The beam of light teased them, showing them glimpses of the flood. The square had indeed gone. Most of the Kosals' house had collapsed. The western corner of it still stood, but the rest was spread as rubble across the new lake. A chair stood on the stone. Beyond the rubble, the river roared.

'We can't get across,' said Mr Ken.

'We could try climbing the rubble,' Joe said.

'Just beyond it would be the gully. We would just disappear into it.'

'Let's go back,' Old Mrs Ken pleaded.

'The house will be buried,' said Mae.

There was grinding, as if the sky itself were being milled, as if the hill were peppercorns – and in the light of the moon and stars they saw the bridge above them come away from its foundations.

The bridge heaved up and shrugged forward and skidded down the slope with a fall of earth and stone, down from Upper Street. There was an explosion of water, great white shooting jets of it. Wooden beams spun upwards into the air. A tangle of roots rose up, snagged itself, whiplashed down. The One Tree had fallen. The bridge moved down the hill. The bridge settled, still upright, leading nowhere.

Another crash spread out just above them. The Dohs' house would have finally gone.

One of her men jerked her. Which one? All of them moved into a veil of water. It pummelled their heads. It tried to drive them down onto the ruins of the Kosal house. They had to climb up a broken wall of stone. Someone reached down for her. She looked up into his face. It was Joe's face, looking worn, handsome, and sad. But not slow -fast, lean, and as awake as he had been when he was the leader of the young men. He hoisted her up.

First they climbed up the Tree. They walked along its ancient oaken trunk, all rough creases.

And then walked as if nothing were awry, across the old bridge. A waterfall thundered next to them, scented with earth and the mineral smell of freshly melted snow. A beautiful river huge and green washed under them and down onto a valley that was a sea. The Tuis' house stood above the water, its upper storeys only. Otherwise, the southern wing of the village was simply submerged. Kizuldah looked like a seaside town, as if it had always been that way, with a breakwater of stone.

Lower Street fell away below them to the west, and the hillside was flowing across it. Everything was moving: rocks, shrubs, earth, as if in migration. The earth looked like a herd of buffalo going to a lake to drink.

'Oh! Oh,' sobbed Mrs Ken. 'Everything's gone!'

They had to jump down from the bridge, twice the height of a man, into swiftly flowing water. The current slammed into Mae, taking her breath and her strength. One of her men caught her; she caught him; they both caught Mrs Ken and whoever was holding her. Together they pulled each other up onto the street that was gushing water, white rapids over the cobbles. Cobbles were solid underfoot.

They were going to live. They ran up the hill towards Kwan's.

CHAPTER 24

Wing had his generator running.

The courtyard was full of light and people. The Haj, their pilgrim to Mecca, stood at the courtyard gate. He had crammed onto his head a funny hat with a teddy bear's face. Perhaps he wanted to cheer people up. He had a list.

'Chung Mae,' the Haj called out. People surged forward. 'Ho-ho! With all the Chungs – Old Mrs Ken and…' He paused, ballooning out his eyes. '… Mr Ken.' He coughed and then murmured, 'Quite a family group.'

Mrs Shenyalar threw a blanket around Mae's shoulders. 'Mrs Chung was first!' the Muerain's wife shouted to the villagers. 'She roused my husband!'

Sunni's mother, Old Mrs al Gama, took up Mae's hand. Sunni hugged Mae. 'Are you all right, darling?' Sunni asked.

Mae turned back around to the Haj. 'Mr Haj-sir. Where is Sezen? Miss Ozdemir – has she come in yet?'

The Haj kept smiling, but his eyes narrowed. He said nothing.

'Kwan has hot food for everyone.' Sunni was tugging at her shoulder.

'Haj? You have been keeping count? Who has come? Who has not?'

The Haj looked sweet, like a calf, and shrugged. He was blinking. 'So many have been saved,' he said, looking down at the list.

'Where is Sezen?'

The Haj sighed, and reached forward with his plump hands. 'She has not come here.'

'Who else?'

'The Shens, the Chus…'

Mae knew. 'The people in the south wash.'

The Haj shook his head. 'The Macks and Pins are all right.' He sighed. 'They believed you.'

Mae found she was weeping. 'Who else?'

Sunni stopped pulling, surrendered, and hugged her.

Mae asked, 'What about Han Kai-hui? Her daughter?'

The Haj simply shook his head and said, 'Inshallah.'

'Almost everyone else is all right,' said Sunni. 'You did everything.'

Mae let herself be led through the throng. All the Soongs had survived and were huddled in one corner of the court. The cluster of grandchildren played with toys. Mr and Mrs Okan shuffled up to Mae and showered her with thanks.

Sezen was gone. She had died saving An, the traitor. Han An, the last person in the world you could have seen Sezen giving her life for. Mae thought of An and their clipboards. Mae remembered Kai-hui's face when they were little girls, both poor, catching turtles in the reeds.

From somewhere there came a sound like thunder or fireworks, a crackling and a boom. Someone's house had fallen. Involuntarily, the villagers groaned.

Some of the Dohs surged around Mae now, and took hold of her hand. They were thanking her. Was their house still standing?

'Have you seen Mr and Mrs Ozdemir?' Mae managed to ask. Mrs Doh stared back at her, as if she was far too important to know or care about sharecroppers.

'Wild girl,' said Mae, and suddenly her legs left her.

Mae slumped down onto the ground. Siao, Joe, and Ken Kuei were ranged all around her and that was too much as well. Her brain buzzed.

Someone else was using her mouth.

We all go, we are all washed away, down into the dark, and no one will find us ever again.

Sunni was making Mae sit up. 'Sezen is probably cut off somewhere, Mae. You know Sezen: She'll come roaring up here tomorrow on her boyfriend's motorcycle.'

Indeed, it would be just like Sezen. Mae tried to smile. Joe and Ken between them helped her to her feet. Her shins were numb.

Somehow she was on the stone staircase, being led down into Kwan's kitchen. All around them, the noise of the flood was gently falling asleep. Sssh, the waters seemed to say, sssh, the worst is over. The wound is lanced, the pus is draining. Sssh little ones, sleep.

In the kitchen, everything was feverish: the single orange light, the heat of the stoves, the bustling women.

Something bony and hard flung itself around Mae's neck. Mae burped vile juices into her mouth and felt only elbows. Kwan, desperate, clung to her. Kwan leaned back, looked at Mae, and her lower face crumpled.

Mae felt nothing. Who was this person?

Kwan took her hand and led her to a table. Mrs Pin leapt up, and with a kind of whirligig speed, spun bowls and village bread onto the table in front of Mae.

Wing and Mr Atakoloo looked up from their food. Both bowed deeply and in silence. Mrs Pin ladled soup into Mae's bowl. Mae picked up the spoon, and found it was too heavy to lift.

She collapsed into tears and lowered the spoon and sat helplessly. Kwan crowded in next to her and Mae gave her an angry shove.

'I tried to tell you!' Mae shouted at Kwan. 'No one believed me. No one did anything!'

The kitchen fell into an embarrassed silence. From outside came the rushing sound of water.

Kwan, Wing, Sunni, Young Mrs Doh – all stared at her with those same round, helpless eyes. What were they waiting for? For her to say: I forgive you?