Sect Year 2 · third month · night of day 6 · the twentieth life: the high road milestone, Halde’s tenth year
The storm came up the high road in the middle of the night, out of the valley where the lamps had gone out. Halde heard it first as a sound under the wind, a long hush like a crowd lowering its voice, and then the rain arrived all at once, flat and cold. It drove across the rock in grey sheets that he could see only when the lightning showed them.
He had the lamp. He had the cloak his father left at the foot of the steps, which was far too big for him and smelled of mule. He had the purpose, which he had said to himself every morning since the third day, and which he said again now with his teeth set against the cold. Stand here until he lowers his hands.
All afternoon the sky had been going the colour of slate, and by the time the first gusts came up the steps Halde had done what he could. He wrapped the lamp in a fold of the cloth to keep the rain off the wick. He carried the bucket to the lee of the stone and tipped out what was in it. He cut a length of cord from the mule’s old halter and tied the cloak shut at his throat, because it wouldn’t stay on otherwise. Then there was nothing left to…
