Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) (12 page)

2010

I LOOKED
AT MY WATCH
. Half an hour had passed since I’d ducked into the bracken.
It feels longer
, I thought,
a lot longer
. I hadn’t tried to escape. I hadn’t tried to see what they were doing. I hadn’t moved. For one thing, the Brewers were too near. I could hear most of what they were saying—I was sure they’d hear my slightest movement. And for another thing, I was just too scared.

I ran a hand over my face, thought for the millionth time:
What if my phone rings now?
It was out there somewhere—maybe right next to the Brewers. Then they’d know someone had been there, invading their space. They might even be able to find my phone. It wouldn’t take them long to use my phonebook and work out whose it was. Then they’d know. They’d know it was me they wanted. They would wait for me somewhere, grab me when I least expected it. Or maybe they’d guess I was still in the quarry and start to look for me. Would I run? I might get to the fence before them, but then what? It would almost be better to stand up and get it over with. Almost, but not quite. If I stayed hidden, I had a chance.

I rubbed my knees, wished I could stretch my legs. I smelt a waft of cigarette smoke. Were the Brewers really hiding out in the quarry just to smoke?
I hope so
, I thought,
it means they won’t be here much longer
.

Wishful thinking. Time dragged on. They were noisier now, raising their voices. My leg muscles were screaming for me to move. I couldn’t stand it much longer. Maybe I could just change position little. The gang were obviously enjoying themselves, shouting and whooping. They wouldn’t notice me, would they? I figured I could risk it.

Slowly, I stretched out my legs. The ground was damp, and as I moved I realised that water had seeped into the seat of my jeans. The wet denim was clammy, clinging to my skin. But my legs did feel better. I wiggled my toes and breathed a small sigh of relief.
Now I can manage
, I thought.
I just need to wait them out
. But how long would they be? I was about to find out.

Something caught the light as it spun through the air, high above me—a bottle. It smashed on the rock face. I ducked my head and covered my face in my hands as broken glass pattered through the bracken, right next to me. “Oh my god,” I breathed, but they didn’t hear me, they were too busy cheering.
Oh great
, I thought,
they’ve been drinking
. I should’ve guessed from all the noise they were making. And of course they wouldn’t have gone to the effort of hiding away just for a smoke. My mind raced.
They’re bad enough sober
, I thought.
What will they be like when they’re drunk? And what else have they been taking?
I suddenly felt very alone.

And then the voices were growing louder. They were on the move. Were they coming closer? I was so stupid, so vulnerable, sitting there on the ground in my damp jeans. I thought:
They’re just going away, aren’t they? They’ll follow the same path back out—why wouldn’t they?
Their rough, slurring voices were so loud now, surely they were so close they were bound to see me. My arms and legs were foolishly heavy. I pressed my legs against the ground, willing myself to sink into the soil. I pushed my fingers into the soft earth, felt the grit under my nails.

And then the voices were fading, getting farther away. They were laughing, shouting, swearing their heads off—and they were going. In a few seconds it would all be over. It was wonderful. I could breathe. The air tasted cool and fresh. I could go home. I remembered my wet jeans. What would people think if they saw the wet stain on my backside? I allowed myself a smile.
I could always tell them the truth
, I thought.
That would shut them up
. But knowing my luck, they’d say I’d taken one look at the Brewers and peed myself in fright.

Then a shout: “Hang on. I’m just…just going…” I don’t know which one of them shouted, but the others jeered in reply. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there was no mistaking the sound of someone wading through the bracken. At least one of them had turned back—and he was coming in my direction.

My skin crawled.
I can’t go through all this again
, I thought,
I can’t bear it
. Had they known I was there all along? Had they just been toying with me? Steadily, remorselessly, someone came toward me. I could still hear the voices of the others fading into the distance—they weren’t waiting. But maybe they were just cutting off the exit and sending someone into the bracken to flush me out. How had I given myself away? I shouldn’t have moved, I shouldn’t have said anything when the glass fell, I shouldn’t have breathed. But none of that mattered now. Whatever the reason, this time there would be no escape.

3,500 BC

WAECCAN WAS
DESPERATE NOW
. He struggled to stand, but he was too weak. “You can’t leave me here,” he spluttered. “At least come and help me up.”

Burlic sighed. A few more steps, and Waeccan would be out of sight.

Waeccan reached out his arms. “It will only take a moment,” he said.

Burlic ground his teeth together. He couldn’t leave the old man huddled on the ground. “All right,” he said. “I’m coming.” And he pulled himself back onto the ledge. He walked over to Waeccan and offered his hand. Waeccan grabbed it with both hands.
The old man has a strong grip
, Burlic thought. But he noticed that Waeccan’s long fingers were white knuckled with the effort. Burlic had to haul him to his feet.

Waeccan staggered, struggled to find his breath. He clutched Burlic’s arm for support and leaned heavily.

Burlic grimaced. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Waeccan nodded, but he was still wheezing.

“Let go of my arm then,” Burlic said. “I’m going now.”

But Waeccan grabbed Burlic’s other arm as well. He gripped even tighter. He pulled himself up until his face was close to Burlic’s. He stared into Burlic’s eyes. “Do you believe in the Shades?” he hissed.

Burlic shook his head. “Let go of me,” he said. He tried to pry the old man’s fingers from his arm.

“Do you believe in the Shades?” Waeccan repeated.

Burlic looked the old man in the eye. He saw the desperation there, he saw the need. “Yes,” he said. “I believe in the Shades. Now let go of me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then you must know,” Waeccan insisted, “that they have sent you here.”

Burlic shook his head. “No,” he said. “I came because…I came to help my wife…because…I thought…” He couldn’t go on. He could see the belief, the certainty in the old man’s eyes. Was he right? Scymrian’s sickness was surely caused by the Shades—and that had brought him to the pit. Nothing could have stopped him.
It does feel
, he thought,
as if I’ve been pushed along by something powerful. It feels like I’ve been led here. But why?

Waeccan watched Burlic’s face carefully. He could see the anger in the younger man’s eyes turn to confusion and then to awe. He let go of Burlic’s arms.
Yes
, he thought,
it all makes sense
. “Burlic, you have climbed the sacred stairway,” he said. “The Shades would never have allowed that unless they had need of you.”

“Need?” Burlic said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Yes, Burlic—need.” Waeccan took the young man’s arm, gently this time. “And now,” he said. “There are things that you must see.”

Burlic nodded weakly.

Waeccan pointed to the far end of the ledge. “Over there, where you found me,” he said. “There is something that until today has been seen only by me and by my father.”

Burlic looked, but it was almost dark. He pictured Waeccan lying on the ground. Had there been something…a block of stone? Now he could see nothing unusual. A dark shadow on the ground perhaps but nothing to fear. He glanced sideways at Waeccan, but the old man didn’t notice. Waeccan was gazing at something Burlic could not see.

“There are Shades that go far beyond the strangest stories you have heard,” Waeccan said. “There are forces you may never understand, though you may spend a lifetime trying.” He shot Burlic a questioning look.

Burlic nodded gravely. It was true—there was so much he didn’t understand.

Waeccan was satisfied. He said, “What you see now, what you hear, what you feel, the knowledge that you gain and the mysteries that you understand, all are up to you. And what you tell to others is also up to you. All you do now, you must do willingly. I have no power over you.” Waeccan managed a wry smile. “Whatever you’ve been told.”

Burlic returned Waeccan’s smile. It was a relief.
It’s all right
, he thought,
this will be all right. The Shades have sent for me—they need me
.

“The tales people tell of the Shades are just stories,” Waeccan said. “Are you ready to be shown the truth? Are you ready to see it for yourself?”

There was a little moonlight now, and Burlic could see its cold fire reflected in Waeccan’s dark eyes. His own eyes were wide in wonder. “Yes,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Slowly, still holding Burlic’s arm, Waeccan moved forward. Burlic did not hesitate. It was as if he were watching himself from above, a strong young man guided gently toward a great prize. He smiled and let himself be led.

2010

I WAS
HOLDING MY BREATH
. He was so near to me now. And getting closer all the time. Which one of them was it?
Don’t let it be Robbo
, I thought,
please don’t let it be him
. Should I lie down, press myself flat against the ground? No. I daren’t risk even the smallest movement. I screwed my eyes tight shut and focussed on the sound of him. Nearer and nearer. He closed in on me, homing in on his target. I imagined Robbo’s acne-scarred face twisting into a satisfied smirk. He was almost on top of me now. I couldn’t bear to look. I couldn’t bear to see the hard glint of violence in his eyes. My whole body tried to squeeze itself into a smaller space.
I can’t cope with this
, I thought.
I’m going to scream
. My throat tightened, my chest burned.
Scream
, I thought,
just scream and shout and get it over with
. I opened my mouth.

And he stopped. I could smell his stale-smoke clothes, his rotten-apple booze breath. I hung my head. My mouth wobbled.
I haven’t even got the guts to scream
, I thought.
I’m just going to sit here and whimper
. But then I caught my breath. I heard a loud belch and then the sound of a zip being undone. My mind boggled. He hadn’t hit me or grabbed me, hadn’t shouted to the others that he’d found me. What the hell was going on? I raised my head a little, squinted through my eye lashes. He wasn’t there. I opened my eyes, turned my head slowly to the right. There—right next to me. I could see him through the bracken. It was Macka. He was standing, facing slightly away from me and looking downwards. What the hell was he doing? But then I heard trickling and splashing. And there was no mistaking the faintly pungent smell of urine.

He wasn’t coming after me at all. He was just having a pee. He hadn’t even seen me. We were so close, but he was intent on what he was doing. He had no idea I was there. It was ridiculous. I was so relieved I wanted to laugh. But he was still too close. And he was taking forever.

The Brewers agreed. Someone shouted, “Hurry up, Macka.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’m there.” I heard the zip again. Then he was walking away. I could’ve cheered, but I settled for letting out a long quiet breath. I could hardly believe it, but he was going. They were
all
going. I was going to be all right.

I looked up at the tree canopy and the sky, and I gave thanks. I don’t know who to, and I didn’t much care, I just gave thanks. I didn’t rush to jump up. I just sat there, looking up, smiling and waiting. I heard the scraping, metallic sound I’d heard before, then their shouts and jeers faded away into the distance. I laughed quietly to myself.

Until, that is, I remembered the dampness in the seat of my trousers. It was time to go. I’d waited long enough, given the Brewers plenty of time to get away. They hadn’t seen me, and I’d given them no reason to be suspicious. They wouldn’t be on the lookout for me. I smiled. I’d got away from the Brewer boys, pulled the wool over their eyes. Not many people could say that. They’d even solved a problem for me. No need to worry about climbing over the fence now. If they’d found a way out of the quarry, I could too.

I stood up slowly, my legs tingling as the circulation came back. I brushed myself down with my hands, but the cold, wet denim of my jeans still clung to my skin. “Oh well,” I said. “Could’ve been hell of a lot worse.” I picked my way out of the bracken, skirting carefully around the razor wire. My ankle still throbbed with every step I took. But I was still smiling, still confident. I would soon be home.

“Where did they go?” I muttered to myself. “Where did that sound come from?” I cast around, looking for something that could’ve made the metallic scraping I’d heard. But the sound had echoed around the quarry. I couldn’t pinpoint it. What about when they’d shouted to Macka? I was fairly certain where that had come from. When I’d walked into the quarry, I’d kept the slope to my right. I reckoned the Brewers had come in farther along the fence and then kept the slope to their left. We’d walked along opposite sides of the quarry floor. It made sense. If their entrance was on my side of the quarry, I’d have seen it on the way in.

I set out to follow what I hoped was their route. I was still confident, but I wasn’t smiling anymore. “They won’t come back now,” I said to myself. “Why would they?” But what if they did? What if they’d just gone to buy more cigarettes? I’d be walking straight into them. I walked more quickly. I was almost at the fence now, and I still had no idea what I was looking for. What if I was wrong? What if I was in completely the wrong place? And then I found it.

There. Propped up against the fence, was a large rectangular sheet of corrugated iron. “That’s it,” I said. “It has to be.” It was far too neat, far too nicely balanced on its narrow edge to have been thrown over the fence. It had been placed there deliberately. I jogged up to it. I was certain now. I could see the marks on the stony ground where the iron sheet had been dragged sideways. I squared up to it. It was taller than me and more than a metre wide. I grabbed hold of the cold metal, one hand on each side. I tried to slide it sideways, but it was heavier than it looked, and it didn’t budge. I pushed harder. The edges bit into my palms, but it was moving, juddering and grating across the grit and gravel.

I didn’t need to move it far. “Yes,” I said. And there it was—a hole in the fence, big enough to crawl through on hands and knees. I ducked down and scrambled through. I’d done it. I was out of the quarry. I stood up and took a deep breath, blew it out again in sheer relief. I smiled, shook my head. I was back in the real world. I would be home in ten minutes—maybe five if I jogged.

But I paused, looked back at the hole in the fence. With the iron sheet out of place, the hole was glaringly obvious. The Brewers would know that someone had been in their territory. They couldn’t know it was me, could they?
Maybe I should cover my tracks anyway
, I thought.
No point in taking chances
. I’d tempted fate enough for one day. And it would only take a minute to replace the metal. I crouched down and pulled at the iron sheet’s sharp edge with both hands. It was jammed against something, and in my crouched position it was hard to get a good grip. I struggled on, swearing under my breath. I was just about ready to get up and give the thing a good kick, when it came free. A couple of heaves, and it was more or less there. I gave it a few extra tugs, checked that it was properly back in place. “There,” I said. “Just as they left it.” It was done. There was no trace of my visit. The whole episode was over. I stood up, rubbed some of the dirt from my hands and made myself a promise:
Whatever happens
, I thought,
I will never, in any circumstances, go into that damned quarry again
.

I was just about to turn around and turn my back on the quarry forever when I heard it. I froze. Someone breathing—hard. Right behind me. And close.
But that can’t be right
, I thought,
I haven’t seen anyone coming
. But, it was still there. Breathing. Heavy and fast. And there was something uncanny about it, something unnatural.
Don’t look
, I thought. But I had to. Slowly, slowly, I turned my head. A low, threatening, snarling growl. A dog. And it sounded huge and savage. Instinctively, I whipped around, but I was frightened and clumsy. I slipped, fell back against the fence, my arms thrown awkwardly behind me, my feet scrabbling for a grip on the path. I landed heavily on my backside. The Alsatian on the path was as big as it sounded. It narrowed its eyes at me, showed its fangs. Its ears were pricked forward. It barked, and I flinched.

“Stay!” The shouted command came from my right. I turned and saw the dog’s owner marching along the path. The dog barked again, but at least it stayed where it was. I couldn’t think straight. Then suddenly, I realised I’d seen the dog before, and its owner. He was the old man I’d seen walking his dog earlier, before I jumped over the fence.
Oh no
, I thought,
I shouldn’t have shouted at him. I shouldn’t have told him to clear off
.

Now he was rapidly getting closer, his face a storm cloud. He raised his hefty walking stick and pointed it at me angrily. “Aha!” It was a grating roaring shout. “Now I’ve got you red-handed, you little bugger.” I’d had enough. Blind panic flooded through me. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care how it looked to be so scared of an old man. And if that dog was going to bite me, he’d have to catch me first.

I pushed myself to my feet, and I ran. I ran so fast I must’ve left a cloud of dust behind me. Everything I’d been through—all my fear, my anxiety—exploded into a surge of nervous energy, pumped into my muscles, my heart, my lungs. I tore along the path, and I didn’t slow down until I reached the end. I stepped out onto the pavement and gasped for breath. I risked a quick look back. It was all clear—no one in sight. Yes. I walked away.
I must look a mess
, I thought,
but I’ve done it—I’ve escaped. The quarry, the Brewers, the old man and even his dog, I’ve escaped them all
. And I was almost home. Surely nothing else could go wrong.

It was then, as I walked away, that my hand went to my pocket—and I remembered. I stood still. “Oh no,” I moaned. “My phone. I never found my phone.” I would have to go back and get it. The promise I’d made myself didn’t mean a thing. I would have to go back into the quarry. I had no choice.