A race of beings called the Bruwnan, who, having reached the limits of what was technically possible in the universe, moved beyond it and into a set of dimensions of their own creation. Here, beyond the physical limitations of normal space time they created a virtual city called Valheel which was constructed on the inside of a sphere. For more than half the age of the universe the immortal occupants of Valheel refined the arts and sciences of the physical universe they had left behind. But how many times can you rehash a form of art? How does the mathematical rephrasing of Euclidian physics change the nature of it? Half the age of the universe is a long time to be bored. Amantarra couldn't honestly put a finger on when she realised that something was wrong, the problem had been masked by the general lethargy that had descended on the city. Valheel had become a city of immortals that felt dead. Her father was the first to voice his concern; "people are disappearing" he confided to his two daughters. The Bruwnan were unaware of it, but they were at war with an unknown enemy. Three hundred thousand years before this story starts, Saranythia, Amantarra's sister, had set out to do something about it. She was never heard from again. Now it was Amantarra's turn, but despite her best efforts the battle follows her to Earth where she is forced into hiding. It's in a small town in England that an unsuspecting John Godbert suddenly finds himself caught up in a war that is older than the human race. Not only is he caught up in it, he is the key to the survival of two species, human and Bruwnan.
About the Author: When I was a teenager I was fairly skilled at drawing. I produced some good pencil images which sadly have now been lost. There was a drawing of an engine from a Rolls Royce Camargue. It was large, and the shading of it used up three pencils. I remember the hours I spent on its production during the summer holidays, and the music I listened to as I worked. I was destined to go to Art College, but family circumstances meant that I never got there. Instead, I finished up getting a job. My working career started in Architecture, where with ink stained fingers and an adjustable setsquare I turned the architect's concepts into technical drawings. Eventually the drawing boards were abandoned in favour of computers, which led me to forge a career using the dark arts of information technology. The technical world in which I found myself doesn't really cater for artists, and for a long time I didn't do anything creative. The artist in me had been well and truly suppressed. Suppressed, but not forgotten, and certainly not gone. There was still a thread that connected us together. The artist called to me from the wilderness, whispering in my ear, subtlety altering my perception of things. He fed my mind when it needed to escape the tedium that work can sometimes be. Reading was the thread that bound us, and I don't remember a time when I haven't had at least one book on the go. Sometimes though, reading isn't enough. There wasn't a specific point when I decided to write a novel. There was no revelation moment. One day I just started writing about how I had received the silver watch mentioned in Amantarra. I then attached a fantasy aspect to the gift, which led to the birth of Valheel, the creation of Elleria, Amantarra, and a puzzle surrounding all of them. The artist had escaped. Several months after I published Amantarra on Kindle, I met someone I hadn't seen for thirty years. He was a friend of my father's and I've known him since I was four. At some point in the conversation I told him I was a published author. "You haven't changed," was his comment. He seemed disappointed that I still retained some aspects from my childhood. Things that he thought I should have grown out of. Quite what he was expecting me to have become I don't know, but I make no apologies for disappointing him. I have never lost my fascination with the imagery that good story invokes. I hope I never will.