Tellan tried again. “No, Burlic, your son is waiting for you back at the village—he needs his father. And your wife—Scymrian—she needs her husband.”
“Scymrian, she was so…” The memories were flooding in now: Scymrian, before the baby. She had been so strong, so sleek and perfect while she carried their child within her. And she had been so happy. She’d been so sure that this child would be a fine son. And in the evenings, when she’d been too tired to work, she’d sat by the fire with Burlic and sung for him.
Tellan reached out and placed his hand on Burlic’s shoulder. He tried to speak gently. “Burlic, I know that you blame Waeccan for what has happened—the whole village knows that you do. But I don’t know why. How could he do this?”
Burlic bristled at the mention of Waeccan’s name. With one hand he brushed Tellan’s hand from his shoulder, and with the other he pushed Tellan hard in the chest. His voice was a cold fury. “I’ll tell you how. I went to see him. I needed stone for the new hut—the new hut for Scymrian and the baby. I told him how her time was near, how the stream was low, how my Scymrian struggled to carry the water. And he gave me water—a whole skin of it—for Scymrian. And I gave it to her. I trusted him.”
Tellan said, “But I don’t understand –”
Burlic did not let him finish. “He put a curse on the water. He must have done. As soon as Scymrian drank it, the baby came. And it was too soon—much too soon.” Burlic grimaced at the memory. Scymrian had been right, the baby was a boy. True, he was small, but as fine as any baby he had ever seen. But for Scymrian, something was wrong. “And you know what happened.”
“I know,” Tellan said. “I know that she would not hold him.”
“You know nothing. She would not hold him, would not feed him, would not sing to him. She would not eat or drink. She would not speak except to say…except to say she had no child.”
Tellan drew a deep breath. He knew what the womenfolk said, that Scymrian had let her soul drift so far into the Shade World that it could not find its way back to her. And he understood how helpless Burlic must feel. A man could not provide the warmth, nourishment and comfort that only a mother can give. But he also knew that they were all wrong. His sister and her baby needed help. Even now his own wife, Celepone, was caring for the child and trying to do what she could for Scymrian. He had to make Burlic see sense. He kept his voice steady. “Burlic, if you harm Waeccan, the villagers will turn against you. They need him; some of the elders revere him. You will be banished. And then what will become of Scymrian?” He paused, tried to see Burlic’s eyes in the darkness, tried to judge if he was getting through to him. But he didn’t see the punch coming. He only felt the pain in his gut, felt the air burst from his chest. He doubled over, rested his hands on his knees and gasped.
Burlic turned and walked away. By the time Tellan had regained his breath, Burlic was gone. Tellan looked back toward the village, to where his wife and a safe place to sleep waited for him. Then he sighed, shook his head and turned to follow Burlic. He walked slowly and quietly, watching the shadows. He did not seriously think that Burlic would lie in wait for him. As far as Burlic was concerned, he had beaten Tellan, and that was the end of the matter. But it was wise to be cautious, and in any case, there was no need to hurry. He knew exactly where Burlic was going.
CHAPTER 9
3,500 BC
AS HE WORKED, Waeccan blinked to try and clear the rain from his eyes. It was raining so hard that he’d stopped feeling wet long ago. Still, he thought, there is one good thing about the heavy rain—it had kept the intruder away. He’d seen no sign of him all day. He’s probably had enough of his silly game, Waeccan thought. He’s probably gone for good. Waeccan nodded. Now he’d have the peace he needed to concentrate on his work. He smiled. He was actually looking forward to the rest of the day. He’d have a fire later. He had a small pile of wood keeping dry in his hut. “It will be good to be warm,” he said to himself. “I must remember to gather more wood and set it to dry.” For now, though, the stone must come first.
As he walked to the rock face he was to work on that day, he thought of happier times, remembering what it was like before his father had crossed over into the Shade World.
He’d been happy. In those days the village had been much larger. There were many families nearby who were glad of the stone for their huts, and happy to offer food in return. As a boy, Waeccan looked forward to their visits and enjoyed helping the men load up their stone blocks. Waeccan shook his head. “Even then,” he said to himself, “even then I knew this place was special.” He chuckled at the memory of the nervous villagers; the way their eyes darted uneasily around the shadows, the looks they gave one another when his father’s back was turned. “Ha,” he said. “They couldn’t wait to load up their stone and leave—especially if it was getting dark.” At least, he thought, they had always given plenty of food in exchange. Now there were fewer villagers, they came much less often, and if there was one thing he missed, it was the gifts of food they had brought.
Still, he got by. He survived. And now he must put his daydreams to one side. He had work to do.
The rain may have turned the soil to mud, but it had washed the rock clean. Slowly, as his father had taught him, his eyes and fingers explored the texture and the fine lines of the stone. “What do you think, Father?” he said. “Which cracks are shallow—just the scratches of the rain and the wind—and which are the deeper wounds?”
He heard Cleofan’s voice as clearly as if he were still alive and standing beside him: “Patience, Waeccan. Remember all that I have taught you. We want only the wounds that run deep into the heart of the stone. They are the stone’s one weakness.”
Waeccan nodded and concentrated on the stone’s surface. He knew all about patience. Even with a lifetime’s accumulation of skill, his work took a great deal of time. A simple mistake could undo a month’s work. He knew how to take his time. He focussed his mind. No man could see the deep veins and twisted sinews within the stone, but Waeccan had learned to picture them in his mind.
Shuffling slowly along the muddy path, Waeccan studied the line of stout yew stakes he’d hammered into a fissure in the stone. Methodically, almost automatically, he began checking that all was as it should be.
“Are the stakes fixed firmly, Waeccan?”
“Yes, Father.” He gripped the rain-slippery bark of each one and tested it was secure. Satisfied, he said, “The rain will do its job.” The wood was slowly swelling and opening the fissure. “It will be some time yet, but it will make a good block—one of the biggest I’ve ever made.” He could picture the huge block, and looking farther into the future, he could imagine the smaller building blocks he would split from it. He smiled to himself with the satisfaction of the craftsman who knows his skills cannot be bettered.
Cleofan, though, was never entirely satisfied. “It is a pity though,” he said.
Waeccan sighed wearily. “Yes, Father?”
“I passed my skills onto you. You have no one.”
“Yes, Father. I know. There is much that I could teach.”
It was a conversation that they’d repeated often, but that didn’t prevent Cleofan from going through it again.
“If only,” Cleofan said. “If only you’d had a son.”
“Yes, Father.”
“He’d be here now—watching and learning. But instead, here you are talking to an old man’s Shade.”
“Yes, Father. It seems that I am destined to live alone.” And, he thought to himself, destined to die alone.
“But that is no good,” Cleofan insisted. “Our skills and secrets must not be allowed to die.”
Waeccan thought for a moment. This was a departure from their usual discussion. “But Father,” he said. “How can that be? I cannot pass our sacred knowledge on to just any person.”
“Of course not,” his father replied. “You will need a true apprentice—someone who will dedicate their life to the stone, someone who will de
vote themselves to learning your skills, as you have devoted yourself to learning mine.”
“And where will I get this apprentice from, Father?” Waeccan was finding it hard to hide his frustration. “The villagers fear this place. And anyway, they cannot spare any of the men. There are so few of them now—so many died of the sickness.” Immediately, Waeccan regretted his outburst. He listened, waited. “Are you there, Father?” He should’ve kept his temper, and he shouldn’t have mentioned the sickness. After all, it was the same sickness that had taken both his parents.
There was no answer. Cleofan’s restless Shade had gone. Waeccan fretted. He rubbed his eyes and looked up toward the place where his father and mother were buried. Their bodies, at least, were at rest. The place where they lay was marked by a small mound of stones, on a ledge, high above the pit floor. It was fitting that his father’s Shade should be released close to his most profound discovery, his greatest work, and his darkest secret.
CHAPTER 10
2010
I STOOD, LOOKING UP AT HER, tried to think what to say. It didn’t have to sound clever; I’d have been happy with something resembling a sentence. It didn’t help that she was looking down on me from above. She was about halfway up the steep wall of the quarry; she must have been standing on a ledge. It didn’t help that she looked a couple of years older than me. And it didn’t help that, even though I could only see her head and shoulders, she was obviously pretty. Her hair was long, dark brown and hung in loose curls. Her skin was tanned, and her eyes were pale blue. “I…” I said. “I’m…”
“Look,” she snapped. “Is this some sort of a joke? Where the hell is everybody?”
I felt like telling her to get lost, but there was something in her voice—it was tight, strained. She was trying to cover it, but she was worried.
“I’m Jake,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you’re looking for. I shouldn’t be here really. It’s just, sort of an accident.” The girl looked nervously to the left and right, then looked back down at me. She tilted her head to one side, making her mind up.
“An accident?” she said. “What sort of an accident?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I, er, I was sitting on the fence, and I sort of, erm, fell in.”
“You fell? Off a fence?”
“Yeah,” I said, doing my best to smile. “I know it sounds sort of lame, but I’m a bit stuck. I need to find a way out.”
The girl smiled. “Why don’t you just use the path?”
I fought off the urge to look around me. I didn’t want to look any more foolish than I already felt. “What path?” I said. “There isn’t a path.”
“Oh my god.” She ran a hand through her hair, tutted at my stupidity. “OK,” she said. “You’d better come up here, and I’ll show you. But don’t mess me about. My dad’s just up the path, and my mates are up here too.” She raised her voice. “I know they’re mucking around here somewhere—hiding like a bunch of stupid little kids.”
“OK,” I said. “I’m not sure I should—I mean it looks pretty steep.”
“Which is why there are steps,” she said.
“Er, steps?”
She sighed in exasperation. “Turn a little bit to your right. No, not that much. Back a bit. That’s it. Now walk forward. Try to go in a straight line. There,” she said. “What do you see?”
As I followed her instructions, my cheeks felt hotter and hotter. I couldn’t seem to walk two steps without stumbling. I approached the quarry slope, and all I could see was ferns and grass and wild flowers. She was winding me up. I said, “All I can see is –” I was about to tell her what I thought of her when I noticed something—something too regular in the way the plants were growing up the slope. I reached out, pushed the fronds of a fern to one side. “Steps,” I said. And there they were. True, they were completely overgrown. And if she hadn’t told me they were there, I’d never have found them. But there they were.
“Climb up,” she called. “And try not to fall off.”
CHAPTER 11
3,500 BC
TELLAN WAITED. It was almost dawn, but the shadows under the trees at the edge of the pit did not seem to be growing any paler. He shifted his weight gently from foot to foot. He had been standing still too long. He must press on. He looked to the east, but there was no reassuring glimmer of light. He touched the talisman he wore at his throat. His father had given it to him when he became a man. It had given him courage in the past, and he needed it more than ever now.
He faced the pit and squared his shoulders. Somewhere in there Burlic was prowling with murderous hatred in his heart. And he must be stopped. If Burlic was banished, he didn’t know what would happen to Scymrian, but he could not stand by and see his sister suffer any longer.
He could do it. He could stop Burlic somehow. There was still a little time. Burlic probably wouldn’t do anything until first light. And while Burlic was stronger than him, Tellan was far stealthier than Burlic could ever be.
He took a step toward the pit. That was where he must go. This was his time to strike.
CHAPTER 12
2010
THE STEPS WERE STEEP and covered with undergrowth, lush, leafy and knee-deep. With each step I crushed the stems underfoot. They crunched and squeaked, releasing a fresh, green smell that reminded me of sliced cucumber. It was pleasant—for a while. But the trampled leaves were slippery. The first time I slipped, I flailed my arms to recover my balance and let out a little nervous laughter. The second time, I swore under my breath. I thought I heard contemptuous laughter from above. I couldn’t see the girl, but the thought of her listening to my stumbling progress made me even clumsier. I don’t know how many times I slipped and staggered, but eventually I fell hard onto my hands and knees. As I tried to stand, my right foot lost its grip again and I cracked my shin on the sharp edge of a stone step. I was a fury of frustration, spitting, sweating and swearing for all I was worth. I planted my feet more carefully, rolled over into a sitting position and took a couple of deep breaths.
“You all right down there?”
I didn’t answer.
“Are you…are you there?” And there it was again: the tension in her voice, the hint of fear. And what a weird question.
“Of course I’m here,” I said. “Where do you think I could’ve gone—flown away?”
“Oh good,” she said. “Look, it’s OK, the last bit’s easier—the steps aren’t so worn away. Keep climbing. When you get up here, I’ll show you something.”
“Best offer I’ve had in a long time,” I said. And this time her laugh was genuine. I smiled. I couldn’t quite believe I was delivering wisecracks to a girl who was clearly out of my league. Perhaps it helped that we couldn’t see each other. Perhaps she just appreciated my jokes. Only one way to find out.
I turned around and stood up. It was time to show these steps who was boss. On the next step, instead of gingerly feeling for a step and flattening the undergrowth, I just guessed where the step would be and kicked my foot into it. I felt my trainers grip the thin covering of gritty soil, and I strode upwards. In seconds, I could see the top and the girl was right—these steps were not so overgrown. A moment later, I was stepping onto a surprisingly wide, flat ledge, and there she was, sitting in the sunshine, leaning back against the slope of a low grassy bank, her legs stretched out on the ground in front of her. She was wearing a pair of green dungarees over a white T-shirt that showed off her suntanned arms.
“Hey,” she said. “You made it.” And when she smiled, I knew I’d been wrong to think she was pretty—she was gorgeous. And I’d been wrong about her age too. She was at least three years older than me—probably in a sixth form somewhere. I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know how it got so overgrown,” she said. “It wasn’t like that before.”
“Really?” I said. “When did you last look?”
“Yesterday,” she said, and she frowned. “At least I think…it didn’t look so bad anyway.”
I said, “Well, it was easy really.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh,” she said. “That wasn’t you I heard swearing your head off then.”
“Ah, sorry I, er…”
She smiled. “No need to be. I think you might have taught me one or two that I hadn’t heard before.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I learned to swear in the Scouts—they gave me a special badge.” And when she laughed, it wasn’t like the irritating giggling of the girls in school, it was warm and free. And one thing was for sure: I wanted to hear it again. “So,” I said. “You were going to show me something?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “Unless you want me to show you the path so you can go?”
“No,” I said—a bit too quickly. “No, that’s OK. No rush. I can hang around for a while, if that’s, you know, OK with you?”
“Oh sure,” she said. “My friends have all cleared off somewhere without telling me—acting like they’re twelve or something. Don’t you just hate that?” She looked me in the eye, and I couldn’t help but feel she was having a dig at me. After all, it was only a couple of years since I actually was twelve.
“Yeah,” I said. “I haven’t acted like a twelve-year-old since I was ten.”
She smiled and said, “Are you always like this?”
“No,” I said. “You’ve caught me in a deep depression.”
She laughed. “More like a pit of despair.”
“Oh dear,” I groaned. “You’re so shallow.” And we both laughed. This was something else. I’d never met a girl I could even have a proper conversation with, never mind share a running joke.
She stopped laughing and shook her head. She stood and inclined her head toward the grassy bank. “Come on,” she said. “Over here. I’ll show you why we’re here.”
Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) Page 4