She heard his voice in the dark. A moonbeam gleamed through the window. Anira went rigid in her bed and tightly clutched the folds of her blanket. She started to shake all over, but this time she couldn’t escape the figure from her dreams. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession as she clambered out of bed. She wandered over to the window with wobbly legs and looked outside, onto the courtyard. There he was, standing at full height, his feather headdress mounted proudly on his head. In front of him, someone was kneeling on the ground. Anira rubbed her eyes, hoping they were deceiving her.

‘At last, you’ve come,’ Ervingal said with a trembling voice. ‘And I thank you for that, Lord, because the future holds nothing but darkness.’

‘You’re wise to despair, human. Time is getting short.’ While the God of War spoke, the mysterious line patterns on his body lit up in the moonlight. ‘It won’t be long before the Guyins attack Varna. They have met humans once before, less than a century ago. An Inya refugee society managed to enslave some of their kind, and the Guyins have not forgotten this. And now your loggers have started mutilating their holy forest, they’ll wreak death and destruction upon you.’

‘I’ve tried everything in my power to prepare the villagers for this battle, but now that time is pressing, I’m afraid it has all been in vain. My brother only wanted to bring twenty-four of his soldiers, and I couldn’t ask more of him. As it is, I should probably be happy that he even believes my lies.’ He banged his fist on the ground. ‘When we come face to face with our true enemy, the villagers will be overcome by fear. We haven’t got a ghost of a chance.’

‘And yet, you shall fight, Ervingal,’ Merg said. ‘If only because I’m ordering you to.’

Tears welled up in Ervingal’s eyes. He tried to pull himself together. ‘But why? We are only few, and our weapons are weak. None of us will survive the battle.’

‘Yes… the wood from the Linar Forest is sturdy,’ Merg said. ‘A powerful weapon in the hands of the half-giants. That’s what you fear, isn’t it?’ He gestured at the bent bronze swords lying in the courtyard. ‘You fear the crushing battle maces of the Guyins’.

Ervingal only sighed.

‘That’s why I have a gift for you, Ervingal. Something that’ll give the settlers a chance in battle.’ Merg grinned. ‘There exists a metal stronger than bronze, but just as malleable—a metal called iron, embedded in both earth and stone. Red and rugged in its crude form but shining and unusually sharp if forged right.’

‘Iron?’ Ervingal ran his tongue along his lips.

Merg nodded. ‘In the hands of a master swordsmith it can be a powerful weapon. A sword forged from iron will cut through the battle maces of the Guyins with little effort.’

Ervingal’s eyes sparkled.

‘I’ll gift you the secrets of a fire,’ Merg continued, ‘hot enough to smelt the iron from the ore, and the secrets to a hammer, strong enough to forge it into the right shape. That way you can arm your people.’

Sobbing, Ervingal laid his head at Merg’s feet. ‘Thank you, Lord,’ he mumbled.

‘But…’ the God of War said, looking up at Anira and smirking. ‘There’s one thing I want in return as payment for my gifts.’

Anira shivered under his piercing gaze but didn’t move from her spot.

‘I’ll give you anything you ask,’ Ervingal said.

A broad grin appeared on Merg’s face. ‘I will show you how to fold the iron to make your swords even stronger. And… I will provide you with a divine powder made of grinded Ether crystals, so fine, it will feel like water trickling through your fingers. While you are creating your first iron sword, you will mix your iron with this powder, creating the strongest form of iron in existence: Ether-steel. It will even cut through stone, that sharp it will be. But… this first divine weapon, the mightiest weapon ever made at the hands of the Mano, must be gifted to me by you.’

Ervingal stared at his hands. Then he answered with a trembling voice: ‘so it shall be, lord. I’m forever grateful to you. I won’t disappoint you.’

A shadow stole over Merg’s face. He grabbed Ervingal by the collar of his tunic. ‘If you do disappoint me,’ he hissed, ‘I will tear your spirit apart. Then, even death won’t bring you peace.’ He hurled Ervingal away. ‘Favors from the Gods don’t come without a price.’

Ervingal crawled back up. ‘I will do as you ask, Lord,’ he said.

‘Listen carefully, Ervingal,’ Merg continued. ‘Now, all of this starts with bog iron and iron ore, neither of which is lacking in this region.’ With both hands he rummaged around in a knapsack hanging from his belt and came up with a large sandy-colored lump and a little leather bag. ‘This is a lump of raw iron, extracted from ore and bog iron, and a bag with grinded Ether crystal powder. You’re going to use this to forge my Ether-steel sword. Only after you have done that, you may put the villagers to work to provide everyone with iron swords. When the village council beholds your creation, they won’t think twice about helping you arm the villagers.’

Ervingal took the lump from Merg and brushed his fingers across the rugged surface. In the meantime, Merg began to explain the forging process in detail, from beginning till end.

‘I’ll follow your instructions to the smallest detail, Lord, to the absolute letter.’ Ervingal said when Merg had finished speaking.

‘Good.’ Merg grabbed hold of his hair and dangled Ervingal’s face in front of his own: ‘Do not deceive me, Ervingal, or you shall regret it…’ Merg then slowly started to fade into the Ether and when the sun rose, he disappeared fully into the vibrating air.

Ervingal walked towards his shed. ‘I won’t deceive you, Lord,’ he whispered, staring at the sunrise. He entered the shed and shut the door behind him with a bang. The sound sent a shock through Anira’s body. She quickly took out her writing materials, spread them on the floor and started writing.

Dear Watcher Yarnus,

I hereby send you this letter to inform you of the state of affairs in Varna, as you recently requested me to do when we met in the stables of The Narwhal. Unfortunately, I do not have good news to report. I have found the bodies of the loggers, mutilated and burned, in a trench deep in the forest. Furthermore, the God of War appeared before my uncle last night and warned him about the coming attack of the Guyins. If my dreams hold any grain of truth, this entails the complete and utter destruction of Varna. Even though Merg has shown my uncle how to make weapons far more powerful than the bronze swords the soldiers are carrying, I would request you to come to our aid as quickly as possible, with all the men you can muster. I hope you don’t get here too late.

Yours sincerely,

Anira Danu

Anira waited for the ink to dry, rolled up the letter, and wrapped one of her hair ribbons around it. As quietly as possible, she stole downstairs. Her family members were all still sleeping, and she managed to reach Ervingal’s dovecote in the courtyard without being seen. Next to the dovecote stood a cupboard with various cylinders and a ball of string. She carefully rolled her letter up into a cylinder and cut off a piece of string to pull through the ringlet on the cylinder. Then she slightly opened the door of one of the cages and slunk her hand inside. She slowly reached for the bird. It hopped aside once, but didn’t resist when Anira tied the letter to its leg. She made sure that the cylinder was attached tightly, and then picked up the pigeon with both hands like Dunkan had done. The pigeon cooed softly while she was trying to decide which way was east. She lowered her arms and suddenly heard a voice.

‘What are you doing?’

She got such a fright that she let go of the pigeon, which immediately flew up past the walls of the courtyard. Anira heaved a sigh of relief when the bird turned east and disappeared from sight.

‘Ervingal won’t approve of that.’

Anira lowered down to her knee and looked Little Gavin sternly in the eye. ‘Listen Gavin, you can’t tell anyone about this, not even your big brother. Do you understand?’

‘We’re in danger, aren’t we? I know Dunkan doesn’t believe you, but you think that the Guyins really exist, right? And that they are… going to attack us?’ Little Gavin’s eyebrows slowly rose. ‘Did you send for someone? Is someone coming to save us?’

Anira looked at him despondently and searched for the right words. ‘I hope so with all my heart,’ she finally said.