Book One – Chapter 19

Yu did not know what she was. He did not know if it was possible to fake to be a shaman, or how to tell the true from the false. He knew nothing of significance, never heard anything of consequence, and all he believed was superstition spun into story. Shamans came and went. They wandered between places, passing like weather through the lives of villages, sometimes lingering for a few days, other times months. They watched or traded service for shelter, whatever that meant, if not healing. None had ever stayed with the people of the settlements. Their paths ran further south, along the Albweiss regions and beyond. The only shaman to ever reside in the Barnstreams was the one at the Mausoleum, and she had come less than a year ago. Before her, only one other had crossed Undertellems in the last decade. That is, not counting Jerikall —

The name crashed into him like thunder. His whole body jolted upright. His wings tore from his face and struck down onto the workbench with a sharp slap. Then came the storm, a lightning storm of thought, binding and blinding. Yu tensed. His wings pressed against the table. His talons clawed at the stone, scraping and flexing, left, right, left, right, as it ran over him. Each realisation flashed sharper than the last.

Could Jerikall tell him more? Was he the one person who could make sense of all this? He seemed newly changed, yes, but still, he must know how it worked. He must have been instructed. Was this knowledge sacred? Was it forbidden, or could it be shared? If Jerikall knew anything of the ’s transformation, would he tell Yu? Would it be safe to ask? Surely a shaman would not serve a syndicate — no, never, not a true one. Surely Jerikall would not conspire with one wizard to deceive another, nor lend his craft to the Shaira, nor to a scheming Witch Blessed. For that would mean taking sides, and no shaman took sides. If Jerikall was real, he was safe —

          Why, then, is he with them?