‘The earth,’ she finally began in a slighdy sermonising tone, ‘has a spherical shape and orbits the sun. Do you agree with that? Or perhaps you belong to one of those fashionable sects that try to prove something utterly different.’
‘No. I don’t. I accept heliocentrism and I agree with the theory of the spherical shape of the earth.’
‘Excellent. You are sure then to agree with the fact that the vertical axis of the globe is tilted at an angle, and the path of the earth around the sun doesn’t have the shape of a regular circle, but is elliptical?’
‘I learned about it. But I’m not an astronomer, so—’
‘You don’t have to be an astronomer, it’s enough to think logically. The earth circles the sun in an elliptical-shaped orbit, and so during its revolution sometimes it’s closer and sometimes further away. The further the earth is horn the sun, the colder it is on it; that must be logical. And the less the world’s axis deviates from the perpendicular the less light reaches the northern hemisphere.’
‘That’s also logical.’
‘Both those factors, I mean the ellipticalness of the orbit and the degree of tilt of the world’s axis, are subject to changes. As can be observed, cyclical ones. The ellipse may be more or less elliptical, that is stretched out and elongated, and the earth’s axis may be less or more tilted. Extreme conditions, as far as climate is concerned, are caused by a simultaneous occurrence of the two phenomena: the maximum elongation of the ellipse and only an insignificant deviation of the axis horn the vertical. The earth orbiting the sun receives very little light and heat at the aphelium, and the polar regions are additionally harmed by the disadvantageous angle of tilt of the axis.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Less light in the northern hemisphere means the snow lies longer. White and shining snow reflects sunlight, the temperature falls even more. The snow lies even longer because of that, it doesn’t melt at all in greater and greater stretches or only melts for a short time. The more snow and the longer it lies, the greater the white and shining reflective surface ...’
‘I understand.’
‘The snow’s falling, it’s falling and falling and there’s more and more of it. So observe that masses of warm air drift with the sea currents horn the south, which condense over the frozen northern land. The warm air condenses and falls as snow. The greater the temperature differences, the heavier the falls. The heavier the falls, the more white snow that doesn’t melt for a long time. And the colder it is. The greater the temperature difference and the more abundant the condensation of the masses of air ...’
‘I understand.’
‘The snow cover becomes heavy enough to become compacted ice. A glacier. On which, as we now know, snow continues to fall, pressing it down even more. The glacier grows, it’s not only thicker and thicker, but it spreads outwards, covering greater and greater expanses. White expanses ...’
‘Reflecting the sun’s rays,’ Condwiramurs nodded. ‘Becoming colder, colder and even colder. The White Frost prophesied by Ithlinne. But is a cataclysm possible? Is there really a danger that the ice that has lain in the north forever will all of a sudden flow south, crushing, compressing and covering everything? How fast does the ice cap spread at the pole? A few inches annually?’
‘As you surely know,’ said Nimue, eyes fixed on the lake, ‘the only port in the Gulf of Praxeda that doesn’t freeze is Pont Vanis.’
‘Yes. I am aware.’
‘Enriching your knowledge: a hundred years ago none of the Gulf’s ports used to freeze. A hundred years ago-there are numerous accounts of it-cucumbers and pumpkins used to grow in Talgar, and sunflowers and lupins were cultivated in Caingorn. They aren’t cultivated now, since their growth is impossible; it’s simply too cold there. And did you know there were once vineyards in Kaedwen? The wines from those vines probably weren’t the best, because it appears from the surviving documents that they were very cheap. But local poets sung their praises anyway. Today vines don’t grow in Kaedwen at all. Because today’s winters, unlike the former ones, bring hard frosts, and a hard frost kills vines. It doesn’t just retard growth, it simply kills. Destroys.’
‘I understand.’
‘Yes,’ Nimue reflected. ‘What more is there to add? Perhaps that it snows in Talgar in the middle of November and drifts south at a speed of more than fifty miles a day. That at the end of December and the beginning of January snowstorms occur by the Alba, where still a hundred years ago snow was a sensation? And that every child knows that the snows melt and the lakes thaw in April in our region, don’t they? And every child wonders why that month is called April-the Opening. Didn’t it surprise you?’
‘Not especially,’ admitted Condwiramurs. ‘Anyway at home in Vicovaro we didn’t say April, but Falsebloom Or in the elven: Birke. But I understand what you’re implying. The name of the month comes from ancient times when everything really did bloom in April ... ’
‘Those distant times are all a hundred, a hundred and twenty years ago. That’s virtually yesterday, girl. Ithlinne was absolutely right. Her prophecy will be fulfilled. The world will perish beneath a layer of ice. Civilisation will perish through the fault of the Destroyer, who could have, who had the opportunity, to open a path to hope. It is known from legend that she didn’t.’
‘For reasons that the legend doesn’t explain. Or explains with the help of a vague and naive moral.’
‘That’s true. But the fact remains a fact. The White Frost is a fact. The civilisation of the northern hemisphere is doomed to extinction. It will vanish beneath the ice of a spreading glacier, beneath permanent pack ice and snow. There’s no need to panic, though, because it’ll take some time before it happens.’
The sun had completely set and the blinding glare had disappeared from the surface of the lake. Now a streak of softer, paler light lay down on the water. The moon rose over Inis Vitre, as bright as a gold sovereign chopped in half.
‘How long?’ Condwiramurs asked. ‘How long, according to you, will it take? I mean, how much time do we have?’
‘A good deal.’
‘How much, Nimue?’
‘Some three thousand years.’
On the lake, the Fisher King banged his oar down in the boat and swore. Condwiramurs sighed loudly.
‘You’ve reassured me a little,’ she said after a while. ‘But only a little.’
