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Chapters (53)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Chapter Four
  7. Chapter Five
  8. Chapter Six
  9. Chapter Seven
  10. Chapter Eight
  11. Chapter Nine
  12. Chapter Ten
  13. Chapter Eleven
  14. Chapter Twelve
  15. Chapter Thirteen
  16. Chapter Fourteen
  17. Chapter Fifteen
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Chapter Twenty-Four
  27. Chapter Twenty-Five
  28. Chapter Twenty-Six
  29. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  32. Chapter Thirty
  33. Chapter Thirty-One
  34. Chapter Thirty-Two
  35. Chapter Thirty-Three
  36. Chapter Thirty-Four
  37. Chapter Thirty-Five
  38. Chapter Thirty-Six
  39. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  40. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  41. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  42. Chapter Forty
  43. Chapter Forty-One
  44. Chapter Forty-Two
  45. Chapter Forty-Three
  46. Chapter Forty-Four
  47. Chapter Forty-Five
  48. Chapter Forty-Six
  49. Chapter Forty-Seven
  50. Chapter Forty-Eight
  51. Chapter Forty-Nine
  52. Acknowledgements
  53. About the Author

There is some applause. Not quite the powerful adulation of his glory days, but applause nonetheless. How quickly people’s allegiances change. Now I realize that Longsight must live his life in fear of those changes in taste and favour.

Mayor Longsight rises and steps forward. He has only a covering tied at his waist: no gown this time, he is just skin and ink and scar. His ink – oh, his ink is too beautiful for one so crazed with hate. He is covered in the most complex marks: geometry and angles – lines and shapes that speak of sacred numbers, the mysteries of the universe, infinity and abundance. But today I see them dance in skeletal staccato – smooth sides and tight angles look to me like the sharpest of blades. He radiates assurance.

When he speaks, it is brief. “According to our customs and laws, I judge that Leora be marked with the crow and forgotten for ever.”

My reaction is almost one of disappointment. It is very nearly an anti-climax. And yet, the response from the people gratifies Mayor Longsight. This is still a relatively seldom seen and shocking punishment.

I know with certainty then that I don’t believe any more. I remember Connor Drew’s marking, and my unshakeable belief that his soul was being destroyed. We all saw it that way – that his one route to salvation, the only means by which he would be remembered and live eternally, had been cut off. A skin book would be made, but it would be destroyed by the fire of judgement. I saw a man without hope, without any future or purpose in living. I saw in him my own father who, according to our customs, also deserved nothing more than to be instantly forgotten by all at his death. The horror of it grabbed my throat; it kept me awake; it motivated everything – I had to save my father.

And yet here I am, about to marked with a crow. And I feel no terror at eternal damnation. The onlookers may be feeling all that I did on that strange day in the autumn of last year, but I feel impermeable. Shave my hair, mark me with ink – my soul remains.

What hurts is that it’s Obel who will do it.