The Dark Stone Read online

  Unseen upon his first glimpse, the road wound its way down between the hills and into a narrow cove, where a collection of stone cottages hugged the shore around a shingle beach. Two boats had been pulled up out of the water and a huddle of people were gathered around them while gulls swooped above their heads.

  The wagons picked up pace on the way down, even though to Sam it seemed the most precarious part of their journey. More than once he was nearly thrown from his seat as they jolted over potholes and he had to bite his fist to stop his teeth knocking together. When they reached the beach the horses had no choice but to slow as cart wheels sank into the shingle, multiplying the effort of pulling them.

  The people who were gathered around the boats stopped what they were doing and looked up at the monks’ arrival. A stout woman with plaited, grey hair straightened and waved while weathered men went back to throwing fish from the bottom of the boats. Father Geoffrey waved back, “Good catch?” he shouted before jumping from his wagon and crunching his way over to her.

  All the wagons and carts came to a complete standstill when all that was in front of them was water. Waves lapped rather than crashed onto the beach and out in the bay, not a vast distance from shore, rose the island. At the foot of the crags, far below the building was a small beach to match the one they were standing on. Sam became confused, wondering about how they were going to cross, for the island was surely their destination. The boats were far too small to carry even the monks, let alone the wagons and horses.

  The other monks were all clambering down from their carriages and most were laughing, talking loudly and excited to be close to home. Sam looked at the man sitting next to him who nodded his approval before jumping down himself and walking to the water’s edge.

  Sam closed his eyes, feeling the freshening breeze on his face and listening to the sound of water and rolling shingle. Birds like he’d never seen or heard before, wheeled in the air above them, calling out. Crunching footsteps caused him to open his eyes again and slowly turn around. The young monk who’d first attended him approached, his hood drawn back to reveal a smiling face. Sam smiled back and the monk’s grin widened so that his prominent ears moved upward.

  “Hello,” he said, “did you enjoy the journey?”

  “It was OK,” Sam replied.

  “Enjoy the conversation?” he nodded toward the man who’d been driving Sam’s cart, standing alone on the beach and staring out to sea.

  Sam didn’t quite know how to respond.

  “It’s alright,” said the youth, “Brother Abraham’s taken a vow of silence. I don’t think many of us have heard him speak. Only some of the old ones.”

  “Like Father Geoffrey?” Sam asked. He liked Father Geoffrey.

  “Maybe." he said. "Won’t be long now.”

  “What won’t?” asked Sam.

  “’Till we can cross,” he said.

  “How?”

  “You’ll see.” It was the only answer he gave before turning back toward the sea and clasping his hands behind his back.

  As they sat and waited, Sam was amazed to witness the ocean receding away from them. At first he didn’t believe his eyes and thought they might be tricking him. It was a slow retreat but sure enough the water was steadily getting farther away. A narrow band of shingle and sand began to appear from the water, at first only visible as a swirling of the waves but slowly and surely it became solid land, stretching out in a straight line all the way to the island.

  A little while later all the monks were back aboard their carts and after saying goodbye to the fisher-folk, they trundled across the causeway whilst the waves lapped sedately on either side. Sam peered at the water nervously, afraid it would rise back up to drown them, but it didn’t and they were soon on the island.

  A narrow track, smaller than the one they’d followed out of the woods and down to the sea, led around to a small harbour. There, at the base of the cliffs was a number of small caves which had been converted into stables and warehouses. A handful of monks raced out of them to meet the group and after much shaking of hands and hugging, busied themselves tending to the horses and their cargoes.

  Those who’d been on the road, weary but happy to be home, started to walk up a narrow path which led from the harbour to the base of the cliffs where steps had been hewn into the rock, leading up to the monastery. The steps were worn and uneven from age and the monks were forced to climb in single file. Sam fell into line halfway along the string of people. He started to worry he was holding the others up because he needed to concentrate on every step, afraid of losing his footing, and kept his hand in contact with the cliff wall to steady himself. On the other side of him was an almost vertical drop, only broken by the coarse and thorny plants which clung to the side of the island.

  When they crested the hill at the rear of the monastery, Sam’s legs were shaking through exhaustion, but he was delighted to find himself standing in a garden, with plants arranged in neat rows, with gravel pathways between. A robed figure was bent almost double as he cut herbs using a small curved blade. As the travellers filed past he half straightened his hunched back, as if he’d been tending the garden for the entirety of his long life, and raised a hand in a greeting, flashing them all a wrinkled and toothless smile from beneath his cowl. Sam stood awestruck at the sense of peace surrounding the garden. All thoughts of death and disease disappeared as if they’d never existed and the chaos of the outside world was a distant faraway place.

  A doorway in the side of the building stood ajar but as they walked toward it they turned and followed a gravel path around the side of the monastery rather than enter. As they filed past, Sam peered in through tall, lead lined windows into a vast kitchen full of sturdy benches and cooking pots. Through another window he glimpsed a whole pig hanging from a hook in the ceiling and his mouth began to water so badly he needed to spit.

  They walked right around to the front of the building and onto a large gravelled terrace, which looked out over the sea in every direction. Three wide, black marble steps led up to a grand set of double doors which were set into the pitted, sandstone façade. Father Geoffrey went up first and pushed the doors open wide to allow them entry.

  16

  If the garden was tranquil then the inside of the monastery was heavenly. They crossed the threshold into glorious music; layer upon layer of voices all chanting in melodious unison. Although it was coming from somewhere deep within the building the song reverberated around and filled the vast entrance hall. Beams of light shone in through arched, floor to ceiling windows and illuminated the two groups of robed men; those entering the building and the equal number greeting them.

  Directly opposite the main door a staircase, easily wide enough for two full grown men to lie top to tail and still be able to stretch their legs, stretched up to the next floor and out of sight. Sam wondered what was up there, but only in the same way he was curious about what lay down the corridor to the side of it, or through any of the doors which came off the hall.

  As soon as greetings were done with, the monks drifted away in small groups and went their own ways. The slap of sandals on hardwood floors only added to the air of serenity. Mutely, Sam took note of where Father Geoffrey was heading and followed.

  Father Geoffrey turned to check he was there and smiled. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “What do you think?” sweeping his arm to gesture around them.

  Overwhelmed, Sam didn’t quite know what to say. “Where’s the music coming from?” he asked.

  “You’ll soon see,” came the reply. “Now follow me.” He set off along the hall at a brisk pace and down the side of the staircase without waiting for an answer and Sam needed to break into a trot to keep up with him. The passage seemed to go on forever and with turn after turn, Sam was soon lost but Father Geoffrey knew exactly where he was going and hurried along. All the time they were walking, the chanting was becoming louder.

  They stopped abruptly at a heavy and ornately carved door. Father Geoff
rey turned and placed a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

  Sam obliged and was suddenly nervous. There was a fluttering deep within his belly and he needed the toilet.

  Father Geoffrey opened the door and singing burst forth from out of it. He crept inside and beckoned Sam to follow, gently pushing the door closed behind them. The chapel reminded Sam of the cathedral back in Riverford and only seemed vaguely smaller, with a high vaulted ceiling and tall stained glass windows, from which depictions of saints shone down upon the congregation. Pews were arranged lengthways along one side of the chapel and behind the balustrade, stood four rows of monks and the source of the music. Attached to the back wall was a simple cross of heavy timbers and in front of it was the pulpit.

  The man standing there commanded attention without effort. Naturally bald, his hood was pulled back to show off a much weathered and craggy face, blazing out of which were striking eyes of indigo. They swept over Sam, only giving him a cursory glance but he was sure they learned everything about him in an instant.

  The man nodded to Father Geoffrey in recognition but also giving permission to approach. Sam loitered by the door as Father Geoffrey walked down the aisle and kissed the old man on the cheek. All the while the chanting continued. Sam found the whole scenario hypnotic and drifted off into his own thoughts. When a hand came to rest upon his shoulder, he jumped.

  “Come,” Father Geoffrey was standing at his side. “Let’s get you settled in shall we. It’s been a long journey and I’m sure you’re tired.” He moved his hand to the top of Sam’s back and guided him towards the door.

  “Who was that?” asked Sam when they were out of the chapel.

  “Who?” Father Geoffrey started to walk along the corridor.

  “The old man in there.”

  “That’s the Abbot.”

  “Is that like a leader?”

  “Sort of,” replied Father Geoffrey.

  They were back in the main entrance hall and were passing down the side of the staircase when Sam’s interest was caught by a small door under the stairs, “What’s in there?” he panted.

  “Where?” Father Geoffrey paused and turned back to face Sam.

  “There.” Sam pointed.

  “That’s out of bounds I’m afraid,” was all Father Geoffrey said.

  As they moved away, Sam turned his head to peer at the small door under the stairs until they rounded the toe of the staircase and it went out of view.

  Narrow corridors branched off at right-angles from the first floor landing and along them lay dozens of small rooms. None of them had a door, only an opening where one should have been and in each room was a stone bunk with hay for a mattress and a small writing desk.

  They were nearing the end of the corridor when Father Geoffrey stopped outside one of the cells and pointed in. “This’ll be your room.”

  It was identical to the others and had a small slit for a window, but he was too tired to investigate the view afforded to him. Instead he unfolded the blanket at the end of the bed and lay down, pulling it up to cover himself while Father Geoffrey looked on. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was wriggling out of his clothes and pushing them out of bed, onto the floor.

  17

  The ringing of a bell woke him early. He smelled bacon. The sun was still low in the sky and Sam begrudgingly got out of bed and walked to the small window without bothering to dress. The ocean spread out in front of him, a darker shade than the watery sky but glinting as it caught the sun. After stretching for a while and watching people scurry past his cell, fully aware of his nakedness, Sam thought he’d put on some clothes and follow them. His old ragged trousers and tunic had disappeared at some point in the night but he didn’t recall waking. In their place and folded neatly on the chair was a coarse brown robe, identical to those worn by everyone else. Sam assumed it was for him and slipped it over his head. The material itched against his bare skin. The hem was long and completely covered his feet so it dragged on the floor. The sleeves were longer still and he rolled them up to free his hands, although the cuffs kept slipping down over them again.

  When he poked his head out into the corridor he could see the few last stragglers heading in the direction of the staircase and after rubbing his eyes he set out after them in the hope they were going for breakfast.

  He ended up in a large dining hall with long benches set out in rows. Along one wall, monks were queuing at a small serving hatch, each of them holding onto a plate. Sam picked a plate for himself and tagged onto the end of the line. When he’d got his food he said thanks and looked around the room for somewhere to sit.

  Most of the other monks were already seated with their meals in front of them. The hall was strangely quiet, Sam had expected more in the way of chatter. Father Geoffrey was sitting near the front of the hall, deep in conversation with the abbot and with them were a number of other, old monks and Sam knew without asking it wasn’t his place to sit with them.

  With some relief he saw a gap on a bench near the back of the hall, full of boys not much older than himself. "Can I sit there?" he asked a boy who was already shuffling over to make room. "Thanks."

  As Sam sat down, he became painfully aware that he was the focus of all eyes at the table. Self-conscious, he turned to gaze about the dining hall instead of meeting their stares. It wasn't only the young monks near to him who were studying him with such curiosity, but all around the room people were turning to stare, averting their eyes whenever he happened to glance in their direction. With his elbows propped on the table he lowered his head to eat but before he could, a banging from the front of the hall made him look up again.

  The Abbot was waiting for complete silence before fixing Sam with his almost purple eyes and speaking. “Before we break fast…” His eyes moved around the room before they once again fell upon Sam. “I’d like to say a few words. For those of you who didn’t know, Brother Aaron passed away recently." His sentences were louder at the beginning, tailing off toward the end, so Sam had to strain his ears to hear the last few words.

  A collective intake of breath sucked the air from the room and more men than didn't, made the sign of the cross across their chests.

  "Let us have a few moments to each remember him and what he was to us all. Each and every one of us will say prayers for his soul tonight." He left a sufficiently long pause before releasing a small cough and continuing. "We have also been sent a blessing. While the brothers were on their expedition to Riverford, they came across a lone survivor." His eyes gained intensity as they bored into Sam. "Stand up Sam will you," he waved his palm toward the ceiling, beckoning him to rise. "Brothers. This is Sam. I'm sure you'll all make him feel welcome."

  Their stares were no longer covert. The Abbot had spoken and now everyone was openly gawping. Sam felt as lonely as he ever had and bowed his head, feeling the blood come into his cheeks as they all applauded him. When the clapping died down, the monks bowed their shaven heads as the Abbot said an extended grace, with words for both Brother Aaron and Sam.

  Despite the breakfast being cold and slightly congealed, it was probably the best he'd ever tasted. Eggs, fried and runny, sat on top of a thick slice of fried bread and with them, bacon and two different types of sausage. He ate with the voracity of a dog until he was full and forced down the last few morsels. Only then did he notice the boy sitting next to him staring, his face a mix of curiosity, fear and maybe a hint of awe.

  "Hi," said Sam, spraying the boy with half-chewed crumbs. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "Did they really find you in Riverford?"

  "Uh-h," Sam nodded, trying to swallow an end of sausage.

  The boy carried on looking for a while longer. "I'm Richard."

  "Sam."

  Richard didn't delay eating his own food any longer but did carry on his questioning. "Were you really the only one left?"

  "No." Said Sam.

  "Oh,"

  Both boys looked at their plates. Sam had wip
ed his clean with the last bit of fried bread.

  Before the silence between them shifted from uncomfortable to unbearable, the Abbot appeared behind them. Both boys looked up at him over their shoulders.

  “Richard,” he said, placing a hand on the boys shoulder. “You two seem to be getting along. Would you like to assist Father Geoffrey in showing Sam how we live?”

  Richard looked at him, and then to Sam. “Yes I would,” he nodded.

  “Good. Good. He can come with you today then, and help in your work.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. Until now the thought of work hadn’t crossed his mind. Not that it bothered him, he simply had no idea what it would be. His first task however was to take his plate and follow Richard into the kitchens where they joined a queue of monks all waiting to wash their dishes in a sawn off barrel of lukewarm water.

  With the dishes cleaned and put away, Richard went to a rack of stout shelves in the corner of the kitchen and took down two hessian sacks, throwing one to Sam. “You’ll need this.” He said heading to the door.

  Sam followed, curious to know where they were going. Once outside, he paused in the herb garden. Richard didn’t notice at first but when he did, he stopped as well and waited further along the path. Already there were two old men stooped double and tending the plants and neither of them gave the boys a second glance other than to bid them good morning.

  A stiff breeze was coming off the sea, which shone turquoise below them, becoming ever deeper shades as it stretched to the horizon. Sam savoured the feel of it blowing through his hair and the way it rustled the plants in the garden, cooling his skin and energising his soul.

  When both of them were of a mind to continue, Richard and Sam descended the steps down the Mount to the beach. The tide was out and the causeway lay as a solid spit of land across the shimmering sea. The shingle beach on the other side was deserted and before they continued, Sam paused again to look at the houses. There was a tavern too, he noticed and a large shed with an open front facing the beach. "That's for the boats," Richard pointed out. It was empty. "They're out fishing now. We'll come back later when they come in.”