Chapter 41
Sharyn dropped out of the rear cab of the truck. Per the number of dents and a mismatched door, the older-model pickup had clearly seen some rough travel. Still, the interior had been clean and, more importantly, warm.
She rubbed her palms and pulled on a pair of insulated gloves.
Archie and Duncan climbed out the other side, stamping and gasping at the cold. The three of them had shared the back seat, sitting on top of one another. But none of them had volunteered to travel in the truck’s bed, where a large aluminum cage confined the massive lynx.
Laurent had grabbed the front passenger spot and used the drive to review topo maps with their guide.
Russo had scowled—or maybe it was just her resting face—throughout the discussion of routes and options.
The pair spoke in Italian, which Laurent proved himself to be fluent in.
As was Archie, who whispered a translation for her and Duncan.
The truck traversed an ever-narrowing road that went from broken pavement to gravel to a rutted dirt track clogged with frost-deadened weeds, until eventually they traveled a path of unblemished snow.
The forest to either side dwindled from dense Norway spruces and Swiss pines to scraggly versions, contorted by wind and snow and pushing straight out of the icy rock.
They had finally come to a stop where a shoulder of the mountain blocked the way, rising in a sheer cliff.
The precipitous face was surely a delight to rock climbers.
But, for Sharyn, it appeared ready to topple over on top of them.
The latter impression was reinforced by the tumble of boulders at its base.
Sharyn craned up. “How far is it to reach the northern approach from here?” she asked Russo.
The woman crossed to the back of the truck and opened the crate. “Not far. Twenty kilometers. During which we’ll gain a thousand meters in elevation.”
Sharyn winced at the challenge ahead.
Russo offered a bit of consolation. “We’ll be mostly hiking on the leeward side of the mountain, so the snow underfoot—at least for now—should be manageable.”
It was the at least for now part that worried Sharyn. She searched the late morning sky, which remained achingly blue and continued to show no evidence of a threatening storm.
Maybe it’ll pass us by.
To the side, Katch leaped from his crate, landed on his huge paws, then stretched his back into a spine-breaking arch, extending his forelegs—along with those huge claws.
Sharyn kept well back.
Russo scratched the lynx’s ruff, digging deep, which earned a contented rumble from the beast, followed by a head butt that was both affectionate and dismissive.
Despite his massive size, Katch was still all feline.
With the crate now empty, they collected their packs from the truck bed. Russo sized their group up, her face unreadable. Once they were ready, she simply turned and headed off into the woods, following a snow-dusted trail only she seemed to be able to pick out.
Archie kept close to their guide, eyeing the shotgun slung across her back. “You mentioned bears. Are there any near here?”
“Certo. They’re definitely around. The cold snap and snow will likely have them foraging hard and seeking caves to hibernate out the winter.”
Sharyn stared over at the boulder-strewn cliffs that paralleled their path. “Those caves? Are there a lot of them in this area?” She gave Duncan a meaningful glance. “Do any of them go very deep?”
“Sì. Of course. Some burrow far into the mountains. These peaks are mostly formed of limestone, specifically a variant called dolomite, which is why there are so many caves out here.” She glanced to Laurent. “Is that what you came here to find?”
Laurent must have decided it was safe enough to let his guard down somewhat. “Yes. We’ve heard rumors of a cavern system that might yet be undiscovered.”
Russo made a scoffing noise. “I would not place much faith in rumors when it comes to the Dolomites. There are hundreds of tales and legends about these mountains. Of the discovery of elephant bones from Hannibal’s crossing.
Of lost Roman outposts. Of strange energies.
Even of nymph-like witches—the anguana—who guard the mouths of highland caves. ”
Archie sighed. “Well, we shouldn’t have too much worry about them as we’re practically study partners.”
Russo frowned at this. “I wouldn’t suggest venturing into their caves.”
“Why’s that?”
“They are known to cast spells that cause trespassers to fall into a deep sleep.”
Archie shrugged. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Then the witches drain your blood or drown you in a mountain spring.”
Archie lifted a palm. “Okay, I retract my statement.”
Laurent sighed and waved her onward. “What other stories have you heard?”
“Plenty. About all manner of creatures. Like Mazaròl, a mischievous red-capped gnome who lures people astray. Or the wild men of the mountains, called salvanel, immortal beings who roam its remotest regions.”
Sharyn’s ears perked at the mention of such men.
But Russo quickly cast cold water on all of this. “I’ve been throughout the Dolomites. For more than fifteen years. I’ve never encountered anything beyond its natural beauty. These mountains and valleys need no tall tales to embellish their true wonders. As you will see.”
They continued onward, heading ever higher.
The quiet murmuring among them died as the cold, thin air and exertion took their toll.
After three hours, they eventually left the main forest below and crossed into a terrain of bare stone, treacherous loose shale, and rock-hugging scrub that scribed frosty emerald lines across the slopes.
As their guide predicted, the snows proved scant on this side of the mountain, but the slopes remained icy. Katch continued to roam around them, his wide pads finding secure footing on rock, snow, or ice. He certainly belonged in these mountains.
Upon reaching a flat expanse, Russo called for a stop. “We’ll take a short break. No more than twenty minutes. We’ve made good time, but the next half will tax us harder.”
“Wait. We’re only halfway?” Archie blew out a tired exhalation and dropped his butt to the stone.
Duncan looked no happier as he joined his friend. “Wish I’d had more time to break in these new boots.”
Russo turned to Laurent. “I hope the cavern system you’re looking for is out there.”
“Why is that?”
Russo pointed to a dark line across the southeastern sky, which rose behind Antelao’s craggy summit. “The stormfront looks worse than predicted. We’ll eventually need to find shelter to weather it out.”
“I brought a large tent.”
Russo cocked a leery eye at him. “You may need something stronger than canvas. I know of a couple caves, where we can light a fire. Both are closer. Maybe we should overnight in one of them and continue in the morning.”
Sharyn stepped forward. “Does that mean we can’t make it before the storm hits?”
“I could answer that if you’d be more forthcoming about exactly where you’re going.”
Sharyn turned to Laurent. “You’d better show her.”
He nodded, needing no further convincing.
He pulled out the topo map, one he had not shared with their guide, and spread it on the rock.
The location’s coordinates had been marked with a series of concentric blue circles, radiating out from the most likely location.
But they could not rule out that their goal might be anywhere within the scope of those rings.
Russo stared for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. “That’s where you want to go?”
“We do.”
She shook her head. “If you had been forthright, I could’ve saved you a long trek.”
“Why?” Sharyn asked.
“I know that spot. There’s no major cavern system in the area. Only an old bunker, a fortification from World War II. Locals call it the Castello. It’s a dead end, too. Teenagers camped and partied there for decades, until it was eventually gated and chained.”
Duncan overhead this. “Maybe there’s a cave opening you don’t know about?”
Russo glared at them. “There’s nothing there. You’re all wasting your time.”
Sharyn turned to Laurent. “We still have to look, right?”
He nodded. “We go on.” He then repeated Sharyn’s earlier concern. “Can we reach there before the storm hits?”
“It’ll be close. I’ll have to set a hard pace. And the last stretch is exposed and treacherous. We don’t want to be caught in the open when the storm hits.”
To lessen the chance of that happening, Russo shortened their break to five minutes, then set off again. After another hour, they cleared a shoulder of the mountain, and the lights of San Vito appeared far below, looking small and buried in the surrounding dark forest.
Sharyn had not imagined they had climbed so high. As she stared below, a light snow sifted out of the sky, likely blowing off the front edge of the incoming blizzard.
“We’d better move faster,” Russo urged, holding a palm up to the icy flakes.
Before Sharyn could turn away, movement below caught her eye. A trio of large helicopters, illuminated by bright lights, swept over the black pines. They circled and descended toward the village.
She shared a look with Duncan, the worry on her face matching his own.
“We’d better move faster,” he said, parroting their guide.
She glanced back as they set off. Maybe the helicopter only carried skiers—those hoping for an early season and fresh powder—but she feared the worst. Her gaze lingered on the lights of the village, knowing who they had left behind.
Be careful, you two.