Crimm clapped him on the back. ‘You see? I knew you could help us! Why, with your help we’ll be able to prosper – to do more than survive – we can live in this place as long as we want—’

‘No,’ Pyxeas said. Suddenly he groaned, and leaned more heavily on Muka. Avatak rushed to his side, and helped lower him to the ground.

Crimm said, ‘No? What do you mean, Uncle?’

Pyxeas looked up. ‘Oh, you have done well – despite your barbaric consumption of books to light your fires. Yes, you are prospering. Yes, Avatak, if you can, show them how to catch whales, and all the other skills you have brought with you from the Coldland – skills you have used to keep me alive for so long.

‘But, Crimm, Muka, the rest of you – you cannot stay here. For the ice will not let you. And before you leave here you have a great assignment.’

Avatak said gently, ‘There is no scholarship here. You can see that.’

‘Yes. Yes, I see it. I was a fool to hope for more. Yet there is a duty to be fulfilled even so. Come, boy, help me back out into the light, may as well enjoy the daylight while we have it . . .’

77

They sat on the growstone beach. Pyxeas was given a heap of blankets, and Avatak and Nelo sat with him, Nelo sketching intently. The folk of the little village, what was left of Etxelur, gathered around them: Crimm and his wife, the other adults, and the children who stood and openly stared at the newcomers with their exotic looks, their strange clothes. It was afternoon now, and the sun, hanging in a clear sky, cast a light of a strange quality, a rich golden yellow, on the face of the Wall behind them.

A small child, it might have been either a boy or girl in its bundle of furs, walked boldly forward, sat on Pyxeas’ lap, and started to pull at his wispy beard. It struck Avatak suddenly that there were no old people in this village – none at all, save Pyxeas.

Crimm smiled at Pyxeas. ‘That’s your great-grand-nephew. He’s called Citeg. He’s evidently a philosopher, like his uncle.’