The Dirt Eaters (7 page)

“Yes.”

“You're blessed. We owe him everything.” She looks at Roan's arm, admiring the blood-sharing scar. “Did it hurt much?”

“Not really,” answers Roan, “nothing compared to what giving birth must be like.”

The woman's face turns red, and she seems to be fighting tears. She steps away. Roan, thinking he's offended her, bows to everyone, taking his leave. But by the time he turns toward her, the woman is almost out of sight.

Roan threads his way through the curling lanes trying to find her and arrives at a playground filled with swings, slides, and climbing structures. She's gone. His village had a park, but it didn't hold a candle to this one. He's about to continue on when the cricket wriggles in his pocket. Roan pauses for a closer look. Only a few children are playing. He notices that one boy is limping, and another is missing a hand.

One little girl squats alone, intently drawing in the dirt with a stick. Something inside Roan trembles at the sight. She's small with hair like straw, and from this angle...He moves closer, then sighs with disappointment. The girl is at least a year younger than Stowe, and her features are completely different, a sharp nose and thin lips. He notices that she's covered the ground around her with drawings of the same shape. A triangle, inverted, with a circle on top of it.

“What is it?”

The girl, her eyes on her task, ignores him.

“I'm curious,” he says. “What's that a drawing of?”

Seeing his feet, she follows his legs to his face. Her dirty face is streaked with tears. Roan reaches in his pocket, taking out one of Kira's sweets. The girl grabs it and pops it into her mouth.

“Why are you crying?”

She doesn't speak, just points at one of the triangles.

“Does it make you sad?”

She points to herself and shakes her head. It hits Roan. She's mute.

“Can you hear me?” he asks and points to his ears. “Hear?”

She shakes her head no.

A shadow crosses over both of them. Saint. He towers over the little girl, his face grim. But when the child's face raises to greet him, he smiles.

“Hello, Marla,” Saint says slowly, so she can read his lips. “Feeling blue today?”

She nods.

“Do you know what this shape means?” Roan asks Saint.

Saint shakes his head and turns back to the child. “Were you drawing a pretty picture, Marla?”

Marla frowns and draws it again. Saint picks her up, kissing her on the forehead.

“There was a power plant upstream. It was destroyed during the Abominations. Leached all kinds of poisons into the soil. Three generations later, and children like Marla are still being affected. But thanks to you, that will soon be a thing of the past.”

“Brother Asp did all the work.”

“You were book-learned in Longlight, and you had science to help you. Now, you help us.” Saint carries Marla over to a sandbox, gives her another kiss, and sets her down.

It's well into the night by the time they make their way back to the motorcycle. Saint stops every few steps to bestow the blessings asked of him. Reaching the bike, he hands Roan a pair of strange-looking goggles.

“Ever seen anything like these?”

Roan puts the thick eyepieces up to his face.

“Night-vision glasses,” says Saint. “Put them on. You're the lookout.”

With a last farewell to Kira, Saint revs up the engine and they head back out the gates, everyone waving and shouting good-bye as they go.

Roan keeps his eyes peeled through the bulky lenses, but he sees nothing until he notices a familiar sort of structure in the distance. He taps Saint on the arm. Saint nods and accelerates to the spot. The bike's headlamp illuminates a large waterwheel attached to a building alongside a stream. They get off and Roan runs up to the wheel.

“It's a filtration wheel, just like the one I described to Brother Asp!”

Saint slaps Roan on the back. “I thought you might like to taste the water.”

“I would,” says Roan. He cups his hands under the outflow and takes a drink. “Not bad.”

Saint has a swallow and nods in agreement. “Asp has a knack for these things.”

“I wish I could have helped build it.”

“You have other priorities,” Saint tells him, and strides back to the bike. Before getting on, he turns to Roan. “So what do you think of Kira?”

“She's great,” Roan replies, then asks, “Do you have children together?”

Saint doesn't answer.

“Kira has a nursery.”

More silence. Roan is about to repeat the question but thinks better of it. Looking up at the star-filled sky, he changes the subject.

“There's Taurus, the bull.”

Saint looks at him. “What are you talking about?”

Roan's caught by surprise. “The constellation. Taurus.”

“Show me.”

Roan points out the stars that make the bull. “You see that bright star? It's called Aldebaran. That's the bull's eye.”

“Book-learning,” Saint mutters. He looks uncomfortable. “When was it named?”

“Thousands of years ago. There's a band of stars up there, continuous. All the symbols of the Friend are in the sky. The dog, Canis Minor. Hydra, the snake. Corvus, the raven...”

“That's enough.”

Roan is startled by Saint's tone. “What did I say? Why are you angry?”

“You must not speak of it again,” warns Saint, bristling. “Some might take it as heresy.”

“Why?”

“Because the Revelation came directly to me from the Friend. Not from stars given names an eon ago. From Him.”

Saint kicks on the engine, and they motor off into the night. As the cricket scratches in his pocket, Roan muses silently on why Saint is so upset. What does it matter if he knows nothing about the constellations, nothing about the stars? Then it comes to him: What Saint doesn't know makes him afraid.

THE TRIALS

THE BADGER DIGS. IT DIGS AND LIVES UNSEEN BY DAY BUT IN THE NIGHT IT HUNTS. THOUGH SMALL, IT IS ABNORMALLY STRONG, AND ITS PREY SELDOM ESCAPES.

—
LORE OF THE STORYTELLERS

T
HE DAYS GROW SHORTER
, and though winter is still months away, Saint makes a gift to Roan of boots and a sheepskin coat, crafted by the brethren. Brother Wolf's training has become more detailed, difficult, and deadly. He pushes Roan relentlessly, forcing him to his physical limit, so Roan keeps getting stronger as his tactical skills improve. He becomes accomplished at using his hands, head, feet, elbows, and knees as weapons, directing his breath to focus power in his bones and tendons. He masters the circle technique, which enables a single combatant to escape a group of assailants. Wolf also shows him ways to distract an opponent's eyes, how to trick an adversary into reacting, and, when attacked, how to yield, withdraw, and then strike with full force when least expected. Roan is now adept at the how and when of striking soft and hard. Of being wind or mountain or tiger.

After one of their reading sessions, Roan borrows a book called
The Art of War
from Saint's library. He'd seen his father studying the book, but he'd never looked at it himself. It explains the importance of disguising your intentions, and Roan uses it as a constant reminder. He never tells anyone how he misses the smell of sawdust on his mother's skin, or the sight of his father's chalk-covered hands at the end of a teaching day, or the cheery voice of Aiden, calling to him from the street to play. Roan never divulges the terror he felt when Stowe's fingers were torn from his grasp that terrible night. Or how sometimes, after perfecting a new killing technique, he is so overpowered by exhilaration and self-revulsion he feels like retching. Masking his true feelings and abilities is a constant battle.

Though Saint never pressures him, Roan is sure the Prophet hopes to access some kind of information from him. Saint is relentlessly curious about Longlight, asking the most mundane questions about life in the village, Roan's parents' work habits, what family meals were like, the kind of furniture his mother most enjoyed building. Saint never tires of hearing about Stowe, the games she and Roan played, the tricks they sprang on their cousins, the stories they were told and loved.

When Roan questions this interest, Saint claims a shared history. His parents and siblings were also killed when he was young. This talk of family helps him remember.

Roan wishes he could discover what it is that Saint seeks. The more he thinks back to the conversation he overheard between Saint and Kira, the more he's convinced there is a connection between himself and Stowe and the City. If that's where she is, he will go there and find her, or die trying.

Brother Wolf's training turns out to be good preparation for Roan's second trial. One morning, at dawn, just after the raising of the sun, Roan is escorted by Stinger and three other Brothers to the streambed. There, he is given a pick and told to dig out a large stone. The hard-packed dirt doesn't give easily, so it takes Roan a great deal of effort to expose a substantial rock.

By now, many of the brethren have gathered around to watch.

“Pick it up,” orders Stinger.

Roan squats down, squeezing his fingers around the rough stone. With a loud exhalation, he straightens his knees and lifts the rock. Saint steps through the assembly and ap­proaches him.

“The Friend awaits this offering at the first summit of our mountain,” says Saint. “It must not touch the ground until it reaches Him.”

“The second trial begins!” announces Stinger with a yell. The Brothers cheer.

With Stinger in front and Asp behind, Roan walks alongside the stream in the direction of the mountain. The rock is heavy and makes Roan unsteady on his feet, forcing him to walk much more slowly than his usual pace. By the time they arrive at the waterfall, Roan is coated in sweat, and the rock is slicing into his fingers. His legs are sore.

Stinger squirts some water into Roan's mouth. Brother Asp checks Roan's eyes. “You're doing well,” Asp mouths encouragingly.

Brother Wolf peers at Roan. “Now the real challenge begins.”

The trail up the mountain is a clear path, but it's on a steep grade that zigzags in steady ascent. Roan keeps his breath stable, but it doesn't take long for him to feel lightheaded with the effort. He can feel blood dripping from his hands onto his bare feet. Sweat pours in his eyes. Blinking it off, he tries to remain focused, making one foot follow the other. Every step hurts, and the concussion of each footfall shudders through his body. Half-blind, his body aching, Roan stumbles, breaking his fall by lurching against the rock face. Pain flares through his side. The rock slips but he clings to it, hugging it to his stomach.

The Brothers begin to chant: “The Friend awaits. The Friend awaits.”

Roan looks up but sees no end to the path. He looks down at the stone, wanting to hurl it off the cliff. Then he hears the rat's voice.

“
DON'T SURRENDER.
”

Brother Asp rushes to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“
PAIN IS FUEL, ROAN. YOU MUST LEARN TO FOCUS IN EVERY SITUATION.
”

“Are you sure you want to continue?”

“Yes.”

“
USE THE PAIN. YOU WILL ACHIEVE THE SUMMIT. WE HAVE SEEN IT.
”

His cheeks burning, Roan pushes forward. Chest heaving, legs stiff and raw, he lumbers onward, not stopping until he reaches the summit—where a statue of the Friend stands looking down the mountain. At the statue's feet are dozens and dozens of large stones like the one Roan is carrying.

“The Friend arose from stone,” Saint cries out.

As Roan struggles toward the statue, the Brothers chant, “Born from the stone, born from the stone.” They do so until he drops the rock and collapses onto the ground. The Brothers applaud and Roan lies in the dust, gasping for breath, his flesh on fire. The cheers fade into the background at the sound of the cricket. Roan can feel the little insect in his pocket as it soothes his wounds with its song.

Roan is given a few days to recuperate from his second trial before resuming his regular schedule. Resting in his tent, he practices playing the recorder. The music he makes is nothing compared to that of the best musicians of Longlight, but he practices diligently. The cricket enjoys his efforts. Perched on Roan's knee, it appears to listen with rapt attention, feelers quivering. Unconsciously, Roan begins a tune from his past, his sister's favorite song—a tune she'd sing so often Roan would threaten to sew up her mouth.

“Then I'll sing with my nose,” she'd say, and hum the old folk tune through her nostrils, grinning wickedly at Roan.

Now he is playing it, and thinking of her, praying she's alive somewhere, hoping she's safe. I'll find you, Stowe, as soon as I've finished these trials.

The third trial takes place a week later, at the daily sunset ritual. After the sun goes down, Saint calls Roan forward.

“Third trial. The novitiate communes with the Friend.”

The Brothers nod in approval.

Brother Asp, leading Roan to the front, whispers: “The next few trials will be the most difficult of all. Are you sure you're ready?”

“Yes,” says Roan. “I'm ready.” Roan has turned to face the assembly when he hears a bleating sound. The Brothers part, and Roan sees Feeder walking toward him, leading a ram by a rope. Feeder and Brother Wolf tie the ram's feet, then lay the animal on a rock platform in front of Roan.

Brother Wolf addresses Roan. “Before communing with the Friend, an offering must be made to honor Him.”

Brother Raven hands Roan a knife. “For the Friend.”

“For the Friend,” repeat the assembled.

Roan looks into the animal's dark eyes. To deliberately draw blood from living things was considered the greatest sin by the people of Longlight.

“
YOU HAVE DRAWN MINE,
”
SAYS THE MOUNTAIN LION.

Expectant eyes are on Roan.

“
YOU EAT IT. YOU CAN KILL IT.
”

Realizing the futility, even the danger, of protest, Roan strokes the ram's head, whispering, “Forgive me.” Trembling, he draws in air, holds his breath, and slices the blade across the ram's throat. As blood pours out, the animal spasms, then goes limp.

The ram's blood, collected in a vessel below, is lifted by Brother Wolf for all to see. Then each Brother dips in his fingertips and puts a streak of blood across his own forehead. Roan, shaking, does the same.

“The communion,” says Saint, nodding at Roan approvingly.

Next a brightly colored casket is brought forward by two Brothers. Its panels are elaborately decorated with paintings of the Friend. The Brothers lift the lid off, and gesture to Roan to get inside.

“Remember your training,” whispers Brother Stinger.

Saint puts his hand on Roan's shoulder. “Go to the Friend, Roan of Longlight. He awaits you.”

Roan steps into the close-fitting casket and lies down on his back. All goes dark as the lid is replaced and screwed down. The only light comes from tiny airholes drilled in the wood. He hears the sound of footsteps as the Brothers leave the site. Within minutes, there is no sound at all. Roan is alone, captive in this box. He can move his fingers and toes, but not much more.

Roan's shin begins to itch. He tries rubbing it against the lid, but he can't reach the spot. He scratches his thigh, hoping to somehow satisfy the urge. That doesn't work either. He pinches himself, trying to distract his mind. But his efforts only make the itch stronger. I'll go mad, Roan thinks. Now he's itchy everywhere, inside and out, every part of him desperate to move or turn or squirm. His heart pumps wildly. He wants to scream, pound on the lid, claw his way out.

Fighting the panic, Roan tries to concentrate on his breath. He feels the air flow through his nostrils, move against his skin. The cricket shifts in his pocket, bringing its wings together, making a little series of chirps. Roan feels as if he's weightless, out of his body, no longer trapped inside the casket.

ROAN IS SITTING ON A ROCK IN A GRASSY FIELD. HE LOOKS DOWN AT HIS HAND AND SEES THAT HE'S HOLDING THE RECORDER. HE LIFTS IT TO HIS LIPS AND PLAYS. IT IS STOWE'S TUNE.

THE OLD GOAT-WOMAN APPEARS.
“
THAT'S NOT A GOOD IDEA.
”

“
IT'S ONLY A SONG.
”
HE PLAYS AGAIN.

“
STOP.
”

“
WHY
?”

“
SHE WILL HEAR YOU.
”

“
ALL THE MORE REASON TO PLAY.
”

“
SHE IS WITH THE DIRT EATERS OF THE CITY. THE TURNED.
”

“
SHOULD I FEAR THEM
?”

“
ALL FEAR THEM.
”

“
I THOUGHT YOU WERE A DIRT EATER.
”

“
WE ARE DIFFERENT. AND YOU ARE EVEN MORE SO.
”

“
WHAT ABOUT STOWE
?”

HE HEARS A VOICE IN THE DISTANCE. HIS SISTER'S VOICE.
“
ROAN
!”

THE GOAT-WOMAN LIFTS HER HAND, SEALING ROAN'S MOUTH. HE SCREAMS, BUT THERE IS NO SOUND.

“
THE DANGER IS TOO GREAT. YOUR SISTER IS ALIVE. AND YOU WILL FIND HER. BUT NOT NOW. CONTACT HER BEFORE THE TIME IS RIGHT AND SHE WILL BE LOST FOREVER.
”

Roan's eyes peer into the darkness, his body still trapped in the coffin. He opens his mouth and speaks, testing his lips. “She's alive,” he says aloud. “It's true, my sister is alive. The Dirt Eaters of the City have her. But who are they? What do they want?” But he calms himself, slowly sipping in air, counting his breaths until he drifts off to sleep.

He wakes to the sound of the screws being removed from the coffin. The lid is lifted. Roan, unsteady, eyes smarting from the bright sunlight, is helped to his feet, the Brothers all around.

Saint grabs his arms. “Did you meet the Friend?”

Roan, not wanting to lie, replies: “I felt a presence.”

Saint embraces him. “Well done. Praised be the Friend!”

“Praised be the Friend!” the Brothers repeat.

Late that night, Feeder appears at the door of Roan's tent, looking wan and disheveled. “The painting's almost done. In a few weeks it'll be over.”

“You've been watching?”

“After your next trial, you'll be baptized.”

Roan nods. “The baptism will be blood.”

“You figured it out.”

“It should be the blood of a bull, like in the pictures. But that's not possible. All the cattle disappeared after the Abominations.”

“No,” Feeder mutters, “a bull's been found. They find one every year. A bull's blood will baptize you.”