The Dark Stone Read online

  Sam looked out to sea, cupping one hand across his brow to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. Far out in the bay there were two or three bobbing specks and he knew it was the fishermen.

  Instead of heading off the beach and toward the houses, they walked along it until they were scrambling up and over rocks. It looked to Sam as if they were heading around a small headland and into a tiny cove, where flat slabs of shining black rock jutted out into the ocean. Now they were down off the cliffs, the wind had all but disappeared and the sea merely lapped at the rocks in front of their feet.

  Richard winked and pulled his robes off over his head. Beneath he was naked. “Come on then,” he said and sat on the edge of the rocks with his legs dangling in the water before lowering himself in.

  Sam was a little dumbfounded and just stood watching as Richard reached underwater and rummaged about the underside of the rock, just his head and shoulders visible above the gentle swell. “Come in,” he shouted, waving an arm. “It’s lovely.”

  Sam eyed the water nervously and kicked off his sandals, but still only loitered at the edge.

  “Don’t be scared,” said Richard, reading his thoughts. “It’s not deep.”

  Sam reluctantly stripped and went to the water’s edge. He dipped a toe into the water and drew it straight back out again. It was icy cold.

  Richard laughed. “It’s alright once you get used to it. Just jump in.”

  Sam didn’t want to seem like a coward, so he took a deep breath and stepped off the rocks. For a moment, before he found his feet, his head went below the surface. Sounds of the outside were replaced by muted gargling and distant rumbling as the sea moved around him. Then he broke surface, the cold took his breath away and for an instant he gasped, trying to take air into lungs which no longer worked properly. Instinct almost made him climb straight back out onto the rocks, but Richard told him to wait until he got used to the cold. So he bounced up and down and waved his arms until eventually the cold became bearable. Warm sun shone down on his head and Sam felt the tension leave his body as he relaxed into the gentle bobbing of the sea as it rebounded from the shore.

  “Better?” asked Richard.

  “Better.”

  “Here.” He said. “The mussels cling to the rocks just underneath the water. We have to get them before the tide comes in.”

  So, they set about the business of pulling shellfish from the rocks and filling their sacks. For a while the level of the sea continued to go down and expose rich pickings, but without Sam even noticing it steadily rose again until he was standing on tiptoes and reaching far below the surface to find shells. A small wave, little more than a ripple, lifted his feet off the sea floor. He panicked and threw his flailing arms at the rocks where barnacles raked across his skin.

  “Relax,” said Richard and lifted his knees up until he was floating on his back, looking up at the sky. He turned his head and rested his cheek on the water. “See, you float, nothing to be scared of.”

  Sam couldn’t bring himself to let go of the rock and instead hoisted his sack up out of the water and clambered out after it. He lay down, nursing his stinging arm and letting the sun dry his skin until eventually he began to shiver and only then did he pull his robes back on.

  18

  By the time the boys returned to the beach there were a number of people gathered, waiting. The causeway was gone, covered by the rising tide. Where it had been, the sea sparkled in the afternoon sun and amidst small waves, a fishing boat was heading toward the beach. It was close enough to see two men on board rowing hard whilst another was hunched over in the bow. Gulls dived and swooped behind them, splashing onto the water every time the man threw something overboard. Further out in the bay, two other boats were also heading toward land.

  Sam recognised one of the people on the beach as the woman Father Geoffrey greeted on their arrival. Richard walked over to her and started exchanging pleasantries while Sam dawdled to join them. A young girl was crouched next to her, mending nets with a big needle and as Sam approached she eyed him with some curiosity. "Hi." Sam nodded his head in greeting.

  "Hi." The girl was not much older than he was, a year perhaps and while Richard was talking to the old woman, Sam sat on the shingle next to her.

  "I'm Sam," he introduced himself.

  "Pleased to meet you Sam," she said.

  "What you doing?"

  She looked at him like he'd gone mad. "Fixing nets. There's always nets to fix."

  He already knew that. "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Elle." She eyed him up and down again. "Are you new? I've not seen you before."

  "I just got here yesterday."

  "Where were you before?"

  "Riverford."

  "Eugh." She shuddered and went back to her net.

  Just then the first boat surfed up onto land. All three men jumped out and hauled it up out of the water's reach and those on the shore, Elle included, went to meet them and help unload the catch.

  "Looks like a good one." Richard was standing at his shoulder and they both walked over to see.

  The locals were unloading fish from the boats, throwing them into roughly woven baskets. Richard produced a purse from somewhere within his robes and counted out a few coins. There was a little bartering before the old woman emptied one of the baskets into Richard's sack and money changed hands. He turned around, smiling.

  "So, what do we do now?" asked Sam.

  "We wait."

  "Wait?"

  "Unless you fancy swimming across. And I wouldn't recommend it, the currents can be pretty fierce."

  The boys sat and watched as women carried the full baskets into the village and the men dragged their boat to the shed, by the time they’d returned the other boats were also sitting high on the beach and everyone gathered around to help empty them. And then the beach emptied; the only sign anyone had been there at all were Elle’s nets in the shingle. She returned for them sometime later and when it looked as if she was struggling to drag them across the beach, Sam offered his help.

  "Thank you," she said while rolling the nets into a manageable bundle.

  Sam took one end and she the other and between them they carried them into the boathouse. "See you again sometime," she said with a smile when they were neatly stashed away, leaving Sam standing on his own as she ran up the street and disappeared into one of the cottages.

  Shadows were long by the time the causeway once again began to reveal itself. Richard had been asleep in the sun for most of the afternoon while Sam had whiled away the time paddling and exploring the beach. They’d managed a good haul and their sacks were heavy, making hard work of the climb back up the Mount but they didn’t rush and took time to savour the scenery and fresh air along the way. By the time they reached the top and were crossing the gardens, the breeze joined them again.

  The smell of food wafted out through the kitchen door when they pushed their way in. Next-door in the dining room, most of the brothers were already sitting down for dinner. Hours on the mainland and in the sea had made them hungry, so they wasted no time in dropping their sacks at the end of the long counter and rushing to get fed.

  After dinner, Sam returned to his room and was standing staring out to sea when Father Geoffrey came in unannounced. In his hands was a stack of paper, which he reached over and put on the desk. “How did you enjoy your first day?”

  Sam tore himself from the view and turned around, smiling. “Really good.”

  “Do you think you’ll be staying?” he asked.

  “Do I get a choice?” A fleeting moment of resentment flashed through him at the reminder of his capture.

  Father Geoffrey smiled and almost laughed. “Of course you do.”

  All of a sudden he filled with turmoil as his thoughts went out to Joshua, all alone in the abandoned city. Somehow, when he thought the choice to leave wasn’t his to make, he could accept his fate and live easy with it. Now the decision was firmly on his shoulders and things wer
e not quite so clear cut.

  Father Geoffrey must have read the look on his face. “You don’t have to decide right away,” he said. “But while you’re thinking on it, there’s something I’d like you to borrow.” He reached into a deep pocket set into the front of his robe and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book. The tan binding was faded and cracked and in places the top layer had peeled away with age. Inside, the pages were yellowing but the ink was as vibrant as the day it was penned.

  Until that moment Sam had never seen a book. Even so, he realised he was being trusted with something special. Around the edges of each page were colourful pictures of figures, of whom he could only guess. The drawings were made tall and thin to fit in the margins while stylised dogs, birds and dragons were painted along the top and bottom of the pages. All were connected with elaborate patterns and intricately penned knot-work. The text itself was all in black, apart from the first letter on each page, which was illustrated more elaborately than the borders and coloured with gold, greens and blues.

  Sam looked at Father Geoffrey with disbelief that he’d be trusted with something so exquisite. “But I can’t read.”

  “If you decide to stay, I’ll teach you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise would I?” The monk was smiling. “Here’s some paper,” he indicated to the pile on the desk. “I want you to practice copying the letters for now.”

  “But paper’s expensive,” Sam protested. It was something usually reserved for either the wealthy or the wise. Not for illiterates like him.

  “Don’t worry about that.” Said Father Geoffrey. We have plenty, but try not to waste it.”

  “I won’t,” promised Sam.

  “It’s time to go back downstairs now though, so it will have to wait,” said Father Geoffrey.

  “Go downstairs?”

  “Prayers.”

  The sermon was foreign to Sam but at the end of each passage, all the monks sang a response in unison. It was music almost without tune, but stunningly beautiful for its simplicity. He closed his eyes, and let the Abbot’s voice and the melodic chanting carry him off. Images of Ma and Pa, Lillian and Louise came into his mind’s eye; pictures of how they were, before the plague and all that had followed. Happy faces, rosy cheeked and smiling.

  Grief hit him in a sudden wave. He tried to swallow the lump which had formed in his throat, but it only rose higher until bursting out of his mouth as an uncontrollable sob. As the tears started, Sam crumpled forward, only saving himself from falling forward by gripping the rail in front of him. The chapel fell silent apart from Sam’s wailing. All eyes were upon him and he felt a weak and stupid fool. The embarrassment only deepened his anguish and made the tears come harder.

  The Abbot’s hand was upon his and Father Geoffrey was holding an arm. Together, and without rushing, they helped Sam to his feet and slowly led him from the chapel.

  “It’s God’s plan that he’s chosen you to live,” the Abbot was saying as they walked into Sam’s room.

  It was little comfort. The older monks stayed with him, all three perched on the edge of his cot, until the tears finally reduced to a sniffle.

  “We’ll pray for you,” said the Abbot before rising and signalling Father Geoffrey to follow.

  Sam was left on his own. Shame reddened his cheeks as the sounds of worship resumed, drifting up to him through the halls and corridors. He vowed never again to be so weak.

  After taking a deep breath he composed himself before pulling the chair out from the desk and opening the bible Father Geoffrey had left him. A small bottle of black ink and a quill were sitting tidily beneath the window. He thought he’d begin with some of the simpler letters and chose a round one, slightly flattened at the top and bottom.

  At first he put too much ink on the quill so when he touched it to the first sheet of paper, it spread out into a large blot. He tried again and experimented until there was a clear line on the page. Then, he started to copy the letter. By concentrating solely on the page, and getting the shape right, Sam’s mind became clear of any other thoughts. By the time he’d mastered an ‘O’, two sides of paper were full and his eyes were heavy. In places the ink had soaked all the way through the page, but he’d ignored it and written on the other side with fresh strokes. It was late, and at some point he’d lit a candle which was now half spent. He snuffed it out and clambered into his bunk, pulling the blanket tight up to his chin before succumbing to a deep sleep in which he thought nothing of either his family or Joshua.

  19

  It was approaching the end of his second summer at St Peter’s and Sam was picking his way across the causeway, sometimes having to hop across rivulets or paddle across parts still submerged. His sandals were in his hand and his robes tucked up into the cord around his waist. On either side of him sunlight glinted in dazzling hues across a stippled sea and rainbows danced in the water kicked up in front of him.

  Elle looked up from the crab-pot she was patching and let out a small laugh when he almost fell sideways trying to put his sandals on. When he got to her, the hem of his robe was dark and heavy with water.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He sat on the shingle and reached forward to drag the next pot in need of mending toward his lap, before picking up a ball of twine which sat between them. “Pass the knife will you?” he asked.

  She passed it to him handle first. “I’ve made something for us to eat later, if you want?”

  He smiled. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I just thought it’d be nice.”

  “It will.” He said. “How’s your Ma?”

  “Ah you know, the same. She had a bit of a turn last night.” He and Elle shared a common bond. Although the plague had left the sleepy coastal village of St Peter’s untouched, her father was lost to a storm three winters previously and her mother had never fully recovered. “Any news from Riverford?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “They should have been back weeks ago.”

  “I know.” She reached over and put a hand on his arm. “They’ve just been delayed, that’s all. Probably come across something interesting further on.”

  “I just have a feeling something bad’s happened.” Sam slowly shook his head. “I’m probably being silly.”

  “No you’re not. I know how excited you were, when you found out there was an expedition going that way.

  “They should have let me go.”

  Elle looked at her feet for a moment then lifted her head. “But then you would have missed doing this with me.” She laughed and reached over for the next pot to mend.

  After the boats had been emptied and everything was tidied away, he followed her along the beach to where they climbed the rocks and up a small and winding scree path, until they reached a grassy ledge. From it they could see the ocean stretching to the horizon in both directions. The light sea breeze kept them cool in the hot sunshine while she fetched out some bread, cheese and a bottle of apple wine she’d managed to get hold of.

  While they sat and ate they were quite content not to talk and when they’d finished, both of them lay on their backs to enjoy the sun on their faces. Sam closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the waves far below and the gulls wheeling above

  “Look” she said, making him start. Sam sat up too quickly and made himself giddy.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Out there.” She pointed to a spot below them in the bay. “Dolphins,” she said, while Sam tried to figure out what he was looking at.

  When he saw them he gasped a little and leaned forward. In all his two years’ living on a tiny rock, he’d never seen such a sight. Elle slipped her hand into his and they tried to count how many there were but it was not an easy task as they jumped and dived and danced across the sea.

  “Tide’s almost back in,” said Elle after they’d spent as long as they could on the ledge. “You’d better be heading back.”

  Sam
sighed; he’d lost himself in the moment and didn’t want it to end. He stood slowly, coaxing the blood back into his legs before they carefully made the descent down to the beach.

  She stood and watched as he made his way back toward the Mount. Halfway across the causeway he turned to see her still standing on the beach and waved. She waved back and Sam quickened his pace before the encroaching water wet his feet. By the time he’d reached the other side, Elle was gone. He peered out to sea to see if he could still spot the dolphins, but there was no sign of them either. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon but they did nothing to dent his spirits.

  20

  That night the storm struck hard, bringing with it a ferocious wind which whistled through the corridors and rattled shutters. Sam lay slumped over the small wooden desk in his cell, crossed arms forming a pillow for his shaved head. The manuscript he'd been working on, the life’s work he’d barely begun, sat just to one side where he'd had the good sense to push it out of harm's way before falling asleep. The original book he was copying stood propped open against the wall, showing the large ornate swirling letters and painstakingly crafted illustrations which ran around the edge of the page. The candle had burned out, reduced to a blackened glob of wax on the saucer.

  A dark figure in the doorway roused Sam from his fitful slumber. "Quick. Wake up. The village is burning," it hissed.