A World Without Heroes (26 page)

“Yes, and I’ll be just fine once you reattach me to my body.”

“Where is your body?” Rachel asked.

“Hard to say. I can feel that I was buried. I could tell they didn’t take me far. Look around.”

Jason and Rachel searched the surrounding area. Off at a diagonal between the northbound and eastbound roads Rachel
noticed a rectangular patch of churned-up earth. “I think I see where they buried you.”

“Good. Go exhume me, and I’ll help you get my head down.”

“You still have control over your body?” Rachel exclaimed.

“My body doesn’t feel disconnected,” Ferrin explained patiently. “Blood from the heart in my body under the ground is still flowing into my head up here. The air I breathe in this sack is still filling my lungs. All my nerves remain in contact with my brain. That is what makes me a displacer.”

“And you can reattach your head?” Jason asked.

“Nothing could be simpler. Coming apart doesn’t serve much purpose unless you can put yourself back together. But I need you to dig me up first.”

“Should we do this?” Jason whispered to Rachel.

“We can’t just let him die,” she replied softly.

“What if he’s lying? What if he’s a criminal?”

“Then he’s probably on our side.”

Jason and Rachel shed their cloaks. Crouching in the freshly turned soil, Jason began scooping away loose dirt with his hands, getting gritty bits of earth under his fingernails. Rachel set to work alongside him. The hole had been recently filled, so the dirt moved easily. Before long they reached the body, maybe three feet under, lying supine. They worked to clear the soil from atop the length of the body, mounding it off to either side. Soon the body sat up and started helping.

Jason and Rachel stepped away from the hole as the headless body clambered out like some monstrosity from a horror movie. Hearing about a headless body from a voice in a sack was one thing—watching a headless body rise from a shallow grave was another.

“I can’t see a thing through this sack,” Ferrin declared. “Could one of you lead my body over here?”

Rachel shook her head and gestured for Jason to do it. He approached the body, which stood motionless beside the hole, one hand outstretched. It wore a gray shirt, canvas pants, and rope-soled shoes, all caked with earth. As Jason drew near, he stared down at the headless neck, observing a perfect cross-section of muscle, skin, fat, blood vessels, bone, the spinal cord, the esophagus—everything. Strangely, no soil clung to the exposed tissue. Measuring himself against the body, Jason found that the neck came up to the top of his chest.

Jason took the hand of the body and led it over to the gibbet below the bag. “Pleasure to meet you,” the muffled voice said, while the body shook his hand gratefully. “Can you see how they fastened me up here?”

Rachel approached cautiously, keeping her distance, an expression of morbid fascination on her face.

“A cord holding the bag shut is looped over a hook,” Jason said.

“Can you reach it?” Ferrin asked.

“Not even close.”

“Could you reach if I put you on my shoulders?”

“I think so, but I don’t want to scramble your insides. What if I hurt your spinal cord or something?”

“Don’t worry. The displacement field that keeps me connected protects the exposed portions of my anatomy.”

The body crouched down.

“I’m not sure I could balance on you without a head there. Plus I’m taller than you. Why don’t you climb on my shoulders? You should be able to unhook the bag by touch just fine.”

“Fair enough.”

Jason knelt down, and the body, feeling its way, sat on his
shoulders. Rachel came forward and helped Jason stagger to his feet. He moved under the bag.

“I have it,” Ferrin announced.

Jason knelt again, and the body dismounted. The body opened the mouth of the bag, removed the head by the hair, and held it so that it could see Jason and Rachel.

“Many thanks,” the head said. “You saved my life.”

“Our pleasure,” Jason replied.

Rachel shook her head slowly. “Not to be rude, but this is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jason couldn’t help agreeing—although, amazingly, crazy things were starting to feel almost expected now.

The body set the head on the stump of the neck. Head and body instantly fused together without any mark to suggest they had ever been separated. Ferrin had a black eye and scrapes on his forehead and left cheek.

“Better?” Ferrin asked.

“Less weird,” Rachel acknowledged gratefully.

Jason smiled. “I’m Jason. This is my sister, Rachel. Looks like you got beat up.”

Ferrin flashed a lopsided smile. “The price I pay for being wizardborn.”

“Was your father a wizard?” Rachel asked.

“Are you two as naive as you act?” Ferrin asked. “How can that be?”

“We’re from far away,” Jason reminded him.

“So far away that you haven’t heard of displacers or the wizardborn races? Never mind, I don’t mean to pry; you two just saved my skin. Rachel, when I say ‘wizardborn,’ I mean metaphorically. My race did not occur naturally. Displacers were created by wizards.”

“I see,” Rachel said.

“None of the wizardborn get much love from regular humans,” Ferrin continued. “But displacers are especially despised—partly because we’re hard to distinguish from regular humans, partly because our race is dying out, making us easy to pick on.”

“Some bullies figured out you were a displacer?” Rachel asked.

“They were merciless. Once my head was in the sack, they kicked me up and down the road. A real group of princes, let me tell you. I suppose I should be grateful they wanted me to die a slow, torturous death, because now I may actually survive, thanks to your kindness.”

“Did you know them?” Jason asked.

“Not personally. I saw them in an alehouse west of here. They must have followed me out of town.”

“Where were you coming from?” Jason asked.

“Away farther to the west. I should have seen it coming. Too many of these small-town bumpkins prey on outsiders.”

“We’ve noticed,” Rachel said.

“Do you travel a lot?” Jason asked.

“It’s all I do,” Ferrin replied. “Displacers are wanderers. We’re not like the drinlings or the Amar Kabal, with a homeland to call our own. We’re unwanted, so we try to keep our identities secret and get by however we can.”

“Do you know how we can get to Trensicourt?” Jason asked.

“You follow this road to the east, then take the northern fork when it splits. I happen to be going eastward myself. Unless you object to the company of a displacer, we could travel together. These are dangerous times.”

“We’d enjoy some company,” Jason said, looking at Rachel.

“We’ve run into some unpleasantness as well,” she added.

“There can be safety in numbers,” Ferrin said. “Fair warning: Traveling with a displacer can occasionally be troublesome. If
others recognize my true nature, you could share in my unpopularity.”

“To be honest,” Jason said, “traveling with us might be risky as well.” Rachel gave him a worried look, as if concerned he might say too much. “Servants of the emperor might be hunting us.”

Ferrin clapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m not surprised. Youthful siblings would not roam so far afield without reason. Maldor harasses everyone. He is not fond of travelers or visitors from distant lands. I am certain he has no great love for me, either. I will gladly risk traveling with you, if you will brave my company.”

“It would be nice to have a guide,” Rachel said.

“I agree,” Jason said.

“Then it’s settled!” Ferrin brushed some of the dirt from his sleeves and torso. “If I can’t trust the pair who saved my life, who can I trust?”

They set off down the eastbound road.

“How do you make a living?” Jason asked.

“I do whatever I can find. Never one thing for too long. I’ve been a sailor, a horse trainer, a butler, a merchant, an actor, a farmhand, a hired sword—you name it.”

“Sounds like an interesting life,” Rachel said.

“Too interesting, sometimes,” Ferrin replied with a grimace. “How about the two of you? What do you do?”

“We’re students,” Rachel said.

“We interrupted our studies to travel,” Jason added.

“Ah,” Ferrin said, nodding in approval. “The education of the open road. Reading about Trensicourt is no substitute for walking its streets.”

“That’s the idea,” Jason said. “Do you know why traveling is so discouraged?”

“I can speculate,” Ferrin said. “Maldor occupies this land, governing largely through officials selected from among the local populace. To discourage unified rebellion, he stifles interaction between communities. He prefers those he governs to remain divided and ignorant, especially in outlying regions far from his centers of power.”

They proceeded in silence for a few minutes.

“You have provisions?” Ferrin asked.

“Enough for a few days,” Rachel said.

“The bandits who jumped me cleaned me out,” Ferrin said. “But I won’t be a burden. They missed some money hidden in my shoe. There is a town a day’s journey from here. We’ll be fine.”

“We had bad luck in the last town,” Jason said.

“So did I,” Ferrin chuckled. “We should be all right if we keep our heads down and stick together. As we draw nearer to Trensicourt, travelers become less conspicuous.”

Ferrin kept scanning the side of the road, occasionally wandering some distance into a meadow or stand of trees to retrieve a stick. He discarded several before finding one he liked. “This may do,” he said, examining it from different angles. “The item I most regret losing was my walking stick. It was perfect. I had it capped in silver. If not for the silver they probably would have left it.” He used the sturdy, straight stick he had recovered like a staff for several paces. “Yes, this will suffice.”

Before long Ferrin picked out a walking stick for Rachel. “Try it. It conserves energy. Let your arms do some of the work.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Soon thereafter he found one for Jason as well. As the day grew warm, Jason bundled up his cloak. Ferrin began whistling tunes Jason had never heard. The warbling whistle had a broad range, and Ferrin seemed to have good pitch. Rachel whistled
“Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Ferrin liked it, learned it quickly, and soon began embellishing the melody. Then he started working on a harmony to whistle along with Rachel. The first few attempts were only marginally successful, but eventually he found one that worked rather well.

Jason spotted a couple of lizards longer than his foot. They darted away when he got near them. Ferrin warned him to stay away from a metallic blue beetle trundling lazily across the road. “You would be shocked how foul they smell if you get them angry. If you tread on one, you have to burn the shoe. It’s that bad.”

They chose a spot in a little stand of trees not far from the road to spend the night, and slept under the stars.

By noon the following day they were passing farms. For a drooma a man heading into town on a wagon gave them a ride. As they bumped along the road, Jason observed the countryside. Rippling oceans of wheat and barley turned farmhouses into islands. They passed a small, fragrant, fenced orchard, where bees hummed among the ripening fruit. Then three large windmills came into view, great white sails turning slowly in the gentle breeze.

The farms got progressively smaller. Before long they could see the town. It was much bigger than the little seaside village. The buildings were sturdy wooden structures, mostly unpainted, a few of them three stories high. The main street in town was broad enough for several wagons to move side by side, and it was interrupted by several wide cross streets.

“We’ll climb down here,” Ferrin said. The farmer reined in his team.

“Thanks for the ride,” Jason said as he dropped to the road.