The old man’s eyes burned red, reflecting the last flames of the fire. The sun had already begun to set and the shadows were closing in. Far away a huge bird – a condor – wheeled around in a lazy circle before plunging back down to earth. Then everything was still. The night was just a breath away.

“He will come,” the old man said. He spoke in a strange language, and one known to very few people in the world. “We have no need to send for him. He will come anyway.”

He got to his feet, supporting himself on a walking-stick carved from the branch of a tree, and made his way to the edge of the stone terrace where he had been sitting. From here he could look down into a canyon that seemed to fall away for ever, a fault line in the planet that had occurred perhaps a million years ago. For a time he was silent. There were a dozen men behind him, waiting for him to speak. None of them moved. Not one of them dared interrupt him while he stood there deep in thought.

At last he turned back.

“The boy is on the other side of the world,” he said. “He lives in England.”

One of the men stirred uneasily. He knew it was wrong to ask questions but he couldn’t stop himself. “Are we just going to wait for him?” he demanded. “We have so little time. And even if he does come, how can he help us? A child!”

“You don’t understand, Atoc,” the old man replied. If he was angry, he didn’t show it. He knew that Atoc was only twenty years old, barely more than a child himself, at least in his old mind. “The boy has power. He still has no idea who he is or how strong he has become. He will come here and he will arrive in time. His power will bring him to us.”

“Who is this boy?” someone else asked.

The old man looked again at the sun. It seemed to be sitting, perfectly balanced, on the highest mountain peak. The mountain was called Mandango … the Sleeping God.

“His name is Matthew Freeman,” he said. “He is the first of the Five.”