CHAPTER 16.

Kiukiu shouldered her bundle of possessions and set off down the road without another backward glance. Here, at least, the snow was well-trodden by the druzhina druzhina's horses-but at the end of the road, at the edge of the kastel grounds, lay open moorland.

A little trail wound across the moors to the distant village of Klim. The pines were thinning out now, and the protection that the forest trees had given her from the keen wind would soon be behind her.

She came down the lane and stopped. An icy-breathed wind sighed through the pine needles, rattling the leafless branches of the last remaining trees.

A white desolation stretched ahead as far as she could see. The dark green gorse, the bronzed fronds of bracken, all had disappeared beneath the snow. There was no sound except the incessant sighing of the wind, a desolate, lonely whine. And there was no break in the gray canopy of cloud overhead, no hint of sun or thaw. Even the trail was difficult to make out now that it was covered with drifts of snow.

Must keep moving, Kiukiu told herself. She put her head down and trudged out into the powdery snow. The wind whined about her ears; she was glad of the warmth of Sosia's scarf. Kiukiu told herself. She put her head down and trudged out into the powdery snow. The wind whined about her ears; she was glad of the warmth of Sosia's scarf.

After a while, she stopped, breathless and weary. Her feet were beginning to feel wet; the snow had worked its way into all the cracks in her old boots and melted, seeping up into the soles.

Am I going the right way? She shaded her eyes against the snowlight; even though there was no visible sun, the whiteness was dazzling, making her eyes ache. All the usual landmarks looked different- or had vanished, blended into the monotonous snowscape. The Kharzhgylls should be on her right side, with the biggest peak, Arkhel's Fang, in the center. She shaded her eyes against the snowlight; even though there was no visible sun, the whiteness was dazzling, making her eyes ache. All the usual landmarks looked different- or had vanished, blended into the monotonous snowscape. The Kharzhgylls should be on her right side, with the biggest peak, Arkhel's Fang, in the center.

But as she peered across the snowfields, all she could see was a dull mist where the mountains should be. And if she were on the right path, shouldn't she have come to the shepherd's hut by now?

She felt a sudden pang of apprehension. If she had lost her way, she could wander into one of the moorland quagmires and never be found again. Or freeze to death- "Stop scaring yourself!" she told herself fiercely. "Just keep walking. You'll come to Klim soon enough." She wrapped the old blanket more closely about her. After a while, she began to mutter rhythmically to keep her feet moving. "Lord Gavril will save me, Lord Gavril will save me. . . ."

As she tramped doggedly onward, it began to seem as if the light were slowly fading and the snowmist was rolling closer, blotting out everything but the immediate surroundings. She had no idea how long she had been walking now, only that her bundle seemed to weigh more than when she had set out . . . and her feet were not only wet, but sore.

Up ahead she saw a standing stone looming out of the mist.

Eat something, she decided. A lighter bundle would help. She rested her back against the lichened boulder and untied her bundle, pulling out the bread and cheese Sosia had given her. It was not until she began to eat that she realized how hungry she was; she tore into the rye bread, relishing the taste, the chewy crust. Even the cheese-the hard, pungent ewe's milk kind, usually used for toasting-tasted delicious. she decided. A lighter bundle would help. She rested her back against the lichened boulder and untied her bundle, pulling out the bread and cheese Sosia had given her. It was not until she began to eat that she realized how hungry she was; she tore into the rye bread, relishing the taste, the chewy crust. Even the cheese-the hard, pungent ewe's milk kind, usually used for toasting-tasted delicious. Better save some just in case . . . Better save some just in case . . . She looked down regretfully at the last of the loaf and a corner of cheese, and then stuffed them back in the bundle. She looked down regretfully at the last of the loaf and a corner of cheese, and then stuffed them back in the bundle.

Just in case I don't reach the village? She pushed the thought away. She pushed the thought away. Must keep going. Must keep going.

She slung the bundle over her shoulder and forced herself to start out again, away from the shelter of the boulder.

The mists seemed to have rolled in more thickly, and even the trail was becoming difficult to make out. Sometimes she found herself blundering into snow-covered bracken. Her legs were aching now . . . and her feet were numb with cold.

Reach the village soon. She kept the picture of the village in her mind, imagining arriving at the inn, knocking the snow from her boots, opening the door and feeling the glorious warmth from the fire enveloping her, seeping right down into her frozen toes . . . She kept the picture of the village in her mind, imagining arriving at the inn, knocking the snow from her boots, opening the door and feeling the glorious warmth from the fire enveloping her, seeping right down into her frozen toes . . .

Was it growing darker? There would be lights in the village, lamps lit in the little houses, she would soon see them glowing in the mist . . .

Kiukiu stumbled on a stone, righting herself. Her stubbed toes hurt in spite of the numbness, bruised and sore. She was tired now, tired enough not to walk with a regular gait anymore. Bone tired. And cold. She shivered in the intense, aching cold.

Keep on walking-it can't be far now. Stubbornly she kept on even though it was fast growing too dark to see. Only the white shadow of the snowfields still glimmered, stretching away into the moonless dark, endless and empty as the White Sea. Stubbornly she kept on even though it was fast growing too dark to see. Only the white shadow of the snowfields still glimmered, stretching away into the moonless dark, endless and empty as the White Sea.

The little whispers of doubt that she had tried to ignore began to clamor in her mind.

Lost. She was lost on the moors. She would never reach the village; the snow and the intense cold would gradually freeze the last of her strength. She would sink down into the drifts, dying here alone. They would never find her body until the spring thaws, if the wolves didn't find it first. . . .

Stop thinking like that! She must find shelter, huddle up for the night in her blanket, and wait till dawn. She must find shelter, huddle up for the night in her blanket, and wait till dawn.

Shelter. She could hardly see more than a yard or so in front of her. There was no shelter, only bracken and stone outcrops and the slow-rolling snowmist.

Something cold and feather-light brushed her cheek. First one soft, chill kiss, and then another and another. . . .

It had begun to snow.

Kiukiu stumbled blindly on, head down, through the softly falling snow. Just putting one foot in front of another took all her energy now. She no longer knew which way she was going. Sometimes she thought she saw figures in the swirling white flakes, and then the wind would whip them away. Snow mirages, white on the blackness of night.

Can't . . . keep . . . going. Must . . . rest.

But where could she find shelter, out here on the bleak moorlands? There was not even a dry stone wall to act as a windbreak.

"Ghost Singer . . ."

She heard voices in the wind, soft as the whispering snow.

"Who's there?" she called hesitantly.

"Guslyar . . ."

Was she imagining the voices? Little eddies of snow, whipped up by the wind, whirled about her and were blown away into the darkness.

"Is there anyone there?" Snow blew into her mouth, melting to icewater, sending shivers through her aching body. "Please? Anyone?"

Now she could hear faint singing, an eerie sighing, desolate music, cold as the drifting flakes.

How could there be people singing out here, so far from shelter? She shook her head, trying to clear the persistent sound.

Suddenly a memory flung her way back into the warm kitchen at the kastel. She could only have been four, five years old. She had knelt, nose pressed to the cold pane, smearing the glass with her hot breath. Outside the snow twirled and swirled, wind-spun eddies of chill white down.

"The old snow woman's plucking her geese again," Sosia had said, busily stirring vegetables into soup at the cooking range.

As Kiukiu stared out, she saw figures amid the snow, vague and insubstantial, wreathing in a swirling dance. Their wild hair spun about their slender bodies like spirals of frost-hazed mist. And then it seemed as if they saw her at the window, for the dance ceased and they clustered together, stretching out fingers as thin as icicles, their eyes huge and dark as the moonless sky.

"Auntie," Kiukiu had called. "Who are they? Those people outside?"

"No one is outside in this blizzard," Sosia replied distractedly, concentrating on the soup.

And then she had heard the voices. Wisps of sound at first, cold and brittle as hoarfrost, then the singing grew stronger, wilder. The music was so beautiful that it made her heart ache. She had never heard anything so beautiful in her life.

And before she knew what she was doing, she was getting down, walking toward the door, wanting to go out into the snow. . . .

She ran smack into the legs of a tall man who stopped and caught hold of her.

"Where are you off to, little one?"

It was one of the druzhina, druzhina, Yuri, Auntie Sosia's elder brother. Yuri, Auntie Sosia's elder brother.

"Outside. To join the singing."

"There's no singing outside. Only blizzard."

He picked her up and carried her back into the kitchen, dumping her on the table.

"But the dancers-"

"Haven't you ever heard of the Snow Spirits?" He crouched down so that his head was on a level with hers. "The spirits of people who died out on the moors in the snows? They come back with the blizzard every winter and they sing to lure the living to their deaths in the snow."

"What nonsense are you filling her head with now?" Sosia cried, turning around from the bubbling pot. "There's no such thing as Snow Spirits. It's just a silly tale."

Just a silly tale . . . Kiukiu repeated to herself now, trudging doggedly on. Kiukiu repeated to herself now, trudging doggedly on. No one there. Only the wind. No one there. Only the wind.

Pale faces, white as mist, loomed out of the swirling snowflakes. Spindle-thin fingers, translucent as icicles, plucked at her hair, her clothes.

Voices breathed in her ear, whispering of the cold caress of the snow.

"You're not there!" shouted Kiukiu. "I don't believe in you. You don't exist!"

A thin, high voice began to sing in the mist. It sang of snow-filled wastes, the white vastness of the icebound sea. The song was pure as clear ice and bitter as eternal winter.

Kiukiu was desperately tired now. She stumbled, nearly fell. She tried to block the song from her mind.

Many voices joined the one. "Rest," "Rest," they sang. they sang. "Let us wrap you in soft snow, let us sing you to sleep." "Let us wrap you in soft snow, let us sing you to sleep."

"I can't hear you," Kiukiu cried. How did they know all she wanted was to stop and lie down? She could no longer feel her feet. Her throat and lungs burned with the cold, dry snow air. But if she stopped it was as good as giving up. . . .

Her foot caught in a knotted clump of heather. She pitched forward, putting out her numbed hands to try and save herself. Too late. Snow Spirits wreathed around her, hands linked in a swirling, spinning dance. She was trapped.

"Help me!" she called vainly into the darkness. She tried to push herself back up but the snow clung to her clothes, weighing her down as still the spirits circled, closer, closer . . .

Faces glanced down at her, white as death, cruel and bleakly beautiful as mountain snow. Chill fingers caressed her, each drifting caress numbing her blood until she cowered, shivering uncontrollably in the wet snowdrifts.

"Help me!" she called again, even though she knew there was no one to help her.

"Sleep," sang the sweet, cold voices, stroking their chill fingers through her hair. sang the sweet, cold voices, stroking their chill fingers through her hair.

Kiukiu saw a dark doorway slowly opening before her. With growing dread she recognized the yawning blackness beyond. It was the portal to the Ways Beyond, the portal she had last crossed with Lord Volkh's spirit-wraith clinging to her. Now it yawned open for her alone.

"No!" she cried, furious that she should have to die like this. "I'm not going to go through! It's not my time yet! I have to protect Lord Gavril. I gave my word-"

"Why go on suffering?" whispered a single voice close to her ear. whispered a single voice close to her ear. "Give in. Let go. Is life so sweet?" "Give in. Let go. Is life so sweet?"

Kiukiu sank back into the snow, exhausted. The black portal towered above her. She was too weak to resist it. Already she could feel the dark leaking into her mind, filling it with death-cold shadows. As she sank back into the snow, her will begin to waver. The darkness was surrounding her, numbing all her senses. All she could hear was the whispering chant of the Snow Spirits. She was fading . . .

Dying.

CHAPTER 17.

The warship Sirin Sirin rocked at anchor on the broad river Nieva, her sails furled. A cold, gusting wind whipped the river water into choppy waves. rocked at anchor on the broad river Nieva, her sails furled. A cold, gusting wind whipped the river water into choppy waves.

The White Guard lined the quay as the ducal party, well-wrapped against the wind in furs and cloaks, left the Winter Palace by the Water Gate. There were few onlookers; only a vast flock of gray and white seagulls floated on the water.

"Gulls in the city," Eupraxia said as she and Elysia watched from an upper window. "It must be stormy out in the estuary."

Andrei Orlov, dashingly arrayed in his naval uniform of royal blue, gold buttons gleaming in the cold sunlight, drew apart from the ducal party and saluted his father and mother.

"Oh," sobbed Eupraxia into her handkerchief, "my little Andrei. Look how handsome he is."

Suddenly the Grand Duchess hastened forward and flung her arms around her son.

Perhaps she has a heart after all, Elysia thought.

"Why must he go?" Eupraxia whispered. "He's only a boy. Suppose Prince Eugene's fleet attacks them? Suppose the Sirin Sirin sinks? Suppose . . ." sinks? Suppose . . ."

Astasia was hugging her brother now. Elysia saw him gently disengage her arms from about his neck and kiss her on both cheeks. Then, with a final wave of the hand, he climbed down into the rowboat that was bobbing ready beneath the quay, and the sailors began to pull across the choppy water toward the Sirin Sirin.

Elysia heard a few ragged cheers from the onlookers, and a military band played-rather badly-the national anthem as Andrei scrambled up the ladder and reached the deck. An answering salvo from the Sirin Sirin's cannon sent a cloud of seagulls screeching up into the gray sky. The anchor chain began to grate as the sailors labored at the capstan to wind up the heavy anchor.

"So few of the city people to see him," mused Elysia.

"People are afraid to show their support," said Eupraxia with a sigh. "It's those wretched intellectuals at the university. Intellectuals! Insurgents, I call them, filling people's heads with their scurrilous nonsense. Free speech, indeed!"

Sails were unfurled and slowly the great ship began to slip away.

"Madame Andar?" A liveried servant appeared, presenting her with a letter on a silver salver.

She tore it open and saw only the laconic message:

I have traced our friend K. This man will bring you to me. Come incognito.F.V.

An unmarked carriage waited at a side entrance of the Winter Palace. Count Velemir helped Elysia in and climbed in after her.

"Where are we going?" Elysia asked as the carriage pulled away over the cobbles.

"Our friend Kazimir has lodgings down by the docks. Not a very salubrious area for a respectable woman to explore alone."

"The docks? Why is he not at the university?"

"As I warned you, Elysia, Altan Kazimir is a changed man. Suspicious of his own shadow, edgy, unpredictable. He seems to believe that there is a price on his head."