Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) Page 27

  “Look,” a little boy said, pointing into the tunnel behind her. “There’s a man.”

  “What?” Helen turned sharply, and gasped in surprise. “Hey, you!” she called out. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Crawford slowed his pace, but only a little. “It’s all right,” he said cheerily. “It’s only me.”

  “Oh! Mr. Crawford. It’s you. Is everything…?” Her voice trailed away and she glanced at the tourists.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Crawford said as he approached. “I had hoped to meet you a bit farther back so we could pass one another.”

  Helen stepped away from her group to meet Crawford. “I’ve got a bit of a confession to make,” she said, as quietly as she could. “Do you know Cally? She worked here over the summer.”

  Crawford flashed an emotionless smile and pretended to think for a moment. “We’ve never met.”

  “Oh. Well, as I say, she used to work here, and she turned up today with a friend, and she asked if they could tag along with the tour.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s just, I’m sure she’s all right and everything, but…” Helen hesitated and took a breath. “She’s not here. And her friend is missing as well. They must’ve hung back and I didn’t notice. I’m ever so sorry.”

  Crawford let the silence hang in the air between them for a second or two longer than was necessary. The look of misery on Helen’s face was wonderful. At last, he said, “I’m sure there’s no problem, but I’ll have a stern word with her if you like.”

  “Yes please,” Helen said. “That would be great. She should know better really, I don’t know what she’s playing at.”

  “Leave it with me,” Crawford said. “But I do need to ask you a favour.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have a few things to check—urgently. So if you could just get your party to do an about-face and retrace their steps for a couple of minutes, we’ll get to the wider section and I can pass you by.”

  Helen looked doubtful. “But what will I say?”

  “You’ll think of something. Tell them you forgot to mention something, or say they can have a few extra minutes as a bonus.”

  “I suppose I could take them back to the junction,” Helen said. “Some of the children asked if they could have another go at the low tunnel.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Crawford said. “Go on then. As quick as you like.”

  Helen turned away, looking slightly dazed. “OK, everyone,” she said. “You’re in luck today. My senior colleague here has said that we can have an extra few minutes in the tunnels. So if you’d like to turn around and retrace our steps a little way, then, if the children are really good, they might even get an extra go in the really low tunnel.”

  Crawford rocked back on his heels. So, the girl and Andrew had already separated themselves from the group. Good. As soon as the chattering tourists were out of the way, he could deal with the girl, and bring this debacle to an end, once and for all.

  Andrew studied what little he could see of the gloomy tunnel as he led the way. There was nothing here that would interest Crawford. “What exactly are we looking for?” he asked.

  “This might sound a bit far-fetched,” Cally said, “but we’re looking for something from a medieval story.”

  “Like what? A dragon? A giant with two heads?”

  Cally tutted. “There’s no need to be facetious.”

  “Sorry, but could you give me a bit more of a clue?”

  “They dug these tunnels back in—”

  “The fourteenth century,” Andrew interrupted. “I was listening you know.”

  “OK. But what you don’t know about are the stories and myths that seem to appear at the time.”

  “True,” Andrew admitted. “But aren’t they just that—stories?”

  “Maybe,” Cally said. “But I think there’s some truth in them.”

  Andrew stopped walking and turned back to her. This didn’t add up. Why on Earth would Crawford get involved with a medieval fairy-tale? There must be something else. There had to be some connection Cally wasn’t seeing. “These stories—what were they about?”

  Cally looked up at him. “Look, just don’t make fun of me, OK?”

  Andrew nodded. “Of course I won’t.”

  Cally took a breath. “A few years ago, I worked on a dig over the summer—up north. We were looking into something the locals called The Black Stone of Scaderstone. I was just a helper, a volunteer. But then something happened and I got really interested.”

  “How do you mean? What happened?”

  Cally shook her head. “It sounds stupid, but when I was by the black stone, I thought I had some sort of weird experience.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, I know nothing happened really. I was young and stupid and someone, this really tacky guy, gave me a joint. I wasn’t used to it, and I sort of freaked out—it was like a strange sort of daydream.”

  Andrew frowned. “I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

  “Well, the point is, the black stone somehow fired up my imagination. It’s like, when you look at a cathedral or a war memorial and it strikes a chord with you. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I guess so.”

  “So, if a piece of rock can have that effect on me, a twenty-first-century girl, then what did it do to the people who found it hundreds of years ago? What happened when their imaginations were fired up?”

  Andrew considered the idea for a moment. “You think they were, what? Inspired to make up stories?”

  “Yes, of course they were. And the stories they made up, tell us a lot about their hopes and fears; they shine a light onto their lives.”

  “And that’s why you’re interested in this place? Stories? That’s the only reason?”

  Cally took a breath. “It’s more than that,” she said. “The medieval stories say the men found a strange slab of stone down here. And guess what—it was pure black. And it sounds like—and don’t say I’m being stupid—it sounds like this stone looked exactly the same as the one in Scaderstone.”

  Chapter 36

  2014

  A SAVAGE COLDNESS rips into Tom’s body. The cold is hungry. Ruthless. It devours him from the inside out, pours itself into the space where his warm body had been. Tom cannot move, cannot breathe. His vision blurs, grows darker, and then he is blind, powerless, helpless. The dull, droning din throbs and pulses, buzzing, crackling, hissing. It envelopes his mind, drowning out every other sound, obliterating every thought. And Tom welcomes it, allows it to wash over him. The world has always been hurtful, spiteful. Life has always trodden him down, and now he doesn’t want it any more. He lets it go; glad to slip into the cold, empty darkness. But then the pain begins, scorching through his veins like cheap heroin cut with brick dust. It slices into him like a wicked vengeance, clawing at his arms, his legs. It tears him apart; vicious talons ripping the flesh from his tortured body. The pain has him now, and Tom knows it will never lessen, never stop. And he knows he deserves it.

  Alan gasped. His breath caught in his chest and for a moment, his heart refused to beat. He stood and stared while the dazzling lines of blue light flickered and danced as they covered Tom’s helpless body from head to toe. Without thinking, Alan reached out toward Tom, but the blue beams crackled and buzzed even louder, like a swarm of angry wasps. He pulled his hand away. Idiot! This had to be some sort of electrical discharge. I mustn’t touch him. It’s the one thing I mustn’t do. Alan ran a hand over his face. He had to do something, but what? He took a breath. Think. Think! He looked down at his hands, twisted his fingers together. “I’ve got to push him off the stone,” he muttered. “I need a branch or something.” Yes, that would do it. He ran to the back of the ledge and rummaged among the undergrowth on the slope, plunging his hands into the brambles, ignoring the scratches. There. A thick branch lay on the ground, half-hidden by dead leaves. “That’ll do,” he breathed, but as he grabbed it, the rotten wood
crumbled beneath his fingers. “Damn it.” He threw the useless branch to the ground and hurried along the ledge, scanning the slope for something he could use, but the nearest trees were back up on the steep slope and it would take time to scramble up—time he didn’t have. He cast a glance over his shoulder. Tom was still exactly as he’d left him, but he had to hurry. He didn’t know if Tom was breathing or if his heart was beating. If Tom’s heart had stopped, how long could he survive? Was it one minute? Two? Alan bit his lip. Years ago, he’d been good at first aid, but since he’d lost Jake he’d let his skills slip. Could he still remember how to do CPR? He nodded to himself. He knew enough to have a go. But first, he had to get Tom off the damned stone, and there was nothing he could use.

  “There’s no time,” he muttered. He should call for help. He fumbled in his jeans pocket for his phone, surprised to feel it pulsating in his hand. In his panic, he hadn’t noticed the vibration in his pocket. His fingers trembled as he slipped the phone from its protective sleeve—and his eyes went wide. The phone’s screen was alive with a slew of random messages. They popped into existence then vanished just as quickly. He tapped at the screen, and pressed the buttons on the side, but it didn’t have any effect. For a moment, the touch keypad appeared and he jabbed at the number nine as fast as he could, but the keypad faded before he could make the call. Alan bared his teeth in anger and frustration. He looked up at the sky, trying to think clearly. There must be something he could do.

  And the dreadful, crackling cacophony stopped, as suddenly as if a switch had been thrown. Alan wheeled around to face the stone slab, and his hand went to his mouth. “Tom,” he whispered. But although the stone still glowed blue, Tom was no longer there.

  Chapter 37

  3650 BC

  AS THE SKY DARKENED, they finally came for me. Morven led the pack, waving his arms over me and chanting, throwing his head back and wailing into the night sky. I stared at him and took a shaky breath. Morven had told me his plan, and I had no choice but to go along with it. Soon, it would all be over. Either Morven would succeed and I’d be sent back home, or it would turn out he’d lied, feeding me a story to keep me quiet while the men sharpened their axes and made ready to murder me in cold blood. I’d know soon enough, one way or the other. I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Be strong, I told myself, but as Morven’s braying yelps grew louder, stronger, his voice drove deep into my skull, battering my senses into submission. I had to face it—my life was in his hands. I was utterly powerless.

  Suddenly, Morven’s wailing stopped. He bent over me, and for a split second, he was just an ordinary old man. “Remember what I told you,” he hissed under his breath. “Just go along with it. I’ll do my best.” Then suddenly, the old man was gone, transfigured into a babbling shaman; his eyes rolling wildly, his head shaking, his lips flecked with foaming saliva. He paused his wailing and stood up straight, stretching his arms out toward me, his fingers splayed. This was the signal the men had been waiting for. They rushed in, crowding around me, elbowing each other out of the way, clawing at me in their desperation to take hold of me. I whimpered helplessly, and my despair made them shriek with delight. They grabbed my arms, my legs, my hair, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. A couple of them worked feverishly at the rope around my hands, hacking at the tangled knots with their knives. The rope jerked and scraped against my raw skin but I held my arms as still as I could; their crude blades were only a hair’s breadth from slicing into my wrists. Then suddenly, they ripped the rope away, and before I could even rub my wrists, they hoisted me up to shoulder height. They yelled at each other for a moment, shaking me like a rag doll, then they moved forward, carrying me across the hilltop.

  I tried to see where they were taking me. If Morven had told the truth, they would only carry me as far as the black stone, but what if he’d lied? A sudden rush of ice-cold panic thrilled through me. Morven had no control over these savages. They wanted my blood and no one could stop them. They’d do whatever they wanted; rip me limb from limb, bite into my flesh, eat me alive. I stared up into the night sky, but it was ink-black and starless.

  Without warning, the men stopped walking and lowered me to the ground, feet first. I clamped my mouth shut as they pushed my feet down and pulled my arms upward, forcing me to stand, but then they yanked my arms up too high, twisting my shoulder, and I cried out. They screeched with laughter and pushed me forward, toward the black stone. It loomed over me, even darker than the night. My knees buckled and I would’ve fallen, but the men held me tight, pushing me onward. They moved faster now, charging toward the stone. They’re going to slam me into the stone, smash my face against it. But suddenly, Morven stepped in front of me, holding up his hands, and my captors stopped in their tracks and fell silent. My blood pounded in my ears, every breath rasping in my throat. For a moment, nobody moved, but then Morven stepped toward me, and very slowly he reached out, pushing his gnarled hands, his long, bony fingers, toward my face.

  Hafoc hesitated. He cocked his head and listened to the shouts and shrieks from the hilltop. They were so close now. They’d been lucky so far, but surely the Wandrian only had to look in the right direction and they’d see Hafoc and his brothers creeping up the hillside toward them. He glanced up toward the sky. Good. The spirits have given us a dark night. But even so, the bleak hillside made Hafoc’s skin crawl. All his life, he’d lived and hunted in the cool, dappled shade of the forest. Here, there was nothing to hide behind, not even a sapling to lend him a shadow. He looked to his left. Tostig had already moved ahead of him. Come on, Hafoc—you should be at his side. He took a breath and crept forward, copying Tostig as he crouched lower. Soon, they’d be able to see onto the hilltop. Then, at a signal from Tostig, they would attack.

  Morven placed his hands on the boy, one palm on each side of his face, and looked into his eyes. The boy held his stare, and for a moment a half-forgotten memory tugged at Morven’s mind. He never told me, he thought. I asked him what year he came from, but he never told me. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now, was getting the boy out of this place. Whatever happened, wherever he ended up, it couldn’t be worse than this. If he stayed here, he would be dead before the night was over. If it comes to that, I’ll make it quick. Morven set his mouth in a grim line. Would the boy remember everything he’d told him? There’d be no chance to explain it all again. If the tribe became suspicious, they’d be out of control in a heartbeat—Kaine would make sure of that.

  Slowly, he led the boy forward and the men released him without a word. They’d played their part. Now they stared at the boy, their mouths open, their eyes glittering with greed.

  Morven ignored them. He turned slowly, leading the boy, turning him around until the black stone was at his back. Now, he stepped forward, pushing the boy backward. He glanced over the boy’s shoulder, scanning the stone’s surface. Soon, it would begin.

  I felt the cold stone against my back. The old man moved his hands to my shoulders and pressed me back, pushing me hard against the stone. He leaned his face in close to mine, and I held my breath.

  “Remember what I told you,” he whispered. “Think of your family, your home.”

  I nodded and tried to hide my fear, but the muscles twitched at the corners of my mouth, pulling my lips into a grim parody of a smile. Morven stood back and I stared at him, my mind reeling. I took a breath, tried to calm my nerves. Come on, I told myself. Concentrate you bloody idiot! But how could I? How could I picture my home when I was stranded in this desolate place? How could I think about my family when I was surrounded by this pack of brutal savages? But I had to try. Morven had told me that it wouldn’t work if I didn’t concentrate. But in that desperate moment, all I could think of was my dad. Somehow, I thought, he would know what to do. He would scoop me up and save me. Dad, where are you now? Why can’t you come for me?

  And as I pictured my dad running across the hilltop toward me, a faint vibration tingled across my back. It was a sensation
I’d felt only once before. I stood perfectly still. I held my breath. And then, from behind me, I heard a low, crackling buzz that could only have come from the stone.

  Hafoc and Tostig exchanged a look. The strange sound that came from the hilltop grew louder; a low, warbling drone like a nest of hornets. It echoed in the still night air and made the hairs on the back of Hafoc’s neck stand up. From the look on Tostig’s face, he didn’t like the buzzing sound either. Hafoc tried not to wonder too much about what the Wandrian were up to. Perhaps they had the power to summon the spirits. Perhaps they could conjure up a demon or a beast. His hand went to his talisman.

  Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned with a start, but it was only Tostig. Hafoc took a breath and tried to calm himself. I didn’t hear Tostig moving, and then he was right next to me. The strange buzzing noise must have hidden the soft sounds of Tostig creeping through the grass. Yes—that was it. And if Tostig could move without being heard, then they could all get close to the Wandrian without difficulty.

  Tostig saw that Hafoc understood. He nodded then held up his bow and placed an arrow against the string. Hafoc did the same, and then they moved swiftly forward. In a moment, they would crest the brow of the hill and see the Wandrian. Hafoc breathed deep, flaring his nostrils. He’d been nervous a moment ago, but now, he was ready. He was ready to wipe his enemies from the face of the earth.

  Chapter 38

  2018

  “I CAN’T SEE A THING,” Andrew said.

  “No,” Cally admitted. “Me neither.”

  Andrew ran a hand across his forehead. “This is stupid. It’s too dark. We’re wasting our time.”

  “Just a little longer,” Cally said. “You never know what we might find.”

  “I don’t see the point,” Andrew said. He sighed under his breath. “Listen, Cally, I don’t know how to say this, but we didn’t meet by accident.”