The Dirt Eaters (13 page)

“They look old. Maybe from when the hospital was bombed,” Lumpy says.

“They're not that old.” Roan is filled with unease, certain something terrible awaits them in these bleak channels. “I say we go one more long stretch. If we haven't seen daylight by then, we head back to the hospital.”

“Under the circumstances,” replies Lumpy, eyeing the skull, “I have to agree.”

Within moments, they come to another fork in the tunnel, where a narrow passageway juts off.

“Feel the air?”

“Dry. Cold.”

“Very cold.”

“What do you think?”

“Why not?”

They sidestep along the corridor, the walls so close they can see their breath condensing on the glowing stone. Granite tears at their skin as they struggle for each claustrophobic step. Finally they emerge into a large cave, sighing with relief. Their respite is short-lived. They stand rigid at a terrible sight. All around them lie mummified human bodies. The rock's luminescence casts an eerie glow on the hollow eyes and gaping mouths strung with skin like weathered paper. Some of the bodies are sitting like grotesque, wrinkled dolls.

“There are dozens of them,” whispers Roan.

“How'd they get like that?” Lumpy wonders.

“The cave's really dry. No water to rot them.”

“They could have been here for centuries,” says Lumpy.

“Maybe they're recent.”

“From the Abominations?”

Roan grimly shakes his head. “Some of the bodies don't look nearly as dried out as the others. Look at the clothing. They may only be a few years old.”

“Maybe they were sick, or couldn't leave because of the bombs, and then ran out of food and water...” Lumpy thinks for a second, then blurts, “Let's get out of here.”

“Good idea.”

At first it seems their route back will be simply a matter of following the scratches Roan made. The initial few forks are well marked with his Xs, but when they come to the third forked passage, there's no mark at all.

“It doesn't make sense. I marked each one,” Roan says, mystified. Finally he spots a chip in the rock, so they hesitantly pick that path and carry on. But soon Roan stops.

“This is the wrong way. We're doubling back. We were curving a little to the east, then we turned south.”

“How could you know that?”

“I don't know it, I just feel it,” is all Roan says. But he's aware that the deeper they've penetrated this labyrinth, the more acute his senses have become.

They reverse direction. Their pace is rapid, triggered by mounting anxiety. But they arrive at a dead end. The passage is blocked. Lumpy stares, disbelieving.

“This is the way we came. It wasn't blocked before!” Roan says.

Lumpy gives Roan a worried look. “You're sure?”

Roan drinks his last few drops of water. Then he breathes slowly, settling himself, and gazes at the wall. After a moment, he hears the faint murmuring of voices.

“He knows how to use his eyes.”

“He is formidable.”

“The enemy taught him. He may be tainted.”

“Not possible.”

“I've seen it before.”

“This one is different.”

Roan scans the rock, detecting small holes. He puts his eye up to one and looks in, trying to see who's talking. He whispers to Lumpy. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The voices.”

Lumpy looks at Roan like he's lost his mind. “It's dead quiet in here. There hasn't been a sound.”

“There were two people. Talking. A man and woman.”

Lumpy shudders. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

They turn around again, and after a brief time they arrive at another fork.

“This wasn't here before,” moans Lumpy. Then his eyes light up at the sight of one of Roan's marks. He eagerly sets out down the passage with Roan behind, moving more quickly than ever.

As they pass through more sets of branches, Roan grows increasingly certain the path is wrong, that they're circling back. Whoever or whatever has captured them is forcing them to go this way. He debates telling Lumpy, but his companion is already so nervous, Roan worries the information would send him into full panic. Suffering from thirst and fatigue, they push on through the serpentine tunnels until they find the narrow passage in front of them again.

“We're going to die down here, aren't we?”

“The voices I heard. I know it seems impossible, but somehow they've been moving the walls,” Roan whispers. “Some­body's playing with us.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“I'm not saying it does. But there's no other explanation.”

A look of terror crosses Lumpy's face. “What do you think they want?”

“I wish I knew.”

Lumpy kicks a wall and yells at the unseen captors. “Let us go! LET US GO!” His voice echoing through the caves, he sets off running. Roan follows, but it doesn't take Lumpy long to slow down. Their feet have become leaden, fear dragging on them like a sinkhole. Lumpy groggily bumps into the sides of the passage, trying to chatter his fear away.

“Maybe we're close to something. Maybe they heard my voice. Maybe they'll take pity on us. Soon maybe the tunnel will take us out, and then it's just a matter of finding some water and a little food, whatever we can get, it doesn't matter, because at least we'll be outside.”

His words stop, interrupted by the sight before them. Roan would cry if there were enough liquid in him to generate tears. They're back with the mummies.

“How did we get back in here?”

Roan starts to tremble. “I have no idea.”

A low rumbling sound makes them jump. Behind them, the entryway is closing. Lumpy rushes to it, tripping over one of the desiccated corpses. Roan charges the wall just as it closes in seamlessly, stone against stone.

Lumpy presses on the walls, frantically searching for some secret button or switch that will release them. Roan puts his hand on his companion's shoulder.

“Come on, let's sit down. We're prisoners. Either they'll let us go, or they won't.”

Lumpy stares at the withered bodies. “I wonder what I'll look like. Not like them. Different.”

Fighting his own panic, Roan takes Lumpy firmly by the shoulders. “Sit.”

Lumpy slides down the wall, moaning. In the silence, Roan can feel him growing calmer. Roan's pocket shakes, and the white cricket crawls out. As Lumpy holds out his finger, the cricket leaps onto it. It sings, soothing both of them.

“It likes you,” Roan says.

“A cricket like this gave me my life, or whatever's left of it,” says Lumpy. “It's probably wondering if there's anything to eat on me.”

“Snow crickets eat ticks?”

“After we were kicked out of our village, my family headed to your side of the mountain. They died one by one, and I started wandering in the foothills. I was sure death was just a step behind. When I saw a white cricket, I thought I'd had it. Instead, the cricket sang. The Mor-Ticks that were buried came out. Their eggs hatched and the larvae crawled to the surface of my skin. It ate them all.”

Roan is beginning to understand. On his side of the mountain, people weren't bothered by the malady because of the snow crickets. That was the reason Lumpy had told him he needn't fear the deadly ticks.

“Where is your cricket now?”

Lumpy's voice is weak. “A few weeks after it saved me, I went to the first village I could find to beg for food. They beat me with sticks and threw me back out the gate. I survived, but not the cricket.”

“You were afraid I'd lose my cricket...at that village. Lumpy?” But Lumpy is crumpling onto his side.

“Lumpy, wake up!” Roan yells. He tries to lift his companion, but he has no strength left. “Please, Lumpy, c'mon!” It's no use. Lumpy is in a deep stupor. Gravity pulls on Roan's hurt, spent frame, and he sinks to the rock floor, weariness washing over him. He sits beside Lumpy and puts his arm around the person he realizes is the best friend he's ever had.

Through bleary eyes, Roan sees what must be angels. There are four of them, all with white translucent skin and long gray or white hair, wearing snow-white robes. Roan supposes he must be dead, but curiously, he can feel the warmth of their hands as they touch his forehead.

“Do we take them both?”

“Of course.”

Roan tries to speak, but his mouth can't form words. A female angel leans over him and takes his hand.

“Welcome, Roan of Longlight. We've been expecting you.”

Darkness descends on Roan, a blissful escape.

THE FORGOTTEN

IMAGINE THE UNTHINKABLE, SAID ROAN OF THE PARTING, BUT NO ONE COULD. THE DEVASTATION WILL COME, HE WARNED. BUT NO ONE LISTENED. NO ONE BELIEVED. NO ONE BUT FOR A VERY FEW, WHO BECAME THE KEEPERS OF THE LIGHT.

—
THE BOOK OF LONGLIGHT

R
OAN AWAKES
, bathed in a dazzlingly bright light. An angel holds his head, putting a glass of water to his lips.

“Sip,” she says. “A little at a time.”

Roan sips. The water tastes sweet, ambrosia to his parched mouth.

“Why is it so bright?”

“Amplified sunlight.”

“What's—where's my friend?”

“You'll see him soon.”

“What is this place?”

“Oasis.”

“A refuge in the desert.”

She nods.

Roan notices that he's wearing a clean white robe, and that the cricket is sitting beside him on his pillow.

“I thought you were angels.”

“We are the Forgotten.”

She has strong hands, like Roan's mother. He struggles not to be lulled, remembering the false image of his mother in one of his dreams.

“I'm Sari.”

Roan hesitates, wondering how much he should reveal to this stranger. But Sari does not wait on his decision.

“Rest. Your body needs to heal.”

She guides Roan's head back to the pillow. He drifts, questions floating like dust.

When Roan next awakes, Sari is there again, this time with a bowl of yogurt. Roan can't help but grin when he tastes it.

“You like it?” she asks.

“Much better than termites,” Roan replies.

“You're feeling stronger. Are you up to meeting the others?”

Suddenly a wild, angry cry rips through the air. Lumpy.

“Easy on your feet!” warns Sari, but Roan jumps off the soft bed and runs out, stumbling as he reaches the doorway. He feels Sari's strong hands steady him as he peers across a large cavern to see Lumpy atop a large rock, brandishing a stone.

“Get back! Back! Murderers!” Lumpy warns the mass of people who surround him. But they don't appear very threatening. Most of them look old, hair turning white, garbed in robes.

“You're alive, aren't you?” says one of them mildly.

“Well...You kept changing the tunnels on us...You forced us into the cave with your other victims.”

The man nods. He's tall, straight-backed, with deep-set eyes. “You entered our defense system.”

“What are your plans for us?” demands Lumpy, slowly lowering the stone.

“My name is Haron. You're free to leave now if you wish,” the man says. “We offer our regrets for any discomfort you may have suffered. You're welcome to stay as long as you want. With winter coming, you might find things more comfortable here.”

Lumpy eyes him suspiciously. “Where's my friend?”

“Here I am, Lumpy!” Roan calls out from the other side of the cave.

“Let me through,” Lumpy says, and the crowd parts, giving him free passage to Roan. Sari respectfully steps away, as do the others, giving Roan and Lumpy a wide berth.

“What do you think?” Lumpy whispers. “They almost killed us.”

“If we leave, the Friends will be waiting for us.”

Lumpy rolls his eyes.

“You have to admit these people
do
have a pretty good defense system,” adds Roan.

“Good point,” says Lumpy.

“And they've had a good look at you and haven't tried to stone you yet.”

Mustering as much dignity as he can, Lumpy announces, “We'll stay for a while.”

“Come, I'll show you around, if you're feeling strong enough,” says Sari. “Look up.” The brightness makes him squint, but Roan can see that among the stalactites that hang high above them are numerous polished mirrors. “Our caves are riddled with cracks that let in sunlight. These mirrors capture and amplify the light.”

Throughout the cavern, people are busy at a variety of tasks, polishing mirrors, making furniture, weaving cloth, but each takes the time to nod to the newcomers as they pass.

“About three hundred of us live here,” Sari tells them. “We came toward the end of the Abominations. We'd had our fill of the brutality, bloodshed, and fear, and we agreed that cooperation was the key to our survival.”

“Where are the children?” asks Roan.

Sari grows somber. “We have none. There is a chemical that permeates the rock. It gives us health and very long life, but we discovered to our regret that it also prevents us from having children.”

At the edge of one wall, Sari presses on the stone, and a barely visible crack appears in the granite. It opens further under her touch to reveal a dim tunnel. Roan and Lumpy struggle to keep up as Sari moves dexterously through the winding passage. But they're brought to an abrupt halt when confronted with a blinding shift in the light. As his eyes adjust, Roan is amazed by the sight of a gigantic garden. They'd had a few small greenhouses in Longlight, but nothing on this scale. Dozens of gardeners work in long rows of tomatoes and peppers and cucumbers. Sari explains that fruit and vegetable scrap is recycled into fertilizer. In an adjacent cave, another composting system reclaims human and animal waste.

“Deeper in our caves are mines, where we retrieve the silver for our mirrors.” Sari's fingers brush another opening, and the wall again gives way before them. “And as you've already seen, our stone sculptors are exceptionally talented.”

Roan examines the threshold, admiring the nearly invisible stone work and extraordinarily close fit. He swings the rock wall the other way, and it creates a barrier on the opposite rock face. “This is how you trapped us.”

“It took many years for us to perfect the technique, but when your survival depends on it, almost anything is achievable,” says Sari.

Lumpy grimaces as they turn a corner. “Argh. I can't stand that stink!”

Roan's puzzled. “I don't smell anything.”

“I hate the little bearded devils!” groans Lumpy.

The cave ahead of them is rife with bleating goats. The animals immediately swarm Lumpy, nibbling on his clothes.

“They like you,” chortles one of the goat herders. Lumpy scowls.

As the herders wrangle the animals into a long procession, Roan notices that a number of them are armed with long bows and finely crafted arrows.

Sari follows his gaze. “We never know when a roving band of brigands or mercenaries might appear,” she explains. “The tunnel from this cave leads to a hidden valley in the outside world. There the goats can graze while we tend our wheat and our apple orchard.”

“Why don't you live in the valley?” asks Lumpy.

“After the last rebel stronghold was destroyed, our parents argued about whether to live in the valley, which seemed secure, or to stay hidden in the caves, which we had discovered but still had much to learn about. The majority chose the surface. We chose the underground. At first we envied the valley-dwellers. Despite the poisoned land all around, the prevailing winds had protected the valley's soil from contamination. It was rich, and their crops grew high. But at the end of the summer, an army of mercenaries attacked. Many perished, and the fruits of their labors were lost. Those who remained realized the open was unsafe and joined us in the caves.”

As the last few goats are led outside, Lumpy gasps. One of the archers is a girl of about sixteen. Her skin is covered in Mor-Tick scars. Their eyes meet for a moment, then one of the goat herders calls out her name: “Lelbit!” The girl turns and disappears down the passage.

“Lelbit was brought to the old hospital when she was a child,” explains Sari. “Our healers worried many months over her survival. Her spirit is very strong.”

“You used the healing place?” Lumpy asks.

“Until it became too risky for both the patients and the healers. But we're grateful Lelbit found us. She's our finest archer, and she has developed a great number of other useful skills as well. Perhaps our healers can help you as well.”

A look of yearning crosses Lumpy's face, but he doesn't speak. Sari calls out and one of the Forgotten appears, and motions for Lumpy to follow.

Lumpy whispers to Roan. “If this is some kind of trick...”

Roan gives Lumpy a pat. “This is what you came for. I think it's safe.”

“Hope you're right, but if I don't come back, save yourself,” mutters Lumpy as he's led away.

Sari turns to Roan. “We have a place you might find interesting.”

The cavern is enormous. It's filled with shelves, every one of them jammed with books. Librarians on ladders tend the hundreds of volumes, and on long, sturdy tables below, dozens of scholars write and study.

“You read!” Roan dashes to the book stacks, running his fingers over the spines. A long-nosed, broad-bellied man joins Roan.

“It's nothing, really, much less than a small public library used to contain in the old days.”

“It's fantastic.”

“I'm Orin, Head Librarian.”

“Roan of Longlight.”

“You possessed a fine collection of books there, I'm told.”

“Not as big as this. You know about Longlight?”

“Yes, we heard the sad news.”

“How?”

“We have not lost our eyes and ears.”

“Then you might know that many of the books, at least my father's collection, survived.”

Orin's eyes open wide. “Really? Where? We do venture out sometimes on missions of that sort.”

“I believe a large part of his library is still in the house. The rest of the books were taken by Saint.”

Orin frowns at the mention of Saint's name. “‘And he went up the mountain and was changed forever. There the Friend appeared to him out of the darkness and gave him the Word.' Oh, dear. Saint and his Friends. What an ambitious crowd.” Orin shudders.

“I spent a year with them. And I read to him from his library.”

“And you left his company. I don't suppose it was an amicable parting.”

“Far from it.”

“You'll be safe from his reach while you're with us.” Orin clamps his hand briefly on Roan's shoulder. “If you like, you could help me out here in the library.”

Roan smiles. “I'd like that.” In fact, he thinks, nothing could make him happier than spending time in this room.

At supper, the meal table is loaded with vegetable stew, salad, cheeses, crusty breads, and fruit. Apple tarts and cookies for dessert. This is the kind of food Roan's family lingered over in Longlight. But after filling his plate, he anxiously looks around. Lumpy still hasn't turned up, and Roan's beginning to doubt his instincts about this place. He's finally sitting before the meal he's dreamed about for months, and he cannot eat it.

“Don't worry, they didn't kill me,” says Lumpy, surprising Roan from behind.

Turning to greet his friend, Roan can't help but stare at Lumpy's skin, trying to discern if there's any improvement.

“Don't wear your eyes out,” says Lumpy. “The change is inside, not out. They gave me this salve for the pain.”

“Does it work?”

Lumpy grins. “It's the first relief I've ever had. They said I'm suffering from a low-grade infection under the scars. If I apply the salve every day for the next six months, the pain will be gone for good.”

“But not the scars?” asks Roan.

Lumpy shakes his head. “Believe me, I've already gotten more than I hoped for.”

Their new sleeping quarters are in a small, comfortable hollow with clean-smelling woven beds. The walls in the room have been painted to darken the luminescent stone. Roan closes his eyes, but he can't sleep. He feels the cricket crawl across his hand. His eyes open to see the little white insect scurrying onto his pack. Roan reaches into one of the pockets and pulls out Stowe's doll, the cricket riding on top. He's relieved to hear Lumpy's voice.

“Can't sleep?”

“No.”

“Me either. I haven't slept in a bed in years. Or without pain.”

“So you still think we should stay here for the winter?” Roan whispers to his friend.

“Of course,” says Lumpy. “Besides, I can't stop wondering about that girl, Lelbit. I've never seen anyone else like me who wasn't dead. How about you?”

“I'm willing to stay. I feel safe here. Still...”

“They seem sad.”

“It's true,” says Roan. “There's no real sunlight, and no children.”

“Eventually they'll all die off. It must be hard to know that.”