The Dust of Ancients

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The Dust of Ancients

Prologue

Bodmin Moor, Cornwall. Early Bronze Age.

Worlds within worlds; feared, denied, yet irrevocably enmeshed. It was not always so.

The day had begun to fade before the villagers gathered at the circle, and dusk crept rapidly over the high ground and softened the harsh features of the moor, but nothing could disguise the malevolence of those beautiful, deadly stones. Talk was scarce and conducted in low voices, from mouth to ear with barely a sound carrying in the damp air, but most remained silent and stared, grim-faced and pale, at the flat granite slab in the centre of this place that had always been a haven of reverence and worship.

They came, at last, into the cold from a nearby round hut: a babe in arms and his trembling, ashen-faced mother. Faces that instinctively twisted to see them, just as quickly looked away, and the last of the murmurs…

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