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  All Hallow’s Eve

  By Wendi Sotis

  ALL HALLOW’S EVE

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher and author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  First draft was written in 2011 and 2012,

  and posted serially beginning October 11, 2011 and ending July 14, 2012

  Several passages in this novel are paraphrased from

  the works of Jane Austen

  Cover art by Matthew Sotis Copyright © 2012

  All Hallow’s Eve copyright © 2012 Wendi Sotis

  This book is dedicated to

  Gayle Mills

  and

  Robin Helm

  who correct my blunders, fine-tune my prose,

  and hold my hand through the dark times, with loving care.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23)

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  Promises Sample

  Dreams & Expectations Sample

  Prologue

  All Hallow’s Eve - 1096 A.D.

  Although the Evil Soul had purposely travelled to the point on Earth that was as far as was possible away from the High Priestess of Sanun, it knew from experience that when the time came, it would still be able to hear her Song. Part of its consciousness anticipated that moment with pleasure, optimistic that this night would be one of victory. But another part remembered all too clearly the bitterness of defeat, as it had endured so many times in the past, causing it to rethink the endeavor.

  Disappointment and remorse had been plentiful throughout the decades since it had realized its ambition. Especially strong were these feelings soon after the Song of the Return had been sung during the rite, when it had been dragged by some invisible force to the Thin Place, pulled through the portal, and returned to its prison once again. No amount of effort on its part had been able to prevent it from happening every year, at least, not thus far.

  The Evil Spirit had spent much time mourning the opportunities it had missed while trying to perfect this scheme, regretting that it had not spent the few short hours between Songs toward its immediate advantage. It was jealous of that with which the other Olc souls would amuse themselves during the ritual—frightening and torturing the living, making for horrific memories that could be savoured all year long. But, being a very old soul, it had been involved with these same activities during ages past and had those recollections to review, at least, whenever these longings arose.

  Although it could experience a trivial amount of sensation as a spirit, the ability to see, touch, and taste through proper human organs were pleasures beyond anything a disembodied Evil Spirit could experience again. Therefore, it had learned to do what not many other Olc souls could accomplish—possess living bodies. Being subjected to a person’s terror from within their own mind created an ecstasy that could never be matched, but spending such a short time outside of the void while dominating a living body was no longer enough to satisfy. The Beast had become greedy, wanting more—much more—and determined to attain satisfaction, devoting the entirety of its days planning toward that end. Its one night of freedom per year was spent modifying the safeguards that had been so eagerly designed in hopes that someday it would be successful in escaping the Return.

  By forcing itself to remember the time before the Tribes had joined together as one, before there existed a Sanun ritual to be performed on All Hallow’s Eve, and before all souls were allowed to wander the Earth on that one night a year, it had learned patience. During the centuries preceding the Sanun, the Evil Soul had been convinced that spending eternity confined within the numbing nothingness of the Olc Otherworld would be its fate. Recalling this period always did it some good, reinforcing the speculation that when the desired goal was finally achieved, the great effort it had expended during these scores of attempts would ultimately be thought of as necessary and worthwhile.

  Now, as it heard the Song begin, the Depraved Phantom wondered if its imagination was tricking its senses. Was the urge to return truly not quite as irresistible as it had been in the past? Could it be that after all these years of plotting, it had finally found a way to defeat the High Priestess of Sanun and her Song?

  As the minutes passed, the chant continued incessantly. Struggling against even these newly reduced demands of the Return was exhausting. Just as the Fiend had been thinking that it would not be able to resist much longer, the pulling sensation stopped. It took this opportunity to gather its strength to begin the battle anew.

  Time passed, yet it heard and felt nothing more. Here, deep under the ocean near New Zealand, it watched the sun as it set, and yet it waited. After several hours, it felt comfortable enough to allow the thought to enter its mind—the sun had surely risen by now in England, signifying that the Song of the Return had, indeed, ended.

  It was free! A renewed sense of power coursed through it at the victory.

  The entire world was its plaything!

  ~%~

  For two centuries, the malicious creature had been loose amongst the living. At times, it had possessed men and women who fought wars—Crusades, they had called them—sometimes enjoying the cohabitation of the lowest of soldiers, and at others, the highest.

  Whenever its name had not mattered, it chose to be called Cher-nog.

  These human battles kept it occupied for quite some time, as it leapt from mind to mind, from victor to victim, experiencing the exhilaration of the kill and the terror and agony of death. Cher-nog found an extra thrill when forcing good, ordinary people to act in a despicable manner, filling their days with debauchery and sin, so it had added these into the assortment of people that it would inhabit. Alternating these employments with possessing the evil leaders of the world, egging them on to act in a manner worse than they would have done alone kept it entertained—for a while.

  But all this had now become repetitive and mundane. Avoiding the Return had not become easier with time, but even escape had become routine. Cher-nog was bored.

  Owning to itself that it had appreciated the power of authority most of all, it conceived of a new scheme. Not very long ago, the High Priestess of Sanun had added certain phrases to the Opening Song so that during the ritual, no Olc souls could pass through the portal to Earth. It imagined that, by now, all of its kind would be desperate to be released from the interminable emptiness of the Otherworld. By forcing the High Priestess to sing the Song of old instead of the new, this plot would free all Olc spirits through the ritual by which it had been liberated. Since it would be the one to release them, they would surely do its bidding! Afterward, Cher-nog would forbid the Song of the Return from being sung until the end of time. In doing so, it would not only gain what it wanted most, but it
would take revenge upon all the High Priestesses who had ever existed through its punishment of the current lady to hold the title. They should not have stood in the way of its ambitions throughout the ages!

  And so, the pursuit of the High Priestess of Sanun began.

  Unexpectedly, Cher-nog found the task daunting. All four of the current Priestesses had gone into hiding, and it seemed that none of the people of the Tribes that it could find knew where they were. It learned as much as it could of the history and practices of the Tribes through its victims’ minds.

  As the centuries passed, it searched, continuing to live through others, stealing their lives away from them.

  Then, one day, by chance, Cher-nog occupied the very messenger who was to deliver the Sword of the Soul Mate to the Keeper, as would always happen whenever a Soul Mate of the High Priestess died before his mate. In seizing the courier’s mind, it learned all that he knew.

  This Sword would be the key! Choosing a child to inhabit this time, a friend to the heir of the title Keeper of the Sword, Cher-nog could remain near to this family; it would follow the Sword upon its delivery when the next Soul Mate was named. Finally, the Beast would be able to identify the High Priestess of Sanun!

  And so, for the present, this Olc would make its home at the place called Pemberley.

  Chapter 1

  October 31, 1811 - All Hallow’s Eve

  Elizabeth Bennet strode quickly into the night. Grateful that this year the path was lit by the full moon, she headed for a particular meadow near the outskirts of her father’s land, surrounded by a grove of apple trees on one side and woods on the other. There, years ago, her grandmother had instructed her on how to perform an ancient ritual—much more complicated than any other she had been taught.

  Although she knew she would perform her duty tonight in a way that would make her grandmother proud, she wished Grandmama could be here walking beside her now as she had for the past seven years on All Hallow’s Eve.

  While gathering the herbs and berries that were required to be freshly procured for the brew she must drink tonight, she thought back to her thirteenth birthday—the day Grandmama had revealed to her the family secret and spoken of their shared destiny.

  That day, and every other in which she would perform an official duty, her grandmother had worn a simple dress underneath an elegant, maroon cloak, fastened near her collarbone with a pennanular broach. The cloak was long, almost brushing the ground, traditionally designating her family to be of very high rank among the ancient Tribes, according to her grandmother. The broach bore two symbols: a family seal and an elaborate design indicative of her position within the Tribes—the High Priestess of Sanun.

  As Elizabeth’s fingers moved automatically to the same pennanular broach at the base of her own neck, an echo of her grandmother’s words rang out in her mind.

  “My dear Elizabeth, you have now reached the age where you must be told of our past and of your future. Along with many of our ancestors, you and I have been ordained by destiny to perform an ancient and solemn ritual, the ceremony of Sanun. We alone can give the dead the gift of communication directly with the living for a few short hours.

  “But, be warned! Should we make even the smallest of errors, the rite not only would allow the Harmless Souls to be free in the world, but we would set the ‘harmful’ Olc souls free as well.”

  The familiar pulling sensation and unique vibration of the meadow demanded her attention, rousing Elizabeth from her ruminations. Even as a child, she had felt there was something special about the meadow and grove, as if it called out for her. Years later she realized that on All Hallow's Eve, these sensations became much stronger.

  As she entered the grove and gazed upon the meadow through the trees, Elizabeth reminisced about the first time she had witnessed her grandmother perform the Sanun. She had met her ancestors that night. Also introduced were the antecedents of those who would become important to her in the future, but only by first name—she was not permitted to learn the identities of those she would come to love, especially not those of her Soul Mate.

  Nervous excitement coursed through her as she began to gather the wood that her sisters had helped her conceal around the outskirts of the meadow over the past several weeks. This was the first All Hallow’s Eve since her grandmother had passed into the Otherworld, leaving Elizabeth with the title of High Priestess of Sanun, the highest position within the Tribes. It was also the first ritual that she would perform alone.

  Using only her hands and two sticks, she lit the bonfire in the ancient way. The Sanun had begun.

  ~%~

  More than any other night of the year, Fitzwilliam Darcy looked forward to his slumber on the final night of October. Though he would never admit it to anyone, beginning the year that his mother had died, every All Hallow’s Eve, William had experienced a realistic dream during which he seemed to be able to converse with his mother. Years later, after his father had passed on, both his parents would appear together in his dream.

  The need to speak to his parents seemed more urgent tonight than in years past, and so he retired earlier than was his habit. Anticipating the dream too greatly, he did nothing but toss and turn for hours before deciding to go for a walk in an effort to exhaust himself.

  Exiting the house, he stopped to admire the blood-red Full Hunter’s Moon rising from behind Oakham Mount, filling a good portion of the sky. Always the efficient, planning sort of man, he felt that even though he had become well acquainted with the area after spending such a great deal of time riding to escape his hostesses’ unwelcome attentions, having an obvious landmark while walking out at night would be prudent. He headed toward the Mount.

  As his feet wandered the land, his thoughts wandered to the place they could often be found of late—a pair of fine eyes and the superior lady to whom they belonged. He had thoroughly enjoyed closely observing the lady over the past weeks, and no matter how hard he had tried, he could not find her wanting—other than the deficiencies in her social standing, connexions, and dowry. Strange that the moment he had laid eyes on Elizabeth, he had begun to doubt this philosophy of which he had previously been convinced—that these three qualities were the most important a lady could possess.

  How a handsome lady of her low social status could have developed such an advanced mind as Elizabeth possessed was beyond him. Most of the population of Meryton did not understand even half of the true meaning of what she said. He was certain the same could be said of the inhabitants of the highest social circles of London if she ever had the opportunity of spending much time in their company. Her wit and vivacity mesmerized him. That she had not spent every meeting chasing after his financial and social assets was in her favour as well. No, he could not deny his attraction to her in every way possible.

  Looking about, he found that he had walked farther than he had intended. Hoping to be able to catch a glimpse of her home while he was there, he began to climb Oakham Mount.

  At the very moment William reached the crest and looked up at the full moon, he realized he could no longer deny what he felt—not to himself, not to anyone. Thinking of a future without Elizabeth Bennet at his side was physically painful to him, and he could not force his mind to make the attempt any longer. He would pursue the lady who held his heart in her hands! Relief swept over him as it never had before, and he knew this decision to be the correct one.

  Staring over the treetops at the spire of Longbourn’s roof, he wondered if, by chance, she was dreaming of him. Unexpectedly, the sound of Elizabeth’s unmistakable voice echoed through the woods, returning William’s thoughts to the present.

  The song she sang was in a language unfamiliar to him. It was beautiful, almost magical somehow. Her sweet chants resonated throughout the surrounding woods, making it seem as if it originated from all directions, though he could tell she was some distance away from him. His eyes were drawn toward a movement in the sky—a single plume of smoke rising from within the trees. Without consc
ious thought, his feet took him in that direction.

  The closer he drew to her voice, the more he felt that what he was doing was ridiculous, and the less he cared. Only when he saw the light of the fire through the trees did he realize how large it was—more like a bonfire than the campfire he had expected. Reaching the edge of the clearing, he stopped, captivated by the vision before him.

  Elizabeth was alone, wearing a thin, low-cut gown that clung to her every curve most alluringly. With the fire behind her, it was apparent that she was wearing none of the usual undergarments that he purchased for his sister. She was dancing an intricate, graceful dance, still singing the same song that had acted on him more like a siren’s call. Her hair was loose, her dark curls flowing freely well past her waist, winding about her torso and floating out behind her as she danced. She was absolutely magnificent!

  Fearing that if she became aware of his presence it might hasten an end to this vision, he lowered himself to sit on a fallen tree. Here, he would be hidden from her view if she happened to look his way, but he would be able to continue to observe her every movement.

  The song and dance slowed, and seemed to be ending. Elizabeth came to a stop and slowly raised her face and arms up to the sky.

  As the last note faded, William rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Fearful for Elizabeth’s safety, his first impulse had been to rush forward and protect her, but something was keeping him rooted in place—instinct stronger than any he had experienced in the past told him that he must not interrupt what was unfolding in the meadow.

  He watched, wondering if this was all a dream, as Elizabeth began to glow with a white light almost blinding in its intensity. Small fragments of light began to break off from that surrounding her and travelled through the air around the meadow. When it came to a stop, each portion of light swelled into the shape of a person. The light would fade, and in its place there would be a lady or man, and occasionally a child, where none had been before. Though not quite solid, William could recognize some of the clothing they wore from sketches and paintings he had previously examined in books and museums. These beings seemed to represent places spanning the world and extending across time, past and present—judging from some of their costumes, perhaps even before recorded history.