‘It is the book that teaches every Abhorsen the secrets of walking in Death, of the bells we wield, and the mysteries therein,’ said Bel. ‘But I have to confess that I’ve never been exactly sure what the path and the walker thing really means. Only that perhaps it means something in between, that even if there is destiny, you get to choose to take it on or not. The path is your choice, but once you tread there, you have also chosen where you will go. I think.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Clariel. ‘How long will it take to get to Hillfair? We seem to be travelling very fast, faster than a horse can gallop.’

‘It is faster, but not quite as fast as it looks,’ said Bel. ‘We’ll have to land at a way station before dark; Paperwings won’t fly at night unless there’s a full moon and a clear sky, and … uh … I’m getting a bit … a bit tired anyway. If we get a good start tomorrow, we should be at Hillfair by early afternoon, I guess.’

‘A way station?’ asked Clariel. ‘Kilp could have sent a message-hawk to have me arrested. Would a hawk get there before us?’

‘Yes,’ said Bel. ‘But since the King stopped looking after them a few years back, the way stations south of Belisaere have been run by the Abhorsens and those north by the Clayr. The one I’m thinking of is between Orchyre and Sindle, so even if Kilp sent guards from either town, they couldn’t get to us before morning.’

They were flying over farmland now, a patchwork of well-ordered fields bounded by low stone walls beneath, with occasional stands of woodland and every now and then a village or a large farmstead. A shepherd waved to them from atop a low hill, her flock of sheep on the slope below being gathered by a dog darting hither and thither to drive them to some new pasturage.

They flew in silence for some hours after sighting the shepherd. Clariel lost in her own thoughts and sadness, Bel intent on flying the Paperwing. The sun rose in the sky to its zenith, and then began to fall again.

Around the middle of the afternoon, the land some way off on their left-hand side began to change, fields giving way to a long fringe of trees that soon gathered together to become a forest that marched for miles to the south, the Paperwing taking a path almost parallel to its northern border, though several leagues distant.

Clariel stared at the green expanse of woods hungrily.

‘That must be the Sindlewood!’ she exclaimed, sitting up straighter and leaning out the left-hand side so suddenly that the Paperwing rocked.

‘Careful!’ exclaimed Bel. ‘Slow movements, please. You really don’t want to fall out, you know.’