A single stone dribbled down the side of the rock-face and
sliced a jagged path across his weathered cheek. His lip curled against the
pitiful and momentary flinch of pain. A second stone, slightly larger in
diameter, thudded against his shoulder with bruising force. Olaf Spoonbeard did
not need a third stone to tell him that conditions on the mountain had taken a
turn from perilous to outright deadly.
“Jorund!” He bellowed against the fierce howl of the wind.
“Rockfall!” He pushed himself tight against the craggy surface, dirt embedding
itself under his fingernails as he scrabbled to find a strong purchase on the
crumbling stones. He ducked his head, attempting to tuck his lumbering frame into
as small a target as possible. Spoonbeard could only hope that his brother had
heeded his warning and was able to take similar precautions. The rope between
them remained slack at least, a sign that Jorund had not continued to climb too
much further above him.
Over the animalistic screech and cry of the wind that
buffeted against him and threatened to undermine his secure footing, Spoonbeard
could hear the distant thunder of fragmenting rock. The avalanche fell upon
them fast and it fell hard. The treacherous projectiles pelted down as if thrown
by some fierce mountain god in a murderous rage. He gritted his teeth as a
boulder slashed through the thick wool of his tunic and tore open his skin in a
sudden burning flash. Cuts and scrapes would heal easily enough in time,
Spoonbeard knew, but the principal danger to climbers was broken bones. If
either he or Jorund were disabled here on the mountain, then neither of them would
ever get down alive.
The temperamental mountain calmed as quickly as it had
become riled. The shower of rocks began to ease, until finally only a few scattered
lumps bumped their tremulous path downwards. As Spoonbeard began to relax tense
muscles the rope around his waist went limp. He reacted instinctively before
his mind had registered the full import of what had happened. Extending one arm
he wrapped the rope around his wrist. The rope stretched taut as his brother
fell past him and then recoiled as the fall was inhibited. Spoonbeard screamed
as the recoil wrenched at his wrist and forearm snapping something deep inside.
“Jorund?” He waited desperately for a reply to his hoarse
cry, but could distinguish none over the blood pumping furiously in his ears. Had
Jorund been knocked senseless, or was his brother’s dead body tethered to the
other end of the rope? Spoonbeard was faced with an impossible decision. He
could hold on in the hope that Jorund would awaken and be fit to climb once
more. Or he could sever the rope and drop the dead weight of his younger
brother. Rationally Spoonbeard knew he could not wait indefinitely for his
brother to move on his own accord. His body was already trembling from the
strain and the slightest slip of the foot would send them both to their deaths.
A sharp outcrop lay neatly aligned with his rope-bound wrist. It would be a simple
enough matter to fray the rope that connected them.
Could Spoonbeard hold on or would he be forced to kill his
brother?...
Sunday, 25 August 2013
Sunday, 18 August 2013
Colour & Light
The Great East Window in York Minster is currently undergoing
a lengthy conservation programme. Yet every month visitors are able to see a
selection of its panels in the cleverly designed Orb at the east end of the
church. This gives you a truly extraordinary opportunity to see the medieval
glass up close like never before.
 |
| St John glimpses God in Majesty (11h). |
 |
| The Dragon gives power to the Beast (5a). |
 |
| The Mighty Angel and the Seven Thunders (8g). |
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Sunday, 4 August 2013
After The Silence...
Cornwall, 1921
The young woman was a picture of motion. The bag looped over one narrow shoulder swayed with every tap of her hip. A hat swung loosely in her hand as her arms matched the rhythm of her forceful stride. The material of her skirt stretched taut across her legs and then relaxed once again with each step. Yet as she walked down that carefully cobbled path it seemed to her as if time itself had ceased to move at all. The flower-heavy stems of wisteria still gently brushed across her shoulders, releasing its thick perfume as she twisted sharply to the right to reach the front door.
She rapped immediately, her fist rubbing more of the peeling blue paint off the tired wood. The decision having been made several days ago in London she did not pause to consider her actions now. After a short wait the door opened and a familiar voice spoke with quiet reserve.
“Good afternoon Madeline. I wondered when you’d come.” The young woman fidgeted with the brim of her hat, her smile of greeting merely a fleeting curve of her painted lips. She had been mildly taken aback by the other woman’s appearance. Age had given her a softness that had always been absent before. Grey strands muted what had once been dazzling gold, though the elegant twist of hair above her nape stayed the same. There was tiredness and resignation in the lines and discolouration of her skin, but the stiff peaks of her collarbone remained proud.
“I’d like to see Kit.” There was little discernible change in the other woman’s expression, but Madeline had known her well once. “I only wish to say goodbye, Rose.” Her tone was gentle and reassuring. “I shall be leaving England very soon. My fiancĂ© works for the Foreign Office. You know I always dreamed of my very own Grand Tour when I was a girl.” Some of the tension eased around Rose’s mouth and she nodded her acknowledgment of what had truly been meant by those words. Madeline would not be taking Kit away again.
“I’ll make us some tea.” The benign statement was as polite an invitation as would ever be possible between the two women. As they settled in the well-appointed cottage kitchen Madeline felt yet again how precarious the passage of time could be. It had been almost seven years since she had first sat in this kitchen, Rose clattering about with the tea things and asking her how hellish the journey down had been. It was simply to have been a short holiday with a distant cousin to escape momentarily from parental disagreements. Neither of them could have perceived back then how such a small act of kindness could have fundamentally changed all their lives.
“You have to understand he’s not the same man anymore.” They both looked unconsciously towards the staircase when Rose’s solemn utterance rose above the chimes of their cups and saucers. “When they brought him back from the Front it’s as if they left a part of him there. He can’t see of course. Gas. But his mind wanders and he can be very...different.” Rose had been studying hard the score marks on the table as she spoke but now she looked directly at the younger woman. “He says things he doesn’t mean. He’s always sorry for them later. I just want – I just want you to know that.” Madeline fumbled for the right words, yet none of them seemed adequate.
“I am glad he is here with you.” She said finally, impulsively clasping the older woman’s hand. “I am so very glad he has you Rose.” Rose sat stiff and uncomfortable before extracting her hand carefully. There were some bonds that could never be mended and some actions that could never be forgiven. “You have always loved him so much better than I.” Madeline said softly as she toyed with a delicate teaspoon.
“He was never yours to love.” The words were sharp as was the metallic scrape when the ring on Rose’s finger caught on the tea tray. Madeline stood abruptly in an attempt to end the argument before it had begun. All the accusations and recriminations had been aired many years ago the night that Kit and Madeline had left together. It had been a short, idyllic summer for the lovers before the nightmare of war began. It was a war that had eventually returned the husband to his wife.
“I shall go see him now.” Madeline turned back uncertainly, however, when she reached the doorway. “Rose, I would never leave if I didn’t think he would be happiest here with you. Let go of the past. Our hearts have an astonishing and resilient capacity for love.”
The young woman was a picture of motion. The bag looped over one narrow shoulder swayed with every tap of her hip. A hat swung loosely in her hand as her arms matched the rhythm of her forceful stride. The material of her skirt stretched taut across her legs and then relaxed once again with each step. Yet as she walked down that carefully cobbled path it seemed to her as if time itself had ceased to move at all. The flower-heavy stems of wisteria still gently brushed across her shoulders, releasing its thick perfume as she twisted sharply to the right to reach the front door.
She rapped immediately, her fist rubbing more of the peeling blue paint off the tired wood. The decision having been made several days ago in London she did not pause to consider her actions now. After a short wait the door opened and a familiar voice spoke with quiet reserve.
“Good afternoon Madeline. I wondered when you’d come.” The young woman fidgeted with the brim of her hat, her smile of greeting merely a fleeting curve of her painted lips. She had been mildly taken aback by the other woman’s appearance. Age had given her a softness that had always been absent before. Grey strands muted what had once been dazzling gold, though the elegant twist of hair above her nape stayed the same. There was tiredness and resignation in the lines and discolouration of her skin, but the stiff peaks of her collarbone remained proud.
“I’d like to see Kit.” There was little discernible change in the other woman’s expression, but Madeline had known her well once. “I only wish to say goodbye, Rose.” Her tone was gentle and reassuring. “I shall be leaving England very soon. My fiancĂ© works for the Foreign Office. You know I always dreamed of my very own Grand Tour when I was a girl.” Some of the tension eased around Rose’s mouth and she nodded her acknowledgment of what had truly been meant by those words. Madeline would not be taking Kit away again.
“I’ll make us some tea.” The benign statement was as polite an invitation as would ever be possible between the two women. As they settled in the well-appointed cottage kitchen Madeline felt yet again how precarious the passage of time could be. It had been almost seven years since she had first sat in this kitchen, Rose clattering about with the tea things and asking her how hellish the journey down had been. It was simply to have been a short holiday with a distant cousin to escape momentarily from parental disagreements. Neither of them could have perceived back then how such a small act of kindness could have fundamentally changed all their lives.
“You have to understand he’s not the same man anymore.” They both looked unconsciously towards the staircase when Rose’s solemn utterance rose above the chimes of their cups and saucers. “When they brought him back from the Front it’s as if they left a part of him there. He can’t see of course. Gas. But his mind wanders and he can be very...different.” Rose had been studying hard the score marks on the table as she spoke but now she looked directly at the younger woman. “He says things he doesn’t mean. He’s always sorry for them later. I just want – I just want you to know that.” Madeline fumbled for the right words, yet none of them seemed adequate.
“I am glad he is here with you.” She said finally, impulsively clasping the older woman’s hand. “I am so very glad he has you Rose.” Rose sat stiff and uncomfortable before extracting her hand carefully. There were some bonds that could never be mended and some actions that could never be forgiven. “You have always loved him so much better than I.” Madeline said softly as she toyed with a delicate teaspoon.
“He was never yours to love.” The words were sharp as was the metallic scrape when the ring on Rose’s finger caught on the tea tray. Madeline stood abruptly in an attempt to end the argument before it had begun. All the accusations and recriminations had been aired many years ago the night that Kit and Madeline had left together. It had been a short, idyllic summer for the lovers before the nightmare of war began. It was a war that had eventually returned the husband to his wife.
“I shall go see him now.” Madeline turned back uncertainly, however, when she reached the doorway. “Rose, I would never leave if I didn’t think he would be happiest here with you. Let go of the past. Our hearts have an astonishing and resilient capacity for love.”