I had to act quickly. Forgetting my worries about the stone platform, I flung my upper body across it, arms outstretched, and grabbed the tools.
And the moment my hands closed around them, the moment I made contact with the stone—it happened.
CHAPTER 60
2010
A SAVAGE RUSH OF NUMBNESS. It tears through my upper body like plunging headfirst into freezing water. I’m paralysed, pinned against the stone. A savage pressure squeezes the air from my lungs. I can’t gasp for breath. I’m blacking out. But then it begins.
I’m falling, tumbling over and over, dropping silently through an endless, icy darkness. My mind spins, my stomach lurches. I twist and flounder through the void. And then I see him: an old man lying on the ground, his dark eyes fixed on me; his lined face is pale, intensely sad. He blinks away a tear then grimaces, hugs his arms tightly around his chest. Still, his eyes look deep into mine.
And then…music? A jangly mess of sound, piercing, familiar. The old man blurs, fades away, the darkness driven away by light. I can breathe. I gulp the cool, sweet air.
But it isn’t over. Something’s pulling me backward, dragging me by my legs. I try to kick out, but my legs are held too tightly. What the hell is happening to me? I have to fight, have to escape. I try to turn, to see who’s got me, but before I can move I’m yanked backward, ripped away from the stone. And for a split second, as the stone lets me go, I wish it hadn’t.
The pain. The pain is beyond excruciating, beyond anything I’ve ever known. Searing. Scalding. A thousand hot needles pierce my arms, my chest, my face. Then it is over.
I fell to the ground, headfirst. I tried to save myself, but I was still holding the tools. My hands hit the ground awkwardly, the pain shooting through my wrists. My arms crumpled beneath me. My face hit the ground, the bitter grittiness of soil in my mouth. My legs were freed and flopped down behind me. And everywhere there was noise: screaming and shouting, harsh, guttural, the music I’d heard before, urgent, jarring. Chaos.
“Bloody hell.” The voice was so close. I flinched, rolled over. It was Matt. He was crouching next to me. Yes—we were in the quarry, hiding on the ledge. But what had happened? And what the hell was all the noise? I tried to sit up, but my head swam, and my stomach heaved. I groaned and lay back down. Matt jabbed furiously at something in his hand. The music grew a lot quieter, but I could still hear it in the distance.
I opened my mouth to speak and felt soil on my tongue. I tried to spit it out, but my mouth was too dry.
“Matt…” I could hardly recognise my own voice—it was hoarse, cracked. It hurt to speak. I swallowed. “What’s happening?”
“You tell me,” he hissed. “What’s the hell is wrong with you? Did you faint or something? You just flopped down, and everyone’s phone went off. The Brewers’, mine, everyone’s. You must’ve landed on yours and pressed some buttons or something.”
So it wasn’t music, it was ringtones. I should’ve recognised it, but it still didn’t make sense. Slowly, I sat up and rubbed my forehead.
“The Brewers,” I said. “Are we safe?”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “When the phones went off, something happened. They were shouting and screaming, going mental.”
I could still hear the Brewers below us—ringtones and raised voices. At least it didn’t sound like they were getting any closer.
“What’s going on?” Matt said.
I shook my head. Good question, I thought. Had I really fainted? It might explain the feeling of cold, the sense of falling. But the pain? Perhaps I’d cracked my head on the stone, given myself a concussion. But why would I have fainted? And what about the old man I’d seen? Imagination? Hallucination? I was sure of one thing: it was the same man I’d dreamt of on that first day, when I’d found the stone and sat down on it. And the phones all ringing at once—how had I done that? The battery was flat on my phone, but even if it hadn’t been flat, how could it have made everyone else’s ring? And yet…
The first time I sat on the stone, it had been my phone ringing that had woken me up. A coincidence? I put my head in my hands. “I’m cracking up,” I mumbled.
“You got that right,” Matt said.
Below us, someone screamed in agony. For a second, Matt and I stared at each other. We both knew what we had to do.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll do it. I’ll go and have a look.”
Matt blinked, thought about it. “OK,” he said. “But keep down.”
I nodded.
“And give me your phone,” he said.
I shrugged. “All right,” I said. “It’s flat anyway.” I passed him my phone then dropped onto my hands and knees. I crawled to the edge, moving quickly this time. The Brewers were making too much racket to hear me rustling through the grass. Without hesitating, I peered down. They were there—all four of them—directly below me. The scene was like something from a war movie.
Mitchell Brewer lay on the ground near the bottom of the stairs. He was screaming with all his might. Macka was bent over Mitchell’s legs, working away at something. Jordan Brewer stood near his brother. He had hold of Robbo’s hoodie with both hands and was shouting into his face. “This was you, wasn’t it? You gave him something, didn’t you?”
Robbo was defiant. “No, man, it’s like I told you, he just fell.”
“That’s my brother,” Jordan growled. “He don’t just fall down for no reason, does he? Eh?” He was losing it. “What did you give him?” he roared. He shook Robbo violently. “What did you do?” Oh my god, I thought. He’s going to kill him.
But Robbo stood his ground. “I didn’t give him nothing,” he said. He spoke through clenched teeth, emphasising every word, his voice as hard and vicious as a backstreet stabbing. “He climbed up there. His phone went off. He slipped. End of story. It…wasn’t…my…fault.”
Jordan snarled. He took one hand away from Robbo, pulled it back ready to strike. Robbo’s right hand darted into a pocket on his hoodie. He had to be reaching for a knife. I couldn’t watch, couldn’t look away, couldn’t think how to stop it.
“Oi!” It was Macka. He stood up. “You two shut up and get here. I need both of you.” Mitchell screamed. Maybe he’d broken his leg—I couldn’t see: Macka was in the way.
Jordan paused for a second. He leaned in to Robbo and said something very quietly, then he let go of Robbo’s hoodie and turned away. He went over to help Macka. For a second, Robbo glared at Jordan’s back. He took his hand from his hoodie pocket, and I saw a glint of metal. I held my breath.
“Robbo,” Macka called. “Come on.”
Robbo put his hand back in his pocket. “All right,” he said. “I’m coming, aren’t I?” He went to Macka’s side, keeping his distance from Jordan. I shuffled to one side, but I still couldn’t see what was wrong with Mitchell.
“Right,” said Macka, “I got some of it off, but you can’t hardly touch it—it’s too sharp. I’ll pick him up and pull him out, you two pull the wire off.”
Macka hooked Mitchell under the armpits and heaved him up. Mitchell shrieked in agony. Jordan and Robbo moved to Mitchell’s feet, and that’s when I saw it.
Razor wire. Mitchell had fallen onto the tangled mass of razor wire I’d seen when I’d hidden in the bracken. The wire curled around his legs. His jeans were ripped and soaked in blood. I felt sick, but I had to watch.
Hesitantly, Jordan and Robbo tugged at the wire. Suddenly Robbo pulled his hand away. “Bloody hell,” he spat. He examined his hand.
“Never mind that,” Jordan said. “Get that bit off his foot.”
Robbo scowled but he went back to work on the wire. Soon, they had Mitchell free. Jordan and Macka hoisted him upright.
“Here,” Macka said. “Put his arm around your shoulders.” Between them, they took Mitchell’s weight. At last he stopped screaming. He let out a horrible moan, his head lolled forward, and he made no more sound. He’d blacked out. I guessed, from the
state of his jeans, he’d lost a lot of blood.
“Got him?” Macka said.
“Yeah,” Jordan said. “Come on.” Then, with Mitchell hanging limp between them, they staggered back across the quarry floor with Robbo trailing along behind them.
I turned to give Matt the thumbs-up. Matt breathed a sigh of relief. But when I looked back to check the Brewers had gone, my heart froze.
Robbo stood alone on the quarry floor. Suddenly he turned, looked back to where Mitchell had fallen, and then he raised his eyes toward me. I ducked down, pressed my face into the grass. He couldn’t have seen me, could he? He was too far away wasn’t he? I couldn’t be sure. But I did know why he’d looked back. He was remembering the car roof had been ripped, and so someone had definitely been in the quarry, someone they’d never found. He was thinking that Mitchell had never made it to the top of the steps. And he was wondering about where those steps went, and if he climbed them, what—or who—would he find there?
CHAPTER 61
3,500 BC
THE CRACKLING SOUND wakes Waeccan from his troubled sleep. Slowly he raises his head, grimacing with the effort. He looks to the Darkeningstone, but he does not sit up—he doesn’t have the strength. He sighs. He’s been waiting for so long, and now here it is. At last the Shade of the young man has come to visit him again. But it is too late for Waeccan. Far too late. Sadness wells up inside him.
And there is something wrong. The Shade reaches its arms out toward him. It is struggling, distressed. Waeccan looks deeply into the Shade’s eyes and sees only fear and confusion. It needs his help to make the crossing into this world.
But I am not strong enough, Waeccan thinks. And so it is clear– all hope for the future is gone. Waeccan blinks away a tear, wraps his arms around his chest. And the pain returns, grows, crushes the life from his body. The Shade stares wildly at him and is gone.
Waeccan closed his eyes. The Shade would not return. And even if it did, there would be no one there to see it. The Shades had abandoned him, abandoned the mortal world. He no longer cared. His breath left him in a long, rattling sigh. The pain faded, and darkness washed over him.
“Waeccan.”
But what was this?
“Waeccan,” his father said. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve come to show you the way.”
With closed eyes, Waeccan saw his father smiling. It grew lighter, and Cleofan gestured with his arm. “See,” he said. “Here are the Shades—they await your arrival.”
And as Waeccan watched, they appeared before him—mystical creatures, silvery, glowing from within. These were the Shades he’d grown up with. The ancient grey men of the stone were there, and the childish spirits that gave life to the trees. Great white birds soared from their cloud nests and swooped over the wild black horses that brought the wind. The grey wolf, chief of the hunters, prowled through the trees, following the winged deer, which protected the hunted. All were gathered.
“Look, Waeccan,” his father said. And as Cleofan pointed to the sky, all the Shades turned obediently to watch. Waeccan followed their lead, and there, above him, glowed a most wondrous light—warm and golden. It shone on Waeccan’s face and drove away his pain. “This is the light from the World of the Shades,” Cleofan said.
“It’s calling to me,” Waeccan said. “I can feel it.”
“Yes, Waeccan. It is waiting for you. It is your time.”
Slowly, but easily and with no pain, Waeccan rose. He stood, bathed in the warmth of the wonderful light. His father stood at his side and took his hand. Waeccan smiled. And then, together, they walked toward the welcoming light.
CHAPTER 62
2010
I DIDN’T DARE MOVE A MILLIMETRE. Would Robbo come back? I lay, pressed against the grass, the damp soil, and listened and listened and listened. I tuned into the tiniest sounds: my watch ticking, leaves rustling, tree trunks creaking. And there it was—the sound I’d most hoped for—the juddering, grating scrape as the corrugated iron was pulled aside. A pause, then the iron was pushed back into place. I breathed. I raised my head and scanned the quarry floor. There was no sign of the Brewers. I pushed myself up onto my knees, turned back to Matt and tried to smile.
“It’s OK,” I said.
Matt frowned. “Have they gone?” he said.
“Yeah, I think so.” Even so, I kept my voice low.
“Are you sure?”
I hesitated. “Yeah,” I said. “Pretty sure.”
Matt let out a long breath, muttered, “Let’s wait a bit, just in case.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good idea. Whatever you want.” Matt didn’t respond, so I said, “I’ll just come back there with you.”
He shrugged his shoulders. I shuffled along on my hands and knees until I was next to Matt.
“All right?” I said. He didn’t reply, didn’t look at me. “That was a bit intense, wasn’t it?” Again, Matt didn’t respond.
“OK,” I said. “How long shall we give them—five minutes?”
For a second I thought he was going to ignore me, but then he looked at his watch, said, “OK.”
Matt plucked a long blade of grass and wound it around his finger. He unwound it then rewound it, concentrating hard. I got the message and kept quiet. So we sat still, and we waited, and we looked at our watches, and we listened.
Five minutes. It can be a very long time. My mind buzzed with things to say—anything just to break the silence. A dozen times I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing seemed to fit. It was all just small talk, empty words.
Matt broke his piece of grass, picked another, wound it around his fingers this way and that, broke it, picked another. I forced myself to look away.
I noticed the tools lying in the grass where I’d dropped them. I reached forward and picked them up. Matt pretended not to notice. I studied them for a while, remembering the jokes we’d made about VCC, but there was nothing new to see or to say. I put them down at my side.
After about four minutes, I’d had enough. I stood up. “Come on,” I said.
Matt stood, looked me in the eye. “You knew,” he said.
I shrugged. “Knew what?”
“You knew the Brewers came in here, but you didn’t tell me.”
“I –”
“You knew all along, but you just said, ‘I know, let’s go in the quarry, let’s muck about in the crappy old car.’ I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“I tried to tell you,” I said.
“Yeah?” Matt said. “When was that? Before or after we went through the fence?”
“Well it was after but –”
“Thought so,” Matt snorted. “It was too late then, wasn’t it? Too bloody late.”
I nodded. “Look,” I said. “I didn’t want this to happen.”
“Forget it,” Matt said. He turned his back on me, walked over to the steps and started to climb down.
“Matt,” I said. But he was already below the ledge. I sighed. Matt was right—this was all my fault. I looked back at the stone slab and shook my head. Ever since I’d first seen it, everything had gone wrong. I put my hands in my pockets and remembered that Matt still had my phone. I’d better catch him up. I turned to go and hesitated. What about the tools? I thought. I may as well take them with me. I bent to pick them up and followed Matt.
We climbed down in silence. I struggled with the tools in my hands so there was no way I could keep up with Matt. At the bottom, Matt didn’t wait. He set off across the quarry floor, determined to get out of there as quickly as he could. I jogged to catch up to him, but he didn’t even look at me. He didn’t speak to me until we reached the corrugated iron entrance.
“What’ve you brought those for?” he said.
I looked down at the tools in my hands. “Oh,” I said. “I, erm, I don’t know really. Just seemed the right thing to do.”
Matt snorted. “Yeah, right,” he sneered. “Brilliant.” I felt the blood rise to my cheeks. Matt shook his head. He turned to the iron shee
t and shoved it. It scraped open a few centimetres then jammed. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge. “Bloody thing,” he hissed. He thumped it with his fist, kicked it. He grabbed the edge with both hands and pushed and pulled it as hard as he could. The metal sheet shook and grated and clanged against the fence but it would not slide.
“Matt,” I said. “You’ve got it jammed.”
He ignored me, carried on.
“Matt,” I said– louder this time. “I can do it. Let me.”
He whipped around, turned on me, glaring. “Go on then,” he said. “Let’s see you.”
I took a deep breath. “All right,” I said. I put the tools down and stepped up to the iron sheet. I reached across to hold both sides and, grunting as the metal bit into fingers, twisted the metal sheet so that it was level. I let go, rubbed my hands together for a second, and then took hold of the edge and carefully slid it along the ground. I looked at Matt. “Do you want to go first?” I said.
He shrugged. “Not bothered,” he said and he looked away.
“Fine,” I said. I ducked down and slipped through the gap.
“Gotcha!”
Someone grabbed the back of my jacket, threw me face down onto the ground. For a split second I thought Matt had pushed me, getting his own back. Then something hard pressed mercilessly into my spine. Someone was kneeling on me, pinning me down. This wasn’t Matt. I struggled, tried to turn, but someone grabbed my right hand and pushed my arm up behind my back, twisting, wrenching every joint. The muscles burned, the pain seared through me. I cried out in shock and pain. And whoever it was laughed, cold and cruel.
With my free arm, I tried to push myself up. But they knelt harder on my spine, twisted my arm even farther. The pain tore through my whole body. I slumped onto the ground, helpless. They forced their hand roughly into my jacket pockets, spilled the contents onto the gravel: loose change, scraps of paper. Then they pushed their hand into my trouser pockets. “No,” I whimpered. I felt physically sick, violated.
Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) Page 19