Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2)

by Mikey Campling

  There. A dark figure moved toward them. He was clearly visible against the light from the clearing—an easy target. Without slowing, Hafoc raised his bow, pulled the bowstring tight. He aimed at the centre of the man’s chest. From this distance, he couldn’t miss. His fingers flexed on the shaft of his arrow—in a heartbeat, he’d let it fly.

  “Hafoc, no!” Tostig’s hissed command came just in time.

  Hafoc slowed his pace and glanced at Tostig. What now? And in that moment Hafoc missed his step. His foot crunched down on a dead branch and he stumbled, almost letting the arrow slip from his fingers. He staggered to a halt, lowering his bow, and stared at Tostig, his eyes wild with fury and confusion.

  “Hafoc, don’t shoot,” Tostig called. “That’s Flyta.”

  The words ran through Hafoc like a punch in the stomach. No! What was he doing? He’d almost loosed an arrow at one of his own tribe. How could he have been so stupid? A wave of dizziness washed through Hafoc from head to toe, and a bad taste rose in the back of his throat. He looked down and spat on the ground. He was breathing hard, his heart still pounding in his chest.

  When he looked up, Tostig was standing nearby, looking down at him in silence. Hafoc braced himself. Get it over with. I deserve it. But if Tostig was angry, he didn’t show it. He simple beckoned to Hafoc then turned and walked away. Hafoc blinked, hesitated. But Tostig was right. There’d be a time for dealing out punishments later. Right now, they had bigger problems to face. Getting Brond back was all that mattered. And killing the Wandrian, Hafoc thought. Killing them all. He spat on the ground once more then stood up straight and followed Tostig.

  In the shadows beneath a clump of trees, a little way back from the edge of the clearing, Tostig and Sceort stood with Flyta, and Hafoc knew something was wrong. Sceort was shaking his head and waving his hand in anger, and as Hafoc grew near, he heard Sceort muttering something about a trap.

  Tostig held up a hand to silence them, then turned to watch Hafoc. All three men stared in stony silence as Hafoc approached, but Flyta’s glare was the hardest to endure. Hafoc could only lower his eyes and keep walking, and those few short steps seemed to take forever.

  As Hafoc joined them, he hung his head in shame. He held his bow at his side. He did not speak and no one spoke to him. Hafoc bit his lip. The men’s silence was worse than a beating.

  Finally, Tostig grunted and turned his attention back to the others. “Flyta,” he whispered, “you’re sure you saw only one man?”

  Sceort snorted but Flyta ignored him. “Certain,” he said. “Though I cannot tell if he is Wandrian. He…he is strange.”

  Tostig studied Flyta’s expression. “How so?”

  Flyta rubbed his chin. “Everything about him. It was him you heard groaning. Why would he do that? If he was sick, he would lie quiet. There must be something…something wrong with him. I don’t like it at all.”

  “We go around,” Sceort said. “Keep away from him.”

  “Perhaps,” Tostig replied. “But I want to see this man for myself.”

  “Why?” Sceort asked. “Flyta, was there any sign of Brond?”

  Flyta shook his head slowly. “None. Perhaps Sceort is right. We’ve been on the wrong trail. We need to move on.”

  Tostig narrowed his eyes. “I have already said what we will do. I want to see this man. If he is Wandrian, he may have some knowledge of Brond and those who took him.”

  Flyta opened his mouth, but he hesitated before he spoke. “Of course. I’ll show you the best place to observe him.”

  Sceort rolled his eyes but said nothing.

  “Good,” Tostig said. “Let’s go.”

  The three men readied their bows once more, and Flyta led them toward the clearing. Hafoc followed, but he could not bring himself to raise his bow in front of him as the others had done—not yet.

  As they reached the edge of the clearing, the four men crouched and crept forward. They fanned out as each man moved to find a good viewpoint. Hafoc sidled up to a tree that was wide enough to hide him and pressed himself against its trunk. He glanced at Tostig and the others. All three stood stock still, watching something he couldn’t see. Hafoc bit his bottom lip and twisted his body until he could just see into the clearing. And his eyes grew wide.

  The first shock was the state of the fire; damp wood hissed and a column of dense smoke rose into the air. That’s why we could track it from so far away, Hafoc thought. But who would make such a fire? Only someone who had no fear of being discovered. And then he saw the man, and Hafoc’s mouth hung open.

  The strange man lay curled up on the ground by the fire. He was tall. Very tall. And his clothes—they were…unnatural. Hafoc tore his eyes away from the stranger, and scanned the clearing. Flyta had been certain the man was alone. That can’t be right, Hafoc thought. No man would lie in the open like this without someone to watch over him. Perhaps the man’s tribe were not far away. They could return at any moment.

  Again, the man moaned loudly. Hafoc stared in horror as the stranger rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. But what happened next made Hafoc shudder. The man opened his mouth and yelled, calling out to the sky. The man’s voice was harsh, wavering, and Hafoc hadn’t recognised a single word. What does it mean? Hafoc looked across to the others. Perhaps Tostig had understood the stranger. But their leader raised his hand to cover his mouth and he shook his head slowly. For a moment, Tostig’s face was a mask of horror and confusion.

  But then their leader narrowed his eyes and set his mouth in a firm line. He held up his hand and looked to each of his men in turn. Sceort and Flyta raised their bows, and with trembling fingers, Hafoc did the same. From the corners of their eyes they watched Tostig. And when he waved them forward, they charged into the clearing together.

  Chapter 14

  MY HEAD PULSED WITH PAIN. The muscles in my stomach twisted and cramped. I groaned and curled up tighter on my side, but the ache refused to fade. I rolled over onto my back. My head spun, and the ground seemed to shift beneath me. I lay back, let my head rest against the ground and moaned. I stared up into the sky and put my hands on my stomach but it didn’t help. “Oh my god!” I called out as loud as I could. “I feel so bad. I’m so ill.” And it’s all my own fault—I should never have drunk that muddy water. I grimaced at the memory. “Stupid idiot,” I murmured. “What was I thinking?”

  I took a slow breath and let it out gently. Maybe if I rested for a while, I’d have the strength to drag myself back to the stream. At least then I could clean myself up and rinse my mouth out. I swallowed, and tasted the bitter tang of vomit. My tongue was thick and heavy in my mouth. Yes, the cool, clear water would be good. But I mustn’t gulp it down next time. Just a sip. Until I felt better.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. I tuned into the sounds of the forest: the shush of the breeze in the treetops, the scattered snatches of birdsong. I’m so tired, I thought. And I must have fallen asleep for a moment. That’s the only explanation. Because, when they came for me, there was no warning. No warning at all.

  Rough hands gripped my upper arms. My eyes flew open, but before I could even focus, someone hauled me to my feet, lifting me up so my feet left the ground.

  “What the bloody hell?” I spluttered. I whipped my head wildly from side to side. There were four of them; two men held me by my arms while a third man stood in front of me. Behind him, a boy about my age. All four of them were shorter than me, but they were wiry, tough-looking, and the murderous look in their eyes chilled me to the core. They want to hurt me. That was my only meaningful thought. Nothing else made sense.

  These people looked like rejects from the Discovery channel. Their hair was wild and straggly, their faces tanned and leathery, and their clothes looked homemade. Is that kid really holding a bow and arrow? I struggled against their grip and tried to get my weight back onto my feet, but they were holding me too tight. The man in front of me muttered something and I gave up struggling an
d looked at him. I tried to return his stare, tried to frown and set my jaw. But when I saw the malice glittering in this man’s eyes, my courage failed and I couldn’t stop my bottom lip from trembling. There was no pity in his eyes, no mercy. But there was something else. He’s not just angry—he’s afraid. It was a bad combination. My mind raced. I needed to calm him down somehow. Perhaps I could still talk my way out of this, if I could just find the right thing to say.

  “Look,” I said, “I guess this is your campsite, your fire and everything. I’m sorry if I’m trespassing or something. I was lost and…” But I let my voice trail away. As soon as I’d started speaking the man’s eyes had gone wide.

  “What?” I said. “What’s wrong? I mean, if I’ve done something wrong, just tell me.”

  The boy behind him gasped. They both looked horrified. The man muttered something under his breath and reached up to touch his necklace. The men holding me up gripped my arms tighter, but they didn’t say a word. The man in front must be the leader of the gang. I swallowed hard then did my best to look him in the eye.

  “Just let me go,” I said. “And I’ll get out of your way.”

  He stared at me and snarled.

  “Please,” I said. “Just let me go.” I raised my voice, almost shouting. I was desperate to get through to these people. “Come on. You’ve had your fun. Let me go. All right?”

  But I shouldn’t have spoken to him in that way. The punch hit me square in the eye. My head snapped back and the pain flared through me. If they hadn’t been holding me so tightly, I’d have fallen flat on my back. I hung my head. Not again. I can’t take another beating, I really can’t. But what could I do about it? I took a shaky breath. I had to try again. But this time I wouldn’t be too loud, too demanding. I kept my head down and my voice low. “All right,” I said. “What do you want?”

  A long silence. The leader mumbled something and the men lowered me down so my feet were on the ground. Thank God for that. I stretched my shoulders back and took a shaky breath, but my relief didn’t last long. My stomach squirmed and a wave of nausea swept over me. I swallowed and raised my head slowly, trying to ready myself in case he hit me again, but I didn’t speak. Perhaps this would go better if I just let them have their say.

  The leader stared at me, looking me up and down, and then he thrust his chin forward and grunted a single word at me. It sounded like a question, but I couldn’t quite make it out.

  I hesitated. “Wandering?” I asked. I shook my head. “No. Not really. I…I’m lost, that’s all.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. He looked like he was having trouble understanding me. Didn’t he understand plain English?

  “Not wandering,” I said, as clearly as I could. “I just want to find my way out of here. I want to go home. Can you help me? Can you tell me the way to the nearest town? Or village?”

  The man’s expression did not change. Was he a bit simple maybe?

  I peered over his shoulder and nodded at the boy. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jake.” I licked my dry lips and tried a smile. “What’s your name?”

  The boy’s eyes went even wider. He took a step back and that was when I saw the dog. It had been standing behind him, but now the boy reached down and touched its back. It was an odd-looking mongrel, not like any breed I’d ever seen. I nodded toward it. “Nice dog,” I said. “What’s its name?”

  The boy looked down and then back at me. He thought for a moment and then he raised his eyebrows. He reached down and touched the dog’s back. “Nelda,” he said.

  “Nelda,” I said. “Nice name.” The dog pricked its ears forward when I said its name. I looked back to the boy. “Do you think—do you think you could tell your friends to let go of me?” I asked. “I really don’t feel well.”

  The boy put his hand to his mouth. He shook his head.

  Oh great. He’s just as bad as the other guy. I shook my head slowly. I’d thought I was getting through to the boy, but maybe he was simple, too. I looked at the men holding my arms. The man on my left just scowled, but the man on my right, the taller of the two, was studying my face. “Could you put me down?” I said. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  The man frowned. He titled his head to one side.

  I opened my mouth to ask again, when suddenly the leader reached his hand toward my face. I flinched, but he didn’t hit me. Instead, he lifted my chin and pushed my face to one side. With his other hand, he plucked at the collar of my T-shirt.

  My flesh crawled. “No,” I pleaded. “Not that.”

  He took no notice. His rough hand groped around my neck. Then suddenly, he took his hands away, as though he’d been stung. He stood back and said something. Again, I couldn’t make out his words, but he sounded amazed.

  I clamped my mouth shut; an outburst would only encourage them. But what could I do? I glared at the man. Don’t just stand there, staring at me—say something. But the silence stretched on and I could tell nothing from the man’s expression. Was he genuinely confused or was he just toying with me—enjoying my distress? I had no idea, but I couldn’t stand this silence a second longer. “Just let me go,” I said. I twisted my body, trying to pull my arms free. “Get your bloody hands off me and let me go.”

  The leader waved his hand and, at last, they let go of me and stood back. “About bloody time,” I muttered. I took a breath. I was still unsteady on my feet, but I took a step back, keeping my eyes on the leader. I edged away. If I could just get beyond arm’s reach, I could make a run for it. I glanced over my shoulder, looking for a path, a way into the forest. There. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. I took another sideways step, and my foot knocked against my bag. Without thinking, I bent down to grab it by the straps, and then everything happened very quickly.

  The boy shouted. He waved his arms at me, yelling for all he was worth.

  I turned and ran, my feet pounding into the soft ground, but I didn’t even make it to the edge of the clearing. The men who’d been holding me hared after me. The taller of the two grabbed me by my shoulders and threw me to the ground. I fell forward and landed heavily on my front, but I didn’t waste a millisecond. I pushed off from the ground with my arms and started scrambling to my feet, but I was too slow, and the next thing I knew, they were both on me. I thrashed and kicked, but they grabbed my flailing arms and rolled me over, pinning me down flat on my back. I bared my teeth. They’re never going to let me go. Never.

  The leader and the boy stood over me. I tried to kick out at the leader, but he sidestepped and moved closer. The boy was still waving his arms at me, and he kept saying the same couple of words over and over again.

  The leader grunted and bent down. He reached toward my waist and I shut my eyes and yelled as loudly as I could. Every swear word I’d ever heard poured from my mouth in a burst of anger and frustration. He tugged at my belt. “No!” I screamed. “No, no, no!”

  But then the leader stood up and stepped back. I stared up at him. In his hand, he held the flint knife. Oh, god. Of course it was theirs. Of course they’d think I’d stolen it. The leader said one word to the men holding me down. The short one leered at me and pulled back his fist. I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But I didn’t have time. His fist slammed into my eye, and my world flashed white. Why? Why did he have to hit the same eye again? My body went limp, every muscle sagging and useless. I was beaten. I had no idea what these men wanted from me, and no idea what they’d do next. But whatever it was, there was nothing I could do to stop them. Nothing at all.

  Chapter 15

  2018

  CALLY SILENCED HER RADIO ALARM as soon as it sounded. She sat up in bed and stretched. Today’s the day. Her first student protest. “My first civil disobedience,” she whispered. The words seemed strangely exotic, as though the protest march was an official ceremony. She smiled to herself. In a way, it was a rite of passage—her first act of defiance. Let’s just hope it doesn’t turn out to be my first riot. She threw back the covers and swun
g her legs to the floor. It was a cool morning and she grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it on, checking the belt was tied securely as she headed for her bedroom door. She sneaked downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet; everyone else was having a lie-in. Should she wake Gemma? Cally checked the kitchen clock. No. Give her a few minutes longer.

  Cally ran her hands through her hair. She didn’t feel like eating breakfast. Still, she could always drink a cup of coffee. She put the kettle on and grabbed her mug from the wall cupboard. She tilted the mug to the light and peered into it suspiciously. Some of her housemates weren’t quite as careful with the washing up as she’d like. She’d found a flourishing colony of mould in a bowl once, and since then, when no one was looking, she tended to check the crockery. But her mug was fine. She was spooning in the instant coffee when the door opened and Gemma walked in, squinting into the light from the kitchen window.

  “Oh, you’re up,” she said. “I thought I was going to give you a shout.”

  Cally beamed at her. “I didn’t want to be late. Do you want a coffee?”

  Gemma raised her eyebrows. “You do know it’s a march, not the golf club dinner and dance, right?”

  “I know,” Cally said. “I was just…oh, never mind. Do you want this coffee or not?”

  “Yeah, why not.” Gemma sat down at the kitchen table. “And stick a bit of toast in for me, will you? I shouldn’t have had that last glass of red last night.”

  Cally smiled and shook her head. “You say that every Saturday.”

  Gemma looked affronted. “That’s not true,” she said. “Sometimes I have white wine.”

  They laughed. “I rest my case,” Cally said. She went to the bread bin. Now there, she really might find some horrors.

  After breakfast, Cally made a beeline for the bathroom. In a house full of young women, you soon learned the art of tactical showering. She switched on the electric shower, and as she waited for the water to run warm, she checked her hair in the bathroom mirror. Did she really need to wash her hair this morning? It would be a lot quicker if she skipped it. She looked at her reflection and smiled. She was looking good. There was a gleam in her eyes that hadn’t been there for a while. It was great to be doing something different, breaking the rules. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what the day would bring. She felt alive. “I’ll show them,” she murmured. “I’ll show the bloody lot of them.” And she would, too.