Trespass

by Michael Campling

Tellan nodded reassuringly. He noticed that, once again, Burlic was touching the talisman that he wore around his neck. It had become a habit. Tellan knew the talisman was a gift from Scymrian. Perhaps it gave him some comfort, but Tellan doubted it. He studied Burlic’s face. The man did not look well. Every line in his face showed his grim anger, but his eyes—his wide, darting eyes—betrayed his fear. In a man like Burlic it was a bad combination. Tellan had managed to control Burlic so far, but how long would it be before Burlic did something rash?

  For a while they watched the old man in silence as he moved among the rocks, touching them, apparently talking to them. He seemed content to carry on with his work. He showed no signs that he was aware of being watched.

  Tellan chewed his lip. He must get through to Burlic, before it was too late. “Burlic,” he called softly. “What if you are wrong?”

  Burlic glared at Tellan. “What?”

  Tellan held his stare. “What if you are wrong?” he repeated. “What if you kill Waeccan, but it doesn’t help Scymrian? What will you do then?”

  Burlic blinked, wiped the rain from his eyes, but he didn’t answer.

  Tellan pressed on. “What will they say in the village?”

  “Ha,” Burlic said. “They’ll say I fought to save my wife. We’ve always fought for our food, our homes, our womenfolk—and we always will.”

  “But if it doesn’t work,” Tellan insisted, “they could say you abandoned your wife, your son. They could say you killed for no reason. They could say you are a danger to the village, and then…you’d be banished.”

  Burlic thought for a moment. He’d seen men banished, driven from the village. He’d joined in. It was one-sided and violent. Most did not survive it, and those who did were never seen again. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “Enough talk. Go back to your watching.”

  Tellan nodded. He could see he’d put a doubt in Burlic’s mind. It was a start.

  “Burlic,” he said. Burlic glared, held up a hand to silence him, but Tellan smiled and continued. “Look,” he said. “The rain’s easing.”

  Burlic nodded, and his expression mellowed. He went back to watching Waeccan. Let Tellan say what he wants, he thought. I’ll bide my time, and I’ll get the job done. No amount of words, no matter how clever they are, can ever change my mind.

  CHAPTER 22

  3500 BC

  SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Waeccan sat by his hut as the daylight dwindled, and waited. “What now?” he muttered. “What’s gone wrong this time?” He rubbed his hands together. His fingers ached from a hard day’s work on the stone. This should be a good day, Waeccan thought. He’d cleaned the stairway, there’d been no sign of the mysterious intruder, and he’d finally finished cutting the stone for Burlic’s new hut.

  “So why hasn’t he come to collect it?” he muttered. “It was a full moon last night—he should have come today. I’m sure that’s what we arranged.” He shook his head, stared blankly at the path that ran toward the village. “Father?” he said. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

  “Perhaps,” Cleofan said. “You never know with the villagers. All they care about is filling their bellies.”

  “Yes,” Waeccan replied. “A full belly, a warm fire and the shapes of the moon to live by.”

  “Huh,” Cleofan snorted. “The moon. It’s here today and gone tomorrow. We live by the stone. The rock lives forever. It doesn’t care for the passing of days or seasons or men’s lives.”

  Waeccan frowned. “It means something to them,” he said. “They have a time to sow, a time to harvest, a time to hunt.” And, he thought, a time to build.

  “Fools,” Cleofan snapped. “Their calendar rules their lives. They live in fear of it.”

  Waeccan rubbed his eyes. Even stranger then, he thought, that Burlic hasn’t come to collect his stone. “Burlic was in a hurry,” he said. “He told me his wife was near her time. She wanted a new hut for their new child.”

  “And you argued with him,” Cleofan said.

  “I told him the stone wouldn’t be hurried. I told him it was useless to strain against its will.” He paused, remembering poor Burlic’s harassed expression as he’d left the pit that day. It was also useless, Waeccan guessed, to strain against the will of a woman on the verge of giving birth.

  “You were right,” Cleofan said.

  Waeccan chewed his lip. “I don’t know,” said. “He needed to build straight away. Their first child didn’t survive the winter.”

  “You worked as quickly as you could, Waeccan—what more could you have done?”

  Waeccan lifted his head and looked toward the pile of stone blocks. “It isn’t right, Father,” he said. “The stone is ready. It’s been prepared, and now it must be used. It must take the next step in its journey.” He stood and walked a few steps forward to get a better view of the path. Nothing. He shuffled back to his hut and squatted down.

  Soon, the sun would set. It was too late. No one would come now. He sighed.

  “Be patient,” Cleofan said. “There will be a reason.” It was a phrase he used often.

  Yes, Waeccan thought. A reason. Perhaps the men had gone hunting. Or maybe they’d gone in search of water. Burlic had said the stream was low and muddy. Soon, he’d said, there wouldn’t be enough water for everyone, and then there would be trouble in the village.

  “I wanted to help,” Waeccan said.

  “You did,” Cleofan said. “You gave him water from our spring—to give to his wife.”

  “He didn’t trust it at first,” Waeccan said. “But I convinced him. I showed him the spring, showed him it was good, clean water. In the end, he filled his flask and took it with him. I think he was happy enough.”

  Waeccan sighed. How long was it since he’d seen Burlic? It seemed like a distant memory, from a time when there had been no unwelcome intruder, no unexpected delays, only order and peace. Now his routine was disturbed, and everything was changing, falling apart. He shuddered. “What is happening, Father?” he said.

  “The Shades are stirring, Waeccan. They are at work in the world, and they will not rest until their meddling is done.”

  Waeccan jumped to his feet. “No,” he said. “You must stop them.”

  “The Shades cannot be controlled,” Cleofan said. “They can only be appeased.”

  Waeccan wrung his hands together. “Then tell me,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”

  He waited. Surely his father’s Shade couldn’t abandon him now? Be patient, Waeccan thought. Be patient. But it was hard to breathe. His chest was tight. He felt dizzy and put his hand against the side of his hut. He should’ve had something to eat earlier, but he’d been waiting for Burlic. He closed his eyes, tried to take a deep breath.

  Eventually Cleofan spoke—just three words: “The Darkeningstone. Now.”

  Waeccan opened his eyes wide, turned his head toward the ledge that held his greatest secret. The Darkeningstone could not be seen from the pit floor. He’d made sure of that with a screen of cut brushwood. And the steep stairway was difficult to spot unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. Waeccan’s eyes found the tell-tale dip in the undergrowth and followed it to the top. There lay the Darkeningstone, the altar to the Shades. But must he really go to the ledge now?

  “Father, I have only ever visited the stone as the day dawns,” he said. “But now the day is almost over.”

  “Do you question me?” Cleofan growled.

  “No, Father, of course not. It’s just…I can climb the stairway now, but soon night will fall, and then the Shades…”

  “The stone will protect you, Waeccan.”

  “Yes. The stone. Good.” But it wasn’t just the Shades Waeccan was worried about. Yes, he could climb the stairway now, but could he climb down again in the darkness? He hesitated. “Father,” he said. “I am going to return from the stone, aren’t I?” He swallowed hard. His throat was dry. “Father?” he called.

  There was no reply.

  Waeccan pres
sed his hands against his chest. The tightness increased, squeezed the breath out of him. Would he return from the ledge? If not, then who would take his place? His father had once told him he must have an apprentice, but now there was no one to carry on his work, his daily routine.

  Waeccan held his head in his hands. Why was everything changing? Nearby, something disturbed a roosting bird, and its chattering snapped him out of his self-pity. He took a deep breath and straightened his aching back. My father has told me what to do, he thought. I must be strong. Perhaps now, when I need it the most, the Darkeningstone will answer my questions. “No point in standing around waiting,” he muttered.

  He set his jaw in grim determination, and slowly, struggling for breath, he started walking toward the stairway. There was still just enough light to see his way. He would climb the stairway for the second time that day. Not to offer himself this time, but to reach out to the Shades and to seek their help. He paused and looked back toward his hut—perhaps, he thought, for the last time.

  CHAPTER 23

  2010

  WHAT’S HAPPENED TO HER? I thought. Why did she scream? I charged down the slope, back toward the ledge, toward Cally. I crashed through the undergrowth, stumbling, flailing my arms. Should I call her name? No. What if someone else was there? What if someone was threatening her? If they heard me shouting they might react, do something drastic. So what should I do? What could I do?

  Suddenly the ground dropped away beneath me, and before I could slow down I was half jumping, half falling onto the ledge. And I couldn’t stop. I was going too fast, hurtling toward the edge and the long drop below. My momentum pushed me forward. In a heartbeat it would be too late. I dug my heels in, felt the thin soil slide beneath my feet, felt my shoes skid and slip. It was no use.

  Some instinct made me throw my weight backward, and I landed hard, flat on my back. It wasn’t graceful, and my shoulder burned when it hit the ground, but it did the job. I lay on the ground, my legs sticking out beyond the edge, my feet dangling in the terrible void.

  But I was alive. I rolled over and pushed myself up, still breathing hard. Where was she? There was no sign of her. I staggered to the top of the steps, peered over the edge. She wasn’t climbing down. And if she’d been on the quarry floor, I should’ve been able to see her. I ran my hands through my hair. Where could she have gone? And why did she scream like that? Had her friends reappeared and startled her as some sort of joke? I wouldn’t have been surprised. They sounded like a bunch of idiots. But how could they have got out of sight so quickly?

  “Cally?” I called. And again, louder. “Cally?”

  There was no answer. I’d left her standing near the stone, so I walked over to it, hoping for a clue. I scanned the ground. Was there any sign of a struggle? That’s what they always looked for in cop shows, but what did that look like? Perhaps that only worked on TV. There was nothing to see.

  “I should call someone,” I muttered. But who? The police? What would I say: I saw a girl and then I went away and heard a scream and now she’s gone? Would they take that seriously? And I’d have some explaining to do of my own. I swallowed hard. None of that mattered. Cally’s safety was more important. I had to try.

  I patted my pocket, feeling for my phone. Nothing there. I tried my other pocket, the back pockets—nothing. “Oh crap!” I said. I’d lost it. I rushed over to where I’d just landed on my back, but it wasn’t there. I looked back up at the slope. I’d probably lost it up there somewhere when I’d come blundering down. “I’ll never find it up there,” I said. As a last hope, I crossed the ledge slowly, searching the ground for a tell-tale glint among the grass.

  It was no use. I reached the stone platform and sat down on it. I put my face in my hands. “What the hell am I going to do now?” I said. I felt like weeping. I screwed my eyes shut tight. And that was when it began.

  CHAPTER 24

  3500 BC

  TELLAN RISKED A SIDEWAYS LOOK at Burlic as they slipped through the lengthening shadows. He took in the crazed glint in Burlic’s eyes, the fierce curl of his lip. I don’t like this, he thought. I don’t know if I can stop him, change his mind.

  They were close to Waeccan now, a stone’s throw from where the old man was squatting by his hut, mumbling to himself. Burlic pointed to the trunk of a fallen tree, and together the two men crept toward it and crouched down. Slowly they raised their heads—just enough to see what the old man was up to.

  As they watched, Waeccan raised his voice and called for his long-dead father. Burlic and Tellan exchanged a meaningful look, then turned quickly back to Waeccan as the old man cried out in pain and despair. Waeccan clutched at his chest and moaned, then simply sat with his head in his hands and rocked back and forth. Burlic tapped Tellan on the shoulder, then pointed to himself and indicated a patch of thorn bushes near to Waeccan’s hut. He wanted to get closer. Tellan shook his head vigorously, but Burlic repeated his gesture—he was going to move closer. He shifted his position, ready to make a dash for it. Tellan grabbed Burlic’s arm. Burlic turned on him, pushed his arm away. The sudden movement startled a bird in the trees behind them—its loud scolding made both men duck for cover. They glared at each other.

  Tellan was the first to look away. He needed to check that Waeccan had not been alerted. Slowly he raised his head to peer over the tree trunk. But Waeccan was not there. For a heartbeat, Tellan panicked, but then he saw the old man walking away—toward the rock face. For an old man he was moving rapidly, his back already disappearing into the gloom.

  Burlic had seen him too. He jumped to his feet. “Quickly,” he whispered, “or we’ll lose him.”

  But Tellan laid a hand on his arm—gently this time. “It’s all right, Burlic,” he said. “I know where he’s going.”

  Burlic hesitated. Tellan sounded very sure of himself. “All right,” he said. “But I won’t wait for long—it will soon be dark.”

  They waited, both men casting fleeting looks into the deepening shadows. It wasn’t long before Tellan muttered, “Let’s go.” He led the way toward the rock face. As they approached they could make out Waeccan high above them and climbing steadily. Tellan enjoyed the look of bewildered surprise on Burlic’s face. In moments Waeccan had climbed out of sight. He really does have a secret hiding place, Burlic thought. Tellan was speaking the truth. He looked at Tellan. Perhaps he could trust him after all.

  The two men strode quickly to the rock face and pressed themselves against it. Waeccan could only see them now if he leaned out over the edge and looked directly down.

  “Look,” Tellan whispered. He parted the undergrowth and showed Burlic the steps. Burlic ran his hands over a step, felt for the one above it.

  He grunted. “It isn’t natural,” he said.

  “No,” Tellan said. “But I can climb it. You stay here and keep watch, and I’ll go and see what Waeccan’s doing.”

  Tellan stepped forward, but Burlic placed a hand on his chest. “No, you won’t,” he said. “Our plan was that I should be the one to climb up.”

  “But that was when Waeccan wasn’t up there.”

  “Enough,” Burlic snapped. “All day long you’ve made me wait. It’s always been too near, too open, too dangerous. You might be afraid of Waeccan, but I am not.”

  Tellan was taken aback. “But Burlic –”

  “No,” Burlic interrupted. “I’ve waited long enough. I will climb to Waeccan’s hiding place, I will see his wickedness with my own eyes and I will stop him once and for all.” He gave Tellan a shove in the chest that sent him sprawling backward. “And you will stay here.” Just try to stand up, he thought, and see how far you get.

  But Tellan stayed down. It’s all gone wrong, he thought. What do I do? What do I say?

  Burlic smiled. I’ve beaten him now, he thought. I can see it in his eyes. He turned to the steps and began to climb.

  For a moment Tellan watched, then he hung his head and sighed. It was too late.

  CHAPTER 25

 
; 3500 BC

  WAECCAN OFTEN SAW wondrous things while kneeling at the Darkeningstone. Every day in the chill, damp predawn air, he ignored the pain in his knees and his back and concentrated fiercely on the bright lines of colour trapped within the deep, black stone. Each day he went into a trance, forgot the pit, forgot his father, forgot his loneliness and his pain. He was frail from too many years with not enough food and too much hard work. He couldn’t keep his body steady for long. And as he wavered gently to and fro, it seemed that the lights danced and spun, twirling into dizzying patterns, shifting into shapes: people, animals, strange creatures. Sometimes, his tired eyelids drifted down, and then…and then the visions were glorious. There was no one to watch, no one to shake him awake. This was his daily routine, his life.

  But now his routine was turned upside down. Now, it wasn’t dawn but dusk as Waeccan climbed the stairway. Now, instead of knowing peace, his mind burned with unanswered questions. “The Shades will show me what to do,” he muttered. “My father will send me a sign.” The words gave him strength, drove him onwards, upwards. He must reach the top. “Not much farther,” he said.

  The blood rushed, hissed in his ears, mingled with his father’s voice: “Don’t stop now,” it whispered. “If you stop, you’ll give up. Don’t fail me. Don’t stop now.”

  Waeccan dare not pause to catch his breath. He climbed on, forcing himself upwards, ignoring the pain in his legs, his back. But there was a price, each step steeper than the last, each breath a battle. Sweat ran from his wrinkled brow, but he didn’t have time to wipe it away. His legs ached as though they’d been torn apart. He’d worked hard all day, and then, as he’d waited by his hut, he’d been so anxious he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink. Waeccan shook his head. The ground shifted, swayed beneath his feet. He fought for balance, took another step. He couldn’t see properly, the world blurred, lost its colour. Stumbling, he climbed onto the next step. His chest tightened. He gasped, fought for breath—he must not stop.