‘No. The song-magic is tied to place; the Singer must remain within the source. He has a private offering pool, of course, and will honour the gods if any visit him.’ The Great Octave glanced at Tayan almost fondly. ‘Have you decided what you will do, then?’

He and Betsu had done little other than talk about Enet’s ultimatum and the potential ways they might combat it, or at least soften it into a form their people could live with. He tried to focus on that now, as the scent of the river grew in his nostrils and the ground, already soft from the Wet, grew muddier. ‘We … have not. Perhaps we might talk after this, this ritual’ – Tayan almost choked on the word – ‘is completed?’

But Enet was no longer listening. They had reached the front of the crowd and the river was only a dozen strides away. The shaman stopped abruptly when he saw it, and had to fight down a scream and the urge to run when he saw the Drowned. Five, eight, nine, eleven and then more, Lesser and Greater, their heads breaking the river’s skin one after the other. The crowd fell into rapturous silence.

Tayan, peace-weaver and shaman, called the stargazer, felt his spine turn to liquid and he realised with a bitter incredulity that he’d never believed it. Somehow, despite everything, every indication to the contrary, he hadn’t actually thought they would do it. That they could do it. He hadn’t thought them capable. Cruel and indifferent, yes. Manipulative, definitely. But not actually, really capable of it.

And then Enet stepped forward in all her glory as Great Octave, enormous headdress of feather and jade and precious stones perched atop her head, so large that she had not been able to wear it in the litter. There were blue stripes on her kilt, as if she were a shaman who could commune with the gods. But then, perhaps she could. She believed the monsters in the water were gods, after all. She raised her arms and faced the river and the Drowned glided closer.

One’s head broke the water completely and Tayan saw the bulge of its throat sac inflating. He tensed to run, knowing he wouldn’t make it out of earshot in time but unable to do anything else, but instead of a song, it uttered a trill, almost birdlike, almost inquisitive. Tayan’s breath stopped in his chest. The sound had no power over him; it commanded nothing. Instead, it … asked. It was an enquiry. And he could almost understand it. Fascination warred with revulsion, curiosity confined to this one thing to the exclusion of all else.