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Stopping at an outcrop nearby, I spot the siblings Jorath and Renxel just behind me. Then Rylan comes from around the bend.
It’s the way that he looks at me, I think. It’s a puzzle I’m anxious to solve.
Our time on the trail has lent little information about him, besides that he’s a walking contradiction. He’s known to besolitary, yet he’s sticking with the group. He’s aloof, yet his eyes take enough interest in me.
Lifting my eyes into the afternoon sun, I pause for a moment to pull out my notes.
Field Journal, Day 2. We’re halfway to Clifton’s pass and making decent time. My Kiphian friend should be miles ahead of us but hangs with the pack. Interesting. I can only guess he has his reasons.
Lingering has cost me time and, not to be left out, I double book it to our next camp point.
From a competitor's standpoint, it just makes sense to keep up with Rylan. As the two-time champ, having him in my line of sight keeps me in the top competitors. I’m relieved when I clear the last switchback and find they’ve only just arrived.
We gather in the evening after our camp is made. A fire bellows between us, giving warmth to both the frigid air and the frosty competitive spirit that occasionally catches in the blaze.
Rylan ends up sitting next to me, of all people.
He sits. He stares. He says nothing. I’m the first to break the ice.
“So, is the Challenge everything you remember?”
He pauses over a tin mug before answering. “It’s a different game every time.”
“Oh?” I ask, intrigued, and not just because it is the most he’s said all day. “What game are we playing this time?”
“Well, if you don’t pace yourself…” He clears his throat. “You won't be playing for long.” It sounds like scolding, but it feels like concern.
I’m hit with the feeling that if he cares enough to warn me, he might not be as indifferent as he seems. Why does the thought of that thrill me?
I hardly know the guy.
He doesn’t say much else, and before long, I head to my own tent. The next morning, I start by updating my notes.Field Journal, Day 3. 21 has become 19, as the temperatures dropped well below freezing overnight. Two of our fellow aspirants weren’t as equipped as they thought. It’s unclear if they forgot to pack or lost their tent flaps.
Our decreasing party makes for an uneasy morning in the camp. I’m too distracted repacking my belongings to notice, or at least, I keep trying to will myself in that direction. It’s a meticulous task and the fate of the very race could depend on it, yet my mind wanders.
I can hardly focus, my ears twitching from sound to sound outside the tent, wondering if it could be him.
Steeling my thoughts, I step away from the flaps and try to take in the remaining campers on site. To my surprise and relief, Rylan is still here, folding his tent.
When we head out, I find myself with Maxe, Thippe, and Rylan. We were told to expect high winds and slippery paths through the pass, but the clouds passed overnight. Just our luck, the morning is cold but clear.
Clifton’s pass is the last leg of the lower ridges. It divides the Tournalese from the Cradle of the Gods. From here on out, everything we’ve been through will look adorable next to the sheer size of the cliffs and trees.
I can't help but feel my blood pump with anticipation all over again. Bouldering at such great heights has been my dream for so long. I’m not the only one living for the moment.
“Woohoo!” Thippe’s the risk taker of the mates, jumping from rock to rock with ease. Clifton’s pass isn't ideal, but the windless day and dry conditions haven’t stopped her.
“C’mon, Iara, like this.” She shows me the crack in the ridge where her hand fits perfectly. With a quick gesture, she runs up the crack, digging her claws into the sides for balance.
“She was practically born up here.” Maxe watches with awe as his wife makes the crag look easy.
Rylan shifts next to me, dropping his brows in silent reprobation. When I slip my hands into the cracks, he finally speaks. “I wouldn’t. These cracks are over-climbed. Can’t you see how slippery that rock is?”
“The great Rylan Xanath, afraid of a little mountain crag?” I tease. Thippe smiles over our heads as I step into the crack, pitting my weight against both sides to make the ascent.
“Your girlfriend is fearless,” she says, handing me an arm up.
“We’re not together,” he corrects her. I don't understand why he has to sound so offended by it. He’s stiff and strange and dares to disapprove. I’m not taking this.
