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Welcome to stories from among the stars. You're listening to the book eaters by sun yi dean. Narrated by katie eric.
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Chapter 7 A Taste of Redemption Present Day of Mind Eaters There is even more evidence. Throughout history, Mesopotamia and Babylonia depict blood sucking creatures who feast on the young, similar to the Lamashtu and the Lilitu. And Lilitu in turn is interlinked with Lilith from Hebrew demonology. And that is only the beginning. These legends stretch through every culture and all throughout history. The details and contexts vary, yet consistent patterns emerge across cultures and time periods to form a single conclusion. We have, all of us, been prey to these creatures for centuries. Amarinder Patel Paper and flesh. A secret history. You've got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky? Well, do you, punk? On the television screen, a scowling Dirty Harry sighted down his gun. The punk didn't feel lucky. They never did. Harry's goodwill went perpetually unappreciated. Kai appreciated it. Instead of sitting slumped on the couch, he bounced from foot to foot as the film played out. He thrummed with energy, mouthing some of the lines to himself. Devon watched him from the small kitchenette to which she and Hester had adjourned. Surreal adjective marked by the intense, irrational reality of a dream. This situation was the definition of surreal. Nice lad. I like him, even if he did try to kill me. Hester leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping water from a chipped mug. Sorry about all the pretense, by the way, when we got the call from Chris that you were looking for the Ravens cars and the details of your story. Well, Kilnik wanted to scope you out first and be sure that you weren't some sort of family trap. Devon didn't give a flying fuck about Chris just then. What did you give Kai, is it? She couldn't even say it. The redemption drug, of course. Hester tilted her head as a gunshot echoed from the television screen. How better else to prove I'm really working with the Ravens cars? Devon sat down heavily. As a very young child, Kai had taken redemption up until the point the Ravenscars had disappeared overnight, making the drug rarer than hen's teeth. That in turn, had triggered a cascade of events in family, politics and Devon's own life, leading her to this room, sitting across the table from this woman, everything coming full circle. He'll eat books now, the way you do, hester continued. No book teeth, meaning he'll struggle to chew tough covers. But you can feed him printed or written sheets, and he'll absorb information from them instead of brain flesh. He will still be able to write, making him superior to your average book eater. But don't let him eat anything he's written himself. He'll feel rather sick. I know he's taken it before. Devon curled and uncurled her fists. She felt like a prehistoric animal who had been rescued from a tar pit, exhausted from prolonged struggle, unable to believe her look and still suspicious that moving too much would make her sink again. Who are you? Are you a Ravenscar? Hester held up both hands. Guilty as charged. I'm one of Killick's siblings and I'm here on his behalf to meet with you. A raven's car in the flesh, then. Devon tried to organise her thoughts, scrutinising Hester with fresh awareness. And a sharper eye, she added with sarcastic bite, so you're a princess like me? Yes, I suppose, came the dry reply. Right. Devon considered that. On the television behind them, Dirty Harry fought with his wheel tires shrieking in a vicious car chase. Are you really into women, by the way, or was tonight entirely a farce? I could ask you the same question. Devon decided to change the subject. Why didn't Killit come down himself? He's our leader, hester said. That would be risky. So we risks you instead. A woman. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I can take care of myself. I'm sure you can, devon said with apologetic sincerity. I didn't mean it as an insult to clarify, but compared to women, the men of our kind are usually, how to say, expendable? Your words, not mine. I couldn't comment on that. He simply thought it would be more diplomatic to send one woman to meet another. That is all, Hester said. If you don't mind, can we get down to business? If you like. Devon shifted her weight. I want to buy enough redemption that I can leave England. Then I'll find a safe place for both Kai and I to live a free, happy life away from the family. Mostly true, if a little simplified about what I expected. Then trimmed nails drummed on the counter. I'll be straight with you and stop dossing around. Killuk is currently the leader of our household and he is willing to give you the drugs that Kai needs, but only if you agree to certain conditions. What kind of conditions? You'd have to join the Ravenscar household. Devon sat back in her chair. I'm guessing that's a little more complicated than you're making it sound. Not at all. Joining in this case means living beneath Killick's rule, accepting him as leader, taking his orders and being reasonably loyal to him. Hester kept rubbing the tips of her fingers against her thumb with nervous energy. These were the conditions that he agreed with us, his other siblings, as a member of his household. The same rules would apply to you. In other words, Devon thought, Kilik had won his coop and given his siblings a choice between death or obedience for all they'd run away and supposedly escaped family culture. The apple hadn't fallen very far from the proverbial tree, which rather begged the question, why had the Ravenscar household imploded at all? If Kilik had simply wanted a change of leadership, there were ways to do that. He wouldn't have been the first ambitious youth to reach for patriarch. No, trying to leave the other families entirely is implied. A fresh start. Yet Devon could see no evidence of anything fresh. She was missing something. Probably a lot of somethings. Currents and eddies of a complicated inter family feud all swirling at her ankles and she was stepping in blind. Aloud, Devon said, that doesn't work for me. I already walked away from the bookie to patriarchs and family life once before. I won't live under that system ever again. Hester's restless hands paused. He's nothing like the old patriarchs. It's a very different kind of rule. Devon burst into laughter, almost doubled over. Dev Kai was on his feet in an instant, looking at her through the narrow kitchenette archway. On the screen behind him, Clint Eastwood stalked purposefully through a building. I'm fine. She waved him away. Just a funny joke. Watch your film, love. Humph. He lingered for a few seconds before drifting back over to the couch, still shooting her suspicious looks. Sad that he'd heard her laughter so rarely as to find it alarming. Hester pressed her lips into a line. I was being serious. Still a joke though, isn't it? Devon took a wheezy breath to calm herself and got up. Christ, I need a drink. Pour me one, if you would. Hester moved to sit at the table, legs crossed and one foot jigging. Devon glowered but politely dug out the vodka that she'd bought earlier and poked around for a couple of tumblers. Never a simple solution in sight, she thought sourly. Everyone always wanted something you didn't expect. The smell of cheap alcohol clogged up the space between them, adding a thick layer of sourness to the semi permanent stench of car grease from the tyre shop below. I want life changing drugs for my son and I am willing to pay for them. Devon slid across a vodka filled tumbler. I don't want to come and live with another lot of people who are essentially the family all over again, much less stick my foot in where it's not wanted with your pseudo patriarch. Then I guess we both go away empty handed. Hester scraped something undesirable off the side of her cup and sipped carefully. Personally, I don't see the problem. Is it such a bad offer from the living area? Kai was still watching them. No doubt he was inhaling every word, as always. Is family life such a bad life? Devon shot back, pleased to see the other woman wince. Wealth, privilege, posh houses. What's not to love, eh? It won't be like that. Her expression was complex and unreadable. It will never be like what it was, a statement as vague as her intentions. If you say so. Devon coughed on vodka fumes. Why would he want me in his household anyway? Some risky runaway with a load of baggage and a lot of nightly enemies? He respects you. What you've done, what you've been through, your commitment to survival, hester said, and Devon wondered how much of that statement was true and how much was the other woman's own invention. Listen, you don't have to make decisions straight away. I am simply inviting you to come with me to meet my brother. If you don't like it, you don't have to agree to anything. That's so. What happens if we wander up there, decide we don't like it, and try to leave again? Surely your brother would think us a risk. What's to stop me running back to the family someday and spilling everything? Kai said from his seat on the sofa. We don't have any other options. And Killuk must know that he's the only person in this country who can give me redemption. So we have to deal with him and on his terms, or I'll starve out here. Both women looked over. Let's not get pessimistic, devon said, all too conscious of the other woman listening and watching. We don't have to think about that yet. We do have to think about it now. Kai draped his elbows over the back of the couch. One a day keeps the eating away. That's what they used to say when I took redemption at the old house. If I don't have another dose tomorrow, I'll need someone to feed on very soon. And the nights are closing in. That's what you told me earlier. Devon hesitated. He was right. But the problem was that none of this stuff with joining the Ravens Castle, getting ensnared in their internal feuds fit in with her carefully laid plans. She couldn't explain that to Kai, though, because she hadn't told him the whole truth of what was going on. For his own protection. She looked back at the other woman. Can you give us a moment? Why not? I could do with a cigarette anyway. Hester rose and ghosted past them in a shuffle of fabric, stepping through the front door to the stairwell just outside. When she was gone, Devon got up and stalked from the kitchenette to the living room, sitting heavily on the coffee table in front of Kai. I do want their cure for you, but it's complicated. Much more complicated than he knew, she thought tiredly. This situation we'd be walking into sounds like a right mess. We have to be careful. Kai pressed mute on the remote control, silencing his film. I don't keep all the memories, you know. Or if I do, I can't always summon them up. But sometimes. His mouth twisted. Sometimes I'll wake up thinking about Mary, decide I should visit her grave and then remember that I can't because she's not my wife and I never married. She was just the electrician's wife. Do you remember him? 5th person you brought me. Actors engaged in a silent mock battle on the television screen and Devon sat frozen, fingers knotted together. He'd never talked about his eating before, not like this. I've been married 15 times and signed eight divorce papers, Kai said with the unflinching directness of a five year old. I have been four different kinds of religious and not religious at all. I've almost died twice and passed 22 driving tests. I remember going to war and killing a civilian by accident. Her blood ruined my uniform. He wrinkled that snub nose and absent minded distaste. I remember the sound a woman makes when you hurt her for the first time. I remember hurting you through his eyes. I remember the sounds you made. Devon touched her throat and said nothing. She dared not look at him in case she saw the echo of her ex husband in his face. I remember those things even though I hadn't done them. I suffer those sins without committing them. That's how the vicar would say it. I am not those people. And I am also not me. I can't ever be me. I'm too full of others lives. Kai turned the remote over and over in his hands. 25 times you've asked are you a good person? You asked them, not me. But now I'm all of those people and the question is mine. 25 times over. Kai. She'd lost control and this conversation had sailed off in wild directions without her. I'm not finished, he said. The answer is no. I'm not a good person. I can't ever be. Even if I eat good people, and especially not if I eat bad ones, the only thing I am is an actual monster. You won't call me that, but it's what I am that isn't true. Don't think that isn't it. Every person I've ever consumed thought I was a monster. In their final moments, they were afraid of me. Everyone is a monster to somebody. Devon didn't have to think for this answer. She'd prepared it long ago, in readiness. But you are not and never will be a monster to me. The worst and best lie she'd ever told him. Im glad, he said. But it doesn't change how I feel. I'm tired, Dev. I don't want to eat. I don't want to hurt people. Not when there's a cure right there and we can have it. Does it matter what Kiluk is asking right now? We'll figure it out. You'll figure it out. You always do. Devon said nothing, only sat next to him with an arm out. Reluctantly, he'd let her fold him into a hug. He'd been so clingy as a baby these days. Kai liked his space. Tough and independent like her. Also damaged, like her. Her heart hurt. The things she had done to him. The things they'd done to each other. He nestled into her shoulder, a gesture so incredibly rare that her heart melted a little. If I can't get redemption, I don't want to keep going on like this. I don't want to keep going on at all. It won't come to that, she said, alarmed. We'll get you more redemption. I know, he said, and she squeezed him tighter. Devon disliked messy confusion, and this was far less neat than her plan of grabbing drugs from the Ravens cars in exchange for cash and then disappearing to another country. But in the end, did it alter so much as long as she got to where the redemption was kept? There were ways she could make this work, regardless of whatever was going on with Kilnick Ravenscar or estranged siblings. Someday, very soon, she would have to tell her son the truth about her plans and who she kept contact with, and in turn, the truth about what she had done during the first eight months of their escape. There was that hole in his memory and the implant scar on his abdomen that she'd so far explained away as a birthmark. The thought made her slightly sick. So many secrets. Perhaps. Hello, Hester stuck her head around the door, cigarette trapped between her fingers. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I think we're about to have company. Act 2 Midnight Chapter 8 Gifts for the Christ Child Ten years ago, in the windowless tomb of a blind mother in the dead of night, under the feeble rays of a lamp in an alabaster globe, a girl came into the darkness with a wail. George MacDonald the history of Photogen and Nycteris Devon thought she must be dying. Every contraction brought worse agony, and she didn't understand how this could possibly go on and on. Yet it did. A handful of Winterfield women flitted around as she screamed into her pillows from pain, then cried from the shame of screaming. Writhing and moaning was for weak women, wasn't it? Not strong young six foot tall Buck Eater brides. Birth was supposed to be a whole raison d' etre after all. Six hours into labour and Lewton came by barking disgruntled orders for someone to give that girl something before she makes us deaf. She can't help it, gaily said, hand on Devon's head. The infant is back to back. What? Devon gasped. What? Lewton echoed. Do we need external intervention? Surgery or it's not a problem, Gaily assured him. Just a long and painful labour that sounded like an enormous fucking problem to Devin, but she didn't have enough air left over to complain. Luton did. However long you mean this will be hours? Then give her a sodding injection, for Christ's sake. If I have to sit through another minute of this howling, I'll lose my bloody sanity. It's supposed to be Christmas Eve. I want some peace. The women objected with hissing, angry statements she couldn't hear. Pain was part of Book Eater tradition. Trauma made it more difficult for mother and child to bond, which in turn made it easier for mother and child to be separated. But Lewton's will won out, as did his desire for a quiet Christmas Eve, a pinprick Devon barely even felt stabbing into her thigh. He watched with narrowed eyes and fingers in his ears this man who was supposedly her husband. She resented him for treating her with such indifference, and also simultaneously wanted to collapse at his feet, to sob with gratitude. Sleepiness took hold as the diamorphine kicked in. Pain still prevailed, but more distantly, the echo of something she hated instead of agony she was immersed in. It'll wear off. Gaily seemed to be speaking from the other end of a very long echoing tunnel. Then give it to her again when it does. Some of us have work to do, he left with footsteps that seemed to reverberate. His voice had an echo too. Everything was humming. Devin felt like a quivering string. The rest of the birth slipped through gaps in her memory. She could index her brain for any sentence in every book she'd ever written, but thinking back on those remaining hours summoned up only fragments of sensation and flashes of garbled conversation. The diamorphine made her sick to her stomach. They also seemed to swallow the minutes skipping erratically through the hours. Without warning, the pain ceased abruptly. No more contractions, no more pushing. She gazed at the ceiling above her bed, stunned to be alive and seething with betrayal because fairy tales had never described birth. Women buzzed around her, talking about cords and cutting and the baby. The baby. She struggled to sit up. Let me see him. Not a him, said gaily, and passed her the child. You have a healthy little girl, my lovely. A girl? Merry Christmas, love your own little Christ child. And Devon reached out. With sweat slick arms, she stared awestruck at the writhing form with the red, crumpled face, the tiny fists and swollen cheeks. Nothing externally had changed. The galaxies still spun in a vast, unknowing indifference, and the uncaring world still flowed past beyond the confines of her bedroom. But here in that moment, the axes of Devon's personal universe tilted and she was left teetering off balance to the core of her being. The baby wailed, sounding like a stepped on frog. She'll be hungry. You should nurse, my lovely. Be good for you both. Gailey came over, helping Devon sit up straight to undo her top and position the scrabbling infant while the ants gasped and fluttered. A girl. A girl. Such incredibly good fortune. Silence fell as the tiny thing latched eyes drifting closed. Stillness poured like blood and still Devon sat, stunned and terrified to move in case her universe tilted again. The ants were already cleaning up, wiping blood off her legs, changing the sheets around her as best they could. Someone carried the placenta away. Your milk will be black when it comes in, gayly said. Don't be alarmed by that. All perfectly normal. Devon just nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Perfectly normal? How could anything be normal ever again? Her life had been a series of twisted fairy tales in which she had imagined herself the princess. But this he, living and breathing and snuffling in her arms, had more truth than all of her swallowed stories combined. She was her daughter's whole world, a realisation both humbling and empowering. Devon had never been anyone's world before, had never been anything at all, in fact, except the sum of paper flesh she'd consumed without thought. Can I name her? She spoke the question to no one in particular, too dazed to remember what the protocol was. No need, gayly said, stuffing bloodied sheets into a laundry basket. Lewton has already chosen Salem. Should the child be a girl? Salem Winterfield. The syllables mushed in her mouth like rotting paper. It made her think of witch trials and women being burned and seen such a heated gnomon when stuck to chilly old Winterfield. I don't like that. She peered down at her daughter's soft, chubby face. It doesn't suit her at all. Don't be daft. It's a perfectly lovely gnome. Here, support her head better. That's right. Devon was too tired to argue, too battered and still bleeding with a naked infant curled on her naked chest. She found Salem was sticking in her mind, whether she wished it to or not, as if her daughter had been tarred irrevocably. A knock at the door, distracting her attention. Lewton had arrived. He was bleary eyed, yawning, still in a dressing gown, and Devon realised with surprise it was half past four in the morning. She completely lost track of time. The tongue, Luton said, scrubbing at his face with the heels of his hands. Has anyone checked? He didn't approach lightly, put off by the bloody mess all over the bed. For a brief, exhausted moment Devon stupidly thought they all meant her own tongue, that tongue of yours, and couldn't fathom why that would be worth mentioning. Baby's fine. No proboscis, another aunt said. She's a girl. In any case, Luton girls can still be mind eaters. It happens, albeit rarely, he said. But I agree she looks fine in this instance. He drew gaily aside after that and spoke in low tones, saying something about registrars and doctors, practicalities that needed taken care of. Gayly pursed her lips, nodding at appropriate points. Devon hugged her daughter close, both annoyed at Luton's questions and relieved at their answers. A healthy girl, yet a part of her was angry. It should even matter. A Mindy to go would not be marriage material, and that was all Lewton thought about. She looked down at the snuffling lump in her arms, swamped with an unsettling mix of dread and pride. There's only six brides left in the whole of Britain, phager had said. Did that make her daughter the seventh bride to be? The thought was anxiety inducing for a multitude of reasons. Lewton came over to Devon's bed, gaze still averted from the blood. You did well, Ms. Fairweather. I'm glad to hear the child is a girl and healthy. I hope you will forgive me for returning to sleep, but the hour is unsociable and I have a full schedule tomorrow. Yes, of course, devon said, fumbling for polite words. Didn't he feel it? The power, the trauma, the awe? Why hadn't the axis of his universe tilted as hers had? She debated thanking him for intervening with medication, then decided against it and bent over her daughter instead. Lewton had only helped because her pain had been inconvenient to him, and now that her mind was clear of drugs and agony, Devon seized on that fact with sharp cynicism. He didn't deserve her gratitude for what was merely basic courtesy. After he left, the baby was taken away by ants to be weighed, cleaned, and dressed. One of the aunts helped Devon to the bath, dousing her bath water in an army of luxury products before leaving her in peace. The revelation struck Devon with the force of a speeding train as she sat exhausted in a porcelain tub, naked and alone and clothed in bubbles. She could not give Salem away. There was nowhere else to take this sentiment, no plan or specific goal. It was simply a truth that she felt and would not deny. Salem was hers, clunky name and all. No one had the right to separate them. Devon stepped out of the bath, dripping suds on the floor, and wrapped herself in a bathrobe. She limped back into the freshly changed bedroom and slithered between the covers, whispering her thanks as one of the ants laid Salem next to her. Sleep, gaily said, tucking the covers around them both. We'll have someone stay with you these first few nights. No need to worry about rolling on the child in your sleep. Can I raise her? Devon asked. Salem's tiny hands curled around her, adult fingers grasping tight, they held each other fast. I can stay here longer. I don't mind. Gaily squeezed the pillows roughly, plumping them up. That's not how it works. Why not? Why can't it be? Oh, my lovely. Gaily put a hand on Devon's head as if she were a dog. Listen to me and carefully. No one gets more than three years to nurse the child. And after that, all women must go on to their next wedding. Marriages are carefully negotiated to limit inbreeding. I know, devon said, then realised she was holding the baby too tightly when Salem started to cry. I know the terms of my contract. I understand our struggles with fertility, she said calmer. But I thought no, said Gaily, seeing Devon's expression, her own softened a little. All mother brides experience this. It is completely normal and we have all been through it. Including me. You've done this. It shouldn't have surprised her, because of course all women who could have children have done so all the same. Devon struggled to picture Gaily as young, wedded, pregnant and nursing specifically. She couldn't fathom how someone could go through the same experience yet still advocate for it as other family women seem to. Naturally, dear. Gaily folded her hands atop the other. As I was saying, we all struggle with the leaving. Your mother probably struggled, but in the blink of an eye your baby will be grown up and getting wedded soon enough. She'll have children of her own. When she does, think of how happy you'll be to have scions in another house. A lineage of your flesh. Is that not a beautiful thing? Devon had no fucking idea what to say. Trust the process, gaily went on with a tired expression. After three years, you'll be dying to get away from the babe. I certainly was. She quavered a little. The other aunts looked at each other, saying nothing. What? No, I won't. Did they think she was stupid? Easily distracted, easily put off? I want to stay with her. The older woman frowned, face pulled into severe lines. Why don't we put a plan in place? Schedule time away from your daughter. Some mother brides do that. Helps to not bond so much time away. Devon struggled to keep the panic out of her voice. We don't need any time apart. We'll talk about this another time. Get some rest for now, my lovely. Gailey was already retreating from the room with slumped shoulders to toward her own quarters. In fairness to the woman, she was probably exhausted too. It had been a long labour for everyone. Devon was willing to forgive that. And tired enough to take the advice about sleeping, she drifted off. Salem curled in the crook of her arm, but Devon was rather less forgiving when Gaily came back some 10 hours later, a calculating look in her eye. Just showing all the warning signs of an over bonded mother, gaily told her. This may seem harsh, but I think you should agree to an early intervention. That's ridiculous. I'm agreeing to no such thing. Gayly waved the other aunts over. Three women held her down while another pried Salem out of her fingers. Devon was two days post birth, still bleeding, unable to stop them or put up any resistance beyond shrieking. Enjoy yourself, said one of the older women. Relax and get some rest. Fuck you. Her words bounced limply off their retreating backs, landing no true blows. Devon lay in bed for the next few hours, too angry to cry, consumed with shame and failure. Follow the rules, toe the line, live the good life. That's what she'd been taught all her life. But Devon didn't want a good life. She wanted her daughter. No more, no less. The Knight Commander's promise all those years ago that bad things only happened to those who broke rules felt like a hollow echo. She'd been good. She'd obeyed. Yet Salem was still being taken away. It was unfair, and something in her, a rebelliousness long dormant and buried by the shock of Ramsay's punishment, stirred in her chest. When she felt stronger, she got out of bed and flung the books and cups of ink tea that they brought Salem. Lovely Salem was every bit as fierce. Those piercing wails could be heard across the house. Devon paused in her destruction to kneel by her locked door, listening with anguished satisfaction until at last her daughter was grudgingly brought back. I don't agree, she said, voice cracked, but Gaily only shook her head. They came back the next day to do it again. As before, two women tried to hold down a swearing, spitting. Devon. She was stronger today. Fought like a badger and shrieked like a banshee until her throat was raw. They had almost finished disentangling Salem from Devon's grasp when Lewton strode into the room, face red and tie cropped. The hell are you doing? He scowled at a hyperventilating Devon, who took advantage of the distraction to snatch a child back. Salem nuzzled frantically and Devon almost tore her dress trying to pull her top down to nurse the child. Gaily puffed up. This is woman's business. On the contrary, this is my house and therefore this is also my business. Lewton stared her down. His sister cringed back, instantly deflated. I ask again, what are you doing? She was showing classic signs of being overly bonded. So I propose short periods of trial separation. It's a technique that has worked for other brides in other houses. Well, it clearly isn't working here. My God, I can't take a piss without having to listen to an infant wailing or a girl crying. Devon wanted to snarl that she hadn't cried a tear, not since the birth. Shrieking with rage was entirely different. Instead, she locked her jaw shut. However selfish his motives, Luton was at least de facto on her side. If we remain firm, it will prevent a host of problems for everyone in the long run. Problems? Lewton looked at Devon, who cradled a nursing Salem close. Right now the girl is happy. The baby is happy, which means I do not have a headache. Where is the problem? Why distress them? My concern is when they need to be separated, when we need to separate them, we will do so, he said, a wrinkle of irritation between his brows. I see no value in preemptively causing upset. If Devon is uncooperative, we can hardly apply for a wet nurse and then the baby will starve. Do what is needed to make mother and child happy for now. You can manage that much, can't you? Gaily swallowed, face darkening, she exchanged glances with the other ants. Glad that's agreed. Luton strode back out. Devon curled around her daughter and watched him go, heart turning to a ball of spikes inside her chest even as she broke into a sweat from sheer relief. Three years was enough to change their minds, and she would do exactly that. No one was taking Salem away from her.
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That's all for now. Thank you for listening. Make sure to follow stories from among the Stars on your preferred podcast app to get the next episode. Or if you just can't wait, you can buy the Book Eaters wherever books or audiobooks are sold.