The Ruins Book 3

by T. W. Piperbrook

  "Interesting." Looking at William, Rudyard said, "We have never seen another Gifted One, outside of those who live here. You must excuse our fascination, but we would like to speak with you."

  William nodded.

  "Come with me, and I will take you to a place where we can talk further." Without another word, Rudyard turned, making it clear they should follow.

  Bray exchanged a deciding glance with Kirby and the others before they walked after him. They kept their guns at their sides. On either side of them, the mutants watched from the corn, shifting from foot to foot. A few scratched at the warts on their bodies. Kirby couldn't recall a time she'd been in such close proximity, without swinging a knife or firing a gun.

  "Is all this food for the mutants?" she called ahead, hoping to get more information about what they were walking into. Past the corn stalks, she got a closer view of other vegetables preceding the building.

  "The Plagued Ones, you mean?" Rudyard assumed.

  "Yes," Kirby said, noticing he used the same term as Cullen.

  "It is for them, and the other people who live here."

  "I don't see anything besides demons," Bray said.

  "The rest are safely in the back. Protected." Rudyard watched them. "We are done with the day's work. We prefer to work before the midday heat sets in, as I assume your people do."

  "True." Kirby knew the same was true of farmers in her homeland. She looked up at the magnificent building, which could easily hold a large population. And that didn't count the other, crumbled buildings behind the wall, which could easily house more. Hoping for more answers, she asked, "How many live here?"

  "Enough that we can accommodate them all," Rudyard said vaguely. "Come. There will be time for more questions, if you agree to the terms of our discussions."

  Cutting through the surface pleasantries, Kirby asked, "What are they?"

  "In the ground level, we have a room to lock up your weapons." Rudyard nodded as he looked over his shoulder. "We do not allow weapons in The Learning Building."

  "How do we know we are safe, and that we will get them back?" Bray asked.

  "Surely you emissaries know the risks," Rudyard said with a knowing glance. Probably hoping to assuage their concerns, he added, "This is a place of peace. We Gifted believe in violence only when it is absolutely necessary. We defend the land we have, but we do not delight in war."

  A few of the demons snarled at them with rotten, cracked teeth.

  Rudyard continued. "In any case, you can see the protection we have here. We have enough Plagued Ones to ward off any enemy's army, probably even a few armies. While you are a guest, you can travel unimpeded. But know you are being watched."

  "We appreciate your hospitality," said Bray simply.

  Chapter 13: Bray

  Rudyard led them toward the door on the left-hand side of the building. Bray got a better glimpse of the wall jutting out from its sides, extending for a long ways. At some point, it appeared to end, presumably turning at a perpendicular angle and walling off the city. Along the wall, he saw a few bins that looked as if they might hold compost, along with a closed gate about ten yards away. Turning his attention to the building and the door, Bray studied the barricade along the base of the front—chunks of heavy rock that would take more than a few men to move. The edges of the building were cracked in a few spots, but the building was notably intact. Bray marveled at the array of windows on the upper floors, which caught the sun in such a way that he wondered if it was a different type of glass. Even up close, he could barely see through the dark shade of it.

  Catching his stare, Rudyard said, "I can see the glass fascinates you. We construct it here, among other things. Many wish to trade for it, to adorn their buildings. The coloration on it allows us to see outside, while the people outside cannot see in. It is helpful for keeping watch, among other things."

  "It is a rare sight," Bray noted.

  "Perhaps something to keep in mind, if we decide to trade."

  Bray looked at Kirby. Judging by her expression, she was equally impressed.

  "The building is in remarkable shape," Kirby commented.

  "We maintain it using pieces of some of the more disheveled buildings beyond the wall, to the south of our city," Rudyard explained. "Much of the old city was destroyed by a large storm many years ago. The foundations of many of those buildings weren't salvageable, so we took what we could and concentrated it on this building, and the others behind the wall that we could protect and build."

  "A worthy goal," Bray flattered.

  "Considering what is out in the wild, we are fortunate," Rudyard said.

  Reaching the thick door on the building's side, Rudyard opened it to lead the way. Bray was surprised to find several uninfected men standing in the room, waiting, or perhaps keeping guard. They nodded at Bray and the others as they walked in. One of the men was burly, with chiseled features and dark hair. The other was taller, with light blond hair and freckles. Both of them had sun-gilded skin, and wore serious expressions.

  They seemed intimidating, but not threatening.

  Bray halted as he caught sight of several small, strange glass devices on the ceiling. The devices were rounded and attached in various places.

  "What are those?" Bray asked, pointing above them.

  William and Cullen peered at them. Kirby held a look of disbelief over his shoulder.

  "Lights," Rudyard said, with obvious pride.

  "Tech Magic," William whispered.

  "I don't understand," Bray said, looking as if Rudyard was playing a joke.

  Judging by the look on Rudyard's face, he was used to explaining. "We Gifted created them, among other things, some of which you will lay eyes on, but not all of them." Pointing at the lights, none of which were lit at the moment, and some windows higher up in the room, he explained, "We only use the lights when we need to. Things in other parts of the building run them. But we will need to agree on the terms of our tentative arrangement before you can go further."

  Bray looked around the rest of the room, spotting a large box built into the far wall, situated between two doors. The lock on the box resembled some of the strongest he'd seen in Brighton. The light-haired man unlocked it, opening the thick top and revealing an empty space.

  "This is where you will leave your weapons," Rudyard said. "We cannot pass from this room until you secure them."

  Bray hesitated. He looked at the others.

  "Those are the rules of our arrangement." Seeing the uneasiness on their faces, Rudyard said, "If you need a moment to discuss it, I can grant you one. We will wait in the room while you speak privately outside."

  He motioned behind them at the open door. Bray glanced across the threshold and into the part of the crop fields he could see. In between some of the rows of shorter vegetables, demons lurked. Some stared unabashedly, and others wandered, but none left.

  "Give us a moment," Bray said.

  He led the others outside, where they walked partway down the path until they were out of earshot. They formed a cautious circle. Before he could say anything, William cut in.

  "The lights are magic," he said, wonder in his face.

  "Not magic." Kirby shook her head. "Though it might seem like that."

  Cullen's face mirrored amazement.

  "You have told us men built devices such as the ones behind us." William pointed at the enormous windmills, directing his comment at Kirby. "And you have told us plenty of other stories about incredible things, like cars and planes. But in all these months traveling, all we have seen are crumbled buildings, and men with sharp swords, or sharper arrows. Even the guns we hold weren't built in this land. You might not think of these things as magic, but to us, they are." William looked as if he was releasing an emotion he'd held back as he wiped his eyes. "The people inside look like me. They called me brother. I do not know if I believe that, but I want to go inside. Even if I am alone, I am willing to talk with them."

  Watching William, Br
ay fought a pit in his stomach that he hadn't expected. In William's short life, he had seen only death, war, and suffering. He had spent too much time running from those who wished him harm. And through all that time, I've done him the worst harm. I killed his mother.

  If hope lay inside that building, he owed it to William to find it.

  "I will go with William," Bray said, a solemn expression on his face. "If you choose to remain out here, Kirby and Cullen, I will not fault you for it."

  Kirby looked as if she was working through a doubt. "You are not the only one who needs hope. If we will go, we will go together."

  They started walking until William stopped them.

  "They do not know you are infected," William whispered to Kirby.

  "We do not need to add another complication," Kirby said. "I will not tell them. Let us talk with them and see what they have to say."

  Bray agreed, and they walked back toward the door.

  Chapter 14: The Clicker

  Movement through the trees grabbed The Clicker's attention. He stopped, signaling some of the others as they crept through the forest. Reaching a tangle of thick brush, they stopped and raised their bows. A lone, bedraggled man huddled next to a stream bank a dozen steps away. The Clicker hoped it was the people who killed his brothers, but this was someone different.

  No matter.

  The man's torn pack lay behind him, along with his rusted knife. Smoke lingered in the air from his doused fire. He seemed alone. Another traveler, perhaps.

  The Clicker looked behind him through the trees. His brothers with the horses waited farther, out of sight. He adjusted on his haunches. They had been traveling with their newfound steeds, in search of the people with the metal weapons, when they'd seen spirals of smoke above the tree line.

  The sky gods had been fortunate.

  First the thunder beasts, and now this.

  The Clicker wanted retribution for the men those others had killed in the city, but that would come later.

  The Clicker traded a look with his closest brother, who gave him a subtle, soft click through his sharp teeth. Taking the man's cue, The Clicker drew an arrow. They watched as the traveler dipped his face in the water, clearing some of the day's heat from his brow.

  The Clicker sent a signal in his native tongue.

  They slid from the bushes, walking on quiet, bare feet.

  They got within a few steps of the traveler before he spun. His eyes lit with terror. He reached for his knife. They didn't let him get farther. One of The Clicker's companions swung a dirty fist, striking the traveler in the temple, knocking him over. On his knees, he lunged for his long knife, but The Clicker stomped on his fingers, eliciting a cry of pain. One of his brothers kicked his ribs, collapsing the man to the ground. Blood ran down the man's face. The Clicker reached down, retrieved the long knife, and kicked the torn bag out of the man's reach.

  The man's eyes lit with fear as The Clicker exposed his pointed, sharp teeth, and made his eyes wide.

  The Clicker was not stupid. He knew his appearance was frightening to The Hunted.

  The other Clickers grabbed the traveler's arms, keeping him restrained while they frisked him, looking for any other weapons that might prick or harm them. The man screamed out in terror, writhing, but he was weak from hunger, and the other Clickers had a firm grasp.

  The Clicker bent down, still without words, and held up the man's long knife. Sticking out his own tongue, he made a dragging movement in the air above it. The traveler bit down on another scream as he realized he would lose the soft, pink piece of flesh if he made another noise.

  Pain was a great motivator for silence.

  Looking back over his shoulder, The Clicker made a few, sharp clicks with his tongue. The clopping of horses' feet echoed through the distant trees as the rest of his brothers joined them. In his language, The Clicker informed them the traveler was alone.

  Retrieving the dirty bag from the ground, he sifted through the belongings, stuffed a dried piece of meat into his mouth, and chewed. Inside were a few, dirty garments, and a small knife. He pocketed the beaten tool, but kept the other belongings in the bag. He tossed the bag over his shoulder while the traveler watched.

  When he was finished, they dragged the man away through the forest.

  Chapter 15: Bray

  After leaving their belongings in the secured box, and reluctantly agreeing to a frisking, Bray, Kirby, William, and Cullen followed Rudyard through one of the two doors, which he unlocked. On the other side was a stairway, surrounded by walls. Bray listened as the door clicked closed behind them.

  "I hope you brought your strength," Rudyard said as he led them up a steep flight of stairs. "There are eighteen floors in the building. We are working on a better way to get up through it. But for now, this is what we have."

  Bray wasn't certain what he was talking about, but he didn't voice the question.

  "How long have you lived here?" Kirby asked.

  "Several hundred years," Rudyard said, looking over his shoulder as he led them.

  "Like Jingo," William whispered in Bray's direction.

  "Are there more of you?" Kirby asked.

  "There are ten of us Gifted," Rudyard said. "The ones you saw on the balcony, myself, and three others you haven't seen. As I said, your appearance is a great surprise to us. We have many questions for you, as I am sure you have for us."

  William stepped up the stairs with a hope Bray hadn't seen him wear in many months. Bray, Kirby, and Cullen walked more reservedly, eyeing the thick walls on either side of them. Every so often, they passed a landing with a closed door on one side, or a window overlooking the corn and crop fields on the other. Outside, the demons scrounged between the tall stalks, chasing small animals, or eating the remnants of a few corncobs. A strange, humming noise started from somewhere outside.

  "What is that sound?" Bray asked, thinking he heard voices, as well.

  "One of our machines," Rudyard said simply. "They must have turned it on."

  "Machines?"

  "The way we produce things, or make things work." Rudyard looked back at them. "Like our lights downstairs. Perhaps we can talk more about it when we get upstairs. I'm sure you have as many questions as we have."

  They passed another door, and Bray glanced at it, wondering what other miraculous devices might lie behind. A guarded look crossed Rudyard's face.

  "The doors you see are secured. Only we Gifted know the locations of the keys. Rest assured, you would not get out alive if you tried to take them. I say this only so that you know we are serious about protecting what we have."

  "As any man would be," Bray agreed, though it didn't stop his imagination from wandering.

  Perspiration dripped from their brows as they climbed a few more flights. Bray stared out the next window, watching the corn stalks and the demons grow smaller. The humming noise got slightly quieter. He studied the forest from which they'd emerged, realizing how far away they were from it.

  "How high up are we going?" Kirby asked.

  "To the highest floor," Rudyard said. "Our Library Room. We are almost there."

  Reaching a door near the top of the building, he stopped and rapped four times. Bray waited. He dragged a hand across his sweaty forehead as he traded a look with Kirby, William, and Cullen, their faces a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

  The door opened.

  **

  The authoritative man who had spoken to them from the balcony stood in front of them, his robe billowing behind. He no longer wore a hood. Thick, calcified bumps ran the length of either side of his face. Warts protruded from several points around his mouth and nose, but his blue eyes were strangely bright, as if they alone had been spared the weight of the infection. He raised a hand in greeting.

  "I am Tolstoy," he said.

  Despite being prepared for the man's appearance, Bray was taken aback. Had he a sword, he might've been tempted to pull it. Or maybe it was the sight of so many of them. Behind Tol
stoy, the eight others stood in the center of the room, all waiting, all wearing an expression that was difficult to read under the mask of the infection. One woman stood among them, her smooth, feminine features mostly covered by her long, dark hair, which she'd tied back. Warts covered all of the people's faces. A few men's heads were larger than a normal person's, swollen with the weight of infection and cocked sideways as they studied the newcomers.

  Tolstoy stepped back to allow them in.

  Bray's wonder grew as he saw the remainder of the room, which comprised most of the building's floor. Windows ran the length of three sides of the room, save a lone, solid wall on the right-hand side, lined with bookshelves. In the middle of that wall was a single, open doorway leading to another room he couldn't see. Each of the bookshelves contained thick, bound books that filled almost every space.

  That wasn't the most amazing thing.

  A large, opulent table sat in the room's center, with smooth, contoured edges. Intricately carved chairs surrounded it.

  More of the strange, unlit lights hung from the ceiling, and other gadgets sat on smaller tables in various places in the room. Small desks lined the windows, filled with piles of books and other devices. Bray stepped in with awe, unable to pry his eyes from the people, the metal objects, or the books, any of which would have commanded a fortune in any township or village.

  A few taller, freestanding pieces of metal similar to the ones called windmills—only much smaller—stood near the windows, turning, providing a coolness that Bray had never felt inside, in Brighton, the wild, or anywhere else.

  "Fans," Tolstoy explained as they stepped farther in. "I told our people to turn them on so we could use them, and you would be more comfortable."

  Bray opened and closed his mouth on too many questions.

  Beckoning to the large table in the room's center, Tolstoy said, "Have a seat."

  Taking his cue, The Gifted ones walked on feet Bray couldn't see beneath their robes, taking seats. Had he been in a snowberry-induced stupor, Bray might've convinced himself they floated. A part of him wondered if he was dreaming, destined to wake up on a bed of rocks and dirt in the wild. Cullen looked as if he had been caught mid-bite in a stolen meal. He walked with his mouth open, his eyes wide, following Kirby, William, and Bray.