Disclaimer: Xena, Gabrielle and any other characters featured in the actual TV series are copyrighted to MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures while the rest of the story and other characters are my own.

**********

PART THREE

In a foggy, half-awake state, Allison Peabody ran a thickened tongue over dry, chapped lips. Or, is it more a case that something else died – in my mouth? Involuntarily, her gag reflex kicked in, and it all came flooding back to her in a rush. How ill she’d felt, back there on the trail. The heat. The leeches. And God, the humiliation of it all, putting her shortcomings on full, flagrant display in front of Ricky Bouchard! And then… what?

Eyes still closed, Allison’s brow furrowed, and she released a groan that seemed to sound so far away. What happened? Try as she might, she could not put the fragmented pieces together.

"Sssh… it’s okay. You’re gonna be fine."

She felt a cool trickle of water on her forehead, and then the light weight of a – something. A compress? The palm of a hand? She had to find out. One green eye plunked open. And then another.

"Allison?"

She forced her senses to do their work. Felt the coarse cloth covering her; some sort of thin sheet or blanket. Heard the far-away sounds of muted conversation and booted footsteps on wooden floorboards, and beyond that, the delicate tinkling of yak-bells. Detected the light scent of a wood-fire, and cooking smells. Saw the blurred whiteness of a plaster ceiling and wooden beams.

She redirected her gaze, just in time to see a hand draw away from her face. And saw two piercing blue eyes raking over her, clouded with worry, before they visibly relaxed and assumed the blank, indifferent look she’d become accustomed to over the past few days.

"Where am I… what happened?" Her voice crackled, uncertain whether it was from the soreness in her throat or the dryness of her mouth.

"You’re in the Khumbu Lodge in Namche Bazar. You passed out on the trail." Ricky Bouchard placed a damp cloth next to a small bowl resting on a nearby table. Then, she picked up a container of bottled water. "Think you can drink some of this?" Her face was impassive. "The doctor says you should. The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll be back on your feet."

Allison’s eyes fell upon a small Band-Aid on the back of her hand. "Doctor…." She edged herself up onto her elbows, the confusion plain on her face. God… her entire body felt as though it had been run over, and run over again, and there was Ricky Bouchard, sitting there looking so cool, calm, and collected.

"Yeah. Jonathan Simons, the doc for the British expedition. He happened to be heading out of Namche when we arrived. Let’s see," Ricky began counting off her fingers, "a shot of an antibiotic and an anti-nausea med, a quick hit of intravenous fluids, and he was outta here. But he left this behind for you." She lifted a little brown plastic bottle and shook it. "You take these pills until they’re finished. Got it?"

"Got it," Allison replied, her voice a hoarse whisper. Gratefully, she accepted the water from Ricky, and took a couple of swallows.

And waited.

"Well, that’s progress," Allison sighed, preparing to take another drink. "At least it’s staying down."

Ricky folded her arms. "Your fever’s come down, too. You’d be surprised, once you get the proper treatment, how quickly you bounce back. Of course, it’s a different story, if it happens in the higher elevations."

"We’re high enough." Allison put the bottle down on the table, and let her head fall back on the pillow. She was exhausted to the bone, her head ached, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But it was true, in spite of that she felt measurably better than she had back on the trail.

The trail.

"Hey – how did I get here, anyway. I mean – we were—"

"It wasn’t any problem. I enlisted the assistance of a Sherpa and his yak who were passing by."

"A yak," Allison repeated flatly.

"Sure. He was on his way to Namche Bazar anyway, and I finally persuaded him, with the help of a few rupees, that you were a far more valuable cargo than the crate of chickens he was hauling."

"Chickens."

"So I tied you across the yak’s back like a sack of oats, and here we are."

"You did what?" Allison’s mouth opened in outrage. This Ricky Bouchard had some nerve! My God, as if she hadn’t been humiliated enough today!

"Now if you find a stray chicken feather or two somewhere on your… person, don’t blame me," Ricky continued, blithely ignoring Allison’s agitated state. "The poor Sherpa simply would not leave those hens behind."

"Oh…." Allison flung an arm over her eyes, desperately attempting to blot out from her mind’s eye the image of what must have been her grand entrance into the village: her beleaguered backside pointing skyward while her head hung over some yak’s nether regions. And then there were the chickens. Good God. Perhaps she might die of this ailment after all.

"You only slid off once."

"What?" she cried out, and it was then that she finally caught the twinkle in the blue eyes fixed upon her, saw the smile tugging at the corner of a mouth.

"You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you?"

"Yanking your chain? Nah," the mountaineer replied, a full grin over-spreading her features. "Now ‘yaking’ your chain? Absolutely."

"Ha-ha. Very funny." Allison pursed her lips and tried to stay angry, but found it quite impossible to do so. This whole… thing was just so ridiculous, after all. Plus, it probably wouldn’t do her innards any good if she persisted in stressing herself. And so she returned the smile. "Try it again. The truth, this time."

"There was a yak," Ricky grudgingly admitted. "And chickens. The Sherpa was kind enough to let his yak carry our gear, while I carried you."

"You… carried me?"

"Sure. It wasn’t that far." Ricky’s eyes dropped to examine a spot on the floor before she continued. "I couldn’t exactly leave you there. It seemed the best thing to do at the time. Anyway," she lifted her gaze to Allison, "you felt lighter than a 40 pound pack at 21,000 feet. I figured it was a good workout."

"Well." Allison suddenly found herself reddening in the presence of the taller woman. She’d been lucky that Ricky had been there today, and she knew it. "I – I’m sorry. That sort of thing has – has never happened to me before."

"Hey – don’t worry about it. It was the bug from whatever you ate."

"Those damn tacos," Allison muttered.

"Add to that the heat, and the fact that you were dehydrated—"

"Don’t forget the leeches," Allison shivered at the memory.

"And a sudden shock," Ricky corrected her. "It’s understandable."

"Well, on the mountain it’ll be a different story." Allison forced a bravado she did not feel into her voice. "You’ll see."

"Yeah well… you’ll be fine in a couple of days." The mountaineer pointedly did not address Allison's words. "Jim recommends that all the clients stay here acclimatizing for a couple of days anyway, before moving on. So you’ll be right on schedule."

A yawn caught Allison by surprise, and with some bit of regret, she watched Ricky push herself to her feet.

"I’ll leave you to get some rest for now. Later, I’ll have some tea and soup sent up." She paused. "Anything else I can get you?" Ricky told herself she was only doing the right thing for a sick client. And even though the small blonde was feeling better now, she certainly hadn’t looked too well when she passed out on the trail.

Ricky had been relieved beyond measure to find that the British doctor had been in Namche Bazar. Odds were that Allison would have bounced back just fine, given proper rest and fluids. But still… once in a while the bug got out of control, with devastating results. And her charge had been so pale and still on the way up to Namche. Ricky barely had any memory at all of the ground they’d covered, so quickly had she moved, leaving the yak herder far behind in her dust.

"No, I’m fine." Allison pulled the thin, white blanket up under her chin.

Ricky silently nodded, and headed for the door.

The voice was so soft, so quiet, she barely heard it.

"Thank you."

Ricky stopped in the doorway, imagining she should say something, but not knowing quite what. So instead, she simply drew the blanket that served as a door, closed.

And walked away.

**********

What a difference two days made.

Just as Ricky Bouchard had predicted, in two day’s time, after plenty of soup, tea, and antibiotics, the intestinal bug that had laid Allison lower than low left her for greener pastures. Straight into Kevin MacBride and Mike Donaldson, from what the stockbroker had heard, although the two men had toughed it out and left Namche Bazar after only one day’s stay. From the sour look on Ricky’s face and the tense set of her mouth, Allison knew that the mountaineer disagreed with their decision to move on so quickly, but she had little say in the matter.

Already, there seemed to be a bit of macho posturing going on, with an unspoken competition under way to see who could make it to Base Camp first. MacBride and Phil Christy, with Jim Harris at their side, appeared intent on claiming the prize. But it turned out Mike Donaldson was focused on giving the younger men a run for their money, pushing his discomfort aside and dragging a huffing and puffing Patsy along with him for the high-altitude ride. Paul Andersen simply shook his head, smiled, and struck out after them. Only Lou Silvers seemed content to undertake the journey as the leisurely, acclimatizing, sightseeing trek it was intended to be.

Allison might have been willing to give it a go, keeping up with the head of the pack, if only to show Ricky that she could. But where her spirit was willing, her body, in no uncertain terms, told her it was not.

"Take it slow and easy," Ricky had told her when they’d left Namche Bazar in the morning. "The mountain isn’t going anywhere."

And so Allison had swallowed her pride, for the time being anyway, and contented herself with moving along at a pace, under the watchful eye of Veronique Bouchard, that her recovering body did not find objectionable.

Lou Silvers had decided to trek with them this day, and Allison privately welcomed the older man’s company. He had poked his head in on her a number of times while they were in Namche Bazar, checking on whether she needed anything, and sharing some quiet conversation. She enjoyed his friendly, easy manner, and found she could talk to him in a way that she’d always wished she could with her own father. And from what she could tell, Ricky seemed to enjoy his company as well, and that had to be a rare enough occurrence. In addition, Lou’s presence served to lessen the awkwardness she might otherwise have felt in the presence of the tall, quiet mountaineer.

For although Ricky’s distant, icy exterior had seemed to thaw a bit in those first few moments after Allison had regained consciousness back in the lodge, her mask had quickly been put back into place. Oh, Ricky had been appropriately concerned for her welfare, been solicitous of her needs like a good guide should be, but that was it. In fact, over the past two days while she was recovering, Ricky had had very little to say about anything – period - despite Allison’s best efforts to draw her into conversation.

Now, she, Ricky, and Lou Silvers walked side-by-side on a widened section of the trail outside of Namche. Taking it easy, just as the mountaineer had recommended. Allison’s backpack was lighter by far than it had been, and that was a help. She’d gone through it the night before with Ricky’s help, deciding on what items could be safely relegated to the Sherpa porters. The dark haired woman had relented when it came to the camera, water, Walk-Man and a couple of CDs, but the changes of clothing, the hard-back book, and the extra pair of boots were whisked away to the porters’ care.

Glad to be moving again after her days of inactivity, Allison took a deep breath of the fresh, clean air, and sighed. "God, what a gorgeous day!" The weather on the trail was bright and clear, but in the distance she could see the wispy mist of clouds that obscured their ultimate goal: Everest.

"I wish we could bottle some of it for when we’re summit bound," Lou said. He turned to Ricky. "What do you think the weather will be like up there?"

"On a day like today, for example?" Ricky squinted towards the distant peaks. "Hard to tell, from here, but any day with clouds up high isn’t a good one. But when we’re actually going for the top – it’s a crap shoot, really. All you can do is hope for a four day break in the weather, if you’re starting out from Base Camp. 36 hours, tops, if you’re already starting out from a higher camp and you want to make sure of getting up and down again."

"Getting down being the ultimate objective," Lou grinned, his pale eyes sparkling warmly.

"What about this weather service Jim talked about," Allison pointed out. "That should be a help, right?"

"Sure… I suppose," Ricky answered her. "But even the best weather service can’t predict the localized storms that can suddenly appear out of nowhere. One minute it’s a sunny day, and the next, you’re in white out conditions."

Catching something in the tone of her voice, Lou carefully regarded the mountaineer. "Has that ever happened to you… up there?"

Ricky hesitated a moment before answering him, her blue eyes clouding over. "Yeah," she softly admitted. "My first time up, on the North side. The funny thing is," she let loose a low, bitter laugh, "we weren’t even heading for the summit that day. We were still acclimatizing. Our high camp – Camp IV – had to be stocked, and our expedition then didn’t have the use of as many Sherpas as the big commercial ones do now. So—"

"So you volunteered."

"Sort of." She smiled wryly at the attorney. "The truth was, I was willing to grab any chance I could to work my way up high. I was the new kid on the block, and I figured I’d need whatever edge I could to stay one step ahead of the other climbers. To make sure I got my fair shot at getting picked for the top. Taking some canisters of ‘oh-two’ up there, along with some food packets and fuel – I grabbed at the chance. It would mean that except for our Sherpas who’d set up the tent two days before, I would’ve been higher than any of the other… men on the expedition."

Allison lifted her head at that comment, and took in the serious, tanned face of the climber. Women on Everest were commonplace now, but when Ricky had been a part of her first North Face expedition, it would still have been very much a male dominated mountaineering world.

With all the baggage that went with it.

No doubt, a young Veronique Bouchard had had much to prove.

Allison slowed her pace, listening to Ricky’s tale, and noticed that Lou Silvers had done the same.

"Anyway," Ricky continued, a distant look in her eye, "my climbing partner was against the idea. Said we should wait… that the plume off the summit just didn’t look right. But the weather reports gave the all clear for the next 36 hours. Plenty of time for us to get to Camp IV, above 26,000 feet. We could spend the night, acclimatize, and then head down the next day. If we waited for the Sherpas, that would put us another couple of days behind schedule. And… I was afraid. Afraid I’d lose my shot."

"So you started climbing," Allison’s voice was a breathless whisper.

"I did. And Jean-Pierre came with me after all. I think he just couldn’t tolerate the thought of being left behind," she grinned at the memory of her doggedly determined partner. "It was tough going. Our Sherpas had fixed the ropes when they’d gone up to establish the camp, but it had snowed since then, and we had to break new trail. We both were climbing without oxygen. For me… if I pace myself, I have no problem. But Jean-Pierre…." She shook her head, and fell silent for a moment. "It took longer to get to the high camp than we thought. By that time, it was late afternoon. The winds were simply unbelievable… ripping everything to shreds. And the cold…" she squeezed her eyes shut for an instant. "Well, by that time, it was obvious that a storm was moving in."

"The North Col is no place to be in bad weather," Lou said, shuddering at the thought despite the warmness of the air around them. "What did you do?"

"We could have stayed there," Ricky allowed, "taken our chances. But on the mountain, it’s hard to tell if a storm will last for five hours or five days. Jean Pierre wanted to stay… to wait it out. And more than anything… I wanted to stay, too. That way, Jean Pierre and I would be at the front of the line. But the way this storm was coming in… it seemed to be shrieking, cursing at us for our folly… and I knew we had to get out of there." She pushed a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, remembering. "It was already snowing by the time we began our descent."

"Oh, God," Allison groaned, "what a nightmare."

"Non," Ricky said quietly, her booted feet moving lightly along the gravely trail. "Worse. We’d grabbed a couple of head lamps from the Camp IV supplies before we left, so we had them. But they don’t do much good when the snow is blowing so hard that you can’t see a foot in front of you. Literally. Jean-Pierre and I clipped onto the lines and roped ourselves together, too. We were going by sense of feel, more than anything. But when you’re frozen solid and your hands and feet are numb… you’re not sure whether your next step brings you that much closer to your camp, or right off the edge of a sheer face."

"Wow."

"If Jean-Pierre hadn’t been there… if we hadn’t been there for each other," Ricky said, her eyes locking on Allison, "I’m not sure we would have made it. It would have been so easy to just sit down… and that would have been that."

"But you made it," Lou said hesitantly, "right?"

"We made it. We got back to Camp III shortly after 1am. We were too exhausted to even melt snow for tea. We simply collapsed into our sleeping bags… frozen, exhausted, and probably hypoxic. But at least we were alive. It wasn’t until the storm broke three days later, that we found out that two climbers on the South Col had been lost in the storm."

"Well, you made the right decision," Lou assured her, "in coming back down. You never would have been able to survive three nights at that altitude, in that kind of weather."

"The right decision to come down… yes." Ricky’s lean face was set in a grim line. "But we never should have gone up in the first place." She paused. "I was wrong."

"You live, you learn, I guess," Allison said, taking a gulp of bottled water.

"And sometimes you die learning," Ricky said sharply, her eyes flashing. "It’s a fine line. I tell you this story," she ground out, "because it’s important that you never underestimate the mountain. Or worse, overestimate yourself."

The three trekkers walked on for a time, in silence. A light breeze had picked up, gently swaying the lush, green branches draped over the trail. Though the summit of Everest was still distant, the air was gradually beginning to change, to cool.

"You know…" Ricky finally spoke, her voice low, "Jean-Pierre and I had stopped at a monastery on the Tibet side on our way up to Base Camp that year. It’s a tradition of sorts, with some of the climbers, to make an offering, and seek out the blessings of the ‘Rimpoche,’ the head lama, for the success of one’s journey. We went through the ceremony, and as we were leaving, one of the monks tried to give me… this." Her fingers went to a knotted red braid she wore about her neck. "It’s a ‘protection cord.’ It’s supposed to ensure your safe passage on Everest."

"It’s beautiful," Allison said. She’d noticed the unique braided necklace around the mountaineer’s neck before, but had been hesitant to ask her about it.

"Jean-Pierre accepted his, but I wouldn’t take mine from the monk," Ricky chuckled. "Not then. I told him I’d pick it up on the way back down, after I’d assured my own success. And so I did. Can you imagine… the arrogance!"

Allison kept her mouth shut. It was true that she thought Ricky Bouchard hefted around one rather large ego. But at the same time, the young blonde was beginning to detect that there was something else at play here, and she suspected there was more to the mountaineer than the frosty veneer she’d been exposed to thus far. And, God knew, Ricky had every right to think the same of her, as well. She knew she hadn’t been able to impress the tall woman so far, other than perhaps the fact that she’d been able to afford her expedition fees. Some accomplishment.

"There’s a monastery further along this trail isn’t there?" Lou gazed evenly at Ricky.

"Yes, at Thyangboche."

"I’d love to stop there. I’ve heard the blessing ceremonies are quite something."

"Well, we’ll have the traditional puja at Base Camp," Ricky countered.

"That’s where the Sherpas build a shrine at your camp, right?" Lou scratched at his head. "They get a local lama to come out and bless your ice ax and stuff, right?"

"Yeah," Ricky replied, "So you could do that, instead." She looked to the sky, chedking the sun’s position. "At this rate, we wouldn’t get to the monastery until late afternoon, and the ceremony takes some time. Maybe you’d rather keep moving—"

"I’d like to go, too," Allison interjected. Her eyes flickered to the rocky ground and then back to Ricky again. "That is… if we wouldn’t be intruding."

Ricky looked into Lou and Allison’s hopeful faces. Lou Silvers was certainly a decent guy. Ricky had already noticed the interest he’d taken in experiencing the local culture, and the respect he had for it. She was glad to have his company along for this particular expedition. Although his career had more recently kept him from doing much technical climbing, he was clearly a man who had enjoyed the time he’d spent years before in the vertical life. And who knew? If he had decided to chase 8000 meter peaks instead of a law firm partnership, he might have ended up just as hard-core as she was.

The jury was still out on Allison Peabody, however. True, since she’d gotten ill she had lost a bit of her ‘high and mighty’ attitude. Perhaps the bug had helped to dislodge whatever blessedly undefined large object she’d had stuck up her rear end. And the fact that even now she’d expressed an interest in a monastery visit, when just a few days ago Ricky knew that the young blonde would’ve done anything to keep up with the ‘Hardy Boys,’ Kevin and Phil, well, maybe there was hope.

"Okay." Ricky gave in. "We’ll stop." The trio was just rounding a bend in the trail, coming upon a breathtaking overlook. "After all," a small smile played at her lips, "we should try to keep the ‘Mother Goddess’ appeased." And with that, she flung out an arm towards the mountains. The mists had cleared, and in the distance above them, stood the pearly-white pinnacle of Ama Dablam. Beyond, pushing up towards the sky like a rough-hewn rocky blade, was the icy summit of Everest itself. The jet stream winds blew a plume of white from the top; a snowy, crystalized pennant flying in the breeze. Far below them, the deep gorge of the Dudh Kosi wound its way down towards the valley, carving a path through the underbelly of the Himalayas.

"Oh my God," Allison’s voice was hushed, overwhelmed as she was at the raw, powerful vision assaulting her senses. "It’s beautiful."

Ricky Bouchard fixed two blue ice chips on the summit. On the Mother Goddess. She from whom all life was given.

Or was coldly taken.

"It is."

**********

The warm rays of the late afternoon sun angled their way through the trees, casting gentle beams of light upon the forest floor. The monastery itself stood at the head of a hot, dusty trail, detouring through the forest from the main path. It had been a good day’s trek, overall, and the altitude they’d covered made the soaring peaks above them loom closer, heavier. They could all feel it, the icy weight of the massifs bearing down upon them.

Thyangboche was tucked into the side of a hill, at the edge of a rock-strewn glacial moraine. The stark, whitewashed building had been battered over the years by both the elements and earthquakes, but the spirit of the devout monks who inhabited it, endured.

A young monk welcomed them at the door, bowing a greeting, ushering them into what appeared to be a main gathering room. The aged walls were decorated with textile hangings and art, and the scores of candles burning in yak butter did little to ward off the cool chill of the stone interior. Wordlessly, the monk beckoned them to sit down on a set of floor cushions facing a raised platform and altar.

"What happens now?" Allison whispered, speaking in the low, church-like tones. The sense of holiness of place was strong, vibrating through the air and working its way into them, like a tide that could not be turned away.

"Just follow my lead," the mountaineer replied, crossing her legs. "And whatever you do, don’t insult them," she warned. "This ceremony has great religious significance for them." She eyed Allison carefully. "You take what is offered, with a ‘thank you’ and a smile."

The hall began to fill with at least a dozen other monks, all featuring shaved heads and wearing the rich, maroon robes of office. Ricky gazed at the altar, which was laden with prayer scarves, offerings, tattered bits of paper scribbled with prayer requests, and pictures of the Dalai Lama. The air they breathed was thick with the mingling odors of incense and age, of the damp mustiness of ancient carpets, and the sour scent of the yak butter.

Ricky knew that for both the monks and the Sherpas, yak butter represented a scarce resource, a great gift from God to be valued and treasured. The monks put it in everything, including their tea, as Allison and Lou were about to find out.

The original young monk who had greeted them slipped back into the room, bearing a large kettle of the dark brew. This was an important part of the ritual, the drinking of the tea, heavily flavored with salt and yak butter, while negotiating a fee for the blessing and khatas – white silk scarves – that were to be presented.

Ricky did the talking, settling with the English-speaking monk on an ‘offering’ price of 200 Nepalese rupees.

Almost indiscernibly, the monks began to softly chant. Then, gradually, the chanting began to build in volume. As if by hidden signal, from a side entrance near the altar the aged Rimpoche entered, and took his seat on a large brocade pillow atop the raised platform.

The tea was poured and consumed: three separate ritual sips were required by tradition, with the monk refilling their cups each time. The mountaineer could not resist sparing a sidelong glance towards Lou and Allison. The attorney seemed to be doing all right, but it was obvious that Allison Peabody was struggling.

Even on a good day, the monks’ tea was a difficult swallow. For the Nepalese, the drink provided the nutrients essential to life in the higher elevations: a stimulant, fats, and salt. But to the western palate, the taste could be somewhat… off-putting. Ricky hid a smile behind another sip of the tea. Allison was turning quite a peculiar shade of green, this was apparent even in the darkened interior of the hall. Still, she had to give her credit. The girl offered a tight smile and held out her cup for more, and the monk cheerfully complied.

The chanting continued, filling the hall with deep, comforting sounds: ‘Om mani padme hum’ – ‘Hail to the jewel in the heart of the lotus.’ Soon, the voices were joined by the reverberating tones of two long brass horns, over six feet in length, reminding Ricky for all the world of the great alpenhorns she’d seen in Austria. Other smaller instruments joined in, accompanied by the mesmerizing beat of cymbals and drums.

Ricky found herself swept up in it all as she always did; the heady effect of the tea, the thick, heavy incense swirling around her, the intense devotion of these monks to their God as a living, breathing thing. She lost herself in the magic of it all and, for a brief moment, allowed her soul to be touched by the inner peace that so eluded her.

Suddenly, the instruments stopped, and a delicate, jingling bell quieted the chanting of the monks. Then the Lama spoke in halting, quaking tones, giving them his blessing to aid their journey through the mountains. With the help of two monks, he came down from the platform, bearing three of the white silk khatas. He shuffled over to the three climbers, and draped the scarves around their shoulders, anointing them with a vial of blessed water.

"Wear these to the top of the Mother Goddess," he said, the skin on his face as wrinkled and thin as old parchment. "It will please God, and keep you safe from harm."

After gracing them with one last blessing, his face lit up in a beatific smile, and gave them his leave. Together with his attendants, the old Lama retreated from the hall using his private doorway.

The ceremony was concluded.

"Well, that was something," Lou Silvers said, shouldering his rucksack as the inlaid monastery doors swung shut behind them. Departing from the dark, mysterious coolness back into the warm light of day. Stepping across the threshold from a journey to a place frozen in the rituals of times past, returning to the immediacy of the present.

Allison Peabody gratefully let the sun hit her in the face and warm her arms, breathing in deeply, ridding her lungs of all traces of the incense and dank mustiness. She could not help but feel the lingering sense that she’d left something behind in the old monastery. And perhaps taken away something, too. She lightly fingered her silk scarf as they made their way back to the trail. "No protection cord, eh?" The scarf was beautiful, but she had been looking forward to acquiring neckwear similar to the piece Ricky wore. It didn’t make her too nervous in terms of their safety, they’d been given the scarves, after all. And of more immediate concern to her was getting a good gulp of clear water to quell the worrisome lurching of her yak-buttered stomach.

Still lost in her thoughts, Ricky smiled faintly, and lifted her eyes to the mountains towering above them. "No, no protection cords. Guess on this trip, we’re on our own."

**********

The remainder of the trek passed uneventfully. They climbed higher and higher into the mountains, past forests of juniper and blue pine, eventually leaving the green, verdant valleys of the lower elevations behind. The villages along the way became smaller too, and the lodges where they stayed, more crowded and very basic, in terms of amenities. Young trekkers and climbers jammed into tiny bunkhouse accommodations, replete with hard dirt floors and food that proved highly suspect.

When they’d passed the tree line, things became particularly grim. The air turned cold and bitter, particularly at night, and in the tiny Sherpa villages where they stopped, the locals burned dung for fuel, as opposed to the more costly, rare wood. The stench was unbelievable.

"Oh God, there is no way," Allison declared, gazing at the filthy, fumes-infested lodge where they were supposed to spend their last night prior to reaching Base Camp. "Can’t we camp outside or something?" The stockbroker had felt herself returning to full strength over the past few days, and feared that a night spent in the local so-called ‘guest house’ might leave her with a raging cough, at the minimum. Or worse. Been there. Done that.

Ricky had to admit it, Allison had a point. The young woman and Lou had done well over the past several days, moving at a steady, healthy pace. But now that they were higher up in the mountains, it didn’t take much for the altitude to begin to affect one’s constitution. A smoky fire could lead to a nagging cough, which could lead to separated or broken ribs.

Meaning the end of a climb. She had seen it happen before.

"Okay… let me see if I can find a couple of our Sherpas."

She did, and in quick order she’d grabbed some camping supplies from them. By the time darkness fell, a tent had been set up behind the lodge, strategically placed in-between two glacial boulders.

"But this only fits two people," Lou puffed and grunted on his hands and knees as he unfolded a sleeping bag.

"It was all our Sherpas had. I’ll be fine out here," the mountaineer replied, setting up her kit adjacent to the tent.

"You’ll… you’ll freeze!" Allison’s eyes flew open wide. As she spoke, plumes of white vapor billowed from her mouth. "Maybe…." She gazed at the inside of the tent, as though willing it to magically increase in size. "If you—"

"I’ll be fine," Ricky assured them, busying herself with preparing her little camp. "Besides," she smirked, "I’m hot-blooded."

"Are you sure, Ricky?" Lou Silvers was doubtful. "I suppose I could do the gentlemanly thing and switch with you—"

"No!" Ricky surprised herself with the quickness of her response. There was no way she’d let a client sleep out-of-doors while there was a warm tent nearby. Not to mention the fact that she found the thought of being in such close quarters to Allison Peabody slightly… unsettling. And why did the girl care anyway whether she was comfortable or not? Why wouldn’t she just leave her be?

"I love sleeping under the stars," Ricky haltingly explained. "I do it all the time. It reminds me…" she paused, "of when I was a kid."

"Well, okay, ‘kiddo,’" Lou shook his head as he unzipped his jacket. "I’m too tired to argue." He crawled inside the tent and with an exhausted groan, cocooned himself in his sleeping bag.

Allison simply stayed on her knees in front of the tent, watching the dark haired woman arrange her sleeping pad and bag on the rocky ground. It was obvious that Ricky knew what she was doing, and indeed she had appeared to actually relish the thought of sleeping outside, unprotected. Alone.

Still.

"What?" Ricky felt a pair of eyes upon her.

"Nothing. I’ll… I’ll be right back." Allison pushed herself to her feet, breathing hard. She was beginning to feel the affects herself of all this exertion at a higher elevation. They all were, but Ricky had told them that it was to be expected.

"Whatever," Ricky shrugged, returning to her work.

In a few more moments, Ricky had completed setting up her campsite. She leaned against a cold, gray boulder, and removed her hiking boots. Her toes – all ten of them - crackled as she flexed them. Her feet had served her well over the past few years, and had never let her down. Other climbers, she knew, were not so fortunate. Brutal cold, snow or moisture penetrating your gaiters, and next thing you knew, frostbite would set in. Good-bye toes.

She stretched her arms out above her head, admiring the brilliant, cloudless night sky. The stars twinkled like gemstones against the velvety darkness. And Everest… the behemoth stood majestically under a half-moon light. A three-sided pyramid, seeming to emit an icy glow from within, shadowed by glittering, rocky onyx. She could feel its pull, now, stronger than ever. Urging her forward, and up, up, until she no longer knew nor cared about the who and the why of it; there was just herself, and the mountain, and they were one.

"I’m back."

Shit. In a jarring instant, Ricky felt herself sucked back into reality; a disembodied dreamer, awakening.

Allison Peabody.

"So you are," Ricky snapped, slightly annoyed that her solitude had been interrupted. "Well… goodnight, then."

"Um, listen – would you like some of this?" A flash of white teeth in the dark.

It was then that the mountaineer saw that the small blonde was carrying two cups of steaming hot Sherpa tea. "Well—"

"C’mon – it’s all about hydration, right?" Allison stepped closer, her boots crunching on the uneven ground.

"Okay… sure." Ricky realized it would be silly to refuse the girl’s offering just… because. And anyway, the sooner she accepted, the sooner Allison would be gone.

"Here ya go."

To the mountaineer’s consternation, the blonde settled herself down next to her.

"Uh… thanks," Ricky mumbled. She cupped the warm beverage in the palms of her hands, breathing in its slightly bitter scent.

"I took it easy on the yak butter," Allison said wryly, and Ricky could not help but chuckle at that.

"Yeah, well, you do have to acquire a taste for it, that’s for sure." She blew at the edge of the cup before taking a sip, allowing a silence to fall.

Hmnn.

Here they were, just the two of them. The thing she’d been trying most to avoid. Ah, well. She supposed she’d better get used to it, since they were bound to be in close quarters on the mountain anyway. Maybe they had gotten off on the wrong foot back in Kathmandu. And the girl had certainly shown some spunk, hitting the trail so strongly after her bad dose of Delhi-belly.

They sat quietly, side-by-side, drinking their tea, enjoying the night. Ricky soon found her attention drawn back to the mountain and, glancing sidelong at Allison, saw that she, too, had fallen under its spell. The mountaineer waited, betting that the stockbroker would soon feel the need to fill the night air with idle prattle or conjecture about the climb: was the route through the Khumbu Ice Fall fixed yet? How had the other Peak Performance members fared on the trek to Base Camp? What were the other expeditions on the hill up to?

Instead, there was nothing.

Just two people, united in their deep, abiding admiration for the great, hulking beauty hovering above them. Drawing them in. In the face of it all, Ricky had to admit that words seemed somehow… superfluous.

After a time, Allison tossed her tea leaves out onto the dirt, and stood. "Goodnight, Ricky," she said softly, "Sleep well."

"Thanks, uh… again." Tongue-tied, Ricky watched the blonde walk away and duck into her tent. Well, that was different. God, why was it so difficult for her to string a few words together? Why did this… person throw her off balance so?

Ricky took a deep breath of the brisk night air, catching on the wind the invigorating scent of ice and snow. She returned her gaze to the mountain, pushing away all thoughts of everything and everyone else, and immediately she found her center again. This was what she knew best, what she could count on above all else. For in the timeless embrace of the Mother Goddess, she was at home.

**********

The next day dawned cold and raw, with clouds beginning to move in over the mountains. They started off early, anxious to make Base Camp by midday. This last bit of the trek was over rough ground; a trail of barren rock and ice, silent reminders of the great Khumbu glacier slumbering nearby.

They followed the glacier’s path, and as the going became more difficult, they fell in single file. Ricky took the lead, followed by Allison and Lou Silvers. The mountaineer carefully picked her way over the unsettled ground, conscious of the huffing and puffing going on behind her. Conversation was little more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ grunts, as they attempted to keep their footing on the ash and gravel that had been haphazardly tossed on the ice to afford a better traverse.

The climbers concentrated on simply putting one foot in front of another; dodging the streams of melt-water that, with one misstep, threatened to douse their boots. No one would voluntarily live in this desolate, dead area, and so even the little trail-side huts eventually disappeared.

But Allison noticed that the closer they got to the base of Everest, a collection of stone monuments sprang up, lining the path. They were randomly constructed and of varying sizes, made mostly with stones and boulders that would have been found in the immediate vicinity.

"Wha – what are they?" Allison gasped, as another of the strange cairns came into view.

Lou came up behind her. As fit as the compact attorney was, he’d definitely been feeling the effects of the altitude over the past few days. And had one hell of a headache, besides, due to the altitude, no doubt. "The Sherpas… put them up," he explained, his normally ruddy face pale in the late morning sun. "To honor those who’ve died on Everest. See," he reached out a gloved hand towards markings on the stone. "This one is for a… a Sherpa. And here," he sniffled in the cold, "the year that he died. 1982, it looks like."

"Oh," Allison gulped and started to move off again, feeling guiltily as though she’d trodden on someone’s grave. She noticed that Ricky hadn’t bothered to stop at the cairn. Of course, she had to have known what the monuments symbolized, and just hadn’t bothered to say.

The mountaineer had been very quiet today, that was true. But Allison decided to take no offense at that. Hell, they all had been saving their breath. The fact that they were on the final approach to the 17,600 foot elevation of Base Camp was at last taking its toll. Her throat was dry and sore, her feet hurt, and despite the large quantities of water she’d been forcing herself to drink, her head was buzzing as though she’d just left the front row seat of a rock concert.

Still, she felt better about things than she had in days. She felt ready, somehow, to take on the mountain, and part of that had to do with the truce that had evolved of its own accord between herself and Veronique Bouchard. At least, she felt as though the mountaineer no longer desired to toss her off the nearest cornice every time she looked at her. And as for herself, well, she still thought that Ricky was her best ticket to getting to the top of the hill. But it wasn’t just that. There was a quiet confidence about the tall woman, an inner strength and a force of will that Allison… envied in a way. Plagued as she was with her own self doubt and uncertainty, she craved the focus and self-reliance that seemed to effortlessly flourish in the spirit of the mountaineer. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn from her, and take away a bit of that for herself. Reflecting back on the capricious void that was her life to date, she felt sure that with just such a psychic push, it might make all the difference.

Everest. They were nearly there.

As the sun burned off the low-hanging clouds, the free-standing ice pinnacles of ‘Phantom Alley’ stood out in sharp relief against the glittering blue ice of the glacier. Looking for all the world like tumbled stalagmites, the sightless monoliths lined the final approach path to Base Camp.

"Okay, this is it!" Ricky tossed back over her shoulder, the first real words she’d spoken in hours.

They turned a corner, tramping along the crest of a slope towards the base of the glacial moraine. And there, spread out among a rocky lunar landscape, was a tent city of several hundred nylon domes. Crawling with Sherpas, yaks, shrieking birds, and the multitude of climbers who made up the expeditions staging for the southern route to the summit.

Shouts.

And then a group of people pelting down the trail towards them. Allison could not identify them as members of the Peak Performance expedition, but it was hard to tell, bundled as they were against the elements. There were Sherpas among them, and several ‘western’ looking climbers as well, wearing their sunglasses, brightly colored jackets, and wind pants.

Exhausted, struggling for every breath, Allison tried to sort it out. A welcoming committee, perhaps?

But as they drew closer, she could see she was mistaken. They were gesturing, shouting, in several languages that she didn’t understand. And between them, they carried a stretcher.

Oh, God!

Arms waving, it became apparent they wanted them to move out of the way. They hurtled down the trail, oblivious to the jostling the body on the stretcher was receiving. Allison did her best to step aside and give them clear passage. Behind her, she heard Lou Silvers breathlessly scrambling to do the same.

The party was starting to push past them now, and Allison stood there, frozen, unable to pull her eyes away from the unfortunate soul on the litter. He was a Sherpa, she could tell that much. His eyes were glassy, unresponsive. An oxygen mask had been clamped onto his face, but in spite of that she could see the pale, pink froth seeping from the sides of it, trickling down his cheeks. His hands and legs weakly convulsed of their own accord, no longer in the control of their owner. Several of his fellow Sherpas trailed along next to him, chattering away, encouraging him, but Allison doubted that the poor man could hear.

"Arrêtez!" Suddenly, Veronique Bouchard stood in front of them, blocking their path.

Uh-oh.

A violent argument ensued, confusion and fear tracking across the faces of the Sherpas as their two western masters went toe-to-toe with Ricky. They weren’t American or English, Allison surmised, and from the sound of their accents, she doubted they were even French. Their faces flushed as their words became more heated. Ricky was livid, angrily pointing at the man on the stretcher. Allison feared the quarrel was about to come to blows when Ricky finally gave in, and stepped aside.

Quickly, the little caravan tumbled off down the trail.

"Idiots!" Ricky spat out a few more epithets in French, not caring whether they heard her or not.

"What… the hell was that all about?" Allison tried her best to keep her voice calm and even, but truth be known, she was feeling a little ill.

"That man shouldn’t be moved," Ricky stomped back up the path, her face stormy. "Or at least they should have stabilized and ‘bagged’ him first," she said, referring to a pressurized ‘Gamow’ bag common to many expeditions’ medical equipment. The bag was a portable hyperbaric chamber frequently used to treat severe conditions of high altitude pulmonary and/or cerebral edema. "He’s got a dose of HAPE."

Lou coughed nervously. "That’s… that’s high altitude pulmonary edema, right?"

"Yeah." Ricky looked after the departing group with disgust. "They’re with an international expedition. Russians, Uzbekistanis, and who the hell knows who else. Seems like their Sherpas were trying to lay claim to the better spots for the higher camps. Hell!" Ricky swore, her blue eyes flashing, "The route can’t even have been fixed yet! These guys think they can race up there, drop a tent, pound a few ice stakes into the ground, and it’s all theirs." She angrily shook her head. "He went up too far, too fast."

"Where are they taking him?" Allison asked weakly. Her knees were wobbly, and her heart was pounding, struggling to pump blood through her system at altitude. She felt like she wanted to sit down right now, but if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d have the energy to get going again. And if only her stomach would stop doing flip-flops. She swallowed hard. God, that poor man! She tried to blink the image out of her sight.

"They’re heading for the clinic at Pheriche," Ricky replied, the muscles bunching in her jaw. "But he’ll never make it that far."

Pheriche was at the lower end of the Khumbu, at an elevation of about 16,000 feet. A small medical facility had been established there a few years before, and was staffed by several western doctors. Climbers who were ill or injured were typically taken there for treatment first and evacuated from there, if necessary, by helicopter. As an added benefit, the small clinic provided services to the local Sherpa community as well, year round.

"He… he’ll be okay, won’t he?" The buzz in Allison’s head was getting louder, and shapes began to swim before her eyes. But there was no way she was going to faint again, no way. She breathed in and out, sucking in the oxygen depleted air.

Ricky turned to Allison, her eyes narrowing. "He’s a dead man." Her lips formed a thin, tight line. "Welcome to Mount Everest."

To be continued - Part 4