wind and tall yellow grasses looked like the nesting ground of bitter female spirits, who might sit in the puddles of their long black dresses, watching the empty windows. Black hens roamed the gardens, and Lileem would bring in their warm brown eggs for Ulaume to put in a bowl in the larder. Ulaume had found clothes for the harling to wear, which had been a little too big, but had clearly once belonged to a human child. While Ulaume adjusted the garments with scissors and teeth, Lileem fidgeted and stamped. He was as eager as a young hound to be out in the air or pioneering through the attics. Ulaume found other clothes packed in trunks, which he appropriated for himself. These were from an area where he believed the servants of the house had lived. On some days, he’d dress in shirt and trousers, on others in long peasant skirts. He liked the feeling of fabric sweeping around his calves as he walked. He felt the woman they had once belonged to had walked with purpose and determination, and part of her personality clung to the cloth. Ulaume swept floors and clawed cobwebs from the corners. He chose one of the kitchens to be his own, even though his knowledge of preparing food was no greater than that needed for survival. Among the Kakkahaar, when Lianvis had called for food, Ulaume had generally slapped the nearest servant and demanded them to fetch it. Fortunately, the cellars of the house were well stocked with vegetables, cured meat and even dusty bottles of wine. This house had not been abandoned long. There was a walled kitchen garden near the stables where vegetables were slowly breaking ranks, but still growing. In the larder, there were barrels of flour that didn’t look mildewy or infested, so Ulaume attempted to make bread. His first efforts were surprisingly edible, if somewhat misshapen. On a shelf above the flour, Ulaume found a listing row of old books on cookery, gardening and the husbandry of bees and chickens. He congratulated himself, and thanked the spirit of the house for his fortunate discoveries. They would contribute greatly to his and Lileem’s survival.
Every evening, by candle-light (and there was stock in the cupboards to illuminate the longest apocalyptic dark), Ulaume read, and learned the skills that once he would have scorned. He would light a fire in the kitchen and try to exorcise the damp. How could a house be clammy in such a dry climate? Damp with tears perhaps. He had yet to learn Wraeththu created its own ghosts, in unimaginable ways.
Ulaume experienced very vivid dreams in the house, and he took the vision he’d had on the first night there to be one of them. He thought he’d seen Pellaz, a younger version of him, and it did occur to him that maybe, years ago, Pell had once happened upon a stranger asleep in the attic. Ulaume knew that sometimes the paths of time could cross, and the vision had seemed very real. But the one thing wrong with this idea was that he was still sure Pell had not lived here, nor could he imagine him creeping into the house surreptitiously. Rich humans had once lived here, and Ulaume knew Pell had not come from affluent stock. The vision had belonged very much to the here and now, so there was a mystery. Soon, he must walk down to the cluster of farm dwellings and confront what might lie waiting for him on the porch of the largest one, but not yet. He must put the pieces of the puzzle together in the right order. The house had called him. It had something to say.
The ghosts were watching them, night and day. Everything in the landscape quivered with a nervous sentience. Ulaume felt that Lileem’s and his living energy was affecting the environment, waking it up. He realised this was not a pleasant feeling, but Lileem seemed oblivious. He grew swiftly, like a quick-growing vine snaking up a wall in the sunlight. At times, snuggled up to the harling beneath their shared blanket at night, Ulaume felt very close to him. At other times, watching him absorbed in his own inner life, playing alone with no need for company, Ulaume thought they were creatures of two entirely different species. Wraeththu’s young were perhaps as different from their parents as the incepted were from humans. He felt fierce love for Lileem, but occasionally a kind of