by MK Schiller
“No!”
“Good night.”
“I will not let you go. Do you understand? No one is going to kill us. We are survivors, you and I. Do not fucking surrender on me. No. Sleep. If you sleep, I’ll sing to you again. Is that what you want? I’ll bounce on the branch.” Sure enough, he started on a god-awful tune that would cause stray cats to gouge their ears. His body shifted as if he were bouncing her.
Dear God, did she laugh? How was that even possible? “No, not that.”
“If you like Fleetwood Mac, wait till you hear what I can do with Santana. Now talk to me. We’re in the fig tree, you and me. We’re eating figs so sweet they taste like spun sugar.”
“I don’t…. I don’t know what to say.” Every word made her weaker.
“Tell me what else you prayed for when we were on top of the mountain.”
“My mother.”
“Why?”
“I prayed she was happy. She wasn’t happy on earth. That’s why she killed herself.” His arms tightened around her. She felt safe and free. The same way she felt nestled inside the fig tree.
“I’m so sorry, Farah.”
She thought she’d seen the dark. But the lack of color behind her eyes gave a new name to darkness.
“She died when you were young. Who did you live with? Tell me.” Desperation tinged his voice. He was trying so hard to keep her talking. “Does it hurt to talk about?”
“Yes, it hurts.”
“Good.”
Good?
He kept talking, close to her ear; the sound of his voice and the warmth of his breath circled around her like the branches of the tree. “The pain cuts you on the inside. It makes you feel. You need to feel so you don’t go numb.” He stroked her hair, his fingers twisting in the strands. “C’mon, tell me now.”
“Mr. Jat said I couldn’t live there anymore. He had to send me away. He paid for me to go to the best schools. I met the sons and daughters of kings and politicians. I learned to speak different languages. How to be a lady. I got to make choices for myself Amma never had. I had more education than even his sons. He spared no expense on me. He’d visit me too. During school holidays, he took me places. France a few times. Germany once. He wanted to find me a husband. It was expected I should marry, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to see everything. Do everything. He didn’t hold me back. When he died, a package arrived at my London flat. He could not leave me an inheritance in the traditional way. Instead, he saved up in a secret bank account. He wrote a long letter and told me to use the money any way I wanted. He’d hoped I’d use it to finish my education and for my dowry, but I used it to climb a mountain instead.” Her small throaty laugh turned into a cough.
He rubbed her back until it subsided. “Here.” He held the water bottle to her lips. “Drink slow.”
Even in this half-awake state, where every cell in her body cried out from exhaustion, she stopped drinking when she realized she was taking more than her fair share of their rations.
“It sounds like he cared for you.”
“I cared for him too. I didn’t do it to spite him. I did it because I needed to be closer to heaven than earth.”
“I’m not thinking that. Why would you do it to spite him?”
“Because it wasn’t what he wanted. He never told me, but I knew it in my heart. I probably knew it from the time I was eight and I fell out of the fig tree. He carried me inside the house and called a doctor for me. He told me stories of Hunza and how he’d visited many years back. The way he looked at me, I knew it right then. No one had to tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“He was my father. I was his bastard child.”
“Your mother was his maid?”
“She was a girl he met on a business trip. He was already married and had two sons when I came along. Afterward, he found out about me. He didn’t want me to grow up with that stigma. So when he brought us to Islamabad, he kept my mother as a maid. She told me my father had died before I was born. I think she loved him, Tristan. It drove her crazy to live in that house. His wife knew who I was. His sons did too. They treated me badly, but every day they stole a piece of my mother’s soul until the world went dark for her. Dark like it is now. So dark you’ll never find the light again.”
“You’ll find it. I’m going to help you find it. Just don’t fall asleep. Keep your eyes open.”
She thought her eyes were closed this whole time. She blinked, realizing she was wrong.
“You must hate him.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
“I should, right? I tried to, but I can’t. I loved him. He tried to make a better life for me. He blamed himself for her death. He gave me choices. I want to hate him for all of it, but I can’t. I come from him. His blood is my blood. I’d have to hate myself too.”
Chapter 20
She didn’t remember everything they’d talked about, but the stars started to disappear. The black sky turned dark gray with bits of red. Eventually, it grew to a dull, cloudless white. They were still alive.
“Take some food,” he said. He held his hand flat, revealing a few handfuls of granola.
Her stomach churned with a hunger so fierce she could have eaten her own hand. She went to reach for it, but her gloves were clumsy. She would have knocked it over if he hadn’t closed his palm.
“Just open your mouth. Chew slowly.”
He fed her. After three handfuls, she stretched, her muscles protesting each movement. “It’s morning.” She honestly didn’t think she’d ever see another morning.
“We have to get going, Farah. If we make it to base camp, we can radio in for a rescue.”
Still cradled in Tristan’s arms, she turned her head to the man wrapped in the thermal blanket beside them.
“I just checked his pulse. He’s still alive.”
It was incredible that all three of them survived the night. “Really?”
“We don’t have time to appreciate miracles. Not when we have a few more to go. We should move while we still have energy left.”
She stood. Her legs turned to rubber and she almost fell, but he caught her. He put a hand on each of her hips.
“My body…”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Your body is strong. Don’t you for one second think you cannot do this. This body?” He held her tighter. “This body managed to latch on to the slickest ice while holding up the weight of two full grown men in the middle of an ice storm. You have the strength of a million angels.”
She believed him. He said exactly what she needed to hear.
Tristan rolled Malcolm inside the blanket. He tied the length of rope around Malcolm to secure the material and wrapped some torn pieces of clothing as a second layer. She wondered why he was leaving so much rope loose on either side. Then she realized his intention. He took the two ends of rope and tied them around his waist.
He handed her a set of poles that must have been Malcolm’s. He used his set. They had slept under an overhang that had kept the snow off them, but she realized now how deep it really was. It came up past her knee.
They started their long walk. Their progress was slow. Malcolm’s body dragged behind Tristan.
“When we get back, I’m going to eat a whole chocolate cake by myself,” she said.
“You won’t share?”
“You can have a bite.”
“Only a bite? That’s cold.”
A trickle of sweat rolled down his face. His breathing had turned harsher. Of course, carrying the burden of Malcolm by himself was taking a toll on him.
“Give me half.”
“What?”
“Give me the other half of the rope.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“I can do it by myself.”
“Chivalry is going to get you killed. I’m better now. You can see that, right? Give me half. I can carry my fair share.”
“It’s not chivalry. This isn’t your fair share. It’s mine. All mine.”
“Why?”
“What happened up there, Farah?”
“The rope broke.”
“How did it break? Did the screws come apart?”
“I think so.”
He closed his eyes. “The skin on his foot has been exposed. He’s probably going to lose his leg even if he does live. We need to get him down.”
His voice had the sharp edge of anguish. How did she not notice the rigid way he held his jaw? Last night, he’d saved her from herself. This morning, she had to return the favor.
“It’s not your fault.” She saw the whole sky in the mirror of his glasses.
“We have to keep going. We don’t have time for a therapy session.”
“Funny, when you’re comforting me, it’s a partnership. When I’m trying to do it for you, its therapy. I’m not sure if it’s chivalry or misogyny now.”
“Whatever it is, you really suck at this.”
She moved in front of him to stop him from taking another step and get him to listen. “You blame yourself. Why? Because they were the snow screws you put in? But Tristan, I was there, remember? I put them in too. I checked and double checked each one of them. We did good work up there.”
“I let myself be distracted. I should have checked them myself.”
“You did check them. They were secure. Every climber knows not to put your full weight on the fixed rope, but even if they had, they were secure.”
“Then how the hell did it happen, Farah? Four men are dead. Malcolm is almost dead. You… You almost died.”
“I don’t know what happened. This is bloody ice, Tristan. It changes and contracts. When I looked down, Malcolm wasn’t even using the fixed rope. I have no idea how he got tangled in it or how the others fell the way they did. But I do know one thing, if you give into this guilt, it will consume you.” She bent to the ground and scratched against the snow.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for something.”
“Are you going insane?”
“No. Just shut up.” She dug until she got past the layers of snow to the surface. She stood on shaky legs. She held out her palm. There lay a perfectly round pebble.
“What is this?”
She unzipped her jacket and reached into her pocket. She took out her own pebble, the one he’d given her that day they were normal. She took off his glove and placed the pebble in his hand. She put her finger on top of it and rolled it around his palm. “It’s a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“A reminder of the time you saved my life by making me talk to you all night. The time you attached a rope around your waist and dragged a man through yards of snow. The time when a maid’s daughter from Hunza and the son of a politician from the West survived the Savage together.”
He stared at his hand.
“Say something.”
“What? You couldn’t get flowers?”
She smiled, feeling hope for the first time. “Give me one end of the rope.”
He pocketed the pebble. “Have it your way.”
She bent down while he untied the rope from his waist. He put the pebble in his pocket. He tied one end of the rope around her. He hugged her. “I would kiss you right now, but it’s so fucking cold, our lips would probably stick together.”
“Yeah, that wouldn’t be smart.”
With the weight dispersed between both of them, they could move faster. They got to lower ground. The breathing became easier. When camp came into sight, Tristan untied the rope. He told Farah to get to the radio. He carried Malcolm the rest of the way.
The helicopter could not land at their location. It was too high, but they were able to make contact. Rescue workers arrived. They took Malcolm in a special stretcher. Tristan and Farah walked the last twenty kilometers to the helicopter. They both collapsed onto the cushioned seats, sighing as if they were on a king’s lux throne.
The pilot and another man checked Malcolm’s vitals. Both Tristan and Farah expelled a sigh of relief when they confirmed he was still breathing. Part of her had wondered if they were so desperate to believe he was alive they imagined his pulse. The men loaded Malcolm onto a stretcher at the back of the aircraft. Tristan grabbed a water bottle. He twisted off the cap and offered it to Farah first. She saw there were other bottles there, but she took a sip from the one he offered her. They took off their jackets, goggles, and gloves. She collapsed into his arms.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Can I sleep now? Or is this a dream?”
“Sleep, milady. We survived. We saved each other. We’re safe, high up in the fig tree now, you and I.”
His heartbeat sounded as rhythmic as a lullaby, perhaps the only thing rhythmic about Tristan Sinclair.
She took the tiny stone from her pocket and closed her hand around it. The reminder they survived. The reminder of how strong this man was. The reminder of the day she fell in love with Tristan Sinclair.
He made her feel closer to heaven than earth.
They had looked into the eye of the beast and survived.
It was going to be all right.
Yet, she had a sinking feeling the beast wasn’t ready to let them go.
Chapter 21
They were taken to the nearest hospital. Malcolm was already awake by the time they reached there. The doctors wheeled him into surgery. They would need to amputate his leg.
“Sinclair, can you bring me my pack?” he asked.
“Now?”
“I have my camera in there. I need my bag from the hotel too. I have no clothes.”
Tristan knew he was in pain and on all sorts of medication, but God help him, a part of him wanted to punch the man. He hadn’t asked about the others who’d died. He hadn’t even asked about Farah and him. “I’ll bring it to your room.”
The doctors checked their wounds. In narrow hospital beds, Farah and Tristan slept for a few hours hooked up to IVs to help with dehydration. Finally, they were discharged.
“She might need a cat scan,” Tristan said. “She hit her head.”
“We don’t have the equipment,” the young doctor said.
She took Tristan’s arm. “I feel fine, Tristan.”
She’d read his mind. He was thinking of what happened with Drew. Still, he watched her closely and vowed to take her to the hospital in the next city if she showed any signs of distress.
A nurse brought them bowls of soup and bread. When they finished, she laid her head on his shoulder as they waited. Once Malcolm made it out of surgery, they headed to the hotel. Tristan fetched their bags from the hotel storage and paid a porter to bring Malcolm’s items to the hospital. They checked in to separate rooms on the same floor, so they would not alarm the man at the front desk. But there was no way they were sleeping in separate rooms. He refused to be away from her. Tonight, he needed to hold her in his arms.
“You’re staying here with me,” he said.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”
“Good.”
Everything they did took a very long time. They moved slower, each step requiring an absurd amount of effort. The soup had just made him hungrier. He ordered a seven-course meal for them. They sat on the bed and ate heaping bowls of rice and spiced chicken. It was probably delicious, but he could not taste it. The spoon-to-mouth motion was rudimentary and merely survival instinct.
“I need to shower,” she said. She looked toward the bathroom with longing as if trying to conjure the energy for the trek.
He took her hand and helped her up. She tugged on his shirt. He pulled it off. He removed her long sweater and the
layers of protective garments she wore underneath. He unclasped her sports bra. She unbuttoned his pants. Layer after layer of clothing found its way to the ground until they stood in their truest form. This went beyond sexual desires. He needed to take care of her. He needed her to do the same for him. He led her to the bathroom.
They stood against a spray of hot water, leaning against the wall for support. Finally, he lathered some soap in his hand and rubbed down her body. He fell to his knees and worked on each of her feet and then her long legs. He took more soap and worked up her curvy hips and thighs. She had a beautiful body, the body of a Goddess. He lathered across her belly and over her breasts. He wanted so much to worship every inch of her, but right now, he wanted to keep her safe even more.
“Lean your head back.” He washed her hair. She returned the favor and washed every inch of him too. They only stepped out of the shower when the water turned cold. They brushed their teeth three times each. Her hair was dripping wet. He took the towel and dried it. Neither of them could summon the strength to go through their luggage for clean clothes.
He stared into her mesmerizing eyes. “Let me look at you.” Inspecting her body, he took note of every bruise and mark. He winced when he saw the rope burn around her waist and hips, the area where the rope had tightened when she’d held him. How much time had passed while he tried to climb up? Five minutes? Fifteen? Carefully, he traced the angry red welt slashed across her beautiful brown skin.
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“Better now.” He took her hand and led her to the bed. They didn’t say a word as they fell into it. They had almost died. They had saved each other. They had shared all their darkness until they found the light again. The ordeal they experienced had been far more intimate than their naked bodies. They had bared their souls to each other.
He grabbed a bottle of arnica cream and gently rubbed the area across her belly. She sucked in a sharp intake of breath as his fingers applied the salve. “Am I hurting you?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t think about it in the shower, but this is the first time you’ve touched me like this. We’ve never kissed.”
