The Stone of Secrets Page 14

“You’d like her,” Emmett said. “Now there’s another woman who always gets what she wants. I have the dance lessons to prove it.”

  “Emmett, is there anything you can’t do?” Skye put her head on his shoulder as they walked up the street.

  There is one thing, Emmett thought as he drew this incredible woman in close. He would be taking another cold shower tonight.

  “What about you?” Emmett asked. “Where does an archaeology professor find time for ballroom?”

  “My parents thought I was going down the wrong path when I was young. They insisted I put my books away and spend time dancing.”

  “Most parents want their kids in the books…” Emmett said.

  “Yeah, well I had the opposite problem. It’s not good when a child never goes out.”

  “I guess there’s an ideal balance,” Emmett said.

  “Umm, yeah,” Skye replied. “But that’s not the point.”

  “What do you mean?” Emmett asked. “Everyone always says the key to life is finding a balance.”

  “Everyone says it, therefore it is true?”

  “Okay Professor. What is the point then?”

  “Well think about it. If Thomas Edison had tried to strike a balance between leisure and inventing, the world would be a dark place. If Jesus had sought balance, the New Testament would read a lot differently. The key is not to find balance, but priority.”

  “I see,” Emmett replied. “And what is Skye McAlister’s priority right now?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Skye wished she had learned to be creatively dishonest like so many people do. In her life she had found that the truth is always much more interesting than anything she could make up, so she always went with that. But now she felt the truth had backed her into a corner. She stopped and faced the man.

  “Because it involves you,” she said with a sigh.

  Emmett lifted her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. It disarmed her. She felt his fingers move behind her jaw and gently pull her mouth to his. For a moment in time, there was no Pact, no Marnoch Stone, no Moonfish Café, and no ballroom. There was only the two of them. And everything was right.

  On Monday morning Emmett and Skye returned to the dig site, shovels in hand, to resume the search for the stone. As they approached the old tree, Skye noticed one of the pits they’d dug the previous week had been filled in.

  “That’s strange…” she said stepping forward to examine the anomaly.

  Immediately Emmett grabbed her by the arm to stop her. “Skye, don’t,” he said. Skye turned and gave him a puzzled look. Emmett pleaded, “I don’t think we want to see what they’ve buried here.”

  Skye’s expression went from puzzled to frustrated as she realized what had happened. The Pact had been there.

  Emmett took Skye to a safe distance and called the sniper team on the radio. “Charlie team, any activity over the weekend?”

  “Negative. No activity.”

  Emmett realized that one of the sniper team’s locations was opposite the tree from the pit that had been filled. Anyone working at night under the cover of the tree would have been undetected. He replayed the satellite imagery from the weekend. Sure enough, two heat signatures entered the area from the south and worked at that spot for twenty minutes. “Right under our noses,” Emmett commented to Skye. “Looks like those poor suckers don’t even get weekends off.”

  “You should have a word with their boss,” Skye replied.

  “What I wouldn’t give…”

  Skye looked toward the tree. “What do you think is in that hole, a bomb?”

  “Mm, not their style,” Emmett replied. He didn’t want to tell Skye what he really thought, but he was fairly certain what The Pact had buried there.

  “All I know is it’s above my pay grade. This is a crime scene. I suggest we call it in and let the professionals do their job. I don’t want to be around when they dig up whatever is in there.”

  Later that day the police exhumed the body of Cara White, Andrew’s would-be girlfriend news reporter. In spite of his best efforts, Emmett hadn’t been able convince Skye to leave while they dug.

  “They’re never going to stop, are they?” a disgusted Skye asked as she watched them lift the body out of the cold ground.

  Emmett was used to death. Sometimes he hated himself for how accustomed he was to it. But what he hated more was when someone who doesn’t deserve it is forced to look death in the face.

  He put his hand on Skye’s shoulder. “No, they’re not.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  River Carron

  Near Grangemouth, Pictland

  It was the most desolate sight Vuradech had ever seen. Corpses floated on the river like leaves. The smell of death was thick in the air and the river was tinted red with the blood of his kin. Horror filled the hearts of all in his band as they spurred their horses through the bloody water to get to the village. Perhaps there were survivors at Grangemouth they could rescue. Perhaps King Ecgfrith’s warriors had not murdered all.

  His uncle, Taezalorum of Grangemouth had sent him a message of the attack on his village. Vuradech had immediately set off with his own warriors only to be stopped on the way by a sole villager who had managed to flee the slaughter. Vuradech knew King Ecgfrith had let the man go. It was a brutal tactic of his to kill everyone except one to relate the horrific tale. In this way he could strike fear in the hearts of more people.

  Still, Vuradech proceeded with his soldiers to see if there were survivors to rescue.

  As the band rode into the village the silence that greeted them was deafening. Vuradech remembered the days when he would come to this village to visit his uncle. Grangemouth was always such a merry and lively bastion of industry. He liked to come because of his uncle’s daughter Aethel, who invented the most intriguing devices. She was light and fair, and she always seemed to be thinking three levels above everyone else. He mourned her certain demise even as he remembered her laughter. For as the party sat on their horses in the middle of the village, naught but death surrounded them. The once happy shire had been reduced to the most gruesome scene of human slaughter Vuradech and his men had ever seen. Behind him he could hear one of his soldiers losing his last meal. Vuradech did not fault him. He himself felt like vomiting at the sight.

  “Search for survivors,” he commanded. “And when you find none, begin collecting the bodies into piles to be burned.” As the men began to move off for the search, Vuradech turned his horse around and stood in his stirrups. He shouted his loudest, “And while you work men, while you stack up the corpses of your kin like firewood, think on the brutality of your enemy! Think on what King Ecgfrith hath wrought here this day! And let that disgraceful thought work in you for freedom’s cause!”

  The dead were everywhere as Vuradech stood alone in the center of the village. Children, women, men, young and old, the battle had vanquished them all. He rode a short distance and found his Aunt Gwendolyn’s body lying on the ground near her barn. He watched with a heavy heart as two men lifted her onto a horse to be taken to the pyre.

  “No,” Vuradech told the men, “she is the chieftain’s wife. She will be given a burial fit for the noblewoman that she is, in the center of the village. Find tools and begin digging the grave near the well.”

  Suddenly, the men heard a noise from inside the barn that terrified them. It was the faint cry of a baby! Vuradech sprang for the barn with a drawn sword.

  “Vuradech, no!” one of the soldiers cried. “It could be a trap!”

  But Vuradech ran headlong into the barn, unafraid. He found the source of the cry, coming from underneath a small pile of straw. Throwing aside the straw, he saw the baby with the brooch of the house of Taezalorum hanging from his foot. Vuradech’s aunt must have hidden the baby in the barn shortly before meeting her doom.

  “This is the heir of Taezalorum,” he proclaimed as the men gathered behind him. “He shall be raised in the h
ouse of Vuradech now. He shall be raised on tales of his father’s bravery against the tyranny of King Ecgfrith, and how his mother saved him in the face of death.”

  The baby was barely drawing breath when he was uncovered. Luckily, Vuradech knew his herbs and quickly ran into the forest to cut some leaves to resuscitate the baby. The child cried out as he revived. One of his men fed him water from his skin.

  Vuradech ordered his men to finish the funeral pyre and see to the completion of the mass funeral for the slain at Grangemouth. It was not much but it was better than letting them be devoured by the beasts of the forest.

  Vuradech himself left immediately for home with a small contingent of soldiers. He knew the baby would not survive for long without nourishment, and the meat he and his men ate would not suit the child. Galem would have plenty of milk for the child; young Harbald would have to share.

  As Vuradech left Grangemouth, he took one last look at the place. He couldn’t help the feeling he would never come here again. Perhaps the village would once again thrive, Vuradech did not know. Perhaps he would bring the child back here when he was grown to show him of his origins. The only thing he knew now was the bitter ache in his heart at this destruction by King Ecgfrith.

  He thought of his own village, how even the huge distance from the Angle lands would be insufficient to ensure its safety. War was coming, there would be no use fearing it. More than ever, Vuradech embraced the fight. If King Ecgfrith wanted to expand his kingdom, let him come deeper into Pictland. Let him come even to the gate of Fidach. Vuradech would be ready for him.

  He spurred his horse to leave the village and the stench of death that hung in the air. He was going back to life, Galem and Harbald.

  As Vuradech rode he thought of the council of chiefs he had attended only days before. The head of every village in Pictland was there, including his uncle Taezalorum.

  They discussed the growing threat of war from the Angles in the south. Many plans were advanced to defend against the threat. They all had one flaw: the isolated villages were hopelessly outnumbered against a united foe. Bringing all the tribes into one village was unpractical and opposed by almost every chief. No chief was willing to uproot his people and leave his homeland undefended.

  In the middle of the council Vuradech stood, raised his arms above his head and began to speak:

  “Most noble men of Pictland, hear me I implore. Are we not, each one, men of honor? Do we not endeavor to protect our people and defend our freedom in our own lands? Do not both we and our kinsfolk deserve to raise our flocks in our own fields, unmolested by the ravenous Angle horde? Do not our children deserve to grow up in their own village, in their own hut, and breathe the air that descends from familiar hills? Do not our women deserve to see the sun rise and set on the same horizon as their mothers, and their mothers before them?

  “King Ecgfrith wants us to uproot. He will gain a great victory without mobilizing one soldier if he causes us fear and commotion. And he would love to ride into our villages uncontested and pillage our stores and steal our property. He would set fire to everything in his wake; the barns and cottages and great halls you and I have built with our own hands.

  “But there is not one village among us that can stand against so great a foe. We clearly cannot stand in isolation. And we clearly cannot unite. So, great ones of Pictland, I say to you that these are times that call for no common thinking. If the solutions of past problems cannot meet current needs, I say it is time for new solutions!”

  Vuradech paused and let the idea sink into the council. The chiefs began to murmur amongst themselves, and Vuradech could hear some say he had been out in the sun too long without his hat.

  He raised his voice even louder, “Men of Pictland! I say that many of you have the solution of which I speak already in your midst, within the realm of your villages. And the ones who don’t could build them with a little strength and toil. I have built one outside my own village, and I know it can be done right within a few weeks.

  “What are you using the old brochs for? Storage? Shelter? Animals? Why would we not use them for the purpose for which they were originally constructed? If each man were to build a signal pyre on the top, and man that tower day and night, the signal of invasion could be spread throughout Pictland in a matter of minutes.”

  The nobles were silent. Suddenly the answer seemed clear. Still, there were objections.

  “Who will want to sit on a tower all night long?” a voice called from across the hall.

  Vuradech raised his voice above the chatter that ensued, “A Pict of honor who loves freedom and cares for his people!”

  “Horlog has claimed our broch for his own inheritance,” another voice called out. “His family lives there! How can I ask him to surrender it to the clan?”

  “Any Pict who will not sacrifice for the good of the clan should not be counted among us!” Vuradech replied.

  And so the council debated long into the night. In time the issue became not why it wouldn’t work, but how they each would help to make it work. In the end, every noble in Pictland knew Vuradech’s plan was solid. They knew it was their only hope for freedom.

  ***

  “How many have survived?” Galem cried out when she saw Vuradech riding into Fidach.

  “One soul,” he replied, “and he is here!”

  The horrible thought of so many lost was quickly stifled by the present need of the child. He was barely alive at the end of his journey. Galem took the child and began immediately to revive him.

  “He is the heir of Taezalorum,” Vuradech told her. “His kin are gone. We are all he has now.”

  Galem looked at Vuradech purposefully. “Would that he survives the next attack as the first,” she said, “and the rest of us.”

  Rage filled the heart of Vuradech. “By the hills and the sky, woman, King Ecgfrith will regret the day he set foot in Pictland. He expects us to answer this attack, but we will not. We will let him think us weak, and when he marches north with his head held high, we will strike it from his shoulders!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I have to call Andrew,” the professor said. “He may want to come to the funeral.” She wasn’t sure how the young man would respond to this. He was devastated when he found out how the woman had used him. But the fact was they had spent time together. Andrew had given her his time and his heart.

  “Besides her workmates, he and we will probably be the only ones there,” Emmett said. “She was an orphan.” Skye was still getting used to the fact that Emmett always seemed to know everything about people. It wasn’t because he was nosey; he was just a good agent.

  “Emmett, why did this happen?” Skye asked. Emmett knew what she was talking about. With The Pact, nothing happens without a reason: the timing, the person, the location. There was a reason the body was buried in Skye’s pit. He wasn’t sure this was the best time, but Emmett knew Skye would put it all together on her own anyway. She had to know.

  “They’re sending us a message,” he began. He drew a breath, not sure how to put it. “Skye, they’re coming after you.”

  “But why?” the professor moaned. “I’m just an archaeologist. I didn’t do anything to them!”

  “You’re a threat to them. You’re the only one who can figure out that stone. There’s something on the stone they’re willing to kill in order to keep hidden. And Skye, you are the one who can expose it. You may be able to blow their whole operation wide open.”

  Skye didn’t ask for any of this. The investigation, the kidnapping, and now this, a death threat – it was all starting to weigh heavily on the professor. She didn’t know what to think.

  “They want to dishearten us,” Emmett explained, seeing her frustration. “This is meant to discourage us, make us think it’s not worth it. It’s how they operate. It’s the reason they have made it this far.”

  Skye looked up. “Is it worth it Emmett?” she asked. “Can you get these guys?”

  For a moment Emme
tt felt awe at this woman. Anyone else would be thinking of their own safety at a time like this. But to Skye, their best defense was to kill it on offense. She was a truly remarkable woman.

  “With you on my team,” he replied, “they don’t stand a chance.”

  ***

  Andrew did fly back for the funeral of Cara White. It was hard, but he told the professor he would pull through. “She was a good person,” Andrew asserted. “I know she had some problems, but she didn’t deserve this. She had no one.”

  “She had you,” Skye replied. “She was fortunate for that.”

  The service was simple. When it was over, Emmett and Skye drove Andrew back to the airport in Edinburgh. Skye just couldn’t put him in a taxi after what he’d been through. The trip gave them a chance to talk.

  “He needed this,” Skye said as they watched him get on the plane.

  “What do you need?” Emmett asked, leaning on the railing by the airport window.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve had a lot on your plate,” he replied. “I just think maybe it’s time for a day off.”

  “…said the man who just had two days off,” Skye said with a laugh. They’d worked hard all week but took Saturday off for the funeral. Sunday they relaxed and spent time with Andrew. “I’m fine Emmett, really.”

  “Well I’m not,” he replied. “I could use a three day weekend. What do you say we see something in this country besides Marnoch dirt for a change?”

  “Now hold on, Marnoch has very nice dirt,” Skye defended.

  “Granted, but come on. We’re in one of the most historical cities in the world. Surely there’s someplace an archaeology nerd would like to visit.”

  “Okay, well you are driving. I guess I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “A forced vacation; that’s the spirit!”

  “There is something I have wanted to see nearby…” Skye admitted.

  Dunbar Castle was a short drive down the eastern coast. They drove out along the pier and parked the car near the water’s edge.