Free Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) by Mikey Campling Page B

Waeccan while they waited for an opportunity to climb the rock face. Burlic wasn’t sure whose idea that had been. Sometimes Tellan’s words could be slippery. It didn’t matter. When it came to it, Burlic was stronger than Tellan. And much stronger than Waeccan.
    Burlic smiled grimly. Waeccan was old and frail. It wouldn’t be much of a fight. Burlic felt for his knife, wrapped his fingers around it. The cutting edge was the sharpest he’d ever made. He had taken great care with this knife, working on it the previous day while he’d waited for Tellan to return. It was ready for one dreadful purpose, one lethal stroke. The cold flint felt good. But would it be enough?
    “Tellan, keep your eyes open,” he hissed. “Remember—we are not here to fight an old man, we are here to fight a Shade.”
    Tellan nodded reassuringly. He noticed that, once again, Burlic was touching the talisman that he wore around his neck. It had become a habit. Tellan knew the talisman was a gift from Scymrian. Perhaps it gave him some comfort, but Tellan doubted it. He studied Burlic’s face. The man did not look well. Every line in his face showed his grim anger, but his eyes—his wide, darting eyes—betrayed his fear. In a man like Burlic it was a bad combination. Tellan had managed to control Burlic so far, but how long would it be before Burlic did something rash?
    For a while they watched the old man in silence as he moved among the rocks, touching them, apparently talking to them. He seemed content to carry on with his work. He showed no signs that he was aware of being watched.
    Tellan chewed his lip. He must get through to Burlic, before it was too late. “Burlic,” he called softly. “What if you are wrong?”
    Burlic glared at Tellan. “What?”
    Tellan held his stare. “What if you are wrong?” he repeated. “What if you kill Waeccan, but it doesn’t help Scymrian? What will you do then?”
    Burlic blinked, wiped the rain from his eyes, but he didn’t answer.
    Tellan pressed on. “What will they say in the village?”
    “Ha,” Burlic said. “They’ll say I fought to save my wife. We’ve always fought for our food, our homes, our womenfolk—and we always will.”
    “But if it doesn’t work,” Tellan insisted, “they could say you abandoned your wife, your son. They could say you killed for no reason. They could say you are a danger to the village, and then…you’d be banished.”
    Burlic thought for a moment. He’d seen men banished, driven from the village. He’d joined in. It was one-sided and violent. Most did not survive it, and those who did were never seen again. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “Enough talk. Go back to your watching.”
    Tellan nodded. He could see he’d put a doubt in Burlic’s mind. It was a start.
    “Burlic,” he said. Burlic glared, held up a hand to silence him, but Tellan smiled and continued. “Look,” he said. “The rain’s easing.”
    Burlic nodded, and his expression mellowed. He went back to watching Waeccan. Let Tellan say what he wants , he thought. I’ll bide my time, and I’ll get the job done. No amount of words, no matter how clever they are, can ever change my mind .

Chapter 22
    3,500 BC

    SOMETHING WAS WRONG . Waeccan sat by his hut as the daylight dwindled, and waited. “What now?” he muttered. “What’s gone wrong this time?” He rubbed his hands together. His fingers ached from a hard day’s work on the stone. This should be a good day , Waeccan thought. He’d cleaned the stairway, there’d been no sign of the mysterious intruder, and he’d finally finished cutting the stone for Burlic’s new hut.
    “So why hasn’t he come to collect it?” he muttered. “It was a full moon last night—he should have come today. I’m sure that’s what we arranged.” He shook his head, stared blankly at the path that ran toward the village. “Father?” he said. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
    “Perhaps,” Cleofan said.