The old hag winked, and pulled a shawl round her head. She slid silently round the door.

‘Can we trust her?’ Galen asked.

‘Of course I can, she’s my mother. Now, leave your pack. Sit down. The first thing is to get you something to eat.’

Raffi watched her slice the meat. Suddenly he knew he was starving. The hiss of the grease dropping in the flames, the smell of it, tormented him. As she worked, the woman said quickly, ‘My name is Lerin. I was a scholar of the Order. My master was taken and killed.’

‘His name?’

‘Marcus Torna.’

Galen nodded, sombrely. ‘I knew of him.’

‘I escaped. I don’t think the Watch knew he had any pupils with him. I had nowhere to go so I came home. Here. Ten years ago now. The people here are my family. They despise the Watch, more so now than ever. Those men were here three months ago. They took ten children, all under five, for their filthy Watchhouses. God knows what will happen to them.’

She thrust a plate of meat at Raffi. ‘Think of it! Our own children, drilled and trained and warped into our enemies. The brightest, the cleverest!’ She paused, staring at Galen. ‘What future do those children have? Their mothers are distracted with grief.’

He shook his head, heavily. Carys sat staring at the fire; so hard that Raffi nudged her. When she looked at him, just for a moment, something flickered in his mind, a drift of pain. As he reached for it, it was gone.

She glared at him. ‘Leave me alone, Raffi.’

The woman looked at her suddenly. ‘Who are you? I didn’t know about you.’

‘We met her,’ Galen muttered. ‘On the downs.’ He sat down on a bench, as if he was suddenly weary.

Lerin glanced at him. Then she stood upright, the knife still in her hand. ‘Why didn’t you answer me, keeper? I have sense-lines – good ones – flung right out into the downs. Two days ago you walked through the first. I searched for your mind. I was nearly a Relicmaster – only a few more months with Marcus and I would have made the Deep Journey. I know what I’m doing. Why didn’t you answer me?’

Galen lifted his head. He faced her across the room, the fiery shafts of the last sunlight slanting between them. ‘I think we should talk about this later. Alone. Many things have happened. But I am who you think I am. Galen Harn. Relic Master.’

For a moment they looked at each other, and the sun faded. Then the woman’s face changed; Carys thought she seemed astounded, and then horrified. ‘Can it be …?’

‘Later!’ Galen looked away into the dark. ‘I’ll explain later.’

Journal of Carys Arrin

Karnosnight

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