‘No,’ Betsu said immediately, trying to give it back.

Enet narrowed her eyes, just a little. ‘Do the Yaloh have no rules of guest friendship?’ she asked, in such a way that told Tayan she knew perfectly well that there were, and that to refuse a host’s generosity was to offer insult.

‘We have no gifts in return,’ Betsu said, but Tayan cut her off.

‘You do us much honour, Great Octave,’ the shaman said, breathing a swift prayer of thanks to Malel for his foresight and a second to his spirit guides for their forgiveness. He slipped his fingers into the neck of his tunic and found the right string hanging around his neck and pulled a small deerskin pouch free. He licked his lips but passed it over without hesitation. ‘Please accept this as a small token of our humble thanks.’

Enet opened the pouch and tipped three small statues into her palm – Young Jaguar, Old Woman Frog, and Swift Hawk – carved from jet, greenstone and pom wood respectively. ‘How lovely,’ the Pecha murmured, though Tayan thought more because she had to than anything else. He could tell her how sacred they were, but she wouldn’t care. Their value was clear, however, and he hoped it would be enough.

She looked up and gave him a smile and another squeeze of his knee. ‘I shall treasure them,’ she said, and he had no idea whether or not she was lying.

Soon enough the buildings fell away, and even the limestone of the road itself, and there was a wide, empty expanse of packed dirt. In the middle, twisting lazily beneath the building clouds, a wide, slow loop of moving water.

‘This is the same river as the one you will have crossed yesterday,’ Enet said conversationally as the slaves carried them towards the bridge. ‘Back in the north – in fact, Peace-weaver Tayan, I believe it even borders your land? – it is called the Great Roar, but here its might is lessened, and it is known simply as the Blessed Water. Much of the city is built around it. And there, can you see, over in the distance? That is the great pyramid. In there is the source, and in the source is the Singer, our holy lord.’

Tayan and Betsu both leant out of the litter and the slaves grunted and staggered as the balance shifted. The shaman hurriedly withdrew, gripping the padded seat. ‘Sorry,’ he gasped when he saw Enet clinging to the woven handle hanging above her head. ‘I would not be able to see it anyway; my vision is not strong when things are far away.’

‘It is … impressive,’ Betsu said with clear reluctance, but he noticed the tinge of awe in her voice and a slight shine of sweat on her upper lip. Not just impressive, then, but intimidating.

‘The peace-weaving,’ Tayan began, but Enet cut him off with a wave of her hand.