When the birds fly south

by Stanton A. Coblentz

Chapter XII

THE MISTRESS OF THE PEAK

During the long months of solitude I let my gaze travel frequently toward the southern mountains and Yulada. Like the image of sardonic destiny, she still stood afar on the peak, aloof and imperturbable, beckoning and unexplained as always.... And again she drew me toward her with that inexplicable fascination which had been my undoing. As when I had first seen her from that other valley to the south, I felt a curious desire to mount to her, to stand at her feet, to inspect her closely and lay my hands upon her; and against that desire neither Yasma's warnings nor my own reason had any power. She was for me the unknown; she represented the mysterious, the alluring, the unattained, and all that was most youthful and alive within me responded to her call.

Yet Yulada was a discreet divinity, and did not offer herself too readily to the worshipper. Was it that she kept herself deliberately guarded, careful not to encourage the intruder? So I almost thought as I made attempt after attempt to reach her. It is true, of course, that I did not choose the most favorable season; likewise, it is true that I was exceedingly reckless, for solitary mountain climbing in winter is hardly a sport for the cautious. But, even so, I could not stamp out the suspicion that more than natural agencies were retarding me.

My first attempt occurred but a week after Yasma's departure. Most of the recent snow had melted from the mountain slopes, and the temperature was so mild that I foresaw no exceptional difficulties. I had just a qualm, I must admit, about breaking my word to Yasma—but had the promise not been extorted by unfair pleas? So, at least, I reasoned; and, having equipped myself with my goatskin coat, with a revolver and matches, and with food enough to last overnight if need be, I set out early one morning along one of the trails I had followed with Karem.

For two hours I advanced rapidly enough, reaching the valley's end and mounting along a winding path amid pine woods. The air was brisk and invigorating, the sky blue and clear; scarcely a breeze stirred, and scarcely a cloud drifted above. From time to time, through rifts in the foliage, I could catch glimpses of my goal, that gigantic steel-gray womanly form with hands everlastingly pointed toward the clouds and the stars. She seemed never to draw nearer, though my feet did not lag in the effort to reach her; but the day was still young, and I was confident that long before sunset I should meet her face to face.

Then suddenly my difficulties began. The trail became stonier and steeper, though that did not surprise me; the trail became narrower and occasionally blocked with snow, though that did not surprise me either; great boulders loomed in my way, and sometimes I had to crawl at the brink of a ravine, though that again I had expected. But the real obstacle was not anticipated. Turning a bend in the wooded trail, I was confronted with a sheer wall of rock, a granite mass broken at one end by a sort of natural stairway over which it seemed possible to climb precariously. I remembered how Karem and I had helped one another up this very ascent, which was by no means the most difficult on the mountain; but in the past month or two its aspect had changed alarmingly. A coating of something white and glistening covered the rock; in places the frosty crystals had the look of a frozen waterfall, and in places the icicles pointed downward in long shaggy rows.

Would it be possible to pass? I could not tell, but did not hesitate to try; and before long I had an answer. I had mounted only a few yards when my feet gave way, and I went sprawling backward down the rocky stair. How near I was to destruction I did not know; the first thing I realized was that I was clinging to the overhanging branch of a tree, while beneath me gaped an abyss that seemed bottomless.

A much frightened but a soberer man, I pulled myself into the tree, and climbed back to safety. As I regained the ground, I had a glimpse of Yulada standing silently far above, with a thin wisp of vapor across her face, as if to conceal the grim smile that may have played there. But I had seen enough of her for one day, and slowly and thoughtfully took my way back to the valley.

From that time forth, and during most of the winter, I had little opportunity for further assaults upon Yulada. If that thin coat of November ice had been enough to defeat me, what of the more stubborn ice of December and the deep drifts of January snow? Even had there not been prospects of freezing to death among the bare, wind-beaten crags, I should not have dared to entrust myself to the trails for fear of wolf-packs. Yet all winter Yulada stared impassively above, a mockery and a temptation—the only thing in human form that greeted me during those interminable months!