Part 38 (1/2)
After hiking for a little over an hour, he reached a cliff that looked at least 250 feet high. Other than a single crack that meandered up the rock face, there were no holds he could see for at least the first fifty feet. It would be a challenge. Good. He was ready.
By the time he was halfway up, sweat dripped in a steady pattern off his forehead, down his nose, then either onto his burgundy climbing s.h.i.+rt or slid past him to splat onto the ground 120 feet below.
He was almost bored by the time he reached the top. The climb was strenuous, but the crack had widened after the first twenty feet providing an easy hand and foothold all the way to the crest of the ridge.
Cameron sat at the top, his legs dangling over the edge. Little zings of fear bounced through his stomach as he teased himself by looking down.
”Are you alone?”
Cameron spun at the sound of the voice and his heart rate spiked.
Behind him, twenty or thirty yards away, sat an elderly man in a plaid s.h.i.+rt, jeans, and hiking boots. His long, jet-black hair hung to his shoulders. He looked Native American. And familiar. Had he seen this guy before?
”Wow. Didn't expect to meet someone else up here. Yes. I'm alone.”
”I ask your forgiveness for startling you.”
The man stood and eased toward Cameron with a slow gait. Without question he'd seen that walk before.
”You looked strong during the climb.”
”You were watching me?”
”I've watched you for a while now.” The man smiled and sat on a small boulder. ”I pulled back from the edge a few minutes before you crested. I didn't want to scare you as you came over the top. To lose your grip just before the point of success could be extremely unsettling.”
”Agreed.” Cameron smiled, knowing the man was talking about more than climbing.
”My name is Grange.”
”Cameron Vaux.”
Grange looked out over the valley, then down the cliff Cameron had just ascended and yawned. ”It makes me tired thinking about the climb you just finished. I did it often years ago, but no more.”
”How did you get up here?”
”This is my land. I live here on my twenty-three acres of paradise.” Grange pointed behind him with a gnarled finger. ”Go far enough that way and you'll find what you might call a road. I certainly never drop by the store for an impromptu gallon of milk.”
”I'm sorry; I didn't mean to tres-”
”You need offer no apology. I see very few people up here anymore.” Grange closed his eyes and bowed his head. ”You are welcome here, Cameron Vaux.”
He offered Grange a Powerade from his pack, and they sat on a rock near the edge of the cliff.
”Why did you choose to attempt this particular climb?”
”I don't really know. I was looking for something different. Something off the beaten path to explore, somewhere to get away, to get some time to think.”
”Maybe you were brought here by the guidance of a higher power.”
”Why do you say that?”
”Might I trouble you to look at the stone you wear around your neck?”
The guy wanted to see Jessie's stone? Grange's eyes were intense as he gazed at Cameron's chest, and they didn't leave the stone as he untied it and handed it to the man.
Grange turned the stone over in his palm. ”Where did you get this?”
”My wife got it years ago. She gave it to me before she died.”
”I'm sorry for your loss.”
”It's an unusual rock I'm told.” Cameron took a long drink of his Powerade.
Grange nodded.
”Apparently it's rare.”
Grange nodded again.
”But I don't know where she got it.”
”I do.”
”Really? Where?”
Grange's only answer was to give tiny shakes of his head.
”She thought the scratches on the back were some kind of writing, but she didn't know what language it was or what the symbols said.”
”I didn't think it would be found during my lifetime.” Grange studied the stone for over a minute, the midday sun sending off little flashes of light as he turned it slowly in all directions.
”Do you mind?” Grange stuck out his tongue and licked the stone, then studied it again. ”I mean no disrespect; the darker shade helps me see certain nuances more clearly.”
”No problem, but maybe next time you could use some of the Powerade?”
”That I would find to be too sticky.”
Cameron nodded. ”Good point.”
After twenty seconds, Grange said, ”Your wife was correct. It is a language.” He turned and squinted at Cameron.
”Whose?”
”Mine.”
”What?” Cameron blinked.
”It is the old markings. My grandfather was fluent in it. I can speak a little. I'm better at deciphering it.”