Bec by Darren Shan Page A

could build stone rings like this around every fort. Make the land safe again. But those secrets are long lost. Banba often spoke of the ancient magicians but she knew little about them, except for the tales and legends that she herself was taught as a child.
    When we’ve finished laughing and cheering, we examine the stone circle in greater detail and what we find dampens our newly elated spirits.
Bones.
Some are from animals but most are human, stacked carefully in the center, arranged so that the heads point west, in the direction of the setting sun. The sun guides the dead to the Otherworld, and if bodies aren’t cremated, they’re usually laid out facing the path of the ever-moving orb.
    The bones are more recent than the stones. Many are still dotted with scraps of flesh and hair.
    “They must have been brought here after death,” Orna says. “To keep the Fomorii from bringing them back to life.”
    “Perhaps,” Fiachna says. “But why not just burn them?”
    “Maybe the bodies are part of the magic,” Ronan suggests. “The stones might need the power of the newly dead.”
    “Even if they did,” Goll says, “what purpose would it serve? Why drag bodies here just to keep demons from overrunning a ring of stones?”
    The mystery puzzles us through the night — nobody can sleep with all the screams of the demons — but it’s solved early in the morning. As the sun rises, the demons retreat. But they only withdraw as far as the trees that encircle the ring. There, under the shade of the rough shelter, they stop and leer viciously at us, pounding the earth with a terrible, steady, threatening rhythm.
    “They worked on the trees,” I say, a sick feeling in my stomach. “The people in this area must have sought the protection of the stones every night. It made the demons mad.
    Then they had an idea. They built a shelter in the trees around the circle. When it was finished, they let the people in one night, then stood guard the next day, trapping them. There was no way out. They died here, slowly, of starvation and thirst.”
    “Most of the bodies don’t have weapons,” Goll sighs. “They probably got so used to coming here, they grew lazy. Didn’t bother with weapons, since they were safe within the ring. They couldn’t even try to fight their way to freedom.”
    “And now we’re trapped too,” Connla says bitterly, shooting me a dirty look.
    “It’s not Bec’s fault,” Fiachna snaps. “We’d be dead already if not for her.”
    “Aye,” Connla admits grudgingly. “But I’d rather have died fighting in the open than of hunger and thirst, trapped like a fox in its den.”
    “You can die anytime you like,” Goll says. “The demons are waiting. Go pick a fight with them if you want to die quickly.”
    “Maybe I’ll pick a fight with you instead,” Connla snarls.
    “Men are so childish,” Orna snaps before the insults escalate. “Instead of being grateful for this extra day, you’re bitter and scrap with each other like dogs.”
    “What do we have to be grateful for?” Connla shouts. “We’re surrounded! We’ll die like the others who lie here and our bones will rot slowly, unburied, ignored by the gods.”
    “Not necessarily,” Orna disagrees. “The demons haven’t built a wide shelter. And we’re not weaponless. If we break through their ranks, they won’t be able to chase after us.”
    “That won’t be easy,” Ronan says, studying the lie of the land. “There’s a lot of space between this ring and the trees. We can’t surprise them. They’ll see us coming and converge at that point.”
    “So we separate.” Orna shrugs. “We pair off and dart at them from a few directions at once. I doubt if everyone will make it through but some of us should.”
    “The strongest,” Fiachna notes softly, looking at Run Fast and me. “What about the smaller ones?”
    “We’ll take our chances,” I say stiffly, not happy with Fiachna for slighting me. I’m no warrior, but