Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) (16 page)

Hafoc glanced at Sceort. The older man was holding his bow ready and fitting an arrow to the bowstring.
Should I be doing that?
He looked to Tostig.

Tostig looked him in the eye, holding his gaze. There was a sadness in their leader’s eyes that shook Hafoc to the core. His look told Hafoc all he needed to know: there were only two ways forward now—kill or be killed.

This is it
, Hafoc thought.
We’re going to fight the Wandrian
. Hafoc tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. Tostig nodded once, then busied himself, readying his bow. Hafoc took his own bow from his shoulder and did as Tostig did, copying his every movement. Soon, all three of them were ready, their bows held low in front of them, their arrows snug against their strings but not pulled tight. A shiver ran through Hafoc’s body. He could hardly keep his hands from shaking.
Breathe
.
Breathe and be ready
. But his heart pounded and his chest was too tight. Where was Flyta? What was taking him so long? And what about Nelda? Where had she gone? He looked back along their path and there she was, skulking among the ferns. She looked up at him, but kept her head low. Her ears were pricked forward. She still wasn’t happy, but Hafoc didn’t have time to worry about a dog. He turned back to Tostig and Sceort, but they took no notice of him. Each man was preparing in his own way.

Suddenly, a sound echoed through the forest. All three of them heard it at once. The long, low moan chilled them to their bones. For a heartbeat, the men stared at each other in horror, and then they were in motion. Darting between the trees, they leaped over undergrowth, fanning out, fixing their eyes on the clearing ahead. Hafoc forgot about stealth. He could only hope to be fast enough, strong enough to do what had to be done. He was falling behind Sceort and Tostig and he pushed himself harder, willing his legs to move faster. He gasped for breath. In a few moments he would be in the clearing.

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 and 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?