Behind the mask, Mirany licked sweat from her lips. The eyeholes restricted her view, but she could see the Speaker, Hermia, and the rest of the Nine, the girls sitting rigid as if in terror, their bronze masks smiling calmly as the enormous beast neared. Next to her in the line, Rhetia fidgeted. The tall girl was alert, watching the crowd. Her fingers, light as dust, touched Mirany’s wrist. “He’s looking at you,” she whispered.
On his pale horse, Argelin should have been easy to find. But he sat in shadow, armor gleaming, the bodyguard of sixteen huge men that never left him now, armed and facing outward. Mirany smiled sourly. There were probably others in the crowd. The general was taking no chances. And yes, his helmeted eyes were turned her way. Quite suddenly she felt exposed, unprotected. But she was as safe here as anywhere, these days.
Hermia stood. Hurriedly, Mirany and the rest of the Nine rose with her, and as the elephant came closer over the cooling sand, the smiling masks glinted under their feathers and jeweled headdresses, all color draining in the pearly light.
The great beast reached the bridge, and bowed its head. The smell of it was hot and rank, of dung and perfumes, and Mirany saw the myriad folds and wrinkles of its dusty skin, the sag of its belly as it lowered itself. She drew her breath in. For the elephant was kneeling before the Speaker. It knelt clumsily, and the thud of its great limbs in the sand sent vibrations across the wooden bridge. The rider, hidden behind the vast headdress, flicked a hand and spoke; the elephant lay right down and lifted its trunk; then it made a sound that chilled the night, a terrible brazen roar.
Hermia did not flinch, though one of the Nine—probably Chryse—made a moan of terror. Argelin’s horse started nervously. The elephant looked along the crescent of the Nine. Its eye stopped at Mirany.
It recognizes you, the god remarked in her ear.
Recognizes?
As a friend. They are considered very wise, Mirany. Their memories are older than any other beast.
It has such small eyes, she thought, deep-set and shrewd. As she answered she seemed almost to be speaking to the animal. “Where have you been for so long? I thought I’d never hear you again.”
Gods have a world to run. I have been busy.
“We need you! Things are going wrong.”
From the wooden howdah on the elephant, a ladder unraveled and a man climbed down. He was tall and bearded, wearing a robe of white and gold, so stiff with pearls it looked almost rigid. He put his hands together and bowed over them.
“What is it you seek here?” Hermia’s voice rang across the desert.
“I seek the wisdom of the Oracle. I seek to hear the words of the god.”
“From what land have you traveled?”
The answer was solemn, and measured. “From the east where the sun rises. From the Islands of Pearl and Honey, over the deep sea we bring the gifts and request of the Emperor, the Exalted, the Wise One, to the Bright god of the Oracle.”
The masked face nodded. “How have you prepared?”
“By fasting, by lustration, by purification. By three days of meditation. By washing three times in the silver pool.”
“What is your name?”
“Jamil, Prince of Askelon, companion of the Peacock Throne.”
Hermia raised her manicured hands. Crystals glinted from her fingernails. “The wisdom of the god is infinite,” she said. “The day is auspicious, the hour a sacred hour. Enter the precinct of the Mouse Lord.”
Formalities over, the Prince turned and beckoned, and two more men, identically dressed, climbed down from the elephants and joined him. Behind them, Argelin’s line of soldiers closed up.
The pearl merchants took out jewel-handled swords and thrust them dramatically into the sand; then they walked forward to the bridge. Without a word Hermia swept around and led the Nine and the three strangers on to the Island. They had sailed in a week ago, a fleet of vast caravels that were anchored now in the harbor, all but blocking it. Their wives wore brilliant colors, their children bracelets of pearl. The whole population of the Port had been thronging the wharfs for days, fingering the bales of merchandise, the cloth, foodstuffs, gems, ivories, exotic fruits—bartering, stealing, arguing, tasting. Even on the Island Mirany’s sleep had been broken by the bizarre trumpeting of the elephants, terrible and fascinating.
Walking now under the moon, she said in her mind, “Do you already know what they want to ask?”
I know.
“And will she give them the right answer?”
He laughed, a quiet sound. But all he said was, The palace is full of such wonders, Mirany, and all for me. Music and silver gaming boards and food—such sweet tastes! And there are tiny fish in the garden pools with snouts and trailing whiskers!
For an instant the voice was a boy’s, full of delight. Mirany shook her head, dismayed. “Listen to me! Don’t you know Oblek is missing!”
About the Author
Catherine Fisher is the author of many acclaimed novels, including THE ORACLE BETRAYED: Book One in The Oracle Prophecies, which was a finalist for the Whitbread Children’s Book Award. She lives in Newport, Wales.
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Other Works
THE ORACLE PROPHECIES:
BOOK ONE: THE ORACLE BETRAYED
BOOK TWO: THE SPHERE OF SECRETS
DARKHENGE
Credits
Cover art © 2004 by Steve Stone
Copyright
Snow-walker
Copyright © 2004 by Catherine Fisher
This collection first published as The Snow-walker Trilogy in 2003 in Great Britain by Red Fox, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books.
First published in 2004 in the United States by Greenwillow Books.
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The right of Catherine Fisher to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her.
Snow-walker / by Catherine Fisher.
p. cm.
“Greenwillow Books.”
Originally published in 1993–96 in Great Britain by The Bodley Head Children’s Books as three separate books: The Snow-walker’s son, The empty hand, and The soul thieves. Summary: The Snow-walker Gudrun came from the swirling mists and icy depths beyond the edge of the world to rule the Jarl’s people with fear and sorcery, but a small band of outlaws will fight to the death to restore the land to its rightful leader.
ISBN-10: 0-06-072476-5 (pbk.)
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-072476-4 (pbk.)
EPub Edition © JANUARY 2012 ISBN 9780062193780
[1. Fantasy.] I. Fisher, Catherine. Snow-walker’s son. 2004.
II. Fisher, Catherine. Empty hand. 2004. III. Fisher, Catherine. Soul thieves. 2004. IV. Title.
PZ7.F4995Sn 2004
2003056864
[Fic]—dc22
First American edition, 2004
First Eos edition, 2005
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