Badland’s lips drew tight over his large teeth. ‘You know they ain’t.’

‘Exactly. Kellanved changed that. We need to warn the north.’

‘I’m thinking the Eithjar know,’ said Coots.

‘What is this you are talking of?’ Jethiss asked from the darkness.

Fisher straightened, set his hands on his knees. ‘Sorry, Jethiss. Local history. Old feuds.’ He motioned to Coots. ‘In any case, we should bring word.’

The brothers shared a measuring glance. ‘Well,’ Badlands allowed, ‘only if you talk to Stalker.’ He cut a hand through the air. ‘’Cause we swore we weren’t comin’ back.’ Coots nodded his firm agreement.

Fisher looked to the low roof and sighed. ‘Fine. You don’t have to come all the way.’

‘So – we are going?’ Jethiss asked.

‘Yes.’ Fisher stood, dusted his trousers. ‘I’m sorry he did not give you your name.’

Jethiss nodded his sour agreement. ‘Yes. Nor is he likely to, I suspect.’

Badlands pointed towards the distant cave opening. ‘We was thinking we’d climb along the trelliswork. Plenty of handholds there.’

Fisher thought of going hand over hand across that grisly construction and shuddered. What horrors might he encounter among those bones? Still, it was probably the best plan. He nodded. ‘Very good.’

‘Let us wait until night,’ Jethiss said.

Coots raised his opened hands. ‘Night, day. What difference does it make?’

‘It might make a difference to me.’

‘Fine,’ Fisher said. ‘We’ll wait.’ He motioned to Coots. ‘What do you have to eat?’

‘Got some dried bat.’

‘Never mind.’

*

It was a clear night. The stars glimmered sharp and cold; the moon had yet to rise. Coots led the way out of the cave mouth. He scrabbled along a thin ledge using hand- and footholds. Fisher followed, then came Badlands, and Jethiss last. Coots edged along the rough rock of the cliff face. The ghoulish pale latticework of the bridge neared. They were perhaps a chain down from the walkway. Below, the trellising extended far deeper into the ravine, to be swallowed by the dark. Fisher heard the crash and hissing of churning water.

Here, dried ligaments and sinew secured the bones to the rocks of the cliff. Fisher felt his stomach rebelling at the thought of having to grasp such gruesome handholds. Coots, however, swung out on to the bones without any pause or outward show of scruples or disgust.

Reluctantly, Fisher followed. He found the bones dry and rough to his grip. They actually provided very secure holds. Many were not tied at all, being merely locked together as if they’d grown, or been bent, to fit one over another like hooks or woven rope. Fisher wondered anew at the creature’s self-proclaimed title: Bonewright.

He slipped his feet into convenient pelvic curves, used ribs like ladder rungs, edged along gigantic femurs that must have come from titanic ancient ungulates such as the legendary giant elk or caribou. At times the full visceral realization came to him of what he was suspended upon and he would break into a cold sweat, shivering, as his vision darkened. But these fits would pass, or he would force them away by concentrating upon other things – the sanctuary of the far side, for example – and he would continue after a few moments.