Ruins

by Joshua Winning

  The ground shuddered beneath them and Nicholas steadied himself against a tree.

  “He’s already started,” he whispered.

  “We have to get closer,” Dawn said.

  “You keep an eye out that side, I’ll cover this side. If you see anything...”

  “Scream like a girl?”

  Nicholas grinned despite himself and they edged through the gardens, keeping to the shadows. He noticed a raven darting between the trees, swooping silently.

  They came to a steep hill, which overlooked the ruins. Carefully, they clambered up, using the roots of an old oak tree like the rungs in a ladder. Above them, the raven settled in the oak’s branches, hidden amongst the leaves.

  With Dawn at his side, Nicholas lay flat and peered over the crest of the hill.

  The ruins were bathed in hellfire. Shallow iron bowls contained flickering flames and there were more Harvesters than Nicholas could count. They perched in every rocky crevice, some sitting high up in the tallest of the ruins, others lounging over the broken flint-stone walls.

  A figure moved in a part of the ruins that still had four low walls so that it resembled a room. Laurent wore a tapering, blood-red robe, like something a priest might wear. His skin was waxy in the firelight and he clasped something in his long, thin fingers. Nicholas couldn’t see what it was.

  An altar rested behind him.

  Laurent murmured something under his breath and took a knife from the altar. He sliced open his palm. Then he held aloft the thing in his hands. Nicholas squinted. It was a black box covered in a shroud.

  “The final totem!” Laurent declared, brandishing it above his head. The Harvesters whistled and shrieked, clashing their blades together.

  Reverently, Laurent placed the box on the altar. He flipped the lid.

  A hush rushed through the park. Fear inexplicably clutched at Nicholas’s heart and he grabbed the tree, if only to have something to hold on to.

  Laurent reached into the box and drew out a black object. He kissed it and raised it for all to see. An ugly carving of a three-headed beast. Was it a likeness of one of the Prophets’ emissaries? Or perhaps a rendering of the Prophets themselves?

  The Harvesters watched silently.

  Laurent held his hand over the totem. Blood dripped onto it and a red light burst up into the sky, parting the gathered storm clouds. A crimson, star-like speck glowed. The second part of the trikraft was in place. In the distance, Nicholas saw the red light pulsing high above the museum.

  “Sam,” he muttered under his breath. “I hope you’ve stopped the third one...”

  He heard Dawn’s breath catch in her throat and followed her line of vision.

  Laurent had glanced up, right at the spot where they were crouched. He must have known they were there the whole time. He bared his teeth in a triumphant grin and Nicholas knew they were out of time.

  *

  The ringing in Sam’s ears threatened to go on forever. Somewhere in the part of his brain that hadn’t been pummelled by the explosion, he attempted to count how many wrecked buildings he’d been in over the past week. Snelling’s home, Solomon’s boathouse... This time it was the school gymnasium.

  He groaned and heaved himself up, finding that he was caked in debris.

  Still standing, he thought. The doc’s pills must be working.

  “Isabel?” he murmured, coughing. “Aileen? Merlyn?”

  A rustle came from nearby and a cat’s head emerged from the rubble. Isabel spluttered and shook herself, a halo of dust scattering into the air.

  “Damn and blast,” she muttered. “Old man, are you injured?”

  Sam checked himself over. “No,” he sighed, scanning his surroundings. The ceiling had caved in and he could see the turgid night sky, veins of yellow lightning crackling through the clouds.

  Liberty heaved herself up a few feet away, then pulled Merlyn free.

  Where were Aileen and Rae?

  Some of the debris shifted nearby and Sam turned in that direction, hope swelling in his chest.

  Malika extricated herself from the wreckage and Sam knew he would have to move fast to subdue her. Even as he reached into his bag, though, Malika let out a high laugh and crouched down. What was she doing?

  Other shapes drew themselves out of the wreckage. Harvesters. All of them bloodied and dust-speckled. Only five now. Others were still buried under the collapsed ceiling. Sam hoped they’d stay there.

  The Harvesters surrounded Malika in a protective ring.

  The red-haired woman drew something from the folds of her dress. It flashed briefly. A blade. She crouched down and then stood, the blade now wet with blood. Whose blood?

  Rae? Sam thought with a lurch. He began to wade through the rubble, but then Malika said something and flicked the blade, splattering blood to the ground. A red light blasted up through the dashed ceiling, burning brightly in the sky. The clouds smouldered red and the ground shifted under his feet.

  Sam staggered, regaining his balance.

  Hot, crimson light pulsed in the clouds and the atmosphere grew even more troubled.

  “What have you done?” he yelled.

  Malika’s cat-like eyes slid in his direction but she held her tongue. Her pale countenance read triumph.

  “It’s complete,” Liberty said softly.

  “The trikraft,” Isabel uttered. “Hell-witch, you’ve doomed us all!”

  Malika’s reply was a coarse laugh and Sam quivered.

  “Soon you’ll all be ash,” she spat. “Enjoy these final moments. Pray to your gods. They won’t hear you. Tonight, the Dark Prophets rise and you’ll all be condemned to the festering pits of their former prison.”

  She stopped, looked at Liberty. The Sensitive stood still, peering at the red witch in a way that Sam recognised. She was trying to read Malika again. Liberty blinked and breathed deeply. She must be searching for a way to stop her.

  “You want to see inside my head?” Malika asked. “I’m not sure you’ll like what you find.”

  Their eyes locked and Liberty’s jaw clenched. Her body went rigid. Sam’s gaze darted between them.

  “Isabel,” he murmured. “Do something.”

  “I cannot,” the cat replied.

  The two women were locked in a wordless, motionless battle. Sam thought he saw the air crackle between them, but he couldn’t be sure. His heart lurched as a single line of blood trickled from Liberty’s nose and she began to shake. Her eyes became bloodshot and blood oozed from her ears.

  “Liberty,” Sam gasped.

  Liberty’s expression crumpled with pain.

  “S-Sam...”

  Malika smiled, her eyes not leaving the Sensitive. She raised a hand and splayed her fingers, peering between them.

  “Boom,” she whispered.

  Liberty’s head snapped back with a sickening crunch and she collapsed heavily. Merlyn caught her just in time to prevent her crashing to the floor. He lowered her slowly down.

  Sam didn’t know what he was yelling; he was only vaguely aware that he was yelling something as he hurried to her, crouching at her side.

  “Liberty,” he breathed, pulling her gently onto his lap. With a shaking hand, he felt the pulse at her throat. Nothing. Liberty’s bloodshot eyes were lifeless.

  “We’re done here,” Malika said. She nodded at Rae’s unconscious form. “Bring her.”

  “Black-hearted witch!” Sam roared. He threw himself at Malika, but a Harvester blocked his path. Fuelled by rage and grief, Sam beat at the Harvester with his fists, not feeling the pain as his joints complained. The Harvester went down, but another took his place.

  Through the haze of pain, Sam watched two Harvesters pull Rae from the wreckage and go after Malika.

  The next moment, Sam was on the floor, his ears ringing. He must have been punched, but he couldn’t remember. A dull throb at his jaw, he looked up, searching for Malika.

  Both she and Rae were gone. The Harvesters all turned and left.

/>   An echoing snigger filled the gymnasium.

  “You’re mine now,” cackled the voice of the headmistress.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Fire In The Sky

  A CLAP OF THUNDER RESOUNDED THROUGH the heavens and Nicholas peered skyward just in time to see a red light blast up in the distance. The atmosphere sizzled and coloured lightning shot jaggedly between the three stars hanging in place above Bury St Edmunds.

  The trikraft was complete.

  Dawn muttered a curse word beside him and Nicholas looked at her in surprise.

  “It’s now or never,” he said.

  “We should wait for Nale and the others.”

  “You think he’s waiting?” Nicholas gestured to Laurent.

  The man’s hands were stretched up to the sky.

  “YES!” Laurent roared. The dark energies throbbing in the clouds deepened to blood red and Nicholas looked on, aghast, as a whirling hole opened above the spot where Laurent stood. Yellow light flashed in its depths and the ground fell away at Laurent’s feet. A sucking cavity burrowed into the earth, a perfect mirror of the thrashing cyclone above.

  “NICHOLAS!” Laurent bellowed. “Do you see?” A ferocious wind tugged at his robes, ruffling his blond hair. “The Prophets awaken!”

  Nicholas got to his feet, standing defiantly atop the hill. To the watching Harvesters, all of them crouched within the ruins, he was probably nothing more than a spindly outline against the crimson heavens.

  “What are you doing?” Dawn hissed.

  Nicholas said nothing. He made his way down the hill into the ruins. Everything had become clear. This was what he had to do.

  “Yes, come.” Laurent smiled like a shark might, waving a signal at the Harvesters to let him pass. “Come, embrace the Prophets. Be the first to welcome them.”

  His heart thrummed in his chest and Nicholas felt empty. He was floating. Perhaps it was a way of coping with the fear. Of confronting Laurent without succumbing to the voices in his head that pleaded for him to turn around.

  No, it was the clarity. If he had to die, that’s the way it was. He couldn’t let Laurent succeed.

  A female Harvester snarled at him as Nicholas approached the room-like portion of the ruins, but she let him enter.

  “Witness the beauty of destruction.” Laurent’s lips drew back into a skull-like grin, his eyes wide and wild.

  A shape moved within the twisting pit in the earth and Nicholas froze. Claws thrust up, taking purchase of the ground. Something colossal hauled itself into the park.

  “Welcome!” Laurent laughed. “Rise, foot-soldiers of the Prophets!”

  The six-legged beast clambered into the ruins. Black scales glowed red in the light of the storm and enormous muscles flexed. A slithering tale whipped behind it and a face crowded with eyes swung about malevolently. Nicholas watched helplessly as the creature mounted the ruins. It drew in a great lungful of air and emitted a blistering shriek that threatened to burst Nicholas’s eardrums.

  Then, fixing its sights on the rest of the park, it stomped away.

  “Stop this,” Nicholas yelled, struggling to be heard as the wind howled between him and Laurent.

  Laurent crowed. “Boy, it cannot be stopped! Nothing can stop it now!”

  More creatures thrashed from the ground. Scuttling, wriggling monstrosities of different shapes and sizes, each more hideous than the last. Nicholas had thought Diltraa was repulsive, but these new hellbeasts were far worse. Some were elephant-sized and covered in porcupine-spears, others were as large as hairless mountain cats with rows of gnashing incisors.

  Nicholas watched helplessly as they surged into the night, baying as they proliferated the park.

  He saw something else dash through the Abbey gardens. Esus. The phantom wielded a sword, launching at the creatures.

  Nicholas glared at Laurent. “I’ll stop it,” he pledged.

  “You’ll die! You’re a spectator, Nicholas. You’re no hero. The Trinity may have stored precious power inside you, but you’re nothing more than a little boy with an inflated opinion of himself.”

  “Maybe we’re not that different after all, then,” Nicholas said.

  Laurent shrieked with laughter. He’d lost his mind. Nicholas knew there was no reasoning with him. You couldn’t reason with a mad man.

  “You have darkness in you, boy. Embrace it!” Laurent urged. “Only something truly evil could do what you did in Orville!”

  It wasn’t true. Nicholas tried not to listen.

  But there they were, those huddled doubts that waited for him in the darkest fog of his mind.

  You’re dangerous. You’re a threat. You’re no good.

  He’d killed so many people. What if Laurent was right?

  Laurent lies, he told himself. Laurent lies.

  The aledites wheeled above their heads and Nicholas realised they weren’t far from the spot where he had first encountered Laurent. This was where he’d been plucked from the ground, dragged kicking over the town and then hurled the way a bird dashes a snail.

  “Stop the ceremony,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Or I’ll stop you.”

  “Itching for another one of those?” Laurent sneered, gesturing at his arm.

  “One’s enough,” Nicholas said. He drew the sling up and released his broken arm.

  The gauntlet was attached over the cast, fixed to his exposed thumb and fingers. It had been in the backpack that Liberty handed him. She must have seen this. She must have known that he’d be the one to get this close to Laurent.

  Laurent’s expression changed.

  “You’re too young for a toy like that,” he growled.

  “Make it stop!” Nicholas yelled.

  Laurent held his gaze for a moment, then his eyes slid to the left and he nodded, signalling to a waiting Harvester. Nicholas understood. He was fair game now. He sensed a figure coming up on his right and turned, clenching his fist.

  A flash of blue light flared before him and Nicholas’s feet left the ground. He soared backwards and hit a rocky wall. He gasped for breath and shook his head. What had gone wrong? Struggling to sit up, he first saw Laurent’s seething expression, and then a body on the ground, steam rising from it.

  “WOO! YEAH!”

  Groggily, Nicholas followed the voice. Dawn was atop the hill by the oak tree, pumping the air with her fist. She flashed an elated grin.

  The gauntlet had worked!

  “Seize her! Stop him!” Laurent screamed.

  Nicholas would have whooped, too, but the ruins thrashed to life in an instant. As the Harvesters descended, he closed his eyes and thought about the seeing glass. It hadn’t been useless. It had opened something in him that he’d been ignoring, and now he needed all the tools at his disposal. In his mind’s eye, he saw the purple crystal swinging and the flash as it snared the light. The ground melted away beneath him and he felt strangely alert – more alert than he ever had in his life.

  The earth. The quick heartbeats of birds. The angry, charged sky.

  He could feel it all between his temples. And them. He could feel the Harvesters, too. Their thoughts were snapping teeth. They were coming for him.

  He moved as if in a dream. Back on his feet, he wielded the gauntlet the way it was intended. He didn’t lose his balance again, instead leaning in to the gauntlet as it blasted blue lightning.

  Harvesters fell. Most of them didn’t have time to scream. The electricity spun them violently where they stood, then dropped them like tired puppets.

  Dawn!

  Nicholas sensed her as well. Inquisitive, deer-like thoughts. He looked up at the oak tree, where Harvesters were already clambering toward her. She had a branch in her hands and whipped it before her, pale and daring. The Harvesters squawked and one of them seized the branch, snatching it from her.

  Nicholas squeezed the gauntlet again and the Harvesters fell, tumbling back down the hill and lying still.

  His eyes locked with Dawn’s. Then her mouth sagg
ed open in fear.

  “Nich–” she began, but the winged forms had already tumbled raggedly from the sky, clutching for him. He ducked just in time as an aledite’s claws flashed above him and Nicholas raised his broken arm, wincing as pain forked through it. He ignored the pain, squeezed the gauntlet and sent the aledite bowling backwards. It rolled into the sucking hole in the ground and was gone.

  Another flew at him, and another.

  The air around him was a thrashing mass of leathery wings and gleaming yellow eyes, and panic began to replace the calm. Nicholas flailed his arms, attempting to beat the monsters back.

  A claw raked his scalp and he felt the warm pump of blood.

  “STOP!” Laurent bellowed. In a fuss of coriaceous wings, the aledites left him and Nicholas panted for breath as Laurent glided forward. His expression was awful. “He’s mine,” Laurent declared, his fingers snatching at Nicholas’s throat.

  They clamped tightly and Nicholas gagged. He thrust his gauntleted arm forward, pressing it to Laurent’s chest.

  Laurent jeered at him. He twisted Nicholas’s gauntleted hand away, forcing it to one side. Nicholas gasped in agony, feeling his broken bones grating against one another.

  “You’ve impressed me, Nicholas,” Laurent said coldly. “There’s yet fight in this dog.”

  “You can’t want this,” Nicholas rasped. “You’re going to destroy everything!”

  Above them, the crackling yellow whirlpool in the clouds grew, vomiting noxious gasses that made Nicholas’s head spin. Enormous shadows rippled over the ground as yet more hellbeasts scrambled free, gibbering as they seized control of the park. He caught sight of lithe, reptilian shapes with spearing fangs.

  “Destruction is the way of the world,” Laurent hissed. “Every era ripens and withers. It’s our time. The Prophets have whispered their plans to me for years. They will rise and all you ever took for granted will be rendered ash.”

  “You can still stop it,” Nicholas begged.

  He saw movement behind Laurent and tried not to look, even though it meant staring into the man’s manic eyes. He blinked away the blood trickling from his forehead.