Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) (8 page)

3,500 BC

“
WHERE HAVE
YOU BEEN?”
Burlic snarled. “It’s almost nightfall. I looked for you but I couldn’t find you. I’ve waited here all day.”

Tellan held out his arms toward Burlic, his palms open. He kept his voice calm and level: “Yes, and I have something important to tell you. But let’s keep our voices down. We do not want to be overheard.”

Burlic narrowed his eyes and glared at the younger man. His lip twitched. But when he spoke, he lowered his voice to a muted growl: “I was beginning to think the old man had done away with you.”

“Well, as you see, I am unharmed,” Tellan said. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you all that I’ve seen.” Burlic didn’t move. Tellan forced a smile. “Burlic,” he said. “Sit down, my friend. We have much to talk about.”

Grudgingly, Burlic squatted on his haunches. Tellan did the same, sitting close so that they could speak quietly. “For much of the time,” Tellan began, “Waeccan works on the stone. I wasn’t close enough to see how he works—it wasn’t worth the risk.” Burlic snorted and shook his head, but Tellan carried on. “But just as I got there, before it was even properly light, Waeccan climbed straight up the rock face.”

Burlic pulled a face. What nonsense. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tellan didn’t give him time. “He has a secret path, cut into the rock. It’s hard to explain, but it gives him…footholds—it makes it easy for him to climb. I went closer to see for myself. And there’s something else…” Tellan paused, but Burlic was not about to interrupt; he was waiting, open-mouthed. Tellan continued. “Somewhere up there on the rock face, Waeccan has some sort of secret hiding place. He stayed there for some time, but I could not follow without being seen.” He looked Burlic in the eye. “If only,” he went on, “we could see inside Waeccan’s hiding place.”

“Ha,” Burlic said. “We
can
see for ourselves. If an old man can climb to it, then I know I can.”

“I suppose so,” Tellan said, doing his best to sound doubtful. “But would you follow Waeccan up the rock face? Would you risk being seen? The rock face is exposed, and he would have the advantage of height over you.”

“Of course not, you young fool. I’ll wait until he’s off being busy somewhere. You could keep an eye on him, and I’ll climb up.”

“Ah, that is a very good idea. You’ve thought of everything, Burlic.”

“We’ll go tomorrow—after daybreak.”

“Yes,” Tellan said. “We’ll go tomorrow.” And he smiled to himself. That had been much easier than he’d thought.

2010

CALLY THRUST
HER HANDS
into the pockets of her dungarees. Alone again.
Poor boy
, she thought.
I was a bit rough on him. He wasn’t the worst boy who’s ever asked me out
. She sniffed. That title could belong to any one of a long list of creeps and idiots. She could still hear Jake thrashing around in the undergrowth somewhere above her. She’d like to say sorry to him and to explain. In his own way, he’d been quite sweet, nice to talk to. It’s just that he was a bit…young. At least he’d made her laugh. But it was too late now—he wouldn’t be back. She sighed. She needed cheering up. Her day was not going well.

It had started out OK. The prof had been busy making phone calls up at the base camp, and Cally and the other volunteers had been given some free time. It had been Dean’s idea they should go down to the ledge. He’d got what he called some “cheeba.” Honestly, he was so uncool. Why on earth had she said that Dean was her boyfriend? She shuddered at the thought. It had just been the first name that had popped into her head.

Cally had smoked a joint before. It wasn’t really her sort of thing, but she wasn’t going to say no and be the only one to stay behind. So they’d all sat on the ledge and passed the joint around. But this one had seemed much stronger than the one she’d tried before. She’d felt sick and dizzy. She’d muttered an excuse and stood up, but that had only made her head spin. Worried that she was going to throw up, she’d wandered away from the others, over to the black stone. She’d felt faint, needed to sit down. They weren’t supposed to sit on the stone, but she’d been past caring. The ground had swayed under her feet. She’d sat down, then lain down on the cold stone. The others had laughed at her, called her names, jeered. Their voices had echoed and faded. She’d closed her eyes, seen flashing lights, felt the ground spin. And had a terrible dream.

She shook her head to get rid of the memory. It was best forgotten. And when she’d woken up, they’d all left her. How could they? She’d been alone and unconscious. Anything could’ve happened. She had a good mind to quit the dig. She wasn’t sure she could face any of them ever again. But it would mean leaving the stone. And whatever she said to make light of it, she was genuinely fascinated. She walked across to it, leaned over and ran her hand over the smooth surface. Was she imagining it, or did it make her fingertips tingle? For the second time she sat on the edge of the stone. For a moment she was lost in thought as she stroked the cold stone with the backs of her fingers. It really was beautiful. But there was no one to share this moment with.
Jake understood
, she thought. She’d seen it in his eyes. Sadly, she pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest. She sighed, closed her eyes and wished she was somewhere else.

3,500 BC

BURLIC DID
NOT LIKE THE RAIN
. He could cope with extreme cold and fierce heat, but now, crouched in the mud, he was drenched to the bone and miserable. He leaned back against the broad tree trunk. It was a good hiding place, but it provided no shelter from the relentless downpour. Tellan, he noticed sourly, did not seem to mind. The younger man had been cheerful all morning, ever since they’d decided to keep their distance and just keep an eye on Waeccan while they waited for an opportunity to climb the rock face. Burlic wasn’t sure whose idea that had been. Sometimes Tellan’s words could be slippery. It didn’t matter. When it came to it, Burlic was stronger than Tellan. And much stronger than Waeccan.

Burlic smiled grimly. Waeccan was old and frail. It wouldn’t be much of a fight. Burlic felt for his knife, wrapped his fingers around it. The cutting edge was the sharpest he’d ever made. He had taken great care with this knife, working on it the previous day while he’d waited for Tellan to return. It was ready for one dreadful purpose, one lethal stroke. The cold flint felt good. But would it be enough?

“Tellan, keep your eyes open,” he hissed. “Remember—we are not here to fight an old man, we are here to fight a Shade.”

Tellan nodded reassuringly. He noticed that, once again, Burlic was touching the talisman that he wore around his neck. It had become a habit. Tellan knew the talisman was a gift from Scymrian. Perhaps it gave him some comfort, but Tellan doubted it. He studied Burlic’s face. The man did not look well. Every line in his face showed his grim anger, but his eyes—his wide, darting eyes—betrayed his fear. In a man like Burlic it was a bad combination. Tellan had managed to control Burlic so far, but how long would it be before Burlic did something rash?

For a while they watched the old man in silence as he moved among the rocks, touching them, apparently talking to them. He seemed content to carry on with his work. He showed no signs that he was aware of being watched.

Tellan chewed his lip. He must get through to Burlic, before it was too late. “Burlic,” he called softly. “What if you are wrong?”

Burlic glared at Tellan. “What?”

Tellan held his stare. “What if you are wrong?” he repeated. “What if you kill Waeccan, but it doesn’t help Scymrian? What will you do then?”

Burlic blinked, wiped the rain from his eyes, but he didn’t answer.

Tellan pressed on. “What will they say in the village?”

“Ha,” Burlic said. “They’ll say I fought to save my wife. We’ve always fought for our food, our homes, our womenfolk—and we always will.”

“But if it doesn’t work,” Tellan insisted, “they could say you abandoned your wife, your son. They could say you killed for no reason. They could say you are a danger to the village, and then…you’d be banished.”

Burlic thought for a moment. He’d seen men banished, driven from the village. He’d joined in. It was one-sided and violent. Most did not survive it, and those who did were never seen again. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “Enough talk. Go back to your watching.”

Tellan nodded. He could see he’d put a doubt in Burlic’s mind. It was a start.

“Burlic,” he said. Burlic glared, held up a hand to silence him, but Tellan smiled and continued. “Look,” he said. “The rain’s easing.”

Burlic nodded, and his expression mellowed. He went back to watching Waeccan.
Let Tellan say what he wants
, he thought.
I’ll bide my time, and I’ll get the job done. No amount of words, no matter how clever they are, can ever change my mind
.

3,500 BC

SOMETHING WAS
WRONG
. Waeccan sat by his hut as the daylight dwindled, and waited. “What now?” he muttered. “What’s gone wrong this time?” He rubbed his hands together. His fingers ached from a hard day’s work on the stone.
This should be a good day
, Waeccan thought. He’d cleaned the stairway, there’d been no sign of the mysterious intruder, and he’d finally finished cutting the stone for Burlic’s new hut.

“So why hasn’t he come to collect it?” he muttered. “It was a full moon last night—he should have come today. I’m sure that’s what we arranged.” He shook his head, stared blankly at the path that ran toward the village. “Father?” he said. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

“Perhaps,” Cleofan said. “You never know with the villagers. All they care about is filling their bellies.”

“Yes,” Waeccan replied. “A full belly, a warm fire and the shapes of the moon to live by.”

“Huh,” Cleofan snorted. “The moon. It’s here today and gone tomorrow. We live by the stone. The rock lives forever. It doesn’t care for the passing of days or seasons or men’s lives.”

Waeccan frowned. “It means something to them,” he said. “They have a time to sow, a time to harvest, a time to hunt.”
And
, he thought,
a time to build
.

“Fools,” Cleofan snapped. “Their calendar rules their lives. They live in fear of it.”

Waeccan rubbed his eyes.
Even stranger then
, he thought,
that Burlic hasn’t come to collect his stone
. “Burlic was in a hurry,” he said. “He told me his wife was near her time. She wanted a new hut for their new child.”

“And you argued with him,” Cleofan said.

“I told him the stone wouldn’t be hurried. I told him it was useless to strain against its will.” He paused, remembering poor Burlic’s harassed expression as he’d left the pit that day. It was also useless, Waeccan guessed, to strain against the will of a woman on the verge of giving birth.

“You were right,” Cleofan said.

Waeccan chewed his lip. “I don’t know,” said. “He needed to build straight away. Their first child didn’t survive the winter.”

“You worked as quickly as you could, Waeccan—what more could you have done?”

Waeccan lifted his head and looked toward the pile of stone blocks. “It isn’t right, Father,” he said. “The stone is ready. It’s been prepared, and now it must be used. It must take the next step in its journey.” He stood and walked a few steps forward to get a better view of the path. Nothing. He shuffled back to his hut and squatted down.

Soon, the sun would set. It was too late. No one would come now. He sighed.

“Be patient,” Cleofan said. “There will be a reason.” It was a phrase he used often.

Yes
, Waeccan thought.
A reason
. Perhaps the men had gone hunting. Or maybe they’d gone in search of water. Burlic had said the stream was low and muddy. Soon, he’d said, there wouldn’t be enough water for everyone, and then there would be trouble in the village.

“I wanted to help,” Waeccan said.

“You did,” Cleofan said. “You gave him water from our spring—to give to his wife.”

“He didn’t trust it at first,” Waeccan said. “But I convinced him. I showed him the spring, showed him it was good, clean water. In the end, he filled his flask and took it with him. I think he was happy enough.”

Waeccan sighed. How long was it since he’d seen Burlic? It seemed like a distant memory, from a time when there had been no unwelcome intruder, no unexpected delays, only order and peace. Now his routine was disturbed, and everything was changing, falling apart. He shuddered. “What is happening, Father?” he said.

“The Shades are stirring, Waeccan. They are at work in the world, and they will not rest until their meddling is done.”

Waeccan jumped to his feet. “No,” he said. “You must stop them.”

“The Shades cannot be controlled,” Cleofan said. “They can only be appeased.”

Waeccan wrung his hands together. “Then tell me,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”

He waited. Surely his father’s Shade couldn’t abandon him now?
Be patient
, Waeccan thought.
Be patient
. But it was hard to breathe. His chest was tight. He felt dizzy and put his hand against the side of his hut. He should’ve had something to eat earlier, but he’d been waiting for Burlic. He closed his eyes, tried to take a deep breath.

Eventually Cleofan spoke—just three words: “The Darkeningstone. Now.”

Waeccan opened his eyes wide, turned his head toward the ledge that held his greatest secret. The Darkeningstone could not be seen from the pit floor. He’d made sure of that with a screen of cut brushwood. And the steep stairway was difficult to spot unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. Waeccan’s eyes found the tell-tale dip in the undergrowth and followed it to the top. There lay the Darkeningstone, the altar to the Shades. But must he really go to the ledge now?

“Father, I have only ever visited the stone as the day dawns,” he said. “But now the day is almost over.”

“Do you question me?” Cleofan growled.

“No, Father, of course not. It’s just…I can climb the stairway now, but soon night will fall, and then the Shades…”

“The stone will protect you, Waeccan.”

“Yes. The stone. Good.” But it wasn’t just the Shades Waeccan was worried about. Yes, he could climb the stairway now, but could he climb down again in the darkness? He hesitated. “Father,” he said. “I am going to return from the stone, aren’t I?” He swallowed hard. His throat was dry. “Father?” he called.

There was no reply.

Waeccan pressed his hands against his chest. The tightness increased, squeezed the breath out of him. Would he return from the ledge? If not, then who would take his place? His father had once told him he must have an apprentice, but now there was no one to carry on his work, his daily routine.

Waeccan held his head in his hands. Why was everything changing? Nearby, something disturbed a roosting bird, and its chattering snapped him out of his self-pity. He took a deep breath and straightened his aching back.
My father has told me what to do
, he thought.
I must be strong. Perhaps now, when I need it the most, the Darkeningstone will answer my questions
. “No point in standing around waiting,” he muttered.

He set his jaw in grim determination, and slowly, struggling for breath, he started walking toward the stairway. There was still just enough light to see his way. He would climb the stairway for the second time that day. Not to offer himself this time, but to reach out to the Shades and to seek their help. He paused and looked back toward his hut—
perhaps
, he thought,
for the last time
.