THE SILK TREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

The snow eased but there was a new hazard. The yaks could not see the track under the fresh snowfall and slipped and staggered as they missed their foothold.

‘Not far now, Terek Davan!’ Yulduz said.

Unexpectedly the snow ceased abruptly and the sun glared unbearably bright in a deep-blue sky.

As the little train continued on around the side of the mountain they squinted against the dazzling white. Before them was the broad snow-covered saddle between the buttresses of two cloud-torn ranges – the long-sought Terek Davan Pass.

But only two miles below it the snow began again, squally flurries and then solid, driving flakes that blinded and choked and lay a chill deadness thickly on ground and beast.

It was impossible to go on – blundering over a precipice was a real possibility.

The train stopped and the yaks quickly came together in a huddle. Forcing their way inside, the humans took refuge from the icy wind in the steamy mass as snow steadily built on the hairy backs. Nicander caught a glimpse of Ying Mei’s pinched but expressionless face; holding on, enduring.

The snow continued remorselessly.

It was so unfair – only another couple of miles and…

Nicander tried to ask Yulduz their chances but in reply only got an ill-tempered gabbling and the man turned away.

With the pass so close would he wait for the weather to clear and make a desperate attempt to transit, or return to the village and wait for spring?

The fearful cold made it difficult to think. The yaks could probably wade through a couple of feet of snow but who could tell if conditions the other side of the pass were better or worse? They couldn’t stay where they were indefinitely. The longer they delayed returning, the deeper the snow behind them, and he remembered more than one patch that…

Had they left it too late either way?

Nicander felt a swelling dread.

Time passed and he slipped into a reverie of images and impressions.

He was abruptly brought back to the present by hurried movement out of the huddle – the snow had stopped!

Yulduz stared at the grey sky. Then he bent and picked up some snow and let it fall to the ground, watching it closely. His gaze returned to the line of the summit.

‘We go!’ he snapped.

There was a fevered scurry of activity. This time there would be no riding; each would walk beside his yak.

They set out for the distant top of the pass, stomping the soft snow with every pace and knowing the stakes if they failed.

The sun came and went. Everyone periodically glanced warily at the sky, dreading what they would see.

Yulduz was ahead, testing the way and calling out shrill commands to the lead yak.

The crest drew nearer and, praise be, they were atop it – a slope led gently away on the other side into the same grand panorama of great mountains and far valleys. Yulduz took a wide, sweeping zigzag down, going as fast as he could get the yaks to follow.

Nicander, like the others, was numbed and exhausted and it wasn’t until they stopped at a sheltered crag that he realised they were safe.

Yulduz, now in fine spirits, handed out a ration of chhurpi, a bar of dry yak cheese that took hours to chew.

‘Not so bad, now. I don’t think they come after you here, M’ Lady!’ he added with a cackle.

Nicander found himself smiling. They were through the mountain barrier and were on the road to the west!

Yulduz gave the order to remount, their way now was a continual downward winding track along the wide flank of a mountain to where green peeped through the snow on the uplands.

In two days they left the snowline and reached the lower foothills whose terrain made for fast going. Later, wide river plains led through increasingly fertile regions with nomad tents and flocks dotted on the slopes.

They stopped at tiny settlements for fresh provisions and news and to exchange their trinkets for furs and handworked trifles and then passed on to a majestic river valley.

‘To Osh,’ Yulduz said proudly. ‘He goes to my town!’

They followed him up a steep track littered with sharp stones. It wound around then through a cleft – and they caught their breath. Below was an immense plain ending in a blue-grey haze at the horizon. They could see every detail, the glittering meander of a river, the dots of trees, the smudge of forests and the far-distant sprawl of a city.

The travellers beamed at each other. The landscape was alive and green, even roads could be picked out. They had left Chang An for a desert of sand, then from Kashgar endured a desert of snow and rock. Now they had won through to what could only be – the Western Lands.