'It will take a lot of these?'

'Many thousands. It is a very long term project.' Hanea smiled. 'A hundred years, a thousand years? It depends on how many climbers there are who want to carry one up the mountain. A considerable mass of stone was blasted away. But a good idea, yes? A symbol of a more general restoration of the world.'

They were preparing a meal in the kitchen, and invited Budur to join them, but she excused herself, saying she needed to catch the next tram back.

'Of course,' said Hanea. 'Do give our greetings to your aunt. We look forward to meeting with her soon.'

She didn't explain what she meant, and Budur was left to think it over as she walked down to the beach stop and waited for the tram into town, huddling in its little glass shelter against the stiff blast of the wind. Half asleep, she saw an image of a line of people, carrying a whole library of stone books to the top of the world.

TEN

'Come with me to the Orkneys,' Idelba said to her. 'I could use your help, and want to show you the ruins there.'

'The Orkneys? Where are they again?'

It turned out they were the northernmost of the Keltic Isles, above Scotland. Most of Britain was occupied by a population that had originated in al Andalus, the Maghrib and west Africa; then during the Long War the Hodenosaunee had built a big naval base in a bay surrounded by the main Orkney island, and they were still there, overseeing Firanja in effect, but also protecting by their presence some remnants of the original population, Kelts who had survived the influx of both Frank and Firanji, and of course the plague. Budur had read tales of these tall, pale-skinned, red haired, blue eyed survivors of the great plague.

And as she and Idelba sat at a window table in the gondola of their airship, watching England's green hills pass slowly underneath them, dappled by cloud shadow and cut into large squares by crops, hedgerows and grey stone walls, she wondered what it would be like to stand before a true Kelt – whether she would be able to bear their mute accusatory gaze, stand without flinching before the sight of their albinoesque skin and eyes.

But of course it was not like that at all. They landed to find the Orkney islands were more rolling grassy hills, with scarcely a tree to be seen, except clustered around whitewashed farmhouses with chimneys at both ends, a design ubiquitous and apparently ancient, as it was replicated in grey ruins in fields near the current versions. And the Orcadians were not the spavined freckled inbred halfwits Budur had been expecting from the tales of the white slaves of the Ottoman sultan, but burly shouting fishermen in oils, red faced and straw haired in some cases, black- or brown-haired in others, shouting at each other like fisherfolk in any of the villages of the Nsarene coast. They were unselfconscious in their dealings with Firanjis, as if they were the normal ones and the Firanjis the exotics; which of course was true here. Clearly for them the Orkneys were all the world.

And when Budur and Idelba drove out into the country in an motorcart to see the island's ruins, they began to see why; the world had been coming to the Orkneys for three thousand years or more. They had reason to feel they were at the centre of things, the crossroads. Every culture that had ever lived there, and there must have been ten of them through the centuries, had built using the island's stratified sandstone, which had been split by the waves into handy plates and beams and broad flat bricks, perfect for drywall, and even stronger if set in cement. The oldest inhabitants had also used the stones to build their bedframes and kitchen shelves, so that here, in a small patch of grass overlooking the western sea, it was possible to look down into stone houses that had had the sand filling them removed, and see the domestic arrangements of people who had lived over five thousand years before, it was said, their very tools and furniture just as they had been left. The sunken rooms looked to Budur just like her own rooms in the zawiyya. Nothing essential had changed in all that time.

Idelba shook her head at the great ages claimed for the settlement, and the dating methods used, and wondered aloud about certain geochronologies she had in mind that might be pursued. But after a while she fell as silent as the rest, and stood staring down into the spare and beautiful interiors of the old ones' homes. These things of ours that endure.

Back in the island's one town, Kirkwall, they walked through stonepaved streets to another little Buddhist temple complex, set behind the locals' ancient cathedral, a tiny thing compared to the big skeletons left behind on the mainland, but roofed and complete. The temple behind it was very modest, a matter of four narrow buildings surrounding a rock garden, in a style Budur thought of as Chinese.

Here Idelba was greeted by Hanea and Ganagweh. Budur was shocked to see them, and they laughed at the expression on her face. 'We told you we would be seeing you again soon, didn't we?'

'Yes,' Budur said. 'But here?'

'This is the biggest Hodenosaunee community in Firanja,' Hanea said. 'We came down to Nsara from here, actually. And we return here quite often.'

After they were shown the complex and sat down in a room off the courtyard for tea, Idelba and Hanea slipped away, leaving a nonplussed Budur behind with Ganagweh.

'Mother said they would need to talk for an hour or two,' Ganagweh told her. 'Do you know what they're talking about?'

'No,' said Budur. 'Do you?'

'No. I mean, I assume it has something to do with your aunt's efforts to create stronger diplomatic relations between our countries. But that's just stating the obvious.'

'Yes,' Budur said, extemporizing. 'I know she's been interested in that. But meeting you in Kirana Fawwaz's class as I did…'

'Yes. And then, the way you showed up at the monastery there. It seems we are fated to cross paths.' She was smiling in a way Budur couldn't interpret. 'Lets go for a walk; those two will talk for a long while. There's a lot to discuss, after all.'

This was news to Budur, but she said nothing, and spent the day wandering Kirkwall with Ganagweh, a very high spirited girl, tall, quick, confident; the narrow streets and burly men of the Orkneys held no fears for her. Indeed at the end of the town tram line they walked far down a deserted strand overlooking the big bay that had once been such a busy naval base, and Ganagweh stopped at some boulders and stripped off her clothes and ran screaming out into the water, bursting back out in a flurry of whitewater, shrieking, her lustrous dark skin gleaming in the sun as she dried off with her fingers, flinging the water at Budur and daring her to take the plunge. 'It's good for you! It's not that cold, it will wake you up!'

It was just the kind of thing Yasmina had always insisted they do, but shyly Budur declined, finding it hard to look at the big wet beauti ful animal standing next to her in the sun; and when she walked down to touch the water, she was glad she had; it was freezing. She did feel as if she had woken up, aware of the brisk salt wind and Ganagweh's wet black hair swinging side to side like a dogs, spraying her. Ganagweh laughed at her and dressed while still damp. As they walked back, they passed a group of pale skinned children who regarded them curiously. 'Let's get back and see how the old women are doing,' Ganagweh said. 'Funny to see such grandmothers taking the fate of the world into their own hands, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Budur said, wondering what in the world was going on.