The Ruins Box Set

by T. W. Piperbrook

  “She was shot with an arrow. She died quickly, and with no pain. We left her on one of the giant water houses, with a beautiful view of the ocean. The Savages can no longer get to her.”

  “Did she get what she went out for?”

  Flora searched Becca and Bailey’s expectant faces, knowing she was about to lie. She hoped they wouldn’t see through it, much like she’d been able to keep her true purpose in the wild from Bray, Kirby, and William. “She got her offering. It washed out to sea with her. She will meet the gods with the scalp of a Halifax man in hand.”

  Bailey reached for Becca and held her close as fresh tears streamed down her face. “We knew she wouldn’t fail,” Becca said through gritted teeth. “She was courageous.”

  “The gods will reward her for her service to The Arches,” Flora added.

  Flora felt a strange comfort in the lie. Perhaps she could one day convince herself it was true.

  “We heard rumors you brought back some people,” Bailey said.

  “People with…” Becca couldn’t say the words.

  “God weapons? Yes, it’s true,” Flora admitted.

  “Did they have anything to do with Anya’s death?” Becca asked, a spark of anger flashing through her eyes.

  “No,” Flora said. “They helped me, after Anya died. They killed the men from Halifax. Or one of them did.”

  “I hope those Halifax men travel to the deepest pits of blackness, with no light at the end,” Becca spat.

  “The gods will reap their vengeance,” Bailey added.

  “We tossed them in a dark room with no burial. They’ll die alone and away from their people,” Flora explained. “They will get what they deserve.”

  The anger in Becca and Bailey’s faces faded back to grief. Flora looked at her tea, thinking about drinking it, but unable to muster the will.

  “Have you met with Deacon yet?”

  “No.” Flora couldn’t help but swallow. “The bridge guards say he’s on a hunt. He isn’t expected back until later.”

  “He’ll be proud of you, when you meet with him. And proud of Anya, for dying bravely,” Bailey said. “Hopefully he will allow us to carve a memoriam for her under the bridge.”

  “I will ask him,” Flora said.

  Bailey and Becca smiled faintly at the only consolation they would have on such a tragic day. Flora swallowed, hoping she didn’t ruin that small peace with what she was about to say.

  “I have something to tell you,” she said, lowering her eyes.

  “What is it?” Becca asked.

  This time she almost couldn’t manage the words. It took every effort to speak. “I didn’t get my offering.”

  Shock and fear filled Becca’s face as she looked from Flora to Bailey. “You didn’t?”

  “No. I wasn’t able to get it before I met the strangers.”

  “Surely you could’ve taken what you needed from the dead men…” Becca’s voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying.

  “Even if I was to break the tradition, the strangers might’ve told Deacon, or someone else,” Flora said. “And besides, the gods would see through the falsehood.”

  “We all know Flora wouldn’t lie,” Bailey interrupted, giving Becca a harsh look.

  “Of course,” Becca whispered. “I…I didn’t mean to suggest anything by it.”

  “What are you going to do?” Bailey asked, apprehension mixing with the grief on his face. “You aren’t allowed to come back without the offering. No woman does. It is your test. You can’t get married without fulfilling the tradition.”

  “I am hoping Deacon can make an exception. I am hoping he’ll see the value in the people I’ve brought back, and give me another chance.”

  Becca and Bailey nodded, but they looked nervous.

  “These people with god weapons…” Becca looked around, as if someone might be waiting to crucify her for stating an obvious falsehood. “Are they gods?”

  “I don’t think so,” Flora said.

  “How did you meet them?”

  “The woman came from the settlement with the giant water houses, which she calls New Hope. And the man and boy came from a township called Brighton. They were traveling together. At least, those are the stories they tell me.”

  “I can’t believe all these places could exist outside The Arches,” Becca whispered. “It’s been a while since I completed my offering, and even then, I did not venture as far as you or Anya, or so it seems.”

  The awe on Becca and Bailey’s faces melted back into fear as they circled back to what she’d said earlier.

  “What are you planning on saying to Deacon, when you see him?” Bailey asked. “What if he doesn’t excuse you for not getting the offering?”

  “I intend to ask Deacon for forgiveness. Hopefully he’ll see through my failure. Hopefully he’ll see the benefit in what I’ve brought back. I believe he will.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Becca whispered, tears welling in her eyes again as she reached over to caress Flora’s battered, bruised face. “You are all we have left, Flora. You’re our last daughter.”

  “And you are my parents,” Flora said, getting up from her seat. She hugged Becca and Bailey. “I won’t fail you a second time.”

  Chapter 28: Flora

  Flora swallowed a breath as she left Becca and Bailey’s. After speaking with them a while longer, she’d told them she had to leave. She hurried back down the dark path, carrying a torch to light her way in the dark. Speaking with her parents had lifted a burden, but the conversation had deepened her fears.

  She’d broken the tradition. She’d failed at what she was sent out to do.

  What if her risk killed her?

  She hoped Deacon would see things the same way she had, but how could she be certain?

  Anya’s death—as awful as it was—had shaken her deeply. It could just as easily been Flora skewered with an arrow, breathing her final breath. It almost was. All her life, she’d been taught to live in service to The Arches, fulfilling her obligations, but seeing her sister killed by those Halifax men had sparked new thoughts in her.

  So had the god weapons.

  The power these new people carried was even larger than one man, one woman.

  What if Flora, too, could aspire to something greater? What if she could prove to her parents—and Deacon—that she was meant for more than a death on the battlefield, without a proper service, like Anya?

  Maybe she could be one of Deacon’s Trusted soldiers.

  It was a hope as much as a dream.

  Flora swallowed as she reached the intersection of the road and the dirt path where she’d left Bartholomew, Jonathan, Bray, Kirby, William, and the other soldiers. She continued past it, heading toward the bridge at the head of the island.

  Smoke poured from the chimneys across the road behind her, stinging her nostrils. A few lingering tradespeople on the other side of the road were still working, finishing up final chores. When they were done, they’d return to their homes. Flora wished she could’ve stayed with Becca and Bailey.

  She’d go back to them, as soon as she was done.

  She held her torch high, walking until she saw Bartholomew and Jonathan’s silhouettes in the distance, at the base of the road that led up to the bridge. They were engaged in an animated discussion, torches illuminating their faces. As she got closer, they quieted. Flora approached with a nervousness she had barely kept at bay, with the strangers around.

  “Thank you for meeting us,” Bartholomew said, with an air of authority.

  “Of course,” Flora said, swallowing as she recalled what Bartholomew had told her when she’d first reached the bridge, after she’d told him about the strangers.

  Once we bring the strangers in, go home and meet your parents. When you are finished telling them about your sister, return here.

  She only knew the bridge commanders in passing, from walks on the bridge with Anya and Anya’s parents, or when she had left to go out into the forests
to hunt. The longest conversation she’d held with them was this afternoon. They made her nervous.

  “We have more questions, as you can expect,” Bartholomew said. “Deacon will want to know everything, when he returns.”

  “My duty is to The Arches,” she recited.

  “Tell us more about these god weapons,” Jonathan said.

  “I’ve told everything the truest way I am able. They spit fast fire from the ends, making holes in men. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen the men die before my eyes.”

  “Are you sure they’re dead?” Jonathan asked, as if he didn’t believe it.

  “As dead as they would be from a deep stab, or a drowning in the river. This woman, Kirby, never touched them with her hands, or with any other weapons. The god weapons killed them.”

  Bartholomew and Jonathan shook their heads in amazement.

  “Deacon will need to see these weapons in use,” Bartholomew said to Jonathan.

  “Of course,” Jonathan said. “He will test them, when he gets back.”

  “Is it true that only the woman named Kirby can use the god weapons?” Bartholomew asked.

  “She was the only one I saw using them,” Flora said. “Whether Bray lied or not, I do not know. He changed many stories when he talked to you. He is full of mistruths. He doesn’t seem to know much about the god weapons, nor does the boy. As far as I know, they are never going back to the town they are from called Brighton.”

  Bartholomew and Jonathan exchanged a glance she couldn’t read.

  Recalling the way Bray had insulted her sword, and the way he’d jested about the gods, she ventured an opinion. “He is quite useless, in my estimation.”

  Bartholomew looked as if he might smile, but he didn’t. “We have guards watching them, even now. The neighbors have been warned not to speak with them. We will keep them observed until Deacon gets back.”

  “And he’ll definitely have to see this boy, William, that can ward off Savages with his voice,” Jonathan said, watching Flora, as if she might recant what she’d said earlier. “I still can’t believe that can be true.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” Flora repeated, nodding vigorously. “He spoke, and they listened. He has a power that neither Kirby nor Bray have.”

  “Gods,” Jonathan whispered, shaking his head as he looked at Bartholomew incredulously. “What else could they be?”

  “Does Bray have any powers besides a loose tongue?” Bartholomew asked.

  Flora shrugged. “He can fight, I guess. But he has no other power of which I’m aware.”

  “How did you get them back here? That was an admirable feat.”

  “I acted cautiously. In the beginning, I pretended I wasn’t sure whether to go with them, but then I led them in the right direction while we traveled awhile. I waited for an opportunity. When William took ill, it seemed like a blessing. Finally, they asked to stay with us. I took a circuitous route to make The Arches more difficult to find, in case they leave and try to locate us again. They don’t suspect anything.”

  “How did you meet them again?”

  “That part was an accident, as I said. The woman named Kirby did help me. She used her god weapons on the men from Halifax. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to help Anya.” Flora looked at the ground.

  “Deacon will be proud of your service to The Arches. You have brought something of great value to our people, if everything you say is true,” Bartholomew said.

  Flora looked between the two men, still uncertain and worrying. “I was hoping Deacon might exempt me from breaking the tradition. I hoped he might forgive me from coming back early without an offering.”

  “There is a chance,” Bartholomew said, but his face looked doubtful. “But you will need to speak with Deacon, when he returns.”

  Flora dreaded that answer, but she knew it was the only one she’d receive. “Can I go back to my family now?”

  “Yes,” Bartholomew said. “Deacon will send for you, when he is back. Thank you for your service.”

  Chapter 29: Bartholemew

  Bartholomew walked back to the bridge’s entrance, carrying a torch high above his head. It was full dark, and a cold, night wind blew off the water, burrowing beneath his jacket. He’d had his fill of night shifts when he was a younger man, before Deacon had promoted him to one of the islands’ Trusted, leading battles and other men.

  The guards on the bridge hovered over the railings behind torches, their breath pluming the air. Normally, most would be quietly awaiting Bartholomew’s arrival so they could be dismissed and return to their homes before being called up again in the morning.

  But tonight was different.

  He saw them waving their hands, talking excitedly under the fire’s glow. Jonathan was probably already home with his wife, whispering about what he’d seen.

  Bartholomew couldn’t keep the god weapons off his mind, either.

  Deacon needed to know everything.

  As Bartholomew neared the entrance to the bridge, several chatting guards silenced and approached. He addressed the taller one, a soldier named Stevens.

  “Did Beattie leave?” Bartholomew asked Stevens, making sure the man had relayed his whispered order before he left with the strangers.

  “Yes, sir. He should be well into the forest by now,” Stevens said. “I told him which direction Deacon and his men were headed.”

  “Good. Hopefully he’ll find him and be back by morning.”

  “Beattie is our best tracker. If anyone can find Deacon, it’ll be him.”

  Chapter 30: Bray

  With the sky dark and no sign of dinner, Bray began to harbor suspicions. He envisioned a troop of scarred, battle-hardened men and women creeping through the trees, ready to steal their horses and make a play for their guns. He crossed the room, drew his sword, and peered out the closest shutters, keeping his distance, so that he didn’t catch an arrow. The night was black. Perhaps Bartholomew and Jonathan meant to ambush them, after all. Maybe they meant to set the wooden house ablaze, lure them out, and attack.

  Bray looked around for a parade of men with torches, coming toward them. Horses and guns put them in an enviable position. They all knew it. Bray was certain that many men would want those things for themselves.

  Half of the men on the bridge were probably picturing themselves with the god weapons.

  He was surprised when he saw a single torch coming up the path. A minute later, a man carrying a basket knocked, and Bray caught a whiff of fresh-cooked bread.

  He relaxed slightly.

  “I was told I was expected,” the man called, sounding a little nervous. “I’ve got dinner.”

  “One second,” Bray said.

  He inched open the door, verifying no attackers were waiting. Only the man stood at the threshold. Bray invited him in, closing the door after him. The man had dark hair and wore dirty clothing. He smelled of hay and mud, as if he’d been toiling most of the day.

  Handing the basket to Bray, the man said, “Bread and goat cheese.”

  “Thanks,” Bray said.

  “I’m Isaac. I live through the woods a ways. Bartholomew and Jonathan sent me to bring dinner. Sorry it took me a while. I left some hay outside for your horses. I didn’t touch them, though. I didn’t want to scare them.” Isaac smiled to reinforce his good intentions.

  “We appreciate it,” Kirby said from across the room. Bray noticed she had tucked her rifle under her pack, and she was sitting in such a way that her small gun was concealed.

  “I can’t remember the last time I had fresh bread, or cheese,” William said.

  “We just baked it today,” Isaac explained. “The cheese is fresh from this morning.”

  “Better than what we would have had in the wild,” Bray said.

  “Have you folks been traveling long?”

  “Long enough to appreciate a fresh dinner.”

  Isaac watched them for a moment. The conversation seemed to have melted some of his nervousness. “Y
our horses are beautiful steeds. I’ve never owned any myself, but I remember the soldiers’ horses, before the harsh winter.” Isaac looked grim.

  “We heard about the sickness that took them,” Bray said.

  “A few were taken by sickness, yes,” Isaac said. “The others we had to use for food. A shame to kill such beautiful beasts for their meat. But they saved some lives that winter.”

  Bray nodded. Bartholomew, Jonathan, and Flora had probably been ashamed to tell them that part.

  “Our hope is to find some wild horses in the forests. Though most of the wild ones are difficult to catch, and even harder to tame,” Isaac said. “The Savages have pulled too many down.”

  “Unfortunately true,” Bray agreed. “They’ve killed so many animals where I’m from that you’d be lucky to see a deer anymore.”

  Isaac nodded grimly. He looked as if he wanted to ask more questions. “I was told not to bother you. I know you’ve been traveling for a while.” He shifted from foot to foot. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you come from?”

  “A town called Brighton,” Bray said.

  “Some of the people speculated that your ancestors were from The Arches.” Isaac looked at the ground, feeling foolish. “They think you lived in the woods over the mountains, where our people seldom venture.”

  Bray smiled thinly. Apparently word of their arrival had already traveled. “They think we are the descendants of your people?” Bray asked.

  “Some people think other things,” Isaac said, keeping his eyes to the floor.

  Isaac didn’t need to say the word “gods” for Bray to know he was thinking it. Recalling what Kirby had said, Bray decided to diffuse some of the speculation. “Our township, Brighton, is similar to this one. Our relatives have never been here.”

  Isaac took a step back and held up his hands. “Well, I’ve taken too much of your time already. I’m going to let you eat. Do you want me to feed the horses on my way out? If you’re too tired, I will take care of it for you.”

  “We can handle that.”

  “I’d love to see how they ride some time,” Isaac said, looking as if he wanted an invitation. “It’s been years since we’ve had them.”