A waterfall of endless thunder plunges through the Peruvian jungle. Its mist leaping up from the reincarnate river below and infiltrating the regimental trees. Macaws add their own cacophony from the high branches; clusters of vivid blues and yellows screeching the glass shatter of impassioned bird language. Humanity’s presence has hardly been felt here but today there are indeed intruders. Three of them. Beneath the morning sky vast with lonely stratocumulus clouds and a dazzling canopy of rainforest, they fight their way through the snarls of undergrowth among giant and slanting javelins of sunlight piercing the vaulted shield of leaves above.

Wielding his machete, Ollanto has the lead. He swings at the foliage briskly. Efficiently. Only faint expressions can be snatched from his face as he does so. Shirtless, his thin frame is sinewed with bronze muscles accumulated over fifty plus years. Quechuan, he comes from generations of poverty and hard work. He is their guide.

Behind him, Celine. Though a foot taller than he is, Ollanto had his doubts about her from the outset. They would be trekking through rough terrain as soon as they got off the boat. But she impressed him immediately. The prosthetic leg has not slowed her down in the least and his own prevailing determination to forge ahead has been pressed by the desire to avoid becoming her delay. When she introduced herself as a mountain climber he didn’t believe it but now he believes it. This young French woman of Asian descent is not a type he’s familiar with. He’s mostly dealt with tourists: the idlest sort. Those disinclined to stray far from shore. Ready to share their junk food with the local squirrel monkeys. Which, despite bringing in good money for him and his family, has long been something he’s found distasteful. Today though he’s been hired by a serious person. Someone with a mission. And it invigorates him.

Following Celine is Yasmin, one of her best friends. Their acquaintance goes back to when Celine first moved to Toulouse over fifteen years ago. Since then they’d gone separate paths but always stayed in touch before recently deciding to collaborate. Yasmin would use her filmmaking talents to create a documentary featuring her friend. A profile of the human spirit. The focus of the project however hadn’t completely crystallized until luck and rumor intervened.

As the group took its next break in a clearing swarmed with butterflies, a sweating Yasmin pulled out her “pocket” cinema camera and pointed it at Celine.

“So, why are we out here?” she asked. But her friend was used to such abrupt prompts by now.

“We’re going to find Espejo de Piedra: the Mirror of Stone. A 207-foot vertical rock face that’s never been climbed. Local legend says that the sheer is perfectly flat. We’ll see though.”

“What will that involve… on a practical level?”

“First I’ll take some LIDAR scans with the specialized drone we brought. Map the surface. Using that, I can devise a route to summit it. There might be several options. But once we’ve figured out what can be done, everything else is simply doing it.”

“Doesn’t sound like there’s much room for trial and error.”

“Yes and no. Every first climb, no matter how straightforward, involves experiment. Mistakes. You just have to be utterly focused. Inattention is where catastrophe arises.”

“Given the terrible price of failure, what makes it worth it?”

“The honesty of it. It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“Elaborate.”

“The climb doesn’t let you lie to yourself. Whatever height you reach, that’s the exact truth of your merit. And when it’s just you clinging to the rock, and losing your grip means death, there’s nothing left to hide behind. You summon everything you have. Strength, resilience … fear. It’s the pure expression of wanting to live. Because once you’re up there the decision’s been made. There’s no pressing pause. No cancellations. When you’re past the lethal fall point, you’re committed. To yourself. To the authentic you.”

Celine smiled into the camera with a hint of chilling fatalism. She was really someone who craved the measure of themselves no matter what. A gust of wind lashed the trees behind her. Branches swaying as their leaves hissed in protest.

***

Early afternoon brought them within the vicinity of their target. Forest gave way to grassland. The slope of their journey steepened as they ascended the shoulder of a sullen peak. Some wild goats skittered away in anticipation of their arrival; hooves favoring the carbuncles of bare rocks, clattering in leaps across the islands of these. Where earth surrendered to sky, the grass was dancing. Whirling in a chaos of kowtow and limbo. Then Ollanto was standing on the ridge, a chewed leaf greening his teeth with its juice. And Celine, hands on her hips, taking a place next to him; staring at the same view he was staring at but drawing from the nozzle of her hydration pack. Black hair fluttering in its crisp ponytail. A moment later they were joined by Yasmin and a slightly dizzy grin sprang from her lips before she pulled out her camera; parrying the vista that held them all speechless. There, in the crush of mountains, a hidden valley. Its basin jeweled with a crescent turquoise lake. And at the outer edge of this, the Espejo de Piedra like an empty portrait on a dais of offerings. Centerpiece of a Vedic temple. Each of them knew it right away. This monolithic facet of rock, the rarest element in the whole immense panorama, possessing all the dignity of an aloof and unmoved king whose stillness reverberates with battle-tested power.

Ollanto spoke to them while still staring ahead. “They say the man who discovered it did so by moonlight. Fleeing from conquistadors. I’ve heard a few versions but each declares what happened as the work of the moon. For you see, the rock became a scrying surface and a vision swam up from his heart. Something profane. But here accounts differ. Glimpses of personal demise mostly. One though … one said he saw how the world would end. And that it came true.”

“But the world didn’t end?” Yasmin had her camera trained on him now.

“Theirs did.”

Reaching their destination took another couple of hours but it was near the summer solstice and there was plenty of daylight left. Still, Celine got busy right away with her laptop and imaging equipment while the other two made camp. This consisted of nothing more than erecting their tents and setting up a butane stove to boil water and cook on. They had tarps but there was no sign of rain. Food wasn’t an issue. Animals little concern. So Yasmin and Ollanto soon had some time to kill and for the former this was obviously an ideal opportunity to shoot more ambient footage so she went off and did that. But the group’s guide was momentarily at a loss. He was paid to do things for others. Outside this framework he wasn’t in the habit of exercising any agency. Here, in the wilderness of his homeland, he too was an alien presence. Even with his many excursions, that hadn’t changed. Usually, when his clients had nothing for him to do, he waited on the boat and nursed a beer. Or two. He hadn’t told the women their request was unusual. It was all “Yes, yes. Of course.” Because that’s what foreigners expected. If you gave them a reason to doubt you, they’d simply hire someone else. He watched as a hawk circled in the distance. Its perfect attunement, solemn in a puzzling way.

Ollanto wandered around for a while before finding himself coming up behind Celine. He hadn’t meant to but there she was. Her back turned towards him, cross-legged on the ground with a laptop balanced on her calves. Bulky headphones on. Blaring. Probably not the smartest idea. Taking safety a bit too much for granted. She did not even notice his approach. And he was within arms length now. The Espejo de Piedra looming over both of them.

“Oh!”

“Sorry.”

“No, you just scared me.” She removed her headphones.

Ollanto nodded his head apologetically. “Are you… listening to the rock?”

She was confused for a second. Thinking he meant rock and roll. Then the realization. “Ha! Nothing like that. I just find music helps me concentrate. Although I’m sure geologists use acoustics for something.”

“So that’s the map?” he asked, pointing at the screen.

“Part of it. Thanks to the LIDAR, I can capture the surface down to millimeters.” She gestured at the inactive drone lying a few feet away.

“A technical marvel.”

“It’s not that complicated. It basically just scans an area from multiple angles and makes a 3D composite. See. The color coding tells me the variance off the vertical.”

“And so now you can say whether it is climbable.”

“It’s climbable.” Celine smirked. “Barely.”

“I guess that’s good then. It would be, what? Disappointing right? If you came all this way for an easy thing. But you will not ascend it tonight. Obviously. You will have a chance to dream of tomorrow’s accomplishment first. Which will add to it. Meanwhile, it’s occurred to me we should in fact have a fire. It is not so cold but a fire is about more than that. So I must go and gather wood.”

***

When night fell there was not a star missing from the sky. Travelling far enough from the cities of the Earth, one witnesses the reunion of Heaven. A palace of the deep eons in which a supreme architecture manifests itself by the most delicate glow. Because the universe doesn’t reveal itself by being shouted at: only listened to. Gates unfathomable and impervious, guarding its majestic treasury. And the paradox of its entry is that it narrows further in. The mind must admit humility before it can encompass grandeur, like the light of stupendous stars requiring an extinguishing of our own. How much else is obliterated by humanity’s creations? Do we know what we erase? Only in a return to nature can we answer this. Can we sift again such primeval truths. While the sparks of their campfire mingled and faded in the dark air, the three wayfarers sat and chatted amicably. Nothing cosmic inflated their minds. But in this undefiled place, it felt different to be human.

Celine woke before the other two. When they found her at the Espejo de Piedra’s foot, she was prowling the ground like a caged tiger.

“Bring the camera. I’m ready.”

“Give me a minute C.”

Yasmin dutifully ran and grabbed her recording gear. Ollanto noted the sudden ferociousness of the girl and merely saluted while he sipped his coffee. He said nothing the entire interval of Yasmin’s errand. When she got back she was too silent as she focused on setting up. Celine meanwhile was chalking her hands impatiently and testing the first few crimps. Her feet lifting off the ground and falling back repeatedly. Like gravity was struggling to keep her planted down.

“Okay. We’re good to document the ascent. Wow away.”

Celine finished tying her hair in a bun and looked directly into the nearest of four diversely placed cameras. “Climbing is all about letting go.” And she laughed.

It didn’t take long for her to cross the safe fall point. Yasmin called out occasional encouragement at the start but ceased as the intensity of her friend’s concentration and the increasing height shut out everything else. Ollanto was very quiet; chewing leaf again. Finally he walked over to Yasmin and learned in to her as she monitored her cameras off a tablet feed. Nearly whispering when he spoke.

“The leg looks different.”

“She’s got a custom attachment she swaps out. The foot. It has special prongs for toe holds. Some people even say it’s good enough to give her an unfair advantage.”

“Unremarkable people, surely. One’s threatened by the achievements of others. This, this is an extraordinary thing. But … where is her … ropes, her …”

“She’s a free soloist. No ropes.”

“Such … strength. And grace.” Awe was creeping into his voice. “How’d she lose it?”

Yasmin had personally seen her friend confronted with this question maybe a dozen times. Observed the lack of malice in those who asked. But also the trace of weariness camouflaged by Celine’s stoic politeness. Asking wasn’t considerate or respectful. No matter how affable their tone, said words always came out of the beaks of vultures. So Yasmin didn’t want to indulge the question. However, she also didn’t want to leave Ollanto coiled with curiosity; then he’d certainly bother Celine about it. And he didn’t seem like a bad guy. Finally, after a gazing pause, Yasmin offered a reply to preclude any follow-up.

“She was born in Laos. Lived there as a child. Even decades later, it’s still all too common.”

***

Four-fifths of the way up the Espejo, Celine ran into trouble. She knew it was coming. And yet. She was sure she had the right technique to overcome it. A crevice she had to grab with her left hand. To do so though required wedging herself against an outcropping with her left (natural) leg while pulling up on another protrusion with her right hand at nearly full extension. A precarious maneuver. One impossible for anyone two inches less than the length she had. Celine, with her long limbs, was used to the advantage of these. Here though she was straining her limits.

It had to be done in one quick grab. She would only be able to reach the crevice she was aiming for at the brief height of her stretch. And then shift her prosthetic leg to trade positions with her right hand so that it could stabilize her with a hold elsewhere. Like gears in simultaneous motion, everything working together. It was not a request. It was demanded of her. To break the cryptography of her own body and solve something it had never solved before. She inhaled deeply. And half pushed, half flung herself higher. And missed.

Both of her legs gave out but no dramatic shower of stones ensued. For Celine however, the error unfolded with agonizing slowness. Failing the grab, the momentum of her body pulled her from her foothold and she swung like a pendulum by her right hand. Her lone anchor point. Thumb utterly useless: her life depending on the endurance of four fingers. But she pressed her legs against the rock to maximize the friction against her swing and it was enough. She hung on. Then her other hand searched for the indentation on her left and found it. Now she could breathe again. Celine closed her eyes for a moment. Willing herself calm. This was the worst of it. Once she got through this section, the rest was easy. She braced her left foot against the same outcropping it had slid off. Once more unto … the beach? Whatever. Celine threw herself at the crevice again.

Watching from the ground, Yasmin had shut her eyes at the first failed attempt. She had an excellent angle of the slip that captured everything but filmmaking was currently the furthest thing from her mind. Ollanto conversely was staring at Celine in what amounted to an unblinking prayer; something superstitious in him maybe afraid that not looking would invite disaster. He was conscious though of Yasmin’s terror and he groped for her hand and she desperately squeezed his back.

“She can do this,” insisted Ollanto in a hushed seethe.

Doubt itself had become an enemy and all three of them were united against it in individual struggle. As if the briefest disbelief could tip the scales of fate on behalf of calamity. And so much more, any words. So there were no shouts of encouragement from below. They simply had to suffer and hope; they mustn’t be involved. Ollanto though could not restrain his tongue entirely and, in babbled coaching that was scarcely audible to even Yasmin, he urged Celine on. Assured her of her prowess. Only when the second grab at the crevice was tried did he lapse back into silence. And this was soon followed by heart gush and trembling.

“Yes! YES! She’s up!” crooned Ollanto.

Yasmin at last opened her eyes again and took in the sight of her friend powering her way higher and higher. A “Woo!” darted from her lips in a muted yell. She was laughing and crying in tandem.

It was only a few feet to the top. Though her hands were sore by now with the exertions of the climb, Celine’s triumphant mood banished pain and fatigue to the peripheries of her consciousness. A peak the stone had proclaimed forbidden from the ground was calling to her here, begging even. Each elevated place, a podium for those who dared and this one belonging to her. As she belonged to it. What was beyond ordinary reach waiting to give itself to exceptional desire. Elsewhere in the hidden valley, the shadows of immense clouds were gliding over the undulations of the land. But the Espejo de Piedra gleamed in whole possession by the sun. Its face immaculate and bright beyond outward contest.

Intimacy with the rock however, where bone and muscle bent themselves to sleuth the secrets of ancient tectonics, had given up a path. And the woman who found it, an unflinching foe to more than her fair share of obstacles. All her life, told the things she couldn’t do. Time and again, she left them all behind though until no one remained to overstate the impossible. Because they couldn’t follow where she went. So it was today. Celine, at the end of her ascent, standing alone. One leg bleeding, the other titanium.

***

Some of John Xavier’s more recent writing has been included in ‘The Fantastic Other!,’ ‘Free Verse Revolution,’ and the online literary journal of ‘The Sunlight Press.’ His work displays a broad interest in styles and genres but is united in its shared concern for the artistic nuances of creative writing.