The Dark Stone Page 17

  Sam made the excuse of having things he needed to do in the day but did not elaborate further before he said goodnight and slipped back out into the night air.

  Morning was approaching rapidly but he didn’t rush back to the inn, instead he enjoyed walking the quiet streets and soaking up the feel of the town sleeping all around him. When he did return to his room, he lay in bed but sleep wouldn’t come until dawn and he knew it.

  Elle filled his thoughts; the form of her buttocks and breasts and how they filled her dress, the way she walked; the sound of her voice and the way she smelled. As the sun came up, he fell asleep smiling, imagining how her body would feel next to his.

  It was shortly after sunset when he returned to the market square, nervously fingering the pouch of coins in his pocket. "What would you think about something to drink and eat in the tavern?" he asked.

  "How can you afford that?" she asked incredulously, although she was already following him out of the tent and across the square.

  He lied and said the reason he couldn't come to see her in the day was because he'd managed to find a little work. When she asked what it was, he avoided giving a direct answer simply by saying it was boring. They were already climbing the steps onto the wooden porch and when they stepped inside, the question was forgotten.

  Inside the tavern was hot and stuffy. Smoke hung chokingly thick in the air, swirling at eye level as it was disturbed by the draught from the door. People of all description and size were crammed in shoulder to shoulder, noisily shouting for drinks or to get the attention of their friends. It was obvious there wouldn’t be a table free and the chance of quiet conversation was non-existent.

  “I know somewhere a little quieter,” shouted Sam, trying to make himself heard over the din. “Shall we go there?”

  The answer was an emphatic, “Yes.”

  35

  They’d only been in the tavern for mere seconds but the cool, fresh air of outside was a relief. Sam held out the crook of his arm for Elle to place her hand through and they walked side by side to the inn where he was staying. The bar room may have been dark and dingy but at least it was reasonably quiet and they found themselves a table in the corner to sit at. From what Sam could see, the clientele were exactly the same as the first time he’d frequented the bar. He tried not to catch anyone’s eye and sat with his back to Jeb and his friends so as not to attract unwanted banter.

  “Alright my friend,” the Innkeeper came over to the table. “Thought you’d done a runner.”

  “No,” said Sam, smiling. “Why? Do I owe you anything?”

  “Just pay me for tomorrow before the night’s up. Now, what’ll it be?” he asked.

  “What have you got?” asked Elle.

  The innkeeper seemed to notice her for the first time. “Erm. Stew.”

  “I’ll have the stew then,” she said with a smile.

  “I’ll have the same,” added Sam. “And two tankards of your finest ale.”

  Elle raised an eyebrow.

  “Sorry,” said Sam. “Did you want something else to drink?”

  “Ale’s fine,” she said and laughed.

  “Who’s yer wench then?” came a voice from behind. Sam’s attempts at avoiding attention had been unsuccessful.

  He bit back a flash of anger and waited for it to fade before speaking. “They’re harmless really,” he said almost apologetically to Elle, who seemed to have seen the funny side.

  “I ‘eard them monks were a bit randy,” he heard someone else say. “Ere missus, what’s he keep under his ‘abit then?”

  Sam turned around to glower at them.

  “Alright mate,” the man who’d shouted over held up his hands, “no need to get all offended.” The table erupted into juvenile giggling.

  When the innkeeper brought over their food they ate quietly, knowing full well their every word would be eavesdropped upon. It wasn’t comfortable, especially as Elle was the only woman in the bar. Sniggering from the next table was almost constant during the meal.

  “Shall we go to your room?” she asked as soon as they’d finished eating.

  “I suppose it would be a little quieter,” he said and waved the innkeeper over. “Bottle of your best brandy please?”

  The innkeeper took a step back, “Sure you can afford it.”

  “Yes,” said Sam. Elle looked at him through widened eyes.

  “That’ll be cash up front,” he said.

  Sam rummaged around and fetched the money bag from his pocket. He paid for the room at the same time to make things easier.

  “Take it you won’t want to be disturbed,” said the innkeeper with a cheeky smile.

  “Nor tomorrow,” Sam replied as they got up to leave the table. Elle and Sam walked out of the bar and started up the stairs to a chorus of wolf whistles and jeers. Elle giggled, for which he was thankful.

  They sat on the edge of the bed, talking and glugging brandy from the bottle. If it was the finest on offer, they joked, they’d hate to sample the worst. After the first few mouthfuls though they stopped grimacing and an alcoholic warmth spread through them. They were easy in each other’s company and for a while, their cares were pushed aside to worry about some other time.

  “You seem older than you did,” she stated with a smile.

  Sam laughed, “Well…”

  “You know what I mean.” She leaned over and placed a hand on his thigh. The atmosphere changed, the air between them becoming charged as they both fell quiet. Elle leaned further into him and put her lips to his. Gently at first, then probing tentatively with her tongue.

  Sam responded, pulling her close against his body and returning her kiss with intensity. Something was stirring; both the physical arousal and something inside.

  She pulled away, her cheeks flushed, and tapped the bed before swinging her legs from the floor and lying on her back. For a split second Sam stayed where he was, nervous, but then he cast all doubt aside and lay down next to her. They kissed again and their bodies became entwined as they ran their hands over each other. He cupped a hand over her breast and let his fingers brush across a hard nipple. His other hand was on her thigh, moving up beneath her simple dress, savouring the cool softness of her skin.

  He was losing himself in the moment; they both were. He grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged, she had to lift her buttocks and wriggle so he could pull it up before she sat up and pulled it off over her head. Sam did the same with his robes before they both lay back down, skin to skin. His hand moved from her thigh, upwards, teasing apart her legs.

  Elle winced when he touched her. “Gently,” she murmured into his ear.

  He struggled to calm himself and ease the pressure at his fingertips, as if his hand had ideas of its own, especially when she touched him back, taking him in hand and gently rubbing. She gripped hard and his whole body followed when she guided him toward her. A small groan escaped her slightly parted lips.

  She gasped and moved her hips to match his rhythm. Lust overrode all his other senses and the world seemed to drop away as conscious thought deserted him. He loomed over her, propped on his elbows and thrusting hard. Moving his hips, harder and faster. Gaining speed. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the bed above her head.

  Something flashed across his face. A glimpse of the beast which had been growing inside him, superimposing itself on Sam’s slender, teenage features. All tooth and bone with eyes of fire.

  Elle’s passion turned in an instant to fear. Her eyes went wide, lashes trembling. She screamed at him to stop. He pinned her wrists tighter, thrusting harder. Each stroke shoved her further up the bed until her head was banging off the wall. She screamed louder between the bangs and he clamped a hand over her mouth. With her hand now free, she clawed at his face but to no effect and he easily caught her flailing arm and held both down with his one hand. He came hard, a never ending stream which dribbled between her buttocks and onto the bed.

  And then he was just Sam again, his mind returned to hi
m with the full knowledge of what had just happened. He shrivelled inside her as she sobbed, broken. Her eyes held nothing but revulsion but it was nothing compared to what he felt about himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled while hurriedly tugging on the robes which minutes before had been carelessly flung to the floor in a fit of passion. It should have been a beautiful moment but there were no words for what he felt. All he’d wanted was ruined, and that was all he knew.

  Guilt consumed him as completely as the hottest of fires. His mind reeled, faster and faster until it could spin no more and he felt as if his head would explode. Humiliation threatened to consume him as he turned on his heels and leapt from the window. The rage he felt toward himself intensified within his being as he flew down the cobbled street and he embraced it wholeheartedly, letting it flood through him and take control.

  At the wall he did not slow and the closed gate posed no obstacle. With unnatural speed Sam flew up the small wooden ladder to the walkway and without hesitation, leapt over the parapet to the ground below. He hit the ground running, without even the slightest stumble, and was gone into the night.

  On top of the wall, the sentry was oblivious to Sam's passing. A fleeting blur of motion in his peripheral vision caused him to turn but upon seeing nothing, he put it down to a symptom of tiredness and long hours staring out into the dark.

  36

  Branches snatched at his clothes and roots leapt from the dark forest floor to trip him but Sam did not slow, nor did he stumble. Like a sudden wind, he flew through the forest and all the creatures fled at his coming, diving for cover until the storm had passed. His mind had left him, given over to madness.

  Miles disappeared beneath his feet, until sometime in the early hours he sensed his prey with the same instinct with which he’d once hunted deer and pigs. Without missing a step he changed direction toward them. There was no way of knowing whether they were the ones responsible for the massacre at St Peter’s but even at a distance he could feel their mal-intent as plainly as if he’d overheard them plotting.

  They were camped in a clearing just off the road, where it forded a wide but shallow brook. A handful of tents were arranged around a small campfire and Sam paused just out of sight, cocking his head to listen. They were swigging from a bottle being passed around the circle while laughing about a farmer who’d tried in vain to protect his family from their advances.

  With unnaturally sharpened tooth and nail he tore through their midst in a whirlwind of violence. Blood flowed and screams split the stillness of the night. Before the first body hit the ground Sam was already on the opposite side of the clearing, hidden in darkness and watching the chaos unfurl. Men scrabbled for swords and axes while all the time frantically looking to the edge of the trees for an enemy they couldn’t see. The creature Sam had become, picked one victim at a time before ducking his head and charging in for the kill.

  The men panicked and wildly swung their weapons but never saw a target they could hit, only their comrades being butchered one by one. Some were disembowelled, sliced open by hooked claws while he bit the throats out of others. Sam’s rage had turned into something else, something primal, and in turn, so had he.

  As their numbers dwindled, so their fear grew to new heights. When there was only one man left standing, Sam ceased the slaughter and stood still in the clearing.

  There was no need for psychic powers to sense the man’s fear as Sam stood in front of him, hood pulled back to reveal features transformed and twisted into a grotesque parody of humanity. Around them, half a dozen fighters lay dead and mutilated, some still twitching and making grotesque gargling sounds. Beetles already crawled amongst their spilled innards as their blood soaked away into the ground.

  The man stood stock-still, apart from a nervous tremble in his jaw, as the ghoulish figure of the monk raised a long pale finger and dug a nail into the skin of his cheek. A rivulet of blood tricked down the man’s face and neck before eventually snaking its way beneath the collar of his leather tunic. "Who is it?" Sam rasped.

  Trembling and bewildered he looked more boy than man.

  Sam clasped one hand firmly around his jaw and squeezed. A finger punctured one of his cheeks, which tore, leaving a ragged hole through which could be seen bloody teeth. The young man began to cry. Sam increased the pressure. "Who?"

  The youth just looked with saucer-like eyes and no understanding of the question. He was trying to push the blood from his mouth using his tongue, trying not to choke.

  "Who?" He squeezed harder and there came a loud crack as the man's jaw gave way under the pressure and Sam's hand suddenly closed into a fist.

  Sam left him there, tongue wagging in a bloody hole and didn’t look back. With the sun still over an hour away he moved swiftly along the road, snatching small rodents and unsuspecting birds as he passed to give sustenance on the move.

  It wasn't much later when he came across the farm they’d been laughing about, tucked away at the foot of a rocky hill. A decapitated dog smothered the front step and Sam stepped over it and through the front door, which stood open and swinging in the wind. Just inside the small hallway lay the crumpled farmer, who must have been sliced open a dozen times over. There was sobbing coming from upstairs and Sam could feel a child’s anguish filling his senses.

  When he pushed into the room the girl pressed herself up against the wall at the head of the bed, clutching a bloody blanket tightly around her body. "Please," she pleaded. "Please don't."

  "I won't," said Sam softly, although something inside him wanted to absorb her life as he'd done with the half-deads. He could feel her terror and the euphoria it instilled in him threatened to overpower his senses like a drug. "What happened?" he asked, trying to disguise his hunger. He sat on the end of the bed and she tried to push herself further into the wall. "Don't be afraid," he said.

  The girl sniffed. "They..." She sniffed again and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Briefly, Sam was reminded of his sister.

  "Don't worry," he said, "they can't hurt you now."

  "How do you know?"

  "Trust me." It wasn't them she needed to be worried about. Something seethed inside him and he battled to keep it under control. "I need you to try and remember."

  "Remember what?" she asked.

  Sam tried to get a grip on his thoughts. An image of Elle lying beneath him flashed through his mind and he winced, gripping the edge of the bed. "Did they say where they'd come from?"

  The girl shook her head.

  "Who they were? Where they were going? What they wanted?"

  Again she shook her head.

  Sam was becoming frustrated and knew daylight was fast approaching. "Anything?" he asked. "Anything at all?"

  "There's more of them." Her voice was almost a whimper.

  "More?"

  "I - I think they were part of a bigger group. They said the others would regret not staying behind and having all the fun." She spat the last word and filled it with hate. "It was a shame they had to return. Apparently."

  "Return where?"

  "I don't know." She started to cry again. "What will I do?"

  "Head south along the road," he said. "Until you reach Princeton."

  She looked terrified at the idea. "Can I come with you?"

  Sam rose to leave.

  “Wait,” she shouted at his back. “What about my mum and dad?”

  “Leave them,” he said without turning.

  He headed to the back of the farm and started up the hill, glancing skyward. Soon he was winding his way up between crags where short trees clung to life at precarious angles.

  At a small cave, set into an outcrop near the summit, he stopped to sit at the entrance. From there he surveyed the night-time countryside which spread out before him until the first rays of sun appeared over the horizon. His head started to pound with a searing pain behind his eyes and heat scorched his body but for as long as he could, he endured the agony and hoped it would bring some relief f
rom his shame. As it lit up the peaks which spread before him, he gazed upon pastel hues of greens and purples and lamented what he'd lost by becoming a creature of the night.

  After just a few moments the sun became unbearable and fatigue threatened to crush him. Only then did he crawl into the small cool hollow and curl up on the dirt to rest. Thin green slime covered the rocks around him where water dripped from the roof, as it had done for millennia.

  The next night was clear and the stars pointed his way as he followed the road, climbing steadily upwards. As it did, the landscape became more rugged and the little used road, less maintained. What had begun as a light breeze was now a wind which blew in his face and whipped his robes about his ankles, so Sam needed to hold onto the hem of his cowl to keep it on his head. After a while he tired of holding it and let it fall, so the wind blew through his tufted hair.

  The wind carried the scent of smoke and Sam quickened his pace toward it. When he reached its source he found nothing but the smouldering wreck of a village. Wisps of smoke rose from blackened shells and ashes were whipped up on the wind, occasionally erupting into sparks. Amongst the ruins and in the street lay the bodies, mutilated and butchered. Some of them were naked. Sam felt his anger building again, like a kettle coming to the boil.

  He could feel faint life and moved amongst the bodies, looking at each and every one, searching for survivors. Those he found still breathing, were in such a way it was kinder to put them out of their misery. For each new corpse he made, he said a short prayer before delivering them from the world and with each one he felt their life flow into him, feeding the power growing inside him.

  While tending to one such soul - a middle aged man quietly whimpering for his mother while leaking blood and bile from a hole in his gut, his face contorted in agony - he heard a quiet sobbing from one of the less damaged huts. Sam quickly snapped the man’s neck and went to investigate.