“Come on,” she murmured. “It’s all right. You must stay strong.” And when she lifted his head a little more, he latched on, his warm lips tugging at her nipple.
The woman closed her eyes and exhaled. She had enough milk for now, but she’d need to eat and drink soon, or she wouldn’t be able to feed him. And she was thirsty. So thirsty. Later, she thought. I’ll find food and water later.
***
Cleofan followed the usual path into the forest, but he didn’t have much luck. There was very little wood along the path, and he guessed that most of the fallen branches had already been taken by others.
He stopped walking and took a breath. It was no use putting it off; he’d have to venture farther into the forest. He turned around, scanning the undergrowth, looking for a place where he could force his way through the brambles and thorny bushes. “I could go home,” he muttered. “I’ve done enough.” But when he looked down at the bundle of firewood in his arms, he knew he was fooling himself. He sighed then lay down his bundle. He’d leave it there, and when he’d found some more, he’d pick up this pile on the way home. No one would steal it. No one came to the pit unless they needed stone, and no one would build a hut in this dark season.
Cleofan chose a direction and pushed his way between two hawthorn bushes. But as he moved the sharp branches aside, he heard something.
What was that?
He dropped into a half crouch and drew his knife. What had he heard? He tilted his head and the noise came again: a low whine, like a wounded animal. And a wounded animal would be easy prey. Meat, Cleofan thought. He licked his lips. If he could return home with meat for the feast, he would be welcomed with open arms. Even his mother would be pleased. And someone else could fetch the firewood. He’d send his wife. It was a job for a woman, and anyway, it was about time she learned to respect her husband.
Cleofan crept forward, homing in on the sound.
There. It was right in front of him. The sound was coming from inside a holly bush. He took a breath and held his knife ready then he bent his knees and reached down to part the branches.
The blow to his head was hard and swift. The pain arced across his skull and he staggered sideways, clutching at his head. Blood flowed between his fingers, wet and warm, and trickled down his forehead. He wheeled around to face his attacker, waving his knife wildly from side to side, but the wound had dimmed his vision and he could only squint up at the figure in front of him. He grunted and raised his knife to head height, but before he could strike, the dark figure lashed out at him, thrusting a weapon at his face. Cleofan stumbled backward and the weapon missed him by a hair’s breadth. But as he struggled to regain his stance, a branch caught him in the back of his knees and he fell backward, crying out. And his attacker was on him.
A savage kick to Cleofan’s hand sent his knife tumbling among the dead leaves. Another kick to his side left him gasping for air. And then the dark figure descended on him, kneeling hard on his chest, squeezing the breath from him. A heavy blade was pressed firmly against his throat and Cleofan gagged.
“Stay still,” the figure hissed. “Stay still, or I’ll kill you now.”
Chapter 11
2021
I WAS WAITING IN THE LOBBY by 7:40 p.m. but after five minutes of pretending to read a French magazine, I went outside. There were fewer people on the street and the road was quiet, so I leaned back against the hotel wall, soaked up the early evening sunshine and tried to be patient.
At 8:10 I double checked my phone, scrolling through all my old messages in case I’d missed something. She’s not coming, I thought. She’s changed her mind. But just as I’d decided to go back up to my room, I looked along the street, and there she was. She’d changed into faded jeans and a white cotton shirt that showed off her suntan. The breeze caught her dark hair as she walked and it streamed out behind her, her natural honeyed highlights glowing in the golden sunlight.
I pushed myself away from the wall, and stood, staring. When I’d seen Cally at the dig, I’d thought she looked wonderful, despite her clothes being old and streaked with dried mud. But as I watched her walking toward me, the rest of the world melted away, and I knew she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
She gave me a little wave and a big smile, and my heart leaped in my chest. I grinned stupidly and returned her wave, trying desperately to look nonchalant but feeling foolish. It seemed to take forever for her to walk the last few metres toward me, but I wasn’t complaining. And anyway, my feet were rooted to the spot.
“Hi,” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but there was no need to stand out on the street. I said I’d call when I got here.”
“Yeah, I know. But I just wanted to get some fresh air.”
She smiled. “It’s a beautiful evening isn’t it?”
I watched the way her lips moved when she talked, I watched the curve of her eyebrows, and the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. “Beautiful,” I murmured.
She tilted her head on one side and gave me an appraising look. I’m making a fool of myself, I thought. She must get that all the time. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to speak in my normal voice. “I mean, it’s so much warmer than back home. It was raining when I left. But here…it’s just so much nicer.”
She laughed. “You should have seen it last week. It rained for three days solid, but we still had to carry on. We were up to our ankles in mud.”
“TV life not as glamorous as you hoped then?”
She shrugged. “It has its moments. Just not very many of them. Not for me anyway.”
For a moment, there was an awkward silence, then Cally said, “OK, we’ve covered the weather. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a drink and something to eat.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “But I hope you know somewhere good, because I’ve only tried the restaurant here, and it isn’t exactly Michelin material—unless they’re looking for new forms of rubber for their tyres.”
She smiled appreciatively. “I’d forgotten about your sense of humour.”
“Probably for the best,” I said. “Though I’m surprised you remember anything from that day.”
She looked down for moment, and then looked me in the eye. “It’s not the sort of thing you forget. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve tried often enough.”
I nodded. “Me too. But listen, we can’t talk about this out in the street. We should go and find somewhere to sit down and talk properly.”
“OK. I know somewhere nearby. We can walk. It’ll only take us about ten minutes to get there.”
“Fine,” I said then hesitated. “And you must let me buy you dinner. It’s the least I can do.”
She pursed her lips. “No. That’s all right. It’s not like we’re going on a date. And anyway, don’t worry about it. I can claim my expenses back from the production company.” She grinned. “In fact, since you’re playing the part of my colleague from Oxford, I think I should claim for the whole bill, don’t you?”
“Suits me,” I said. “If you think you can get away with it.”
“Why the hell not? After the day I’ve had, they owe me.” She flashed me a smile. “Come on, let’s get going.”
***
The restaurant was small and rustic. Most of the other customers looked like locals: families out for a relaxed meal, taking their time over their heaped plates while their kids tucked into burgers and pommes frites.
The waiter recognised Cally and greeted her warmly, gushing a stream of French that I struggled to follow. When she replied, her accent was flawless, and I stared at her in awe. Impossibly, she was even more attractive when speaking French.
The waiter showed us to our table, and Cally ordered a bottle of red wine. She seemed to know what she was doing with the wine list so I let her choose. When the waiter returned with our drinks I decided that the local kids had the right idea, and ordered a burger with fries and a salad, while Cally chose the sea bass.
> We sipped our wine while we waited for our food, and I relaxed, enjoying the wine, the murmur of French voices and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.
“So,” Cally said, “where do you want to start?”
“I’m not sure. How about you tell me who that man was up at the dig? You said he worked for the French government. So why was he waiting for me at the station?”
Cally frowned. “You’re sure it was the same man?”
“Yes, definitely. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, but it was him. And there was another guy with him. They tried to get me into their car. They told me they’d been sent to pick me up from the hotel.”
“And had they?” Cally asked. “You did check didn’t you? Only, it occurs to me that the goon from the government must be staying somewhere nearby. Maybe he’s a guest in your hotel. That would explain why he was in the car, wouldn’t it?”
I shook my head. “I checked. At least I tried to. As far as I can make out, they never sent a car. My dad did call to ask for one, so I think someone must have intercepted his call.” I paused, trying to gauge Cally’s reaction. She was listening carefully, but she didn’t look convinced. “I know it sounds ridiculous,” I went on, “but I’m sure there’s something not right about that man. And I think you feel the same way.”
Cally looked at me for a moment. “Yes. Something must be going on. Just before you arrived, I had a really strange visit from some guy who claimed he was from the Ministry of Culture. He said they’re going to monitor everything we do up at the dig, and he left that goon behind to keep an eye on things and report back.” She held out her hands in exasperation. “It’s just totally over the top, and I’ve never heard of anything like it. It’s not as though the dig is particularly important.”
I took a long drink of my wine. “So, at your dig, there isn’t a…a black stone?”
Cally shivered. “No, nothing like that, or I wouldn’t be here. I never want to see anything like that again.”
“I understand,” I said. “But maybe, there’s something similar, or maybe—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I told you, there’s nothing of the sort. It’s a Copper Age site. We’re looking for weapons, jewellery, the sort of things that look good on TV. There are a couple of menhirs nearby, you know, standing stones, but we’re not here to study them.” She gave me a resigned smile. “The producer thinks they look nice in the background. He says they add a bit of mysticism.”
“Could there be some sort of connection between the standing stones and the black stone we saw?”
“No,” she said. “And listen, I’m not interested in Neolithic stuff anymore. It’s not my field. So don’t expect me to be an expert, all right?”
“Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on, that’s all.”
Cally took a breath. “OK. It’s just been a long day. And I need something to eat.” She looked around the restaurant. “I wonder how long our food will be.”
We sat in silence for a long minute. It’s now or never, I thought. But I’d better watch my step. “I’m sorry if I’m dragging up unpleasant memories,” I said. “But I’d like to talk about the first time we met.”
She looked down at the table and drew imaginary lines on the tablecloth with her fingertip. “OK. What you want to know? I was there on a dig, just helping out back then, and I saw you briefly and showed you the stone.” She hesitated. “After that, it’s all a bit muddled. I was an idiot. I’d been smoking a joint. It was all very…unfortunate.”
“Cally, this is going to sound like a weird question, but when you saw me, what year do you think it was?”
She looked up sharply. “Same as you I expect. I went to university in 2015, so it must’ve been the year before—2014.”
I took a breath and let it out slowly. “No, it wasn’t. Not for me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The year you saw me, Cally, it was 2010.”
She shook her head. “No, like I told you, I was on that dig in the year before I went to Exeter. You must’ve got it wrong.”
I leaned forward across the table and lowered my voice. “Listen, 2010 was the year I went into the quarry. And there’s no way I could get that wrong, because that was the year I went missing.”
Cally’s stared at me in silence.
“Let me show you something.” I took my wallet from my pocket and pulled out a newspaper cutting. I unfolded it and slid it across the table toward her. “My dad gave me this. You can see it was dated in 2010.”
It wasn’t a long piece: a simple report giving my name and stating that I was a missing person. She read it quickly then looked me in the eye. “I hate to ask this, but what happened to you? Did you run away? Were you unhappy or something?”
I almost laughed. “I don’t think I can explain all that, Cally. Not right now. But the point is this—you saw me before I disappeared. You saw me in 2010.”
“Wait a minute. I remember something about this.” She looked down at the table, her brow furrowed. “That’s right. Before the dig started they had to wait for the police to say it was OK. There was something about a boy who’d been missing, but they’d found him.” She looked at me and shook her head. “But that can’t have been you. Unless you’d come back from wherever you’d been by then.”
I ran my hands through my hair. I’d rehearsed what I was going to say to Cally a hundred times, but it was all going wrong. I shouldn’t have been surprised. How the hell could I explain what had happened when I didn’t even understand it myself? But then I had the first glimmerings of an idea. I reached across the table and put my hand on hers. “Cally, I’m going to tell you something that I shouldn’t know, and I want you to tell me honestly if I’m right or wrong.”
Something in my tone must’ve convinced her I was serious because she sat perfectly still, and although she glanced down at my hand, she didn’t move hers away. “All right. Tell me.”
“On the day you saw me in the quarry, you laid down on the black stone twice. Once, just before you saw me, and again, right after I left you.”
She sat back and pulled her hand away. “Were you watching me? Is that what all this is about? You’ve got some stupid fixation on me or something?”
“No,” I said, and I couldn’t keep my voice from rising. “Don’t you get it? I couldn’t have been watching you—you weren’t even there. It was 2010 for god’s sake.”
Cally opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment the waiter arrived with our food. I did my best to thank him in French, but beside Cally’s perfect pronunciation, my attempt was clumsy and lame.
Cally picked up her knife and fork. “This looks good.” She started eating, and I followed suit, though without much enthusiasm. I thought I’d lost my appetite, but that changed when I bit into the burger. The meat was rich and juicy, and flavoured with spices and fresh herbs. “That’s the best thing I’ve eaten in a while,” I said. It was true. Since I’d set off on this journey, apart from the awful steak at the hotel, I’d been living on tired sandwiches and stale coffee. I took another bite of the burger and washed it down with a mouthful of red wine. I gave Cally the best smile I could muster. “How’s your fish?”
“Yeah, it’s good,” she said. But she didn’t return my smile. She took a long sip of wine then set her glass on the table with a sigh. “OK, let’s try again. How did you know about me lying down on the stone?”
“Because I did exactly the same thing and something happened to me. Listen, the day after we met, I went back to the quarry to look for you. But there was no sign of you and your friends because you hadn’t got there yet—it was still 2010. You weren’t going to turn up for another four years.”
Cally shook her head, but she didn’t interrupt.
“Anyway, I had a run-in with one of the local thugs—an evil bastard called Robbo. I fell back on the stone, and banged my head.”
Cally opened her mouth to say something, but I didn’t give her the chanc
e.
“And no, I didn’t have a head injury and I didn’t go into a coma. I didn’t even lose consciousness. But the stone did something to me, and it was bloody painful.” I paused and took another drink of wine, draining my glass. I took the bottle and offered it to Cally. She nodded, and I filled her glass and then mine. “Like I said, it was a horrible experience, and when I climbed off the stone, I wasn’t in the quarry anymore.”
“I see,” Cally said very deliberately, as if she was choosing her words with care. “And where do you think you were?”
My blood rushed to my cheeks. “Please, don’t patronise me. I’ve had enough of that from other people. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I want to believe you. And you were right, I did lie down on the stone. Just like you said. And I…” She shook her head and looked down at her plate.
“What? What is it that you don’t want to talk about?”
She hesitated. “Tell me your story first. Tell me what happened to you. And I promise I’ll listen this time.”
“All right. I’ll keep it short.” I took a moment to gather my thoughts then I launched into the edited highlights of my brief time in the distant past. I told her I’d been taken to a different stone, probably in a different country. And I explained as best as I could how I came to be pressed against the stone for the final time, when the old man with the painted face had waved a circle of dark stone in front of my face. Then I looked Cally in the eye and said, “And that was when I saw you for the second time.”
She gave me a sharp look, but I pressed on. “You were alone. Somewhere dark. And you looked at me.”
Cally shook her head. “I don’t…”
“You looked at me,” I insisted. “I’m sure you could see me. You called my name. I heard you.”
She looked away , and for a moment, I thought she was going to stand up and head for the door.
“You did see me,” I said. “It’s no use trying to hide it.”
She looked at me, studying my face. “Yes, I saw you. It was a long time ago, in Exeter.” She took a sip of wine. “I’ve always tried to kid myself that it wasn’t real—just something I imagined. But now…”
Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Page 6