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‘No,’ said Clera, bent over her coat, having some sort of problem with the toggles.
‘Where are we even going?’ Nona picked up her own coat, a heavy black thing that would hang around her ankles. It looked as fine a garment as she’d ever worn, but where she came from when the ice-wind blew you found shelter and hid. Warm as the range-coat seemed she didn’t relish the prospect of open miles with nothing between her and the ice-wind except cloth and padding. ‘Do we know our target yet?’
‘We’re all aiming for the Kring.’ Clera tugged and a wooden toggle came away in her hand. ‘Piss on it!’
‘The what?’ The name had something familiar about it – something from Nana Even’s tales.
‘You should know! I was relying on you to get me there!’ Clera pressed the toggle back where it came from as if it might magically re-attach. ‘It’s up past the Grey. A thing the Missing left behind. A column of black iron taller than a tree and as wide.’
‘I’ve heard of it.’ Nona frowned. She remembered the description now but nothing else. She wondered if Yisht’s amulet, cold in her pocket, had been cast from the same metal. ‘What’s it for?’
‘The answer to that … is missing.’ Clera threw down the toggle and spat. ‘Anyway, the ranging isn’t about navigation or even surviving the wind. We can ask directions. We can even beg shelter. Who’s going to refuse a novice of the Ancestor?’ She framed her face with her hands and batted her eyelashes. ‘It’s about surviving them.’
‘Who?’ Nona asked.
‘Them!’ Clera waved her arms around. ‘Everyone else. The world. Abeth. It’s full of hungry people. And hungry people are dangerous people.’
‘I think …’ Nona trailed off. Zole was walking towards them with purpose.
‘Where is Yisht?’ Zole regarded them without emotion, her black eyes startlingly similar to the warrior’s.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Clera. ‘We were discussing it just now. She can’t be much of a bodyguard if she can’t guard her own body, can she?’
‘If you have done something—’
‘Yes, yes.’ Clera waved her away. ‘You’ll show us a fancy move from the Torca and then Nona will turn you inside out. Now push off, why don’t you?’
Zole gave them both a look that managed to be both calm and threatening at the same time, then turned and went back to her bed.
‘I hope we lose her on the ranging.’ Nona watched the ice-triber go.
‘Most novices band together by the end,’ Clera said. ‘We can split into our own groups in the first days but we’re all headed to the same place so it gets crowded towards the target.’
Nona shrugged, pushed her ranging gear off the bed onto the floor, and started to strip out of her habit. A minute later she was under her blanket, and a minute after that, dreaming.
Sister Flint gathered Grey Class after breakfast the next day. Hessa said her goodbyes as they left the refectory. She gave Nona a one-armed hug and Nona took it woodenly, never having grown accustomed to the business of hugging.
‘Be safe out there,’ Hessa said.
‘It’s the ranging – there’s no safe about it.’ Nona made her mouth into a smile.
‘Well, be careful.’ Hessa released her. ‘If you fall off a cliff and break your arms … I’m going to know all about it.’
‘You’ll have a chance to work on breaking that while we’re away,’ Nona said. ‘And if you can’t do that yet then at least make it so we can share good experiences rather than just bad ones! Don’t just send me your nightmares. If I’m lying shivering in a snowbank somewhere, I want you to go for a soak in the bathhouse and for me to be the one that gets warmed up.’
‘I’ll try.’ Hessa grinned. ‘I’m going to miss you. I’ll be lonely here without you lot.’
‘At least you won’t have to race Nona for the last potato every night.’ Ara hugged Hessa and drew Nona away. Sister Flint was waving them to the exit.
‘Follow the Path!’ Hessa called after them, leaning on her crutch. ‘If you get lost, follow the Path. That’s what it’s there for!’
The nun took them to the abbess’s house where they stood hunched against the ice-wind in their ranging-coats. The novices all had their weather blankets and bundled supplies on their backs. Nona had been issued with a short skinning knife, two wire traps, a tinderbox, and a small iron pot.
‘I’m freezing already,’ Clera said from inside her hood.
‘Who’s that?’ Ara pointed to a figure coming around the side of the abbess’s house.
‘It’s a man!’ Jula sounded shocked.
‘Tarkax,’ Nona said.
The warrior wore the same black sealskins and fur jacket he had worn at the Caltess and seemed unbothered at being in teeth of the gale. He grinned at the girls, his teeth a white slash in a dark red face. ‘Lovely day for it, ladies!’ And skirting their huddle, Tarkax went up the stairs to knock on the abbess’s door.
Moments later Abbess Glass emerged, swaddled in padded robes, the hand around her crozier hidden in a thick black mitten. Sister Tallow followed her out in a ranging coat.
‘Novices!’ Abbess Glass had to shout above the wind. ‘This will be a great test for you, but one in which I am sure you will all do well. Sister Tallow and Sister Flint will have trained you in the skills required to reach your target: it remains for me to remind you that no matter what conditions you may face on your ranging, no matter what the trials, you are representatives of the church, ambassadors of the faith, and most of all, novices of Sweet Mercy Convent. I expect you to act accordingly. And remember. If anyone lays a hand on you … you have my permission to cut it off. Be safe. Sister Tallow will be waiting for you at the Kring.’
She made to head back into the warm glow of her entrance hall, then turned, remembering. ‘I have with me the renowned warrior and tracker Tarkax, also known as the Ice-Spear. Tarkax will be acting as Novice Zole’s bodyguard in Yisht’s unexpected absence. He will not be aiding her on the ranging unless in exceptional circumstances.’ She turned and went back into her house, shutting the door with a thump that had an air of finality about it.
‘The Ice-Spear!’ Jula almost squeaked. ‘I’ve read about him!’
‘You have not!’ Darla, hulking above the scribe’s daughter.
‘I have too!’ Jula looked up at Darla through the tunnel of her hood. ‘He’s famous! He’s in the story-sheets they sell in Verity on seven-day outside the Abon Library. The ice-tribes have songs about him!’
Nona turned and leaned into Ara. ‘He works for Partnis Reeve, I’m sure of it.’
‘Which makes him a Tacsis man,’ said Ara.
On Nona’s other side Clera leaned in. ‘Don’t Thuran Tacsis and Sherzal hate each other?’
‘They certainly haven’t been friends these past few years. Zole must be horrified.’ Ara didn’t sound displeased and although Nona couldn’t see her face she knew the Chosen One would be smiling. Ara didn’t bear grudges, but the emperor’s sister and everything associated with her was the exception to that rule.
