Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) (42 page)

Brond pushed himself up to his feet, grunting with the effort. A savage spike of pain seared through his legs as he stood, but this would be his only chance of escape. Around him, the Wandrian ran like frightened rabbits, their hideous cries splitting the night. Their terrified screams rang in Brond’s ears and the blood rushed to his head. The ground swayed beneath his feet and his stomach lurched, bringing bitter juices to the back of his parched throat. There were bad spirits at work here, but Brond had no time for fear.
I must move fast
. But which way should he run? He raised his bound hands to rub the crust of dried blood from his eyes, and the rope chafed at his wrists. That didn’t matter. He could deal with the rope later. For now, he just needed to get out of the light and disappear into the darkness. Later, he’d find the forest and then he’d be safe. He’d soon find a trail and then he’d make his way back to the tribe, no matter how long it took. But as he turned, the rope suddenly went tight and he hissed under his breath. They’d tied him to something.

He took hold of the rope and followed it back until it met the ground. There. A wooden stake. He ran his hands over it, testing its strength. It was too thick to snap and although the knots were clumsy, they held tight. There was only one thing he could do. He bent his legs and took hold of the stake, gripping it firmly with both hands. He heaved upward with all his might, grimacing as the wood bit into his hands. Every muscle burned, every sinew strained, but the stake did not move. The ground was too hard, the stake driven too deep. Brond cried out in frustration and tried again. This should be easy for him, but those savages had struck him down with their stone axes, clubbed him to the ground, and then they’d carried on, long after he’d given up the fight, long after he’d stopped begging for mercy. They’d weakened him, made him no better than a child. He breathed hard and screwed his eyes shut tight.
Don’t give up
. They’d beaten him once, but they hadn’t won. Not yet. He tensed his body and pulled against the stake once more, pouring his pain into a roar of pure fury.

Slowly, the stake began to shift. Brond rested for a moment and took a breath. And from behind him, there came a muttered curse. Brond turned, jumping to his feet. But when he saw the dark figure that faced him, a cold stab of fear plunged into his stomach. This was the man who had captured him, the man who had beaten him to the edge of death itself. He had shown very little mercy before; now, there would be none.

The man growled once more, baring his teeth, his wild eyes alight in the darkness, glittering with a furious lust for blood. He muttered a curse in his own savage tongue, and stalked toward Brond. In one hand he carried an axe, in the other a long flint knife, its blade glinting in the firelight. As he drew closer, Brond saw fresh blood coursing across the man’s chest, and sticking up from the top of the Wandrian’s shoulder, was the shaft of an arrow.

Brond swallowed hard. He’d seen men driven to a frenzy by their wounds; they could be the most dangerous enemies of all. He backed away as far as the rope allowed. With his hands tied he didn’t stand a chance. It was useless to plead for his life, and as long as the stake was still in the ground, he could not run. He kept his eyes on the man’s weapons and tugged hard at the rope. Did it move a little? He tried again. Nothing. He was as good as dead.

Kaine grunted. The prisoner was still tied. Good. He stood for a moment and gasped for air, flecks of spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. This was all Morven’s doing. He’d angered the spirits and now the tribe was finished; its warriors struck down by invisible enemies. But it wasn’t too late. He could still undo the harm that Morven’s had done. The spirits had wanted blood and now they’d have it.

Kaine planted his feet wide apart and a torrent of rage blazed through him. First, he’d give the prisoner’s blood to the spirits, then he’d kill Morven. He would have his vengeance. He held his knife low, ready to rip through the man’s guts, then he roared and lunged forward, raising his axe to shoulder height, aiming a blow to crush the prisoner’s skull.

And something burst from the darkness. A creature launched itself at Kaine, throwing its full weight onto his chest, pushing him from his feet. As he fell, vicious fangs snapped at his face, flashing white in front of his eyes. Kaine landed heavily on his back, dropping his axe, and then the dog was upon him. He lashed out with his knife, and it sank into the dog’s muscle. Its fur was suddenly wet against his hand as the beast’s blood flowed over his fingers. But the wound was not enough. The dog twisted its body away, and the knife’s handle, wet with blood, slipped from Kaine’s fingers and fell to the ground. He grabbed at the dog with both hands, but he couldn’t get a grip on its smooth coat. The dog thrust its muzzle at Kaine’s face. He held up his arms to protect himself, but he was too slow. The dog fastened its fangs on Kaine’s neck, crushing his throat in its powerful jaws. Kaine choked and writhed, struggling for breath. He put his hands on the dog’s chest, trying to push the creature away, but now the dog drove its teeth deeper into Kaine’s throat, slitting his flesh. A bolt of pain burned through Kaine as the blood poured from his neck. His body shook, wracked with agony. His arms and legs jerked and twitched. And then, with one last rasping, strangled gurgle, it was over.

Nelda let him go. She growled and sniffed at the man’s face, making sure the danger had passed.

Brond stayed on his feet long enough to watch his enemy die, but as the dog approached, greeting him with a familiar whine, his strength left him and he sank to his knees. “Nelda? Is it really you?” Nelda answered by nuzzling her head against his arm and making grumbling noises in the back of her throat, as if complaining that he’d been away for far too long.

“Nelda,” he whispered. He ran his hand over her neck and scratched behind her ears. It was good to see her—a good sign. Soon, he’d pass over into the next world. Perhaps there, Nelda’s spirit would run beside him. Brond heaved a sigh and hung his head. When he’d tried to pull up the wooden stake, the wound in his chest had opened again and his skin was wet with warm blood. Nelda had saved him, but his hands were still tied, and the rope still held him fast. Soon, the Wandrian’s battle would be over, but he could only wait to see who would win, and what they would do with him. He closed his eyes and Nelda whined, pressing her head against his arm. But this time, he was too cold and weak to respond; too tired to even say her name.

Hafoc stood at Tostig’s side and looked toward the hilltop. Most of the Wandrian lay dead or dying. A few of the savages were running down the hillside, fleeing for their lives, but Flyta and Sceort lay in wait. His brothers would be taking aim already. If their arrows missed their marks, it would be for the first time tonight. Hafoc nodded grimly. The Wandrian were spent. It was time to find Brond.

Morven watched the last of his men run into the darkness and saw them fall. He cast his eyes over the dead men on the ground. He’d seen Kaine stagger toward the other prisoner, but Morven had stayed by the boy. It was more important to guard him until the stone had done its work. He’d seen the dog bring Kaine down, heard his strangled cries. Surely his rival was dead, but the danger wasn’t over. Morven gripped the handle of his knife a little tighter. He was alone. He didn’t know who’d attacked them, but he couldn’t be sure they’d leave the boy untouched. He glanced at the boy. He was still there, still pinned against the black stone by the whirling blue beams. The stone must complete its task soon; if it held the boy much longer, it would be more than his young body could bear.

I want to reach out to Cally. I want her to grab my hand and pull me from this hellish nightmare. But I’m slipping away. I’d do anything to stay here. I’d dig my fingernails into the solid stone if I could. But there’s nothing to hold onto, nothing to keep me here, and something is pulling at me, tugging me back into the freezing darkness—I’m completely powerless to prevent it. Cold fingers claw at my body, icy talons piercing my skin, tearing my flesh apart. Then suddenly, I’m sliding back into the hissing darkness, falling through the endless emptiness. But I can’t let it take me back to that night on the hilltop. I have to fight. Now, I finally pull my scrambled thoughts together. I need to concentrate. I have to picture my home, my family, my own time. But it’s too hard. Too hard in this bitter cold to even imagine such warmth. Too hard in this emptiness to remember what it felt like to belong, to be loved. My thoughts tumble away from me, fading into the blackness. I’ve lost everything. I’m alone.

And then…then someone is calling my name.

Chapter 42

2018

CALLY’S PHONE STOPPED RINGING, but the image of Jake remained, burning bright against the tunnel’s dark stone walls. It floated above the black water, reflected as shimmering points of light by a thousand sparkling ripples, and Cally could not tear her eyes away. Slowly, she walked toward the water-filled hole, dragging her feet across the tunnel floor. How could this be happening? What did it mean?

As Andrew approached the main tunnel he slowed his pace. The metal gate was still leaning crookedly against the tunnel wall, just as they’d left it. He put his hand on the metal bars and leaned forward slowly to peek into the main tunnel. His eyes had grown used to the dark, and the lights in the main tunnel made him squint, but at least there was no sign of Crawford’s backup.
They’ll be out there somewhere
. Crawford would never have come alone, would he? Andrew shook his head.
I couldn’t be that lucky—not today
. He ran his tongue over his dry lips. Their only chance was to act quickly, to get out of the tunnels and clear of the building before Crawford’s team came down to investigate. In the crowded street, he and Cally would be safe, but here, in the confines of the tunnel, they didn’t stand a chance. “We’ve got to go
now
,” he muttered. He glanced back into the darkness of the side tunnel.
Where the hell is she?

Should he dash back and grab Cally by the arm to get her moving? No. She was already on the edge of full-blown panic. If he tried to hurry her too much, he wasn’t sure how she’d react. He ran a hand through his hair and wrinkled his nose in distaste. His hair was caked in grit and damp with sweat. He glanced down at his clothes. Even in the relatively low light from the main tunnel, the muddy stains across his crumpled jacket were clear to see, and his jeans were streaked with dirt. He’d attract attention on the street, but that couldn’t be helped. He let out a loud breath. At this rate, they’d never even make it to the door.

A sudden sound echoed along the dark tunnel behind him. He tilted his head. It sounded like a phone ringing. What the bloody hell was Cally playing at?

He made up his mind. He’d already waited too long. He took one last look into the main tunnel then turned on his heel and marched back into the darkness. “Cally,” he hissed. “We’ve got to get out of here.
Now
.”

Cally tensed. Footsteps grated on the gravel, echoing through the darkness. She held her breath, but then Andrew called her name and she exhaled. She couldn’t trust him, but right now, she needed him. She needed someone to explain, someone to tell her what the hell to do. She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m here,” she called, and her voice wavered. “But there’s something…I can’t explain. You need to see this.”

Andrew hurried forward as best he could. He stumbled over one of the scattered stone blocks, but quickly regained his balance and drove himself forward. “I’m coming. Stay there.”

Suddenly, Cally’s voice rang out in the darkness—a single shrill word, shouted at the top of her voice: “Wait!”

Cally’s voice ran through Andrew like a knife. “I’m coming,” he yelled. He ran toward the sound of her voice. Crawford must have woken up, must even now be threatening her, reaching out to take hold of her with his burned fingers.
No
. Andrew rounded a bend in the tunnel, his feet pounding against the stony floor. And as he turned the corner, he realised the tunnel walls were no longer dark, but bathed in a faint blue light.
Not again!
His steps faltered. Then suddenly, the blue light disappeared, plunging him back into darkness. He stood still and reached out for the tunnel wall. “Cally? Are you all right?”

A quiet sob echoed through the empty tunnel. “He’s gone.”

A sudden chill crept across Andrew’s skin. She must be talking about Crawford, but what did she mean? Was he dead? Andrew swallowed hard and walked forward, holding on to the tunnel wall. He must be getting close to Cally by now. His foot knocked against something, and it rolled across the floor with a metallic ring. He reached down and his fingers found a cold metal cylinder—Crawford’s flashlight. Andrew picked it up and rotated the barrel to turn it on. It didn’t work. He tapped it against the palm of his hand and a beam of white light stabbed into the darkness. “Cally,” he called, shining the flashlight slowly across the tunnel. Cally sobbed again and the hairs on Andrew’s neck stood on end.
Please be all right
. And then the flashlight’s beam picked her out. Cally stood, still as a ghost, her hands covering her face. Andrew’s throat was suddenly tight, his mouth dry. “Oh my god! What’s wrong?”