certain that the footsteps in the snow were visible as blood on a
wedding dress.
lie waited for what seemed half a day but couldn't have been more than
half a hand's width in the arc of the fast winter sun. A figure emerged
from the tunnels-thick black cloak, and wide, heavy hood. Mlaati was
torn between poking his head out to watch it and pulling back to hide
behind his boulder. In the end caution won out, and he waited blind
while the sound of horse's hooves on snow began and then grew faint. tie
chanced a look, and the rider had its back to him, heading back south to
Machi, a twig of black on the wide field of mourning white. \laati
waited until he judged the risk of being seen no greater than the risk
of frostbite if he stayed still, then forced himself-all his limbs
aching with the cold-to scramble the last stretch into the tunnel.
The bolt-hole was empty. He was surprised to find that he'd halfexpected
it to be filled with men bearing swords, ready to take their vengeance
out against him. He pulled off his gloves and lit a small fire to warm
himself, and when his hands could move again without pain, he made an
inventory of the place. Nothing seemed to be missing, nothing disturbed.
Except this: a small wicker basket with two low stone wax-sealed jars
where none had been before. Maati squatted over them, lifting them
carefully. They were heavy-packed with something. And a length of
scroll, curled like a leaf, had been nestled between them. Maati blew on
his fingers and unfurled the scrap of parchment.
Maati-rha-
I thought you might be out in the hiding
place where we were supposed to go when
the Galts came, but you aren't here, so
I'm not sure anymore. I'm leaving this
for you just in case. It's peaches from
the gardens. They were going to give
them to the Galts, so I stole them.
Loya-cha says I'm not supposed to ride
yet, so I don't know when I'll be able
to get out again. If you find this, take
it so I'll know you were there.
It's going to be all right.
It was signed with Eiah's wide, uncontrolled hand. Maati felt himself
weeping. He broke the seal of one jar and with numb fingers drew out a
slice of the deep orange fruit, sweet and rich and thick with the
sunshine of the autumn days that had passed.
THE WORLD CHANGES. SOMETIMES SLOWLY, SOMETIMES ALL OF AN INSTANT. But
the world changes, and it doesn't change back. A rockslide shifts the
face of a mountain, and the stones never go back up to take their old
places. War scatters the people of a city, and not all will return. If any.
A child cherished as a babe, clung to as a man, dies; a mother's one
last journey with her son at her side proves to be truly the last. The
world has changed. And no matter how painful this new world is, it
doesn't change back.
Liat lay in the darkened room, as she had for days. Her belly didn't