Page 200 (1/2)

The girl shut her eyes, and the vast blackness of her lids glinted in the blue snow-light No letters moved on them, they were dark and smooth and empty, no more than a ht of hunting

“Perhaps,” the girl said “There is always ais blue and black and silent, and the teller does not want to believe it is over, and the listener does not, and so they both hold their breath and hope fervently as pilgrims that it is not over, that there arechain coiled in the hand They hold their breath; the trees hold theirs, the air and the ice and the wood and the Gate But no breath can be held forever, and all tales end” The girl opened her eyes “Even mine”

“Yes, h voice, like the feathers of a goose’s wings rubbing together

The girl turned and saw, on the other side of the Gate, on the other side of the wrought-iron battle with its cannon of ice, a bent old woirl caught her breath like a fawn in sight of a wolf, and her hands began to tremble

“You are here… you are here to judge me,” she said, her throat dry

“That would be a severe interpretation,” said the crone with a sly grin

The girl’s great dark eyes filled up with tears, glittering like snowflakes in firelight She bit her lip “Airl? I am not wicked, like they said I ah for the spirit? I tried so hard not to be wicked, or angry, or bitter, even when the night was very cold”

The crone tucked a silver strand of hair behind her ear “Do you reh she had not heard anyone speak

The girl dried her eyes with the heels of her hands “Yes,” she said, “you caeese You told irl drew it out of her cri silver knife with its handle of bone

The old woman nodded “It is my knife But it was better that you have it You were ry than I”

“Please,” the girl said “How does it end? How do I end? I have waited so long”

The old woman wound her hands in the dead, dry rose-roots of the Gate “Oh, irl,” she whispered, her voice thick, “I know you have”

THE

LAST

TALE