The Rules. Book 1; The End

By Jon Jacks

There’s something magic inside us all – and it’s trying to get out!

The rules of chance, even physical laws, are breaking down.
The time of magic is returning.
And Bethlehem Jones finds she’s sharing her body with Lynese, an unpredictable water-sprite entrapped within one of her ancestors in an ancient war.
Hell-bent on restarting that war, bigger, more powerful magical spirits are attempting to break free of their own human confinement.
Can Beth use Lynese’s powers without relinquishing her own control?
Or is untrustworthy Lynese her most dangerous foe of all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Jacks
• Release date: Sep 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301415571

Jon Jacks

While working in London as, first, an advertising Creative Director (the title in the U.S. is wildly different; the role involves both creating and overseeing all the creative work in an agency, meaning you’re second only to the Chairman/President) and then a screenwriter for Hollywood and TV, I moved out to an incredibly ancient house in the countryside.On the day we moved out, my then three-year-old daughter (my son was yet to be born) was entranced by the new house, but also upset that we had left behind all that was familiar to her.So, very quickly, my wife Julie and I laid out rugs and comfortable chairs around the huge fireplace so that it looked and felt more like our London home. We then left my daughter quietly reading a book while we went to the kitchen to prepare something to eat.Around fifteen minutes later, my daughter came into the kitchen, saying that she felt much better now ‘after talking to the boy’.‘Boy?’ we asked. ‘What boy?’‘The little boy; he’s been talking to me on the sofa while you were in here.’We rushed into the room, looking around.There wasn’t any boy there of course.‘There isn’t any little boy here,’ we said.‘Of course,’ my daughter replied. ‘He told me he wasn’t alive anymore. He lived here a long time ago.’A child’s wild imagination?Well, that’s what we thought at the time; but there were other strange things, other strange presences (but not really frightening ones) that happened over the years that made me think otherwise.And so I began to write the kind of stories that, well, are just a little unbelievable.

Book preview

Chapter 1

That was fifteen times that the flipped coin had come up tails, against only five heads.

That was fifteen times Beth had been slapped hard across the cheek by a grinning Donna.

‘It’s a trick coin! It’s weighted!’

Beth glared in wide-eyed dismay at the coin.

Donna had balanced it on her thumb once again, in preparation for another flip.

‘You think so?’

Donna smirked knowingly at her friends.

Holding back from flicking the coin, she clamped her free hand over it, keeping it in place.

‘So, you want to change your choice, eh? Heads you get a smack? Tails I slap myself in surprise?’

Donna lightly rubbed one side of the coin with her thumb.

The thumb tip darkened, as if she were wiping away years of accumulated dirt.

‘No, no! I want to finish this game now, please Donna.’

Beth didn’t want to give Donna the satisfaction of hearing her plead for mercy.

But she didn’t want to suffer more slaps to her sore, reddened cheeks either.

Her nose was already bleeding, the blood dripping down and staining her smart school blazer.

She gave a half-hearted struggle, hoping that Claris and Kate would loosen their painfully tight grip on her arms.

‘A game?’

Donna swapped wicked, knowing smirks with her friends once again.

‘This isn’t a game, Bedlam.’

Beth cringed.

She hated her nickname.

She’d had it ever since a lesson on Victorian London. Everyone had snickered when they heard that Bethlehem Hospital had given us the word ‘Bedlam’.

‘This is an experiment,’ Donna continued. ‘And you’re our guinea pig.’

Taking a felt-tip pen out of her blazer’s inner pocket, Donna began to draw a large eye on one side of the coin.

The darkened tip of her thumb was the same black of the pen’s ink, suggesting that she had wiped away a previous drawing.

Donna drew a triangle around the eye.

Then she turned the coin over.

The coin’s embossed head already had a large eye surrounded by a triangle drawn across it. On this side, Donna quickly added a few more lines inside the triangle.

‘Heads, it’s a slap!’ Donna blew on the ink to quickly to dry it. ‘Right Jonesy?’

Grabbing the back of Beth’s head, Claris forced her to vigorously nod.

The coin spun in the air.

It landed on the floor.

Heads.

Slap!

*

‘You’ve gone too far this time, Donna Howard!’

Even in her dazed, tearful state, Beth realised that help was suddenly at hand.

There was a sense of authority and anger in the voice of the person determinedly stomping towards them.

Heads had come up time after time, interspersed with remarkably few tails.

Beth had been slapped time after time.

Beth had tried not to cry. Tried not to give Donna, Claris and Kate the satisfaction of seeing they were finally getting to her.

But the slaps were hard. Her cheeks were smarting. Her skin stinging.

She felt humiliated, helpless, frustrated.

She couldn’t even free a hand from Claris and Kate’s firm grip.

She felt that it was all so unfair, too.

She had got herself into this by trying to rescue Georgina Jackson, their original victim.

As soon as Beth had managed to pull Georgina free of Claris and Kate’s grip, Georgina had ungratefully run off.

And now Claris and Kate held her in Georgina’s place.

‘Let Jones go now, Baxter, Dunn!’

As the burning grip on her arms finally loosened, Beth recognised the shrilly-commanding voice of Miss Hilary.

Through Beth’s tearful stare, the delicate sharpness of Miss Hilary’s face blended into her unflattering bob of mousey hair.

‘It’s only a game Miss,’ Donna brazenly protested. ‘Isn’t that right Beth?’

This was Donna’s usual explanation to any teacher catching her bullying.

The victim would always agree.

They feared a violent retribution later if they didn’t.

Miss Hilary wasn’t in the mood to wait for Beth’s answer.

‘Only a game, Howard? Look at her!’

Donna saw something entirely different to Miss Hilary.

Miss Hilary saw a girl near to sobbing. A girl with cheeks so red from being slapped that they glowed.

Donna saw the redness of the skin, but regretted that it hadn’t been enough to draw more pleas for mercy.

‘But Miss!’

Donna retorted petulantly, holding up the coin before Miss Hilary’s face.

‘Jones agreed that she’d slap me if tails came up. And I’d slap her if it was heads. Isn’t that right, girls?’

‘That’s right Miss!’ Claris and Kate blurted out together.

Miss Hilary was far from being an intimidating figure.

Her precariously thin body seemed incapable of supporting her head. The girls called her ‘the Praying Mantis’.

But she had a natural inclination to refer even the smallest matter to a higher authority, as befits a religious studies teacher.

 ‘Is that right Jones?’

For a moment, Miss Hilary latched her angry eyes onto Beth.

She suddenly turned on Donna.

‘Then can you explain, Howard, why Jones’s cheeks are so red? And why yours have hardly been touched?’

Donna’s cheeks were red, but only from the exertion of slapping Beth as hard as she could.

‘It was the coin Miss! It kept coming up heads so–’

‘Is this right Jones?’ Miss Hilary asked once again.

‘Well, yes, but…’

‘But nothing Jones! So you did agree to this stupid game!’

‘No Miss! I mean I–’

Before Beth could explain, Miss Hilary spun to face Donna once again.

‘I’m still not fooled Howard! Why were Baxter and Dunn holding her?’

Her penetrating gaze fell on the now nervously squirming girls.

‘Because she was refusing to go along with the rules miss! When heads kept coming up! She accused me of cheating miss! She said I was using a weighted coin.’

Miss Hilary held her hand out for the coin.

‘And is it weighted?’

‘Oh no Miss!’ Claris and Kate piped up together once again.

With an offended pout, Donna placed the coin in Miss Hilary’s open palm.

‘We let Jones change her choice halfway through, miss. She chose tails first!’

Miss Hilary tested the coin in her palm.

She twirled it between the fingers of her other hand.

‘Is that right Jones?’ Her tone was tersely critical. ‘Did you change your initial choice?’

 ‘Yes Miss,’ Beth answered resignedly.

‘I thought you had more sense than this Jones! All of you; you’re coming with me to–’

She faltered.

She was closely observing the coin for the first time.

‘What’s this?’

Her eyes were wide with anger. She whirled on Donna.

‘Did you say it always fell heads up?’

Donna swapped confused glances with Claris and Kate.

‘Yes…yes Miss.’

Donna spluttered hesitantly, amazed by the fury etched across Miss Hilary’s face.

‘Heads kept coming up–’

‘These symbols!’ Miss Hilary spat out the word with disgust. ‘Who drew them?’

She stared hard at the girls, but didn’t give them chance to reply.

‘Do you know what the symbols mean? Are you really saying God always loses out to the Devil?’

All the girls, including Beth, now looked at each other in confusion.

What was all this about God and the Devil?

Surely Miss Hilary was completely overreacting?

‘I…I don’t know what you mean Miss.’ Donna was uncharacteristically flustered. ‘My brother showed me the symbols. It’s a trick he learned in the pub–’

‘Trick? You call this a trick?’

Miss Hilary held up the coin as if it were the most damming evidence in a trial for murder.

‘It’s nothing serious Miss, it–’

Donna had made the mistake of smiling as she spoke.

Miss Hilary cut her short, her eyes blazing.

Her voice was a petrifying screech.

‘I think it’s very serious, Miss Howard! Very serious indeed!’

She gripped Donna’s arm.

‘The headmistress; yes! I think this is a matter for the headmistress! Come along with me now!’

Donna resisted Miss Hilary’s attempts to drag her away.

She squirmed, grimaced, leant back.

Miss Hilary pulled harder, catching the slightly smaller girl off balance. Forcing her to follow.

Everyone was astonished.

It was so unlike Miss Hilary to be so aggressive, so physical.

It was also an action that would undoubtedly lead to her dismissal.

It might even be the end of her career as a teacher.

‘Come on!’ she shrieked at the dumbfounded girls.

She shocked them into surly movement.

Miss Hilary tugged hard on Donna’s arm once again.

Sensing that she was losing respect in her friends’ eyes, Donna began leaning back, shuffling her feet lazily.

She was offering as much resistance as she dared.

‘You can’t treat Donna like that Miss!’ Claris snapped. ‘We’ll have the law on you–’

‘Yes, yes! The law Miss!’

Claris’s outburst had given Donna a renewed sense of self-righteousness.

A sense that she was being unfairly picked upon.

She wrenched back on her arm, almost breaking Miss Hilary’s grip.

‘Let go of me you old bag of bon–’

Grabbing Donna’s arm with both hands, Miss Hilary violently pulled her back.

With her free hand, Donna pushed brutally hard against Miss Hilary’s chest.

The push sent the surprised teacher stumbling back towards a high wall they were passing.

Miss Hilary struck the wall so hard, it forced the breath out of her.

Her grip on Donna’s arm instantly relaxed.

Donna flung herself aside, away from Miss Hilary’s reach.

Beth was the first to notice the cracks in the wall.

They spread out swiftly from the area of impact. They zigzagged higher and higher between the grey stones.

‘Look out Miss!’

Hearing the ominous cracking, Miss Hilary glanced back fearfully at the rapidly disintegrating wall.

She raised her arms, a vain attempt to protect her head from the first of the heavily falling blocks.

With a thunderous groan, the crumbling wall toppled forward.

And Miss Hilary disappeared beneath an avalanche of stones and powdered mortar.

*

Chapter 2

Beth toyed nervously with her new earring.

It still felt strange, even though it had joined a line-up of rings and charms dangling from her heavily pierced ear.

She was crouching as low as she could as she made her way through the field of yellowing wheat.

She was fully aware that her coal-black clothes were hardly perfect camouflage.

Still, she liked to think that it was a look that would have been appreciated by the people who had originally landscaped this area.

The way her dark makeup split her face into angled shapes.

The way she had braided her hair into (admittedly filthy) dreadlocks. Piled up high on her head.

Surely the prehistoric builders of Silbury Hill would have felt at ease with her?

Far more, surely, than they would with any of the archaeologists and engineers now tunnelling into the mound’s base?

For the moment, the archaeological team had retired to their encampment of Winnebagoes and caravans for their lunch.

But Silbury Hill was still closed off to unwanted victors. A tall wire fence had been erected around the huge, ancient pyramid of earth, ‘deterring fortune hunters and latter-day druids’ (as it had been reported in the local press).

‘It’s too dangerous Beth!’

Beth’s name broke up underneath a series of wracking coughs.

She spun angrily on Drek.

He was vainly attempting to silence his coughing, placing both hands firmly over his mouth. But it only seemed to make it worse.

The uncontrollable spasms went on for even longer than normal.

‘Go back Drek! It is dangerous, if you’re going to bring everyone down on us with your coughing!’

As soon as she had said it, Beth regretted it.

Drek couldn’t help coughing any more than she could help the violent headaches and weird dreams she suffered every night.

Back at the commune, Foley took away the drugs Drek had been prescribed.

Drek shouldn’t allow the capitalist world to taint him, Foley would say, pocketing the drugs. Everyone knew Foley sold the pills out on the streets.

But no one contradicted Foley.

Drek’s face creased in anguish, a mixture of disappointment and humiliation.

He pitifully stared at Beth through his broken spectacles. One lens had splintered and been repaired with nothing more than a sticking plaster, like some poor kid from a pre-war movie.

Drek could easily get himself a new pair, obviously, but he preferred it like this.

Beth was one of the few people who knew the plaster hid an eye as lifeless as those staring back at you from a fishmonger’s stall.

‘I’ll…I’ll head back then,’ Drek stammered.

Even so, his one good eye was wide and pleading. Pleading to be allowed to stay with Beth.

‘Okay Drek,’ Beth said. ‘You head back.’

Drek nodded sadly. He turned around.

He made his way back along the path of crushed wheat stalks as quietly as he could, muffling his coughing and keeping low.

Beth noticed the encrusted, green-tinged grime on the back of his dark clothes. An occupational hazard of the life they had chosen.

Is that why we’re called crusties? she wondered, not for the first time.

She thought of calling Drek back.

She thought better of it.

She wanted to see inside the hill.

*

Silbury Hill was thousands of years old, she had been told by various women at the commune.

A hill made entirely by man (and women!) using timbers and earth.

Religious ceremonies would have taken place around it. Ceremonies stretching out across Avebury’s fields into the vast circle of huge stones, standing or toppling like abruptly petrified giants.

According to the legends she had avidly read when younger, King Arthur’s magician Merlin had magically constructed Stonehenge within the blink of an eye.

Most of the commune’s women wanted to believe that such magic still hovered around ancient sites like this. The men, spending most of their time in a daze of strong lager, seemed to think the sudden appearance of food in front of them worked on similar magical principals.

There was a sharp rustling of the wheat off to Beth’s right.

‘Foal?’ Beth hissed. ‘Is that you girl?’

Foal was suddenly beside Beth’s side. Her tongue lolled around outside her mouth as she panted in excitement.

‘Well, it’s just us now, eh girl?’

Foal looked up into Beth’s eyes as if she understood.

Beth smiled, somehow reassured by the dachshund’s sharply intelligent face.

Foal was Foley’s dog. Beth found it hard to see anything about Foley that she could like, unless you counted Foal.

She had heard that Foley had called her Foal because it was like his own name. Because he had had her since she was a drenched little pup, fresh from her mother’s womb.

No one had dared say it was a stupid name for a dog. Even though most had thought it.

According to the commune’s more wicca inclined women, Foal would be a mother herself before two months were up. ‘It’s all there to be read in her waters,’ Geraldine had insisted mysteriously, patting her own growing lump.

Foal suddenly bounded away, rushing ahead of Beth.

‘Foal! Don’t rush off Foal!’

According to Foley, Foal was a special breed, ‘A Cloth-eared sausage dog – which is why she can’t hear any orders.’

Foal disappeared into the shrouding wheat.

*

Beth followed after Foal as quickly as she could.

As she had to keep her head low, that wasn’t very fast at all.

‘Foal! Come back here, you stupid dog!’ Beth hissed irritably.

She knew she was angrier with Foal than she should be.

But if she lost Foal, Foley would kick and beat her to within an inch of her life.

Foley fed Foal on little more than scraps. But he loaned her out on a fifty-fifty basis to anyone heading into town for a few hours begging, boasting that her sad little eyes could charm a quid or two out of the stingiest passer-by.

You didn’t have to do much wrong to find yourself on the end of Foley’s boot.

 ‘Foal, please come back here girl!’

Damn! Who’d believe a blooming sausage dog could run so fast?

*

Even as Beth neared the edges of the field, where the wheat thinned out enough for her to see the wire fence, she still hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Foal.

If Foal was still somewhere amongst all this wheat, it was bad enough; it could take Beth ages to find her.

It would be worse still, however, if the little dog had raced out into the area of stubbly grass running alongside the fence.

She might attract the attention of any archaeologist coming back early from lunch.

Lying down on the dried soil, Beth tentatively poked her head out past the stalks.

She carefully checked either way along the length of the fence.

Damn!

Foal was about a hundred yards from her.

And right by the base of the wire fencing.

And, as sausage dogs always seem inclined to do, she was digging away at the soil just beneath the fence.

*

Chapter 3

Foal was attacking the soil so eagerly she could have been uncovering a whole mammoth of juicy bones.

‘Foal! No!’

Beth cried out as quietly and yet as forcefully as she could manage.

If Foal heard Beth, she ignored her.

Having dug away more than enough soil, Foal scrambled beneath the fencing.

Coming out on the other side, she excitedly gambolled off towards the entrance carved into the side of the hill.

Oh no no no! Foley will kill me!

*

Earlier, Beth had wondered what she would do if she found a way into the fenced-off area.

Would she risk taking a look at the passageway rumoured to have been discovered there?

Now she had no choice.

She would have to follow Foal if she wanted to avoid a beating from Foley.

Worse still, he might even turn her over to the police.

Under Foley’s first-day interrogation (interrogation was the right word), Beth had insisted she was over sixteen.

Foley had smiled. Smiled like he didn’t believe her. Smiled like he knew she was underage underneath all that makeup.

Smiled knowing that, someday, if he waited for the right moment, he might be able to use that information to his advantage.

*

Beth slunk back into the shrouding wheat.

Crouching low, grumbling about her misfortune, she raced as quickly as she dared around the edges of the field.

Drawing closer towards the hole created by Foal.

‘Ah well! Here goes!’

Launching herself from the safety of the veiling wheat, she loped across the open space towards the fence.

She dived down towards Foal’s freshly dug hole.

She coughed and sputtered as she took in mouthfuls of dirt.

The wire fence was reasonably pliable.

She bent it upwards, as much as she could.

Then, telling herself that she would be in and out in no time, she squirmed through the hole.

*

‘Foal! Come back!’

Beth was furious now.

Now she was inside the wire, there was a good chance she would be seen.

Scrambling beneath the fence had also been a lot more difficult than she had expected.

The odd, sharp rock sticking up from the ground had painfully dug into her.

The straps and buckles on her jacket had caught on the wire.

Some straps had torn. The cheap buckles had bent and snapped.

But hey, looking on the bright side, it all added to her grunge look.

Foal had headed directly for the opening in the side of the hill.

Hearing Beth’s hissed cry, she halted in the opening.

She looked back with a turn of her head and a raised foreleg.

Then she disappeared into the tunnel.

No no no!

*

Chapter 4

Beth broke into a run.

She figured that if she ducked into the opening, she would at least be out of sight.

The archaeologists had only been here a few days. They had moved in after the heavy rain and strong winds of a storm had loosened and swiftly worn away some of the packed soil.

With any luck, they wouldn’t have had time to dig very deeply.

Didn’t they have to take special care, take things slowly, whenever they were excavating such important sites?

As soon as Foal found her way blocked, she would probably allow Beth to pick her up without too much trouble.

*

Beth’s heart sank as soon as she reached the entrance.

Yes, the area carefully excavated by the archaeologists barely extended beyond the hole created by the storm.

But the rumours had been true.

They had broken through into an already existing passageway, skilfully lined with stone slabs.

The angled slabs, their tops resting against each other, formed a low, triangular tunnel.

It sloped steeply, leading deeper into the earth.

Small electrically-powered lamps had been strung up along the tunnel’s sides, hanging like glowing baubles in a Christmas Grotto.

Clearly, the archaeologists had already explored the tunnel.

Some of them, excited by their discovery, might have decided to give lunch a miss; they might be down there right now, just waiting for Beth to suddenly appear amongst them.

Foal’s elated yapping echoed up towards Beth along the grey, triangular corridor.

If Foal hadn’t been Foley’s dog, if Foley hadn’t been as crazy as a rabid dog, Beth might have turned around.

She might have decided that she would just have to wait for the little sausage dog to make her own way back to the entrance.

But Foal was Foley’s dog.

And Foley would enjoy the irony of playing the concerned citizen, telling the police he thought Beth was a runaway.

So, ducking low beneath the sharply angled roof, Beth began to make her way down the sloping tunnel.

*

Chapter 5

As she ducked yet again to avoid one of the hanging lamps, Beth cursed herself for her stupidity.

Her stupidity for heading down the tunnel.

Her stupidity for putting herself in a position where Foley had so much power over her.

Yeah, Foley had guessed right that she had run away from home.

And if he ever got even an inkling about the court case, well, that would only give him an extra hold over her, wouldn’t it?

*

When you’ve got someone like Beth’s mum taking the stand to vouch for your good character, what chance have you got, eh?

Standing up in the courtroom with this crazily wide-eyed smile on her face.

Like she was doped-up with every drug available from down the town’s back alleys.

It didn’t help that mum was called Jerusalem.

It helped even less when mum tried to calm the sniggers by saying her own mum was called Nazareth.

‘It’s a family tradition. We use Biblical and religious names to keep away the bad spirits.’

Talk about a gift to the prosecution team.

‘Why would Beth do something crazy like killing Miss Hilary? Oh no, no, no. Not my little Bethlehem! You wouldn’t, would you Beth?’

She had eagerly, helpfully admitted that she was on medication.

‘Medication prescribed by the clinic! So, yes, I’m so much better now! Much, much calmer! Not at all like I used to be.’

Not that Beth had helped herself, of course.

All that about flipping the coin.

About the symbols that made it come up more regularly on one side than it did the other.

She couldn’t remember what the symbols looked like.

She had tried to draw them on a coin the prosecuting counsel offered her.

It came up heads as many times as it came up tails.

It made Beth look like a liar.

Donna, Claris and Kate had smiled smugly whenever they were asked about the ‘magical coin’.

They had never heard anything so crazy, they said.

Beth always made up ‘crazy little tales’. Beth had ‘acted crazily’, trying to violently pull away from Miss Hilary.

Miss Hilary, see, had insisted that Beth needed to see the headmistress.

‘No, we don’t know what it was about, sir. But we all saw Beth push Miss really hard against the old wall. Everyone knew that wall was dangerous.’

Fortunately, the school had its reputation to maintain.

The wall had been sound. ‘Completely safe,’ the headmistress had assured the court.

There was no way that Bethlehem Jones could have known it had been recently weakened by storm damage and water erosion.

It could only have been a totally unexpected and horrific accident.

‘It was just one of those strange incidents we can only put down to chance,’ the court had eventually decided.

‘The teacher was just somewhat unfortunate. She was pushed into a wall by Miss Jones at a time when it had been unexpectedly weakened, and by a rarely seen excess of water in the soil at that.’

Strange that, Beth thought as she followed the sounds of Foal’s excited (and curiously loud and booming) yapping.

It was water damage that had got her into trouble.

And now, having opened up Silbury Hill, it was going to get her into trouble all over again.

*

Beth was disappointed when the cramped tunnel finally opened up into a wide chamber.

She had been hoping that she would find herself in something like the interior of a pyramid. Full of priceless artefacts, neatly arranged around a golden sarcophagus.

Okay, so she realised this wasn’t Egypt.

But hadn’t she read at school about a huge burial chamber found somewhere else in England containing a priceless helmet and beautiful armour? Hadn’t there even been some kind of Viking longship buried with the king? Along with all the other things he would need to keep him safe in the afterlife?

But here – well, there was nothing here.

The chamber was empty.

Unless you included Foal, who was frantically digging a hole in in its very centre.

A hole!

Oh no! Now the archaeologists will know we’ve been in here! And they’ll accuse us of causing damage!

‘Foal! No! Stop that!’

For a moment, Beth thought she had been struck around the back of the head with a ridiculously heavy pillow.

Her cry had been amplified into a low, thunderous boom.

It reverberated again and again around the semi-spherical chamber, echoing off carefully carved slate walls.

Covering her ears, she dashed towards Foal.

Apparently unaffected by the noise, the little dog was continuing to ferociously dig deeper into the soil.

‘Fo–’

She cut herself short, fearing that she would once again start up the booming roar that was at last beginning to recede.

Besides, she was now staring in awe at the vast jewel Foal’s frantic digging had uncovered.

It reflected the dim glow of the lamps like a huge, frozen globule of fresh blood.

Beth guessed that it was almost perfectly spherical, but it was hard to tell.

It was mounted on top of a thick, leather-wrapped stem.

Beth dropped to her knees.

Like Foal, she began to frantically dig away at and pull aside the swiftly crumbling soil.

She had forgotten, for the moment, all thoughts of being discovered.

Forgotten all worries about being accused of causing damage.

She and Foal were gradually uncovering a sword.

A beautiful sword.

And it was embedded almost to the hilt in a huge block of stone.

What? No! That’s impossible!

‘The Sword in the Stone!’ she softly gasped.

*

Chapter 6

Beth knew it must be a joke.

It was impossible.

The Sword in the Stone was from old legends.

It had never, ever really existed.

Around where the sword’s blade disappeared into the stone, Beth’s digging was slowly uncovering words carved into the surface.

no form, yet form

In a frenzy now, Beth pulled more and more soil away.

She brushed aside the drier, sandier dirt falling across and obscuring the words.

Below those already uncovered, she could now read a few more words.

here before you.

English?

Would an ancient stone really have sentences carved in English?

Didn’t they use something called runes in those days?

Above the first words uncovered, she was now revealing part of another line.

for you to see

Nothing about ‘whomsoever draws this sword’ then, she thought with a mixture of both relief and disappointment.

But how many more words were there for her to expose?

She dragged the earth away from both sides of the first words she had uncovered.

I have no form, yet form all things

A riddle. It was a riddle, she was sure of it.

Suddenly, Foal stopped digging.

She spun around and looked directly towards the tunnel, her ears pricked.

Beth recognised the pose. Foal had heard something, and was about to yap out a warning.

‘Shhhhssssh Foal!’

Beth held up a finger in front of the little dog’s face as Foal inquisitively turned towards her.

Foal remained quiet. Beth sighed with relief.

It was the only thing Foley had successfully trained Foal to do; to stop barking or yapping as soon as a single finger was raised.

Every other command was based on hard slaps or sharp kicks. Not that Foley bothered too much what Foal did as long as it didn’t irritate him personally.

Beth heard voices. The casual conversation of people unhurriedly making their way down the tunnel.

Beth urgently looked about her.

Where was there to hide in a bare chamber like this?

*

Wait, what was that?

The shadows didn’t appear quite right. Like there was an indent or protrusion on the otherwise smooth wall.

The lamp hanging there was also faulty. So dim it was almost dead.

The voices were louder, closer.

‘Quick, over here Foal!’

Hurriedly picking up the little dog, Beth silently sprinted towards what she hoped was an oddly placed or disturbed slab.

With luck, it would stick out enough from the angled walls for her to hide behind.

Yes!

The slab projected out, if only for little more than an arm’s length.

But, if she crouched, and pressed herself hard up against the wall, the darker shadows towards the ground would probably keep her hidden for at least a few minutes.

But, she realised, those few minutes were all she had.

They would find her soon enough.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

*

They kept their voices low as they entered the chamber.

The