“This is incredible.” Jack Miller stared down at the ancient book lying open on the table in front of him. “This was written six hundred years ago? At the beginning of the Endless War?” He stroked the paper reverently. “How have you preserved it so well?”
Seated opposite him at the long table in the library of the Lakes District Den, Heron let out a laugh. “Oh, no, this book isn’t that old. This copy was made about a hundred and fifty years ago. All of our books are re-copied every few hundred years. We use them on a regular basis, and we have neither the facilities nor the time to try preserving them for much longer.” She fingered the pages fondly. “The job of copying them is overseen by a team of scholars at Council headquarters in Italy. For important ones like this, a copy is given to every Den, but for the more obscure texts, there might only be two or three Dens in the whole of Europe with a copy of the text in its original language. With modern printing technology, that’s improved, but a lot of our library here still consists only of the English translation of the ancient texts.” She paused to glance around the large room, and Miller couldn’t help but admire the view. The library was both wide and long, every wall covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves, with plenty more bookcases freestanding. There had to be a couple of thousand books in here. Of course, not all of them were ancient texts. There were plenty of modern books as well, novels, nature books, biographies and the like. But a good section of the room was filled with thick, leather bound volumes that held the secrets of the shifters’ history and culture and comprised the Den’s most valuable possessions, of far more worth than the antique furniture, the weapons stockpile or the masses of technology housed on the upper floor.
“It’s nice to have a copy of the texts in their original language,” Heron went on, “but there aren’t many people who can read it well, so in general, the English version is more useful. But as you’ve already seen, there are certain difficulties with translating things from the Old Language, so not everything we have is guaranteed to be accurate.”
Miller nodded, running his eyes over the pages again. “What language is this, anyway? I mean, it’s not Greek, it’s not Latin, it’s not Russian, but it bears certain similarities to all three. Who spoke this, and when, and where did they come from?”
“That’s a subject of intense debate amongst our scholars,” Heron replied. “Some believe it was an actual language spoken by the ancient shifters, but others believe it was more like a code – a deliberate blending of several different languages designed to make it difficult, if not impossible to translate for anyone who didn’t already know the code. That’s why we often have such difficulty understanding it.”
“But you said some of these documents originated anything up to thirty thousand years ago. There was no written language back then.”
“No, I said the first shifters could have been created thirty thousand years ago,” Heron clarified. “We have no way of knowing the exact dates, and we have a certain reluctance to seek more expert help in analysing the evidence we have. It’s the sort of thing that would bring the Noturatii down upon us in a heartbeat.” Miller cringed at the reminder, knowing all too well how true it was. His own defection from the Noturatii to the wolf shape-shifters had happened less than three months ago, and much of that time had been spent trying to convince the shifters that he wasn’t going to run off and betray them at the first opportunity. But now that he’d been accepted as one of the pack, Baron, the Den’s alpha, had decided that extensive lessons into the shifters’ history were required, and so Heron and a few of the other residents of the estate had begun teaching him.
“We believe that the ancient stories and prophecies were passed down verbally,” Heron went on, “until they were finally written down sometime around 500BC. Which is why you’ll find that some people believe the myths about the origins of our species, and others firmly believe that they’re nothing but fairy stories.”
“What about the other pack of shifters that lives in the north east? You call them the Grey Watch, right?” Miller asked.
“Correct.”
“Do they have their own version of this history? Or do they believe largely the same things you do?”
Heron sighed, a thread of annoyance showing through, though Miller was fairly sure her irritation was aimed at the other pack, rather than at him and his endless questions. Heron was nothing if not a patient teacher, and he got the impression she actually enjoyed these long discussions.
“The Watch lives in the wilderness,” Heron explained. “They have little contact with humanity and an aversion to any form of modern convenience. They have copies of some of the more important texts, this one included,” she said, indicating the book in front of Miller, “but their living conditions are not conducive to keeping books in good condition. So they expect Il Trosa to provide new copies for them on a regular basis.”
“And you do?” Miller asked, not sure why the more progressive of the two packs would go to such lengths to help their rivals.
“We do,” Heron admitted. “I suppose because the Council cares more about preserving our history than about getting the Watch to pull their own weight. Which is neither my decision, nor my problem.” It was a rare thing to witness any kind of ill temper from Heron, the ageing woman one of the most temperate and patient of the shifters, and Miller took it as a sign of just how deep the rivalry between the two packs ran that it could get even Heron annoyed. “But moving on,” she said, not wanting to dwell on the issues between the two groups, “this is the Treaty of Erim Kai Bahn.” She redirected his attention back to the book in front of him. “Or in English, the Treaty of Destruction or Victory.”
“Seems an odd name for a Treaty,” Miller observed, examining the open page. As with the other books he’d seen today, the text had been copied out by hand, each letter precise and delicate, each page a work of art.
“Indeed,” Heron agreed. “It was created in the 1400s, in response to the imminent extinction of the wolf shifters. At the time the Treaty was written, there were only ninety-eight of us left in the whole world. Those who survived couldn’t agree on how to best protect the species, so they split into two factions, one that would later become Il Trosa and the other who would become the Grey Watch. Il Trosa would attempt to continue to live alongside humanity, though they would have to hide their true nature from the public, while the Watch retreated into the wilderness, cutting all ties with civilisation. The name of the Treaty was derived from the idea that none of them really knew which strategy was going to work. It was hoped that at least one group would manage to survive, but if both failed, then the entire species could end up being destroyed. Hence the Treaty of Destruction or Victory.”
Miller lingered on the page, running a reverent finger over the unfamiliar letters. This version was in the Old Language, but Heron had told him that further on in the book there were translations in English, French and Italian. They would be studying portions of the English text over the next week or two. “So if the two factions were going down such different paths, what was the point of the Treaty?”
“The ultimate goal, of the Treaty and of both factions, was to preserve the shifter species. The Treaty enforces alliances between Il Trosa and the Watch, forbids certain actions against each other, dictates how conflicts are to be managed. It’s an incredibly complex document, and we have scholars who spend years studying it, but for today’s purposes, we’ll just be focusing on the most important points.”
Miller felt an odd thread of unease shiver through him as he listened to Heron’s explanation. “It enforces alliances between you? I thought you and the other pack were rivals. Enemies.”
Heron hesitated before answering, searching for the best way to explain. “In many ways, we are. We have vastly different philosophies on life, different tactics for survival, different beliefs about our magic. But the Treaty is what binds us together, whether we like it or not. If either side ever breaks the conditions of the Treaty then war will break out, and the entire species will be put at risk once again. The purpose of the Treaty is to ensure such severe consequences that no one would ever dare to break it. Just like neither Russia nor the USA would ever dare to push the big red button. There are no winners in a nuclear war. And there can be no winners in a breach of the Treaty.”
“So what sort of actions would constitute breaking the Treaty?” If it was that important, it was little wonder Baron had been so eager for Miller to start learning about it.
“There are a number of possible situations,” Heron explained. “But the most significant ones – and the ones most likely to affect you – are that each pack must attend an annual meeting with the pack of the other faction within their own country, and neither faction may ever betray the other to the Noturatii, or any other organisation like them.” Miller felt his blood run cold at that simple pronouncement. Heron peered at him in concern, clearly picking up on his sudden change of mood. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently. “Don’t worry, Jack, you’re not affected by that part of things. Although you came from the Noturatii, you renounced your ties to them. You’ve committed no act of betrayal since being converted into a shifter.”
“No, I haven’t,” Miller agreed, feeling his heart race. “But I know someone who has.”