The Ruins Box Set

by T. W. Piperbrook

  “Yes,” Flora said. “The man and boy left the town called Brighton, and they don’t intend to go back. Everyone in the woman’s settlement is dead. I saw the bodies.”

  “Are they a family?”

  “No. It is a mystery how they came to travel together. With the man telling so many lies, it is hard to know what is truth and what is deception. Bray is a brave fighter, but untrustworthy. He spent much of our time together trying to get more god weapons. It seemed as if he didn’t know how to use them. He’s competent with a sword, but beyond that, I do not see his value.”

  “Surely, he has information we can use,” Deacon said, nodding. “If he is a good swordsman, or a hunter, he can help our people, if we can convince him to fight for us.”

  “Perhaps,” Flora agreed, reluctant to push her opinion any further. Not yet.

  “What else do you know about Brighton?” Deacon asked.

  “Not much,” Flora admitted. “They seemed tight-lipped about it. But I believe I can get more information, if I’m given time.”

  Deacon’s face was unreadable, a shadow made of stone. Flora wished the torch were brighter, or that she was holding one of her own, so she could shine it around the room and battle off the enveloping shadows that seemed as if they were closing in.

  Flora said, “The boy trusts me. And I believe the woman does, too. I can get whatever information you need from them. I can be of great service to The Arches, if you’ll allow me.”

  “These god weapons might be the worst threat our people have known, now that the Halifax men have obtained them.”

  “I share the same fear,” Flora said.

  “I will need to verify what you are saying is true. I will need to meet these people.”

  “Of course,” Flora said quietly.

  Deacon fell silent as he made a determination. “Now I have to figure out what to do about your offering.”

  Flora’s heart thrummed in her chest. She bowed her head and thought of her father and his final moments, the look on his face as he had looked at her fondly for the last time. He had met his death with courage, or so she liked to tell herself when she lay awake at night. What she tried to forget, but what she still saw when she closed her eyes, was the fear in his face. Now Flora knew that fear, too, because these might be her last breaths.

  “Traditions are sacred to our people,” Deacon said. “The rituals we share keep us bonded in blood and safe from our enemies. You have broken the will of the gods by coming back to The Arches without your offering. The people will see that broken promise every time you walk past them.”

  Flora felt as if she might turn and run, but her fear kept her still and on her knee. “I would never have come back without it, if I hadn’t believed what I had was more important.”

  “Regardless, your failure will make people question their own duties.”

  Flora stared into the shadows that surrounded Deacon’s face. “Let me prove myself. Let me help you get information from the strangers. I can still fulfill the tradition.”

  “How do you intend to fulfill the tradition, if you stay?”

  Flora looked at the shadows around Deacon’s face, ready to make the plea she’d been preparing since she came back to the island. “I believe the man, Bray, is a hindrance to using the god weapons. I believe his ignorance, and his lies, will get in the way of using the boy’s power. He might be a good fighter, but he can’t be trusted. If you deem him unworthy, I will bring you his scalp.”

  With her final imploration on the table, Flora waited. She held her breath, as if the slightest sound she made might anger him. Only a single word was needed to bring the soldiers inside.

  “I will meet with the strangers tomorrow. I will decide. You can stand.”

  Flora blew a relieved breath as she got to her feet. “Thank you.”

  “Have the soldiers see you out.”

  Flora was about to leave when she turned, remembering Becca and Bailey’s request. “Deacon?” Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  “Yes?”

  “My sister died honorably while fighting the Halifax men. I was hoping we might carve a memoriam for her under the bridge.”

  The silence was so thick that she could hear herself breathing.

  Finally, Deacon said, “Yes. I will have the soldiers carve one.”

  Chapter 43: Deacon

  Deacon listened to the sounds of his guards’ boots reverberating off the stone floor as they led Flora down the hallway. A few moments later, a distant door shut, and his breathing became the only sound. The walls of the second building were good at dampening noise.

  He’d tested that benefit plenty of times.

  He stood, removed his hunting bag from the floor, and placed it on the soft blanket covering his desk. He hadn’t even had time to unpack since returning. He thought about what Flora had told him.

  He couldn’t help but think that the man, woman, and boy were a divine omen, a key to a war that seemed inevitable.

  He needed to keep the strangers here. He needed to find out everything he could about the god weapons, the boy’s strange power, and the man’s worth, so they could fight the Halifax people. Ideally, he’d convince the strangers to work with him, but he’d see how it worked out.

  He’d send for the strangers first thing in the morning. He’d gain their trust. If that wouldn’t work, he’d take the god weapons by force. He’d insist that the boy reveal his power.

  He had ways to make people do what he wanted.

  Perhaps he would let Flora kill Bray, depending on how it went.

  He undid the clasp on his bag and looked around the room, dark except for the thin light of the torch on the wall that one of the soldiers had lit for him. He rarely used this room, unless he was planning a ceremony or performing one of the sacred rituals of the gods.

  And then there were other rituals that he performed for himself.

  Deacon dumped out the contents of his bag, separating his spare clothing, his bags of provisions, and the other, special items he had collected while in the forest.

  He turned the Halifax scalps over in his hand, studying the markings that seemed to be ingrained in the flesh. After a minute of reflection, Deacon set them in a pile on top of the desk, a desk covered with a soft blanket of his enemy’s skin and hair. A few patches of the homemade tapestry contained the eyeless sockets of their faces, and the hardened bumps that had once been noses. The new scalps would make a nice addition to the softer part of his blanket, mostly comprised of the scalps the women brought back for him as offerings. He would dry the new scalps, and then he would add them to the tapestry, a symbol of fear for anyone who thought about opposing him.

  Chapter 44: Jonas The Collector

  Jonas stood next to the door of his room, listening for more conversation down the hall, but the hallway had gone silent. Whoever had been in Deacon’s chambers was gone.

  He released the breath he’d been holding.

  A while ago, he’d heard Deacon and his men returning. Shortly after that, he’d heard someone else ushered inside. For most of the meeting, he’d listened by the door, trying to catch some of the words, but all he’d been able to decipher was a woman’s voice speaking with Deacon. Jonas had fought the urge to sneak out into the hallway, where the guards were surely waiting. He knew better than to interrupt Deacon and his rituals.

  The conversation had to be about the god weapons.

  What else could it be?

  Rumors about the strangers were on everyone’s tongue. Even the old people in the next building were whispering about them. Every soldier guarding the bridge had a theory on the strangers, and none of those theories were the same. Jonas had his own suspicions, but he would wait until he had more information to confirm them.

  He desperately wanted to find out what Deacon had learned. But that would have to wait until morning.

  Chapter 45: Deacon

  After finishing with his skins, Deacon walked quietly into the hallway.

 
He looked around at the closed doors. Jonas had probably retired from a long night of polishing Deacon’s relics, trying to determine the purpose behind them. Jonas didn’t always have luck, but he performed a multitude of tasks that Deacon didn’t want to do himself.

  That made him useful. For now.

  Deacon kept walking, enjoying the silence. The second island was particularly quiet at night, and even quieter in the winter.

  Any remaining animals on the island were burrowed in crevices or caves, where they would emerge hungry and waiting for his people’s knives and swords in the spring. Deacon rarely heard The Important Ones. They went to sleep early and rose with the sun to complete whatever tasks they could manage. The island’s elderly were protected to the same degree that he was, for as long as they lived, but still expected to provide a use to the community.

  They couldn’t hunt, fight, or build houses, but they were able to cook for Deacon’s Trusted soldiers, and they made weapons and clothes. Their existence was an attainable goal that carried the people on the first island through the drudgery of their tasks and kept them obedient. Deacon liked to think people would defend The Arches out of their own sense of duty, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe it.

  People rarely fought for the good of others. They fought for selfish reasons.

  The gods knew that as well as he did.

  Walking down the hallway, Deacon stopped at a door near the end, farthest away from his quarters. Taking a key from his pocket—a key that only he and Jonas had copies of—he turned it in the lock. As he opened the door, he heard something move inside the room. Grabbing a torch from the wall, he held it high and stepped back, drawing his knife.

  Nothing ran out at him.

  No one attacked.

  But then, he didn’t expect his prisoners to. He stepped quietly into the room, staring at the two Halifax men that were chained to the wall, locked in several metal contraptions Jonas had made for them. Their eyes were wide, but they didn’t scream or grunt into the masks placed over their faces. They’d learned the value of keeping silent long ago. They didn’t know anything about the god weapons, but perhaps tonight, he’d get something else useful out of them.

  Chapter 46: Bray

  A knock on the door interrupted Bray, Kirby, and William’s breakfast. Wiping some food from his face, Bray reached for his sword and motioned William and Kirby to remain by the fire.

  “It’s probably Flora again,” Kirby said quietly.

  “Hopefully, she has fish,” Bray muttered. “These squirrels are too lean for three people.”

  Crossing the room to the shutters, Bray was surprised to find Bartholomew standing outside alone. Bray opened the door and Bartholomew looked past Bray and into the room, catching sight of Kirby and William eating the squirrel.

  “You must have found a few of the rare rodents that linger here,” Bartholomew said with a smile.

  “We’re resourceful,” Bray said. He looked past Bartholomew and to the dirt pathways and the trees, as if he might see more guards waiting, but he saw only a few half-interested passersby. “No Jonathan today?”

  “He’s at the watch,” Bartholomew explained. “It is a rare occasion when either of us can break from it.”

  “Of course,” Bray said, wondering what the occasion was today.

  They both looked over at William, who was wrapped in several blankets. He had finished his meal and was rubbing his hands together to keep warm.

  “How are you feeling, William?” Bartholomew said, walking over by the fire.

  “I still have a cough,” William admitted. “But no fever.”

  “Perhaps that is a good sign. Flora told me she stopped by yesterday. I heard one of our healers visited, as well.”

  “They were both a big help,” Bray said. “Flora gave Kirby and William some breakfast. The healer gave us herbs that we used for a tea last night.”

  “That’s great to hear. Our healers are a little low on supplies this time of winter. As you can imagine, we had plenty of winter sickness in the beginning months,” Bartholomew said. “That always seems to happen at the change of seasons. Some people have issues with their noses, their ears, or their eyes.”

  “Herbs don’t always help for those types of sicknesses,” Kirby remarked.

  “Very true, though we don’t know why,” Bartholomew said with a frown.

  Kirby looked as if she might have something else to add, but she looked down instead, concentrating on the rest of her squirrel.

  “I’ve come to request your presence,” Bartholomew announced. “Deacon is back from the hunt. He would like to meet you. I’m happy to hear William is feeling a bit better. Perhaps he will be up for a short visit. “

  Bray looked from Kirby to William, wishing he had a moment to get silent consensus without Bartholomew’s lingering eyes.

  Bartholomew looked from one to the next and said, “I know I’ve sprung this on you without much notice. Do you need to discuss it?”

  “Where does Deacon want to meet?” Bray asked.

  “On the second island,” Bartholomew said. “It is a special privilege to visit. William might enjoy it, if he is feeling well enough. Deacon won’t be offended if one or all of you are unable to go. But it might be worthwhile to talk to him. As I said, I think we can learn a lot from each other.”

  Bray and Kirby exchanged a glance. “We’ll need a moment,” Kirby said.

  “Sure,” Bartholomew said with a smile. “I’ll step outside.”

  They watched as he opened the door and slipped out.

  “What do you think?” Bray asked Kirby, speaking softly so Bartholomew couldn’t hear him from wherever he was waiting outside.

  “If we’re staying longer, it might be in our best interests to meet Deacon,” Kirby said. “Though I admit, I’m wary.”

  “As am I,” Bray agreed.

  They looked at William, who seemed in better shape than the night before. Still, he was obviously ill.

  “I want to go,” William said, before either of them could suggest otherwise. “I want to see what’s on the island.”

  “If we’re in danger, we should stay together,” Kirby said.

  “A fair point,” Bray said. “It’s settled, then.”

  Bray headed for the door, opened it, and announced, “We’ll all go,” to Bartholomew.

  “Great news,” Bartholomew said with a smile. “Deacon will be pleased. If you’d like to take the horses, they might make William more comfortable. I’m sure Deacon would love to see them. I’d be happy to walk next to you, so you don’t have to worry about your steeds carrying an extra burden.”

  “They’ve rested a full day,” Bray said. “They should be fine.”

  They gathered their things, threw their packs over their shoulders, and headed for the door.

  Chapter 47: Jonas The Collector

  Jonas awoke to a familiar faint ticking noise. He cracked his eyes. The morning sunlight was already bleeding through a crack in the shutters as he rolled over, reached underneath his blankets, and located the fascinating circular object that rarely left his side.

  He held the object up, inspecting its roundness and the strange, faded markings in the middle, as well as the smaller, moving pieces that turned in a rhythmic circle, making their way from one strange inscription to the next, completing a circular arc in the time it took for a day to pass.

  It had taken him a while to figure out the object’s purpose, but after studying it, he had determined it was a timepiece.

  It marked the passing of the sun.

  Once or twice day, Jonas rotated a small dial on the side of the object, keeping the metal devices inside the object moving. The timepiece reminded him of the rhythmic pounding of the heart. He only had a thin understanding of how it functioned, just as he only had a thin understanding of how a person could be alive one day and dead the next. He hoped to understand the object more as he kept studying it.

  It had to be from the gods.

  H
e held it up to his ear, closing his eyes and listening to the small, barely perceptible ticking, wondering if the gods had listened to that same noise many years ago. That thought made him feel close to them. It was the next best thing to hearing their voices.

  The object was one of the few possessions that he kept in his room. One of Deacon’s Trusted had found it in the forest, tucked into a metal box on the side of a hill and nearly perfectly preserved. Deacon had brought it back, and after studying it a while, had deposited it in the Treasure Room with most of his other artifacts.

  Of all the ancient items, the small, ticking object was more intriguing to Jonas than most. So much that he had taken it outside the Treasure Room, something Deacon had expressly forbidden.

  Now that he’d taken it, Jonas was afraid to put it back. What if Deacon noticed his indiscretion?

  He’d be punished.

  Even if he wanted to part with it, he couldn’t imagine sleeping without it.

  Jonas had gotten so used to the object’s rhythmic ticking that he needed it to fall asleep most nights.

  Remembering the conversation Deacon had the night before with the woman in his chambers, Jonas slipped the object in his pocket and rose from his blankets, fully dressed, and made for the door. He desperately wanted to speak with Deacon about the god weapons and find out more about them.

  But first he needed to tend to his chores.

  Chapter 48: Jonas The Collector

  Jonas walked down the hallway, polishing the pieces hung on the walls. Each day was spent cleaning and observing the artifacts, looking for things he’d missed, bits of knowledge that might help The Arches. Most of the items were rusted relics that the hunters or soldiers had brought back, hoping to impress Deacon and curry favor, or to gain a post on the second island.

  Every young boy wanted to be one of Deacon’s Trusted.

  But not Jonas.

  Ever since he was a boy, he’d had other interests. While other boys his age played Islanders versus Savages, Jonas had spent his time in the outskirts of the island, digging for the smallest specks of treasure. To Jonas, a sword was more impressive than the hand that wielded it, or the people on which it was used.