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Arha rose from her bed in the Small House, boredom pressing down upon her. There seemed little point in trying to sleep: her dreams, when she could sleep at all, were filled with sorrow and grief for Thar. Her waking hours in the darkness were filled with nothing. She would walk the paths of the labyrinth and count the turns in the great streets of her domain until morning. What did it matter that it was night time and winter? It was always dark and chill underground.

She noiselessly stepped over Manan's sleeping form, wrapped up in black woollen blankets just inside the door of the House, and walked out into the night, her bare feet hardly shrinking from the frost. She was used to cold. In the Hall of the Throne she drifted up past the Empty Throne and into the small room situated behind the great echoing space. She gathered up the rushlights and candle and the flint and steel she kept ready and lifted the trapdoor. Without hesitation she climbed down into utter blackness.

It was so calm, so quiet in the dark. Did her masters prefer winter or summer? Surely all time was as one to Them that had stood since the Foundation of the World. She walked along the passage towards the Undertomb, and frowned. The darkness was – grey. Just the very faintest hint of grey. It was but her mind, playing a trick upon her, as it had many times before, but as she walked on she realised that the hint grew stronger, and she could see – faint, faint, like the ghost of a shadow – her hand trail along the wall. What was this?

She came to the end of the passage, where it led out into the great opening of her master's domain – and saw. She shrank back into the opening of a side passage, her eyes unable to comprehend the carvings on the passage wall she had, until now, only felt. Light. There was light in the Undertomb, where light had never come since the world was made. The whole place shone and sparkled with pillars of white limestone, and crystals that glimmered and shot back the light that came from a staff in the hands of – She stared at the stranger. How could there be a stranger? He held a tall staff that shone light from its metal-crowned tip, the rings dangling from the top ringing with each step he took. His hair was dark and unruly, and his features were strangely foreign.

Arha pressed a hand to her mouth. A man in the Undertomb! Such sacrilege! He – he must be one of the guards or the slaves of the Place, surely he couldn't really be unknown to her.

The man turned aside and called something out, his voice echoing across the Undertomb, as if he didn't fear waking her masters' wrath. She gasped at such blasphemy. He was not calling to her, she realised, for there was an answering call, a young voice. A fair-haired child came running from one of the side passages, calling cheerfully.

Their speech was nonsense. They – were wizard folk. She swallowed. The man must be, though he was not as black as Kossil said the wizard folk were, merely sallow. He was dressed much as she, in a long robe of black, though it was adorned with a decorative piece that hung upon his chest, and he wore a painted stole on his shoulders. Was he a priest? Surely not, the wizard-folk were godless heathens. The child was Kargish, surely, with – his? His! More sacrilege! With his fair hair and pale complexion surely he was a Karg whom the wizard had enslaved.

She waited for the Nameless Ones to rise up and eat the invaders, for them to strip the flesh from their bones and crush them to powder. They did not. Why, why? What were they waiting for?

For her. She was the One Priestess. She was their Voice, their hands. She stepped out of the corridor.

"I curse you!" she screamed. "May the Nameless Ones eat you, soulless ones! May their anger devour your minds and may your ghosts wither in the endless dark!"

The man spun around, and their eyes locked for a moment as the echoes of her voice crashed about the Undertomb. He started towards her, to her horror. The light vanished and she was left blinking, her eyes seeing the shining glories a moment longer. Then she turned and ran around the edge of the cavern, fingers trailing lightly along the wall, tracing over the beauty that had been so wickedly revealed to her. She knew her way in the dark and this blasphemer did not.

The sound of running footsteps drew nearer: he was running straight across the expanse of the Undertomb. It was impossible. The floor was uneven, she had seen that, even in the brief moments of the light. No one could do that in pitch darkness.

Even as she reached the entrance to the labyrinth and safety he collided with her and grabbed her with both hands. She screamed as his staff fell to the ground with a clatter of metal and he yelled, the child calling out behind him. She struggled and hit out in terror and fury. Apart from Manan, who in no way counted, no man had touched her since she came to the Place. No man might touch her.

Light flared again, the child running up with glowing lights dancing about his fingers. He said something eagerly as the man yelled at her, shaking her violently. She screamed at him once more, howling to her masters for aid, and got a hand free to rake at his eyes, dislodging the strange pieces of glass and wire he wore balanced on his nose. The child swooped and picked them and the staff up and then said something in alarm as the stole the man wore moved of its own accord. An accursed wizard-thing! The man snapped something, holding her more firmly, and the child flung his arms about his waist.

Her masters responded to her pleas at last, the whole Undertomb twisted and shifted and the world went sideways.

Arha was standing in full daylight in the centre of a small clearing, facing an odd-looking house made of wood. Behind her and to the sides were tall trees, and she stood on fresh grass that wasn't wiry and bleached by the sun. She moaned in fear and tried to free herself from the hands holding her but the man looked at her in annoyance and she found herself unable to move.

At last he let go of her and said something to the boy, who laughed, as if he had heard something funny. Then he turned back and examined her, like one of the novices looking at an extra helping of dinner. He ran a hand down her hair, which hung loose about her shoulders, and felt the stuff of her robe between finger and thumb. To her horror and disgust he ran a hand down her body, grinning as her breath came short in fear. Then he undid her belt with the keys and knife hanging from it and walked away with it all, leaving her standing there. He called to the child, who skipped after him, still holding the staff and the wire-and-glass contraption.

She stood frozen, angry and terrified, trying to understand. She had never seen trees like those before, or a house that looked like that, made of dark wood with the porch running around it. The buildings in the Place of the Tombs were of stone.

Her masters, she realised, her masters hadn't done this. The wizard had brought them to the inner lands with his godless tricks. He meant to mock the Kargish empire and the Place, and the Tombs. Perhaps he meant to enslave her – he already had one Kargish slave, after all.

As she thought this, the child came out once more and sidled up to her, looking at her with an unsmiling face. He spoke, walking around her, sounding unfriendly. Then he sighed, and took her hand. She drew a deep, shuddering breath, finding herself able to move.

"Where am I? What is this place? Who is the wizard? What island are you from?" she said in a rush.

The child rolled his eyes and tugged at her hand, saying something. He was scarred all down the right side of his face; a shiny burn scar. Ah. His luck wasn't good – perhaps he hadn't been raided but sold to free his family of misfortune. The child repeated himself, pulling at her again. Reluctantly she went with him, and allowed him to lead her into the house.

The wizard was sitting on the ground at a low table, a painted piece of paper unrolled before him. The painting made no sense to her, just a series of black patterns on the white paper. He looked up and indicated the opposite side of the table with a gesture as gracious as any of the lords depicted in the ancient images carved onto wood or ivory treasures in the rooms behind the Empty Throne. She glared at him and remained standing. The child pulled at her arm, indicating, Down, down, an anxious look in his eyes. She looked from him to the wizard, whose smile reached nowhere near his eyes, and stepped around the table, folding herself down. The wizard spoke, and the child sat beside her, taking her hand again. He patted it, saying something cheerfully enough.

The wizard leant forward over his painting, eyes on the patterns, and began to chant. She tried to leap up – she would not be ensorcelled again – but the child hung on, dragging her down with his entire weight. Dizziness overcame her and her head ached. She found herself pitching forwards across the table, the room spinning about her.

" – ming around. There we go!"

Arha's head felt as if she had been feverish for days, and her tongue was heavy in her mouth.

"What," she mumbled. "What did you do to me?"

"I can understand her, Master!"

"I told you it'd work. Didn't you believe your dear old master?"

"Of course, Master!"

"Girl! Pick your damn head up off my table!"

She put shaking hands on the table and pushed herself up. The wizard was looking at her closely through his little panes of glass.

"Blasphemer," she whispered. "Soulless, sorcerous –"

"Well, that's nice," the man said with an exaggerated pout. "After I've given you an all-expenses paid trip to China! Why don't you tell me about that lovely place of power you made a ruckus in, you silly girl? It's very rude to shout at visitors, you know." He held up her heavy ring of keys. "Around here, I'd think this made you someone with authority and maybe some useful information. How about it? Are you? Or are you just an unfashionably dressed little girl whose only use to me is between her legs?"

The words sank into her mind like stones and she flinched. She heard them in her own tongue, yet behind them she heard him speak in his own barbarian language. How awful the speech of the inner lands sounded, not like that of civilized people at all! The meaning of his words was terrible; there were women amongst the slaves of the Place whom the guards made use of. Kossil said they were sluts and beneath contempt. The novices in the Big House had speculated on how exactly one went about the business, and everyone had agreed with sparkling eyes that it was disgusting and filthy, and had gossiped about it all the more. She drew herself up. He would not touch her. Her masters would devour him.

"I am the One Priestess," she said, and her voice was steady. "My person is inviolable."

"I decide on that," he said pleasantly. "You know, I don't think you are the one priestess. These keys are old: someone else made these, someone else gave them to you. Someone else dressed you in that sack. There are probably a whole gang of you fluttering around in a haze of oestrogen."

She would not admit she didn't understand his foreign words. "I am not the only priestess," she said in anger. "I am the One Priestess. I am Arha, the Eaten One. I am the High Priestess of the Tombs, and you will return me to my place."

"Hmmm," the wizard said. "Well, nice to meet you, I'm Ukoku Sanzo Houshi, Twenty-Fourth Bearer of the Muten Sutra and High Priest of this shithole of a monastery. Which is Zenou, not that that'll mean anything to you. This would be where you answer all my questions in order to save your head and maidenhead – I'm assuming you've got that whole virgin priestess shtick going on?"

"You should answer my master's questions," the child said, patting her hand. "He's really nice!"

She looked at the eager young face in disbelief.

"I don't converse with men," she said.

"Right," the wizard – Ukoku – said, standing up. "I quite fancy a fuck anyway." He looked down at her, smiling merrily. "I'm going out to relieve myself. When I come back I expect you to be talking, or naked on your back in my bed. Your choice."

The door shut behind him and she clenched her hands to stop them shaking. The child seized her arm.

"You have to do what he says," he hissed, his eyes wide. "You have to! If you're naughty, you'll be punished, and now he knows you're scared of, of – that."

"I'm not scared," she said, looking straight ahead.

"You are! When he said it, your face did this –" He made his face look exaggeratedly shocked and afraid. "Please, please, miss. I have to pretend not to mind spiders –" He looked down. "I just need to be better at my lessons," he said. "Naughty children deserve to be punished." He looked up again, his face set. "Please, just do as he says. I don't want to have to listen to him punish you."

"He wouldn't dare, I'm the One –"

"You're a nun! He's a sanzo."

"I have never heard of such a class of priest," she said, and folded her hands.

The door opened, and Ukoku returned.

"You're still dressed! You must be feeling chatty. Childling, make some tea. I don't want our guest getting a sore throat. Not from talking anyway."

She looked at the child, who was regarding her beseechingly and took a slow breath. Let this fool hear of the might of the Nameless Ones. Let the dread of them consume every waking and sleeping thought of his barbarian mind.

"I am Arha," she started. "The One Priestess –"

Zenou, it transpired, was a foreign Place for men, although there was no dreadful centre of power that Arha could discover. The first night she lay awake and fearful in a corner of what she now knew to be Zenou's Small House, but she was undisturbed. She saw that the slave boy went to sit on his master's bed as the evening drew on, and steeled herself to endure hearing use being made of him at night, but nothing seemed to happen. The sorcery that had allowed her captor to understand her had faded, for which she was grateful. Her voice was tired from telling him of the might of the Nameless Ones and the great history of the Tombs. Her telling faltered when she realised that the strange thing he did as she spoke, scratching a stick across paper and leaving black patterns behind, was writing. She had never seen such a thing, nor ever wished to see it – then she realised that the painting he had examined so carefully and chanted over must also be this accursed thing. To have one's words caught and forced into unnatural stillness for all time! She wished damnation on him and on all sorcerers. On the child, however, she did not. A slave could not be held accountable for his master's actions, and although the boy had used sorcery to create light in the Undertomb, it would be enough for him to die and be reborn.

The next day Ukoku ensorcelled her once more and quizzed her over and over on the nature of the Nameless Ones, seeming dissatisfied with her answers. Why could she not tell him of their powers? Why could she not tell him of the meaning of the carvings in passages around the Undertomb?

"Their powers and wrath are immense and to be feared. No one had ever seen the Undertomb until you profaned it."

"The walls of the passages are carved, girl," he snapped. "Was it done by echolocation, like bats?"

She stared at him in silence. If he wished to use the language of wizardry she could not reply.

"Come with me," he said at last, and walked out the door without waiting to see if she obeyed.

"Come on," the boy said, and tugged at her sleeve. "Please, Arha! You must obey!"

"I obey no man."

"Please!"

"I'll grant you this boon," she muttered and followed. "Boy," she said, as they walked after Ukoku, and she held her head high so that she could ignore the stares of the foreign priests who stopped and turned their gazes after her, "What is your name?"

Silence. Then, "I don't have one."

"Are you mocking me?" she said, allowing her fears to rise up and become anger.

"No! No, I just don't have one! Why would you think I'm making fun of you?"

"The Eaten One has no name," she said. This poor fool of a child had forgotten everything about civilization.

"You said your name's Arha," he whispered. "My master'll be so annoyed if you lied –"

"It's not a name," she said shortly. "It's a title. It means Eaten One. Your sorcery has misled you. When were you taken from the Kargish lands?"

"From the Kargish -?"

"Yes," she said impatiently. "Can you remember any of the Kargish tongue? How long have you lived here in the inner lands?"

"I've lived in China all my life," he said and stopped dead. "Oh," he said. "Oh. Master said the spell mixed some things up. When you say –" He enunciated something very slowly and carefully, and she heard the childish voice say words both in the barbarian language and, in her own tongue, inner land, " – what do you mean?"

"The islands the wizard folk live on, what else?" she said. Perhaps the child was simple.

He stared at her. Then he grinned. Then he started to laugh. "That's not what it means! That's not what it means at all!" He skipped ahead. "Master! Master! When she says inner land she doesn't mean inner land!"

She scowled as the boy chattered at Ukoku, who snorted in amusement and tousled his slave's hair.

"My lady of the tombs," Ukoku said, still sniggering. "You're further from home than you think. Come along. I'm finding you a respectable place to stay. I have my reputation to think of, after all."

He led her to a low building set far apart from all the others, its doorway not facing out towards the path.

"This is the guesthouse," he said. "If we absolutely can't avoid having a tempting little morsel like yourself set foot on monastery lands we keep her here, where she can't seduce the fine men of Zenou." He patted her backside and she leapt back in shock. "We all know what women are like! Come on, in you come!"

With trepidation she followed – only a blank wall faced out towards the rest of the Place, who would hear if she cried out? Then she reasoned that she had spent the night in this Place's Small House and was as yet untouched. She would show this wizard a fight, should she need to. She was skilled with the knife, and surely there would be something she could use within.

Inside the building was divided into two rooms, with a large raised platform in each, and a couple of smaller such platforms along the walls.

"Men," Ukoku said, indicating the larger room, "and women." The smaller one. "You can stay here. I wouldn't bother trying to run, you literally have nowhere to go. Childling, you stay with her and let me know if she misbehaves."

"But, Master –"

"Now, now, what do we say?"

"Yes, Master."

Ukoku looked at them both expressionlessly. "What she needs," he said then. "Within reason." Without another word he walked away.

"Do you want a blanket?" the boy said sullenly. "I suppose you can pick any of the bed platforms you want."

"Yes," she said after a moment. A blanket might be useful. She could cover her head with it and seem perhaps like a different girl as she fled. "And bring me food. Not that white grain like last night. Bread, with potatoes and onions."

"I can manage the onions," he said, looking a little worried. "What's wrong with rice?"

"Bring the uncooked grain, then," she said loftily, for she was not going to say she hadn't liked the taste, as if she were a child. "And a grindstone." No one could say that she was afraid of work. "And fire."

"All right," the boy said dubiously. "You stay here." He went away, looking back at her from the door curiously.

She explored every inch of the house, annoyed to find nothing of use at all. There were just the two rooms, with a narrow corridor running along the front of them, and a wide door to the exterior. She went outside and stood on the grass, marvelling how soft it felt compared to the stiff dried blades she was familiar with. The trees were so tall and green! It was as if the river that ran by the Place had watered the entire area. She walked around the house and came face to face with one of the bald priests, wielding a broom on the pathway. He took one look at her, dropped the broom and fled. She frowned at his disrespect, then noted his speed and thought of the youthful face beneath the bare scalp. Shaved, she thought, not bald. She knew the signs of youth and foolishness when she saw them - a novice. Novices were easier to sway than priestesses – or priests, she assumed – well set in their positions.

"Arha!"

She turned at the call. The boy was hurrying towards her, carrying a small metal frame, a bag slung across his shoulders.

"Why are you out here? You'll upset everyone!"

"I don't care."

" . . . I don't either," he said. "But Master said you should stay in the guesthouse."

"He meant it should be my house," she said with calm certainty. "Not that I should stay indoors all day."

The boy looked at her, chewing his lip.

"I suppose," he said at last. "That makes sense."

She didn't smile. Yes. The young were indeed easier to sway. If she could convince the wizard's own slave of her opinion, surely she could bring these other priests to her support and aid! She graciously allowed the boy to set up what he'd brought in the larger of the rooms. It would be the room she used during the day, she decided. The other would be her chamber. He put wood in the frame, and she realised it was a little brazier. Good. As he was lighting the fire she started grinding the grain he'd brought, ignoring his queries about her actions. The grindstone was not what she was used to, a shallow stone bowl with a stone grinder. She wished he'd brought a proper quern and stone for her, but it would have to do.

The dough, when she made it, was unsatisfactory and looked very wrong, but she made small flat cakes of unleavened bread and cooked them on the trivet attached to the brazier. They tasted awful, even when she used them to scoop up the cooked vegetables he'd brought. The boy took one and nibbled it, putting it down with a grimace.

"That's not very nice."

"Tell me about yourself."

"I'm the Sanzo-sama's disciple!" he said, his face brightening once he was no longer thinking about her bread. "He's so clever! He's teaching me to be just like him!"

His disciple? Why make a slave your disciple?

"Do you want to be like him? A wizard?"

"He's not a wizard," he said patiently. "He's a sanzo. He's a super-powerful priest! He knows everything, and he's cleverer than everyone and –"

"But tell me about you," she said. He'd clearly tell her all she wanted to know about his master; she wanted to know how she could use him. "How were you burnt?"

He looked at her in utter shock, and then he seemed to become smaller before her very eyes.

"No," he said. "I don't want to talk about that."

"What?" she said scornfully. "Does no one say it to you? Does no one mock you for it? It's the first thing anyone sees when they look at you!"

He leapt to his feet. "No one dares be rude to me!" he said, his eyes blazing. "My master'd hit them so hard -" He whirled around and ran for the door.

Arha jumped up and ran after him. He was out the door and around the house by the time her feet touched the path outside.

"Come back!" she yelled. "Come back, Childling! Your master told you to stay with me!"

Priests stared at her and whispered behind their hands. The boy stopped his headlong flight and turned about, sheer murder in his eyes. Then he looked about him at the whispering priests and – smiled. Like a carefree boy much younger than his years, eyes a little too wide, head cocked a little to the side. It was an uncanny transformation, from the rage to the sunny creature who skipped - skipped - back to her.

"Don't call me that," he said sweetly, looking up at her. "That's my master's word, not yours. And you're saying it wrong anyway."

"Isn't it your name?" she said. It was a stupid sort of name, but she supposed the slave had no choice in the matter. "Come, boy, attend me."

She led him back into the house and sat on a platform on the larger room. The boy shifted from foot to foot then sat opposite her, the smile dropping from his face like rotten cloth falling from a frame.

"It's not my name! I don't have one. I told you that already."

"He addresses you as Chil-"

"It's not my name. It's my master's word for me. And I don't want you to say it! It's, it's just what I am."

He looked ready to jump up and run; she detained him with a hand on his sleeve.

"Arha is not my name", she said. "I told you that. It's who I am. You see? We have misunderstood each other, that is all."

"You shouldn't have been mean to me," he mumbled.

"The Eaten One is above lords and kings," she said with a wave of her hand. "Her words cannot be taken offence at."

He pouted, then made himself more comfortable, as if he'd decided there was no point in arguing.

"I don't know what being Eaten means," he said. "You're right here. You haven't been eaten at all."

"I have been Eaten since the foundation of the world."

He giggled suddenly, disconcertingly, and seized her hand in his.

"Maybe the gods nibbled you when they wrote the Foundation Sutras!"

"The gods," she said in placid condescension, "they are new powers. Those that existed in the dark before the world's founding are my masters."

"That must be why Master grabbed you," he said cheerfully. "He said you felt strangely like you had potential. He thinks I have great potential! He's teaching me everything! One day I'll hold the Muten –" He looked wistful.

She regarded him carefully; Ukoku had named himself with that word.

"What is it, this word, this Muten?"

The boy's eyes brightened, sparkling green on both the pale and the burnt sides of his face.

"It's wonderful, Arha! It's one of the Foundation sutras of the world! The gods made everything and they put their powers into the sutras, and only the best, the cleverest, the strongest of priests can carry them! My master's the best of all! He carries the Muten and it holds sway over darkness and death and nothingness and he can use it in so many ways –"

"Wait," she said. "Is this truth?" How could it be? For the power of the gods to be put into a sutra, whatever that was, and held by a priest - by more than one priest? How was this land, this China, not riven with war? If a noble House of Atuan or Hur-at-Hur had such a thing surely they would rise up against the God King and strike down Awabath and all its towers -

"It is true," the child said. "He took it from his master, who took it from his, and so on all the way back to eternity. Or for a very long time," he said frowning. "Is twenty-four generations all the way back to eternity?"

"It's a long time," she said. "This Muten, this sutra with power of death and nothingness, what can he do with it?"

"He travelled to your cave thingy," the boy said. "And he can move about the world, and extinguish light and tear away people's souls and memories and make it so they never, ever lived –"

She sat back, appalled. This truly was power. It was the power of her masters, deep down in the dark.

"Have you seen this thing?" she whispered, and the boy laughed until tears ran down his face.

"He wears it!" he said. "You saw it all the time he was talking to you! He wears it over his shoulders!"

Arha sat there in grim silence. This blasphemer, this wizard priest, had trapped her masters' power in writing. She could hardly form the words in her own mind. For the rest of the day she sat in silence, her eyes fixed on the wall.

The boy came back to her when it was fully dark. She had roused herself at dusk and eaten more of her awful attempt at bread and then given in enough to eat a little of the pot of strange vegetables stewed in a thin, salty broth that another cowering boy set upon the step before sprinting away. It did little to curb her hunger, but she was no hungrier than she had ever been in the Place of the Tombs, which was to say, hungry enough. It was good for the Eaten One to be hungry, to feel the hunger of her masters.

"Arha."

"Why do the novices run from me?"

The boy looked confused. When he spoke, most of his words were in his own barbarian tongue. The sorcery was fading.

" --- Arha --- novices?"

"It doesn't matter. What do you want?"

He took her hand and pulled her gently towards the door.

"No," she said. "I will stay here. This is now my Small House."

The boy looked agitated, and pulled harder. "Arha! --- come, you must! ---"

The last was in a wheedling tone, but she stood firm. He pulled with more than a child's strength then and she gasped. More sorcery! Taken by surprise, she stumbled and half-fell on him, saved from going down only by grabbing his shoulders. He froze, like a small creature in an owl's sight, his eyes mere rings of green around wide blackness.

"What is this?" she said, peering at close quarters into his face. In the flickering firelight she could see the start of what would be a bruise that would purple his cheekbone and good eye socket. "Who did –"

"No," he said, perfectly clearly, looking away. "Come. Come, Arha."

The wizard. Of course. He had the right, the boy was his slave, but he was a grown man, taller and heavier and stronger – the image of Penthe, whipped and downcast, rose up in Arha's mind. To be Mistress of the Place, and not able to protect her friend – and here, to find the Master of this Place was – was like Kossil.

"I am coming," she said gently, and took the boy's hand.

He brought her back to the wizard's house, and led her to the porch at the back, where Ukoku sat at his ease, his eyes on the rising moon. He patted the wood beside him and she carefully sat, leaving a wide space between them. The boy poured liquid into a small, fragile cup and held it out to her. It smelled strong, like the wine she sometimes drank at great festivals. Ukoku raised his little cup to her and sipped his wine. She was careful, not wishing to become light-headed. She had expected to sit in silence, his sorcery long faded, and was surprised when he spoke.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Old enough," he said, as if to himself, and held his cup out for the boy to refill. She looked at the young face, which was expressionless, like a carving of ivory.

"Next spring," she lied.

Ukoku paused, the cup at his lips, and looked at her closely. She had not been a child for two years, but food was scant in the Place, and meat even scarcer. Twice a year the sacrificed goats made a strange and welcome meal, and fish from the River was more common, though not commonplace. Her courses had never come on her regularly, and she knew those unused to the ways of priestesses might see her as younger than she was.

"Hmmm," he said. "Maybe –" He sat back. "It's nice to have someone to drink with, anyway. Tell me, Arha, did you ever try using that cave's power to do anything? To kill someone, or unmake them?"

"No," she said, chilled through. How could he speak so casually of using her masters' power? That thing, the Muten, hung over his shoulders. It looked no more than a painted stole, but she remembered it moving of its own accord in the Undertomb. She had thought it a wizard's creation, now she knew better. It had risen to greet her masters. "I have offered lives to it," she said, as he looked at her.

"Really? You are a smart girl! Whose?"

"Goats'," she said, and he laughed. "And men's." His laughter became softer as he watched her over the edge of the cup.

"Can you read?"

"No," she said, disgusted. "Writing and reading are filthy arts, worthy only of sorcerers."

"Maybe," he said. "Useful, though. This God King you talked about, doesn't he have wealth?"

"More than you can imagine!"

"Hah! Then he has accountants, girl. Someone in your society reads and writes, even if you don't."

She ignored him, staring at the moon. The markings on it were wrong. How far from Atuan was this island, this China, for the moon to seem different in the sky? She closed her eyes to the sight, thinking only that if she were here too long she would have to dance the Dark of the Moon in that strange house, and no one would dance before the Empty Throne. She wanted to weep, but pinched herself until she was sure that she could keep her eyes dry. She drank another small cup of wine and was relieved when Ukoku turned his over, refusing more.

"Take her back to the guesthouse," he said, and nodded to the boy as he bowed politely. "Don't hang around."

The boy led her away and walked with her back to the door of her house. He stood there, then sketched a bow before turning.

"Wait!"

He looked back. Arha took his hand.

"Tell me," she said, hoping enough of the sorcery remained for him to understand at least some of what she said. "Did he have me brought to him because he wished to lie with me?"

The boy just looked at her, and she thought he must hear only foreign sounds when she spoke. Then he shrugged. A guilty, miserable expression was on his face. She lightly put her fingertips on the fresh bruise.

"Did you gainsay him?"

"Be good, Arha," he whispered. "Obey." He stepped back and ran.

Arha turned and walked into the house. She would obey no man, least of all that foul wizard. She would free herself from this godless place. The wine and the dark night had allowed her to see why her masters had permitted Ukoku to think he had swept her to this land. All day she had dwelt on the horror of the power of the dark places set down and confined in written words, but now it was so simple. She was to take this thing, this Muten and bring it to the Undertomb. Ukoku thought he had stolen her, but he was wrong. She had been sent.

She was Arha. She served masters more powerful than any god this wizard-priest could imagine. He was like Kossil, worshipping only power and the vain lies of power that he could see at that. Magic was mere lies and trickery, nothing more. How could it be, if a mere child could do it? No, she was stronger, she was cleverer. She would find a way to be free of this man and his foul words and she would see him eaten. He would be dragged before her masters and they would devour him whole. The boy - she considered the matter. He had bowed to her when his master was not there, and he had been punished for words in her favour; surely he was also punished enough by having been ripped from his home and brought up amongst this foul people? She could instruct that Gobar the captain of the guard should hew his head from his shoulders outside the wall about the Place. He would not be eaten, and would be reborn. Or he could be made a eunuch, to serve the Tombs he had profaned in perpetuity - he was, she reasoned, not a man but a boy. If he never became a man he might atone for his sin and still be reborn after a life of penitence. Well satisfied, she prepared for sleep.

The next day the boy brought a basin of water and clean cloths, and rushed outside, his face red. Arha washed herself as best she might without removing her robe and called him back. He shrank back a little when she soaked one of the cloths in the cold water, wrung it out and held it to his bruise, but then submitted quietly. She changed the cloth when it was no longer cool enough, speaking calmly and softly, telling him how he was brave and should not be beaten. She would steal this child's heart, and he would be her slave, not Ukoku's. He grew restless at last and took her hand to lead her to Ukoku, who chanted his godless words at her, and smiled when she could understand his foulness again.

"I should send you to the refectory to eat," he said. "Think of the scandal! The sight of those grubby little ankles would keep everyone happy for many nights to come."

"Should I find Arha some sandals, Master?" the boy said, looking at her feet with pursed lips.

"Yes, I think you should, Childling. She's the One Priestess! We should array her like a statue of the Compassionate Goddess, shouldn't we?"

"I'm dressed as I should be," she said. "I need no adornment."

"You do need to wash your hair," Ukoku said, and turned his gaze on the boy. "I thought I told you to make sure she didn't smell of goats?"

"I brought her water and cloths, Master!"

"I washed," Arha said with dignity. "As for the goats, it's their hair that went into my robe."

Ukoku grimaced. "You do know how to put a man off," he muttered. "We're going to try some simple things today. I want to see you call on these powers you serve."

"They do not come like dogs, to be whistled to one's side," she snapped.

"Ah," he said. "You're one of those monastics. Self-righteous and so boringly rule-abiding. The refectory it is."

The refectory was a long narrow room with priests seated on the floor along the walls, bowls of the white grain before them. Two young ones – novices, no doubt – walked along the line of men, ladling vegetables from a heavy pot in on top of the grain in each bowl. There was a startled murmur as she was sighted, Ukoku striding up between the lines of priests to seat himself on a raised platform at the head of the room. One of the boys with the pot gasped and it dipped, dangerously close to spilling.

"Sit," Ukoku said, pointing to the floor beside him.

She copied his stance, waiting quietly. The boy sat on his other side. Ukoku raised a hand and beckoned, an odd underhand gesture. The novices warily abandoned the place in the line they'd reached and came up to him. One tried to bow, still holding his side of the pot, the other hissed something at him.

"Don't throw my breakfast on the floor," Ukoku said calmly. "Bring rice. Three bowls."

They put the pot of vegetables down and fled out a door in the side wall. An older priest, heavy-set and frowning, stood and spoke firmly.

"I'll bring anyone I want anywhere I want," Ukoku said. "It's no one's business but mine. Sit. Your food will get cold. Don't wait for us, everyone! Eat up!"

Slowly, reluctantly, the priests began to eat, sneaking looks at the top of the room. Arha fixed her eyes on the top of the far wall and kept her face expressionless. The novices returned carrying bowls of the grain and put them down, with the sticks that were used for eating in this land. Very carefully they put the vegetables on top of each. The one with the ladle looked up and met her eyes, immediately going scarlet. It was the boy who had fled from her on the path. He was no older than she, she realized. Maybe younger. He looked down, and crept away with his fellow worker to finish their round.

"This is what happens when you have a single-sex facility," Ukoku said, picking up his bowl. "They get tongue-tied around the ladies. I'm guessing you weren't ever one for sneaking conversations with passing boys?"

"There are no passing boys in the Place of the Tombs," she said, and took up her own bowl.

She couldn't use the sticks, so she scooped up the grain and vegetables with her fingers and paid no heed to the whispers from the priests at her conduct. When she was done she considered wiping her hand on her robe; it seemed as if it might disgust Ukoku and turn his attention from her person. She couldn't bear the thought of soiling her clothing, however, and sat there, her fingertips damp with the liquid from the food. Ukoku and the boy put down their own empty bowls, the sticks neatly laid across the top. It was a good trick, using those sticks.

The boy sighed. "I'd rather have had my cereal," he said softly.

"That stuff will rot your teeth," Ukoku said. "And see how happy everyone is that we're breakfasting with them for a change!"

No one looked happy except for him. Her presence was defilement, as a man's would be in the Place. Good. Let this sinful, godless land be defiled. Perhaps her courses would come this month and she would bury the blood in a rite to her masters, asking them to blight all this awful territory.

"Come on," Ukoku said. "Let's get going. Maybe we'll go to the prayer hall later and see if anyone drops dead of shock." He rose and stepped down from the platform, marching straight from the room.

Arha followed, her steps gliding, her back straight. She looked neither to left nor to right, and let the barbarian whispers flow over her, a stream of sound. The boy looked from side to side, glaring at men three, four times his age.

"She isn't!" he said suddenly. "She's – she's like a foreign abbess. The Sanzo-sama isn't like you said, and I'm going to tell him."

Before he could run after his master, she put a hand on his shoulder.

"Walk slowly," she said. "Do not let them see they have upset you." He looked up sharply, then matched her pace. "What did they say?" she said as they reached the door.

"They said something rude about my master," he said, looking angry.

"And about me."

He took her hand and hurried her in Ukoku's wake. As they came nearer he muttered, "They said you were a whore, the cheap kind my master so clearly prefers."

"You spoke for me."

"I defended my master!" The boy stopped dead and looked down. "You're not like that. It's mean of them to say so. I think you are an abbess." He smiled at her querying look. "You said you're the mistress of a lot of priestesses! So's an abbess."

"Stop chattering, you two!" Ukoku called from up ahead. "We have places to go, dark forces to summon!"

"My masters cannot be summoned," Arha said in fury.

"My master can do anything. Come on, he'll be annoyed if we waste time."

The boy ran, pulling her after him. Ukoku stroked his cheek when he came level, and bent quickly to kiss his head.

"Good boy. Was the silly girl making you stop to look at flowers?"

"Arha was just asking about monastic hierarchies, Master," the boy said with a childish smile. "I explained about abbesses."

"All she needs know is that I outrank everyone," Ukoku said gaily. "Especially barefoot barbarian nuns."

The boy smiled a silly smile at him, and at her. As he turned away from Ukoku he shot her a warning glance. He had said nothing about the insults; perhaps he feared the wizard's anger would be directed at him. That was good to know. A beaten child would surely prefer one who did not lay hands upon him?

"What do you do for fun, in your little convent?" Ukoku said as they walked.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm not there for fun. I carry out my duties, and I meditate, or spin, or walk amongst the Tombs."

Ukoku raised his eyebrows. "Wow. I don't think I could handle the excitement. Me, I just kill people."

"For sacrilege? For transgressing the will of a god or a king?"

"Nah. Usually because I want to see their expression when I do it."

Arha stopped mid-stride. "You murder people?" she said in disgust. "For the pleasure of it?"

"Well, look who's talking, Little Miss Human Sacrifice!" Ukoku carolled, still walking. "Keep up! There's a whole monastery of sex-starved men here and I can't promise they all have my iron self-control."

The boy hurried back to her and took her hand again.

"Please," he whispered. "He's in such a good mood right now! It'd be so nice if we could keep him happy! Don't you want him to be happy?"

"No," she said.

"Well, I do." He tugged her along.

Their goal was a graveyard. Ukoku leant back against a gravestone and lit one of the small, foul-smelling paper sticks that he sucked smoke from. He regarded her from behind his small panes of glass.

"Is this the sort of place that does anything for you? There are plenty of tombs here. Show me one of your rituals."

"These are the tombs of men," she said in contempt. "Worthless trash. The Tombs at the Place have stood since the beginning of the world."

Ukoku took a deep breath in with his paper stick, watching her from unblinking eyes. The boy had gone very still. Then Ukoku straightened up and stepped towards her, taking her chin in a hard grasp.

"If you didn't have the air of potential about you, girl," he said calmly, "you wouldn't be standing here, talking to me like that. Be thankful you have my interest, and do not speak to me in that tone again. Understand?"

"I will speak as I wish," she said. "I am the One Priestess. I am Arha –"

He pulled aside the neck of her robe and pressed the smouldering end of the stick to the flesh over her collarbone, holding it there for long, agonizing seconds, then turned away.

"Wash the burn," he said to the boy. "Bring her back to the house when you've stopped her making that noise."

"Yes, Master," the boy said in a subdued voice.

Ukoku strolled off and the boy took her hand.

"Come on," he said. "You have to be quiet."

"I am not – not weeping," Arha said. She wasn't. She hadn't screamed either. Her breath was coming in great gulps, and there was a blackness about the edge of her vision as the robe rubbed against the burn with every step.

"When I bring you to the house," the boy said. "Smile. Act like nothing is wrong, like nothing happened. You have to smile, Arha. Like this –" He gave her a sunny, carefree smile. "Keep walking. I'll – I'll get help." The last was said with a worried expression.

"Did he –" She was going to shame herself by vomiting. "Did he burn you?"

"No!" The boy sounded shocked. "No, of course not! He wouldn't do that! He would never –" His voice ran down. "Come on," he said quietly. "Not much further."

They stopped outside a plain, solid-looking building and the boy ran up the wooden steps. Arha stood there, concentrating on the wooden pillars, the carved edging on the roof. She was going to drag all of this down into the dark. Every last one of the priests, every one of their bizarre wooden houses, all their tall trees and green grass. All would be food for her masters. She would have Ukoku's tongue and hands cut off so that he could cast no spell and her masters would take him most slowly of all.

The boy reappeared, a middle-aged priest behind him. It was one of those who had looked aside that morning, as if the sight of her defiled his eyes. He looked on her now, and she glared into his face. Behind him younger priests and one or two boys peered out the door in astonishment. He spoke to her.

"He says, he must see the wound," the boy said. "It's all right, he doesn't want to look at your tits!"

The priest spoke sharply to the boy, who looked back insolently. Arha carefully pulled the neck of her robe aside and ignored some of the younger priests craning for a better look. The older one looked at the burn and his face went hard and angry. He snapped out a string of words and one of the boys in the doorway fled. The priest pointed to the steps, saying something less angry-sounding.

"Sit down, Arha," the boy said. "Medicine's being brought."

She sat, and did not flinch when the priest took her arm and laid his fingertips on her inner wrist. He looked at her and spoke to the boy.

"No! No, she's really a nun! She's seeking my master's wisdom."

"What did he say?"

"I'll tell you later," the boy said, then, as the priest spoke again, he coloured and said, looking anywhere but her face, "Can you pee properly? Are your courses regular?" He glanced quickly back at her offended intake of breath. "He's a healer, truly he is! He's asking for your own good."

"All is well," she said icily. "My courses come when they come."

The boy translated, scarlet-faced, and the healer-priest gave more instructions to the gaggle of fools watching. Another of them hurried back into the dimness. The first boy reappeared, clean water, a pot of unguent and white bandages on the tray he bore. The healer-priest very gently bathed the skin and placed the unguent over the whole area with a small, green stone blade before putting a soft pad of cloth over it all.

"The ointment will keep the pad in place a little while," the boy translated, picking up a roll of long bandages. "When you have privacy, wrap these about it, over your shoulder to hold it there. Come back every day and he'll check the burn and give you more medicine."

A young priest came out and offered the healer small bottles. He chose one and passed it to the boy.

"Take one of these pills every day," the boy said. "They'll make you stronger inside. You need –" He looked up at the man. "Iron? Really? She's not a train track!"

"Why should I take pills of iron?" she said. "Is it a poison?" Perhaps the healer had decided to rid himself of her defilement.

"No," the boy said. "Look, I'll take one – she's worried you're a quack, that's why!"

The healer's face darkened and he spoke angrily to them both, then seized her wrist again, tapping a finger pointedly on its inner side.

"He says you're a rude girl and you fast too much and you've been too angry for too long and you can take his help or not, it's not his business if foreign wh – if foreign women listen to men of sense or not."

Something else, with Ukoku's name in it. The boy bridled, and did not translate. The healer repeated himself, triumph in his eyes.

"If you won't listen to him, perhaps you can ask my master to help you," the boy said at last. "He's the one with cigarettes, he must have something for cigarette burns."

Arha looked from him to the healer, and to the priests in the doorway who had all fallen silent, staring out at – at their master, she realized. This man, who healed, did not like Ukoku, who hurt. That might be useful to her. She graciously inclined her head.

"Tell him that this is a strange land to me and it was not my intention to be intemperate with him."

The man snorted with dry laughter.

"You certainly apologise like a noble abbess," the boy translated, still angry about the jab at Ukoku. "Come back tomorrow."

He led her back to her house so that she could tie the bandages on, and ran out the door to wait. Alone, Arha shut the door to the smaller room and eased the robe over her head. It was awkward to secure the pad of cloth properly, but at last she managed, and pulled her robe back on. She wanted only to rest, but she thought of Ukoku saying she was to return, and she thought of his calm face as he ground the burning stick down onto her flesh. She went outside, looking for the boy. The sound of quiet sobs led her behind some low bushes and she found him rolled up like one of the beetles that ate the ancient treasure chests in the rooms behind the Empty Throne.

"Why are you crying?"

"He shouldn't –" the boy gulped. "He shouldn't have burnt you." He scrubbed at his eyes. "He knows I –" He fell silent. "He didn't burn me," he said at last. "We should go now."

"Wait," she said, and sat with him, taking his hand. "It hurt a lot." He flinched. "And it will leave a scar. But you helped me, and I'll recover. You were hurt too, and you've recovered."

"Master helped me," he whispered, his free hand drifting up towards his scar. "He got me medicine for my eye. The healers said another little while and I'd have lost it."

"You see how alike we are? Could your family not afford the medicine?" Perhaps they were poor and had sold this damaged child from hope of a cure, rather than to remove his bad luck.

"I don't remember them," the boy said. "I don't want to talk about that time."

Ah. He'd been young. It was another way of leading him to her side.

"I don't remember the family who gave birth to me in this lifetime either. I was only five when I was taken to the Tombs. And then I gave my name back and became Arha in truth when I was six."

"Was it scary? When you didn't have your name at first, did you know who you were?"

"I don't really know," Arha said. It was ten years since her name had been eaten, and she could not bring up the memories of how she felt on the day. Tired. She'd been tired. Manan had said it was a long day.

"Master says that what happened to me made my name vanish," the boy said. "I can't remember it at all. Master says I underwent pre-cip-i-ta-ting trau-ma." He sounded out the words carefully, as if he didn't know what they meant, and she heard only the foreign syllables. He looked down. "It was scary. I didn't know who I was for a while. But then Master found me! And now I'm his disciple and one day I'll have the Muten!"

She stared at him, her hand tightening on his. This child didn't realize what he had just told her. She had not realized until now from his previous statements. He was nameless, like her. His name had been taken from him, like hers. He was dedicated to the ancient powers of the dark, like her. She had meant only to make him more sympathetic to her, but they were more alike than either of them had known.

They had both been Eaten.

Arha lay in the dark, wakeful and planning. It was clearer and clearer to her now what her masters intended her to do. She was not only to take this wizard-thing, the Muten, that had trapped their power, but to bring them this boy also. What could it mean, for there to be another Eaten One? And for him to be a boy?

It struck her, with all the dreadful clarity of Ukoku's sinful light in the Undertomb.

Manan's tales of the days of old, when the Kargad Empire had been many small and warring lands, and the might of a priest had defeated a terrible wizard from the Inner Lands. All that had led the priest's descendants to become the God Kings, and now the God King sent treasures and slaves to his temples, even in the Place, while the Hall of the Throne rotted quietly. Five lifetimes of men was nothing to her masters, but it was many years to the common people, who forgot the worship of the dark for the bright and thrilling worship of a god they could see in Awabath. Religion had changed, and while people still remembered the days of old now, who was to say they would in another five lifetimes of men? The Tombs would still be there, they would always be there, and she would always be reborn – but would anyone know to look for her?

She sat up, her arms about her knees. She could not, should not leave the Place, of course, but another servant of her masters, another who was wholly dedicated, another Eaten One - perhaps . . . he . . . might. He could remind the people and the God King of the power of the Tombs and bring them back to bow down as they should. The days of the Tombs' glory would return, and the God King himself would come to ask her guidance.

If the child were truly Eaten, could he set foot in the Place? It was a strange and confusing thought. He wouldn't have to stay on the men's side of the wall. This, this must be why her masters had not struck him and Ukoku down at once, though he had sinned by making light after Ukoku's had gone out. She would purify him, and teach him, and they would leave this Zenou and travel home.

She simply had to show him that his wizard-master was filth, and he would understand his love for him was wrong. That would be easy. He'd be helping her escape by the end of the week.

She was asleep within minutes.

The boy was stubborn and foolish, a failing, she decided, common to all men. Nothing that his master said or did seemed to sway his opinion of the man. If Ukoku slapped the child or her, he cringed and apologized for whatever imagined slight Ukoku had dreamt up. She did not. If Ukoku spoke in a quiet insinuating tone to a novice who shrank back and tried to look as if he were a thousand miles away as the wizard-priest put a hand on his shoulder, the boy looked aside, his face pale, and passed it off as a jest when she spoke of it. When Ukoku said it was time to train – she did not believe it the first time she saw it. The two of them stood on the grass behind the Small House and the boy bowed, worry in his eyes. Then Ukoku attacked him.

She found she was on her feet, shouting, "Stop!" Neither of them paid the slightest attention.

The boy ducked and dodged, avoiding blows by the barest whisper. The guards of the Place did little more than stand with their swords and spears in ritual processions: she had never imagined that anyone might fight in such a manner. Ukoku kicked at the boy, his leg sweeping out at the height of the child's head, and the boy rolled right under him, coming up to punch at his back, then flinging himself into a backwards somersault away from the return attack that came his way. Her heart stuttered with fear for the child as at last he lost the rhythm and Ukoku tripped him and slammed him down on the grass on his back. The earth rang with the impact as the boy cried out. Ukoku shook his head.

"Try harder," he said and strolled past her up the steps. "Look at you!" he sniggered. "Wait until you see me move at more than half-speed, girl."

The boy staggered up, breathing hard. "It's OK," he panted. "It's training." He bent close to whisper in her ear. "We were showing off a bit for you."

"Doesn't it hurt?" Arha said.

"Oh, yes," the boy said. "Master says anything worthwhile always hurts at first." He sat. "I'm OK, really. Would you like me to –"

"Childling!" a yell came from inside. "Get your pert little ass in here!"

The boy jumped up and ran inside. She waited a moment or two then followed more slowly, to see what insolence Ukoku had for both servants of the Tombs. She frowned to see him turning the boy this way and that in the window's light. The boy's robe was discarded on the floor and he wore only a loincloth.

"What are you doing?"

"Obviously I'm examining the near naked body of my barely pubescent disciple," Ukoku said absently. He looked up with a sly smile. "Were you feeling left out? It can be your turn next!" He laughed as she crossed her arms, and went back to examining the boy. "You're fine. Get dressed: you're embarrassing Arha."

The boy pulled his robe on and hurried to make tea. Ukoku sat comfortably on the window seat and indicated one of the chairs. Arha sat on the edge. She was careful now in refusing his small demands, especially when he took out his cigarettes.

"I think you've had enough time to settle in," he said. "We're going to start again. You're going to carry out some of your rituals for me, you are not going to complain, you are not going to talk back and what you are going to do is smile and say, Yes, Ukoku Sanzo. Understand?"

She smiled, hating herself. "Yes, Ukoku Sanzo."

"You see how easy that was?" He paused.

She smiled until her cheeks hurt. "Yes, Ukoku Sanzo."

"You get some tea and a snack for being a good girl," he said mockingly. "Childling, I know you have something awful hidden somewhere. Share it with Arha."

"But, Master –"

"I'll get you more, silly! I'll just have tea."

The boy rummaged in a cupboard, grumbling to himself, and brought over a tray with a teapot and cups, and a little plate heaped with pieces of unappetizing brown things. He poured for Ukoku, and for her, and finally for himself, and sat himself on the floor between them. He grudgingly pushed the plate towards her; as she'd been told to have a snack she warily took a piece and bit the corner. The flavour was good, unlike anything she'd ever had before, and so sweet. It was hard not to swallow the thing whole.

"What is this?" she said, and the boy's eyes widened.

"It's chocolate! You've never had chocolate?"

"What a sad life you've led," Ukoku murmured. "So pious, so uptight, not even cheap chocolate to ease the PMS."

She ignored him in favour of eating another piece.

"You have to eat half," the boy said earnestly. "You have to start making up for not having had it before." He smiled brightly to see her pleasure in it. "Master, can we bring Arha to a café? She could have hot chocolate and ice cream! I bet she's never had ice cream!"

"Maybe," Ukoku said, breathing out smoke, and holding his cup out for more tea. "If she's a good girl. Are you going to be good, Arha?"

"Yes, Ukoku Sanzo."

He sat back. "If we went to a place where the ground is cursed, do you think your masters would be there?"

Should she say yes? No? He had a cigarette ready in his hand. She hesitated. He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm asking for your professional opinion," he said. "Just talk."

"A curse laid by people? That's nothing to them. It would have to be something older, darker."

"I see. Show me the ritual actions you'd carry out in such a place."

"Without being there? It would be meaningless. And blasphemous."

He smiled blandly, and nudged the child with his foot. "Tell me," he said, looking down. "Do we say No to dear old Ukoku Sanzo around here?"

"No, Master," the child said, his face open and honest. "Of course not." He turned to Arha and smiled at her. "I'm looking forward to seeing you do it, Arha," he said, his voice pitched higher, softer. "You were just thinking of a way to do it without it being blasphemous, weren't you?" Please, his eyes said. Please.

Ukoku took a slow, deep breath in with his cigarette, let the smoke trickle out.

"Yes," she said, smiling at the boy. "Yes, that's what I was thinking." She looked up and smiled wider. "Yes, Ukoku Sanzo." She would carry out a cursing. She would curse this place before his very eyes.

"Excellent. What do you need?"

"My knife. And blood."

"Ah, how feminine. Your knife, or any knife?"

"I'd prefer mine."

He stood and opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out her knife. He tossed it to her and nodded in approval when she caught it by the handle.

"Not bad. You've had some training, I see. How much blood, and should it be human?"

"A goat," she said. "I don't need the goat, just the blood. I'm only showing you the action, not the real ritual."

"Right," Ukoku said. "I'll see what I can do." He walked out of the house. Halfway across the grass he vanished. She stepped back in alarm.

"He used the Muten!" the boy said. "I told you, he can move around with it. I suppose he's gone to a butcher or a farm or somewhere."

"He's gone? Gone from Zenou?"

"Yes," the boy said, and then, "Oh, don't think about running away! I'd get in such awful trouble! And where would you go? You don't speak Chinese and you have no way of getting home."

"How would I get to the Place from here? Or to Atuan? I can find my own way from the shore."

"Why won't you believe this is another world?" he said. "Doesn't it seem like another world to you?"

"Because I have heard of men sailing from land to land, but not from other worlds!"

He went to the bed and picked up a doll, holding it close to him. "You're being silly. You've seen my master use the Muten. You've felt him use it when he brought us all back here."

"You think he's a very great man," she said.

"Of course!"

"You want me to know his feats – so you tell me about his use of this Muten." The boy might believe he spoke the truth. "How do you know he took you to another world and not another land?"

"That's easy," the boy said, rolling his eyes. "He showed me the equations."

"The what?"

"They're spells. They took him ages to work out, and if he wasn't so clever he'd never have done it at all!"

"Can you show me?" she said, heart in her mouth. She might be out of here now!

He looked dubious. "You can't read."

"Show me!"

He put the doll back on the bed and went to the desk, shuffling through a pile of paper. "This is it – look."

The sheets of paper were covered in small designs: the wizard's writing.

"What does it say? Can you chant the spell?"

He looked embarrassed. "I don't understand them. It's difficult maths. But I know it brought us to another world because Master was so pleased that he'd worked it out! He's always happy when he solves a problem."

Perhaps it was true. Her elation turned to despair. She would be trapped here forever because of these godless equation-spells.

"If he chanted these, would it bring me to my home?" she said, a last effort to find hope.

"Oh, I don't think he'd need to," the boy said, putting the papers back. "Now that the Muten brought us there once, I think it should know the way."

She stared at him. Ukoku had said that like called to like - the darkness would call to darkness, her masters' power in this thing back to its source.

"He is training you to use the Muten?' she said cautiously.

"Not yet, really," the boy said. "I'm still too young. But sometimes he says the words on it – it's not so long, and it's easy enough to remember."

"What do the words say?" She was holding her breath again.

The boy looked somewhat superior. "A lot of them don't mean anything. Isn't that funny? They're such old words that it's just the sound of them that's important. So the spell wouldn't translate it for you."

"Many chants are like that," she said, her voice reverent. This was a thing of her masters', it truly was. "The words' meaning has been eaten, and we say the sound of them in the dark."

Carefully, for she had never embraced anyone since she was five years old and Manan had held her, and certainly had never thought of holding a boy not made eunuch, she put her arms about him, and pressed her lips to his forehead. He stiffened briefly, then relaxed. She had seen that he was pleased by Ukoku's affection, and was glad he did not pull away. She was not defiling herself. This boy was Eaten. It was as if she held her own shadow.

"You are a very clever boy," she said, and the praise woke something in him. He put his arms about her and laid his head on her uninjured shoulder. She felt warm and good in a way she could not remember ever feeling before.

When Ukoku returned, they were sitting apart, the boy holding his doll, Arha calmly contemplating the ways she could steal the Muten and flee with the boy. Ukoku put a bucket down on the porch and waved through the window.

"Come out, I have a lovely bucket of blood!"

"I'll need a bowl," she said. "One you don't mind breaking."

The boy scampered to the cupboards and produced a plain bowl of no great size. It would do. She went out, bowl in hand, and looked at the bucket. It was full to the brim of blood.

"I'll show you the half-year sacrifice," she said. "The goat is killed, and its blood is caught in a great metal basin."

"Or a cereal bowl!" the boy said merrily.

"This bowl suffices, as I am merely explaining. So, the basin is filled –" She dipped the basin in the blood. " – and I invoke the Powers of the Earth, my masters." This was not safe, she knew. They would understand her words, and so she would need to be careful, at least at first. But the boy had said himself, the spell would not translate words whose meaning had been lost. She had to trust he was right.

"The Eaten One is here," she said, slicing a shallow cut into her arm so that her blood dripped down into the bowl to join that of the goat. Hear me. Taste that which you have eternally Eaten, and grant me this curse, she howled in her heart. She slid the knife up her sleeve in emulation of the way Ukoku stored things and turned back to him, holding up the bowl. He didn't know anything about the sacrifices, she could do what she wanted. "See, masters, see. Hear, masters, hear. Smell, masters, smell. Feel, masters, feel: the Eaten One is here. Already Eaten, forever Eaten, eternally Eaten. Protect the Eaten One, masters, from your wrath. Protect the Eaten One-to-Be from your wrath. Let your wrath devour those whom it should. Let them be wholly eaten." Perhaps they heard. Perhaps they heard her call protection on both herself and the boy. No one in all the long years would ever have dared touch her, back on Atuan. Let the dread of her masters make it so in this land also.

She made herself speak deferentially to Ukoku. "Then I circle the Place, pouring out the blood a little at a time, reciting an ancient chant. This protects us all until the next sacrifice."

"Go ahead."

"Follow me with the bucket," she said to the boy, and started out, walking around Ukoku's Small House.

She started up the chant of cursing, the meaningless words rising and falling like the wail of a desert creature, pouring the blood out onto the grass in a thin, continuous stream. Every time the bowl emptied she quickly dipped it in the bucket and kept moving, making an unbroken circle all around the house. As she walked across the front, priests pointed at her, but she ignored them, moving on, her voice rising and falling with every gliding step. No comprehension at all crossed the boy's face, and she finished the curse, sealing the circle closed, and slamming the bowl down on the ground where it shattered, bringing the curse to fruition. She had doomed all within it to death and damnation, but the boy would be safe, for he was Eaten. There was nothing left of him to curse.

"The basin at home does not break, of course, being metal."

She looked at Ukoku in calm defiance, waiting for him to strike her down, but he simply nodded, and she felt her heart lift. Her words of cursing had not been understood.

"What about the rest of the blood?"

"If there's more than needed I would feed my masters."

"Show me."

She dug in the earth with her hands and tipped the rest of the blood into the hole, pressing the disturbed soil down to form a red mud.

"Receive food, my masters," she said. "Eat, eat and hear your servant. Eat." It was a real, though very minor, sacrifice and there was no blasphemy in carrying it out in any place. If she could attract even the smallest attention to her, she would.

"Interesting," Ukoku said. "I think there's some point in doing this in a powerful place. Wash at the tap." He walked off.

"He's pleased with you. That's good," the boy said.

"You're pleased too," she said. "That's better."

He smiled, a shy, pleased smile unlike the practiced ones of merriment he gave Ukoku and showed her to water to wash her hands.

Her wound healed, and she thought the healer-priest was mollified by her calm courtesy to him. Every day she inclined her head graciously to him, and called him Master Healer. He still did not allow her to set foot inside the building, nor for any of the younger men to treat her. Nonetheless, the hostility in his voice lessened, and the word he used when addressing her the boy translated as Abbess, which she had decided was their word for High Priestess. It was annoying to be addressed by a lesser title, but these barbarians knew no better. She was almost sorry that the curse would inevitably spread outwards from the Small House and take all of Zenou. This man had come to be useful to her, and he was less and less cautious in his dislike of Ukoku, with heavy-handed instructions for her to be careful not to collide with any more cigarettes, or to be aware which end was hot, or to stand back if a man who held one became excitable and waved his hands about like a boy. Her boy – she had begun to think of him so – scowled at such remarks until prodded to translate.

"He thinks he's so funny," he grumbled as they walked back from the healers in the afternoon. She needed only the ointment now and had been told she did not need to come every day.

"Perhaps he wished to console a foreign priestess who should not have been burnt by his High Priest," she said, and he fell silent. "I know you didn't want him to do that," she added, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

"No," he said. "He – it was just because you can't ever say no, Arha. That's the rule. If you say no, you're punished! And naughty children should be punished, shouldn't they?"

She thought about it. "If you climbed on – " She looked around. "On the roof of the prayer hall, and stayed there laughing with a friend, would Ukoku beat you?"

"No," he said. "I don't think so."

"What about the friend?" She had seen him laughing with some of the younger novices. "What if another priest said to himself, I cannot beat this boy, he is Ukoku's, but this other one, I'll beat enough for two? Would that be fair?"

"No," the boy said. "I guess not."

"Would Ukoku stop it?"

"No," he said. He looked down. "He'd say it was our own fault for getting caught."

"I climbed a wall," Arha said, "when I was no older than you. I sat on top with a friend and we laughed and talked, and hid on it when we should have done work. I could not be punished, for I was the Eaten One. My friend was whipped with rods until her back bled, and she was given no food all that day and the next. I couldn't stop it, being a child." She looked fiercely at him. "I want things to be different. I want to be able to say Stop and for the world to hear. Do you want that?"

He chewed a finger, and looked at her silently. "Yes," he whispered. "I want to be able to say stop. I always wanted that."

"You're a good boy," she said, and embarrassed herself by putting her hand on his cheek in public. It was worth it, for he smiled and looked at her with eager eyes, as he so often did when she offered affection. "I am lonely in the evenings," she said, smiling. "Perhaps you can come and talk to me tonight?"

"You could come –" he started.

"Please, can't you come to me? Weren't you told I can have what I want within reason?"

He chewed his finger again and nodded. "Master will let me, I'm sure."

He did come, a smile wreathing his face.

"Master asked if I wanted you to come to the house and why you wanted company," he said. "I told him you'd told me a sad story about your home and he said he wasn't in the mood for female weepiness!" He grinned widely. "I didn't lie at all!"

"You never lie to him," she said.

"Of course not," he said, so quickly she knew he could not be telling the truth.

"Look," she said, going to the door. "There is no moon." She took a breath; she had never done this before, but things were different now. There was another Eaten One, and surely he could see. A boy, her mind whispered. Yes. This was what her masters had decreed, she told herself. It was not a sin. "I want to show you something, but it's a very great secret, and I can only show you because we're alike, you and I."

"What?" he said eagerly. "What is it, Arha?"

It was time, she thought. It was time for him to be truly hers. She took his hands.

"I was taken from my family," she said. "You were taken from yours –" He looked alarmed and tried to pull away but she tightened her grip. "We have both become nameless, and are in service to Those Who are Nameless, the Old Powers who have existed since before the Founding of the World. Isn't this so?"

"I –" he said. "I . . . suppose so. The Muten – it means Nothing, or –"

"You see, you know. Ukoku knows too, and so he didn't try to give you a name, but calls you child."

"Kiddo," he said clearly, so she could hear the foreign sound of it under the meaning the spell gave her. "He says I can have a name when I have the Muten."

"You don't need a name," she said. "You are like me. You have been Eaten."

He stared at her.

"It means you're a very special boy," she said cunningly, and truthfully. "There has never been a boy like you before. Never, since the start of everything. We are the same, you and I."

A soft, wondering look was on his face.

"Does that mean," he said, pink on his cheeks, "that you're my big sister?"

She raised a hand to her mouth. He was clever. He was her shadow, a boy where she was a woman; younger as befitted something new, like a shadow that sprang into being only after the source had been created.

"Yes," she said. "I'm your big sister. You're my little brother. We are the Eaten Ones."

He drove the air from her with his embrace, saying broken things into her robe, something about her being lost and having come back to him.

"Yes," she said, tears on her cheeks, not wanting to let go of him. "I'm here. They won't take you from me. Look, this is what I want you to see –"

She stood on the grass in the dark and began to dance. She had never Danced the Dark of the Moon where a man could see it, but he was just a boy, and Eaten, and his eyes were full of joy and reverence as she moved. When it was done she knew she hadn't sinned, and he bowed to her.

"Arha," he said. "Lady Arha. My sister –"

"You're Eaten too," she said, and held out her hand. "Come, let me show you the steps."

He was a quick learner – fear of the wizard had made him so – and graceful on his feet. He picked up it easily, although he did not have a knife to throw and catch. They danced it together, then, him shadowing her moves and turns, and finished, bowed down flat to the powers of the earth.

"This is a holy secret," she said. "You can't reveal it."

"No, Sister," he said, his eyes shining.

She kissed his cheeks and forehead, and he hurried away, elated. She'd have to trust he would keep silent. She felt the warm memory of his embrace, the soft things he had cried against her about being found at last.

He was fully hers, and her heart was glad. She had been alone through so many centuries, and now she would never be alone again.

"I've found the perfect vacation spot," Ukoku said. "We can have a nice family picnic, take a few holiday snaps. Arha can put on a bikini instead of that rag that she hasn't washed once since she got here and maybe we'll have a little quality time." He leered at her, and she pretended he spoke with respect, of things worthy of her time.

"What's a bikini, Ukoku Sanzo?"

"It's clothes for swimming in!" the boy said in quick brightness, and Ukoku looked crestfallen at not having had the chance to be the one to explain. "Are we going to the seaside, Master?"

"No. My research has turned up a dank and miserable cave in the extreme north of the country, formed – well, I'm sure you'd say at the beginning of the world, Arha. It's the product of ancient volcanic activity – you can't have much more wrathful power of the earth than that – and freezing cold all year round. You'll love it!"

"Oh," the boy said, disappointed. "I thought we might be going to the seaside."

"Maybe after." Ukoku swept up sheets of paper, all covered with his little symbols, and tapped them together. "You and me, Childling. I don't think Arha would like the beach."

"Are you going to want me to carry out a ritual there?" she said.

"Yes. I'll want you to summon your masters – don't bother saying they can't be summoned, anything can be brought to heel with the right inducement – and I'll take it from there."

"What do you want to do?" she said. "And why? They are not your powers."

"You'll see," he said. "And it's because I want to see if I can. I'm a great believer in knowledge for its own sake. Right, I'm going to get what we'll need. The two of you should start packing for a trip; I know you girls can never pack light."

He left, laughing at his own wit. Arha looked at the boy who smiled a little guiltily and went to find a cloth satchel. He folded up a clean robe similar to that he wore, and put it and his doll in the satchel, along with several bars of the chocolate. Then he took one out and broke it in half, holding it out to her.

"I'm sure he'll buy us more once we get there!"

She ate her half slowly, savouring the taste and the way it melted on her tongue. She wished she could have eaten some every day of her life.

"I could try to find robes that wouldn't be too big for you," the boy said. "You could wear something clean, if you wanted."

"But this is mine," she said. "And no doubt we will be leaving soon – if I washed it, it wouldn't dry in time."

"That's true," he said, then his eyes brightened. "I know! He'll never miss them –" He darted to a chest standing by the wall and took out a long shapeless open robe of undyed cream wool. "Look!" He shook it out and she saw it was not as shapeless as she'd first thought, with a carefully stitched collar and wide sleeves partially sewn up at the cuffs.

"My master never wears the white ones any longer," the boy said. "I know maybe you should wear black, but if you do need to wear something else, I'll have this for you!" He dived back into the chest, coming out with a long strip of black fabric. "You belt it shut with this. Don't challenge anyone to a fight, or they'll think you're very good!" He repacked his satchel, the new set of robes at the bottom. "I bet we're going to fall into a river or something," he sighed. "You'll be glad of dry clothes."

The next morning there was a quiet knock, long before dawn. She was already awake and had carried out the Unsealing of Doors, so she went to see what required her attention. The boy stood there, his face drawn and tear-marked. He flung himself against her, saying nothing, and she drew him quietly into the house.

"It's all right," she said. "You're with me. When we're together, we're strong. What has happened?"

"Your friend," he mumbled. "The one who was beaten. Did she run away?"

"No," she said. "Where could she run? And we had done wrong, and Penthe had to accept her punishment."

"Because naughty children deserve –"

"She did not deserve that," Arha said fiercely. "We sat on a wall, and hung down on the outer side for a few moments! That was all!"

"I played ball with a friend," he whispered. "I was so glad to have a friend. That was all we did, we played ball, and when my master called for me I said I wanted to play just a moment longer. I was about to score a goal! And, and –"

"You were punished?"

"We're the same," he whispered. "He punished my friend instead of me. He – " His face went white, utterly white. "He did, did it to him and he made me watch. The next day my friend had run away and no one knows what happened to him."

"What did he do?" she said, trying to decipher his almost inaudible voice.

"What he said he'd do to you," he said, and wept. "He know, he knows I can't – that I – he still –"

She held him through the tears, horror in her heart. "Hush," she said, stroking his hair. "I'm here now."

"Oh, Arha," he said, his voice wavering, "he's going to do it to you!"

"He is not. He's changed his mind now that I'm telling him what he wants."

"You don't understand!" the boy cried. "He told me!"

She stared at him in shock. Ukoku had discussed his depravity with a child?

"He's going to have you do your ritual, and then he said, She practices human sacrifices. I think we'll finish things off with a virgin sacrifice -"

"Was he threatening you?" she said in fury.

"No," the boy said bitterly. "He wasn't. Then he laughed and said, Well, let's start with sacrificing her virginity and then move on to the blood. I asked him not to, and he just laughed at me and said he'd find me a nicer girl to play with."

"We need to flee," she said numbly. "Where can we go?"

"He'd find us," the boy said. "He really is clever, Arha, and he doesn't stop when he gets angry." His young face clouded over in fury and fear. "He promised, he promised me he'd never do that again, but he'll do it to you and he'll make me watch and –" He struggled for control and then looked up, horrible resolution in his eyes. "Arha. Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes, I keep the Oldest of secrets."

"Can you remember something odd if I tell it to you?"

"Yes," she said. "What is it?"

He chanted foreign words, syllable by syllable. It would have been a slow stream of sound, uncatchable to most people, but she had trained for years to learn chants and secrets by ear on one or two repetitions. The enchantment translated them here and there, but most were meaningless noise, falling into her mind as if they had always been in her memory.

"Again," she said, and closed her eyes, blocking out the meaning, hearing only the sounds. She had it. She opened her eyes and looked at him, nodding.

"Is that –"

"Yes," he said, his eyes wide with the enormity of what he'd done. "Those are the words of the Muten Sutra."

Arha stood with the boy and Ukoku overlooking a wide and sere plain, cold wind howling into her face. Her robe felt more normal on her skin than it had in many days: Ukoku had accepted her lie that she would need both knife and keys for the ritual and had returned her belt to her. The plaited length of horsehair was comforting about her waist. The boy held a protesting goat on a length of rope. It had bleated and shat when Ukoku used her masters' power in the Muten to bring them to this place. To her left, she saw a line of mountains marching in a straight line, four peaks in a row, and beyond, a large lake, so deep the water was utterly black, another on the same line. She and the others, however, stood on the slopes of another mountain that rose above a smaller brother, glowering forth at the world. The land felt hostile and inimical to life; it very much felt like the sourness of the Tombs. Fear and longing rose in her – could Ukoku really have found a place where her masters reached? She watched the wizard-priest carefully as he looked at the papers with his little symbols, and then pointed across the slope.

"That way."

After half a mile of slipping on treacherous cold rock they came to an opening like a wound, high and dark in the mountain. Ukoku grinned fiercely, laying a hand possessively on the rockface.

"This is it, children. Let's go."

Mere steps inside it was pitch black. Ukoku's metal-crowned staff gleamed with sudden light and he whistled as they walked along, as if he still didn’t understand that such inward places of the earth must be kept in silence and darkness. The walls rose high above them, out of reach of the light. They were smooth to the touch, as if polished, and here and there, large bright flecks gleamed amidst the dark stone, a black glassy radiance reflecting back the unholy light. They walked along for three hundred paces, the goat complaining all the way, and the boy muttered rudely about it to himself.

"Up ahead," Ukoku said suddenly, and she could see there was a wider space.

The passage opened out into an immense cavern, easily the size of the Undertomb. Black rock walls glistened with ice crystals and the floor was a solid sheet of old ice. In the centre of the cavern stood two immense pillars of black glass, each ten foot high, and broader than they were tall. Their enormous girth made them look squat despite their height.

"Did someone carve them?" the boy said in wonder.

"The earth," Arha said. "The earth carved them."

"Poetic, but not entirely incorrect," Ukoku said. "Well? What does this place say to you?"

She swayed. She could feel the might of the earth, its anger at the light in its secret inward places. She could feel her masters. The pillars were Tombs, she knew as clearly as she had known anything in her life.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes."

"All right, Arha," Ukoku said. "Show me yours and I'll show you mine." He nodded to the boy, who reluctantly led the goat forwards.

"Poor goat," he said.

"It's necessary. Have you got the basin?"

"Yes! Oh. Can you hold the goat?"

Ukoku sighed deeply as the boy rushed back to where he'd dropped their supplies. "Hurry it up, my balls are getting cold."

"Yes, Master."

"Good boy. I'll buy you a treat later."

"Thank you."

Arha looked warningly at the boy as he came back. He had not been as effusive with Ukoku as was his normal custom. But there was no time to worry. She had her knife, the boy had a knife as well. And they were the Eaten Ones. They had the right to be here; Ukoku did not. She signalled to him to hold the sacrifice steady and took a deep breath. This was not her part in the ritual. She should have a eunuch warden with a sharp sword to do this. Perhaps she would be forgiven. She bent and cut the goat's throat, helping the boy to hold it until the life was gone from the creature. Most of the blood went into the silver basin Ukoku had provided, though plenty went on both her and the boy. She lifted the steaming basin and slowly, reverently, approached the pillars, chanting the rite of offering. Which pillar was the one to receive the blood? She couldn't tell, so she poured half on the base of one, the rest at the base of the other, and came back. She stood there, elated. She had offered to her masters, here in their place in a distant world.

"That was different to what you did and said before," Ukoku said, not smiling. "Why?"

"It had to be so," she said calmly. "This is an old and powerful place, not one to be protected."

Ukoku raised his head suddenly, as if scenting something. "Yes," he said. "Do you feel that?"

"What?" she said, for she wished him to think her harmless, to think she had felt nothing.

He looked at her slyly. "And to think I thought you had potential. Let's finish the ritual, shall we?"

He stepped towards her, and she held her ground, for she had in truth felt the earth take notice. He raised his hand and she knew he would ensorcel her –

"Master!" the boy cried. Just a moment of distraction, as they had planned. She could ask him to do no more, not when he had loved Ukoku so deeply and for so long. The wizard-priest paused and looked towards him.

She moved, faster than she had with the goat, as fast as she ever did when she danced the Dark of the Moon, and slashed across Ukoku's throat. He made a shocked noise and his hand flew back to clasp the wound. Her hand continued its arc, as graceful as the wizard himself when he had fought the boy, and pulled the Muten from his shoulders. Ukoku tried to yell, the sound whistling through his ruined throat and grabbed, his bloodied hand reaching not for her but for the Muten. The boy leapt past him, pulling the dangling end out of reach.

"Kiddo," Ukoku's lips formed silently.

"You promised you'd never do that again!" the boy shrieked.

Arha looked down. Beneath the ice she saw red, bright red, the fury of the earth, rising. The cavern shook, rocking them all, and Ukoku stared down at his feet, aghast. He pointed at them, but the Muten fluttered in the boy's grasp and whatever Ukoku had done faltered and died. He was supporting himself heavily now on his staff, blood still running between his fingers.

"You promised!" the boy screamed. "You lied!" He turned to her, his face set. "Mu-ten-" he started, and she joined in as Ukoku's eyes widened in fury and alarm.

"No," she thought he tried to say, but her masters reached out through the dark and the emptiness and her last sight of him was his expression of anger and fear as he was left to face the rising anger of the earth, alone.

Arha coughed and gasped as the chill wind blew dry, sour earth into her face. She opened her eyes and stared up at stars she knew, fading in the light of dawn. Above her a great black stone stood, looking as if it wished to fall and crush her for the temerity of lying by it. She leapt to her feet, looking around wildly.

She stood amidst the Tombs. She was alone.

"Ohhhh," a voice said by another stone, and a patch of light cloth moved.

She ran to the boy and ran her hands over his head, his arms. He seemed whole. He was grasping the Muten tight.

"Wake up," she hissed, and his eyes opened.

"Are we safe?"

"Yes! Yes, for now. We're in the Place of the Tombs, amongst the Tombs themselves. None may come here but the One Priestess – and you. I must think what I will do."

She could hide him in the Small House while she thought what to do. She could bid him live with the guards. She could –

She would do none of these things. He was a new thing their masters had chosen, the first new thing since the beginnings of everything. She would not hide her little shadow brother. And yet, the moment he showed himself, everyone would cry sacrilege. Even if Kossil didn't see him at once, that tattler, Mebbeth, would run to her with tales. She put her hand on the tall black stone for strength and nodded. She had killed one enemy today. She would not let anyone stand in the way of her masters ever again.

"The enchantment that lets us understand each other will fade," she said, "but I'll teach you our tongue. For now, learn these words. These are the Tombs -"

"Tombs," he echoed in her tongue.

"Good. That building there is the Hall of the Throne, and those are the Temple of the Twin Gods and the Temple of the God-King. I am a priestess."

His memory was good, and he copied her precisely. She nodded.

"This is also important. We will face those who think nothing must ever change; I used to think that too, although I didn't like it and thought I would drown in a dry sea of unchanging. Now things have changed and you're here. We will make these lands anew, you and I. To those who say we may not – if I say Strike down, can you use the Muten against them?"

"I don't know," he said in worry. "I think it was obeying you, because you fought my master and took it from him. Those are the rules, I think."

"But we're the same, you and I," she said. "We are the Eaten Ones. We are the same." She hung it over his shoulders. If he was right, would he have to stay in the Place, while she went out to speak to lords and powerful men? She had never considered such a future. "Come," she said. "We need to wash our hands and faces, and find some food."

She led him from the Tombs to the Big House and around to the well. They pulled up a bucket of icy water and washed the dried blood away from their faces and hands in relief. She reached out and scrubbed at a stubborn flake on his forehead, but it wouldn't come free. Looking closer she saw it was a perfectly circular scarlet mark, as if he had been touched by the burning end of a cigarette.

"Does this hurt?" she said, her fingers gentle.

"What?" He rubbed his forehead and his eyes went huge in shock. "Do you have a mirror?"

"No."

He stared down into the well bucket at his wavery image in the water. "Oh," he said. "Oh, Arha."

"What is it?"

"It's a chakra! It, it means I can use the Muten, and –" His voice died as he looked at her. "You have one as well," he whispered. "How is that – You really are my sister, like you said –" He flung his arms around her again. "We are the same," he said. "You were right." He sighed, his head resting on her shoulder. "He must be dead. We wouldn't have this mark if he wasn't, I think. Oh, Arha, we killed him, and it hurts!"

"Shh," she said as he cried. "The earth killed him. And he's clever, like you said. It may be that he escaped."

She slipped through the kitchen back door and seized up a loaf of the previous day's bread then took him to the Small House, finding it cold and untended. Looking out the window as they ate, she mused that the day was chill, but not as chill as it should have been. There had been the first signs of spring on the hills – how long had she been away? Women in black were now moving around, the temples of the Twin Gods and the God-King welcoming the day.

"We cannot skulk our way into our position. I must tell everyone we're here," she said. "Stay close."

Together they marched down from the Small House towards the Temple of the God King, shining in the early rays of the sun, and the dome of the Temple of the Twin Gods on its small hill. Women stopped in their tracks to watch them, whispering to each other. One put back her cowl and the sun shone on Penthe's fair hair.

"Arha!" she cried. "Oh, Arha, you live!"

"I always live," Arha said serenely. "When Arha-that-Was is no more, Arha-that-Is has come to be." Penthe ran to her and seized her hands, tears on her face. "I know," Arha said, as gently as she could. "I'm not mocking you."

"But who is this girl?" Penthe said, looking at the boy, and then her face changed in understanding. "Arha?" she said in surprise, "What is this?"

"Mistress," a cold voice beyond them said, and Penthe flinched. "You have returned."

Arha squeezed Penthe's hands. She had seen Mebbeth running for the God-King's Door.

"I have walked the worlds at my masters' bidding, Kossil," she said loudly. "And now I have returned at their command."

"Penthe. Into the temple," Kossil said, and Penthe bowed her head submissively.

"No, Penthe," Arha said, still holding her hands. "Stay."

"She is not yours to command. Mistress."

"Is this your friend?" the boy whispered. "And your enemy?"

"What is this?" Kossil said frowning as she looked at him. "A boy? What language is that?"

"Yes," Arha said, not to her. To Kossil, and to all of them, she said, raising her voice, "He is also the Eaten One, chosen and sent here by my masters, by our masters, for the renewal of the glory of the Tombs."

"This is blasphemy," Kossil said in satisfaction. "Sacrilegious nonsense. No man may set foot here. Duby!" Her eunuch warden came out from the crowd, looking worried. "Take this boy and castrate him beyond the wall before the guards kill him. Thus we will cleanse our holy ground."

"Mistress," he said, bowing, looking in worry at Arha.

She saw Manan in the crowd, staring at her as if at a long-denied treasure. He was only an old fool of a bellwether and she longed for his embrace. When she was done here she would go to him and allow him to enfold her in his arms.

"Stand back, Duby," she said. "Kossil, you will bow your head to both of us, or you will bear the wrath of the Nameless Ones."

"You are not worthy of being Arha," Kossil sneered. "You and your ancient dusty stones! Where have you been these last weeks? Out whoring yourself with some shepherd in the hills –"

Arha drew a sharp breath as all the women made shocked noises. She turned to the boy in fury, the fear of her authority slipping away coming on her like a storm.

"Strike her down!" she hissed.

The boy said something the spell did not translate, and the Muten erupted up from his shoulders as he stamped his foot on the earth with a childish shout. The ground split open, running from his foot towards Kossil faster than she could cry out for help, widening as it went. With a scream she teetered and fell into the growing chasm and the boy stamped his foot again. The earth slammed shut.

Amidst the screams and wails, Arha heard only the hammering of her own heart as she looked upon the boy, her new Eaten One, her shadow. Truly, truly she had done her masters' bidding. Penthe fell to her knees before her, her face alight with love and awe.

"Arha!" she cried. "Eaten Ones!" She let her head fall against Arha's thighs. "I'm sorry I ever said I didn't believe," she said. "I believe in you, in you both."

"Penthe," Arha said, as loud as she could, "I name you High Priestess of the God King here in the Tombs. Things will be different now, I promise. We will make this Place anew."

"But Mistress," Duby said, staring at the crack that marked where Kossil had vanished, "word must come from Awabath as to who will be the next High Priestess. It's not the place of anyone here to –"

"This is my Place," Arha said firmly, and raised her voice to a yell. "Is there any who will gainsay my will?"

Silence fell, and one by one all the women went to their knees, raising their arms above their heads, the loose black sleeves falling back.

"They are Eaten!" they cried obediently. "They are Eaten, they are Eaten!"

Arha reached out and took the boy's hand, raising it in her own. They stood there, solemn and powerful, accepting the acclamation that was theirs by right.

Sertal, priest of the God-King of the great temple in the city of Mesreth, watched the young priest approach. He didn't know him, but that the man was a priest was obvious. He wore a simple cream-coloured robe belted about his hips, a painted scarf slung over his shoulders and his shoes bore the marks of long travel. A pilgrim no doubt, from some distant part of Hur-at-Hur. His features had an odd cast to them, one that Sertal had seen once or twice in the faces of pilgrims from the very north of the island, in the dragon-haunted highlands.

"Good morrow!" the young man said cheerfully. "Are you the High Priest?"

"That I'm not, friend," Sertal said. "I'm no older than you for a start, and barely any richer, I'd imagine. Inhortethdak is a man of noble birth and noble girth, too! My name is Sertal, and I'm an ordinary priest, but I can show you around the temple and lead you through the prayers to our Lord the God King." Privately he thought the young priest and his parents might have been lax in their prayers in previous years, for an old and shiny burn scar marred his face, and a bright red birthmark was on his brow. The scar was obvious, but not as unsightly as it could be, for which Sertal was glad. Some pilgrims had missing limbs or terrible illnesses, and he was never sure how to respond to their prayers for healing. This priest did not seem to care about his deformities.

"Excellent," the young man said. "Lead on."

"Your speech," Sertal said as they walked up the fine temple, the young man gasping at the wealth on display, "is that an Atuan accent?" It was strange that a man who looked to be from the north of Hur-at-Hur spoke so.

"Yes, it certainly is! I've walked all the way here – well, part of the way I was on a ship, of course! Do you know, this may be the finest temple of the God King I've seen yet?"

"You mustn't have been to Awabath," Sertal said, who had himself never set foot off Hur-at-Hur.

"I'm saving it for last."

"Look, this is the first of the priest-kings, defeating the evil wizard who came to our lands," Sertal said, pointing at a painting before which burned candles and offerings of scented oils. "And here is the father of the God-King, smiting the wizards who attacked the coast of Atnini, and the God King of our time, blessing the people in Awabath –"

"It's all quite marvellous."

"Come, I'll lead you through the call-and-response."

"Sertal, I must speak with your High Priest," the young man said.

"Now, that's not poss-"

"Fetch him."

Sertal was at Inhortethdak's door before he thought to ask himself why he had moved. With a shaking hand he knocked and opened the door before he was answered.

"Master," he whispered as Inhortethdak looked up in irritation, "Master, I think a wizard is in the temple."

"Don't be ridiculous," Inhortethdak said.

"He looks like one of us, but he bent my will like a blade of grass with his words. I swear it!"

With a sigh Inhortethdak heaved himself up and strode out, Sertal close behind. The young man was still where he'd left him, rocking back and forth on his heels and toes before the painting of the God King.

"Ah, High Priest!" he said. "Good tidings! I am come from the Place of the Tombs on Atuan to tell you that you will now divert one tenth part of your wealth each month to the Tombs. You may send it in gold for the treasury, or in food, or in slaves, or in supplies and workmen for the ongoing renovation and beautification of the Hall of the Throne. You'll also make a pilgrimage there yearly, though of course you may visit the Temple of the God King at the Tombs also –"

"Who is this fool?" Inhortethdak said. "Guards! Throw him out and beat him!"

Three guardsmen came at his call, hurrying towards the young man who heaved a sigh, as if he had expected such silliness. He moved as if he were dancing between them, a fast, whirling set of steps too fast for Sertal to properly follow and stood at rest before Inhortethdak. Behind him one guard lay silent, his head at an unnatural angle, another rolled back and forth clutching his manly parts, and the third shrieked, his knee shattered.

"As I was saying," the young man said. "Yearly pilgrimages, and –"

Inhortethdak called down the lightning of the gods on him, his face white with fear. The young man raised an arm, the scarf about his neck twining along it like a serpent, and blackness surrounded his hand. The lightning was caught in his palm and died.

"It's always the same," he said mildly. "Even though I ask nicely."

He pointed at Inhortethdak and spoke a sharp unknown word, snapping his fingers. The High Priest grimaced, his hand going to his chest. He gasped for breath, then fell, his face contorted. Sertal fell to his knees beside him, trying to help.

"Don’t bother, he's quite dead."

Sertal looked up in shock. The young man still looked so harmless, so pleasant and friendly.

"You were nice to me," he said. "When you thought I was just some Atuan nobody. I like that! I pronounce you High Priest of the God King here in Mesreth, Sertal. Don't worry, I have more authority to do that with every temple I visit!" He laughed merrily. "I know you'll do as I've asked, won't you?"

Sertal found himself nodding helplessly, his hand still on the body of Inhortethdak.

"But who are you, my lord?" he whispered.

The young man gave him a happy smile, that of a boy well pleased with the world.

"I am the One Priest of the Tombs," he said. "I am one of the Eaten Ones."

His smile became a delighted laugh.

"I am Arha."