West by Edith Pattou

Author:Edith Pattou
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Rose

WE ARRIVED IN THE TOWN of Chamonix in the mid­afternoon of our eighth day of travel.

We had been able to see the mountains from afar for some days, but the up-close sight of those snow-covered peaks, stretching well off into the distance, was awe-inspiring.

“That one must be Mont Blanc,” said Charles, pointing to the tallest peak in the mountain range.

It dwarfed any of the mountains I had seen before in Njord.

When I was a child, Neddy had told me tales of the frightening creatures that lived up in the tallest peaks of the snow-capped mountains. Ice dragons, ghost wolves, and mountain giants called the Jotun. But never any mention of Huldre.

We were going to need supplies, I realized. Food, as well as equipment that would enable us to tackle the mountain range that lay ahead. There was no Malmo here to help me figure out what I needed, but there must be some similarity between the two worlds. Being in those mountains would be like being in the Arktisk, except that climbing would be involved.

I sent Charles off to buy food to replenish our supply, and I went looking for a place to buy gear.

I finally found a small shop that seemed to have some of the things we needed. I was assisted by a large, talkative man named Ernst, who mostly catered to crystal collectors, mountain men who lived in the nearby village of Tacul. They made their living by climbing up to the glaciers to find crystals to sell.

Ernst sold me a range of climbing equipment—rope, metal spikes, various goatskin garments, as well as some well-crafted snowshoes. He also said that I would need his brand of bedrolls, which were much thicker and more cumbersome than the ones we already had. They were made of rabbit fur, eiderdown, and a thick tightly woven material I couldn’t identify but which he said was designed to repel moisture.

Charles and I met in the center of town with our purchases and found what appeared to be a well-run stable, where we arranged to leave our horses, since our journey would now be on foot.

That night we made camp between Chamonix and the village called Tacul, and while we waited for meat pies to warm, Charles and I reviewed each piece of equipment I had gotten for our ascent. I explained that we would attach the spikes to our boots with leather straps, and that the poles tipped with iron would function as both walking sticks and ice picks.

As I filled him in, I had an odd feeling of déjà vu, though in reverse. I was playing the same role to him that Malmo had with me back in Gronland. It was daunting, though, and a bit absurd, considering I knew next to nothing about mountain climbing.

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