The Dark Stone Read online

  “I’ve already packed most of it; didn’t realise you were staying.” said Elle. “It’s back at the church.” She looked around, “So, what are you going to do?” she asked.

  "Another day’s rest should see me right,” he said, “and I’ll catch you up, but believe me, if I was in any shape to come with you now, I would but… I’ll follow as soon as I can,” he said, not knowing whether he would or not.

  As the sun sank toward the horizon, turning clouds crimson and leaves gold, the sound of laughter and the smells of wood-smoke and cooked meat drifted to him from the direction of the church. Sam had decided to stay in the cottage rather than elicit any questions he couldn’t answer. With his mouth watering he gave serious consideration to joining the others but guilt prevented him. Instead he lit the few candles dotted about the room and made himself as comfortable as possible before getting up to fetch the stone from the windowsill.

  Before he had chance to even hold it there came a knock at the door and with a sigh he went to answer. Elle stood on the other side, smiling and carrying bread, meat and a bottle of plum wine. “Can I come in?” she asked.

  “Of course you can.” His irritation at being disturbed was instantly replaced with a slight flutter in his chest and joy that she’d come.

  “I thought you might like some company,” she said, swishing past him into the room.

  “What about the children?” he asked, relieved beyond words she didn’t hate him for staying behind.

  “They know where we are.”

  They sat and talked into the early hours, avoiding the topic of their separation at the risk of driving a wedge deep between them. The food was good and the wine had a rather heady effect. Often, his eyes lingered upon her face and body for longer than they should have, but every time she might have noticed he looked away, pretending to be distracted by the fire or some shadow in the room. He wanted to hold her close, like they’d been by the campfire. Urges stirred within him but he dared not to act on them and the opportunity didn’t present itself.

  Eventually she stood to leave and if his disappointment was obvious she didn’t show any outward sign of noticing. She did, however ask if he’d be willing to say a few words in the church before they left to carry on the journey, on account of him being the closest thing they had to a priest.

  “I’m not so sure,” he responded. Although flattered, he wasn’t convinced it was a good idea.

  “I am,” she said. “It would mean a lot to them, and to me.”

  Reluctantly he agreed and after the door closed behind her, Sam spent another hour or two sitting in his chair, thinking of some appropriate words to say and trying to recall one of the Abbot’s sermons, before going to bed and thinking some more.

  27

  The following morning was one of sunshine and showers and found Sam in good spirits despite the dull soreness throughout his body and the knowledge he was abandoning the rest of the group. He didn’t expect them to comprehend what he didn't understand himself and just hoped that with time, Elle would forgive him.

  He flung open the kitchen door and breathed deeply of clean morning air, pausing to listen to birdsong. The cottage was a place he could picture himself leading a long, happy and peaceful life and although he was under no illusions about the transience of his stay, there was no harm in pretending for a little while.

  Next to the bed had been a pair of the priest’s leather sandals and Sam found them not a bad fit. Now they were strapped to his feet, getting damp in the grass as he walked the short distance to the church. He had no idea whether the rest of the group were ready for him but he was in no hurry.

  Cobwebs glistened with dew on the old, moss covered wall and across the rickety wooden gate. Sam swept them away with his hand before pushing it open. The hinges creaked, although not through lack of use but more the soft squeak of well-worn metal on metal.

  Ancient yew trees stood sentry over the graves and late flowers still bloomed between headstones and wooden crosses. Sam wove between them to the front of the church from where he could hear the sound of children playing. As he rounded the corner they stopped momentarily to look at him before resuming their game as if he wasn’t there.

  The fresh mound of muddy earth stood out in stark contrast against the green grass and he briefly wondered who had filled in the grave, grateful that somebody had, but feeling guilty he’d left it to the children. Ignoring his discomfort, Sam pushed open the heavy oak door and entered into the church, pausing briefly to admire a woodcut above the door.

  Inside, all was returned to how it should be. Pews were upright and arranged in neat rows, crucifixes and ornaments, those of little worth which hadn’t been looted or smashed, were back where they belonged and flagstones had been meticulously scrubbed clean. Elle was sitting near the front and as he passed she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Three small steps led up to the pulpit and when he'd ascended he looked around the church.

  “Gabrielle, go and fetch the others will you?” Elle said to a girl who was sitting nearby and picking her nose. Moments later the children who’d been playing outside filed in through the door and took their seats.

  With a deep breath he started to speak. The sermon was short, maybe a little too short, but Sam felt a fraud standing where a priest should be. Prayers were said for the people of St Peter’s and those of the village who had laid down their lives, and for the monks who’d been so ruthlessly slaughtered. He spoke of the journey so far and how brave the children were. Then he wished upon them good fortune for the rest of their journey, wherever that might take them. All the time he kept his own thoughts of revenge to himself.

  After the service was over, Elle stayed in her seat and Sam went to sit next to her. Do you think you’ll be alright?” he asked.

  “We’ll be just fine.” She looked away from him, toward something at the front of the church.

  Sam sighed.

  “Are you sure you’re not coming?” Elle asked one more time.

  “I’m sorry, but…” Excuses evaded his lips.

  She responded with a look. “Bye Sam,” she said, pulling away from him and walking out of the church.

  He sat quietly for a moment before following her outside. At the sight of her organising the children and handing out small food parcels, he was on the brink of changing his mind but instead he looked away and dawdled back to the cottage, where he waited for them to leave.

  From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see the front of the church or the road leading away from it, but he knew they’d gone by listening to their voices ebb away on the breeze. Eventually, the only sound coming from outside his window was occasional birdsong and the susurration of the breeze passing through a stand of elm, stretching away along the road.

  Finally he was alone and his eyes flitted to the stone, where it sat in the white alcove just inside the window. Its lure was irresistible but before he settled down he wanted to prepare, lest anything disturb their time together. He went to the pantry and returned with one of the earthenware jugs of wine and a hunk of bread, setting them down in the alcove before going to the garden to relieve himself.

  When he was ready he sat by the window, his face bathed in sunlight, and took the black stone in his hand with a mind to memorizing the dull green markings. As soon as he picked it up the connection he’d felt before was restored and he became acutely aware of all the life outside the cottage. It was almost as if the stone were an extension of his own self; an extra limb, or new sensory organ.

  His frustration was only slight that he couldn’t read the meaning of the symbols and was more than content to simply observe the forms the letters made and appreciate the patterns as if they were works of art. The markings, which seemed brighter than they had, were arranged as if their creator had etched them at random, yet they were perfectly placed and full of intent. As he stared, they appeared to shift and swim ever so slightly in front of his eyes and giddiness came over him. In a half-swoon he felt power flow into him which w
as almost sentient in its existence. It all seemed so right and with each new marking committed to memory, he felt a little stronger, a little more at one with the earth and the ancient things which lurk in the darkest corners of it.

  By the time he lifted his head to look away, the room was in shades of grey, as if all the colour had been washed out of it. At first Sam panicked, his eyes darted about looking for some cause to the blandness before jumping from his chair and striding to the door in two or three bounds. Flinging it open, cold air flooded in from outside, washing about his skin. Instead of shivering he trembled with excitement, every hair stood on end and his skin was tingling all over.

  The world outside the cottage was monochrome too. Frost coated the ground and sparkled dazzling white, but only when he looked skyward did he notice that night had come. Stars were glaring pinpoints on a black canvas and such was the brightness of the crescent moon, he needed to avert his eyes.

  With a simple shrug he went back inside. He didn’t need to light a candle as he turned the stone over and over in his hand. "You are a curious thing," he mumbled to it.

  The sun was almost blinding when it rose above the tree-tops and flooded the room with yellow radiance. Sam raised a hand to shield his eyes and went quickly to the bedroom. Crude curtains hung at the window but they did little to block out the sun and he found rest impossible. A fierce thumping had started in his temple and his body felt like too much of a load for his legs to bear. What he craved was somewhere truly dark and the best place he could think of was the pantry. Relief flooded him when he closed the door and light was banished. With most of the food gone, there was plenty of room for him to spread out a blanket and curl up behind the closed door.

  28

  The sun had only recently set, leaving behind only a faint sliver of watery blue in the Western sky when the cupboard door opened and Sam emerged, rubbing his eyes and flexing his muscles. He felt energised and strong; the dull aches which had persisted throughout his limbs had gone, replaced by a hollow in his belly and a hunger like no other.

  New instincts were at work within him, which were not his own but came so naturally as to go unquestioned, as he threw off his robes and went naked into the icy night. Plumes of hot breath tested the air before him as Sam headed down through the meadow and into the churchyard. All around he could feel the presence of other living things, from mice foraging in the wall to the fox which ambled oblivious across the path before him. For a moment it froze, cocking its head to one side before bounding back in the direction it had come.

  Hunger drove him forward, past the church and with footfalls quieter than the passing breeze, he entered into the woods. Overhead, an owl hooted and Sam paused, looked up and nodded to it before pushing further into the trees.

  He momentarily closed his eyes and symbols from the stone swam behind the lids. His quarry was not far ahead, he could sense it and could almost feel the animal’s heart beating in its ribcage and he slowed, slinking between trees and over roots, silently stalking his prey. When he was within striking distance he paused, still as stone, and crouched on his haunches, waiting. Every muscle and sinew in his body was wound tight, ready to explode into action.

  Blissfully ignorant of the danger, a rabbit hopped out from beneath a thicket of brambles. Sam’s hand shot out with unnatural speed and pinned it to the ground. In an instant there was a crack as the rabbit’s spine snapped but its squeals were cut short in one fluid movement when Sam sank his teeth into its throat and tore through fur and meat alike, yanking hard and ripping out its windpipe. It twitched a moment longer, then went limp in his hand.

  He held it up and wrapped his mouth around the open wound, sucking the rabbit dry. When it yielded no more blood, he tore off a leg and peeled away the fur to get at the muscle underneath. Only with the carcass reduced to guts, fur and bones did he throw it to the ground.

  The rabbit left Sam unsatisfied and no sooner had he finished it, he stood and cocked his head to one side, listening for tell-tale signs of other animals, both with his ears and with his mind. His nails appeared slightly longer than they had. His teeth sharper.

  A deer froze, sensing the threat but it was too late. Sam pounced and his shoulder connected with the beast's side, shattering its ribs and knocking it to the ground where it lay, legs flailing. Using elongated nails he hooked the back of the animal’s head and yanked it back. It kicked and thrashed on the ground but Sam’s grip was solid and the beast was left too weak after the initial blow. He looked closely at how tendons stretched taut and how an artery pulsed in its neck, before biting down and the deer’s head sagged back.

  For a blissful moment Sam lost himself, drinking deeply as blood was pumped into his mouth, until the animal's heart weakened and so did the flow. Then, crouching on his haunches over the carcass, he lowered his head to feast. After he’d had his fill, Sam stood tall and let sensations of oneness with the world wash over him.

  Only when he was back inside the cottage and had donned his robes did he wonder about what had happened. Like waking up after a heavy night’s drinking, the night came back to him in snatches. For a while he'd felt powerful and he liked the feeling, and so, even though he had no understanding of his urges, he embraced them. As the Abbot had once told him, he was chosen to live for a reason.

  He lifted the stone up to eye level and peered closely at its runes. The markings glowed with their strange, throbbing green light which he could picture clearly even when he closed his eyes. He turned it over in his fingers, wondering what secrets it held, until morning came and with the rising of the sun, he returned to the cupboard.

  Nights blurred into a routine of hunting, studying the stone and plotting how to deal with the strangers who'd taken everything from him. Each day that passed left him stronger but as his strength increased, so his hunger grew with it. Moments of unease would cross his mind, when he knew his behaviour was unnatural and somehow soiled, but his cravings were too great and he was powerless to resist.

  The nights were long by the time he strode out of the cottage for the penultimate time. A full moon was rising, forcing him to blink against its glare until his eyes adjusted and he was glad to enter beneath the trees, flitting from shadow to shadow, almost invisible amongst gnarly, twisted trunks.

  His senses were keen and he quested out with his mind, searching for something to pose more of a challenge than deer or rabbits. It wasn’t long before he sensed a stronger and more aggressive prey, different from his usual fare. When he finally caught sight of it, the large, tusked boar was snuffling about in a clearing beneath a stand of oak. The beast was heavy and tough and when Sam pounced, the animal spun around to face him dropping its head and charging with its tusks pointing forward.

  He waited until the galloping boar was almost upon him before dodging to one side and making a grab for the pig. His fingernails raked down its flank, leaving four parallel streaks of red. The boar squealed and spun with surprising agility to attack again. Sam was ready for it and had unconsciously already assessed its strength. This time when the animal charged and Sam took his small side step, he kicked out with pinpoint accuracy and lightning speed, connecting with the animal’s front leg.

  A loud crack like a branch snapping echoed through the dark forest and the boar fell to the floor. The scream coming from its mouth sounded almost human, until Sam began to feast and it gargled into silence. The meat was warm and the blood tasted better for the fight and once he’d gorged himself, Sam left his scraps for the scavengers.

  By the time he was crunching across frosty grass in front of the cottage, the sun had begun to creep over the horizon. With it came an exhaustion which washed over him in a deluge, so he could barely lift one foot in front of the other. Its light hurt his eyes and made him almost blind while the weak autumnal heat burned as if it were June. Half stumbling, he flung himself through the door and almost fell into the pantry where he curled into a tight ball, revelling in the relief of darkness.

  Before sleep ca
me, his thoughts were all about Elle. He couldn’t recall how long it had been since they’d parted and he already struggled to remember her face, but memories of her warmth were vibrant and he drifted into sleep with a smile on his face.

  29

  The next evening when Sam emerged from the cottage he left the door open behind him. Heavy clouds scudded across the sky, swallowing the moon and stars and intensifying the night. Sam paused briefly to look around at the church and graveyard before plunging into the dark of the woods.

  The first thing he needed to do, before anything else, was hunt and before long he was walking through the forest strong and satisfied with blood smearing his chin. The occasional flapping of a bird disturbed from its roost or creatures scuttling away from his approach were his only company. Leaves, recently browned and fallen, rustled beneath his feet as he kicked them up in front of him.

  A chorus of birdsong heralded a new dawn and Sam began to look for a dark place to spend the day. It wasn’t long before he happened across a tall, twisted and ancient tree with spreading buttresses at its base and between two of the towering roots was a crack, just large enough for him to squeeze into. Once inside he found it opened out into a large hollow space, almost the diameter of the tree where mulch and hollow beech-nut shells made a spongy carpet. The animal which had left them would have to find a new home for the day as Sam curled himself around the inside the trunk. He slept undisturbed, oblivious to the worms and beetles which crawled over his face and into his robes.

  The drumming of rain was loud within the tree when he woke but he gave it little thought when he stepped from the hole and stretched his limbs. It only bothered him as it would a fox or badger, and would not drive him to take shelter. As it pasted his hair to his head and soaked his robes, he stood and breathed deeply, arms before him and slightly parted, and let the new part of him to take hold of his senses and run rampant through his body.