The Ruins Box Set

by T. W. Piperbrook

  Unfortunately, she knew that one day she might roam among them.

  William might’ve been granted some hope, but his path was extraordinary. He was one of The Gifted. Kirby’s path seemed to follow the same one that all her people traveled. Her lumps were no different than anyone’s. She might age more slowly, due to the spore’s interference, but sooner or later, she would succumb to her people’s madness. She didn’t foster any false hope that her intelligence would blossom after fourteen years of infection.

  She considered the best scenario. If this was truly a place of respite, William deserved to stay. She wouldn’t leave him or Bray. She would do what was necessary so William could have a better life. And any place where she wasn’t forced to fight in wars, or kill other infected, was better than where she’d lived. At least she’d be free for the rest of her lucid days.

  But those demons, roaming among the crops…

  Between the squeak of the windmills, she thought she heard the soft, padded crunch of footsteps. Whether real or imagined, she wasn’t sure.

  Plaguing thoughts.

  At some point without realizing it, her thoughts drifted away and she succumbed to sleep. Eventually, the morning sun planted the first rays of light on her face. She opened her eyes and stayed in bed for a while, listening to the windmills and the breath of the people next to her, sleeping. She wasn’t used to the feeling of security she was getting.

  Their belongings still lay on the floor next to each of them. All three of her companions were safe.

  Rising, Kirby walked over to the set of windows on the northern side of the room, looking out over the endless rows of crops under the glare of the morning sun.

  And stopped.

  Her heart jackhammered.

  Chapter 22: Bray

  “Bray! Wake up!”

  An urgent voice hissed in Bray’s ear. His eyes snapped open to find Kirby hovering over him, looking as if she had just laid eyes on a horde of demons. He sat up and looked around the room, but saw nothing. The room seemed as calm as it had when he closed his eyes, all those hours ago. William and Cullen slept soundly. Their belongings were untouched.

  Casting aside his blanket, he followed her beckoning arm as she led him across the room and toward the northern windows. Warm rays of light bled from the east through the glass, promising another scorching day. But something else alarmed her.

  He followed her finger to the area just below the window. Rudyard stood at the head of the dirt path, near the base of the building, where he had greeted them the day before.

  “What is he doing?” Bray asked.

  “Look over there,” she said, gesturing past him, toward the distant tree line where they’d approached.

  Under the glare of the morning sun, several figures on horses trotted toward the dirt path leading to Rudyard. Bray didn’t need to see the details of their faces to recognize the men sitting atop them. The Clickers. Several other Clickers followed behind, pulling a disheveled, beaten man.

  “Are those our horses?” he asked, surprise leading to anger.

  “I’m almost positive,” Kirby replied. “They are the same color. And I recognize Spirit’s gait.”

  “Who is that other person they are with?” Bray asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe they are looking for us.”

  They watched the savage, bow-wielding men come up the dirt path. Demons lurked at the edges of the cornstalks and crops, watching The Clickers the same way they had watched Bray, Kirby, Cullen, and William. Rudyard held the same spot, neither moving, nor making any gesture. Bray looked downward, toward the balcony where The Gifted had perched the day before. Empty.

  They watched The Clickers progress down the pathway until they stopped ten feet from Rudyard. Rudyard made some motions with his hands, speaking words they couldn’t hear, or perhaps communicating some other way. The Clickers tilted their heads and moved their hands. Bray stared at the scene with anger. He could still feel the sting of the arrow wound in his leg. He wanted the demons to spring from the fields and rip those vicious men from their horses. He wanted vengeance, and he wanted Spirit and Blackthorn.

  He could only watch.

  After a while of communicating, The Clickers on horses stayed atop them, while a few others brought the dragged man toward Rudyard. Rudyard stopped motioning with his hands. He surveyed the man for a few moments without speaking, looking him up and down. He gave an order.

  The Clickers let go of the dragged man, and he started running. Rudyard shouted something. Several of the demons raced from the cornfields, cornering the man before he could get further than a few steps. He stopped, holding his hands up as hungry demons made a circle around him.

  Rudyard yelled something else, and they stopped. The frightened man remained still, looking from one to the next, clearly in distress, but afraid to run.

  The Clickers on horses hopped down. Rudyard turned and headed for an area of the wall out of view, probably to the gate they had seen.

  “What’s he doing?” Bray asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kirby said, shaking her head.

  The Clickers waited quietly, watching the captured man trapped by the threatening demons. Moments later, Rudyard reemerged into view from somewhere in back, pulling a large pushcart full of crops. The Clickers loaded the vegetables into the horses’ saddlebags. Our saddlebags, Bray thought as he gritted his teeth. Finished with their business, The Clickers made some concluding gestures to Rudyard, and then they rode back up the path. Before they left, the captive man called out to them, reaching his arms as if they might help, but The Clickers ignored him.

  “Maybe he is an enemy of The Gifted,” Bray guessed. “Or a sacrifice.”

  A cold fear hit him.

  “This is no sacrifice,” Kirby said, her voice turning to ice. “That man is a slave. They have traded him for crops.”

  A sick feeling took root in Bray’s gut as he watched Rudyard pull his long knife, threatening the man who was circled by demons. “How can you know?”

  “I have seen too many trades like that in my homeland.” Kirby looked around as a guess became more certain. “My bet is that more in New City are slaves. Perhaps more than we know. But not The Gifted.”

  “I do not like the feeling I am getting,” said Bray, his fear growing.

  They watched as Rudyard started herding the man, with the assistance of the demons, in the direction of the wall.

  “We might only be receiving this treatment because we are emissaries,” Kirby guessed, as the people and the demons outside headed in the direction of the gate. “Who knows what they might do to us, if they find out we are not from Brighton.”

  “How can you be certain?” Bray shook his head, not ready to believe the intelligent men and woman they’d met were capable of something like this.

  “I’m not certain, of course,” Kirby admitted. “But if I am right, we are in danger.”

  A new fear tugged at Bray as he looked over his shoulder at William and Cullen, still asleep. He knew William could keep a story. But he wasn’t sure about Cullen. With one tongue slip, they might be at the end of a knife, or under a demon’s maw.

  “At least The Clickers left,” Kirby said.

  Keeping his voice low, Bray said, “I am worried about Cullen. I am afraid if they start asking too many questions, his story will unravel.”

  “I have the same worry. We need to wake him and warn him. And William. We need to keep our appearance.”

  Before they could make another move, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Who is it?” Bray called across the room.

  “It’s Amelia,” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

  Chapter 23: Bray

  “Are you awake?” Amelia asked, taking a polite step back as she waited.

  Bray looked around the stairwell behind her through the cracked door, expecting to see Rudyard with a long knife, or worse, a horde of waiting demons, but she wa
s alone. He had the fear that she had overheard some of their conversation at the window. But they were far enough away, and speaking in low enough voices, that he doubted it. Behind him, Cullen and William wiped the sleep from their faces, awoken by the knocking. Amelia smiled through her warts and bumps. She looked as if she might have been awake for a while, perhaps rising earlier than the rest.

  Or maybe there was a nefarious reason she was up so early.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your sleep,” Amelia said, pulling back some of her hair into a clip.

  “We are awake, Amelia,” William called from his bed, before Bray could warn him otherwise. William gave a friendly wave as he sat up, cast aside his thin blanket, and leapt from the bed, coming into view. “The beds here are incredible.”

  Amelia smiled. “I am glad you are comfortable. I was hoping we might take you on a tour of our crops this morning.”

  “Tolstoy mentioned that. Of course,” said Bray. “We need a little time to wake first.”

  “I will come back in a little bit,” Amelia said. “We will have breakfast when we return. Hopefully we can beat the day’s heat.” With another smile at William, she said, “I will see you soon.”

  Bray shut the door. A calm he didn’t believe swept over the room. Bray waited until Amelia’s footsteps had faded before he ushered Kirby, William, and Cullen to the northern windows. They looked outside, but The Clickers, Rudyard, and the captured man were gone. Moving to the south, they watched more people in the yard far below, waking and emerging from houses. Bray saw no sign of Rudyard, or the strange man taken against his will.

  “What’s the matter?” William asked.

  In a low voice, Bray said, “We need to leave this place.”

  “Leave?” William looked as though he had misheard. “We’ve only just arrived. And Amelia promised to show me some more devices.”

  A fearful expression crossed Cullen’s face. His eyes were red-rimmed and exhausted. Bray wondered how much of the night he’d spent tossing, fidgeting, and adjusting. Perhaps he was wise to avoid sleep. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes darting between them.

  Bray and Kirby briefed them on what they’d seen out the window, starting with the horses and The Clickers, ending with the man Rudyard led behind the wall, and her theory that the people were slaves.

  “You saw Spirit and Blackthorn?” William repeated.

  “Yes, but they are gone with those men,” Bray said. “They dropped off the slave, and then they left.”

  William fell silent.

  “Slave,” Cullen said, twisting the strange word on his tongue. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means a person who is owned by others.” Disgust and fear crossed Kirby’s face.

  “We don’t have that term in the forest,” Cullen said, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Are slaves killed?”

  “Slaves are the most expendable part of a war. They are the most expendable part of everything. They serve another’s purpose, and they cannot leave.” She wiped her eyes as if she might smear away all the evils she had seen. “Too many years I watched people beaten, starved, and tortured. Often the slaves were killed if they were deemed useless. To be a slave is the worst form of life. That could be why The Clickers were hunting you—and us.”

  William seemed as if he was in some sort of denial. “But the people here are normally clothed. They do not appear to be mistreated. They have houses.”

  “Some of the worst-treated slaves wear pretty clothes,” Kirby said. “We saw the man dragged through the crop field. He was treated as less than a pig, waiting for the knife at its throat. We didn’t see the people of the city until evening, when they might have been finished with their daily work. Perhaps they haven’t started their tasks this morning.”

  “What about the men we saw in the first room? The guards who brought us food?”

  “I am not sure of their purpose, but I would not be surprised if they were slaves, too,” Kirby said.

  “In any case, I don’t think we should stay long enough to find out,” Bray warned.

  “It must be a mistake,” William said, in disbelief. Or maybe he wanted to disbelieve. “The Gifted must have a grudge against someone. Perhaps this man killed one of them.”

  “I do not believe so,” Kirby said.

  “I’ll ask Amelia. Surely she can explain—”

  Bray leaned forward with a stern look. “Do not ask her. We need to play our parts and leave, if we want to keep safe.”

  “Obviously there are things we do not know about these people,” Kirby reminded him. “They have an army of demons. A misspoken word might lead to our deaths.”

  “Maybe I can control the twisted men.” William looked as if he was grasping for a solution.

  “These demons won’t listen to you, like you’ve already seen,” Bray said. “They have been trained to obey The Gifted. We will more likely die, if something goes wrong.”

  “If we tell The Gifted what The Clickers did, maybe they will help us get our horses back.” William lowered his head as an argument turned to reality. William looked as if he were on the verge of desperation. And who could blame him? He had finally found a place with others that looked like him, a place with wonderful devices and more books than even the wealthiest merchants. But that might mean nothing, in the face of what they’d seen.

  Bray softened his tone as he saw William’s face fall, but his message was unwavering. “We are in danger if we stay. Our horses are gone. And we might suffer a worse fate, if we do not leave. After the crop tour, we will go. It is the only way to be sure we are safe.”

  Chapter 24: Bray

  Shortly after their quiet, tense discussion, Amelia knocked on the door again, accompanied by Tolstoy, Herman, and a few other Gifted. After some pleasantries, they headed downstairs. None seemed to act suspiciously, or different.

  “Amelia tells me you slept well,” Tolstoy said as they descended.

  “Better than a night in the wild, that is for certain,” Bray affirmed, as he looked out one of the windows, catching a glimpse of the long, green stalks outside, swaying with a breeze.

  “I am glad,” Tolstoy said. “Breakfast will be ready when we return. Have you decided how long you will stay?”

  Keeping his voice even, so as not to raise suspicion, Bray said, “We will leave this morning, after the crop tour.”

  “Surely you will stay for breakfast?”

  Bray exchanged a look with Kirby. “We will stay for breakfast, and head out afterward. We have a long journey back.”

  Tolstoy seemed disappointed. “I understand. We were hoping for a longer visit, but I do not envy a trip in the wild. It has been many years since I’ve left the confines of New City.”

  “Perhaps next time we will stay longer.”

  Changing the subject, Tolstoy said, “I will not lie. I am intrigued by the relics you mentioned last night.”

  “We are always willing to consider an equitable trade,” Bray said. “We will bring back some goods to demonstrate.”

  “How far did you say Brighton was from here?”

  Choosing a location that was far enough away to be inconspicuous, but not too far, Bray lied, “About five days’ walk.”

  Tolstoy traded a glance with Amelia that could be considered eager. Reaching the ground floor, they crossed the room where they’d left their weapons. Bray glanced at the secured box, and the same two men standing next to it. They perked up, probably grateful for a distraction from what looked like a dull duty.

  Bray studied them closer, looking for some evidence that they were slaves, as Kirby had suggested, but they didn’t seem abused, or scared. The burly man had a large, oval face and thick arms. Even the skinnier man carried more weight than one would expect, for those who were mistreated.

  “I believe you met Ollie and Avery.”

  “I don’t believe we caught their names yesterday,” Bray said to them.

  “I’m Ollie,” said the burly man, in a gru
ff voice.

  The tall, freckled man introduced himself as Avery. He looked at them with an expression that seemed curious, rather than afraid.

  “We appreciate your hospitality, as well,” Bray said.

  Ollie nodded, while Avery gave a thin smile.

  “They will see to our breakfast, while we tour the crops.” Waving to the secured box, Tolstoy said, “When we are finished, Rudyard will return your weapons.”

  Hot sun beat down on them as they stepped out into the open air on the building’s side, leaving Ollie and Avery behind. Bray looked along the long wall that came out of the building’s side, separating the structures in back. The gate through which Rudyard had disappeared was closed. There was no sign of him, or the man he’d led away. Birds circled the sky overhead, chirping, or perching on parts of the fence, jangling a few of the pieces of metal that hung there—things that Bray initially thought were decorative, but might serve a darker purpose. Farther down the wall, Bray noticed the few large, wooden boxes he’d seen from the dirt path. He was close enough now to see dark dirt visible through the slats.

  “Our compost heaps,” Tolstoy explained.

  They walked from the door to the dirt-worn path, heading between the shorter rows of crops and past the gigantic, looming windmills on either side.

  Pointing at the windmill far on the right, Tolstoy said, “That windmill has a pump next to it, which you can probably see from here. That catches our water, which we use for drinking, and to irrigate our crops.”

  Bray noticed the round tube was connected to the larger object.

  Pointing to the windmill on the other side, Herman said, “We feed that device grain. The blades turn with the wind, powering a millstone inside. Perhaps we can show you, at the end of our tour.”

  “That would be interesting,” Bray said, not wanting to seem too eager to leave.

  They walked as a group, with Tolstoy, Herman, and Amelia leading them to the dirt path. Bray noticed a few horse prints in the soil. He saw William surreptitiously studying them. A demon skittered across the path farther ahead, moving from one tall row of corn stalks to another.