The urge to stab her for every heresy and every insult and every disparaging comment burnt at the back of her throat like bile, so strongly that her muscles trembled with it, but Ilandeh kicked free of the woman and rolled to her feet, putting space between them. The eja wasn’t dead yet, and that was important. Sucking in air, Ilandeh put the dog out of its misery and then clubbed Tika in the temple with the butt of her knife, before eyeing the dark expanse of hill between them and the city. The terraced fields and orchards and water temples appeared deserted, and no voices were raised in alarm despite the noise of their fight.

‘Thank you, Setatmeh,’ Ilandeh whispered fervently. Swearing at the weight, she dragged Tika up and pushed her over the wall onto the other side – the river side, and then followed. Panting, she hoisted Tika onto her shoulders. The woman’s blood began seeping down her back, but it was the least of her worries. Staggering but moving as fast as she could, Ilandeh made for the Swift Water, beginning to pray as soon as she could hear the rushing of water.

‘Holy Setatmeh, gods of the rivers and the streams, you who bring the rain that makes the crops grow, you who speak with voice of song and world, accept this your offering. Accept this eja, this enemy of your blood and mine, as your just reward.’ She could barely see where she was going, let alone if her prayer would be answered, but the thin rind of the moon brightened just a little behind its veil of cloud. Just enough to see three Setatmeh rise from the shallows. Ilandeh waded in to her knees, fear fluttering through her – I stood by and let them be killed; though I did everything I could, it still feels as if I did nothing – and lowered Tika with a grunt.

The eja roused at the chill of the water. She sucked in a breath and then her eyes widened so much the whites were visible all the way around. She flailed out with one hand, begging perhaps, before the gods dragged her below.

Ilandeh waded back to shore. ‘Accept your offering, sacred spirits,’ she said again. ‘Forgive me for what I have allowed to be done to your kin while I have been here. But soon the song will echo from these hills. Soon you will be free – and all the world will be music.’

ENET

The source, Singing City, Pechacan, Empire of Songs

173rd day of the Great Star at morning

Enet rattled the carved jade and bone dice in the cup. She knelt opposite the Singer, carefully adorned for maximum effect – meaning, on this occasion, without the Great Octave’s headdress. Better not to remind him of her status lest it be taken from her.