reached the centre of the labyrinth. The elderberry wine and potion had effectively paralysed Yul. He showed no more signs of life than the other four bodies, except for his eyes. As his sled lurched along its tortuous path, his beautiful grey eyes were once again wild and dilated, darting around to watch terrors both real and imagined. At last his sled entered the area in the centre and he was pulled around to face the pyre.
Seated on the top was a gruesome figure; a crone dressed in shreds of grey rag that hung from her sagging body. Her wiry hair sprang madly from her skull in long grey skeins. She wore no mask, but white unguent of some sort had been rubbed into her skin which gave her a cadaverous look and accentuated the wrinkles and seams that furrowed her face. Her toothless mouth was a cavernous hole, her eye-sockets pools of shadow. She held a lantern on her lap which shone up into her hideous face, creating macabre shadows. She cackled as Yul was turned to face her, and even in his hallucinatory state he recognised the evil laughter of Old Violet.
Magus, Jackdaw, another hag and a crow-masked figure stepped forward, and Jackdaw, who now wore a death mask, climbed the wooden steps to the flat summit of the pyre. He stood behindthe crone, enormous and dark, his arms raised, whilst Magus, the hag and the crow man began to slowly circle the centre around the sleds and pyre, chanting to the drum beat. It was very dark, for there was no extra light and the torches on the stones only lit their immediate area. The cold was intensifying as the night grew later and mist curled in wisps just above the ground, glowing red above the tiny lights.
‘You’ve completed the Dance of Death,’ intoned Magus, ‘and reached the Gateway to the Otherworld. The dead await, peering through the veil to see who approaches. They are beckoning, inviting you to join them. Death is merely a rebirth into another world and now is the time to let go your hold on this life and move on to the next.’
He paused, looking up at the sinister figures of Jackdaw and the old woman on the pyre.
‘It is almost the hour of midnight. The old year is dying, the new one beginning, and the Dark Angel draws near. He alone will decide who accompanies him to the Otherworld. The Dark Angel alone will choose. Now is the time for the living to leave this circle and return to their realm. Bearers, depart!’
The bearers left the centre in single file and wended their way back around the path of the labyrinth. Finally they arrived at the edge of the Stone Circle, joining up with the others there – the drummers, singers and a few relatives of the dying people. Someone in robes started to organise a procession back down along the Long Walk as it was the custom to leave Magus and a couple of acolytes up in the Circle, alone with the dying. Nobody wanted to be in the Stone Labyrinth at midnight for the summoning. There were whispered tales of things that had happened over the years, and nobody wished to encounter the Dark Angel and look him in the eye.
Magus and the attendants who’d remained in the centre all now stood on the pyre platform. Yul could see the five of them clearly from where he lay helpless, hallucinating and in a state of terror. They seemed huge and grotesque so high up above him.
‘By the power of the sacred Stone Circle and the wisdom of thedark birds, I summon the Dark Angel to the portals of this world!’ called the crow-masked man, and Yul recognised Martin’s voice.
‘As the Crone of Samhain, I call on the Dark Angel as the veil stretches thin!’ cried Violet, her withered arms upraised and face hideous with excitement. ‘We summon you now to this Stone Labyrinth. We ask you to take these souls with you tonight to the Otherworld.’
‘These five are ready and they await your presence this Samhain,’ said Martin, his robe flapping like wings as he moved his arms. His beak nodded upwards repeatedly in exactly the movement of a
Seated on the top was a gruesome figure; a crone dressed in shreds of grey rag that hung from her sagging body. Her wiry hair sprang madly from her skull in long grey skeins. She wore no mask, but white unguent of some sort had been rubbed into her skin which gave her a cadaverous look and accentuated the wrinkles and seams that furrowed her face. Her toothless mouth was a cavernous hole, her eye-sockets pools of shadow. She held a lantern on her lap which shone up into her hideous face, creating macabre shadows. She cackled as Yul was turned to face her, and even in his hallucinatory state he recognised the evil laughter of Old Violet.
Magus, Jackdaw, another hag and a crow-masked figure stepped forward, and Jackdaw, who now wore a death mask, climbed the wooden steps to the flat summit of the pyre. He stood behindthe crone, enormous and dark, his arms raised, whilst Magus, the hag and the crow man began to slowly circle the centre around the sleds and pyre, chanting to the drum beat. It was very dark, for there was no extra light and the torches on the stones only lit their immediate area. The cold was intensifying as the night grew later and mist curled in wisps just above the ground, glowing red above the tiny lights.
‘You’ve completed the Dance of Death,’ intoned Magus, ‘and reached the Gateway to the Otherworld. The dead await, peering through the veil to see who approaches. They are beckoning, inviting you to join them. Death is merely a rebirth into another world and now is the time to let go your hold on this life and move on to the next.’
He paused, looking up at the sinister figures of Jackdaw and the old woman on the pyre.
‘It is almost the hour of midnight. The old year is dying, the new one beginning, and the Dark Angel draws near. He alone will decide who accompanies him to the Otherworld. The Dark Angel alone will choose. Now is the time for the living to leave this circle and return to their realm. Bearers, depart!’
The bearers left the centre in single file and wended their way back around the path of the labyrinth. Finally they arrived at the edge of the Stone Circle, joining up with the others there – the drummers, singers and a few relatives of the dying people. Someone in robes started to organise a procession back down along the Long Walk as it was the custom to leave Magus and a couple of acolytes up in the Circle, alone with the dying. Nobody wanted to be in the Stone Labyrinth at midnight for the summoning. There were whispered tales of things that had happened over the years, and nobody wished to encounter the Dark Angel and look him in the eye.
Magus and the attendants who’d remained in the centre all now stood on the pyre platform. Yul could see the five of them clearly from where he lay helpless, hallucinating and in a state of terror. They seemed huge and grotesque so high up above him.
‘By the power of the sacred Stone Circle and the wisdom of thedark birds, I summon the Dark Angel to the portals of this world!’ called the crow-masked man, and Yul recognised Martin’s voice.
‘As the Crone of Samhain, I call on the Dark Angel as the veil stretches thin!’ cried Violet, her withered arms upraised and face hideous with excitement. ‘We summon you now to this Stone Labyrinth. We ask you to take these souls with you tonight to the Otherworld.’
‘These five are ready and they await your presence this Samhain,’ said Martin, his robe flapping like wings as he moved his arms. His beak nodded upwards repeatedly in exactly the movement of a
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