← Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
The Ruins - Part 2 🗝️
00:25:58
A bedtime story series for kids
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- [00:09]
A
Hello, friends, and welcome to sleept Stories. Miles and his mom have moved to a new town, and Miles went exploring the old part of town. After Miles found the first star there, he couldn't wait to see where it would take him. Five stars in all, four more to find. Once he finishes breakfast, he heads out to see where the star will lead him, and when he arrives, he is very surprised by what he sees and meets someone who is surprised to see him there. The Ruins Part 2. Miles tried not to look suspicious at breakfast, but mom was watching him the way she did when she knew he was planning something. What are you up to today? Exploring the hills west of town, maybe? Mom's expression shifted. Stay near the boundary line. I won't go deep. Kids went near the ruins. Sometimes adults got uncomfortable there, tired, wanting to leave. Miles had never felt that way, except maybe that one time, but that might have been from running. Mom studied him, then nodded. Be back for lunch. Miles finished his bread and headed out before she could ask more. The Bronze Star was already warm in his pocket. He'd reset it the night before, the long point swinging west toward the hills. He'd been thinking about it constantly, through chores, through dinners, through every moment. His brain wandered back to the workshop and the four locations he hadn't found yet. He hadn't told anyone this was his discovery. Miles started running west, past the last houses of New Haven, where the town ended abruptly. New construction just stopped at a certain point, like someone had drawn a line and said no further beyond that, the land belonged to what came before. The terrain changed as he climbed. Grass gave way to rocky slopes and scattered wildflowers, and his legs burned. This was steeper than his usual routes, but the star pulled steadily forward, the long point unwavering. Then he saw them. Terraces cut into the hillside. Miles stopped, breathing hard. The terraces weren't natural. The lines were too regular, the stone walls too deliberate. Ancient fruit trees grew between the levels, gnarled and twisted, and wild roses had claimed one entire terrace. Someone had built this, planted this, spent years tending it, and then left it all behind. Miles walked slowly up to the first terrace. He noticed a strong smell of rosemary and lavender and something else he couldn't identify. Herbs were growing wild, but still in their original rows, like they remembered where they were supposed to be. Dad would have loved this place, would have wanted to map it, figure out how the irrigation worked, maybe try to restore it. The star's point aimed higher, toward the third terrace, where a stone structure stood. Miles started climbing, stepping carefully on stones that had been placed as a path generations ago. The higher terraces were more organized than the lower ones, and Miles could see the pattern now. Rows where things had been planted, markers made of flat stones with faded labels. Someone had labeled everything, had cared enough to make sure whoever came after would understand. This wasn't just a garden. It was like a library, but for knowledge about growing things. The stone structure stood at the center of the third terrace, and up close Miles could see it wasn't a shed, but more like a control box for the whole system. Channels were cut into the stone around it, pathways for water to flow from somewhere higher up the hillside. Though the channels were mostly dry now, clogged with decades of leaves and dirt. The second star was embedded in the center of a circular wheel mechanism, smaller than the first star, but the same design, the same long point. The metal gleamed dully through layers of mineral deposits and rust. Behind the wheel, set into the hillside itself, was a carved stone door. Miles reached for the star and pulled, but nothing happened. He tried twisting it, but the star wouldn't budge. It was part of the mechanism, like a key that had to activate something before it could come free. Miles gripped the wheel with both hands and pulled harder, but the metal felt rough and cold under his palms and wouldn't move. Whatever this controlled hadn't moved in decades. He stepped back, studying the system. Water was supposed to flow through here. That much was obvious from the channels and the wheel design. But from where? And to where? Miles found a narrow gap beside the stone door and peered through. There was a chamber in there, and it was flooded, dark water filling the space, maybe three feet deep, the surface perfectly still. He couldn't see the bottom, couldn't tell what was submerged, and the air coming through the gap smelled stale and wet and old. Miles backed away, his hand tightening on the edge of the stone. He didn't like water. He couldn't see through, especially not in enclosed spaces. There'd been this thing at the pool once, when he was younger. He'd gone under and couldn't figure out which way was up. Just dark water and his lungs burning and panic everywhere. Dad had pulled him out, but Miles still remembered that feeling of panic. The star was right there, pointing at the flooded chamber, but he'd have to drain it somehow, figure out the ancient irrigation system, make something work that hadn't worked in years. Miles sat down on the stone wall of the terrace, and a bee moved lazily between the lavender plants while the wind smelled like wild herbs and old stone. He'd come all this way, followed the star exactly where it pointed, and now he was stuck. What are you doing? Miles jumped, nearly dropping the star. A girl was standing on the terrace above him, holding binoculars, and she had a field notebook tucked under one arm and was looking at him like he just stepped on something important. She looked about his age, maybe a year older. Miles thought he had seen her before, maybe at the library. Nothing, miles said, which was obviously not true, since he was sitting next to an ancient irrigation system with a bronze star in his hands. The girl climbed down to his level, careful where she placed her feet. This is the old garden terrace. People aren't supposed to mess with it. I'm not messing with anything. Then what are you doing? Not mean exactly, just protective. Like this place mattered to her. Miles didn't answer, just shoved the star into his pocket. The girl looked at the wheel mechanism, then at Miles pocket where the star had disappeared, then back at the stone structure. You were trying to open something? I'm just exploring, miles said. I come here to watch birds, she said. There are nests in those old apple trees. I'm doing a survey for the town council's ecology program, so if you're planning to break something I'm not breaking anything. Miles stayed where he was, not sure whether to leave or stay. The girl sat down on the terrace wall anyway, uninvited, and opened her notebook like she'd decided he wasn't a threat. I'm Emma. Miles. What were you looking at, Miles? He almost said nothing again, but Emma was already sketching the stone structure in her notebook, adding notes about the channels and the wheel mechanism, and she drew quickly, precisely, like someone who paid attention to how things actually worked. Do you know what this is? Miles asked. Irrigation control, emma said without looking up. The old settlement had a whole water management system. Springs in the hills, channels cut into the stone, distribution points for the gardens. She glanced at him. That's what this was. Test gardens. They were proving they could grow food before the great migration. Miles looked at the terraces with new understanding, at the careful rows and the labeled stones. They succeeded, obviously. Otherwise we wouldn't be in New Haven. Emma closed her notebook. So what were you really doing? Miles hesitated. This was his discovery, his secret. But Emma knew things he didn't. About the gardens, about the water system. And the vault was flooded and he had no idea how to fix that. He pulled out the bronze star. Emma's eyes went wide. Where did you find that? In an old meeting house. Miles turned it over, showing her how the long point stayed locked in one direction. It's like A compass. But it doesn't point north. It points to specific places. And it pointed here. Yeah. Emma reached out carefully, not touching, just looking. I've seen that symbol before, carved on buildings in town, on the old cornerstone by the library. There are five of them, miles said. Five stars. This is the second one. He pointed at the wheel mechanism, but I can't get it out. And there's a chamber behind the door, but it's flooded. I don't know how to drain it. Emma stood up and walked to the wheel, examining it closely, and she touched one of the channels, traced it with her finger. The system should still work. If we can get water flowing through correctly, it might drain on its own. Might. These systems were built to last self maintaining. Mostly the question is whether we can figure out how to restart it. She looked at Miles. Why are you collecting them? The stars? I don't know yet, miles admitted. But someone left them on purpose, with clues. There's a journal, Instructions, kind of about things waiting to be found. Emma was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she opened her notebook again and flipped to the page covered in sketches. I've been mapping water sources up here for the bird survey. They need reliable water to nest. The page showed the hillside in careful detail, where water pooled after rain, where the ground stayed wet, where springs emerged from the rock. Miles looked at the sketches, then at the star compass in his hand. Maybe, emma said slowly, we could figure it out together. It took them 20 minutes to find the spring. Emma's map showed where it should be, but the channels were overgrown and they had to trace them by hand, pulling away vines and clearing decades of leaves. The spring itself was barely a trickle between two rocks, but it ran consistently. An old wooden sluice gate was wedged closed. They worked a rusted pin free and the gate creaked upward. Water started flowing. They followed it downward, cleaning obstructions, at one point relocating an abandoned bird's nest. The water reached a junction where the channel split. Emma directed the flow towards the gardens first, but when they returned to the wheel mechanism, nothing had changed. There's another gate, emma said. Approaching by the junction. She revealed a second control, completely clogged with mineral deposits. They chipped away the buildup with sticks and rocks until it budged. Water surged through the wheel mechanism. We have to turn it manually first, emma said. Then the water pressure will help. They both grabbed the wheel. On three they pulled. Nothing at first. Then something shifted, a grinding sound again. The wheel moved an inch, then another, and water started flowing through the gate. The mechanism began to Work. Water rushed into the chamber, and Miles watched through the gap, his stomach sinking. It's flooding worse. Trust the system, emma said, watching the channels. The water rose higher, almost to the ceiling, and Miles hands were shaking. Too much water, too enclosed. But then it found the drainage channel and started flowing out, pouring down the hillside. The level began to drop. They kept working the wheel until it locked into place with a final click and the second star came loose in Miles hand. Emma was smiling. Want to see what's inside? Miles stood at the entrance, where it smelled like wet stone and old air. Even with the doorway light, it was dark inside, water still dripping. He was a little nervous. I can go first, emma said quietly. No, miles said. I've got this. He stepped through. The chamber was cool but not damp. Built well. Emma followed. Every wall had shelves carved into stone, and clay jars sat on every shelf, hundreds of them, sealed with wax, each labeled in careful handwriting. Miles moved closer, reading labels. Seeds, emma whispered. They're all seeds. Not just seeds. Instructions, notes, stories. A library of how to grow things. In the center stood a stone pedestal with a notebook, just like in the workshop. Emma picked it up carefully, opened to the last entry, where the pages were yellowed but dry. She read aloud. 15th of April. The soil tests are complete. The plants still thrive. Wheat, corn, vegetables, fruit trees. All of it grows as it always has. But the people cannot stay. Adults feel it now, the tiredness, the need to leave. We don't understand why the soil affects us, but not the plants. But we cannot ignore it. New Haven's ground is untouched, and our crops will grow there safely. The migration must proceed. We leave these seeds as proof that what grew here can grow there, and we leave them for the children, who may one day understand the what we could not. Emma closed the notebook carefully. Miles looked around at the jars, at the careful labels, at the years of work preserved in clay and wax and patient handwriting. They didn't run away, he said slowly. The garden still worked, but the people couldn't stay because of how the soil made them feel, emma said, understanding dawning in her voice. Like how adults say the old settlement makes them tired, want to leave, but kids don't feel it the same way. Maybe that's why they left all this, emma said, gesturing at the seeds, at the vault, at everything. Not just to remember but but because they knew kids would be able to come back to find it. For kids specifically, Miles thought, remembering the journal in the workshop. Children always find what adults hide. Or what adults can't reach anymore. He looked at the shelves full of seeds, at the preserved knowledge, at the careful sitting system built to last. They hadn't just abandoned this place. They'd prepared it for someone like him, for someone like Emma. Why does the soil do that? Miles asked quietly. Why does it affect people but not plants? Emma shook her head. I don't know. The journal says they didn't understand it either. Miles touched the second star in his pocket, where it was still warm and the compass had three more directions, three more places waiting. Maybe the other stars would tell them. Maybe that's what the whole network was for. Not just preserving what they'd built, but explaining what had happened. There are three more stars, he said. Three more discoveries. Emma looked at him. Can I help you find them? Miles almost said no, because this was his discovery, his thing. The workshop and the journal and the network. He'd found it first. But then he remembered the vault would still be flooded if Emma hadn't known about the water system. And he'd still be sitting on that terrace wall, stuck alone. Yeah, miles said. Next weekend. Emma smiled. Deal. They planted one packet of seeds before leaving. Tomatoes, which Emma said were hearty. Miles dug while Emma placed the seedlings, spacing them three feet apart. The soil felt different from town soil, darker and older, like it remembered things. Next weekend, emma said as they finished. Yeah. They shook on it. Miles ran home with two stars, warm in his pocket and seeds in the ground behind him. He wasn't alone in this anymore, wasn't sure how he felt about that at first, but the vault would still be sealed if he tried to do everything himself. At lunch, mom asked about his morning. I made a friend, miles said. Mom smiled, actually smiled, like she'd been waiting to hear exactly that. I'm glad, Miles. His pocket felt warm against his leg. Three more stars, three more weekends, and someone to share them with. And that is the end of this part. Good night. Sleep tight. It.