The Ruins Box Set

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The Ruins Box Set Page 34

by T. W. Piperbrook


  “No.” Berta shook her head to emphasize the point. “We had no idea this place existed. We were wandering, homeless. We traveled for almost a year through the wild, sleeping in broken-down buildings, eating plants, roots, and whatever animals the Savages hadn’t killed, with barely enough blankets to keep us warm in the winter, or enough water in our flasks to last from one stream to the next. We didn’t start a fire at night for about a week or so, thinking the wild men would find us. We had too many encounters with Savages. We lost people. Every place we thought was safety turned into a place we had to escape.”

  “How did you find The Arches?”

  “The Arches found us,” Berta said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Some of the islanders discovered us.”

  “And so you were saved,” William said. Saying the words, he couldn’t help resenting this woman, who had found her way to safety, while she allowed the soldiers to take him away, letting him rot in this room.

  “If you can call it that.” Berta’s eyes grew dark and she looked behind her, as if whoever was outside might be listening. “A group of island soldiers found us in the forests. They were on an expedition to exterminate Savages, and they found us huddled in a crumbled building that was barely wide enough to fit us all. We were hiding from a large group of wild men that we’d never be able to fight. When we heard people speaking a language we understood, battling them off, we had hope again. Almost everyone we had encountered spoke in strange noises we couldn’t understand. But not these men and women. They were like us.”

  “I’ve heard that people speak in other languages,” William said, recalling the first day they’d come to the bridge.

  “It is true,” Berta said. “We watched the islanders from the cracks of that building as they cleared out the Savages, using swords and bows with a skill that not many of us had. Men and women fought as equals. Many of them were on horseback. I still remember the whispers of my people as we hid in that building, deciding whether we should come out.”

  “What happened?” William, momentarily forgetting he was a prisoner.

  “Eventually, we snuck from the building and revealed ourselves to the soldiers. We spoke to the leader of the group, a man named Helmsley. He told us about The Arches. He said that it was a place safe from the Savages, a well-defended place, and that his people never went hungry. He said he could help us.”

  “I thought Deacon was the ruler,” William said, wondering if he had missed something.

  “You forget, I am old,” Berta said, smiling through the wrinkles on her face. “Deacon didn’t come into power until later. This was when I was a young girl, as strong and able as you are, or will be, once you are fully rid of your sickness. Helmsley was Deacon’s uncle.”

  “I see.”

  “The Arches sounded like a miracle, especially to people that had been living in the wild so long, watching each other die, waiting for the day when none of us would be left. Helmsley said we would be safe in The Arches.” Berta paused. “But not all of us.”

  “Not all of you?” William furrowed his brow. “What do you mean? Surely a place as big as this had the resources for thirty people.”

  “That is not the way it works, here.” Berta shook her head as some new terror found her eyes, a terror William had never seen on her face before. “Helmsley said he had saved us, and therefore we were his prisoners. He could do with us what he pleased.”

  “I don’t understand. He took you here, didn’t he?”

  Berta shook her head. It looked as if she were trembling. William was robbed of breath as he waited for what was surely a horrific tale.

  “He had his men bring over a horse. He pointed to the horse’s saddle, and told us something that has haunted my nights for the last of my sixty years, and will probably haunt the rest of them.” Berta drew a breath as she prepared to speak some awful words, as if it would take every bit of her strength to recount what happened next. “All of the women, including me, would return with Helmsley and his soldiers to the islands. Any boys or men taller than his horse’s saddle would be beheaded.”

  “By the gods,” William whispered.

  “I was the youngest sibling. My brothers were all much older than me. Every one of them died that day…” Berta almost couldn’t get the words out. “I still remember them walking up to that horse, trying to shrink down in their boots, even though it wasn’t any good. Georgie was just a hair taller than that saddle. He was my youngest brother.”

  “I-I don’t know what to say.” William shook his head.

  Berta looked as if she might choke on something in her throat. “Helmsley told the truth. I have lived safely at the islands for all the years since. I haven’t been harmed. Ever since that day, I have been taken care of.” Berta exhaled. “I have thought about leaving, but for what? All my family is dead.” Berta shook her head as guilt took over her face.

  “They killed your family,” William said, the words brewing a fear inside him worse than being trapped in this room.

  “Yes. And the rest of my people are gone now. Those that survived that day have since died of age, sickness, or battle.”

  “What about the others who live here on the islands?”

  “There are some others like me, whose families were killed before they were taken here. Others are native to the islands. We all play a role in our peoples’ survival, until we can no longer work, or we die naturally,” Berta said. “If we live long enough, we come here to the second island.”

  “Among The Important Ones.”

  Berta nodded. “Yes. Some of us make it as far. But not all of us. Deacon is worse than Helmsley. He has added some ceremonies from the gods. He makes sure everyone on the islands can function and work, even the oldest of us.” Berta spoke even more quietly. “We keep working to stave off death, trying to prove our importance. Fear keeps us alive.”

  William swallowed as he looked around him, suddenly certain that Deacon was hiding in every corner, every crevice.

  “Whatever you do, William, do as he tells you. If you go along with him, you will have a chance at a safe life, much as I have enjoyed for all these years.”

  “But I don’t understand—”

  “I have to go now, William,” Berta said, getting to her feet, leaving the food but taking the tray with her. “Remember what I said. Listen to Deacon.”

  Before William could say anything more, she slipped outside. William ran to the door, raising his fists and pounding, but it was of no use. The door was already locked.

  Berta was gone.

  Chapter 38: Bray

  Dawn broke before Bray saw something other than trees, brush, and hills in the distance. The sight reinvigorated him. His feet were sore and blistered; his eyes were dry and stung from a cold wind that had picked up from the west. The Halifax men walked faster, heading toward the clearing, beyond which was a long, ancient building that covered most of the horizon, standing about twenty feet tall.

  If not for a few windows on its side, which appeared to be covered, Bray might’ve thought it was a wall. A field of ancient, pockmarked stone led up to the building, longer and wider than any he’d seen outside of the Ancient City. Some parts of the stone were smooth, but other parts were cracked, allowing wilted, dying weeds to break through to the surface. Most of the stone was exposed, but a few bits of snow remained that the sun hadn’t melted.

  Men stationed on top of the building watched them approach. Their features were indiscernible from a distance.

  “Halifax,” Samron announced.

  The men crunched over the snow, stepping over the remains of demons on the stone field, picked away by birds, or reduced to skeletons, making their way toward what was obviously home.

  Looking at the dead demons and the distant building, Bray felt some dread. He was walking into another place of which he knew nothing. He looked over at a few of the men, who glanced at him occasionally, clutching their guns.

  As they got closer, Br
ay got a better look at some of the windows, which were blocked with thick pieces of metal, effectively keeping out men or demons. The Halifax soldiers led him toward a break in the wall that he hadn’t seen from a distance. A heavy, rusted metal door barricaded a gap. The door slid to the side with a metallic groan as someone opened it from the other side.

  More men faced Bray, staring.

  Their features were similar to the men with whom he had traveled—their hair was long and tangled, their faces lined with markings. One of them wore a coat from Kirby’s settlement. A few others wore necklaces made of metal or clay, and strange types of clothing he’d never seen.

  Bray was reminded of Kirby’s words when they’d first discovered these men at her settlement. Once people find a place to pillage, they’ll keep coming until everything is gone.

  Scavengers.

  He looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Flora, who looked as if she might run before they brought her through that door. Once she went inside, she wouldn’t leave. Everyone knew it. The question on Bray’s mind was, would he? The first of the soldiers headed through the door. Flora screamed as they pulled her, trying to break free of their tight grasps. Noticing Bray’s trepidation, perhaps hoping to reassure him, Samron said, “You will be safe.”

  Bray had heard those same words before, when he’d entered The Arches. That mistake had cost him his friends, almost his life. But he wouldn’t last long in the woods in his condition, wounded and weaponless.

  “We will help you,” Samron said, with an expression of sincerity that Bray believed.

  He accompanied the man through the rusted entrance, listening to Flora’s screams as they hauled her inside behind him.

  **

  Men and women stared as Bray entered an enormous, square area the size of a farmer’s field. What he hadn’t noticed from the outside was that the building in front wasn’t the only one.

  Similar Ancient stone buildings surrounded the settlement on all sides, enclosing Halifax in a protective square. Each of the buildings—which served as walls—contained what looked like small houses or rooms, evenly spaced and built into the ancient stone, with their own doors. Some houses were relatively intact; others were crumbled and reinforced with sticks, rocks, or sheets of metal.

  The area in the middle of the square was so open and large that it might’ve been one giant building, if there had been a roof. In the middle of the Halifax square was a raised stone platform, smoother and in better condition than the field of ancient stone he had crossed outside, about the size of a few small houses. Toward the back of the settlement, beyond the platform, was a large, rectangular divot in the earth, wider and larger than the platform. Mounds of frozen dirt sat in the center. It looked like it might hold crops, when the weather was warmer.

  People were everywhere.

  Women cradled babies to their chests as they scurried away, keeping a safe distance. A few older women, wearing furs and hats, froze as they watched the newcomers. Some of the people’s hair was twisted into larger strands, or braided like pieces of string. A few people had hair that was clumped together. All wore the same markings as the men who had led Bray and Flora here, and those Bray had encountered that first day at Kirby’s settlement.

  A hush filled the air. Flora appraised the settlement, panic written on her face. Metal groaned as the men behind them slid the entrance closed.

  Bray watched as a few of the soldiers left the group, walking around the platform and toward a house in the back, on the left-hand side of the settlement.

  They knocked on the door.

  A tall, elderly man emerged. He kept a steady gait as he returned with the soldiers toward where Bray and the others were standing, past clusters of staring people. Like the others, his hair was long and unkempt, but his face had the authoritative expression of someone who made decisions.

  He stopped ten feet from Bray and the others, speaking indecipherable words in a deep, firm voice to Samron. Samron answered. They spoke for several minutes before the older man turned to Bray.

  “Where are you from?” he asked, with the same accent as Samron, but in a clearer voice.

  “I am from a township called Brighton.”

  The man stared at him for a moment before looking at Flora. “And you are an islander. “

  Flora opened and closed her mouth, saying nothing.

  “You made a mistake in coming here alive.”

  Flora’s eyes sparked with new fear.

  Motioning to Flora, he said, “Take her to the room. I will talk to the other one.”

  The Halifax soldiers didn’t hesitate. They pulled a kicking, screaming Flora toward the back of the settlement, around the platform and past several people who moved out of the way. Flora’s legs went limp as she tried to stop moving, but they dragged her until they reached a house with a thick, metal door on the opposite side of the square. Ignoring her screams, they tossed her inside, closing the door. She kicked and pounded on the door while the men stood guard.

  Bray stood up straight, trying to project bravery as he watched the elderly man, waiting for whatever came next.

  “Follow me,” the elderly man said simply.

  Chapter 39: Kirby

  Kirby, Jonas, Heinrich, and Ruben rode through a forest of shallow snow, marked with the occasional prints of an animal, or a protruding, fallen branch. Kirby scouted the trees. Except for the rhythmic clomp of the horse’s hooves, the forest was quiet and still. They had been riding for a better part of the morning, with no sign of anyone.

  “The horses are tired. We should rest soon,” Heinrich called over his shoulder.

  They wove through some more trees, looking for a place to break. Eventually, they came upon the highest point in the vicinity: a large, layered rock in the forest, many times as large as the horses and flat on top. It looked like most of the snow on the rock’s surface had melted from the sun. Heinrich pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted, finding a tree to tie the steed. Jonas did the same.

  “How far are we from the settlement?” Jonas asked Kirby, looking overhead at the still-rising sun.

  Kirby said, “Our detour added some time. We should ride until mid-afternoon and turn. If we are lucky, we might make the settlement by nightfall.”

  “We passed the Halifax camp a while ago,” Heinrich said, beckoning toward the eastern forest. “We’re far enough away that we should be out of danger.”

  “I’d like to run into a few of those skin-bags, so I can show them how sharp my blade is,” Ruben muttered, but she sensed some nervousness beneath his bravado.

  Heinrich and Ruben pulled their bags from their backs and climbed up the layers of the rock until they reached its flat top, surveying the forest, eating a quick breakfast. Kirby didn’t feel like food, but she knew she needed to keep her strength. She reluctantly dug the last of some dried meat from her bag and found a spot on a flat portion of rock toward the bottom, sitting far from Ruben and Heinrich to eat. To her annoyance, Jonas perched on the same ledge, farther down, turning his back slightly. He looked like he was fiddling with something.

  Ignoring him, she swallowed the rest of her food. It wasn’t until something shiny and metallic glinted in the sunlight that she looked over to see what Jonas was doing.

  “What is that?” she called over.

  Startled, Jonas tucked something back into his pocket. He looked toward the top of the rock, where Heinrich and Ruben were engaged in some quiet conversation. “Nothing,” he said softly.

  “I saw something,” Kirby insisted.

  Finally, Jonas answered, “A lucky object I carry with me, that is all.” He wore the same expression of curiosity as when he looked at her guns, or when he’d surveyed those rusted treasures in the hallway.

  Thinking that catering to him might give her some advantage she couldn’t see, she asked, “Can I look at what you have?”

  Jonas glanced up at the men and back at Kirby, but he seemed as if he wanted to show her. He nodded. Biting ba
ck her disgust, Kirby scooted over as he pulled out a small, circular object and held it in his palm. “A piece from the gods,” he said with obvious pride. “Some of our hunters pulled it from the side of the hill, protected in a metal box. I believe it marks the passing of the day. Or at least, that is my guess.”

  Kirby studied the object. Pushing aside her hatred, she said, “It is clearly unique.”

  “I wind this small piece of metal on the side a few times a day to make sure it keeps working. It is one of the most curious possessions we have on the islands.”

  “I assume you can read the symbols.”

  Jonas watched her for a moment. “Our people have a different way of inscribing things. We mostly use pictures,” he admitted. “Do you know what the symbols are?”

  “I think I know what they are called,” Kirby said. “But I’m not sure what they mean. Our people refer to them as Roman numerals.”

  “My guess is that they are specific to the time of day,” Jonas guessed, looking up at the sun, and back at the object. “When the days are at their longest, these three solid lines here, with the lines over and underneath them, correspond to the middle of afternoon. A guess, of course.”

  “That could be,” Kirby said, thinking on it. “Although, some of our old, crumbled buildings have the same markings. Perhaps they have many meanings.”

  “Do you think?”

  “It is possible. These symbols were carved in different places, in different sizes in other lands.” Kirby paused, recalling one particular memory from her travels. “I saw a circular object like the one in your hand, only way, way larger, on the side of a building. Perhaps that one had the same meaning as your small device, but I am not sure.”

  “Incredible,” Jonas said. “Where was this building?”

  “In a land ravaged by war, across the ocean,” Kirby recalled, the memory of that building tainted with some of the things she’d been forced to do. “I saw many places before I came to this land. I didn’t have time to study all of them closely. But I remember them.”

 

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