The Ruins Box Set

by T. W. Piperbrook

  “Maybe you can ride them, if we’re here longer,” Bray said.

  Isaac paused. When it was clear he wasn’t getting any more information, he looked at Kirby and William, probably trying to get a glimpse of the guns he’d heard about. Bray ushered him out the door.

  “The hay is on the steps,” Isaac said, grabbing his torch.

  “Thanks,” Bray said. “The horses will appreciate it. And we appreciate the dinner.”

  Isaac walked down the dirt path under a sky that was growing darker, looking back over his shoulder underneath the torchlight. And then the trees swallowed him up.

  Chapter 31: Bray

  Bray opened the shutters to a crack. He could only make out slices of the moon through the crooked, leafless branches. He knew the horses were there because he could hear them, snorting and shifting as they found more comfortable positions to rest. At least they had full stomachs. After eating the food Isaac had brought, and feeding the horses, Kirby and William had retired while Bray remained awake to watch. He hadn’t seen anyone.

  Occasionally, he heard a rustle that might’ve been a night animal, but no sounds from people. Had they been warned to stay indoors?

  Was there a nefarious reason behind the quiet?

  He wasn’t sure.

  Watching Kirby and William’s silhouettes sleeping in beds by the fire, other worries crept in. William’s health was a continuing source of concern. Bray had vowed to protect him from demons and men who might try to harm him, but what he could do against an illness? It seemed Bray had more worries with William by his side than before he’d saved him.

  He’d already accepted that William was his ward. On nights like these, Bray couldn’t help but think of how he’d accidentally murdered Ella, and how unbearable that loss must be for William. William said he had forgiven him for killing his mother, but that didn’t make the tragedy any easier. Each time William situated himself in his blankets before bed, Bray wondered if he was harboring thoughts.

  Was William thinking of his lost mother as he battled his illness? Or was he missing his sister, Melora, whom he barely got a chance to know?

  Bray could talk to William, he could protect him wherever possible, but he’d never replace the boy’s family.

  Kirby was a help. She was patient with William, and she knew more than Bray about the spore, as much as Bray didn’t want to admit it.

  But Kirby wouldn’t stay forever.

  Sooner or later, Bray would piss her off badly enough to leave, or the sadness in her eyes would drive her back into the forests. If that happened, she’d take her Tech Magic, and her knowledge, with her.

  Bray and William would be on their own.

  That’s why he needed some guns.

  Kirby’s jaded view of war might be preventing her from seeing the value in a risk, but Bray’s mind wasn’t clouded.

  To some degree, William’s strange power protected them from the demons, but nothing would stop men like the ones at Kirby’s settlement, or the ones in this strange, new township, if they proved untrustworthy. Threats would keep coming. They always did.

  A low moan drew his attention across the room, where William was rolling over in his sleep. Bray closed the shutters the rest of the way and went to his side, kneeling next to a shivering William. His forehead was hot. Bray opened his bag, pulled out a strip of cloth, and used his flask to wet it, pressing it against William’s forehead, waiting for him to cool off before he returned to the window, back to worries he never thought he’d have.

  Chapter 32: Bray

  A noise awoke Bray from sleep. He peered around. It was morning. The fire had burned to ash, and William and Kirby were still asleep underneath their blankets. Bray stood from the wall upon which he had been dozing and reached for his sword.

  He stepped back to the window, listening, ready to slide his sword out of its scabbard and confront whatever was causing the sound, when it came again.

  Laughter.

  Children’s laughter.

  Bray cautiously opened one of the shutters, peered out, and caught sight of the gray trees and the dirt paths they’d seen the night before. A few people milled about carrying tools. More glanced over at the dwelling, noticing him staring, but none looked threatening.

  They were curious, like Isaac had been the night before.

  Bray was about to close the shutters when a young boy leapt up and met Bray’s eyes. Startled, Bray backed up, grabbed his sword, and prepared to defend himself, but the boy was already running off, joining another boy as they ran toward one of the distant houses, giggling. A few people on the paths stopped to watch the spectacle, amused.

  “Damn kids,” Bray muttered.

  He popped his head back in to find Kirby sitting up, her gun on her lap. “What is it?” she hissed.

  “Mischievous children,” he explained.

  Kirby relaxed. “They’re curious. Like most of the others on the island probably are.”

  “So am I,” he grumbled. “We haven’t seen much of this place. I feel closed off from it.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me for my watch?” Kirby asked.

  “I figured you needed your rest.” Bray shrugged. “I tended to William in the night.”

  Kirby seemed grateful. “Was he okay?”

  “He had a fever again.”

  Kirby scooted toward him worriedly. “I’m going to check on him.”

  “Maybe we should let him sleep. I’m going to take a walk and try to find breakfast. William will need his strength, when he wakes up.”

  Kirby nodded. “Probably a good idea.”

  “Will you be all right without me for a bit?”

  Kirby gave him a look that needed no interpretation. “Have I ever needed you?”

  Chapter 33: Bray

  Bray left the house and walked into the sunlight, pleased to find it a bit warmer outside than the past few days. The people carrying tools had disappeared on one of the curving dirt trails that wound past some houses and trees. He smelled the odor of cooked meat and bread in the air, and he heard the faint sounds of people conversing inside their homes. It sounded like they were getting ready for whatever work they needed to do today.

  He looked for the children who had been laughing and running. If he had been in his own township, he might’ve waved his sword, giving them a scare they wouldn’t soon forget, but he was certain he did not want to do that now, on a strange island he barely knew.

  Walking down the dirt path, he passed the dwelling behind which the children had disappeared and casually glanced around the back. A boy peeked around the corner, a look of fright crossing his face as he thought he was being followed. The second boy joined him.

  “Landon! Riley! Get back here!” a woman shouted.

  Bray chuckled as the boys disappeared. He hesitated in the middle of the dirt trail when a woman appeared around the corner where the boys had been, embarrassed, or maybe nervous, at seeing him there. He recognized her as the neighbor Bartholomew and Jonathan had spoken to the night before.

  “I’m sorry,” she called over. “Did my sons disturb you?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “I told them to stay away.”

  The woman stepped cautiously into the open, holding a shirt that looked like she might be in the middle of washing. She glanced around, as if she might be expecting Bray to be with others.

  Or maybe she was looking for Bartholomew and Jonathan.

  Bray appraised her. She had long, blonde hair, and a figure slightly too thick for the dress she was wearing. She wasn’t the most attractive woman he’d seen, but she looked much better than the demons in the woods.

  “I know how children are,” Bray called over. “I have one of my own.”

  The woman smiled faintly, but she stayed where she was.

  “What’s your name?” Bray asked.

  “Jaydra,” she answered.

  “Bray.”

  The children raced back into view. Seeing their mother conversing, the
y lost some of their fright and stopped to stare. After a few moments, they lost interest in Bray and began circling each other around the house.

  “They’re a handful,” Jaydra said with a sigh, smoothing the shirt in her hands.

  Taking that as an invitation, Bray crossed the remainder of the dirt path and approached her. “Are they twins?”

  “Yes, they are,” Jaydra answered.

  “Cute kids.” He smiled and looked around, wondering if there was a man around waiting to give him a warning. “Is your husband working?”

  The woman hesitated. “Yes, he’s one of our hunters.”

  “I see.” Turning and pointing at the house where he, Kirby, and William stayed, Bray said, “It was good to sleep out of the wild, without the threat of vicious Savages for a change. Your people were kind enough to let us in.”

  “The bridge guards told us about you last night.” The woman still seemed nervous as she looked past Bray. Her eyes passed over the horses.

  “Have you ever ridden one?” Bray asked, noticing her gaze.

  “Yes, but it’s been a while,” the woman answered. “We haven’t had horses here in a few years.”

  “Maybe I’ll let you take one around sometime,” Bray said with a smile.

  Jaydra nodded, but she didn’t accept his invitation.

  “You people are quiet at night. No bonfires or winter songs to warm you up. That might help take off the winter chill.”

  The woman smiled thinly. “We have some gatherings on the bridge, every so often.”

  “I’m a hunter myself,” Bray said as he lifted his chin. “I hunt Savages.”

  Jaydra nodded, but she didn’t seem too impressed.

  “I’ve killed over a thousand,” he said, patting his sword. “Do you get many Savages here?”

  “Not many on the island, though occasionally they try to cross the river. Mostly, the current takes them. If they get as far as the shore, we kill them.”

  “You mean the soldiers do,” he clarified.

  “No, we all take care of them. I kill the ones I see,” Jaydra said with a shrug. “They’re messy to clean up. And they smell bad. Taken a few at a time, they aren’t much of a threat.”

  The stoic look on Jaydra’s face told him she wasn’t lying. Bray had met too many women like Kirby lately.

  “All of us are expected to fight,” she said, noticing the confusion on his face. “We all protect the island.”

  Bray paused. “Wait. You said island. There are two islands, correct?”

  Jaydra nodded. “Yes. Most live on the first island where you are staying. But the second island is beautiful, or so I hear. They have flowers and trees that we don’t have here.” Jaydra got a wistful look in her eyes. “The Important Ones live there.”

  “The Important Ones?” Bray asked.

  Perhaps forgetting he wouldn’t know that, Jaydra explained, “Those who live their lives in service of the gods, protecting The Arches. Our most sacred elderly move to the other island when their bones get too brittle to fight, or to hunt. We take care of them.”

  “So the elderly are protected on the second island, once they can no longer work?”

  “Yes, that’s true. After a lifetime of working and fighting Savages, they’ve earned it.”

  Bray grinned. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Where I’m from, the elderly are left to fend for themselves, if they don’t have relatives left.” Maybe he’d found a place to go when he was too old to swing a sword.

  “We are rewarded for our diligent service in The Arches,” Jaydra said.

  “Sounds fair. Who decides when people move to the second island? Deacon?”

  For the first time since Bray had met her, Jaydra’s face grew frightened, and her gaze strayed. She took a step backward. Bray looked over his shoulder, noticing several men lurking in the trees near the house where he’d stayed, pretending to talk, but obviously watching. He recognized them as a few of the quiet guards from the bridge.

  Had they snuck up on him while he’d been talking?

  Or had they been there the whole night?

  “I should get back to work,” Jaydra said, heading toward the back of the house.

  Maybe this wasn’t the greatest place to grow old, after all.

  Chapter 34: Deacon

  Deacon stared around the forest ravine, watching the sleeping men and women huddled under blankets, their breath steaming the air as they enjoyed their last moments of sleep. The sun glowed orange in the trees just over the eastern top of the hill. Deacon was always the first awake. In a few moments, his people would rise, pack their things, and await his orders.

  His gaze wandered from his sleeping soldiers to the thick, gnarled tree roots sticking out of the rising hill above them, which had given them shelter from the bitter cold the night before, protecting them as it had surely protected whatever animals they’d scared off before they arrived.

  The air smelled of damp earth, wet wood, and the remnants of the rabbits they’d skinned and eaten the night before. A whimper drew his attention to a group of nearby trees.

  Two Halifax men stared at him with wide eyes, straining against the ropes that bound them to the tree trunks. Blood stained the last bits of snow near their feet that they hadn’t kicked away. They’d given up moving their legs when Deacon had cut the backs of their ankles. Even if they had managed to escape in the night, their cries of pain would alert even the most inattentive watchmen.

  None of his Trusted soldiers were inattentive.

  Deacon crept over to the fire, stoking the embers with a stick, stepping over the mangled bodies of a few men who hadn’t been cooperative enough to keep alive. A few of their scalps had ended up in his pack. Those scalps would join the others he’d collected in his home on the second island.

  Most of his nights were spent preparing for mornings like these, when he could reflect on the events of day’s past and make plans for the future. He rarely slept more than a few hours.

  Deacon looked back between each of his sleeping soldiers. He was always weeding out the faulty ones, making sure that each of them served a purpose. There was no time for weakness, when enemies were waiting to lay claim to what they had. His people had served him well last night. They’d captured and hunted down these men from Halifax without so much as an injury. They were his best men and women.

  Deacon was waiting for the moment when the people of Halifax—or some other threat—decided to make a violent play for the islands. Protection was an unending concern for his people. Attacks from the Savages were a regular occurrence. It was only a matter of time before they faced a battle they couldn’t win.

  But god weapons might change everything.

  Deacon hadn’t been able to take his mind off them since he’d first heard the report from his hunters. The Halifax men were carrying strange devices, according to rumor. He hadn’t laid eyes on them, but their description matched the whispers of legend that had circulated among his people since before he was born. He had hoped to find out some information from the dead men around him, but they’d been as tight-lipped as the men tied to the trees. Their stubbornness had prevented him from gleaning anything useful.

  Commotion in the forest drew Deacon’s attention. He looked around, ready to pull his sword and attack whatever Savages or men were coming his way.

  The noise was coming from the top of the ravine. A few of his Trusted soldiers sprang awake, pulling swords and joining him as they prepared to defend their camp. Perhaps it was another man from Halifax, looking for his dead or wounded brothers. Or maybe an animal that hadn’t caught scent of Deacon’s men downwind.

  One of Deacon’s men, Beattie, appeared at the top of the ravine, winded. Deacon’s men lowered their swords as the man scurried down the hill and reached the bottom, approaching Deacon with an expression that said he had news.

  “What is it?” Deacon asked, relaxing.

  “One of our girls found several strangers in the woods,” Beattie said. “They have the god
weapons we’ve been hearing about.”

  Deacon felt a rush greater than skinning his enemies. He looked from Beattie to the men tied to the trees. “Halifax men, you mean,” he said.

  “No, others. People we’ve never seen. They speak the same language as us. They came from a township and a settlement we’ve never seen, or heard of.”

  “Where are they?” Deacon asked, looking around, as if the man might’ve brought them.

  “Back at the islands. Bartholomew let them in.”

  Deacon scratched his chin. Bartholomew wouldn’t have risked the islands without a reason. Looking from Beattie to his men, who were up and forming a half circle behind him, Deacon gestured to the men tied to the trees.

  He’d been hoping to find out more information from the captured men—confirmation of rumors about the god weapons, or maybe even the weapons themselves. But he was out of patience. And now he had better news.

  He nodded, and several of his soldiers walked to his prisoners, who were already screaming into the rags shoved into their mouths.

  The soldiers pulled long knives from the scabbards at their sides and jabbed them into the prisoner’s throats, silencing their screams with deep, fatal stabs. The men’s heads sagged to the side as they gurgled last breaths and went limp.

  “Stamp out the fire,” Deacon ordered, as he walked toward the men to collect their dirty, marked scalps.

  In the last few moments, he’d gotten more from Beattie than he’d gotten from those men all night. They were a day’s hike away from The Arches.

  It was time to get home.

  Chapter 35: Kirby

  Kirby got up from the floor, found her boots, and quietly slipped them on. She didn’t want to wake William, who was still sleeping in his bed near the fireplace. She and Bray had covered him with their blankets, hoping to keep him warm through the cold night. That seemed to have kept him rested and quiet.

  Or, so she thought.

  She couldn’t take her mind off William’s fever. She hoped his condition wasn’t worsening.