The Month of DecmenPonto, the fifth mode, invokes Saint Diuvo, Saint Flenz, Saint Thunor, Saint Rooster. It evokes the passionate new love, the raucous banquet, the freely flowing wine. It provokes delight, giddy joy, lust.

Sesto, the sixth mode, invokes Saint Erren, Saint Anne, Saint Fiendeseve, Saint Adlainn. It evokes the ache one will not wish away, the quiet sadness after physical love, unrequited longing. It provokes erotic sadness.-FROM THE CODEX HARMONIUM OF ELGIN WIDSEL

CHAPTER ONE.

FRIENDSHIPS.

ANNE PULLED A COMB through her salt-knotted hair and watched the gulls on the strand fight over the scraps of fish and more dubious once-living things. The birds weren't the only scavengers; twenty or thirty people-mostly children-were also searching the sand for treasure from the waves. through her salt-knotted hair and watched the gulls on the strand fight over the scraps of fish and more dubious once-living things. The birds weren't the only scavengers; twenty or thirty people-mostly children-were also searching the sand for treasure from the waves.

Farther down the shore, the battered hulk of the Della Puchia Della Puchia was dry-docked in scaffolding, and beyond that lay the huddle of whitewashed cottages that was the Gallean village of Duvre. was dry-docked in scaffolding, and beyond that lay the huddle of whitewashed cottages that was the Gallean village of Duvre.

It was hard to remember any particulars about the storm. The bells of vicious thunder, snapping spars, and plunging waves all blurred together into a single long terror. It had left them adrift and sinking with only a single makeshift sail and the good fortune to be within sight of shore. They had followed the coast for nearly a day before finding the fishing village and the anchorage it offered.

A cold wind was coming off the sea, but the clouds were gone. The only remaining signs of the storm were its wreckage.

The comb snagged, and she yanked at her hair in frustration, wishing for a bath, but the village didn't have an inn, as such, just a small tavern. Besides, their money was all but gone. Cazio had the last of it and was trying to buy horses and supplies. Captain Malconio had figured it would be a week before the ship was ready to sail again, and she had no intention of waiting that long.

According to its inhabitants-at least as best as any of Malconio's men could understand them-Duvre was about ten leagues south of Paldh. They had planned to go by land to Eslen anyway, so they had decided that they might as well get started.

With a sigh, she rose and started back toward the village, to make sure Cazio was doing what he was supposed to be doing, and not playing nip with Austra someplace. The brief solitude had been nice, but it was time to get going.

She found him in the tavern, of course, along with z'Acatto, Malconio, Austra, and a crowd of locals. It was close and smoky inside and smelled overwhelmingly of the dried cod that hung everywhere from the rafters. The two long tables were pitted and polished by use, and the floor-like the walls-was built of a sort of plaster made of ground-up seashells.

Malconio was speaking-something about the wonders of a city named Shavan-and a wizened little man with no more than three or four teeth was making a running translation in Gallean. Children in red and umber tunics of rough wool and women with their hair wrapped up in black cotton scarves all leaned in, laughing sometimes and commenting among themselves. They glanced at her when she entered, but quickly returned their attention to Malconio.

Anne put her hands on her hips and tried to catch Cazio's eye, but he either hadn't seen her or was ignoring her in favor of Austra, who-with him-was quaffing wine from a ceramic jug.

Z'Acatto was slumped with his head on the table.

Impatiently, Anne pushed through the crowd and got Cazio's attention by patting his shoulder.

"Yes, casnara?" he asked, looking up at her. Austra turned her head away, feigning interest in Malconio's story, which just rolled right along.

"I thought you were buying supplies and horses."

Cazio nodded. "That's exactly what I'm doing," he said. He patted the shoulder of a stout, middle-aged man with a sunburnt face and startling green eyes. "This is Tungale MapeGovan. I'm doing business with him."

The man-who seemed well on his way to being thoroughly drunk-smiled up at Anne.

"Hinne allan," he commented, scratching his belly. he commented, scratching his belly.

"Well, can't you hurry it up?" she asked, ignoring the disgusting fellow.

"They don't seem to do things in a hurry here," Cazio remarked. "My kind of people, really."

"Cazio."

"Also, we don't have enough money," he said.

"You've money for wine, it seems."

Cazio took another swig. "No," he said, "we're earning that with stories."

"Well, how much do we need?" she asked, exasperated.

He set the jug back on the table. "He wants twice what we have for an ass and four days' provisions."

"An ass?"

"No one around here has a horse-even if they did, we could never afford it."

"Well, one ass hardly seems worth the trouble," Anne said. "Just buy the food."

"If you want to carry it on your back," Cazio remarked, "I'll settle that right now."

"If I have to, I will. We can't wait here any longer."

Someone tugged lightly on her hair. She gasped and discovered Tungale fondling it.

"Stop that," she said, brushing his hand away.

"Ol panne?" he asked. he asked.

Cazio glanced at the translator, but he was still busy with Malconio's tale.

"She's not for sale," Cazio answered, shaking his head.

That was a little too much.

"For sale?" she shouted. she shouted.

Malconio stopped in midsentence, and the table erupted in laughter.

"Ne, ne," Tungale said. Tungale said. "Se venne se panne?" "Se venne se panne?"

"What's he saying?" Anne demanded.

The translator smiled broadly, emphasizing his mostly toothless condition. "He wants to know how much your hair hair costs." costs."

"My hair?"

"Se venne se?" he asked Tungale. he asked Tungale.

"Te," Tungale replied.

"Yes," the translator said. "Your hair. How much?"

Anne felt her face burning.

"Her hair isn't-," Cazio began, but Anne put a hand on his arm.

"The ass and food for a nineday," she said.

Austra turned at that. "Anne, no."

"It's only hair, Austra," Anne replied. She nodded at the translator. "Tell him."

Despite her brave words, she had to work hard to keep from crying when they sheared it off, with everyone in the room whooping and laughing as if they were watching a troupe perform its antics. She kept the tears in, though, and resisted the temptation to rub the stubble that remained on her scalp.

"There," she said, got up from her chair, and nearly bolted outside. There she did tear up a bit, not so much from the loss of her hair as from the humiliation.

She heard footsteps behind her.

"Leave me alone," she said without turning.

"I just thought you might want this."

She looked back, a little surprised to find that it was Malconio. He was holding one of the black scarves the women of the village wore. She stared at it for a moment.

"You know," he said, "you could have asked me for the money. I'll have to sell off some goods here anyway to get the ship repaired. Cazio's too proud, but you you could have asked." could have asked."

She shook her head. "I can't ask you for anything, Captain. Some of your men died because of me, and your ship was wrecked. I owe you too much already."

"That's true, in its way," Malconio said. "But sailors die and ships are wrecked. There is such a thing as fate, and it's a waste of time to wish you hadn't done something. Better to learn from your mistakes and move on. I don't hold any grudge against you, Anne. I took you as a passenger because my brother asked me to, and despite what I said earlier, I do have some idea what to expect from my brother and his-situations.

"Do you know how hard it must have been for him to come to me? But he did, which tells me something about you. That you dragged him away from the Tero Mefio says even more. The Cazio I knew never did much for anyone but himself. If he's improved, how can I let him show me up?"

Anne managed a little smile at that. "You do love him, don't you?"

Malconio smiled. "He's my brother."

He proffered the scarf, and she took it. "Thank you," she said. "One day I will be able to repay you."

"The only payment I ask is that you watch out for my little brother," Malconio said.

"I'll do my best."

Malconio smiled, but the smile quickly vanished as he lifted his head and his eyes focused behind her. "There they are," he sighed. "I should have known they wouldn't sink."

Anne followed his gaze. There, where sea and sky met, she saw sails.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

"They aren't coming this way," Malconio said after a moment. "They're probably looking for a deeper port-she's missing a mast, you see?"

Anne didn't, but she nodded. Malconio was right, though-the ship wasn't sailing toward land, but parallel to it.

"If they see your ship-," she began, but Malconio shook his head.

"It's not likely at that range, not with the Della Puchia Della Puchia in dry-dock and without masts. But even if she did, she couldn't come in-not through those reefs we passed. Her keel's too deep." He turned to Anne. "Still, I would go if I were you, and quickly. If they have seen the in dry-dock and without masts. But even if she did, she couldn't come in-not through those reefs we passed. Her keel's too deep." He turned to Anne. "Still, I would go if I were you, and quickly. If they have seen the Puchia Puchia, they'll send men back over land as soon as they find a harbor with deeper water. You could have all the time in the world, but on the other hand, you might have only a day."

"What if they do come here?" Anne asked. "They'll kill you."

"No," Malconio said. "I'm not fated to die on land. Get the others and make a start. You've still got a few bells before sundown."

Cazio found his brother with his ship.

Malconio scowled when he saw him. "Are you still here? Didn't Anne tell you we saw the ship?"

"Yes," Cazio said. "I just-" He fumbled off, suddenly unsure what he wanted to say.

"Good-byes are bad luck," Malconio grumbled. "Implies that you don't expect to see each other again. And I'm sure to see you again, right, little brother?"

Cazio felt something bitter suck in his lungs. "I'm sorry about your ship," he said.

"Well, we'll talk about that again when you've made your fortune," Malconio said. "Meanwhile, you let me worry about it. It is my ship, after all."

"You're making fun of me," Cazio said.

"No," Malconio replied. "No, I'm not. You have a destiny, fratrillo fratrillo, I can feel it in my bones. And it's your own-not mine, not our father's, not our revered forefathers'. It's yours. I'm just glad somebody finally got you out looking for it. And when you've found it, I expect you to come to my house in Turanate and tell me about it."

"I'd like to see it," Cazio said.

Malconio smiled. "Go on," he said. "Azdei, until I see you next." until I see you next."

Cazio clasped his brother's hand, then trudged back up from the strand to where the others waited.

There was only one road out of Duvre, and it was really no more than a narrow track. Cazio led the way, leading their newly purchased donkey, sparing one glance back at his brother's ship before they entered the trees above the village. He saw Malconio, a tiny figure, working with his men.

Then he turned his eyes to the road ahead of him.

The forest soon gave way to rolling fields of wheat. They saw a few distant houses, but no village even the size of Duvre. Dusk found him building a campfire beneath an apple tree so ancient its lower limbs had drooped to the ground.

Anne hadn't said much since she lost her hair. Cazio had never seen a woman without hair and he didn't like the look. It was better when she wrapped the scarf on her head.

He tried to start a conversation with her once or twice, but her answers were terse and didn't go anywhere.