Chapter XII
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!
I shall pass over the eternities between my first attempt upon Yulada in November and my more resolute efforts in March. But I must not forget to describe my physical changes. I had grown a bushy brown beard, which hid my chin and upper lip and spread raggedly over my face; my hair hung as long and untended as a wild man's; while from unceasing exertions in the open, my limbs had developed a strength they had never known before, and I could perform tasks that would have seemed impossible a few months earlier.
Hence it was with confidence that I awaited the spring. Daily I scanned the mountains after the first sign of a thaw in the streams; I noted how streaks and furrows gradually appeared in the white of the higher slopes; how the gray rocky flanks began to protrude, first almost imperceptibly, then more boldly, as though casting off an unwelcome garb, until great mottled patches stood unbared to the sunlight. Toward the middle of March there came a week of unseasonably warm days, when the sun shone from a cloudless sky and a new softness was in the air. And then, when half the winter apparel of the peaks was disappearing as at a magic touch and the streams ran full to the brim and the lake overflowed, I decided to pay my long-postponed visit to Yulada.
Almost exultantly I set forth early one morning. The first stages of the climb could hardly have been easier; it was as though nature had prepared the way. The air was clear and stimulating, yet not too cool; and the comparative warmth had melted the last ice from the lower rocks. Exhilarated by the exercise, I mounted rapidly over slopes that would once have been a formidable barrier. Still Yulada loomed afar, with firm impassive face as always; but I no longer feared her, for surely, I thought, I should this day touch her with my own hands! As I strode up and up in the sunlight, I smiled to remember my old superstitions—what was Yulada after all but a rock, curiously shaped perhaps, but no more terrifying than any other rock!
Even when I had passed the timber-line, and strode around the blue-white glaciers at the brink of bare ravines, I still felt an unwonted bravado. Yulada was drawing nearer, noticeably nearer, her features clear-cut on the peak—and how could she resist my coming? In my self-confidence, I almost laughed aloud, almost laughed out a challenge to that mysterious figure, for certainly the few intervening miles could not halt me!
So, at least, I thought. But Yulada, if she were capable of thinking, must have held otherwise. Even had she been endowed with reason and with omnipotence, she could hardly have made a more terrible answer to my challenge. I was still plodding up the long, steep grades, still congratulating myself upon approaching success, when I began to notice a change in the atmosphere. It was not only that the air was growing sharper and colder, for that I had expected; it was that a wind was rising from the northwest, blowing over me with a wintry violence. In alarm, I glanced back—a stone-gray mass of clouds was sweeping over the northern mountains, already casting a shadow across the valley, and threatening to enwrap the entire heavens.
Too well I recognized the signs—only too well! With panicky speed, more than once risking a perilous fall, I plunged back over the path I had so joyously followed. The wind rose till it blew with an almost cyclonic fury; the clouds swarmed above me, angry and ragged-edged; Yulada was forgotten amid my dread visions of groping through a blizzard. Yet once, as I reached a turn in the trail, I caught a glimpse of her standing far above, her lower limbs overshadowed by the mists, her head obscured as though thus to mock my temerity.
And what if I did finally return to my cabin safely? Before I had regained the valley, the snow was whirling about me on the arms of the high wind, and the whitened earth, the chill air and the screeching gale had combined to accentuate my sense of defeat.
It might be thought that I would now renounce the quest. But there is in my nature some stubbornness that only feeds on opposition; and far from giving up, I watched impatiently till the storm subsided and the skies were washed blue once more; till the warmer days came and the new deposits of snow thawed on the mountain slopes. Two weeks after being routed by the elements, I was again on the trail to Yulada.
The sky was once more clear and calm; a touch of spring was in the air, and the sun was warmer than in months. Determined that no ordinary obstacle should balk me, I trudged with scarcely a pause along the winding trail; and, before many hours, I had mounted above the last fringe of the pines and deodars. At last I reached the point where I had had to turn back two weeks ago; at last I found myself nearer to the peak than ever before on all my solitary rambles, and saw the path leading ahead over bare slopes and around distorted crags toward the great steel-gray figure. The sweetness of triumph began to flood through my mind as I saw Yulada take on monstrous proportions, the proportions of a fair-sized hill; I was exultant as I glanced at the sky, and observed it to be still serene. There remained one more elevated saddle to be crossed, then an abrupt but not impossible grade of a few hundred yards—probably no more than half an hour's exertion, and Yulada and I should stand together on the peak!
But again the unexpected was to intervene. If I had assumed that no agency earthly or divine could now keep me from my goal, I had reckoned without my human frailties. It was a little thing that betrayed me, and yet a thing that seemed great enough. I had mounted the rocky saddle and was starting on a short descent before the final lap, when enthusiasm made me careless. Suddenly I felt myself slipping!
Fortunately, the fall was not a severe one; after sliding for a few yards over the stones, I was stopped with a jolt by a protruding rock.
Somewhat dazed, I started to arise ... when a sharp pain in my left ankle filled me with alarm. What if a tendon had been sprained? Among these lonely altitudes, that might be a calamity! But when I attempted to walk, I found my injury not quite so bad as I had feared. The ankle caused me much pain, yet was not wholly useless; so that I diagnosed the trouble as a simple strain rather than a sprain.
But there could be no further question of reaching Yulada that day. With a bitter glance at the disdainful, indomitable mistress of the peak, I started on my way back to Sobul. And I was exceedingly lucky to get back at all, for my ankle distressed me more and more as I plodded downward, and there were moments when it seemed as if it would not bear me another step.
So slowly did I move that I had to make camp that evening on the bare slopes at the edge of the forest; and it was not until late the following day that I re-entered the village. And all during the return trip, when I lay tossing in the glow of the campfire, or when I clung to the wall-like ledges in hazardous descents, I was obsessed by strange thoughts; and in my dreams that night I saw a huge taunting face, singularly like Yulada's, which mocked me that I should match my might against the mountain's.