Prologue

    Bridgett opened her eyes to the dark room of the longhouse. She waited a moment, peering at the darkness towards the wooden ceiling as an uneasy feeling rested in the pit of her gut. As her eyes continued to adjust to the night, she could not shake the feeling of fearful apprehension that touched the edges of her awareness. An involuntary shiver shook her as she lay in her bed. There was nothing other than the darkness that filled the old room of the longhouse before her. Shifting her body to face the door, she noticed that the sheets and wool cover that encased her were startlingly cold. 

    Screeeehech.

    Sharp claws scratched on the wooden wall somewhere just past her feet. Sitting up, she looked down at the foot of the bed. There was nothing there, but the dim and dark room. The scratches continued, each slowly working against the wood. They were not the small sounds of a mouse or vole searching for food or a home. This was much stronger, something which suggested a very, very large animal, like a bear or other brute beast, was rending its claws against the outside wall.

    The noise continued, carrying with it a palpable fear of the thing making the deliberate motions. It could just be a bear filing its claws, but the motion is too deliberate, too precise. Almost as if the thing outside wants me to know that it is here. Almost like it's toying with me. The horrid thought flashed through Bridgett like a splash of ice-cold water as she narrowed her eyes. 

    The scraping stopped for a moment, quietly filling up the room. Then, it started again, slowly moving along the wall past her feet. Fear swept over Bridgett as the long, deliberate scrape moved closer, a strange dread as though she was helplessly trapped and waiting a gruesome and inevitable fate followed it. Frozen in place, she heard and felt the noise move along the wall until it stopped at the place near her pillow. 

    Heart pounding, Bridgett bolted out of bed away from the wall. She whipped around as a raucous scrape cracked and sank deep into the wood of the longhouse. It’s trying to get in! Without a second thought, she stepped backwards towards the door, away from the noise. 

Lifting her left hand, brilliant white light flashed to life in the palm of her outstretched hand. The Arts flowed around and over her to that singular point, adding more and more power into the ball of light. Her room, now bathed in potent white light, was empty of all foreign effects save the fear from the other side of the wall. The scraping sound abruptly stopped. She waited, staring at the wall. Whatever manner of malicious and evil being it was, she knew that it was still there on the other side of the wall, waiting in the night. Not it, but she…She’s waiting in the night. Not sure of how she knew that, Bridgett dimmed the light in her palm as she turned to leave the room. 

    Walking through the dim wooden hallway, there was not a sound to be heard from anyone else resting in the lighthouse. As she approached the doorway to the long dining room, she channeled more power into the sphere of light, causing it to shine brighter. I’ve felt fear like this here in this room before…The thought uneasily slid through her awareness, and she shivered as though the wind had begun to whisper again. 

    The feeling shifted from that horrid memory to the strange and off-kilter present. There was something out in the night, waiting just beyond the front door, a being old and vile to its core. She knew where Bridgett slept and had made a deliberate attempt at gaining her attention through fear. Accompanying this dread that persisted and filled the dining room was another distinct and nearly tangible emotion that crept of its own accord through the cold air. It was so strong as to nearly tangibly speak of a deep desire to inflict pain. A cruel glee, a strange and calculated sadistic malice from the presence that was calling and luring her forward. 

    The feeling grew stronger, colliding and moving around her as though she was breathing in the dread like the smoke coming from a blazing house fire. Her body fought against it, nearly coughing as she approached the other side of the room. The fearful feeling became stronger in the mud room, which was now the only space between her and the night. 

    It’s waiting for me. Bridgett shook at the thought, but knew that whatever She was, the being would soon try to come inside if she didn’t meet it. Shifting so that her right-hand side was facing the door, she put her fingers around the cold doorknob. Willing the Arts into an even finer point in her left hand, the light dimmed, ready to be sent out with pure devastating force against the foe or fright.

    The creaking sound that issued from the door was deeper and seemed even older than normal in its enunciation. With the door fully open, she stared out into the night. The small village awaited her gaze, deeply wrapped in darkness and embraced by the small light of the moon. She continued to search the night as the feeling of fear continued to claw at her.

    Her eyes darted to a shaky movement outside. From the far side of the village, a large twisted and obscured shape walked toward her with an ecstatic gait, its limbs snapping quickly to their next position. Bridgett was frozen in horror as she watched the large, hunched being begin to move even faster towards her, far too fast for something of its size. The moonlight revealed and reflected off of eerie vacant eyes staring out from the large dark hood. In a blink, the abhorrence stood before her, frightful and looming over her. The being’s face drooped like a sickly mask of an ancient human woman, but was distortedly wrought with ages and ages of evil thought, intent, and deed deeply engraved upon the crone. 

   Bridgett felt frozen in place as she stared up at the imposing being, trapped in the gaze of the empty and void eyes that she knew could still see her. Long beads, rabbits’ feet, and a plethora of small bird skulls hung from strings attached to the dark robe that irrationally flowed around and encased the figure. 

    Bridgett brought up her left hand, the light Art filling it as she yelled incoherently at the figure to leave. The crone laughed with a vile sneer before leaning in closer to her, a putrid smell of rotting flesh slamming into her nostrils.

    “You haven’t aged a day,” the crone spoke with a raspy, malicious voice, one that carried with it the impression that it had endured dark eons of time. “I gave you sixty years and now…” the crone grinned as she cackled. The laughter was from one who was used to the bones of her enemies cracking and breaking before her. 

    The crone leaned back before disappearing completely in the blink of an eye. Letting out her held breath, Bridgett desperately searched the night for any trace of the crone. She found that horrid gaze staring back at her, as the crone peered back at her from the corner of Detta’s house.

She blinked, and the night view of the town was still there before her, but something was different. Bridgett knew that she had woken up, but not from sleep, from something in between being awake and being fully asleep. Yet, the feeling of fear was still there around her, and her thoughts drove her attention to Detta’s house. I have to find out. 

She strode through the night, with the flowing power of the Arts lighting her way. What was She talking about? Sixty years? I’m only sixteen. The cold of winter began to impress itself upon her, but was not enough to dissuade her short walk. Rounding the corner slowly, she found only the small miniature shed that was attached to the house and the night awaiting her. Looking back and forth, then for good measure behind and above her, Bridgett moved to the shed. She threw open the door to find small split logs resting. There has to be something…she moved closer and the image of the crone grinning flashed before her vision. Taking a glance back, she turned back to the logs and began to pull the ones on the top of the pile down, letting them tumble onto the ground. 

    After shifting a few aside, she found something small that she knew had to be what she was looking for. Moving the Art, she bathed her entire left hand in light before picking up the small wooden object and throwing it into the center of town. She could feel the evil in the object, a small hint of the being it represented.

    Moving quickly, she rounded the house and slammed her fist repeatedly into the front door. 

    “Wake up!” Bridgett screamed. Each word was filled with pure fury laced with fear.

    She repeated this with the other houses, and soon the door creaked open as the husbands, men, or women of the house peeked out into the night and witnessed Bridgett’s actions. Armed with an array of weapons, the villagers gathered around her as she moved next to the wooden object at the center of town.

    “You all have had nightmares, as have I!” Bridgett called out.

    The villagers all nodded, and some voiced their agreement mixed with befuddlement at Bridgett’s knowledge of what they had presumed to be a dream.

    Her guess had paid off as correct, though she knew that her vision was more than likely numerous times more intricate and more real than what the rest of the village had experienced, save perhaps a few key members.

    “Someone ignite this bonfire!” She commanded. 

Her mentor touched the wood, fire streaking up and quickly establishing itself as a beacon against the night. 

    “After my dream, I found this image, this idol of some hideous crone!” Bridgett said, pointing to the idol on the lightly grassy ground. The detailed face and likeness of the crone etched upon the wood stared back at her.

    “That’s that creepy thing those acolytes were trying to push on us!” A deep-voiced man called out from the small crowd.

    “Gross looking thing!” One of the grandmothers called out.

    “Get rid of it!”

    “Where did you find it?”

The villagers spoke up, their confused and angry voices taking up room in the night.

    “I found it tucked and hidden away in the woodshed of Detta’s house!” Bridgett called out, cutting through the clamor.

    “What were you doing with it?” Lyrissa asked, pointedly looking at Detta.

    “I wasn’t!” Detta said in shock. “I didn’t know it was there!”

    “Those acolytes must have hidden more around the town!” Tormod boomed.

    “My thoughts exactly,” Bridgett agreed.

    “Burn it!” Came another voice from the crowd.

    Tormod stepped forward and quickly picked up and threw the idol of the crone into the fire.

    “Burn it! Burn it! Burn it!” The villagers called out together. The short phrase quickly turned into a chant.

    “Let no image of the crone escape the fire!” Bridgett’s mentor, Aurelia, called out.

    The villagers searched the small hamlet and destroyed every idol of Mara they found.