The tall cleric was the last to leave, and he promised us an evening meal. Then we had the room to ourselves again, the noise of the afternoon shower drowning out the other background noises of the palace.

The evening meal arrived shortly afterwards, the familiar soup and fruit.

Following my previous remark, this time Tarik used a little from my soul to remove the scar from the cleric who served us, as exhausted as Tarik was. As before, the cleric fled immediately.

We ate in silence, each of us deep in thought. Then Tarik sat with his back leaning against the side of my lower body.

"Will he remembering?"

"Not sure. This is all new. Now it is is an infant. Not sure if it even has the ability to talk, if it knows how to."

Not more to say, then. We just watched the peaceful sunset after today's very short rain shower.

The sun had gone down when a familiar face entered the room: the emissary came with the woman from before.

"Jajitditsch, Mage Tarik." He stopped when he saw me and switched to Kren. "Countess, I did not, why are you bound?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "Did you attack someone? No, you did not?"

"No emissary, not attacking anyone." I felt betrayed by him. I never liked him, and his concern for whether or not I was shackled seemed hypocritical. "Seeing the ear? I was attackinged by clerics."

"I will free you in a moment." He turned back to Tarik and spoke in Kwal again. Tarik shook his head and the woman pleaded with him, in Loma, I guessed. Tarik sighed several times, but finally nodded and spoke to the emissary again. The emissary then left, and the woman sat in a corner on the former nuncipal's ottoman, visibly drained.

Tarik came to me. "The emissary will look for an inquisitor to release you. The whole residence is in chaos, the unscarred clerics are following again their 'true' calling and it seems enough to provide quite a distraction. Let's hope the emissary finds someone."

I nodded. "I not liking the emissary."

"Neither do I. I still don't understand him. But he wants more soul magic, or rather this woman, the mother of the nuncipal infant, wants bigger breasts. The extra soul made the infant drink more than twice as much as before."

I sighed with him. It seemed that the first thing every woman wanted from soul magic was bigger breasts. 500 years back compared to my reference point on Earth, and still. Maybe even 10,000 years back would make no difference. At least, the mother would use them for their intended purpose. But still, I would not mind being a little less endowed. But above all, I would not want anyone to mess with my body. Tarik had messed it up enough for a lifetime.

Tarik interrupted my thoughts. "I am worried. I only have two runes, and one is almost spent. The fast recharging blurs the lines quickly. And its not healthy for the charger, I think. But I lack the time and energy to prepare another one. This is really a bad idea. But if I do this, he will let us go." He sighed.

The emissary returned with two inquisitors and two lanterns. The inquisitors were confused, looking up at the emissary, then even at me and Tarik as if we could give them absolution for their actions. I smiled, which confused them even more. Nevertheless, I was quickly unshackled. "Thank you," I said, adding to their confusion as if it was some absolution but from the wrong person.

"Mage Tarik, Countess, please follow," the emissary commanded.

Outside the room, we soon entered a servant's corridor. Luckily, a wider one, so I could fit in, albeit barely. We went down two floors on a spiral staircase (a very clean one, not that it mattered much after the dungeon) and then emerged into a wide corridor, down another side door and descending another flight of stairs. The next door led into a large courtyard, which we crossed, heading for the camel stable.

Now was the time for the evensong. And from many windows, I heard clerics singing and praying. But only in small groups and singing different songs, very different from the chorals this morning. But I had no time to wonder if this was normal, for the inquisitors closed the door of the stable.

* * *

The camel equerry had brought an old camel. It was like before in Krenburg, the same preparation by Tarik, his incantation, the camel stepped on the rune and froze. But then things went awry. The rune to freeze the mother was not charged enough to hold her.

Tarik would continue anyway. He first drew golden soul filaments from the camel. He took a little soul for himself, and then he threw a little soul to me through a thin filament, even though I did not need it. And then he pushed a soul filament to the woman.

As soon as the first soul filament from the camel touched her, she smiled maniacally. She swayed left and right, seeking more, even though she did not see it. The emissary could hardly calm her down. That didn't bode well.

Tarik went underneath the camel and took off half of its udder, still filling his both hands.

The woman ripped open her shirt, baring her chest, her head thrown back. Tarik hesitated for a second, then walked slowly towards her, the hairy, two-teated udder wobbling in his hands, glowing from soul filaments trailing to the camel. The woman became impatient, freed herself from the emissary's weak hold and walked up to Tarik. Tarik was out of his wits and stood frozen. She grabbed his hands and pressed the udder against her belly, still smiling maniacally. As soon as the udder touched her skin and fused, it matched its colour to her skin tone and the fur fell off. She slapped Tarik's hands away and pushed it higher, just below her normal breasts. She began to knead the huge teats to a more human size. Then she threw her head back and inhaled heavily as if she could grow them that way. Since she was still connected to the camel via the soul filaments, her body responded to her mental image, filling and growing, the new lower half-udder breasts as well as her upper breasts; even her rib cage lengthened. She moaned and squealed, completely overcome with bliss. Even I was turned on by this grotesque display of self-sculpturing.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Although she was completely out of this world, her hands were still shaping both new and old breasts. When Tarik approached, she snarled like an animal and took another sip from the soul filaments. All four breasts grew again, veins beginning to protrude at their bases. Then the camel's rune ran out, the camel dropped dead and the room went dark. The mother screamed in despair and collapsed.

We were all too shocked to catch her. I slowly walked forward to lift her to her feet, since I was the only woman here and the strongest of us all. She looked at me, vacant at first, but slowly her mind came back. She blinked several times, then opened her mouth, only to close it again. She looked down at her bloated chest with its four full breasts, the thick nipples erect, full of milk.

I carefully let her go and she stood on her own. I quickly picked up her torn shirt and pulled it over her, even if it was now barely reaching her belly button and would not close in front. She became aware of how she had soiled herself with her juices, being half-naked, and ran out, her massive breaths jiggling. The emissary shouted an order and the two inquisitors followed her, still walking strangely, probably struggling with their erections.

"Please excuse me, I will see you later," the emissary also hurried away. We were alone, the equerry had fled as soon as the magic began. Being alone with a dead camel was not inviting, so we opened the door to the courtyard and peeked out.

* * *

Clerics stood in groups in the courtyard, arguing and shouting. Inquisitors wandered among them, swords drawn, but unsure where or who to turn to. It was utter chaos, ripe to explode.

"Get on my back!" I ordered Tarik, not waiting for his consent. I lifted him on my back and raced through the groups into the main buildings. Some clerics even shouted "Sheb'ets" and threw themselves to the ground. I ignored them and soon raced up the first flight of stairs I found. The stairs led all the way up to the flat roof space around the corners of the central dome.

Tarik dismounted from me without a word, trembling.

I looked around, out of breath. Two canopies fluttered in the evening breeze. I found a thick carpet in a storage rack below them and rolled it out, away from the canopies. And then I threw myself on it, on my back, gazing up at the sky. The clouds from the afternoon showers had almost dispersed and the sky was getting darker and stars appeared in big numbers.

Tarik lay next to me. Neither of us said anything.

The shouting from below slowly faded as the sky got darker. I had expected them to start fighting. But if there was fighting, the sound did not reach us. Instead, they began to sing, yes, sing. At first, it was not coherent but soon there were only two songs left. One hymn even I recognised: It was 'The Fourth Soul'. The other I did not recognise, but its chorus contained 'Nuncipal'. The latter song was losing, the hypnotic pull of The Fourth Soul seemed too strong to resist. After a while, the nuncipal song was nearly drowned out.

We looked down into the courtyard. In one corner were the remaining followers of the old nuncipal, many of them black headband clerics. They had done soul magic, their corner was thick with their big yellow soul strands. But instead of turning, they unscarred their bystanders and their singing turned quickly to The Fourth Soul but their soul still leashed out. They were singing so hard that even the souls of their bystanders started to join them, getting brighter and more blueish and it was spreading. Half of the courtyard was flashing to the rhythm of The Fourth Soul.

"Oh no!" Tarik shuddered.

I looked at him questioningly.

"This is bad. It could wipe out all Lomaho. They probably do not know it. But they are building up a soul wave, the most terrible weapon of the soul wars."

"What?"

"Too many souls in resonance can do catastrophic things, forming a giant soul for a moment. According to the literature, it will need guidance. It will gain some kind of sentience and then suck all the souls from a region with it and leave."

I did not understand everything, but the gist was clear enough. To think that I had once wondered about magical weapons of mass destruction... I certainly never wanted to witness a live demonstration. And I shivered too, very worried, remembering how deeply I had fallen into a trance while singing The Fourth Soul. "So what we doing now?"

"Stop them at all costs. Make noise to stop the build-up. Knock them out to stop them singing, gag them, anything is better."

"Getting up!"

This time he jumped on my back without hesitation. I almost flew down the stairs of the deserted building, headfirst, squirrel-style. Tarik clung to me that my fur hurt.

The courtyard was filled with soul filaments, not just the air but they even penetrated the ground; so the very stones were trembling to the rhythm of The Fourth Soul. Some soul filaments were even more corporeal, I jumped over them after had nearly tripped over one.

Whenever the wave peaked, I saw black soul shards flying away, with a few soul filaments trailing behind them before they evaporated in black sparks. There would be no soul-scarred cleric left after this. Well, there wouldn't be anyone left if they didn't stop.

I pushed people over, trying not to fall into the rhythm. Tarik took two swords from dazed inquisitors and banged them arrhythmically. It was no use; the three or four I pushed over got up and joined in again like zombies, and I could barely hear Tarik's banging even close by.

The lure of The Fourth Soul grew stronger and stronger. I had to fight with every step not to join their rhythm. Then I saw the open door of the camel stable and it hit me. I pushed through, deliberately kicking over a few on my way in.

It was dark inside, the only light coming from stray soul filaments. Fortunately, there were lots of tack and gear hanging on the wall near the door. I picked out a harness for a four-in-hand and attached leather ropes to it and two drawbars and whatever leather ropes or traces I could find quickly. I put on the ill-fitting harness, took a deep breath and raced out of the stable, into the crowd, literally mowing them down. There would be a few broken ankles tonight, or worse, but a small price to pay given the looming threat of sending all of Lomaho's creatures to The Soul prematurely. I ran in tight circles, causing the two drawbars to sway wildly. It was brutal, people screamed and yelled, but it broke their trance quite effectively. Wherever I ploughed through, the light from the soul filaments dimmed, giving me an indication of where to go next. It was still slow, but it was working, the ground was no longer trembling. Once I had crossed the whole courtyard, the halves start to lose synchronisation, even if only for an instant.

The crow girl came down towards me, first flying in my wake, then diving and soaring just a hand's breadth above their heads, breaking their concentration as they tried to avoid her talons. It was even gentler than my mowing them down, although she probably just did it out of mischief. As she passed Tarik, he shouted something at her, and she flapped her wings, turned tight and passed him again. This time she seemed to have understood him and began systematically dives across the courtyard.

But I could just watch from the corner of my eyes, as went on to mow down whoever happened not to jump quickly out of the way.

I am not sure how many repetitions of The Fourth Soul have passed. Eventually, more clerics were on the floor than standing and singing. Then I got on my back and roared as loud as I could. And coughed, I ran even while coughing. The crow girl took to the sky and croaked loudly too. Her call was answered by crows, many, many crows, which descended from all the buildings and came even up from the town, and formed a large, noisy flock of crows in her wake that circled the courtyard. I roared again, then coughed and ran and roared, again and again, until I collapsed, panting. The crows kept their own distracting croaking.

A trombone sounded, badly played, more quacking than music, joined by a second and a third. It broke the trance of the last singers. I looked up to see the trombonists on the roof and with them the emissary.

The crow girl climbed higher and higher, away from the courtyard, and her flock of crows dispersed.

Coming out of their trance, the inquisitors gathered and advanced on me, the obvious reason for the injured and bloody clerics on the ground.