Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) Read online

  But what about the bloke who’d been watching him? Well, from the way he’d taken off, Tom guessed he must’ve had the living daylights scared out of him. He wouldn’t be showing his face any time soon. Tom chuckled, remembering the man’s frantic attempts to get away, picturing the Renault as it reversed down the road, veering wildly from side to side. It was a shame he didn’t have anyone to share the story with. Hell, it was a shame he didn’t have the whole thing on video.

  Tom yawned and headed for the stairs. He almost left a couple of downstairs lights on as a deterrent. But that was ridiculous. “He won’t be coming back,” he murmured. Back in his bedroom, he sat on the edge of his bed, pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. And that was when he remembered he’d been barefoot in the street. “Oh for god’s sake,” he muttered. He checked the soles of his feet. They were filthy. Should he go and have a shower? He pulled a face. No. He was absolutely shattered. He’d have a shower in the morning and put clean sheets on the bed after work. It’ll be fine. I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep. He yawned and lay down, pulling the quilt over his body. He shivered as the cool cotton touched his skin. What a day. What a bloody day. He reached out and turned off his lamp. One, he began, two, three…But that was as far as he got before he fell fast asleep.

  Half an hour later, a small, rectangular light suddenly appeared on Tom’s bedside table. It glowed brightly for a moment, and then the mobile phone began to ring.

  Chapter 9

  3650 BC

  AS THE SCOUTING PARTY snaked through the dark forest, Hafoc quickly lost his sense of direction, but Tostig clearly knew where they were going. Their leader stalked ahead, scanning the ground, turning his head this way and that to study the low branches at the side of the trail, pausing only rarely to peer at the ferns that parted almost silently as they passed through. Hafoc stayed close. If he delayed, even for a moment, Tostig and the others would vanish into the darkness. I wonder if he’s found any clues, Hafoc thought. But he daren’t speak. You didn’t talk when you were tracking. Even on a normal deer hunt, it wouldn’t be right. Here, it would be a terrible thing to do. Hafoc sighed as quietly as he could. Sceort turned his head, and despite the darkness, Hafoc knew the older man was glaring at him. Hafoc winced. Could he do nothing right?

  Think only of the forest, he told himself. Become one with the shadows, like the wolf. He crept forward, one gentle step at a time, transferring his weight as smoothly as he could. But it was no use. His feet found every crackling dry leaf, every fragile dead branch. And yet the other men moved soundlessly without even trying. No wonder they lost patience with him.

  Hafoc glanced to his side. Nelda was still there. At least, he had her to keep him company and she gave him some comfort as she trotted alongside. He could just make out her dark shape as she slipped through the night. But he mustn’t be distracted. He needed to keep his eyes on Tostig and the others, and to step in their footsteps—if he could.

  As if to prove the point, Tostig suddenly stopped walking and held up his right hand. Instantly, Flyta and Sceort stood as still as rocks. Hafoc did his best to copy them, but he couldn’t help himself. His stomach muscles tightened and he took a sudden sharp breath—a gasp that was loud, even to his ears. Had Tostig found something? Had he discovered some clue that would take them to Brond?

  Tostig turned to them and grunted something under his breath. Sceort and Flyta moved closer to him and Hafoc followed. I’ve got to know. He ground his teeth together. He had to find out what was going on, but he must not be the first to speak.

  Tostig beckoned all three of them to stand even closer. “It’s no good,” he muttered. “We’ve tracked for a long time. The trail has gone.”

  Sceort and Flyta gave a grunt of acknowledgement. But Hafoc could say nothing. He felt the blood drain from his face.

  “We’ll rest a while,” Tostig said. “Make camp in the clearing up ahead.” He didn’t wait for a reply—it was a command, not a suggestion. He simply turned and led the way.

  As the others moved off, Hafoc hesitated, staring after the men as they melted into the forest once more. This isn’t right. We can’t stop now. If anything, they should be going faster. They needed to catch up with whoever had taken Brond—before it was too late. His eyes stung and he blinked. Unless…unless we’re already too late. He shook his head. It was bad to think that way. Brond was strong. And Hafoc had to hope his brother was still alive. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and followed the others.

  Soon, he stepped into a small clearing. At least there was a little moonlight here. The others were at the centre of the clearing, squatting on the ground. As Hafoc joined them, Tostig turned to him. “Sit down,” he said. “Keep quiet.”

  Hafoc picked a spot between Sceort and Flyta and squatted down on his haunches. “How long?” he asked. “How long before we start again?”

  The others turned to him. The silence stretched out.

  “I told you to keep quiet,” Tostig said.

  Hafoc drew breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Flyta didn’t give him the chance. He grabbed Hafoc by the front of his tunic and pulled him close. “Do as you’re told, Hafoc,” he hissed.

  Hafoc nodded but Flyta kept hold of him, just to make things clear.

  “Let him go,” Tostig said, and with a grunt, Flyta obeyed. Hafoc straightened his tunic. He touched his talisman to make sure it was still there.

  “Hafoc,” Tostig said. “You are clumsy. You do not know how to track. You have no idea how to find your way in the forest. And you have no respect.” He paused, but Hafoc said nothing. “But Brond is your kin,” Tostig continued, “so I will tell you this and you will listen.”

  Hafoc nodded.

  “We have achieved nothing this night,” Tostig said. “If we had waited for daylight, we would’ve been more certain of the trail and moved faster. Now, the trail has gone and it is useless to carry on. We’ll rest here for what remains of the night. No fire. You should all sleep. I will stay awake for a while longer and then I’ll fetch one of you to take my place. We’ll try again at first light.”

  Without a word, Flyta and Sceort began removing their bows and quivers from their backs. They arranged their belongings carefully on the ground and lay down. Tostig stood and stretched his back. “Rest,” he said. Then he turned and walked silently to the edge of the clearing, and disappeared among the shadows.

  Hafoc stayed where he was for a while. Is that it? Doesn’t anybody else get to say something? But Tostig was not a man to waste time bandying words. It was hard for Hafoc, but he was beginning to see why other men followed Tostig. Their leader wasn’t easy to please, but he was ready to shoulder any burden. Everyone in the scouting party needed a rest, but Tostig had made himself responsible for their safety. He’d put their needs before his own. Maybe Tostig’s right, Hafoc thought. Maybe I am just clumsy and slow and useless. He sniffed. Whenever he’d tried to do things his own way, it had always ended up going wrong. Perhaps it was time to put his own ideas aside and learn from others instead.

  Hafoc sighed, then slipped his bow from his shoulder and took the quiver of arrows from his back. He placed them on the ground, looking across to copy the way Flyta had lain his weapons within easy reach. Then Hafoc lay on his side, curled an arm under his head and closed his eyes. The ground was cold and the damp seeped into his clothes and chilled his skin. But he was exhausted. He sensed a movement nearby and opened his eyes. Nelda stood nearby, watching him, her head lowered. She sniffed the air a few times then lay down on the ground and curled up. But she kept her eyes open, watching Hafoc.

  “Good dog,” Hafoc whispered. Nelda, at least, was on his side. Hafoc lay still and thought of Brond. Where was he now? Was he resting or was he lying in pain somewhere? Perhaps he was, even now, trying to escape. Tomorrow, Hafoc thought. We’ll pick up the trail tomorrow. Hafoc closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he would do his part. He’d try harder. He’d do what he was told. And they’d find
Brond.

  Tomorrow.

  ***

  Hafoc opened his eyes. The first soft light of dawn was already creeping across the sky. He uncurled, arched his back, and groaned under his breath. During the night, his neck and shoulders had locked into a solid block of aching muscle. There’s no time for aches and pains. The others were already standing together, speaking in whispers between mouthfuls of food and hasty swigs from their flasks. Hafoc pushed himself up from the damp ground and struggled to his feet. Without a fire, Hafoc had slept badly. The cold and damp had crept into his bones. The arm he’d been lying on was tingling and numb, and he rubbed some life back into it as he walked over to the men.

  Tostig glanced in his direction but the other two did not acknowledge him.

  “You didn’t wake me,” he said. “I didn’t take my turn to watch over the camp.”

  Sceort grunted in disgust. “Tostig told me not to,” he said.

  Flyta gave Hafoc a withering look and shook his head.

  Hafoc rubbed his face. He was still half-asleep. “But, why? We should’ve taken turns.”

  “We did,” Flyta sneered. “Tostig took your place.”

  Hafoc stared at each of them in turn. Would they ever stop treating him like a troublesome child?

  “Eat something,” Tostig said. “We need to start.”

  Hafoc nodded dumbly. He took a drink from his flask. The cold water revived him a little, but it also made him realise how hungry he was. He fumbled through the contents of his pouch. I should’ve saved a little meat from last night. But all he could find to eat was a strip of dried, smoked fish and a dried mushroom. The mushroom was shrivelled and dark. He turned it around in his hand, giving it a sniff to check if it was bad. It smelled all right but it must’ve been in his pouch for a very long time. I’d forgotten that was there. He dropped it back into his pouch. He’d keep the mushroom for later. The smoked fish was more appealing.

  He curled the whole strip of fish and put it into his mouth, squeezing it gently between his teeth and letting his spit soften it up. The taste of wood smoke made him think of the campfire, and for a moment, he longed to be back at the camp. They’d be stirring up the fires by now. They’d all have slept well, curled up under their furs, safe within their shelters. And they’d soon be busy, picking over the remains of last night’s meat. Hafoc’s stomach rumbled. Meat. If only he hadn’t given so much to Nelda. But it was too late to for such thoughts.

  He looked around. Where was Nelda? She’d been there when he’d gone to sleep. He called her name softly but all he got for his effort was another stony look from Flyta. Never mind. The dog would turn up when she was ready.

  “Come on,” Tostig said. He fastened his pouch and looked at each of them in turn. “Time to go.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned away, striding toward the edge of the clearing. The three of them fell in behind him, keeping to the same order as the night before.

  At least it’s daylight now, Hafoc thought. I’ll show them I can be as stealthy as they are, now that I can see where I’m treading. But it wasn’t to be. In the darkness, Tostig and the others had moved slowly. Today, they raced ahead, striding almost silently through the undergrowth. Tostig had picked up the trail again and seemed certain of his direction. Hafoc did his best to follow along, matching the men step for step. But they were taller than him, and where they strode confidently, his smaller steps seemed clumsy and awkward. Even so, Hafoc set his mind to the task. He watched the way Sceort moved, and tried to let his own steps flow so smoothly. He tried to think only of the forest; the ferns that dipped and swayed as the men passed by, the scent of damp earth, and the sounds of birds flitting through the leaves overhead. Soon, his movements fell into rhythm with the bodies of the men in front of him, and like them, he seemed to glide silently through the gentle forest air. The men no longer turned back to glare at him, and Hafoc knew he’d finally become part of the group. When he heard Nelda moving alongside him, he did not look at her, but kept his concentration. He caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye and that was enough.

  They made good progress and this time, when Tostig held up his hand to stop them, Hafoc came silently to a halt. Tostig bent over, studying the undergrowth. He pushed out his lower lip and looked from side to side. Finally, he stood upright and shook his head. He beckoned the others to come forward and they gathered around Tostig, waiting to hear what he had to say. Hafoc studied Tostig’s face but the older man’s expression gave nothing away. Just wait, Hafoc told himself. And for once, he managed to hold his tongue.

  “I’m not sure,” Tostig said. “It was a good trail, left by a few men. But here, it splits into two.” He pointed to the ground, but Hafoc could not see the clues that Tostig seemed to read so easily. “I cannot tell,” Tostig went on, “which trail will lead us to Brond.”

  Sceort and Flyta looked at each other but said nothing.

  Tostig looked at Hafoc. “It will not help if we split up. If one pair finds them, two men will not be enough to save Brond.”

  “So which way should we go?” Hafoc asked.

  Tostig grimaced. “I cannot say,” he said. “Rest for a little while and I’ll see what I can find.” Tostig picked up his flask and pulled out the stopper. “Have a drink,” he told them.

  Sceort and Flyta stood and did as they were told, but Hafoc squatted down on his haunches. Suddenly, he was weary. How would they find Brond now? If they picked the wrong trail, they’d end up being forced to retrace their steps, and then they’d never catch up with whoever had taken his brother. Hafoc closed his eyes and put his face in his hands. For every moment they rested, Brond was being dragged farther away.

  A tap on the shoulder startled him out of his bleak thoughts. He looked up to see Flyta standing over him, holding out his flask.

  “Do you have water?” Flyta asked.

  Hafoc stared up at the older man. “Yes,” he said. “I think so.” He checked his own flask and felt its weight. “Yes. I have water.”

  “Good,” Flyta said. “Drink while you can. You’ll need it.”

  Hafoc nodded. “I will.” He pulled the stopper from his flask and Flyta sniffed and turned away. Hafoc opened his mouth to thank Flyta but that didn’t seem right. Instead, he stood and joined Flyta and Sceort, sipping at his flask in silence by their side.

  A few moments later, Tostig returned to the group. His face was grim. “It’s no good,” he said. “Although…”

  “What?” Hafoc said.

  Tostig chewed his lip. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But maybe one trail belongs to Brond alone.”

  “Alone?” Hafoc said. “You mean he escaped?”

  Tostig shrugged. “Or perhaps they let him go.”

  Hafoc smiled. Yes, that would be just like Brond. He was always the lucky one. “So what do we do?”

  Sceort shook his head. “The Wandrian don’t let people go. Not alive.”

  They all stared at Sceort for a moment. Hafoc broke the silence. “Tostig, what do you think we should do?”

  Tostig looked Sceort in the eye. “We carry on,” he said. “We stay together and we pick a trail. If we don’t find Brond on the one trail, we’ll return here and try the other.”

  Sceort hesitated and then he grunted his approval.

  Tostig turned away and squared his shoulders. But as Tostig turned, Hafoc caught a glimpse of the older man’s expression. Tostig was unsure. He doesn’t know! He has no idea which trail to take. Hafoc felt like yelling at the top of his voice. This was no good. They couldn’t afford to make a mistake. They needed some sign to tell them which way to go. But what could he do? An argument with Tostig would make things worse. Their leader might even decide they should give up and return to the tribe. Hafoc bit his lip and stared out into the forest, thinking of his brother, and suddenly, an idea struck him. “Nelda,” he said.

  “Be quiet,” Sceort said. “Tostig is finding the trail.”

  “But Nelda can find it,” Hafoc sa
id. The others stared at him. “She’s Brond’s dog. She can tell which trail is his.” He looked at each of them in turn, hoping for a smile or a nod, but seeing only stony impatience.

  “How?” Tostig said.

  Hafoc opened his mouth. He didn’t know what to say.

  “She’s a dog,” Sceort sneered. “She can sniff out prey sure enough but that’s about it.”

  Hafoc felt the blood rise to his face. “She knows his scent,” he said. But it sounded feeble, even to him. He turned away from the men and squatted down. “Nelda,” he called. “Nelda, come here.”

  Slowly, Nelda came forward, keeping her head low. She raised her eyes and watched the men as she approached. It didn’t look like they had food, so they were probably going to beat her.

  Hafoc held his fist out to her and Nelda sniffed at it. She licked her nose. The boy smelled good. Like fish.

  “Nelda,” Hafoc said, “Brond.”

  Nelda pricked her ears up.

  “Brond,” Hafoc repeated, as loudly as he dared. “Find Brond.”

  Nelda looked at the boy’s face. As she studied his eyes in turn, her eyebrows lifted and fell.

  “Brond,” Hafoc said again.

  Sceort gave a dismissive grunt. “We’re wasting time.”

  Hafoc licked his lips. This had to work. “Nelda, find Brond.” And this time, there was an urgency in his voice that Nelda understood. She raised her muzzle and whined. She took a small step backward and whined again.

  Hafoc stood up, keeping his eyes locked on Nelda’s. “That’s right, Nelda. Brond. We’ve got to find Brond.” He raised his voice and gestured with his arm toward the trails Tostig had found. “Find Brond.”

  Nelda whined and backed away, her ears flicking forward each time her master’s name was mentioned. And then her eyes followed the sweep of the boy’s arm. He wanted her to go there. She trotted toward the place, her nose to the ground. It wasn’t food. And it wasn’t prey. She moved from side to side, casting around for a scent. And there it was. Her master had been there. And she wanted to go to him. She wanted to get away from this strange man and find her master. She sniffed hard at the ground to make sure she had the scent, and then she was off. She loped through the forest, hardly hearing the men chasing along behind her. Her master was far away, but she would be with him soon. And perhaps, he would give her something to eat.