Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2)

by Mikey Campling

  Tom stood up straight. He hesitated for a moment, and then he held out his hand. “Come on. Let me help you up.”

  The man stared at Tom’s outstretched hand then looked up to study Tom’s face. “You don’t want to help me.”

  “No,” Tom said. “I don’t. But I’m going to do it anyway. So are you going to let me help you, or are you going to sit there all day?”

  The man hesitated then he took hold of Tom’s arm and, grunting with the effort, he hauled himself up. He couldn’t put any weight on his right ankle, but Tom was stronger than he looked and with his help, the man managed to get back onto his feet. Without Tom’s help, he’d have struggled. He gave Tom an embarrassed smile and let go of his arm. “Thank you. That was…kind of you.”

  “Yeah well,” Tom said, “I couldn’t just leave you there, could I?”

  The man turned away. He didn’t have an answer. After everything he’d done to Tom, the younger man had helped him, and it shamed him to the core. He sighed and looked out over the quarry. What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve been wrong all this time? He ran a hand over his face. It didn’t bear thinking about, but he had to face the possibility—he might have made a terrible mistake. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Whatever he’d done in the past, he had to find a way forward. He still needed to find out the truth. He turned back to face Tom. “Rob—” he started, then corrected himself. “Tom, if you want to go, I wouldn’t blame you. I won’t try to stop you.”

  Tom narrowed his eyes. Really? A helping hand—was that all it took? But he said nothing. There would be a catch. There always was.

  “But,” the man said. He paused and took a breath. “If you could help me one more time. If you could just show me where he is. I needn’t tell anyone. I mean, I don’t have to implicate you.”

  Tom snorted. “You’ve changed your tune.”

  “Well, maybe…maybe I believe you. Maybe it was an accident. I don’t know and I don’t have to know—not anymore.”

  Tom didn’t even have to think about it. “No. You won’t believe me. You’ll still think I did it.”

  The man held out his hands, pleading. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  “You don’t understand,” the man said. “I don’t want to drag you into court—that won’t bring him back. I just have to find him.”

  Tom shook his head. “It’s no good. I just can’t help you.”

  “But, you can. It’s OK. I know what you’re worried about. But I don’t want to blame anyone. What’s done is done. I just want to lay him to rest. You can see that can’t you?”

  Tom closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at the man for a moment longer. Even after all he’d done to make Tom’s life a misery, it was too hard to see him broken down and begging; too hard to see the torment in his eyes. Tom knew that haunted look—knew it all too well. For a long time, he’d seen it whenever he’d looked in the mirror. He knew what it was to be plagued by guilt and uncertainty. I won’t go back to those days, he thought. I’ll never go back. But look how quickly he’d gone off the rails. The man may have pushed him, but Tom’s pent up anger had played into the man’s hands all too easily. He opened his eyes. Maybe this was his chance to put the past behind him. A chance to finally lay down the heavy burden he carried and start again. He looked the man in the eye. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Chapter 25

  3650 BC

  THEY PULLED ME ALONG by my arms, one man either side of me, hoisting me up by my armpits. The other four men walked ahead, leading the way. As we plunged into the forest, they dragged me through the undergrowth. Thorns tore at my clothes, dead branches cracked against my bruised shins, but the men didn’t notice, didn’t care. Soon, we met up with two more of their group and they called out to each other, their voices sharp with excitement. The new men stepped forward, both jabbering at once, their painted faces alive with manic glee. But I barely glanced at them because, when they’d stepped forward, I’d seen what lay behind them.

  The man on the ground wasn’t moving. He was barely alive, his face bruised and swollen; almost unrecognisable as human. A jagged gash across his chest had left a flap of dangling skin and flesh. The wound was deep, livid and bleeding freely. The fresh blood seeped across his skin, carving out a glistening trail through the crust of dark, dried blood that stained so much of his body.

  My stomach turned and I swallowed hard. That’s what I’ll look like. That’s what they’ll do to me. A wave of panic surged through me. “Oh my god,” I whispered. I shook my head. I had to get away. Whatever they’d done to that poor man on the ground, I couldn’t just stand there and let them do it to me. I had to escape. I struggled, twisting my body, thrashing my arms. I kicked out at the men holding me, tried to scrape their shins, to stamp down on their bare feet. I bared my teeth and yelled and swore. I poured every last remaining drop of energy into those few desperate seconds of frantic struggle.

  And the men laughed. They stopped their harsh, guttural chattering, and they stared at me and laughed, blurting out brutal shrieks of cold, hard, savage glee.

  “Shut up,” I screamed. “Shut up and get your bloody hands off me.”

  But I might as well have kept quiet. The more I shouted and struggled, the louder they screeched and brayed, until eventually, I just couldn’t stand it a second longer. I hung my head and let my body slump against their grip, utterly exhausted. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and let my hot tears drip to the ground. It was no use.

  The men’s laughter died away and one of them barked a command. The others murmured in agreement. I lifted my head and watched them hoist the injured man from the ground. As they lifted him, his body twisted and his wound opened even further, leaking fresh gouts of blood. The man let out a low moan but he didn’t open his eyes. I hoped for his sake he’d gone beyond feeling any pain. Then we were moving again, dashing through the trees. Four men led the way and my captors followed along after them. Behind me, the other two dragged the wounded man. I tried to make my body hang heavy, to make it difficult for the men holding me. But they just hoisted me higher and walked faster. Soon, I was just stumbling along, my feet hardly touching the ground. I’d never felt so helpless, so afraid.

  This is it. I’m finished. I let out a low, pitiful moan. Since I’d arrived at this place, I’d done nothing but fight for my survival. Now, that fight was over, and it was almost a relief to give up. I sniffed back a tear and in that dark moment of acceptance, I finally saw my situation for what it was. I glanced at the men holding me. Just look at them—this isn’t England. I shook my head. Of course it wasn’t. This place wasn’t in the UK or anywhere like it, and these men, pale-skinned beneath their face paint, were not from the tropical rain forests of Africa or South America, nor even from the jungles of Borneo. I winced at my own stupidity. Why had it taken me so long to figure it out? This wasn’t anywhere on Earth, at least, not as I knew it. I’d no idea how or why, but somehow the slab of black stone had taken me…where? “A parallel universe,” I whispered. It was bizarre, it was barely believable, but in a strange, twisted way it was the only explanation that made any kind of sense.

  But what good does it do me? What difference does it make? I bit my lip. It didn’t matter who these people were or where they came from—they were going to kill me anyway. Unless…unless I could come up with something to shake them up. These men were savage, brutal, but if I really was in some kind of alternate reality, then they’d probably never seen anyone like me before. Maybe there was some way to frighten them, or at least confuse them for a while, so I’d have a chance to escape. But what could I do?

  I needed a minute to think, to get my head together. I tried to stand a bit taller and take more of my weight on my feet. If they think I’m going along with them, they might relax enough to drop their guard. If they loosened their grip on me, maybe I’d have a chance to do something. I took a breath and tried to match their speed
. All I had to do was put one foot in front of the other—and it worked. The men marched forward, looking firmly ahead, as if they’d almost forgotten I was there. “That’s better,” I whispered under my breath. It was a lot easier to pick my way through the undergrowth than it was to be dragged through it.

  I looked ahead. The forest was thinning out, the dense undergrowth giving way to soft grass. Bright beams of sunlight poured in through gaps in the canopy and played on the wild flowers scattered across the forest floor. Butterflies and moths fluttered through each shaft of light and a warm breeze carried the drone of bees and the gentle rasp of crickets and grasshoppers.

  We were approaching the edge of the forest. One of the men grunted and they all slowed their pace. The men at my side tightened their grip on my arms and my muscles burned beneath the cruel clasp of their bony fingers. I groaned but they took no notice; they were intent on scanning their surroundings, glancing nervously from side to side. For some reason, they were anxious. More than once, they stopped and looked back over their shoulders. Is someone following us? Should I try calling for help again? But I thought of their other prisoner; beaten, bloodied, barely alive. Perhaps he’d struggled and shouted for help. Perhaps he’d attempted to escape. Whatever he’d tried, these savages had made sure he couldn’t give them any more trouble. I’ll have to do better than that. I’ll have to get away clean. I’d need more than a head start if I was going to survive. I’d have to pick my moment carefully and somehow convince them to let me go. In the meantime, all I could do was let them lead me through the trees while I watched for an opportunity and racked my brains for a plan.

  But as we stepped out of the forest and into open countryside, I still hadn’t come up with a single idea. I blinked in the bright sunlight and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the light. And then I gasped. “No,” I murmured. “I don’t believe it.”

  In front of us, the broad stretch of grassland gave way to a gentle slope that rose from the swaying grass and grew steeper. Farther ahead, the shape of the hill was unmistakeable. It had taken me all day, but I’d finally come full circle, back to the hill where I’d woken up. And from the way the men pointed to the top of the hill and muttered and exchanged meaningful looks, I was sure: they were taking me back to the tall slab of black stone.

  Hafoc crept to the edge of the forest and crouched low. For a moment, he stayed perfectly still, watching the Wandrian march away across the grass, leading one prisoner and dragging the other. At his side, Nelda stared at the Wandrian, her ears pointed forward. Hafoc saw her body tense. She knew her master and she was ready to go to him. He reached down and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. “No,” he whispered, and hoped it would be enough. Nelda growled quietly, but she didn’t try and run away. He let go of her fur and rested his hand firmly on her back. “Good dog,” he murmured. He took one last look at the Wandrian, then turned to where Tostig crouched, almost invisible among the undergrowth.

  Tostig glanced at him and nodded, his mouth set in a hard line. There was no need to check with the others, the grim realisation was on all their faces. The Wandrian had taken Brond. Now they must decide what they were going to do about it.

  Hafoc opened his mouth to speak, but Tostig shook his head to silence him, then waved them all away from the edge of the forest. Hafoc looked down to Nelda. “Come on,” he whispered. But Nelda ignored him. She stood still, her eyes fixed on her master. Hafoc looked for Tostig. He was already leading the others back into the forest, slipping silently away into the safety of the shadows. Hafoc took a last look at Nelda, then followed the others.

  When Tostig finally stopped, the men gathered around him, their faces etched with worry. Hafoc did his best to keep his mouth shut. Come on, Tostig. They’re getting away from us.

  Tostig stood, staring into the trees, his head tilted back to take in the view. “The forest looks good today,” he said. “Soon it will be the season to camp by the river and catch fish.” He sniffed and glanced at his men. “If I lead you away from our Forest Mother, you may not live long enough to return to her cool shadows.” He looked at Hafoc. “You are young. You have no wife hoping for your return, no children to feed. You see no reason to wait.”

  Hafoc nodded. He moved his lips but he wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I have made my decision,” Tostig said. He took a breath, and began: “You have all seen what I have seen.” He paused, looking around the group, scanning their faces. “They have taken the stranger, that’s for sure, but the other man—can we say for certain it was Brond?”

  I can’t believe it, Hafoc thought. “What are you saying?” he blurted. “It was Brond. Of course it was. Do you think I don’t know my own brother? It was Brond, and we’re wasting time while they get away. Why are you standing here talking like a load of old women?”

  Sceort scowled and stepped forward, his hand raised. Hafoc turned to face him. He was ready. He’d fight them all if he had to. But Tostig grabbed Sceort by the arm. “No,” he said.

  Sceort clenched his fist and growled. He looked at Tostig, and for a heartbeat, Hafoc thought the men would fight. But Sceort lowered his hand then glared at Hafoc. “It’s not right,” he said. “The boy must learn.”

  Tostig folded his arms and nodded. “I agree,” he said. “But we have no time for arguments—no time for hot tempers and bad choices.” He shook his head. “We have seen the Wandrian, and we know what they can do. If we are to fight them, then we must be sure.” He looked at Hafoc. “Their prisoner was badly hurt—bruised and covered with blood. He could not stand and we did not see his face. Can you really be sure it was Brond?”

  Hafoc closed his eyes and saw again the wretched creature being dragged across the ground. He was so desperate to find his brother; he wanted—needed—it to be him. But Brond had always been so proud and strong. Could he really have been brought so low? Hafoc opened his eyes. “I don’t know—not for sure. But there was something…it looked like Brond. It looked like Brond to me. That’s all I know.”

  Tostig nodded. He turned to the others. “Flyta, you have the sharpest eyes. What do you say?”

  Flyta glanced at Sceort. “I say…yes. That was Brond. I’m certain.”

  Sceort narrowed his eyes and looked at Hafoc. I should say it wasn’t him—just to teach Hafoc a lesson. But Tostig was right—this wasn’t the time to settle scores. “It was Brond,” he said. “I knew it as soon as I saw him.”

  Hafoc held his breath. He studied Tostig’s expression, but it gave nothing away.

  Tostig rocked back on his heels and stared into the distance. He was their leader, and he’d speak when he was ready. Finally, he took a deep breath, flaring his nostrils, and gave them his decision. “The Wandrian have taken our kinsman,” he said. “We will not allow it.”

  Hafoc grinned, but his smile quickly faded away when Tostig looked him in the eye.

  “We will not allow them to take Brond,” Tostig continued. “But there are more of them than there are of us. And who knows how many men lie in wait on the other side of the hill?”

  Flyta stepped forward. “I’ll follow them. If there are others, I’ll see their tracks.”

  Hafoc opened his mouth to speak. He couldn’t let Flyta put himself in such danger. If anyone went ahead, it should be him.

  But Tostig was already shaking his head. “You’re a brave man, Flyta. But to go near the Wandrian alone is too much risk for any one of us.”

  Sceort frowned. “Then, what are we going to do?”

  “We have one chance and one chance only,” Tostig said. “They do not think anyone would dare to follow them. They walk across the open ground as if they have no enemies. But this is their weakness.”

  “I don’t understand,” Flyta said. “They have the higher ground. If we all follow them together, they’re bound to see us.”

  “No,” Tostig said. “Not if we wait until dark.”

  Sceort and Flyta exchanged a look, their eyes wide in disbelief.

  Hafoc swall
owed. The Wandrian were bad enough in the daylight, but the thought of those savages creeping silently through the darkness, sent a sharp chill across his skin.

  “We wait until dark,” Tostig said. “And then, we attack.”

  Chapter 26

  2018

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

  Cally snatched her hand away from the rucksack and turned. Andrew stood behind her, his face taut with restrained anger.

  “Nothing,” she blurted. “I’m sorry. I heard it beeping and I was worried. I wasn’t going to open it. I just—you were a long time.” She looked down at her hands.

  Andrew picked up the rucksack and sat down, keeping the bag on his lap. He checked the zips were all still closed. “You didn’t open it, did you?”

  “No. Of course not.” Cally blushed. “It sounds stupid, but I was worried you weren’t going to come back. I started thinking about bombs and I…” Her voice trailed away. It sounded ridiculous even to her.

  Andrew stared at her. “Bombs? What are you talking about?”

  Cally shook her head. “Nothing. I was just being stupid.”

  “It was just my phone, I expect. I told you, I keep my phone in my bag.”

  “I know, I know.” Cally looked him in the eye. “I said I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to pry, really I didn’t. But, well, if you want to leave, I wouldn’t blame you.”

  Andrew hesitated. He was tempted to walk away, but how would that help? The whole morning had been a disaster, but as far as he was aware, he was the only one who knew where Cally was. If he let her out of his sight now, it would be game over, and he’d never live it down. Besides, this latest mistake was Crawford’s fault really. What was the use of covert equipment that beeped? It was a joke. They just don’t take me seriously. They don’t even trust me enough to give me proper equipment. He sighed and lowered the bag to the floor. “No, it’s all right. No harm done.”