again, if anyone understood the importance of a proper burial, it was Tristan.

  “Relax, we know exactly where he is. The climbers recorded the longitude and latitude. Edelweiss understands if we run into trouble, we’ll have to skip the funeral. But I did promise him we’d try.”

  “Is this why we’re doing the Magic Line instead of Abruzzi?”

  “It’s part of it. Like I said, that was a group decision. I want to try it too. The normal paths have never been successful for me.”

  Tristan wanted
to ask Rana more, but the van groaned to a screeching halt. Everyone got out. They’d arrived in the Hunza Valley. Tristan’s muscles burned and ached. His six-foot-two frame had been cramped in a tiny space made for a much smaller form for the past six hours. But there was little time to stretch tired legs. The day after tomorrow, they would make it to the remote village of Askole. That was as far as they could drive. From there, it was at least another sixty-mile hike to the Baltoro Glacier. And that would take them to the foot of K2. Then they could start their climb.

  It took only a few minutes before a group of porters surrounded them. They all wanted to be chosen for the journey. One trip hauling supplies would feed their families for a year. But they were only using porters to get to Concordia Base Camp. Tristan paid his porters in Everest over the standard wage, but even that felt like a crime. He’d always had a hard time with the idea they were only paid about two dollars a day to strap heavy luggage on their backs and haul it across the rough terrain. But this was the way of life here, and the cost of living was low. The men wore shoes with holes in them and threadbare sweaters, yet Tristan had no doubt they were all skilled climbers. Climbing was part of their genetic make-up, more of a craft than an occupation, passed down from father to son. The men even had a union to protect them. They sat hunched on the ground waiting for Rana’s decision. He asked them questions about their experience and assessed each man’s ability. Tristan stepped away, not wanting to impede on Rana’s leadership role.

  Standing at the exit of the hotel, he sucked in a sharp breath. The air tasted different here…cleaner and sweeter. It was as if he’d never inhaled properly until that moment.

  “You ride?” Malcolm asked, clapping Tristan on the back. He wore his hair pinned on top of his head. A man-bun was one look Tristan was never going to understand.

  “Ride?”

  “Horses. There’s a polo match tomorrow. We can play with the locals if you’re interested. That is, if you know your way around a horse.”

  “I’ve never played polo, but I can ride a horse.” He couldn’t think of an odder invitation.