Sect Year 4 · ninth month · night of day 9 · the fortieth life: the delta ferry landing, Idrik’s seventy-third year
The wind came back to the delta in the autumn of Idrik’s seventy-third year, as it had come every autumn of his life. This time it came after dark.
He heard it first in the reeds. The sound ran along the bank like a dog going from door to door, low and then high, and the poplars answered it with a clatter of dry leaves. Idrik was sitting on the third step from the bottom of the landing. There, the stone had worn into its shallow dish under his own weight and the weight of everyone before him. He had been sitting there since the last crossing. His knees ached on the cold stone. He let them ache.
Behind him, under the arcade, the ferrymen slept in a heap of blankets with their boots set neatly by their heads. He had taught them to set their boots that way years ago, though nobody had asked him to. The youngest, Anse, had his cap over his face and one foot out of his blanket. Lio snored. Ketti and Brannoc lay together at the far end. There, the lamp-oil was kept, and their breathing was slow and even.
