A grim expression crossed Tolstoy's face. "In those first years after The Collapse, and since, we Gifted were persecuted, or hunted as if we were common Plagued Ones. So we learned to hide, given our appearance. Over time, more and more people died, and things became a bit safer. Unlike others, we did not have the worry of The Plagued Ones. Once we figured out we could control them, we ventured further. That is when we found each other—not at the same time, but through many trips out into the ruins. I suspect there are others out there like us."
"Maybe one day we will find more people, like we have met you," Amelia said, with a smile at William.
Tolstoy pointed to the windows facing the south. "A last thing to show you."
They followed him to the glass panes, which Tolstoy had told them were made of reclaimed materials and seashells.
Tolstoy pointed through the windows and below as Bray and the others looked on. Outside, numerous rows of buildings extended into the distance—not in as grand shape as this building, but certainly more hospitable than most places in the wild. Most of them were single-story, square buildings that seemed as if they had been built from the remains of larger structures and maintained. Others, mostly to the right, were taller and older, with larger chimneys than the others. Bray figured those were places where things were produced, like the blacksmith shops in Brighton. Directly below them, Bray saw a balcony similar to the one in the front of the building, which jutted out over a dirt courtyard. On the right of the dirt courtyard was a separate, fenced-off area that seemed as if it might contain animals, but was empty now. The entire city was cordoned off by the impressive wall he had seen from the front of the settlement, which extended from the sides of the building in which they stood, far in the distance. More buildings of all shapes and sizes lay past the perimeter, but most were crumbled and destroyed—the remains of some great city, perhaps. Their silhouettes were backlit in the dying glow of the sun.
The buildings weren't the only spectacle.
Bray saw people.
Some carried buckets of water, while others carried sheets or blankets near their single-story homes, or in the dirt courtyard. More hovered by two large pits of fire. Bray guessed there had to be a few hundred that he could see, probably many, many more in the buildings, judging by the number of them. He couldn't see every detail from up high, but most were dressed similarly to those of The Arches, or Brighton.
"The People of New City," Tolstoy said simply.
Chapter 17: The Clicker
The Clicker ignored the whimpers of the traveler behind them as they pulled him along. Every so often, they struck him when he refused to move his legs, or stuck the tip of a knife at his back to keep him walking. The sun set over the horizon, disappearing below the tips of the trees, casting an amber glow over the forest, creating shadows.
The brothers with the horses trotted ahead, clearing the way, looking for threats. They rode over several trails where weeds poked through fragments of old stone. Occasionally, they skirted around crumbled larger stone, where the foundations of old buildings lay. In none of those did they find any more of The Hunted, or the people they'd seen in the city.
They kept moving south, breaking once by a stream to splash water over their faces, resting on their haunches. The thunder beasts drank from the water, still agitated, but they were getting used to their new owners. The Clicker hadn't owned horses since the days of his father. The thunder beasts were a boon.
The gods of the sky blessed them.
Spotting a clearing to the left of a rugged trail, The Clicker communicated with the others, who broke from their formation to travel the forest line. They hovered in silence, inspecting the branches for recent breakage, or the ground for the unmistakable marks of The Hunted's boots. The Clicker didn't need to wear such contraptions. His peoples' feet were hard and calloused. His toes were wider and more splayed, and he ran more naturally. His prints, when he left them, blended with the Sick People's. It was one of the reasons his people had survived so long, and would outlast many others.
They were halfway down the clearing when The Clicker noticed a few scattered embers, less than a day old. He clicked his tongue. The others broke from their inspection and joined him. They would keep journeying until it was too dark to see. Perhaps they'd find some of The Hunted before camping.
In the morning, they'd continue south.
Chapter 18: Bray
Rudyard carried in a tray with several plates of food and drink and set it down in front of Bray, Kirby, Cullen, and William, each in turn, before excusing himself. Two men at the doorway—the burly, dark-haired man and the tall, freckled man they'd seen when they first arrived—held trays with more. Bray looked down at the warm plate in front of him, which contained a steaming portion of potatoes, a cob of roasted corn, and a helping of meat. Had he been in a finer pub in Brighton, he might not have gotten such a meal.
"Fresh boar, and corn and potatoes from our crops," Tolstoy announced.
"You are fortunate to have such a bountiful harvest," Bray complimented.
"We spent years clearing the farming fields, weeding out the rubble. Thankfully, we are on the edge of an old city, which helps."
"So you have animals?" William asked.
"Yes, we do."
"Do the demons bother them?"
"We mostly keep the Plagued Ones outside the wall, except for a few circumstances."
"A difficult task, I am sure," Bray said as he eyed the boar on his plate.
"Not as difficult as you think, after so many years," Tolstoy said. "We have trained The Plagued Ones the way some might domesticate animals. They listen when we command them, but they have also learned to listen to us often without sounds, the way farm animals might anticipate their owners' directions."
"What do you feed them?"
"Mostly corn, of which we have a surplus. But they get some game in the woods." Somewhere in the distance, Bray heard a faintly audible bell. "Do you hear that? That is the sound we use to signal their feedings. Go ahead, start on your meals. You do not have to wait for us."
"This is delicious," Cullen said, as he chewed a bite of potato. Bray wondered if he had ever seen a meal as grand, scrapping it out in the wild, as his people did.
"Do you have many boars in Brighton?" Tolstoy asked Cullen.
Cullen looked confused for a moment before he nodded.
Hoping to redirect the conversation away from Cullen, Bray said to Tolstoy, "You've talked some of The Collapse. We have some understanding of it, at least from stories. But I am interested to hear more." He looked at Kirby. She had told him many things. She'd even told him that his people were the Ancients, which he was hesitant to believe, but he was starting to.
"After so many years of living, you would think some of the details blend together," Tolstoy said, a sadness entering his voice. "I have lived three hundred and fifty-eight years, the most of all of us. And yet, I still recall The Collapse vividly. Perhaps my memory is a by-product of the spore, in addition to the intellect I was lucky to receive."
"Or perhaps we have so many visual cues around us that we cannot forget," Amelia suggested.
"Were all of you alive during The Collapse?" Kirby asked, looking around.
"Yes, though a few of us were infected in the later years," said Herman, nodding to several of the others.
"We have heard stories about those days, and the great devices our ancestors built," Kirby said.
"They are mostly true," Amelia said. "But of course, you've probably seen the evidence all around. We had devices that could carry us from one place to another in a way that most in the forests can only dream. We had cures for many sicknesses, and ways to prevent them. Unfortunately, much of that knowledge disappeared when so many people died. Many took food and security for granted. The times before The Collapse were those of great prosperity. There were hardships, and there were wars, but the people who lived then didn't realize the comforts they had, until the spore ripped it away."
&nb
sp; "Where did the spore come from?" Kirby asked, probably trying to verify what she'd heard from Jingo, the smart demon.
"Us," Tolstoy said, with a grave shake of his head. "It was supposed to be a cure for fungus, but no one knew the outcome. The cure was another fungus, engineered by genetic code. It worked at the cellular level. It cured an undesirable fungus for the feet that led to the discoloration of toenails, but it did more damage than good. It changed some of the things we talked about earlier. It turned men into monsters."
"So the stories we've heard are true."
Surprise hit Tolstoy. "You knew this?"
"Only from legends, which we didn't know were true until you confirmed them," Bray clarified. He didn't see a reason to bring up the smart demon named Jingo, who was probably dead.
"Your people must have a strong lore," Tolstoy said, continuing. "Unfortunately, the infection spread quickly, creating The Plagued Ones. The Collapse didn't happen at once. It took time for the symptoms to show, as it does for most today. By the time many recognized the signs, The Plagued Ones were already turning. Many people protected their loved ones until it was too late. They thought they could cure them, or quarantine the infection. They saved relatives who would later kill them. Perhaps if people had taken swift measures, they might've stopped what was happening. But denial is a powerful thing. It led to doubt, which almost killed humanity."
Amelia explained further. "Eventually, the infected numbered too many, and most of the humans fell. I survived with my family for a while, but all of them died." Her face grew sad. "Some of them were killed, while others grew rabid with the spore. Eventually, I was the only one left. I was infected, too, but I didn't die. It took me time to realize I could control The Plagued Ones. I hid in an underground room called a bunker for as long as I could, much like Herman."
"We felt our intellect growing, but we didn't know the reason," Tolstoy explained. "If we had learned sooner, perhaps we would have had an easier time surviving."
Looking at William, Amelia said, "You are lucky to determine your power so young. It means fewer years of hardship."
William nodded, but he didn't seem so sure.
"Your people don't fear and hate you, as ours did," Tolstoy said, gesturing at Bray, Kirby, and Cullen. "For that, you are fortunate."
Kirby shifted in her seat.
"William is a special boy," Bray said, and he meant it.
Chapter 19: William
William followed Amelia through the open doorway back into the Library Room. For a while after dinner, they'd discussed more of the things under the glass, in the second room, but now she had something to show him. William was unable to contain his excitement at everything he was shown. The trinkets, baubles, devices, and weapons were things that would have been a dream to him a year ago, or even a day ago. Each device was a beautiful mystery. And these people held the secrets.
William had never dreamed he might find people like him.
Amelia seemed curious every time he spoke—respectful, even. She gave William more courtesy than most people they had met in the wild. More than once, he felt himself smiling. He was happy.
For too many months, he had hidden in his paltry hood, certain that his life ended in death, or madness. But these people meant hope. If they were to be believed, life was just beginning. Perhaps there was no madness behind the spore, after all.
Amelia brought him past the wall of bookshelves, to one of the tables with the devices. Picking up the strange, metal tube with the curved base and the knobs, she said, "I wanted to show you the microscope you seemed interested in before."
"Tolstoy said it makes things look bigger?" he remembered.
"Yes. It allows us to see many things, like the cells we spoke of earlier."
"You talked about them when you mentioned how long we lived." William nodded.
"You are smart. Our mutated cells are the reason we live hundreds of years." Amelia placed the object back on the desk. "I wanted to show you what cells looked like." Amelia stuck her eye against a round piece on top of the object's tube, squinting with her other eye. She put her finger on a flat section of metal, underneath another round tube, and twisted some other pieces of metal. William frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Making some adjustments," she said.
"Adjustments?"
"I'm setting it up so you can see. Put your eye where I had mine." Amelia backed away, but she kept her finger on the flat metal.
William hesitated. "I think this might be a trick."
Amelia laughed in a way that made her seem much younger than three hundred years. "It is not a trick. Does this seem like it hurts me?"
"No." William shook his head, but he still wasn't sure.
"I'll do it again, if you don't believe me." Amelia demonstrated again, putting her eye next to the metal.
William looked over his shoulder, through the doorway, where Bray, Kirby, and Cullen spoke with the others near the glass cases. They were in a place where he could shout for them, if needed. But he didn't think he'd need them. With a deep breath, he placed his eye against the object.
He couldn't believe what he saw.
Through the tube, beneath some sort of magic glass, long lines made circles around a skin-colored object. Several times, he backed away and stared at Amelia's finger, as if she might have placed something else there.
"Is this really you? This must be a trick."
"It is really me," Amelia said with the same smile. "It is my finger."
"But there is water on it. Your finger isn't wet, is it?"
"Those are my pores," she explained. "The microscope shows some of the sweat on top of my skin. You wouldn't be able to see it, with your naked eyes, unless you looked through this device. The microscope makes things larger. Isn't that incredible?"
"It is," William said, taking another glance. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Our bodies are made of tiny organisms called cells. They are so small that you wouldn't see them, without a device like this, or even a more powerful one. But they are there."
"These things, these cells, live on our skin?"
"Not on us," Amelia said. "They are us. Our bodies are made up of them. And our unique cells are the reason we Gifted will live longer than almost everyone else you see. You see, William, our cells are different from the others. Unlike The Plagued Ones outside, they have made us more intelligent. We are the lucky ones."
William stepped away from the object. He wanted to believe, but too many wars and too much violence made him skeptical. "I've never heard what happened to me described as luck."
"Believe me, it is," Amelia said, in a way that almost convinced him that were true. "Surely your leaders believe you are lucky. They trust you."
"They do." William nodded through an answer he didn't believe.
"They must have seen your intelligence, through the spore, unlike too many other tribes."
William thought of the Council of Elders, most of whom wouldn't even know his name. He knew for a fact one was dead, and he suspected the others were, too.
"Do you have many leaders in Brighton?
"Three of them."
"Are their names as normal as yours?" Amelia smiled.
"Yes. Their names are General Blackthorn, Father Winthrop, and Minister Beck."
"Those are easy to say. Some of the tribes near here have names that are almost unpronounceable." Amelia shrugged.
"Not us," William said, adding, "but I guess everyone would think that of their own people." For all he knew, everyone else in Brighton was dead, too. A voice called his name from the other room. Turning, he saw Bray and the others coming in his direction.
"Are you ready, William? Tolstoy has offered for us to stay the night."
William hesitated, looking at Amelia, who smiled.
"Almost," he said. Before Amelia could leave, he looked back at her. "Can I put my finger under the device this time? I'd like to take a look."
Chapter 2
0: Bray
The room Rudyard set them up in wasn't quite as ornate, or furnished, as the one upstairs, but it was still impressive. Five large wooden beds sat on the far wall, unique carvings whittled into their bed frames. An equally adorned dresser accompanied each. Dark glass windows covered the walls of the floor on either end of the room, facing north and south.
"The Gifted one named Barron carved the beds," Rudyard explained to Bray, seeing his attention to the furniture. "Each of us has our passions, or skills, in between doing our regular tasks."
"What is your skill?" William asked.
"I am good at organizing and leading," Rudyard said. "I am the keeper of The Plagued Ones. I make sure they are fed. They listen to all of us, but I have a special bond with them. I have learned other skills, as well."
"It is a surprise you haven't mastered everything by now," Bray said, meaning it as a compliment.
"In time, we will," Rudyard said assuredly. Making a demonstration of the lights, he turned a strange knob. "This is how you work the lights. Since we are on a lower floor, they will draw less attention. You can shut them off when you are ready to sleep. I will come get you when we wake up in the morning. We can give you a proper tour of the crops, and perhaps show you some other things. My hope is that we will become great trading partners."
"Our hope, as well," Bray said.
Rudyard was at the entrance when he stopped and turned. "We lock the doors at night, for obvious reasons. But if you decide you need something in the night, knock loudly and someone will hear you. The men you met earlier can get you what you need. We also have a few guards that keep watch on the floor below The Library Room. Do not hesitate to ask them for me."
And then Rudyard was gone.
Bray listened as he closed and locked the door.
William tested the lights several times, turning them on and off and staring wondrously at the glow. "Incredible," he said. When he grew bored with the lights, he tested the bed, seemingly just as impressed as he had been by the objects in the other room. "I've never had a bed that was lifted from the ground this high."
The Ruins Book 3 Page 9
