The Ruins
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Anrhu slept for 493 days; more than a year of being unconscious beneath the rubble of a massive unnatural earthquake. When he woke up because of some dog's piss, he discovered that the world that he left was gone and that creatures from stories meant to frighten children have awakened and coexisted with the survivors of the apocalypse.
He followed the dog and a mysterious man, whom he eventually discovered to be a demigod, attacked by manananggals, befriended a kapre and discovered that the answer to all his questions lies within the words of a forgotten prophecy. Together with the other wakers, they travelled the changed landscape of two islands and went on the search of seven keys that shall lock the seven gates of Kanlaon, the mystical volcano; within its fiery caverns, another legendary foe awakens with the might of the hidden shadow that is the reason for everything.
Against time, the questers must discover the reality behind the Code of Kalantiaw, the epic poetry of Hinilawod, meet merfolks, cheat death, gain friends and uncover enemies until they could ultimately complete the seven keys that shall be the answer to all.
Meet Anrhu, Bulagao the kapre, Labaw Donggon the demigod, Kaptan, Tan Juan Araneta, Requinto the tikbalang, Nejeme the kataw and a host of other characters straight from the pages of Philippine Visayan Folkloke, reintroduced in a world set in the present but could very well be our future.
Louis Archie Perez
Louis Archie Perez or "Snakey" as he wishes to be called has always been a dreamer and a weaver of words. The Seven Keys series is his first completed work along with several unpublished short stories set mostly in fantastical worlds with stubborn characters that he declares and reiterates continue to pester him into telling their own stories. He will in time.
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The Ruins - Louis Archie Perez
THE RUINS
Book One of the Seven Keys Series
By: LOUIS ARCHIE PEREZ
Copyright 2012 Louis Archie Perez
Smashwords Edition
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of this author
*****
This is a work of fiction.
While names of actual persons, living or dead have been used in this novel, they were used in a fictional manner. The author stresses that this is purely out of his dreams, imagination and careful research.
*****
BOOK I-UNO
You shall not kill, neither shall you steal,
neither shall you do harm to the aged,
lest you incur the danger of death.
All those who infringe this order shall be
condemned to death by being
drowned in the river, or in boiling water.
Code of Kalantiaw, Article I
*****
PROLOGUE
A miniscule dust devil swirled into existence, only to dissolve into gray dust as it was trampled beneath the feet of the procession.
There were more than a dozen of them, devout religious set on following a ritual mostly based on stories and tales considered as little more than myths. Heads bowed in humbled prayer, they were dressed in a dizzying array of silk robes with clashing colored sashes flung haphazardly across their chests, secured with safety pins. Infinitesimal specks of the gray mud clung to the hem of the gay robes and gave it an almost monochromatic appearance; darker and brighter at the top where the dust failed to reach.
Their monotonous mantra rose and fell. The sound carried in the wind; broken only by the creaking grunt of the carriages that strained with the burden of life-sized wooden idols. It ended in a glass encased coffin where the wooden god was lying in velvet, a crown of thorns permanently fixed on his forehead.
Flanking the coffin were black-clad women of various ages; from crone-like elders to young women barely out of puberty. They were like the others. Except that the robes that covered them from head to foot were devoid of loud colors. The criers, they represented the grief of the women when their mortal god died as sacrifice to save their souls centuries past, their distinctive wail of lament echoed throughout the parade.
The procession moved forward, if only slowly. All towards a small dilapidated church that had seen better days; peeling paint, walls frescoed by grime and mildew, bent pews almost completely devoured by termites. In stark contrast, it stood black against the setting sun. From within, the faint intermittently blinking light from old electric bulbs beckoned to the religious, a much welcome sight from the darkening night.
As the parade entered the church, the criers stopped before the entrance. The crones turned left and followed a graveled path towards the back of the building, the younger ones hesitating only a moment before following their elders. With the last faint rays of sun, one by one they entered a removed room behind the church. The rest of the congregation’s voice rose in a desolate song of lament.
The last to enter was a girl of about fourteen. It was her first time to be a crier. She stepped forward and was swallowed by darkness.
There was a boy inside the room; surprisingly, only the boy and nobody else. He was dressed in gossamer strips of what could pass off as rags; he looked ethereal. Solid yet, there was a sort of glow that made him seem not of this world. Somehow, where there should have been darkness, there was a radiance that was faintly pulsing; as if it was the air itself that was lit.
And where there should have been black clad women, there was the boy. A boy of about seventeen, a handsome boy that stood and looked at her with tears trapped within his sad sad eyes.
Who are you?
Vincent
he whispered, his voice unearthly.
What happened to lola?
inquiring about her grandmother.
A pause.
She is here, yet, she is not
A single tear rolled from Vincent’s eyes. His sadness was a companion that was there but was unseen, just like the rest of the criers.
I want my lola.
The boy looked at her. As if deciding whether to speak or not.
Be careful little girl. There are things that you don’t understand. Tell Mama that soon I won’t…we won’t… be able to stop the fire from flowing from where we are stopping it. A quake will come, be alert then because after that is the fire. You must stop the fire. Do not forget. Please, please…remember.
He looked behind him as if someone was calling him from afar. And quickly turned to face her. Somehow, she knew that he was in a hurry. You have to remember…you have to…
There was a piercing scream. And the boy, and everything else, was gone.
CHAPTER 1 - DOG PISS
Buglas : Day 493
The dog was emaciated.
A few pounds of meat within loose, scab-covered skin clung to bones. It could have been gray or black or brown; not really any color. But it was moving. Half alive, for the moment.
It was almost an intrusion to the bleakness of everything; a moving shadow in stark contrast to the black and white square tiles that covered a portion of the ruin’s floor. The dog moved from one square of the alternating colored boxes to the next, a little further away to the West from the circular pavilion or the remains of it which was at the exact center of the devastated park.
Tail tight between its hind legs, the canine gingerly ambled on more debris. Picked its way over fallen pieces of wall, broken glass and sometimes, green vegetation that had managed to fight