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you’re here.” Rapidly, he outlined how he’d found Paul, and the small amount the boy had told him about the May Dancers, his lost sister and his home.
    Aleyne listened carefully, occasionally glancingtowards Paul. When Malgar had finished, he said, “Take your sheep home, Malgar. I will take the boy. To the inn, for rest—and then, I think, to Rhysamarn.”
    “Rhysamarn?” asked Malgar, obviously upset. “You really think the boy should go there?”
    “I would say it is the only place for him,” replied Aleyne. He looked down at Paul, who had fallen asleep against a large, conveniently resting sheep. Paul was much the worse the wear for his adventures, and Aleyne saw only a short, slightly plump boy of eleven or so, covered in dirt—a strange appearance for a visitor from other lands.
    “He will sleep through this afternoon and night, I think,” continued Aleyne. “And perhaps tomorrow. I shall take him to Rhysamarn myself, the day after. You have done well, Malgar.”
    Malgar looked down on the boy anxiously. “He seems a nice enough lad. He won’t come to any…harm…on Rhysamarn?”
    Aleyne smiled, and picked Paul up, easily cradling him in his strong arms. “It is the Mountain of the Wise, Malgar—not some cavern of the Ragwitch.”
    “The Ragwitch…” muttered Paul in his sleep. Aleyne looked down and saw Paul grimace as he spoke, teeth clenched and lips drawing back in a feral snarl.
    “Yes,” he said, as Malgar made the sign against evil magic. “Definitely, he must go to Rhysamarn.”
     
    As the night inked into the sky, the Ragwitch climbed out of the cave mouth and surveyed Her realm. Awestricken, Julia watched through the Ragwitch’s eyes, as She surveyed the great crescent-shaped bay that curved around them. The Ragwitch stood on a slab of rock which thrust out high above the sea. Below this slab and right around the bay, other caves and holes stood out darkly against the grey stone. The sun lay low in the west, already beginning to set—and with the passing of the light, the caves became darker and the sea went from blue to deepest black. Down below, the pounding of the surf in the deep caves became an ominous drumbeat.
    Then the Ragwitch screamed, a long, chilling scream that rose and fell with the rhythm of the surf. Deep inside the Ragwitch’s mind, Julia felt what it was like to deliver that scream—the exultation of freedom, the flexing of power, and worst of all…the expectation of an answer.
    At first, silence greeted the Ragwitch’s scream, the silence of an audience just before the applause. But the answering calls were not long in coming: the dull rumblings of vast creatures, woken far beneath the earth, and the shrill whistlings of other beings closer at hand.
    “You see, my little Julia,” whispered the Ragwitch, Her leathery lips barely moving. “My servants remember My power well—even in thisshape, they recognize Me! They still come when I call. You will like them.”
    “No,” said Julia, defiantly. She was absolutely sure that the things that made those noises would not be likeable at all.
    “Yes,” murmured the Ragwitch. “You will like them. Eventually.”
    She turned to the cliff, and began to climb up towards the top. Julia noticed that there was some sort of path, or eroded staircase—whichever it was, the Ragwitch seemed to know every turn and rise, neatly avoiding places where the cliff had fallen away. Below them, the screams and cries diminished to be replaced by the sounds of movement: sounds of scraping claws, and footfalls that did not sound human.
    Locked within the Ragwitch’s mind, Julia kept trying to turn her head—a reflex to see those things behind her. But while she knew her head should turn, it could not: Julia’s eyes were only those of the Ragwitch, and they were intent on the path ahead.
    Eventually, the huge leathery form of the Ragwitch reached the top of the cliff, a flat expanse of low shrubs and grasses, ill-lit in the