Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II Hodges, Aaron (simple e reader TXT) 📖

You do not need to shout, her words whispered gently in his mind.

Despite the danger of his situation, Lukys felt his cheeks grow warm. He quickly dropped his eyes to the river, focusing on the rocks that shimmered beneath the surface rather than his mortification. Shout? He barely knew how to speak this way!

It is strange for us too, hearing a human Speak, Sophia’s words chased after him. There was a pause before she continued. There is a beauty in this place, even for our people. The Matriarch saw no reason not to make use of it.

Her words inspired a dozen more questions in Lukys’s mind, but before he could formulate a sentence, Dale shifted closer to him.

“What was that about, you think?” the other recruit hissed, looking in Sophia’s direction.

Lukys shook his head, struggling to shift back to a verbal conversation. “Something startled her,” he offered finally. “We’re lucky she didn’t tear our throats out.”

That seemed enough for Dale and he let the topic drop.

I would not have harmed you, human. There was a touch of humour to Sophia’s words now.

Frowning, Lukys glanced in her direction. He was about to mention to her something of their words in the forest, but at the last moment thought better of it. There seemed to be little point in reminding the creature of her loss. Instead, he offered an observation.

My name is Lukys, he tried, reaching out more gently with his mind now.

Yes, it is. Her voice turned cold again, and Lukys swallowed as silence fell across his mind.

It was a strange sensation, having a conversation all in his mind—almost like he were talking to himself. He wondered how the Tangata did it, how they distinguished their own thoughts from those of their fellow Tangata. Sophia’s voice had a distinct tone to it, but often the whispers he heard coming from the others were indistinguishable from his own inner musings.

Finally they reached the bridge spanning the Shelman River. It stretched some six hundred feet to the distant island, built from great blocks of granite that plunged down into the swirling waters. Bricks had been laid to protect the structure from the endless traffic, but these had been worn smooth over the decades, and twin ruts in the centre revealed the gradual erosion left by the wagons.

There were no wagons now, though. The few Tangata leaving the city were on foot, many carrying great packs upon their backs. Lukys expected them to stop and stare at the human prisoners Adonis had brought to the city, but instead the passersby paid them little attention.

Halfway across the bridge, the polished stone turned abruptly to wood. Lukys paused, eyeing the ragged section of planks spanning a gap between the granite blocks. He guessed the allied forces of humanity must have blown this section of the bridge to protect their retreat to the north. The Tangata had evidently lacked either the skill or the patience to repair the damage with stone.

Sophia and the other Tangata continued across the patched section without hesitation, leaving Lukys with no choice but to follow. The boards groaned as they took his weight, but thankfully held, and a moment later he returned to the bricked path.

They continued, reaching the shores of the island and passing onto the broad avenue that split the city in two. Lukys was surprised to find the street awash with colour. Trees lined the avenue, pink blossoms sprouting from their wiry branches, their petals swirling at every breeze and filling the air with the sweet scent of flowers.

More than that, though, the buildings themselves were each a display of individuality. Just like in the border city of Fogmore, the Calafe had built their city of wood. But the similarities ended there. Where Fogmore appeared to have been thrown together overnight, New Nihelm had been built with care, the wooden beams and panels of every building fitted together with precision.

Each house had also been painted in different colours from its neighbours. Façades of red and yellow and blue and green led away down the street, creating a vibrant, picturesque image of a city united by its differences.

Sadness touched Lukys at the thought, as he remembered that the families who had so lovingly crafted the image were gone, forced from their homes by the threat of the Tangata.

The sun was lifting higher into the sky, bringing with it more of New Nihelm’s new Tangatan occupants. They moved about the paved streets much the same as the citizens of his own city back in Perfugia, though they were not half so numerous. It would have been easy to forget the creatures around him weren’t human.

Easy, but for the fact they lived in a city stolen from its rightful owners. It had not been the Tangata who had thought to build their city upon this island. It had not been their skill that had crafted such beautiful homes, nor their hardship that had maintained it for a century. No, the only thing built by the Tangata on this entire island were the wooden boards they had used to span the broken bridge.

Everything else they had stolen from the Calafe.

Eventually, their captors led them off the main avenue into the smaller streets that crisscrossed the island. There they began to see further signs of life—vendors standing behind stalls, groups of Tangata on street corners, and still others carrying great packs of goods on their backs. Only…Lukys could not help feeling there was a strangeness to it all, an unnaturalness that hung about the city.

It was a while before he could put a finger on the abnormality.

It was the silence.

In every city, every town he had ever visited, there was a constant buzz, a distant rumbling of wagons and beating of hammers, of voices, of life. With the Tangata in New Nihelm, there was none of that.

They crossed a number of bridges spanning smaller watercourses, though these were broad, arcing things that lifted several yards higher than the surrounding streets.