The Tor - 27. Chapter 27

The first warning arrived before dawn. Christopher woke to the sound of the wind. It pressed against the windows with a steady force that set the old sash frames trembling in their fittings. Somewhere outside a loose gate struck its post again and again. Rain rattled briefly against the glass before the gust carried it elsewhere.

He lay still for a long moment. The sea sounded different. Every child raised in Penmere knew the voices of the water. Calm mornings carried a soft breathing beneath the cliffs. Winter storms produced a deeper rhythm, each wave arriving with patient certainty.

This sound possessed neither quality. It was continuous, a vast roar that never entirely faded.

His telephone vibrated upon the bedside table with a weather warning. Severe coastal storm expected throughout the afternoon and evening. Residents were advised to avoid exposed cliffs and harbour walls.

Christopher dressed quickly. The sky beyond the window had become the colour of lead.

*

By mid-morning the town had changed its habits. Shopkeepers secured signs that normally remained outside throughout the day. Fishing boats crowded the inner harbour, every available mooring occupied. Men in waterproofs checked ropes twice over before climbing ashore. Sandbags appeared outside the cafés nearest the promenade. Children gathered excitedly at classroom windows whenever the rain intensified.

Christopher tried to continue teaching. Year Nine attempted an essay on Roman roads while the wind howled around the school buildings. Several pupils glanced repeatedly towards the windows. Christopher found himself doing the same.

By lunchtime the headteacher announced that the school would close early. Parents arrived in hurried clusters beneath umbrellas that bent alarmingly in the wind.

Christopher watched the last pupils leave. The sports fields were abandoned under standing water.

The storm continued gathering.

*

He found Marco standing beside the harbour before the afternoon had fully darkened. The tide had risen unusually high. Water struck the sea wall with explosive force, sending white spray across the road. Harbour staff were fastening temporary barriers across the entrances leading towards the promenade.

Marco looked towards the horizon. "The pressure is still falling."

Christopher joined him. "I have never seen the sea like this."

Marco nodded. "I have."

The clouds stretched across the western sky in immense black layers that seemed almost solid. Far out at sea the horizon had disappeared entirely.

"There has always been a storm after," Marco said quietly.

Christopher turned. "What do you mean?"

"I remember others." His gaze remained upon the sea. "The night after the monastery. The winter the schoolmaster died. The autumn when the brig went down."

Christopher felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. "You think this one matters."

"I think they often have."

Before Christopher could answer, a wave burst against the harbour wall with such violence that water swept across the road.

Both men stepped back. The harbour bell rang once in the wind. Then again.

The sound vanished beneath the roar of the sea.

*

By evening the coast road had been closed. Police barriers blocked access beyond the lighthouse.

The tide had already reached levels usually seen only during the worst winter storms.

Christopher stood at the sitting-room window watching the rain drive almost horizontally across the harbour. The lighthouse beam disappeared repeatedly behind curtains of spray.

His telephone rang.

Vale. "You must come."

Christopher looked towards the window. "The roads..."

"Use the upper path." Vale's voice remained remarkably calm. "The lower cliffs are already flooding."

"What has happened?"

"The sea has reached the excavation."

Christopher felt his stomach tighten. "We covered it."

"We did."

Vale paused. "I think whatever began here has reached its end."
*

The three of them climbed the western path as darkness fell. The wind tore at their coats with astonishing strength. Several times Christopher had to lean forward simply to continue walking. Rain lashed their faces. Conversation became impossible.

The sea had ceased to resemble water. It appeared instead as a shifting landscape of white and black, every wave breaking against the cliffs with enough force to shake the ground beneath their feet.

Christopher reached the final rise and stopped.

The Tor stood almost alone.

The tide had flooded the lower approaches from both sides. Water surged across the narrow neck of land beneath the hill, transforming the familiar paths into violent channels of white foam. Only the higher ridge remained above the sea. Even that seemed perilously narrow.

Christopher stared. "I've never seen this."

Vale shook his head. "Nor have I."

Another immense wave struck the cliffs below. Spray rose almost to the summit. For one impossible moment Christopher understood why the ancient people had believed this place belonged to powers older than themselves.

The Tor no longer appeared part of the mainland. It had become an island of stone suspended above a furious sea. The wind carried the sound of the waves upwards until it seemed the whole earth had begun speaking.

Marco looked towards the ancient summit. "It is waiting."

Christopher followed his gaze. He did not know whether Marco meant the hill, the ritual or the choice that still lay before them.

“Stay here,” Marco said.

“Absolutely not.” Christopher continued up the path. “If I died tomorrow, what would you do?”

Marco already knows what the historical answer would be. He would search.

Christopher waited. “What would you do?”

Marco finally said, “I would grieve you.”

Christopher pressed, “And then?”

Marco looked towards the sea. “I would go on.”

Standing above the storm, with the sea closing around the Tor from every side, Christopher understood that certainty was no longer possible. Perhaps it had never been. He did not know what waited above them. He did not know whether Vale was right. He did not know whether the choice they had discussed could change anything.

But he was tired of waiting for knowledge before deciding how to live.

Every step that had brought Christopher to the summit had been taken by his own choosing.