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Music featured in this episode

This episode features original music from The Lion of Shinar – A 1-Hour Musical Companion, a collection of orchestral and folk-inspired compositions written to accompany the novel.

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The Lion of Shinar – A 1-Hour Musical Companion

About this story

Keep Your Head is a standalone short story from The Book of the Western Veil, written and narrated by Elwyn Davies.

Beginning during the Great Flood and continuing into its aftermath, it follows a young boy whose life is changed forever as the old world disappears beneath the rising waters. Alongside him walks a stranger carrying the weight of choices that will echo through generations.

Although it stands on its own, Keep Your Head also serves as an introduction to The Lion of Shinar, the first novel in The Book of the Western Veil. Set in ancient Mesopotamia before the written word, the series draws on archaeology, early history and mythology to tell the forgotten stories behind some of the world's oldest traditions.

Discover more at bookofthewesternveil.com.

Takeaways:

• In this episode, we delve into the profound themes of transformation and survival during the Great Flood, encapsulated through the journey of a young boy and a mysterious stranger.
• The narrative intertwines mythology and early history, providing a rich backdrop for the exploration of human resilience amidst catastrophic change.
• Listeners are invited to listen to the original music from *The Lion of Shinar*, which serves as a melodic companion to the storytelling experience.
• This episode serves not only as a standalone short story but also as an introduction to the expansive world of *The Book of the Western Veil*, inviting further exploration into its intricate lore.
• Elwyn Davies, the author and narrator, emphasizes the importance of patience and attention in engaging with the narratives within *The Book of the Western Veil*, suggesting that deeper meanings await those who delve into the text.

Keep youp Head A Story from the Book of the western veil.

The builders of Kane's line carried a yoke that broke the earth.

They twisted woodland into walls and grew the cities from the vineyard.

The leaf failed first, then the ground, then the beast.

Even when judgment was set upon the waters, mercy remained.

When the floods drew back, the inheritance was given to the line of Seth, and the sons of Noah went their ways, Japheth towards the coasts and the wide seas, ham down to the riverlands of heat and rule Shem eastward to the plains of Shinar.

This story is known, but what was kept to the margin is that 40 of Kane's line were saved, taking refuge high on Mount Olympus during the great flood.

Marked by green eyes, they watched the waters and kept the law of height, ready to build again when the earth was returned.

The waters reached the cedar line, the lower roads withdrew, and somewhere past the swollen hills the morning still breaks through.

Chapter One Olympus Sarpedon pulled his sandal free from the mud, then chased his mother across the summit, ducking between the guy ropes while she crossed to a shelter.

The hand braids had pulled free of the slope.

Four men hauled on the line.

A woman was fastening the rope to fresh stakes, cursing the man next to her.

Even on the top of Mount Olympus the grass had been battered by weeks of rain, and he adjusted the boat between his palms, careful not to grip too tightly.

His right foot slipped as he turned the corner, the ground giving way like porridge beneath the sole.

Nammer had just finished counting the jars in the eastern shelter and was on the move again.

He had caught up with her, pulling at a tunic for attention.

The lightning, sarpedin said.

It's him.

My father.

He will come for us soon.

Three strikes hit the great cedar in the valley floor, landing one after another in a practice rhythm.

The camp had reshaped itself since it had arrived in the early hours, though nobody had drawn any lines that he could see.

The southern families kept to their own patches of ground, and friends shared the same pots.

New shelters still appeared across the summit.

A man dragged a bundle of poles through the mud while his sons carried armfuls of canvas behind him.

Near the northern edge, a woman sitting on a rock caught his attention as he followed his mother.

She was chanting words he could not understand, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Sarpedon stumbled on a tautgy rope as he watched, catching himself with both palms in the mud.

He scurried back onto his feet, wiping his hands on his tunic, focus on where you are walking, his mother called back to him.

An argument broke out by the grain stores.

Shrill voices cut through the wind as two women almost came to blows.

You can help me with these, namma said as she reached the next supply shelter.

But, Ma, sarpedin replied, picking up his pace to close the distance.

He's going to come for us.

Did Enoch tell you that?

The boy ran his fingers along the edge of the hull.

No.

Na man knelt beside a row of water skins, running her hand across each one as she counted.

A small leather pouch hung from her belt, no larger than a man's fist, and Sarpedon's eyes found it.

Why don't you count that one?

He asked.

Namma followed his gaze and cut the leather with a finger.

These are the last drops of water from Eridu, she said.

Really?

Really.

They have healing powers, like the waters of the Otherworld.

One sip and a man could live a hundred years.

Sarpedin's eyes widened.

Your Uncle Tubal, Cain, and I share the burden of keeping them safe.

Can I have some?

No.

He pressed a tuft of grass with his sandal.

Why not?

Because you're six.

You don't need this until you're old like I am.

But you are not old, Ma.

The corner of her mouth twitched.

Thank you, my love.

But ask again when you're a hundred.

So what do you have in your hands?

His fingers adjusted on the keel line, the boat hidden behind his back.

Nothing.

You are not in trouble.

She smiled as her head lifted.

Unless you've been pestering Enoch again.

He's a good man, but he has a lot on his mind.

I. I didn't ask for it.

He gave it to me as a gift.

The hull still smelled of fresh shavings.

Enoch had carved it that morning beneath the awning, pale curls of wood gathering in his lap while the rain drummed on the hide above him.

Namar rose to her feet and Sarped and frowned as his eyes went to the mud caked at her knees.

Don't worry, she said, laughing at his stern expression.

It's only a bit of mud.

Another flash on the eastern horizon pulled his attention away from her, followed by a deep rumble that shook the ground of Olympus.

Why has Star never come to see me?

She crouched before him, gently placing her palms on the sides of his shoulders.

Your father is a complicated man, she said, her voice quieter.

She pointed to the cedar in the valley where the lightning had struck.

See that tree?

Sarpedon saw she was grasping.

The ring hung on a cord around her neck, then followed her outstretched finger.

Every time Zeus hits the tallest branches with his lightning bolts, she continued, the waters fall away.

He is opening a portal to the Otherworld, and it will soon take the flood so we can go home.

His eyes searched his.

Why are you sad?

Mad?

For a moment she looked past him toward the valley, and she grasped for the ring at her chest.

She was circling it between finger and thumb.

Her smile remained, but it no longer reached her eyes.

Because I know he would rather be here with his son, she said.

But he needs to be away from us so he can save us.

She stood, blinking away tears.

Well then, let me see this ship of Enoch.

He reached out with the boat, his hands carefully placed under the hull, supporting the weight until the exchange was complete.

He said I could keep it with me, and I will always stay above the water.

And right he is, she replied.

Do you have a name for it?

No.

Should I have one?

Of course.

What about the Ananki?

It means destiny in your father's tongue.

I think he would like that name.

She raised a carved boat to her eyeline, then sang the words that had sent Sarpedin to sleep every night since the old man found them in the Southlands.

Keep your head above the tide.

Though we may drift astray, the dawn still waits beyond the shade, beyond the wind and rain.

Who is Enoch?

Sapadin asked.

He's a very old friend.

He looked after me and your uncle, and we took care of him.

She turned back to the stack of water skins, then paused.

Where is he now?

She asked.

I thought he would be stopping by the shelter for some Bari beer.

Gone down the mountain track.

His mother's eyes shot up, searching him as if he had just lied.

What do you mean?

I watched him go.

Go and see if he's back.

If he isn't there, come and get me.

Two boys pull for the anankapu where the deep tides rise and roam.

A man may cross a hundred se but every hour pulls nearer home.

Spoiler Warning.

I've tried to keep as much of this story spoiler free as possible, but this is a chapter from my second novel, the Scattered Remnant, and from this point onwards there are going to be some.

Well, I would say moderate reveals.

And if you are someone who hates spoilers, then I suggest this is a good point to stop and then pick up Novel one, the lion of Sheena.

Of course, if you want to.

But if you're not too worried about spoilers or you just don't like people telling you what to do, feel free to read on.

Hope you are Enjoying it so far.

And if the novel isn't released yet, follow the instructions to see if you can get your hands on an advanced Read a copy completely for free.

Anyway, back to the story.

Chapter 2 Ananki.

When the current rose and the west wind turned, we cast from the river mouth to sea, bronze on our belts and salt on our skin, upon a ship carved from the tallest tree.

Keep your heads.

Klytos bellowed to his men.

Ideally above your shoulders.

The crew of the Ananki burst into laughter at their captain's words.

Then the deck went silent to hear the next line.

I don't think we will make it out of here.

Not all of us.

But if we face our doom, we need not walk alone.

He tapped his spear into the deck with care to a rhythm that vibrated through the boards and reached Kedar's feet.

Did you know that Kleitos is not his real name?

Eugenius whispered at his side, digging into Kedah's ribs with his elbow.

It means a famous one.

More infamous.

We don't know which is which and we don't care.

Kedar adjusted his grip on his spear, masking the pain caused by the man's elbow.

He earned the name when we brought the Ananki back from the Western Isles, the man continued.

Mad bugger he is.

But just wait until you see this crew in a battle.

Shame these pirates won't live to tell the tale now.

All spearbutts were hitting the deck in unison.

It must have been some sort of pre battle ritual.

Kedar joined in and the spear felt like a fence stake in his palm.

He was no warrior.

He switched hands, wiping sweat into his tunic and hoping nobody would notice.

Am I going to die?

He asked in between the beats.

Well, it's not part of the plan.

Why?

Do you want to die?

Not really.

Good.

And stay close to me.

And if I find one small enough or injured.

Eugenios eyes stilled as he turned the matter over in his head.

Then he nodded.

Yes.

If we find one weak enough, I'll let you have a crack at him.

Don't pee yourself because it makes the board slippery.

The beat dropped into silence as Kleitos raised a clenched fist to his lips.

His thumb tucked behind his fingers.

He kissed the ring, then pushed his arm into the air.

The dawn still waits beyond the shade, he whispered, but somehow his voice carried across the full length of the Ananki.

Then his crew responded in unison.

Beyond the wind and rain, the deck of the Ananki was not in good shape.

They had been pulling her apart since the Pirates were spotted at first light.

Entire sections of the rail had been prized up and reset, with caps left between them a foot wide, spaced along the windward side at half the height for man.

Kedar had seen the same setup on the boundary of Babel's second ring, the slots cut for spears.

These were narrower, but they had been cut for the bowmen.

Kedar scanned the makeshift defences while Eugenios talked.

The pulled planks had not been wasted and were now bracing behind each gap, doubled and pegged so a man could set his shoulder to the timber with a drawn bow.

A skilled archer could fire through the slot, showing little more than a forearm.

Those laminated bows wrapped in the hold would pack a punch.

The edge ran true from knot to grip, crafted by patient hands over the winter months.

Will the boarding party have weapons like ours?

He asked.

Ours?

Eugenius replied with a growl.

Then he winked.

You joining the crew?

Concern wrinkled into creases on Kedar's brow.

Yes.

I mean, no.

I need to get back to my family.

Leave the poor boy alone, Seamus called up from the deck boards.

He was kneeling alongside Nicias, using swan plank offcuts to lather Talo onto the deck.

The two young men were inseparable.

Lysias stopped and looked up.

How are you going to answer the boy's question?

Eugenius eyes tracked the spear in his grip, starting at the bronze point, then working down to where his hand gripped the shaft.

Kedar fought to hide the tremble threatening to break out through his fingers.

I don't believe they will, eugenios said.

Besides, this crew has fought gods and older creatures, and we have lived to tell the tale.

The Greek men had turned the Ananki into a wall of teeth.

What's a tallow for?

Killa asked.

It's not for looking after the timber, is it?

Eugenios grinned, gently tapping on the side of Keda's head as a clerk would at the entrance of Nimrod's spire.

Klius told me that you were quick witted, he said, inspecting him as if he were a spear.

Your green eyes are something else.

The tallow is to give them a warm welcome when they board.

Fire?

Kedar asked.

Yes, boy.

Kedah watched the young men spread the tallow, his tongue shifting to the corner of his lip.

He means to burn his own deck.

Won't it eat through the timbers?

Eugenius looked across the ship, his brow creasing.

Yeah, there's a chance of that, but the Ananki has been in tight spots before.

He reached out towards Keda, then slapped him on the shoulder.

If you're one of us, eugenios said, grinning once more, then now would be a good time to learn that our captain is a madman.

Chapter 3 enoch.

Enoch had not returned.

Sarpedon walked to the patch of ground where the old man had carved the boat for him only hours before.

He had left the ananki with his mother and was already missing it, fingers clutching at ear as he walked crouching low to the ground.

He picked up a wood curl trodden flat into the mud.

He turned the wet shaving in his fingers.

Something glinted in the grass.

The old man had left his knife.

Sarpedon picked it up and the handle sat heavy in his palm.

He ran his thumb along the flat, then to the edge.

It bit through the skin and drew blood.

He placed his thumb in his mouth to clean off the excess blood and held his stronger arm out straight, swinging the blade through the wet air.

He was fighting off pirates.

With each stroke evil men had come over the rail of the ananki and he would push them back, a swipe for each of them.

He turned with a wide swing and stopped.

Rashan was standing in front of him, one of the men who had shouted at Enoch earlier in the day.

But he was not angry now.

He was smiling.

A big warrior like you might hurt someone with that, rashan said.

Would you hand it to me so I can look after it for Enoch?

I think that would be best.

Sarpedon shook his head and the blade dropped to his side.

You were not nice to him, he said.

My ma says Enoch is a good man.

You are horrible.

That's only a thing we do, reshen replied.

His eyes were not smiling.

Enoch is a good friend of mine.

He would not want you to cut yourself on that.

Look.

You've done it already.

He held his palm out flat.

I'd better take it before you do some real damage.

Sarpedin shook his head again.

There was something in the man he did not like in the way his words came out smooth.

Rashan did not speak this time.

He worked his foot into the mud to settle it, his eyes going past the boy to the ridge where the path climbed.

I tell you what, he said after a moment.

I know how to bring Zeus here.

Sarpedin's chest pulled tight.

Can you really?

He said.

Can you do that?

I can.

Rashan nodded.

I heard he was your father, is he not?

Saplin looked down at the man's sandals, then back to his own, the mud cake thick on the leather, the toenails grown long over the last days.

His Mother was going to cut them that night, scored and scraped away with the edge of Toast Upper.

The flint blade had earned the name and was feared by every boy and girl in the tribe.

How do I know I can trust you?

Sarpedon said.

If you'd rather not see your father, I understand.

Reshen shrugged, then raised his finger to the cedar line below.

He has been all around us, and he has not come for you, has he?

Perhaps he is not your father at all.

He is Sarpedin's grip tightened on the handle.

He strikes a tree to take the waters away.

He will come for me.

I do not believe it, reshen said, and he turned as if to walk off.

All right.

Sarpedin held the knife out.

Take it.

Rashin stepped around the point and took the bronze blade from him.

There's a good boy, he said.

Now be on your way.

His eyes were already back on the ridge.

Sarpedin followed the man's gaze.

Enoch was climbing the last of the steps.

He looked older somehow, tired and sad in the set of his walk.

Reshem went to meet him.

I told you, old man, you have brought us here to die stores and pitiful supplies.

Nothing more for us.

When are you going to sneak off?

When will you go to him behind our backs?

Reshen was shouting at Enoch now.

So you will open the portal, he continued, or I will pierce a hole in you and see if your good friend will come to us instead.

Sarpedon had been tricked.

He scrambled down the slope to stop the man, a sandal slipping and nearly taking his feet.

Enoch did not answer.

His head dropped and he moved to sit on the stone.

Rashan crossed the gap and fisted Enoch's tunic, hauling him up before he could settle.

His other hand caught the old man's jaw, knuckles driving the bronze handle into bone.

I can do this all day, old man, rashen said, pointing the tip of his knife at Enoch's chest.

You open the portal and you take us through to the Otherworld, or you die here.

The old man still did not answer.

He stood in front of Rashin, his head stooped and his long white hair sodden with rainwater.

Tell him to go away.

Sarpelin shouted as he closed the gap.

He's a liar.

Rashin punched Enoch twice.

The first took him in the stomach, folding the old man over before the second caught his temple.

The man's feet found Enoch next, mud spraying from the puddle with each kick.

Sarpedin reached Rashan and grabbed his elbow, pulling at it, dragging to get the knife away from him.

Get away from him.

He shouted.

Rashan threw an elbow without turning, catching Sarpedon on the side of the head.

Sarpedin's sights smeared white as he stumbled backwards, his legs failing him, and he hit the ground, a stone catching under the ribs on contact.

Tears filled his eyes as he tried to get back up.

He needed to help Enoch.

His mother was running down the slope.

Her words were muffled.

She went straight for Raschen, shouting, her fingers stretched out, grasping for the blade.

The man threw her off, and she stumbled back as Enoch came to his feet again.

He stood in front of Rashan, still silent.

This is your last chance, old man.

No answer came.

Naaman moved in for the blade once more, encroaching on Reshen's blindside.

He thrust the point at Enoch, throwing his shoulder into the lunge.

Sarpedon cried out as his mother stepped between them.

The full length of the blade vanished into her belly.

She stood wavering.

The knife was buried to the hilt, but her hands did not move toward it.

Instead, she reached towards the cord at her throat, where the ring hung.

Then her eyes searched for her son.

Sarpedon turned, then ran for the boat.

What becomes of the old roads now when no stone marks the way?

Who remembers the names we spoke when the waters wash away?

Who will take a trembling hand when the night is closed around?

Who will keep their eyes ahead when the earth we walked has drowned?

Chapter Four Boarded the first wave of attackers grappled the starboard rail as the ananki rolled into the swell, screaming as they hit the wooden spikes.

The whites of the knuckles broke through streams of red.

Hands that clasped the rail between the spikes could not get any purchase on the tallow.

Then, one by one, they slipped away, back to the water below.

The next wave of pirates climbed their backs, then flopped over the deck, a fresh cry splitting the air beneath them.

Klytos voice carried across the ship, and he kissed the ring before raising his arm to the air.

Archers knock vessels now.

He called out.

Six men from the crew moved forward, their sandals lined with spikes short enough that they would not stick in the deck timbers when lifted.

The men moved in pairs, clasping a hemp rope tied around clay vessels.

Each had been lit from the top, and the smoke filled the air as they stepped closer to the rail.

The ropes flew to the rail in unison.

Then the flames caught on the tallow.

As soon as the clay cracked open, the fire spread along the deck, crawling up the hemp and eating at the attackers before they could stand.

Their feet slipped at first, then they found enough grip to stay Upright.

It was too late for many of them.

Keda's eyes held on the bodies turning to cinder before him.

The captain of the ananki called out once more, archers, fire.

The arrows were not lit as Keda had predicted, but the accuracy of the bow startled him, each punch through the next wave of attackers clawing over the sagging bodies sprawled over the starboard rail with their hands still pinned to the spikes.

The second wave did not stand a chance, and they were thrown back to the depths below the ship.

The deck tilted under him as the sea lifted the ananki, and Kedar's stomach churned.

He had been sick twice now, watching the sun rise and drop before the boarding, and now he could only taste smoke and sour air, the back of his throat 12 summers old and nowhere near ready for this.

The raiders had adapted, as Kleitos had warned earlier that day.

Some had flanked around the side of the burning area, removing their tunics and wrapping them over the rail spikes.

Others rolled dead bodies forward, piling them onto the flames.

They were using their own men like stepping stones across a river.

Kedag cried out as the Ananki rolled again, and a shoulder drove into his chest before he saw the man who'd hit him.

His spear spun out of his grip and clattered on the deck.

The boards came apart against his spine and stole the breath from him.

He gasped, choking for air, then rolled onto his side, fumbling with the spear shaft.

Before he could get a firm grip, two hands pulled at his tunic and he was back on his feet again.

The smell had thickened in the press.

Smoke, charred fat blended with a sweeter aroma.

The crewman in front of him was shoved backwards, the back of his head cracking into Kedah's nose.

He wiped the blood from shaking fingers, then another fist closed on his tunic and pushed him clear of the front lines.

Each time a spear came in, the nearest man took it on his shaft and put his free hand flat on Keda's chest, moving him on as if he were clay brick carried on a hole, passed down the line without pause.

The boards were slick under his sandals, dark and wet in patches.

He went into the side of the railings, his fingers reaching for the surface before Seymour swatted them away.

The rails are spiked, you fool.

The ananki heaved into a wave, and saltwater came up on the other side of the rail to the left of his hands, close enough that he could see a body turning in it, face down, carried off on the swell.

His eyes found Kleitos through a gap between bodies The Greek danced on blood, water and tallow with speed.

Around him, every man fought for purchase, timing each move with the tide.

Plytos was relentless, and his bronze spear tip caught the light in a blurred arc.

He moved his shield as if it was part of his skeleton, and when he dropped and rolled to counter an attack, the shield circled along the deck like a roller.

The wheel Cleitos sprang back to his feet and the spear shot out of his shield notch like an arrow, punching the man and coming back red.

Three pirates were stepping over dead bodies surrounding him, yet none of the Greek's crew moved to his aid.

They didn't need to.

The attackers dropped like grain sacks before Kedar could count five heartbeats.

The boarding party was wavering, but a fresh cry broke out on the ananki as all eyes moved to the port rail.

Shouts were issued in a language Kedar did not know, and he followed the direction.

A second raft was moving alongside the ship's hull.

Then fresh ropes looped up over the rail.

Kedar's attention snapped back to the attackers in front of him.

He found himself in the front rank and was almost too late in dodging a spear thrust.

The obsidian tip grazed his arm as he pulled his shoulder back.

His counter was weak, finding only air.

Another hand pulled at his tunic from behind, moving him away from the line.

These men were protecting him.

Eugenius had his spear locked against the large man's weapon, the duel turning into a battle of strength and endurance.

A second attacker had come round his open side with an obsidian tip edge raised, ready to lunge.

He was only three paces away from Eugenios.

Kedar pressed closer when he realized nobody else was watching.

He swallowed dry air, then raised his spear tip.

His hands were no longer shaking.

Kedar drove the spear into the man's side, wedging it below the raised arm.

He leaned into it, trying not to look at the attacker's face.

The vibration came up through the wood and into his wrists, and then the man's legs went.

Wha.

Kera blurted, unable to form words.

He turned from the dead body at his feet, his hands going to his knees as he vomited bile and sour air.

Eugenios had his own man down, blood flowing from his teeth to his beard.

He gasped for fresh air, then turned to take in Keda and the fallen warrior at his back.

You did this?

He asked.

Keda did not have the breath to answer and could only nod in reply.

Eugenios burst out laughing.

You're one of us now, boy, he said.

The spear came in from his open side while his attention was on Kedah.

It took him under the ribs, and the grin locked mid expression as he crumpled to the deck.

Nicias stepped in and took the attacker in one clean arc, but it was too late.

Eugenios sat down on the board, both hands closing on the spear shaft to wrench it free.

His fingers slipped on the slick blood.

The strength went out of him.

Nicias left his own spear in the fallen attacker and moved to Kedar, clamping both arms around his legs, then lifting him over his shoulder.

Kedar could still not find the words.

Let me.

He was being hauled away, down into the hold, and could only watch the body fall to the deck.

Cold water from the next wave broke across the rail and ran along the boards around Eugenios.

His body lay still where the black.

One stood and slow the hands that roll.

But the smoke we seek still climbs the hills.

We left our land so long ago.

Chapter 5 Gods Sarpedon wrapped his hands around the boat.

He adjusted his fingers with care, raising the wood to his eyeline.

I need you to come with me, a voice called to him from outside the shelter.

Your ma, she needs to speak with you.

No, he replied, but his gaze turned outside.

His uncle had been crying.

Come with me quickly, Tubal, Cain said.

His uncle took him by the hand and led him out into the rain, his grip closing tighter as they went.

Your mother is going to die, he said, and he did not look down.

She wants you beside her now, across the slope.

Greshen was standing near the place which he had fallen, the knife loose in his hand and dark to the hilt.

Is she dying?

He called, his voice climbing.

Someone help her.

He was edging backwards toward the drop.

The southern families had drawn back to the edges of their ground, and the rain drove down like a thick sheet between them.

Tubal Cain did not slow.

Instead he pulled the boy past the man, his eyes fixed ahead.

I will kill you, he said, and kept walking.

Rashan raised the knife toward them.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Namma had been laid on her back, her head against the rock.

The wound spread dark across her tunic.

Tubal Cain waved two women from the southern families away, then moved Sarpedon so the boy could crouch beside her.

Enoch sat in the mud, clenching his waist, but he was not looking at any of them, his gaze fixed on where the rooftops lay covered in the rain.

Sarpedin's hand adjusted on the boat.

He could not look away from it.

Namur's words came as little more than breath.

Your father will come for you, she said her hand reached for his cheek but dropped the moment it touched the skin.

Look at me.

He is good.

I know it.

Her head turned to his.

Uncle.

You do not want to hear this, brother, but my son's future is with Zeus.

No, Tubal.

Cain knelt at her other side.

That is not true.

I will take the boy in as my own.

You know we haven't been able to.

Please, brother.

Her hand moved in the dirt and went still.

Father's ring.

Give it to him, Tubal.

Cain's fingers went to the cord at her neck, then hovered there a moment before he worked the knot loose.

He reached across and pressed the ring into Sarpedin's palm, unable to make eye contact.

Namma found her son's face and smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

Keep your head.

The lights shifted at their backs and the rain stopped.

Droplets that had been driving sideways into their face were now fixed suspended in the air.

The noise of the storm held still on the mountaintop, as if the world had stopped to hear Namma's final breath.

Sapdon did not hear him come.

Nobody had.

A silhouette crept over mud and stone, crawling toward them from the head of the summit.

No words came from the figure that cast a shadow.

He stood there, his eyes going first to Namma, then to Sarpedon, God of Olympus.

Reshen said, I only wanted to.

Zeus flicked his wrist and a gust of wind took Greshen in the chest, throwing him back.

The knife tore loose from the man's fingers and turned up into the air before it came down and struck point first in the mud.

Greshan went over the broken ground, his heels catching in the rocks as he lurched backwards.

He cried out as the ledge took him out of sight.

Zeus crossed to his son without looking in the direction of the fallen man.

He weighed him in his eyes for a long moment, then he bent and lifted him over his shoulder as if there was no weight to him.

Sarpedin screamed for the body on the rock as it drew away from him, the boat clutched in one hand and the ring in the other.

Both arms stretched back towards the small, still shape affair.

The ear ahead split open and colors filled the sky around the summit of Mount Olympus.

Zeus carried him through the threshold into the other world.

The portal closed and the mountain vanished behind them.

Above the tide.

Though the valley lays below, the dawn still waits beyond the shade.

And homeward we will go.

Some books are handed to you, others will make you excavate.

Thank you for listening to this short story from the Book of the Western Vale.

It is actually chapter five in my second novel, but it works in parallel with the prologue of novel one, and it was my intention that it completely reframes many of the chapters in in the lion of Shinar.

One thing I will say is that the Book of the Western Vale isn't written for everyone.

It's designed to reward attention, ask for patience at times, and treats myth as remembered history.

The entire conceit is that there is a long list of leagues discovered by Brother Wyn of Kaermana, the 10th century Benedictine monk who lived and worked in a monastery on the farm where I am writing these novels.

The core battle of the Book of the Western Vale is one for the soul, one that repeats time and time again how certainty, regardless of the cause, can have undesired consequences.

I wanted to share this chapter because it gets into the action pretty quickly whilst my novels will have, albeit short but not insignificant, preludes, which will give the reader a better framing of the mythology and the entire world that I'm building.

This saga, of which I'm planning to span over 20, maybe even 30 novels and I have much of the framework already laid out, has a soft spot for Wales and the British Isles, lands where writing came at a later age, which meant that many of the oral stories, poems and ballads will be lost to time.

Through the Book of the Western Veil, we're able to recover many of those.

That's why you'll find lots of ballads, songs, poems within novels themselves.

They are not written to accompany the Book of the Western Veil.

They are the leaves discovered that give me the permission as the translator to write them out in full.

And if this story has made you want to turn to the next page, then I think you may well enjoy the world that I have built around this.

If you're wondering what to do next, head over to theofthewesternvale.com and you'll see the latest where each of the novels are at at the time of recording this, I'm approaching halfway through the second novel, the Scattered Remnant.

The lion of Shinar may well be published by the time you're listening to this.

If not, if you go to bookofthewesternvale.com one of us, then you may well see an invite for an advanced reader copy.

I'm probably going to get my head back into the next chapter and I hope to see you on the other side.

Some read it as prophecy others a warning.

This track plus an entire musical is available on all streaming and there'll be a link on the website so you can go and have a listen to them if that's something that tickles your interest.

When blood meets blood the fires will three mirrors break before all is learned Bro the sharpened blades of pride the shadow turns and stars divide Sam.

Three faces in the water's edge as the shepherd breaks his sacred pledge the first will fall, the last will drown the tightest grip pulls all to ground when night is torn and skies grow pale the song of stars where fire meets hail.

The wolf will starve the pack divides severed bones on foreign tides to see it all and stand alone he christens the doom the end is known when frost meets flame upon the ground the wolf shall fall without a sound.

Sam.

The king will not receive the throne Thunder shall break and suffer alone what cannot bend shall surely break the road remembers all that they take when mountains bow to higher peaks Resistance shall fall in the silent free.

The crown will break where rivers run the last prince falls before the sun all roads lead to the second dawn when the moon will turn and all is un.