give him their loyalty. He looked out into their faces and he saw years
of his life laid out before him, constrained by necessity and petty
expedience. He guessed at the mockery he would endure behind his hack
while he struggled to learn his new-acquired place. He tried to appear
gracious and grave at once, certain he was failing at both.
For this, he thought, I have given up the world.
And then, at the far back of the hall, he caught sight of Kiyan. She,
perhaps alone, wasn't applauding him. She only smiled as if amused and
perhaps pleased. He felt himself soften. Amid all the meaningless
celebration, all the empty delight, she was the single point of
stillness. Kiyan was safe, and she was his, and their child would he
born into safety and love.
If all the rest was the price for those few things, it was one he would pay.
It was winter when Maati Vaupathai returned to Mlachi. "I'he days were
brief and hitter, the sky often white with a scrim of cloud that faded
seamlessly into the horizon. Roads were forgotten; the snow covered road
and river and empty field. "I'hc sledge dogs ran on the thick glaze of
ice wherever the teamsman aimed them. Maati sat on the skidding waxed
wood, his arms pulled inside his clothes, the hood of his cloak pulled
low and tight to warm the air before he breathed it. He'd been told that
he must above all else be careful not to sweat. If his robes got wet,
they would freeze, and that would be little better than running naked
through the drifts. He had chosen not to make the experiment.
His guide seemed to stop at every wayhouse and low town. INlaati learned
that the towns had been planned by local farmers and merchants so that
no place was more than a day's fast travel from shelter, even on the
short days around Candles Night when the darkness was three times as
long as the light. When Maati walked up the shallow ramps and through
the snow doors, he appreciated their wisdom. A night in the open during
a northern winter might not kill someone who had been horn and bred
there. A northerner would know the secrets of carving snow into shelter
and warming the air without drenching himself. He, on the other hand,
would simply have died, and so he made certain that his guide and the
dogs were well housed and fed. Even so, when the time came to sleep in a
bed piled high with blankets and dogs, he often found himself as
exhausted from the cold as from a full day's work.
What in summer would have been the journey of weeks took him from just
before Candles Night almost halfway to the thaw. The days began to blend
together-blazing bright white and then warm, close darkness-until he
felt he was traveling through a dream and might wake at any moment.
When at last the dark stone towers of Machi appeared in the
distance-lines of ink on a pale parchment-it was difficult to believe.
He had lost track of the days. He felt as if he had been traveling
forever, or perhaps that he had only just begun. As they drew nearer, he
opened his hood despite the stinging air and watched the towers thicken
and take form.
He didn't know when they passed over the river. The bridge would have
been no more than a rise in the snow, indistinguishable from a random
drift. Still, they must have passed it, because they entered into the