Melody of Demons

By Ros Jackson

In her home village, Aivee is worse than nobody. If her secret identity as a half-demon leaks out, she's dead. But in the capital city she will reinvent herself as a dancer. She'll be wealthy, and adored by thousands. Nobody will be able to hurt her.

Will they?

Nori knows how cruel the city can be. She's lost her mother to its plagues, and lately her younger sister has joined the ranks of its disappeared. But she's not giving up. The ruling classes think they can treat people worse than beasts and strip them of their human rights. Powerful factions want to keep the epidemic of missing people a secret. Well, they can eat her blades.

Nori joins a group of vigilantes fighting for answers, and voices in her head urge her to recruit Aivee to the cause. These vigilantes are bumbling amateurs, as likely to get themselves killed as to save anyone. But Nori is changing, going mad, lusting for battle and remembering centuries-old conflicts. She will whip them into shape, or die trying.

Bloodthirsty gangs, inhuman mages, and dragon gods have it in for the people of Kaddon city.

Yes, Nori is mad. But she's not nearly even.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ros Jackson
• Release date: Apr 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9780957573260

Ros Jackson

Ros is the author of a number of works of fantasy. She lives in Lincolnshire, England, where she combines a love of politics and putting words on paper with the more serious responsibility of being a full-time cat minion.

Book preview

Once a month, the headman called for Aivee Rapple's death. Aivee sat next to her mother on a wooden bench in Inshee village hall, wiping mud from her boots on the straw underfoot as she waited for the next declamation. Late summer sunshine poured in through the open window on her left. A bee drifted in over the heads of the audience, flew past the village's only pendulum clock, and settled on the cut flowers across the room, outside the alcove dedicated to the god Turoi.

Many people in the crowded hall had stains on their fingers and clothes from harvesting, and wide hats on their knees. A faint whiff of sweat mingled with the smell of fresh hay.

Headman Migary was a solidly built man of about fifty, going grey but still handsome. His loud voice carried easily to the back of the hall, and he was in full flow.

I'm well aware you need to be in your fields, as do I. I call you here for one reason, and one alone: I care about you.

He raised a finger and looked across the hall, taking in everyone and making brief eye-contact with them all. Aivee submitted to his gaze. But his attention was drawn away as the door at the back opened and two young men strode in. The first, tall and blond Jorale Migary, curled his lip in disdain. His brother Ronadel was slightly shorter and darker, but he shared Jorale's defiant tilt of the head and his wide-legged, rolling gait.

Yes, I care about you, Migary repeated, and this time it was directed at his tardy sons. They took spaces on the second row and leaned back on outstretched arms.

I bring you a warning. I can see, looking round the hall today, that some of you feel complacent about what I'm going to say. You think you've heard it all before. But let me tell you, we must never allow ourselves to forget the dangers. When the healer comes to mend your bones, that's holy magic, approved by Turoi. But there's a different kind, an evil kind, that threatens to corrupt and destroy us. In the north, across the sea, the filthy Vurecans practise dark arts. They eat human flesh. I have seen them in the cities, where they are allowed to roam freely in spite of the dangers they pose to people of good heart, people like you.

Migary's face was growing flushed and his volume was rising. But Aivee always heard a special music. There was a rhythm in her head, a complex tattoo that never left her, even when she slept. It came to her as easily as breathing and as automatically as her heartbeat, and it was hers alone. The beat might rise or fall in volume, and it might change tempo according to her mood, but the pattern remained the same because it had to. This was the magic that kept her safe. As Migary shouted and pointed, the rhythm rose in her like a wild storm.

Worst of all are the demons that hide amongst us, the krin with their many faces! Don't let them fool you. They steal, and they sneak into the houses of the pure-hearted to place curses. They fornicate with sleeping women.

At this, Jorale sent Aivee a barely-perceptible smile. She smiled back and then examined her hands, a blush rising to her cheeks and a thrill of butterflies in her insides. If it weren't for Jorale she would detest these meetings. She stole another look in his direction, only to find he was doing the exact same thing. They kept looking, until a gentle nudge from her mother reminded Aivee not to draw attention to herself.

Migary was working towards the end of a long list of krin crimes. If you become aware of one of these creatures, it's your duty to report it. If you say nothing it will be your fault when a child sickens and dies, or your neighbour is left with nothing, or someone's daughter is defiled. We must destroy these demons where we find them. We can't let them live amongst us.

There it was. Aivee's heart did not beat any faster, and her face did not move. The old creak wouldn't recognise a krin if he were married to one.

Aivee stopped listening and stared at the brickwork behind Migary's head. She imagined other people in her village being krin, and the outrage that would cause. What if they were all krin, except Migary? What if the headman himself was a demon? If every krin was too scared to announce himself, there might be whole villages of them, with none of them knowing each other and all of them joining in the persecution in order to avoid suspicion.

About half an hour later people started clapping, and Aivee joined in. She couldn't appear unenthusiastic. Jorale and Ronadel weren't applauding. Instead, they were shaking their heads and sneering at their father. Migary noticed and rolled his eyes.

Villagers rose and began talking. Most made their way to the exit, but her mother went up to thank Migary for his speech. Aivee had no idea how her parent could tell such a barefaced lie without flinching.

Aivee made her way to the door. Jorale was already there, and she hoped to talk to him even though the prospect dried her mouth. She'd smile and then go mute, but it hardly mattered. They rarely needed words to tell each other what they meant.

In front of her, old Parina was taking her time, walking with a painfully slow shuffle and the trembling gait of age. Aivee fidgeted. Beyond the door she could see Jorale waiting in the sunshine. He stretched his arms over his head. His muscles had filled out well over the summer. He was wearing a white shirt and no jacket, unlike Ronadel, who was more formally dressed in a blue silk coat. Jorale could have come from the fields just like everyone else in the village, though as Migary's eldest son he had no need to dirty his hands.

Jorale was greeting everyone as they left the hall, but he had a special smile for Aivee. He took her hand and led her to the side of the path, out of everyone's way. The day's warmth was making her feel relaxed and heavy.

Well, that was… a sermon. That's certainly what it was. I think we all learned a valuable, no, a lesson. That we already knew. Yes, one thing you can say for my father's froth-mouthed rants, is they're definitely spoken with words.

Aivee smiled a little wider.

I don't know why I keep coming to them, Jorale said with a grin. Except something keeps bringing me back.

He squeezed her fingers softly, and the heat of his fingertips was surprisingly intimate.

Me too, Aivee said.

She noticed the villagers standing around them, all capable of gossip, and she quickly detached her fingers from Jorale's. Ronadel was giving them an amused look. Aivee blushed and played with her hair. Her rhythm was the drumming of light rain on the ground. Although Jorale seemed interesting, and she liked him, she was reluctant to get close to any young man, no matter how much he disparaged his father's ideas.

Are you coming tonight? he asked.

Tonight?

To Ronadel's nameday. Weren't you listening to my father? Everyone's invited. It'll be here, in the hall.

The nameday ceremony at fifteen marked a person's passage into adulthood. Aivee had spent hers hiding in a ditch with her mother, whilst hunters searched the woods for them. That had been three years ago, before they moved to Inshee.

She opened her mouth to make an excuse, when there was a high-pitched cry. Twenty paces away, Parina lay on the ground. Jorale ran to her. The old woman was lying on the mud track with one arm over her head and a grimace adding to the cobweb of lines on her face. She had bruised her cheek.

Ronadel, go to Turry. Lend him my horse and ask him to ride to Krebshee for a healer.

It's my bad leg, Parina said in a reedy voice. It just went. I don't think it's broken.

Do you think you can walk on it if you have someone to lean on? Jorale asked.

Parina shook her head.

A small crowd was gathering. Jorale motioned them back, and people obeyed, Aivee included. Parina had tears in her eyes. Aivee sensed that the indignity of having the whole village stare at her was not helping the old woman feel any better. People asked a flurry of questions.

Jorale knelt beside her. I've sent Ronadel for a healer.

I can't afford one. It's not that bad, Parina said.

Don't worry about money. Can you sit up?

Parina strained. Her legs twitched a little under long black skirts, but she didn't succeed in rising. Sweat broke out on her brow and she bit her lip, before lying down with a long sigh and a whispered curse.

All right, that's enough, Jorale said. We should get a cart to take you home.

Parina started to shake her head, but the movement caused her to screw her face up. No, she said. No, the shaking. Agony.

Well, we can't leave you here, one onlooker said.

Herumb Scoe, a sturdy man who often spent time with Aivee's mother, approached and looked at the sky. It was blue as a jewel, apart from a couple of very small, fluffy white clouds. I don't see why not, it's pleasant out. As long as someone stays with her.

I'll stay, Jorale volunteered.

Parina smiled with difficulty. Go on, get on with the harvest, the rest of you.

Jorale turned to Aivee. Ask my father for some cushions from the hall.

Aivee nodded and went to fetch them. Migary frowned slightly when he heard that Jorale had sent his horse, but he didn't say anything. He handed her a couple of feather cushions. Aivee took them with thanks and rushed outside.

There was only Jorale, Herumb and her mother waiting by Parina when she returned. The old woman remained lying down, and her face still showed a lot of pain. They slid pillows under her head very slowly. Jorale sat back cross-legged.

Now we wait, he said.

It would take all afternoon for the rider to reach Krebshee and return, assuming the healer could come immediately. Aivee made to sit down beside them, but Jorale caught her mother's eye and held up a hand.

There's no need for you to join me. I'm sure you have lots of other things to do, Aivee. Turoi willing, this will all be sorted out and I'll see you tonight.

His eyes were bright and his smile inviting. Aivee got up and took her leave, thinking at that moment that Jorale had never seemed as attractive as he did then. If he would give up his afternoon to help an injured old woman who had no money then he couldn't be a bad sort. Maybe he was the one she could trust with her secret.

***

Aivee wiped hands that were grainy with mud on each other. Even though her blue dress was in no state to wear to the nameday celebrations, she was loathe to dirty it further. She set a full basket of turnips and mellowroots down outside the chicken enclosure. The wooden fence was full of gaps. As she opened the creaking gate they ran towards her and squawked hopefully. She found a patch of ground that was relatively clean of droppings and spread a handful of seeds from her pocket. The birds piled in, treading on each other's toes, the big black one pecking at any others that got too close.

Aivee checked the shed for eggs, and found two still-warm ones in the straw. She took them carefully. Soft voices floated down from her mother's bedroom. Aivee held her breath and listened as she stepped towards the house.

Her mother spoke. …What I'm going to do. We're barely making enough money to live on. I can't do it all myself.

She's old enough to marry, Jevaya. That's the usual solution.

Aivee was embarrassed, but not surprised, to hear Herumb Croe's voice.

Out of the question, her mother said.

What? Why? I saw her talking to Jorale Migary. That would be a good match.

Aivee held herself still.

Migary's son! I can't imagine anyone worse for her.

He seems nice enough, and wealthy.

There was a pause. Too wealthy. Imagine living your life with the feeling that you owe someone. No, he's not right for her.

Is anyone? Herumb asked. She's going to have to marry some time. She's three years past her nameday.

Aivee's mother sighed. I won't rush her. Marriage can't be forced.

Aivee knew her mother couldn't explain her reluctance without telling Herumb about her daughter's taint.

Jevaya. When you married her father you must have been younger than she is now.

Except her mother had never married. She'd never even talked about Aivee's father, and her silence was another white lie. Aivee's birth was a mystery, and she supposed it was the result of a terrible rape. The shame of it had kept the two of them on the move for most of her childhood. They'd stayed in Inshee longer than any other place, and part of her was afraid she'd soon have to leave again.

I wed at seventeen, Herumb continued. I didn't get a choice. My parents decided who was best for me, and it turned out they were right. I had twelve happy years before the plague took Eneade. It's time to insist.

Aivee strained to hear her mother's whispered reply.

No. I won't make her endure what I had to.

Are you going to tell me what he did to you?

There was silence. If Jevaya had never told Aivee, Herumb wouldn't get an answer either.

Herumb said something that Aivee couldn't make out. Then, louder: I'd like to wring his damn stupid neck, though.

Forget it. He's gone. Likely dead.

He never deserved you. I don't know what he did, but Turoi knows he didn't treat you like a man should. I will. Sell this place and move in with me.

Herumb, I would. But you don't have space for us both.

It went quiet; her mother had started to cry. Then Aivee's face reddened with embarrassment as the sound of kissing drifted down. She was grateful her mother had someone to turn to, but she hadn't known it would be so cringe-making. She started to move off, when her mother's voice stopped her.

This isn't me saying 'yes'. I want her to make her own choice, Jevaya said.

She's taking her sweet time.

Jevaya's tone was sharp. It's not something that can be rushed.

That's your problem right there. You wonder why she has no discipline, and then you let her do what she likes all the time. She's not a princess, so don't treat her like one.

Aivee took the food to the kitchen, then slunk away to her room. So they thought she had no discipline? What about all the time she spent practising her dancing?

She slid down to the floor in her room, sighing. The room was more of a closet than a bedroom, but at least it was her space and she was alone. How long would that last, though?

***

It was the evening of Ronadel Migary's nameday, and the headman had spared no expense for his second son. The village hall had been transformed with flowers and long streamers of multi-coloured cloth hung as bunting along the rafters and over the windows. Dozens of candles illuminated it with a soft glow, and the benches had been moved to the side of the room, where long tables sat, laden with brimming dishes and red wine.

Aivee's attention was on the stage, which had been cleared of podiums and other clutter to make way for the main performance. The dancer spun and flicked her hips. Fabric — crimson, turquoise, gold, and deep ochre, billowed in her wake. The tempo of the music increased, hand drums and strings playing an insistent melody that vibrated through Aivee and set her feet tapping. As the dancer whirled and swayed she sent waves of heady perfume over the audience.

From the back of the packed hall Aivee tried to memorise the moves. Everyone had heard of Echiza the dancer, even in a backwater like Inshee. She was beautiful. She performed a traditional nameday dance, though it was rarely done so suggestively.

At the front of the crowd three burly strangers, Echiza's bodyguards, stood ready to repel any young men who got too enthusiastic. The dancer never travelled without them, people said. Aivee would give her right arm to be able to afford that kind of protection.

The tempo changed, and a drummer beat out a slow, throbbing pulse as Echiza faced away from the audience and swayed her hips gently. The piper started up, lacing a melody over the beat. One of the bodyguards was working something with his hands, and red smoke snaked through the room. A thick tendril of smoke circled Echiza, deliberate as a lover, responding to her body with moves of its own. A smell of musk filled the room.

The dancer's hips rocked faster and faster as the music grew in intensity. Aivee noticed Herumb Scoe slip a possessive hand around her mother's waist, a few paces away. The smoke snaked up and down as though alive. The drumming built to a fever pitch. Then the drum banged once as Echiza turned and whipped off her overskirt. The music and dancing stopped. Underneath, she was wearing a Shoalli-style skirt cut scandalously high to reveal the tops of her thighs.

Jaws dropped around the hall. Migary stood at the front with his mouth half-open. Would he order the troupe out then and there, for surely they had been using magic? Echiza stood there with her legs naked for all to see, drinking in the attention. If Aivee tried that she'd be expelled from Inshee. The silence stretched out.

Then Migary started to clap slowly. Ronadel joined in, standing beside his father, and soon the whole room took up the beat. The music struck up again, and Aivee exhaled. These people could get away with anything so long as it was part of a show — magecraft, lewd behaviour, skimpy clothing. And people welcomed them with open arms rather than chasing them out of the area. They paid them well. What else could these entertainers do?

Aivee jumped as fingers tickled her ribs.

Are you taking notes?

Jorale was close behind her, his breath a little winy. He sported a cheeky grin and a handsome silver-buttoned jacket that threatened to outshine his younger brother's outfit.

Jorale! You surprised me.

And you me. You look beautiful.

Aivee smiled and looked at her feet. She had part-braided her hair and she wore a clean dress and a little rouge on her lips, but that was all. She didn't feel worthy of Jorale.

How is Parina? she asked.

Well. She's recovering in her home now the healer's seen her.

That was generous of you.

The music had started winding up to another crescendo, and they had to lean very close to each other to make themselves heard. Some had begun dancing. Aivee looked around the hall, nervous that people would note her conversation with Jorale, and make assumptions.

My father won't be happy. He's already paid a lot for tonight's performance.

Doesn’t he care about Parina?

Not as much as he cares for his gold.

The words were bitter, but Jorale delivered them with a grin that made Aivee suspect he'd spared no expense just to goad his father. He took her hand and led her to the table, where he poured them both large cups of wine.

Come on, let's not waste it, Jorale said.

The wine was sweet and berry-black, and it kicked all the way down. Her rhythm was weaving in and out of the beat of Echiza's musicians, to dizzying effect. On the floor people spun their partners around. Jevaya and Herumb whooped and twirled amongst the dancers. A red haze hung in the air. Jorale was watching the dancers, so she stole a look at him. His eyelashes were long, and they accompanied piercing blue eyes, but it was the line of his jaw and cheekbones that she found irresistible. She swallowed the rest of her drink.

Her heart was pounding as she leaned in to ask the next question. Shall we dance?

In response he took her hand. Come with me.

He led Aivee away, but he didn't take her to the dance floor. Instead they went around the edge of the revellers and outside. As the door closed, the noise of the hall faded to a stomping of feet and the insistent pulse of the drums. The night sang with crickets, and moths circled madly around the lanterns left outside.

The dancing's in there, Aivee said.

Our parents are in there. The dancing's wherever we are.

Jorale drained his cup and set it down on the wooden board of the hall steps. He picked up one of the lanterns by its long handle.

Come on, Aivee. Let's go for a walk, where we can have a bit more privacy.

Aivee shivered. What he was proposing was indecent, of course, but also deliciously tempting. She wanted to pop those silver buttons on his jacket that were so cruelly separating her from his firm chest beneath. They didn't have to go too far, and there was no harm in sampling each other's delights before making a commitment.

You're not seriously thinking of skipping Ronadel's nameday ceremony?

He squeezed her hand gently. Of course not. I'm skipping it with the utmost frivolity.

She giggled. Jorale laced his fingers around hers and they set off at a brisk, if somewhat meandering, walk. Almost the entire village was at the hall, and there were few lights in the other houses. Fortunately both moons were up, and the brighter Mareina was full. They turned down a path where hedgerows bordered ripe fields of marrow and juicy meatfruit. The forest loomed beyond it, lush and dark.

They spoke about trivial things as they walked, of the harvest and vegetables with amusing names. Jorale's hand in hers was just a warm hand, yet it felt like so much more. He traced circles in her palm with his thumbnail, lighting up every nerve. At the edge of the forest they stopped chatting. The track here was more overgrown, and they had to pick their way carefully in the soft ground. A wild mekreb, a large deer-like creature, cried out in the distance, its bellowing haw-haw a challenge to other males of its kind.

They stepped over a stream where insects darted over the water and frogs belched a chorus. They passed bogberry bushes with branches laden with firm, purple fruit which hung like the breasts of some over-endowed pixie. Aivee grabbed one and bit into it, savouring its hot sweetness as juices bled onto her hand. But she wasn't really hungry, so she tossed it unfinished into the greenery.

There was a noise as something moved away through the undergrowth.

There are animals out here, Aivee said.

"We're animals," Jorale replied.

What if there's a bear?

Jorale laughed and fake-growled into her neck. Then it'll probably eat me first. There's definitely more meat on me. Come on, when was the last time you saw a bear, never mind this close to a village at harvest time?

Aivee shook her head. She'd never seen one that hadn't been in a cage. However, the wild creatures weren't the only reason the forest made her uneasy at night. The canopy blotted out the stars and moon, so anything could be close by in the shadows and they wouldn't know.

They came to a small clearing, and Jorale set the lamp down on a log. His face was lit by dappled moonlight.

I know you love to dance, he said. Why don't you dance for me?

There was something a little bit hungry in his tone, and Aivee liked it. She started to sway her hips.

Give me a beat.

Jorale started to clap in time with her rhythm, although she didn't need anyone to keep time for her. She let her arms flow, her hips rock, and her feet skip. She followed Echiza's patterns, then added flourishes of her own — a shake of the shoulders, a spin, an intricate crossing step. If she was going to be good at something, she wanted to be the best, better than anyone else in Inshee. Damn Echiza.

She turned slowly and sensuously, rotating her hips and hands continuously in a move known as the mermaid. She tried to match the beat of the dance to her internal rhythm so that casting the illusion was easier. When the music was out of phase it was like holding two different tunes in her head at once. Her small feet wore muddy grooves in the forest floor. She was lost in the rhythm and grinning with the effects of wine and the joy of mastering a skill when Jorale stopped clapping and pulled her towards him.

Come here, he said throatily.

Jorale's grip was firm and reassuring around her waist. She snuggled in, still breathing quickly. He ran a hand gently down the small of her back, cupping her buttock and lightly squeezing the fabric of her dress. She moved closer, astonished at her reaction to the smell of his skin, the feel of his hands, everything about him.

His trousers were full of heat. Her heart beat quickly as he leaned his face down and she felt a frisson of joy that, yes, he did have feelings for her, no matter her peasant status. She angled her head upwards and met his kiss. For a moment her rhythm was the galloping of hooves. Then she felt his mouth over hers, and his tongue was softly parting her lips. He tasted of sweet wine, and his gentle yet insistent invasion of her mouth woke her senses to a new level. She responded by crushing herself to him and undoing the buttons of his jacket with one hand. They parted briefly so he could fling the garment on the forest floor, and then she greedily pulled his shirt from his belt.

Aivee reached under his shirt and touched his skin, circling his torso. His hands explored her curves, sending thrills of pleasure through her. Their mouths met once again, hot and smooth. Jorale's mouth left hers and travelled to her neck, his soft nips causing her to gasp. She was ready for this. He unlaced the top of her dress with slow movements that made her tense with anticipation. She moaned with pleasure and kneaded his hair, then thrust her chest forward as he kissed the tops of her breasts. His tongue was darting and wet, and it was not the only part of him she wanted inside her. He was hot and delicious, and at that moment she felt she'd do anything for him.

Jorale's hands slipped behind her back once again, cupping her buttock firmly, kneading, making her gasp. Touching her tail…

Abruptly he pushed her away from him, and she cried out as she backed into a tree. His voice was harsh and growling.

Get away from me! Jorale yelled.

His thrust had hurt her, and the impact had gone right through to her tail.

Jorale, what's— she began.

Get AWAY! You bloody creature!

She couldn't hear her rhythm! Her hands were blue. Her tail was poking through the back of her dress, and she knew all of her krin features were visible: her strange eyes and dorsal ridge. She'd been so lost in the experience…

But Jorale, it's still me, Aivee.

Jorale's face was an ugly scowl in the darkness. I can't believe I let you fool me!

He spat on the grass behind him and wiped his mouth. She brought the rhythm to the front of her mind without difficulty. Now it was a torrent.

I guess that's what you things do, you trick people.

His tone was venomous, and out in the dark forest she was afraid for the first time.

I didn't mean to!

Shut up! I should tell my father!

I thought you didn't agree with him?

He looked at her as though she were a rat in his porridge.

That's why you seduced me. I can't believe I fell for it.

He'd been doing the seducing, but she didn't want to argue the point. She stood up straight and re-tied the front of her dress with shaking fingers.

You fucking demon! Jorale yelled.

He reached for the lantern, and his movement was so violent she was afraid he was going to pick it up and throw it at her. There was a noise like an explosion in her head, and the air changed. She stumbled back in shock, and into darkness. She looked around, amazed that she could move freely. Where was Jorale? Where was she? Was this death? It was cold, and the atmosphere had a sticky feel to it, and a strong smell of sap.

She took another step back, and it all became clear. She had stepped into the tree. Now she was behind it. Jorale was holding the lantern over his head and stalking towards her. He didn't seem to be able to see her, but the tree itself was insubstantial, and so was he. Nothing was solid, except her.

And there was something else: the woods were full of the outlines of trees that hadn't been there before, as ghostly as everything else. The trees were overlaid with others, like a world seen through the veil of another. Aivee spent only a second taking this in. Then she fled.

2

She ran past a thick birch, and her hand passed right through it. The bogberry bush where she'd stopped to eat earlier was no impediment, and she ran through the stream without getting wet or disturbing the water in it.

Aivee ran and ran. She did not dare stop, but wove around the ghost trees until her thighs burned. She was so terrified by this new world, she was barely conscious of the exertion.

As she sprinted down the lane to her house the ghost forest faded, until it was no more than hints of shadows, and then not even that. She had been drinking, but she knew what she'd seen.

When she reached home the house was dark and deserted. She rushed upstairs, closed her door, shut her eyes and fought back tears. Anything for a moment's peace, and the pretence that what had happened with Jorale, hadn't. What in Turoi's name was that? Had she caused it? And could she make it happen again? The pounding in her head had ceased, but her whole body was shaking.

Her eyes jerked open. Did she still look krin? She ran downstairs for a lamp, and took it back to the privacy of her room. Her once pink hands had turned a startling shade of blue. She pulled her tail round; she could see all of it as clearly as ever. Something told her that if she looked in a mirror the other signs would be there too. This hadn't happened for years. With a surge of panic she brought the rhythm back. Her skin returned to its usual pinkness, and she felt her dorsal ridge and tail recede underneath her. Apart from the bulge of her tail, her skin did not feel any different during the change.

Her mind felt like it was stretched tight. Normally she would never let her guard down, but in her room, with a thin sheet of fabric over the window, she had a degree of privacy.

Slowly she let the rhythm fade once more, until her hands went blue. She pulled it back again and watched the instant change in her skin. She did it again, to make sure she could. Then again, back and forth. Her skin flashed from one colour to another as fast as blinking. It was bizarre. She was an abomination.

Aivee dropped the music altogether, confident now that she could bring it back at will. The silence was comforting for some reason she couldn't quite place. She looked worse than ever, in fact utterly demonic. It was a wonder her mother hadn't drowned her at birth, when there was no concealing her nature. She hadn't noticed before how disconcerting the rhythm was, like the breath of a monstrous beast in her ear. Now everything was more solid, more real. She ran her fingers over the floorboards and felt the grain of them and their unyielding hardness, as though for the first time.

She'd stepped through a tree. Jorale would denounce her, and the villagers would burn her. She couldn't get over the look on his face, from lover to aggressor in one fatal second. A mob from the village hall could be on their way to her house already, coming to capture her. She had to move fast.

She cast her disguise once more, like chucking on an old shirt. She donned fresh clothes, and stuffed the rest of her small wardrobe and a blanket into a bag, found a water flask, and put some money into a pouch. It didn't take long: she had little.

But what of her mother? Would Jorale Migary punish her for her daughter's taint? Could Herumb protect her from everyone, and more to the point, would he?

Aivee was certain about one thing: she was a danger to them both. She had to leave, and do so in a way that would prevent them from ever following her, or ever doubting her reasons for going. A note, then.

Damn, but she hated writing. She found a pen and ink, and unrolled a couple of thick sabal leaves. Not the best medium, but it would have to do. What to say?

J

Gone to Baftorn. Cannot marry.

She decided not to elaborate on that, because her mother would understand.

Will apply to temple.

A stroke of genius, that. Since priestesses danced in ceremonies, anyone who opposed her choice would seem irreligious. It was a good option for women who could not marry. Still, it was a lie that would fail when Jorale told what he knew.

She kept the rest of it short.

Herumb is a good man. Marry him. Don't worry about me.

Love you, Mum.

Aivee.

At least she believed in that last part. She left the leaf on her table, grabbed her pack, and rushed down the stairs and out the door, closing it behind her. At her gate she turned and looked at the small cottage she had once called home. In the gloom she could make out an upturned wheelbarrow that needed repairs, a bush that needed cutting back, and the front door with peeling paint. Shabby, but it had still been a haven. She would miss her mother, and even her mother's new man, Herumb, who in spite of his interference in her life made her laugh and seemed to care.

She hurried down the dirt path. Would she ever return? Herumb had better be the man she thought he was, and look after her mother.

***

It was around four in the morning when exhaustion took the place of fear. Aivee was deep in the forest, too wary of taking the open road to Kaddon. The forest might have been a mistake. Animals hunted in these woods at night, and though she had walked for hours already the trail was rough and she hadn't covered much distance. More than once she'd resorted to walking along a stream bed because that was the only place clear of vegetation.

Her feet were wet, and now a mist had risen. It obscured the moon Mareina and reduced it to a watery blur. Moisture was beginning to collect on branches. A droplet fell and trickled down her back, mingling with her sweat. She had to find a suitable spot for the night, but nowhere looked good. It didn't help that she couldn't see far in the gloom, and the shadows were deepening. There were twigs she didn't see until she cracked them underfoot. The forest smelled of soil and rotting leaves, and now and then the sharp, musky tang of fox clogged the air. She walked on, searching.

About half an hour later, when Aivee felt ready to lie down where she stood, she found what she was looking for. The ancient, bone-white tree was the width of two doors. Its trunk split at the height of her chest, and several long, thick fingers extended upwards into the canopy. She climbed up, wiping away a small puddle of water that had collected in the centre. Wedging the rest of her belongings in a hollow in one of the branches, she unwrapped her blanket and knotted it into a hammock slung between two boughs. She hoped it would hold, but at least there wasn't far to fall if it didn't. The hammock sagged with her weight as she settled into the tree's palm-like embrace. Lumpy knots dug into her back at odd angles, but she didn't have the energy to get up and put it right, so she left it. She pulled the blanket tightly around herself.

For hours she had expected to hear shouts and the sounds of pursuit. But the forest was quiet now, and even the mekreb had stopped their bellowing. Night birds ghosted past, feeding silently on insects. Perhaps she should worry about the silent predator stalking through the trees, and not a mob crashing noisily through the undergrowth? The beasts out here would smell her, even if she hid from them.

The trees around her crowded out of the mist like so many phantoms. Everything was insubstantial, uncanny. She wondered whether she would slip into that other place full of spirit trees and unreal terrain. Her pulse quickened. She took a slow breath in and out, stilling her mind until the beat was no more than a whisper. It was absurd to be afraid of forest predators. She was the monster.

These thoughts weren't helping her sleep though, and she needed it. Time to focus on more cheerful things. Like Kaddon. They called it the Jewel of Tazelinn. Was it full of buildings that sparkled? It had to be beautiful.

She imagined what she would say to the people she met there, mentally conversing with theatre owners, rich patrons, other famous dancers, princes.

"I'm Aivee Rapple, and this is a new style of dance I've been working on. I call it the… night step. What do you think? It's my own invention."

In Kaddon she would be a new person. In Kaddon they would love her.

3

The city of Kaddon stank like a twenty-day-old fish, and yesterday's rain hadn't done much to mask the smell. The ripe scent stuck to hair, clothes, and furniture, and clung there with the persistence of a curse. It stank the worst in the docks, where Nori was now.

So, Barcai, do you have any work for me? Nori asked.

Barcai was a thickset man in his late forties, a cushion of fat obscuring his strong muscles. He shifted his weight, sucking his teeth as though what he was about to say pained him.

No.

But there's hardly anyone here. Where are all of your usual workers?

Business has been slow, Barcai said. I haven't had the orders I usually do.

Nori wasn't buying it. The warehouse was quiet, but it wasn't dead. Maybe if it didn't reek so badly, things would pick up.

It's because I'm a woman, isn't it?

I'd say the same to any man.

I can work as hard as any man, you know. I'm young and strong, and I know the works. My mother ran a warehouse on the Isle of Annar. Come on, Barcai, give me a chance.

I wish I could. I remember your mother, you know. She was tenacious as well. But I can't offer what I don't have, and right now I've no work for you.

Nori crossed her arms, gave him a hard look, and waited.

You can stare all you want, it won't change matters. Now, if you don't mind— He pointed to the exit.

Nori walked out, chin up but spirits somewhere below the holes in her well-worn boots. Barcai's had been the last warehouse on her list. She'd lost count of how many places she'd been, but she had to keep going. It was that or starve, and things were already looking as though they'd end up that way. She couldn't keep asking her little sister for loans.

It had been seven days since she lost her job at Ceimar's House of Fine Clothing. Ceimar's widow Onanda had turned to drink after his death, but Nori and the other shop girls had managed well enough without her help. Or so it seemed, until the city guards arrived with an eviction notice and a repossession order on all the stock. Nori had assumed Onanda owned the business outright, but she had debts on it and she'd been pouring the takings down her throat instead of paying them off.

Nori should have seen it coming, but you can't save everyone from themselves. In Kaddon it was hard enough to look out for one person.

She walked home. A whore glared at her from the street corner, her half-naked legs glimmering with brilliantly-coloured imitation Tironian silks. Her scowl was a warning: get off my patch.

As though Nori would want her patch. The girl was an insect, with bright colours promising venom and danger. She was as fake as her silks, but the danger was real enough. If things didn't pick up soon Nori would have no choice but to turn to less honest ways of making a living. She fingered her side, feeling the ribs poking through. At this rate, she wouldn't have many takers if she tried to make a living on her back. There was a bright side to everything.

***

Home was four storeys of rotting timbers and crumbling stonework, slowly being colonised by lichen, beetles, and growing mounds of refuse. Nori only occupied rooms on the top floor. Wiano collared her when she got to the stairs. His dark hair lay flat on his head like a wet rag.

Eighty doublons, Nori.

What? It's only forty a month!

Still is. But I want next month's in advance.

Since when? We had an agreement —

The landlord met her glare. Since people started disappearing. I can't collect from the missing.

I can't sell clothes to the dead, either. That doesn't mean I get to charge everyone else for the lost income. She hadn't told Wiano about losing her job. He didn't look the sympathetic type.

You won't find another landlord in the north side who isn't asking for advance payment. Most of them want two months.

So you got together with your landlord friends and agreed to raise prices.

It's only business.

The universal excuse. It meant, I know I'm gouging you. Please don't hurt me for it. But what could she do, short of beating him up? He deserved a slap, and she felt like giving him one. She breathed in slowly and gritted her teeth.

I want my money within the tenday, or you and your sister are out.

"You can't collect if you don't have any tenants. You'll have the money when we agreed."

I'll have it by the tenday.

You fix the roof yet? Do that and I'll give you eighty.

I'll see what I can do, he said. She knew he wouldn't bother.

Nori didn't want to prolong the discussion. She trod gingerly up the narrow, crumbling stairs. Storming up them was a bad idea. Besides, she hated to make a display of her emotions. She didn't have his eighty doublons. She didn't have forty. They might scrape by if Ibrienne had been given a raise, but that was as likely as Wiano coming to fix the roof.

She slunk in and lit a candle. Ibrienne's bed was empty. Nori didn't remember her having any plans for the evening, but her younger sister liked to do things on a whim. Still, bone-weary as she was, she wanted to talk to someone about the awful day she'd had. The tiny room seemed drab without her.

She slumped down on the other bed and pulled her boots off. It was hardly worth wearing them, but if she left them here in the flat someone might steal them. She crawled under the thin, scratchy blanket and blew the candle out. No sense wasting it. Within minutes she was asleep.

***

At daybreak, wind howled through the hole in the roof and snatched at a skirt hanging on a peg. Ibrienne's skirt. Nori flung her itchy blanket back, and noticed with mounting unease that Ibrienne's bed was still empty. Where was she?

Her sister was no fool, but Kaddon was no place for a young woman to be out all night. It wasn't even the kind of