The Mouth of Kopth

By Roger Parkinson

Eight years on from the events in 'The Tower of Sheagil', Falia is an avowed priestess dividing her time between the infirmary and the palace. But people remember that Kopth once spoke through her, giving her more prestige than she is comfortable with. She is the Mouth of Kopth. So the Emperor asks the Mouth of Kopth to travel south to look into the nature of the strange creatures there. Are they humans or just a forest animal?

The journey takes her to places further than the Emperor, or anyone, dreamed of. She finds something much more menacing than forest creatures. And she finds that Kopth still speaks through her in ways she never thought possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Parkinson
• Release date: Jan 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005622985

Roger Parkinson

Roger Parkinson is an author by night and a software consultant by day, although sometimes the two are reversed. He lives with his wife (high school sweetheart) and four sheep in New Zealand in an earth brick house that looks like a Romanesque Abbey (lots of arched windows). He built most of the furniture for the house himself and so far only one piece has collapsed.Apart from writing books he dabbles in electronics, gardening, kayaking, hiking and growing his hair.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Apart from a breeze that was just a little too strong, it was a perfect day for an outing at the seaside. Olcish had brought a wicker screen to block the worst of the wind and Elithun sat in its lee suckling her youngest. She gazed across the sand towards the tumbling breakers that hissed and roared, their foaming tops flashing in the sunlight.

Falia took the two older children off to walk along the beach, sure that Elithun and Olcish would value some time away from their prattling. They had Sona to help with the children, but she and Haldin, one of Olcish’s men-at-arms who had come along on the outing, were down at the water’s edge. Sona was making far more noise than was strictly necessary jumping over the remnants of the waves as they spent themselves onto the beach. It seemed she needed to hold onto Haldin’s arm to stay upright. Well, Falia did not begrudge them some time together either.

Look, Aunty Falia. Worms. The speaker was six year old Amolden, he was crouching over an odd shape on the sand, his pointing finger drifting towards it.

With a deft movement Falia caught his hand away just in case it was something unpleasant, and examined the sand herself.

It did look like a tangle of worms.

It’s just sand, dear. The worms have gone. Those are their casts.

Worms gone, echoed four year old Hrana. She had made no move to touch the thing and was content to stand holding Falia’s hand. She looked up at Falia. Where did they go?

How should I know? said Falia. Hrana was always asking questions.

Because you know everything, piped Amolden. Kopth talks to you.

Not everything, she said with a smile, wondering where he had picked that up. But I always know when you’re naughty, don’t I? She grabbed him around the waist with one hand and tickled him, making him squirm and giggle. And I know when you’ve been good, and today you’ve been good haven’t you?

Yes, he answered through his giggles. I have!

Hrana was still examining the worm casts. She prodded one with a finger and the dry sand collapsed to dust. The untouched casts remained but that one vanished as if it had never been there.

Gone, she said again. It’s dead. She looked up at Falia with serious brown eyes not unlike the ones Falia saw every time she looked in a mirror.

No, it left the shape in the sand and went off. Perhaps it burrowed under.

Where do they go when they die?

What? Worms?

Hrana nodded.

I suppose they stay where they are if they’re underground. No one has to bury them. Shall we go and see why Sona’s making so much noise?

She’s in love with Haldin, said Amolden. That’s why she’s acting so silly.

Well, who would have thought? she said with a laugh. Perhaps we need to rescue Haldin, then.

*

After the day at the seaside they found themselves lounging on the divans on Althak’s terrace. Sona had lit paper lanterns and strung them overhead. A soft glow illuminated a low table strewn with plates and bowls of food.

The children, fed and happily tired after their day out, were curled up on a bed indoors. Apart from the odd glance over her shoulder by Elithun no one gave them a thought.

That’s a very pleasant wine, said Keashil, Falia’s mother. Where’s it from?

Olcish brought it, said Althak. Well, lad?

I bought it last month when I was over at Talmuzir for that argument about the river pier. They grow some good grapes on the slopes there. The local farmers talk on and on about flinty soil and drainage. I didn’t take much notice until they gave me a cup of what they’d been making. Then I bought a cart load of bottles. It only got here last week.

Don’t tell too many people about it, dear, said Keashil. They’ll buy it all up and leave none for us.

I was thinking of letting Lartin the baker know. He was talking of diversifying. A few wine sales would suit him well, I think. And of course he won’t be interested in telling people where he gets it from.

Do you get a cut of this business? asked Falia.

No. Oh, I’m sure he’ll keep us supplied with wine at a good price. But I don’t think I should get into commerce. There are too many legal disputes that come out of it. I’d find myself having to untangle cases that involved my colleagues. It wouldn’t do.

Indeed it wouldn’t, said Althak. Lartin’s a good fellow and he needs the income more than you do. Even with all those fine children to feed. He gave Elithun a wink.

We do have everything we need, I’m sure. Though I sometimes wish Olcish didn’t have to travel so much, said Elithun.

He’s young, said Althak. And he’s making his mark. When he’s old like me—oh yes I am, don’t laugh—it will be too much trouble and he’ll save his old bones from journeys. And it could be worse, Elithun, you could be wishing him away rather than home.

Elithun, who was sitting next to Olcish, leaned herself against him and whispered something in his ear that made him smile. Althak noticed and glanced at Keashil. Whatever it was, Keashil had heard it and turned a soppy grin towards Althak. Her hearing was better than everyone else’s, it almost made up for her blindness.

They were all, Falia knew, paired off happily. Each of them had a special someone to share intimacies with. She had Kopth, and for all they called her the Mouth of Kopth, it was hardly an intimate relationship. But they were her family, and that would have to be enough. The children were especially dear to her, surely as dear as her own would have been.

And talking of travel, I’ve some news, said Althak. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and put his cup down. Not news you’ll want to hear, Elithun, I’m sorry. I was in council with Vorish this morning and we want Olcish to inspect the southerners. Now, it’s not a tour of duty, shouldn’t take more than a month. But I know it will seem longer.

Does... does it have to be Olcish?

Elithun took hold of Olcish’s arm, almost as though she could stop them dragging him away.

Actually, yes it does. Vorish trusts Olcish, so do I but that goes without saying. And Olcish is the only one either of us trusts enough for this particular job.

Inspect? asked Falia. Checking if the troops have enough boots and so on? Soldiers were always complaining about their boots or their shields.

Not this time. Vorish wants him, and you, to inspect the southerners themselves.

Oh, you want Falia to go too? Keashil’s expression moved through concern, fear, then relief when she remembered Olcish was going to be there. She never thought to school her face, of course.

Me? Why? And I hardly think I can spare the time. We’ve had a lot of cases of red spot fever lately. I’m trying to keep the outer houses going but many of them are too short staffed to work their gardens because of all the sick children. We’ll run out of fresh food in a month or so.

You can hire labour, can’t you? asked Olcish.

Day labourers, yes, but not many. They’re more expensive than permanent staff, but we can’t commit to longer. We’ve no money for that.

Althak looked pensive.

You’re more or less running that place these days, aren’t you?

No, no really I’m not. It used to be Marli in charge but since she died everyone just gets on with what needs to be done. Karthi and the older ones tell the younger ones what’s needed, which is all Marli ever did anyway.

You do that too, said Olcish. I’ve seen you.

As I said, everyone gets on with what’s needed, sometimes it’s telling the younger ones what to do.

But you’re the Mouth of Kopth, said Althak with a twinkle in his eye.

Falia saw the sharp tap Keashil made on Althak’s forearm. It was part of the little language of small touches Keashil used to serve for facial expressions she could not see: a frown, a resigned look, a kind smile. Falia knew them well for Keashil had taught them to her and Olcish as children, probably at the same time they learned to talk. The tap was a frown. Keashil knew Falia did not like hearing about the Mouth of Kopth.

Oh, leave me alone, woman, said Althak. She knows what they all talk about and she knows it gives her more say in how the place is run than otherwise. That’s true enough, isn’t it, Falia?

I suppose it might. I prefer to think it gives all of us there some prestige. You know the Mouth of Kopth was emptying bedpans this morning?

Who decides how many labourers to hire?

Oh, well that would be me, between the bedpans of course. But we’re all busy, too busy to run off to the southern borders looking at soldiers’ boots.

That’s what I told the Emperor, said Althak. He shrugged. But you took this afternoon off.

Yes. The temptation is to work until you drop, but then you get sick and are no use to anyone. Is Vorish going to come and empty some bedpans for us? Maybe he can pick up a hoe and help in the gardens.

Olcish chuckled and Althak gave a sly grin.

Maybe something better, but only if you agree to go with Olcish.

Really? You mean money, don’t you? How much?

Enough to hire a few labourers.

Is this good dinner conversation, Althak? said Keashil. We had a lovely afternoon and now you’re back to business.

It’s for the infirmary, mother, said Olcish.

I know, dear.

Except it sounds more like it’s about getting me to go on this journey with Olcish. I think I’d rather empty bedpans. I hate sitting on a horse all day. Falia did some calculations in her head. How many labourers? And for how long?

Vorish talked of twenty men—

I need thirty, and enough money to pay them until the winter festival. And three cart loads of black rock.

Really, dear, that’s quite enough of this talk.

And she tells us she’s not in charge, said Olcish.

Just because I know what we need—

I think Vorish will get you your labourers and maybe the black rock, and your mother is right. Business like this can wait until tomorrow. He glanced over his shoulder. Sona seemed to enjoy herself today.

I have it from Amolden that she’s in love with Haldin, said Falia.

Oh, that’s been going on for ages, said Elithun.

He’s well enough set up, isn’t he? Althak looked at Olcish. Haldin was Olcish’s man.

Been with me for six years now. He’s from a bit north of here, by the Goshar River somewhere near the mouth I think. There’s money in the family but he’s a younger son.

Would he think himself too high for Sona? asked Keashil.

You know, suddenly this sounds almost as much like business as the earlier talk, said Olcish. I can say this, he’s a decent fellow, he won’t give Sona any unwanted bother. She’s safe enough playing up to him. But I’ve no idea if he has any intentions.

*

How many aunties do I have?

Always the questions with this one, thought Elithun. Amolden never asked so many, and when he did he was easily answered. Not Hrana, though.

Well, there’s Aunty Falia, and I’ve got sisters, they’re your aunts too, though we never see them. Too many sisters, she thought but did not say. That was why they did not want me.

How many sisters?

It... it depends how you count them, dear. We Vorthenki call everyone in the same house we live in an aunty or a sister, all the girls anyway. Some of them are sisters and some of them are sort-of sisters. So they’re sort-of aunts to you. I couldn’t tell you how many. More than ten. Less than twenty, though there might be more now. Hrana could count to twenty if she really tried.

What about Sona and Shen? Aren’t they my aunties?

Yes, perhaps more sort-of aunties, but we can count them.

There was an aunty in my room when I was having my sleep.

Probably Shen fetching your washing.

Not Shen. But she said she was my aunty.

I think you were just dreaming, darling. You know dreams aren’t real, don’t you?

This was a very real dream.

They sometimes are, but as long as it wasn’t a bad dream it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t a bad dream, was it?

No. I don’t think so.

*

The other priestesses slept at the infirmary but Falia, the Mouth of Kopth, usually slept in the palace in the apartment Althak and Keashil kept. Sometimes after a long day she might curl up on a pallet with the other priestesses at the infirmary, but she preferred her bed in the palace. Besides, she had other duties there. Her mother was in demand as a musician at the Emperor’s feasts and Falia often played there too, which meant she needed time to practise.

So she normally rose early and made her way, often by lamplight, to the infirmary. At this time of year the days were long enough for it to be light, but there were deep shadows in the streets and the morning air was cool. It was a reminder of the chill that winter would bring in a few months along with its coughs and colds. She should get Frethi to start brewing up the syrup they used to treat those soon.

Another difference between Falia and the other priestesses was that they were all Vorthenki, like Elithun and Althak, which meant they were big boned, tall women with brown or yellow hair and round eyes. Falia’s looks tended towards the smaller, dark-haired Relanese.

It was proverbial that priestesses never had any money. It was because whatever cash they acquired was quickly spent on their work. Falia was no exception there, despite her wealthy stepfather, but unlike her sisters she did have some nice clothes and a few pieces of jewellery. It would not really do to sit on a stage with her harp while still dressed in her inevitably grubby priestess robe.

But most of the time she wore that priestess robe, the copper spiral, and her earrings.

Every priestess wore a spiral of copper wire on a leather thong around her neck. It was the only jewellery they wore, and it was a badge of office rather than decoration. No one, no Vorthenki man, anyway, would treat that spiral with anything less than respect. For her own reasons Falia added a pair of earrings. Olcish had given them to her eight years ago, just before Teri had been killed, and she wore them always to remember her.

Some days she went back to the palace at noon, but not when they were this busy. Today she worked through until mid afternoon, the usual mixture of bedpans, making sure that Frethi who was brewing up salves had what she needed, a talk with Karthi about what Althak had said the night before, and some entries into the journal she kept of what the farms had and what they needed. She could not read or write, not really, but she had a kind of shorthand for keeping track.

Lori, who had been with her years ago on Ramuz, had brought in one of her many children with a cough. One of the juniors had looked at it and given Lori some advice. Falia found they were leaving at the same time as she was.

I don’t think she knew I used to be a priestess, said Lori. I started to tell her, then I thought... well, I thought I’d better not say that.

Probably for the best. We weren’t proper priestesses on Ramuz anyway.

You are, though. Now, I mean. Look at you with the copper spiral and all. I’ve still got mine somewhere, but I wouldn’t wear it, of course.

Of course.

You don’t miss...? Well you wouldn’t miss it, I suppose. You never, um...

No, I never did. But I’m glad you’re happy, Lori. That’s important to me.

Oh, I am, I really am. I’ve got a good man, a really good man, if you know what I mean. Well, you don’t, but you must have some idea. And he’s kind. I saw that from the first. You know he was worried Trali would feel put out when I turned up. But he was ever so nice to her, then he worried I’d feel left out so he was nice to me too. Anyway we all get along very well. Trali helps me a lot. I seem to be always pregnant or nursing or getting pregnant. She’s stopped though so she’s got more time. Actually I don’t know how I’d cope without her.

Lori was inclined to prattle on and on, and it was always about her children or her love life, most of which Falia had already heard more than once. She did not require much response and Falia had enough time to wonder if Althak had taken up the matter of money to hire labourers with the Emperor. As they made their way through the town she noticed, as she always did, that child she had nursed through a fever, or that one who had had an eye infection, or this woman who brought her a small bunch of flowers, grateful for the ease Falia had given her dying mother. Many of them she did not remember exactly, and they were probably respectful of any priestess who walked by. She overheard one man pointing her out to a small boy. The Mouth of Kopth, he said.

Back at the palace she found Keashil out on the terrace at her harp. She was working on some new music, a lively tune meant to entertain the children. It had some words to it based on an old nursery rhyme but with unexpected twists.

Althak was sitting listening to her and he rose from his chair when Falia arrived.

I’ve been waiting for you, he said.

And I thought you were listening to my music, said Keashil, trying to sound peeved but failing.

That too, of course, my dear. But I did want to talk with Falia. Shall we go indoors, Falia? We can talk without interrupting your mother.

There was a sitting room with wide windows and soft divans. She could still hear Keashil through an open window. Falia could also hear Sona sweeping in one of the bedrooms. Althak poured them each a cup of wine.

You spoke with the Emperor then?

Yes. You have thirty five labourers until the winter festival. You don’t have to pay them. They’re surplus labour from Vorish’s own estates.

Falia wrinkled her nose.

Does ‘surplus’ mean they aren’t any use?

No. They’ll be good workers. I’m adding a few more from my own people, picked fellows used to organising others, and they’ll supervise Vorish’s folk. I assume you’d rather the priestesses could leave the farm work entirely.

As much as possible. They will want to keep an eye on things. We don’t just grow vegetables, you know. There are medicinal herbs, some of them delicate.

I thought as much, my fellows will take their orders from your priestesses, and they’ll make sure the rest follow them too. They’ve leave to enforce orders, apply punishments and so on.

The ‘your priestesses’ reference reminded Falia that he still thought she ran things at the infirmary. As for punishments, it seemed to be the only way to handle unruly workers, but she hoped they would just do what they were told.

What about the black rock?

It’s a lot of black rock. What do you use it for? I know you don’t cook with it.

No, the smoke is too foul. We use wood for cooking. But we make tinctures in the annex where the smoke doesn’t bother people so much. It takes a lot of long boiling and then chilling the steam to get the essences we need. They work much better if they’re pure.

You’re distilling them? I didn’t know that. Who did you get your equipment from?

Hallath, he keeps a workshop near Lartin’s bakery.

Althak nodded thoughtfully.

I’ll get one of Vorish’s engineers to take a look at it if you like. They’re getting very good at making the seals tight, might save you some boiling. And I’ll get you some black rock. Two cart loads and we’ll see about more.

This is all very welcome. Very welcome indeed.

Vorish is keen that you accompany Olcish. Oh, and before you start telling me about gruelling horseback rides let me tell you that most of the journey is by sea. You can sail down the coast more easily than travel overland. And you even know the ship. It’s the same one that brought you back from Ramuz. It was a new boat then and it’s ten years old now, so it’s seen a few changes.

Does it still spit dragon flame?

Oh yes, and that particular feature is still a secret so best not to mention it in other company. Have we answered your objections to the journey?

I... I suppose so. Actually I’m really grateful for the workers and everything, Althak. That’s a weight off my mind. But...

But?

What exactly does the Emperor want me to do?

Inspect the southerners, as I said last night.

You mean the troops or the farmers?

Neither.

Then you mean... oh.

The savages, yes.

And what does ‘inspect’ actually mean? I don’t think they’ll line up and let me look at their boots. They don’t wear boots anyway.

They don’t. We always understood they were animals, nuisance animals. It’s productive country and the farmers are constantly harassed by the savages. Hence the need for troops, you’ve heard all this before from Olcish, I expect.

I know they raise tea and spices of all kinds. We use them sometimes in the infirmary but they’re expensive in any quantity. The savages live in the jungle and don’t farm anything at all.

Just like animals, yes.

‘Barefoot and bare arsed’ was the expression Olcish used when he came back from a tour down there a few years ago. It sounds like anyone can inspect them quite easily. I don’t see what Vorish wants from me.

It’s true they wear very little clothing. There are many strange things in the forest, some of them look more or less like men but covered in hair, more at home in the treetops than on the ground. And some of them look quite a lot more like men, and walk on the ground. Vorish has been wondering lately if some of those are, indeed, men. And if they are men they are his subjects.

Oh, and if they are his subjects they have access to the law to settle disputes with the farmers.

Vorish, as you well know, is very keen on the law. This is one of the reasons your brother and I spend so much time at the courts.

Yes, that does make sense. I, on the other hand, find myself wondering who tends their sick. Not that we have the resources to help them.

One thing at a time. Vorish wants to hear whether you think the savages are animals or people. You understand this could have considerable implications.

I suppose it must if they really are people. But you haven’t told me why Vorish wants to hear from me particularly. Couldn’t Olcish give him a more learned legal opinion?

Olcish is not the Mouth of Kopth. I’m sorry, Falia, these are Vorish’s words. If our thinking has to change on this matter there will be resistance. It’s better if it is backed by someone with your prestige.

You want the Mouth of Kopth to announce that the savages are human so the farmers won’t revolt?

Vorish does actually want your opinion. Olcish has been down there before, he’s commanded troops there, been involved in the fighting. So have I. It is difficult to approach the question with an open mind. When you see them for yourself you’ll understand more. But to do that you have to go there. And, yes, if the decision goes that way it will be better coming from you. I’m not as certain as Vorish about it stopping the farmers from revolting, But usually Vorish has half a dozen other plans that I don’t know about.

He’ll have people among the farmers, I expect. Are they Relanese or Vorthenki?

Mostly Relanese. You have heard some of the history, I think. A lot of higher ranking Relanese were displaced by the invasion here years ago. Some of them came back when Vorish took the throne. Some of them stayed where they were, carving out a living on the edges of Relanese territory. Most of the farmers are descended from those, still talking of past glories.

That’s Kelenun, isn’t it? We’ve a priestess down there. Lethi, I’ve never met her but we sometimes send her supplies.

Kelenun is the the city on the coast, yes, but the savages and the farmers are inland from there. His mouth twisted into a wry grin. So there is a little time on horseback. The city is used to Vorthenki visitors and the Drinol is Vorish’s man, of course. But the farmers inland... He shrugged. Not all of them see the difference between Vorish and Sinalth, the Invader.

So they won’t welcome a Vorthenki priestess.

Perhaps not, but as your mother often reminds me, you are from Golshuz which was always part of Relanor.

Kopth is Vorthenki.

Apparently not always. You’ll go, then?

Yes. I’ll go.

Chapter 2

It was the strangest room Hrana had ever been in, and the messiest too. There was stuff everywhere, old stuff, dusty stuff. It was heaped in the corners where cobwebs grew over it, and scattered across the floor as if there was no one to pick it up. Shen always picked things up, or Sona, or even Mama sometimes. But Aunty was not like any of those. Obviously Aunty was too important to pick things up, or dust things or clear cobwebs. She was like Aunty Falia except, Hrana suspected, even more important. But that should mean she had a Shen or a Sona to pick up for her. Perhaps she was too important even for that. It must be a bit dreadful to be that important. Hrana knew that Aunty was the sort of important person you only showed your best behaviour to.

I’m not sure how I got here, Aunty. Where is this place?

I brought you here. This is my own room. This is where I... a curious smile crossed Aunty’s face. This is where I live.

But there’s no bed. Where do you sleep? Hrana could see a table on one side of the room piled with junk and more cobwebs. It looked vaguely like a bed but clearly no one slept on it.

I do not sleep. Little girls need to sleep but grown ups do not.

Mama sleeps.

Well she is still quite young. I am a lot older than her.

More than twenty?

Oh, yes. But look around, tell me what you see. I do not normally let anyone in here, just my special friends.

Well, there’s a lot of... um... different things. I don’t know what they are.

Then you should ask me.

Hrana, Aunty’s special friend, felt emboldened.

The stuff on the table. Glass jars with things in them. What are they for?

Aunty laughed. It was a quiet kind of laugh and Hrana was not quite sure she exactly meant to laugh like that. But she answered.

They are for magic, of course. This one, she pointed at the first jar that had clear liquid with what looked like a kind of mushroom floating in it. That is a lung, you have two in your chest just like that. Yours are bigger, that one is from a baby. Beside it, that is a tiny dragon. It never hatched, that is why it is still curled up like that.

It thinks it’s still in its shell?

No, it does not think anything. It is dead. Now this next one was tipped over long ago and the jar broke, see? And you see what is in it?

A blobby red thing. It was like a poo except for the colour but Hrana did not like to say that to Aunty.

It is a sort of worm. It comes from Anthor. It is the most poisonous thing in the world. One touch and you would be dead before you took three breaths.

What if I held my breath?

You would die just as quickly.

Is it dead like the other things?

Yes. Everything in this room is dead except you. But the worm is still poisonous.

Hrana knew there was something odd about what Aunty had said then but she could not quite unravel it. Instead she moved to the next object. It was not in a jar.

What’s that?

That is the skeleton of a bat. You see one wing stretched out? They have skin between their fingers there and there so they can fly like birds.

They aren’t birds? Aunty Falia showed me a bat once, a live one, it flew past our terrace one evening. I thought it was a kind of bird.

More a kind of mouse.

But mice can’t fly.

They can if they are bats.

But not if they’re dead.

No, not if they are dead. Do you think we can make this one alive?

Hrana looked at the skeleton dubiously. Things that were dead, in her limited experience, stayed that way. But Aunty seemed serious.

How?

Just a little magic, you could do it, a brave girl like you.

That made her a little wary. When Mama talked about being brave it meant something was going to hurt. But doing her own magic, that was interesting. Even so, she was not stupid.

How brave?

You are a clever girl. You only need to be a little bit brave. It is easy enough and you will hardly notice. We just need a drop of blood from your finger. Use that little knife on the table. The tiniest drop, and put it onto the bat just here.

You mean cut myself?

Just a nick, not a real cut. And the knife is so sharp you will hardly feel it. Oh, I see, well I thought you were brave and clever. Never mind, I will get another little girl to do it. Perhaps it is time you went home.

No, wait. I can. I think I can. Hrana picked up the knife. It was small, but her tiny hand struggled to hold it steady. Where should I...? You do it for me, Aunty. She held the knife out to her.

It does not work unless you do it yourself. Aunty shrugged. It is how magic has to work. So if you cannot do it...

I can do it! Hrana did not stop to think about it. She gripped the knife and slashed it across her fingers leaving a line across three finger tips that oozed red. It stung, then it throbbed a bit. But nothing more.

Aunty clapped her hands.

Good girl! Now, let the drops fall on the bat. Where I showed you, just there. Now watch.

She watched. Nothing happened at first, then the bat’s bones went sort of blurry, as if they were growing fur. A moment later she realised there was indeed fur but it was on skin, and the bat had eyes and little teeth now. The eyes were blinking as though it had just woken from sleep. Quite a long sleep, Hrana supposed.

You did that. I think you have a gift for this sort of thing.

I did? I have? Hrana looked at her fingers. They were still throbbing but the blood had stopped. Someone was going to ask how that had happened when she got home. It hurts a bit.

That is the thing about magic, it always hurts. Maybe not at the time, maybe later, or maybe something hurt before and magic makes it right. That is why only brave people can do it. You see?

I suppose it doesn’t hurt much, said Hrana. She was looking at the bat which had woken up enough to flop about clumsily on the table. Hrana supposed it was trying to remember how not to be dead. She hoped it would fly and it almost did, but as it propped itself up looking as though it would launch itself into the air one wing brushed against the spilled worm on the table next to it.

The bat froze for a moment then seemed to struggle and gasp. It let out a high pitched wail and then a sort of pop when it collapsed on the table lifeless. As Hrana watched, its fur and skin turned to dust and all that was left was the skeleton that was there before. It was even in much the same position.

Well, said Aunty rather brightly. That worm is still as poisonous as ever. Do you want to make something else alive? What about this?

She pointed to a piece of rubbish on the floor beside an odd looking doorway. Hrana could not remember if that was how they had got to this room or not. The rubbish had gold in it.

What is it?

My husband, what is left of him. He was wearing that belt when he died and there must be bits of him still on it. Shall we bring him back?

Hrana looked down at her fingers. There was no more blood and she was not feeling very brave at all now.

I want to go home.

Aunty shrugged.

Actually it would take more blood than you have in you to bring him back. I have another way though. She glanced at the bat. And now I know it works.

*

Going on a journey was not, of course, simple. Falia had to visit all the farms around the city herself and make sure these labourers were properly installed and doing what was needed. The local priestesses were used to doing that work themselves or, more often lately, just wringing their hands that so much was left undone. But Althak was true to his word. Most of Vorish’s folk were slaves, but Althak had sent trusted free men to supervise them. They set up canvas shelters, latrines and kitchens, and they were well supplied with bags of grain and other food. It was disconcerting to see them installing a whipping tripod, but Falia saw no use in telling the overseers how to run their camps.

There were several camps, each with a gang of men and an overseer or two, and the arrangement was that gangs of men would rotate themselves through the farms. The priestesses on the farms, some of them anyway, were fairly certain this would end up making more work for them rather than less, and this was not helped when Falia noticed one of the labourers clutching at his belly and looking uncomfortable. He was pale and rather thin too.

Bring that man in here, she told the overseer with a jerk of her head towards the door of the small building that served as an infirmary on this farm. It was a dirt-floored place, swept as clean