Ruins (18 page)

The man’s smile hardened. “Been toughened up by recent events, too. You have such potential, if only you were open to what I have planned.”

“You’re a monster,” Nicholas spat.

“You think you’re better than me?” Laurent sighed coolly. “Something tells me we’re not all that different, you and I. How well do you really know yourself, Nicholas? Are you kind? Thoughtful? Or are you bull-headed? Brazen?”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” the man drawled. “The Trinity chose you. You, out of countless others.” At Nicholas’s look, he sneered. “Oh, yes, I know all about that. The Trinity made you their Earth-bound emissary. Here’s a little secret. The Trinity chose you, but the Dark Prophets chose me.”

Freezing ice coursed through Nicholas’s veins. The Dark Prophets had picked this man to do their bidding? Esus had said that Nicholas was the only one who could resurrect the Trinity. Was Laurent the opposite of that? Did he know how to raise the Prophets?

“They’ve whispered their secrets in my ear since birth,” the man leered. “They’re here with us, even now, watching in the night. When they return, I shall by their General, and nobody – not even Samuel Wilkins – will stand in my way.” He snorted. “There are only three things in the universe that cannot stay hidden for long: the sun, the moon and the truth. You know, secrets between friends can be deadly.”

What was he talking about now? Nicholas was so thrown by the stranger’s words that he didn’t hear the monster coming. It glided up behind him on silent wings and then steely claws clamped his shoulders.

The ground fell away.

Nicholas yelled as he was dragged up, kicking and flailing, away from solid ground, up into the vaporous nothing of the sky. The branch he’d used as a weapon clattered to the ground.

Below him, Nicholas saw another aledite seize Isabel and wrench her into the air.

“Let’s see what your insides are made of,” Laurent called up from the path. “Let’s find out just how well you really know yourself. Enjoy the view while it lasts.”

Within seconds the park was so far beneath them that it looked like part of a toy village. The whole town spread out just beyond his feet. He couldn’t help thinking it was lucky he wasn’t afraid of heights. He peered up. Large, powerful wings thrashed. Where were they taking him? The monster just seemed to be climbing higher and higher without actually going anywhere.

The question was answered a moment later when the claws at his shoulders slackened.

With a sickening lurch Nicholas knew what was going to happen next.

He was going to be dropped to his death.

CHAPTER TEN

Nale

T
HE WIND SCREAMED IN HIS EARS.
Panic boiled through him and Nicholas couldn’t catch his breath. There didn’t seem to be any air up here. He kicked his legs and tried not to imagine what it would be like when he hit the ground. Would he feel anything? How many bones would shatter on impact?

“Unhand me, foul beast!”

Isabel’s voice rang over the wind and Nicholas saw that she was squirming in the second aledite’s grasp. The creatures carrying them were about fifteen feet apart; too far for Nicholas to reach Isabel, but close enough for him to see the cat’s eyes were almost entirely black.

Above him, the creature whooped and chittered, revelling in its deadly task.

“I said unhand me!”

Nicholas watched as the cat sank her claws into the monster’s clutching mitts, and the aledite shrieked. It faltered and dropped lower, and Isabel scrambled into its face, slashing ferociously at the creature. The aledite flapped lower still, though it remained dangerously far off the ground.

With a final angry scream, the creature seized Isabel, peeled her from its face, and hurled the cat away.

“NO!” Nicholas cried.

She plummeted twenty feet into the Abbey Gardens and crashed into the branches of a tree. Nicholas saw a tiny black shape tumbling limply and then he lost sight of her.

“ISABEL!” he shouted, fear bursting through him.

The aledite that had been carrying Isabel shrieked jubilantly and dive-bombed the park, rippling into the shadows.

Fresh panic tore through him as the claws loosened around Nicholas’s shoulders.

“Don’t you dare!” he yelled up at the monster.

The aledite peered down at him and bared its fangs in a low hiss. Its breath reeked of rotting meat.

The claws opened and for a second Nicholas was airborne.

Time stopped.

He hung in the balance, supported by nothing more than dying sunlight and rushing wind. For a horrible moment, he was resigned to his fate. In his mind, he saw the ground welcoming him and only hoped it would happen quickly.

Then he snapped to his senses. Instinct took over. In a final act of desperation, he thrashed upwards and grabbed hold of the aledite’s barbed feet. The barbs scratched his palms and the creature bellowed furiously, trying to shake him off. Nicholas held on, seizing the creature as tightly as he could despite the stinging in his hands.

The aledite weaved and dove, trying anything to knock him loose.

But Nicholas wouldn’t give in. He squeezed tighter still and the aledite roared in outrage. Talons flashed and claws snatched at him.

“Come on, then!” Nicholas shouted. “You ugly, flea-bitten piece of...”

A talon raked through his hair and Nicholas gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t let go, not for anything. The aledite could slash at him all it wanted. He wouldn’t. Let. Go.

They were over the town now. Nicholas could see the market square far below.

“We need... to go... lower...” he muttered to himself, as if the words alone could steer him to safety.

Escape plans raced through his mind. Maybe if he aimed for one of the rooftops it would break his fall. It was preferable to hitting the ground directly.

A crazy thought struck him and Nicholas knew what he had to do. Looking up, he stared into the sickly yellow diamonds in the centre of the creature’s demonic face.

“Come on, then,” he murmured under his breath. “NOW!”

He lunged, grabbing one of the aledite’s outstretched wings and yanking, hauling downward with all of his strength.

Together, they pitched sideways, half flying and half falling. The aledite caterwauled so loudly that Nicholas wondered if he’d be left deaf. But it was working. They were losing height by the second. The town rushed up to meet them.

Nicholas gasped as a sharp pain exploded in his shoulder and he saw that a talon was buried in it.

His grip on the creature slackened.

The aledite kicked out with all four of its limbs.

Suddenly there was nothing left for Nicholas to hold on to.

He fell.

He stared down as a roof grew larger until all he knew was crunching, smashing pain and the sound of tiles splintering under his weight. The momentum carried him over the edge of the rooftop and Nicholas sailed into the air once more.

The cobbled street below him beckoned.

Then it was all around him.

Then there was nothing.

*

The skies were clear tonight; a dark canvas studded with stars.

Benjamin Nale contemplated a swallow as it zipped back and forth across the sea. He squinted and drew on the last of his cigar, then dug the stub into the sand with his boot.

The sea was as still as the heavens. A hush had fallen over it, as if a siren’s song had lulled it into a glassy slumber. Across the water, Nale glimpsed distant, twinkling lights. The Wash was a square-shaped cove and Snettisham locals often remarked that this portion of The Wash was where “Norfolk stares at Lincolnshire”. It was a drowsy, enchanting place full of birdsong and merfolk murmurs.

“Zeus!” Nale barked.

A dog trotted obediently away from the water’s edge. Its shaggy silver coat shimmered in the moonlight and its considerable frame loomed larger as it approached. Nale patted the dog’s head and it nuzzled his hand wetly. The Irish Wolfhound almost came up to Nale’s waist, which was impressive given the man’s own height. They trudged over the beach’s sandy peaks until they were back on firmer ground and the dry marram grass crackled underfoot.

Nale was a man of goodly dimensions. Pushing fifty, he towered over most people. He walked with a perpetual hunch, as if attempting to diminish his size, and scratched at his bushy beard, the smell of nicotine still strong, trapped under grimy nails. Despite his size, Nale barely made a sound. He seemed to always be walking on cotton wool.

Zeus darted ahead, having spotted the caravan in the distance. It rested in an isolated part of the coastal lands, away from the holiday trailers and out of sight of the main tourist roads. A long hedgerow shielded most of the wagon from sight, and if the lights were out it was almost invisible in the dark.

It had been home for half a decade. An old traveller’s wagon with large wooden wheels and fragments of carnival posters forever engrained in its ribcage. A pipe poked out through the caravan’s roof and three suspended steps led up to the crooked front door. It was a ramshackle old thing from another time, but Nale was more content here than he had been anywhere else.

Zeus was scratching eagerly at the door, whining softly by the time Nale strolled up.

“Enough,” Nale told the dog. It fell silent.

Inside, Nale lit a gas lamp and fed Zeus. The dog ate noisily in the corner, then flopped onto a mound of blankets, watching its master contentedly as he boiled a beaten-up kettle over a camping stove.

Nale had never been a big sleeper. The night-time hours were his favourite. The world was at peace, then. The insatiable squawks and spasms of civilisation ceased, and the silence was blissful. At this late hour, you could almost feel the earth breathing.

Nale tapped the gas canister of the stove. It resounded hollowly. Time to buy a refill. Next time he ventured into town he’d pick up a couple.

The inside of the caravan twitched in the lamplight. Puppets dangled from the ceiling, grinning grotesquely at one another, and a samurai sword was strapped to the wall above a row of coffee tins. It was part Geppetto’s workshop, part knick-knack repository, all home; a crammed, unrestrained mess that spoke of Nale’s many collected interests.

He rifled around in a box of old records. Retrieving a battered LP, he blew dust from it. He’d not listened to music for a while. The return of the summer sun must have affected him more than he would ever admit.

The record cover was a montage of black and white photos, over which was scrawled in red:
The Rolling Stones – Exile On Main St
.

Nale showed Zeus the LP. The dog barked and Nale nodded.

The speakers crackled as he dropped the pin into the record’s first groove, and the unmistakable thrum of ‘Rocks Off’ set the caravan’s lighter knick-knacks rattling. Nale moved around the inside of the caravan, wiping a mug clean with a faded dishcloth and foraging about in the old coffee tins, scooping teaspoons of dried powder into the mug. He kicked a boot to the beat and Zeus barked in appreciation.

Nale eased himself into a beanbag chair with an old-man sigh, the steaming brew clasped in thick, hairy fingers. His head bobbed and Zeus closed his eyes.

Only a handful of years ago, Nale couldn’t have told anybody what contentment felt like. It was an alien, abstract concept that he couldn’t believe existed in the realm of experience. Life had been a grind. An endless routine of hunting and slaying with no thought for his own life beyond those inherited duties. He was glad he’d escaped.

The guilt never left him, though. No, not guilt. He didn’t feel guilty at all. Escaping was the first choice he’d ever made that was entirely selfish; a choice to better his circumstances, to live free. It wasn’t guilt that haunted him. It was the sensation that now he was the hunted.

Zeus raised his head, ears cocked. In a flash, the dog was at the door, an uncertain grumble in his gullet.

Nale stiffened. He ambled over to the record player and flipped up the needle.

Silence.

Nale listened. Had they found him? Were they here to take him away? Or worse, punish him? He wriggled free of those nipping worries. It had been years, and he’d been careful.

He went to the caravan door, pushing Zeus back.

“Bed,” he told the dog. Begrudgingly, Zeus obeyed him.

Nale pushed open the door.

Hands lunged from the darkness and Nale was dragged outside.

He heard the caravan door slam shut, muffling Zeus’s frantic barks.

A fist went into Nale’s gut. Once. Twice. He coughed and swung in retaliation, but it was too dark. He saw shapes gathered around the caravan. Men. A blinding blue light flashed and something barrelled into Nale’s chest with such force that he was lifted off his feet. He rocketed backwards, crashing against the side of the caravan. He landed face-first in the mud.

Another flash and Nale heard a strangled cry. He realised it had come from his own throat. He squirmed in agony.