It had stopped snowing. The road was slippery with ice and melted snow, and the rivers boomed all around, but the air was clear and crisp. I missed Kallai’s presence on my wrist, and mourned again for him. It was strange to walk totally alone. Yet there were many travellers on the road, going to Kasimarra. They were all Chosen, and though many of them greeted me, looking curiously into my face and wondering why a woman travelled alone, I avoided talking much to them.

I asked one child, as he ran ahead of his family, “It is the eve of the Fire Festival, isn’t it, today?” He looked at me, laughing, and said everyone in the world knew that. So I walked on, sure, resolved in all my purposes.

By evening there was a great crowd on the road, enlarged by pilgrims from all the villages and towns around Kasimarra. Many of the Chosen rode donkeys, or walked in large groups, colourful and bright, and singing Chosen songs. There was excitement in the air, a feeling of festivity and anticipation. It was misty now, the air growing dark, and many of the travellers carried burning torches. The light glittered on their jewels and on the embroidery on their robes. Children grew tired and were carried on their fathers’ backs, and lovers walked hand in hand, talking quietly and laughing.

I wished I could have walked alone. I knew we neared the holy mountain, and I wanted to be alone for my first sight of it, to hold it forever in my memory as a sacred moment. Instead, I came upon it suddenly, jostled around a corner with a crowd of jubilant pilgrims, and my private joy was picked up and spun into the evening by their cheer, and for once in my life I joined the Chosen in their celebration.

And Kasimarra, centre of their world and mine, towered beyond the mists, shining, aflame with light. Like a rising dream it was, a mountain pinnacle turned temple, a holy place of stone and ice and fire. I could not tell where mountain rock ended and temple began; it sprang from the mountain itself, and was all stairways, lofty roads, terraces, walls, steep roofs, and towers lost in mist. From every window poured the light of fires, and the radiance danced on walls and turned the mists to gold. It was luminous against the night, and the gold gave it holiness. It was exactly as I had dreamed it.

At its base, the town sprawled. Beyond the town, half hidden in the mist, I saw another road. Elevated, winding upwards on a narrow ridge, it led to the very heights of the temple. It was the high path to Kasimarra. The road I was to walk.