The Dirt Eaters (12 page)

Lumpy picks up a stick, mumbling, “It's nowhere special.”

“I'd like to know.”

“I've heard rumors.”

“Of what?”

Lumpy, embarrassed, turns his face away from Roan. “A healing place. A storyteller came to our village years ago and talked about it. Physicians and rebels gathered there after the Abominations.”

“You think they can help you?”

“Probably not. It's a long shot, likely a myth, but if Longlight is...
was
real, then maybe...”

“And you know where this place is?”

Lumpy nods.

“What are we waiting for?” Roan exclaims. Wrapping his coat around his head, he trots off, Lumpy close behind.

THE LABYRINTH

OASIS EXISTS. I KNOW IT DOES, THOUGH I MYSELF HAVE NEVER SEEN IT. BUT ANYONE WHO PAYS HEED TO TALES OF IMMORTALS THRIVING IN CAVES OF LIGHT IS A FOOL.

—
LORE OF THE STORYTELLERS

F
IRED WITH ENTHUSIASM
to reach the healing place, Roan and Lumpy push themselves to their limits, sleeping little and resting less. They drink what water crosses their path and feed on tree sap and grubs, which to Roan's relief are much easier to eat than termites.

As they near their destination, the terrain changes abruptly. The ground is torn up where bombs once blasted the roads. Huge pieces of concrete and steel lie scattered like scraps of paper. They've arrived at the ruins of what appears to have been a small, prosperous city. Hollowed-out, half-collapsed buildings, some standing ten stories high in sections, line the broken sidewalks. The rusting relics of smashed cars and overturned buses, the first Roan has ever seen, litter the ruptured streets. There's no sign of life apart from a few weeds and vines that thrust up from the shattered remains, but there are many shadows, and the travelers become more and more apprehensive.

“This is the place?” asks Roan.

Lumpy nods his head. “This was the last city the rebels held. Bombs were dropped on it for four weeks straight, night and day. If what the storyteller said is true, some rebels came back to keep the healing place alive. The building must be here somewhere.”

They weave through the crumbled concrete, searching block after desolate block. Lumpy doesn't say a word, but Roan can feel his companion's tension, his growing desperation. Just as Roan begins to doubt they'll ever find it, there, in tatters, is a white flag with a bold red cross hanging over a large, damaged entranceway.

Lumpy points at some broken letters above the threshold: H...P...T...A...L. “Do you know what they mean?”

“Some of the letters are missing, but I think it once spelled hospital.”

“What's a hospital?”

“A place people went to be healed. They had medicines there, and special machines and doctors and nurses. The red cross on that flag means first aid. This must be the place you heard about.”

“Let's go!” shouts Lumpy. He squeezes through the en­trance, followed by Roan.

Inside, the hospital is all walls and rubble. They pick their way through hallways blocked by dead ends where the ceiling has fallen in or floors have collapsed. It's obvious this structure had once been filled with beds where people were healed; countless skeletons lie entangled in the rusting frames, fragile wisps of cloth still clinging to the bones.

“This might not be the place,” says Roan.

“It's a hospital,” Lumpy replies, a quaver in his voice.

“It was once.”

Through a gaping hole in a wall lies what must have been a clinic. This area is in much better condition than the rest of the hospital. There are a dozen beds, the cabinets are intact, and the floors are dusty but free of rubble.

Lumpy rifles through the cupboards. Roan joins him, but most of the cupboards are bare, and the few jars they do find are empty. Lumpy slams the last cupboard shut and slumps down on a dust-covered bed. Roan can see tears clouding his dark eyes.

“Raiders must have gotten to this place. Let's go,” Roan says gently.

Lumpy shakes his head. “I've staked a lot of hope on this place. I'm not ready to leave yet.”

Roan nods sympathetically and squeezes back through the dark corridor, planning to wait outside. Pondering his companion's dilemma, he distractedly steps out into the light of day. For one critical moment, the bright sun blinds him. In that instant, two spears push against his ribs. Behind them, five horses but only one rider. Brother Wolf.

“We don't intend to harm you, Roan of Longlight. The Prophet lives. He wishes to see you.”

Hearing his former teacher's voice has a galvanizing effect on Roan. He empties his mind, completely focusing on the threat. Four Brothers are off their horses, two with spears. Where are the other two? A quick glance doesn't reveal them, so he deals with the immediate danger. He feints, pushing one spear aside and grabbing the other with his free hand. He pulls hard, dragging the Brother off balance, and knocks him against the wall. Roan turns to the other assailant, blocking the man's spear thrust. Leaning in, he grabs his opponent's arms and hauls him down. Jumping on the fallen man, he whirls to face the other Brother, who is now back on his feet. The two of them leap into the air, but Roan is faster. Grabbing the Brother's arm in midair, Roan yanks it toward him and deals a precise blow to the vital point below the armpit. The Brother groans, falls. Roan reaches back, grabbing his hook-sword from his pack. But Brother Wolf has already dismounted.

“You've improved,” says Wolf, aiming a kick at Roan's neck and swinging down with his own sword. Roan blocks the kick and deflects Wolf's weapon with a crash of his hook-sword. But Wolf's fist lands a ringing blow to Roan's ear. Momen­tarily stunned, Roan can't stop his teacher's next sword stroke. It hits Roan's hilt with such force that his hook-sword flies from his hand, out of reach. “Sur­render,” orders Brother Wolf.

In pain, Roan clutches his sword hand and kneels to the ground. But it's a ruse. He suddenly bursts up, attacking Brother Wolf full force. Retreating from the flurry of kicks and punches, Wolf backs toward the building, faltering against the wall.

“Drop your weapon,” Roan orders breathlessly. Wolf nods and drops his sword. Roan catches the flicker in the Brother's eye too late. A net drops on him. The other two Brothers have been perched on the roof. Roan fights to free himself from the webbing, but they hold the net tight. He's caught, and struggle is no use.

“Very, very impressive,” says Brother Wolf. “But you lacked the foresight to anticipate complications.” Wolf stares Roan down, Roan's betrayal hanging heavy between them. For a moment Roan expects retribution, but Wolf just smiles and turns to the Brothers. “Pack him up.”

The men start to pull on their quarry, but they freeze at the sound of a shrill, agonized wail. The horses fidget, and the men's mouths drop open at a horrible sight.

Lumpy, stark naked, his volcanic skin utterly exposed, runs toward them, waving his arms, howling as if mad with pain.

“Mor-Ticks, Mor-Ticks!” he screams. “Please! Please help me! Mor-Ticks!”

The brothers let go of the net, backing away in terror. Roan disentangles himself just in time to see Brother Wolf aiming his spear at Lumpy's heart.

“Let me put you out of your misery,” Wolf shouts.

Roan erupts at the thought of yet another murder, this time of his only living friend. He dives for his hook-sword, then leaps up. With one swing, he slices through Brother Wolf's spear. He throws his teacher to the ground and presses his blade against Wolf's throat.

Wolf stares down at the sharp metal. “So you would cut my throat with a blade my own father fashioned.”

But Roan only means to use Brother Wolf as a shield. He signals Lumpy to disarm the other Brothers.

“You were my teacher, and you always treated me with respect. Take the Brothers. Get on your horses and go. Tell Saint to forget I exist.”

Brother Wolf nods. The Friends climb slowly onto their horses.

“I'll tell him, Roan of Longlight, but he will not heed. Wherever you stand he will find you. You are a Brother, and no Brother stands alone.”

Roan releases Brother Wolf, who signals his men to mount their horses. With one final nod to Roan, he slides his own hook-sword into his saddle, and leads the others away. Roan, battle sore but not wounded, remains vigilant until the riders are out of sight. Then he turns to the naked Lumpy. Bursting with triumph and relief, they laugh.

Throwing on his clothes, Lumpy snorts. “Well, it worked, didn't it?” Then he motions for Roan to follow him. “I found something in the clinic.” He charges inside with a curious Roan close behind.

“What did you find?”

Lumpy grins slyly. “Look at this!” He runs to a large cabinet at the rear and opens the door. It's empty.

“There's nothing there, Lumpy.”

“Exactly.” Lumpy lifts a shelf, then places his weight against the back of the cabinet.

Roan hears a click. He watches with fascination as the cabinet moves, revealing a flight of dilapidated stairs.

“How did you find that?”

“When you've been scavenging as long as I have, you develop a way with these things. Besides, the storytellers talked about it. I thought it was a legend at the time—you know, like Longlight. Storytellers wouldn't last very long if they said exactly what they meant, but then I met you, so I decided to look a bit harder here. Come on. At the very least, it will be a good place to hide. And the Friends are bound to be back.”

Even after they pull the cabinet back into position behind them, enough light stabs through the cracks in the walls to allow them to pick their way down the stairs. At the bottom, there's nothing but a narrow crevice in the floor. Lumpy starts to squeeze into it.

Roan grabs his arm, stopping him. “Wait. We don't know what's down there.”

“It's a tunnel. I was coming to tell you that when I heard the ruckus.”

“Do you know where it leads?”

“I bet it's some kind of escape route the healers set up. Maybe the tunnel leads to them.”

“Or maybe the tunnel leads nowhere.”

“It's our only chance. The surface isn't safe anymore.”

Lumpy pushes through the opening in the floor and Roan follows, grimacing as he presses behind. Every muscle in his body aches from the battle, and his ear is throbbing. But as Lumpy promised, the crevice leads to an underground passage that opens into a tunnel. The walls of the tunnel glow; the stone seems to be naturally luminescent. It's not bright, but they can easily find their way.

“I say we stay down here, wander around a bit, hope like hell your friends get bored, and pop back up when our water runs out,” Lumpy proposes.

“You really think we might find the healers?”

“Yes. But even if we don't, we're still better off.”

“We could get lost down here.”

“We'll mark our way.”

The tunnel twists and turns. It is sometimes so narrow they can barely make it through, sometimes so high they can't touch the ceiling. From time to time, Roan scrapes a large X in the glowing stone with his hook-sword, a mark that can be clearly seen from a few feet away. After what seems an hour or two, they reach a point where the tunnel branches off in three directions.

“Crossroads,” announces Lumpy.

They take a few steps in each direction. The first branch is very dark and seems to go straight down. The other two curve away but don't look any more inviting. Lumpy sniffs the air in each. “This one seems the freshest. What do you think?”

Roan takes a whiff. They all smell exactly the same to him. “I'll trust your scavenger's nose.”

As they walk, Roan's senses quiver. He says nothing to Lumpy, but he has the unsettling feeling that they are being observed, as impossible as it seems in this narrow tunnel where the slightest sound reverberates. Roan keeps his sword close at hand.

Before long, they encounter another fork. Lumpy sniffs the air, picking the path, and Roan makes his mark. They press on until they find a spot with a smooth floor that seems a reasonable place to rest.

Roan sits stiffly, his sore spots starting to flare into bruises. Lumpy opens his goatskin bag and has a swallow, then offers it to Roan, who also drinks sparingly. The snow cricket emerges from his pocket. It sips from a few spilled drops of water, then begins to sing. The song has a beautiful resonance as it echoes through the tunnels. Within moments, Lumpy nods off. Roan, exhausted, allows his own eyes to close.

A voice, seeming to emanate from the air, mutters irritably. “There was to be only one.”

“Well, now there are two.”

“One was all that was spoken of.”

“Two are what we have.”

“Perhaps he is not the one.”

“He is the one. He carries a white cricket.”

Roan snaps awake. Did he dream the words? No, he's certain he heard voices. But now there is nothing but a weighty silence. He wakes Lumpy and, after chewing a little bug stick, they move on. Roan is paying the price for his exertions fighting the Brothers and every one of his muscles burns in protest. Although he has to steel himself to continue, he walks without complaint.

The narrowness of the passageway discourages conversation. Lulled into a trance-like state by the rhythm of their footfalls, they're both startled when Roan stumbles over something that rattles, then scatters in front of him. Fearing it's some kind of trap, Roan pulls his sword. Lumpy reaches down and picks up one of the objects. A human skull.

“At least we're not alone down here,” says Lumpy, doing his best to make light of it. But his smile fades as they discover more human bones and scraps of clothing scattered around them.