The Land of Broken Roads - Subtle Powers - Chapter 20
The humans must not have heard the scratching; or if they did, they chose to ignore it. The shock of the sudden fight wore off quickly and Biandina’s babbu pulled her away from the spreading black blood while the old woman hastily wiped some splattered drops from the old man’s face. Other than that, everyone stared in horror and disgust at the brutally mangled corpse of their corrupted kinsman.
Dirt was filthy, blood all up and down his front, but thank Grace he’d had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. He never wanted to taste anything worse than tentacle slime and this smelled like it would be.
He stepped over to the untouched pile of snow and pushed his face in as far as it would go, then turned his head left and right to try and clean it. That turned out to be painful, since the snow somehow scraped like sand, and the icy cold wasn’t pleasant either. And on top of that, it didn’t work very well.
Oh well. He’d borrow a rag and use that. First, though, he retrieved his dagger and cleaned it thoroughly in the snow by wetting it down, wiping it with his fingers, and finishing with the back of his pants where they were still clean. The sheath was still clean, fortunately.
By then, Socks had squeezed into the great hall and stuck his head through the doorway of the Aedes, as close as he could get without ruining the building. -Everyone hold still,- he commanded in the way of wolves, then shared his sense of hearing with Dirt. The humans looked at the wolf, trying to assess how angry he was and didn’t seem to know how to tell. They hushed and held still.
With Dirt’s human ears, the scratching had been faint and distant, but now it echoed clearly in a hollow space under the front of the statue. It was a metallic sound, unlike the scratching under Ocriculum. Giving the floor a closer examination, he saw that the spot where the altar should have gone had two half-stones instead of a full one, and the altar would have hidden the line.
“What do you think that is?” asked Dirt.
-It’s not a bone. But other than that, I don’t know. I can’t see under the floor with ghost sight. I wish I could get closer,- said Socks. -It doesn’t sound like the empty space is very large.-
“No, I was just thinking that. The sound is reverberating in there and I can almost hear the shape. Oh, I know what that is. It’s the treasury,” said Dirt. He stepped over and knelt, then leaned down and rested his human ear directly on the stone. Even doing that, Socks’ ears heard it better than his did.
-What do you put in a treasury? Dead things?-
“I don’t remember that much. Just the name of it, and that it’s hiding in the Aedes.”
-The Aedes?-
“That’s what this room is called. I guess you would come in here to see the god when you wanted to. Or to make a sacrifice.”
-And there’s a place underneath called the treasury? Is that because there’s treasure in it?-
“Probably. Although I bet there isn’t anymore, after so long. People have been living here the whole time. I’m surprised the stone covering it never broke.”
-They probably don’t like to come in here because of the god.-
“Yeah, but three thousand years is a long time,” said Dirt. He stood back up. The pool of blood didn’t look like it would spread this far and drip into the treasury, but that made Dirt wonder how well it was sealed. Although if it wasn’t well-sealed, it would have been full of water by now.
He looked at the humans, wondering what he should ask them, and more importantly, how. Biandina’s mind showed she could hear the sound, and wondered what it was, since she hadn’t noticed it before. She had a memory of coming here late at night, before the snowfall. Sneaking silently, kneeling before the statue with a rabbit in her hand. She hadn’t noticed the sound then.
Her babbu thought perhaps Dirt was making it, but mostly he was interested in the flying dagger. He kept thinking of how he’d get Dirt to let him examine it.
The old woman was filled with dread that seemed unrelated to the reeking corpse only a few steps away. No, she was concerned that Dirt had noticed; that he’d heard or seen.
Dirt watched more closely. She had been young when it happened—it was an old memory, hazy and half-full of imagined details. She’d watched as they’d tied him up, screaming all the while, begging for mercy. They’d plunged a knife into his stomach, then buried him alive right where Dirt was standing. The large paving stone was pushed back into place, and his pained groans were muffled to nothing. Almost. Almost to nothing. She’d stood there, as had they all, until he was silent.
He was silent no longer, however. After so long, he was scratching at the underside of his tomb.
“Hey Socks, she—”
-I saw it. The old man is thinking about it, too,- said Socks.
Biandina was the first to move, being the least afraid of the giant pup. She gingerly stepped over to Dirt, pointed at the monstrous corpse only a few paces from the hidden tomb, then at herself, and made the sacrificing motion again. She was trying to tell him it was her fault, but Dirt just shook his head and shrugged. He doubted messing up a sacrifice to a missing god would bring a half-dead person to live in their city, but how should he go about explaining that to her?
Socks said, -Make a light. I think I want to lift the stone and see what’s in there. It should be a dead person, not a giant smoke monster. And if he’s all the way dead and still moving, then we should take care of him.-
Dirt patted Biandina on the back in a way he hoped was comforting, then gripped her shirt and pulled her a couple steps back. He snapped his fingers to call a little light into being, then picked up the staff.
The two old people stepped forward at once, arms out to stop him, but Socks held them in place with his mind and gave a low growl. They immediately quit resisting, and he slid them back a few paces before letting them go again. Biandina’s babbu held his spear ready, but wasn’t sure what the threat might be. He must not know about the burial.
Dirt gripped his staff in both hands, then raised it over one shoulder for a swing just in case.
The old man held his hands out toward Socks in a gesture of pleading. “Per piacè, ùn apre micca. Ùn sapete micca ciò chì fate,” he said, and the meaning was clear enough, from his nervous glances at Dirt and the stone floor. Please don’t open it. “Per piacè.”
Socks could hardly move his head with it stuck in the doorway like that, but he glared at the old man out of the corner of his eye.
Dirt asked, “What’s in there, do you think?” and pointed at the cover stone with his staff.
“Una maledizione,” said the old man, his voice full and desperate. “Una vechja maledizione.” A curse.
A curse like on Biandina, Dirt wondered? Too bad curses probably weren’t real. Dead things that moved, though, those were real, and they needed to be taken care of.
Dirt nodded and told Socks, “Okay, I have enough mana again. Open it, but be ready to smash whatever’s in there.”
-Of course. In fact…- said Socks, and with that, he lifted Dirt up and brought him safely back alongside his snout. -Your job is to keep it from poking my nose.-
Before finally lifting the stone, however, Socks sent out another message to everyone and this time, it was his sense of annoyance at the humans behind him that were trying to squeeze around him and see in the doorway. Stay back, you are bothering me, he was saying. Biandina’s babbu tried to peek over the pup’s head to see who it was, but there wasn’t a gap big enough with all that fur.
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“If anyone steps on your tail you have my permission to knock them over with it.”
Socks huffed in mild amusement. -As if anyone’s tall enough to do that. Ready?-
“Ready,” said Dirt. He raised the staff again, ready for a swing, and brightened the light he had hovering over the stone.
Socks lifted the whole lid at once, raising the stone straight up higher than human height. Beneath was a small chamber, just a box, really, that contained a dry old corpse. One arm was extended, animated, moving in a repeated cutting motion. It held a ruined dagger, worn all the way down to the hilt, and waved it to scratch exactly where the lid had been.
The arm was clearly old and dead, with exposed yellow bone poking through brittle yellow skin and shrunken flesh. The corpse’s face was all bone, clearly visible, but the rest of him was concealed beneath what remained of his clothing.
Seeing the moving corpse caused the old couple to moan in horror and shrink away. Their minds filled with guilt and despair and their capacity for reason shrank beneath the weight of what they were witnessing.
The corpse pushed its arm upward, recognizing the lack of resistance, and hung motionless in the air for a moment. Then, with the sound of ancient cracking joints and crumbling flesh, the dead man rose from his grave, standing up almost as if being lifted rather than rising under his own power.
Its head was the last part of him to snap into place, and his empty skeletal gaze fixed on the old couple, ignoring the bloody child and giant wolf completely. Its mouth clacked in mimicry of speech as it shot an accusatory finger forward, just bone, but with flaps of old flesh hanging beneath it.
The old couple whimpered and clutched each other. “Stà daretu!” shouted the old man, but it sounded more like a plea than a command.
The decaying skeleton lifted its knee and stepped from its grave, arm still pointing. Its shoes, surprisingly, were in good condition, and its soft footfalls made no sound.
Once both its feet were out of the box and it started shambling forward, Socks smashed it. He crushed it from above with a wall of mental force and from one instant to the next, it was gone. Nothing but a wide, flat spot of dried jerky and bone dust and tattered furs remained, mingling along the edges with the slowly spreading pool of blood.
Dirt seemed more relieved than the rest of them. He hadn’t realized he was nervous until the nervousness left him, but he had been. Perhaps something of his fear of Prisca remained, but thank the Gods, this was nothing like her. And hopefully, nothing ever would be again.
He stepped over to peek into the treasury and said, “That’s too bad. It’s all empty.” Biandina’s father stood at his side, gazing in briefly with a dark demeanor. He toed the corpse-dust and smeared it a little, as if having a hard time believing what he’d just seen.
The old couple shuffled toward Socks, indicating by their body language that they wanted his head out of the doorway. There was a sense of urgency in the air, and Dirt figured the humans had had enough insanity and danger and wanted to go somewhere less intimidating. He patted Socks on the nose and told him, “May as well put the lid back on.”
The stone floated down until Socks was sure it was lined up perfectly, then dropped a few inches into place. After that, with a resigned snort he pulled his head out the door and almost instantly, armed men rushed in, first five, and then twenty. The Aedes was spacious, but not that spacious, and with a pool of blood and pile of snow taking up so much of the floor space, it quickly became crowded.
The fighting men saw the mangled corpse and the blood all over Dirt, with him standing here holding a staff, and jumped to the obvious conclusion. They lowered their spears and shouted at him, anger and fear in their eyes.
But only for a moment. With a cry of alarm, the old man hurried into the group of soldiers and started pushing their spears away. He shouted as well, and hearing him, they quieted. “Ùn attaccà u zitellu. Ùn mai attaccà stu zitellu! Nun mai!” he shouted, once he had their attention. Dirt could guess the meaning well enough—Don’t attack the boy.
Other humans started creeping in past Socks, eyes wide and necks stretched to see what was going on. First a couple of women, then a man with no weapon who walked tall like he should have one and hoped no one noticed. He stood amongst the fighters.
Then, of all things, a child, younger than Dirt. A little girl. Dirt was terrible at guessing the ages of humans, and pretty much everything else except for wolves, but she was old enough to talk without difficulty, but still young enough her mother was almost certainly nearby. She wore no shoes, despite the chilly stone floor, but had the same long woolen dress that most women wore.
The little girl snuck behind the adults and Dirt realized he was the only one who’d seen her. Well, best not to give it away, if she was that sneaky. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to look.
But she wasn’t here to look. Once she spotted Biandina, she ran straight for her and clapped her arms around her waist and held her tightly. “Eudossia?” said Biandina, startled.
Babbu saw the little one too late to stop her, and now he didn’t want to pull them apart, even though he reached out a hand to do so before changing his mind.
“Eudossia, chì faci quì ? Ùn devi micca vede questu. Ùn duvete micca vede… mè,” said Biandina. This, of all things, was too much for her, and she looked helplessly at her father as tears began streaming down her face. Her chest shook with a sob, then a second one, both of which she suppressed. Her hand hovered over the little one, and Dirt saw she wanted to return the hug but didn’t dare.
So he pushed her arms with his mind and made her. Glancing at her mind, Biandina didn’t realize it was him who did it. She thought it was an involuntary reflex and gave up resisting.
Then another girl just a bit older and a boy about Dirt’s height snuck into the room as well, far less effectively. No one stopped them, though, and they rushed right to Biandina as well, hugging her.
“Look, Socks, she has siblings! They must have been sad about her,” said Dirt, his own pity awakening. Socks had been stoic about losing so many of his own siblings, seldom dwelling on it, but it made Dirt melancholy any time he thought about it. They had been so precious, and now they were gone.
Another child, smaller than the first, with hair so messy Dirt wasn’t sure what sex it was, and two more older ones came rushing in and went straight for their sister. Another little one followed shortly after, a boy. Seeing them all together, the similarity was so obvious that even Dirt could see it, and he had very little experience telling humans apart.
But that wasn’t all. Last came a woman with a tiny child in her arms, too small to walk but big enough to sit up, and started calling sharply to the children to come back, each of them by name. She refused to look Biandina in the eyes, and it took Dirt a minute to find her mind. Once he did, he found a soul as hard as flint. Whatever emotions she had in there were locked away so tightly they might never come back out. A hard woman, and a hard life.
The room was too full of commotion for anything productive to happen, other than all the adults pointedly looking at anything other than Biandina suppressing sobs and the smaller children wailing without making the attempt. She had been dead to them, and was alive again.
Pity burned hotter in Dirt’s heart, sympathy that enkindled righteous anger. What stupid humans they were, to have a perfectly good human and get rid of her over some stupid rabbit! And an absent god! Didn’t they know how rare humans were these days?
It was the old woman who did what no one else wanted to and finally started peeling away children and pushing them toward the mother. The mother yanked them commandingly toward the door, but with so many and only one arm, she couldn’t force them all out.
That was more than Dirt could handle, and he nearly started shouting at them to stop, but didn’t. They couldn’t understand him. He could shout all day long and they might understand no more than five words of it.
“I am getting really sick of not knowing their language!” said Dirt, practically shouting to Socks.
-I can see. I would pull you over and give you a lick, but you have that blood all over you and I don’t want to taste it either,- said Socks. His voice was gentle and tinged with his own sympathy. Not necessarily for Biandina, but for Dirt, whose current anger was a kind of suffering.
“They are so dumb! What are they doing? Can’t they see the siblings want their sister?”
One of the littlest ones chose to fall on his bottom rather than get ushered toward the door. He cried, “Innò! Vogliu Biandina!” No, I want Biandina! His little hand reached for her, tiny fingers grabbing. Dirt wanted to scream.
Socks growled and the low rumble cut through the noise, causing the men to stop speaking loudly to each other and the children to stare back through the shadowed doorway in fear. The pup’s yellow eyes glowed with reflected light, adding to the effect. There was a predator here and they were not behaving themselves. He sent out a mental image, showing his displeasure that they were making Dirt sad.
Shockingly, Biandina’s mother spun and stomped out to face him. She stopped three paces from Socks’ face and shook her finger at him. “Ùn capite nunda. Biandina deve andà. Nimu li piace, ma deve succede. Capisci? Ella deve lascià.”
Neither Dirt nor Socks understood her words, but her mind was still easy to find. She was the only one staring a giant wolf in the face. In her heart, she’d already given up, and this was just another miserable task. Like burying a loved one or slaughtering a pet for food. That’s what her emotions felt like. Hard and bitter, resigned.
“Okay, you know what?” said Dirt. Hardly anyone was listening to him, though, since they were all fixated on the wolf, who was probably about to eat their woman. “This is stupid. Something insane and weird is going on here and I’ll never figure it out this way. I’m going to go learn how to talk your language. Nobody do anything stupid! Like kick Biandina out again!”
By the end, most of them had at least turned to see what he was ranting about, not that they understood.
“Okay, Socks, toss me up on the roof, right through that hole.”
-Are you going to call the wind? You will be cold up there.-
“Yep, I’m going to call the wind, and once it gets here, I’m going to ask for the language. Up I go, please.”
A chorus of startled gasps followed Dirt up through the hole in the roof. He landed atop the dome and grabbed on to the crumbling crestwork, where once a spire had stood.
Satisfied he was secure, he raised his staff and spoke magic into the world, summoning a gust of wind. He called more, and more.
