Raffi barely knew how. Then training took over; he made a space in his mind, opened the third eye. Please come out, he asked, over and over. He knew it was close, and could hear him.

Galen crouched at his shoulder, his hand gripping tight. When Raffi looked now he saw rain, glinting on the trunk, dripping in places from above. The yew was huge; one edge of the split a bent contorted angle of wood, but as he looked closer he saw that he was mistaken, that it was a man, an old man in russet flaking shapeless clothes, his eyes deep as knot-holes, turning towards him.

Galen’s fingers shook him.

‘Has he come?’

Raffi nodded, silent.

The yew-man smiled at him and nodded too. I’ve come, keeper.

‘He can’t hear you,’ Raffi muttered, his throat dry.

How is that?

‘There was an accident; he was hurt.’

Glancing up, Raffi saw Galen’s wild excitement. ‘Go on! Ask him! Can he help me!’

‘There was an accident,’ Raffi said again, stumbling for words. ‘The keeper has lost… He can’t enter the land now, or hear it when it speaks to him.’ He felt torn with awe at the yew-man’s eyes, and embarrassment at Galen having to hear this.

The yew-creature too, seemed fascinated. It turned its brown old gaze on Galen, moved a fold of cloak to show two gnarled hands clasped on a root.

That must torment him. There is no loss as great as that.

‘Yes…’ Raffi wondered if Galen could hear. ‘Can you help? The yew is a tree of poison and healing. Do you have some way…?’

No. The old man shook his head. Only the Makers can give back what they have taken.

‘But the Makers are gone.’

Tormented with impatience, Galen hissed, ‘What does it say about the Makers?’

But Raffi waved him back.

Yes, they are gone. The old man sighed. / remember them, long since.

‘Remember them!’

I’m old, child, older than anything here. I guard the bones of the cat-kings, but before them all, I was. And when the Makers came and walked on the grass I saw them when they were young, Tamar and Therris and Flain. Even Kest, whose sorrow burns us all. They could have helped your master.

‘But…’ Raffi grew dizzy; he shook his head, stunned.

‘Hold on to it!’ Galen’s voice hissed. ‘Hold on!’

‘The Makers are gone. We can’t speak to them. The only messenger was the Crow.’

The Crow is still here, the yew-man said calmly.

‘Here!’

In this world. In this body. The Crow lives, for without him the world would die. The voice became slurred, a harsh gabble of sound, then clear again. Stone and tree miss the keepers. Other men do not speak to us. We do not know how to speak to them.’

The tree blurred before him.

‘Hold on!’ Galen muttered.