A Far Better Thing

By Thomas Brand

Could you do what it takes to keep humanity safe? Even if it means condemning yourself to Hell for all eternity?

In 1630, Elizabeth Burford watches as an innocent girl is put to death. A death Elizabeth helped make happen.
In 1950, Elizabeth Burford runs for her life, pursued by a man she once called her brother. A man who died over a year ago.

Elizabeth is part of the Circle, a group that believes they must find and sacrifice innocent souls for a ritual that keeps the Devil bound in Hell. They live set apart from the world, knowing that no one outside their number could ever understand the necessity of what they do. No matter how horrific their actions, the alternative means the death of everything.
But when one of their number turns against them, Elizabeth must confront the possibility that everything the Circle believes is a lie. And if that is the case, how can she possibly face the terrible things she has done in the name of something she no longer believes in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Brand
• Release date: Feb 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224591992

Thomas Brand

Thomas H. Brand is a professional author and ghostwriter who grew up in Hampshire in a world before the internet in a home filled with more books than he was able to read in one childhood. Although not for lack of trying.After moving to London, he realised that the city had quickly seeped into his blood, and he was there to stay. He now proudly lives in north London.He has three books available to buy now in ebook and paperback. He also provides services as a freelance ghostwriter.

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Copyright © 2023 Thomas H. Brand

Thomas H. Brand has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-7392366-2-5

Visit www.thomashbrand.com for more information

Content Warnings:

Murder, suicide, suicidal ideation, racial violence

Also available from the author

Fiction

The Serpent’s Eye

The Æther Collection

Non-Fiction

A Basic Guide to Ethical Non-Monogamy

To Rebecca and Emily

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known.

- Charles Dickens - A Tale of Two Cities

There’s no certainty in this, Baruk. That seems a fact particularly galling to you humans.

- Steven Erikson, Gardens of the Moon

CHAPTER ONE

Arrivals

1630 - MARCH

320 years ago…

The villagers gathered at dawn. None of them spoke as they bunched together under the slate grey sky. Yesterday it had seemed every single one of them needed their voice to be heard. Each of them had been desperate to be seen to be a vital part of the decision. But the hours of darkness had cooled fiery rhetoric, leaving only cold determination to face the cold light of day. 

The wind had gusted bitterly when Elizabeth and the other had left the hut, tugging on her cloak as if trying to hold her back. Now the air was still. 

The world held its breath as it waited for an innocent child to die.  

Once the village had gathered, Oliver called out a short prayer before leading the small crowd toward the barn. Elizabeth stayed back with William, Mary, and Charlotte. Their roles had been played, and now, William told her, it was better to stay back and let the villagers do the deed themselves. That way, each of them would share in the guilt. There was a point, he had told her, where the human mind would rather carry on blindly with those around them than stop and question how they had allowed themselves to reach the point of no return. 

Was this what had happened to her? Did she really want this, or had she simply reached a point where she felt it too late to stand up to the four of them and their macabre intentions? 

As if he somehow knew her thoughts, William spoke. 

This is your final chance. Now is the time to denounce us. Refute our work. To save your own soul.

He kept his voice low, never once taking his gaze from the scene before them. 

Elizabeth shook her head. She wanted to respond, but the pit in her stomach swallowed any words she might have said. 

In a few moments, it will be too late, he continued. Your soul will be damned, and your life will be bound with ours.

Elizabeth looked up at him. Tall and hard, his craggy face could have been carved from stone. She opened her mouth, wanting to show herself brave enough to at least say something, but no sound came. What in God's name could she possibly say? 

William gave a small grunt, acknowledging her silent response. She turned back to the scene playing out before them. 

The entire village had turned out, yet the gathered crowd was not large. Even calling this place a village was generous, being little more than several farms working the land and the nearby forest, brought together by the location of their church. A place where each inhabitant would know all others from birth until death. Which only made it more depressing how easy it had been to convince them of the girl's guilt. A child of barely thirteen years, one they had watched grow from a babe, then convicted and sentenced to death at the urging of five strangers. 

No. Not quite the entire village. Elizabeth realised she could not see the girl's family in the crowd. They, at least, had possessed the dignity to stay away. Or perhaps feared the shame. Elizabeth could still feel the disgust she had felt when they had so quickly turned against their own daughter. It burned in her belly. How quickly they had given in to the fear that the accusations against her might spread to them. They had severed her from their family like an infected limb. 

But then, Elizabeth knew all about a family choosing their standing over their daughter. 

Over the heads of the crowd, she saw Oliver indicate two men to enter the barn. After a few moments, they emerged, carrying Evelyn Carter between them. 

Evelyn wore nothing but the plain shift and cap she had been stripped down to last night. Her bare legs and arms were skinny and pale. Perhaps this had been why her parents had been prepared to let her go. Would they have been more forthright had Evelyn been of more hearty stock? Tear tracks ran down the dirt on her face as she stumbled forward. They had given her a night to pray and accept her fate, and it was clear she had found no solace. Why did she not scream? Or plead for mercy? Somehow, that made it worse. Could she not have at least struggled? Fought the grasp of the men holding her? Anything other than simply sweeping her gaze across the crowd, silently entreating for aid she had to know would not come. 

The village had no gallows. Instead, they dragged the girl a little way out to where a broad oak tree stood. A rope had already been hung from one branch, and a cart moved into place beneath. 

Only once Oliver had directed the men to haul Evelyn onto the cart and place the noose around her neck did the jeering finally begin. Elizabeth had attended hangings before, of course. There was always jeering. But those had been the just executions of men and women caught and convicted for crimes they had chosen to commit. She had hoped that here it would be different. That the crowd would be somehow cowed. Even if they could not know the truth, the cruel necessity of what they did, could not some part of their souls sense the solemnity? Could they not find it within themselves to give poor Evelyn Carter that small mercy of a dignified death? Yet the moment the rope had been placed around her neck, it seemed as if the girl had been transformed from the child they had known from birth into the unholy sinner the Circle had made her out to be. 

Do not hate them, William did not raise his voice. Let them believe this act to be one of righteous duty. Give them the blessing of believing they serve what is good and right under the eyes of God. The burden of the truth is ours. This Sacrifice is ours. Let their ignorance be a blessing they will never know were given. 

How can they allow it? They who have known the child her whole life. 

Mankind craves protection, and the illusion of security comes best from casting out that which has been deemed evil by those around you. It matters not if that evil is real or imagined. Once the seed is planted in the minds of man or woman, it grows faster than it can ever be cut out. 

Evelyn Carter! Oliver's voice rang out from where he stood by the cart, bible in hand. His was the kind of voice that could cut through any conversation and hold any audience in its thrall. It had been he who had taken the lead during the so-called trial, despite William being the Elder. In contrast to William's craggy appearance, Oliver's face was rounded and full. The kind of fullness that gave the appearance of strength rather than softness. Thou hast been charged, tried, and convicted of the most heinous crime of witchcraft. Evidence has been heard against thee, and judgment placed upon thee in the name of holy God. Now in the sight of God, and those thou have wronged by thy wicked and Devilish compact, thou shalt be hanged until dead, and thy body burned so that its tainted flesh may no longer corrupt the grace and bounty of God's earth. May God in all his grace have mercy on thy soul. 

Oliver's words had quieted the jeering of the small community. When he had finished, the only sound was that of Evelyn's quiet sobbing. 

Are you sure, Elizabeth? William's eyes were locked on the sight ahead of them. You can speak out. You cannot stop the tide, but you can free yourself of it and turn from your own damnation. 

Elizabeth swallowed. This was the moment. She knew what was coming. She had known for weeks, long before they had come here, that she would eventually have to face the death of an innocent soul. She looked at two other women with them. Mary's face was resolute, neither fear nor acceptance playing on her features. You could have thought her engaged with a task no different than any other. Charlotte stood with her gaze aimed upon the ground. It was clear their task weighed heavily on her shoulders. Elizabeth could only pray that the pain of the next few moments would be easier than the anxiety in Charlotte's eyes promised. 

Her throat tightened. She had known, theoretically, what this day meant for her. But now that she stood before the final test, it was as if she could feel the Devil's fingers entwining around her soul, ready to clasp her to his chest for all eternity. She would thwart him today and many days to come, but he was eternal. He knew that eventually he would have both her soul and the whole of eternity to take his revenge. 

She only hoped she would do enough good before that day came to make it all worth it. 

When she looked back, William had finally turned away from the scene ahead to look down at her. The intensity of his gaze pinned her to the spot. She had thought them cold before, but now she saw the truth. William's eyes were hard, yes, but not cold. There was a fire burning deep within them, so focused that it almost did not seem like fire at all. A heat and power so intense as to be invisible until it turned itself upon you. 

She knew this was the point of no return. She also knew that if she did decide to turn on the Circle, they would take no action against her. The choice to join them had to be hers and hers alone. Any act of coercion tainted the entire process. None could join the Circle against their will. There would be no retaliation should she step back from the breach. Only disappointment. 

But at what cost to the world if she did? 

She nodded. Yes. I am sure. 

Charlotte took her hand. Was her own skin so cold? 

Ahead of them, Oliver stood back and nodded. A whip was raised. Its crack sounded, and the oxen jerked forward.  

Elizabeth began to feel a heaviness building within her, sharp and painful. Both Mary and Charlotte winced as if they too felt the same sensation. A small intake of breath was the only indication William gave of any effect. 

All four of them stared at Evelyn now. That was part of it. Never look away. Face that which you cannot bear to face. The Sacrifice had to be witnessed. 

Even had they not told her it was required, Elizabeth would not have been able to look away. 

There was the snap of the rope pulling taut. Then silence. 

In an instant, the heaviness in Elizabeth's heart condensed into a point of pressure greater than she could have ever imagined experiencing. A crushing weight fell upon her shoulders, while at the same time, a burning needle pierced the centre of her being. As this single agonising moment stretched out into an eternity, she felt something inside her warp and shift, creating a void within her heart. An emptiness that should not have existed. But before she could probe this new sensation, the weight on her shoulders began to pour within her, filling her with pure, agonising terror.  

Catherine's hand clenched around hers. It was all Elizabeth could do to hold herself upright. 

Oh, sweet Jesus, she exclaimed, her free hand clasping her chest. 

Do not invoke His name. William's voice was taut as a bowstring, but other than that, he gave no indication of what he, too, must be experiencing. There is no true sacrifice if you hold any hope of redemption. There is no hope for any of us. We shall receive neither gratitude nor salvation.  

As the young girl's body swung lifeless from the rope, Elizabeth finally managed to look away, shutting her eyes to banish the scene from her mind. Yet it did no good. The scene she had just witnessed was burned into her mind. The colours, smells, sounds, and sensations would surely remain with her for the rest of her days. 

It was done. Evelyn Carter had gone to her undeserved death, and Elizabeth Burford was damned to Hell.

1950 - November

Last night…

Elizabeth turned the car off the road and onto the dirt track. The cottage loomed up ahead of them, its silhouette standing out against the evening sky from atop the low hill. Seeing it now, it felt far too conspicuous. Couldn't she have picked somewhere that wasn't so obvious from the road?

Not that hiding would be anything more than useless against the man from whom they were running. Not when he always knew where Elizabeth was.

The cold weather had taken hold of the world, hardening the earth into deep, uneven ruts. Every attempt at avoiding one pothole simply found another. The cheap car she had acquired was in no way suitable for this ground, and they could not afford to get stranded here. All she could do was grip the steering wheel as the car rattled down the track, hoping to avoid any damage.

With every jolt, Kate gave a startled hiss of pain.

Elizabeth winced. Sorry. We're almost there.

I'm fine.

The voice from the backseat was strained. The wound wasn't deep. Even for someone outside the Circle, it would not have been life-threatening. But as quickly as it would heal, nothing stopped it from hurting like any stab wound. Kate had never been one to complain, but if there was one thing Elizabeth had learned in the last three centuries, it was the signs of someone hiding their pain.

Slowing the car, Elizabeth did her best to avoid any more ruts as she pulled up in front of the cottage. The ground here, at least, was flat and hard-packed, smoothed by the years and the tread of previous inhabitants. Pulling up outside the single-story farm cottage, she shut off the engine and peered around the courtyard. The windows were dark. The doors shut. Nothing appeared to have changed.

Wait here.

Stepping out of the car, she looked around, hunting for some sign someone had got here before them. The air was still. But was it the stillness of isolation or of something waiting to pounce? Turning back, she looked back along the path, half expecting to see him silhouetted in the gateway or marching up the track. But there was nothing. He hadn't followed them, and there was no way he could have gotten here before them. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to put anything past him. It shouldn't have been possible for him to be in Nicole Armstrong's kitchen, either.

Not when he had been dead for over a year.

The sun had set, but light enough remained to see. She checked the front door, lifting the handle and pulling as gently as she could. It rattled softly, still locked. She froze, waiting for the sound of someone moving inside. After a few moments, she moved around to check the windows. None of them was open.

She had to stop worrying. There would be time to think about everything later. As much as she hated acting without planning, there was little she could do about that now. Her responsibilities were in the car.

Walking back, she pulled open the door and reached inside. Carefully, she and Zachary together did their best to manoeuvre Kate out.

I can walk. I'm fine, Kate insisted. Yet she couldn't prevent a hiss escaping her lips as she bent to fit through the door, and when she stood up, Elizabeth could clearly see a sheen of sweat on her face, even in the low light.

Shush. Let us get you inside.

Zachary pulled Kate's arm over his shoulder, taking her weight and allowing Elizabeth to unlock the front door. Doing so unleashed no surprise attacks. As they made their way through to the kitchen, they uncovered no shadowy figure lurking in the darkness.

They lowered Kate into the chair by the stove, and Zachary busied himself with the oil lamp. The house had no electricity. Not this far out in the country.

Zachary. The curtains, Elizabeth hissed as the low light filled the room. She knew whispering was foolish. No one was here, and even if they were, keeping her voice down wouldn't have made any difference. The cottage was so small anyone inside would have noticed their arrival. Right now, they were either safe or they were not.

Zachary obediently went to the windows, pulling the curtains closed. Next, he bent over the stove, adding fuel and coaxing it to life as Elizabeth moved the lantern to finally take a proper look at Kate's wound. Gently moving the cloth Kate had been holding to her side, Elizabeth frowned when she saw the cut was deeper than she'd originally thought. But it was clean and neat, and the blood flow had already slowed. Kate had been lucky. He had missed anything vital and left a wound that would easily heal.

A wadded towel worked for padding, with a bandage from the convenient first aid kit Zachary found in one cupboard wrapped around to hold it in place. More than enough for one of the Circle. By the time they left this place in a couple of days, all that would remain would be a scar.

There wasn't much food left. They hadn't expected to need to eat before the Ritual. But half of a loaf of bread and some butter meant they at least wouldn't go hungry tonight, and a search of the cupboards uncovered a half-full bottle of cheap whiskey.

Elizabeth looked at the other two. We shall stay in here tonight. It shall be easier to warm one room. And easier to get out quickly if they needed to. Zachary, please fetch all the blankets you can find. We can make up beds by the stove. I'm going to move the car.

Outside, the air was thick with the promise of winter. The pregnant clouds that had been sweeping in from the horizon all afternoon now hovered above, promising early snow before morning. Would that help or hinder them? Cover their tracks, or trap them here?

The car didn't want to start, but she got it going on the third try. She manoeuvred it so that it faced directly down the driveway and parked as close as possible to the cottage's front door. She didn't want to think about the possibility of needing to get Kate into the car and away quickly if he found them, but it was foolish not to prepare. They should put some blankets in there, just in case. If they had to run again before the morning, there was no guarantee they'd find anywhere else to sleep but the car.

Caution was a hard habit to break after four centuries, and Elizabeth hated the feeling of not being in control of the situation.

She should never have come back here. It was too close. Even if she had thought he was dead, there was a reason the Circle never returned anywhere they had been before.

Before going back inside, Elizabeth looked out across the fields. Placing her hand on her chest, she felt the familiar, dull weight. The Pull remained, that ever-increasing pressure bearing down on her head and shoulders. The unnatural vice under her skin. She had left it too long. Allowed her grief to consume her. With the Sacrifice interrupted it would continue to grow, making it harder and harder to think clearly.

How in God's name had Samuel found them? He and Matthew had died together over a year ago, as she and Kate had fled. How was it possible for either one to have survived? And, having survived, how had he managed to stay hidden from her?

If she concentrated, she could almost feel something. An echo of the Thread that had bound them for so long. The same Thread that currently told her exactly where Kate sat now and would continue to do so no matter how far apart they were.

The Thread that had bound her to the Circle for over four hundred years.

CHAPTER TWO

Awakenings

1630 - MARCH

320 years ago…

The pain that engulfed her was almost unbearable. With every heartbeat, it pulsed with overwhelming sensation; fear, helplessness, sadness, resentment, anger, swamping her thoughts and feelings until she could no longer tell where her own emotions ended and those that had been forced upon her began.  

Eventually, the flow subsided, leaving her with the sheer sense of enormity that had settled within her. Heavy. Dull. Painful. They had told her what she should expect, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer sense of scope. The agony and confusion that had stretched her soul taut, gouging