8

The Cloven Neck is a high, narrow pass; it winds slowly up between two looming, mountain-sized peaks on either side which are themselves merely the twin peaks of a much larger mountain: the six thousand or so feet of solid rock below you. You don't need to climb too far before you have to put on your snow goggles, making the world turn a disquieting shade of pale orange.

With every step, the conditions seem to worsen. The wind, howling down the pass directly into your face, drives flurries of whirling snowflakes against you and bites right through the layers of fur and treated leather that cover every inch of your skin. Your feet sink ever deeper into the thick covering of snow in the pass as you struggle onwards into the storm. Visibility gradually decreases the higher you climb.

"It's been like this for a week now up here," shouts Zhu as you press onwards. "It's not forecast to get better any time soon."

You are only dimly aware of the passage of the sun through this world of endless white and gray, but as you sense it beginning to sink, you become aware of another color intruding on the landscape. There is a glow of vivid orange ahead. As your group presses toward it, a cave mouth appears in the left-hand wall of the pass, flickering flames emanating from within.

Two men stand in the cave entrance: as they spot you looming out of the snow, one of them shouts, and the pair starts struggling toward you. Even with all their layers of fur and expedition gear, they have still taken the time to attach swastika armbands to their right arms.

Next