Page 11 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

11

T he snow started halfway up the mountain. Mikhail gritted his teeth as he gripped the back of the trunk, carrying the bulk of the weight up the mountain while glaring at the steely clouds above. The flakes of white that were currently melting against the game trail would be covering it after another thousand feet of elevation, and even if they doubled their pace, he couldn’t imagine a scenario where they got off the mountain before dark. They were moving far too slow for that.

He’d debated heading around the mountain before they’d broken camp that morning, but he didn’t know what kinds of canyons, rivers, or gorges they might run into if they hiked around the base. If they’d tried to go around it only to reach an impassable spot, they could have lost an entire day and still ended up heading over the mountain tomorrow.

So he’d chosen the path he’d known for certain would lead them back to the river.

And he’d prayed that God would hold off the snow.

God hadn’t listened.

Ahead of him, Heath, who was carrying the front of the trunk, slowed his steps until they were barely moving.

“Why are you slowing down?” Mikhail bit out. “We only have about an hour before the snow starts to accumulate.”

“I’m tired,” Heath wheezed. “Not all of us are used to carrying trunks and packs up the sides of mountains.”

“Then switch with Richard.” Mikhail jutted his chin toward the man who’d been walking just ahead of Heath.

Richard looked like he wanted to complain. He’d started off carrying the trunk that morning, then had switched with Heath a couple of hours ago. Personally, Mikhail didn’t find the trunk all that heavy. The rocks he’d taken out of his pack that morning had weighed more than the trunk. But the trunk was awkward and cumbersome, and it pulled on his arm and shoulder muscles.

He liked the pleasant burn that the pulling left, but then, he liked signs that told him his body was working hard, liked the energy that came with exerting himself as he climbed a mountain with a heavy pack or did exercises with his kettlebells and Indian clubs back in Sitka.

Yet even though Heath and Richard had jobs that required them to explore remote places, it didn’t seem as though either of them did anything to keep their bodies strong.

“Perhaps we should stop for lunch.” Dr. Ottingford rubbed his chest. “I’m feeling a bit winded myself, and I’m not even carrying anything.”

“No.” Mikhail moved his gaze up the steep trail. “I want to cover as much ground as we can before the snow accumulates.”

“I can try carrying it.” Bryony stepped forward. “I might not be able to carry it for as long as Heath or Richard, but?—”

“No,” Heath and Richard said at nearly the same time.

She raised her chin. “But I haven’t carried anything today, and I want to do my part.”

“It’s not the job of a woman,” Richard snapped.

“I agree. You’ve got no business trying to carry such a heavy load.” This from Heath, who was still holding the front of the trunk and stumbling up the trail at a snail’s pace.

Bryony’s shoulders slumped, and she ducked her head, causing the hood of her parka to fall over part of her face.

“Bryony.” Mikhail spoke softly, so no one else would hear them. “I need you to look up and watch where you’re going. Remember, we can’t afford for someone to break a bone or twist an ankle.”

She sighed and raised her head just enough to view the trail in front of them, but her shoulders were still slumped, and her steps were slower than before.

“If you weren’t undernourished, I’d give you a chance to carry the trunk, just to give the men a rest.”

She looked up at him then, never mind that the hood of her parka was so large it nearly fell into her eyes. “You would?”

“I would, though the trunk is both heavy and awkward.”

“I know. We carried it in, remember?”

He gave his head a small shake. “Why didn’t you take a horse and wagon?”

Her shoulders rose and fell beneath the fur of her parka. “We weren’t planning to leave the river, but once we cataloged the most obvious specimens along there, Father asked our guide if we could look for a glacier. He’s wanted to study the vegetation near glaciers for a long time.”

“I hope he’s happy with the results of his studies.”

“He is.” Bryony’s breath puffed a small cloud of white into the cold air. “He discovered several new species of lichen.”

Perhaps, but had those discoveries been worth staying in the mountains so close to winter? He looked at the trail ahead, growing snowier by the second. A memory flashed into his mind of a different mountain pass on that long-ago expedition, of a foot slipping because they’d been traversing the pass too late in the year.

No one in his party had come close to dying yet, but he couldn’t stop the sense of foreboding filling his chest.

* * *

“I insist we stop. Now!”

Even though the driving snow and wind muffled some of the words, Bryony could still make out the sound of Richard’s demanding voice. It echoed from ahead on the trail, where he and Mikhail carried the trunk, and she rolled her eyes at the arrogant edge in it.

She’d lost track of how many times Richard had complained as the day wore on, just like she’d lost track of how many times he and Heath had switched carrying the trunk up the mountain. All she knew was that the entire time, Mikhail had silently carried the heavier end of the trunk up the west side of the mountain without a single break or word of complaint.

Richard’s complaints, however, had grown worse as the day wore on. He’d complained when they didn’t stop for lunch soon enough; then once they stopped, he’d complained that Mikhail refused to set up camp on the side of the mountain and wait out the snowstorm. He’d even insisted that Mikhail was unnecessarily risking their lives by forcing them to continue. After that, he’d spent the rest of the afternoon arguing with Mikhail any time he could, though most of his complaints had been aimed at convincing Mikhail the path was too treacherous, and they needed to turn back and find another way around the mountain.

Mikhail didn’t bother to answer most of the griping. He ignored Richard instead, which meant that Richard turned his complaints on the rest of them, grumbling that Heath didn’t carry the trunk long enough, and that Dr. Ottingford and her father should take a turn.

Once, he’d even come back to where she’d been walking beside her father and asked her to speak to Mikhail about halting their journey and building a fire before they all froze.

Where, exactly, Richard thought they’d find wood dry enough to start a fire, he hadn’t said, and she hadn’t bothered to ask. There was no reasoning with Richard when he got into one of his moods.

But no matter what Richard said or did, Mikhail was insistent they crest the mountain and get below the snow line before nightfall.

And she was glad. She might have met the man only three days ago, but it was easy to see why others revered him for his skills in the wilderness. He had a special sense for navigating the snow-covered trail.

And an endless amount of patience, because Richard was complaining yet again.

“I won’t stand for you ignoring me any longer, Amos. We need to set up camp. Now.”

Once again, Mikhail didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame him. Even she could see the stupidity of Richard’s demand.

They were currently winding their way around the edge of the mountain. The trail wasn’t particularly narrow, but there was some kind of drop-off to their left. She didn’t know how steep it was, only that gray clouds and angry snowflakes swirled together into a blinding haze that obscured what was probably a beautiful view.

“You want us to stop and camp. Here.” Mikhail didn’t phrase it as a question, but the incredulity of his voice carried through the lashing wind. “And just where do you expect us to set up our tents?”

“We should have stopped a half mile back,” Richard shouted, his voice even louder than before. “I insist we turn around. You’re leading us straight into a death trap, and I won’t be party to it.”

Bryony found her jaw clenching. Mikhail might have an endless amount of patience, but she didn’t. She just wanted Richard to be quiet.

And she wanted to be somewhere safe and warm. Somewhere her toes wouldn’t be frozen. The boots she’d brought were meant for summer, not winter, and though they were sturdy, they did little to keep her toes warm in the snow they were walking through. They’d even come across a few places on the mountain where the snow had drifted over the tops of her boots, which meant both the bottom of her skirt and the trousers she wore beneath it were soaked from the knees down.

A fire sounded heavenly, but she could look around and understand they weren’t going to have one anytime?—

Her foot slid on a patch of uneven ground, and she squeaked, reaching out to grip her father’s arm before she tumbled into the snow.

“Are you okay, dear?” Her father helped her regain her balance, then patted her arm.

“Yes. But I think the rocks are loose beneath the snow, so we better be careful.”

She no sooner finished the statement than Mikhail’s voice rang out. “Watch your footing. Some of the rocks are loose.”

“That’s all the more reason to turn around and set up camp.” Anger tinged Richard’s voice.

Bryony let out a long sigh.

“I’m with you, dear.” Her father patted her arm again. “The trip would go much faster if he would just shut up.”

“He doesn’t know how to shut up,” Dr. Ottingford muttered from where he trudged in front of them. “He’s figured out that if he pitches a big enough fit, most people will give him his way. Not Amos, though.”

“Careful,” her father warned. “Richard Caldwell will be the next secretary of the interior. Don’t say or do anything that might jeopardize the funding for future studies.”

Dr. Ottingford clamped his mouth shut, and Bryony pressed her own lips into a firm line. That was the part she hated most about her father’s work. The research part itself was fine, though not as fascinating as drawing maps and sketching plants. But she had no stomach for all the maneuvering and negotiating and flattery that went along with getting research funding.

Her father was quite good at posturing and flattering, obviously, since he went on an expedition every summer. But he was always aware of what he needed to do to keep the people who controlled the purse strings happy.

Upsetting Richard Caldwell was at the top of the list of “Things to Avoid at All Costs.”

Marrying his daughter off to ensure he stayed on the man’s good side for decades to come was not.

“You’re not listening to me!” Richard’s voice rang out over the wind. “If we don’t turn around this instant and find a place to camp, I’ll?—”

“Be putting your life at greater risk.” Mikhail’s voice filled the trail, strong and hard. “It’s riskier to stay on this mountain during a snowstorm than to continue out of the snow. We’ve still got a couple hours of daylight. I intend to use it to get as far down the mountain as possible, but I’ve had it with your complaining. If you’re tired, let Heath carry the trunk. Otherwise, shut your mouth and act like the explorer who publishes a new field guide every year, not a whiny politician.”

Richard dropped the trunk and raised two fists in front of him. “Do you want to fight me, Amos? Because I’ll gladly?—”

“Oh, just shut up and give me the trunk.” Heath stalked toward him. “I’ll carry it if you’re that tired.”

“It’s not that I’m tired, it’s that I’m?—”

Heath gave a sudden shout, and Bryony watched as he stumbled on the trail, but instead of falling toward the inside of the mountain, he careened toward the side of the cliff.

Bryony let out a cry and raced forward.

Heath teetered on the edge for a fraction of a second, his arms flailing in an attempt to regain his balance. Then the snow on the ledge slid away and he slipped.

“Heath!” Her heart pounded in her ears as she raced toward her brother and grabbed for his arm, but the fabric of his coat slipped through her fingers.

Mikhail was there, faster than lightning. He closed his hand around Heath’s upper arm just as her brother’s feet slid over the edge.

Heath gasped and reached out his free arm, catching her shoulder in a panicked grip.

She dug her heels into the ground and gripped his arm, blood pounding in her ears.

Terror shone in her brother’s eyes, and she tried to tighten her grip, but he was so much heavier than she. How was she supposed to stop him?

“Pull back on the count of three.” Mikhail started to count, and Bryony braced her feet in the snow, digging her heels deeper into the ground so she wouldn’t slide toward the edge when she started to pull.

Then Mikhail said the word three . She yanked with all her might, but it wasn’t her strength that pulled Heath back onto solid ground. That was all Mikhail. The man was a walking embodiment of muscle and brawn.

Heath barreled straight into her, knocking her into the snow as he landed on top of her.

The breath whooshed from her lungs with the impact, but she wrapped her arms around him and refused to let go. They both lay like that for a moment. She could hear footsteps in the snow around them and the others talking, but neither she nor Heath moved.

“Are you all right?” she finally whispered, her voice shaky.

“Yes.” Heath’s voice sounded just as unsteady as hers. “Thank you for catching me.”

She tightened her grip and squeezed her eyes shut, but that was a mistake, because the only thing that filled her mind was the image of Heath gripping her shoulder as his legs dangled over the edge of the cliff. “Promise you’ll never do that again.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“Heath, are you all right?” Father said from above them.

Heath groaned, then rolled off her into the snow. “Fine, just catching my breath.”

“What were you thinking getting so close to the edge of that cliff?” Richard’s face was as white as the snow as he approached them. He extended a hand to help Heath up, but it was trembling. “You have to be more careful in the future. For a moment I thought...” Richard scrubbed a hand over his face, then just shook his head. “I thought we were going to lose you.”

Heath wrapped Richard in a hug, then released him so he could go to Father. Just as he was about to hug Dr. Ottingford, a hand encased in a fur mitten appeared in front of her face.

She looked up to find Mikhail hovering over her. He hadn’t even asked Heath if he was all right.

“You best get out of the snow before your clothes get any wetter,” he said in a stern voice.

She looked down to find that Mikhail was right. Her parka and part of her skirt had gotten bunched up near her waist with the force of Heath’s fall, and her trousers were thoroughly soaked.

She grasped Mikhail’s hand, and he pulled her from the snow.

He released her hand the second she was on her feet. “Thank you for helping. It was very brave of you.”

Brave? Her throat grew thick beneath his gaze, a giant lump lodging there that she didn’t know how to move. He thought she was brave?

“You’re the one who saved my brother. I couldn’t have stopped him from going over the edge by myself.”

“I might not have been able to stop him either. My boots slid in the snow, and your brother had enough momentum that he could have pulled us both over.”

Her heart hammered against her chest all over again. Was he right? Had Mikhail been close to going over the cliff along with Heath? It had all happened so fast. “Did you know Heath might take you over when you tried to help him?”

Silence stretched between them for a moment before he finally answered, “It’s my job to bring everyone in this group safely back to Sitka.”

Or die trying.

He didn’t speak the words, but she heard them anyway, knew they were going through his brain despite the stoic, emotionless expression on his face.

So she threw her arms around him. “Thank you for saving my brother. Thank you for putting yourself at risk to keep him alive.”

Mikhail stood stiff in her arms, almost as though the rest of his body were made of stone and not just his face. But then his arms slowly came up around her. He patted her on the back once, then twice. The movement felt as natural as being tapped on the back with a giant icicle.

“Bryony?” Father’s voice sounded from behind her. “What’s going on here?”

She stepped back from Mikhail, who looked even more stiff and awkward now. “I was thanking Mikhail for saving Heath.”

Her father’s brows furrowed as he looked between the two of them. “I see.”

“Yes, thank you for saving me.” Heath strode up and clapped Mikhail in a one-armed hug. Mikhail looked just as uncomfortable with Heath’s hug as he had been with hers, but Heath didn’t seem to notice as he pulled back, his face beaming. “I owe you my life. If you ever need anything from me—and I mean ever, even after I’m back in Washington, DC—don’t hesitate to ask.”

Mikhail gave a stiff nod. “Appreciate it, though I hope I never have to take you up on the offer.”

Father stepped up and shook Mikhail’s hand. “I see now why you have the reputation you do. Thank you for saving my son’s life, Amos. And Heath is right. If there’s ever anything we can do for you in Washington, DC, you need only ask.”

“Yes, that was downright heroic.” Dr. Ottingford shook Mikhail’s hand next.

“Well, I think the whole thing could have been prevented.” Richard crossed his arms over his chest. “Heath, what were you doing so close to the edge of the mountain? Do you really need to be told to stay away from the cliff?”

“I was trying to get to you so I could carry the trunk, but then I slipped.”

“If we’re going to point fingers, Heath isn’t the person we should be pointing at.” Mikhail leveled his golden glare at Richard.

For one terrifying moment, Bryony thought Mikhail was actually going to blame Richard for the ordeal. But then he moved his gaze to encompass the rest of the group. “It happened because we got distracted. We have one goal, and one goal only: to safely reach the Iskut River. It will take us at least two more days, possibly three, and now that the snow is here, it will be a long, hard journey. You will get cold. You will get wet. You will get tired. But you can’t let any of that distract you from the most important thing. We need to travel as far as we can each day, regardless of how we feel. Does everyone understand?”

Mikhail scanned the group again, and everyone nodded, even Richard.

“Good.” Mikhail shoved a hand toward the ground. “This part of the path has gravel beneath it. Walk slowly, stay away from the edge, and be sure of your footing. Once we get back into the woods and move away from the edge of the mountain, gravel shouldn’t be a problem. As soon as we find a good place to camp for the night, we will. I’m not trying to be an ogre. I want to get us to the safest, warmest place possible to stay the night, and I don’t expect to find that until we’re below the snow line.”

“You think there’s a snow line?” Dr. Ottingford asked, sounding almost as excited as he did when they discovered a new species of lichen. “That it’s still dry in the valley?”

“It’s probably raining in the valley, but I don’t expect it will be snowing. Snow comes to the higher elevations first. But the only way to know for certain is to keep walking.” Mikhail looked at Heath. “Are you capable of carrying the trunk?”

Heath nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit frightened is all.”

“Good. Then we’ll give Richard a rest. Stay on the inside of the trail, away from the cliff as we walk.”

Mikhail turned, then headed back toward where the trunk sat, and the rest of them followed. A half minute later, they were all trudging through the snow again, and once more, Bryony was aware of just how hard the wind was driving the snow into their faces.

But as they walked, she couldn’t help but keep her eyes pinned to Mikhail’s straight back and strong shoulders. The man was little more than a stranger, yet the moment he’d realized Heath was in danger, he’d come running without any thought of the risk he was taking.

It was one of the most selfless things she’d ever witnessed.