The Blizzard

  ***

  Wind sliced at Saira’s ears, each chop followed by a splatter of rain on her flimsy plastic top. It was she who had remembered to buy the anoraks as they left the airstation in Inverleith. Both still had the clothes they had worn in Sanaam. Unfortunately, neither had thought of footwear. Their first steps onto the spongy slopes immediately revealed the inadequacy of their desert soles. Every subsequent step was damp, cold and heavy. Jack travelled empty-handed and Saira carried only a small shoulder bag containing a few spare clothes.

  “Where exactly does it say?” she had hissed to him as the taxi travelled closer.

  Jack examined again the folded map Zarius had given them at the airstation. He already knew there was no answer but pretended again to study the familiar clumsy contours on the parchment.

  “It only gives a rough location” he admitted, scanning slopes blanketed with purple heather. “But I’m sure that it’ll become obvious as we climb. When we get to the top we’ll be able to spot wherever he is.”

  Jack did not want to be dragged down. He felt only relief. Even in the rain, the mountain was a beautiful sight; a fitting end to their journey. It could take them no more than an hour, probably less, to climb, find his father and take him far away... perhaps then there would finally be answers. And yet, in spite of their imminent success, Saira was being despairingly pessimistic, unwilling to let the rescue take its course.

  “You mean we have no idea what we’re looking for?”

  “A cave, a hut, maybe a tent. Something like that. Whoever it is that is helping him has something up there.”

  “That carriage driver thought we were nuts to stop here. I do too.”

  It was a strange complaint from someone who had been living at the edge of the desert, but Jack didn’t share this thought with his wife.

  Wife. The airship journey had given him some time to think about this word. Neither he nor Saira had spoken their minds about their union – instead exchanging puzzled theories about Zarius and how he had led them blindly to this point. Of all the strange things that had happened since leaving Germany this marriage between them was perhaps the third or fourth most unexpected.

  He imagined trying to explain this fact to his friends, those he regarded his peers. And how would they respond to the fact that he was now a husband? They would surely ask about sex. And if they did what could he tell them? Would he and Saira eventually bow to their status and lie together? There had been at least two occasions when she had reached grasped his hand as he spoken about his fears for his father. But all the certain facts Jack had possessed about woman had evaporated. He could no longer tell the difference between the initial sparks of attraction and the signals of honest friendship. In truth, he did not feel any desire for Saira – despite her beauty – and probably she felt even less for him.

  Wind lashed again at his face. He gritted his teeth and followed his bride up the steep slope, grasping for clumps of grass that would stop him toppling backwards. Soon they were both scrambling hand and foot up the bleak hillside. His sense of achievement evaporated as he saw the vast carpet loom above him. There was no obvious footpath and now both were damp and soaking. After several breathless minutes, the couple stopped. As they sank behind a wind-etched boulder, a rabbit scuttled past them into the safety of the dull heather.

  Saira looked at Jack accusingly, but in silence.