THE UNHEWN STONE
August, 2011
MuseItUp Publishing Inc
Life in the Middle Ages is a dangerous game, even for Üserwäälti, the Chosen One.
The Unhewn Stone is a YA historical fantasy set in Cental Switzerland in the region of Lake Luzern. It opens with a party on the eve of Stefan Gessler's 18th birthday. On that night, two amazing gifts and a tragedy change the course of Stefan's life. On the morning of his birthday, while visiting his favourite place he finds the means to travel back to 1307AD where his ancestor, the tyrant governor Gessler, instigated the Wilhelm Tell Legend in which he is ambushed and killed. If Stefan can prevent the legend from happening he will save his 'uncle's' life and lift the stigma from his family name.
But, when Stefan answers the call to restore his family's honour, he discovers it takes more than superior knowledge and pride to equip him for life in the Middle Ages. His dangerous adventures test his courage and challenge his beliefs. He is trapped in the turbulent events of the Wilhelm Tell legend and pretends to be a wizard when an avaricious sibyl mistakes him for an alchemist. The shape-shifting sibyl and an evil knight have diabolical reasons to want this wizard dead.
Faced with his own demons and those of medieval Switzerland, how will Stefan complete his mission and escape the fourteenth century...alive?
The Unhewn Stone (93,000 words), is a teen's adventure underpinned with the complexity of medieval values, alchemy, religion, and magic. It rewrites the legend of Wilhelm Tell and attempts to vindicate the tyrant governor who forced Tell to shoot the apple off his son's head.
In the Legend of Wilhelm Tell, this is the lane in Küssnacht. Switzerland, known as Höhle Gässe, the Hollow Way, where Tell ambushed and killed the tyrant governor, Gessler. Today this is a serene place. I imagine it would have been almost the same as this in 1307AD, but now there is a little chapel at the end with walls painted with images describing the terrible or heroic episode (depending on whose side you take).
The Unhewn Stone
This stone bridge over the river Schächen in Brügg , Uri, Switzerland, features in the novel. It belongs to the modern world. Here a couple of tourists enjoy a view of the river. In the medieval world of the story the bridge is missing.
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Map of Lake Luzern - the setting for The Unhewn Stone |
The alchemist came through the wormhole -700 years in an instant - held open by this magic orb -- and internally combusted on arrival -- but he has opened the path for a new traveller. Stefan accepted this hot, glowing object from the stranger and became 'The Chosen One' who must return to 1307 AD and try to prevent the Wilhelm Tell legend from happening.
Excerpt from The Unhewn Stone.
Chapter One
THE GIFT
Bürglen, Central Switzerland
December, Present day
High in his attic, above the fuss and commotion of the party preparations, Stefan Gessler stepped around his old Saint Bernard and reached for the Saint Nikolas costume on the back of his door. He pulled the gold satin shift over his head. It smelled of camphor; stale, like this ancient Gasthüüs; stagnant, like his life. The leather of a long, black boot tightened over his gammy leg. He moaned and wished to be any place but here.
'Stop it,' a familiar voice sang inside his head. 'You are on the brink.' Stefan glanced at the portrait above his bed. As always, the handsome jester on the rearing black horse laughed at him through the cracked canvas. His costume had green and crimson trousers patched at the knee and a faded three-tailed hat with tiny bells on the ends. His cloak swept forward as if windblown. Its colour matched his purple-blue eyes. They were Gessler eyes, the same as Stefan's and his grandfather's. Perhaps in the distant past the jester entertained Bürglenvillagers, too, Stefan thought. He would gladly change places with this ancestor.
A sharp knocking sent his dog bounding across the floor. Stefan shoved his arms into the sleeves of a scarlet robe and hurried after him to greet the only person who ever bothered to climb the third flight of stairs. He flung open the door. "Come in Ääni. I'm almost ready." He hugged his grandfather.
The old man's skin smelled like the damp timber of the Gasthüüs. He wore his green velvet magician's coat trimmed with gold. It weighed heavy on his frail frame, causing him to stoop more than usual and the matching hat looked, to Stefan, too big for his head.
Ääni smiled. His knurled face creased like an old tree trunk. "Your guests are arriving, but before we go downstairs I have something for you." He slumped on Stefan's swivel chair taking a moment to catch his breath. Then he produced a pack of cards from his pocket and offered them to Stefan. "Shuffle them and place three upside down on the desk."
Stefan hesitated. "You want a quick look at my future?" He scratched the ridged scar on his face and neck. Hesitantly, he took the pack from his grandfather. "Not sure I'm ready for this, Ääni."
Outside, squares of yellow light from windows in a rival guesthouse across the road changed the darkness to an eerie grey. Snowflakes settled on the stunted pine tree at the front and on the timber heaped for the night's bonfire. Cold, sharp mountains lurked like grotesque giants. Stefan shivered.
He placed the top three cards on his desk and turned over the first one. "There. Death. I knew it. I had a bad feeling about this."
Ääni seemed unperturbed. "Next."
Stefan revealed Temperance, reversed. Ääni pursed his lips and frowned.
As Stefan fingered the last card he closed his eyes and prayed it would reveal something special in his future. Maybe The Chariot, to speed him away from this narrow valley or, better still, The Lovers. He flipped the card.
The Fool.
'Perfect,' said the voice inside his head. He glanced at the portrait and at his grandfather. They were both smiling at him. He took a swig from a bottle of Klosterbräu and ruffled his dog's fur. At least he had one true friend in his cloistered world. "Ah, Spitz, we're only fit to chase Hirsch in the snow."
Spitz raised a heavy eyebrow and uttered a throaty 'nnnnh'. His wagging tail knocked over Stefan's guitar. It hit the floor with a metallic twang.
"Not now," Stefan chided. "The deer must wait. Tomorrow we'll go on the mountain, I promise. Tonight, duty comes first, even on the eve of my birthday."
"The Neukom girl asked for you," Ääni interrupted, "Pretty young woman. She winds her plait around her head the way your Grosi did. Heidi isn't it?"
"What?" Stefan had turned away to search for the broad black belt of his costume. He shifted a cardboard bishop's mitre on his bed and looked behind the pillow. "Uri's sister? Heidi?" he murmured. "I don't know how she wears her hair, she's just a kid." He found the belt behind his computer screen and buckled it around his middle. He took another gulp of beer.
Ääni averted his eyes and said, "I have a special birthday present for you. It's very old."
"Cool." Stefan tried to sound excited, but the prospect of a long night in these boots as he led revellers through the town stifled his enthusiasm. He turned down the central heating. His head ached as if squeezed in a vice. If only he owned the silver Kawasaki in Mallier's window, the one with the red and black trim.
Ääni's cerulean eyes locked onto Stefan's and glistened with the moistness of age. His lips tightened in a wry smile. He didn't speak, but Stefan heard his voice, 'Be careful what you wish for. You might get it.'
"Ääni, you read my mind. Hey," Stefan said lightly, "maybe, one minute you'll see me," he snapped his fingers, "the next I'll be gone."
"Will you take poor old Spindel with you?" Ääni asked. He rose and patted the Saint Bernard.
"You know I call him Spitz, and no, I don't think he wants to leave here." A twinge of guilt niggled at Stefan. He'd disregarded Spitz in his future plans. He finished the beer and placed the bottle next to the other empties on his desk. "Ääni, your beard needs a trim."
'Tut, tut." The old man swept his arm in a flourish across Stefan's desk. "Lahabiel, Lahabiel," he whispered. The empty beer bottles changed into stacks of coins.
Stefan held one of the coins to the light. "Das isch en Schwindel. Why don't you work your magic on my face and leg?" He threw the fake coin to his grandfather, but it dropped on the floor, rolled under his bed and disturbed a small hamster in the pile of dirty clothes. He dived for the animal.
With another sweep of his hand, Ääni changed the coins back into bottles. "Ah, Spindel, Schwindel, only you can fix that." He moved to the back of the room where shelves bowed under the weight of old science books and magazines. "I see you kept my books." He leafed through a magazine. "Do you trust me?"
"What a question? Of course I trust you." Stefan caught the hamster and locked it in its cage, just in case. Once, Ääni had changed it into a double-headed snake that flicked its tongues at Stefan. It took the old man two days to change it back.
On the far wall, where the ceiling sagged least, Ääni opened the wardrobe door. "Remove this floor board for me, bitte?"
Stefan knelt on the shabby rose patterned rug, turned back the embroidered sleeve of his festive costume, and leaned into the wardrobe. He found the small knothole at the end of the middle board, slipped his finger in, and lifted out the panel. "I discovered your secret panel years ago," he said smugly. "See, I found your magic cards and knotted string, a few silk scarves and…" Stefan tugged at a bunch of magician's flowers clamped between Spitz's teeth. "Bad dog. Drop it!"
"Now open the real secret panel." Ääni sounded equally self-satisfied.
"But—"
"You should feel a knob. It's a slide lever, quite small. Drag it hard to the left."
With a frown, because he'd examined this recess many times over the years, Stefan ran his fingers under the ledge and against the back wall. His hand brushed a lump of rough wood full of splinters. Nothing else resembled a lever. He closed his hand over it and pulled sideways. A panel in the back wall of the closet fell forward. It exposed a storage area two hands deep. Inside, a square tin box, its side the length of a man's forearm, rested on its edge.
Ääni chuckled. "Things aren't always what they seem. You looked no further when you found the first secret panel. It pays to look beyond the finish line."
"Good one, Ääni," Stefan called over his shoulder. "What's in it?" As he reached for the box, the air in the secret panel crackled with tiny blue sparks. An invisible force drew his arms forward and clamped his hands around the cold tin. He lifted the box and held the treasure close to his chest. A pleasant sensation fizzed through his arms. Reluctantly, he passed the box to Ääni.
On its rough cut lid, two S's intertwined on a rod, like snakes hissing at each other. A single red stone in the eye of one snake flashed in the light. Stefan tried to lift the lid, but Ääni stopped him with pressure on his hand and placed the box on the bed. "You'll need more than brute strength to get it off. I could give you a magic incantation, but why use magic if a physical means is at hand? Use this." From his trouser pocket, he withdrew a short screwdriver and prised the lid on either side to loosen it.
Stefan bent over the box. A musty odour rose on the air. "It's a book. Magic tricks?"
"No. Lift it out." His grandfather's grin reminded Stefan of the jester above his bed.
Stefan carried the book to his desk. The potent energy in his arms progressed to his neck and tingled down his spine. He swept the Tarot cards aside to make space in front of the computer. Lamplight spilled a yellow glow onto the stained cover to reveal the same graceful S pattern cut deep into the leather. He liked the old smell and brought his face closer. He gasped at the title.
Opus Magnum
by
Stefan Gessler
"That's my name!"
"Yes, and you share his birthday, December 23rd, the day known as the Secret of the Unhewn Stone. This Stefan Gessler wrote his 'Great Work' at the end of the thirteenth century. I want you to be the next guardian of this secret heirloom, but I suspect you will need to trust outsiders to assist you in your duty."
end of excerpt
THE GIFT
Bürglen, Central Switzerland
December, Present day
High in his attic, above the fuss and commotion of the party preparations, Stefan Gessler stepped around his old Saint Bernard and reached for the Saint Nikolas costume on the back of his door. He pulled the gold satin shift over his head. It smelled of camphor; stale, like this ancient Gasthüüs; stagnant, like his life. The leather of a long, black boot tightened over his gammy leg. He moaned and wished to be any place but here.
'Stop it,' a familiar voice sang inside his head. 'You are on the brink.' Stefan glanced at the portrait above his bed. As always, the handsome jester on the rearing black horse laughed at him through the cracked canvas. His costume had green and crimson trousers patched at the knee and a faded three-tailed hat with tiny bells on the ends. His cloak swept forward as if windblown. Its colour matched his purple-blue eyes. They were Gessler eyes, the same as Stefan's and his grandfather's. Perhaps in the distant past the jester entertained Bürglenvillagers, too, Stefan thought. He would gladly change places with this ancestor.
A sharp knocking sent his dog bounding across the floor. Stefan shoved his arms into the sleeves of a scarlet robe and hurried after him to greet the only person who ever bothered to climb the third flight of stairs. He flung open the door. "Come in Ääni. I'm almost ready." He hugged his grandfather.
The old man's skin smelled like the damp timber of the Gasthüüs. He wore his green velvet magician's coat trimmed with gold. It weighed heavy on his frail frame, causing him to stoop more than usual and the matching hat looked, to Stefan, too big for his head.
Ääni smiled. His knurled face creased like an old tree trunk. "Your guests are arriving, but before we go downstairs I have something for you." He slumped on Stefan's swivel chair taking a moment to catch his breath. Then he produced a pack of cards from his pocket and offered them to Stefan. "Shuffle them and place three upside down on the desk."
Stefan hesitated. "You want a quick look at my future?" He scratched the ridged scar on his face and neck. Hesitantly, he took the pack from his grandfather. "Not sure I'm ready for this, Ääni."
Outside, squares of yellow light from windows in a rival guesthouse across the road changed the darkness to an eerie grey. Snowflakes settled on the stunted pine tree at the front and on the timber heaped for the night's bonfire. Cold, sharp mountains lurked like grotesque giants. Stefan shivered.
He placed the top three cards on his desk and turned over the first one. "There. Death. I knew it. I had a bad feeling about this."
Ääni seemed unperturbed. "Next."
Stefan revealed Temperance, reversed. Ääni pursed his lips and frowned.
As Stefan fingered the last card he closed his eyes and prayed it would reveal something special in his future. Maybe The Chariot, to speed him away from this narrow valley or, better still, The Lovers. He flipped the card.
The Fool.
'Perfect,' said the voice inside his head. He glanced at the portrait and at his grandfather. They were both smiling at him. He took a swig from a bottle of Klosterbräu and ruffled his dog's fur. At least he had one true friend in his cloistered world. "Ah, Spitz, we're only fit to chase Hirsch in the snow."
Spitz raised a heavy eyebrow and uttered a throaty 'nnnnh'. His wagging tail knocked over Stefan's guitar. It hit the floor with a metallic twang.
"Not now," Stefan chided. "The deer must wait. Tomorrow we'll go on the mountain, I promise. Tonight, duty comes first, even on the eve of my birthday."
"The Neukom girl asked for you," Ääni interrupted, "Pretty young woman. She winds her plait around her head the way your Grosi did. Heidi isn't it?"
"What?" Stefan had turned away to search for the broad black belt of his costume. He shifted a cardboard bishop's mitre on his bed and looked behind the pillow. "Uri's sister? Heidi?" he murmured. "I don't know how she wears her hair, she's just a kid." He found the belt behind his computer screen and buckled it around his middle. He took another gulp of beer.
Ääni averted his eyes and said, "I have a special birthday present for you. It's very old."
"Cool." Stefan tried to sound excited, but the prospect of a long night in these boots as he led revellers through the town stifled his enthusiasm. He turned down the central heating. His head ached as if squeezed in a vice. If only he owned the silver Kawasaki in Mallier's window, the one with the red and black trim.
Ääni's cerulean eyes locked onto Stefan's and glistened with the moistness of age. His lips tightened in a wry smile. He didn't speak, but Stefan heard his voice, 'Be careful what you wish for. You might get it.'
"Ääni, you read my mind. Hey," Stefan said lightly, "maybe, one minute you'll see me," he snapped his fingers, "the next I'll be gone."
"Will you take poor old Spindel with you?" Ääni asked. He rose and patted the Saint Bernard.
"You know I call him Spitz, and no, I don't think he wants to leave here." A twinge of guilt niggled at Stefan. He'd disregarded Spitz in his future plans. He finished the beer and placed the bottle next to the other empties on his desk. "Ääni, your beard needs a trim."
'Tut, tut." The old man swept his arm in a flourish across Stefan's desk. "Lahabiel, Lahabiel," he whispered. The empty beer bottles changed into stacks of coins.
Stefan held one of the coins to the light. "Das isch en Schwindel. Why don't you work your magic on my face and leg?" He threw the fake coin to his grandfather, but it dropped on the floor, rolled under his bed and disturbed a small hamster in the pile of dirty clothes. He dived for the animal.
With another sweep of his hand, Ääni changed the coins back into bottles. "Ah, Spindel, Schwindel, only you can fix that." He moved to the back of the room where shelves bowed under the weight of old science books and magazines. "I see you kept my books." He leafed through a magazine. "Do you trust me?"
"What a question? Of course I trust you." Stefan caught the hamster and locked it in its cage, just in case. Once, Ääni had changed it into a double-headed snake that flicked its tongues at Stefan. It took the old man two days to change it back.
On the far wall, where the ceiling sagged least, Ääni opened the wardrobe door. "Remove this floor board for me, bitte?"
Stefan knelt on the shabby rose patterned rug, turned back the embroidered sleeve of his festive costume, and leaned into the wardrobe. He found the small knothole at the end of the middle board, slipped his finger in, and lifted out the panel. "I discovered your secret panel years ago," he said smugly. "See, I found your magic cards and knotted string, a few silk scarves and…" Stefan tugged at a bunch of magician's flowers clamped between Spitz's teeth. "Bad dog. Drop it!"
"Now open the real secret panel." Ääni sounded equally self-satisfied.
"But—"
"You should feel a knob. It's a slide lever, quite small. Drag it hard to the left."
With a frown, because he'd examined this recess many times over the years, Stefan ran his fingers under the ledge and against the back wall. His hand brushed a lump of rough wood full of splinters. Nothing else resembled a lever. He closed his hand over it and pulled sideways. A panel in the back wall of the closet fell forward. It exposed a storage area two hands deep. Inside, a square tin box, its side the length of a man's forearm, rested on its edge.
Ääni chuckled. "Things aren't always what they seem. You looked no further when you found the first secret panel. It pays to look beyond the finish line."
"Good one, Ääni," Stefan called over his shoulder. "What's in it?" As he reached for the box, the air in the secret panel crackled with tiny blue sparks. An invisible force drew his arms forward and clamped his hands around the cold tin. He lifted the box and held the treasure close to his chest. A pleasant sensation fizzed through his arms. Reluctantly, he passed the box to Ääni.
On its rough cut lid, two S's intertwined on a rod, like snakes hissing at each other. A single red stone in the eye of one snake flashed in the light. Stefan tried to lift the lid, but Ääni stopped him with pressure on his hand and placed the box on the bed. "You'll need more than brute strength to get it off. I could give you a magic incantation, but why use magic if a physical means is at hand? Use this." From his trouser pocket, he withdrew a short screwdriver and prised the lid on either side to loosen it.
Stefan bent over the box. A musty odour rose on the air. "It's a book. Magic tricks?"
"No. Lift it out." His grandfather's grin reminded Stefan of the jester above his bed.
Stefan carried the book to his desk. The potent energy in his arms progressed to his neck and tingled down his spine. He swept the Tarot cards aside to make space in front of the computer. Lamplight spilled a yellow glow onto the stained cover to reveal the same graceful S pattern cut deep into the leather. He liked the old smell and brought his face closer. He gasped at the title.
Opus Magnum
by
Stefan Gessler
"That's my name!"
"Yes, and you share his birthday, December 23rd, the day known as the Secret of the Unhewn Stone. This Stefan Gessler wrote his 'Great Work' at the end of the thirteenth century. I want you to be the next guardian of this secret heirloom, but I suspect you will need to trust outsiders to assist you in your duty."
end of excerpt
Billy the Bonsai Bull
Bonsai Billy needs a miracle or this sad, lonely, little white bull will die.
Bonsai Billy needs a miracle or this sad, lonely, little white bull will die.
Billy is a stubborn, orphaned calf who is losing the battle to survive. Hope revives in an unexpected way, through the milk bottle he detests, and brings him a sense of belonging. However, it takes more than a place in the pecking order for this little white bull to thrive. It takes a miracle.
An Australian true story, set in the NSW Southern Highlands, about an orphaned calf's struggle to survive, it deals with rejection, bullying and the power of friendship.
Billy is an orphan calf who loved attention but didn't want to drink from a bottle. We had a real struggle to keep him alive.
This is a children's short chapter book, but suitable for anyone who loves animals, specially calves.
6,500 words.
Mini Excerpt:
The calf padded forward. He looked into his mother’s face and mooed softly. Her glazed, weepy eyes no longer focused on his. He nibbled on her ear. She didn’t stir.
The farmer’s wife sighed and reached forward to pat his head.
“Come on, little bull. I’ll get you a nice warm drink. What do you think of that?” His hair bristled. Without his mother’s protection, he didn’t feel comfortable with these people. He darted away to the safety of a gum tree.
“This calf will be harder for you to rear than mothering a newborn,” the farmer warned his wife. “This one’s had the real thing for three weeks.”
“Maybe, but you’ll have to help me get a collar and lead on it. After that, how hard can it be? Besides, I
must succeed. I promised Misty.”
end of excerpt.
HAPPINESS GUARANTEED
Her grandfather spoke of a time when sunlight shone on everyone, but
he'd been a storyteller, a bad influence.
SCIENCE FICTION - SHORT STORY
Bianca, a beautiful Epicurean Supremo from a privileged futuristic society has a flaw which, if discovered and reported to the Rulers, will threaten her life and that of the man she loves. Unable to pinpoint the cause she tries to hide her anxiety until an ingenious birthday present from her husband provides a respite. Now, on her thirty-third birthday, her primitive behaviour and thought patterns return; stronger and more dangerous.
Excerpt
Bianca’s bed swayed in gentle rhythm with her floating condominium.
Smiling, she opened her eyes and reached across the white expanse for
Derek. He wasn’t there. Damn. She’d overslept; very out of character.
What if he noticed? No. He’ll return soon and find me on the balcony
exactly where he expects me to be, especially today.
She rolled onto her back, stealing a few extra minutes in bed and
glanced up at the domed ceiling high above her: Derek’s masterpiece. The
wide, stained glass panels let shafts of coloured light sprinkle life into her
sterile world. She watched the lazy sunbeams paint murals on the milky walls.
They tinselled the buckles on the two pairs of shoes and spotlighted the
confusion of clothes on a moulded chair.
Flinging back the covers, she stretched, letting the sun energize her skin.
“What a glorious morning,” she murmured. Only Penthouse Dwellers, like
Derek and herself attained this privilege. According to Derek, sunlight
symbolized their status. For a moment she revelled in true contentment.
An image of her grandfather snuck into her mind. He’d told her of a time
when sunlight shone on everyone, but he’d been a storyteller, a bad influence.
On her seventh birthday her parents forbade her to visit him any more, and
placed him out-of-bounds. Years later she heard he’d died.
Her happiness shrivelled. “Unimportant.” She scowled, jumped out of bed
and slipped into clear, tensile slippers. A filigree tunic lay on the floor where
she let it fall the night before. She picked it up, grabbed yesterday’s clothes
off the chair, hurried to the primping room and dropped them all down the
trash-chute. “There!” She stabbed her finger on the Restyle button.
With her fingertips, she massaged her cheeks and studied
herself in the mirror. Thirty-three, today. No obvious flaws, not yet, apart
from that one little glitch Derek inadvertently fixed last
birthday.
Top Ten in Omnilit - October/November 2012
#1 Best Selling Short Stories eBooks
#1 Highest Rated Short Stories eBooks
#10 Top Ten Omnilit Books
An early version of this story appeared in the Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine (ASIM) in 2003 as Bianca's Birthday Present.
A SUMMER SQUALL
A SHORT STORY
A metaphor for using your senses and your imagination.
A metaphor for using your senses and your imagination.
Excerpt
Lightning flashed
and a sudden, deafening clap of thunder made me jump. Rain lashed the panes and
timber creaked around me. I heard waves crashing against the cliff and savoured
the sensation of salt on my tongue. I imagined a small yacht dashed against the
rocks. My fingers tapped the keyboard in time with my quickened pulse. The
screen blurred under my gaze. Light gradually faded in the room. The storm grew
fierce and wind captured a small voice spiralling towards me.
“Help! Somebody! Please help me!”
“I’m coming,” I called, unsure if I’d heard the cry of a child or merely a distressed gull.
Running, stumbling helplessly, jagged stones cutting my bare feet, I ran faster, feeling
no pain. I pressed forward into the gale and reached the cliff top despite the
determined tempest holding me back. Below in the sea, a boy, not more than ten
years old, clung to the sides of his frail craft. The sail was ripped, and the
mast split like a pencil snapped in disgust.
“Hold on. Everything will be all right.”
I must believe that, but how could I? Wind and rain fought my every movement. They
twisted my light cotton skirt around my legs and wrapped my drenched hair over my
face as though they were using me to hinder myself. The wind knocked me to the
ground. I sent a hurried prayer to the gods, pleading for strength and courage
to persevere.
Lightning flashed
and a sudden, deafening clap of thunder made me jump. Rain lashed the panes and
timber creaked around me. I heard waves crashing against the cliff and savoured
the sensation of salt on my tongue. I imagined a small yacht dashed against the
rocks. My fingers tapped the keyboard in time with my quickened pulse. The
screen blurred under my gaze. Light gradually faded in the room. The storm grew
fierce and wind captured a small voice spiralling towards me.
“Help! Somebody! Please help me!”
“I’m coming,” I called, unsure if I’d heard the cry of a child or merely a distressed gull.
Running, stumbling helplessly, jagged stones cutting my bare feet, I ran faster, feeling
no pain. I pressed forward into the gale and reached the cliff top despite the
determined tempest holding me back. Below in the sea, a boy, not more than ten
years old, clung to the sides of his frail craft. The sail was ripped, and the
mast split like a pencil snapped in disgust.
“Hold on. Everything will be all right.”
I must believe that, but how could I? Wind and rain fought my every movement. They
twisted my light cotton skirt around my legs and wrapped my drenched hair over my
face as though they were using me to hinder myself. The wind knocked me to the
ground. I sent a hurried prayer to the gods, pleading for strength and courage
to persevere.