It was a bizarre structure. Low, only inches above the water, and made of chains; black, seemingly wooden chains that had splintered and split in places. Planks hung from them, looking half-rotten. On the two heavy posts rammed into the shore were carvings – faces, grotesque and snarling – and a few snags of cloth and feathers hung from poles near by.

Jumping down, Raffi stood by Galen. ‘People are still afraid of it.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

The river was sluggish and choked with weeds and sedges; mist hung over it, so that the bridge led into grey uncertainty. Thick green weed trailed under the surface like hair.

Raffi swiped at mosquitoes. ‘It’s becoming a swamp.’

‘What about the bridge?’ Galen asked coldly.

Sighing, Raffi tried to sense it, but it was just mist and drift and he was tired. ‘Can’t we sleep?’ he muttered. ‘The sun’s up, we’ve been walking all night. No one’s likely to come here.’

‘We stop when I say!’ Galen shrugged the pack off and threw his stick on it. He walked to the bridge and put a hand on each of the black posts and stood there a moment, looking into the mist. Raffi knew he was straining to feel something. Anything. When he spoke, the keeper’s voice was harsh with defeat.

‘I’m crossing. Stay here. If I call you, come.’

‘Look.’ Raffi hesitated. ‘Shouldn’t I…?’

‘No! I’m still the Master.’

Galen edged forward cautiously. The black chains tightened; the bridge creaked and swung, but it seemed strong enough to hold him. He walked on, step by step, avoiding the broken planks, merging into the mist that rose from the stagnant water. Slowly it closed around him, and he was gone.

Raffi waited, anxious. The river rippled quietly, stinking of rot. A snake slithered between reeds and flicked away. Nothing else moved. The silence was intense, suddenly eerie. Raffi came to the end of the bridge and gripped the posts. ‘Galen?’

Before he could call again he caught a movement in the mist. Galen’s dark figure loomed out of it, walking carefully. When he looked up, he seemed astonished.

He stared at Raffi strangely. Then he stepped off the bridge and stood in the mud. He looked around.

‘What happened?’ Raffi demanded. ‘Why did you come back?’

‘See for yourself.’

‘What?’

Galen sat on the bank. He seemed bewildered and amused about it. ‘Go on. Take a look.’

Raffi stared, then turned abruptly and walked out on to the bridge. He went quickly, jumping the splintered boards, avoiding the gaps in the rail. When he looked back, the bank was lost in mist. Mist drifted all round him; a waterbird croaked in it.

Ahead of him, as the bridge swayed, he saw something. Trees on a bank, beech trees, high and green. One plank went soft underfoot; he stepped over it quickly and looked up. The bank loomed out of greyness.