THE CLIFF OF HOPE 

By Tessa Harvey


    It was cold and clear. Th moor glowed in silver and shadows streamed from the high rocks and outcrops.

    Izak tried in the light of the moon to struggle up the cliff. The rocks were crumbled and unstable, frosted and sun-warmed so often that promising deep fissures tumbled away as the boy tried to hold tight. And move upwards always.

    "I can't go any farther up," he gasped, sweating in the cold air. The trio of older boys below sneered mockingly. "Gutless wonder," the leader called, softly. The second one murmured, "come on, it's flaming cold." But the youngest hesitated. "Shouldn't we help him down?" The answer was a hard thump on his shoulder. "Don't be daft. He is not far from the top or the bottom. Just a few minutes, that's all."

    They turned away for home.

    Izak was petrified, clinging like some frozen life-form. His fear of heights roared in and he was alone.

    The boy's fingers cramped in the cold night air. He looked up. The full moon beckoned like a beacon. It wasn't too far from the top. He could do this. But his right foot slipped as a precious toehold crumbled and gave way, stones skittering downwards like pebbles hustled by the tide.

    Izak's nails gripped harder, but it was no use....his left foot was slipping. He whispered some kind of desperate prayer. Then he felt his foot placed on a shoulder. He had more balance. It's an angel, he thought, astonished. But then the shoulder wobbled and Izak could feel how small the shoulder really was, not big enough for an angel.

    Perhaps the youngest boy had come back to help him. A rough voice whispered: "Help, Zak."

    He knew he was meant to try extra hard. His helper desperately needed him to make more effort. Izak pushed down his fear. Down and down and reached for better holds for his hands and feet. He tried to move. He felt a child put his foot reassuringly.



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