The Beast Within: A Circle Of Stones

By Christine Fykes

Young Bernadette has been chosen as The Maid of the village and must now venture forth upon the solstice night, into the dark woods where she shall spend the night within a circle of ancient stones. This is a journey she must make alone and from which she will never return. The myths and rituals tell of the sacrifice which must be made each year to protect the village. And then there are the rumors of The Beast, a great and powerful creature who emerges from the shadows of the dark woods, enters the circle of stones and stays the whole of the night to claim his prize. Bernadette can only guess at what lies in store for her within that circle of stones, but she is both determined and eager to find out.

Subsequent volumes in this series will be published very soon.

Thank you for your reviews.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirabilia Novum
• Release date: Dec 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311864628

Christine Fykes

I'm an old soul in a new writer's body. Feels good. I am thankful for my family, my friends and the kind people at Mirabilia Novum who are helping me bring my fantasies to you.I can sometimes be found on Twitter, Second Life, OSGrid and the Great Canadian Grid; but if I'm there it means I'm procrastinating from my writing, even though I like to call it "research".

Book preview

THE BEAST WITHIN

Circle Of Stones

by

Christine Fykes

Published by Mirabilia Novum at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Christine Fykes

Discover other Mirabilia Novum titles at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mirabilianovum

PROLOGUE

There was a time when the ages past and present met, when the old ways and new collided. There was a time when the old ways were observed in secret and the dark ways that kept the good folk safe were as cherished as the new that promised eternal salvation. The dark would come and go, as it always had, and for those who lived upon the land, or now in these changing times at least close enough to it, that fear of the dark perhaps lingering did drive even those most modern in thought back to the old times and the old ways. Crossing oneself before a sacred place, whistling whilst passing a graveyard, the tossing of salt over the shoulder and taking pause at the passing of a dark cat, all these and more though now mere superstitions were once held as truths, dire and potent. Oft times with good cause. The old ways held fast in many a good place and in just such a place as this our story is told.

1. SMALL TOWN

The cold dark winds whipped through the cobbled streets as a young woman made her way past the huddled homes in the center of the village to the town hall. The slate and thatch rooftops clung to the stone chimneys which thrust up into the dull sky above where the muted sun fell closer to the hills beyond. The terracotta tops to these chimneys ached and moaned with the passing winds, like a drunkard blowing across his empty bottle, singing dull harmonies of lament and want and expectation.

The young woman, Bernadette, paused on her journey through these streets to wrap her thick, dark woolen cloak closer about her and raised her gaze to the sighing rooftops. Her tangle of coarse dark red hair fell loose from the hooded cowl of her cloak, dancing around her pale face and wide blue eyes.

Such a night., she thought. Such a night for mischief.

Glancing to either side she saw the faces in the windows, mere glimpses as they darted out of sight, shadows and masks, here and there and then gone again, too afraid to step out and brave the cold, too afraid to partake of the task which lay before her, relying instead upon her good graces to shoulder the burden of their fears whilst they stayed safe and warm behind their closed doors, warmed by the fire, safe in each others arms, content to let another provide for them the security they so desperately embraced.

The village had existed at the edge of the woods, above the river that cascaded down to the sea for more generations than could be remembered. There had always been people living on that patch of rough land, content in their remoteness and determination. While the towns in the valley below grew prosperous, fat and happy; the people of the village remained aloof and secure in their small mindedness and their fear. It was the fear, mostly, that kept people there and kept the village small. There were limits and boundaries to everything. It would never do for the village to grow too large. The edges of the cliffs and the wall of the forest trees set the limits for where the people could safely reside. The idea of cutting into the woods for anything more than fuel from the edges was never a thought to enter the minds of the villagers. It just wasn't done.

The ideas and ways of the larger world beyond the valley found their way into the minds of the folk who lived along the river and down to the harbor by the sea but not in the village. The old ways were preserved here. Old songs, old stories kept the old ways alive and the seasonal rituals which tied them always tighter to the land were honored by the Elders. Longest days and longest nights, the coming of the rains and the winds, told the villagers when to plant and when to sow their meager harvests. It had always been thus. What need was there to change? The old ways protected the village and so the village in turn protected the old ways.

Bernadette tucked her wayward hair back beneath the cowl, pulled it up closer over her head and continued on her way to the town hall where the others awaited. So be it. This was her night. She was ready. Were they?

At the door of the hall Bernadette paused. She could just as easily turn and go back home. The world would not end, though others might fear otherwise. This longest night was