Chapter 1

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Her palms prickled and a hollow dread feeling swept from her belly up to her chest. Tamza stood to the side of the stage in the great marketplace, staring at the wooden planks, forcing herself to notice every flaw, raised peg, splinter. To not think about what was coming.

She had positioned herself behind a group of loitering fire eaters, to keep as much distance between her and the audience. Most performers had been on already, to cheers or boos, depending on the fickle mood of the onlookers. Some, like her, were still waiting their turn. But Tamza's act was the headline of the Festival of Many Gods, and tonight, for the first time, she'd be performing without her father.

She'd be the one speaking... from that stage... to the entire town gathered in the square.

Tamza gulped down the ticklish nerves that crawled up her throat. It was almost time.

She watched as the first roof runners appeared, leaping like cats and scrambling down from the two and three storey, flat-roofed mudbrick houses, skidding along the narrow alleyways between buildings and into the square. They dashed through the crowds and dodged past stalls selling festival trinkets, beer from great earthenware jugs and roast goat. The runners glided across the shallow River Gharak that snaked its way through the centre of the square, and deftly avoided the handmade deities balanced on floating platforms that bobbed jovially down the river as part of the festival's flotilla. The competitors took the quickest route to the finish on stage.

Vizier Hannijad waited there, a wide smile on his handsome, young face, a cup filled with barley wheat beer clutched in one strong hand. He hiccupped. The entire town knew that the Vizier was a drunken idler who could barely walk five paces without assistance, and much older than the image he chose to project. His ability allowed him to contort his outward appearance as he wished, and he wished to be youthful, attractive and as muscular as the agile men and women who now approached him. He sat, wheezing, on a wooden chair intricately carved with inscriptions, decorated with rare wood inlays and shells from the small pebbly beach next to the harbour. The runners had to touch his broad chest to win.

Next to the small platform, that acted as the stage, was a group of musicians, consisting of strings, percussion and woodwind instruments. They played a favourite Vaasarian tune, that raced along, getting faster and faster. The music had picked up pace as the leaders of the race were spotted, the crowd clapping and bellowing their support.

Tamza's heart beat in time with the frantic pace of the music and the audience's roar rattled her bones. It all became too much. She didn't see whose fingers brushed the Vizier first as she turned back to the makeshift hut behind the stage where her father's soothing voice drifted out, calming the occupants inside. He had told her to go and watch the show, her anxious dithering disturbing that night's star performers. The noise of the festival was agitating them, as it always did, on this first dance of the new season. But tonight was worse than usual. They sensed her fear.

Tamza pulled back the woollen cloth hanging across the entrance and went in.

"Papa, you've always done the introductions, always led the choreography. Come on with me one last time, I'll do it on my own for the Celebration of Cultural Activities next month..." Her voice wavered, her nerves betraying her.

"Nonsense," Sumear replied, but didn't look at Tamza. He fussed over Ursah-bear. She allowed him, and only him, to scratch behind her small rounded ears. Bears are not for petting, Sumear had always told Tamza, unless they give you permission. Ursah-bear hummed happily, head bumping Sumear's chest to ask for more. He rubbed his forehead between her black eyes.

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