Raffi stopped dead in astonishment.

Galen was sitting by the pack, legs stretched out. He waved a long hand. ‘So,’ he said sarcastically. ‘What happened? Why did you come back?’

‘I didn’t! I went straight across!’

The keeper laughed, grimly. ‘So did I, Raffi. So did I.’

Chapter 8

8

‘Now,’ Flain said, ‘we must have a messenger to go between us and God.’

The eagle said, ‘Let it be me.’ But the eagle was too proud.

The bee-bird said, ‘Let it be me.’ But the bee-bird was too vain.

The crow said, ‘Let it be me. I’m dark, an eater of carrion. I have nothing to be proud of.’

So Flain chose the crow, and whispered the secrets to it.

Book of the Seven Moons

IT WAS AMAZING. And infuriating. Three times now, Raffi had crossed the bridge. Each time he came back to where he’d started from.

‘It’s impossible,’ he muttered. ‘I mean, it’s not circular, it doesn’t turn! I don’t understand!’

Galen sat on the bank, legs crossed. He had pulled some orange fungi from the bole of a dead tree; now he was frying them in the small pan over a carefully smokeless fire.

‘What have I taught you?’ he said. ‘Understanding’s not enough. Understanding is from outside; merely a function of the mind.’

Raffi sighed. ‘I know.’

‘To enter, that’s the secret. To become the bridge, to crawl into its sap, to sway with it, to rot over centuries as its heartwood rots. When you are the bridge you will know what the bridge knows. It takes time. A lifetime. And skill.’

Sullenly, Raffi sat down. Galen gave him a sharp glance.

‘You know it but you don’t apply it. You’re lazy. Now think. How could the bridge be like this?’

Raffi was scowling at the sizzling mushrooms, counting the pieces. He said, ‘It could be a device of the Makers. Though it doesn’t look that old.’

Galen nodded, shaking the pan. Pig fat spat and crackled. ‘Possible. The entire bridge a relic. It could be older than it seems. The wood is from no tree I know. What else?’

Raffi swallowed. ‘Aren’t they ready yet?’

‘Concentrate. What else?’

He forced himself to think. ‘A protection spell. Someone who lives on the other side.’

‘Also possible. Here, take some now.’

Raffi jabbed his knife in and dragged out one slice carefully, waving it, eating it before it cooled so that it burned his mouth. He gulped down three more without speaking, then paused with another on his knife.

‘What about the Sekoi?’

‘No.’ Galen chewed slowly. ‘Not this. I have a feeling this is one of ours.’

‘Ours.’

‘The Order.’

Raffi sat up. ‘Someone alive?’