The cold in the air was keen and sharp and finding its way deep into the knuckles of Asrim the archer. It seeped into his back muscles as he stood poised on the highest peak of the mountain. His bicep ached as he stood tall and proud with the arrow cocked on the bow, taut to its fullest extent, carrying on the feathers the royal crescent of his majesty. The priests with a last mournful wail, completed their prayers and supplications and a mighty roar began to swell and grow amongst the crowd packed together watching and waiting. The king stepped forward dressed in his finest silks and wools and turning to his people in his deep resonate voice declared “with all God’s speed and peace to our fellow men may this arrow find its true mark”. The drums rolled and the king touched Asrim on the shoulder. Asrim released the arrow, the fingers of his right hand rolling over the string letting the arrow away on its flight. The arrow shot away from the mountain, through the cold iridescent blue sky, streaking towards it target carrying behind it a narrow golden thread which zinged and whistled as it uncoiled from the basket on the battlement.
As Asrim’s arrow shot forward so did two others, each carrying their kings crescent, each loosed by the best archer on their mountain. The eagle soaring and watching from on high, saw and witnessed the three arrows connecting three mountains and three kingdoms together. Asrim looking up and spying the bird reeling, took heart from the symbol and stood tall and waited. The incoming arrow seeking its mark, whistled through the air arching in towards Asrim driving into the ground in front of him, piercing a full foot into the ground, a few lengths of the golden thread pooling beside it. The roar of the crowd intensified as Asrim moved and in one powerful movement reached forward and pulled the arrow from the earth, holding it aloft for all to see and acknowledge.
Now the work began and with only seven days to the winter solstice, the kings master craftsmen set to. They hauled in the thread and a stronger golden rope followed, they called to their glass blowers for the baubles and lanterns. Each individual glass masterpiece was carried carefully to the mountain top by the family maker with his sons and daughters. A trail of beauty, each was more magnificent than the last, the light panels flickered and shimmered just from the sun light alone. The powerful wicks were assembled and installed and slowly the great lanterns began to stretch out across the valley to the next mountain. Three magnificent strings of light began to appear over time, as the craftsmen worked on through the day and night. People in the valleys and on the mountain sides looked in awe at the growing and expanding floating carnival above their heads.
Everyday each king came to inspect the work, staying as darkness crept across the valleys and lanterns were lit. The simplicity and beauty, a spectacular sight to be enjoyed and admired by all. However, each king was just a little bit envious of the other and spotting something unusual on another string of lights demanded more and better for their own. The glass blowers furnaces had never worked so hard, the designs had never been so intricate and dazzling as more and more lanterns were added to the strings. Years later they would say it was like the strings on the necklace of a beautiful goddess, the greatest ever seen.
It was a cold dawn morning and Jasper the master engineer was worried. No one was listening to him. He’d done and redone his calculations and looked at the mighty fixings on the mountain top holding the winding mechanisms for the lantern strings. He too admired the beauty, the ever expanding, drooping, overlapping runs of baubles and lanterns in every different colour and sheen. It would hold just, he knew that , but next year a new mechanism would be required and he had in his mind a picture of how that might look. Meanwhile, he hoped all would be well. He took one last tug on the master anchor rope and turned for home. It was the solstice day and he had still to buy his family their gifts.
The feasting had begun in each and every house and high above and around them the great lanterns hung. The light from each string was so bright; it hid the moon and cast a great glow across the valley floors. The north wind began to blow, slowly at first and then increasing, bringing flutterings of snow and ice in the air. High up on the mountain the fixings unattended began to strain and heave. No one was interested though, tucked up in their houses in the warmth. And each king, sitting high up in their castle, looked out at the magnificence of their creations and felt powerful and strong.
Jasper felt uncomfortable, perhaps it was just indigestion after such a large meal. He pushed back his chair, walked across the room and opened his door. The wind whistled in around him, the cat who had considered an evening stroll and had padded after him, turned, lifted her tail and sped back to sit by the fire. High above him the lights rattled and shook, one or two began to go out. Even higher, the stanchions on the winding mechanisms began to flex and strain. With a pop first one then two bolts shot from their fixings sending a winding mechanism lurging to one side. The line of lights sagged and dropped several feet, seemed to stop, then with a great bang, first one set then another and finally all three plunged, as the lines gave way and the lights hurtled to the valley floor.
They say that the kings leant their lesson, the next year there were less lights and baubles, smaller, better designed and safer; but both Asrim the archer and Jasper the engineer could already see the envy growing and kings are kings after all.
Grahame Pitts – December 2009