Somethin black swoops at me. I cry out an duck. It’s Nero. Gawdammit, Nero! I says.

He caw caws as he flies to the wall of skulls in front of me. He perches on one. They grin down at me. Stare madly from their empty eye holes.

A temple full of skellentons. Cages of bones. A head bein boiled clean. A wall of skull trophies. The old stories that Auriel spoke of. Spirits an strange beasts. An skull collectors. Headhunters.

The fire. It’s burnin hot an brisk. Somebody’s tendin it. Somebody who ain’t gone far an could come back any second. They could be watchin me right now.

I grab Hermes’ reins an hurry back up the aisle towards the door. My head turns, my eyes scan everywhere.

Suddenly, a door opens in the wall of skulls. Somebody comes through it.

I read him in a flash. Barefoot. Bald. Painted white all over, but fer black slashes at his eyes an mouth. Dressed in a thick flutter of rag strips. Shrivelled scalps hang around his waist. A blowgun around his neck. My bow’s up. I aim. I shoot.

The second I spot him, he spots me. He grabs his blowgun an blows.

He’s fast. But I’m faster. I duck. The dart zings over my head. I feel its wind in my hair. My arrow hits. It’s a heartstrike. Perfect. He flies backwards. Crashes into the wall of skulls an thumps to the floor. Skulls rain down on top of him, around him, smashin on the stone floor with a fearsome racket.

Then. As the sound dies away, I hear ’em.

Drums.

Drumbeats. From the north. Comin this way. They mean one thing an one thing only. Fear an pain an a place in the skull wall.

No bogey. All too real.

Nero! I yell.

I turn an run. I belt outta that temple an onto the trail as fast as I can. Runnin faster’n I ever run before. I’m flyin, my feet hardly touchin the ground. I can hear Hermes an Tracker crashin along, well ahead of me. Nero screeches above the treetops. I burst outta the trees an hit the Wraithway at top speed. Damn. Hermes an Tracker’s headed back the way we jest come. I holler at ’em as I pound the trail east.

This way! I yell. This way, gawdammit!

I can hear ’em, feel ’em, as they turn an come thunderin after me. I shift my bow to my back. Hermes slows down as he pulls up alongside. Still runnin, I grab his mane an swing myself onto his back.

Go, go, go! I yell. I stab my heels an he goes like the clappers. I grip hard with my knees, lean low along his neck. My heart hammers. My belly’s tight. The red hot’s runnin high an fast.

Wrecker wraiths. Travellers that set out, never to be seen agin. Headhunters, that’s the truth behind the tales. When they find their firekeeper dead, they’ll give chase. An we’ll be easy to track.

As we pound along the road, my head pounds too.

I killed him. I had to. No choice. Still. It’s one more life on my scorecard. It don’t matter who, friend or foe, each life’s a scar on my soul.

But oh . . . my bow in my hands. My whiteoak bow, the gift of the shaman.

Straight to his heart. No fear. No hesitation.

The beauty of it.

The power.

The beautiful, perfect, terrible power.

The dark thrill in my deepest self.

Tracker races at our heels. Nero speeds ahead. Hermes flies over the ground, tremblin with excitement. He’s a wild wind. A streak of lightnin. His hoofs beat us into the hard yellow dawn, as we ride, flat out, fer the Yann Gap.

We reach it jest after daybreak. The Yann Gap. The end of the road. The border between here an New Eden. Across the Gap lies Tonton territory. An Jack.

The forest starts to thin out, then suddenly we’re outta the trees an two fifty, three hunnerd paces on we’re at the Gap.

There’s two stone cairns, set well back from the edge, to red flag the danger that lies ahead. I stop at ’em, jump down an run to take a look.

Without the cairns to warn you, you’d be in real danger of ridin straight on an tumblin to a messy death in the canyon. Becuz that’s what the Gap is. A dry canyon. A great deep gash in the earth, like somebody’s took a giant axe to it. It’s thirty foot across an deep, deep, deep. Too gawdamn deep fer comfert. Jagged rocks snarl at the bottom, like sharp teeth in a hungry mouth.

There ain’t but one way to reach th’other side. By a rope an wood bridge that’s jest wide enough to take a small cart. It’s anchored to stumpy iron pillars. Two on this side of the Gap an two on the far side. They must be the remains of some old Wrecker crossin.

The wind witters an moans in the canyon. The bridge swings gently. I’m lucky there’s any bridge here at all. Still, I cain’t help but wish it was a lot more sturdy an a lot less swingy. I ain’t never crossed a rope bridge. My bowels ain’t keen on the idea, but my head’s keen to stay attached to my body, so cross I will. Hermes too. I ain’t leavin him behind.

I clutch tight to the rope railin an inch my way to the middle, testin it’ll take his weight. I clutch even tighter as I jump – one, two, three times – makin sure I land hard. The slats feel strong. There’s a couple that look new. Somebody’s bin seein to repairs.

I rush back to Hermes. Rummage in my pack fer somethin to wrap around his head. I pull out a dark red shawl. Auriel’s shawl. How the hell did it git in with my gear? Last time I seen it, it was around her shoulders back at the Snake.

My dream. The faceless body in the ground. The head wrapped in a blood red shawl.

I shove the thought away. I wrap it around Hermes’ eyes an start to lead him across. Come, Tracker, I says. C’mon, boy.

He stays where he is. He runs to an fro, whinin an barkin. Damn. I’ll hafta come back fer him.

With Hermes’ weight on it, the bridge stays still. I soothe him, my voice low an calm. We go slow. One step, then another. I don’t take my eyes offa his feet an where he’s puttin ’em, not fer a second. Without even tryin to, I ferget my own nerves. Before I know it, we’re steppin onto solid ground agin. We made it.

I unhood him, loop his reins around a nearby tree an head back fer Tracker. Poor devil, he’s completely spooked. I tie nettlecord twine around his neck. Yer too big fer me to carry, I says. C’mon, now.

I haul on the twine an manage to git him onto the bridge. I pull an coax an he starts to crawl on his belly, whimperin all the while. Sweat trickles down my back, damps my armpits. Nero hops along the rope handrail, croakin encouragement.

C’mon, Tracker, I says. Good boy! That’s it! Almost there.

Jest then, I hear a sound. So faint, I cain’t be sure. No. Yes. Hoofbeats in the distance. Headed this way, movin fast from the direction we jest come. I cain’t see nuthin fer the vast sprawl of forest. Must be the headhunters. They found the body. They’re comin after me.

Sonofabitch, I says. I crane my neck around. The rope’s bin coiled an wound around the pillars. It’s pretty thick. Not too thick, I hope.

I hold out the cord to Nero an he takes it in his beak. Here, I says, help Tracker across.

He starts to hop along the handrail, leadin Tracker over the bridge.

I run to the far side. I grab my knife from my boot an start sawin at one of bridge ropes, near to where it joins the pillar. The rope’s made from orange honeysuckle vine, woody an tough. An it’s bin sealed with tree pitch aginst the weather, so it’s hard goin. But I hack an saw an sweat over that rope like my life depends on it. Which it does. The rope starts to fray.