‘It was nothing.’ Nona coughed an amazed laugh over chattering teeth. ‘Damn thing was killing me anyway.’

Zole lifted her gaze and scanned the darkness as if considering her options.

‘You’ll have to leave me here,’ Nona said. ‘I can’t go any further.’

Zole didn’t appear to have heard. She was staring at a particular spot, high up. ‘Come.’

‘I said I can’t.’

‘You can.’

Nona tried to stand but her legs went out from under her and she fell. Zole caught her wrist again, her grip iron. Without further words she hauled Nona back to her feet, bent, and took her over one wet shoulder as she collapsed.

‘Don’t be silly … you can’t carry me out.’

‘Can.’ Zole straightened with a grunt. ‘And will.’

Zole began to walk towards her goal. With each step the ice splintered beneath her feet, reshaping itself to form footholds.

Nona fell into her own darkness and missed most of their escape from the bubble chamber. She had glimpses of the steep ascent, Zole hugging the wall, sinking the shipheart into the ice and somehow using it to steady herself as she moved from one ledge and created the next. Nona missed much of what followed too, and while conscious put most of her effort into fighting the shipheart’s effort to break her apart, but slowly the warmth of Zole’s body began to penetrate her own chilled flesh.

‘I can walk.’ The weakness in Nona’s voice made her doubt her own claim but Zole set her down without debate.

The ice around them had shaded from black to a dark grey, and not just where they stood but ahead and behind.

‘We are getting closer to the surface.’ Zole sounded weary. ‘If your clothes are wet when we come up into the wind you will not survive.’

Nona coughed. ‘How do you propose I dry them?’

‘Body heat,’ Zole said. ‘We run now.’ And she began to jog ahead.

Nona groaned and staggered in pursuit.

They noticed the sound first. The distant howl of the wind, blowing across the mouth of the tunnel an unknown distance ahead of them and reverberating with a low tone. Next they noticed the light. Just a whisper at first. A hint reaching down through the ice, a suggestion that even this long night would come to an end.

Zole called a halt. ‘Take off your coat.’

‘Really? Because I’m cold enough with it on.’ Nona shed Kettle’s range-coat despite her protest. Meltwater had gone right through it and had frozen on the outside leaving the garment too stiff to fold.

‘And the shirts.’

‘No!’ Nona folded her arms across her chest. Both layers were warmer following their run but still damp. Sister Tallow had told them many times before their ice trek that something as simple as working up a sweat could get you killed on the ice once you cooled down and the wind got to work.

Zole shrugged her backpack off and set the shipheart down. The contents of her pack were wrapped tightly within a sealskin. The knots put up considerable resistance and finally had to be cut. At last Zole pulled out a thick woollen vest and unrolled what seemed to be leather leggings. ‘Dry.’ She started to draw out strips of velvet that looked to have been cut from a lord’s cloak. ‘To wrap around your hands. Fur would be better but this should make sure you keep your fingers.’

‘You could have told me earlier!’ Nona took the vest and began to strip off her layers.

‘And if you had got wet again your death would have been assured.’

‘Fair point …’ Nona struggled into the dry clothes and hugged herself. She felt warmer already though a vest and leggings would be scant protection out in the open.

She cast a suspicious glance at Zole who had stooped to pick up the discarded garments. ‘Why aren’t you wet? You climbed up through half a dozen waterfalls!’

Zole stood, holding one of Nona’s shirts, frowning. A stream of grey water started to run from the lowest points of the dangling sleeves. ‘I find ice harder to work than stone, and water more difficult than ice. But I can do it.’ The stream became a dripping, then the dripping stopped. She handed the dry shirt back to Nona.

Nona put on each item as Zole dried it. The range-coat came last, ice flaking away from the outer surface as Nona slung it around her shoulders. Being dry after so long made her feel human again, the tainted water gone from her skin. With daylight in the distance she felt almost good. ‘Let’s go!’

A few hundred yards on and the end of the tunnel blazed ahead of them, a circle of hope.

‘Follow me.’ Zole raised her voice above the wind’s howl. ‘Step where I step. It is dangerous on the ice.’

‘It’s dangerous under the ice!’ Nona hurried towards the light.

Zole put an arm out to stop her. ‘More of those who leave the Corridor die on the ice than below it. Walk with respect here, Nona Grey. The white death waits.’

17

Holy Class

‘How could you not tell me you’d taken the Blade-test?’ Nona asked.

Ara held up her hands. ‘To begin with I didn’t want to put pressure on myself. If I failed I wanted to tell people in my own time, not have them lined up to ask me. And then afterwards I didn’t want to put pressure on you. Tallow said you’d be called up next.’

Nona shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you beat me to it.’

‘I’m almost two years older than you!’

‘You know what I mean. We joined the same day.’ Nona looked up at Path Tower. They had gone with the rest of the class to the lesson only to have Sister Pan gently point out that neither of them were in Holy Class any more and as such had no business in her classroom.

‘Explain it again,’ Ara said. ‘Nona Grey, a Holy Sister?’

‘I told you.’

‘You did, but I’m hoping it will make sense second time around.’

‘What’s wrong with being a Holy Sister?’ Nona asked. ‘It’s good enough for Jula but not for me? Don’t you love the Ancestor, Sister Thorn?’

‘I love the Ancestor fine, Sister Cage, but I know you love this.’ Ara patted the sword at her hip. ‘How are you going to live without all of … that?’

‘Abbess Glass didn’t need all of that and she made a difference. She was more dangerous than a dozen Red Sisters, or Grey, more deadly even than Holy Witches.’

‘But to never swing a sword again? And you’re so good at it! Isn’t it a sin not to use a gift the Ancestor gave to you?’

Nona said nothing for a long moment, her eyes on Ara’s sword. ‘Any sister can be drafted into the Red during an emergency. Jula says that the convents east of the Grampains armed even the youngest novices when the enemy came for them.’ Nona quoted: ‘“Every child of the Ancestor wore red on that day when the Scithrowl arrayed their number before the Convent of Wise Contemplation. They ran short of habits for Red Sisters and instead painted the newest novices with the blood of captured heretics”.’

Ara opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Nona looked up at the smoke-stained sky and shook her head. ‘I don’t think many days will pass before I’m handed a sword again, Sister Thorn.’