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JULY 1914 No-one in the valley had ever heard anything like it coming from the hills. A wild, desperate sound. Around midnight the first shrieks rang out through the village, faraway cries that gradually moved closer. Even the old timers could not identify the source of the noise. It was as though some frenzied ritual were taking place up there in the woods, a savage brawl that seemed to be making its way towards them. At first the villagers thought it must be foxes or lynxes, the wild things whose frenzied scuffles could last all night, fighting over captured prey. Or it could have been the distinctive howling of local wolves, who pitch their cries to make the pack sound more fearsome. Previous attempts to keep them at bay by scattering the ground with strychnine had been unsuccessful, so tonight villagers young and old were roused from their beds to bang spoons against their pots and pans in the night air, a tried and tested method of keeping wolves away. At nightfall the woods were taken over by hidden sounds and rustling movements. Under cover of darkness, local animals reclaimed their territory, free from human interference. In the village it was often possible to make out the sounds of unseen beasts hunting, mating or fighting. The night belonged to them, and this night more than any other. ‘It almost sounds like—’ ‘Be quiet!’ The hellish chorus was clearly coming from one side of the hill, and as the sound approached the villagers were able to make out a barking sound, savage broken barks that could never have come from a wolf and were too loud for dogs. Only deer were capable of making that kind of noise. It must have been deer that were heard that evening, caught out by the venom of buckthorn berries or driven wild by fear of an unseen predator. But this was the first time their shrieks had torn through the countryside with such demonic fervour. It was no use rattling their crockery now. There was nothing to be done but remind their children that at night deer are even louder than dogs and their barks are lower, more guttural and more frightening. When male deer are in heat, the growls and cries that seek to ward off their rivals seem also to reveal their own desperation. Something must have truly frightened them, however, to warrant such a sound. No-one in Orcières had ever heard so many of them at the same time. Their number seemed to be increasing as their cries travelled from the depths of the woods down to the village houses. No-one was scared, of course, of the deer but everyone felt troubled by the prospect of whatever it was that had caused so much terror. Panic spread quickly through the village that night, perhaps because for weeks now it had been haunted by a larger threat. Since the spring, the newspapers had contained nothing but bad omens and worrying headlines. This had already sent some men running to their wardrobes to dig out their carnets militaires, just in case they were needed. The silent fear that they would be called away from home circled ever closer around the sons and fathers of Orcières, as if they were a pack of frightened deer. Even in the furthest depths of the countryside, it was clear that the world was subject to the whims of a handful of monarchs from more or less the same family. Royals pictured in L’Illustré national in sailing boats or playing tennis, prodigious dynasties that linked the King of England to the Kaiser to the cousin of the Tsar and back again, all this was on the verge of a spectacular explosion. Everyone sweltered under the weight of an unusually hot summer and rising tensions that could be seen in the face of any passing stranger. Europe was quietly disintegrating, the armies stood waiting as nations entered into increasingly tense alliances, not through kinship but because they were preparing for the worst. Meanwhile, in the village, men and women would stay up talking outside the houses for as long as possible before going to bed, savouring the evening air as if this were their last chance to do so. No one wanted a war. In any case, war was surely an impossibility, especially in Orcières, hidden away at the furthest edge of the causse and several days’ journey from the front. But that Friday even the calmest of spirits were troubled. The villagers wondered what was lying in wait for them up there, what predator had sent those deer running down the hill in terrified droves. Every summer the bucks took the village by surprise with the force of their cries as they fought out their rivalries in the woods, but that was normal animal behaviour. The barking had normally stopped in the time it took to roll and smoke a cigarette. The terrible sound persisted this time, until everyone in the village felt swirls of fear coil around their hearts and linger on their lips, like the stale end of a cigarette. No one knew it yet, but this July evening held them on the brink of war. In the little hamlet tucked away behind the hills, it was unthinkable that in just a few hours the tocsin would ring out and the sound of bells across the countryside would bring the summer swiftly and abruptly to an end. In a few days’ time, the war would start to devour their men by the trainload, along with four empires and 15 million lives, over four destructive years. But as dawn broke on this summer Saturday, the villagers were mainly afraid of the wave of terrified sound that descended on them from the hills. Groups of deer hurled themselves in their dozens down the hill into the valley. One by one they disappeared out of sight under the cloudy moon, that shed little light on the village behind its shroud. Only something truly monstrous could have caused such a frenzy. They leapt down the hill in swarms and were gradually swallowed up by the valley. When the sounds finally stopped, the villagers could hear the trudge of heavy footsteps coming from the woods. The footsteps were accompanied by the sound of clinking metal, indicating the approach of someone with an animal. The cloud had shifted and the moon was now shining brightly on the figure who by now had reached the thickets surrounding the village. Those with more active imaginations wondered if they might see a giant wolf emerging from the shadows, dragging a limp foot caught in a hunter’s trap, or even the infamous Champawat Tiger, so legendary that its story had made it as far as Orcières. In the end, however, a hooded, monk-like figure came into view. The man was accompanied by a weary looking mule, tin cans clinking on its back. The adults crossed themselves as the children crouched behind them in fear. No one had ever seen a pilgrim pass through the village. Years ago walkers would come down from the Auvergne and cross the woods to find God across the border in Spain, but it had been a long time since anyone had come this way to reach Santiago. The appearance of this unexpected traveller should have alerted them to the fact that this night was the turning point from one era to another, that this was their last evening in the old world and that the new day would mark the beginning of four years of suffering. The wandering stranger should have helped them realise that tomorrow morning they would wake up to the beginning of a new age and that the transition would be long, violent and fearful.   SPRING 2017 The holiday listing promised tranquil surroundings, peace and quiet guaranteed at a simple villa tucked away in the hills. It was hard to make out very much from the three available photos, but in general they seemed to confirm this description. Zooming out on the map, the house was a tiny dot in an ocean of green, surrounded by peaks and valleys in the heart of the causse national park. Lise was convinced she had found the relaxation spot she had been looking for. Others might have referred to it as the back end of nowhere. According to the short description it had been built in the nineteenth century, a simple house at the top of a hill. The next house was ten kilometres away, the nearest town a twenty-five kilometre drive. Lise had come across the web page whilst browsing the internet. Most people would probably have clicked away from this page after reading the description, but in many ways this house was exactly what she was looking for: it was surrounded by nature, there was plenty of sun and, most importantly of all, it was isolated. Isolated was certainly the word for it. Lise noted with interest that the house came with far fewer amenities than the other houses advertised on the website. It seemed to have none of the conveniences of a normal holiday house: no swimming pool, no air conditioning, not even a television. There was also no telephone, which meant no WiFi. It was this that persuaded her that she had found the perfect place. For years she had been dreaming of cutting herself off from the world and spending three weeks out of the reach of any network or wavelength and felt that if she didn’t take the chance now, she would never do it. Now was her chance to go completely offline. ‘Lise, can you imagine us going three weeks without the internet?’ ‘I could do it.’ ‘Well, I’m telling you now I couldn’t. Because of my job, I can’t allow myself to be offline.’ ‘It would be so good for us. And we’d be away from all the noise and pollution, and especially the radiation …’ ‘Lise, please don’t start all that again.’ For several years now, Lise had claimed to suffer from the harmful effects of radiation from phones and WiFi. This was the reason she wanted to go on holiday, to be able to get away from it all. More than anything she wanted to lead the healthiest existence she could, waking up with the sun, and then watching it set in the evening, living in the moment, aiming to do nothing more than walk, meditate and breathe air that was free of noise, waves and particles. Further research online had revealed there was organic supermarket in the nearest village. The rest could be picked from their surroundings, she could already see herself foraging for roots berries and roots in the garden. This was what she had been dreaming of, three weeks in the depths of nature, in the wild, unreachable. ‘Look, Franck, you just don’t get that many holiday homes that don’t have WiFi or a TV. It’s lucky that I happened just to come across this one, and it’s free for all of August, too!’ ‘That’s exactly what I’m worried about. Don’t you think it’s strange that no one has commented on the page or left a review? And what are we going to do with a hundred and twenty hectares of forest?’ ‘Nothing at all. That’s the point.’ ‘Lise, it’s not going to be very relaxing - no air conditioning, no TV… there probably isn’t even a kettle or a toaster.’ ‘You can’t go a few weeks without a kettle and a toaster?’ ‘No, I can’t. I’m a modern man, in the morning I need my kettle and my toaster. And there’s no pool! Where did you even find this site, are you sure it’s not dodgy?’ ‘Franck, you’re just scared of it just being the two of us for three weeks, without our friends and their kids and their motorboats, not even neighbours to distract us.’ ‘If you’re looking for rest and relaxation, why don’t we go on a cruise, or trek through the desert. I get all kinds of promotions for that kind of thing in my inbox. Trust me, there’s plenty of other places in the world you could find your peace and quiet.’ ‘Because your idea of relaxing is planes and trips, and big groups. Being surrounded by other people, following a schedule, having a plan, that’s what you call a holiday?’ ‘Well anyway, your website says you need a 4x4 to get to the place. Look, it says there, ‘4x4 recommended.’’ ‘Ok, so we’ll rent one!’ ‘Lise, do you know how much it costs to rent one of those things?’ ‘Probably less than going on a cruise?’ The warnings about the path leading up to the house were unambiguous, and whilst Franck saw this as yet another reason not to take the house, for Lise it was further confirmation that she had found the perfect place. According to the description, the road leading up to the top of the hill was extremely steep and in poor condition, hence the need for a vehicle with a 4-wheel drive. To try and get a visual, Lise tried looking up the house on Google Earth. There was no postcode, just the name of the local area and she had to scroll over acres of emerald screen before she found the right place. This had to be the house, it seemed to be the only one for miles around. She could make out the now infamous path curving towards it. On a screen it was difficult to gauge how steep the path was, a winding pale streak twisting away from the main road that stood out from its emerald surroundings like a streak of chalk on a blackboard. Zooming out revealed vast green expanses of forest and hills but there were no other houses in sight. On the right hand side of the house, however, a flash of something sparkling caught their eye, a halo of light glittering in a dark patch of shadow. It could have been a ray of sunlight caught on camera or a reflective surface. Franck zoomed in to get a closer look, but all he could see was a white shape. ‘What do you think it is?’ He was already feeling oppressed by the prospect of three weeks in the middle of nowhere with nothing but trees and hills for company. ‘I think there’s something fishy about this website.’ ‘No, that bit of light over there, what do you think it is?’ ‘I don’t know, Lise, probably a mirror or something. Or a pool of water.’ ‘There you go, you can swim in that then!’ ‘At least check if there’s reception up there.’ ‘A reception?’ ‘Phone reception, Lise.’