Burlic shook his head. “Let go of me,” he said. He tried to pry the old man’s fingers from his arm.
“Do you believe in the Shades?” Waeccan repeated.
Burlic looked the old man in the eye. He saw the desperation there, he saw the need. “Yes,” he said. “I believe in the Shades. Now let go of me. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then you must know,” Waeccan insisted, “that they have sent you here.”
Burlic shook his head. “No,” he said. “I came because…I came to help my wife…because…I thought…” He couldn’t go on. He could see the belief, the certainty in the old man’s eyes. Was he right? Scymrian’s sickness was surely caused by the Shades—and that had brought him to the pit. Nothing could have stopped him. It does feel, he thought, as if I’ve been pushed along by something powerful. It feels like I’ve been led here. But why?
Waeccan watched Burlic’s face carefully. He could see the anger in the younger man’s eyes turn to confusion and then to awe. He let go of Burlic’s arms. Yes, he thought, it all makes sense. “Burlic, you have climbed the sacred stairway,” he said. “The Shades would never have allowed that unless they had need of you.”
“Need?” Burlic said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Yes, Burlic—need.” Waeccan took the young man’s arm, gently this time. “And now,” he said. “There are things that you must see.”
Burlic nodded weakly.
Waeccan pointed to the far end of the ledge. “Over there, where you found me,” he said. “There is something that until today has been seen only by me and by my father.”
Burlic looked, but it was almost dark. He pictured Waeccan lying on the ground. Had there been something…a block of stone? Now he could see nothing unusual. A dark shadow on the ground perhaps but nothing to fear. He glanced sideways at Waeccan, but the old man didn’t notice. Waeccan was gazing at something Burlic could not see.
“There are Shades that go far beyond the strangest stories you have heard,” Waeccan said. “There are forces you may never understand, though you may spend a lifetime trying.” He shot Burlic a questioning look.
Burlic nodded gravely. It was true—there was so much he didn’t understand.
Waeccan was satisfied. He said, “What you see now, what you hear, what you feel, the knowledge that you gain and the mysteries that you understand, all are up to you. And what you tell to others is also up to you. All you do now, you must do willingly. I have no power over you.” Waeccan managed a wry smile. “Whatever you’ve been told.”
Burlic returned Waeccan’s smile. It was a relief. It’s all right, he thought, this will be all right. The Shades have sent for me—they need me.
“The tales people tell of the Shades are just stories,” Waeccan said. “Are you ready to be shown the truth? Are you ready to see it for yourself?”
There was a little moonlight now, and Burlic could see its cold fire reflected in Waeccan’s dark eyes. His own eyes were wide in wonder. “Yes,” he said. “I’m ready.”
Slowly, still holding Burlic’s arm, Waeccan moved forward. Burlic did not hesitate. It was as if he were watching himself from above, a strong young man guided gently toward a great prize. He smiled and let himself be led.
CHAPTER 35
2010
I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH. He was so near to me now. And getting closer all the time. Which one of them was it? Don’t let it be Robbo, I thought, please don’t let it be him. Should I lie down, press myself flat against the ground? No. I daren’t risk even the smallest movement. I screwed my eyes tight shut and focussed on the sound of him. Nearer and nearer. He closed in on me, homing in on his target. I imagined Robbo’s acne-scarred face twisting into a satisfied smirk. He was almost on top of me now. I couldn’t bear to look. I couldn’t bear to see the hard glint of violence in his eyes. My whole body tried to squeeze itself into a smaller space. I can’t cope with this, I thought. I’m going to scream. My throat tightened, my chest burned. Scream, I thought, just scream and shout and get it over with. I opened my mouth.
And he stopped. I could smell his stale-smoke clothes, his rotten-apple booze breath. I hung my head. My mouth wobbled. I haven’t even got the guts to scream, I thought. I’m just going to sit here and whimper. But then I caught my breath. I heard a loud belch and then the sound of a zip being undone. My mind boggled. He hadn’t hit me or grabbed me, hadn’t shouted to the others that he’d found me. What the hell was going on? I raised my head a little, squinted through my eye lashes. He wasn’t there. I opened my eyes, turned my head slowly to the right. There—right next to me. I could see him through the bracken. It was Macka. He was standing, facing slightly away from me and looking downwards. What the hell was he doing? But then I heard trickling and splashing. And there was no mistaking the faintly pungent smell of urine.
He wasn’t coming after me at all. He was just having a pee. He hadn’t even seen me. We were so close, but he was intent on what he was doing. He had no idea I was there. It was ridiculous. I was so relieved I wanted to laugh. But he was still too close. And he was taking forever.
The Brewers agreed. Someone shouted, “Hurry up, Macka.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’m there.” I heard the zip again. Then he was walking away. I could’ve cheered, but I settled for letting out a long quiet breath. I could hardly believe it, but he was going. They were all going. I was going to be all right.
I looked up at the tree canopy and the sky, and I gave thanks. I don’t know who to, and I didn’t much care, I just gave thanks. I didn’t rush to jump up. I just sat there, looking up, smiling and waiting. I heard the scraping, metallic sound I’d heard before, then their shouts and jeers faded away into the distance. I laughed quietly to myself.
Until, that is, I remembered the dampness in the seat of my trousers. It was time to go. I’d waited long enough, given the Brewers plenty of time to get away. They hadn’t seen me, and I’d given them no reason to be suspicious. They wouldn’t be on the lookout for me. I smiled. I’d got away from the Brewer boys, pulled the wool over their eyes. Not many people could say that. They’d even solved a problem for me. No need to worry about climbing over the fence now. If they’d found a way out of the quarry, I could too.
I stood up slowly, my legs tingling as the circulation came back. I brushed myself down with my hands, but the cold, wet denim of my jeans still clung to my skin. “Oh well,” I said. “Could’ve been hell of a lot worse.” I picked my way out of the bracken, skirting carefully around the razor wire. My ankle still throbbed with every step I took. But I was still smiling, still confident. I would soon be home.
“Where did they go?” I muttered to myself. “Where did that sound come from?” I cast around, looking for something that could’ve made the metallic scraping I’d heard. But the sound had echoed around the quarry. I couldn’t pinpoint it. What about when they’d shouted to Macka? I was fairly certain where that had come from. When I’d walked into the quarry, I’d kept the slope to my right. I reckoned the Brewers had come in farther along the fence and then kept the slope to their left. We’d walked along opposite sides of the quarry floor. It made sense. If their entrance was on my side of the quarry, I’d have seen it on the way in.
I set out to follow what I hoped was their route. I was still confident, but I wasn’t smiling anymore. “They won’t come back now,” I said to myself. “Why would they?” But what if they did? What if they’d just gone to buy more cigarettes? I’d be walking straight into them. I walked more quickly. I was almost at the fence now, and I still had no idea what I was looking for. What if I was wrong? What if I was in completely the wrong place? And then I found it.
There. Propped up against the fence, was a large rectangular sheet of corrugated iron. “That’s it,” I said. “It has to be.” It was far too neat, far too nicely balanced on its narrow edge to have been thrown over the fence. It had been placed there deliberately. I jogged up to it. I was certain now. I
could see the marks on the stony ground where the iron sheet had been dragged sideways. I squared up to it. It was taller than me and more than a metre wide. I grabbed hold of the cold metal, one hand on each side. I tried to slide it sideways, but it was heavier than it looked, and it didn’t budge. I pushed harder. The edges bit into my palms, but it was moving, juddering and grating across the grit and gravel.
I didn’t need to move it far. “Yes,” I said. And there it was—a hole in the fence, big enough to crawl through on hands and knees. I ducked down and scrambled through. I’d done it. I was out of the quarry. I stood up and took a deep breath, blew it out again in sheer relief. I smiled, shook my head. I was back in the real world. I would be home in ten minutes—maybe five if I jogged.
But I paused, looked back at the hole in the fence. With the iron sheet out of place, the hole was glaringly obvious. The Brewers would know that someone had been in their territory. They couldn’t know it was me, could they? Maybe I should cover my tracks anyway, I thought. No point in taking chances. I’d tempted fate enough for one day. And it would only take a minute to replace the metal. I crouched down and pulled at the iron sheet’s sharp edge with both hands. It was jammed against something, and in my crouched position it was hard to get a good grip. I struggled on, swearing under my breath. I was just about ready to get up and give the thing a good kick, when it came free. A couple of heaves, and it was more or less there. I gave it a few extra tugs, checked that it was properly back in place. “There,” I said. “Just as they left it.” It was done. There was no trace of my visit. The whole episode was over. I stood up, rubbed some of the dirt from my hands and made myself a promise: Whatever happens, I thought, I will never, in any circumstances, go into that damned quarry again.
I was just about to turn around and turn my back on the quarry forever when I heard it. I froze. Someone breathing—hard. Right behind me. And close. But that can’t be right, I thought, I haven’t seen anyone coming. But, it was still there. Breathing. Heavy and fast. And there was something uncanny about it, something unnatural. Don’t look, I thought. But I had to. Slowly, slowly, I turned my head. A low, threatening, snarling growl. A dog. And it sounded huge and savage. Instinctively, I whipped around, but I was frightened and clumsy. I slipped, fell back against the fence, my arms thrown awkwardly behind me, my feet scrabbling for a grip on the path. I landed heavily on my backside. The Alsatian on the path was as big as it sounded. It narrowed its eyes at me, showed its fangs. Its ears were pricked forward. It barked, and I flinched.
“Stay!” The shouted command came from my right. I turned and saw the dog’s owner marching along the path. The dog barked again, but at least it stayed where it was. I couldn’t think straight. Then suddenly, I realised I’d seen the dog before, and its owner. He was the old man I’d seen walking his dog earlier, before I jumped over the fence. Oh no, I thought, I shouldn’t have shouted at him. I shouldn’t have told him to clear off.
Now he was rapidly getting closer, his face a storm cloud. He raised his hefty walking stick and pointed it at me angrily. “Aha!” It was a grating roaring shout. “Now I’ve got you red-handed, you little bugger.” I’d had enough. Blind panic flooded through me. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care how it looked to be so scared of an old man. And if that dog was going to bite me, he’d have to catch me first.
I pushed myself to my feet, and I ran. I ran so fast I must’ve left a cloud of dust behind me. Everything I’d been through—all my fear, my anxiety—exploded into a surge of nervous energy, pumped into my muscles, my heart, my lungs. I tore along the path, and I didn’t slow down until I reached the end. I stepped out onto the pavement and gasped for breath. I risked a quick look back. It was all clear—no one in sight. Yes. I walked away. I must look a mess, I thought, but I’ve done it—I’ve escaped. The quarry, the Brewers, the old man and even his dog, I’ve escaped them all. And I was almost home. Surely nothing else could go wrong.
It was then, as I walked away, that my hand went to my pocket—and I remembered. I stood still. “Oh no,” I moaned. “My phone. I never found my phone.” I would have to go back and get it. The promise I’d made myself didn’t mean a thing. I would have to go back into the quarry. I had no choice.
CHAPTER 36
3500 BC
WAECCAN PAUSED. They were almost at the Darkeningstone. He shifted his grip on Burlic’s arm and leaned against the younger man for support.
I hope he hasn’t noticed, Waeccan thought. I hope he can’t tell how much I’m trembling.
It wasn’t just that Waeccan was exhausted. It wasn’t just that he was in pain.
“Burlic,” he said. “What I’m about to show you has been seen by no one except me and my father—not by the villagers, not even by my own mother.”
Burlic nodded.
“My father…” Waeccan said. “He never allowed it—not for any reason.”
Something in Waeccan’s tone made Burlic look him in the eye. “But you’re disobeying him now?” he asked.
“Yes,” Waeccan said. “I’m going against his wishes.” And there must be consequences, he thought. Consequences that I may not survive. Cleofan’s Shade would be watching, and he would not be pleased. Waeccan tilted his head to listen. And sure enough, he could hear his father’s voice as clearly as if he stood beside him.
“Waeccan,” he hissed. “Why do you disobey me? How dare you?”
“Father, I had no –” he began, but stopped when he saw the horror in Burlic’s expression. He didn’t want to panic the young man. He didn’t want to frighten him away. He gritted his teeth. “Come on, Burlic,” he said. “There is much to do.”
But Burlic stood his ground. “Wait,” he said. “You said ‘Father.’ You were talking to your father. But he’s dead.”
Waeccan nodded sadly. “Yes,” he said.
“Ha,” Cleofan spat. “You want to share our secrets with this oaf?”
Waeccan recoiled. He took a deep breath. “I am trying,” he said. “Trying to be a dutiful son.” He looked to Burlic and tried to force a smile. “I’ve always tried,” he said.
But Burlic wasn’t fooled. “You weren’t talking to me,” he said. “You were talking to…” his skin prickled as he realised the truth. “Your father,” he said. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
Waeccan studied Burlic’s face. “Tell me,” he said. “Do you hear him?”
“No,” Burlic said. “I can’t hear him. I don’t want to hear him.”
Cleofan snorted. “Waeccan! This man cannot communicate with the Shades. He has no skills. He can’t even hear me, and I’m right next to him.”
Waeccan closed his eyes and sighed.
“It’s not too late, Waeccan,” his father said. “Take up the sacred instruments and end this fool’s life.”
But Waeccan shook his head. He turned to Burlic. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must be you.”
“What?” Burlic tried to separate himself from Waeccan, tried to back away. Every instinct told him he’d walked into a trap.
Suddenly Waeccan released his grip on Burlic, and with some reserve of strength pushed with both hands against the young man’s chest. The shove caught Burlic off balance. He fell backward, twisting to save himself. He landed heavily on his side. His head struck the ground. Dazed, he raised himself onto his hands and knees. And he saw it.
“Now, Father,” Waeccan said. “It is decided. Burlic has seen the Darkeningstone. This cannot be changed. Our future lies in his hands.”
And when his father did not reply, Waeccan smiled.
Burlic blinked. He shook his head slowly. In front of him, the Darkeningstone glittered cold in the moonlight. Burlic pushed himself up to his feet, all the while staring at the stone’s perfect surface. Waeccan studied the young man’s face. Burlic’s eyes were wide, his mouth hung open. Waeccan nodded. It was good. It was all exactly as it should be. Silently he stepped forward to stand at Burlic’s side.
“It’s all right, Burlic,” he whisp
ered. “You can look closer—if you want to.”
Without taking his eyes from the Darkeningstone, Burlic bent to look more closely. “How?” he said. “How could you have carved such a thing?”
“Me?” Waeccan scoffed. “I could not. No man could.”
“Then who?” Burlic asked.
Waeccan hesitated. Slowly Burlic reached out a hand to touch the stone.
“No!” Waeccan shouted. And suddenly he grabbed Burlic’s arm, wrenched it away from the stone. Burlic wheeled around to face him. He opened his mouth to protest, but Waeccan didn’t give him the chance.
“You must never touch the Darkeningstone,” he said. “Whatever happens.”
Burlic stared at the old man, narrowed his eyes and growled. But Waeccan was not to be intimidated. “You want to know who made it?” he said. “It was made by the Shades themselves.”
Burlic flinched.
“So listen to me,” Waeccan said. “You must not touch the stone. Do you understand?”
Burlic nodded. “All right,” he said. “I won’t touch it.” He looked pointedly down to where Waeccan was still holding onto him.
Waeccan let go of his arm. “Good,” he said. “It will be safer for you if you do as I tell you.”
Burlic grunted. Waeccan supposed that this was as much of an agreement as he was going to get. Already, Burlic had turned all his attention back to the Darkeningstone. Waeccan shook his head slowly. It will be safer for you if you do as I tell you. How often had his father said exactly those words to him?
“You know, Burlic, I remember the first time my father showed me the Darkeningstone,” he said.
Burlic tilted his head to listen, but he said nothing.
“I was only a child,” Waeccan continued. “I was so proud he was sharing this secret with me. The stone was not even fully revealed back then. You could still see where my father hadn’t quite cut away all the stone that had…hidden it.”
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