Ten Minute Tales : Diamond Windows by Nicky Galliers

Ten Minute Tales

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Diamond Windows
A haunting tale of snow and sorrow...

by 

Nicky Galliers

This story was first posted on Discovering Diamonds 

in December 2017 when the theme was 'Diamonds'

Day had come late, the air bitingly cold. The sun had barely risen before it had been obscured by great black clouds heavy with snow, and the earth had not been warmed.

The snow fell thickly, silently, coating the ground with a deep layer of pristine white that muffled all daytime sounds. Few ventured beyond their hearths, and candles and torches, fires and lamps burned behind glass, horn sheets and shutters, each a flicker of gold sparking in the gloom.

The young lord shivered despite his warm sheepskin and woollen clothing, gloves made of sheepskin-lined leather, boots with thick leather soles. Double the layers would not have kept the cold out but he did not have time to don more. It was late already and he was running out of time.

His father had detained him, talking of sending his steward to check on the sheep on the home farm and arranging a group of labourers to clear the snow from the courtyard. The young man had only half an ear to lend to his father’s plans. It didn’t seem to matter now, not today. He would be gone soon enough and plans and stewards would be his brother’s concern.

His horse whickered in complaint at the frozen air. The stablehand had not been so unfeeling as to not drape a blanket over his body under the saddle, the young lord noted with satisfaction. When the horse grew hot he could use it to keep himself warm. Time was passing and he could not tarry. He was late as it was and if he delayed any longer it would be too late. He mounted and urged his horse forwards, out of the courtyard and into the bleakness of the countryside.

It was impossible to ride hard. The iron-shod feet of the horse skittered and skidded on the ice-packed road. He had to slow or risk breaking a leg. Damned snow, why today of all days? Tomorrow it wouldn’t matter. But it meant that the road was empty and there were none abroad to hinder his passage, just the snow and ice and frigid air.

He was less than a mile into his journey when his fingers numbed and his toes ached with the cold. He cursed but there was nothing to be done. It was not for long, a few hours, and then he would be inside in the warm, his new life beginning. Behind him, in his saddlebags, was all he needed, coin, plate and gems. His father would eventually notice it was missing, but by then it would be too late. He would not be happy and would know who had taken them, but it was only what he was due. His brother would inherit the estate – this was a small recompense, slightly ahead of time. He regretted not bringing a hat. His head ached as his ears froze. They would be bright red, as ruddy as his cheeks, and he would hardly be fit to be seen, but he would be fit to be seen by her, and that was all that mattered now.

He saw not a soul as he rode too slowly towards his destination. The way-marker told him was nearly half way. He could go no faster and he was late. Too concerned with his own thoughts, he was not able to control his horse when a lone fox shot out of the undergrowth. The horse reared and he slid from its back, jolted as he landed among a pile of saddle bags. The horse jumped around and then calmed, the lord scrabbling to his feet, slipping in the snow. And then finally he found purchase on a rock and he reached for the dragging reins and prevented his palfrey from running into the woods. All would be lost if he let the horse go. He could not reach the house on foot in this weather carrying the heavy bags.

He tugged off a glove and tapped a pocket under his heavy coat. It was still there, thank God. If it had been knocked from its place and fallen into the snow he would never have found it. He took the ring from its hiding place and pushed it into his glove. He wanted it warm when he placed it on her finger. He clambered back up with the help of a fallen log once he had heaved the saddle bags back in place, and set off once more, even more anxious that she had gone without him.

Darkness fell again, too soon, leaving the air thick with cold, but the shadows were not as deep, the snow reflecting what little light was in the world. Now was the time for recklessness. The lord kicked the horse onwards, risking a canter on the treacherous surface under the new-laid snow. The house was in view, just ahead on the rise. A few more minutes and he’d be there.

As he turned into the park he knew that something was wrong. The silhouette was clear, the pointed roofs and the chimneys were outlined against the sky, silvered by the moon that was emerging, full and bright, from behind the snow clouds. No light shone from the windows, no flames of a hearth leapt and glowed behind the glass. It was devoid of life.
A scream echoed in the trees; foxes gambolled in the clean new landscape that was their home, and the lord stared aghast at the blackness where there should have been light. Uselessly he counted the windows. Three to the left, the diamond shaped mullioned window with the tiny diamond slivers of glass limned by the moon. Empty. Black.

‘Where are you?’ he called. No one answered.

He dismounted and left the horse on the front path. He followed the perimeter of the house around to the north, searching for a way in, searching for signs that someone was within. He knocked on the windows, hammered on the servant’s door, his glove discarded, his hand clasped around his precious charge. No answer. He opened the gate into the garden. One more door. He rattled the doorhandle. It was firmly locked. He hammered, calling out.

He heard the crack from above and looked up, too late to move away. The icicle snapped from the overhanging roof, shaken loose with the vibrations, and fell. The vicious point pierced the smooth skin of his neck and he fell back on the carpet of pristine white, the red pool growing and spreading, staining the snow. Out of reach, the gold band of the ring had already been swallowed by the flow of crimson.

A single large diamond glittered in the moonlight, a round piece of ice, cold and hard, set in a claret pool of sparkling crystals as the world froze.

* * *

Inside the house the girl dragged herself from the knole, tugging at the skirts that were trapped beneath her. She had slept so long and it was already night. Her nose was still blocked and she coughed as she struggled up the stairs and her head ached. Her breath clouded in the chill air. The fires in the house had not been lit for days and it was as cold within as it was outside. Wrapped in a coat she found in the wardrobe and a blanket, she stumbled up the wooden stairs. Her hearing was muffled else she would have woken sooner, the foxes and their screams finally penetrating her sleep. She thought she heard a horse’s whinny but there was nothing in sight when she peered out towards the stables. The snow was untouched and only animal prints showed in the perfect surface.

The tinder box sat on the cold mantelpiece. Her shaking hands lit a flame that she held to a wick before it burned her fingers. She placed the candle on the ledge by the window, the diamond window with the diamond panes. The dancing light touched every piece of glass, sending shards flitting around the empty room. She sat down next to it, pulling the blanket close in case it caught on the guttering flame. The world was silent beyond, still and unmoving but for the family of foxes playing on the lawn.

And she waited. 

He would come. He said he would come.

© Nicky Galliers

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