In the evenings they talked around the fire, and the keepers took turns to tell stories of the Makers: the adventures of Flain in the Land of the Dead; Kest’s great fight with the Dragon of Maar, whose tail tore half the stars from the sky.

Half-asleep, warm against the back of a cushioned chair, Raffi dreamed, seeing the scenes of the stories vaguely in the flames and flickering light – the caves and hollows of the underworld, the Sekoi ghosts, the passageways and treasure-rooms. Once he watched Carys listening, and was caught by something in her face, some far-off look, till she saw him and frowned.

Part of him wanted to stay in the village for ever, but on the third day Lerin told them everything was ready.

‘You go tomorrow, with the trade-goods. Fleeces, barley, honey, apples. Arno will go with you. The ship is called the Sigourna, and she’ll be waiting at Troen – that’s the harbour. She’s sailing to the Morna river – the nearest place to Tasceron we can get you.’

Galen nodded. ‘Good, Lerin! Excellent.’

She glanced at Raffi, who just shrugged. He knew that what he thought didn’t matter.

Chapter 15

15

One day Flain walked in the Forest of Karsh and he was thirsty. Coming to a stream, he drank, and such was his strength that the ground sank lower. He went on his way. The sea rose and drowned the forest.

Though the Sekoi have another story about this.

Book of the Seven Moons

THE ALLEYWAY WAS dark and there was something else in it. Jammed against the damp wall, Raffi heard it swoop out of the darkness. He turned and ran, through cobwebs that webbed his face and hands as he brushed them away.

The floor rose; he tripped, fell flat. Instantly the thing was on him, its sharp claws raking his back, its stinking breath on his neck. He yelled and squirmed and was up again, running blindly into the blackness till the wall smacked against him and he crumpled, breathless, fighting, struggling, kicking off blankets, his coat, the strong fingers that grabbed at him again and again.

‘Raffi! Keep still! It’s me. For Flain’s sake, get yourself under control!’

The roar was Galen’s and it woke him instantly, just before Carys came hurtling round the door into the cabin, her shirt hanging out. ‘What’s the matter? Is he sea-sick?’

‘No.’ Galen let him go and sat back. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Of course I’m not! It was a dream.’ Raffi rubbed sweat from his face. ‘A nightmare.’

Under them the ship dipped and sank. His stomach lurched, and a tray of cups and plates slid slowly down the tilted table.

‘All dreams count,’ Galen said, grabbing the edge of the chair. ‘Tell it to me.’