Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) by Mikey Campling Page B

were two strips of dried meat and he took them both out. The woman watched his every move, and he could see the hunger in her eyes. He held his hand out toward her. “Here you are.”
    The woman stood, eyeing him suspiciously, then she took the meat from him and crammed a piece into her mouth. She chewed furiously, watching Cleofan all the while.
    “It’s good,” Cleofan said. “Rabbit. I caught it myself.”
    The woman looked at the second piece of meat, and then tucked it into her pouch.
    As Cleofan watched, she hesitated, her hand inside her pouch. She must have another weapon , he thought. She must have a knife . “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He dropped the woman’s heavy blade back to the ground. “Eat both pieces. It looks like you need it.”
    The woman shook her head, but she took her hand from her pouch. “I have to feed my son,” she said.
    “Yes. He sounds hungry.”
    Slowly, the woman walked toward the holly bush. She glanced back at Cleofan then bent down and crawled between the branches. A moment later, she backed out, holding a bundle of furs to her chest. She squatted down on her haunches and began feeding her baby at her breast.
    Cleofan watched. “You have a boy,” he said. “That’s good. Where is his father?”
    “Dead.” She tilted her chin upward. “They killed him.”
    Cleofan raised his eyebrows. “What happened? Who killed him?”
    “They came two summers ago and took me from my people. We call them the Wandrian. They killed so many of our men. My husband…I…”
    Cleofan nodded. “They took the women.”
    The woman sniffed. “Some of us. They made me go with them. Then my baby came last winter. They’d have taken him from me, made him into a savage like them. It wasn’t safe for him. I ran away.”
    “And these men—will they come for you?”
    The woman touched the talisman she wore at her throat. “Yes. They’re greedy, vicious. They move like demons in the dark.”
    Cleofan scraped his hand down his face. “You can’t stay here. You’ve got to get away.”
    The woman’s face fell. “I thought you were going to help me—help my baby. You could take me to your village.”
    “No. I can’t. They won’t accept you. They’ll drive you away.” And punish me , he thought. Punish me for bringing danger to their homes .
    The woman looked up into his eyes and when Cleofan saw the desperation burning there, he almost changed his mind.
    “The blade,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion, “the one you took from me—it’s very special. Sacred. It’s yours, if you want it.”
    Cleofan frowned and shook his head. “It’s no use—” he started.
    “But there’s another,” she said. “Wait.” She took her baby from her breast and fussed over him. The child let out a thin cry of protest but quietened when his mother wrapped him tightly in the furs and laid him on the ground. The woman stood up and reached into her pouch.
    Cleofan stepped back. “I don’t want it.”
    But she held something up to show him. “See? It’s a striker. Very strong. Better than any axe head you’ve ever used.” She stepped up to the nearest tree and raised the weapon to her shoulder then she brought it down hard against the trunk. The weapon thudded into the tree, denting the wood and sending pieces of bark tumbling to the ground.
    The noise of it startled Cleofan and he glanced nervously over his shoulder.
    “It doesn’t cut,” the woman said. “That’s what the blade is for. But the striker can break a bone, crush a skull. It can bring a man to his knees.” She held the weapon out to him. “With this, you’ll be the strongest man in your village.”
    Cleofan stared. Like the strange blade she’d pressed against his throat, this weapon gleamed, catching the light. It was far brighter than polished jade. He took a step forward and reached out his hand to touch it.
    But she snatched it away from him. “If you let us stay here. If you bring us food. Then you