Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) (30 page)

For a split second I revelled in the pain. This was Crawford’s parting blow. This was him giving up and dealing out a reminder before he dumped me at the side of the road. But I was wrong.

Crawford changed gear and put his foot down. The pickup’s engine roared, and I was pressed back against my seat as the car shot forward. He was not going to let me go. He was not going to give up. Even if it killed us both.

I stared ahead as the road rushed to meet us. Suddenly, Crawford slammed on the brakes and the car shimmied, its back-end skidding from side to side across the road. I clung onto the door handle and braced myself for the inevitable collision. But Crawford handled the car like an expert, shifting gears and making a sharp turn, accelerating the pickup into a side street.

The engine whined as Crawford worked his way through the gears. He killed the headlights, and then we were hurtling through the dimly lit street. I didn’t turn to look back and see if the car was still following us. I kept my eyes on the road, praying that nothing would get in our way.

Crawford braked again, sliding the pickup into another turn. The force threw me sideways against the car door, but before I could regain my balance, the pickup lurched forward, speeding into a back street that looked too narrow for a car, never mind a pickup truck.

“Bloody hell!” I shouted. “Stop!”

But Crawford didn’t even glance in my direction. He was concentrating on the road.

We raced through the rapidly darkening streets, changing direction again and again, one turn after another, until I had no idea which way we were facing. Then suddenly, we were heading out of town, the buildings replaced by fields and hedgerows. Crawford turned the headlights back on and slowed down.

Still clinging onto the door handle, I turned my head and looked back through the rear window.

But behind us, there was no sign of any headlights at all. The road was empty.

Chapter 35

3550 BC

CLEOFAN STARED
, his eyes round with fear as the blue flames grew higher and higher, stretching out as fine as a spider’s silk floating on the breeze. And as the thin flames flickered, dancing and swaying, faster and faster, they wove a glorious vision in the air.

Cleofan wrapped his arms around the baby to protect it, but he could not take his eyes from the wondrous fiery images. They showed him a world of light and noise, a world of giants armed with brutal weapons. Mighty thundering demons rumbled through the forest, crushing everything in their path. They tore trees from their roots as though the living trunks were no stronger than twigs. The demons raised their gaping jaws and drove their fearsome fangs into the ground again and again. They bit savagely into the very rocks, ripping the heart from the earth, splitting it apart, crumbling it to dust.

As Cleofan watched, a thrill of excitement tingled along his spine, pushing the fear from his mind. This vision was surely the work of the Shades, but although their power whirled and crackled all around him, it seemed the Shades meant him no harm. Instead, they were showing him this wonderful vision.

They have chosen me
, he thought.
Me, and no one else
. But what did it mean? Could these demons really be so powerful?

The vision grew brighter, and Cleofan narrowed his eyes, squinting into the glare.

The demons stood still, picked out in perfect detail by the whirling flames. It looked as though they were waiting for something. Cleofan tilted his head to one side, hoping to see what was happening, trying to understand.

Suddenly, a terrible throbbing howl rose up, and Cleofan grimaced. It was almost too much to bear, and he began to turn his head away. But in that moment, a mighty clap of thunder split the air, and in the vision, the ground rose up as though pushed from beneath by some monstrous, unseen creature. In front of Cleofan’s eyes, the earth was torn apart. Rocks and boulders flew into the air and fell to the ground like rain. A billowing cloud of smoke and dust climbed into the sky, hiding everything in the folds of its dark shroud.

Cleofan shrank back as the dark cloud rumbled toward him. Would it reach out from the vision, swallowing him whole? Would it smother him beneath its night-black cloak?

The hideous cloud rolled closer and closer. It folded itself around him, wrapping him in its enormous arms. Cleofan could feel its hot breath on his cheek and taste the bitter grit on his lips. The stench of scorched earth stung his nostrils. But now, he could not look away. The vision held him in its grip. He had no choice but to watch.

The thick smoke caught in Cleofan’s throat and he choked, gasping for fresh air. But just as the black cloud threatened to overwhelm him, the darkness was suddenly banished by a great light, brighter than the sun. For a heartbeat, Cleofan’s world turned white, and he cried out in pain as the vivid blaze burned his eyes. Then suddenly, the vision was gone—whisked away in the blink of an eye, as though it was no more solid than the gentle mist that sometimes hung in the air above the stream. And in the same moment, the strange crackling and rumbling noises faded away, and the stone grew silent.

Cleofan blinked and shook his head, but strange traces of the vision still seemed to float before his eyes, and his legs were weak and unsteady. He staggered away from the stone slab. Then, cradling the baby with one arm, he reached out his other hand to steady himself against the steep slope that rose at the very back of the ledge. The baby squirmed in his grip and Cleofan allowed himself a grim smile.
He’s still alive
, he thought.
I saved him from the Shades
. But had he been right to rescue the child, or would the Shades be angry with him for interfering in their work? Now that he’d seen their true power, he had more reason to fear the Shades than any man alive.

But Cleofan shook his head slowly. If the Shades had wanted to punish him, they could have done so. Instead, they’d granted him a miraculous vision. It must mean that he was safe. The Shades had given him permission to stay a little longer.

He glanced nervously toward the cracked stone slab, and a terrible longing stirred in the pit of his stomach. He needed to understand the vision, to learn its wondrous meaning, and above all, he needed to know why he’d been chosen to see it.

Cleofan looked down at the baby in his arms, then he backed farther away from the slab of stone and gently laid the child on the ground, checking that the furs were still snug around its body. The baby stirred, and Cleofan whispered, “Hush, I won’t be long. And then I’ll take you away from this place and keep you safe.” The baby screwed up its face, but it did not cry out. Cleofan smiled then he stood tall and eyed the slab of stone suspiciously. “Such wonders,” he murmured. “Such power.” But Cleofan had always listened carefully to the tales told by old men in the long nights of winter, and he knew that the Shades could not be trusted. The Shades guarded their secrets well, and they never bestowed a gift without taking something in return.

What will they ask of me?
Cleofan wondered.
I have so little to give
. Cleofan thought of his home. Odely had almost certainly realised that he’d taken the extra strips of dried meat, and she’d be waiting for him with harsh words on her lips. The rabbit he’d caught might pacify her a little, though it would be a long time before she forgot his theft. And his mother would hear of it and torment him even further. But at home, he was safe, and he knew his place in the order of things. Here, with unimaginable power within his grasp, his mind was a whirl of doubts and uncertainties.
Yes, it’s dangerous
, he told himself,
but I have to know more. I cannot walk away
.

Cleofan raised his eyes to the sky. “What do you want of me?” he called out. “What am I meant to do?” But although he strained his ears, there was no sound except the distant creak of an ancient tree trunk, groaning as the breeze tugged at its bare branches.

He looked back down at stone slab then walked slowly toward it, deep in thought. He eyed the cracks in the stone suspiciously. If the blue flames reappeared, he’d turn and grab the baby then escape as fast as he could. But if nothing happened, he’d take a closer look at the stone to see what secrets could be learned.

He held his breath and stepped right up to the slab, letting his eyes run along the jagged cracks that seemed to run right through the thick stone. Slowly, he reached out until his fingertips almost brushed against the stone, but then he hesitated, curling his fingers into a fist. “What did the vision mean?” he whispered. “Was it a warning?”

Cleofan pictured once more the huge demons tearing through the forest. In his mind, he heard again the deafening sound of the earth splitting apart, and suddenly, he understood.

The Shades had shown him the end of all things, the last of all days. And they’d given him the gift of this vision on the very day that marked the longest night. It could not be a coincidence. This was more than a vision; it was a prophecy. He’d witnessed the terrible shadow that would one day swallow the world. But he’d also seen the bright light that would wash the darkness away. The world of men would end, but it would be reborn.

Forgetting his fear, Cleofan laid his hand on the slab. The stone was bitterly cold, and as he ran his hand across its rough surface, his skin tingled. “Must I warn my people of these terrible things?” he murmured. “Command me, Shades, and I will do your bidding.” He tilted his head, searching the rock for a sign that the Shades had heard him. But the stone remained silent and dull.

Cleofan grimaced and let out a hiss of frustration. “Why don’t you answer my questions? What am I to do?” He allowed his fingers to explore the sharp edge of a crevice that ran deep into the stone.
The flames poured out from the cracks
, he thought,
like a spring of fresh water flows up from the rock
.

Cleofan leaned forward and peered into the crevice. And he gasped. There was something down there: a glittering light that danced and flickered like sunlight on the rippled surface of the river. But the slab was thick and the crevice was deep; it was too dark for him to see what lay hidden in its depths.

Cleofan changed his position then jammed the fingers of both hands into the split in the stone. He took a breath then tensed his arms and tried to pull the chunks of rock apart. But though he heaved with all his strength, the rock did not budge. He needed something to widen the gap. He drew his knife and pushed the blade into the crack. But though the knife was a good one, when he moved its handle from side to side, the blade grated against the rough stone slab and crumbled, shedding flakes of flint into the crevice. His knife was not strong enough, and if he pushed it harder, the blade would snap. Carefully he pulled his knife from the crack in the stone, and as he placed it back in his belt, his hand brushed against his pouch. The blade Glowan had given him was inside, and it was stronger than any flint knife. He took out the heavy blade and placed its sharp edge inside the crevice, sliding it from side to side to work it deeper into the rock. But when he pulled on the blade’s handle to pry the stones apart, the smooth blade slipped suddenly from the crack and Cleofan staggered back. He grunted under his breath then tried again and again, but he fared no better.

“It’s no good,” he growled. “I can’t do it.” He let go of the blade, leaving it jammed in the crevice. Perhaps if he rested for a moment, he’d be strong enough to have another go. But he needed to try something different. Somehow he had to force the blade deeper into the split. He chewed the inside of his cheek and stared down at the slab of stone, breathing hard. And as Cleofan stood, frowning at the stone, his eyes went to the blunt striker, still lying where he’d left it when he’d scooped up the baby. An idea formed in his mind, and he picked up the heavy weapon, wrapping his fingers around its handle. He touched the striker’s blunt head to the top of the blade, where it stood proud of the rock. Then he raised the weapon above his shoulder, keeping his eyes all the while on the blade’s handle. He judged the distance then he brought the weapon down hard, striking the top of the blade as hard as he could. The weapons connected with a sharp burst of noise, unlike anything Cleofan had ever heard before, but he bared his teeth in a savage smile. It had worked. The blunt striker had driven the blade farther into the stone. He raised the striker again and brought it down swiftly. This time, he was sure the crevice widened. He took a breath then bent to his task, bringing the heavy striker down on the blade over and over again. With each blow, the blade sank deeper into the rock, forcing the mighty slab to split apart.

When the blade was all but buried in the rock, Cleofan hesitated, catching his breath. He leaned forward until his cheek lay on the cold stone and placed his eye over the crevice, peering down into the dark slit.

For a moment, he could see nothing new. But then, as he shifted his position, a little more light filtered down into the crevice. And something caught the light and shone it back into Cleofan’s wide eyes. He gasped, but he did not move away. Something wonderful was down there, nestling beneath the dark rock, and he had to see it for himself. He held his breath as he watched the stray beams of sunlight dance and flicker in the darkness, as if they were somehow trapped beneath the slab of dull stone. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Beautiful.”