‘The Pechaqueh are children who break things they cannot have – including tribes. They understand nothing of the balance and the world or the poison of their song and that these monsters are bound up in it. Break the song, kill the Drowned, I say.’

Ilandeh’s face was neutral. ‘They call them holy Setatmeh. Do you know why?’

Tika squinted at her. ‘I’ve just said—’

‘It’s because they are, both holy and gods. Back when the world was new, it sang to itself and each note created life – trees, plants, fish, birds, animals. That song remains, for those who know how to listen. It’s trapped in the stone, the very bones of the world. The Singer knows how to free it, and the holy Setatmeh sing with the world spirit’s own voice to claim their offerings and show us a hint of glory. The Singers birth the song of the world, bringing plenty and wealth, bringing the rains that swell the crops. The holy Setatmeh take away, maintaining the balance you say you are so fond of and that we do not understand. And yet you kill them and call them Drowned. I think it is you who doesn’t understand.’

Tika was silent, assessing, and Ilandeh smiled. ‘Now do you see the Singer’s purpose? When he restores the song to all Ixachipan, he will wake the world spirit and it will sing with him. And all will be bountiful. No more hunger or disease. The lords of the Underworld will hold no fears for us and all will be music. And the longer you resist, the longer you prevent that glorious world from coming into being. How selfish you are, to deny us all such eternal beauty.’

‘Who are you?’ Tika asked, and now her voice was soft and her dog, Yalla, was standing looking up at them, alert, tail unmoving.

Ilandeh chuckled. ‘You people, you’re all so obsessed with identity. Why does it mean so much to you?’

Tika licked her teeth and eyed the distance between them. She seemed unreasonably relaxed, and Ilandeh matched it – the calm looseness, the even breathing, the utter focus of the warrior. She hadn’t killed an eja before – not in combat, anyway, though she had employed many of her quieter skills in the last year in this city that stank of heresy.