Ruin (The Ruin Saga Book 1)

by Harry Manners

  “Remember, Norman. Remember. You were all there. You all watched it happen.”

  —but, perhaps because Alexander had mentioned watching him for strange behaviour, he thought better of it. Instead, he grunted to fill the brief silence that followed. “Is that why I can’t remember?” he said. “Was that the night of the accident?”

  Alex stared at him for over a minute. Something stirred behind his eyes. “That was the night that your parents died,” he said. “And yes, it was also the night of the accident, and the night that I first told you about…”

  “About my destiny?”

  Alex nodded.

  Norman waited, but he said no more. He itched to know the rest—to pry further into this mystery—but Alexander’s expression, along with the fresh memory of Lucian’s blood-curdling near miss, made him think twice.

  He was tired of the questions, of the secrets, of not knowing. But perhaps this was something best saved for another night.

  Norman shook his head. “Why me?” he muttered. “I’ve always wondered. Of all of these people, any of a hundred of them would have been a better choice. Why did you choose me?”

  Alex looked away into the flames. “Because some men have—” He paused, and drew a deep sigh. Then he shook his head. “I didn’t choose anything. It was always going to be you.” He cleared his throat and shifted, as though uncomfortable, and fell silent.

  After that, the night took hold in earnest. The din of Ray’s wake, which spanned the breadth of the city, fizzled and petered out. While the city grew peaceful and the sleepy rhythm of the night set in, Norman rubbed his chest and broke the silence. “What’s the news on the council summit?”

  Alexander grunted. “It’s going ahead as planned. I’m very interested to hear about this radio signal. But now that this…trouble has come up, we’ll be able to address everyone. Warn them.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what’s coming.”

  “You think the others are going to be targeted as well?”

  Alex didn’t need to reply. A glance was enough.

  They turned back to the fire, enjoying each other’s company as New Canterbury slept. The shadow that had hung over them all for so long now seemed punctured by the faintest glimmer of hope.

  “When do we leave?” Norman said.

  XV

  Don coughed. His breath wheezed deep in his throat and he shivered without pause beneath the bedcovers despite the thick, greasy sweat coating his chest and brow. Through bloated eyes he could barely make out Billy’s form, sitting upon a wooden chair beside the bed.

  The cabin had become their new home. Dilapidated and ancient, it had appeared to be little more than a shack from outside. But there were beds, a small living space, and even a miniature kitchen. More than he could have hoped for.

  In truth, he’d been utterly defeated before finding it. Now, there was a chance.

  “You mustn’t cry,” he said.

  A small candle burned in a dish on the bedside table, casting a meek light upon Billy’s tearstained face.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered, wrapping her arms tighter around her knees.

  “You mustn’t be. You have to be strong.”

  Billy whimpered, hiding her head.

  “Stop crying!” Don coughed, and lay back, groaning.

  Billy hiccoughed, and her sobs died under his tenuous glare.

  “I’m sorry,” said Don. “We’ll be alright.”

  She nodded.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “You’re sick, Daddy.” She grumbled for a moment, lowering her head towards her knees, until her eyes peeked just above her arms.

  “I know. But I’ll get better. Everything will be fine.”

  “Alright.”

  “You’re still worried.”

  “It’s dark outside.”

  Don sat up, glancing at the grimed window. It was almost opaque, but still he could tell it was pitch-black outside. “You’ve never been afraid of the dark before,” he said.

  “Now I know they’re out there. The Bad Men.”

  “They’re not here right now.”

  Billy’s gaze remained trained on the window. “How do you know?”

  “I just know. Trust me.”

  She nodded, and began to rock once more upon the chair. Its joints creaked even louder.

  Don sighed, turning to their bag at the foot of the bed. Dragging it towards him, he pulled it open and rummaged inside. Billy’s head lifted as he produced a torch from its depths, thin and stunted.

  He’d been saving it for an emergency. Once the candles burned down, it would be their last stopgap before having to rub sticks together. Their supply of lighters and matches had long since run dry.

  He clicked the power switch, and a harsh beam of white light lanced across the room, pooling against the far wall. Once satisfied that it wouldn’t falter, he handed it to Billy and sat back, gasping from the exertion. He had the sudden urge to sleep. “There you go,” he said between ragged breaths. “Now you’ll know if they’re near.”

  Billy took it with extreme care, unravelling her limbs and staring with wonder at the magic of the black bottle. Waving it to and fro, she smiled—a true smile, one he hadn’t seen in a long time.

  “How did they get all of this light in here?” she breathed.

  Don laughed, holding his ribs. “That’s not how it works.”

  “Then how does it work?”

  He coughed, sinking lower into the pillows’ folds. “I’ll tell you another time, I promise. Now get some sleep.”

  He needed to rest. His eyes pulsed with a steady, dull pain, the lids heavy. They rolled to a close, and he immediately began to drift.

  A bump jerked him awake some time later. After opening his eyes once more—a task that required extreme effort—he saw that Billy had moved across the room and climbed onto a stool to shine the torch through the window.

  She turned to him, smiling. “Magic.”

  Don laughed, and then began to drift once more. “That’s right,” he said. “Magic.”

  XVI

  Birdsong filled the summer air, accompanied by the trickling of the Stour. Dragonflies flitted across open water, racing parallel to the glassy surface. The sky was bright, the morning fresh, and the mist of dawn was evaporating to be replaced by a pleasant golden glow. There was no cloud cover other than a distant spattering of cirrus, many miles away.

  The riverside was alive. Milling droves hauled luggage along the bank, loading it into a small fleet of rowboats. Almost half the city had gathered to help load supplies, and to bid farewell to family and friends. The air was thick with excitement, saturating every crevice.

  On the far shore, a convoy of horses, wagons and other supplies was being assembled. The ant-like figures of two dozen men and women scurried without pause, moving between animals and boxes.

  The earth had been turned. The fields sown. No more attacks had come.

  In the fortnight since Ray’s funeral, without the presence of the unwelcome prisoner hanging in the air like a foul stink, things had improved. The first signs of life were returning to the forests. The grass on the hills was growing green again. Tensions had lessened just enough to allow the radio signal to have become the subject of conversation once more. Rumours were spreading, whispers filled every street corner, and debate at the dinner table was rife.

  For many, the reality of it had finally struck home: they might not be alone.

  Somewhere out there, there might be others, others for whom the candle of civilisation still burned. Just maybe, after all this time, they might be saved.

  Norman watched, sitting on a decrepit bench a small distance from the main body of activity. His cane was propped beside him, a painful reminder that, after two weeks, he was only just beginning to feel better. Since his visit from Jason he’d started to feel trapped, imprisoned behind a broken body.

  Yet, despite his frustration, he was recovering, and his strength
was returning.

  Heather crouched beside him, checking his collarbone and chest, where the pain was greatest. “You’re sure it hasn’t gotten any better?” she said, frowning as she massaged his shoulder.

  He shook his head, wincing, then hesitated. “Slowly,” he said.

  “How bad?”

  Norman looked at her, trying to keep a straight face. “I can’t think,” he said. “It feels like I have glass under my skin.”

  She nodded absently. “You should be mending by now. You might just need longer to recover. There’s no way to be sure how bad the injury was.”

  “You’re sure that I’m okay to go?”

  She wobbled her head. “As long as you don’t walk too much, you should be alright. Make sure you take a few deep breaths every hour, or you’ll get pneumonia.” She paused for emphasis. “If you get any worse, get help from somebody. I still don’t know if you’re punctured internally.”

  “I’d feel a lot better if you were coming along,” he said.

  She laughed and touched him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind going either, but with so many people in and out of the clinic, the city would go crazy.” She sighed, brushing her prematurely greying hair from her face. “People are acting…odd.”

  “This is new for all of us,” Norman said, struggling to his feet.

  She nodded, standing with him for a time, watching the proceedings.

  Not long after, Sarah appeared, walking hand in hand with Robert. Her face was more alive than Norman had ever seen it, its soft curves strikingly feminine, bearing a smile so intense it outshone the sun.

  Robert, meanwhile, looked beside himself. A goofy, childish grin appeared out of place upon his enormous head.

  A gaggle of children surrounded them, giggling as they jumped to and fro, their shoes clattering on the cobbles. They chattered for a moment, and some of the older boys attempted to strike up conversation with Robert, their heads turned skywards in search of his face.

  It was only moments before a girl gave a cry of delight, holding Sarah’s outstretched hand. The children swarmed the two of them, circling and laughing in a gibbering frenzy, calling for parents and guardians to come quick.

  The activity stirred a sudden interest among others, who milled for a while before approaching. Some stretched their necks to see over the sea of children, while others instead rushed forwards. Boxes of supplies lay abandoned on the ground, and the boats were left lifeless.

  On the far shore, the workers looked nonplussed. Some scratched their heads, while others called out, waving their arms. They were met by silence.

  The excitement grew to staggering proportions in a very short time, until Norman himself was drawn closer. The couple were now invisible beyond the bodies of others. All attention had turned to them.

  Norman skirted the edge of the crowd, careful not to snag his cane on flailing limbs or the faces of small children. Before long he could see Sarah and Robert, overrun by ecstatic women and jovial men. “What is it?” he asked.

  His voice was barely audible over the squeals and merriment. Moving around to the side a little more, Heather split from his side and attempted to burrow into the sea of bodies, but to no avail.

  Sarah stood in her partner’s shadow, her hand held up beside her. A thick golden band of metal adorned her fourth finger. As he watched, the joy of a middle-aged woman beside him spilled into physicality, and she pulled him into an awkward hug. He struggled free and fought his way to the front of the crowd. In the corner of his eye he saw Heather forging her own path, parallel to his.

  “Congratulations,” he said as he reached Robert, stepping forwards to grasp his hand.

  Sarah was pulled by Heather into a crushing embrace, and both women propelled their voices to a high-pitched, incomprehensible babble.

  “How did this happen?” Heather cried.

  Robert shrugged, his face frozen in a foolish smile. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  “Where did you get the ring?”

  Robert looked at Sarah and then to the ring upon her finger. “It was my grandmother’s,” he said.

  “We just thought that we should do something,” Sarah said. “Just in case.”

  A stray voice, young and curious, arose from the incoherent rumble of the crowd, and a figure stepped into view. “What’s going on?”

  Allison froze when she saw the betrothed, her eyes bulging. The muscles of her forearms began to twitch as her mouth worked. Norman had only a moment to prepare for the forthcoming racket.

  She sprinted for Sarah and Heather, and the three of them entered a frenzy of heightened, even louder screeching, hugging and leaping on the spot.

  Norman squinted at the pain in his ears, sharing an uncomfortable look with Robert, with whom he was still shaking hands. Those around them threw glances of equal discomfort, some holding their palms over the sides of their heads.

  “When are you planning on holding the ceremony?” Heather asked.

  Robert and Sarah exchanged glances, their expressions blank.

  “The autumn?” Robert suggested.

  After a moment of thought, Sarah’s face brightened. “What do you think?” she said.

  Robert thought for a while—or, Norman suspected, pretended to—before nodding.

  Norman groaned as the three women enjoyed another bout of squealing, embracing each other once more.

  The crowd began to break up, and returned to work. The fleet of boats became more active. A number of women remained to hug and harass Sarah for a short while longer.

  “I suppose you’re not coming then?” Norman said.

  Robert shook his head, holding Sarah around the waist, his bulging arms dwarfing her body. “Alexander wants me to sit this one out and take care of things here.” He shrugged. “You'll be fine without me.”

  Norman wasn’t quite as certain after looking over his shoulder. Only a select few were to make the journey to London. It had been decided that a larger convoy would express undue risk.

  The city elders were being helped into the farthest boats—Agatha sitting in the prow of the closest, dazed and starry-eyed. Only members of the council, their families, and a security detail were to go—with a particular emphasis on security.

  Nevertheless, he forced a smile. “I’m sure we will.”

  Robert sagged with relief, finally releasing Norman’s hand. He steered Sarah from the riverside, retreating into the streets, disappearing from sight.

  Heather and Allison watched them leave with simultaneous sighs of feminine passion. Their bodies remained motionless, staring after the retreating couple.

  Norman stood and waited for a while, looking for something on which to focus his attention. In the aftermath of the excitement, the pain was returning.

  “I wish somebody would come and take me like that,” Allison said. Her swoon became masked by a sudden and uncharacteristic depression. Heather uttered a longing sigh of agreement, her hands wedged deep in her pockets.

  Norman cleared his throat, leaning on his cane, awaiting their return to reality. They turned to him slowly, their faces downturned and reserved, spawning an unwelcome pity in the pit of his stomach.

  “Come on,” he said to Allison, beckoning to the rowboats. “We have to be going.”

  Her eyes were glazed as she nodded, bidding Heather farewell and then joining his side.

  “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Heather said.

  Norman patted his cane. “I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  He almost smiled, but didn’t quite manage. Instead, he pulled her into a weak one-armed hug. “Take care,” he said.

  She returned the sentiment before stepping away to join the rest of those who were to stay behind. The crowd now waved and called to the occupants of the retreating boats.

  Allison fell into step beside him as they wheeled towards the last of the boats still docked. They were beckoned forwards by John, whose face was adamant as he point
ed to the sun, which was already nearing its zenith.

  “This should be interesting,” Allison said.

  Norman glanced at her. “You’ve been to London plenty of times.”

  She grunted hollowly. “Maybe,” she said. “But I’ve never had to be escorted by a small army.” Her voice wavered. “Maybe I should stay behind.”

  She looked over her shoulder. Her eyes had softened, and the corners of her mouth were twitching.

  “No,” he said. He hesitated, but pressed on. “I want you to come.”

  He had at first been thinking of whatever disaster could be averted by leaving the city with Allison in tow, removing the city’s primary source of gossip. But after mere moments he realised that he genuinely wanted her company.

  An odd fluttering sensation was once again prowling his bowels.

  “I could use a hand with getting about,” he added hastily.

  She stood motionless for a moment, her eyes darting between the boats and Main Street. “You're sure it’ll be safe?” she muttered.

  Norman offered a hand, attempting a smile. “Trust me,” he said.

  XVII

  Heather smiled as Robert and Sarah drifted into the kitchen. They walked hand in hand, still plastered with numb expressions of giddy joy. Sarah had changed into a long, billowing dress, adorned by sunflowers and abstract swirls that complemented her fiery locks.

  She observed the couple at length, her head falling sideways as she cupped her chin in her palms. A pang of jealousy rose in her gut, an ugly mixture of longing and deep-seated, instinctual hatred for a woman who had found happiness, one whom she considered her closest friend.

  She scorned her thoughts. Her own love life had been lacking of late, but there was still time for her. So long as the stray grey hairs on her crown kept at bay. In the meantime, what better sight was there amidst so much loss than untainted devotion?

  She watched them walk towards the counter, which had been abandoned when people had volunteered to aid the travelling party with supplies. They disappeared for a short while, and the sound of clinking and interested grunts filled the air.