Extract from "The Starthorn Tree"

In the warmth of the midday sun, the six companions stood at the mouth of the ravine and looked into its dark mouth in real trepidation. The Gorge of Ghouls was a deep, narrow chasm that cut its way through the rock. Although the sun was high overhead, the ravine was deep in shadow so that they could only see ahead a few feet.

'So do we still want to go through there?' Pedrin said, scowling ferociously to hide his fear.

'We have to,' Lisandre said rather uncertainly. 'It would take us a month to backtrack and find another pass through the mountains, you know that. We've come too far to turn back now.'

'Well, let's get it over with,' the goatherd commanded. 'You all heard what Sedgely said. Ghouls only eat corpses, and prefer rotting meat, so they will only try and kill us if they're really hungry. They're afraid of fire, so as long as we keep close together and keep our torches lit, we should be fine.'

'Just bully,' Mags said in a hollow voice.

Pedrin ignored her. 'Durrik's got his father's bell, and we all know boo-bogeys will flee at the sound of a bell, which is why we have bell-criers at all. So he will go first, ringing the bell every step of the way. The girls can go in the middle, and Sedgely and I behind with the goats.'

He paused, half expecting Mags to protest, but she said nothing. Pedrin knelt with his tinder and flint in his hand, chanting the prayer to Liah the Hearth-keeper with more than usual fervour. A spark kindled, leapt, dwindled, caught hold. Pedrin thrust the torches they had made into the heart of the fire until they began to flicker with a sullen flame.

'They aren't burning very well,' Briony said nervously.

Pedrin blew on them, and the flame flared yellow for a mere instant, then sank again. 'Lisandre, mebbe you'd better keep that night-light of yours close to hand, just in case,' he said, his scowl growing deeper. 'Briony, have you got a cat's cradle woven?'

She nodded, patting her pocket.

With the flickering torches in their hands, they stood for a moment longer, then Pedrin gave Durrik a little shove with his hand. 'Go on, cabbage-head. Ring your bell.'

Durrik took a deep breath, unswaddled his bell and slowly swung it in his hand. A deep melodious tone rang out. He swung it with greater confidence, and slowly moved forward into the gorge. The girls followed close behind, holding their torches out like spears. Thundercloud shoved his way to the front, horns lowered, yellow eyes baleful, while Snowflake trotted close by Pedrin's side, bleating rather piteously.

Sedgely shook his matted head. 'You're too old for this, you old fool.' He gripped his torch in his gnarled old hand and followed the others into the shadowy gorge. Cold struck at them like a knife. There was a most unpleasant smell, which made Lisandre gag and almost drop her torch. She clamped one hand over her mouth and stumbled on, the smoke from her torch wavering wildly.

The ringing of the bell echoed all around, so that it sounded like a legion of bell-criers marched with them. Their step grew more confident, though it was hard to walk with the ground so rough and uneven, littered with rocks and dry sticks that snapped beneath their feet. Pedrin glanced down, wondering rather vaguely how there came to be so many sticks in the gorge when there were no trees. Vomit suddenly rose in his gullet. They were not sticks that broke beneath his bare feet, but bones, thousands of them, dry white bones piled high all about. He stopped abruptly, and Mags turned and hissed, 'What's the matter?'

'Naught,' Pedrin said, swallowing his gorge, and gingerly walking on. He could hardly bear the crunch of bones beneath his feet but to stop would be worse, and so on he floundered, the bare soles of his feet, as hard as the hooves of his goats, flinching at every step as if he stepped on glass.

Their eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and they could see deep caves and ravines lined the steep cliffs. All were black as night and, as the six companions apprehensively passed by, a cold, fetid breath of air gusted out, making the flame of their torches flicker and almost snuff out.

It seemed to Pedrin that something flickered at the corner of his eye. He turned his head abruptly, his pulse hammering, but saw nothing but a wavering shadow that could have come from their torches. Again and again his head jerked round, and he saw the others were glancing about as wildly. Lisandre gave a little panting sob.
'I told them, I did, but no-one a-listens to Sedgely,' the old man muttered behind them. 'You'd think they'd have the sense to listen to the counsel of their elders, but no, headstrong as always, that's the youth of today.'

'Shut up!' Mags hissed. 'Just shut up.'

'May as well. You wouldn't listen to me anyway.'

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!'

Sedgely shut up.

The gorge narrowed until the sky overhead was a mere thin line of blue. It felt as if the walls were closing in on them. Lisandre had her arm up over her mouth, trying not to gag as the smell of rotting meat grew more pervasive. The children clustered as close together as they could get, Durrik ringing the heavy bell gamely, though his arm was beginning to ache. Suddenly he tripped and fell. The bell flew from his hand and clanged to the ground, rolling away, jangling dolefully. Durrik looked up, straight into the gaping eyes and toothy grin of an enormous skull. He screamed and flinched away, only to scream louder as he saw hundreds of pale, skinny shapes swarming out from the caves.

'Ghouls!' he screamed. Desperately he scrabbled for his bell, clambering over piles of bones to reach it. Lisandre screamed too, and waved her torch wildly as the ghouls flowed down towards them. They were tall, emaciated creatures, all bone and withered skin, with huge black staring eyes and mouths filled with row upon row of needle-sharp teeth. They moved with unnatural speed and agility, swinging along on all fours like an animal one moment, standing up on their hind feet and gesturing with their bony hands the next.

'Don't let them touch you!' Sedgely cried. 'They freeze your blood with their touch. Keep them off with the torches.

They hate fire!'

'Durrik, get that bell!' Pedrin shouted.

Durrik reached the bell, seized it with both hands and rang it with all his might. The ghouls shrieked, their hands to their ears, many fleeing back into the caves. Those nearby cowered down, howling. Pedrin waved his smouldering torch so it burst into flame once more. 'Come on!' he cried.

They scurried forward, having to climb over piles of broken skeletons. There were skulls of all sizes and shapes, some huge and horned, others small and delicate, like a baby's. The goats bounded forward with their usual agility, but Pedrin found he had to use his spare hand to keep his balance on the constantly shifting mass of bones and skulls. He heaved himself to the top of the pile, putting down his hand to help Lisandre, who had fallen behind. She stretched to grasp it, but stumbled and fell with a shriek, sliding down in a great avalanche of bones. Her torch spun out of her hand and was extinguished. Lisandre landed in a heap at the bottom, screaming as a ghoul rose up right in front of her, grinning evilly, its white, skeletal fingers reaching out for her.