This is how the world came to be. The Makers came from the sky, on stairways of ice. Flain opened his hands and the land and sea were there, the soil and salt. He set them one against the other, eroding, in conflict for ever. Out of stillness he brought movement, out of peace, war.

Soren called out the leaves and the trees. She walked the world and seeds fell from her sleeves and the hem of her dress. The Woman of Leaves clothed the world in a green brocade.

It was Tamar, the bearded one, who brought the beasts. Down the silver stairs he led them, the smallest a night-cub that struggled in his arms.

All the sons of God watched them scatter.

Book of the Seven Moons

THE JOURNEY TO the settlement took five days. On his own, Raffi could have got there in four, but Galen’s limp slowed them down. The keeper’s leg was long healed, but it was stiff, and he walked grim and silent with a tall black stick. Even when the pain must have been bad after a long day’s tramp in the rain or cold, he never talked about it. Raffi was used to it all: the keeper’s brooding, his sudden outbreaks of foul temper: at times like these he kept quiet and wary and out of reach of the black stick. Galen had been hurt too deeply. The explosion had damaged more than his leg – it had scarred his mind. Toiling up the steep rocky path, the pack heavy on his shoulders, Raffi watched the Relicmaster scramble ahead of him, slithering on scree. Galen was almost as unstable. And now this message.

If it was a trap, Galen wouldn’t care. Raffi knew that sometimes he wanted to get caught, that he took deliberate risks, carelessly, proudly; like in the summer when they’d walked out of the forest into a village and taken a room and stayed there for three days, sleeping on comfortable beds, eating outside in full view of everyone. Galen hadn’t cared, but for Raffi it had been three days of terror. The villagers hadn’t betrayed them. Most had looked the other way. They’d been so lucky, Raffi thought, stumbling over a stone. Everyone knew there was a reward for the capture of any keeper. Two thousand marks. They’d been incredibly lucky.

‘Come on!’ Galen was standing on the top of the ridge. His voice was a growl through his teeth. ‘You can go faster than this. Don’t think you need to slow down for me.’

Raffi stopped, wiping sweat from his hair. ‘I’m not. The pack’s heavy.’

Galen glared at him. ‘Then give it to me.’

‘You’ve had your turn.’

‘Do you think I can’t manage another?’

‘I didn’t say that!’ Raffi spread his hands. ‘I just –’