The Book of Transformations Read Online Free Page A

let any of it affect me. I assume that they just feared what they didn’t understand.’
    ‘One of the many reasons that we cultists must keep to ourselves,’ Cayce observed dryly.
    ‘So eventually I fled from home and spent a couple of years in various rough spots of the city, even a short while in the caves of Villjamur. I found happiness with a friend for a while, but I can’t remember much of those days.’
    They said nothing, merely listened.
    ‘Do you need any money, for all of this?’ Lan offered. She had some money tucked away, not much – her late father had grown fat off the ore industry and had dealings in Villiren. Because of their rift she hadn’t spoken to him in five years, so it had come as a gut-wrenching surprise when she inherited what little was left of the family money. Cancer had eaten up her mother a year ago, and Lan being the only blood relation left, and because of a quirk of Villjamur law – she was legally a man – the property deeds became hers without much question.
    ‘It may surprise people like you, but we are not at all interested in money,’ Cayce replied. ‘You see, where we come from, it is not of much use.’
    ‘Ysla.’ They breathed the name of their home island as if it was some nostalgic memory. She thought about the strange things that might go on there. An island populated only by cultists. She dreamed of magic.
    ‘We will be in touch,’ Cayce said, ‘so, if you please, do not go anywhere for a while.’
    As if .
    The cultists filed out one by one and Lan returned across the cold streets in deep thought. It had seemed like this questioning was all a formality, that Cayce already understood her needs, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up.
    *
    Another long wait followed, whilst she moved through the same routine: performance after performance, in front of diminishing crowds. How long would she have left before Astli reduced his staff again?
    Night after night, while the other performers retreated to the dormitory, she waited alone by the moulded entrance to the amphitheatre in case another letter arrived.
    *
    Another freezing evening and another show, but this time there was a knock at the dressing-room door and a bald man kitted out against the cold asked her to travel with him to an outpost on Jokull. ‘Bring whatever you need for a short trip, and most of all prepare for cold weather. Snow’s deepened along the east of the island. Roads are shitting precarious at best.’
    This is it then.
    Lan was out of there. Her pulse was uncontrollable and she wanted to cry with joy, but she held herself together. She threw a few items into a bag whilst the others stared on impassively. One of the girls blurted out, ‘Where the hell d’you think you’re going?’
    Lan thought she heard someone mutter ‘Dyke.’
    ‘I need to go out for a while.’
    ‘Show’s about to start. Think you can just walk out now?’ Marre, a thickset girl in a shimmering silver outfit, made for the door as if to try to block Lan’s path. She fingered her dark locks and pouted her lips.
    ‘Don’t tell Astli, please,’ Lan whispered, pausing from her packing, emotion bubbling in her eyes.
    ‘This once,’ Marre grunted, exposing a rare glimpse of humanity, and lumbered back to her chair.
    *
    Lan’s hands around her escort’s waist, they rode for days across Jokull in the biting cold, deep into raw wilderness. Much of the island was layered in snow and ice, the landscape so similar no matter where they rode, a dull and bitter place to live. Animal life here was sparse, and how anything could salvage an existence here was beyond her. Tiny hamlets persisted, names she had never before come across – Thengir, Valtur – and people managed to make a living on simple rations, fresh fish, berries and seabirds. It was a humbling journey.
    Her companion maintained an almost complete silence, grunting his replies to her. His face was permanently screwed up in concentration. She wondered if he