The Land of Broken Roads - The Druid - Chapter 30 - Volume II End
“Okay, Socks, go dunk again!” yelled Dirt, grinning. The crowd of children screamed and laughed as Socks rose and jumped back in the river, sending a huge wave crashing up over the riverbank to soak them again. The big pup submerged himself out in the middle where it was deepest, then climbed back out, water pouring off him in sheets. He stood next to the eager crowd and shook, flinging so much water around it may as well have been a thunderstorm.
The children all laughed and danced away as if they didn’t really want to get wet, but it was a ruse. Dirt screamed and evaded right along with them. Socks finally squatted down on the paved landing and his new friends got to work, loud and boisterous all the while. They scrubbed and wiped with dozens of brushes and rags while others splashed more water on with little buckets, but not in an amount that could do any good. It didn’t matter, though, because it was fun.
Dirt hadn’t had to do a lot of convincing after the Duke asked for volunteers. The man simply had to declare that the children should do it, since Socks was a child himself, and the town’s brood had rushed forward to volunteer like mice scared out of the bushes.
Now a horde of them scrambled up Socks’ back or snuggled against the side of his belly to reach as high as they could. Some ran along his tail, getting the whole length with one scrub. When they got too much grime or fur stuck to themselves, they dunked in the river and ran right back as fast as they could. A cadre of girls had claimed all the open spots around Socks’ face; they were the gentlest of the bunch, and the most doting. For his part, Socks closed his eyes and looked as content as Dirt had ever seen him.
It seemed everyone in town had wanted to come watch the blood get cleaned out of Socks’ fur. The half-circle area the adults left them had started a lot narrower at first, until Socks shook the water out the first time. They’d been too close and it showed in all the red and pink spots on their clothing. But no risk of clothing stain would keep them away, even those who had no offspring in the tumult. It was a novelty they’d likely never see again and anyone who could squeeze in to watch, did so.
None of the children knew who Dirt was other than Èlia and Màxim. And while Màxim stayed close, Èlia preferred girls her own age and all but ignored him. To everyone else, he was just another face in the crowd. He could fit into any cluster just by smiling and joining in with whatever the others were doing. There was no waiting for them to get used to him, or trying to act the right way, or any of that.
A boy his size even leaned in close to tell him, “The wolf has a human with him. I think I know who it is!” He was wrong, of course, and Màxim had laughed and given Dirt a conspiratorial grin. The other boy hadn’t caught on.
Dirt didn’t stand out, either, since he had a good tan from riding on Socks’ back for the last few weeks. Most of them had dark brown hair, not black like Marina’s, and his was only a shade paler than average. There were some exceptions to the norm, too—even a few blond-haired children with lots of freckles. If anyone noticed Home in the shape of a cast on his arm, they didn’t mention it.
All in all, it meant Dirt could relax completely. No careful speech or thinking, no hoping he wasn’t doing something wrong. No, he could be himself in a way that had previously only been possible when he and Socks were alone. All this laughter made him feel as clean inside as he was outside.
After Socks looked as clean as he was going to get, the crowd of children dried him off, fluffing his fur with an absurd quantity of towels that had appeared from somewhere, in every size and color. Socks rolled, carefully, to one side or the other to make sure they got all of him, from paws to whiskers. Dirt suspected the sunlight dried him out more than all the towels did, but who cared?
Once that was done, the adults presented about twenty rakes and distributed them to the taller children. Dirt didn’t get one, which amused him and Màxim terribly, but Èlia did. They commenced combing him, and Socks enjoyed that the most since it felt like getting scratched all over.
Socks finally stood, thoroughly pampered and unsure what was next. He towered over the children and remembered not to wag his tail too hard this time. Dirt yelled, “Can I have a ride? And him?”
The pup caught on instantly and said, -You want a ride? Who else wants to come?-
“Maybe some will want to go slow, and some fast,” said Dirt. “But I want to go fast, and so does he.” Màxim looked less eager than Dirt did, but he didn’t argue.
An older boy stepped forward, then a girl about their age, and Socks decided that was enough for the first go and lifted them onto his back with his mind. Dirt loudly squealed his excitement to put the others at ease, then helped them all squeeze together and hunker down.
-Hold tight anyway and keep your heads down,- said Socks, and with that, he was off. A great leap carried him across the river where the crowd was small enough for him to land, and from there, he raced down the nearest street. The children screamed in wild terror and held on as hard as they could, which made Dirt squeal with laughter. He knew that feeling.
Socks ran all the way out to the wall, jumped over it, and then back again. Then back up the street and across the river, and then it was over, as quickly as it began. He squatted down to let his passengers slide off, which they did with wide eyes and unsure expressions.
Poor Màxim was unsteady on his feet and leaned against Dirt’s shoulder for support. “You do that all the time? That fast?” he whispered.
“Yeah. You get used to it,” whispered Dirt back.
The ashen faces of the first set of wolf-riders did nothing to dissuade the next bunch, and Socks picked up five more and gave them the same path. They screamed as soon as Socks leaped, and Dirt listened with increasing amusement at how their voices faded against the city. Finally, someone else knew what that was like!
After a few more groups of those, Socks picked up about fifteen of the littlest ones and gave them a much slower ride around the plaza. He performed gentle leaps across the river and back and set them all down, where they started cheering and hopping and begging for another ride. But it was time for the next group, and the next, and then a few more rides for the braver children who wanted to go again. Both Màxim and Èlia were among those, although Dirt stayed behind to leave a spot open for someone else.
Socks was enjoying himself tremendously, as anyone could plainly tell without even looking at his mind. But Dirt did look, and Socks was as lost in the reverie of play as everyone else. The children collectively produced a great deal of mental happiness which infused the pup and washed away every external concern. It might not be as good as playing with a few dozen of his own kind, but it was close.
The Duke waved and said something to one of his servants, and a moment later parents came to collect their children, getting them all dressed again, or if they were already dressed, replacing the wet clothing with dry. Màxim took Dirt by the hand and pulled him through the crowd to a spot near his father where two servants were waiting.
The two boys were then dressed in finery, cloth so soft it almost felt like fur, with a bold red color that caught the sunlight and seemed to glow. It was made of strips of fabric and the seams made decorative lines from top to bottom. The pants were tight and the shirt poofed out around the waist under a sash that served as a decorative belt. Dirt was given shoes with pointed toes and even a little lace scarf to tie around his neck. If he and Màxim weren’t exactly the same size, it seemed they were close enough.
Finally they were presented to the Duke and Duchess, and the pair smiled their approval. The Duke said, “Today we have seen you attired in two very different types of red.”
The Duchess smirked slyly and added, “And this type will do less damage to the carpets and furniture.”
Ignasi told Socks, “They would have loved nothing more than to present you with something charming to wear, but they had nothing in your size.”
-They could have given me a little hat,- he replied, wagging his tail in amusement.
“Then a hat you shall have,” said the Duchess. She plucked the feathered cap from her mate’s head and beckoned Socks to lean down. The pup complied, lying all the way down, and the Duchess reached up to set it between his ears. She fastened it to his fur with a wooden clip she pulled from her own hair, releasing one lock to tumble onto her shoulder, and stood back.
Socks knew how silly he looked with that tiny little hat on his enormous head, but he thought it was as funny as Dirt did and pranced around a bit to show off. The humans weren’t quite sure whether he was serious, though, so when Marina clapped instead of laughing, the others followed suit.
Dirt slipped over to the Duke and suggested, “He might like something to hold bags on, like a harness with pockets, maybe.”
The Duke nodded and leaned over to the nearest servant, an older man with pale hair. “Go tell my saddler to find a couple harness-makers and see what they can come up with. Tell them not to be shy about coming to take measurements.”
The servant nodded and slipped away toward the palace.
-Okay, I am done with the hat. If I keep wearing it they will put it in the painting,- said Socks. He leaned down and the Duchess collected the hat again, plucked a couple hairs from it, then set it back on the Duke’s head.
From there they made a grand procession back into the palace. There were no armored guards this time, since most of them had done all the fighting they needed to for the day, but a new set of city soldiers had taken their place. Which was fortunate, because it took all of them to hold the crowds back from getting any closer and coming to peep in all the windows.
The Duke’s company returned to the large hall, with Socks sliding under the doorways as before. This time, someone clever had taken long ropes and made rings around all the cushions, gathering them together into a tighter-packed bed. Socks sped right to it, sniffed twice, walked around it in a circle, then lay down and snuggled in.
-This is better,- he said. -The cushions aren’t sliding away anymore.-
Instead of food, the table held some neatly-arranged scrolls, which Dirt hadn’t expected, as well as some rectangular objects he didn’t recognize. He stepped over and picked one up and discovered that it was two hard plates full of sheets of paper, all full of writing.
“These are all the texts I own that contain the ancient tongue. Those scrolls are ageless and, if the scholars are to be believed, may date back to the days of the lost empire itself,” said the Duke. “I thought you might like to see them, and perhaps answer a few questions about how they should be read.”
“Sure, but what’s this?” asked Dirt, holding up the object.
“That’s… let me see.” The Duke took it from Dirt’s hands and looked at the thin edge where all the papers were fastened together. “The Acts of the Emperors from Justinian the First to Claudius the Seventh,” he read. “It’s a history from, as far as we can tell, some of the final emperors. All their reigns were short. Very interesting.”
“No, I mean, what is it? What do you call this thing?” said Dirt, taking it back and waving it.
“The book?” asked the Duke. “Do you mean the book?”
“Is that what this is? What’s it for?”
The Duke took it and opened it, showing the words. He said, “Scrolls are more difficult to read, if you wish to read from different sections one after the other. You must roll and unroll to find your spot and it can take time. A book is slices of a scroll, arranged in order. I can read from here,” he said, showing an early page, “and then skip right to here if I want. You… can read, right?”
“Yes, I can read it. Especially if it’s in my language. What do you want me to read?” asked Dirt. He took the book back, marveling at what a clever concept it was and wondered why his people had never come up with it.
“Anything to start. I’d like to hear the sound of the ancient tongue.”
Dirt flipped to a random page and read, in his language, “…which came in those days. The peoples of the southern tribes of that island have red hair and wear tunics of wool, which they dye with local plants in delightful patterns, some of which have been copied in our own embroidery. They herd cattle and sheep but not pigs, owing to the harshness of the winters. Even the land around the beaches is frigid during the darker seasons. They do not have chickens, since they must eat all the grain they grow themselves, and do not like the taste when offered any. Their farms are unimpressive, as is their architecture. They are given to dancing at every opportunity and will drink heavily if they can find any alcohol. Their wine is made of whatever is on hand and never tastes the same twice, unless they acquired some of ours through barter. Indeed, if not for the hardiness of their men, caused surely by the climate, they should never have been a threat to Emperor Astimus’ new colonies in the slightest, nor required the three thousand pikes and four hundred cavalry, which he sent…”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Dirt stopped when he reached the end of the page. The room had gone silent, even the servants, as everyone strained to listen. He shyly said, “Should I keep going?”
“Remarkable,” said the Duke. “He reads as fluently in his tongue as I do in mine.”
-Dirt is very clever,- said Socks. -You should not be surprised.-
“I say so only because my Màxim can’t read so sweetly, and he is taught by learned men every day. Dirt grew up alone in a forest. I cannot fathom it,” said the Duke. “And did you understand every word of that, Dirt?”
“Of course. It’s my own language. How about you?”
“It says they are given to tripudium. What is that?” asked the Duke.
“In your tongue it’s dancing.”
“I see,” said the Duke. His eyes sparkled with undeniable eagerness. “How about plumarius?”
“Embroidery,” answered Dirt.
The Duke turned to Hèctor and said, “And he couldn’t speak our tongue at all when you met him? Are you certain?”
“Just a few words is all, your Grace. He learned more every hour we were with him,” said Hèctor.
“Do you remember the first thing he said that you understood?” asked the Duke.
“Of course,” said Hèctor. “Still gives me nightmares. He told a gryphon ‘nice bird’ and calmed it down.”
The Duke nodded, but his mind wasn’t on the gryphon. That didn’t seem to have registered. “So quickly he learns. If I wake tomorrow and this entire day has been a dream inspired by bad bread, I will be less surprised than if I wake up and it truly happened.”
He poked at a few scrolls, then found the one he was looking for. He unrolled the opening, nodded, and handed it to Dirt.
Dirt recognized it immediately from the art at the top—it depicted a two-headed snake with wings, curled around a sphere that represented the sky. “Oh, wow!”
“What is it?” asked the Duke.
“I don’t know! But I know what it is!”
“Can you read it? No one has been able to. Not a single scholar of any age since the time that produced it.”
“Yes, it’s just a simple cypher. Everyone who… we could all read this. Everyone that…” Dirt looked up, eyes losing focus while his mind spun trying to fill in the gaps in his memory. He was so close!
No one said anything, so he read aloud. “I, Pacritus, do write and bless this scroll to preserve it. I write it in the hidden way of the order, which none shall read who are not initiated. Guard well its wisdom, reader, if a reader there be. I fear that I create a paradox—I preserve that which is being forgotten, that it may endure. But perhaps none shall read it in all the ages to come, and its knowledge be reduced to mere ink and paper, devoid of reason. An object, like a chair or ball, which signifies nothing beyond its form. It has been eighty-eight years since the failure of Avitus Numitorius Urbanus, may his cursed name be blighted into eternities even as they forget who he was, by which he ruined the Sunset Empire and invited the calamity that has destroyed so much, and my last apprentice is now…”
Dirt glanced up in surprise, but no one other than Socks and the Duke had understood the words, and only Socks knew their true significance. Dirt coughed politely and rolled through the scroll. His disquiet quickly turned to excitement as he recognized what he was holding.
He stopped at a diagram about a quarter of the way in and grinned so widely he almost laughed. He turned the scroll and showed it to everyone. “See, it’s a basic primer on magic. This is a method for purifying water, in case a well or river runs unclean. They wrote it with a cypher so no one could learn their secret who wasn’t supposed to.”
The Duke nodded sagely, even as his twitching eyebrows betrayed his roiling thoughts. “I see,” he said. “And that must be why it survived so long. There are sixty-eight known undecaying scrolls, and only two that we can’t read. The other is in the possession of The King. I don’t suppose…”
Dirt said, “You want me to show you how it works?”
“I do. Please.”
“Sure. I want to try it anyway. Can I have some chalk? And a glass of something that isn’t water?”
Marina took a half-bottle of wine from Ignasi’s back pocket and presented it with a smirk. It was only a moment until a servant returned with a block of chalk about the size of Dirt’s fist.
Dirt copied the pattern onto the table, pleased with how easily it came to him. He could’ve drawn it in his sleep with his toes if he wanted to, now that he’d seen it. He knew right where to put everything, and the diagram explained well enough that he knew why it was drawn that way. This part signified ‘to purify’ and this other part indicated a particular kind of change, while that part meant ‘to move’, and so on. Satisfied, he placed the wine in the symbol that indicated the target and let some mana trickle from his fingertip into the shape on the table.
The effect was immediate. The wine swirled as the room held their breath and watched through the pale glass of the bottle. The liquid lost its dark color, first in strands and then completely. Then it was over. Dirt picked up the bottle and took a little swallow, then handed it to the Duke. “See? Water.”
It was such a simple display, but Dirt was only maintaining his composure through sincere force of will. He wanted to scream and cheer and run around in a circle because he’d found human magic! This was his art, his real art, from when he was an old man. Knowing it was real and that it was his again felt as glorious as sunlight, as soothing as springwater. He’d forgotten it existed, but here it was, one of the things he loved most in the world.
“Do you mind if I take some time and read this?” asked Dirt, not really waiting for an answer. He walked over to Socks, where he curled up and started the scroll over from the beginning.
—-
Two days later, Dirt placed his hand on the gate-door and looked back one last time at the huge crowd that had come to bid him and Socks farewell. For one brief moment they had fallen quiet, and after all the clamor they’d been causing up to now, his ears were ringing faintly.
He shrugged and turned back to the gate. No reason to put it off any longer. Shrink, he told the gate-door, causing it to withdraw the tendrils bracing it against the stone and shrink back down to normal size, or at least, as close as Dirt could estimate. It just had to fit the frame, and all he had to do was watching the little gaps between the stones disappear, then make the door just a little smaller than that.
Workmen stepped beside him, some bringing ladders, all of them with hammers and awls and other tools. Fresh hinges had been made, nice big sturdy ones, and a new set of lock-bars had been planed and reinforced.
Dirt moved back to give them room, smiling slightly to himself that the crowd wasn’t sure when to start cheering again. The workmen hadn’t given them the chance, but that was at the Duke’s order. It wouldn’t do to have everyone standing around like empty chairs waiting for the door to work again.
Quicker than expected, the hinges were replaced and the door swung open. A bit too hard—the balance was off. Oh well. They could fix that later.
Socks stepped through, ducking his head only slightly to keep from brushing his ears. He turned around and sniffed Dirt, then looked at the crowd.
Dirt waved and the crowd lining the streets erupted back into riotous cheering. Some played horns or harps, others banged pots, and everyone else clapped and shouted. It really was a lot of noise, Dirt decided. It was loud to begin with, but after it all echoed off the buildings and walls and added together, it was making his ears hurt.
The Duke stepped in close, making a little circle with the Duchess, the two children, and Hèctor, Marina, and Ignasi. None of them could come, and Dirt knew he’d miss them. For now. They’d meet again.
“Thanks for letting us stay in your city, my Lord,” said Dirt. He had to get so close to the Duke’s ear to be heard that he may as well have been kissing his cheek.
“Thank you for saving it. I look forward to your return. I know Màxim will be crying tonight, having made a little friend who is leaving too soon,” said the Duke, right into his ear as well. The man’s mustache tickled Dirt’s cheek. As if on cue, poor Màxim wiped a tear from his eye before it could drip down. Or maybe just some dust, to be fair. Only a few days, and they already felt as close as brothers. Dirt squeezed around the Duke to give the boy another quick hug.
Then turning back to the Duke, he said, “Well, I’ll be back in two years or so and I’ll teach him like I promised.”
“I believe you, or I would not have let you take my scroll, giant wolf notwithstanding,” said the Duke, his eyes sparkling.
Dirt gave the man a hug, then the Duchess, Marina, Ignasi, Hèctor, and Èlia. That was about everybody. Dirt stepped back and waved one last time. Hundreds waved back.
That was it, then. Time to leave, and hopefully the town could survive until Dirt made it back. He’d only been here a few days, but it’d still break his heart to come back and find it deserted.
The Duke had promised to send raids on goblins and hunt them out instead of just waiting and hiding, so that was something. Waiting and hiding hadn’t worked, and now it was a close thing whether they’d be able to farm enough to feed themselves before the food stores ran out. Socks had said to just eat the goblins they hunted and the Duke was so disgusted by that he turned faintly green. Well, if they got hungry enough, they’d get over it. But maybe Dirt could meet the King and have more food sent down the river before that happened.
He’d done everything he could for them for now. Or had he? Just as he was about to hop on Socks’ back to leave, he spun on his heels and beckoned the Duke to lean in again. “I just thought of something. Can you come meet me at those grain fields? The ones over that way, around the wall a bit? Get a horse and we’ll meet you there. You can bring the others, but not too many people. You’ll see why.”
The Duke nodded, and Dirt waved a final farewell to the town. He hopped on Socks and sent a quick mental image of where he had in mind, a large fallow field with only a few stalks of grain, which they’d passed just before reaching the city.
Socks didn’t particularly hurry to get there and the Duke and his company arrived just after Dirt and Socks did, with the Duchess and children, Marina, Ignasi, Hèctor, two servants, and three soldiers. For him, that was a small entourage.
Dirt slid off Socks and said, “I’m going to feel pretty silly if this doesn’t work. Okay, just watch.”
He calmed his breathing and mind, quieting down everything in his internal world. He knelt and touched the ground, his fingers brushing against one of the lonely stalks of wheat. He filled his mind with the Devourer’s command, whose impossible vastness he could never hope to match. But he’d seen how it made the forest grow, and the idea was the same. Ideas were just ideas. Magic was magic. The world was the world.
He filled himself to bursting with mana, more than he could hold without it leaking out on its own.
GROW.
His command poured forth through the soil and into the stalks of grain, and they began to spread and multiply. New growth sprouted from the earth—first as tiny green buds, then full stalks of wheat that matured and turned yellow. The growth spread across the field, slowly at first and then with more purpose and force as Dirt’s bodies grew into greater harmony. His mana vessel became a gateway through which the world of magic entered. His spirit reshaped that power into physical being. It burned him raw, stinging and aching in every part of himself. Even the dream body made itself known and Dirt suspected he’d have unquiet rest until it recovered.
But it was enough. Soon he stood on unsteady feet and opened his eyes. Golden wheat, all of it ripe and ready for harvest, filled not just the field he’d planned but the neighboring ones as well. Even the road was now hidden, leaving the small group of stunned humans standing with nowhere to go.
Dirt smiled, trying not to look too pleased with himself. Dignified like the Duke, he said, “Alright. Now you don’t have to worry about food as much. I don’t know if you have time to grow any more before winter, but that should help.” He leaned back and almost lost his balance, still dizzy, and Socks propped him up with his mind.
“This is a miracle,” said the Duke, breathless.
“I wish it was. Maybe the gods will be back someday,” said Dirt. “I guess this will—”
His arm twitched. The brace on his forearm, Home, was trying to get his attention. He looked down and saw a thin pole which grew until it was about the length of his leg, so long he had to hold it with his other hand. But then its top sprouted into a tuft of little branches that filled with tiny green leaves. The bottom separated from the brace as twisty roots grew out of the wood, and finally it came away in his hand.
Dirt looked at its mind and saw the pure light of new birth. “A baby tree!” he shouted aloud in pure amazement. “Socks, help me dig a little hole! Hurry, before it dries out! Where should we put it? Closer to the wall. Let’s hurry!”
The Duke saw his panic and stepped forward to see what was the matter. He put his hand on the baby tree as if to take it away, thinking it a gift, but Dirt pulled it back. They ran together past the grain and out into untended area somewhat closer to town, looking for a nice spot to plant it. Somewhere with good soil, not too close or too far from the river, somewhere it would be safe. The area around the walls was all plains, though, and no spot was better than any other to Dirt’s eyes. The Duke’s group followed, still amazed.
-Here,- said Socks. -The dirt here smells a little damper than the rest.- With one claw, he dug a hole big enough to plant the tree.
With trembling fingers, Dirt placed the precious infant in its little cradle, standing her as straight as he could measure and filling the hole back in to cover the roots. He sent her tiny, awakening mind happy thoughts, words expressed in pure feeling. Hello. Welcome. I love you.
Then, aloud, he said, “Home, can you find her? Is she connected?” Only a moment later, Home made the brace vibrate on his arm, and looking at the little tree’s mind, he saw they’d found her. She was part of the forest now, connected to her own kind.
“That is a lovely tree, Dirt. Thank you, but why?” asked the Duchess, hardly sure of what to even ask.
Marina knelt and gently traced her fingers along the little trunk and tiny branches, her dark eyes wide with awe. She looked at Dirt, questioning, and said, “This is an even greater gift than the grain, your Grace. Even greater than that.”
Dirt turned and addressed the Duchess. “This isn’t from me. This is… this is one of my trees. From the forest I lived in. You have to take good care of her! Even put a guard here, until she’s strong enough. Someday, when she’s big and strong, she’ll be a blessing like you wouldn’t believe. But only if she loves you, and you love her,” said Dirt. His mind was split between trying to explain and watching in awe as the darling little thing began exploring its mysterious tree world. “And she’ll know. The trees are smart. Aren’t they, Marina?”
“I suppose they are,” the woman muttered.
“So the city has a tree now, like in your stories?” asked the Duchess.
“No.” said Dirt. He stood and grinned. He checked Socks’ fancy new shoulder harness and made sure all the bags were closed. Everything was fine. Of course it was. He was quickly starting to feel rather poorly, and not just from magical exertion. He wanted to stay instead. A baby tree, his new friend Màxim, and so much else to be leaving behind. Sleeping in a bed, eating human food. But it was time to go because Socks had to keep moving.
“No, it’s better to say the tree has a city now. Alright, Socks, let’s go see the King,” said Dirt. He hopped onto the pup’s back, and together they sped with eager curiosity across the wide fields into the welcome unknown.
