The rains came down in steady sheets, and then turned to snow, which accumulated so quickly it completely covered his tracks. Omar was a huge, strong man, and he climbed like a goat, steady and powerful and with very sure feet. But he was hungry and cold, and afraid for his life.
He paced himself carefully, keeping a constant pace. He knew if he stopped he would freeze. Stop and die. Walk and live. And it was the same for the child.
So Omar huffed, puffed and kept walking, his head bent, his legs sure but slow.
He glanced down at his chest. Using part of his robe, he had fashioned a tight pouch. The young prince slept near his body, his face pressed against his chest. Omar’s large coat wasn’t buttoned, but tied around his middle now, leaving room for him to move more freely and for the young boy to breathe.
Omar climbed. His hands were nearly frozen, but his feet were still warm, the constant exertion keeping the blood circulating down to his legs and toes. He glanced at his watch; a little past two in the morning. Thirty-six hours now since the soldiers had first appeared, thirty-six hours since he had tried to save his good friend and ended up with the child.
Slipping on a rocky spot on the trail, Omar grabbed a branch to stop his fall, then paused and turned around, struggling to catch his breath. The snow had quit, and the clouds parted suddenly, the strong winds of the mountains pushing them aside. The storms had come without warning, appearing out of nowhere, but they disappeared the same way, melting into nothing at the sweep of a hand. Behind him, the tops of the mountain were still capped in white clouds, but the moon was high now, the snow fresh and white. His eyes had adjusted to the night and he could see almost as clearly as if it were day. He saw the lights of the village, several thousand feet below, and farther in the distance, the starlit shimmer of the sea. To his left, he saw the treeline and the giant boulders that stood at the crest of the Agha Jari Deh Valley. In the moonlight, he could just make out the narrow, rutted road that followed the nearest canyon, running toward the top of the mountains before it sputtered out, becoming a narrow, rocky trail. For the past thirty-six hours, he had stayed away from the main trails. He knew that was where the soldiers would be. They were too lazy and too inexperienced to find their way through the mountains, so he knew he would be safe if he stayed away from the roads. The trail he followed was a game trail and not used by men.
He stood there and breathed a long moment. He was thirsty and hungry, but he was almost there.
Kilometers below and behind him, the princess was hidden in a small cave, too frightened and weak to go on. She might be dead now, but there was nothing he could do. She couldn’t walk anymore, or chose not to, so he had left her hidden there. He would send someone back for her as soon as he could, but he didn’t know what they would find. If she was strong, and if she wanted to, then she would be alive when they found her. If not, it didn’t matter. Either way, he had done the right thing.
Turning, he started walking again, picking his way carefully.
Half an hour later he saw them. They had been waiting.
The smugglers, three men in long beards and dark clothes, had been watching him from a distance for almost the entire day. For the last two kilometers, they had been following very closely. With all the soldiers searching along the lower trails and roads, with the fires in the village, the sounds of gunshots and helicopters, they had to be on their guard, willing to take no chance, their longtime friendship with Omar aside. Yes, they trusted him, and yes, he had helped make them rich. And yes, they had known him since they were little boys, but there was friendship and there was business, and this was business.
So they had waited and watched until they were sure it was safe. Now they emerged from the trees and stepped onto the trail.
Omar knew they had been following him, but still, he was surprised to look up and see the three men standing there.
“Praise Allah,” he said in a weary sigh of relief. “I need you, my brothers. Come! Help me here!”
The smugglers walked toward him, their huge coats flowing behind them like dark sheets in the night. Under their garments, blunt-nose carbines protruded from their hips. Behind them, Omar could hear their horses and smell the animal sweat. As the men moved toward him, he undid the leather belt around his waist and lifted the sleeping boy.
“What is this?” the lead smuggler cried, causing the young boy to stir.
Omar shook his head to silence him. “You won’t believe me,” he whispered. “But trust me, my brothers, he is worth far more than gold. Far more than his weight in diamonds. Now, hurry, he is hungry. And I am so weary, I fear I might die.”