The Ascension

THE ASCENSION

For a long time Jan just stood there, gazing up at the massive obstruction that stood opposing him. It was the largest mountain that he had ever seen, and the peak of it stretched up and into a thick mist, obscured, so that he could not clearly gauge the size of it. The same situation stood with the sides too. There was no way that he could tell which side of the mountain he was closer to. From this perspective, and with the mist so thick, it was all equally enormous, mysterious and incalculable.
Previous to being here Jan had spent his entire life in the flatlands. He had been able to watch the weather pass from as far as the eye could see and roll across to the horizon behind. It traversed the entire length of his known universe. It was not possible for something to approach you in that location without your knowing. As soon as a figure came within a hundred miles or so they broke the line of the horizon and were visible even as you went about your business. You could see a figure appear in the morning, and as the sun went down you could welcome them to the village. Life had been safe, but predictable. Never a day went by that Jan could not have told you in the morning what he expected to happen by the evening. And during all that time, for as long as he could remember, the mountain had sat on one point of the horizon. As though a rage had forced it up through the ground in an attempt to tear the sky. It was an impossible growth on the landscape, and its pull on Jan had been as immense as it was huge.
Now that he was here he wasn’t sure of what he was about to face. All that he had ever known was soft, warm weather. A gentle breeze would build up from time to time in the flatlands, one that softly whistled through the grass. Or a tender light rain, one that would gently massage the skin, the ground and the houses. Softly soaking into the soil, but never penetrating the clothes that you wore, never leaving you feeling drenched, only refreshed.
Now the rain hit him hard. It forced him to squint his eyes against it. And the cold was so great that he had already lost all sensation in his toes, a feeling which was new to him. His fingers were only kept alive by the constant fumbling in his pack, that and the thick, hand-rolled cigarette that he was smoking. When he had first arrived in this region the tobacco had burnt his throat. It was not like the golden tobacco of the flatlands, it was dark and foul smelling. It was a harsh smoke, one that caused him to gag and choke. He had been unable to smoke a whole cigarette. They made his head spin and when he coughed he brought up black solids. Yet now he was smoking them steadily, warmed by the acrid burn that they brought to his chest, these pains reminded him that he was alive and breathing. He still had to grit his teeth to inhale though, there was yet a tension and a wince, but he perceived these feelings to be positive. In this weather it was when you couldn’t feel anything that you had to worry, that was what everyone had told him, and he bore it in mind. His toes worried him.
He stamped his feet. Grinding the heel of each foot into the toes of the other, bending and flexing them until he could feel the blood flowing though them once more. It was a painful experience, but one that was not entirely unpleasant. Similar to the pain of pulling out a splinter, satisfying. He held his fingers closely around the glowing end of his cigarette.
With him stood Ivan. Ivan had been his best friend throughout his entire childhood. They had known each other for as long as either could remember. They were physically very alike, being of similar builds and sizes although Ivan was perhaps an inch or two taller. They were also mentally similar, events and objects would trigger the same thoughts in their minds, they often expressed similar wants and desires, as well as fears. They were, however, skilled in different fields. What complicated matters was a fierce sense of competitiveness that ran through their blood. In their hometown their friendship had come under great strain when they had both vied for the attention of the same girl, for a long time. Neither boy ultimately attaining their goal. And now, here they stood, side by side, again facing the same challenge.
Their bags were well stocked for the trip. They had suitable clothes and warm, thick blankets which they would sleep in. They only had one pair of boots each, but these were sturdy boots, handmade in the flatlands and capable of lasting a lifetime if necessary. They carried provisions that reflected the comfort of their youth and their homeland. Biscuits and salted meat, fish, fruit, bread, sugar, cheese, tea and chocolate. Enough to live on, albeit more sparingly than they were accustomed to, for a good couple of weeks.
Jan even had a small saucepan with him, but was vague as to what he could find on the mountain that would be usable as fuel. The environment here was unremittingly hostile. There were absolutely no trees that they could see; instead the side of the mountain was peppered only with the odd fruitless shrub, made up of tough, thorny twigs. Other than that it was simply a face of rock, ice and snow. There was no sound save for the monotone howl of the wind as it tore down the mountain and into their very bones. Everything about the mountain seemed engineered to keep people away. There was nothing here for anyone, surely, man or beast. For all of this time Ivan had been checking his bag, but now he looked up to share Jan’s gaze at the mountain.
“We should start now. We have spent all of our lives in the flatlands. Enough is enough.”
Jan nodded in agreement and they approached the base of the mountain. Here it was jagged and irregular, a moss covered granite that stuck out in all directions. It was not too sheer though, rather a gentle incline that appeared to be able to be ascended without too much difficulty. A good place to start. Somewhat harder than a hill, but not the flat mountain face that the two young men had been expecting. Imagining.
They had never given a moment’s thought to this moment. To how they would begin to climb. They had decided to tie themselves together and, probably because of this, they took a greater degree of caution than if they had been separate. Neither wanted to be responsible for any danger befalling the other. The idea that anything might happen to them through their own fault was something that they could not even conceive of. They both took hold of small outcroppings, and tugged on them gently before entrusting their whole weight to them. The rock was hard and sharp. It pushed into the skin and was momentarily shocking in its solidity. Jan would always pre-empt how something felt, the texture and warmth of an object, before he touched it. He had done so with the rock of the mountain, but it did not feel at all like he expected it to. It was both horrifyingly real and strangely dreamlike at the same time. The sensation only lasted for a moment, but it was there. They pulled themselves up, hand over hand, their feet flailing for a foothold, they looked in all directions. They were amateurs at this, but they would improve.
They continued like this for hours, slowly scaling the low part of the mountain. At one point Jan turned and looked at the wide expanse of green that lay behind him. The snowy landscape at the foot of the mountain lapped out into the green like the waves against the shore. He could just make out the faint sign of smoke coming from the settlement that was his homeland. A thin wisp. He continued to look at it until he was awakened from his trance by Ivan puling on the cord that connected them. With that he turned and went on, up the mountain. At a later stage in this embryonic moment of their voyage, the swirling fog and mist silently thickened below and behind them and the green vista was obscured entirely. Neither one of them would ever see it again.


Ivan pulled himself up and onto a plateau. He found it to be quite large, perhaps five by ten feet across, enough space for each of them to lie down, which would be a luxury after the climb that they had had. He suggested to Jan that this might even be a good place for them to stop. To eat and drink. Jan agreed with this, he was tired now and his arms and legs ached from the strain of carrying his weight. He was exhausted and, despite the freezing temperature, he was sweating profusely. There was an itching, prickling sensation in the small of his back that he found unpleasant. It was the same sensation that he got when he helped in the fields. As though his skin was opening up in order to be able to breathe.
They ate little, even though they were famished, and spoke even less. Each of them only had the desire to look out at the scene that was played in front of them by the wind and the drifting snowfall. The grey had formed a canvas in the sky against which the patterns made by the falling snow tore back and forth. They couldn’t tell how far they could see; it was impossible to gauge distance. It appeared to quickly become a swirling vortex of snow and cloud. It could have been twenty feet, it could have been a hundred. They weren’t sure. Jan could barely feel his fingers again and cupped his hands around his mouth, breathing on them hard. When they were climbing it was okay, the blood was forced around his hand. But now that they had stopped his fingers seemed to freeze up again. He took out a ready-rolled cigarette and lit it with one of his precious matches. For as long as he could, he kept the match in his hands to warm himself. Then Ivan spoke for the first time in a while.
“How long do you think the food will last?” He asked Jan.
“Not long enough. Not long enough for us to get to the top.”
“We should start thinking about how we’re going to get food up here.”
“We will find food. There have been many before us who have made this journey.”
Jan patted the head of the curved bow that jutted out of the top of his bag. It was a five-foot bow that had been given to him by his family. A present when he was a child, but also a symbol that his childhood was soon to lie behind him. That the approaching dawn of maturity was soon to arrive. He had learned to use it with a great degree of proficiency and it was one of the skills that he possessed that Ivan did not. Jan derived a great deal of pleasure from this.
“I’ll take care of our hunting needs with this.”
“You’ve never used it on an animal before. Not really. A few sparrows are not going to be good enough to get by on.”
”True. But I have a good aim, and you have prepared animals before. Together we should be okay.”
It irritated Jan that Ivan had chosen to cast doubt on his ability, it seemed to him that he was being critical simply out of spite. Ivan would often push Jan for no apparent reason, taking him to the end of his reasoning, and would then act as if that had never been the intention when called upon in retaliation. This was a repetitive manoeuvre that he would make. All the more annoying for Jan because it made him look like the instigator in these situations. As though he had become consumed with rage for no reason. Although he didn’t show it, Jan boiled over this comment. They finished their meal in silence and, with the awkward silence hanging over them, continued to climb until the dusk began to consume the sky.
As the last of the daylight left them they found themselves without a level place to rest for the night. Jan was angered that they had not stayed where they were, but he didn’t mention it. The most they could do was to settle for a gentle indent in the face of the mountain. A barely noticeable concave feature of the rock, which gave them a little protection from the wind. They had just enough room to be able o sleep with some shelter, albeit sitting up. There was not enough room to be able to lie down without finding yourself in the path of the icy gales. They sat together. Each wrapped in a blanket. They pulled their hats down over their ears and wrapped their scarves around their necks and faces. To ensure that no part of their skin would be exposed to the elements. It was in this fashion that they slept until they were woken by the hazy, diffused light of the morning sun, creping through the threads of the scarves. Neither of them had slept well. They had both been consumed by the fear that they could slip or roll of the edge whilst they slept. They had not only kept the ropes tied to each other, but had also fastened it to the mountain. It had given them some solace knowing that it was there.
“Today we will find our own food,” Ivan stated boldly as each man stretched their legs after standing. “I declare that on this day we will not touch the merest morsel from our provisions, instead we shall take on the mountain, head on, in a quest to prove our dominance.”
“And what do you declare that we eat today? I haven’t seen another living creature since we began our climb.”
“That’s because you haven’t been looking carefully enough. This environment is full of life, if only you know where to look.” Ivan crouched down and scanned the rocks at his feet, he picked something up from between two stones. He held it carefully in both hands and ushered Jan over. It was a large, black stag beetle, Ivan gingerly grasped it between thumb and forefinger, carefully, so as not to crush it. The creature twisted in his grip, opening and closing its jaws slowly and silently, Jan watched it as though in a dream. It could have been a monster, ferocious and huge, but somehow scaled down so as they were giants to it, with all of the great noise that would normally accompany the beast removed. It appeared to be trying to bite Ivan, but the flesh of its attacker always seemed to be just out of reach.
“I don’t think that this is going to be enough for the whole day,” Jan quipped. Ivan ignored the sarcasm.
“Do you think that this beetle is on this rock for no reason? Or that perhaps it came here on a whim? The flights and fancies of a bug. This creature has spent its life here. It is almost at the bottom of the food chain, therefore we will be able to find the predator of the beetle, and the creature which eats that. Perhaps we may even find a beast, something of a size that we are accompanied to, the creature which eats the lichen, or the shrubs perhaps. Mark my words, this place is a circle of life. We just have to know how to use it. And what to look for. “
Jan still felt amused. He pulled out his bow and released an arrow from its quiver.
“Perhaps you would like me to despatch the beast for you?”
Ivan gave a mock smirk and put the beetle back where he had found it, in the protection between the two rocks. He did not want it to be swept away by the fierce wind that always seemed to be present.
“Come. We will begin to climb. But keep your eyes and ears sharp. In case we come across something that we can kill, and eat.”
They had been climbing for over an hour now. The sun was little more than a circular haze of illumination behind a thick bank of cloud, but the light was magnified off the snow and there was a harsh bright light enabling them to see the detail of the rock face with great clarity. Even though they were surely at a very precipitous height a panoramic view of the scenery behind them was impossible. To look behind and down you could have easily believed that they were no more than a few hundred feet from the ground. Jan found it all very disconcerting. In his mind it was possible that they had barely scaled any height worth mentioning, but his arms and shoulders told him a different story. He was also troubled by the fact that he had no idea of what they were approaching. He felt imaginary, unable to trace a clear line of where they had come from or where they were going.
They kept the rope slack between them while they climbed. They had discussed relying on the rope too much and were particularly worried about it catching on a sharp rock and becoming tangled, or snapping. There were dozens of such outcroppings up here. Formations that they had to handle carefully or else they would cut themselves on the sharp edges of the flint and granite. At the worst, the rope could become weakened and might not have the strength to hold a mans weight if one of them were to fall. Another thought that occurred to them was that a bank of cloud could grow up suddenly and engulf them, if the rope were to break when that happened, they might lose each other for ever.
As he climbed Jan would alternate his gaze in five different directions. First he would look down at his hands, they were becoming more knobbled and gnarly as the climb went on and on. He found this progression from soft, baby-like hands, to the hands of a farmer fascinating, if a little depressing. He kept an eye on these hands as they scurried about the rock face, testing the rock, gripping it firmly and pulling himself up. Then, he would look down at his feet. At first his feet had scrabbled to find footholds, but now they were moving with great confidence, growing in speed, and his legs had more strength to push himself up to the rocks he was aiming for. The next glance was upwards, to find a spot for his next hand to take, avoiding the blades that would appear from the stone, and staying away from rocks that would come away from the face of the mountain, betrayers. The fourth was reserved for Ivan. Whether he was above or below him Jan always checked his comrade’s position. He wanted to make sure that he was moving at roughly the same speed, he did not want to be moving too fast, or to fall behind. And the fifth look was for the line. He would make sure that it was not caught on anything, that it did not need to be shaken loose, and that the tension had not become too great.
This was the routine that he followed mechanically. If he had been asked about these motions Jan would have been unaware of the mantra of movements, it had become as subconscious as breathing to him. At times he would stare at the clouds behind him (usually when he was leading and had got too far ahead of Ivan), hoping to see the flatlands, to catch a glimpse of his homeland, perhaps through a break in the cloud. But there was never anything but the vortex.
Nothing for all this time, but the rock, the mist, and the sound of the wind. The occasional scuffing sound of Ivan’s ascent, hands and feet brushing against the rock face, and… a bleating? He looked over at Ivan to see him staring back, his friends face was excited, his eyes open wide, a broad smile had cast itself across his face.
“What’s that?” Jan yelled.
“Sounds to me like a sheep or a goat.”
“But we’re so high. How did it get up here?”
“Either it has always lived at this height or it got up here the same way we did,” Ivan motioned with one hand up the side of the mountain.
Without any further words they began to make for the source of the sound. Climbing swiftly, yet quietly, they scaled at an angle to the left, finding a winding path upwards that was harder than the way they had been traversing, the two were spurred on, given a second wind by the sudden proof of life on the mountain. All the time the sound of the animal became clearer, more distinct. It got so that Jan could clearly hear the hooves of the animal scraping against the rock.
“It’s a goat,” Ivan whispered excitedly to Jan, who had become closer to him now than at any point previous. Jan could feel the words being carried to him on the wind. Silently, he drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and gripped it firmly between his teeth. The feel of the wood grain felt good to him. Recognisable. Familiar.
“This is a moment when you can forget yourself. Remember to take extra care with this part of the climb. We don’t want to become so distracted by the excitement of the chase that we lose our grip and make the fatal journey back to the base of the mountain.”
Ivan appeared to be talking to himself now. Jan did not believe that the words had been intended for his benefit, but with the arrow in his mouth he could not ask. All the same, whether the words had been for him or not it was good advice. Jan had become so accustomed to the task of climbing that he found himself forgetting how high they were. For a moment he had been revisited by that strange feeling that they were only a few feet above the ground. The consequence of falling into reckless behaviour was vast indeed. He imagined himself adrift on the wind, falling without screaming. How long would he fall for? The very thought of it chilled him to the marrow.
Slowly, a figure started to emerge through the cloud. Ivan was right, it was a goat. Scrawnier and more feral in appearance than the animals he had seen on the farmlands of his home, but a mighty looking beast all the same. It was the most affirmative sign of life that he had witnessed since coming here. The breath curled out of its mouth and nose in strong, thick plumes. Whilst the mountain had an air around it that suggested that everything was not quite real the goat was thrown into focus. It was sharp and solid and defined. It owned the space that it inhabited, and Jan would have to kill it if they wanted to succeed in this venture. The creature possessed huge, twisted horns and a thick beard that was matted with snow and ice. It gently paced back and forth along the rocks, but the strength that it had in its legs was visible even from such small motions. Ivan and Jan climbed up, terribly quietly now, so that they were level with the goat. They were more silent than they had ever been in their lives. Ivan was not even sure if he was actually breathing anymore. Jan found enough footing to allow himself to let go of the rocks with one hand and withdraw his bow. Ivan gathered up a section of the line that connected them and wrapped it around his forearm. Bracing himself against the mountain face.
This was the test for Jan. He had used his bow countless times before, but never under such difficult circumstances. He had never shot at an animal of this size either. In the flatlands, whilst other children had revelled in the parts they could play in assisting their parents in the role of hunters, Jan had disliked the sport. Even when he had acquired his first bow he would rather gain accuracy on a target that he would not kill. His father could never come to terms with this inadequacy within his son, but Jan gave it little thought. It was the gore of it all that he could not bear. Not so much a matter of emotional attachment. The thought of pulling his arrow from within the soft body of a recently killed animal. The grip of death that came over animals was not something that he was enamoured with. For him it removed all of the qualities that had made them so distinguishable. Birds became like a rag. Beasts shrank in size and took on the appearance of something that you would not like to eat. And now, he was forced to act on this, noble creature. In his heart he was torn between an admiration for the strength and simple, uncluttered beauty of the animal and his immediate need for food. He kept repeating the number of days he expected their food to last over and over again in his mind. Silently mouthing it like a prayer. The image of the creature in pain, pain that he had created repeatedly threw itself up in his mind and he used the number of days that they had left to force this image from his mind.
He was naturally left-handed and he didn’t want to risk the opportunity by using his weaker, right hand. In order to make a clean shot he had to turn away from the mountain, only supporting himself with his heels. He could see the alarm that this created in Ivan’s eyes, but answered with a glance from Ivan to the line between them and back again. The wind caught the rope at that moment and let it out in an arc away from the mountain. Jan suddenly became worried that he would drop the bow down the side of the mountain, to Jan this suddenly became more of a genuine fear than if he himself were to fall. The wind died down and the arc fell back against the rock. The sound of the goat’s hooves could be heard, crushing the snow that lay underfoot on the rock. Jan briefly pushed himself away from the side of the mountain, only for a fraction of a second, just long enough to let fly cleanly. At the sound of the whirring shaft the animal turned to face the hunters just in time for the arrow to bury itself deep into the goats eye. It looked stupid now, less than graceful and more than foolish as it scraped the wood against the ground, staggering back and forth. It gave up this tact quickly and tried to find the arrow with its teeth, but was unable to reach. Jan thought for a moment of the stag beetle and how it had tried in vain to grasp Ivan’s finger. A futile gesture of defiance.
“Yes!” Jan smiled widely and quickly readjusted his position on the rock so that he felt more secure. Once he felt safer he slid the bow back into his bag. The goat stumbled about, reeling against the death throes that were consuming it now. Its legs buckled underneath it from the extra weight that death brings to a body and, without making so much as a sound, it slipped and fell off the precipice. Jan watched it’s descent from his vantage point until it reached a thick bank of cloud and was obscured from his sight. The two of them stared into the swirling wind when, after what seemed like an age had passed, Ivan started to speak. Jan was so sick to his stomach with disappointment that at first he could not hear Ivan and he had to ask him to repeat what he had just said.
“We should have tied a line to the arrow.”
Jan did not avert his eyes from where the goat had fallen from sight.
“I can see that.”
“Really though, what were you thinking, you always attach a line if there’s a risk that you could lose your quarry.”
Jan was suddenly struck by something similar to rage, it burned through his disappointment like a flame through ice.
“I didn’t notice you mention it earlier.”
“It just seemed so obvious.”
Ivan turned away from the scene and began to make his way over to the clearing that the goat had inhabited. Jan looked after him, seething, but he too eventually began to follow when the line between them came close to being taught. On arriving at the flat Jan sat down despondently and drew out an arrow. He began to gently bore a hole in the end of the shaft with a small piece of flint he had found on the ground. Ivan had pulled a biscuit from his pack and sat chewing it, staring at Jan. After he had made a hole all the way through, Jan filed down the inside until it was completely smooth. Then, he replaced the arrow and pulled out another. Once he had finished doing the same to the second arrow he pulled out the spool of fishing wire that he had brought with him. The line was light and small, but very strong and long, he had imagined that it could be useful up here. He threaded the second arrow carefully and tied it tight. Although the string was strong it did not tie well in a knot and he had to tie it several times before it held. He pulled the thread back and forth to make sure that there was nothing for it to snag on, and twisted it to make sure that the knot held fast. He pulled out his needle and, using another piece of the fishing wire, sewed the spool onto the side of his bag, gently, so that it would spin when he needed it to. He kept the arrow and the spool connected. Now, when he next fired a shot the spool should keep up with it.
All the while he appeared to be absorbed in his task, he was, in actuality, blind with rage. Ivan’s words spun about him, as though they were constantly echoing against the mountainside. He felt like Ivan had not really been as helpful as he could in trying to catch the goat. The hunt had been his idea and it was their first attempt. But all the same, he had been nothing but critical, and had behaved more like an excited child than a man. At that moment Jan could not bring himself to even look at his friend until he had calmed down.
When he had finished Jan span the spool to ensure it released cleanly, he was pleased to see that it turned just as if it had been harnessed to a fishing rod. He wasn’t sure how much length he had on the wire, but being that he could only see so far through the mist he believed it to be enough.
Ivan watched him silently, eating his biscuit. He finished it slowly, savouring the last few crumbs, then he spoke.
“Do you really think that’s going to work?”
This bothered Jan, but he did not show it. Here he was actively trying to do something about their situation, and, as usual, here was Ivan pouring scorn on it all.
“Of course it will, I should have thought of it earlier really, I suppose that I just got carried away by the excitement of the moment.”
Once he was happy with the shaft he placed the arrow back into its quiver and took an oatcake from his pack. He broke it in half and gave a piece to Ivan. A silent gesture of peace on his behalf.
“How long do you think this climb is going to take?”
“Difficult to say. If only the weather would let up for lone enough, then we could get an idea of how high the mountain is.”
“But others have climbed it before us.”
“Yes. But no one has ever returned to tell us about it. It’s always the same. Once someone departs to scale the mountain they never come back to the flatlands.”
“The Miller came back.”
“He never reached the summit though. He simply gave up and turned back.”
“How long was he gone for?”
“Perhaps two years. Maybe longer.”
They fell silent again. It was only their second day and thinking about a journey that could last for more than two years was difficult. They were both young enough not to understand the enormity of the task, but old enough to consider two years of their lives a remarkable sacrifice.
Jan felt a wave of tiredness wash over him again, his hands were beginning to blister and his face was chapped and sore from the relentless cold wind. Every muscle, every piece of his being ached.
As though he could sense his partners discomfort Ivan spoke up.
“It will get easier. We are new to this life. Once we are used to climbing, and to the weather, it will not seem so arduous. Just give it time.”
Jan nodded and did not speak, accepting what Ivan said to be true. He did not want to turn around, to give in to his pain. He was already starting to think of his upbringing as something that was behind him. A facet of his life that he did not want to go back to. There was nothing there for him now.


They had been climbing solidly all day now. The light was beginning to fade from the sky, but they continued. They were intent on finding somewhere comfortable to spend the night, but there seemed to be no such suitable place in sight. Just as they were losing hope Ivan caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a wide flat, over to the right of them. They made for it in haste. Upon arriving they found it to be not just a small plateau, but it was also harbouring a small cave where they could shelter from the wind. This was a luxury. They fell upon this opportunity and without talking or eating they lay down to sleep. All night the wind howled outside.
Jan was back in the flatlands. The warm sun on his face, with that familiar gentle breeze ruffling through his hair. It was autumn and time for the harvest, but the field of wheat which lay in front of him still seemed immature. He studied it closely, with the cold dead eye of the bystander, and noticed that it was aging before his eyes. The colour was slowly, almost imperceptibly, turning from a bright yellow to a healthier shade of almost russet hued sunny tones. But, it continued to darken, beyond the quality that signalled that it was good and ripe. The stalks were drying out now, and the chaff separated itself from the wheat. Before he could begin to cut them down they started to blacken. Flies appeared all around him. The stalks crumbled where they stood. He fell to his knees and tried to draw together as much salvageable material as he could. The wheat broke up as he touched it and crumbled to dust, being carried away by that evening breeze. He started to weep from the frustration of it all and his tears mingled with the dry, cracked soil that he knelt in. With the strength of a strong mud beneath him the wheat began to take hold. The seeds split before him and started to grow into new shoots, bursting through the soil that had been regenerated by his tears. The new stalks grew up quickly, thick and strong. He tried to break them down but found that they were too tough. His hands ripped and tore on the sheaths, he wiped his bloodied hands on his clothes and started to kick at the wheat. Trying to break it down with his feet. He dug his hands into the earth but could not get a good enough purchase. Every push of his legs just pushed him back and into the mud. He felt as though he were flailing wildly when Ivan woke him from the dream.
“Quick. Jan. Wake up.”
Jan sat up with a start and looked about the cave, temporarily unfamiliar with his surroundings.
“Be quiet. There’s a goat outside.”
Jan bolted to his backpack, threw it on and crept outside. Again, Ivan was right. There was a beast of a creature standing on the flat outside the cave. This one was somehow stronger looking, definitely bigger than the last one they had come across. Jan did not quite understand how an animal that was constantly exposed to harsh weather, with little or no food to eat, could grow so large. It moved with an enviable strength and certainty. The goat’s eyes were bright in the early morning sunlight. They reflected a myriad of colours. This glistening gave the creature an appearance of undeniable intelligence. Jan checked that he had the arrow that was threaded with the fishing wire by feeling the shaft with a hand held behind his head. He moved fluidly now, ensuring that the line was clean and would not snag. The goat strode back and forth, menacingly, yet seemingly unaware of the threat.
Jan drew back the arrow and took aim, he was about to release it when Ivan, who was trying to creep silently out of the cave, slipped on some loose rocks and fell over. Jan shifted his eyes to ensure that his friend was okay before becoming aware of the heavy sound of hooves shifting on the rock. The goat had spun around to face the hunter. For a moment the three of them were frozen, only the hot breath from the face of the goat gave the scene any semblance of life. Then, with grim determination, the goat began to charge. It kicked up a huge snow cloud behind it as its hooves dug into the icy rock. It bowed its head and came at Jan with the enormous horns that adorned its skull. Instantly Jan took a short breath and re-aimed, letting the arrow fly as soon as he had a bead on his target. He knew that the head would be thick with bone, so he aimed for the chest. There was not much of it that he could see with the animal running low, but he placed the point of the arrow where he imagined the heart would be one beat later, and let go. The fishing wire whirred past his ear as the arrow flew, the spool came to a halt when the shaft found itself buried deep in the animals neck. The goat was stopped in its tracks. It shook its head from side to side and started to buck, its legs carrying it around in circles. It began to spin wildly, trying to scrape the arrow against the side of the mountain as it did so. Jan became scared that the arrow would break and that his line would be lost. He ran towards the animal, pushing his pack from his back as he did so, it fell to the ground and did not move, the bow lay beside it. As soon as the goat saw the hunter coming towards him it turned, the beast was confused, scared, in pain, but it knew when to run. In its haste to get away it started to make straight for the cliff edge. Jan quickened his pace and dug his heels in, flying through the air now; he was as incensed as the goat. Just as the animal slipped over the side Jan’s hand clasped the back leg of the goat. He held tight, but the weight of the animal was too much for him and he fell over with the animal.
Now was the moment that Ivan came to life. He had watched everything play out before him like a horrendous ballet. The rope that the climbers always wore began to rapidly uncoil as the man and the beast descended. Quickly he wound some of the rope around his hands and braced his feet against the floor.
“I’ve got you,” Ivan yelled. He held the rope with both hands and leaned back as far as he could to support himself against the tug of the great weight on the other end of the rope. He had to narrow the angle, to stop them from falling. There was a tremendous tug on the rope. He knew that the goat was not dead and imagined this pull to be the creature thrashing about wildly, causing it to generate such a powerful extra weight. It took every ounce of strength that he had not to be pulled across the flat and over the edge. Jan’s voice came up to him over the side.
“I have it, but if you’re going to drop us, shout. I can cut the line.” Ivan could make out a peculiar sound that he could not place amidst Jan’s words.
“Not yet! Don’t cut it. I’m holding on, but be ready.”
Ivan ground his feet into the rock with grim determination, but slowly, he began to be pulled closer to the ledge. His feet kicked up rocks and ice as he tried to fight back against the inexorable tug of his friend and the burden. Jan began to make plaintive cries of distress from the abyss, but Ivan persisted in telling him that it would be okay. He wasn’t sure if he was lying to Jan or trying to convince himself by this point. His boots slid across the ice-covered rock, desperately looking for a foothold or a divot. Then, he noticed a large rock sticking out of the ground that the rope was rubbing against. He pushed himself to the side of it, using the rock as a buttress and started to pull himself and the line around it, fortifying his body against the tug. The rock was covered with a sheen of ice, to ensure that the rope did not slip up and off he lay across the top of it, pushing the cord down with his hands and feet. Now he had his back to the sky, but the rope as safely tucked around the rock. The descent had stopped. He stayed there, unable to move, breathing hard.
“You’re safe. I’m going to pull you up, but its not going to be easy.” Jan’s voice sounded off again, he sounded stronger this time, less frightened, more sure of his position.
“I think I can hold onto the rocks here. I’ll tie the rope around the goat and you can pull it up on its own, then lower the rope to me.”
Ivan nodded his head, then realised that Jan could not see the movement and shouted an agreement instead. The rope went slack for a moment and then he felt the dead weight of the animal. He pulled it up, hand over hand, with the rope winding its way around the rock, rubbing a circular sore into his belly. He continued in this manner until he could hear the body of the goat scraping against the cliff edge. He turned to look at it and was greeted by the steaming body of the beast.
He could see now that Jan had slit the throat of the animal. He thought back to that strange noise he had heard and been unable to place. He connected to the sounds of the lambs being slaughtered in the flatlands. That bizarre noise of skin and hair being sharply cut with a non-serrated blade. This is what he had heard. Despite its wound the goat still appeared powerful. Its muscles stretched through the skin, creating an imaginary map across its body. The legs were tough and sinewy. Ivan could feel the power that the legs had once held. Only the eyes, which were rolled back, showed that the creature was without life. The steam rising from the gash in its neck even gave the appearance of the hot breath of the animal leaving its face. He dragged the body away from the ledge and untied the rope from around its midriff. Ivan peered cautiously over the edge of the cliff and spied Jan looking up at him. He was holding on to the rock face with both hands, his body held close to the stone. He could see that Jan was drenched in blood, He threw the rope down, Jan caught the end of it and tied it around his waist. Jan half climbed, wand was half dragged back to the top. He struggled over the edge looking like a new born, coloured with the crimson life-blood of the animal and struggling to breathe. With a nod to of thanks to Ivan he pulled his knife out again and fell upon the body of the goat. He cut it from throat to sternum and began to remove the skin.
“Let me do that. I’ve done it more times than you.”
“If I don’t do this I’ll never learn.”
“Well let me help you at least. You should remove the insides before you take the skin off anyway.”
Jan snarled at Ivan. His heart was beating fast after the drama of the moment. He had never felt the arterial blood of a living creature blast against him and he was still filled with bloodlust. He felt as though he were still killing the beast, not merely cutting it up, but that every movement of the knife was still with the purpose of killing it.
“You have to pull the skin off cleanly. You should be bolder with the way you use the knife. If it starts to come off in small pieces we won’t be able to use the hide.”
Jan gripped the blade firmly. He was shaking all over, but his hands in particular. The tip of the knife was shaking so fast in his hands that he couldn’t focus on it properly. It was a blur to him. He pulled his fists into his chest and glared up at Ivan, teeth bared. He was the wolf. The hunter.
His voice was not his own, but rather that of a much larger man.
“You don’t know half as much as you make out you do.”
The words hung in the air, an echoing snarl reverberated around them.
“I’m not saying that I know everything, I’m just trying to help you that’s all/”
Again, it was this defence mechanism that Ivan used in an argument. His face began to put on an expression of confusion, as though he were unaware of his arrogance, his gross shortcomings. This made Jan even angrier.
“Well, you certainly don’t sound like you’re trying to do that. It seems to me that you’re simply being superior for the sake of it. Face it, you’re not happy with anything that I do. You always find fault or room for improvement with any action I take. Nothing is ever good enough for you. Why, if it wasn’t for me we wouldn’t even have this animal now.”
Jan was fierce, white-hot. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. Despite his rage, and the feeling deep down inside him that he should stop, he went on with his rampage.
“You’re a little man. A little man who thinks he’s big. With no more understanding or experience of life than a worm.”
Ivan stared at him. He stared in silence, allowing the last comment to circulate around the air between them. Slowly, he turned and walked back to his cave without a sound. Without giving their argument a second though Jan looked down at the body of the goat and began to cut at the skin with jagged, stabbing motions. Occasionally tearing the hide when he meant not to.
Later that day they ate the goat flesh raw. Not having the means to start a fire this far up the mountain, despite being blessed with a cave that would have protected the flames from the wind. The skin lay in tatters in one corner, unusable. Jan had kept as much as he thought was salvageable. More out of spite than purpose.
Although this meal seemed terribly basic and savage to them, the goat that they had caught was, by comparison to the animals that they would meet later on their journey, a mere lowland animal. The meat was much more tender and more ample than it would be on any other creature that they would encounter on the mountain. Although they felt like they were eating like primitives they were, in actuality, eating like kings. Additionally, the argument that they had had completely soured this moment of victory. They had beaten a part of their task. They had become killers, they were eating the fruit of their labours. But all of this tasted like a bitter victory to them now. Each man ate in silence.




(The novel continues. Second part to be posted in the new year. Please let me know what you think so far. Ben Woodiwiss)