The wind gusted across the dusty peak, nearly knocking Zachariah off his feet. He pulled his weathered duster closer around him and pulled his hat down further over his eyes in a vain attempt to keep blowing debris out of his eyes.
The townsmen had said the climb would be difficult, at best. Zachariah remembered their tilted smiles, only just barely on their faces, but he could read both the amusement and resignation in their eyes. They’ve seen too many others attempt the climb and die, he had thought. But he would not be one of those so ill-fated.
And he wasn’t. He had reached the peak, despite the treacherous terrain, and now he stood here, bracing against the gale trying to pry him off.
“Not today,” he muttered. He pushed forward, eyes set on the one bit of rock ahead that stood just higher than the rest of the peak. The wind rose as he struggled with each step, striving to drive him back. But he would not be driven.
Finally, he reached the stone and stopped, gathering his breath. From a pocket of his duster he produced a pendant, glowing faintly of green light. That glow grew brighter, almost blinding, the moment he pressed it against the stone, and a seam of light appeared, tracing the outline of a doorway.