Mark Taggart and the Circle of Stones

By John Holland and Nicci Carrera

Australian twelve-year-old Mark Taggart can’t wait to finish his correspondence classes each day, so he can get out on the family cattle station to help his dad. But his life is changing and the future is threatened by a prolonged drought. His dad owes money to Bull Corcoran who is demanding payment. Not only is Mark’s family about to lose everything, he may never get a chance to visit a forbidden site on the land, a circle of stones that has drawn his imagination and curiosity for years. So Mark and his friend visit the site that marks a long-ago crime.

When they enter the area, the world drops away beneath their feet. They land in another world and learn they’ve been summoned to the Elemental Realm. This powerful place is under attack. Now Mark must lead an army against a darkly magical being and the beasts he controls to make it back home, save his family, and right an ancient crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Holland
• Release date: Jun 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463369197

John Holland

The author received a calling and anointing from the Lord to undertake a ministry of spiritual teaching. Following this call was a directive to engage in a Jonah type ministry of revealing to the Church her apostasies with a warning of oncoming judgement. A further anointing was received to discern the meaning of symbols and unveil the meaning of prophecies. This particular book started out to be a study, but was extended further by the Holy Spirit until it reached its current length. To see more of the author's work, see the Covenant Truth Christian website at(http://www.covenanttruth.com.au)

Book preview

Chapter One. The Circle of Stones

The circle of stones was off limits, but it pulled Mark Taggart to its side like a roped horse to a horse-breaker. The site was sacred to the Aboriginal people on their Australian cattle station, and Mark wanted to respect it the way Dad told him, but if he didn’t see it soon he might never get a chance.

The hot morning breeze dried his lips and made the yellow grass tremble as if in shared excitement. Slowing his trot, he took a deep breath, exhaled, found his rhythm. Ahead, was a low ridge of raw stone like the ancient backbones of dinosaurs bent beneath the weight of the sky. The ring of stones stood on a flat area near a flank of the hill. The wind died—the world fell silent.

He shouldn’t be here.

But no one is watching. I’ll be all right.

Movement on the ground caught his eye. Two red meat-ants locked jaws in a death grip. He squatted on his heels and watched their battle. Nature and the struggle for life…there would be no winner. Both would die. The world worked that way. There wasn’t always a winner and a loser.

Something glinted in the light. Mark reached past the meat ants, and his fist closed over the unyielding surface of an object. A searing heat shot up his arm. He tried to thrust it aside, but when he went to throw it, the object stayed in his hand.

The backs of his shoes connected with something hard. He tumbled backward and fell on his rump with a thud. His teeth snapped together, catching the inside of his cheek. Pain shot through his mouth and the taste of blood tinged his tongue. He had stepped into the circle to retrieve the object, then fallen backward over one of the stones that circled the sacred ring.

The burning in his hand reminded him of the strange object he gripped. Red light glowed between his clenched fingers. The object was bright as a hot ember and hot. Unlike an ember, Mark couldn’t drop this thing. He couldn’t get his fingers to open.

Something moved. He jerked his head but saw nothing. Then it happened again on the other side this time. Something big! He jolted from his position, ignoring the searing pain in his hand. The movement came from the left again, and Mark swung his head around to look, but again failed to catch the source of the motion. Glimpses of colors moved in waves: browns, blacks, bright reds, and glossy white.

The impression faded. What were these things visible only out of the corners of his eyes and gone when he stared at them straight on?

His heart ran like a scared rabbit into his throat and wouldn’t settle back below his ribs. His heel landed on another rock with a shock of pain that brought tears to his eyes. Then confusion blurred his vision. He was outside the circle of stones and had bumped into a big rock.

His alarm was all over nothing.

He turned toward home. He’d come to the circle and stepped inside. He achieved what he’d set out to do. His hand must have cramped or something so he couldn’t drop the object he’d picked up. Never mind, he wanted to take the thing home anyway.

Mark drew a deep breath and ambled away. It hadn’t been such a big deal. After all, the motion had been nothing. Just a strange effect of the hot day, except there was an overwhelming atmosphere of death.

A shriek pierced the air, startling him even as he winced in pain. The cry was so loud and high-pitched, a sharp pain struck his right ear, which faced the circle as he turned to look over his shoulder.

Ice crawled over his skin despite the heat. Whatever was back there, if he didn’t look now he’d never know what creature had let rip such an agonizing wail. He turned to look directly at the circle.

The forms he’d glimpsed before as wavy colors had taken solid form. Painted bodies of dead tribesmen swayed on bloated and bursting legs. Growing up in the bush, he knew the images of death. This was death. The glossy whites he’d detected before were eyes bulging white and gray like oysters. Swollen tongues lolled from mouths that might have been snarling or maybe trying to smile. The eyes were trained on him, and they were moving closer.

Mark whirled and ran. The terrible eyes scorched his back. His hand burned and his ear ached, but his feet flew over the ground. The homestead was still about a thousand meters away.

Aiming for the nearest building, Mark poured everything into his burning legs. When he reached the homestead, he slipped through the side door and ran straight to his room, throwing himself face down on his bed, still gripping the strange object.

No sounds followed him, but he dared not look out the window. The faces of the dead tribesmen might be hovering, waiting for him to look at them. Maybe it was a bad dream or he had imagined it?

As if answering his question, the object grew warm. This time, his fist relaxed. A small white carving shaped like a fish hook gleamed on the ruddy skin of his palm. He stared at it for a moment and pictured the dead tribesmen swaying in the circle. His stomach turned over as he leaped to his feet and set the hook in the trash can. He lay down and pulled the cover over his head.

When Mum called for dinner, he told her he was sick. His ear and his hand hurt but more than that. The images of the dead tribesmen wouldn’t go away.

Mum came into his room, worry lines etched around her eyes. She placed the back of her warm hand against his forehead. Well, you don’t have a fever, thank goodness. If anything, you feel cold. She pulled his covers up around his neck and gently patted them down. I’ll bring you some soup. Mum rose to go, pausing at the door and looking back at him. If you aren’t better tomorrow, we’ll radio the flying doctor and see what he thinks. She slipped out and closed the door quietly.

Shivering, he pulled the blankets around himself more tightly and tried to block the images from his mind.

Chapter Two. The Bone Hook

Pay me the money or get yourself and your family off my land.

Mark sat up in bed. That was Bull Corcoran’s voice. It sounded like the man was in his room talking. Heart racing, he switch on the light, expecting to see the man standing at the foot of his bed, but his room was empty.

Perhaps you’re forgetting, Bull. Mark’s father’s voice was scratchy and rough. This is my land. My name is the one on the title.

You pay or I foreclose. That’s how it works.

Mark didn’t like how Bull was talking to Dad. He paced his room, swiveling his head, trying to pinpoint the source of the conversation. Outside the window, the yard stood empty. Bull Corcoran’s utility truck was parked in the driveway, behind his dad’s.

The voices seemed to come from the desk. He stared down at the wood surface where the bone hook he’d found in the circle of stones gleamed.

If you want to go through the process of foreclosure, have at it. It’s up to you. It’s all the same in the end. This land is coming back to me. The sound of Bull’s voice came from the bone hook as though it flowed from a speaker.

The sound of boots on floorboards echoed through Mark’s room followed by the front door slamming. The relic had some kind of magical properties letting him hear what was happening in another part of the house.

A word, School, floated on the air. We’ll have to send the children away, his mother said.

Just need time, answered his father’s calm voice. Mark raised the hook to his good ear. The whispering stopped. Odd! Why did it stop? He lowered the hook and studied it, turning it between his fingers. Maybe he should keep this thing.

The whispering started again. He raised it to his right ear. His parents’ voices were as clear as though they were in his room. He could hear his parents from another part of the house from his right ear, the ear hurt by the scream at the circle of stones.

It might be best for him to go and live with Aunt Gabby, Mum said. Perhaps being alone so much has been bad for him.

No, it’s best for him to be with us, Dad said. As long as possible.

We have to start accepting it, Henry. A long pause followed Mum’s statement.

Then Dad said, I know. We won’t be able to make the next payment. Bull Corcoran has made about the best offer we can hope for now.

Yes, an offer that leaves us with nothing. Mum’s voice was harsh and bitter.

But without debt and with a fresh start.

"And no money to make a start with!"

We’ve done it before. We’ll do it again.

The girls are old enough now. Mum’s tone was thoughtful. Mark could picture her staring with her moody gray eyes. They will be fine with the Turners in Sydney. They already understand it will happen.

Mark can stay with us.

No. He needs to concentrate on school and he needs more socialization. It’s best to let him stay with Gabby for a while. Then we’ll fetch him when we have a roof over our heads.

Mum and Dad might not have a home? The crisis facing his family had been like distant storm clouds, a possible threat, but not immediate. The realization that they would lose everything including each other hit Mark like a category five cyclone, completely throwing him off his moorings.

Okay, Mum. Dad’s voice was low and defeated sounding.

The whispering stopped. Mark sank to his bed, studying the strange hook. The fine-grained bone had great power. To tell the truth, he feared the bone hook, but he’d keep the object close.

On his bedside table an old tobacco tin housed a collection of small treasures. A single crocodile tooth on a smooth leather strand he could wear as a pendant came from his oldest sister who had bought it for him on a trip to Darwin. He didn’t wear it much. Jewelry was for girls.

He undid the sterling silver clasp and slid the tooth off the leather strand, replacing it with the bone hook. The hole in the hook was smaller than the hole drilled through the crocodile tooth, but it fit the leather strap. Just. Mark put the loop of the leather strand over his head then checked that the pendant was hidden from sight under the collar and front of his shirt. He didn’t want to explain to anyone why the crocodile tooth had been replaced with a strange bone hook. The pendant would be his little secret.

Chapter Three. The Dare

Another week passed without rain. Great stretches of grassland on Rocklea lay barren. The cattle wandered farther in search of food. To Mark’s eye, they looked thinner and more skeletal than ever. Mum and Dad looked thinner too, and their faces bore new lines. His sisters weren’t willing to play games with him. Instead they always hurried to do their schoolwork, so they could help Mum with chores.

Laughter could sometimes still be heard in the house, but from the help, never from the Taggart family. Meals had become silent rituals to endure. Nobody mentioned what everyone in the family knew, their days at Rocklea were ending.

After the circle of stones, Mark tried to be good by studying his lessons, but he couldn’t concentrate. One thought with varied forms cycled through his mind. Had he waked the dead? Had the bloated figures he’d seen followed him to the homestead?

The decayed faces featured in Mark’s dreams. He also dreaded real-life trouble from the tribe if they discovered he’d gone to their sacred place. Every time he saw his father talking with one of the Aborigines, Mark’s heart would catch in his throat. Would Dad hear his son had gone to the sacred site and taken an artifact? Mark could have heard what the men were saying, but he no longer used the bone hook to listen, though he always wore it around his neck. He didn’t like eavesdropping.

Despite promising himself never to return to the circle of stones, after eight days of studying and staying close to the homestead, Mark had to get away from the stale sad atmosphere around the house. One day, when the house was quiet and the sun high in the sky, he headed out beyond the oleander hedges. The red soil and gibbers were fiercely hot. Good thing he’d put on his sandals. He’d never make it to the circle of stones barefoot.

A voice startled him from his fast walk. Bobby Gibbs, the son of the head stockman, sat alone in the shade of a whitewood tree. His mother was one of the Aboriginal Australian tribe who had lived on the land around Rocklea for generations. What are you doing out here Taggart? Maybe you’d better run home to Mummy? It’s too hot for soft boys like you to be out and about.

Bobby sure didn’t sound any friendlier than usual. He was the only kid Mark’s age in the area, but they weren’t friends.

He sauntered over to the boy, thrusting out his chest. I’m not so soft, Bobby. I’m just as tough as you.

Bobby snickered but said nothing.

Mark would show him he was hard and brave! I’m on my way to the circle of stones. If you’re so brave and tough, why not come along? Or are you too big a sissy?

Bobby crossed his arms and scowled, but his eyes were big and frightened. I can go anywhere you can go, Taggart. But I don’t want to waste time going anywhere with you. Run along home now!

Oh, okay, if you haven’t got the guts for it, stay here. See you later.

Mark turned and started walking toward the stones. He was still afraid, but he wanted to prove to Bobby he was braver.

Mark had gone only a few steps when Bobby was behind him, pulling on his shirt. When Mark turned, Bobby’s face was worried and no longer unfriendly.

That’s a real bad place, Taggart. My mother said there was a massacre and the bodies were burned in that place. Bad spirits might live there.

I want to see it. Mark looked at Bobby’s scared face and tried not to show his own fear. They looked into each other’s eyes as if each were judging the strength and resolve of the other. Unspoken words passed, and then they nodded at each other and slowly started walking together toward the circle.

White stones formed a circle standing about a meter out of the ground. They were probably sunk into the ground an equal amount. The circle had about fifty stones. This was an unusually large ceremonial circle, if that was what it actually was.

The air around and above the circle was hot and looked somehow different from how it should look. Heatwaves danced, adding phantom water above the shimmering horizon, but as they neared the circle, the air cleared and became still and quiet like the first time he had been here, and once again there was silence everywhere nearby. There was something different this time, though. Mark could sense no presence of death. No bloated bodies moved at the edge of his vision. Everything seemed pretty normal. A wave of relief eased the tension in his body. He sucked in a big lungful of the warm air and exhaled. The events had all been the dreams of an over-imaginative boy…never mind the lingering buzzing in his one ear. He must have convinced himself there was something magical about this place and then had a waking nightmare.

Mark and Bobby stood close together. Turning slowly, they checked out every part of the circle. Nothing seemed out of place. Then Mark closed his eyes for a moment. His stomach dropped and air rushed by his face. He opened his eyes and they stung and watered. The earth had vanished below his feet. His head tipped back. His arms wheeled, but instead of restoring his balance, they pulled his body backward and spun him like a towel in a dryer. Bobby fell right beside him, his long dark hair blowing straight up, his arms wheeling, hands grasping at nothing. Mark fought to ignore the turmoil of his senses and figure out how far they’d fallen. The time he fell out of the tree, he’d hit the ground a split second after he realized he was falling.

The wild plummet through space ended as suddenly as it had started. His feet landed as softly as two feathers. Mark gulped air, winded as though he had run here. Where ever here was. He and Bobby were still standing inside the circle of stones, but everything outside the circle was different. Then the world started spinning around them, faster and faster. Swirling clouds of vapor or gasses whirled around and above the circle. Only the circle seemed unchanged. It was as if they were in the eye of a cyclone.

Bobby screamed something at Mark, but the wind ate his words as they left his lips. Mark had a terrible feeling he was going to be sucked out of the circle, so he threw himself to the ground, grabbing Bobby’s hand to pull him down with him.

Chapter Four. The Elemental Realm

Near Mark, Bobby rolled onto his stomach. His hands clutched at the bare red soil. It was as if he were trying to reach through the soil to grasp the bedrock and anchor himself against the strange storm. Mark rolled over and lay near him, putting his hand across Bobby’s back, which was much broader than Mark expected it to be, though still bony. Mark’s own body felt strange, starting with severe discomfort around his waist. The elastic of the waistband on his shorts was biting into his middle. When he pushed himself up, his arms and chest flexed with unusual strength, and his body was heavy. A breeze brushed the skin on his back.

Mark reached behind his back with one hand, working his fingers up under his shirt. The soft t-shirt material was torn apart. He tried to hold it together as he looked down at his clothes. His shorts were too small, and his shirt was a foot and a half shorter than it should be on his body. His