The Irin Wars: Book 1: The Sword and Fortress

By Jon Davey

JAKE IS HALF-NEPHILIM, half-witch, part cyborg and –¬ a secret weapon. He also finds the sword stained with original Irin blood… 
THE LEGEND BEGINS when a renegade band of Irin angels manifest on earth to charm and subvert the ancient clans of Eastern Anatolia. An old shaman, and his apprentice, Luta, recognise their true nature, and against great odds, mobilise the spirit world and their clan to destroy these Fallen Angels. Too late, however – their offspring, the Nephilim, are released onto the world, whilst the Irin are banished to the Void and plot their return. 
THE NEPHILIM scatter and inexorably infiltrate civilisations, becoming the AVERNI, a cult bent on dominating humanity and liberating the Irin from their incarceration. 
THE FURIA, descendants of the surviving shamans, evolve to oppose them. 
JAKE HAS A DESTINY. When his friend Jason is murdered, he is propelled into this ancient war. With the help of his friends, his witch mother, an avatar P.I.X.I.E called Eve, a resurrected Egyptian priest and a magical gypsy girl, he must take on the Averni and the Irin. He has no choice… 
THE WORLD IS ABOUT TO END.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Jul 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838596194

Jon Davey

Jon Davey grew up in war torn Rhodesia/Zimbabwe, and then went to South Africa to study Medicine. He practiced Medicine in Zimbabwe and South Africa before moving to England, where he worked in many hospitals before becoming a GP. He is currently working on the sequel, two illustrated children`s books, and a compilation of poetry. This is his first book.

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Copyright © 2020 Jon Davey

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Build a temple in your heart.

Ignore the one on the hill.

Because when you die, it comes with you

And the stones on the hill –

Grow over.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Acknowledgements, dedications and thanks

One

–

Anatolia, Circa 3600 BC

The night had long fallen, but the sky was still light. Luta stared up at the evening sky with some trepidation. Ever since sunset, the heavens had taken on a strange illumination. The eerie glow was so strong that he could see details of trees in the distance. He felt a hand on his shoulder and swivelled his head towards Ashter, his master. Ashter was tall and broad with long greying hair, a deeply lined face, and a stringy beard.

‘You know what this means?’ Ashter whispered.

‘I think so, master. It is the Night of the Nocturnal Sun.’

‘I have only seen a few of these nights, and they were all terrible. Whether they will come amongst us tonight, I do not know, but we need to prepare. The Nocturnal Sun has arrived, and the moon is very weak. If there are Amaruq in the area, they will descend upon us. When the moon is strong, the hunter rules; when the moon is weak, the spirits rule; and when the Nocturnal Sun arrives, magic is uncontrollable.’

Luta knew the legends of the Amaruq. He had heard stories of villages that had been destroyed by their attacks. On nights such as this, when a strange green glow filled the sky and the moon was absent, the Amaruq Wolves would transform and descend upon the world of men.

‘I sense they are coming tonight,’ said Ashter soberly. ‘This morning I saw many crows flying low along the river, avoiding the riverbanks; a very bad omen. Now I know what it means. Get everyone inside and barricade all the openings. There is not much time.’

Most villagers recognised the significance of the glowing night sky, and looked nervously to Ashter, their shaman, for guidance.

‘They may come tonight!’ Ashter barked. ‘Everybody inside and prepare your weapons.’

A ripple of fear spread through the villagers assembled below, and as one, they fled into the houses. Ashter and Luta joined their chief, Khall, in his meeting house, along with the chief’s family and personal retinue. Lookouts were stationed at all the window openings, weapons in hand.

Outside, the glowing sky darkened slightly. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat. Inside, with so many people crowding together, the atmosphere became acrid and tense. Fear in an enclosed space quickly becomes contagious.

‘I see something!’ hissed a guard, his face pressed to a crack in one of the window slats. Hands tightened on weapons and a mother stifled an infant’s incessant crying.

Shadowy figures were filtering into the village. They were circling around the peripheral houses, moving silently and deliberately. At each portal they paused to sniff the air, trying to sense which huts were occupied and which were not.

Luta was standing close to the door. He was fourteen years old now; old enough to stand his ground in a fight. His dark, dank hair fell over his up-slanting brown eyes, covering the birthmark above his left eyebrow that had marked him out as a potential shaman. It had also given him his name, Luta, which meant cloud, because his father thought that the mark clouded his vision. He put one sweating hand onto the door to feel for any vibrations and pressed his eye to the spyhole in the centre.

The vista beyond raised the hairs along his wiry arms. Bathed in glowing, magical light, the creatures of nightmares stalked. They were humanoid, with long knotted limbs, deep chests, and shaggy coats. Their oversized heads had massive brow ridges, with deeply recessed eye sockets. Their short, broad muzzles were lined with oversized and chaotic teeth.

One turned and seemed to look directly at Luta with phosphorescent eyes. He did not move. The creature approached the door soundlessly and sniffed deeply at the bottom. It then exhaled and Luta felt the fetid spittle spraying his feet. He also felt it pushing gently on the door, so he edged away from it.

The door splintered with the first massive blow and the men beside responded by throwing their shoulders against it. The door ruptured with the second blow, now hanging from its leather hinges as the men desperately tried to support it. The third blow catapulted both the door and the men across the room.

‘Drive it out!’ roared Khall. ‘It cannot get inside!’ He straightened his spear and charged the opening, followed by his fighting men.

Around the village, other houses were under assault. Women and children were fleeing into the surrounding forest whilst the men turned to face the Amaruq.

The beasts were supernaturally quick and could avoid a spear thrust with ease. Their arms were longer than most spears and their hoary hides were difficult to penetrate.

Luta rushed out after the other men, flint knife in hand, while Ashter loomed behind him, taking stock of the chaos. Just ahead of them, a man thrust his spear at one beast, only to have his arm seized and jerked towards it. In one movement, it crushed the arm with its jaws, threw the man aside, and bounded towards Luta on all fours.

Luta leapt aside, but Ashter stood his ground. His left hand threw powder into the monster’s face and his staff flew down with great force onto its muzzle. The creature roared with pain, its clawed hands scrabbling at its eyes. Luta sprang to his master’s defence and tried to stab the thrashing beast, failing to penetrate its hide. Ashter struck its snout again and it staggered to its knees.

‘Stab the eyes, Luta!’ Ashter roared. ‘Be quick!’

With two rapid thrusts, Luta put out the eyes of the Amaruq and it fled, roaring piteously.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked Ashter, as the shaman clutched his ribs and leant heavily on his staff.

‘No, just winded from the collision. That was close.’

‘What did you blind it with?’

‘A mixture of sand and bird excrement,’ said Ashter. ‘But look over there, who are they?’

Luta followed Ashter’s gnarled finger. Just fifty paces from where they stood, a group of tall, pale men had appeared in the gloom. They were dressed in faded robes and were carrying shields and long knives. They, too, were appraising the situation warily.

The Amaruq had spotted them. They discarded their bloodied victims and charged. Instead of scattering, the newcomers came together in formation and raised their shields, knives protruding from beneath.

The monsters tried to leap over the shield wall but were forcibly repelled and stabbed repeatedly. The wounded Amaruq roared in pain and retreated, leaving blood-stained soil in their wake. A great howling cry rose up from the injured beasts, a sound that was soon echoed by their companions. In a few moments, all the Amaruq had turned and fled, leaving the embattled villagers and strangers staring at each other guardedly.

The trauma of the attack was now replaced by a chilling unease at the sudden appearance of these strange men. One of the newcomers laid his shield on the ground, buried the blade of the long knife in the soil, and walked up to the villagers. Khall stepped forward and the two men approached cautiously. The stranger bowed his head, placing one arm across his chest, and held out the other hand.

Luta was close enough to get a decent look. The stranger was tall and lithe, with long, matted yellow hair. He was wearing a faded, multi-coloured robe, edged in fraying feathers. His eyes were pale and his face was strong, with high cheekbones. His mouth was sensual and arrogant, but he smiled readily enough. The chief grasped his hand warily as he uttered a greeting but was met by a greeting he did not understand.

As the situation was becoming awkward, Ashter joined the chief and beckoned the others over. He also entreated some women to come forth and attend to the wounded, and to bring water and bread for the strangers.

Still very much aware of the threat posed by the Amaruq, Khall sent men to patrol the periphery, but kept his bodyguard close by.

Eyeing the newcomers, Luta noticed that Ashter seemed relaxed and deep in thought. He appeared detached as he stared fixedly at the ground. He was a shaman on high alert, thought Luta; one who was trying to reconcile this reality with the complex, invisible web of the spirit world.

Ashter turned abruptly, grabbed Luta by the shoulder, and gestured for him to follow. Once inside his own house, his master sat on a low stool and was plunged deep in thought. Luta knew better than to disturb him and so squatted quietly beside the dying fire, not daring to move. Outside, the tumult was settling and the injured were being cared for. The newcomers were seated, cleaning their weapons and eating hungrily. At length, Ashter raised his shaggy head and stared at Luta with his dark, bird-like eyes.

‘It is the spirits’ way of redressing the balance. Men hunt wolves out of fear and hatred, so on nights like tonight, spirit wolves exact their revenge.’

Luta knew the ancient stories, though few had ever seen an Amaruq. They were rumoured to be magical, secretive creatures, and many hunters had seen large, five-toed prints around a kill, rather than the smaller, four-toed print of a common grey wolf. It was whispered that they consumed their own dead, as no remains had ever been found.

These were wolves in which powerful spirits resided – spirits which longed to roam wild and kill freely. They hid during the day, hunted at night, and on nights such as this, the spirits released them to attack people. They transformed into anthropoid monsters, killing indiscriminately, and then at sunrise they reverted to their wolf form.

‘Another matter, Luta,’ said Ashter abruptly, interrupting Luta’s reverie. ‘I want you to watch the strangers carefully, as the raven follows the wolf. Help them but observe them closely. Be their intermediary. They will not suspect a boy. Teach them our tongue, but do not tell them who you are, or what I am.’

‘But I am only an apprentice,’ Luta uttered. ‘I know very little.’

‘You know enough. Your initiation has opened your eyes. It is the realisation that you know nothing that makes you so observant and intuitive.’

Luta thought back to his initiation two years ago, which still burned bright in his memory, as though it had happened just yesterday. Shamans had gathered from many clans, bringing their protégés. Scared boys, each of them, all of whom had heard rumours, and occasionally remembered boys who had never returned.

The clearing was surrounded by a ring of silent trees; the shamans, all wearing spirit guide costumes; the slow build-up of chanting and summoning; and the herbal potion he had made the day before. How his vision had blurred so much that the blue sky went dark and he felt his senses reaching deep into the surrounding forest, like a spider probing every strand of its web, a web that went in all directions, like an unblown dandelion seed. He could smell death, he could smell life, and the spiralling breeze around his naked form drew a hot wind up from the ground, welding him to the spot and causing his head to burn.

With great care, the shamans brought over a swarm of wild bees from a tree in the forest. They scraped the bees from the combs and covered him with these, as a potter layers clay onto a bowl. The dual feelings of life and death merged with him and were then supplanted by strange exaltation and calmness. The droning slowly changed pitch and became higher as the bees moved frenetically up over his body, covering his eyes, mouth, and head. Then, as one, they rose up and flew off to swarm on a nearby branch.

He had not breathed much in all that time and now he was gasping. His master wrapped him in a wet hide to cool him down and quietly ushered him into a dark dwelling, just beyond the clearing.

‘You will dream now,’ murmured Ashter, ‘and those dreams will lay the path along which there is no return. The spirits have let you live today but may not tomorrow. You have acquired the first in a lifetime of secrets. Your training henceforth will be to navigate a path that few can follow and, ultimately, none return from. Now you understand. Now you can be taught.’

Luta did sleep and did dream that night. He dreamed of flying, and of being a fish, hearing the rocks murmuring and feeling the myriad auras of different plants. He also dreamed of talking with a grey wolf, a wise, four-toed creature; the animal which would now be his totem.

Luta was torn away from his recollections when Ashter rose to his feet in alarm. There was a commotion outside. Men were shouting agressively and something was snarling.

‘The Amaruq are back!’ Ashter hissed, and they both rushed outside. It was indeed an Amaruq, but it was bound hand and foot, sprawled in front of the chief’s house.

‘Look what we caught on patrol!’ boasted one of the men.

It was the beast that Luta had blinded. The men had followed and overpowered it as it thrashed blindly through the woods. No one had ever captured one of these creatures, and these hunters were immensely proud of themselves – until Ashter intervened.

‘This creature is mine! I overcame it and my apprentice blinded it. Does the hunter claim the game that another has disabled? Shame on you and your honour!’

Chastened, the men hung their heads and stepped back.

‘Well spoken, Ashter,’ Khall said with relish. ‘It shall be yours alone to kill.’

Ashter looked greatly troubled. ‘This is a spirit animal. I cannot anger the spirits any further. When the sun rises, it will become a wolf again; a wolf that might never run and hunt. Perhaps we should keep it and look after it. It may dissuade any further Amaruq attacks.’

‘Very well,’ said Khall, somewhat disappointed. ‘Perhaps this village will be called the Village of the Blind Wolf, and people will come from afar to see it and respect us. A good idea, Ashter!’

‘What of these newcomers?’ Ashter asked. ‘We must be careful. I have instructed Luta to watch them and teach them our language. He will need help from our women, who can also feed them.’

‘They have probably saved us from the Amaruq,’ Khall mused. ‘We need to find out why they are here and what they want. I will order them fed and instructed in our ways. Cage that deformed beast and find the newcomers some shelter.’

The strange glow in the sky continued the entire night, and few could sleep. As the sun rose, the forlorn, caged creature reverted to a large grey wolf again, blind and confused, chewing the wooden branches of its newly constructed cage. The people gathered around to marvel at the raging animal. Some even threw stones at it, until Ashter forbade them.

‘Feed it and let it settle. Appoint one woman to look after it. This is a male wolf and will be threatened by other males. Once it gets used to us, perhaps we can let it out. It will not stray far from those who feed it. It will never be allowed back into the pack.’

A girl of Luta’s age, called Damkina, was given the task of feeding and keeping the wolf company, and the wolf immediately sensed she was not a threat to him, settling down in her presence.

Damkina initially withered and shivered like an autumn leaf, but she closed her eyes to block out the terrifying creature and kept an arm’s distance from the cage, whispering urgently to the wolf. ‘Please be calm, please don’t eat me,’ over and over.

Luta slept most of the next day, until he was awoken by Ashter, who seemed not to have slept at all.

‘Attend to your duties, Luta,’ he said. ‘Make haste and help the newcomers. Open your heart to the spirits and your eyes to their ways. My stomach is full of foreboding.’

Luta climbed off his pallet, flattened his tousled hair, and drank a whole beaker of water. Then he went outside, blinking in the sunlight and screwing up his face, as he did when needing courage. The strangers were resting under some trees, strangely unfazed by their fight with the Amaruq, and surrounded by curious onlookers. The one who Luta assumed was their leader was gesticulating and miming to some women. Luta studied him closely, taking nothing for granted. Since his initiation he felt different to the others. Before, the clan was his only link to reality. Now, they were just one of many links in a long chain.

Keeping his eyes unfocused, Luta observed them from a distance. The leader was starting to communicate after a few hours of intense exchange.

No wonder the women are charmed, thought Luta. For such a perfect face, though, there was something wrong. Then it occurred to him: symmetry. Ashter had once told him there is no such thing as perfect symmetry in nature, and there is something to distrust when one encounters it. It is the same with faces; a perfect face is made to deceive, and that’s what the stranger had: unnatural perfection.

He asked one of the women what the stranger’s name was, and she replied, ‘Shemyaza.’

As Luta repeated it out loud, the stranger heard his own name and looked up inquisitively. He beckoned Luta over, and plucking an iridescent feather from his garb, gave it to him. He examined Luta’s hands.

‘Hand.’ He frowned with concentration, then said confidently, ‘Strong-hand!’

All the women laughed at his accent and some corrected his pronunciation. Luta joined in for a while, helping him with words and phrases, and was amazed at how rapidly he assimilated their tongue. After a few hours of this, he went back to his master’s house, only to find that Ashter wasn’t there, having taken provisions with him. This cheered Luta up somewhat. He could go and find his mother and siblings, get some food and catch up with all the gossip, without having to tend to his master’s every need. Ashter could be very intense.

Ashter had gone into the forest to restock some provisions, and when he returned Khall invited him to share a meal, along with some other senior men from the village. Although the settlement did not look large, Khall was the chief of an extended clan that radiated out for many miles, a clan that was built on bloodlines and blood ties that stretched back centuries. If Khall so decreed, he could call up a sizeable army of rugged men. He travelled often to maintain these connections, and trade and marriage did the rest.

Trade makes men half-brothers, but war makes men blood-brothers, thought Luta, echoing the wry comments of Ashter.

After the meal they discussed the newcomers, and Ashter voiced his opinion: the strangers were trouble and should be encouraged to move on, forthwith. The chief, however, was more reflective. If they had knowledge and secrets they were willing to share, then anything that gave the clan an advantage would be welcome. He urged Ashter to remember previous clan wars and the hostility that existed between some clans to this day. Ashter stood his ground, arguing lack of trust, potential ulterior motives, and the disarming arrogance of the pale newcomers. However, he was eventually dismissed by the chief, who professed to be tired, and said he would decide after speaking with the strangers himself, though that would take time.

Khall ordered them to be settled just outside the village, and for them to be fed and taught. He also ordered some of his retinue to watch them, day and night, inclining his head knowingly towards Ashter as he gave the order. Ashter departed with Luta in tow, sending him again to keep an eye on the guests.

Luta aided the newcomers as best he could, and they proved to be able learners; they adapted to their hosts’ language, dress and customs with rapidity and almost military precision. Shemyaza was very reluctant to talk about their past, saying that it was too painful to relate. He seemed to take great delight in the smallest things: the texture of their new clothes, the smells of the food and the warmth of a fire. When Luta remarked on this, he related that they’d been lost in the frozen mountains for a long time, and that they’d never expected to live.

Reluctantly, Luta began to warm to them. He liked their intense, curious manner and their fevered excitement when shown a new plant or animal. He was very careful, however, not to reveal any of his own secret knowledge or beliefs. He pretended to be just an ordinary boy, and not an apprenticed shaman.

One and a half moon cycles later, the chief sent for them. They elaborated on the story told by Shemyaza, in a mixture of simple words and mime. They had been exiled from a northerly land and their lands confiscated, their children and womenfolk having been captured or killed while they made a last stand. Eventually they were overwhelmed, and the survivors had escaped over near impassable mountains. Most of them had died on that journey, either from exposure or hunger. Now, these few were all that remained. They had slept during the day and travelled by night, to avoid detection. They had been passing by the village one night, when the screams of the women and the bestial roars of the Amaruq had persuaded them, albeit reluctantly, to intervene.

Even Ashter and Luta were a little moved by this story. The newcomers were quite gaunt and did have the assured look of warriors.

Khall let their story tail off into silence. He displayed no sympathy. ‘If we were to assist you, how would you repay us?’ he asked, flatly.

Shemyaza said nothing as he gestured to a companion, who brought forth a slim bundle, wrapped in a coarse cloth, and gave it to the chief. The chief unwrapped the parcel to reveal an exquisite bronze sword, about three hand-spans long, beautifully wrought and decorated. The wooden grip was wrapped in leather, with golden-coloured wire bindings. The hilt was decorated with animals, chased in the same golden metal, and the blade was leaf-shaped and double-edged. The chief was awestruck. Never had he seen such a thing. Any metal they traded for was copper, reserved for modest spear tips. All knives and arrowheads were made of flint.

‘We have the skill to make this,’ said Shemyaza, in a halting, accented manner. ‘We are good with shaping stone, making cloth, making beer, making medicine and many other things…’ his speech tailed off as he struggled to find the words. ‘Give us more time to learn your language and customs. Then we can help you.’

Overawed by his new gift, and realising their limitations on communication, the chief agreed.

‘Now is the time to put them to work and see what they can teach us,’ Khall announced to the gathered elders.

Over the next few days the newcomers demonstrated their abilities. One of the ten, Azazel, taught some of the village pot makers how to smelt copper and bronze, using an enclosed furnace and bellows. Another, Yeqon, taught several warriors how to make improved bows, by shaping and steaming the wood into more efficient weapons.

Kasadya taught farmers how to select seeds and vegetables to get the best yields, and yet another, Gadreel, taught the women how to enhance their lips and eyes in order to make themselves more attractive, using local pigments mixed with oils. He also helped them to refine weaving techniques to make much finer and stronger woollen cloth.

Never had Luta seen such enthusiasm around the community. Everyone was engrossed with some new technique or product, and the newcomers mixed freely with the villagers.

Ashter observed all this cynically. The men were often away on hunting or trading trips and the women were clearly enamoured with the Irin, as the strangers called themselves. Another lunar cycle passed, and Ashter grew more concerned.

The chief was in his lodge when Ashter announced himself. His new bronze sword was now permanently at his hip, in a brand-new leather scabbard attached to his belt.

After some small talk and drinks, Ashter came to the point. ‘I still do not trust those newcomers, and now they live amongst us as equals. We have no idea of who they are, or their history – only the stories they tell us. They could have been exiled for very good reasons. Soon, fights will break out if they get more familiar with the women.’

‘Nonsense, my friend,’ retorted Khall. ‘You are simply jealous! What have you and your kind done? Lumbered us with your superstition and ritual. I am sure we have nothing to fear from ten mortal men. Besides, they’ve taught us more in a few cycles than you shamans ever have. They also saved us from the Amaruq.’

‘You have little knowledge of what we do, Khall. Our work is like the rain; you take it for granted until it is gone. I have examined all the omens and spoken with the spirits. These men bring death and destruction. The changes that they bring are for their own benefit and not ours. They will destroy the natural order and us along with it. If we grant them favour, we will be destroyed from within. You do not see what I see, and do not converse with the spirits as I do. I suggest that we expel them.’

‘These men stay, Ashter. I have decided. Attempt to harm them, and you will be dealt with. If you do not approve, you can leave this village and return to your spirits and plants. No more will be said on this matter.’

Ashter stormed back to his house. ‘I may be gone for some time,’ he fumed. ‘Continue to watch the newcomers, Luta.’

He gave his apprentice a long list of plants to collect and prepare, as well as instructions to pass to the other villagers about food collection and storage. Then he packed some provisions and departed, striding out of sight, a leather bag slung across his shoulders.

Time passed rapidly for Luta; there was much work to do in the village. Damkina and her blind wolf were becoming firm friends, and she had grown in confidence. No one else could go near the fearsome beast. She had even taken it for walks around the village and petted it incessantly.

Twelve days later Ashter returned, leaner and browner, his greying hair tied back with a braided leather strap. He had walked far and eaten little.

‘So, what happened?’ Luta asked.

‘Nothing so unusual in isolation, but collectively, something very strange is going on,’ he replied. ‘As I went from village to village and spoke to other shamans, they all saw dark omens. Some have put it down to predicting a bad winter and are preparing accordingly; others thought fighting may break out again over grazing and hunting areas. Because they are isolated communities, none had picked up on what I eventually deduced.’

‘What is that, master?’

‘In each village that I visited, someone had gone missing; usually a small child. Not so unusual, as accidents happen. Wolves, bad weather and the like, but no bodies have ever been found, or any evidence of a kill noted. One hunter I spoke with told of a tall man dressed in strange garb, hunting near his village. He tracked him for miles before losing him. He picked up the trail the next day and found several other similar footprints going up into the mountains, obviously a group of men. He said the man was pale and carried a bow, describing it as very similar to the one the newcomers showed us how to make.’

‘So, you think there are more of them out there?’

‘I’m certain of it. And not only that, they’re taking children.’

Luta paled at the thought. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Children are small, easily intimidated, and easily abducted. Beyond that I cannot really say.’

‘Shall we tell the chief?’

‘It would not help. He is too enamoured with them, as are the others; they likely won’t listen. Plus, we have no proof, only circumstance.’

‘We need to find out if there is another group,’ said Luta.

‘Indeed. Did you perform all the tasks I asked of you? Did anything strange happen whilst I was away?’

‘I collected and dried the plants you asked for. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, although the chief’s wife is newly pregnant, and one Irin, Penemue – who is good with medicines – has been looking after her. She has been extremely sick with it. He’s also been helping some of the other pregnant women and sick people in the village. They say his medicines work well. The leader, Shemyaza, has taught the men to make a better fish trap with reeds, and some of the others are perfecting a furnace to melt metals.’

Ashter scowled at the thought. ‘What do you think of them, Luta?’

Luta rubbed his nose. ‘To be honest, master, I do not trust them, but I have not seen anything much to raise my suspicions. They seem to love everything about this place. They spend much time with the chief giving advice, and he trusts them more and more.’

‘I spent a while looking at their shadows the other day,’ Ashter said, frowning. ‘Shadows reveal many things. Their shadows are weaker than ours, as if the sun goes through them more easily. I also sense death in their life forces, and I am no stranger to death. Just