Steven felt his stomach tighten. ‘Sorry, I’m not quite ready. Perhaps in a month or two I’ll join you again.’
The English word confused Garec. ‘Month?’ he asked, ‘what’s a month?’
Steven, who had been thinking about Eldarni time himself, replied, ‘A measure of time, about a half Twinmoon, I suppose. We have twelve months in one year, the measure we use to chart the length of our lives.’
‘So, how many year are you?’ Garec asked.
‘I am twenty-eight years old now,’ Steven replied, stressing the plural. ‘I’ll be twenty-nine years old next spring.’
Calculating furiously, Garec said, ‘We have a Twinmoon about every sixty days. That means there would be six Twinmoons for every one of your years. That makes you about one hundred and seventy Twinmoons, close to my age.’
‘Yes, but your days are only about five-sixths the length of our days. So, I would need to add another sixth of one hundred and seventy to find my true Eldarni age.’ Steven basked in the mathematics and the joy of having a simple multi-step linear algebra problem to solve. ‘So I must be just over one hundred and ninety-eight Twinmoons.’
‘Excellent!’ Garec almost shouted, ‘we will plan a great two-hundred Twinmoon celebration for you. It is an important milestone for us.’
‘That should just be about enough time,’ Steven replied, grinning, ‘I might be ready for alcohol again in a hundred and twenty days.’
Shortly after lunch, they reached the eastern edge of the narrow ridge that led up to the landing. Now there was only a gradual incline, but the footing on the ridge trail was precarious as it climbed over boulders and up sharp rock faces. There were dangerous drops on either side. They had not realised the north and south faces of Seer’s Peak were nearly sheer when they had looked up from below; a wrong step or loose rock might mean a gruesome fall to the forest floor.
They had no rope and Steven cursed his shortsightedness every time Garec or Gilmour slipped, however slightly: he was an experienced climber and should have known better. Steven sympathised with Garec as he periodically peered over the edge in terror.
‘We were always told to avoid looking down.’ He tried to sound reassuring. ‘But I find it helpful sometimes to take a good long look.’
‘Helpful?’ Garec looked doubtful. ‘How could it possibly be helpful?’
‘Well, it does keep you focused on the task at hand. I mean, there’s nothing like fear as a motivator.’
‘Then I have quite enough motivation, thanks.’ Garec forced a tight-lipped smile. ‘If it’s all right with you, I’ll work on staring straight ahead.’
Steven made his way to a large flat rock that jutted out over the precipice where he lay flat on his stomach and peered over the edge, following the path of the river to their previous night’s campsite. Versen, Sallax, Brynne and Mark looked like ants from here as they hauled water and firewood. Steven rested for a moment while watching them, feeling sunlight on his back and the familiar texture of rock against his face and hands.
We might not make it. The haunting mantra started once again, but he quickly forced the memory from his thoughts. Another bout with despair would do him no good up here. To distract himself, he thought of how much Mark and Hannah would love navigating this ridge: the challenges, the danger, the stunning vistas; this climb was almost a microcosm of his experiences in Eldarn. Down there, he was the weakest, the least capable, unable to find sources of strength, determination and support. Why could Mark so easily make the transition? He appeared to be completely at ease, acting as though he had grown up in Rona. He had even begun a relationship with a Ronan woman.
Steven lay there in the afternoon sun, pondering his shortcomings, until Garec and Gilmour caught up with him.
The Larion Senator interrupted his thoughts. ‘You look quite at ease up here, Steven.’
‘I am.’ Steven jumped nimbly to his feet. ‘I’ve lived most of my life in a mountain range similar to this. It’s the closest I’ve felt to home since we arrived in Eldarn.’
‘I am glad you’re enjoying the day,’ Gilmour said. ‘I hope tonight we’ll discover it was not a wasted effort.’
Once Steven had toured an aircraft carrier. He remembered the feeling of awe at the size of the thing, particularly the breadth of the main deck. The flat expanse of rock that marked the western end of the Seer’s Peak crest reminded him of that gargantuan vessel. The landing was a geological anomaly. The stone was nearly flat for hundreds of paces and it looked flawless – no cracks, mineral intrusions or crevasses. Steven picked up a small stone and threw it as far as he could and it bounced to a stop less than a quarter of the way across the open area. A skilled pilot could land a plane here with room to spare.
Equally amazed, Garec asked, ‘How can this be? The mountain couldn’t have formed this way naturally.’
Having reached their destination, Gilmour was already smoking his pipe. The chill afternoon breeze carried his residual smoke eastwards along the ridge trail. Clenching the pipe firmly between his teeth, he answered, ‘It seems impossible this is a natural formation, I agree. However, if this area were the result of some mystical force, it occurred long before I was born and long before the Larion Senate began practising magic.’
‘Where – or how will Lessek find us?’ Steven wasn’t sure which question was more appropriate.
‘We can camp anywhere you like, Steven,’ Gilmour responded, ‘but I suggest we stay close to this end because it will be cold tonight and the closest firewood is back down the ridge a few hundred paces.’
‘Good point,’ Garec agreed. ‘You two get dinner started. I’ll go back and get some now.’ He dropped his pack and headed towards the trailhead.
Steven followed. ‘I’ll come too – we’ll need as much as we can carry.’
When darkness fell, Steven felt as though they had built a campfire in the middle of the world’s most expansive desert. Wind swept across the top of Seer’s Peak, carrying much of the fire’s heat with it, but Steven was too nervous to be cold; he was dreading the coming conversation with Lessek. He huddled deeper in his blankets, hoping, like a child, they might protect him from evil. He could see nothing except black stone and blacker sky.
Soon emotional and physical exhaustion caught up with him and Steven Taylor fell into a deep sleep.
He dreamed of the bank in Idaho Springs and the playful banter he’d exchanged with Myrna Kessler as she tried to solve his weekly mathematics problems. He had caught her trying to deduce the Egyptians’ formula for the area of a circle, just before he had visited Meyers Antiques for the first time. He had walked to the lobby and asked Myrna if she would process some loan papers so he could get to Denver before the store closed. Peeking over her shoulder, he saw her sheet of paper was filled with squares and circles and notes about circumference and diameter. She had been tracing the base of her coffee cup when he emerged and surprised her.
Embarrassed, she had quickly put her notes aside and said something charming about not being his secretary. What else had she said that day? Her image moved in and out of focus, reminding him he was dreaming. She had teased him about having a geek’s hobby. Howard had agreed. Steven had warned her not to drink too much that night, then left for his drive into the city.
As winds buffeted Seer’s Peak, Steven Taylor, sleeping soundly, pulled his blankets close and rolled over towards the fire.
Garec tossed the last pieces of firewood onto the smouldering coals before curling up inside his blankets. He wanted to stay awake until Lessek arrived, if only so he did not awaken to find the spirit hovering over him. He was quite sure he would expire from shock if that happened.
Seated across from him, Gilmour smoked contemplatively, saying nothing as he stared into the flames.
Garec thought about his family and the farm. He prayed that the Malakasians had not connected his partisan activities with them.