The Baksy

1.

I don't have a horse anymore. I used to, though. It was a gentle creature, sturdy and chestnut-colored, with fast legs and a strong neck. But Daru got jealous and killed it, and since that terrifying incident, I prefer traveling on foot.

Which is a real pain, if you ask me, especially, in summer, when the hard steppe soil sears under your feet and the sun bakes from above, and you pretty much feel like a flatbread stuck into the clay oven.

Around midday, I stop by the river to get some rest and settle down on the rocky side to take off my boots. They are so old, these boots. The leather got thin and soft with time, and yet they managed to leave bloody blisters all over my soles and toes. I've been walking for far too long.

I sigh and sink my suffering feet into the water. It numbs the pain and washes away some of the tiredness, and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation. When I open them again, Daru is sitting on the shore, only a few steps away from me.

"And where've you been?" I ask. "Haven't seen you for the past two days straight."

"I was scouting. And I bring good news," he answers amicably. "There is a village upstream, and they have a … monster situation. We might want to check it out."

"We might," I shrug, and start pulling my dress off. "But first I need a bath. Watch my stuff."

The coolness of the water takes my breath away when I get into the river.

Daru waits for me. I can't see his eyes—does he even have any?—but I always feel it when his attention is upon me. There's this alertness about him. It reminds me both of a mother watching her child and a predator watching its prey.

A village with a monster problem … I am both relieved and disappointed at the news. I was walking for a few days without encountering a single settlement, so to finally see a human face would be welcome indeed. But "a monster situation"? I hate that sort of stuff. Healing and playing music—that's one thing, but killing beasts isn't something I would call a passion.

Daru notes my mood.

"We haven't had a decent meal in days, Alma," he reminds me. "And I hate to be hungry. And you could use a pair of new boots, too."

New boots. Maybe a new coat for the upcoming fall … yes, that would be nice. Daru's right. We need money and so-called "monster situations" are the best way to make it.

"We'll check it out, don't worry. So what exactly happened there?"

"Oh, just some murders", he shrugs. "I came upon a burial procession. A whole family was being sent off. So I got curious, followed and listened. Victims were brutally killed, townsfolk say. Partially eaten, too. And those weren't the first victims. All in all, seven people in the last six months were killed in the same manner."

"Partially eaten, you said?"

"Well, grisly murders pay the best. Folk don't tend to argue over the price when there's a human-eating monster about."

I look at him then. His soot-black shape reminds me of a human, but only vaguely. His arms are long and thin, and so are his legs. And he doesn't walk the way people do—he crouches, crawls, and sticks to the shadows.

"What else have you learned?" I ask, getting out of the river and wringing water out of my braids.

"Not much. The village belongs to a Richman, who seems desperate to find the murderer. The local shaman is pretty much useless. He isn't going to like our intervention, though."

"Do they ever?"

"No, they don't. But who cares? As long as we're getting paid, right?"

"Of course," I undo my hair to let it dry while I walk, then pull the dress over my still wet body. "How far is this village?"

"A few miles."

"Great."

I gather my things and set my feet upstream.

2.

A few miles, my ass! I should know better than to trust in Daru's ability to gauge distances. I'd walked through the whole day and still wasn't able to reach the unfortunate village by nightfall.

We spend the night in a tomb. These lonely structures in the middle of the steppe often serve as shelters to travelers. Made of clay, they keep people warm in winter, cool in summer, and dry in the in-between seasons. And the spirits of the dead guard their sleep and offer protection from the creatures that roam the wilds at night.

We continue on our journey as soon as the sun stirs in its cloudy bed in the east, and by the time it passes its highest point, we finally reach our destination.

The village hides in the shade of a crooked rock that looks like a gigantic balbal--a tombstone, lost among the feathery grass of the steppe. Whenever Daru tells me about a place, I try to picture it in my mind before actually seeing it. Sometimes it turns out to be more or less accurate, but this time, it's not. When he mentioned the bloody murders, I conjured up a dull grim image: something grey, and quiet, and ugly, with the cold wind blowing through the empty paths, and hungry dogs barking at every passerby.

But in reality, the village is nothing like that. It's pristine and welcoming, like a cup of cold milk after a long walk in the heat. The hot summer sun doesn't trouble it during the day, and the river that runs past the yurts fills the air with a refreshing cool mist. There is something almost merry about this place. I can't quite pinpoint what makes it so, but let's just say I have trouble believing that a whole family was murdered here not long ago.

There are, probably, a little over a hundred people living in the village, and they all come to gawk when I strut through the gates. I'm used to it, so it's not a big deal.

The truth is, I'd gawk too if I were them. I'm quite a sight to behold: a tiny woman with a short sword on her left hip and an old two-string kobyz on her right shoulder, alone, horseless, and tired like a dog. I've also got a bag full of spare clothes and some shamanic stuff, and those are pretty much all my possessions. That's the baksy's life for you—you take what you can carry and make do.

Daru follows me, a soundless dark cloud on the periphery of my vision, unseen by other people. Like all demons, he has a solid form, but I prefer him to go unnoticed by the strangers. Let everyone think me vulnerable. Let them think me weak.

The Richman's yurt is the biggest one and that's where I'm headed. The old man welcomes me with open arms, quite literally. Tradition dictates one to show hospitality to any traveler who happens upon their home, but to a baksy—especially so. Whether it's done out of respect for the profession or a superstitious fear, I don't mind it at all.

The Richman ushers me inside and orders his women to fix me something to eat. I love it when people do that. Daru loves it, too, since he shares all my meals, and I feel he immediately likes the Richman … which, of course, wouldn't stop him from tearing the old man apart, if I ordered him to.

The Richman's three wives, two daughters, and a slave, all get busy, and soon a squat table is set before me and the dishes start piling up—warm bread, fermented milk, cottage cheese. A lamb is cooking in a wooden bowl atop the heated stones and the smell, after so many days of going on leathery dried meat, is heavenly.

Daru assumes the form of a snake and coils around my neck, as he enjoys the taste of the food I'm eating. I'm glad no one can actually see him right now. A sight like that might really freak these people out.

The Richman's slave tends to me, and I can't help but notice the girl's beauty. Her skin is white and flawless, her eyes are the lightest shade of green, and her thick braid reaches her knees.

"I guess money can buy you anything, huh?" Daru whispers into my ear. He too is watching the girl as she fills my cup.

That's not surprising. Rich people own slaves. And a girl like that, she is but a luxury, akin to a fine horse or a golden plate. Something they can brag about, something that shows off their status.

"It's a nice village you have here, lord," I say, stuffing my face with delicious hot bread. "It's hard to believe such a tragedy has befallen it."

"That's true," the Richman nods gravely. "Such a tragedy indeed!"

"When did it all start?"

"Well …" he pauses to collect his thoughts, "in the mid-spring, so that would be five or six months ago. The local blacksmith and his mother were torn apart by some unknown force. And now this—a family of five, only a couple days ago …"

I catch something in his voice. Hesitation.

"Yes?" I urge him, but he shakes his head.

"It's nothing."

I make a mental note, but don't press on.

"Have you ordered an investigation?"

"I have, but alas . . ." he trails off.

"We don't have a baksy here," the Richman's youngest wife intervenes. "Our shaman did his best, though."

Her name is Nara, and her fading beauty is brittle and sweet, like that of a flower, dried between the sheets of a book. I'm a bit surprised at her boldness—to intrude on her husband's conversation like that! The Richman must be very fond of her, to allow her such liberties.

His two older wives watch her grimly, silently. There must be some tension in the family, but that is hardly surprising. A rich household like this one, there has to be some sort of power struggle going on.

The Richman's son, Madi, is a quiet young man. He is simply dressed and isn't wearing any accessories except a woven bracelet on his wrist—a complicated peculiar pattern draws my eyes. He catches me staring, and smiles.

I blink and look away.

"Why didn't you send for a proper baksy then?" I ask the Richman, washing the meat down with cold fermented milk. It tastes wonderful, and the shadow perched on my shoulders wholeheartedly agrees.

The Richman shakes his head.

"You folk aren't too common these days, and our village is way out, too far away from other settlements, as you've probably noticed."

"Oh, we have," Daru chuckles.

"The Eternal Sky must have brought you here to aid us," the old man says. "You will look into the matter now, won't you? Surely, you won't abandon us in peril? And I will personally see you rewarded generously if you catch the murderer."

I notice a tinge of doubt in his voice. I'm but a woman, young enough to be his daughter, so he is skeptical, but he doesn't have much of a choice.

"Yeah," I nod. "I'll do my best."

3.

After the meal, the Richman offers me a guest yurt, but I decline, explaining that I need to sleep outside to draw power from the elements for the rituals. In truth, I just don't want to be watched.

"Tell me," I ask before we part, "the son you have with your youngest wife, is he your only son?"

"He is."

So that explains Nara's insolence. The Richman probably wanted an heir and none of the other wives could deliver. No wonder the one who managed to give birth to a boy is the favorite one.

I bid the Richman goodbye and walk through the village, listening to its sounds: the rustle of the bushes, the whispers of the felt covers being disturbed by the wind, and the crackling of the wood burning in the fire pits. I smell the air and kneel to touch the ground with the tips of my fingers.

I've seen my share of villages, and this one looks almost like a dream, an oasis in the hot dry steppe.

"It's a little quiet," Daru's voice remarks in my head.

"They're in mourning, what do you expect?"

"No," he touches the nape of my neck gently, and whispers, "they're scared."

"Can you blame them? I would be scared, too."

"Hey, you!" a voice interrupts our silent conversation, and I turn around to face the wrath of the local shaman.

He is short, but his stride as he approaches is wide and strong, like that of a much bigger man. He comes close and stops in front of me.

"You," he repeats.

"I've heard you the first time," I reply. "What do you want?"

"What is your business in this village?"

"Just passing through."

"He hired you to find the murderer, didn't he?"

"What if he did? It's not like you didn't have your chance to prove yourself."

"Think you're so smart, eh? You're but a girl."

"Scared a girl would beat you to it, then?"

He spits. Shamans love doing that.

"Go play your tunes in another village, baksy, and leave us be."

And with that, he turns around and walks away.

"We're so hearing from him again," Daru sighs.

"Don't we always?" I murmur.

Competition is the part and parcel of my line of work. Every village has a homegrown shaman or even another baksy, who can't handle the job, but doesn't let anyone else take it from them. Some are just mean, some try to scare me away, but some try to interfere, and those are, obviously, the worst. I guess soon I'll have to find out which category this shaman falls into.

*

I climb the narrow path that goes all the way up to the top of the high rock, and there I sit on its very edge, watching the village turned into an anthill by the distance. It's a good vantage point, and I notice a tomb, sitting atop a squat hill, belonging, perhaps, to a shaman or a baksy, as they are usually the kind of people who are buried apart from the common folk.

Villages seem like they're all alike, at first glance. Yurts, animals, people busy with their daily routines … but you have to be an experienced traveler with keen eyes and keen ears to know that every single one of them differs from the other, as the night differs from the day. Villages are full of sounds—sheep bleating, babies crying, herders calling in the distance, and oil sizzling inside the cook pots. But each village has its own voice, too—a tiny musical note that sings underneath all of these. It's inaudible for an untrained ear, but for me, it's as clear as the sound of rain, when you're caught in the middle of a summer thunderstorm.

The voice of this village sounds like the whimpering of a pup hiding in the bushes, afraid of the wolf sniffing around, looking for its helpless prey.

Daru, who serves me as a spy, looks around and then returns with a report.

"They were all murdered at night," he recounts, stretching in the grass beside me, "in their homes or just outside. I'm not sure if they have anything in common, either. They could be just random victims of some irrational anger. We have a real monster on our hands here and no mistake."

"Could it be a shape-shifter?"

"Most likely. Those shifty folk, they are always the worst kind. Their beastly energy that they are forced to conceal for days, for weeks, it builds up. And then when they lose control over it … bad things happen."

What's worse is that shape-shifters are smart, patient, and extremely good at hiding their true nature. They are hard to uncover.

"What about the shaman?" I ask. "Did you find out something about him?"

"No. Must I?"

"Who knows what he might come up with to kick us out of his village?"

"Let him try. He's just a drunk and a fraud like so many of them nowadays."

He's probably right.

I reach out for my kobyz and run my fingers over its strings. It's barely enough of a touch to draw a sound, like a tiny whisper that is immediately carried away by the wind before it reaches my ears.

The instrument was cut out of a single piece of wood, not to damage the spirit of the tree that inhabits it. It's been my companion since I was five.

From ancient times people believed that the baksies could heal any wound with their music. They think there is a song for every occasion, and that we know them all: a song to heal an aching heart and a song to heal a bloody wound; a song to help you remember and a song to make you forget.

I wish it was that simple!

Music is the most elaborate kind of magic. It requires keen ears and swift fingers, lithe wrists, and an open heart. Mastering the skill takes a whole lifetime, and I'm still too young. Often it seems that I'm stumbling through the darkness, my hands outstretched, trying to find my way by touch.

My father never taught me much about monsters. He hoped I wouldn't have to deal with those creatures that roam the steppe at night. He hoped I would never have to face the ugly side of the world, the dangers that lurk in the shadows on the edges of the roads. He hoped I would spend all my life in our tiny village, playing my music, and that people would be kind to me.

Instead, I ended up on the road. And now I wish that my father taught me more about all the most horrifying things.

But why am I so melancholic all of a sudden? It's not like it's something new. I've been living like this for a good five years now.

I flex my fingers, then, tentatively, move my left wrist. It's a little stiff, but it doesn't hurt. Good.

I pick up the bow and glide it over the strings. The melody spills into the darkness. It's just a simple spell of protection so that no monster can sneak up on me in the middle of the night. It has saved my life more than a few times—well, that and Daru, of course.

The dusk rises from the deep hollows and chuckholes and pits, filling up the valley, swallowing the anthill-village until all I can see are a few firelights far below. For a moment the top of the rock turns into an island, floating in the darkness, but then it, too, is swallowed, and the night closes over my head like black waters.

4.

I awake with a jolt to a vaguely familiar face of a young woman sitting just a few paces away from me, cradling a parcel on her lap. It takes me a few moments to place her.

"How did you find me?" I ask, rubbing my face.

The slave-girl raises her chin. Her beauty shines in the morning sun.

"I saw your fire in the night."

"Ah. I'm sorry, I never asked your name."

"Nayama," she answers.

"Nayama," I repeat. "That's some name for a slave."

"I haven't always been a slave."

"Who were you before then?"

She frowns, pausing.

"Just … a girl. Before I was captured and sold, I had lived a quiet and peaceful life in my homeland."

"And where is this homeland of yours?"

"Far away. In the middle of the steppe, where the seven rivers sing in unison."

"You must miss it terribly."

She doesn't reply, just shrugs, and then, hurrying to change the subject, she hands me the parcel.

"Here, I brought you this."

It's food. I smell it. Bread and some sour cream. Nothing fancy, but it's deliciously fresh. Nayama spreads a towel on the ground before me and puts a small ceramic piyala on top of it. She fills the cup with cool milk.

Sadly I can't eat just yet. Daru isn't here, and I should wait for him, so we can share.

I watch the girl instead and notice something peculiar. She is wearing a woven bracelet. A simple thing, but the pattern is familiar.

"The Richman's son, Madi, wears a similar bracelet," I remark, almost to myself, but she pulls her hand away at once, and hides it behind her back. "Did you make it for him?"

"No," Nayama bites her lip. "He made them for us."

"Why?"

"It's a … promise."

"Oh."

It doesn't look like an ordinary promise bracelet, though—too elaborate.

"He probably spent a lot of time making it. He must be really serious about you."

She hesitates, nods.

"And I imagine his family isn't too happy about it."

She gives me a grim look, but then she nods again.

"They would never accept a slave into their family," she says. "I don't want to talk about it. Tell me, how is your investigation going? Have you learned anything yet?"

"Not yet. Why do you ask?"

"My lady sent me to find out," she shrugs.

"Your lady? The youngest wife?"

"Nara. Yes."

"Did you know the people who were murdered?"

"It's a tiny village. I know everyone."

"Did you notice any of the village folk acting strangely lately? Or maybe you've heard something out of the ordinary?"

She shakes her head.

"All right then," I nod. "Well, thank you for the meal, Nayama. I appreciate it."

She leaves, and after a while, Daru joins me. I can finally eat.

"There's something off about that girl," the demon remarks. "She's too pretty."

"Does that make you distrust her?"

"It's this feeling I get around her. She's a freak."

"You can talk," I scoff.

"Haven't you heard stories of the vampires turning into pretty maidens and seducing men and drinking their blood at night?"

"I doubt she's a vampire."

"Why not?"

"She doesn't seem like the type. You trust your hunches, and I trust mine. But …" I pause, "better to be safe than sorry. I want you to watch her. And report back to me if there's something suspicious."

*

I spend my day exploring the village, weathering the wary looks of the people who live here. Some of them nod, as they know I'm here to help, even though they might distrust me. I listen to the sounds, trying to attune myself to the village's voice. My hands are itching to take the kobyz and play, but I tell myself, "Not yet!" I need to save my strength for later.

At midday, I'm invited to join the Richman and his family for lunch. Everyone eats together at the huge round table in the main yurt. We sit on the floor layered with soft duvets, cushions and wool felt carpets.

Again, I witness the same tension. The older wives watch the youngest with hostility, while she doesn't pay them any heed. The son, Madi, doesn't look at Nayama, but she keeps close to him, touching his hand with her long sleeve, leaning in as she serves his food, and there's a tiny smile in the corner of his lips every time she does that.

It makes me want these two to have a happy ending. I hope Daru's wrong and she's not some monster hiding behind a pretty girl's face.

After dinner, Madi joins me by the river, and we walk along the shore.

"So ..." he says, picking up some stones and throwing them into the mild rapids that run past us, "have you got any clues yet?"

These people lack patience.

"Not yet," I reply.

He's maybe a couple of years younger than me. Handsome, in a pampered, spoiled, the-only-boy-in-the-family kind of way, but his eyes seem kind. Unfortunately, I'm not the kind of girl to trust kind eyes. Some gentle stares hide the foulest of thoughts. I've learned it the hard way.

"But," he presses on, "you have some ideas, right?"

"Do you?" I return his question.

"Me? But … I mean, I'm not …"

"You live here, don't you? You seem smart, observant, and you seem to care. So, I figured, you have to have some thoughts on the matter."

He stares at the ground.

"I'm hardly any of those things, except the last. I do care."

Despite myself, I decide I actually like him. He's a refreshing contrast to those rich boys I've met in the other villages.

"I think it was a monster's doing," he says at last. "A real kind, or a human kind, I'm not sure, but a monster all the same."

"Have you heard or seen anything that can help me find this monster?"

"No. I mean, I'd like to help, but … I don't know anything useful."

"What about your father? Could he know something else? Something he isn't telling me?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"I just had a feeling he was keeping something from me. It might seem like nothing to him, but it might be of use to my investigation, so if you know something …" I trail off, searching his face.

"Ohh," Madi says after a few seconds. "Oh, I know what that might be about. You see, this village of ours, it has a complicated history. Years ago, before I was born, a few murders happened here. From what I've heard, they were quite similar to these ones. Victims were torn apart. Eaten."

"How many years ago, exactly?"

"Twenty-five? Thirty, maybe? I'm not sure. As I said I wasn't even born at that time. The victim was a local girl. She was found in the cave nearby, torn to pieces. But that time, everyone thought she was killed by a pack of wild beasts. We had a wolf problem back then. Perhaps, that's all that was—wolves."

"No wolf acts this way. They don't come too close to the settlements."

"I guess a part of me wants it to be an ordinary wolf. A mindless beast."

I nod. I share the sentiment somewhat, though I do believe that wolves have more mind and morality than some people do.

But Madi hasn't finished yet.

"Before that, some forty years ago—my mother was a little girl back then—a similar thing happened. An old woman was killed. And then, I think, two men. My grandfather investigated the murders and found the culprit. It turned out to be the old shaman, a well-respected man. He was experimenting with dark magic and had spirits kill for him. He was judged by the White Beards council and executed. After that, the murders stopped. Or so everyone had thought."

He casts his gaze towards the squat slopes in the distance.

"He's buried there, on that hill," he says.

The tomb I saw from the top of the rock. My guess was right then—a shaman was buried there.

"What if it's him?" Madi asks, almost hopefully. "That old man? My mother told me the stories of warlocks who got out of their graves at night to slay the sleeping folk. Dead tend to hold their grudges, don't they?"

"Sometimes they do," I say. "Did you say your grandfather investigated that case?"

"Yes. He was a shaman, too. Though he was an outsider, and people distrusted him at first. But the way he solved those murders, it made him a real hero. My uncle is nowhere as good a shaman as he was, I'm afraid. The village has seen some rough times since my grandfather died."

"Wait," I say, "so the local shaman is your uncle?"

"He's my mother's younger brother. Why?"

Great. Getting involved in the Richman's family matters—that's exactly what I need right now.

5.

"Well, that explains it, then," Daru comments, when I tell him everything I've learned from the Richman's son. "The Richman must have thought it would offend his brother-in-law if he sent for a different shaman. Upsetting a relative is, apparently, worse than a bunch of unsolved murders. These guys have to set their priorities straight!"

I don't find it particularly amusing. If we're dealing with the same monster that was terrorizing the village some thirty or forty years ago, this cake might be a little too big for me to swallow. Of course, these cases might be completely unrelated. They might be one huge ugly coincidence, for all I know …

I reach inside of my shirt and touch the signet ring that I wear on a chain around my neck. It's a heavy thing made of silver and gold, etched with a tribal emblem, too big for any of my fingers. I hold it in my hand, waiting for the metal to soak the warmth of my palm.

"You should throw that thing away, Alma," Daru says.

"I'm not throwing away the emblem of my people."

"It's the past you should lay to rest."

"No," I shoot him an angry look, "it's a reminder of what failures cost."

And with that, I get up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to summon it."

Daru is silent for a moment, stunned.

"Summon it? You don't even know what it is that we're dealing with!"

"Well, it hardly matters. Any monster in the vicinity will respond to my calling, and something tells me that there aren't going to be many. Even other beasts try to keep their distance from the old strong ones. And the one we're dealing with here is as old and strong as they get, apparently."

"You're not good enough for summoning. Your father taught you well, it's true, but this is a completely different kind of magic."

"I know, but I see no other choice. We have to know what we're dealing with. Without it, this whole investigation is going to be useless. This monster can lie in wait for decades. We don't have that much time. We need to force it to confront us."

"Do you think you can handle it?"

I flex my wrist. It healed a long time ago, but it still gets numb and sometimes hurts if I bend it to a certain angle. I won't be able to hold the beast for too long—assuming it even shows up.

"Come," I say, "Let's choose a good spot for the summoning."

*

The spot we've chosen is on a squat hill, about half a mile away from the village. I collect the stems of the steppe flowers and weave them into a wreath. It's not magical by itself, but any spell needs some physical manifestation. Binding spells especially. That's the similar kind of magic that binds me to Daru—the woolen braid I made when I was ten and still wear around my ankle.

I wait in the night, warming my fingers above the shy flame of the campfire.

"It reminds me of something," Daru tells me.

"Our first meeting," I nod.

"You brought me a fresh rabbit."

"You scared me so much."

"You didn't scare me at all."

"I sure hope not! I was but a little girl."

"I wasn't very strong myself back then, you know."

It's been fifteen years. My father left me on a hill outside our village and there I waited. With my kobyz as my sole companion.

"Who will come?" I'd asked my father, and he'd said, "Whoever will hear you."

"But what should I play?"

"Play what you feel."

So I chose a melody I've heard a month before during the summer festival. It was a little too hard for a child's hands, but I still played it. And it was Daru who came to me that night, and we haven't been apart ever since.

"All right," I say. "Let's repeat this. I play the Summoning to lure the beast out, then I play the Seven Bindings, one by one, to weaken it. And you wait in hiding until I finish the last, the seventh, binding spell, and then …"

"… and then I come out and grab the monster," he interrupts me. "Oh, come on! We've been through this a hundred times already."

"Apparently that's not enough for you. You never wait until I finish."

"I do, too. I did it the last time."

"Then make sure this time is no different. I don't want the creature to see you too early, and I mean it."

It's somewhat uncustomary for baksies to bind themselves to the demons. It happens, sure, but this sort of thing takes guts, so people wouldn't normally expect a girl to have a supernatural companion. I like to think of Daru as the knife that I'm hiding up in my sleeve.

But Daru is neither my slave nor my servant. He doesn't have to do my bidding. He isn't my friend either. Our bond is a lot more complicated than that. And that's why I worry he isn't going to do what he's told. He might interfere despite the orders. Gods know, he's done that before …

I view the horizon. I have about an hour before the sun shows up, so I shouldn't waste any time. I prop my kobyz on my knee, grab the bow, and start playing.

*

The tune of Calling is one of the most complicated spells to play. It's ever-changing. One minute it's flowing and slow, the next, it's jerky, shrill, and fast. It's hard to find the rhythm of it, and then to keep it up, but the hardest part is that it's too freaking long for my bad wrist and after twenty minutes I start to feel the strain.

"Come on," I whisper to the unknown monster, "come on, show up already."

Time passes measured by the strokes of the bow against the horse-hair strings. Minutes turn into music and sail away from me, towards the dark horizon.

Come on, come on.

The longer I play the stronger my fear grows. It's not going to work , the voice in my head whispers. I'm not good enough a musician to play this piece. Not good enough, not good enough ... I close my eyes. This misery is suffocating. Hands are for the healer as eyes are for a hunter. My hand is damaged and it means I'll never be as skilled a player as my father was.

Soon my wrist is almost completely numb, and I curse underneath my breath. And that's when, suddenly, something stirs in the darkness, beyond the tiny island of my camp's firelight.

I keep playing, but my eyes search the night. A flicker of hope comes alive inside of my chest, and the melody under my fingers grows stronger.

"Come here," I whisper. "Come here, you son of a bitch."

And in that instant I see it.

I don't know if I had any expectations. I thought it could, maybe, be a werewolf. Those are common creatures in the steppe. Mostly they just skulk around cemeteries, digging up fresh corpses to munch on. Seldom do they attack people openly, but if they do, it's not pretty, so a bloody massacre in the village made sense.

It's not a werewolf, though, the creature that comes to the Calling of my kobyz, but something entirely different.

6.

My fingers slip and the strings let out a pained squeal. The creature hisses and leaps toward me, but I manage to recover and keep on playing, so it subsides and just watches me with its intent yellow eyes.

It's a giant snake, the size of the hill atop which I'm sitting, with mighty twisting horns and a coiling tail.

"Aydahar !" I breathe out, lost somewhere between dread and awe.

Now, who would've thought? This case is turning out to be way—way!—out of my league. I'm not an expert on monsters. I've seen a few, of course, but those were but lowly beasts that stick to the shadows in search of an easy prey. They are mostly just cowards; it's not hard to scare them off. But an aydahar … I've never imagined coming face to face with one.

The stuff of legends, that's what it is.

I can't believe my clumsy tune has actually worked on something as huge as this creature. I'm shaken up by its enormity, and my human instincts tell me to drop the kobyz and run, but that's something I absolutely should not do. The Calling tune is pretty much the only thing that is keeping the creature from tearing me to pieces right now.

I can feel Daru tense, but he keeps his distance. His patience is dwindling though, and silently I remind him to stay put, to wait for my command.

I change my tune abruptly. It's no longer a Calling, but a Binding now, a twirling melody, light as a feather, but hard as steel manacles. It's tricky to play, too, as its tempo rises with every stroke of the bow.

The aydahar is watching me with concentration and intensity, and I can see a keen calculating intelligence behind the yellow serpent eyes—a hint of fear as it grasps my plan. The beast turns its head from side to side, seeking for a way out of my trap, but the melody holds it firmly. It can't fight me, it can't run, and it's getting weaker as the invisible bounds coil around it.

"Be ready," I warn Daru silently.

"I am!" he growls back.

He's burning with impatience, but I'm not sure if he's strong enough to fight the aydahar. He's but a steppe demon and tends to gravely overestimate his own power. That's why I want to bind the creature first. Secure it. And then Daru can, hopefully, finish it off.

The morning's close, I can smell its cool breath in the air, and it calms me down. The song is almost finished and the binding spell with it, and a wild thought crosses my mind, "It seems I can actually pull this off!"

But in the next moment pain rips through the bone of my hand. It erupts in my left wrist and shoots up the length of my arm, toward my elbow and then shoulder, and then neck. My music ceases with a piercing short screech. And in the next instant, the serpent is upon me.

I cry out as my back hits the hard ground. Immediately, I reach for my sword, but the creature's mighty tail hits me, knocking the air out of my lungs and pushing me back.

My vision goes dark. Daru rushes past me—a black hurricane, biting, scratching, tearing into the beast, but the aydahar shoves him out of the way with an almost careless blow and lunges at me.

Now it's gonna finish me off. All it has to do is snap its jaws on my neck. So I wait—wait for the final strike, unable to do anything about it.

But there's no strike. The creature pauses, then turns around in a graceful flash of coils, and flees, in slithering fury, leaving me shaken-up and breathless.

"Daru," I call, and I feel the demon lifting me up a little, cradling me in his arms.

"I'm here. Be still."

He soothes my pain and gradually the black film covering my vision dissolves. I can breathe again, I can see again, though my head seems to be filled with pins and broken glass.

"It's an aydahar," I mutter. "Can you imagine?"

"Yes, I was there," Daru replies grimly. "It's strong."

"I know."

The dawn blazes in the east. That must be why the creature fled. It sensed that the sun was drawing near and needed to hide. Return to the village perhaps, before people start to wake up.

My thoughts are all muddled. I have to wade through them. Where did it go? A creature of this size can't hide easily. Unless our initial guess was correct, and we're dealing with a shape-shifting monster that can hide in plain sight.

"Can aydahars assume human form?" I ask Daru, who is far better versed in all things magical that I am.

"Yes," he answers, "but only the old ones can do that. Or if they were tampered with."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how the aydahars are made, don't you?"

I can't remember father telling me stuff like that. He didn't want to scare me with tales of monsters.

"No," I say. "Tell me."

"Any snake that hasn't been seen by the human eye for a hundred years can turn into an aydahar. After another hundred years have passed, it becomes a shape-shifter and can turn into a human. Black magic can speed up the process though."

"How on earth do we capture it, then?"

"You need to get some sleep first," Daru murmurs. "We'll figure something out. Don't we always?"

He blows gently on my eyelids, and immediately they grow heavy. His promise is like a warm blanket I wrap myself into as I sink into the deep waters of slumber.

7.

Sleep leads me into the arms of yet another nightmare. When I manage to break away from it and wake up, the sun's high and Daru's gone. I get up and make my way towards the village. My wrist is wooden and numb. My ribs hurt. My back hurts. My head hurts. Even my skin hurts, and for the umpteenth time, I think that this line of work is just not worth it. I should leave. Let them figure stuff out for themselves. Let the warriors take care of monsters. Surely, it's not a woman's job.

And yet, here I am, and no warrior in sight.

I was born in a good community, to loving parents. My father was a baksy, and my grandfather before him, and my great-grandfather, too. I was an only child in the family. With no sons to pass on his craft, my father started training me.

"Being a baksy is hard," he used to say, "but it earns you respect."

What it earned me instead was a noose around my neck.

And it's still more than likely that it'll be the reason for my untimely demise. If the dawn didn't scare that beast away, I'd be feeding vultures up on that hill.

Wallowing in self-pity, I almost bump into Nara.

"Lady," I say, bowing my head. "I beg your pardon."

She nods, her manner both warm and regal.

"You look bad," she says examining me from the top of my hatless head to the tips of my worn boots. "Perhaps, you shouldn't have declined our invitation to stay at the guest yurt."

"I'm fine," I say, "but thank you, lady. Your invitation was kind."

"At least, let us have some tea at my house. You look like you need it."

She turns and leads the way, so I follow.

I can't help but admire her a little. I've never seen the youngest wife—and a third wife, too!—act the way she does. Ordinarily, they are the ones who do all the hard work, barely more than servants, completely at the mercy of the older wives.

But Nara acts like a queen—talks like a queen, moves like a queen. And she most definitely dresses like a queen. She's wearing a dark blue gown made of pure silk, and a sleeveless velvet coat. While the colors of the clothes are appropriate for a woman of her age and status, her jewelry is most definitely not. Rings and bracelets, silver and gold, jade stones—all sorts of things.

It makes me think that I've never possessed jewelry, except for the signet ring of my ancestor.

Her felt house is the biggest one in the whole village, and the whitest one, too. Not unlike its mistress, it's heavily decorated. There are velvet cushions and patchwork rugs, and a variety of vases and wooden boxes and embroidered bags full of knick-knacks. I can only imagine how long it takes the slave-girl to keep this place neat and clean, with all those tiny things needing attention.

"Come," Nara ushers me inside, indicates a cushion for me to sit on, and makes herself busy preparing tea. "Milk? Sugar? Please, try some of these delicious raisin bread rolls."

I help myself, not wasting time on ceremonies. I expect questions about my investigation. Nayama didn't learn anything from me, so the mistress decided to see for herself.

But she isn't asking anything. She's talking about the weather, about the sheep, about the village. She's choosing the most general topics, avoiding the reason why I'm here. I polish off my tea, and she fills my cup once more.

"You're so young," she says finally, "so very young. I had a daughter before I had Madi, you know. She died at two months. Perhaps, she'd be the same age as you are now. How old are you, baksy?"

"I'm twenty-five."

"Yes, she'd be your age. I think she'd look like you, too. She was tiny and fair. How on earth did a girl like you end up on the road, roaming the wilderness all by yourself? Doesn't your village need your music?"

"I'm traveling to places where people need me and my skills the most," I offer a vague reply. I can feel her eyes upon my face, observing me, studying me, and suddenly I can't lift my chin to meet this piercing gaze. Whenever people ask me about my village I come up with something, a convenient lie that suits. But no lie would suit this particular occasion. She's no fool, she's going to see through everything.

"Oh, my dear," Nara covers my dry leathery hand with her soft palm. "This must be such a hard life for a young woman. And full of dangers, too."

"Mother Earth protects me."

"Of course, she does," Nara nods. "The goddess protects those who serve her will."

I sip her tea. Its aroma is sweet and a little spicy. Must've come from the merchants. Her house smells nice, too—flowery, and just as fancy as the mistress herself.

And there's something inside of me that is melting, sitting here, in this spacious fragrant room full of silver and velvet. Suddenly I want to tell her things—every little detail about my past that I've kept hidden, secret, locked-up. I wouldn't, of course, but I really want to.

"What part of the world are you from?" she asks.

"North."

"Hmm," she looks pensive, "I wouldn't have guessed. To me, you look more like a southern girl. And … oh, I almost forgot! Is this yours? One of the servants found it in the grass outside."

She reaches into her pocket and puts something on the table. It takes me a few moments to realize what that is. My ring! How did she …?

My hand flies up to my chest, and sure enough, it's not there. The chain is gone.

"Is it yours?" Nara says with a friendly smile. "You must have dropped it. You should be careful with things that matter to you."

But I feel the cold creeping up my spine, its tiny claws digging into the skin on my back. The only time I could've dropped it was while I was fighting the serpent. Not in the village, of that I'm sure.

I grab the ring, a little too hastily. A tiny smile lifts the corner of the woman's lips, and suddenly, she reminds me of a snake. I swear I can almost see the tip of a poisonous twisting tongue between her perfect red lips, but then I blink and the illusion is dissolved.

"I couldn't help but notice," Nara goes on, "the ring bears the symbol of a southern clan. But you say you come from the north?"

"It belonged to my grandfather, on my mother's side," I lie. "He was a southerner."

"I see," Nara nods. "Have some more tea."

But I shake my head and get up.

"I'm afraid I have to go, mistress. Thank you for your hospitality."

8.

I get outside and take a few deep breaths, allowing the clean air to get the perfume of Nara's house out of my lungs. Then I head to the river bank and just sit there for a while, thinking back to our conversation. My hand is still clutching the ring. I force my fingers open and look. Did she recognize the tribal symbol?

I sense Daru sneak up behind me.

"Nara saw the ring," I tell him without turning around. "She recognized the symbol as one belonging to a southern tribe."

"You should've thrown that thing away a long time ago. It's too much of a giveaway, to carry it around like that."

"I must've dropped it yesterday. I had it before the Summoning. But how did she find it?"

"She must be spying on you. Hardly surprising! She's Shaman-the-Loser's sister. I'm sure she hates your guts and wants you gone."

"Or she is involved in the murders herself."

"You think she's the aydahar we fought yesterday?" Daru's voice is strewn with doubt. "The first murders happened around forty years ago. She was a little girl back then. I'd say her alibi is as solid as they get."

That's true. I'm still shaken up by the yesterday's fight, so it's no wonder I see monsters in every face.

"It doesn't mean that Nara can't be dangerous," Daru continues. "You should stay away from her. I'm sure she's passing on every bit of information about you to her dear little brother. Having tea with her might not be the best idea, don't you think?"

"Give me a break," I groan. "She invited me to her house. What was I supposed to do?"

"Don't go alone, at least."

"Well, you were nowhere to be found, were you? And where have you been?"

"Spying in the older wives' yurt."

"And what could you have possibly learned there, pray tell?"

"Women's yurts are always the best place to find information, don't you know that? And I've discovered a few interesting things about our victims."

That makes me prick up my ears.

"Yes?"

"I think I've found a flimsy connection between two of them. The first victim was the local blacksmith, remember?"

I nod.

"He was a pretty decent craftsman, it seems. People were extremely fond of him. The Richman even said he would free Nayama and let him marry her. He even promised her a dowry."

"And how long ago was this?"

"Only a couple of weeks before the poor fellow was murdered."

"All right," I say. "What else?"

"The recent victims, the family. They were newcomers, and pretty rich, too. It is said that Madi was courting their oldest daughter. Although it's not something that was decided yet."

"Why didn't anyone mention it?"

"You know what these unions are—politics! Families are afraid to offend each other or to scare off the other potential candidates, so keep it hush-hush until it's all done. And with the Richman's son, it seemed to be especially secretive since he's an heir to huge wealth."

"Isn't Madi in love with Nayama? Why was he courting this other girl?"

"I'm sure he understands there's no future for him and the slave. His parents won't allow such a marriage."

"They could elope."

"And live in poverty? Yeah, right. No girl is worth that much trouble."

"You underestimate the power of love."

"Love! Do humans even know what that is? Anyway, it seems all the traces lead us in one direction. To the Richman's family."

"And to Nayama," I say.

"She had a motive. She loves Madi and doesn't want to marry the blacksmith. So she kills him. No man, no wedding. She's free to remain by Madi's side. Then she kills the girl Madi likes, to eliminate competition."

"Besides, she is a foreigner. She was brought into the village from some faraway land. We don't know who she was before."

"And you think she's a shape-shifter. An aydahar."

"You can't deny that it's a neat theory."

It is. Too neat. And very flimsy.

"What about the old murders?" I muse. "Nayama wasn't here forty years ago."

"Maybe those murders have nothing to do with our case then. Maybe it's just a coincidence."

I sigh.

"There's only one way to know for sure. We have to try again. We need to capture the beast."

"And how are we going to do that?"

"No idea."

He settles down on the grass beside me, with his back propped against my back, and we stay like that for a while, thinking our own thoughts—and catching snippets of each other's from time to time. It's comforting.

"Why did you allow me to bind myself to you?" I ask. "What did you have to gain?"

"What did you have to gain?" he returns my question.

"You made me strong."

"Same with me."

"You were strong already, you didn't need me."

"Oh but I did. Before you, I was a whiff. You gave me … substance."

I'm not sure what that means, but I accept this explanation.

"My music isn't enough to defeat it," I say finally. "We don't have the advantage of a surprise attack anymore. The beast knows us now. It knows we're weak."

"So we need help."

"Yes, we do."

"But who can help us?" he looks at me, then laughs. "No! You can't be serious! Shaman-the-Loser? There's no way he agrees to help us!"

"He can take half of the credit to himself."

"And half of the reward money, too?"

"Why not? It's only fair. We're not getting any money at all otherwise. Without another shaman's help, we can just abandon this whole thing now."

Daru sighs.

"I suppose that makes sense. Ask him, then. But be careful. I know his kind."

"And what kind is that?"

"Mean kind."

9.

Daru promised not to leave my side until dawn, but still, I find myself unable to get any shuteye for fear of the aydahar showing up again to finish the job. Finally, just before the sunrise, I doze off for a little while, only to find myself trapped in a nightmare.

I struggle under a man's weight. He's drunk and miserable, but most of all, he's angry. Not at me, specifically. The whole world is his enemy right now. But he can't punish the world, so I will have to do.

His hands wring my wrist.

"You're not hurting anyone else with your music anymore," he breathes into my ear, as he's trying to break the bones in my hand.

I cry, struggling to push him away, but I'm too small and he's too big, and this fight only has one outcome. My crying turns into shrieks as my wrist gives and the white-hot pain explodes and engulfs my whole arm.

I wake up, carrying the screams and the agony with me, from dream to reality. Daru is gone, but I'm not alone. The shaman, Nara's brother, is sitting by my side, watching me.

Only now do I notice that he looks very much like his sister.

"Chamomile's good for nightmares," he suggests amicably.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, rubbing my eyes, still not quite awake, teetering on the border of that terrifying dream.

"Waiting for you to wake up."

"I'm awake now."

I sit, watching him. I'm going to kill Daru for letting this man sneak up on me like that. Wasn't he supposed to protect me while I slept?

"What do you want?" I ask the shaman.

"I'm not the kind of man to beat around the bush," he says. "I want you gone from this village, girl. Gather your belongings and leave. Now."

I remember yesterday's decision, to ask for this man's help. Somehow I was certain I might convince him to unite against the monster. Now, looking into his steel eyes, I'm not so sure.

Still. I should try.

"The beast that's been terrorizing this village," I say, "I saw it with my own eyes. It's a giant serpent. An aydahar."

He blinks, but that is the only hint at any emotion I get from him.

"That is not your concern," he says. "You're here for the Richman's coin. Well, you're not getting any, I can promise you that."

"It's not about me or you or the money! It's about saving human lives! That creature has to be stopped. I tried to bind it, but I couldn't. It's too strong. Together, though, we could stand a chance."

"You offer me a deal?" the Shaman laughs. "You've some nerve, girl! You expect me to just step aside and allow some vagrant squirt to order me around so she can get her payment?"

"We'll split everything the Richman pays for the serpent."

"So it is about the money after all."

What can I say to that? Yes and no. I need the money. Without it, Daru and I will starve come winter. That's the reason I risk my life with these monster-hunter jobs. But that being said, it doesn't mean I don't care. I can't just walk away now, having seen the beast with my own eyes, can I?

"It's not," I say. "If we do nothing, these murders are going to continue."

He looks at me for a few moments. "I'm not going to help you."

And I know he means it, too. He wants me out and that's all that matters to him.

"Then I'll try on my own," I say. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are."

And there's something in his voice that makes me stop and observe him closely. I know empty threats, and this isn't one. He's up to something.

"Or what?" I ask, wary.

"You've gone far from home, but it's not enough to run from the truth," he says. "Your past is catching up to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, but he knows I'm lying. I bet it's written all over my face.

"I've heard a story of a southern woman who fancied herself a baksy but turned out to be a monster herself. Stories like that aren't easily forgotten in the steppe, you know. Wherever you go, the past is going to find you."

"I'm not …" I start but fall silent. I don't have the strength to deny it. The guilt is too heavy upon my shoulders.

"She came from the famous Aman clan," he continues, his voice like a hammer. "The ring you wear. Nara recognized it. So leave now, or I will tell the Richman who you really are."

It doesn't even sound like a threat. He just informs me, plainly, openly.

"I'm going to tell him that the baksy he welcomed in his home is a murderer, who was supposed to hang, but escaped."

Did I truly escape? Wherever I go, the noose seems to be following me. I can see its grim shape in the shaman's eyes.

"Please," I say, "I beg you. Don't you care what happens to the people in your village?"

"You have until midday to gather your things and be gone from here," he says, getting to his feet. "And you can thank me for warning you."

"Damn you," I say instead. "I don't know what you're up to, but you'll have these people's blood on your hands."

He doesn't even turn. Just leaves.

Bastard.

10.

So I do just what he's told me—pack up my meager belongings and leave. I hardly have any choice in the matter. If the shaman exposes me before the Richman, he'll chase me away at best, or try to capture me at worst. I wouldn't be able to defend myself. In the eyes of the people, I might be worse than the aydahar itself. A human-monster.

It happened five years ago. A man sent for me. His wife was giving birth and dying in the process. His child was dying, too. He wanted me to save them, and I did my best. While the midwife was struggling to get the baby out of the woman, I was sitting at the foot of the bed with my kobyz , watching her scream and bleed. That night has stayed in my memory as a delusional dream, a hazy mess. The room was hot, and sweat was pouring down my face, getting into my eyes, blinding me, but I couldn't stop playing to wipe it away. So I just went on and on and on, holding the souls of both the mother and the child with my melody. I played for hours, immersed in a strange trance, and woke up only when the midwife started shaking me by the shoulders.

"It's over," she said. "You can stop, child."

The room was eerily quiet. No screams. No newborn's crying. Realization and horror of my failure slowly crawled up my spine.

"You did what you could," the midwife said. "Mother Goddess is going to take care of them now."

The husband blamed me. He'd scream insults, saying that it was all my fault and that I wasn't good enough—a girl, too young, too cocky.

One night he got drunk and attacked me in my own home. He didn't want to kill me. He wanted to break my arm so I wouldn't play anymore—so no one will die again because of me.

I tried to keep Daru away from him, but I couldn't. The demon feels my pain and my fear as his own, and when the bone in my wrist snapped, he went crazy. He ripped that man into pieces, quite literally.

It was a savage murder. And I was blamed for it.

"She summoned demons to kill him," that's what they said. "She abused her powers."

Women were seldom hanged, but this was an exceptional case. Almost everyone in my village turned against me. They didn't treat me like a human anymore.

So I ran. Daru helped me escape. And I've been on the run ever since.

And yes, the shaman is right. The past catches up. Always. And now I walk away from another village, chased by its ghostly hounds.

Daru joins me, flying over my head in his bird-like form, and I tell him what happened.

"It's for the best," he says. "We'll find another place, another job."

"It's not that," I say, shaking my head.

I stop and turn around to cast one last look at the village at the foot of the balbal rock. Another failure. A sudden vision floods my mind. I see corpses lying on the ground, everywhere. Women and children with their bellies split open, their limbs torn off, their blood soaking through the white felt coverings of the yurts … I force the vision out of my head and continue on my journey. That's not my problem. There's simply nothing I can do.

The steppe is all but sizzling with heat. I shade my eyes with my hand because the sun is blinding, and it's not even midday yet.

And then I see something in the distance. I've seen it before—from atop the rock, on my first night here. A squat building made of clay, standing lonely on a hill. It seems to me that it, too, is gazing upon the village in sorrow, a castaway.

"It's that shaman's tomb," Daru says. "The one who was executed for witchcraft."

"So that Nara's father could take his place," I say.

"Do you think he was innocent? Framed?"

I shrug. Who knows? But if Nara's father was anything like her brother, it's very likely, I should say. Madi said they were newcomers. Accusing the old shaman of some wrongdoing and then taking his place could be a way for them to secure their position in the community.

But the aydahar … how does it fit into all this? Was it just some coincidence? Or was it part of a plan? Was the monster acting on its own accord? Or was it doing someone else's bidding?

I shake my head. It's not your problem, I repeat to myself over and over again. There's nothing you can do about it.

Unless … maybe there is.

I'm looking at the tomb. It's a simple structure, neglected and forgotten. Nobody visits it. Nobody cares for it. Travelers don't spend their nights under its roof. I'm surprised people built a tomb around the grave at all. Perhaps they did it out of fear. To placate the dead man's spirit so he wouldn't plague their sleep with nightmares …

An idea crawls its way into my mind. It grows and turns into a reckless plan.

"It's not our concern anymore," Daru reminds me, watching my face.

It's true. But can I really just walk away from this, knowing that a man-eating beast is prowling the area? Will I be able to sleep at night knowing that I could have stopped it, but didn't even try? Add another nightmare to gory images that haunt my dreams?

No.

"Come," I say, and start towards the tomb.

11.

When the night grows thick, I feed a pinch of copper powder to the fire. At first, the wood just hisses, cross with me for spoiling its pure aroma with my shamanic devices, but then reluctantly, slowly, the flames start turning blue.

I touch the signet ring on my neck—I've replaced the lost chain with a leather cord—and feel stronger. More importantly, I feel hopeful. The spirits of my ancestors are strong. They haven't forgotten me, as I haven't forgotten them.

The village has gone to sleep, so nobody's going to see my light. No one but the monster. Snakes, they love blue fire. The aydahar will know I'm waiting for it.

I stretch my fingers. They tremble a little. I'm too nervous. But as I start playing the trembling subsides. The music overtakes me.

I play the Summoning tune again. I'm not sitting by the fire like I always do when I weave my music spells—this time I'm standing. It makes it hard to play somewhat, with the instrument propped awkwardly against my hip.

Thankfully, it doesn't take too long for the beast to show up now. It feels more confident, perhaps. It knows me now. It knows that I'm weak, that I can't beat it, so it doesn't resist when the melody calls.

Although we've faced each other no more than two days ago, the sight of it shakes me up all over again. No one can ever get used to seeing a thing like that. The sheer size of it makes my entrails turn into a cold stew.

This time I'm not trying to bind it. I play a different song—the kind that makes those who listen drowsy. Of course, it only works for humans, it's not going to work with a giant snake, but I play it anyway. The aydahar listens, swaying gently, following the unseen flow of the melody.

My playing goes softer and softer, and then with the last stroke of my bow against the strings, the sound dies. And without wasting another second, I drop the kobyz, turn around and start running.

It takes the beast a couple of seconds to realize the music has ceased and its prey has taken off. A few heartbeats, that was all I gained, and then the serpent comes after me.

The steppe is a treacherous terrain, particularly at night. It looks flat from afar, but try treading off the beaten path, and there are traps hidden everywhere. The branches of the low shrubs hit your knees, the stems of the creeping vines grab at your ankles. The thick grass hides bumps and holes that cover the seemingly even ground. So you slip and trip and stumble and fall and then recover only to fall again.

Still, somehow I manage to stay ahead of the beast. I don't turn around to check if it's close. I concentrate my attention on the single task—to keep moving and not end up with my nose buried in the dust.

I can hear it just behind me—dry twigs breaking under the weight of its enormous body, small stones sent into the air by the thrashing of its mighty tail. I don't want to think of what's going to happen if it catches me, but my imagination can't stop producing the most terrifying images—snippets full of gore and blood and pain, ribs breaking under the pressure of those coils, flesh being torn from my bones by those jaws.

The tomb is close now. I reach the hill it was built upon, and that's another obstacle right here—running up the steep slope. I pant, increasing my efforts, but my speed drops considerably. The small distance between me and my pursuer grows shorter and shorter by the second, and I can practically feel the monster's breath, burning hot on my skin.

I pray to the Eternal Sky for Daru to be in place and ready. Otherwise, I'm dead.

I almost reach the entrance of the tomb when a powerful strike knocks me off my feet. I fall to the ground and hit my jaw. Pain blinds me for a second. I turn around to face the beast, just in time to see its enormous maw open, ready to bite into me …

Daru springs out from his hiding place and buries his fangs in the creature's flesh. I crawl away from them, then get on my feet and at last make it to the tomb.

The creature shakes Daru off as if he's but a pup gnawing at a burglar's foot and chases after me once more. Evading its beating tail, I tumble past the low threshold and into the quiet stillness of the tomb.

The silence is broken immediately, as the serpent crushes through the doorway after me. I can barely evade the attacks of its tail in the small space, dashing from one corner to the other.

"The spirit of the shaman who rests here!" I cry out loud, dodging the blows. "I need your help! This is the real beast! This is your chance at revenge!"

I'm not sure it's going to work. But wouldn't the spirit of a person who was accused of murders he didn't commit want to see this story through? Forgotten. Mistreated. Wouldn't it seek vengeance?

I hear no response though, only a vague prickling sensation on my skin. What if the spirit residing here is too weak? What if it can't help me? Earlier I spent hours playing for it, trying to wake it up. But what if that wasn't enough? Neglected by the village folk for so many years, it might have waned, faded with time. Nothing but an irritable shadow that can't do anything anymore …

If so, I've trapped myself here.

My stomach spasms with a sudden panic. But then something changes. Rage washes through me—not mine, someone else's—hot, blinding, blood-red, fire-red. The aydahar stops and turns as if sensing it, too, and realizing that it got tricked.

Not waiting for the beast to come round, I move hastily outside and Daru throws me one end of a horsehair rope. Together we pull it across the entrance, secure the ends, sealing the beast inside. I soaked the rope in the potent herbal potion beforehand, and infused it with magic, playing all the Seven Bindings with my kobyz. It took me several attempts to do it right, but eventually, I managed to finish all of them. I felt very proud of myself then, but now I feel more like a fisherman trying to catch a shark with a lobster pot. Despite the magic, despite the tomb's angry spirit, I doubt these efforts are going to be enough to hold the aydahar.

"Kobyz!" I shout at Daru. "Where is it?"

Daru vanishes, and I wait for him, listening to the sounds coming from the tomb. The snake is thrashing the place. It's tail hammering the walls, leaving cracks in the clay walls. The building might collapse. That would ruin the spell.

But the spirit is at work. The beast's attacks are getting weaker by the minute, less fierce.

Daru fetches the instrument, and I hug it to myself to calm my pounding heart. Then I sit, right on the ground, and start playing.

After some time, the fighting subsides and the tomb grows quiet once again. With one last long stroke, I lower the bow and wait a few moments, listening. Everything is still. Even the night is holding its breath, watching us, captivated.

I let out a shaking exhale, then get up and head towards the doorway.

"Careful," Daru says.

I nod, duck under the rope and step over the threshold.

It's so dark inside, much darker than before, it seems. The moon casts a spot of milk-pale light on the floor by the door, but the shadows that reside in this place don't allow it to spread any further.

I stop to find a candle and light it, then tentatively delve into the darkness.

Immediately, I can feel the spirit's presence. The air is so dense it takes a considerable effort on my part to keep walking. It's squeezing my ribs, pressing on my chest and throat, so even breathing is hard. The flame on the tip of my candle dances viciously, one minute it's blazing, the next, fading to the size of a millet seed, barely hanging on to the wick.

I take a few steps before I reach the far side of the room, and there I see a woman, sitting on the floor, in the corner. It takes me a second to recognize her. The thick braid is gone, and her hair is a mess.

The placid expression is gone, too. She's snarling at me. At this moment she has more in common with a wild animal that with a human being. Which is only fair, I suppose, since she is, most certainly, not a human.

"Who would've thought," I say, looking down at Nayama.

She growls but doesn't attempt to rise to her feet.

"Go on," she says, "do it then! Kill the beast, get your bloody coin!"

I just look at her. Is that what I'm supposed to do? Kill her?

My only goal was to stop her, to put an end to the murders, but to slay her? I haven't thought this through that far …

"So you're the serpent," I say after a while, and I know I should've come up with something smarter, a badass line fit for a person who's just beaten the aydahar itself. Alas. I'm too shaken up, too scared, too tired and sore for that. All I want is to curl up on my bedroll and get a good sleep.

But who cares about my wants? This is what I get—a naked girl whom I probably will have to kill.

"I don't get it," I say. "The Richman bought you five years ago. But the murders started more than four decades ago. How is this possible?"

"The Richman didn't buy me. His wife did. Pretended to."

"Nara? What do you mean she pretended to buy you?"

"Her father kept me in a cage, in a cave outside the village. But Nara was too lazy to go there every day to feed me. And she was too afraid the other wives or their snooping daughters would follow her and discover her secret. So she made it look like she bought herself a slave. Her brother helped her, brought me to the village, as if he got me on the market.

" 'My lord!' " she exclaims, changing her voice to impersonate Nara's sweet chirrupy speech. " 'I need a slave to clean my dresses! And to polish all the jewelry that you so generously give me. And to tend to my house, too!' So he let her."

"You said her father owned you before."

"He didn't just own me. He made me. He took me out of the sea, a mere serpent, and turned me into this using his dark magic."

"Wasn't he a shaman?"

"He was more than that. A cunning man well versed in dark arts."

"Did he use you to frame the old shaman?"

"He used me for all kinds of things," for a moment her face is distorted with pure rage, but then it's gone. "His daughter is different. She needs me, but she's afraid of me, too. She knows I'm not going to be her slave forever."

"All those murders … you did it because you were ordered to? By Nara, and by her father before her?"

"Yes," she says.

"But what were Nara's motives to kill all those people?"

"I only kill when I'm ordered to kill," Nayama says gritting her teeth. "Human reasons are of no interest to me."

She's but a weapon. Nara's weapon. No wonder the shaman wanted me out of the village. By the Eternal Sky, it complicates my job so much! What will the Richman do if I expose his wife? He isn't going to be happy, that's for sure. I doubt he's going to pay me.

And although this really isn't about money, I can't help but mourn the dream of the shiny new boots and a warm coat.

"How does she control you?" I ask. "There has to be an object, a physical manifestation of the spell that binds you to her will."

"She has a piece of my scale," Nayama answers. "I don't know where it is, but she keeps it close."

The atmosphere of the tomb is changing. I can breathe easier now. The spirit's powers wane. Restraining the aydahar is too hard, and slowly Nayama is slipping away from its grasp.

I have to decide what to do now. To kill her? No, I can't do it.

"I can do it," Daru suggests.

"No," I say. "Not yet."

"Why not? She's dangerous."

But I remember what she said that first morning when she brought me my breakfast.

"Before I was captured and sold," she told me, "I had lived a quiet and peaceful life …"

She wasn't lying. She actually is a slave. Punishing her seems … wrong.

I turn around and get out of the tomb.

"Stay with her," I tell Daru. "If something happens, let me know."

"And you? What do you want to do?" he asks.

"First, I'll find Nara."

12.

In the stillness of the night, I make my way towards Nara's snow-white yurt. It seems to be glowing in the darkness as if the moon fell from the sky and landed in the middle of the village. The soles of my old boots are quiet as I make my way to the entrance. I pull at the heavy curtain and peek inside. So dark. I can't see a thing.

Securing the flap, so that it stays open, I step inside the felt house. Moonlight spills from outside, diluting the thick darkness, but it's still pretty dark and I fear I might trip on something and make a noise and rouse the mistress. Now that would be bad. I need to find the scale that binds her to the serpent first.

I curse under my breath. Looking for something as small as that in near-complete darkness isn't the easiest task.

Nara can hardly be called a minimalist with all those chests and bags all around the house. She also has about a thousand little boxes, made of silver, wood, and glass, full of jewelry, buttons, and beads. It's going to take me ages to search them.

Not wasting time, I quickly start opening them up. The glass ones are the worst. They chime when I lift their lids and I have to silence them quickly with my palm.

But a part of me knows that the precious scale is not in any one of those trunks, bags or boxes. Nara keeps it close. On her person, most likely. I glance at the sleeping area, separated from the rest of the yurt with a thin wooden screen. I have to get in there. Great.

With nothing left to do, I tip-toe towards the screen and sneak a look behind it. Nara is asleep on a futon. I can hear her breathing—calm, even. The sound makes me relax a bit.

I just have to be quiet. And hope she's a heavy sleeper.

She has a couple of wooden boxes on a tiny table at the foot of her futon. I open them, but there's nothing there except some powders and dried petals, stuff women use to ease headaches and menstrual cramps.

There's another box here. My fingers touch the contours of the elaborate engraving on the lid. I open it, and nearly yelp. For a moment I thought it was a tiny creature of light that escaped the box and jumped at me. But it's just a mirror glued to the inside of the lid—it caught the scanty light of the moon and reflected it into my face.

Calming my pounding heart, I inspect the box, but it's just jewelry again—rings, pendants, bracelets. By the Eternal Sky, this woman loves trinkets!

I just about close the lid and move on, but then I notice something. The mirror isn't attached properly. I pull at it a little, and sure enough, it comes off, revealing a flat compartment. I feel the inside of it and something, sharp as a razor, cuts into the tip of my finger.

Got it! This must be it!

But I don't have the time to check properly, because something heavy crashes into the back of my head and I fall, dropping the box.

I look up, my vision swaying as my hand instinctually finds the blossoming pain. Nara looms over me, a cast-iron kettle in one hand, and I know right then and there that I'm in so much trouble.

13.

"What are you looking for, baksy?" her voice isn't strewn with honey anymore. She hisses like a snake.

The box is just within my reach. I can see it on the periphery of my vision—my eyes have adjusted to the dark enough by now. I'm not sure if the scale is still inside. It must've fallen out, but Nara here obviously isn't going to let me get to it.

"I know everything," I say. "It's too late now. It's just as well you give up."

She blinks. Her lips part. She looks very young suddenly.

"I know about the serpent," I go on. "You've killed all those people. Don't deny it."

"What are you talking about? I haven't …" she looks like she wants to say something, but can't find the right words. "I didn't …"

But I don't let her finish. I snatch the box and toss it at her, with all my strength. She cries out and staggers, and I scramble clumsily to my feet. Immediately she tackles me from behind and I land in a heap onto her futon. As I roll over, she hurls a blanket over me, entangling me in it, and by the time I manage to wiggle out, she's on her knees, searching for the scale.

She finds it and squeezes it in her hands.

"Nayama! Come! I need y—" she falls silent midword because I'm pointing my blade to her throat.

This brings our short fight to an end. Now we both stare at each other, breathing heavily.

"She's not coming," I say.

She doesn't seem to believe me. She listens to the night, hoping to hear her faithful slave rushing to her aid … There's nothing. The night is still and quiet.

I can't imagine Nayama raging in her tomb-cage, unable to answer her mistress's call. I just hope it's strong enough to hold her while I deal with Nara.

"What did you do to it?" Nara asks.

Not her. It, she said.

"Nayama is fine. She's no longer your servant. Now give me that."

She doesn't move, so I press the blade into her skin—not hard enough to draw blood, but almost. Almost.

"Give me the scale," I repeat.

"Or what? You're going to cut my throat?" she sneers. "Commit another crime? I know all about you, you know. A healer and a murderer! Did you think people would forget something like that?"

"If I have to kill you to stop the slaughter that's been going on in this village thanks to you and your family, so be it. I'm already seen as a murderer anyway."

She shakes her head.

"It wasn't me," she says. "I didn't order her to kill those people. Why would I? I barely knew them!"

"You ordered the aydahar to kill for you."

"I did. Once. Years ago. I ordered the beast to kill my rival to become the Richman's wife. But that was all. That was the only order I'd given her."

"Nayama told me …"

"Nayama is a liar!" she cries. "Don't you get it? She is a liar, like all the creatures of the steppe. I swear it."

And saying that she moves closer, the edge of my blade splitting open the skin on her neck and drawing a thin trickle of blood. It must hurt. Not as bad as the back of my head right now, probably, but still. I flinch a little.

"I swear it on my blood," she repeats and puts the scale into my hand. I can only gape because suddenly I'm not sure if she's lying or not.

But if it wasn't her, then who was it?

A shadow obscures the gentle light of the moon, and a male voice rings, loud and clear and threatening. "Let my mother go, baksy. Now."

It's Madi, of course. I can't see his features. He is but a sinister silhouette limned in the pale moonlight of the night, standing at the door.

He is unarmed, as far as I can tell, but he's a lot bigger than me, and I hate to admit it, but the chances of me taking him down aren't looking too good.

"She's a killer," I say. "I know that she's your mother and you want to protect her, but she has to answer for what she's done."

"Let her go," he repeats as he steps into the yurt.

My revelation doesn't seem to surprise him at all, and I wonder how much he actually knows. He's been courting Nayama. Does it mean that he knows about her?

But before I can say anything else the stillness of the night is disturbed. A racket comes from outside, and I know what it means seconds before Daru scurries to my side, ephemeral and unseen by the others, with the news. "The creature has broken out of the tomb. It's free. And I think it's very angry."

"Make her stop!" I shout at Nara, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not controlling her. You have the scale in your hands."

I look at the translucent oval-shaped plate lying on my palm. It's the size of a quail egg, with sharp edges and patterned with fine green-blue veins. I know only one way to break the magical connection, and it's pretty straight-forward.

I snap the scale in two.

Nothing happens. There are screams outside now, cries for help, children wailing. Cracking and splitting and tearing sounds—the wooden frames of the yurts being wrecked, their felt coverings being ripped.

"Now look what you've done," Madi says, glancing towards the entrance and shaking his head. "Sometimes it's better if one just didn't intervene, wouldn't you agree?"

I'm an idiot. He knows. Of course, he is a part of it, along with his mother. But I still don't understand to what extent.

Nara looks as surprised as I am. She presses her palms to her mouth as if holding back a scream that seeks to escape her lips.

"It's you," she whispers, her words muffled, but clear. "It was you, then … But how? I never let that scale out of my sight. She only listens to me!"

"Mother," Madi says gently, "uncle and you aren't the only ones to use grandfather's knowledge in magic, you know. But I might say I've achieved far more."

"Achieved?" I shake my head in disbelieve. "You killed all those people!"

He frowns.

"That massacre, it wasn't my intention. Most of them just got in the way. It's extremely hard to control a monster, baksy. You've seen her in her beastly form."

"You ordered her to kill your rival the blacksmith?"

"My rival! Father wanted to give Nayama to him. Like she's some prize for all the hard work! I needed him out of the way."

"What about the girl you were courting? What was the point of killing her and her family?"

"I wasn't courting her. Our fathers decided our marriage when we were children, but when I met Nayama, I tried to break the engagement. But the girl's father didn't agree. He blackmailed us, threatened to petition to the White Beards council. Tell them that I was planning to marry a slave. You know how these old fools treat men who violate their vows. They'd ruin my family."

"But how did you bind the aydahar to your will?" Nara cries. "She listens only to me!"

Well, apparently not.

It's chaos outside. I've seen a few dust storms, and that's exactly what they sound like. All the uproar and turmoil, it shakes the ground and makes my innards tremble.

I hear someone shriek "Fire! There's a fire! To the river!"

"If you control it, calm it down!" Nara runs past me and grabs her son's wrist. "Don't you see it? It's going to destroy everything!"

"There's nothing I can do now, mother. She …" he looks at me, " she shouldn't have made her angry."

Oh, so it's my fault now? Although, he might have a point there. I overpowered Nayama and locked her up in a tomb. No wonder she's raging.

"Do something!" Daru shouts at me in my head. "Don't just stand there! Calm it down!"

It jolts me. I sheath the blade and reach for my kobyz instead. The warmth of the wood soothes me like no touch of steel ever can. I step towards the door, but Madi grabs me by the forearm.

"Don't hurt her," he says, staring into my eyes.

"Let me go," I say. "Unless you want her to destroy the village."

The grasp of his hand tightens, and for a moment I don't think he's going to let me go. But then he does.

"Don't hurt her," he repeats, and I get outside and into the morass.

14.

The air is hot, acrid with smoke. A fire started somewhere. A brazier got upturned in the chaos, spilling the searing coals on the felt. Wool is so easy to catch light. As is the dry steppe grass. Nothing scares the nomads worse than fire. The devastation it leaves behind is indescribable.

The flames reach higher than the roofs. It spreads so fast and roars, devouring the felt coverings of the yurts, and then gnawing at the wooden carcasses until they crumble into ash.

Children cry. People scream. Some try to put out the fire. Some just run, panicked. A dog dashes past me with a howl, its hide smoldering.

And at the center of this mess is the serpent. It looks like a demon that split the earth apart to crawl from the underworld. Her crystal scales catch the glint of the dancing flames and turn her into a fiery creature. It's the most terrifying thing that I've seen in my whole life—and the most beautiful, too.

"What are you waiting for?" Daru cries. "Do it, Alma!"

I nod, swallowing uneasily and reminding myself to breathe. Then I bring my trembling fingers to the instrument. But I know, as I start playing, that it's not going to work. The commotion swallows the melody as soon as it breaks away from the strings. The serpent doesn't even flinch.

"It's too strong," I cry, playing. "Why is it so strong?"

"The connection to its master is making it stronger," Daru calls. He is like a black cloud that is wrapped around me. "You have to break it first."

"I've broken the scale!"

"The scale was its link to Nara. That was the relationship of a master and a slave. Too weak. Her connection to Madi is stronger."

"But why?"

"Because she loves him."

"Love isn't a spell! It can't bind a beast to a man!"

"What if a spell was infused by love? He studied his grandfather's books. He could've figured out a way to bind her to him with a spell. Her devotion made the link stronger. Stronger than the one she shares with Nara!"

"Then it has to have a physical manifestation." My music breaks. "The bracelet! They were both wearing bracelets she said he'd made!"

I thought the pattern was too complex for a simple promise bracelet. That's because it wasn't. It's a spell. A physical manifestation of a spell!

"I'm an idiot!" I'd slap myself for my stupidity if it wasn't for the kobyz and the bow in my hands. "I was looking at that thing, and never realized it was a spell!"

"Then get it!" Daru untangles himself from me, "I'll keep it distracted."

He turns into a black bird-shadow and bolts towards the thrashing aydahar. I watch him for a few moments, as he starts circling the beast, attracting its attention, before turning around and running back towards the white yurt. I search for Nara and her son.

Naturally, they haven't stayed inside the yurt. But where have they gone?

Panic crawls up my spine, crushing my ribs, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I pant as I run, choking on the bitter smoke.

Did he run away? Did he hide? I can see some people gathered at the edge of the village, watching in fear as their homes are being destroyed by a monster. I see the Richman's older wives and the Richman himself, his face and fine clothes all covered in soot. But Madi isn't among them.

A crush sounds behind me and instinctively I drop to the ground, covering my head and turning around to see one of the burning yurts collapse. And then I spot my target.

Madi doesn't run. Why would he? The serpent wouldn't hurt him. He watches her, fascinated, standing in the midst of the burning village. I know what he feels. He's drunk with all this power. I felt it, too. Once. When Daru was tearing the man who attacked me into pieces. For a few seconds, I felt invincible, and that made my disgust even worse when I came to. When I realized I was just watching Daru do it, and did nothing to stop him.

"Madi!" I cry. "Stop her! You can do this! She'll listen!"

He turns to face me, then, slowly, shakes his head.

"No, I can't. She wouldn't."

He doesn't even try. The power of the beast sings in his veins. He wouldn't want to stop it, even if he comes to regret it later.

There's no point in reasoning. So I draw the sword.

"Oh, come on!" He shakes his head, laughing. "You can't actually fight me!"

"I can try."

"Fine then," he unsheathes a knife with a short curved blade. And he's right, I can't expect to win a fight against him. Daru is busy with the serpent. He can't help me.

Madi attacks, and I barely jump away in time. The tip of his knife grazes the length of my blade. He's strong and he fights like a warrior, like he knows what he's doing.

I can fight, but I'm weaker and smaller.

His next attack comes sooner than I expect, not leaving me any time to collect myself. This time he cuts through the sleeve of my dress and through my skin. The pain flares up in my arm, just above the elbow, and I scream and fall to one knee, trembling, gasping.

He comes up to me and knocks the short sword out of my hands, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Pathetic," he says, and grabs me by the hair, pulling my head back to reveal my neck. "But you're a girl, so I think I should spare your life. It was a good try, baksy."

But it wasn't. I didn't really expect to defeat him. What I wanted to do was to get this close to him. Close enough to reach for the bracelet. I grasp it in my fingers and jerk with all my strength. And then, before he recovers, I throw the woolen thing into the nearest fire. Madi cries out, reaching. Too late. The bracelet burns into ashes the second it touches the flames.

In empty anger, Madi swipes the knife towards my open neck, but Daru gets there first. He sinks his fangs into his shoulder and pulls the man away from me.

I drop to the ground and for a few heartbeats, the sky above is all that I can see. It's dark, full of sparks and smoke. The sun is taking its sweet time. I roll over, get on my hands and knees, then sit on the ground and reach for my kobyz. My hands are covered in blood. Fingers slippery with it. My arm is injured and each movement sends jolts of agony through my whole body. I try to disconnect the feeling. Closing my eyes, I start playing, and play, and play, while the village burns around me.

This is the first time I somehow manage all the seven Bindings perfectly, despite my bad wrist, my bloody fingers and a gushing wound on my elbow.

When it's all over, it feels like I've awakened from a fevered dream. I open my eyes to find Nayama sitting on the ground, only a few paces away from me, cradling Madi's body and weeping.

Daru crawls up to me to lick my wound and I put my arms around him, and we both watch her grieve in silence.

But my job isn't done yet. So when the lazy sun finally crests the horizon, I touch the bow to the strings once more.

*

I'm on the road again. Daru flies above me, hunting for rabbits hiding in the tall grass. The sun burns hot, but I can feel the barest whiff of autumn breath on my cheeks.

I didn't get the reward. Obviously. I left behind nothing but devastation—the village laying in smoldering ruins, its people huddled in hesitant groups.

Some were grateful—the horror of knowing a monster had been hiding with them now lifted—but with the Richman and his youngest wife being after my blood for killing their only son, there wasn't much left for me to do but leave.

I go east, and I walk for many miles in my old boots, until, finally, I arrive at the area where seven rivers sing in unison before joining the big sea.

I open my bag and take the serpent out.

After Nayama was defeated and her links with Nara and Madi were broken, all it took was the spell of remembrance to turn her back into a snake. She didn't mind. Spent and heartbroken, she welcomed her old body like a traveler welcomes the walls of his long-abandoned home.

I let her out, and she vanishes in the cool deep waters of the sea.

"She killed so many innocent people," Daru muses, watching her go. "Does she deserve peace?"

"She didn't have much choice, did she? She was but a weapon."

"And yet she tried to put the blame for everything on Nara."

"She lied to protect Madi because she loves him. And sometimes we do awful things to protect those we love. You know that."

"Don't get all gooey on me, Alma."

"I'm not."

"So what's next for us, anyway?"

Honestly, I've no idea. Moments like this, I feel I don't have the strength to take another step. But I pull myself together.

"Now we look for another job," I say. "I still need me some new boots, don't I?"

THE END

Bio: I'm a freelance copywriter living in Kazakhstan. I have a Master's Degree in TEFL.