The horse neighed nervously as Reynevan dismounted and took the bridle firmly in both hands. Just in time, as the bay, snorting in panic and anxiously glaring at him, stepped back, stamping heavily, crushing skulls, pelvises and shinbones. Reynevan’s foot was caught between the broken shards of a human ribcage. He shook it off with panicky swings of his leg. He was trembling in disgust. And fear.

“The Black Death,” said Scharley, now standing beside him. “The plague of 1380. Entire villages were wiped out, people fled into the forests, but the plague caught them there, too. The corpses were buried in ravines, like these. Then wild animals tore them up and scattered the bones around…”

“Let’s go back,” said Reynevan, clearing his throat. “Let’s turn back right away. I don’t like this place. I don’t like this fog. Or the smell of that smoke.”

“You’re as timid as a wench,” sneered Scharley. “The corpses—”

He didn’t finish. A sudden swish, whistle and snigger made them duck. A human skull shot above the ravine, trailing sparks and a ribbon of smoke behind it. Before they had time to calm down, another flew over, whistling even more horrifyingly.

“Let’s turn back,” said Scharley dully. “Right away. I don’t like this place.”

Reynevan was absolutely certain they were retracing their steps, returning the way they’d come. But a moment later, the steep side of a ravine rose up right in front of their noses. Without a word, he turned into another ravine. After a few paces, they were also stopped by a vertical wall bristling with a tangle of roots.

“Bugger this,” panted Scharley, turning back. “I don’t understand—”

“And I’m afraid,” groaned Reynevan, “that—”

“We don’t have a choice,” growled the penitent, when once again they ended up in a blind alley. “We have to go back and cross the boneyard. Quick, Reinmar. Look lively.”

“Wait.” Reynevan stooped and looked around, searching for herbs. “There’s another way—”

“Now?” Scharley interrupted harshly. “Now you’re deciding to use your skills? There’s no time now!”

Another skull whistled above the forest like a comet and Reynevan agreed with the penitent’s plan. They passed through the heap of bones. The horse snorted, tossed its head and shied, and it took all of Reynevan’s strength to pull it along. The smell of smoke grew stronger. There seemed to be a scent of herbs in it. And something else, something elusive and sickly. Terrifying.

And then they saw the campfire.

The fire was smoking near a pit, under a huge fallen tree trunk. A blackened cauldron hung above the fire, belching forth clouds of steam. Beside it towered a pile of human skulls. A black cat was lying on top of the pile in a typically languorous feline pose.

Reynevan and Scharley stood paralysed. Even the horse stopped snorting.

Three women were sitting around the fire.