LITMIR.BIZ

      Dedication

      Tales from the Wyrd Museum Trilogy

       The Woven Path The Raven’s Knot The Fatal Strand

      For Young Adult readers:

       Dancing Jax

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Dedication

      Prologue

      Chapter 1 - Out of the Blackout

      Chapter 2 - The Chamber of Nirinel

      Chapter 3 - Thought and Memory

      Chapter 4 - The Lord of the Dance

      Chapter 5 - Jam and Pancakes

      Chapter 6 - The Crow Doll

      Chapter 7 - In the Shadow of the Enemy

      Chapter 8 - Aidan

      Chapter 9 - Spectres and Aliens

      Chapter 10 - Valediction

      Chapter 11 - Deceit and Larceny

      Chapter 12 - Riding the Night

      Chapter 13 - Memory Forgotten

      Chapter 14 - Missing the Dawn

      Chapter 15 - Drowning in Legends

      Chapter 16 - Two Lost Souls

      Chapter 17 - Skögul

      Chapter 18 - Charred Embers

      Chapter 19 - Verdandi

      Chapter 20 - The Crimson Weft

      Chapter 21 - Hlökk

      Chapter 22 - The Tomb of the Hermit

      Chapter 23 - The Gathering

      Chapter 24 - Within the Frozen Pool

      Chapter 25 - Battle of the Thorn

      Chapter 26 - Dejected and Downcast

      Chapter 27 - The Property of Longinus

      Chapter 28 - Blood on the Tor

      Epilogue

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

      Prologue

       Five miles outside Glastonbury

       2.58 am

      Brindled with bitter, biting frost, the plough-churned soil of the Somerset levels was bare and black. Hammered upon winter’s icy forge, the earthen furrows were iron hard – unyielding as the great cold which flooded the moonless dark.

      Deep and chill were the silent shadows that filled those expansive fields. As sombre lakes of brooding gloom they appeared, pressing and pushing against the bordering hedgerows. Through those twisted, naked branches the unrelenting hoary darkness spilled and the night was drowned in a black, freezing murk that no glimmer of star could penetrate.

      Behind the invisible distant hills, shimmering bleakly upon the rim of the choking night, the pale glare of mankind was weak and dim – the countless faint, orange lights trembling in the frozen air.

      In that lonely hour, in the remote realm of the wild empty country, safely concealed by the untame dark, a sound – long banished from the world – disturbed the jet-vaulted heavens. Over unlit fields and solitary farm buildings, the noise of great wings travelled across the sky – free at last of the tethers that had kept them bound for so many ages.

      All creatures felt the presence of that awful force which coursed through the knifing cold. Upon the shadow-smothered ground, farm animals grew silent and afraid as the terror passed high above.

      Horror and dread spread across the dim landscape which separated Wells and Glastonbury. Owls refused to leave their barns and a fox, cantering leisurely homeward, suddenly flattened itself against the freezing ground when rumour of the unseen nightmare reached its sharp ears.

      Dragging its stomach over frost-covered furrows, its brush quivering in fright, the fox darted for cover – tearing in blind panic towards a thicket of hawthorn. It lay there panting feverishly – straining to catch the slightest sound upon the winter airs.

      But the unnatural clamour that had so alarmed the fox had already faded and a new, yet more familiar, noise was growing.

      Through the night a vehicle came, the faint rumble of its engine a welcome distraction from the fear that had so gripped the fox’s heart and yet it remained crouching beneath the hawthorn until daybreak.

      Over the icy road the car swept, the broad beams of its headlights scything through the dark veils in front – snatching brief, stark visions of hedge and ditch as they flashed by.

      Inside the vehicle the heater was finally blowing hot air through the vents and the toes of the driver and his passenger were thawing at last. Mellow music issued from the radio, colouring the dark journey home with a languid harmony, reflecting the relaxed and sleepy mood of the car’s occupants.

      Resting her head upon her husband’s shoulder, a pretty young woman murmured the few lyrics she remembered of the romantic song and sank a little lower in her seat.

      Her voice stopped as she felt him tense and she lifted her head in surprise.

      ‘Tom,’ she began. ‘What is it?’

      A frown had creased the man’s forehead and he hastily switched off the radio.

      ‘Ssshh!’ he said. ‘Hazel, did you hear that?’

      Disconcerted, the woman listened for a moment.

      ‘Sounds all right to me,’ she answered. ‘Probably something rattling around in the boot.’

      ‘I’m not talking about the car,’ he said sharply.

      ‘What then?’

      ‘Outside.’

      Hazel brushed the hair from her eyes and stared at him in astonishment. Her husband was doubled over the steering-wheel, gazing up through the windscreen at the pitch black sky, scanning it fearfully.

      ‘Tom,’ she ventured.

      ‘There isn’t anything.’

      ‘There is!’ he said emphatically. ‘Hazel, it was weird – sort of screaming.’

      She shifted on the seat and folded her arms as she began to look out of her window at the dark countryside passing by.

      ‘What...?’ she began nervously. ‘Like a person? That kind of screaming?’

      ‘There was more than one,’ came his muddling answer. ‘But it wasn’t quite human – it… it was weird.’

      ‘Oh, well,’ she breathed with relief, ‘if it wasn’t human...’

      The golden glow of Glastonbury’s street-lamps was now clear in the distance, with the majestic outline of the Tor rearing behind them – another ten minutes and she could be in bed.

      The

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