Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) (8 page)

She stepped into the forest’s welcoming shadows and leaned her back against a tree trunk, looking up into its bare branches and breathing deep, taking in the scents of sweet earth and fresh green ferns. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Mother Forest.”

The baby seemed to know she’d stopped moving and he let out a pathetic, mewling whimper.
He’s hungry
, she thought.
Too hungry even to cry
. She pushed herself away from the tree. Perhaps she could do something about the boy’s hunger. All she had to do was find a sheltered spot. There’d be places here, dry patches of earth beneath the bushes where she could crawl in and find a place to rest out of sight.

She stepped forward, tilting her head to listen. Something rustled through the undergrowth at her side and she turned, her hand going to the leather strap she wore around her waist. But her knife—it wasn’t there! She’d dropped it when she’d fallen, and in her panic, she’d run on without picking it up again. “No,” she muttered. “No.”

But she wasn’t defenceless. She reached down to her pouch and fumbled with the drawstring. It wasn’t easy with one hand, but she opened it and pushed her hand inside. There. The weapon was cold against her fingers. She took hold of the heavy blade and pulled it out, holding it in front her, ready.

“Now,” she said. “Now we’ll see.” She walked forward, deeper into the forest, looking from side to side.

The men who’d taken her had no fear of the forest. They would surely follow her, picking up her trail, perhaps even sniffing out her scent. But she knew how to hide here. And she knew how to call on the Forest Spirits to help her.

As she walked, she sang gently to the spirits, calling on them to share her song. It soothed her, and her voice calmed the baby. He stopped whingeing and curled himself up against her.

And it worked. The spirits must have heard her call. There, just ahead of her, was a tangled holly bush. It was just what she needed. Although the leaves were sharp, the ground would be dry beneath its twisted branches. And the thick cloak of leaves would keep her and her baby safely out of sight.

She put the blade back in her pouch then dropped down to her knees and bent forward, still pressing her baby to her chest. She crawled through the lower branches. The sharp leaves scratched her arms and caught her hair, but she pressed on.

She reached the empty space beneath the branches and sat down. “Here we are,” she said. “Here we are, my little one.” She pulled her tunic aside and raised her baby to her breast, but although he moved his mouth, his head flopped to one side as though he’d forgotten how to feed.

“Come on,” she murmured. “It’s all right. You must stay strong.” And when she lifted his head a little more, he latched on, his warm lips tugging at her nipple.

The woman closed her eyes and exhaled. She had enough milk for now, but she’d need to eat and drink soon, or she wouldn’t be able to feed him. And she was thirsty. So thirsty.
Later
, she thought.
I’ll find food and water later
.

***

Cleofan followed the usual path into the forest, but he didn’t have much luck. There was very little wood along the path, and he guessed that most of the fallen branches had already been taken by others.

He stopped walking and took a breath. It was no use putting it off; he’d have to venture farther into the forest. He turned around, scanning the undergrowth, looking for a place where he could force his way through the brambles and thorny bushes. “I could go home,” he muttered. “I’ve done enough.” But when he looked down at the bundle of firewood in his arms, he knew he was fooling himself. He sighed then lay down his bundle. He’d leave it there, and when he’d found some more, he’d pick up this pile on the way home. No one would steal it. No one came to the pit unless they needed stone, and no one would build a hut in this dark season.

Cleofan chose a direction and pushed his way between two hawthorn bushes. But as he moved the sharp branches aside, he heard something.

What was that?

He dropped into a half crouch and drew his knife. What had he heard? He tilted his head and the noise came again: a low whine, like a wounded animal. And a wounded animal would be easy prey.
Meat
, Cleofan thought. He licked his lips. If he could return home with meat for the feast, he would be welcomed with open arms. Even his mother would be pleased. And someone else could fetch the firewood. He’d send his wife. It was a job for a woman, and anyway, it was about time she learned to respect her husband.

Cleofan crept forward, homing in on the sound.

There. It was right in front of him. The sound was coming from inside a holly bush. He took a breath and held his knife ready then he bent his knees and reached down to part the branches.

The blow to his head was hard and swift. The pain arced across his skull and he staggered sideways, clutching at his head. Blood flowed between his fingers, wet and warm, and trickled down his forehead. He wheeled around to face his attacker, waving his knife wildly from side to side, but the wound had dimmed his vision and he could only squint up at the figure in front of him. He grunted and raised his knife to head height, but before he could strike, the dark figure lashed out at him, thrusting a weapon at his face. Cleofan stumbled backward and the weapon missed him by a hair’s breadth. But as he struggled to regain his stance, a branch caught him in the back of his knees and he fell backward, crying out. And his attacker was on him.

A savage kick to Cleofan’s hand sent his knife tumbling among the dead leaves. Another kick to his side left him gasping for air. And then the dark figure descended on him, kneeling hard on his chest, squeezing the breath from him. A heavy blade was pressed firmly against his throat and Cleofan gagged.

“Stay still,” the figure hissed. “Stay still, or I’ll kill you now.”

Chapter 11

2021

I WAS WAITING IN THE LOBBY
by 7:40 p.m. but after five minutes of pretending to read a French magazine, I went outside. There were fewer people on the street and the road was quiet, so I leaned back against the hotel wall, soaked up the early evening sunshine and tried to be patient.

At 8:10 I double checked my phone, scrolling through all my old messages in case I’d missed something.
She’s not coming
, I thought.
She’s changed her mind
. But just as I’d decided to go back up to my room, I looked along the street, and there she was. She’d changed into faded jeans and a white cotton shirt that showed off her suntan. The breeze caught her dark hair as she walked and it streamed out behind her, her natural honeyed highlights glowing in the golden sunlight.

I pushed myself away from the wall, and stood, staring. When I’d seen Cally at the dig, I’d thought she looked wonderful, despite her clothes being old and streaked with dried mud. But as I watched her walking toward me, the rest of the world melted away, and I knew she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

She gave me a little wave and a big smile, and my heart leaped in my chest. I grinned stupidly and returned her wave, trying desperately to look nonchalant but feeling foolish. It seemed to take forever for her to walk the last few metres toward me, but I wasn’t complaining. And anyway, my feet were rooted to the spot.

“Hi,” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but there was no need to stand out on the street. I said I’d call when I got here.”

“Yeah, I know. But I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

She smiled. “It’s a beautiful evening isn’t it?”

I watched the way her lips moved when she talked, I watched the curve of her eyebrows, and the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. “Beautiful,” I murmured.

She tilted her head on one side and gave me an appraising look.
I’m making a fool of myself
, I thought.
She must get that all the time
. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to speak in my normal voice. “I mean, it’s so much warmer than back home. It was raining when I left. But here…it’s just so much nicer.”

She laughed. “You should have seen it last week. It rained for three days solid, but we still had to carry on. We were up to our ankles in mud.”

“TV life not as glamorous as you hoped then?”

She shrugged. “It has its moments. Just not very many of them. Not for me anyway.”

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, then Cally said, “OK, we’ve covered the weather. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a drink and something to eat.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “But I hope you know somewhere good, because I’ve only tried the restaurant here, and it isn’t exactly Michelin material—unless they’re looking for new forms of rubber for their tyres.”

She smiled appreciatively. “I’d forgotten about your sense of humour.”

“Probably for the best,” I said. “Though I’m surprised you remember anything from that day.”

She looked down for moment, and then looked me in the eye. “It’s not the sort of thing you forget. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve tried often enough.”

I nodded. “Me too. But listen, we can’t talk about this out in the street. We should go and find somewhere to sit down and talk properly.”

“OK. I know somewhere nearby. We can walk. It’ll only take us about ten minutes to get there.”

“Fine,” I said then hesitated. “And you must let me buy you dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

She pursed her lips. “No. That’s all right. It’s not like we’re going on a date. And anyway, don’t worry about it. I can claim my expenses back from the production company.” She grinned. “In fact, since you’re playing the part of my colleague from Oxford, I think I should claim for the whole bill, don’t you?”

“Suits me,” I said. “If you think you can get away with it.”

“Why the hell not? After the day I’ve had, they owe me.” She flashed me a smile. “Come on, let’s get going.”

***

The restaurant was small and rustic. Most of the other customers looked like locals: families out for a relaxed meal, taking their time over their heaped plates while their kids tucked into burgers and pommes frites.

The waiter recognised Cally and greeted her warmly, gushing a stream of French that I struggled to follow. When she replied, her accent was flawless, and I stared at her in awe. Impossibly, she was even more attractive when speaking French.

The waiter showed us to our table, and Cally ordered a bottle of red wine. She seemed to know what she was doing with the wine list so I let her choose. When the waiter returned with our drinks I decided that the local kids had the right idea, and ordered a burger with fries and a salad, while Cally chose the sea bass.

We sipped our wine while we waited for our food, and I relaxed, enjoying the wine, the murmur of French voices and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

“So,” Cally said, “where do you want to start?”

“I’m not sure. How about you tell me who that man was up at the dig? You said he worked for the French government. So why was he waiting for me at the station?”

Cally frowned. “You’re sure it was the same man?”

“Yes, definitely. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, but it was him. And there was another guy with him. They tried to get me into their car. They told me they’d been sent to pick me up from the hotel.”

“And had they?” Cally asked. “You did check didn’t you? Only, it occurs to me that the goon from the government must be staying somewhere nearby. Maybe he’s a guest in your hotel. That would explain why he was in the car, wouldn’t it?”

I shook my head. “I checked. At least I tried to. As far as I can make out, they never sent a car. My dad did call to ask for one, so I think someone must have intercepted his call.” I paused, trying to gauge Cally’s reaction. She was listening carefully, but she didn’t look convinced. “I know it sounds ridiculous,” I went on, “but I’m sure there’s something not right about that man. And I think you feel the same way.”

Cally looked at me for a moment. “Yes. Something must be going on. Just before you arrived, I had a really strange visit from some guy who claimed he was from the Ministry of Culture. He said they’re going to monitor everything we do up at the dig, and he left that goon behind to keep an eye on things and report back.” She held out her hands in exasperation. “It’s just totally over the top, and I’ve never heard of anything like it. It’s not as though the dig is particularly important.”

I took a long drink of my wine. “So, at your dig, there isn’t a…a black stone?”

Cally shivered. “No, nothing like that, or I wouldn’t be here. I never want to see anything like that again.”

“I understand,” I said. “But maybe, there’s something similar, or maybe—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I told you, there’s nothing of the sort. It’s a Copper Age site. We’re looking for weapons, jewellery, the sort of things that look good on TV. There are a couple of menhirs nearby, you know, standing stones, but we’re not here to study them.” She gave me a resigned smile. “The producer thinks they look nice in the background. He says they add a bit of mysticism.”

“Could there be some sort of connection between the standing stones and the black stone we saw?”