Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) (35 page)

But Tom didn’t hear him. His ears were suddenly filled with a roaring hiss, a buzzing, crackling wall of sound that vibrated through his chest. He opened his mouth to cry out, but it was too late. No sound would come from his throat.

“Tom!” Alan yelled, desperate to be heard over the rising cacophony. “What the hell’s going on?”

The lights were even brighter now, coming thick and fast as they flickered over Tom’s helpless body, enveloping him in a latticework of light. Alan stepped forward. He had to do something, he had to pull Tom off the stone slab. He threw Tom’s phone to the ground and stepped closer to the stone. And in that moment, the phone began to ring.

Chapter 34

3650 BC

I STARED UP into the old man’s eyes. “You…you can understand me? You speak English?”

He nodded. “Just stay quiet,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder. “They’re coming. I have to take you back. I’ll try and help. Help you later.” He spoke awkwardly, as though struggling to find the right words.

“Please, just let me go. I’ll go away. You won’t see me again.”

He shook his head. “It won’t work. They’d kill you right now.” He pushed himself up to his feet and turned away from me. I heard the pounding of feet, and suddenly they were there, the whole group, surrounding us. They stood, their chests heaving, glaring at me, at the man who stood over me, their eyes alight with an animal greed. One of them, I think the one who’d caught me in the forest, confronted the old man, standing very close to him and shouting into his face. But the old man just gave him a weary smile, as though tolerating a naughty child. He turned to the others and said something in their language, and then they were grabbing me, hauling me up to my feet.

I hung my head and let them drag me back up the hill.
I was so close
.
Another few seconds and I might have got away
. But perhaps there was
some
hope. The old man had spoken to me in English and he’d said he would help me. There might still be a way to escape, to survive. I closed my eyes tight.
Stay quiet
, the old man had said,
and you just might live
. I had to hang on to that. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.

I opened my eyes and looked up. We were almost back at the top of the hill. The black stone loomed above us like an impenetrable shadow against the darkening sky. It was already dusk. Soon, the sun would set and the worst day of my life would finally draw to a close.
Maybe they’ll camp down for the night and leave me alone for a while
. I pictured myself slipping away into the night while they slept. But that wasn’t going to happen. These men were angry, greedy, excited. They had something in mind for me and their other prisoner; something they were looking forward to very much indeed.
Whatever it is
,
it’s not going to be good for me.

I looked for the old man. For a second, I couldn’t see him and a wave of cold panic ran through me.
He’s gone
. But I strained my neck and looked back over my shoulder and there he was, trudging along behind me.
Thank god for that
. Our eyes met but his expression stayed blank, emotionless. He was going to help me, wasn’t he? Or had his promise been nothing more than a cruel trick to keep me quiet? I studied his face for some small trace of sympathy but his eyes gave nothing away. I opened my mouth to speak, but there it was—the sign I’d been looking for—a barely perceptible nod.

The old man’s acknowledgement wasn’t much of a comfort, but for now, it would have to do. I’d no idea how he might help me, but as I looked forward again and saw their other prisoner lying beaten and helpless on the ground, I had to hope I wouldn’t end up in the same state, or even worse. I had to believe the old man would stick to his promise.
He’s got to let me go. He’s got to
.

But he’d had his chance to do just that, only moments earlier, and instead he’d handed me over to his men. I looked away from the wounded man, raised my eyes to the sky.
Don’t give up
, I told myself.
Stay sharp
. Something was going to happen, perhaps very soon, and whatever it was, I had to be ready for it.

***

Hafoc squatted on his haunches and checked his arrows for the second time. He ran each one carefully through his fingers, making sure that each was perfectly straight. He examined the bindings that held the flint heads tight, then turned each one around and smoothed the fletching; the black feathers that would make his arrows fly true. Finally, he placed each arrow back into his quiver. They were good arrows. But would they be good enough against the Wandrian?

He looked around the men. Each of them was occupied in a similar way, carefully checking their knives still held an edge and their bowstrings were still tight. All except Tostig. Their leader stood, leaning his back against a tree trunk, watching his men prepare for battle. He saw Hafoc looking at him and held his gaze for a while.

Hafoc steeled himself.
Here it comes
.
He’ll tell me I’m too young for this, too inexperienced, too clumsy. He’ll tell me to stay behind, give me some stupid job to do
.

Tostig narrowed his eyes. “Your arrows are good, Hafoc,” he said. “You will kill many Wandrian today.”

Hafoc swallowed. He heard the pride in Tostig’s voice and his worry that he’d be left behind suddenly seemed childish. He took a breath and puffed his chest out. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

The other men were all looking at him now.

“You’re a good shot, Hafoc,” Flyta said. “Aim for the middle of the chest.” He tapped his own chest with his finger. “Right here. That will bring any man to his knees—even the Wandrian.”

Hafoc nodded. Sceort coughed and Hafoc turned to him.

“You were not stealthy when we left the tribe,” Sceort said. “But now, you have learned.” He looked Hafoc in the eye, and for the first time, Hafoc saw a glimmer of respect from the older man. “Like your namesake, the hawk, you will fall upon your prey before he knows you are there.”

Hafoc bit his lip and looked from man to man. Each one met his look with a brother’s pride. He was their equal. Finally, he was one of them. He took a breath. He would fight alongside his brothers today and he would die before he let their enemies harm any one of them.

He opened his mouth to speak, though he hadn’t the words to explain what their praise meant to him. He felt his face flush.
Don’t say something stupid
.
Don’t make yourself look like fool
. But thankfully, he didn’t have the chance.

Tostig pushed himself away from the tree. He stretched his arms out wide and took a deep breath. “It’s time,” he said. He picked up his bow, adjusted the strap that held his quiver to his back.

Hafoc, Sceort and Flyta did the same. They stood in silence, waiting for Tostig’s orders.

“We go back to the edge of the forest,” Tostig said. “There, we’ll split up. Hafoc, you will stay by my side. Sceort, you will go with Flyta.” He paused and the men nodded to show they understood. “As soon as the sun has set, we’ll climb the hill, spreading out to approach our enemies from two directions.” He looked around his men. “They will think they’re attacked by many men.” He allowed himself a grim smile. “The Wandrian shall know what it is to fear an enemy who creeps unseen through the night.”

The men smiled at each other, a glint in their eyes.
I won’t let you down
, Hafoc thought, and knew the same promise was in each man’s mind.

Tostig turned, and without a word he walked away, toward the forest’s edge. Without a heartbeat’s hesitation, Hafoc followed. He heard Flyta and Sceort following behind. The men moved quickly through the forest, a sense of deadly purpose in every silent footstep. For a moment, Hafoc thought of Nelda. It would’ve been good to have her at his side, but he hadn’t seen her since he’d left the forest’s edge.
Perhaps she’s still there
,
waiting for our return
. He pushed the thought away. Nelda was used to hunting alongside the men, but this was different, and the last time she’d met the Wandrian, she’d been afraid. If she was with them now, she might growl and give them away. No. It was better this way. The men had each other, and that was all they needed.

Hafoc watched Tostig and followed him carefully. Soon, the light filtering through the trees changed, and Hafoc knew the sun was setting. Ahead, the shadows beneath the trees deepened, but still, Hafoc could tell the forest was thinning. They were almost at its edge. In a moment, they would split up and begin their long, silent climb up the hill. Then, whatever happened, he would be ready.

I sat on the ground and watched the sun sink gently toward the horizon. A little way from me, the men had built a fire, and they sat in a circle around the flames, their rough yells and harsh laughter corrupting the cool evening air. I rubbed at my wrists as best as I could. The rope had rubbed the skin raw a long time ago, and every time I moved the rope bit deeper into my flesh. I pulled gently at the rope, trying to get enough slack to let me change position, but they hadn’t even allowed me that luxury. They’d cut the rope very short and tied it to a rough wooden stake. I’d watched as they’d driven the stake deep into the ground. They’d pounded at it, using rocks as hammers, until hardly any wood was left above ground. They’d been just as thorough with the knots. I’d tried to escape once; now they’d made sure I was at their mercy.

I closed my eyes and tried to blank out the sound of their voices, tried very hard not to think about the reasons why they should be so excited.
How the hell did I end up like this?
I sniffed. I just wanted to be home, just wanted to see my family again. My family. A swirl of memories rushed into my mind: unwrapping a Christmas present when I was a kid and finding the metal detector I’d wanted for ages; Dad fixing up a flat-packed wardrobe and getting it so wrong he laughed out loud; Mum singing along, almost in tune, to a cheesy old pop song on the radio. The scenes ran together like a badly cut homemade movie, and I couldn’t slow them down, couldn’t hold onto them long enough to make sense of them. “It’s too much,” I whispered. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I blinked them away.

I sighed. Maybe it would be better if I faced the truth. I was never going to see my family again. Even if the old man helped me, even if I got away, I’d still be trapped in this harsh world, and on my own, how long would I survive?

I stared into the distance, lost in my miserable thoughts.

“What’s too much?”

I looked around with a start. The old man stood by my side, away from the fire and hidden in the deep shadow cast by the black stone. How had he come so close without me hearing him? How long had he been standing there?

I sniffed and shook my head. “Are you… are you going to let me go?”

The old man hesitated, and then he moved closer and squatted down, close by my side; too close. I could smell the meat on his breath, the rancid sweat on his skin. I fought the urge to lean away. If he was going to help me, I needed to hear what he had to say.

He licked his lips. “I’ll try and help you. But first, I want to talk to you.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“My name is Morven,” he said. “And I
need
to talk to you. Now, before it’s too late.”

I swallowed hard. “All right. I’ll listen. But you have to be quick. I think your friends have other ideas.”

Morven nodded. For a moment, he moved his lips soundlessly as though he was having trouble finding the right words. “Sorry. I haven’t spoken English for a long time.”

“You’re English? This is still England then? I thought…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes. I’m English, but I don’t think this is England.”

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head. “When I first came here, more than thirty years ago, I walked. I walked for days, months. I don’t know how long. There are mountains to the North. I saw them in the distance. Huge, snow-topped mountains. A whole range of them. Too many to be England or Scotland.” Morven paused for breath, as though talking had tired him.

“So where are we?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “The thing is,
when
are we?”

“What?”

Morven worked his jaw again. “What year was it when you came here?”

“This year of course,” I said. “I don’t understand.”

“Ha. It was 2014 when I left, at least I think it was, and I’ve been here for thirty years at least.”

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” I protested. “You’d have to…” And finally, it dawned on me. I stared at the old man.

The man tilted his head, studying my face. “You see it now? The stone has taken us back in time.”

“But, that’s impossible.”

“Is it? Look at these people.” He pointed toward the campfire. “They’re simple people. They use stone weapons. They’re little more than savages.”

“But you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Morven exhaled noisily and thought back to those early days, that first winter when he’d almost frozen to death; his relief when the tribe had found him, given him food, shelter, warmth. It was only later he’d learned what they were, learned to take his place, and fought to keep it. “I am now, I suppose,” he said. “I am now.”