came back, he'd need the heat. When Doug came back, when.
The slightest sound unnerved Esther: the whistle of wind through the log walls, the rattle of a door or the creak of wood from the cabin and outbuildings. Last night, she'd been convinced she'd seen a face at the window but now she wasn't so sure. Bird said it could have been someone else passing by. After all, they were on an old mushers' trail so it wasn't too far-fetched. But there were no marks in the snow.
A reflection, suggested Adrian. He had a point. A weak aurora borealis had been playing across the sky, a pale-green gossamer scarf, slow and balletic. Maybe that had cast a freaky light.
Esther began to think she'd imagined it. And she'd had such strange dreams in the night, a jumbled narrative that had left her with a head full of images: a peacock and a pink fountain; veiled women and turba-ned men; a river bobbing with fishing boats; and a man with bright-green eyes who had such beauty and presence that she'd woken up wet, her lust spiked with loneliness and need, the intensity of which she'd never felt before. It had left her on the brink of tears.
She'd stayed in her sleeping bag, waiting for the others to wake up. To her shame, the discovery Doug was missing was close to relief. The panic snatched her right out of her pain.
She made tea and sat at the table, waiting. Bird was right: he couldn't have gone far. But, depending on his clothing, if he was injured he couldn't survive in subzero temperatures for long.
This was Esther's third major expedition. Once, two team members suffering from extreme frostbite had to be airlifted out but Esther hadn't experienced any major dramas. However, the threat was always there. If it weren't, there would be no challenge, no reason to do this, no glory in the final achievement.
Esther sometimes wondered what she would do if she didn't have the ice. She'd been on skis almost as soon as she could walk, her parents instilling her with a sense of adventure and wonder. The Arctic transformed her. She loved being here. It was both tranquil and savage, and, thanks to climate change, so momentary and fragile, a bubble about to burst. The sea ice was melting, coastal villages were under threat, livelihoods were at risk, polar bears could vanish.
Oh, where the hell was Doug?
Esther connected her palm-top to the satphone, thinking she might upload her blog, then realised she was being stupid. Comms were down. Last night's dream was muddling her brain. She was in half a mind to blog about the dream and was wondering who might read it when she heard a noise outside.
'Hello! He – ello?'
It was male and her first thought was Doug, even though it wasn't his voice. She hurried to the cabin door, thinking Bird or Adrian, although it didn't sound like them either. There was no German accent so that ruled out Johannes.
'Hello?' The voice was right at the door. Esther flung it open and a blizzard of snow whirled into the cabin. In the midst of the flurry, on skis, was a tall figure in a black ski suit, face concealed by a balaclava and visor, head haloed in almost a foot of grey fur.
'Hi!' he called, tipping up a ski pole in greeting. 'Mind if I come in.'
Esther was already ushering him in because in these conditions you don't ask for ID. The man stepped out of his skis and clomped in, his equipment clattering as he stood it in a corner. Esther slammed the door against the storm.
'Phew!' he said, and he quickly pulled off his headgear and visor. Sleek black hair spilt from his balaclava, and his dark eyebrows, as shapely and elegant as his finely-boned face, contrasted with his pasty complexion. When he raised his head to smile, Esther was startled to note he had one perfectly ordinary blue eye while the other was violet. It wasn't violet in the way Elizabeth Taylor's eyes were said to be violet. A better description might be bright purple.
'Are you OK?' asked Esther, alarmed. 'Where's your party? Or are you alone? A
The slightest sound unnerved Esther: the whistle of wind through the log walls, the rattle of a door or the creak of wood from the cabin and outbuildings. Last night, she'd been convinced she'd seen a face at the window but now she wasn't so sure. Bird said it could have been someone else passing by. After all, they were on an old mushers' trail so it wasn't too far-fetched. But there were no marks in the snow.
A reflection, suggested Adrian. He had a point. A weak aurora borealis had been playing across the sky, a pale-green gossamer scarf, slow and balletic. Maybe that had cast a freaky light.
Esther began to think she'd imagined it. And she'd had such strange dreams in the night, a jumbled narrative that had left her with a head full of images: a peacock and a pink fountain; veiled women and turba-ned men; a river bobbing with fishing boats; and a man with bright-green eyes who had such beauty and presence that she'd woken up wet, her lust spiked with loneliness and need, the intensity of which she'd never felt before. It had left her on the brink of tears.
She'd stayed in her sleeping bag, waiting for the others to wake up. To her shame, the discovery Doug was missing was close to relief. The panic snatched her right out of her pain.
She made tea and sat at the table, waiting. Bird was right: he couldn't have gone far. But, depending on his clothing, if he was injured he couldn't survive in subzero temperatures for long.
This was Esther's third major expedition. Once, two team members suffering from extreme frostbite had to be airlifted out but Esther hadn't experienced any major dramas. However, the threat was always there. If it weren't, there would be no challenge, no reason to do this, no glory in the final achievement.
Esther sometimes wondered what she would do if she didn't have the ice. She'd been on skis almost as soon as she could walk, her parents instilling her with a sense of adventure and wonder. The Arctic transformed her. She loved being here. It was both tranquil and savage, and, thanks to climate change, so momentary and fragile, a bubble about to burst. The sea ice was melting, coastal villages were under threat, livelihoods were at risk, polar bears could vanish.
Oh, where the hell was Doug?
Esther connected her palm-top to the satphone, thinking she might upload her blog, then realised she was being stupid. Comms were down. Last night's dream was muddling her brain. She was in half a mind to blog about the dream and was wondering who might read it when she heard a noise outside.
'Hello! He – ello?'
It was male and her first thought was Doug, even though it wasn't his voice. She hurried to the cabin door, thinking Bird or Adrian, although it didn't sound like them either. There was no German accent so that ruled out Johannes.
'Hello?' The voice was right at the door. Esther flung it open and a blizzard of snow whirled into the cabin. In the midst of the flurry, on skis, was a tall figure in a black ski suit, face concealed by a balaclava and visor, head haloed in almost a foot of grey fur.
'Hi!' he called, tipping up a ski pole in greeting. 'Mind if I come in.'
Esther was already ushering him in because in these conditions you don't ask for ID. The man stepped out of his skis and clomped in, his equipment clattering as he stood it in a corner. Esther slammed the door against the storm.
'Phew!' he said, and he quickly pulled off his headgear and visor. Sleek black hair spilt from his balaclava, and his dark eyebrows, as shapely and elegant as his finely-boned face, contrasted with his pasty complexion. When he raised his head to smile, Esther was startled to note he had one perfectly ordinary blue eye while the other was violet. It wasn't violet in the way Elizabeth Taylor's eyes were said to be violet. A better description might be bright purple.
'Are you OK?' asked Esther, alarmed. 'Where's your party? Or are you alone? A
Similar Books
