“It’s here,” muttered Asan.

The horses screamed. A moment later, a Sister on the eastern wall gave a shout.

“Ten more women on the east side.” Asan’s voice rang crisp through the night. “Do not try to bind the target until it’s within reach. Conserve your lace.”

There was a clamour of footfalls as women from the other parapet walks rushed over to the east wall. Beyond them, I saw a ripple of darkness cutting through the grasses, unnatural in its silence and speed, tearing up the hillside on bone-thin limbs.

“Now!” said Asan.

Ten feet from the wall, the Haunt collided with the lacework net. It stopped instantly, and its body seized as invisible ropes coiled around its legs, arms, torso. Tangled up in our power, it threw back its head and shrieked. The sound was awful, and I automatically took a step backwards, my hands covering my ears.

“Hold fast!” said Asan.

The disease was far advanced; the creature below scarcely resembled a human at all. Every part of its body had stretched like putty rolled thin, its flesh withered away to leave bones that protruded sharply from its mottled skin. Its hands were grotesque—the fingers extended to twice their length, and tapered into claws. Two spurs of bone had cracked through its forehead, and black blood leaked down its face. Its mouth yawned, gums crowded with new teeth, and from the sunken hollows in its skull burned a pair of golden eyes.

“Stay focussed,” said Asan, her voice cool and flat. “Carsi, Phea, slowly withdraw your lace.”

The two Heralds nodded. I saw the moment they let go of the binding; the Haunt jerked as though discovering some new slackness in its restraints. But the remaining nets were woven tight enough to contain it.

“Good work.” Asan’s shoulders unbunched, just a little. “We have a long night ahead of us, but the worst is done. No slacking.”

A few muted smiles from the Enforcers.

“As soon as your lace starts to run dry, shift the binding on to the next available Sister.” Asan nodded to herself. She turned. “All right, Olberos, you can light the beacon now.”

Jesane fumbled with the tinder box, her hands clumsy. I felt just as rattled; I had never seen a Haunt like this before. It seemed unthinkable that the slavering, disfigured creature below had been an ordinary man until recently. He could have been Osan. Or Finn.

A spark jumped from the flint, and the tinder caught. Jesane bent close and nursed the fire with her breath.

“I want this beacon visible on the other side of Aytrium,” said Asan. “Keep it burning, we’ll bring up more wood. Raughn, with me.”

When she turned back toward the stairs, Morwin was blocking the way. The Reverend’s eyes reflected the flames. There was something oddly smug in her expression.

“Shouldn’t you oversee matters here?” she asked. “Surely your talents are better spent keeping the Haunt under control?”

Asan’s eyes narrowed.