I saw where it branched off to the left, not far ahead from where we were. I went with the pilgrims down to the crossroads, and they all went on down the wide access towards the town, and I sat on a prayer-stone at the side of the road, and waited.

It was almost dark when all the people were gone, and I lit my torch and went up the high road on the ridge. The road was only a track, narrow, very steep, and lined thickly with prayer-stones. There were signs at the beginning of it, large messages written on flat stones. They were written in the high language of the Chosen, and some of the words I could read. They were warnings that this road was the Firelord’s road, and everyone else was strictly forbidden. There were prayer-flags hung across the road, and more warnings. I went higher, clutching the torch, and his robe. The last sign of all, as I understood it, said: He who reads has entered holy ground, and stands in temple precincts. If you are the Firelord, you are blessed. If you are not, you enter under pain of death.

I walked on. After a while I put on the Firelord’s robe, for warmth and protection. If anyone was watching from a distance, they could possibly see me in the torchlight. I pulled the hood up over my own, and made sure all my hair was well concealed. I wished I was taller.

The night deepened, became pitch-black, and a strong wind blew. I could see nothing but the steep road ahead, rugged rocks, and at times, across the misty valleys on my right, the fires of Kasimarra. I noticed that in the temple summit the light had all gone out, and I realised that was where I’d light the fires to show that the Firelord had returned.

I came to a cave, and noticed the Firelord’s sign scratched above it. It was a small cave, with room barely to stand, but it looked homely, and gave a good view of Kasimarra, the temple, and the eastern skies beyond. I realised, with a rush of gratitude, that this was where the Firelord had waited on his long watches for the dawn. Knowing that he had been here, that he, too, had waited and watched, comforted me and gave me strength.

I waited there, singing Quelled myths when panic threatened. After a while I opened a small parcel of food I had brought from the last cave. It was dried fruit from some far exotic place, some slightly mouldy hezzin meat, and some grains. I had brought a small wineskin as well, though I drank the wine sparingly. I had no intentions of staggering into the temple at dawn, or of missing the dawn altogether. But I took a mouthful or two to celebrate, remembering that this night I was seventeen. Then, fortified, I sang again, and watched.