A harsh wind blew across the lake in the cold, gray dawn. A flock of cranes took flight and fled southward. Dietrich Wulf gazed at the forbidding mountains and then cast his eyes to Mary Matsushita. "Are you sure you are up to this, Fräulein?" he asked. "We are heading into some of the most challenging terrain on the face of the earth."

Mary just stared back incredulously and hitched up her petite frame, all five-feet-one-and-a-half-inches to be exact. "I can handle any challenge thrown at me," she retorted. "I may be tiny, but I'm tough. Need I remind you that dynamite comes in small packages?"

Karl Schuler started to laugh, but quickly stifled himself under the glare of his superior. Viktor Petrovich smiled also, and caught Mary smiling back. And of course, no one needed to point out that Changpa, their guide, was also a woman, and barely an inch taller than Mary. In her native environment, nobody questioned her sturdiness.

"Tell 'em about your time in the Circus," suggested Ace.

"You were a circus performer?" asked Karl.

Mary smiled. "It wasn't that kind of circus." She glanced over at her friend, Ace. "After the Great War, Andy came home with a surplus Curtiss Jenny and became a barnstormer. McNally's Fantastic Flying Circus, he called the show. That gave me my ticket out of the San Pedro fish canneries.  When Rick joined the act, things really took off, pun intended."

"You shoulda' seen her," said Ace. "She was an acrobatic wing-walker. We'd fly into town right over Main Street, low and slow, with Mary harnessed in up on the upper wing. We'd do a roll and she'd be there in her sequined flight suit, upside down, waving at the crowd. On the next pass, she'd let loose with the advertising flyers. We'd be set up in a farmer's field just outside of town, and we'd really pack 'em in. Acrobatics, aerial maneuvers, mock dogfights. And airplane rides, two bucks for ten minutes. That's what paid the bills. And Mary would be the star attraction. Nope, no fear in that gal, nosiree."

Viktor glanced back over at Mary with renewed interest.

"I was quite a gymnast, too. I might have been in the Olympics, but they didn't have a women's team in 1924. By '28, I was into other adventures."

"By then," Rick brought up, "McNally's Fantastic Flying Circus was the hottest show in the land."

Wulf sighed. "Ah, very well. I was only concerned for your safety, Fräulein." He buttoned his coat against the cold. "We'd best get into the shelter of the mountains before this wind blows us back to India."

The wind picked up as they crossed the desolate, gradually sloping plain, carrying with it bitter clouds of dry, gritty dust. Montana, McNally and company exchanged their flight jackets for parkas and donned the snow goggles they'd brought along for mountain climbing. Wulf and Schuler just lowered their heads and shielded their eyes with their hands. Rick wondered about Changpa, trudging on ahead, leading them at a slow but steady pace. Where was her village in relation to here? He couldn't imagine anyone living in such an inhospitable place.

As they cleared the west end of the lake, he was surprised that she didn't continue around to the north shore, toward the pass that led to Kunlun Mountain, but instead took a bearing to the left, away from the lake and toward a pass leading to the western end of the range. He moved up to walk beside her. "Where are you taking us?" he asked.

Changpa kept her eyes straight ahead and said only, "To the Goddess."

"But the mountain's back that way."

Changpa looked at Rick and said, "You will learn. Bit by bit." Then she forged on ahead.

"She frustrates me, too," said Wulf.

"What do you make of all this? She's your guide, after all."

Wulf shook his head. "I was just sent here. Herr Himmler was the excited one. I am here just to report on what we find. What that will be remains to be seen. I can only speculate by her cryptic clues that it might be ancient ruins. But I'm wondering if there might be something more tangible, a treasure perhaps, that makes it worth our while."

"What would excite the Reich," added Schuler, "would be a glimpse into these people's pasts. What the Führer is really interested in is evidence of his master race."

That comment drew an immediate and angry scowl from Wulf. "Need I remind you, former professor Schuler, of where your loyalties lie, your role in this expedition, and why you are no longer employed by the university?"

"An unfortunate misunderstanding," replied Schuler, unfazed. "Though I admit I am more interested in science and academics than politics." He turned to the others. "It was six years now, during the book burnings. I dared to speak out in support of my fellow colleagues, regardless of ethnicity." He could feel Wulf's hard, cold eyes upon him. "The person who reported me mistook me for Klaus Schuler, the mathematics professor, who is Jewish. Of course, I was immediately dismissed. As I said, an unfortunate misunderstanding. Since then, I have been doing field work, and looking for a way to earn the Fatherland's good graces again."

"Which is what we hope you are doing here," said Wulf, eyeing the professor as a hawk might watch a rodent.

"So, how is it that you all know one another?" asked Schuler. "I couldn't help but notice what an eclectic group you are. A couple of Americans, an Englishman, a Russian, and a Japanese girl who speaks English with an American West Coast accent. California, if I'm not mistaken."

"I wasn't aware we had an accent in California," said Mary. "But, although I've got family back in Japan, an uncle in Nagasaki, I was born and raised in San Pedro. Andy—Ace here—and I are neighbors. Our fathers work the same fishing boats."

Montana spoke next. "I met Ace during the Great War, over in France. We were both fliers. Saved each other's butts a few times." He laughed. "His nickname was Ace, even before he shot down five enemy planes. So, the name fits either way." Then he remembered who he was talking to. "Sorry, when I said enemy, I didn't mean to imply . . . the war was twenty years ago."

Wulf looked down his nose at him and said, "I was a flier also. I downed over twenty. I was awarded the Blue Max." He glanced over at Raleigh and Viktor. "So, where do you two fit in?"

Raleigh eyed Wulf carefully and then replied, "You could say Switzerland is what brought us all together."

Viktor helped to fill in the tale. "I was born in Odessa. After the revolution, during the Russian Civil War, the city was a hotbed of unrest. My family fled to Berlin. When I came of age, I moved on again, to Switzerland, and became a mountain guide. That is where I met Raleigh, on the Matterhorn. He offered me a job with his magazine, as an illustrator."

"And so, last summer, we found ourselves back in the Alps," said Raleigh.

"And so did we," Rick added. "We all wound up on the North Wall of the Eiger, of all places."

"You did," said Mary. "I played it safe, for once. I watched the whole thing through a telescope from the hotel deck at Kleine Scheidegg. About had a heart attack."

"At that time, the Nordwand had never been climbed," Viktor put in.

"Long story short," Raleigh went on, "a rockfall took out a couple of pitons. I fell, and Montana and McNally were close enough to come to my rescue. Otherwise, we wouldn't all be here, seeking out our next big adventure."

"And as you know," concluded Viktor, "within a week, two of your countrymen, along with two Austrians, finally conquered the North Wall."

The route steepened as they headed into the mountains. The thin air and extra exertion made conversation difficult. Changpa slowed the pace for the Germans, to match the least acclimated. Wulf especially was stopping every few steps for an extra breath, and they weren't even in the truly high country yet.

Climbing up through a range of house-sized boulders, they at last found relief from the wind and dust out on the open plain. Above that, they crested a rise and were rewarded with wide views of the wild, ice-capped peaks to come. The air was crystal clear, the sky a deep azure. Rick could see now how a ridge rose to the right, up the backside of Kunlun Mountain, whose rugged peak seemed to touch the heavens. "The Goddess of Kunlun," he said quietly.

"The name has many meanings," said Changpa. "Kunlun can refer to the mountain itself, or the entire range. But there is another Kunlun Mountain, a spiritual one, in our mythology. And yes, the highest mountain in the range is sometimes called the Goddess. But there is another one as well."

The others, especially Wulf, waited intently for more, but apparently that was all Changpa had to say for the moment. All in good time, they supposed.

For a long moment, she watched an eagle soaring high overhead, as if waiting for an omen. "We will rest here for a while," she said at last.

The view close at hand was of a steep, V-shaped valley far below. A milky, silt-laden river threaded its way through the gorge. In the cold, still air they could hear the shrill cry of a marmot.

Schuler brought out a thermos of coffee and one of tea he had brought along for refreshment. Raleigh and Mary wrote in their journals while Viktor busied himself with his sketches. Not only was the landscape awe-inspiring but, as an artist, there was something about Changpa he found particularly interesting. The way the high-altitude sun brought out lines and crinkles he hadn't noticed before. And there was a curious look of wisdom in her deep-set eyes, which were half hidden beneath the wide-brimmed wool hat she wore. She was most definitely a bit older than the young woman he'd thought he'd seen last night.

After a quarter hour they continued on, to their relief hiking downhill for a change. They followed the steep slope on a gradually descending traverse, leveling out on a wide ledge high above the river, which they could see cut a twisting, tortuous course through boulder-strewn gullies and canyons. The route soon descended again, stair-stepping down between car-sized boulders. Taking a sharp left around one large rock, the ledge abruptly came to an end, on the brink of a precipice a hundred feet above the river. The route continued on the far side. The only way across was a thin rope bridge that looked like it might have been built in the time of Genghis Kahn.

There were no planks to step on; the entire thing was built of rope, with two long lengths spanning the canyon as hand rails and two tied together to balance on, of the thickness that might be used for a ship's anchor. Vertical stringers tied in every few feet held it all together. Changpa tested each rail with her hands, then put one foot tentatively on the lower ropes. She looked back at the others, beckoning them to follow.

"You've got to be kidding," muttered Rick.

"After what we went through on the Eiger, this looks hard?" challenged Ace.

"That was with new rope and climbing equipment, tied in and secured with pitons."

"Just the first of many obstacles, I suppose," said Raleigh. "There is, after all, just one way across this. Unless you propose going back?"

Changpa took one step, then another. The bridge, frail as it looked, barely swayed an inch to either side. With a slow, sure pace, she gently placed one foot in front of the other on the thick bottom ropes, and started across. After four or five strides, she stopped and looked back, nodding for them to follow, and then continued.

Dietrich Wulf looked to Karl Schuler. "You go," he said. "I will be right behind."

"You just want to make sure I fall first," said Schuler under his breath, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, grabbed a tight hold of the rope rails, and followed their guide.

This time there was much more motion to the bridge, a side-to-side sway of at least a foot or more with each step Schuler took. Moving much slower than Changpa, letting his feet feel each step, it was a full minute before he was halfway. None of the others had yet to set a foot on the ropes.

Mary watched Karl, then turned and looked at the men and shook her head. "Well, if no one else is going . . . it's not that hard." Nimble on her feet, with quick, sure steps, she caught up with Karl before he'd joined Changpa on the far side.

Not to be outdone, Viktor went right behind Mary. Built like a gymnast, compact and wiry but muscular, he stepped up confidently and set out with an even stride. Ace was next. Not as quick, not as sure, but moving cautiously he had no problem. Moments later, he was followed by Raleigh. They paced themselves so that there were no more than three of them on the bridge at one time. Viktor stepped off onto the far ledge, leaving just Rick and Dietrich Wulf.

Rick and Wulf looked at each other. Rick sighed and stepped onto the ancient contraption. The thing looked like it could have been built by Tarzan. It would probably be safer to swing across the river on vines, he thought. Except that this was the bare, high mountains of Tibet, not the African jungle. Just a hundred feet across, he told himself. Or a hundred feet down, into the churning white froth and man-eating rocks. Steeling his nerves, he started across, with one quick glance back at Wulf.

"Right behind you," the S.S. officer assured him.

Rick Montana was used to mountaineering, but that was with proper equipment. The equipment that was right here, in his backpack, but did no good in this situation. The bridge swayed with each step he took. It was disconcerting at first. But after a few strides, he found a rhythm, anticipating each motion. When he was about a third of the way across, he felt a sudden lurch. His heart skipped a beat until he realized it was just Wulf, finally gaining courage after watching all the others. Some brave officer, he thought.

Now, with Wulf tromping along with shaky, unsure steps, the motion of the bridge no longer matched Rick's pace. Gripping the handrail ropes tighter, he adjusted his strides. He chanced a look back to make sure Wulf was okay. He did not like the look of panic on the man's face. For his own safety, he turned around and felt the next steps carefully with his feet. When he was almost across, Wulf was approaching the halfway point.

A sudden jolt shook the entire bridge and almost knocked him off. At the same time, there was a scream behind him. Grabbing hold of the rails, he turned around. There was nothing of Dietrich Wulf to be seen, except for two white-knuckled hands holding on to the bottom ropes for dear life.

****
Announcement! The Goddess of Kunlun has been published and is now available on Amazon, in both e-book and paperback formats. Thank all of you for your support, encouragement and feedback during this story's work-in-progress run on Wattpad. Your input has truly made all the difference