The Sekoi had taken the gift.

That seemed to be all. Carys sat back against the wall, almost impressed. The ritual had drawn it away, that air of threat in the dark chamber behind her. Or had she imagined the whole thing? Shaking her head, she glanced down at the bag with the journal in. That and the crossbow were all she had left. She was really undercover now.

They stayed where they were, not exploring. They drank water, chewed the last of the fish, maybe even slept a little. Raffi wasn’t sure. The darkness confused them; they seemed deep, deep underground. Time seemed still. There was no way of knowing if the storm had ended. Maybe it had finished hours ago. And yet none of them moved.

Lying there, Raffi began to imagine he saw scrawls and carvings on the stones overhead, spirals that swirled if he stared at them, so that he looked away, uneasy, and when he looked back they had shifted.

Galen sat huddled, resting forehead on arms. Carys was silent, as if the barrow swallowed her words before she spoke them. Raffi gathered his strength. With a great effort he managed to say, It may be safe now.’

Instantly, they all felt hours had been lost. Galen looked up, his face haggard in the candlelight. ‘What are we doing! Look outside!’

Raffi dragged the stones free. A small draught blew into the chamber; the light outside seemed dim. Late afternoon, Carys thought, rubbing her face. Raffi’s head and shoulders blocked the hole. Then he squirmed back inside. ‘It’s stopped. But the seeds are lying all over the ground.’

They crawled out one by one and stood, stiffly. The tomb rose in a sea of yellow; the scattered seed lay in a clogged mat all around them, as far as they could see on the downland. Here and there swathes of grass were clear, or the fall was light, but in places the poisonous carpet looked almost solid.

‘Can we get through that?’ Carys muttered.

‘We have to.’ Galen pulled the pack on and gripped his stick. ‘Follow me close.’

Hurriedly blocking the barrow-hole behind them, Raffi took a last glimpse inside. For a moment he felt the sense of something else there, staring at him out of the dark. He jammed a stone in the gap and jumped back.

Galen was stepping carefully through the fallen seeds. He headed west, and went quickly, because there was no knowing how many miles the seedfall stretched, and to be caught in the middle of it on only a two-moon night might be disastrous. But avoiding the densest clots meant they had to circle far out of their way, placing their feet carefully among the seared grasses. Close up, Raffi saw the seeds were fist-sized balls of spikes that rolled in the breeze; sometimes a few gusted up in the air, and the travellers had to stop and watch them anxiously. It was slow, treacherous work, and they knew the corrosive acids were eating into the leather of their boots at every step.