on
white.
Then the screaming started, from under the very centre of the awning. The woman with the baby, Mago remembered. She had gone right for the centre of the stall, where it had been warmest. He
began hauling harder at the awning. ‘Help me.’ He repeated, louder and in Northlander, ‘Help me!’
The others gathered around, Nelo, the vendors, the bewildered nestspills, pawing at the wrecked stall with their bare hands, trying to reach the woman and her child.
15
When Crimm had come back to Ywa’s house that morning, after he’d given up on the idea of taking the Sabet out, they had considered making love. It was a kind
of unspoken negotiation. They knew each other too well to need words.
But it was cold in Ywa’s house, this snowy morning, cold in the home of the Annid of Annids, and it was likely to get colder yet. The house was an old design, one of seven
roundhouses on its flood-defying mound, a structure of oak beams and thatch and wattle of the kind Ana herself might once have lived in eight or nine thousand years before. The house was an
honorarium for the Annid of Annids and a living memory of Northland’s heritage, but it was not warm. Meanwhile, Crimm might have had a day off, but Ywa had a lot of paperwork to get
through, after the latest meeting of the Water Council, which had seen yet more arguments about ration allowances and the guard draft. So they just draped blankets over their shoulders, and huddled
together over the central hearth where the smoke seeped up to the thatched roof, and drank bitter coffee, a gift of the Jaguar folk from across the ocean, and talked softly.
‘I should probably go back to the Wall,’ Ywa sighed. She glanced over the mounds of scrolls on the carpeted floor, the slates and books open on her desk. ‘It’s just that
I get so much more done if I squirrel away in here.’
Crimm grunted. ‘Maybe you ought to get back before that snow gets much deeper.’
‘Surely it will stop soon . . .’
The wind picked up, and the house creaked, a deep wooden groan.
‘When you go I’ll walk with you. Can’t have the Annid of Annids stuck in a snowdrift with her arse in the air.’
‘I’m sure I can feel a draught,’ she said, and pulled her blanket closer.
‘The snow will pass,’ he said, trying to reassure.
‘But a blizzard like this, so soon in the year. How will we cope?’
Crimm thought he knew how she felt. Ywa felt she bore the burden of all the Northlanders’ fates on her slim shoulders, just as he felt responsibility for his crew on the Sabet , in
the middle of storms, or when becalmed. Mind you, in his opinion her fellow Annids should have been doing more to help, his cousin Rina especially, Rina just back from a pointless jaunt to
Hantilios with old Pyxeas, Rina who seemed more concerned with politicking and feathering her own nest than the welfare of others. He shuffled up and put his arm around Ywa. ‘You’ll get
through this.’
Briefly she relaxed, and let her head drop to his shoulder. ‘I’m lucky to have you. Lucky – funny word. It took the loss of your wife and baby to bring us together. What
kind of luck is that?’
‘Lucky for me, in the end,’ he murmured. Lucky that he had found something drily comforting in the strength of this woman, a distant cousin older than him, widowed a decade ago, her
only son long grown and left. Even though they both felt it was best to keep the relationship as private as possible. He kissed the top of her head, the greying unbrushed hair. ‘We’ll
still be here in the spring—’
The house groaned again, and there was a snap, of wood splitting. They both sat up. From beyond the walls came a crackling crunch, like a tree trunk breaking, then a softer collapse. Cries of
anger and pain.
They looked at each other. ‘We need to get out of here,’ Crimm said.
It took only moments to pull on their cloaks, hoods, boots, mittens. Crimm kicked dirt over the
white.
Then the screaming started, from under the very centre of the awning. The woman with the baby, Mago remembered. She had gone right for the centre of the stall, where it had been warmest. He
began hauling harder at the awning. ‘Help me.’ He repeated, louder and in Northlander, ‘Help me!’
The others gathered around, Nelo, the vendors, the bewildered nestspills, pawing at the wrecked stall with their bare hands, trying to reach the woman and her child.
15
When Crimm had come back to Ywa’s house that morning, after he’d given up on the idea of taking the Sabet out, they had considered making love. It was a kind
of unspoken negotiation. They knew each other too well to need words.
But it was cold in Ywa’s house, this snowy morning, cold in the home of the Annid of Annids, and it was likely to get colder yet. The house was an old design, one of seven
roundhouses on its flood-defying mound, a structure of oak beams and thatch and wattle of the kind Ana herself might once have lived in eight or nine thousand years before. The house was an
honorarium for the Annid of Annids and a living memory of Northland’s heritage, but it was not warm. Meanwhile, Crimm might have had a day off, but Ywa had a lot of paperwork to get
through, after the latest meeting of the Water Council, which had seen yet more arguments about ration allowances and the guard draft. So they just draped blankets over their shoulders, and huddled
together over the central hearth where the smoke seeped up to the thatched roof, and drank bitter coffee, a gift of the Jaguar folk from across the ocean, and talked softly.
‘I should probably go back to the Wall,’ Ywa sighed. She glanced over the mounds of scrolls on the carpeted floor, the slates and books open on her desk. ‘It’s just that
I get so much more done if I squirrel away in here.’
Crimm grunted. ‘Maybe you ought to get back before that snow gets much deeper.’
‘Surely it will stop soon . . .’
The wind picked up, and the house creaked, a deep wooden groan.
‘When you go I’ll walk with you. Can’t have the Annid of Annids stuck in a snowdrift with her arse in the air.’
‘I’m sure I can feel a draught,’ she said, and pulled her blanket closer.
‘The snow will pass,’ he said, trying to reassure.
‘But a blizzard like this, so soon in the year. How will we cope?’
Crimm thought he knew how she felt. Ywa felt she bore the burden of all the Northlanders’ fates on her slim shoulders, just as he felt responsibility for his crew on the Sabet , in
the middle of storms, or when becalmed. Mind you, in his opinion her fellow Annids should have been doing more to help, his cousin Rina especially, Rina just back from a pointless jaunt to
Hantilios with old Pyxeas, Rina who seemed more concerned with politicking and feathering her own nest than the welfare of others. He shuffled up and put his arm around Ywa. ‘You’ll get
through this.’
Briefly she relaxed, and let her head drop to his shoulder. ‘I’m lucky to have you. Lucky – funny word. It took the loss of your wife and baby to bring us together. What
kind of luck is that?’
‘Lucky for me, in the end,’ he murmured. Lucky that he had found something drily comforting in the strength of this woman, a distant cousin older than him, widowed a decade ago, her
only son long grown and left. Even though they both felt it was best to keep the relationship as private as possible. He kissed the top of her head, the greying unbrushed hair. ‘We’ll
still be here in the spring—’
The house groaned again, and there was a snap, of wood splitting. They both sat up. From beyond the walls came a crackling crunch, like a tree trunk breaking, then a softer collapse. Cries of
anger and pain.
They looked at each other. ‘We need to get out of here,’ Crimm said.
It took only moments to pull on their cloaks, hoods, boots, mittens. Crimm kicked dirt over the
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