Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) (11 page)

3,500 BC

BURLIC HAD
KILLED MEN BEFORE
. In hard winters and dry summers there were always men to be dealt with: men in a frenzy of hunger who would steal for their starving families; men who slunk through the night with knives ready to quietly slit throats; men who roared and charged, hurling spears, crushing skulls with their axes. Burlic had fought for survival, fought for his family, his village. Without hesitating, without thinking, he had slashed, stabbed, beaten men to death with his bare hands. But he’d never killed a man like this.

Now his enemy was completely helpless. Burlic squeezed his fingers around the handle of his knife, held it ready. He bent over Waeccan’s twisted body, reached forward. He looked for the place where the blood flowed fastest in Waeccan’s scrawny neck. His hand shook as the blade’s edge touched the grimy skin. Burlic clenched his teeth. He pressed the blade harder against the old man’s flesh, tensed the muscles in his arm. In one swift stroke the blade would bite, rip deep into the neck and throat. Now.

But Waeccan stirred. His mouth fell open, and he let out a low croaking, rattling moan. Burlic hesitated. “He’s dying,” he said. He pulled the knife away from the old man, dropped it on the ground. “He’s dying.” His legs were suddenly weak, unsteady. A chill ran through his body. He shook his head. “It’s not right,” he said. “Let him go.” You had to respect the dying and let their Shade pass. It was their way.

The old man’s face was grey, his breathing was shallow, strained. It would not be long.
It is better this way
, Burlic thought.
No one can blame me for this. I can go back to the village, and all will be well
. He knelt at Waeccan’s side, picked up his knife and returned it to his belt. He would do his duty.

He scooped up Waeccan’s feeble frame and lifted him as easily as he might’ve lifted a child. He carried him to the back of the ledge and laid him gently down on a patch of grass. Burlic sat down beside him. The old man’s expression softened a little. He was near the end. Burlic would not have to wait long.

Burlic tried to remember the sacred words. He spoke gently. “Waeccan, your Shade is free now. Let it go peacefully into the Shade World.” Burlic stood and looked to the sky. He raised his voice. “The Shade of Waeccan is done with this world—it must not linger here to trouble the living. Let his Shade journey to the next world where it belongs. Let its passing be swift and peaceful.” Burlic could think of nothing more to say. He hadn’t got the words quite right, but it was the closest he could get. He sighed and sat down heavily on the ground next to Waeccan’s body.

He could no longer hear the sound of breathing. Waeccan’s body lay completely still. His face showed no sign of life. Waeccan was dead. Burlic leaned back against the slope, exhausted. He closed his eyes. It was over.

“Scymrian,” he whispered, “I can come back to you.” Burlic needed his home now. He needed a fire and a hot meal. He needed to sleep. He yawned. He could almost fall asleep where he sat. So tired. But he mustn’t fall asleep. He must get up and…he must go…somewhere…and…and…

“Is it you?” The croaking, tormented voice ripped into his sleep. His eyes flew open. His body tensed, his heart racing. A dream. That was all. Just a dream—wasn’t it?

But no. Something touched his arm. He looked down to see gnarled grey fingers clawing at him, gripping his arm. Slowly, Burlic turned his head toward Waeccan.

“No,” Burlic breathed. “No, you’re dead…you’re…” But Waeccan’s eyes were open, and they blazed as the old man stared at Burlic, boring into his soul.

“Is it you?” Waeccan demanded, his voice dry, rasping in his throat.

Burlic couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Waeccan’s Shade had come to claim him. It had him in its grip. It had him, and it would take him to the world of the dead, and it would never let him go. Never. Burlic opened his mouth, and he screamed.

2010

I CREPT
FARTHER INTO THE BRACKEN
, keeping very low. The voices were coming closer, not shouting but cruel and threatening. I daren’t move any farther. I squatted down and peered through the bracken. And my blood froze in my veins.

I recognised them immediately. Everyone knew them. We also knew that it was best not to look them in the eye—they didn’t like that.

The Brewer boys. Jordan and Mitchell Brewer were brothers and the leaders of their gang of four. I saw Jordan first and then Mitchell. Jordan was the older of the two, but they were in the same year at school. Jordan had been put back a year. He’d missed a lot of school while he was in a young offender institution. Not that they actually went into school much. They preferred to hang around outside the gates. I dreaded walking in past them, though they’d always ignored me.
Please
, I thought,
don’t let this be the one time they notice me
.

I knew who I’d see next. The gang were always together. Sure enough, right behind the Brewers was Macka—Liam McIntyre. I bit my lip, hard. I remembered how once, just to show he could, Macka picked a fight with the biggest boy in school, Sam Morgan. I saw it begin. Sam was bigger and stronger, but he didn’t stand a chance. Macka jumped up, hooked an arm around Sam’s neck and pulled his head down. His other hand pounded relentlessly into Sam’s face. I’d walked away. Afterwards, everyone said that Macka hadn’t stopped until he’d beaten one of Sam’s eyes from its socket. I didn’t doubt it.

Macka turned. “Come on, Robbo, keep up,” he yelled.

“Yeah, yeah—I’m right behind you, bruv.”

And there he was: Robbo. Rob Dawson didn’t look as though he belonged in the gang. He was so thin and pale. But he would do anything to anybody. He didn’t care. Some said he took drugs; some said he was a dealer. There was even a rumour he’d stabbed someone. Whatever the truth, he was dangerous.

They weren’t the kind of people you could ever be glad to see. But for me, crouching alone among the flimsy bracken in an abandoned and isolated quarry, they were beyond my worst imaginings. And still they came closer.

Jordan shouted, “Yeah, Robbo, man, don’t make me ask you.”

Someone sniggered—Mitchell, I think.

And then they were so close—surely they could see me. I felt as though a block of ice was forming in my stomach. In my mind I could see, very clearly, how it would happen. They would suddenly stop talking and look in my direction. Then they’d come toward me, spreading out to cut off any chance that I might escape. I’d run of course, or try to, but it would be hopeless. There was nowhere to go. Slowly and with great satisfaction, they would turn to each other, share knowing smiles. Robbo would reach into a pocket and pull out a knife, look to the Brewer boys for approval. They would nod to him, and then watch impassively as Macka held me down. And as I screamed, they would laugh.

At times like that, you pray. It doesn’t matter what you believe in, you can’t help yourself. I hugged my knees tighter, made myself as small as possible. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I needed to see what was coming. I fixed my eyes on the slender tops of the bracken fronds, watched them swaying.

“Macka—you keep a lookout. Mitch—sit with me. Robbo—get us sorted.” That must’ve been Jordan.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Macka said.

I could hear Robbo complaining to himself.

Then there was a hollow, metallic sound. I allowed myself a shaky breath.
They’re not coming any closer
, I thought.
If they’re sitting down, they’ve got no idea I’m here
. But I wasn’t out of trouble yet. Could I sneak out without being seen? First, I had to know where they were. And I had to be sure they were far enough away. Dare I risk taking a look?

Slowly, very slowly, I raised my head a little. A breeze parted the bracken fronds for a second, and I froze. There, right in front of me, Macka was sitting on the roof of the wrecked car. The hollow sound I’d heard must’ve been him jumping up onto the roof. He had his back to me, but he was also above me. One turn of his head, and he’d see me. I sank lower to the ground.
I’m such an idiot
, I thought. I remembered my dad’s warnings when I’d asked him who went into the quarry: “No one who’s supposed to,” he’d said. But I’d ignored him. I’d thought I was being brave when I explored; I’d wanted to brag about it. I’d been childish, stupid. Now I saw it all too clearly.

This place wasn’t mysterious or exciting. It was a hole in the ground, full of rusting junk and festering rubbish. But to the Brewers, this was their territory. And I was trespassing.

3,500 BC

BURLIC HAD
STOPPED SHAKING
. He sat, side by side with Waeccan at the back of the ledge. He couldn’t bring himself to sit face-to-face with the old man, but he daren’t turn his back on him. Neither spoke. Burlic gritted his teeth together.
How was I to know he wasn’t dying?
he thought.
And now I’ve made a fool of myself. I must get away from here
.

But he wasn’t sure his legs were steady enough yet. The climb down would be treacherous in the dark, and he’d already embarrassed himself enough. He folded his arms.
I screamed
, he thought bitterly,
like an infant
.

Waeccan took a deep, slow breath. He winced and placed a hand on his chest. The pain had faded, but it was still there. A moment ago, when he’d opened his eyes, he’d thought the Shade he’d seen on the Darkeningstone was sitting by his side. But Burlic’s scream had brought him to his senses. Now he remembered that he’d heard someone approaching. And he remembered his father’s instructions to strike him down. But this was just Burlic. Surely he was harmless.
And he must have picked me up
, he thought,
made me comfortable
.

Waeccan studied Burlic’s expression carefully: the young man was angry, but why? “Burlic,” he said. “Thank you.”

Burlic grunted but did not turn his head.

Waeccan tried again. “You helped me,” he said.

Burlic looked the old man in the eye. “I thought you were dying,” he snapped.

“I was,” Waeccan said. “But you saved my life. And I thank you.”

Burlic looked away.
I was so close
, he thought,
to taking that life away
.

Waeccan paused. What was the young man doing here anyway? Of course…

“The stone for your hut,” he said. “It’s ready. You must take it today—Scymrian must be near her time.”

Burlic looked at the old man in astonishment.
This can’t be
, he thought.
Have I been wrong all along?
“You must know,” he snapped.

Waeccan was confused. “Know?” he said. “Know what? Is Scymrian…is all well? ”

Burlic turned fully and grabbed the old man’s tunic with both hands. “Do not speak her name,” he said. “You know she is not well. You know the child came too soon. You know.”

Waeccan shook his head. “No,” he said. “How could I know? I don’t understand. Scymrian is not well? Then why aren’t you with her?”

Burlic stared into Waeccan’s eyes and saw only confusion and fear. The old man was speaking the truth. And he was right.
I should never have left Scymrian’s side
, he thought. He let go of Waeccan’s tunic.

Waeccan was shaken.
He blames me
, he thought.
What have I done to deserve this?
His father was right about these villagers with their foolish superstitions and their stupid stories. And then Waeccan realised…“It was you,” he said. “You’ve been sneaking about and watching me. Why? What have I done to you?”

Burlic pushed himself to his feet. He turned his back on Waeccan and walked a few steps away.

“Answer me,” Waeccan demanded. “Why do you blame me, eh? What have I done except work for days to make the stone for your hut? Why would I do that if I wished some harm to you?”

But Burlic had no answer for that. Instead, he said, “But…the water…you gave it to me and…”

“Water?” Waeccan said, and then he remembered. “Yes. I did. You needed water, and I gave you some. What of it? There’s nothing wrong with the water. I drink it every day, and I’m older than you’ll ever be.”

Burlic closed his eyes for a moment. It didn’t help. Nothing made sense. If only he could think clearly. If only he’d listened to Tellan. If only…

Waeccan watched Burlic, saw him hang his head, saw his shoulders sag.
The poor fool
, he thought. And yet he’d found the stairway, and he’d come to Waeccan when he’d needed him the most. Waeccan nodded. The dullest block of stone may be home to the greatest of Shades—his father had taught him that. And his father had told him that he was to have an apprentice.
Did you send him, Father?
he thought. One thing was certain: Burlic had been sent to him for a reason.

“I’ll go,” Burlic said. “I’ll go home.” He walked toward the top of the stairway.

“Wait,” Waeccan called.

Waeccan’s body was failing him. Soon his earthly life would be over. He needed guidance, he needed to see the Shade on the Darkeningstone once more. But did he have the strength?

Burlic had found the stairway, was already turning, lowering his foot onto the first step.

“Wait!” Waeccan cried. “You
must
wait.”

Burlic stepped down onto the stairway. He looked at the old man. “No,” he said. “I’ve waited long enough.” And he began to climb down.