Excalibur

CHAPTER 7: THE PAST

“Because it is there.”

The answer took the reporters by surprise. They’d expected a long patriotic speech about why George Mallory was attempting the Everest climb for God, Queen, and country. He was standing on the wharf, next to the loading plank for the ship that would take him and his partner Sandy Irvine to India and it was the last time the English press would have a chance to talk to him.

He ignored the shouted questions and raised his hands, quelling the outburst. “You will have to excuse me, gentlemen, but I must do one last check of equipment before we sail. I would hate to have forgotten something important.”

As the reporters laughed, he turned without a smile and walked up the gangplank, his new partner Irvine right behind him. The gear was packed belowdecks and Mallory disappeared through a hatchway. Irvine hesitated, then went toward the rear of the ship once his partner was out of sight. A man in a long black coat waited in the shadows near the wheelhouse.

“Very interesting answer Mr. Mallory gave,” the man said as Irvine came up to him. The man’s face was lined and his dark hair streaked with gray. His eyes danced with an inner light, darting about manically. He held up his hand and made a strange gesture, a secret sign that Irvine returned with the appropriate hand signal.

“I am Nikola Tesla,” the man said.

“I have heard of you,” Irvine said. “There are some who say you have harnessed great powers.”

“Some will say anything,” Tesla said evasively. “What exactly do you think he was referring to when he said ‘it’? The mountain? Or—” Tesla paused, then put emphasis on the word: “‘it’?”

Irvine shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” Tesla hissed. “This is more important than your pride.”

Irvine was unfazed by the outburst. “You’ve never seen Everest. Never stood in its shadow.”

“Everest is not the goal. What is hidden there must be protected.” “I will do what is required.”

“You must stop him — and the thing inside of him,” Tesla said. “Yes, yes.” Irvine was anxious to be off.

“You must be careful,” Tesla said. “Watch Mallory closely.” “That is why I am doing this,” Irvine said.

“You are doing this because you were ordered to,” Tesla said.

“I am doing this, yes, because I was ordered,” Irvine agreed, “but also because it will be one of the greatest achievements in history. The North and South Poles have been conquered. Everest is the last, great unknown.”

“And that is why it is there,” Tesla said.

Irvine frowned. “And if Mallory is”—he searched for a word—“corrupted? How do I stop him?”

“Kill the host body high enough, then the Ancient Enemy cannot survive.” “You are certain of this?”

Tesla nodded. “I’ve learned much. I destroyed their craft years ago, but we know now some survived. The Ancient Enemy is very patient. It has spent years gathering information, learning where it is, and now it is finally taking an action.”

“Why now?” Irvine asked.

“Because the peak finally seems within man’s capability of climbing and coming back down.”

“We hope it is,” Irvine said.

“I envy you,” Tesla suddenly remarked.

“Why?”

“Because you will see it.”

“If I make it there,” Irvine said. “And find the location.” “That is secondary.” With that Tesla strode away.

A hundred-foot-high vertical step blocked the path. It was a rock outcropping from the mountain rising above the northwest ridgeline extending down from the mountain-top. Sandy Irvine stared at it for several moments, then turned to Mallory. The elder climber simply pointed up. Mallory had led on the previous step, and now it was Irvine’s turn. He used his ice ax, chiseling out a small step. Then another. Then two handholds. He levered himself up, then reached as far above his head as he could and hammered a piton into a crack in the rock. He put a snap link in, then the rope that connected him with his climbing partner.

Irvine felt the rope tighten around his waist and lift him as Mallory leaned back on belay. There was no way a man could have reached this point on Everest, above twenty-seven thousand feet, climbing alone. This step alone would have been impossible for one man to climb. How much longer would that hold true, Irvine wondered. He could not see the summit from his position on the step so he continued up, ever so slowly.

After almost an hour, Irvine reached the top of the step, his hand scrambling for a hold. He found one and pulled himself up on top of the outcropping. He lay still for several moments, simply trying to catch his breath, knowing he never would at this altitude as the air was too thin. He rolled onto his back and looked up. The summit was only five hundred feet above — he started laughing to himself — only! And the top of the Kanshung Face, a mile-high almost purely vertical slab of rock that made up a large part of the north face of the mountain was to his left. That was where it was.

Irvine slowly got to his feet. He finally knew he could make it the rest of the way without help. When he felt a tug on his waist, Irvine looked down. Mallory was waiting, his face hidden behind oxygen mask and goggles. Mallory began to climb, putting pressure on the rope. Irvine belayed. Mallory made quick time and was within ten feet of the top when Irvine pulled out a knife and held it against the rope.

Mallory paused when he noted he wasn’t being helped on the belay and looked up. Irvine couldn’t see his partner’s face behind the goggles and mask, for which he was glad. It made Mallory seem like a thing, making what he was about to do more palatable. Still, he didn’t cut the rope. They had been together for months, traveling from England by ship, then overland by train, and then by horse and — finally — for months on foot, steadily higher into the Himalayas. He’d found Mallory to be withdrawn but competent, with little sign of the change Irvine had been told had occurred. It had brought forth doubts about what he’d been instructed to do. Mallory wrapped one arm around the rope, locking himself in place, then pulled aside his oxygen mask. “What are you doing?”

“I cannot allow you near it.”

Mallory reached with his free hands into his parka and pulled out a small glowing orb. “This must be placed on it.”

“Why?”

“To destroy it.” “Why?”

Mallory cocked his head slightly, as it was a stupid question. “You have no idea of the truth.”

“I know you’ve been corrupted by the Ancient Enemy,” Irvine said.

Mallory nodded slightly. “It is part of me. But it is here to save you.” “That is not what is written.”

Mallory didn’t reply. He reached up for a handhold. With that, Irvine cut the rope.

Mallory desperately clung to the side of the mountain. He didn’t speak again even though his mouth opened up, farther and farther. Irvine could hear bones cracking and ligaments tearing. Something gray was now visible in Mallory’s mouth, coming forth. Irvine didn’t wait to see more. He threw his ice ax at the climber and it hit him in the head. Mallory lost his grip, scrambled for it, then arched backward from the step, free-falling, until he slammed into the base and then began tumbling, picking up speed. Irvine watched as the body smashed into rocks, still rolling, then fell off the first step they had climbed earlier that morning and was gone down the mountain.

Beyond that Irvine knew there was a thousand feet of nearly vertical rock before his partner would crash into rock, ice, and snow. The curious thing was that Mallory had not screamed or made a noise as he slid, as if he accepted and almost welcomed his fate. The memory of whatever had been coming up into Mallory’s mouth caused Irvine to shudder, even more than the freezing cold seeping in through his clothing.

Irvine checked the sun, which was well past its apex. He knew if he continued upward his own death was inevitable. He also knew that he could not make it down alone. He looked up at the summit, then across at the top of the Kanshung Face. The summit? Or the other way? Irvine turned toward the Kanshung Face. It was late in the day and he knew, at best, he would reach the location just before dark, if not after the sun was gone. And that would seal his fate as effectively as a firing squad. And what would be the point of summiting when he was going to die there anyway? No one would know of his feat.

He rubbed his goggles, trying to scrape away the ice that constantly formed on them. He could barely see twenty feet. As had been true for the past week, the ground in front went upward. Ever upward. He was on the roof of the world — higher than any other human being on the planet.

He looked up once more, trying to clear his goggles. The sky was clear and the wind wasn’t howling, about as good as weather got on Everest. The ice on the lens was too hard and thick and Irvine gave up on his attempts to clear the goggles and pushed them down so they dangled around his neck. He blinked in the bright sunlight. The sun burned into his eyes, but Irvine ignored the pain as he searched the rock wall for the climbing route to the left.

He was on the north face of Everest. On Mallory’s first trip years earlier he had proclaimed the north face impossible to climb. The only possible way up Everest, Mallory had so boldly pronounced, would be via the less steep southern approach. Those words had been one of the indicators of trouble when Mallory announced this expedition and indicated he would use a north side route. High peaks were visible, all below him, and beyond them the brown plateau of Tibet. He could even make out the curvature of the Earth in the far distance.

The terrain grew steeper as he moved away from the ridge that he would have followed had his primary goal been summiting. He paused as the crampons on his left foot hit something solid. Rock was his first thought. He looked down. There was something brown. He reached down with one mittened hand and wiped away snow. A frozen face looked back at him, the skin etched where the steel had dug in.

As far as Irvine could tell, the man was dressed in leather. How long he had lain there, Irvine didn’t know for sure but he could make a guess. This was one of the party that had put Excalibur here millennia ago. Rather than discouraging him, the presence of the body gave Irvine a boost of energy. If men like this, with ancient equipment, had conquered the mountain so long ago, surely he could go farther. One of the man’s hands was clutched to his chest and on a finger Irvine could make out a large ring, with an eye carved onto the surface.

Irvine reached the edge of the ridge. Beyond was the top of the Kanshung Face. Irvine blinked, trying to clear his eyes. There was a thin ledge, less than six inches wide, leading out onto the top of the rock wall. It went straight for about fifty meters, then disappeared around a rock-and-ice cornice. Below was a vertical drop as far as he could see. The wind was sending plumes of snow off the summit, whipping the white flakes around.

Irvine stepped onto the ledge, arms spread wide, the weight of his pack like a hand trying to pull him off the mountain. He shuffled his feet, slowly making his way along the edge. It took an hour to reach the spur, all the while the wind and the pack striving to separate him from the rock face.

The cornice was the worst. Reaching around, Irvine could tell it was two feet wide. The ledge disappeared completely and the rock was smooth. He couldn’t tell if the ledge continued on the other side. He had to trust that it did. Below was air.

Irvine took several deep breaths, only to realize there was very little oxygen flowing into his mask. He tried to remember when he had switched over to the last bottle, but his mind couldn’t compute the time.

He swung his left leg around the cornice, feeling the momentum take his body. He was committed as he followed through with his left hand. His left boot scrabbled for a hold, but his foot was so frozen he couldn’t tell if it had found purchase or not as he lifted his right foot and let go with his right hand, his body sliding around the cornice. He fell, was convinced he had failed and would continue falling, when a shock slammed up his left leg as the boot landed on a ledge. His hands scrabbled to keep his body from tipping over.

He hugged the side of the mountain so tightly, the right side of his face froze to the rock. But he didn’t even feel it. His eyes were glued to what was just ahead. The ledge widened to six feet deep, almost a cave. Set in the rear of this indent in the side of Mount Everest, frozen into a sheet of ice almost a foot thick, was Excalibur, sheathed in an ornately carved scabbard.

Irvine moved closer, ripping skin from his face as he pulled from the rock, now unaware of the dangers of falling, his mind and body drawn toward the sword. He stumbled and almost fell, before he noticed that on either side of the sword was a body, frozen to the mountain. Irvine looked down. The one on the right was dressed in brown leather and furs, the same as the previous one he had found.

The one on the left also had furs, but underneath was a black robe fringed with silver. The man’s face was aged, his hair and thick beard white. In his frozen hand was a long wooden staff.

The two bodies flanked the sword, dead eyes open, staring out over the world. Each man had a ring similar to the previous body’s. Strangely, each man’s face was twisted with a frozen smile that had endured for millennia.

Irvine turned his attention back to Excalibur. He pulled his mittens off and pressed against the ice. Encased in the ice, the sword’s handle glittered in the waning daylight. The metal was shiny, unmarred by the elements. He understood now why legends had grown up around it. He felt an urgent desire to touch it, but the ice denied him access even to the scabbard.

Irvine suddenly realized he had no feeling in his hands. He tried pulling them back, but they were stuck to the ice. With all his will he pulled his arms back. He blinked with almost bemusement as three fingers on his right hand and two on his left simply cracked off and remained frozen to the ice. He felt no pain, just a distant dullness from his elbows down.

With great effort he slid to a sitting position between the two bodies. Irvine slumped back against the ice. The rays of the sun were horizontal and soon it would be gone. The wind, strangely enough, had died down. It was eerily quiet; the only sound he could hear was his own gasping for oxygen in the thin air.

He sat back, totally exhausted. Still he summoned the strength to turn his body ever so slightly so that he was looking at the mountain, at Excalibur. A slight smile touched his blood-spattered lips. And that was how he died.