The Dirt Eaters (20 page)

At the wall, the town guards are in position, loading their crossbows. Governor Brack's on the ground shouting orders. Leaving Alandra behind, Roan runs up the steep steps of the wall, hoping to get a better look at the enemy. He reaches the top and peeks over the rampart. On the ground below is an army of Blood Drinkers. Roan's heart sinks at the sight of the vile creatures. They are moving toward the wall in groups of three, each group carrying a ladder. He knows what they'll do to the people here, to the children, if they get past the walls. And he knows that he'll fight to protect them, even if it means exposing himself.

The guards aim their crossbows and fire, wounding several of the Drinkers. But this only seems to galvanize the predators. Seemingly oblivious to the pain, the Drinkers simply break off the arrows that strike them and continue their charge. The first ladder is placed up against the wall. Three Blood Drinkers begin climbing, one after the other, brandishing menacing knives that glint in the light. Roan leans over the wall, grabs the ladder, and pushes it backward. An angry hiss escapes the Blood Drinkers as they fall to the hard-packed ground below.

“Stand away!” orders Brack, who has climbed up beside Roan and holds a bottle on a stick. He places the stickend into a holder on the deck. “Move back!” he commands his troops, as he lights the end of the bottle. Sparks flare as the bottle rises to a great height, then explodes, releasing a huge cloud of yellow smoke into the sky.

Roan stares at the spectacle. He's heard of fireworks and rockets, and though the effect is exceptional, he wonders at its purpose. The Blood Drinkers certainly seem undeterred.

“Hold the vermin off another half-hour. That's all we'll need,” Brack orders.

There is no time for Roan to figure out the meaning of Brack's words as more ladders strike the walls. The first are easily toppled, but in short order a dozen more are shoved against the walls.

Roan feels a clammy hand on his shoulder. A Blood Drinker, its sharpened teeth gaping, raises a knife. Roan dodges, kicking his attacker in the stomach. The Blood Drinker flies at him, but Roan shifts his weight and sends the predator sailing back over the wall, where it crashes into a ladder, smashing three of its comrades to the ground.

Many townspeople are helping with the fight, but they're hopelessly outnumbered by the pale monsters. It won't be long before the walls are breached and the massacre begins.

Then out of the stick-tree forest bursts a band of raiders, some forty strong. Their ears and lips are pierced with shards of rock, their bodies painted and armored. Brandishing battle-axes and spears, the raiders break the ladders, and hack, spear, or trample the Blood Drinkers with terrifying precision. In less than an hour, the slaughter is over.

The warriors scramble like beetles, collecting anything of value from the dead. The bloodied remains are dragged the whole distance to the lake, and the corpses are rolled unceremoniously into its acrid waters.

Roan watches the victors return through the gates. Staying low behind the battlement, he examines their faces closely. He's never seen any of them, but that doesn't guarantee they won't recognize him. If they're allies of the Friends, chances are they know his description; they may start asking questions. Observing Alandra leaving the area, Roan runs to catch up with her.

“Complicates things, doesn't it?” he asks her.

“It depends how long the raiders stay.”

Suddenly the governor's upon them. “Alandra! There are wounded. Could you tend to them?”

“I'm on my way,” she replies without stopping.

“I see you're a warrior,” comments Brack, cutting in front of Roan so there's no escaping him. “Much more to you than meets the eye.”

“Another week of assisting Alandra, and my account with her will be settled.”

“So soon?” says the Governor. “Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Korr. You were a true asset in the battle.”

“I only do what's required. Your town has been good to me, Governor Brack, and I regret that I must move on.”

“I'm holding a banquet tonight to honor our champions, and you will be my special guest,” says Brack. “No, no, don't protest, you were valiant today. So surprising. The ambassador himself will be attending. You must meet him.”

“It's just...I'm not much good at such occasions,” says Roan, hoping to beg off.

But it's clear the governor won't take no for an answer. “I insist,” says Brack imperiously. “I'll see you at eight.”

Roan worries as he watches the governor swagger off. If he doesn't go to the banquet, it will raise suspicion. If he does, he risks being identified. He can only hope Alandra knows how to navigate these dangerous waters.

THE AMBASSADOR'S GIFT

ON THE NIGHT THE BIRDS DISAPPEARED FOREVER FROM THE CITY, ALL THE CHILDREN WOKE SCREAMING. AND THEY WOULD NOT BE COMFORTED.

—
THE BOOK OF LONGLIGHT

“I
BOUGHT THIS FOR YOU
to wear to the banquet,” says Alandra.

Roan eyes the proffered package with trepidation. “Are you certain I should go?”

“Brack has reminded me twice to bring you. You revealed too much in that battle.”

“Should I have done nothing?”

Alandra shrugs, conceding the point. “I've arranged an inconspicuous seat for you, well out of the raiders' view. Once the meal's over you can slip away.” And she leaves him to change.

Roan opens the package. The suit inside is black and of a fabric so light and soft he's amazed it has any substance at all. Both the people of Longlight and the Forgotten fashioned beautiful clothes, but they had to be functional. These are something other, sensuous and unfamiliar. He doesn't trust them.

When Alandra emerges from her room, she is dressed in a flowing gown, her hair in braids and ringlets. Her lips are glazed with red. Roan stares at her dubiously.

“What's wrong?” she asks.

“You don't look like you.”

She shrugs. “There's no choice. This is how the women of Fairview dress for these events.”

Alandra guides Roan along Fairview's main street to the banquet hall. Roan feels awkward and unsure in his new clothes, but he blends in handily with the throng that meanders among the opulent marble pillars and gilded moldings.

“This building is Governor Brack's pride and joy,” Alandra says in a low voice. “It's a monument to his resurrection of Fairview. He loves nothing more than to honor the high and mighty here.”

There are about a hundred people in the hall. The most prominent citizens of Fairview, all dressed in their best, have come to express their gratitude to the raiders. The mercenaries themselves are washed and shaven, and Roan notes they've shucked their body armor for the occasion. It's clear they are welcome here.

Alandra escorts Roan to his spot. As promised, she has managed to seat him at a table far off to the side. “I told the governor your condition was still delicate and required it,” she murmurs. Once Roan is settled, she goes off to her own place, next to Brack at the head table.

A puffed-up fellow in garish red and yellow silks monopolizes the attention of everyone at Roan's table. He clearly fancies himself a gourmet, predicting, from the appetizing scents that fill the room, what the great chef Yasmin has prepared. “No doubt,” he postulates as he sniffs, “rack of lamb, and when it comes, smell it first! The meat will have been steeped in her ten-herb marinade. It's like nothing you've ever tasted. Glazed yams and potatoes, eight-succulent-vegetables-in-savory-sauce, and ah yes, seasoned breads.” Though he cannot yet smell the desserts, he assures everyone that the most indescribably luscious pastries are certain to follow.

The man's pregnant wife is silent beside him, making no attempt to disguise that she's decidedly bored with her husband, the menu, and the event. She nods at Roan with feigned interest and he bows low, hoping to minimize his exposure.

Roan is happy to see the raiders are already deep into the wine, making toasts and singing bawdy songs. The more preoccupied they are with their revelry, the less chance there is one of them will cast eyes on him.

The assembly applauds as Governor Brack rises. With a solemn gesture, he calls for silence.

“Citizens, we are here tonight to honor our mighty protectors, who have once again fulfilled their obligations to us.” At Brack's right, Alandra joins politely in the applause. “All of us in Fairview, gentlemen, offer thanks to you and to the Friends you serve, from the bottom of our hearts. And now,” continues Brack, “it gives me great pleasure to welcome the man who was my partner in making a miracle, the resurrection of Fairview: the ambassador, Mr. Harrow Wing.”

Roan's body grows cold as a man in a feathered cloak and beaked helmet enters the room. It is the Bird Man, the one who visited Longlight, the one who made the demands his father would not meet. Roan hunches over his plate, the pulse in his heart throbbing.

“Dear friends, it does my heart good to see how Fairview has prospered. I look around me and recognize so many faces.” Though he can't identify it, the voice makes Roan's hair stand on end. Expecting the worst, his eyes dart to the hall's exits. The ambassador sizes up the room. “Oh, Malaborn White, still cheating on your diet!” A plump man chuckles and wags his finger. Mr. Wing looks at a pregnant woman. “Alicia Keet, I see you're due again. You are prodigious. What's this, your fourth?”

Alicia smiles at him. “Fifth, Your Honor!” The crowd applauds appreciatively at both the ambassador's keen memory and the woman's fertility. The Bird Man ruffles his brilliant plumes and directs his gaze to Roan's table. Roan lingers over a sip of wine, the glass obscuring his face, and wishes the ambassador's voice wasn't so distorted by the mask.

“Can't miss you, Yorgan Max. We're birds of a feather, you and I!” The vain man in red and yellow silk rises to display his outfit. The ambassador hoots. “I mean, how could anyone forget that hideous suit!” The crowd guffaws as Yorgan Max slides back into his chair, stone-faced.

“I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you,” the Bird Man says, pointing directly at Roan. “My, aren't you an elegant young man!”

Napkin in hand, Roan dabs the sweat from his upper lip as he slips his meat knife onto his lap.

“That's Korr, a visitor to Fairview,” Brack interjects. “A bit of a barbarian, I'm afraid.”

The Bird Man cocks his head to the right and to the left as all eyes turn toward Roan. “Come, come, dear Korr. Grace us with a glimpse of your handsome visage.” As the ambassador lets out a high-pitched cackle, Roan's stomach lurches. Raven!

The Bird Man coos, “So young and so unique.”

Lowering his napkin, Roan wraps his hand tightly around his meat knife.

“Korr. Couldn't you have searched your imagination for an alias with more flare, Roan of Longlight?”

Murmurs of “Longlight” sweep through the crowd like brushfire. Raven caws, “Take him!” and the raiders charge for Roan, while others scramble to block the exits. But Roan has his knife at the ambassador's throat before the first person screams.

The Bird Man raises his hand, indicating everyone should hold their position. Brack, however, lurches toward Alandra, taking her in his grip, the point of his dagger aimed at her heart. Alandra locks eyes with Roan, and Roan drops his knife, stepping away from Raven.

In that moment, the Bird Man turns, smashing a bottle over Roan's head. The last thing Roan hears as he topples amidst a shower of broken glass is Raven's mocking laughter.

Roan wakes in a dark chamber, head throbbing. The floor beneath him is cold and hard, gritty-greasy to the touch. The room stinks of human sweat, urine, and blood. He tries to stand, but the ceiling is too low, and as his head hits it, a paroxysm of pain travels the length of his spine. Roan feels the spot where the bottle hit. It's sore and damp with blood. On his hands and knees, he crawls along the walls until he locates a door. Locked.

Footsteps. Then the muffled sound of voices. The door swings open, and a bright light blinds Roan. He covers his eyes for a moment, but he can tell from their voices who it is. Governor Brack and Brother Raven, the Bird Man.

“Ah, safe and sound,” chirps the ambassador. “I couldn't resist the temptation, but such sorrows Saint would have inflicted on our beloved governor had my blow killed you.” He murmurs in Roan's ear. “The one you betrayed will soon be here to claim you.” Brother Raven turns to Brack. “The physic has been procured.” Circling, he slides his finger behind Roan's ear. “I shall relish your presence as a docile obedient Friend.”

Feeder, Roan thinks. The men from Fandor.

Raven insolently brushes his wings in Roan's face, then, cackling, takes his leave.

Brack leans in for the last word. “I owe you an apology, Roan or Korr, whatever you call yourself. I thought you were a scrounger at first, but I was wrong. You turned out to be a gold mine. You can't imagine how lavish a reward they've offered for you.”

“A step up from selling children, Brack?”

Brack spits in Roan's face, then turns to follow the ambassador, locking the door firmly behind him.

Enveloped again by darkness, Roan props his back against the wall. He wipes his face and takes in a long, deep breath.

THE SKY'S DEEP RED, DOTTED WITH DARK BLUE CLOUDS. FLOWING BENEATH ROAN'S CLAY FEET IS COARSE BLACK SAND THAT DRAWS HIM FORWARD, AS INEXORABLY AS A RIVER'S CURRENT. APPROACHING THE EDGE OF A GIGANTIC SANDFALL, HE FORCES HIMSELF NOT TO STRUGGLE AS IT STEADILY PULLS HIM INTO AN ABYSS.

WHEN HE OPENS HIS EYES, ALANDRA THE GOAT-WOMAN IS WAITING THERE FOR HIM.

“
TELL ME WHERE THEY'RE KEEPING YOU,
”
SHE INSTRUCTS ROAN.

“
IT'S VERY DARK. NO WINDOWS ANYWHERE. A CEILING SO LOW I CAN'T STAND UP.
”

ALANDRA NODS.
“
THE WINE CELLARS. IT'S BRACK'S WORST JAIL.
”

“
SAINT'S COMING.
”

“
WE HAVE TO GET THE CHILDREN OUT BEFORE HE ARRIVES.
”

“
DON'T WAIT FOR ME. TAKE THEM YOURSELF.
”

“
NO. UNDERSTAND: IT DOESN'T WORK WITHOUT YOU.
”

THE FLOOR BENEATH THEM QUAKES AND CRUMBLES, AND ROAN FALLS IN A CASCADE OF SAND.

Roan's once again captive in Brack's cellars. He stretches, spreading his aching body across the floor. The cricket makes its music. Comforted, Roan gives himself over to the sound. And a new thought emerges.

When he was still in delirium from the Nethervine's grip, Roan had left his body. He'd seen himself and others, heard their conversations, all the while floating invisibly above. Could he free himself from his body again, this time consciously?

Roan settles against the wall, trying to picture the light around his body. At first there is only blackness. But he continues, taming his frustration with his breathing, creating a tunnel of breath-wind through his body. After what must be a hundred breaths, a spark flashes. Roan's mind leaps to grasp it, but it disappears.

A wave of despair washes over him. But then, relaxing into the sound of the cricket's song, he begins again, concentrating on the air filling his lungs. This time, a voice comes to him. His own? Someone else's? No matter.

“Do not reach for it. Let it be.”

The blackness around Roan remains heavy and still. No movement. No light. But he stays with his breath. Waits.

Another spark.

This time, Roan lets it go.

One spark becomes two, two become four, four, eight, doubling and doubling until he's enfolded in a brilliant luminosity. With it comes a feeling of exceptional well-being, a sense of connectedness, as if his skin is the meeting place of within and without.

Roan focuses on a point at the top of his head and breathes, pulling the glow in. It fills his head, whirling behind his eyes. He breathes again, and the light spirals through his chest, expanding him. The brilliance jets down his spine, through his legs and feet and—he is floating. Outside his body. He can see himself, the flesh part of himself, sitting in that dark, gritty corner. But the rest of him is something else. He is part of the light.