Jadde – The Fragile Sanctuary

Also by Clive Ousley

Out Side

(Released end of January 2017)

Execution Grove

(Released end of January 2017)

Fountain of Stones

The Jadde Series

Book 2

The Dark Tide

Book 3

World of Skulls

The Interstellar Reincarnation Universe

The 13 Reincarnations of Luke Arthur

Ring of Souls

HISTORY

AD 2014 – The first genetically modified quarter-man illegally created

2019 – First secret colony of quarter-men is formed

2021 – The New York Times exposes the creation of unregulated

human mutants

2032 – First quarter-man colonies lawfully permitted

2039 – The first quarter-man war.

2046 – The human race fights for survival

3142 – Malkrin Owlear is tried for crimes against the Seconchane

CHAPTER ONE

From three arrow shots away Malkrin Owlear heard and saw each rain drop hit his fellow hunter Guy Beartooth. They hit Beartooth’s matted hair, beard and bear-fur cape with a roar and streamed from him like a waterfall as he ran. For a moment Malkrin stopped running and continued filtering the individual patters from the downpour merely for the pleasure of exercising one of his unique talents.

That’s where we’re different Beartooth, he thought, and expanded his gift to encompass the sounds of his other hunters. He knew precisely where they were. How fast they were running, whether they were about to whistle a bird-call warning or even whether one scratched the lice in his hair as he ran.

Malkrin scanned the scrub and tree shrouded valley and again glanced at Beartooth and stopped himself from muttering aloud, this I can do – and you can’t. I have our tribe’s rarest talent, and I have the wife that you desire.

A twig cracked like an arrow striking a tree. Malkrin mentally tore to the culprit; it was Halle Fisheye six arrow flights away. Malkrin forgave him; it was rare for his friend to make any noise whilst tracking prey. He smiled as rain dripped from his chin, you can’t do what I can Halle – I have the gift.

Malkrin relished his position in his tribe; The Seconchane. He was head of the hunt and champion of the people because he possessed this rare talent. He could detect the sound of prey far beyond human earshot, monitor people’s intentions, and secretly devise temporary talents to serve his requirements. Called a highsense gift, the priests of the Seconchane had announced his prized but rare ability ten summers ago. Malkrin’s status had instantly risen and had yet to diminish.

But he possessed a disturbing secret, one that could see him outcast from his people. He knew that his gifts were becoming unreliable. And to the rulers of the Seconchane this was a crime.

The Brenna, he spat the name in his head, they were the rulers of his people. Losing a highsense talent was decreed a crime far worse than murder by the Brenna. They ruled the people with a sharp bronze fist from the comfort of their stone and timber framed fortresses higher up the mountain pass. How could the village-folk, the priests and the Brenna be fed if he lost his highsense abilities and they had to rely merely on normal hunting skills? Responsibility suddenly hung heavily on him as he compared the game tallies of the other hunting parties to his own. They had no highsense talents and it showed. That was why he had been allowed to partner his beautiful Cabryce. It was also why he had been given a warm cottage with proper windows, ample luxuries and the approval of the Brenna.

He even had a forged iron sword presented to him. It was too cumbersome to take on a hunt; he’d named it Palerin and kept it carefully wrapped in cloth on a shelf at home. Normally the Brenna kept all the ancients’ most useful artefacts to themselves. The sharp steel knives, the sparking tinder boxes, super hard grindstones and brass telescopes. Palerin was a great gift and a sign of increased privilege but a reminder of his responsibilities.

If his highsense failed him, the ordinary folk of Edentown would have to exist on fruit and cornbread whilst the Brenna would ensure they took the bulk of the meat and the priesthood would take the rest. This high in the great mountain lands of Cyprusnia the fruit was small and sharp tasting and the corn and maize grass in the pastures often grew stunted and sparse in the short summer. All this the Brenna knew, and many lifetimes ago had developed a strict penalty of banishment for lost highsense – a punishment designed to bully the holder of the gift to practise keeping it and hopefully to increase its power.

Malkrin’s highsense suddenly detected a wild pig, and then a leaping white tailed deer frantically trying to evade both the pig and the hunt. His musing faded with the sudden rush of anticipation.

He froze and owl-called the sign for stealth. His men instantly blended with the dripping undergrowth, fanned out and crept slowly ahead. Malkrin’s highsense followed the approaching pig, noticing its pale almost hairless hide marked with faint black stripes. He owl-called for the men to his left to take the deer; he focused on the charging pig. The beast blundered on as Malkrin anticipated its death.

Like the fizzle of a drowned campfire his highsense died, leaving him as blind as an ordinary hunter.

Through many anxious nights Malkrin had rehearsed what he would do should he be afflicted at the worst possible moment. And now this nightmare was upon him and he became icy calm. His arrow fast reflexes brought up his spear and he ran to where he knew the pig would be in five breaths. He ignored the imposed silence of the hunt and crunched the odd stick and scrub branch. He pictured the wild pig’s course in his mind, and tensed his arm.

He flung the spear.

Through the waterfall splatter of rain Malkrin faintly heard a wounded squeal and followed the anguished sound. Then even this blended with the roar of rain smashing into the larch and sycamore trees and he blundered ahead hoping to separate the sounds of the cloudburst from the agonised thrashing of the pig.

Like the light of a re-lit candle his ability returned. He sucked in a moisture laden breath and thanked the Goddess Jadde. He knew again precisely where the prey was. He ran into a small clearing where the wounded beast was flattening the long grass as it tried in its pain to remove the embedded spear. With an unsteady hand he finished the pig by slitting its throat with his dagger, at the same time he was aware of Halle and Beartooth as they killed the deer eight spear throws to his left.

He owl-called for action. Many arrow flights ahead a roebuck deer was shepherding his females toward lush grass.

The sun set in an orange glow beyond the great mountains as his hunting party made its way back along dirt paths to their sprawling Edentown. Soon the imposing structure of the Priests Keep rose above the trees. Malkrin eyed it suspiciously; it was old and mysterious. The only solid stone structure in Edentown had been built long ago by the great ancients, the buildings slate tiled roof shone in the diminishing rain. Soon the rambling community came into sight with its jumble of reed thatched roofs and mud-brick walls. Malkrin sensed all the meat traders and ordinary folk gathering behind a ring of Brenna guards to trade foodstuffs and merchandise for fresh meat.

The hunting party left the woodland with the pig lashed to a thick sapling and a collection of seven deer, six rabbits, three turkeys and a plump bobcat. Malkrin sensed movement from the woodland with his inner ear and three arrow flights away to his right another hunting party emerged. He counted their tally: two deer, three rabbits, one hare and one turkey. Again he had easily outdone them. He suppressed a grin and raised his spear in salute. They returned the gesture, adding a traditional call to the raising of a spear.

‘Praise to the Goddess.’

‘Jadde has provided,’ Malkrin chanted back, with his free arm lifted.

Life was good, but just thinking about his satisfaction made his thoughts turn to his highsense lapse. A tingle of fear rose through his spine as he feared retribution from the great goddess Jadde.

She was the single deity who had saved the Seconchane from oblivion. It was she who had decreed that any highsense talent would be honoured with special privileges. And it was she who had ordained that each high status person would be given a badge that would show them to be above all but the Brenna rulers. She had caused the emblem signifying great highsense talent to be created. It was shaped like a sun with five projecting rays and made from an unknown metal coated with gold by the ancient metal-smiths. Jadde had decreed that a metal clasp be attached to the back of the highsense sun so that its wearer could proudly display it on his or her garments. The Brenna held an ornate casket full of these emblems. Two or three times in a generation a member of the Seconchane was recognised as having special abilities, he or she was awarded with one or if deemed highly talented, two suns.

Malkrin put his hand within his bear-fur cape and traced the outline of one of the two gold suns pinned to his leather waistcoat. Apart from Cabryce he was the only living member of the Seconchane to be honoured. He thought of how his incredible luck had expanded to include Cabryce, at present the only other highsense sun holder. She wore her single emblem with great pride; Malkrin had often pretended not to notice as she carefully polished and positioned it when she shifted it from dress to cloak. As his hunting party strode toward Edentown he cast his mind back to her story.

During her seventh spring and summer she had taught herself to hold the air in her lungs for thirty normal breaths as she swam under water or as she lay in the cold snow of the higher mountain. This highsense had been spotted when she was eight summers old. Cabryce had been swimming in the deep Fethwerth pool under the Shimmerrath falls. She’d been feared drowned. A crowd had gathered and wails of sorrow built into a grieving chorus when she’d failed to surface. Some present assumed a monster of the depths had ensnared her. Other more practical citizens believed her body to be tangled in bottom weed. Then, when all hope had ceased; from the diamond-water depths a lithe form had wriggled upwards. Cabryce had surged from the water clutching a glistening turtle shell scooped from the deep floor. All present that day had rejoiced. A celebration was thrown in her honour as her highsense was officially recognised by the Brenna Council of Elders. Bredon the Fox had personally pinned the single highsense sun on her tunic. Her parents had beamed for they had no knowledge of her talent. But some said they cried that night for the time that may come when Cabryce lost the gift.

Later he lay with Cabryce and worried about his highsense lapse during the hunt. It had happened at a crucial point and only his quick thinking had enabled him to work out the pig’s position. He had succeeded by using a skill taught by his father to bring down a deer or wildcat in full flight. To do this you had to instantly figure where the speeding prey would be when the spear hit it. He had been lucky today and fell asleep hoping his luck would hold.

Six days later the inevitable happened. The good luck gifted to him by the Goddess Jadde was taken away.

His serious failure occurred suddenly whilst tracking prey in the wood of Dronfor where the trees met the many sheer cliffs leading up the Great Mountain. Malkrin’s hunt was following a large boar along the narrow trails. Prized for its strong meat, it would be a good kill. Malkrin sent Guy Beartooth and two other hunters ahead. They managed to circle behind the boar and were working back toward the main hunt, beating the undergrowth to flush out the animal.

‘Where is he Owlear?’ Beartooth hissed disrespectfully, knowing Malkrin’s highsense would pick up his whisper out of any other earshot.

He should have addressed his query to ‘High-person’ but Malkrin ignored the insulting omission and concentrated his inner ear. ‘That way.’ He gestured to the front left.

He was right – and wrong.

The boar stormed from the undergrowth near where Beartooth was crashing and thrashing his club. Malkrin’s highsense was fully focused; he had already perceived the creature. Instantly he threw his best spear into its flank. The boar died squealing and gnashing at the air. Another crash rose from their left and panic ensued amongst the hunters as a second boar shot out of the thicket behind them. This hog was even larger than its mate and had large curved tusks that protruded almost a hand’s length in front of its snout. It was in a foul temper, having smelt and heard the death of its mate.

Hunters shouted and screamed, crashing away through the dripping undergrowth – ruining the disciplined silence of the hunt.

One long tusk was thrust into Halle Fisheye’s thigh. Malkrin turned toward the boar as it ripped its bloodied tusk from the screaming hunter. He threw his second spear with all his might, skewering the massive hog through its heart.

Then as they strapped both beast’s legs to sapling poles Malkrin sensed Beartooth had decided this was an opportunity that was too good to miss.

‘You should have sensed the boar’s mate Owlear,’ Beartooth shouted in triumph so all could hear, ‘the council will hear of this lapse.’

‘Do your worst Beartooth,’ Malkrin hissed back.

But the damage was done; his highsense had flickered again like a candle in a draught. The whole hunt had witnessed it.

Beartooth was torn apart with jealousy. He had no highsense and resented Malkrin for his talent so had recently resorted to putting him down with sneering comments. Malkrin believed it was all caused by his boiling longing for Cabryce. Now he, Malkrin, risked losing his esteemed status and his marriage to Cabryce as well. His heart sank, he had dreaded this moment. He’d hoped anyone other than Beartooth would discover and then ignore any flaws in his highsense. But the worst had happened and now he would have to defend himself before the Brenna elders.

They covered Halle’s wound with thick moss, bound it in leather cord and carried him back to his family’s hut. Malkrin felt a pang of guilt. Halle would go hungry, his wife Desira and child Seara would live on beggars’ rations until his wound healed. Halle was one of the most skilled bowmen among the hunters. Many a time he had downed a bear or a leaping deer with a single arrow – thereby saving a poor hunt. Only Malkrin had bettered him in accuracy. That was when his first arrow had taken a wildcat in mid leap, saving Halle when he was pulling a spear from a dead bear.

Malkrin resolved to pay Halle’s meat tax to the Brenna himself and to supply his family’s living needs for as long as they needed assistance. It was the least he could do – if he survived the trial imposed by the Brenna Council of Elders.

For many lifetimes the Brenna had interpreted Jadde’s laws mercilessly. If a convicted highsense holder was judged to have lost his gift completely he was always sentenced to roam the deadlands of Monjana until he regained his highsense. Monjana was the great unknown, its vast lands stretched away down beyond the misty foothills toward the peaks of a long line of distant mountains. Malkrin knew that everyone that had returned to attempt renewed citizenship had been retested, rejected and sent back into exile. Where they went no one knew as villagers never ventured past the stockade barrier below Edentown. They just disappeared into the cursed lands beyond. The priests taught that only death from starvation or execution by starving bandits awaited them beyond the Seconchane’s fertile valleys and forests. Everyone assumed they were not lying.

But Malkrin had spent a day chasing mountain goats in these deadlands and he suspected far off bandits clad in wolf-pelts were a lot better fed than the priests claimed. He also knew he could only be convicted of temporary highsense loss and he was confident he would emerge with his membership of the Seconchane intact.

Malkrin counted the hunting parties on his fingers six times. They were all back and there had been no further injuries. The piles of game had built into sizeable heaps as the butchers started taking apart the carcasses on bloodstained benches. He watched them divide the produce while tribes people kept dogs at bay lest they steal prime cuts or offal. A Brenna officer with a highly visible curved sword in a scabbard across his back kept a close watch on the division of the meat. His guards watched for misdemeanours as they guarded their cart which already contained heaps of the best butchered game. Idly Malkrin noted the blood seeping from the cart and trickling into the weed filled gutter.

He should have been hungry for the meal Cabryce would be cooking him, but his stomach boiled like storm clouds beyond Great Mountain. How was he going to tell her the moment had finally arrived?

The butcher Beavertail handed him his share of the hunt, prime segments of deer and turkey wrapped in a stained canvass cloth. He acknowledged people with a slight nod as they slapped his back, thanking him for the produce that would keep the townspeople fed. His hunt was presented with their share and they wound their way back to their wives and children. Little Alder Gullwing ran from his mother’s side and ran alongside Malkrin hoping for some acknowledgement.

‘Take me tomorrow Sire?’

‘Go home Alder,’ Malkrin snapped. ‘You have four summers before you can be of use to the hunt.’ He thought the young boy would slink away with the rejection. But Alder just smiled and followed Malkrin.

‘Sire – please take me along next season.’

‘No, just go,’ Malkrin growled. He was more intent on predicting Cabryce’s reaction and didn’t want to be bothered. The boy looked crestfallen and slunk off. Malkrin felt mean, scolding a small boy of seven summers – after all he had been that boy once.

He stopped and looked for Alder in the bustling crowd. He spotted him turn as he weaved between a squad of Brenna meat-guards. The boy beamed, revealing his child bright teeth as he waved to his hero.

Malkrin forced a smile and waved back as he walked into the alley containing his cottage.

Back in the familiar smells of his home he sunk into his favourite chair. Its ancient frame creaked under his weight.

‘Good hunt my love?’ Cabryce swung quickly down the creaking stair ladder; her usual bright dress had been replaced by practical leggings for walking the muddy alleys. She had the same beaming smile as Alder. For an instant Malkrin resented it – knowing what he was about to tell her.

‘Yes Jadde was with us.’

‘Good.’

Malkrin hesitated. She read his body language as he gripped the wooden chair-arms and lent forward. Her lips firmed, and she stared into his eyes.

‘However . . . Jadde was not with me.’

‘Has the worst finally . . .’

A disrespecting thump vibrated the door latch. Not a friend, Malkrin thought, and glanced to Palerin on the shelf – one short step away.

He flung the door open and Beartooth’s leering face glanced beyond him. Malkrin knew Cabryce stood behind him anxious for him to give her details of the hunt.

Beartooth lifted his gore-smeared hands for Cabryce to see. ‘Fisheye’s blood,’ he snarled. ‘He’s at home, laid on his bed in agony. His wife and child are weeping – because of you Owlear.’

‘I will look after his family,’ Malkrin snapped back.

‘Not enough.’ He stabbed a finger at Malkrin, ‘People’s favourite no more . . . just a lowly hunter like the rest.’

Malkrin batted the accusing finger away, his highsense had felt Beartooth tense ready to prod him.

Beartooth’s face formed a deeper leer. ‘After the elders have finished you, I’ll take –’

‘Shut up.’ Malkrin did not want Cabryce learning of events before he had a chance to tell her.

‘I look forward to Cabryce sharing my –’

‘If I go to exile then I swear I will return to tear you apart.’

‘Threats Owlear, I’ll have –’

Malkrin had had enough after all that had happened that day. He raised his fist. A hand grabbed it.

‘Enough – both of you.’

Cabryce forced herself through the door and between them in a colourful blur.

‘Go find your own wife Beartooth,’ she stated assertively.

‘Once he’s gone. I will . . . for sure.’

Beartooth ran his eyes over Cabryce once more and Malkrin emitted a roar similar to a wildcat giving warning to an adversary. He clenched both fists and Cabryce snatched each clump of rigid fingers.

‘Indoors Malkrin. Now.’

But first Malkrin watched Beartooth disappear down the lane toward his elderly parents’ hut. Then he allowed Cabryce to guide him back to his chair. She latched the door tight and stooped before him with arms around his neck and gently caressed his rigid shoulders.

‘Do we need to pack our things . . . To travel?’

He let out a deep breath and shrunk into the seat cushion.

‘No. No. They’ll just take one highsense sun from me.’ He gripped her hand as she stared with glistening eyes. ‘I’m sure, my love, it has always been so.’

‘I would have come with you Malkrin.’

‘I know Cabryce, but whatever happens you cannot.’

‘I will. If your highsense finally leaves you – I will.’

‘You must promise me you’ll stay. It’s safe here. I must search for Jadde, to ask for her to return her blessing.’ He reached behind his shoulder and gripped her hand. ‘And I must do it alone.’

Long seconds passed then reluctantly she nodded. ‘I promise. Now tell me what happened today.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘Malkrin Owlear you have been found guilty before the Council of Brenna. Your fellow hunters have testified under oath to your crime.’

The ancient Brenna warrior Bredon the Fox stared with cataract misted eyes to Malkrin. He forced himself to stare ahead, refusing to meet the Fox’s gaze and so to respect his authority. He looked instead to the solemn Council, appearing impassive although below the surface he seethed with injustice. The assembly of eight decrepit and wizened elders were dressed in their leather ceremonial finery. They eyed Malkrin intently, the gravity of his crime written on their time-worn faces.

Malkrin returned their stares coldly. He was numbed at how quickly his failure had escalated to the trial in Jadde’s Great Hall of Justice. This was the only crime warranting a full session of the council. The Goddess Jadde had written the laws all those lifetimes ago, when she had the survival of the Seconchane foremost in her thoughts. Malkrin was sure the Brenna had distorted her laws, how could it be this serious to have a few breaths lapse in his highsense? After all he could just become an ordinary hunter – and still be a good one he was sure.

His father had taught him many skills and he was certain some of them no one else knew. This hunting lore had added to his hero status because Malkrin had kept the tricks to himself. He remembered his father saying; it’s all passed on from Owlear father to Owlear son and it is part of your inheritance. It will help save a hunt on days the game is spooked. He had taken Malkrin into the woods and grassy mountain plains to practise. Malkrin had been a willing learner and aided by his developing highsense had quickly picked up the lore.

Now in Jadde’s Great Hall black thoughts engulfed him. Would he be outcast and not able to help his friend Halle after all? Could the hunt feed the whole of the Seconchane without him? He created a small highsense to watch the confidence leave him like steam from a cooling meal. What is the use of a highsense that could do that – none, he thought angrily, and refocused on the wrinkled face of Bredon the Fox. The old man pointed a gnarled finger at Malkrin, and then cleared his throat to announce the Council’s verdict.

‘I sentence Malkrin Owlear to losing one of his two highsense lives.’ The Fox wheezed and coughed, ‘for a fading talent is a grievous loss to the Seconchane.’ The finger trembled as if Malkrin was floating before his fogged vision. ‘Any further lapse will be your last Malkrin Owlear. Be warned, next time your highsense fails, banishment to the deadlands of Monjana awaits you . . .’ The Fox wheezed, and for a moment appeared to forget the ancient ritual’s words. ‘. . . You will then only be eligible to return when your highsense gift returns to you.’

Malkrin bowed. The verdict was no surprise. He had conditioned himself to its inevitability these last four days. Jadde had taken a prized highsense from him, and the Council were about to take one of the gold suns pinned to his tunic. It could have been worse; he still had half of his authority. But under his relief a sad wish that he usually kept carefully suppressed surfaced to drown him. He wished he had never been gifted by Jadde. He could have just run off with Cabryce and hunted just for the two of them. Higher in the mountains they could have created their own tribe. They could do it now, and build their home next to a full stream of leaping salmon and a meadow full of tamed mountain goats, and . . .

No, it was not for him; he had to hunt to help the ordinary people of the Seconchane. Some were here now, at the back of the hall, seated on benching brought in for the trial.

He tapped his temple for the secret highsense boost that his once mentor Josiath Nighthawk had taught him. His hearing increased as if he’d put a hollow rams horn to his ear. He was comforted by the beat of the two hundred hearts his highsense picked up in the huge stone hall.

The heart beats turned into a single, thump, thump, thump. He realised it was his own.

A court attendant strode over with a padded cushion for the confiscated gold insignia. Malkrin ceremoniously removed the golden sun from his tunic and placed it in the centre.

Thump, thump, thump.

He left the second insignia still pinned over his heart. The attendant stepped back and turned toward the Brenna Council.

The Fox jerked upright, as if the trial wearied him. As tradition decreed he completed the trial. ‘If there is a second appearance for you here Malkrin Owlear; you will face the trial of Jadde.’

Thump, thump, thump.

Malkrin dared a glance at Jadde’s altar, and his highsense tingled for a fraction of a moment. The altar was pivotal in Jadde’s second trial. The rectangular stone was framed by chiselled pillars supporting a marble top. Its time-worn edges sat imposingly on a raised dais before the Council seats. It looked dead with its contours smoothed by many priests admiring hands over countless lifetimes. The altar was endowed with her lost magic and during a serious trial it came to life. Jadde’s presence returned to it to deliver her verdict. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t suffer her judgment . . . ever.

Thump, thump, thump. He placed a hand on his chest hoping to slow his heart before it burst.

He nodded grimly and clasped hands before his face in the traditional response. A mix of emotions swirled in his mind, somehow enhanced by his highsense. He felt shame, defiance, and then vengeance. This turned to misgiving as he strode toward the crowd. They parted respectfully, he still commanded some authority. His highsense peered within the sea of faces as he walked slowly past. Some revealed sadness, compassion, others anger or resentment. A few faces gloated with fiery eyes at his partial downfall. On a couple he noticed a combination of all the lowly emotions - they were the dangerous ones. In many minds he caught a whisper, an echo of fact; none who have begun to lose highsense have ever recovered it.

Malkrin shunned the face-images and their whispering thoughts; and pictured his beloved Cabryce. A slight smile returned as he thought of her bright face and their wedding last fall. His heartbeat slowed.

He walked out of the great hall into the roaring winter gale and straight past the meandering rows of the ordinary folk’s huts. Past all the broken cart wheels, piles of bleached animal bones and mounds of stones removed from impoverished vegetable patches. Then downhill along the cobbled road to the stone built residence of Josiath Nighthawk. The verdict had been passed and his old mentor would be allowed to council him again to bolster his onetime pupil’s highsense retention. Malkrin thought hard; perhaps he could refocus his inner ear with more advice from Josiath. He would have to admit to all his lapses to benefit from the old man’s instruction.

Only Cabryce knew of his lapses but Malkrin knew his wife had kept them to herself. She had sympathised, and then as her mood darkened she had maintained a moody silence. He knew she was anxious not to lose her husband and the trappings of their elevated status. Her loyalty humbled him; she was loyal and dismissive of being an accessory to his crime. But he dreaded her being punished if she ever lost her own highsense. The Brenna would be as harsh to her as they were to any man. With his hunting and tracking skills he could possibly survive in the deadlands. But could Cabryce? She had none of his hunting lore or related gifts.

But it wasn’t just highsense loss that the Brenna punished harshly. They did not need to consult Jadde for all other crimes.

Often he’d seen a townsperson dragged away for misdemeanours and punished by a month’s hard labour for petty offences. These included theft of food or livestock, drunken fights or not promptly paying taxes. The graver offences involving assault, fraud or adultery meant the culprit disappeared into the dungeons beneath the Brenna homesteads – usually never to return. A deliberately vague proclamation of guilt was then announced in the town square the Sunday after the offender was hauled away. Occasionally a bowed and wrecked scarecrow would totter back to Edentown as a warning – an example of the cruel punishment that would befall anyone for serious crimes. The offender having completed his punishment was then tended by family or friends but was seldom able to resume a place in the Seconchane community. Most died soon after.

He forced away the grim memories as he approached Nighthawk’s abode. The elderly priest preferred to inhabit this building in the centre of town. He had always proclaimed he was one of the people and chose to live amongst them. Malkrin let himself in through the creaking entrance door; Sire Josiath was waiting in his accommodation, warming in front of his roaring peat and log fire. His shadowed form melded into his favourite high-backed chair made from the warped timber of a dwarf oak tree. The darkened room allowed the glow emitting from the soot stained hearth to flutter shadows across his face. His expression was unreadable and his body indistinct in a thick wrapping of bear furs. Malkrin sat next to him on a low rickety seat, ignoring the bear fur draped over the back that would have kept the chill from him.

He knew to wait patiently for the priest to speak.