She pushed against them but they were iron-hard. Jagged and knobbly with whorls and lumps, like the roots of a living, moving tree. The palms were covered with spongy layers of softness. It smelt of moss and lichen, of forest floors and tumbled, rotting trees.

There was a yowling in her ear from Fishbone as they were lifted up, up from the hole and into the cavern. Then the giant carried them across the floor and dumped them in a heap on the mulchy ground. As they tried to untangle themselves from the mess of robes, petticoats, tails and wings, the giant began scraping and scratching at the floor next to them. A moment later fire bloomed into life, chasing away the darkness and revealing their surroundings.

They were inside a wide ring of blackened rock that stretched upwards to a tattered roof made of rotten logs, roots and tangled pieces of vine. The space was very wide. Even with the light from the fire, it was hard to see the farthest edges.

Before them was an open crack that served as a doorway. Crooked and twisted, it looked like a knothole in a tree trunk and Liska could glimpse the dark forest outside.

A few metres away was the pit they had been trapped in, and beside them was a ring of stones that held the crackling fire. Standing over it, staring down at them, was the giant.

It was a hunched, lopsided thing, with crooked arms and legs. Shaggy streamers of green hung all over its face and back. They were clearly patches of overgrown lichen and tangled mats of vine and ivy. From beneath a heavy brow, two blank eyes glared. What could be seen of its face was gnarled and weathered, pocked with craters and cracks, speckled with moss, just like the ancient statues of Almberg.

‘Pleasedon’teatuspleasedon’teatus . . .’ Lug was saying over and over as he clasped his hands together in prayer. The giant just stared, its long, rooty fingers twitching every now and then.

‘This place,’ Elowen said, looking around the cavern, ‘it’s the inside of a tree . . .’

Checking the walls again, Liska could see she was right. They were etched from top to bottom with grain, just like wood. And the twists and bulges where they met the ground could be the start of roots. But for a tree to be this big . . .

Elowen let out a gasp of shock. ‘This must be the stump of the shadow tree! The one that Lysalm’s heart was used to destroy!’

‘YES.’ The giant spoke but it seemed to be talking to itself rather than to its captives. ‘SHADOW TREE. I . . . I REMEMBER . . .’

‘And that means,’ said Liska, realising why the giant seemed so familiar, ‘that you must be a treekeeper! From Almberg before it was destroyed!’

‘TREEKEEPER. YES. THAT’S WHAT I WAS.’