Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) (19 page)

Cleofan returned the arrow to his quiver and ran to retrieve his prize. The rabbit had stopped struggling but it was still alive. Cleofan bent down, muttering a few words of thanks to the Shades, then he took hold of the rabbit’s back legs. He pulled the bloodied arrow from its side then stood, and in one motion he swung the rabbit by its legs, dashing its head against the trunk of the nearest tree.

The rabbit’s muscles twitched once, twice, and then its warm body hung limp from Cleofan’s hand. He smiled as he inspected his kill. The rabbit was a little smaller than he’d first thought, but it was good enough. And the sun was still very low in the sky; he might still catch another rabbit if he was lucky.

He rewarded himself with a sip of water from his flask, and as he drank, he thought about Glowan. She would be cold and hungry. And thirsty too if she’d stayed up on the ledge all night. Should he break off his hunt and take her the flask and meat? He stared out into the forest, thinking. If he started walking straight away, it would be properly light by the time he got to the pit, and he would see no more rabbits. But there was always a chance he could shoot a bird or two in the forest on the way back to the village. And if not, he wouldn’t be going home empty-handed; the rabbit would be enough to please Odely. He nodded to himself then he put the stopper in his flask and made himself ready. He placed the rabbit carefully in his pouch, slung his bow over his shoulder then he set off, heading toward the pit.

***

Glowan laid her baby on the ground next to her unused fireplace. She stroked his cheek, his nose, his delicate eyebrows, but Banain did not stir. His spirit was leaving him, and all that remained for Glowan was to let her son’s spirit drift peacefully away. She tried to sing a song to soothe him, but her lips trembled and her voice shook, so she hummed it softly instead. It was a song she’d made up when she was small: a tale of a bird who dived into the water and caught a fish to feed its chicks. She thought of the sea, remembering the gentle sound of the waves, the dank smell of the wet seaweed, and the taste of the sea spray on her lips. She’d been happy in their old village by the sea. There’d always been shellfish to eat, and a rack of fish hanging over the fire to smoke. Banain would’ve grown into a fine young man, and her husband would’ve taken him to the place where the river ran into the sea and taught him how to lay a fish trap, and how to carve a spear for catching the bigger fish. And her father would’ve sat with Banain by the fire and made him wide-eyed with his tales of how the tribe had crossed the sea long ago. But all that had been snatched away when the Wandrian had come: her life, and Banain’s, destroyed in one savage night.

Glowan blinked and a tear slid down her cheek and splashed onto Banain’s face, but this time, he did not flinch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.” She wiped the tear from Banain’s soft skin with her fingers then she sat back and closed her eyes, and quietly, she wept. Her son had never known much happiness in his short life. And now it was over.

After a while, she rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up to her feet. She must do the right thing by Banain. She must make preparations and cover his body. She turned to the mound of stones and picked up the largest rock she could carry then she lay it beside Banain’s head. She took up another stone and another, arranging them on the ground around her baby. As she worked, pulling out the largest rocks from the mound, the remaining stones slid and rattled over each other, revealing a large slab of stone that lay flat beneath the rocks. As the smaller stones fell away, she could see that the flat stone was as thick as her thigh and longer than a man.

Glowan ran her eyes over the flat stone. It was raised up above the ground, so perhaps it would be a better resting place for her only child. It would keep his body safe from the forest’s creatures, and it seemed right. She nodded to herself then cleared a space on the flat stone.

She scooped up Banain, still wrapped in his bundle of furs, and laid him gently on the cold slab of rock. For a heartbeat, she thought her baby let out a soft whimper as she let go of him, but she quickly realised her mistake. She watched him carefully, but Banain remained still and silent.
It was only a dream
, she thought,
or an echo carried on the wind
.

She carried on with her work, laying out a new outline of stones around her poor boy’s body. But she hadn’t even completed the first ring of stones when she heard a noise: the rattle of loose stones from the pit below the ledge.

She stopped working and listened. Yes. She was sure. Someone was climbing up toward her. She thought of Cleofan. But if it was only him, he would’ve called out, wouldn’t he?

She waited, her breath coming fast, the blood rushing in her ears. And there was another sound: a faint hissing, crackling sound, like the whistling of wet wood on a hot fire. And it was coming from the stones beneath Banain’s body.

Glowan covered her mouth with her hand and stepped back.
Demons!
The Wandrian’s dark demons had done their work. They’d found her, and now they were calling out to their masters. The savages were already climbing up to take her, to spoil her son’s proper burial. They would drag her away and leave Banain’s body to be picked clean by animals.

“No!” she said, and her hand went to her pouch. She wrapped her fingers around the striker’s handle then drew it out and held it in front of her.

The sound of footsteps on the rock was louder now. They were closer. At any moment the Wandrian would clamber up onto the ledge and she’d see their hideous painted faces.

The strange hissing noise grew louder, like the wind howling through the treetops. She looked down at Banain. “I won’t let them take you,” she said, and the words caught in her throat, became a sob. “I won’t let them touch you.” And slowly, she raised the striker above her head.

***

Cleofan climbed up toward the ledge as softly as he could. He’d thought of calling out, but it didn’t seem right. And anyway, perhaps Glowan and her child had left already. It would be easier that way. If they’d gone, he could return home and forget all about them.

Cleofan hesitated. Had he heard voices from above? He listened, but there was only the faint whistle of the breeze blowing through the forest below. Sometimes, when you were in the pit, it was hard to tell where sounds were coming from; they seemed to swell in the empty space, growing louder, shifting from place to place. A raised voice could become a booming yell, a falling pebble could sound like a tumbling boulder. The strange sounds had frightened Cleofan at first, and like the other villagers, he’d taken care to remain quiet whenever he’d come to collect stone. But since he’d taken to exploring the place on his own, Cleofan had become used to the pit’s unearthly noises, especially the hollow hiss he sometimes heard when he was up on the ledge. It was as soft as a gentle murmur, and it seemed to come from far away, but when he listened carefully, the sound filled his mind, sweeping around him like the giddying roar of a rushing stream.
You’re whispering to me again, aren’t you?
he thought.
Welcoming me back to my home among the rocks
.

He frowned. The ledge had always been his secret place, his hideaway. But not anymore. Glowan and her child had blundered in and disturbed his peace. He should never have shown her the ledge, but there’d been something in her eyes that had clouded his mind and made him foolish.

She’ll have to go
, he thought.
I must make her leave today
. He started climbing again, moving as quickly as he could. In a few more steps, he’d be at the top. He cocked his ear as he climbed. The hissing noise was growing louder now. And it was different somehow. Another sound mingled in with the hiss: something like the crackle and sputter of fresh meat roasting over a fire. What was the woman doing? He’d told her to stay quiet. Surely she understood that anything but the smallest fire would give her away.

Cleofan scowled and pushed himself to climb even faster. The ledge was within reach now and he hauled himself up, leaping onto the ledge, a few harsh words ready on the tip of his tongue.

But what he saw, chilled him to the core, and he stood in silence, his eyes round with horror.

The woman had placed her baby on the mound of rocks and she stood over him, the heavy striker raised in the air, as if to bring it down on the poor child.

“No!” Cleofan yelled.

The woman turned her head and stared at Cleofan, but her eyes were wild, her teeth bared, and her face twisted into a mask of frenzied despair. Cleofan was sure she did not recognise him.

He ran toward her, holding up his hands to show her that he meant no harm.

But the woman thrust her head forward on her shoulders and screamed at him: a savage screech of fury and desperation. And she did not lower her weapon.

Cleofan did not hesitate. This woman had fought him before and got the better of him. She was strong, a fierce fighter, and she held a terrible weapon that could crush his skull. There was no time to use his bow, his only chance was to rush in and overpower her before she had time to prepare herself.

Cleofan planted his left foot on the ground and dived headlong at Glowan, reaching out to grab her weapon. The woman stood her ground as though frozen in fear, and Cleofan barrelled into her, knocking her backward, lifting her from her feet.

As they fell together, Glowan swung the striker wildly, aiming for Cleofan’s head, but he moved just in time, and the striker slammed into his shoulder. He grunted in pain and grabbed Glowan’s forearm, wrenching it back, twisting her bones as hard as he could. Something inside Glowan’s arm seemed to split apart with a sharp crack, and she let out a shriek of agony, but she did not drop her weapon. Cleofan’s grip was not strong enough, and Glowan screamed and pulled her arm free, stabbing her striker toward Cleofan’s face. This time, he could not get out of the way; all he could do was turn his face away and take the blow on the back of his head. The heavy striker glanced off Cleofan’s skull, and the pain consumed him. A terrible noise filled his ears and a bright white light washed the world away. But he could not give in. If he didn’t fight back, Glowan would end his life with one more blow.

Cleofan let loose a roar of pure rage, and he pressed his weight down hard against the woman, trapping her beneath his body. He her heard gasp as the breath left her lungs, and he reached out blindly, scrabbling for a grip on her arm.

Glowan yelled a curse and lifted the weapon again, but Cleofan’s vision returned just in time. He saw her movement from the corner of his eye, and when he tried once more to grab her arm, he did not fail. He gripped her wrist and forced the deadly weapon away, pushing her arm back against the rocky ground and pinning it there.

The woman struggled and writhed beneath him, but she could not get free. She snarled and strained against his grip, but Cleofan held her down.

“Drop it!” he growled. “Drop it or I’ll kill you now.”

Glowan shook her head frantically from side to side. “No!” she screamed. “No! No! No!”

Cleofan was breathing hard. A stream of hot blood poured down the side of his face. But he held on tight to Glowan’s arms. She was in a frenzy of rage. If he let her go now, she’d kill him in a heartbeat.

“Glowan!” he called. “It’s Cleofan! I brought you food and water. I came to help you.”

She stopped shaking her head and looked at him, studying his face. She lay still. “Cleofan,” she murmured. “Cleofan. Cleofan.”

“Yes,” Cleofan said. “I brought food. Water. You can have it if you stay still and drop your striker.”

Glowan looked away from him. Her body went limp beneath him, but she said nothing.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just put it down and I’ll let you go.” He watched her fingers as they uncurled from the weapon’s handle. “That’s good, Glowan. Let go of it.” She turned her hand and the weapon fell to the ground with a dull thud, landing next to a circle of stones.

Cleofan licked his lips. Could he trust her?
Not when she’s like this
, he thought. He watched her. She was lying very still but she was not looking at him. She was probably gathering her strength, readying herself to fight. He glanced at the weapon. It was just beyond his reach, but very close to Glowan’s hand. If he released her arm and she tried to take the striker back, could he grab the weapon before she could? Cleofan shook his head to clear it, but he was still dazed; his head throbbed, and the world was still blurred. And there was something else. The strange hissing crackling noise was even louder than before. Now that he noticed it, the eerie sound rushed in on him, sending a shudder down his spine.
There’s someone else here
, he thought.
Someone watching me
.

He risked a glance across the ledge. There was no one there. There was not even a fire: nothing that could be making that terrible sound. So what could it be?

For a moment, his mind whirled, and then suddenly, he understood. The woman had performed some terrible ritual. She’d made a circle of stones on the ground and called up an evil Shade, but it had crept inside her. That was why she’d wanted to harm her baby, perhaps had already harmed it.

Cleofan set his jaw in a grim line. With the Shade inside her, Glowan could do terrible things. She could borrow its strength, its cunning, its power. She wasn’t just a threat to him, she was a danger to the whole village. But there was only one way to drive the Shade from Glowan’s body; she must be killed. And it must be done quickly. The longer the Shade stayed inside her, the harder it would be to send it back to the Shade World.

He looked at Glowan. Her face was blank, her eyes staring into the distance. She looked exhausted, defeated. It could just be a trick; the Shade biding its time. But Cleofan had to take his chance. He had to act. He let go of Glowan’s arms and threw his body sideways, scrabbling for the weapon. His fingers found its handle and curled around it, but at the same time, Glowan struck out at him with her hands, pushing him with all her strength. Cleofan over-balanced and landed heavily on his back, crashing onto the circle of stones. The rocks bit into his spine and he cried out in pain. The arrows spilled from his quiver and the sound of splintering wood told him that he’d broken his bow. But somehow, he kept hold of the striker.