The climb upward from five hundred and twelve paces was a grueling, rhythmic battle against gravity.
Voss took the lead on the iron rungs. He set a steady, deliberate pace of twenty rungs per minute. Kezra followed ten paces behind him. Her bandaged right hand gripped the upright rail. Meanwhile, her left hand hauled her weight upward rung by rung. Below her, Paxa and Yseld climbed in timed together rhythm, their boots clanging on the iron bars and their breathing echoing through the vast circular chimney.
The physical strain was relentless. Each rung needed a lift of the boots and a pull of the forearms, repeated hundreds of times against the dead upright drop. Every ten paces, each climber had to unclasp their forged brass carabiner from the safety cable, guide it past an iron anchor bracket leaded into the shaft wall, and lock the screw-gate shut before resuming the climb. The metal brackets were cold and slick with water drops, demanding total attention to avoid fumbling a clip into the deep pit.
Yet despite the burning in their muscles, the air remained remarkably fresh and dry, drawn upward by the natural chimney draft they had labored two days to restore. The gentle current of cool air carried away the heat of their sweating bodies and prevented the dangerous buildup of fatigue poisons in their blood.
