Amethyst Romanov is cast out of her witches' coven and is left to fend for herself in the human world, known only to Supernatural beings like herself as The Beyond.
Amethyst Romanov is a powerful witch. She is the descendant of an ancient and illustrious line of spell-workers and is believed to be the prophesised one. She and her clan reside in one of four castles around the UK and live as virtual recluses. Her life revolves around the fortified walls and leaving the grounds without the Elders permission or without a male chaperone is unthinkable.
Tragedy befalls her family and coven; she is blamed for the apocalypse and cast out of the safety and security that Amethyst has ever known in Avalonia. She must fend for herself in the modern world of humans, known only to her and her kind as The Beyond.
Amethyst's brother, Michael, a sorcerer whose reputation proceeds him in the supernatural world, helps her to try and adjust to modern life, but once left alone she is befriended by a group of psychic mediums who call themselves the Daryavaush. They enjoy nothing more than the thrill of paranormal investigations. Whether they are following ghosts, witches, demons, or the blood lust shape-shifters; trouble is never far behind them.
Can she trust the Daryavaush? Will she ever learn to survive the madness of modern life? Can mobile phones, modems and magic really co-exist? Who is the mystery creature following her in The Beyond and will Avalonia ever accept their outcast gypsy witch, their Didikai Witch back into the fold?
Excerpt
Amethyst strolled along the secluded golden sands of a Welsh Beach. High above on the hilltop looking majestically out to the Irish Sea. This was her home, Avalonia. The sturdy stone walls of the fifteenth century castle were impenetrable from the old iron cannon and archers of marauding English Princes of a yesteryear and it still stood boldly out on the barren landscape amongst thick heather and grassland. Nowadays it was used to hide her clan from the modern world.
Avalonia was a world all on its own. It was Amethyst’s home and all she knew, but she loved it. She was unaware that the local townspeople close to the castle grounds called her home “The Devils Den” or “Satan’s Snare.” In fact she didn’t even know what a devil was. She had never heard such a word.
Her kind didn’t believe in such fanciful creatures and over the centuries such words disappeared from their vocabulary.
Her life had been a very sheltered one. She left the boundary walls of her world just six times a year. This was because Avalonia was made up of four large stately homes strategically chosen for their geographical placing in the British Isles. During the eight sabbatical festivals a year, all four clans would meet at one of these sprawling acres of homeland. One in the northerly point of Scotland, one in Northumberland in the East, one just outside Bournemouth on the most southerly point of England and Amethyst’s home, just outside a small town called Criccieth on the west coast of Wales.
North, South, East and West were the four points of the circle that aided them in their magical Sabbats. This was the centre of her world. They existed for this and this alone. What was she? A witch! She replied, as this voice swept briefly through her mind and a very powerful one as well. She smiled and puffed out her chest with pride. Well that’s what her brother, Michael kept telling her.
She was also incredibly conceited about her illustrious lineage. Selective breeding amongst the four covens over the last half a millennium had resulted in a strong and powerful High Priestess in each coven. Amethyst had recently been chosen to represent her coven as High Priestess of the West in the coming Samhain Festival.
She took in a deep breath and smelt the salty ozone of the sea air.
She looked up again at the imposing bastion high above her and smiled with joy as she caught sight of Michael, who stood at the edge of the cliff waving down at her. She now grinned and waved vigorously back at her favourite brother. Any coven member of their own generation was referred to as brother or sister, and as they were all so closely related it didn’t really matter if they were merely cousins.
She picked up the hem of her long, violet dress and ran over the sandy beach and up the naturally made seashore rock steps that led to the stronghold’s boundaries. As she reached the top, barely out of breath, she flung her arms around Michael’s waist and he reciprocated by wrapping his hard, muscular arms protectively around her neck and upper back holding her tightly to his strapping body.
They stood there for what seemed like an age to Michael, entwined in the loving embrace. Michael loved this girl with all his heart and the power that irradiated from her in these rare moments of being close and alone was immense, exciting and frightening all at the same time.
He still couldn’t quite believe that such a delicate and dazzling child, barely a young woman, had the power to consume and destroy. He told himself, this is why she was protected from the outside world, Amethyst knew she was a witch and to be chosen as the High Priestess at just sixteen meant she was, as she had already guessed, somewhat special, but she was unaware of her true potential or what the clan would want from her. She was destined for greatness. Michael was adamant about that.
“Brother!” She cooed as she snuggled her head into his brown buttoned waistcoat. He stroked the long raven hair that flowed freely down her back.
“I thought I might find you on the beach, daydreaming as usual, Amethyst.”
Their language would be unusual to anyone else, but it had originated from very old Romanian-Gypsy dialect, coupled with the five hundred years of seclusion; it had metamorphosed into to this rich and sensual idiom, unique to their own kind.
“What is it this time?” Michael looked down to meet her smouldering dark brown eyes that shone with all the vitality and innocence of youth.
“Oh, I was just thinking of my opening ritual, on Samhain. It just cannot come soon enough for me.”
“Well, you must learn to be more patient, it is only a few more weeks away and you have much to learn of the ritual. Come Chickadee, we will practice this evening.” He winked and smiled at her as he took her hand and led her back towards the castle.
“Amethyst please tie your hair back, you’re such a wild child, you know how the Elders disapprove of free flowing hair on non-ritual occasions.”
Amethyst obeyed immediately and began to braid her luscious locks quickly and haphazardly. She was far from vain and rarely looked at her reflection in the mirror, unlike some of her sisters of her own age, who seemed to spend every spare moment titivating with their reflection in the vain hope that they would be chosen for the procreation ritual with one of their handsome brothers. Could she help it if she were a free spirit and ‘accidentally’ broke some of the minor laws of their clan now and then? But then she did always listen to Michael.
Michael wasn’t just a brother, he was her mentor and would soon be her High Priest in the opening sacrament. She continued to braid her hair as they walked into the inner grounds of the castle. As they walked they chatted.
“So how was your day, Chickadee?”
“Oh it’s just the usual, a never-ending round of cooking, cleaning and then lessons. Old Jesse tried to get me to muck out the pigs and chickens too, but I came top in the class for my English pronunciation, so Master Thomas allowed me some free time. I decided to run along the beach and clear my thoughts. That and the private conversations we steal ourselves when we can, seem to be the only pleasure I get these days!”
Michael frowned and looked at her curiously as she tried to keep pace with his stride, talking and plaiting her hair at the same time.
“Why? Don’t you enjoy the spell work you learn? Are you discontent with what life has offered you Chickadee?” Michael’s tone alarmed Amethyst and she realised she may have overstepped the mark of respect she should show all men of the coven. She knew women weren’t meant to have an opinion, let alone sound ungrateful to the men who took care of them all.
“No, No Michael not at all.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I love my life here, I just sometimes wonder what sort of a world lies beyond that ocean.” She turned back and pointed to the Irish Sea. Michael was astounded.
“You know what is out there, in The Beyond! Intimidation, Cruelty, Death, War. You’ve read about the modern world enough times from our extensive library.”
“That’s just my point Michael, they are all books that a coven member has written, or what Master Thomas has told us in class, one person’s perception of the world is not the same as another’s, even if you do share the same blood line.” Michael stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her. His thick black eyebrows creased so close together they met in the middle.
“Wash your mouth out young lady. I am not mad at you for thinking that way, but if another coven member, even a sister you trust above all others hears you talk in such tones she will tattle to the Elders to gain even the tiniest amount of recognition and status within the coven.” He paused, looked up to the sky and sighed.
He searched deep into her soul with his equally incandescent brown eyes, then whispered earnestly.
“Especially in your case, you must be equally on your guard; can you imagine the gossip if anyone of our brothers and sisters heard the High Priestess converse with such disregard for her Elders and Betters?”
“Yes, but what I am trying to say is that it is just reading, why is it we cannot see for ourselves? AND…” she pointed her forefinger to the air “…why do we have to learn such a language as English. I mean it isn’t exactly needed behind this fortress is it?” Amethyst glared back at him. It had taken her this long to question him, so why should she stop now?
Michael knelt on one knee and held her arms tight; his expression of imploring her to be quiet was evident.
“Amethyst, Chickadee. Please do not speak like this to anyone else in the covens. Promise me this one thing. Your safety is paramount to me, from inside the coven and from The Beyond.”
“I promise, I’m sorry Michael I just want to experience life.” Amethyst bowed her head.
“And you will, but from the safety of the coven’s universal protection. Come now let us get back before they send out a search party.” He stood up and coaxed her forward with a gentle push in her back with his giant labourer’s hand.
Professional Reviews
Athena Press, UK
I was quite bowled over by this novel. This adventure into the realm of magical realism is an ambitious, encompassing, sweep into creative imagination... A splendid mixture of witchcraft and mobile phones! We have brave new people in a brave new world.
Alison uses an approach that embraces a highly individual creative fantasy and as a result has produced a multitextured example of a hugely popular genre. This novel is perhaps not so much pure fantasy as metaphor, imagination, with a glimpse into an alternative reality of someone else's creation, a land of magic and mystery.
Alison uses the power of the human creative imagination coupled with a command of languague to metaphor the human predicament. The figures that inhabit our landscape are believably ourselves in the the clothes of fantasy folk; they are not the creatures of science fiction or fantasy literature. They certainly are dynamically different to our own environment, yet similar in other ways, it is not so removed from possibility that we can't share the characters perils and adventures and feel with them.
The story is highly effective, with excellent verbal dexterities. There are effective turns of phrase and strong images all through the text and dialogue, description and situations are used to advance the narrative.
This novel is written with a hand that is both sure and light. I particularly like the writing style; right from the outset, the reader is immediately engaged and made part of the world of the writer and of these imaginative events that is confidently drafted and nowhere loses its way. It sustains itself and does not flag.
The writing is dynamic and alive. One gets the feeling that the author had as much fun and excitement writing this dynamic narrative as the reader will in the reading...The author's voice is clear and communicative. This all works well to create in the reader the willing suspension of disbelief - the most important element of fiction since the first storyteller unrolled his mat in the market square!
Dorrance US
Composed in captivating narrative and compelling dialogue, the story flows at a brisk tempo. The plot contains more than a few unexpected twists that maintains the readers interest throughout. The characters are presented in a multidimensional fashion revealing the intricacies of their unique personalities and individual agendas. Alison's highly creative style with a keen attention to detail constructs a riveting and imaginative tale.
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