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Chapter 3 – Silver Spheres – Written by: Sumanda Maritz

Acute fear blossomed in Emily’s stomach. She should have protected the spheres! And she just gave them away. She sat down hugging her knees to her chest and saw the man from her vision contemplating the rippling water on the other bank. This was her project; the man looking for a sign. Waves of fear flooded from her in a telepathic torrent that raced through the air and washed over the man so hard that he had to take a step back.

 

He jerked his green eyes upwards and saw the girl huddled across the river. He felt her fear take over as they locked gazes. In one graceful motion the girl jumped up and into the river. He still felt her fear as he watched in horror while she was pulled under by the current. A light as bright as the sun filled his mind; he could feel what she felt.

 

*******

 

Emily walked into the compound and found Layla waiting for her. In wordless agreement they headed to the kitchen area. The walk back dried her clothes after she got out of the river a mile downstream from the bridge. Her memories had flooded back all jumbled together. She remembered the intense training of stage one, the missions of stage two. It was going to take her some time to arrange them in chronological order. But not a single memory before training started.

 

Layla put her slim hand on Emily’s as they sat at one of the long tables. “You have reached stage three.” Layla spoke first. “You excelled at every stage and I can tell you that it rarely takes only one mission to reach stage three. Even Rob is impressed.”

 

Understanding cleared the subliminal vision as Emily shoved her hand in her pocket and took out five spheres. She clearly remembered tossing one at the man as she jumped into the water.

 

“I have one of these in my neck, right?” she asked, putting her hand on the spot that tingled, tightened or throbbed every now and then. Layla’s only reply was a confirming look. Emily still didn’t know what they were. Her unease disappeared with the rhythmic pulsing that started underneath her fingers.

 

Layla briefed her about what stage three training entailed. Her telepathic projection was only the first step. Subliminal mind control was top on the required list. Other beneficial talents were on a secondary list. All future missions would explore her talents and efficiency for each. Failing stage three meant termination. Even the thought of death didn’t bother Emily as the pulsing intensified and calm spread through her.

 

**********

 

She remembered everything that happened up until her chat with Layla. The jagged wind tugged at her hair harsh enough that she grabbed hold of the pole next to her. She stood at the top of the tallest building in a city with no idea of how or why. The only thought she had was the next mission started now.

The Way Home (Preface) – Written by: Ray Stone

Ramus shook himself vigorously and then raised his head to sniff the air before plodding on along the side of the narrow winding lane running through the vineyard district of Kathikas. Making a quick stop by a eucalyptus tree, he shook himself a second time before moving forward with a more urgent trot. There was a new kind of coldness in the air – the kind he knew well. Winter had arrived. A subtle backdrop painted in deep shades of orange and mauve from a setting sun bathed the land in a gentle glow as the bright rays shone between dark clouds hanging low in the early evening autumnal sky.

Tiny snowflakes, invisible to the eye, began to fall, covering Ramus’s fur coat with a fine film of water. As he stopped once more, a small lizard caught his attention, scurrying across the lane and into the tall grass and rocks in front of him.

“Is that you, Henry?” said Ramus. “Going to the meeting? – I hope you know winter has arrived?”

Henry’s nose appeared from beneath a rock, twitching gently as he spoke. “Of course, I know it’s winter. It’s been winter since I got up this morning.  What’s the meeting about?”

“The quest to find a new home for us all in the valley,” explained Ramus. “It’s the hunting season and Coco and Brutus are especially worried. It’s no place for rabbits up here during the hunting season – nor for Cecil the Falcon and his family. They’re too frightened to fly.”

Ramus growled. The hunters appeared every year, setting fires to make the animals run into danger.

“In that case, I’d better come along too,” said Henry.

Ramus flicked his ears and sniffed loudly. “We’re meeting in the Andreos Stables.

***

Acacia and Alexzander, the two donkeys, stood patiently at the entrance to the stable while the rest of the animals sat in a circle nodding in agreement as Ramus spoke.

“We need to mount an expedition to find a new home. I say let’s move quickly before the snow comes or we will be living in danger.”

There was a chorus of approval.

“But how will we get there?” asked Coco. “I’m so small and Henry is even smaller than me.”

“You and Brutus can go with Acacia and Henry can sit on my back.”

A distant rumble of thunder warned of impending rain. Outside, the wind began to blow, knocking a bucket over and sending it clattering into the orange grove. A window at the back of the stable banged open and gusts of wind caught the scattered straw and sent it spiraling into the air.

“We will start out in the morning,” said Ramus authoritively. “We’ll take the path down through the olive grove until we get to the crystal stream and cross it by the slippery stepping stones. On the other side is our rest for the night – the enchanted fruit orchard, and you must make a wish before you enter.”

 

Chapter 2 – Silver Sphere – Written by: Ray Stone

Emily closed her eyes for a clearer mental picture of the task given to her. She could see the gray bridge clearly. The man appeared only as a long shadowy figure standing still by the drab river bank. She heard a strange sound that increased in volume until she realized she was listening to running water. The mysterious experience was a little unsettling but had a calming effect on her. She remembered something Layla said at the start of her training.

“There will be many changes within your mental capabilities as you progress from one stage to another. Expect changes and embrace and learn from them. Do not fight them. The Higher Order have carefully designed your new experiences after many years of experiment.”

As she prepared to leave for the bridge, Emily put a hand to her neck but had no idea why. She felt helpless, confused and bewildered as she looked into the hall mirror and gave her shock of long red hair a quick brush. A small knot of hair caught in the brush and she screwed her eyes up and winced. Instant pictures flashed before her eyes. A man whose face she could clearly see was walking toward her, but faded into another face – that of Layla and then Rob.

“Going out?”

Rob appeared behind Emily. She looked at him in the mirror and said, “padintarque rabenkit” (a project meeting).

His face creased into a pleasant smile. “Higher dialect. So you have been chosen. Well done,” he said eagerly.

Emily shook her head. “I’m sorry but what are you talking about?”

“No matter,” replied Rob. “You go to your appointment. When you get back, Layla will be waiting for you. She will be reporting to the Higher Order today and giving them a progress report. I would think you will shortly be on phase three.” He held out a small bag containing six silver spheres. “You will need these today.”

Emily looked at the spheres. “I’ve never seen these before, what are they?”

“You will know what they are and what you have been doing for the last few weeks once you are into phase three. Until then, take these with you. You will know what to do when the time comes.”

***

Emily was excited. She now spoke the higher dialect and her memory was, hopefully, going to be restored. She could still remember talking to Layla but before that – nothing. It occurred to her that phase three might be the point where she was going to learn more about her objectives and the Higher Order.

An hour later, Emily reached the river and the bridge but there was no sign of the man. She stood patiently under the bridge and suddenly felt the need to close her eyes. Instantly, a man appeared before her, his hand outstretched. Emily took the spheres from her pocket and gave them to him.

She opened her eyes. The man and the spheres had disappeared.

Chapter 3 – Sirius 3 Written by: J Labrum

 

The euphoric relief faded quickly. Masterson stood there for what seemed like an eternity immobilized by indecision, confused by the alienness of his surroundings. He could feel the throbbing heartbeat of an immense mechanical organism in the deck-plates where he stood. He couldn’t recognize a specific source like an engine or power generator of some kind. The low pulsating rhythm seemed to come from everywhere. The entire ship felt alive.

Jager moved towards him all the while maintaining the constant expression and welcoming demeanor that, somehow, made Masterson more uncomfortable as he came closer. As the full illumination of his helmet lamp fell on Jager’s face, Masterson instinctively retreated a step.

“I assure you all of your questions will be answered in time,” Jager said and turned to leave, but not back towards the airlock from where he came. “If you will please follow me.”

“Masterson to Galileo… come in.” He spoke as calmly as he could into his mouthpiece. There was no response. “Galileo, come in,” he repeated with more urgency in his voice.

“Your communication device has been rendered inoperative, Commander,” Jager informed him in a briskly formal tone, the friendly hospitality no longer evident.

Masterson examined the airlock he had come through for a possible escape route. The hatch behind him closed securely when he entered from the docking bay. Given some time he might be able to hot-wire the opening mechanism but time was something he lacked right now. He had no choice but to follow his host (or was it captor?).

The man Masterson had believed was Jager, but now wasn’t so sure, led him to a heavy bulkhead hatch that occupied much of the opposite end of the docking bay and dwarfed the two men as it loomed above like a sentinel guarding the inner sanctum. It gave the eerie impression of an alien place. The thirteen-meter diameter disk sat on the deck like a large wheel with the bottom cut off. As they approached, Masterson noticed the face at first appeared glasslike but opaque and flawless but it began to shimmer and change hue. It faded to transparency momentarily as they entered.

When Masterson emerged on the other side he found himself standing in a three meter cube, alone. The room was a sparsely furnished cell.  A cot sat against one wall and a small table and chair opposite it. The walls and ceiling which seemed to be the source of illumination were stark white and featureless. Panic rose in his throat and gripped his chest as he studied the room and saw no door or evidence of the portal he had come through. The drumming pulse, much louder now, was accompanied by a steady low humming that Masterson reverberated through his body. The gripping fear of entrapment settled into his bones.

*     *      *      *     *

“Moonbase to Galileo, what’s the status up there? We lost Masterson. His bio signature just dropped off the monitor.”

http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/sirias-3   Read the story so far

 

Chapter One – Sharmarak by Ray Stone

Submitted by Ray Stone on Tuesday 22 December 2015

Drake Swift brushed the white dust from his overalls and scraped clumps of thick, sticky dirt from his boots on the steps leading into the Trakliner, a giant cargo ship carrying just on fifty thousand tons of Potar crystals. SIP Erukol dwarfed the rest of the cargo fleet apart from the command carrier. Equipped with ten magno-warp thrusters and the latest holographic navigational system the ship was a joy to command. Drake, four years out of SIP’s Officer Training Academy had been put in charge of the heavy lift class ship on merit. In his rest period at the end of each cruise, he had earned several commendations for rescue work as a reserve seapod pilot. Most of the patrols took him over the Merindil Sea and during his sorties he had flown everything from seapods to light cruisers, gaining a reputation not only as a brave pilot but one who took no chances.

Drake surveyed the distant horizon with some concern. An enormous red cloud billowed high into the sky across the wasteland in the distant south, hiding the outline of the Kasben foothills. Roon Tor, the smallest of the two bright gray moons was barely visible in a generally clear dark blue sky. Within a few minutes, the cloud would be on them, covering everything in its path with a thin coat of dark red sand.

“We’d better make a move or have to sit that out,” called Kreiler, his navigator. “You know what Aisha will say if we’re late.”

Stepping carefully onto the bridge, Drake slid his six-foot frame into the chair next to Kreiler. “We’ll wait out the storm. I’m not putting the thrusters at risk. Ashia can wait and before you remind me – yes I know we are supposed to be having dinner with the Senator. He’ll have to wait too.” He grabbed at a long strand of blonde hair and pushed it from his blue eyes. Scratching irritably the stubble on his chin, he said, “We can’t take a chance on this beast crashing into the sea. No floating and waiting for a  seapod – just straight down to the bottom.”

Kreiler, a small but tough man and older than Drake, was a fearsome sight and scary to strangers who didn’t know him. He was bald and with a deep scar that ran from below his left eye and across the cheek to his jaw. A disfigured lower lip and piercing dark eyes warned all his small stature was not to be taken lightly. Unlike Drake, there was no woman in his life and he had taken on the dubious role as father figure to the young pilot.

“Let’s check the load one more time,” said Drake. “Call Pip and get him to start at the rear tank and, this time, let’s check for humidity.”

“Pip, this is Kreiler. Check the tanks from the rear and make sure you ask record for humidity levels this time.”

Kreiler pushed the com button on his console firmly and picked up his plex recorder as he stood. Information stored on the plex covered everything from cargo content to thruster efficiency and air contaminants. All Kreiler had to do was stand in each hold or department of the ship and slide a steady finger across an activation button. The plex would sort out where he was and make hundreds of checks on the adjacent machinery, engine, material and the air. He could also add a command to voice. A low pitch sound signal would indicate the end of the examination and all information recorded.  The heartbeat of the ship was continuously monitored and used as part of Drake’s report at the end of each trip. With two crew plus Pip, the giant needed a minute by minute check system that detected any problems immediately and sent a warning to the bridge. Crews had been numbered in the hundreds many years before but ships, both commercial and military, now relied on technology for efficiency and security.

“I’m showing a destabilizing glitch in tank 71 – near the inspection hatch. Can you take a look?” Drake ran a screen check through all the tanks and found nothing else.

“Could just be a small piece of dirt got hosed in with the crystals,” said Kreiler as he left. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Outside in the narrow tunnel, Kreiler carefully fingered the gas boot control switch on his right wrist and pushed it on. His eyes flickered momentarily as he stood without bending. Immediately he was lifted vertically a few centimeters off the floor and hovered while he adjusted the flow of Dizonten gas ejected powerfully from four small inlaid adjustable balls protruding from the soles of the boot. These enabled him to move up, sideways, and back and forth with a total height capability of ten meters. It was an essential piece of equipment allowing the wearer to move quickly. The Erukol was almost one kilometer long.

Kreiler’s heart thumped rapidly as he accelerated forward, quickly reaching 40kph. Bending or leaning forward slightly in flight could send him twisting and crashing to the ground.

Memories and Mirages – Chapter 6 Written by: Vatsal Shah

 

Neil returned after an hour still panting breathlessly.

“Mom, he is nowhere around,” he shouted and continued, “Does it really matter?” You and I know he is just my dad’s body, not my Papa.”

Infuriated by his comment Shefali almost slapped Neil. She was sobbing now.

Meanwhile Aakash hastily hailed a rickshaw and was on the way to C.G. Road. Memories flashed through his mind as he crossed the meandering Sabarmati river now brimming with ripples because of the Riverfront project.

He recalled the threatening calls he had been receiving asking him not to tell the police anything. They were anonymous and not from Zippi Pharmaceuticals where he worked as a manager in the research department. He was ‘Samir’ there, part of the research cell that worked in collaboration with foreign drug companies and carried out tests on humans which were banned elsewhere. Here, too, it was illegal but there were loopholes that the company took advantage of.  Destitute people were prostituted in this scheme because they needed money. They had to sign a form stating that they had come of their own free will and would not sue the company later.

Samir had been totally sick watching youngsters injected with drugs which would raise their blood pressure alarmingly and dangerously increase their heart rate. Recently, a Dr. Aakash had started his own experiments to find a drug to dissolve brain tumours. Samir had heard him say that he had almost found a solution but the drug was toxic to rest of the body. Samir had been getting increasingly disgusted and depressed with the company and been planning to quit.

Suddenly, one morning five youths had died in the bleak and desolate research cell. Their parents had been aghast knowing that their children had thoughtlessly volunteered for these experiments without informing them. They had angrily planned to sue the company. Samir had been interrogated by the police. He had felt a moral turmoil and he wanted to truthfully tell the police everything about what was going on but he didn’t have the guts to fight the company. Instead he had smuggled out a copy of the file containing the dead youths’ reports.

It was then that he had started receiving threatening calls and intimidating texts. Not knowing what to do, he had given the file to Sejal for safe-keeping and had told her everything.

The rumbling rickshaw now entered C.G. Road. “We are at Swastik Cross-Roads. Where exactly do you want to go?” the rickshaw driver asked irritably.

“Turn left, towards Parimal,”Aakash absentmindedly blurted. His eyes were incisively searching the glittering jewellery stores.

His mind felt numb once again.

He looked blankly into the rear view mirror of the rickshaw and was stunned. He could see Dr. Aakash. The realisation dawned on him that he, Samir, was now in the body of Dr. Aakash, the man he loathed so much and who was probably responsible for the grim deaths of the five young men.

http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/memories-and-mirages    Read more.

Chapter 8 – The Bridge – written by: Jasmine Groves

 As Stella gently coaxed the car onto the road she couldn’t let go of the scars she had seen on Betina, it made her own burn scars feel like they were pulling tighter and tighter and trying to drag her backwards.

Stella had set out on the road to find answers, to prove that she had nothing to do with the fire at the Ambassador Hotel, that the doctors, lawyers and especially Greg were wrong.

Betina’s anxiety was wafting off her like steam , she clearly needed a lick at a bottle and to be back in the comfort of her bridge. Stella gulped. She hated making Betina feel uncomfortable especially  when she had agreed to go on this wild goose chase, but a gnawing in her gut told her she had to ask.

“Betina, how did you get burnt? Does it have anything to do with why you are living under the bridge?”

Stella turned to Betina and stared deeply into her eyes, digging in, seeing if she really had an answer “Now mi’sy not sure you want me to be tella you that ole story. I think I know’s more about than you think!” Betina waits, Stella waits, the road in front slowly moves along. Betina hesitates and goes on.

“I recognised ya on my bridge that day, now I ain’t judging ya and if I thought it was true then I wouldn’t have got in thee car with ya, but I was also at the Ambassador Hotel, me had been working in that ole kitchen there, trying to make me ends meet after me bloke threw me for some peroxide blond”.

“Betina, you can’t mean, oh my god, those burns, from the very same hotel?” Fear and angst entered Stella’s voice “Betina, you have to believe me, it wasn’t me – I didn’t have a breakdown, I didn’t burn the hotel and I never wanted to be standing on that bridge thinking of jumping”.

Now it was Stella’s turn to gasp and shake with tears. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it, I didn’t.” She pulled to the kerb and sat rocking in the driver’s seat, trying to convince herself, repeating the words over and over. Time stopped and Stella forgot Betina was in the car.

“Right lass, that’s enuff of that pity. Yea can’t go through life like that.” A rugged hand rubbed Stella’s sleeve trying to reach her, bring her back from her thoughts”.

“I saw ur eyes when you saw that car, it looked familir didn’t it. I reckan it is, I reckan I saw it parked at the Ambassador hotel that night with a man and a boy in it. Yip I reckon so”.

Stella slowly turned her head, her tear streaked face showing both fear and disbelief. “But that was Greg’s car – the dent fixed, but it was Greg’s car!”

“Only one way te find out” A strange burbling cackle escaped Betina as Stella inched the car back onto the road.

http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/bridge    Read more

Chapter 4 – Havoc – written by Roseyn

 

Vince barged into the police station. He was sweaty, out of breath. His car keys jangled, felt strangely heavy in his hand. He found Fiona slumped in an old wooden bench. Her hair hung low, covered most of her pretty face, her small fingers clumsily twisting her white-strapped watch.

Guilt squeezed Vince’s throat, struck him momentarily speechless. In four long strides, he reached her. “Fiona?”

When she looked up, her weary, cheerless eyes told him more than he needed to know. He felt a sharp twist in his already queasy stomach. “Are you alright?”  he asked, dropping to his haunches.

Fiona nodded.  “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing calling me. And it’s I who am sorry.” He swallowed back another punishing surge of guilt. “Tell me again, tell me exactly what happened.”

The unbroken buzz of human activity surrounded them, sharp, urgent voices, phones ringing relentlessly, impatiently, metal framed chairs scraping along the generic epoxy flooring.

“Inspector Rex phoned,” she began. “He said my International License had expired, that I was in a lot of trouble and that it was in my best interests to come down to the station. When I got here, he wanted me to make a statement about what happened yesterday and that it’d better be the truth. Otherwise, I’d be in more trouble. That’s when I rang you.”

“You know he can’t force you to make a statement?”

She shrugged. “He just said that things would go better for me if I did.”

Anger fuelled Vince’s body, gradually extinguishing any guilt. He stood, searched for Rex, found him smugly leaning against a weathered-looking doorjamb. “Damn you, Rex,” he mouthed as he sensed the incredible urge to pulverise his ugly, smirking face.

He grabbed Fiona’s quivery hand instead, and they both left.

 

The drive home was silent. Vince was in part grateful for it. It allowed him thinking time, without the paranoid hindrances of alcohol.

Valeri.

Had she then been living in Auckland all this time? If not, why were her husband and child here? More importantly, who wanted them dead?

He re-considered his initial belief that he had been framed.  The whole idea now seemed ridiculous. It would mean someone knew he’d be driving on that exact road, at that exact moment. And even he didn’t know that.

“Fiona, who else knew where we were yesterday?”

Fiona blinked several times. “Just Sarah.”

“The girl you were getting the notes from?”

She nodded. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Fiona fell back into her cold silence, Vince back into his make-believe thoughts. Was Sarah somehow involved? Surely not.

But either one or both drivers of the other vehicles were.  

Vince swung into his long, stone covered driveway, slammed the car to a quick stop, decided, for now, it was best that he and Fiona maintained their lies.

Until he found the truth.

From out of nowhere, a woman with mascara-smudged eyes and wild cherry-coloured hair appeared.

Fiona gasped. “Mum?”

Want to read more?    http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/havoc

Less Words more Feeling

Have you ever thought how writing serial chapters is preparing you for that step toward the moment you decide you are going to write a novel? There are several Story Mint writers who have and are going through that experience now. Roseyn is the latest author to do so. Her book has just been launched, following on the heels of Suraya’s novel and mine. Past and present members Enos Russel, Mat Clarke, and Annette Connor are also published. There are two more members in the process of writing novels or non-fiction books. So how does writing serial chapters prepare us for the big step? I took a writing course a long time ago because I wanted to write articles for magazines and local newspapers. After a year, I passed my exam (post correspondence – not recommended for a lot of reasons) which consisted of four modules. One of the modules was particularly hard. I had to write an article of 300 words on ‘Going on a holiday.’ Try as hard as I could, there was no way I could say what I wanted to say in 300 words. I ‘got it’ in the end when my tutor gave me some advice. All journalists have a word count for a story. They can’t just write a flowing piece full of description and humor etc. Facts are what the editor wants to see – all tied up neatly in a piece that moves neatly from one fact to another and tells the story in the word count allotted. I ended up entitling my article ‘Traveling Light’ and my opening sentence started – Cliff Richard once sang ‘got no bags n’ baggage to slow me down’ in his song Traveling Light. I then went on to advise my readers about packing sensibly when traveling abroad. The piece was boring, but it passed with flying colors. Why? Because the title and subtitle told half the story – I didn’t have to explain what the article was all about. I didn’t waste words. For a novel to interest a reader it not only has to tell a story but tell it in a way that holds a reader’s interest. There are rules, more rules, and armchair critics rules, but the best rules are those that stand the test of time – like taking a good look at your work and cutting out any sentences or words that can be killed without altering the sense or reason or purpose of the plot. Killing your little babies is one of the most important jobs you have to perform whilst editing your work. Keeping the storyline tight and to the point makes it flow; brings out the drama and tension and characters start walking across the screen as you write. Do you see where this is going? Have you noticed that Suraya, Roseyn and myself are always booking chapters? It isn’t because we want to win some competition. We are writing to a set word count and telling a story that flows in 500 words whilst checking our grammar and readability statistics on the word analysis grid. It becomes a way of writing and as we write our novels all the practice and lessons learned on that grid come into play. You could say it’s like riding a bike. Once you’ve got it, you never forget it. If you want to start writing a novel why not contact either Suraya or myself at the Story Mint. ©Every word in a sentence must have a reason for being there. If you can’t find one throw it away. Ray Stone

©Every word in a sentence must have a reason for being there. If you can’t find one throw it away. Ray Stone

Northern Winds Submitted by Anna Zhigareva

 

Through the valley a northern gale was blowing. It rolled in the fold of the land, savouring its energy and power, and climbed up the hilly slope onwards, out to the snow-white farmlands beyond, bound south.

In his house, Mako pulled the bed sheets up closer to his chin as wind rattled the shutters on his windows. It had grown so cold recently. So dark, so cold.

The candle in the corner of the room flickered and went out, as if by some unspoken promise to the wind. A promise of subordination. Was Mako to be a servant to this change in weather, too?

The young boy puffed out his cheeks, trying to keep at least some warm air inside his trembling body. What would happen if this went on for much longer? The little lake just outside the town had already glazed over with a thin layer of ice. Every morning and every evening, the men would go down and break up the frosted layer that had built up before it got too think. But soon it would be even colder, the lake would freeze over completely, and no metal would break through the thickness of its icy layer. What if this winter never ended?

Aragon was a little town based between two hills at the top of a mountainous range. Mako was used to the colds of winter, but these weren’t the same colds he remembered throughout his eight years of life. The wind had become more sinister as summer changed to autumn. And now, as October merged into November, snow had begun to fall in great heavy heaps onto the roofs of houses and into the little gardens of Mako’s neighbours. Many livestock sheds had been broken in the first hailstorm and many more had their roofs fall through as the snow accumulated on top before the men were able to toss it down to the street.

Supplies and harvests had just been gathered before the snow and storms arrived; the town was well stocked up to last the winter months, but Mako still feared. He had never seen the likes of such a winter before. And neither had his ancestors, he knew. He could see the way mummy trembled as she looked out the window every morning as she prepared their breakfast meal. She put on a brave face whenever Mako asked if she was going out today to check on the cows in their drafty but still-surviving little shed, and she always said ‘yes, darling’. but Mako could see the looking of uncertainty on her plain face.

She was a plain woman but beautiful, Mako knew. She should have remarried, only Eliza still held onto hope that her husband wasn’t dead. He had fallen down a cliff three years ago, Mako barely remembered him. Coal-black hair, big, earnest eyes, strong hands and broad shoulders. The town had long since pronounced him death – no one was going to investigate the depths of the crack in the rocks he had fallen into. But Eliza retained hope that her husband had climbed out, perhaps struggling to remember who he was, where he was meant to go. Perhaps that’s why he still hadn’t returned to his loving family, reconnected with his wife and children.

A powerful gust of wind broke Mako out of his thoughts as it connected with the thin glass of his bedroom window, seeping through the shutters, rattling the frame. It felt as if the whole window would come out and crash into the little dark room. The young boy shivered, digging his toes into the familiar fabric of his bed sheets, praying the whole house wouldn’t get blown away as he had so often imagined in his nightmares on similar stormy nights. The wind was harsh. He had never realised it. Never realised how harsh Mother Nature could be.

A cry from below drew Mako’s attention away from the howling wind outside. He hoped Marta was going to be alright. She was only four, much weaker than him or their mother. When he had touched her tiny hands that evening as they’d sat beside the weak fire downstairs, Mako had felt the strange coldness in them. It wasn’t a momentary shiver, or a touch of cold like you would get in the fingers after carrying home a bucket of clean water from the lake in the early morning. It was as if Marta couldn’t get warm, no matter the layers Mako and Eliza covered her with, no matter the body warmth Eliza gave her as she huddled around her daughter in their room below Mako’s.

The cold was making them fearful. Or was it the fear of this strange weather that was making them cold?

 

Read other submissions by this writer and others in the Writer’s Pad section of www.thestorymint.com

http://www.thestorymint.com/writers-pad/anna-zhigareva/titles/northern-winds-0