Page 19 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

19

B ryony stared up at the sky, the blackness so deep it seemed it could swallow her if she let it.

Flecks of ice-cold snow landed on her cheek, one after another, but she’d become so used to the sensation that she barely noticed it. It might be the dead of night, but snow didn’t care. It came and came and came again, as though it had a mind of its own and was determined to make their trip to the river tomorrow more difficult.

But whether they got a foot of snow or ten, Mikhail would find a way to get her and the rest of the team to the Iskut. She had no doubt about that. He would have gotten Richard to the Iskut too, had Richard listened to Mikhail’s instructions.

But Richard hadn’t listened. Of course he hadn’t. She couldn’t remember the last time the man had listened to someone other than his own self.

And now he was dead.

She swallowed, the memory of Richard’s scream as he fell still ringing in her mind.

The rest of them had safely crossed the makeshift bridge. None of them had come close to losing their balance once, and Mikhail and Heath had made moving the heavy trunk across the gorge look easy.

So why had Richard stopped halfway across the bridge? Why hadn’t he listened when Mikhail told him to keep moving?

None of it made sense, and Mikhail hadn’t said so much as a word about what had happened when he came back to escort her across the bridge, but his face looked ashen and his eyes damp.

All she knew was that she should probably be crying right now as her mind replayed the scene. Everyone else had certainly taken their turns crying.

But for some reason, her eyes refused to grow damp and her chest refused to feel tight.

If anything, it felt looser now than it had that morning, as though some kind of weight had been lifted...

But at the expense of Richard’s life?

That hardly seemed right. She hadn’t wanted to marry him, but that didn’t mean she wanted him dead.

So why did she feel so free now?

A low, keening wail sounded from across the camp.

She turned onto her side, surveying the campsite as the deep-red embers of the banked fire cast a faint light across her surroundings. Normally they would have set up their tents, but it had been nearly black by the time they found a campsite, and there had barely been time to shake out their bedrolls and snack on some biscuits and jerky before darkness surrounded them.

In the dim light of the fire, she could just make out the shadow of sleeping forms. Except one of the shadows moved.

Mikhail. That was his bedroll, and it looked as if he’d just rolled over.

He rolled back to the other side. “No, don’t go without me. Let me come with you.” The desperate sounding words drifted into the night, and his covers rustled again. “Stop! Don’t! I said don’t!”

She sat up and pulled on the parka that had been draped over her bedroll, then patted around in the snow for her boots.

Mikhail seemed to be having a nightmare, and if he kept at it, he’d wake the rest of the camp.

She found her boots and pulled them on, not bothering to lace them before she headed around the fire toward where Mikhail lay at the very edge of the camp.

He was thrashing around, mumbling things she could only half make out about going with someone and something about a storm, then begging someone to stop.

She knelt down in the snow and settled a hand on his shoulder. “Mikhail, wake up.”

He groaned and rolled over, but his eyes didn’t open.

She shook his shoulder next. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Still nothing. He moved his head wildly from side to side, his golden brown hair clinging to his forehead as he thrashed against the bedroll. His entire body was tense, the tightness of his muscles radiating through his clothes and blankets.

She tightened her grip and gave him another firm shake. “Mikhail, it’s me—Bryony. You need to wake up.”

His thrashing slowed, and his golden eyes fluttered open, unfocused for a moment before they locked onto her face. He stared at her, his chest heaving, as though trying to make sense of what was happening.

Suddenly, every fiber of her body felt shy. She dropped her hands and hunkered into her parka. “I’m sorry. It was just... You appeared to be having a nightmare, and I... I didn’t want you to wake the camp.”

She hadn’t wanted him caught in the throes of what was clearly a terrible dream either, but it seemed stupid to say such a thing.

Mikhail leaned back, staring up into the inky night. “Was I that loud? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was already awake, but?—”

“You were awake?” He sat up. “Why?”

“What was your nightmare about?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about Richard.”

“It didn’t seem like you were dreaming about him.”

“No, but... but I should have saved him. Should have done something more. I’m sorry that I...” His words died, leaving only the hooting of a snow owl and the noise of the wind through the trees.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped again.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He pressed his eyes shut, lines of pain etched across his face. “I should have grabbed his arm. I should have caught him. I should have?—”

“No.” She leaned forward and rested a hand over his forearm. “What happened today wasn’t your fault. Richard didn’t listen to you. I didn’t hear everything he said to you while the two of you were in the middle of the canyon, but I know you told him to keep his eyes forward and keep walking. He didn’t. He paused in the middle of the bridge to look at something, and then he lost his balance. We all saw it happen.”

“I’m the guide. It’s my job to get everyone back to Sitka, and I...” He swallowed, then buried his head in his hands. “The worst of it is we’ll never find his body, and he at least deserves a burial, just like...”

“Just like who? Who else have you lost, Mikhail?” Was it Livy? She leaned forward, even though she didn’t really expect him to give an answer.

Long, slow shadows from the fire flickered across his face. “My parents,” he whispered, then looked away.

“Your parents?” Her brows pinched together. “I thought they died years ago.”

He must have read the confusion on her face, because he tucked his legs up closer to his body, then scooted over to the edge of his bedroll and patted the space beside him. “Sit here while we talk. Your trousers are getting wet.”

It was just the type of thing he’d notice. Her trousers were wet. Her teeth were chattering. Her hair was tangled. She’d lost track of all the things he’d noticed about her on their trip.

He waited for her to get resettled before he started talking. “I never told you what happened. You’re right that it was a long time ago, but my parents were killed in a storm at sea, and I didn’t... I wasn’t... I should have found a way to save them.”

She reached out and settled her hand atop his on the bedroll. Instant warmth surrounded her palm. “Did you watch them fall overboard?”

“No. I wasn’t on the boat. I don’t know if they fell overboard or if their ship got driven into rocks or if the waves themselves were large enough to sink the ship. I just know...” He swallowed, then stared into the darkness.

“What? What is it you know?” She pulled her hand away from the top of his, then turned it over and slid hers underneath, lacing their fingers together.

“I know there were signs of the storm coming. Warnings. There always are. The wind would have kicked up, the sky would have grown dark. But my father didn’t take shelter. Didn’t decide to stay a night in Hoonah or find a little bay or inlet to harbor in. We found their boat dashed against the rocks a couple miles north of the entrance to Sitka, and that means my parents likely died trying to beat the storm home.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “All they needed to do was stay in Hoonah. All they needed to do was take shelter when the wind kicked up. All they needed to do was be alert to the danger. Just like Roger and that wretched expedition when I couldn’t save Livy. All he needed to do was be aware of his surroundings and the time of year. All he needed to do was start for home two weeks earlier, before there was any threat of snow. All he needed to do was not lead us through the swamp that afforded perfect cover for bears to bed down. All he needed to do was...”

Once again his words faded, caught in a swirl of snow and darkness. He tilted his head toward the sky, heaving out a large breath. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for any of this, and here I am dumping it on you. Thank you for waking me from my dream, but you should probably head back to your own bedroll. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind hearing it.” She shifted closer, until the side of her arm pressed against his shoulder. “You’ve done so much to help us, and if talking about this now helps you, then I’m happy to listen. It’s the least I can do.”

His golden eyes searched her face for a moment that seemed both entirely too long and entirely too short. Then he opened his mouth and started telling her more.

* * *

The memories from that first expedition were bad, and Mikhail had successfully kept them buried for years. But Richard’s death brought them crashing back. So much had gone wrong with Roger’s expedition. First, Livy’s husband, Clyde, died early on of a heart attack when they ascended the first mountain on their journey.

But that death had likely been unpreventable. The real trouble started when the expedition leader, Roger, decided to press on rather than return home when the calendar reached August. That had led to them crossing a mountain during a snowstorm, and Andrew lost his footing in the snow, like Heath did, but Mikhail hadn’t been fast enough to keep Andrew from falling off a cliff to his death.

Then there was the low-lying, dense swamp filled with brush and trees that so clearly provided thick coverage for bears to bed down. He could still remember begging Roger—who was supposedly experienced enough to lead a cartography expedition—to choose a different route and go around it. But Roger ignored the advice, and both he and Frank were killed in a bear attack in the swamp.

Then there had been Geoffrey, who was injured in the bear attack. The team had tarried in one spot for over a week trying to save him. But Mikhail had known so very little about administering medical care in the wilderness in those days, and by the time Geoffrey finally died, they’d crept another week closer to winter.

But the worst was the swollen river he’d tried to cross when only Livy and Herbert were left. Livy’s boot slipped on the log they’d used as a bridge to cross from one side to the other. He’d reached for her hand, but the current was so much stronger than he’d imagined, and her fingers had slid through his. He’d eventually found a spot where he could pull her out, but it had taken far too long.

He and Herbert had built a fire and tried to warm her, but they hadn’t been fast enough, and she and her unborn child froze to death.

Bryony listened in silence, her fingers still twined with his, the heat seeping into his body from where her shoulder pressed against his. He couldn’t explain why he told her all of it. He’d never spoken of what had happened before in such detail, not even with Alexei.

And yet sitting beside her in the dead of night, with the snow piling higher and higher around them, he couldn’t seem to stop the words.

He didn’t know what he expected from her once he’d finished—maybe for her to ask a question or offer empty reassurance. But she stayed silent, her thumb gently brushing the back of his hand. The movement caused him to look down at the spot where their hands were still linked. How long had she been holding his hand? He didn’t know that either. All he could say was that it felt like the most comforting, natural touch in the world.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft against the falling snow. “I think, after something like that, most people would have decided to never step foot in the woods again. They would have left for a city and found a job where nothing bad would happen to them. But not you. And I have to say, I don’t understand it. Why are you still a guide? Why do you do any of this?” She waved her hand to encompass the campsite. “How is it that you became one of the most famous explorers in Alaska after what happened on your first expedition?”

“Because if I’d been guiding that expedition and not Roger, Clyde would have been the only one to die. All of the other deaths would have been prevented had we turned around and left the mountains two weeks sooner. And if I’d gone on that trip to Hoonah with my parents...” His throat had grown so raw that he barely recognized his voice. “I might have convinced my father to wait out the storm rather than try to race it home, and they might still be alive too.”

He nodded toward the mountain behind them, even though it was shrouded in darkness. Then he surveyed the forest through the dim flicker of the fire. “Do you realize that the United States government owns everything surrounding us? They bought Alaska, and they’re not going to ignore it or pretend like it doesn’t exist. They’re going to study it and research it. They’re going extract and sell what natural resources they can and send people to settle it. But Alaska isn’t like Kansas or California or Montana. It’s wild and rough and can kill a person four times faster than anywhere else. And there are so few people who understand it.

“The government will hire any guide who is willing to go on an expedition. They don’t care how familiar he is with Alaska or how well he understands the change of seasons or how quickly he can navigate a mountain trail. They’ll hire whoever they can, and if they hire the wrong man, half a dozen people could end up dead.”

He looked down at his hands. “So I keep volunteering for the expeditions. Because I grew up here, and I have a better chance of keeping everyone alive than anyone else the government hires.”

“You became the man with ten talents.”

“The man with...what?” He blinked at her.

“From the parable you mentioned in the Bible. The master gave the first servant five talents, and then he went off and earned another five. That’s what you did after that first expedition. You decided to learn and study and grow your skills. You started carrying rocks in your pack and probably going on hikes or smaller expeditions in the winter to keep yourself in good condition for the larger expeditions that you were in charge of. You became the servant with ten talents—eleven, if you count the talent the master gave the first servant after the third servant was sent away.”

“No.” He hung his head. “I’m pretty sure that after what happened today, I’m the servant with one talent. The one who didn’t work hard enough. The one who didn’t try growing his skills. Otherwise Richard wouldn’t be dead now.”

“That’s not true.” Bryony raised herself onto her knees, then reached out, gripping his cheeks between her hands so he had no choice but to look into her eyes. “If you hadn’t found us, Richard wouldn’t be the only one dead. We’d never have been able to get back to the Iskut River once the snow came. You’re a good man, Mikhail Amos, and you’re the reason the rest of us are still alive. Don’t let what happened today convince you otherwise.”

She leaned even closer, and before he realized what was happening, her lips brushed his cheek, soft and warm and feather-light.

He froze beneath the touch, not sure whether to wrap his arms around her and hold her to his chest until the sky lightened with dawn, or shift his head so that her lips met his mouth, or pull away from her.

Whether to believe what she said—that Richard’s death wasn’t his fault, and he was the only reason the rest of them were still alive.

But it didn’t matter, because before he could decide to do anything, she pulled away from him, gave him a soft smile, then told him to go back to sleep.