Ruins

by Joshua Winning

  “A good man to make an honest woman of me.” She smiled coyly at Merlyn. “Are you up to the task?”

  “Don’t look at her,” Liberty warned him.

  “No,” Malika purred, her gaze trained on the young Sentinel. “You love another.”

  Sam scanned the gym. The doors he’d come through lay behind him. Could they make it out before Malika made her move?

  He frowned, noticing a metal structure against the wall. It was a freestanding frame about seven feet high, equipped with chains. Splotches of dark red stained the metal. It looked like a torture device. Sam was reminded of the racks that were used to punish wrong-doers in medieval times.

  With a start, he realised he was looking upon the apparatus that had been removed from Snelling’s basement. The marks scratched into the basement floor seemed to match the dimensions of whatever this odd structure was.

  “Oh this?” Malika purred, having noted his inquisitive stare. “Just another of Thomas Gray’s inventions. You met Thomas? Gifted scientist. Strong mind, in many respects. Unbelievably weak in others. I’m afraid he used up the last of his strength to ensure I survived our last encounter.”

  Sam didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “What is it?”

  “People will insist on struggling,” Malika said sorrowfully, brushing the chains and making them rattle.

  “You bled them,” Liberty accused her, a mixture of awe and disgust in her tone. “You bled all of them. And then you left them to rot in here.”

  “Blood,” Malika said, her teeth flashing. “Their blood was the only useful thing about them. Would you like a demonstration? It’s really quite humane. No more barbaric than bleeding a cow.”

  “She bathed in it,” Liberty murmured, flinching at whatever she could see in her mind’s eye.

  “So a literal bloodbath.” Merlyn gulped.

  Always blood. That’s what had changed. Malika looked vital, refreshed, strong. Sam wasn’t sure if the blood bath was a new development, but it was clear Malika had stepped up her game. Whatever she had planned, there would be no prisoners.

  “You need more blood,” Liberty mused. Sam wondered what else she might be sensing from Malika.

  “I warned you before, witch,” Malika cautioned her.

  “But only from one more person, and for a different purpose,” Liberty continued. “You need blood from...” Slowly, the Sensitive turned to peer over Sam’s shoulder. He twisted, following her line of vision.

  Rae stood in the door of the gymnasium.

  No.

  More shapes detached themselves from the shadows. Harvesters. And something else. Something he could only glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but vanished when he turned his head. Dark forms swelled over the walls, as if riding an invisible current. They seemed insubstantial, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. Quite the opposite. Sam recalled what had happened when he’d come to the school with Nicholas. The shadows had moved as if they were alive.

  The murklings.

  He cursed under his breath. Malika needed Rae, and they’d brought her without a moment’s hesitation. They really were fools. He wouldn’t let Malika take her. He had to stop her.

  Without another word, and before Malika had a chance to make the first move, he pumped the rifle and fired a shot at the woman in red. Even if it didn’t kill her, he could at least buy them some time.

  Malika dodged it easily.

  The gunshot heralded sudden chaos. Figures writhed away from the walls and spilled across the gymnasium floor. The Harvesters and the shadow creatures descended upon them ravenously.

  Amid the creatures, Malika swept forward.

  “Rae, run!” Sam bellowed, aiming the rifle at Malika once more. “Aileen, get her out of here!” He watched Aileen drag Rae back into the corridor and then hurried to Liberty and Merlyn. The three Sentinels stood with their backs together, tackling each Harvester that swung at them.

  “Sam, down!” Liberty yelled, and the old man obeyed just in time, hearing the whir of a blade as it sailed over his head.

  “We don’t get paid anywhere near enough for this,” Merlyn grunted. Sam heard him bury his dagger into something – someone – and then grunt again as he yanked it free. He fired at a stocky Harvester, who collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  Sam heard a gasp and glanced over his shoulder.

  Malika’s hands were around Liberty’s throat. She hurled the Sensitive through the air. Sam winced as Liberty crashed into the bleeding apparatus and hit the floor. Immediately, shadowy claws flew up from the polished floorboards, snatching at her.

  “Liberty!” Sam gasped in horror.

  Hands seized him, too, and he struggled to free himself from the Harvester at his back. Beside him, Merlyn was held back by two more Harvesters.

  “Get off me, you slimy, bottom-feeding parasites!” Merlyn yelled.

  “Time to say goodbye,” Malika sneered.

  Terror overwhelming him, unable to squirm free, Sam watched helplessly as dark, menacing shapes surrounded Liberty. They pinned her down, then the largest of them rose above her, talons flexing in preparation.

  Sam became suddenly aware of the heat in the gymnasium. The temperature had risen sharply. The air crackled and Sam felt the Harvester’s palms becoming slick with sweat, struggling to hold him down.

  As the talons descended on Liberty, Sam managed to wrench himself free, taking advantage of the Harvester’s clammy grip. He slipped to the floor and glimpsed Rae by the gym door. Crackles of electricity darted from her fingertips and the air wobbled around her, the way air sometimes looks in the desert.

  Then the gymnasium exploded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Spears And Arrows

  THE FIRES BLAZED HIGHER AND HIGHER. Nicholas watched helplessly as they roved into the museum, seeking out material to scorch and devour. He shook the gibbet with all his strength. He tried each of the bars, hoping to find one that was rusted and aged enough to pull loose. None moved and the padlock, though equally worn, refused to be pried open.

  Rae. He had to get to her before Malika did. If she completed the trikraft, they might as well start digging their own graves.

  Nicholas paused. Footsteps. He heard footsteps ringing up the staircase. Slow and resolute. His heart leapt into his throat.

  “Dawn!” he called. “Are you okay?”

  The Tortor emerged through the flames.

  A wordless choke bubbled up in Nicholas’s throat and wild panic clawed at him. He froze within the gibbet. If he stayed still, perhaps the monster wouldn’t see him – it stood to reason considering it didn’t have any eyes.

  The bowler hat turned as the faceless man seemed to look around the room. Then it stopped, as if it had noticed Nicholas. The head tilted with curiosity.

  Nicholas’s resolve crumbled. How could he fight it? The Tortor was going to come over and lay his hands on him and Nicholas was going to die. He didn’t know which death he’d prefer; being burned alive or succumbing to the devastation of the faceless man.

  The Tortor took another step into the room.

  Nicholas couldn’t believe it. The flames actually flexed away from the creature. The Tortor was immune to the chaos he was so calmly disseminating. The fires set by those under his thrall wavered and bent away as the faceless man passed through them, as if they, too, were repulsed by the thing in their midst.

  A clear path stood between them and Nicholas felt horribly cold inside, as if the Tortor’s mere presence had frozen his heart. He shivered and pressed himself up against the back of the gibbet, straining away from the malevolence that stealthily approached, dispassionately closing the gap between them until Nicholas couldn’t think clearly.

  The only words that pounded in his head were: You’re going to die.

  “Stay away from me!” he yelled, though he knew it was futile. The Tortor wasn’t listening.

  Nicholas railed against the gibbet, attempting to rock it. It was chained to the ceiling, but mayb
e he could bust it open by swinging it against the wall. He swayed back and forth in the cramped space, throwing his weight against one side and then the other.

  The chain creaked and Nicholas saw that the plaster where the chain was fixed was already succumbing to the fire. Maybe it would give with a little encouragement.

  He jumped up and down in the gibbet, though there was barely room to move.

  The Tortor continued his approach. He was mere feet away. His calmness only caused Nicholas’s panic to increase and he refused to give in to it. Losing his mind would mean losing his life.

  The chain in the ceiling creaked and Nicholas’s struggles intensified. He pushed himself against the rusted bars and swung the gibbet wildly.

  As the faceless man’s skeletal fingers scraped the gibbet’s bars, Nicholas felt the chain in the ceiling give way and the cage crashed violently to the floor.

  Prone at the Tortor’s feet, he wrestled with the gibbet, even as the monster’s hands came roving.

  Part of the cage had buckled and Nicholas dodged the Tortor’s groping claws, prising the gibbet apart. He thrashed at the bars around him and rolled clear across the floorboards. He felt the air shift behind him as if a hand had swiped for his head and missed.

  Breathlessly, Nicholas hauled himself to his feet.

  The Tortor began another stealthy approach and Nicholas flew to the stairwell, raising an arm against the inferno. There was no way he could go down the stairs without being burned alive.

  He whirled around. There had to be another way out. Over the Tortor’s shoulder, he spotted another door on the other side of the room. It led into the rest of the museum. It was his only chance. He looked for anything that he could use to fight with.

  The spears!

  They were the only weapons in the room, propped up near the far door.

  Ducking around a glass cabinet, he plotted a course across the room. The Tortor quickly adjusted his approach, weaving after him between the cabinets.

  Nicholas felt something brush the hair on the back of his head and, with a cry, he hurled himself at the collection of spears. He landed on the floor mere inches away from them and threw his free hand out, wrapping his fingers around one of the weapons and yanking.

  It came free just as the faceless man appeared, towering over him with hands outstretched. Nicholas dragged the spear free and, hardly daring to look, jabbed it at the monster.

  The blade pierced the Tortor’s chest and, finally, the monster’s descent was halted.

  There was no blood. No scream. No angry thrashing or flailing.

  The faceless man contemplated the weapon buried in him. Then, with maddening calm, he clasped the spear in both hands, pushing the other end of the weapon against the floorboards so that he was propped up by the floor.

  Nicholas’s relief was fleeting. Something wasn’t right. What was the creature doing? The Tortor slid its hands down the length of the spear. Then it pulled, dragging itself toward the floor. Toward Nicholas.

  With a sickening lurch, Nicholas understood. The Tortor was shoving the spear further into its flesh, impaling itself like a hunk of meat on a skewer in order to get closer to him. To kill him.

  He swallowed the rising bile and scrabbled across the floorboards on his back, hugging his broken arm to his chest. The Tortor turned to look at him and Nicholas knew that it wasn’t over. He couldn’t beat it. He had to get out of there.

  Getting to his feet, he ran for the door. The rest of the museum was ablaze and Nicholas didn’t waste any time darting from room to room, searching for a way out. He knew there was a second staircase, if he could just find it.

  As he charged through another doorway, he smashed into somebody.

  “Get back!” he cried.

  “It’s me!” Dawn puffed.

  “Dawn! I thought you were... Christ, are you okay?”

  Blood streamed stickily down one side of her face.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

  “You think?”

  She grabbed his hand and he staggered after her through the collapsing museum. How long did they have before the faceless man caught up with them? Nicholas swatted the thought away, hoped the spear would keep the creature impaled for long enough for them to escape the building. If they could escape it.

  They reached the second stairwell and Nicholas cried out with relief. They took the stairs and found they were back in the lobby. Not wasting a moment, they both rushed through to the window they had come in by.

  Nale’s bearded face appeared. He nodded in greeting, reaching inside to draw Dawn out. Nicholas clambered after, tripping in his hurry. Strong arms caught him and set him down on the pavement.

  “Cheers,” he said. A wet nose nuzzled his hand and he found Zeus beside him, panting and blood-speckled, just like his owner.

  The market square was eerily quiet. Bodies lay everywhere. Unconscious. Dead. Unmoving. It seemed that he, Dawn and Nale were the only living people left in town. Nicholas hoped that wasn’t true.

  “The others must be at the school,” Nicholas said. “That’s where Malika will be. She’s opening the trikraft. But the Abbey ruins...” He stopped still. His head thumped, but it wasn’t because of the suffocating air. He peered around, knowing exactly what the headache meant.

  A raven flapped over their heads. It flew down the Butter Market and then, in its place, there stood a dark figure in a silver mask.

  Esus raised a gloved hand and pointed down Abbeygate Street towards the Abbey Gardens. That confirmed it.

  “Come on,” Nicholas said.

  Zeus cantered ahead of them. The raven wheeled above them once more. It caww-ed in what Nicholas thought was an encouraging manner. Was Esus going to help them? He’d killed Diltraa. Could Esus tackle Laurent, too?

  “You feeling okay?” he asked Dawn. She wiped the blood on her face with the sleeve of her hoody and nodded. “You don’t have to–”

  “I do,” she said and Nicholas knew the topic was closed. Dawn had as much of a reason to watch Laurent burn as any of them; perhaps more. Laurent robbed her of her parents. She deserved to be there when they took him down.

  If they took him down.

  When, Nicholas determined. There was no room for doubt.

  Abbeygate Street was deserted. The buildings smouldered, fire-ravaged and spent. They hurried between them, down the cobbled street, wary that anybody could attack at any time. A grave silence had fallen over the town, though. There wasn’t a living soul anywhere. The sky was black and burnt.

  Nicholas’s broken arm throbbed worse than ever. He pulled the sling from his pocket and slung it round his neck, fitting his arm into it with a sigh. The pressure lessened somewhat.

  They emerged onto Angel Hill. The Abbey gate stood open like a mouth and Harvesters skulked in front of it, guarding the ceremony that Laurent must be performing inside.

  Nicholas looked up at Nale, whose huge hands were already balling into fists.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Be quick,” Nale growled. He was going to clear the way for them again.

  “Listen,” Nicholas began. He felt like he should thank Nale for his help. It was impossible to tell what the grizzly man was thinking, and he spoke so little. But Nale needed to know that Nicholas appreciated what he’d done for them. Without Nale, he and Dawn would be dead by now – if not at the hands of the Tortor, then definitely by the citizens whom the creature had transformed into mindless monsters. “Thanks for... you know...”

  Nale’s gaze fell on him and it wasn’t heavy as Nicholas had expected, but soft. Gentle. Nicholas wished he knew more about Nale. Malika had tried to turn him. Because he was strong? Or was there another reason? If they survived this, Nicholas swore he’d find out.

  “Brave boy,” the man rumbled. He placed a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder, the other on Dawn’s. “Girl.” After a moment, he blinked and strode off, stomping toward the Abbey gate, Zeus clipping alo
ng at his heel.

  Nicholas and Dawn ducked behind a water fountain on the hill and watched.

  The Harvesters spotted Nale within seconds. They whooped and crowed, whirling blades that flashed with the same steely light that burned in their eyes. Nicholas almost felt sorry for them. Nale would cut them down like twigs.

  Zeus was a grey blur and the Harvesters’ whoops dissolved into angry howls. A wiry Harvester spun a mace above his head and Nale grabbed his enemy’s head in one hand, slamming him to the pavement. Another Harvester replaced him, this one a thick-set woman with a machete. She licked her teeth and swung the blade. Nale caught her fist and the Harvester’s grin sagged. He twisted the machete into the Harvester’s gut and she collapsed with a cry.

  One by one, Nale grappled with the figures at the entrance to the Abbey and each fell, crushed and broken.

  “Now,” Nicholas hissed. More Harvesters would replace those who had fallen. He and Dawn had minutes, if that, to get inside before the ranks were reinforced.

  They dashed out from their hiding place and hurried toward the Abbey gate.

  Something whizzed through the air. Nicholas felt it whisper past his ear, missing him by millimetres. An arrow embedded itself in the pavement beside him. He looked up. A figure was atop the Abbey gate.

  “Run!” Dawn yelled, grabbing his hand.

  They raced for the gate, faces upturned to watch as more arrows sailed down. They dodged them, one grazing Nicholas’s leg as it descended. A horn sounded.

  “Laurent knows we’re here,” Nicholas puffed as they tumbled into the shelter of the gate. “Hurry,” he urged, pulling Dawn out the other side and into the park. Yet more arrows slashed down to meet them and only the trees prevented them from hitting their targets.

  “Low,” Nicholas said. “Keep low.”

  He had a strange feeling the Harvesters weren’t even trying. Malika said Laurent wanted him alive. Was that still the case? Did Laurent really expect Nicholas to stand by his side as the Dark Prophets rose from the bowels of hell?

  They went from tree to tree. A shriek echoed through the park. The aledites were here, too. Nicholas scanned the sky, but the trees were in the way and the heavens were too dark. The aledites were invisible against the tortured storm clouds.