DAN ABNETT

1 3 5 7 9 1 0 8 6 4 2

Published in 2011 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.

A Random House Group Company

Copyright © Dan Abnett 2011

Dan Abnett has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

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Contents

Prologue

9

1. In the Bleak Midwinter

16

2. Let Nothing You Dismay

26

3. If Thou Knowst Thy Telling

36

4. Though the Frost Was Cruel

45

5. The Hopes and Fears of All the Years

59

6. Deep and Crisp and Even

76

7. The Stars in the Night Sky

88

8. Certain Poor Shepherds in Fields as

They Lay

102

9. The Night Is Darker Now

121

10. Underneath the Mountain

134

11. The Maker of Our Earth

163

12. Brighter Visions Beam Afar

184

13. Brightly Shone the Moon that Night

210

14. Born to Raise the Sons of Earth, Born to Give Them Second Birth

237

15. Now in Flesh Appearing

265

16. Guide Us to Thy Perfect Light

277

17. Close by Me Forever

285

18. Above Thy Deep and Dreamless Sleep

292

Acknowledgements

295

About the Author

296

For George

O little town of Bethlehem

How still we see thee lie

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting Light

The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee tonight

~ ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’,

a song of Earth before

Vesta got up early that morning, before Guide’s Bell rang to mark the start of labour, before the sun had come up and brought heat and full light. She got dressed in the dark, in woollens, and skirts both under and over, and a cap, and two shawls. She had gloves that Bel had sewn for her. It was very cold. She could feel the red in her cheeks and nose, and the water in her eyes, and she could see the white smoke of her breath in the gloom.

It was a biting cold, a bad cold. It was a cold that had a threat to it, not a promise, no matter what Bill Groan and the others said. Winter was supposed to go away, not come worse. Eighteen years Vesta had been alive, and she had never seen a white winter until the last three, each one whiter than the one before.

When she took her coat off the peg, her hands were numb despite her gloves. The twilight of dawn, a grey light made brighter by the snow, was creeping into the back hallway. By it, she found her boots, and the little pot and tie of heathouse flowers she had laid out the night before. She found the pole too, a pruning hook, strong and almost two metres long. It wasn’t the season for pruning, but she’d left it ready too because Bel had said it was good to know how deep snow was before you walked on it. Snow changed the landscape, and filled holes up. You could fall, or vanish, or turn an ankle and lie out of help’s way so long you’d freeze.

They had all been told not to go out alone, especially early or late, but that was just worry. There had always been stories of things lurking up in the woods. They were stories made up to frighten children.

Vesta had things to do. Some old dog bothering the herds wouldn’t bother her.

She saw her name on the label above her peg.

Harvesta Flurrish. Next to it, Bel’s name. Next to that, an empty peg. Bel was not one for sentiment: she was older and she was clever. However, Vesta Flurrish could not let the day go unmarked.

Chaunce Plowrite had make them all metal cleats for their boots. Bill Groan, the Elect, gave Chaunce permission to make them out of leftover shipskin, and there wasn’t much of that remaining. Vesta had hoped, when she woke, she wouldn’t need to use them.

But she did.

Snow had come again in the night, overlaying the snow from the days before. Everything had a soft curved edge to it.

In the yard, the sky was night blue, the colour of Bel’s eyes. First light, and clear all the way to the stars.

The rooftops and chimneys of Beside, bearded with snow, were black against the blue, and so were the bare trees beyond, and the great rising plateaus of the Firmers. The plumes of steam coming from the vents on the tops of the Firmers were luminous white against the cobalt blue. They were catching the earliest rays of sunlight because they were so much higher up than anything else.

Vesta turned on her solamp, and hung it from her pole. Then she started to walk, her metal cleats crunching, her pruning pole probing the snow cover, one hand holding up the hem of her over skirts. A dog barked in the yard. In the byre behind the Flurrish house, the cattle were lowing.

She followed the North Lane out of Beside, past the well and up towards Would Be, which lay in the shadow of Firmer Number Two.

It was slow going. It was hard work striding over ground that sank under you. Vesta’s legs began to ache.

She stopped to rest for a minute and looked down at the streams that fed the autumn mills. They were frozen like glass in that stilled place between night and morning.

By the time she reached Would Be, she knew she would not manage to get back to Beside before Guide’s Bell rang and called them to work. She resolved to work on after nightchime to make up. Vesta also knew that the people of the plantnation community would excuse her. They would allow her an hour or so, once a year.