The Land of Broken Roads - The Druid - Chapter 12

Dirt looked up into the broken stairway that led to the second floor and thought about that bedroom. It didn’t seem quite so tempting to sleep in anymore.

“This place feels different now,” said Hèctor.

“Different how?” asked Ignasi.

“Just different,” said Hèctor. He peered around as if looking for something, but his eyes seemed vacant.

Socks poked his head in the doorway and said, –I told you they are gone. Come out of there.-

It really did feel different now, although Dirt wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if that tremendous sense of relief was just from him. He still had liquid fear in his veins making his fingers tingle and his head feel swimmy, but only a little and it was fading fast. Socks would probably be smelling it on him the rest of the night, though, because it had been a lot.

No sooner had Dirt walked out than Socks leaned down and licked him a bunch of times. Dirt started giggling and backed away and thought about running, but it was too dark to play chase right now. “Okay, lean down here!” he commanded.

Socks lowered his nose and Dirt hugged the pup’s face with enthusiasm, squeezing as hard as he could. At times like this, it was hard to deny just how fast Socks was growing. Dirt couldn’t reach around as far anymore. They could still nuzzle their heads together, though. Sort of. Mostly Dirt did the nuzzling because if Socks pushed back, Dirt would fall over.

The two men followed close behind. Ignasi scratched Socks’ skull around his ears. Hèctor looked like he wanted to, but didn’t.

Dirt let the lights wink out, sighing quietly as the mana stopped channeling through him. The darkness was complete, but he didn’t mind looking down the road while his eyes readjusted. It might be dark, but there was nothing there anymore.

The men slept in the same barn, but this time Socks lay right outside and Dirt could tell how it put them at ease without even looking at their thoughts. They smiled and moved with grace instead of caution, chatting quietly. Dirt snuggled into his usual spot in Socks’ fur and nodded off sending puffs of affection back and forth.

Morning came late, with the sun well into the sky before Dirt finally stretched and yawned himself awake. Socks was nowhere to be seen, and neither were the men. Dirt smiled to himself as he imagined Socks following them around, sniffing at everything and asking what they were doing.

Besides, that was Dirt’s job. He got up and stepped out from under the roof, then used a little mana to jump on top of it. Sure enough, Socks wasn’t too far away, peering into a house window and wagging his tail.

Dirt hid his thoughts and crept as quietly as he could, stepping slowly to keep even two pebbles from rubbing against each other. Where he had to step through grass, he drifted his fingertips across it and asked it to bend out of the way. He even slowed his breathing to keep it from making the slightest sound.

Inch by inch he crept forward, slow as a hunter, silent as death. Closer. Closer.

“WAAAAAGH!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, right next to Socks. The pup squeaked and jumped three times his height in the air, body twisting as he tried to right himself and face the threat. He landed awkwardly on the house next door and his front paws went right through the rotting roof, where they got stuck.

Dirt laughed so hard he almost cried, and watching Socks trying to extricate himself without pulling the house down made it even better. All this time, and he’d never gotten that close without getting caught. Socks could hear his heartbeat. He could smell what Dirt stepped in two days ago. Sneaking up on him was impossible unless he was thoroughly distracted.

Socks finally managed to get his paws out while leaving the house’s walls intact, although it didn’t really matter because no one was ever going to live there. Dirt ran over and said, “Good morning! I’d say I’m sorry for scaring you but that would be a lie.”

-I am going to summon a ghost if you do that again,- replied Socks.

“You are going to BE a ghost if I keep doing that, since I scared you to death. Be careful, little pup, for I am now a fearsome predator. You’ll never see me coming.”

That got a puff of amusement from Socks, who replied, –You are the Devourer. Of sap and squirrels and birds. Now, come and see what the humans are doing. It is interesting. And watch your back, because I’ll get my revenge.-

Hèctor and Ignasi had come out to see what was going on, and although they watched Socks shake to fling the roof tiles out of his fur, they just looked at each other and kept their opinions to themselves.

They waved for him to follow and went back inside. The house was untouched by the weather, with tight shutters over the windows that had stayed closed all these years and thick wooden tiles on the roof to keep the rain out. It smelled like dust and mysteries, faint and curious. It made the house seem older than it was, which was fun because Dirt knew what old looked like, and this wasn’t it.

“They locked this house up like they were going to come back someday,” said Ignasi, with warm and eager eyes, “which is perfect for us, who want to steal all their stuff.”

Hèctor snorted and knelt by a plain wooden chest and resumed throwing out all the clothing piece by piece.

“Do you want a new shirt?” asked Dirt, since those looked like shirts.

“No, I’m looking for a certain kind of cloth. They might have something worth carrying,” he explained.

“Like what?”

Ignasi said, “Silk, dear Dirt. Hèctor thinks he’s about to find silk. I think he’ll only find other things a woman likes to keep hidden.”

“Like what?”

“Never mind that. Do you know what silk is?”

“No.”

“Do you know what grain is?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” said Ignasi. He handed him a small wooden barrel, a heavy one. The lid was popped open and it was full of pale-brown seeds. “Take those idle hands of yours and pull all the bugs out, and I’ll tell you what silk is.”

“Why am I pulling the bugs out?”

“So we don’t have to eat them, boy,” said Hèctor. “We’re using that grain.”

“No, I mean, what’s wrong with eating bugs? I eat bugs all the time. Or I used to. It’s hard to find big juicy ones anymore,” said Dirt. He looked closer at the grain, which turned out to contain more bugs than he noticed at first. Little ones, small as the grains or smaller, and darker in color. He picked one out and found it old and hard, not worth eating. He tossed it aside. “They’re good. I like grubs the best because they’re chewy on the outside and liquid inside. They’re fun to eat.”

Ignasi swallowed and looked nauseous. “Dirt, never tell anyone about eating juicy bugs ever again. Especially not me. I think I believe you actually eat them.”

“Well, of course I do. Or I did, before the trees started giving me sap. What else was I supposed to eat?”

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Hèctor suppressed a grin and said, “Yes, Ignasi, what else was the boy supposed to eat? Dirt, if you ever spot a big juicy one, let us know so we can share with him. He was telling me the other day how much he wants one.”

Dirt caught on, so he played along. “I will. The best grubs are as long as my finger, like this, and when you’re chewing on one, you can play with the others. They’re really wiggly, and all their little feet tickle your tongue until you bite them a few times. Sometimes I’ll bite one in half and leave the other part moving while I chew.”

He picked out another little dark bug from grain and popped it in his mouth. “Hmm. Crunchy. Not very good, though.”

“I won’t be able to tell you about silk if I’m busy vomiting,” said Ignasi. He really did look sick, which made Dirt and Hèctor give each other conspiratorial grins.

Ignasi held his hand up for Dirt to stop talking and took a sip from his waterskin. He swished, swallowed, and took another sip. “No, it’s too late,” he declared. “I think I’m going to die.”

Hèctor snorted. “We can only hope. But please, do it outside.”

-Stop talking about bugs and tell us about silk,- Socks told everyone. His big yellow eye took up the whole window, making him seem monstrous.

“Silk is cloth, finer and lighter than anything else,” said Hèctor.

“That’s it?” said Ignasi. “Hèctor, you are terrible at this.”

“What?”

“Hèctor, this is a boy, and that is a puppy,” said Ignasi, pointing. He tugged at his beard and said, “You must tell them stories.”

“Then be my guest.”

“I can’t be your guest because this isn’t your house.”

“Then keep your mouth shut.”

“How about I tell a story instead? Dirt, you know nothing of the kingdoms of men. Is that right?”

Dirt took a second to realize he was meant to answer. “Mostly. I know about some things from a long time ago but nothing recent.”

“How long ago?”

“Three thousand years.”

Hèctor looked up, his black eyes piercing again. “Where did you learn about anything from three thousand years ago?”

Dirt considered carefully how he wanted to answer, but Socks answered for him first. -If your story is any good, then maybe we’ll tell you.-

Ignasi said, “If it’s Hèctor’s story, it won’t be any good, so I’ll tell it instead. My grandfather was a man named Tomàs, and when he was a boy, his grandfather told him what he was taught by even older ancestors. And that is this: in the days before the Three Kingdoms of Camayans, they were all one kingdom, which stood for hundreds of years. In those days, men made mighty ships to sail the oceans and look for lands more welcoming. They were shaped like a seed, with a point at the front and flat at the back, and floated high on the water, taller than buildings. No expense was spared, with decorations from front to back. Carved wood and inlaid bone and brass. Such a ship might hold a thousand men or more, with room inside for their horses and provisions for months of travel.

“Some ships departed and never returned, lost without explanation. Others found fertile land with water and safety and claimed it. Some grew prosperous while others failed and were lost. But many more ships found new kingdoms of men. Kingdoms of mountains, of plains, and of water. Men of all kinds. The ships returned with goods: gold and silver, crops that we still grow to this day. Tools and writings useful for knowledge. In those days, every man had enough food, and the King’s men fought back the beasts that hunt us.

“Of all the goods from those marvelous places across the water, the finest is silk. Silk is like a dream made of feathers, so gentle you believe it will fly apart if you blow on it, but sturdy enough to wear. My grandfather never learned where it came from, and none has been made since the ships were lost. Dirt, please stop eating those,” said Ignasi.

Dirt put down the grain-bug he’d been about to pop in his mouth without realizing, and chewed on a piece of grain instead. “Sorry. I’m listening. Was that all?”

“No, it was not all. Those days, the days of that One Kingdom, have been gone for over two hundred years. Long enough to be forgotten by most. And some even say the One Kingdom was not the first—that other kingdoms came before it. That men were once so prosperous that we fought against each other instead of the wilds.

“But those days are long, long past for most of us. The One Kingdom fell for the same reasons so many towns do. Do you know what those reasons are?”

Dirt said, “Well, you’re the first humans I ever met, so, no. I have no idea. Why is that?”

“The wilds, little Dirt. It is always the wilds. This is something so basic that it almost didn’t occur to me to ask. Goblins, for example. Is one goblin a problem? Are ten? If there are ten goblins, then twenty men will kill them. But those ten goblins are only discovered after they kill a cow or a child or a family. Then the whole village is poorer—one less cow, one less child, one less family. Bit by bit, over many years, the towns and villages shrink. The land they can safely farm decreases, the risks they are willing to take while hunting grow fewer.

“Perhaps a great hunter comes who kills many goblins. Maybe even kills them all. And then for a generation or two, the people prosper and regrow. But only for so long. The wilds always creep back in.

“And that is not all. Goblins are not the only cause. Some fields become tangled with new plants that resist the plow, forcing us to ignore them until they grow thick enough to burn. But that means that for a year or two, an entire field grew no crops and someone went hungry. If this happens in a poor year, maybe a child starves who might otherwise have lived.

“Those are just the slow things,” said Hèctor, sighing in disappointment after getting to the bottom of the box and not finding any silk. He tossed everything back in and started looking into other containers spread throughout the room. “Not everything is slow.”

Ignasi nodded and said, “Indeed. Not everything is slow. Sometimes there is a calamity, and a whole rich town will be wiped out in a night. From one day to the next, everyone is dead, without even time to gather their goods and flee. An army of goblins who grew clever, for example, as seems to have happened here. Or causes we never learn. Perhaps someone offended one of Socks’ siblings.”

“Or an avitus showed up,” said Hèctor with a scowl directed at a small vial he was sniffing. “Do you see this? Smell it.”

Dirt peeked in and saw a thick, dark liquid inside. He sniffed it and was repulsed. It smelled like rot, so bad it hurt his nostrils.

Hèctor held the little pot to the window for Socks, who sniffed it as well, so much it made a rushing air sound. “What does that smell like to you, Socks?”

-It smells like lots of plants. Plant oil that went bad and rotten, but with flower scents and something sharp I’ve never encountered before,- replied the pup. –What is it?-

“It’s scented oil to make a woman smell nice. But it has a hint of cinnamon in it, which is something we haven’t been able to get since before I was born. My father had some, powdered in a glass jar. The woman of the house probably got this from her grandmother. If she’d left it closed, it might still be good. Hard to say. But she left the lid off and now it’s garbage,” said Hèctor. He set it down and put the lid on, which had been right next to it.

The man stood and stretched his neck. “Over there, see those jars? Those were full of food. Those ones are fruit stored with sugar, and those are meats stored with salt. None of it is edible anymore. I think some of those look like vegetables. That’s a pot of jam, which is fruit made into a paste you can spread on bread. This one looks like it might have been butter, and that ceramic pot used to have milk in it. Which tells me they had a cow. Which probably went in that barn.”

“I thought this was my story,” said Ignasi, picking up a length of thin rope he found and testing it.

“I’m not telling a story. I’m just pointing things out,” said Hèctor. “But here’s the point. A lot of people worked hard to make the stuff you see in here. Someone made the cloth on that bed, and carved those chairs and that table, and someone made those iron hinges. Someone else dug up the iron and smelted it. If we lose the guy who digs up the iron, then no one gets hinges anymore. If we lose the guy who grows the sugar, no one makes any jam. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Dirt considered it. He relied on Socks, of course, but that’s because they were friends. But did it really affect the pups if there was one less of them around? Not really. There wasn’t a pup who made iron, and another who milked cattle. Every pup had everything he needed—claws and teeth. Same with the trees. Each tree had everything she needed—sunlight, fog for water, and soil to grow in. Did it change anything in the forest if there was one less tree? Not in a way he knew about.

Socks had said once that it didn’t matter if there was one less human, because who cared about humans? Or something like that. Dirt couldn’t remember it exactly. But that was wrong, wasn’t it? It did matter, because every human had something they were responsible for giving to everyone else.

Dirt finally said, “I think so. Maybe? But it’s different from anything I know about. I just eat whatever I find, and I don’t need any clothes. Or at least I didn’t before.”

Ignasi said, “This is how things fall apart, dear Dirt. Tiny piece by tiny piece or all at once, but they always do. The wilds gnaw at us, breaking apart our kingdoms. Then they eat our baronies and counties, and then our cities, towns, villages.”

Hèctor said, “It’s been like this too long for anyone to guess. It’s said that the ancients knew how the world was made and when men first appeared. That gods were great and ruled the whole world instead of the small things like a mountain or lake or village. But there’s one thing we all know—it’s getting close to the end. I won’t be here to see it. There are still too many of us around. But it’s coming. Maybe a hundred years, maybe two hundred. But it’s coming. There will be a final day of man.”

“Perhaps all that’s left of us will be wild boys running around with wolves, never knowing a thing about their kind,” said Ignasi. “As for me, what do I care? I am alive and there are still things to enjoy. Why get upset?”

“You still came, though,” said Hèctor. “Ah ha!” he roared suddenly. He pulled out a long bottle from behind some brown pots. It had a sturdy wax seal around the top and was filled with a dark, sloshing liquid.

“I still came. Because why not? Perhaps we’ll make contact with Marina’s village and push off the final end for another hundred years. Perhaps we will rebuild this town and reclaim that tower, and survive another two hundred instead. It will give me more time to enjoy that wine. Pop it open, Hèctor. Let us teach little Dirt about the finer things in life.”