Ruin (The Ruin Saga Book 1) (46 page)

James could only blink as numbness stole along his limbs, and he struggled to take in the new presence, which had been nonexistent only a minute ago.

Then a thump sent them all turning to see Paul in the doorway, hands pressed against either side of the frame, his eyes bloodshot and his face haggard. A near-empty bottle of scotch hung in his grasp. He hiccoughed, staring at the bundle of blankets unsteadily. His eyes softened, then flickered. A long silence stretched out between him and the group, until eventually he grunted. “Devil’s work,” he slurred. “D-Devil…devil’s work.”

A moment of tense silence followed before the others whirled back to the Creeks and resumed in their cooing with renewed enthusiasm, turning their backs on him. Not even Agatha spared him this time, leaning over the pink bundle and blowing raspberries right along with them.

James was the last to turn away. As he did so, he caught the glance Paul cast in his direction: subtle and fleeting, yet narrow, intense and deeply unsettling. Though he wasn’t quite sure why, his guts twisted with a sudden, raw pang of fear. By the time the sensation had registered and he had turned back to the doorway, Paul had disappeared.

He blinked, unsure of what to make of it, but his attention was soon drawn back to the pink bundle in Helen’s arms, and Paul slipped from his mind. Uttering meaningless noises as much as the others, he crouched down beside the Creeks and peered at the newborn baby, grinning helplessly. From a mass of rouge folds of puppy fat, pudgy hands and jerking feet, a pair of watchful brown eyes stared up at him. New eyes, fresh eyes, those of a new brother. “What’s his name?” he asked.

Helen, her face aglow with adoration, smiled. “Norman,” she said. “His name is Norman.”

Norman grunted as he opened his eyes. Blinding sunlight bombarded his retinas. His hands rushed to his face as he hauled himself to a seated position, gasping at the pain that erupted in his chest.

He’d been laid flat on a bench. It was warm to the touch despite being in the shade, hinting that he had been upon it for some time. Yet he had no memory of lying down—nor, for that matter, anything after guiding Allie towards the tower.

She stood over him now, with Richard close behind. They wore identical expressions of worry and confusion.

“Are you alright?” Richard said.

Norman shook his head, leaning forwards as the world swirled, off-kilter. His chest was throbbing with a vigour that he hadn’t endured since Jason had first stomped down on him. “What happened?” he muttered.

Horses were snuffling nearby. The smell of hay and manure was thick in the air. He guessed that they were somewhere near the stables. As his vision stopped swirling, he glimpsed the tower directly above him. The gate was off to the right, looking bare and lifeless without the compliment of night guards patrolling its catwalks.

“We were going for breakfast,” Allie said. “You fainted.”

Richard crouched down beside Norman and held up his index finger, moving it first left, and then right.

Norman found himself instinctively tracking it with his eyes, frowning as he did so. “Stop that.”

“I’m checking for head injury. I’ve seen Heather do it.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Not really.”

Norman brushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He struggled to his feet, blinking to clear his vision, which had begun swimming again. He held out his hand to keep Allison from taking hold of him, shaking his head. “I’m
fine
.”

The courtyard below the gate was filling at a steady trickle as men dressed in dark combat gear emerged from the tower: the security detail from New Canterbury, most of the night guards, and a few who had been part of the convoy. Alexander, Lucian and Marek stood waiting before the gate, giving orders and distributing weapons. Above them, Evelyn watched with narrowed eyes along her crooked nose, perched like a crow atop the catwalk. Behind her, John DeGray studied the wall’s defences with detached intrigue, ignoring the proceedings, looking oddly bare without Richard by his side.

The rickety stables rattled as a procession of mounts were led out to be saddled.

“You’re not fine,” Allison said firmly, laying a hand on Norman’s shoulder despite his protests. “You need to stop moving around. You might be hurt bad. You need a doctor.”

Richard clicked his tongue. “Abernathy’s been treating famine victims north of here the last few weeks. Nobody knows when he’ll be back. The best they have here is Anderson, but I wouldn’t trust him to fall out of a boat and into water.”

“Heather’s been teaching him, hasn’t she?”

“When she’s here during the summer. But he’s a ways from being up to scratch.”

Allison seethed. “They must have a doctor here. They must have something.”

Richard nodded. “Abernathy was Clara Fields’s other disciple. He’s as good as they come. But he’s AWOL.”

“Anderson will just have to do.”

Norman uttered a wordless yell, holding up his hand to silence them. “Stop it!”

They froze midsentence, bemused, and looked at him.

“What’s wrong?” Allison said.

“I’ll be just grand, thank you.” Norman tried to ignore how slurred his voice had become, ripping himself from Allie’s grip and stalking away from the bench. “I don’t need you”—he stumbled and had to grab the reins of a passing mount to steady himself—“mollycoddling me all day.”

“You’ve been struggling to even walk since you got up,” Allison said. “Maybe Heather was wrong. Maybe you should’ve stayed home. It looks like you’re getting worse.”

“She said that…I’ll be fine as long as I…rest up,” he wheezed. He locked his gaze on Alexander. The distance between them seemed enormous, but he ploughed on nonetheless, determined to reach him. “When are they leaving?”

“Now,” Allison said uncertainly.

“They were going to leave me behind?”

“They want to get home by midday. Norman, sit down…”

They
were
going to leave him. Just like Lucian had left him yesterday, just brushed him off.

Was this how it was going to be from now on? After being prodded like a circus animal for so many years, trussed up with responsibility and duty, was he to be left by the wayside, injured, impotent, and useless?

He took a few more steps, almost fell, then cried out and gasped. He needed to chew up some white willow, but couldn’t remember where he’d left the bag—or whether he’d already done so.

A few heads turned towards him, owl-eyed and concerned.

But he let loose a guttural groan and staggered onwards, waving people aside as he went. Men twice his size shrank back, bending into polite bows, uttering words of salutation. He ignored the absurd sight of their deference. His chest was white-hot, blinding, nauseating.

“Oh, Norman, don’t,” Allison moaned.

He carried on regardless, heading for Alexander. Overwhelming fury boiled in his guts, powered by an acute sense of betrayal as he powered towards the gathering. He knew his mind was scrabbling for purchase—that reason was failing him—but he was powerless to stop himself casting the last man between him and Alexander aside, and growling into his mentor’s face, “I’m going with you.”

Alex blinked, his eyebrows raised. “It’s a big risk going at all, Norman. We have to ride hard, and stop for nothing if we’re going to break through their lines. If you fall…”

Norman raised a pointed finger, teeth bared. His arm swung wildly, wavering at least a foot from where he had intended. “You can’t leave me. Not now.”

Allison came rushing through the crowd. “He just passed out,” she cried. “He’s in no state to go anywhere.”

Norman snarled over his shoulder, “I have to go. I have to. You’re not leaving me here.”

“Norman, you’re in pain. You’re not seeing things clearly,” Alexander said. Worry plastered his face. “Nobody’s leaving you behind.”

Norman cut across him, spittle flying from his lips. “I’m going with you and you’re not going to stop me!” He tore the reins of the nearest mount from its master’s hands, gripped the saddle, and made to leap upon the stirrups.

They caught him just in time. He was manhandled back to the ground by half a dozen pairs of hands. A small part of his mind took note that Allison had been the first to leap, the one to stop him truly hurting himself.

Alexander stood over him, his eyes sorrowful and his lips drawn into a tight white line. He reached down and rested a hand on Norman’s shoulder.

Norman tried to shrug him off, whimpered, and then slumped, eyes weeping and jaw clenching. His cheeks glowed red-hot, for the pain had peaked, the fog was clearing, and acute embarrassment was coursing his veins. “You can’t do this to me,” he muttered. “After all you’ve told me, after all you’ve demanded of me. It’s not fair.”

Deep silence erupted in the courtyard. Around them, Norman sensed expectant eyes darting between him and Alexander—between the great messiah and his destined successor—frightened and confused.

Alexander squeezed his shoulder, his eyes on the crowd, wary, and stepped back. “We’ll be back,” he whispered. “I promise.” He turned away, leaving Norman slouched, alone.

Soon after, the klaxon sounded and the gate squealed open. Norman stared at the ground, his head swimming. It was only after the sound of clattering hooves kicked up that he was spurred forth a final time. “Why would you leave us—your friends, your family—to chase a group of thugs?” he cried at Lucian’s retreating back. His voice shook. “What’s wrong with you—with the both of you?” He rounded on Alexander. “I deserve to know. You’ll tell me, or I’ll find out. Somehow I’ll find out. Someday soon, you’ll tell me just what the hell happened!”

Neither of them looked back, yet he thought he saw them stiffen upon their saddles. Then they were racing away along the street to the sound of thundering hooves, turned the corner, and were gone from sight.

Marek led the remainder in their wake. The courtyard emptied within the minute, and the klaxon rang out once more, again followed by the gate’s squeal.

Norman stared at where they’d been moments before, open-mouthed. It took him some time to notice Allison’s hand clasped around his wrist.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s get you something to eat. You need to get your strength back.”

“You don’t want to go with them,” Richard said. “They’ll be searching the city all day. You can’t be doing with that kind of thing. Sit this one out, huh? You need to rest up.”

Norman ignored them both, turning back towards the stables. Despite the steady pulse of the mass of nerve endings that his chest had become, he marched from the courtyard at a dogged pace. They shadowed him silently from then on, saying nothing, but remaining by his side nonetheless. He didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t care. He just had to get away.

Allison’s hand was still clutched around his wrist. “Are you going to be alright?” she said.

Norman felt a pang of shame wash over him. “Yes,” he said, “I’ll be fine.”

Her silence indicated that she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t contradict him. Richard also seemed to take the message, and remained silent.

Despite Norman’s efforts to appear calm, a nigh-unstoppable bubble of all-out panic was rising in his gut. He knew that the pain was addling his mind, but could do nothing to stop it. In moments it would spill over, and he would lose control.

He turned to them both as his throat began to close. “Would you mind bringing breakfast here?” he said. He forced a smile to his lips, barely stifling a scream of hysteria. “You’re right: I just need to get my strength back. But I don’t know if I can manage the stairs right now.”

Their eyes softened; his shame deepened. “Of course,” Allison said gently, patting his arm and leading Richard away at great speed. She glanced back sometime later, her eyes warm, yet forlorn.

Norman remained still—though his muscles were breaking out in spasms—until they were out of sight, maintaining the impression of awaiting their return. It was only after they’d passed into the tower lobby that he collapsed against the stable wall, tearing at his shirt, rubbing his chest with desperate jerks. The burning was fierce, enough to knock the wind from his lungs. “I’m fine,” he wheezed.

He’d been abandoned. After being hounded for so long to be somebody he wasn’t, somebody he would never be, he’d been discarded at the first sign of weakness.

They’d told him every day since the cradle to believe it was his destiny to lead, to continue the elders’ work, to lead them all back into the light when the time was right.

But now he saw that he was but a pawn. In the end, they’d all been ready to cast him aside at a moment’s notice.

“I'm fine…,” he muttered, sliding down the wall until he sat on the grass, wreathed in shadow. “I’m fine. I’m fine…”