The Volcano Trail – Part 1: Ash

The group set out from Catania at three in the morning, in the cold, with torches. Nico was thirty, Sicilian, and had climbed Etna a dozen times. He had never before been paired with a man gripping the guide rope as though it were a lifeline.

"I'm Ben," said the stranger, in the dark. "I'm told it's easy."

"It is easy."

"I'm also told I should not look down."

"Who told you that?"

"Me. Repeatedly." He was thirty-three, tall, with a rumpled hat and the rueful smile of a man who'd made a foolish bet with himself.

Nico laughed softly. "Then do not look down. Look at me."

"That's a very good view."

There was a pause. Nico felt heat rise in his face, and was grateful for the dark.

They climbed slowly. The path was black ash, loose underfoot, switchbacking up the flank. Ben's breath grew ragged at the steep parts, and Nico dropped back, offering a hand without comment. Ben took it.

At the rim of a dead crater, they stopped to rest. A thousand stars glittered above them, so thick and close that Ben whispered, "Oh, God," and forgot to be afraid.

"Can I ask you something?" said Nico.

"Yes."

"Why climb it, if you are scared?"

"Because I'm scared of a lot of things," said Ben. "I'm trying to stop letting that decide."

Nico looked at him for a long moment. "That is the bravest thing I have heard all year."

Ben's hand was still in his. Neither of them let go.

"Green?" said Ben, shy.

"Green," said Nico, smiling. "Very green. Come. The sun is almost here."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Summit Light.