The Dark Stone Page 10

  “What?” mumbled Sam.

  “St Peter’s is on fire.”

  The few words were enough to make Sam leap from his chair and go to the narrow slit which was his window.

  The tide was fully out again, exposing the causeway and looming black outline of the mainland beyond where through the gloom, came the unmistakeable orange glow of fire.

  An interlude of moonlight, caused by a brief break in the heavy cloud, illuminated the Abbot and a handful of brethren as they braced themselves against the wind and rushed to the water's edge below. Great gobbets of spume blew and rolled across the beach while beyond lay the grey, swirling mass of ocean. White horses scudded across its surface and spray flew from breakers, drenching the few small men gathered near the shore.

  In the same instant he caught sight of people crossing towards the Mount, specks amidst the churning sea. His hand reached out in the dark, feeling along the top of the desk until it came to rest upon the bible. It was only as the figures neared and had almost reached the island that Sam realised something was wrong. By the time they’d reached the beach, it was obvious they weren’t from St Peter’s. A knot formed in his stomach as his mind tried to make sense of what was happening.

  Whether he recognised the danger or not, the Abbot stepped forward to meet the strangers with outstretched arms. Steel glinted in the moonlight as weapons were drawn. The Abbot was first to fall, cleaved lengthways by a mighty blow from a two handed sword. Even from high on the Mount and in the dark, Sam saw the Abbot’s brains splatter across the face of his assailant.

  After a stunned pause, the remaining monks on the beach turned on their heels and tried to flee back towards the monastery, leaving the Abbot where he’d fallen. But their speed couldn’t match that of the men giving chase and they were quickly run down. Although their cries were mostly drowned out by the roaring of the waves and the howling wind, Sam knew they were screaming as they were cut down and hacked to pieces.

  He stayed by the window, rooted to the spot and unable to tear his gaze away from the carnage as it unfolded far below. It wasn't until body parts were scattered wide across the beach and the invaders started to run towards the monastery that Sam snapped out of his shocked trance and staggered back across the room. He stumbled through the opening to his cell and into the corridor beyond. The stone passage was dimly lit by torches set at intervals along the wall and in the spaces where the flame’s influence didn’t fully penetrate, thick shadows danced along with the panicked men and boys, many of whom were still pulling on their robes.

  He ran with the others, caught up in a tide of panic and headed down the stairs to find the hallway a heaving mass of people, all trying to escape. Leaving through the main entrance was a lost cause and so he ducked around the side of the staircase and to the kitchens. A bottleneck had formed in front of the door to the garden, penning in the monks and making escape impossible. Like stampeding cattle, all rational thought seemed to have deserted the men and those at the front of the crush were getting trampled.

  Richard was in the thick of it, jostling for position and Sam tried shouting to him, but no matter how hard he screamed he couldn’t make himself heard above the pandemonium. Helpless, he was forced to watch as his friend’s arms were pinned immobile by his sides and Richard’s face was a picture of pure fear as he slowly spun around and sank below the mass of bodies.

  Sam quickly realised he wouldn't be able to get out of the monastery before the strangers arrived. He looked around in the hope of divine inspiration and glanced to the high windows, looking out onto the herb garden. Grabbing hold of a stool, he raised it high above his head to throw it through the glass.

  A silhouette passed outside the window. The figure was moving too calmly to be one of the monks fleeing, and Sam froze with the stool still in the air. Another figure walked past, then another.

  Just as the realisation dawned on him that the building was surrounded, there came a crashing and splintering of wood from the main entrance and at the same time the panic in the kitchen turned to spine chilling screams as swords and axes started to carve a path through the human blockage at the door.

  Sam dropped the chair and ran back the way he’d come, sprinting toward the main hallway to see armed men charging in from the other end. Jerking his head from side to side, eyes darting to and fro, he frantically searched for somewhere to hide.

  The tiny door under the stairs, which had always been locked and forbidden, stood slightly ajar.

  Sam threw himself through the small gap and slammed the door shut behind him. Half falling, half running he flew down a flight of stairs into pitch darkness, glad the door hadn’t opened into a simple broom cupboard. The scant light from the hallway soon faded to nothing and by the time he reached the bottom step he was blind and almost sprawled face first into the room.

  But he didn't fall and slowed his pace, walking gingerly but as quickly as he dared until hitting a wall with his outstretched hands. Unbeknown to Sam, he was feeling along the edge of a fantastically carved and ornate arch, beyond which were grand chambers stuffed with artefacts and treasures. The caverns eventually gave way to a deep network of tunnels which were dug out of the bedrock itself.

  Blindly, he groped his way along the wall and into the catacombs which ran beneath the Mount. The screams and sounds of carnage above, which would haunt him forever, faded and as he went deeper, Sam’s mind turned to the stories he’d heard from other monks, of tunnels running all the way down to the harbour. He was sure he’d found a way out. After a while the ground beneath his feet became slick and the walls slimy beneath his fingers and he found himself sloshing through puddles.

  The tunnels seemed impossibly long, winding and always on a steady downward slope. Often he found his hands grasping at thin air as another passage branched off to the side. Sometimes he took the turning and other times he didn't and as he ventured deeper underground, there was no logic to his decisions, only a will to flee the strangers marauding above.

  He stepped on a slime covered rock and his foot slipped, causing him to lose his balance. His knee connected with the stony ground and echoed a loud crack around the tunnels. For a moment he lay still, clutching his leg and trying not to scream out with pain. Only when he’d supressed the yelp did he curse under his breath and pick himself up. Fear and hope of escape pushed him onward, to wind his way ever deeper into the earth.

  Eventually, he reached a dead end and was forced to come to a halt. Exhausted, he lowered himself to the ground and found a relatively dry patch on which to sit and rest his throbbing knee and there he stayed, stock still, straining his ears for any sign of pursuers and fearful even to breathe. All he could hear though was the sound of his own heart thrumming in his ears and the faint dripping of water, somewhere distant.

  What felt like long hours passed while on edge and unable to relax, wondering why he hadn't been followed. Other sounds drifted to his ears from out of the dark; scurrying and squeaking. He knew it was rats and a new terror rose up within him. There were also other quiet noises, ones which Sam struggled to identify. Each one made him flinch. Something crawled across his hand and even though he knew it was only a beetle or other type of harmless insect, he snatched it back from the dirt, stifling a scream.

  Without sight, his life flashed very slowly through his mind but eventually the panic started to abate. Only when he’d calmed down did his mind slow enough for his thoughts to become clearer and more organised and only then did it occur to him that there might be another way out of the tunnels. He wished it had come sooner.

  Slowly, he got to his feet, his legs were stiff and his injured knee threatened to give way beneath him but Sam managed to stay upright. He started to feel his way around the walls, thinking there might be a nearby tunnel or small opening he’d missed but none was forthcoming and a certainty dawned on him that he was trapped. Out of desperation he ran his hands higher up the wall. They slipped into a small alcove, cut high in the jagged rock wall.


  Not far back into the recess his fingers closed around something cold and hard and for an instant he felt a slight tingling in his fingertips, as the thing he’d found vibrated ever so slightly beneath his touch. Sam dismissed the sensation as a symptom of nerves and fetched the thing out of the recess, wiping off layers of grime and cobwebs. Underneath, the object was smooth, about the same size and shape as an egg but much heavier. He clutched it tightly and the tingling returned, along with a faint warmth which spread up his arm and through his body. It felt good somehow and calmed his frayed nerves and he was filled with a certainty he’d survive.

  21

  Panic returned to him more rapidly than it had faded, when after so long in a state of almost complete sensory deprivation, new sounds came out of the inky darkness. There was the distinct breaking of glass followed by shouting. He could pick out voices and laughter, still distant but getting louder.

  Sam jumped to his feet and his throbbing knee almost buckled beneath him. Desperately he pressed himself against the damp wall, knowing that if he left the dead-end he'd more than likely run straight into the men. Like a trapped animal his breathing was shallow and fast and his heart beat quickly within his ribcage. For a moment he considered running back the way he’d come and trying one of the side passages. However, even if he found one before the strangers reached it, he was sure they’d hear him and so he just pressed his back against the wall and hoped.

  Slowly, his vision started to return as the approaching torchlight encroached onto the dark. The smooth stone he'd found was still clutched tightly in his hand and Sam readied himself to throw it as the small chamber became steadily brighter. He closed his eyes and raised the egg-shaped rock to his lips, saying a desperate prayer. His eyes snapped open again when a small boulder was kicked into the end of cave.

  When two men rounded the corner, the light from their torch was blinding. They were laughing and the small space filled with the scent of alcohol. Sam's heart caught in his chest and they started at the sight of him. One grabbed a double edged axe, which had been hanging from a girdle on his back and the other drew a sword. A look passed between them before their stares fell back upon Sam.

  He froze, expecting the fatal blow to be quick but instead they dropped their weapons and made a grab for him. Metal clanged painfully loud off the stone floor, making an echo which rattled away back through the tunnels and went on forever and in their haste they dropped the torch. It sizzled briefly and went out, plunging them all into total darkness.

  “Do you think it’s him?” One of them had him held tightly in a bear-hug while the other was scrabbling about on the floor, looking for the torch.

  “Doubt it. Probably with them lot upstairs,” the one on the floor grumbled. “We ought to axe the little fucker now and be done with it.”

  “There’ll be hell to pay if he is up there,” the man holding Sam laughed, but with an edge of nervousness about it. “We’re in the shit anyway; you know he wanted the kids leaving alive. We’d be wise to burn the evidence and return with the loot.” The grip around Sam’s chest tightened and each breath became a losing battle. As the torch was re-lit, Sam lost consciousness.

  His hearing came back first. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the noises of revelry going on all around him; drunken laughter, punctuated by shouts as quarrels broke out, the breaking of glass and the splintering of wood. The air was thick with smoke and the underlying scent of vomit.

  Sam feigned sleep, daring not to move a muscle. As the night progressed the noises intensified around him and more empty bottles were smashed. He opened his eyes the smallest of amounts, so his eyelids formed such small slits as to still appear closed.

  In a split second he took it all in. Smashed artefacts and piles of golden relics littered the blood-stained floor. Slain monks and dismembered limbs were strewn where they’d fallen whilst men drank joyous ale and wine over the bodies. Tapestries which once adorned the walls were piled on top of broken tables and chairs, where they burned in numerous small fires.

  Sam felt sick. Hate and anger welled within him. His hand was thrust deep into his pocket where it was unconsciously rubbing at the smooth stone he’d found. He had to wait and pick his time to escape carefully, as there would be no second chances. All night he lay still, reciting prayers in Latin to distract his mind.

  The dark of night had started to lift by the time the hall fell quiet. Sam opened his eyes, just a crack at first, and when he saw no movement, he opened them all the way to look upon a scene of complete devastation in which the drunken strangers slumbered between the bodies of the dead.

  By the time he made his move, subtle, stormy daylight had begun to filter in through the windows. Sam gulped back his fear and jumped to his feet. Ignoring the pins and needles in his legs and the aching in his knee he sprinted for the main entrance, hoping all the invaders were too drunk to hear his footfalls as he weaved between them.

  The huge arch of the doorway stood gaping. One door hung limply from its top hinge and the other was missing altogether. As he passed over the threshold he slipped and almost lost his footing where rain and sea-spray mingled freely with blood.

  Outside, the storm blew with increased intensity and the steps down to the beach were precarious. Exposed to the elements, he had to brace himself against the slippery cliff-face while rain lashed at him and his robes flapped and lifted up around his face. Far below, the sea churned and smashed against the rocks, sending spray high up the cliffs. Sam was sure he’d be blown off the path and plummet to his death.

  When he reached the relative safety of the beach, he almost cried with relief. The tide was high and the causeway submerged. The only sign of its existence were high peaks formed by waves slamming into each other and shooting surf high into the air. Torrential rain soaked him to the skin. Shivering, he hunkered down in a small cave and waited for the tide to recede enough to make the crossing.

  As soon as enough solid land emerged from the sea and Sam could be half sure he wouldn't be swept away, he started back across the beach. Almost as soon as he left the cave-mouth a shout went up from somewhere nearby. Someone was sprinting towards him from the direction of the harbour, weapon drawn. Sam ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him towards the mainland. Waves crashed at either side, filling the air with harsh spray but he was already soaked and hardly noticed.

  The man in pursuit was gaining ground and three others had joined in the chase, whooping and screeching into the wind. Suffering through lack of sleep, food and water, Sam started to flag and each step forward became an effort as his legs burned with exhaustion and his lungs screamed at him to stop.

  Daring a glance over his shoulder, he saw his pursuers had covered most of the ground between them but they had stopped running and were instead shouting and pointing as the ocean swirled about them.

  And then they were gone. A wave, whipped up by the storm, surged right across the causeway leaving nothing but churning foam in its wake. Sam looked back towards an empty beach and the monastery high on the cliffs, shrouded in gloom and wisps of cloud. Firelight flickered sporadically in the windows. Then he turned back around and trotted the rest of the way to the mainland, mindful that he too could very easily be drowned.

  On the opposite shore he found hardly a building unscathed. The boatshed was a blackened shell and the boats reduced to ashes. He stood in front of it, numb, looking in either direction. In a daze he began to walk towards Elle’s house. As he passed, the tavern door was hanging off its hinges and the body of a man lay half outside in a puddle of blood which seemed too much for one person. Wisps of smoke were coming from inside, curling around the body before being snatched away by the wind as they crossed the threshold.

  Elle’s cottage was destroyed. The roof was gone, as were the windows and doors. Empty, black holes looked into smouldering wreckage. He didn’t go in, knowing there was nothing inside he wanted to see.

  It was a slow walk out of the village and he cut a lonely figure
as he climbed the muddy track, soaked to the skin and shivering and as he walked, numbness started to mutate into anger. The safety he’d felt for two years had been nothing but an illusion, snatched away in a single night. Old scars were reopened. Pain for his family was as raw as the day he jumped from his window and abandoned Lillian to the rats. He wondered whether Joshua would accept him upon his return to Riverford with his tail between his legs. He wondered whether he’d be forgiven.

  22

  The rain had stopped falling and the clouds began to break apart as Sam embarked upon his walk inland. Alone, frightened and cold his mind was reeling from all that had happened. At some point before day-break, although he couldn’t say exactly when, the wind had dropped and left the morning with a still quality about it, the kind which dominates the hour before the world comes to life.

  The sky brightened further as the sun started to shine through from behind parting thunder heads, lighting up the hilltops. A rabbit bounded across Sam’s path, not three paces in front of him and somewhere in the hedgerow to his left, a bird warbled. He breathed deeply and the underlying fragrance of the ocean and wet earth filled his lungs. The air was clean near the Mount. It was one of the first things he’d noticed when he first got there, away from the stench of excrement, rot and smoke. The past few hours had brought it all back to him. And served as a reminder of what he’d lost.

  He turned to face the way he’d come and looked back toward the sea, by now just a thin sliver of grey and blue peeking out from between the hills. Where morning sunlight hit the surface it glittered as if flecked with gold. Further out, the ocean was still cast in shadow and diagonal smudges of rain connected the sea to the sky.