The Land of Broken Roads

-I think I smell humans,- said Socks. The pup’s voice in Dirt’s mind sounded quiet and low as he slowed his run and stopped. After glancing around, he padded silently toward a small copse of thin trees, where he sniffed the ground for a trail.

Dirt sat up in a hurry and thought, “Share it! I want to see, too.”

Socks obliged and their senses of smell merged into one, shared across their mental link. Dirt’s little human nose was completely ignored against the sensory overload of Socks’ big wolfish one. As always, the big pup smelled more than Dirt saw, even though Dirt’s human vision could see much farther. Faint game trails and their spoor, a stray feather from a hunting bird, five kinds of tree. An ant’s nest.

Even the mid-afternoon sun seemed excited now, peeking out from one of the stray clouds to watch the big wolf pup creep along and smell everything left and right, trying to pick up another hint of something that wasn’t little Dirt up there on his back. Dirt looked at the minds in the area, his natural vision fading against the colorless, directionless mind-sight. The light of Socks’ mind was huge, of course, since he was right there; but other than him, nothing but little plant-minds and a surprising number of small mammals huddled in the grass, full of fear once they heard or smelled Socks approaching.

Socks turned around and backtracked to where he’d first smelled it. He lifted his head high in the air and inhaled the gentle breeze, trying to catch a note of something unusual.

At once they said -“There!”- The human-scent was too faint to tell much about the owner, not even the person’s sex or age, but it was a scent Socks had only ever smelled on Dirt. Socks licked his snout and let the air drift against his wet nose to help him find the direction the scent was coming from. It wasn’t from that copse of trees after all—it was drifting along the breeze that rolled across the bumpy plains here in the foothills.

“Don’t run too fast. Try and sneak so you don’t scare them. If we see them first, maybe I’ll go and you can wait,” said Dirt.

-I won’t scare them.-

“The first time I saw you, I was so scared I peed. And you’re even bigger now. Remember that? You just walked up and sniffed me and I just about died from terror.”

-But I want to meet them too.-

“You will, but let me go first. If we find them.”

-We’ll find them.-

“Yeah.”

Socks didn’t run at full speed, but neither was he slow. Dirt supposed that was fine, although anxiety began to twist around inside his chest. He didn’t want the first humans he’d ever met to run away screaming because they saw Socks first. Or do something profoundly foolish, like try to cut him with a sword. And if they were all the way out here, in these uncharted wilds, they’d have swords.

Dirt clutched his knife in one hand and squeezed the Home-staff resting across his legs with the other. Should he leave those back with Socks, so the humans didn’t think he was a threat? No, it should be fine, since he was still a child. He was only two months old, although his body was eight years old. And some of his memories were much, much older than that.

No, he had to bring the staff along so Home could see the other humans. And he had to bring his knife, just in case. Prisca had tried to kill him, before she recognized him. Then she’d tried to kill him twice as hard. She’d been undead, but nonetheless, Dirt preferred not to risk it again.

The scent of human grew stronger bit by bit, each puff carried by the wind telling them a little more. It wasn’t one human; it was two men and one woman. They weren’t scared, but they were wary. They were healthy and smelled like leather and fur and oil and dust and salt and grain and more, on top of their human scent.

When their minds began to glow faintly in Dirt’s mind-sight, he thought, “Okay, Socks, I think I can find them from here.”

-I don’t hear them yet. We will get a little closer.-

“Okay,” said Dirt. He gripped his weapons even tighter to assuage his increasing nervousness. He kept trying to force it away, but it came back each time he thought about how to make a good impression. He wanted to be cheerful, not nervous. Which made him nervous.

Finally, Socks hunkered down behind a tiny hill the size of a sand bar and Dirt slid off him to the ground. They melded their sense of sight and hearing, and Socks closed his eyes to keep Dirt from getting dizzy. With the wolf’s sense of hearing, Dirt knew exactly where they were. They were walking in a different direction, just a hundred or so paces ahead. Their cloth and leather swished, bits of metal plinked and clanked, their footsteps thudded. They were not very sneaky.

Dirt crept up behind them, eighty paces, fifty. He paused to look into their minds and found them all more complicated than he expected. Each human mind had several layers and they weren’t all in perfect accord with each other. “Is my mind like that?” asked Dirt.

-Yes. You have thoughts at speech level, faster thoughts below that, and one more layer that isn’t words at all. Just watch the top layer and you’ll be fine,- replied the giant wolf pup.

Dirt looked into their minds again and realized that Mother had been right—most humans didn’t have any mind sight. Their thoughts were unstructured and undisciplined in a way that told him they never suspected anyone might look.

The second thing he noticed was that he couldn’t understand them. Their minds were full of words that he didn’t recognize. It had never occurred to him that this was even possible.

“Socks, something is wrong! They have… I don’t know how to talk to them!”

-Silly Dirt, they are just speaking another language.-

“What do you mean?”

-Did you think wolves and humans just have the same words for everything? And trees?-

“You don’t even use words unless you’re talking to me.”

-Exactly,- said Socks. The pup was amused, but that just made Dirt more aggravated.

“That doesn’t make sense. Words are words!”

-They just use different ones.-

“Okay, fine, but how do I talk to them?” begged Dirt.

-I will ask Mother, but you should go ahead anyway. Just talk to them like a wolf. There is much you can say without words,- said Socks, urging Dirt onward and sending him a mental puff of courage.

Well, that was easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to see the first of his own kind that he’d ever met his whole life.

Dirt scowled and started moving in their direction, down through the brush. If he hesitated too long, they’d just walk away and he’d have to chase them farther. He thought about trying to make noise so they’d know he was here, but they’d probably just think it was an animal.

He decided to move quietly until they could see each other, and make a little noise then. Their trail wasn’t a hard one, and they seemed to prefer to go around things than over them. Which was fine with him. Dirt followed their sound between some sticker plants and under a tree that had fallen against another one and was still propped up. From there, he went around a huge mound of vines and then he saw them.

Two men with short, pale hair and one woman with long, dark hair. All of them had clothing from the neck down and satchels on their backs full of all kinds of interesting mysteries.

“Ho has sentit?” said the woman. The three of them froze and listened, and Dirt scuffed a plant, trying not to tremble in fear. This was it.

They turned and regarded him in shock. He didn’t have to see their minds to know that. Their eyes went wide and the woman even let her jaw drop.

Dirt stepped forward again and tried to smile warmly. “Hello,” he said with his voice.

“D’on carai ha sortit?” said one of the men, the one with the short beard. His eyes were a fierce black that matched the cloth around his neck that draped down his shirt.

“No en tinc ni idea. Mai he sentit parlar d'una tribu que visqui tan lluny,” replied the other man, the one with only stubble on his face and round cheeks.

Dirt let go of his knife, leaving it in the sheath under his armpit, and waved. “My name is Dirt. It’s nice to meet you.” His heart thumped against his ribcage and his toes curled into the grass for extra support.

“Ell és brut,” said the woman. Her face was pinched and lined with wrinkles like the men’s, but even through that he could see her disgust. Her mind carried the same idea—he was filthy. She was disgusted at how dirty he was. It had never occurred to him, not once in the two months he’d been alive, that it mattered. But he looked down at himself and saw the coating of grime from head to foot with different eyes. Dirt of different colors mixed with the oils from Socks’ fur and his own sweat painted almost every patch of skin. Only his face was clean, probably from being licked by Socks so much.

Naked, too. The fact that he was naked way out here seemed to them to make him appear unruly and wild, partially inhuman. If he’d only been dirty, that might be one thing, but dirty and naked and wild were a combination they shied away from.

Panic set in. He should have known! He should have bathed first, somehow. Maybe made a little skirt of leaves to wear. How could he have forgotten that? A wolf didn’t care, and neither did a tree. But it mattered to humans.

“I’m sorry, I can wash off!” he said, trying to mimic the action of wiping himself clean with water.

“Ens pot entendre? L'entén algun de vosaltres?” asked the bearded man, looking at the other two.

Dirt compared them to himself. They were human, wearing things they had fashioned themselves. Clothing made from plants and animal skin, cut and shaped in just the right way. Tools and weapons, supplies for the journey. And what did he have? Nothing. A knife and a stick and a coating of grime from hair to toes. What Dirt saw of himself in their minds pained him. They despised his filth and nakedness, they distrusted his presence here and what it might mean. They were looking around for others, other wild and vicious men hiding in ambush.

“I si la seva tribu és hostil? Mira, porta un ganivet,” said the woman.

“Si la seva tribu és hostil, llavors estem morts,” said the beardless man. His hand strayed to the sword at his waist.

Dirt saw it and held the Home-staff forward in both hands, ready to fight. Why? What was happening?

“L'hem de fer callar o ignorar-lo?” asked the woman. She got a hard glint in her eye that was in no way feminine. She was as different from gentle Home and the other dryads as it was possible to get.

Tribu. Hostil. Those words were close to ones Dirt knew, and he shouted, “Tribu not hostil! No hostil, no tribu at all, just me. It’s just me.” His voice was shaking and his courage was about to fail completely. He hadn’t known what to expect in the slightest, but disgust and fear? It was unbearable. “No hostil. Not hostil.”

The three of them relaxed, slightly. Not completely. The bearded one kept his hand near his sword, eyes ever vigilant. He asked, “D'on ets, noi?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you. Friend? Do you know ‘friend?’” He held his hand out for one of them to hold it like the dryads did anytime they went anywhere together. What more friendly gesture could there be than that?

“Demana menjar?” asked the woman, looking at her two companions.

“Pot ser. Dóna-li una mica de pa i mira si se'n va,” said the bearded man. He slid his satchel around from his back and unbuckled the flap keeping it shut. He dug around inside for a moment and pulled out something pale-tan colored, about the size of Dirt’s fist. He handed it to the woman.

“Per què jo?” she asked, annoyed.

“Tu ets la dona. Tu tractes amb els nens,” he replied with a grin.

The woman took the object from his hand and stepped forward, painting a false smile on her weathered face. She held it out to Dirt, clearly intending him to take it. When he didn’t immediately grab it, she shook it toward him to make sure he understood.

He took it and as soon as he felt it in his hand, he knew what it was. Bread. Dry old bread, the first he’d ever seen. “Thanks,” he said, trying to smile instead of cry. “But I don’t need your food. I have my own. What I want from you is… I guess… I just wanted to see other people. I’ve never met other humans until now.”

“Per què no se'n va?” asked the woman, glancing back.

“Tu em dius,” replied the beardless man with round cheeks. He stepped sideways to look at something in the distance.

Dirt was tempted for the first time to speak directly to their minds, to push the raw ideas into their heads and make sure they understood him. His heart felt like it was ripping in half. He wanted desperately to be with them, to hear human voices, to hug them and hold their hands and learn how to be a human. The rest of him wanted to run away in shame and hide until they went away.

“Can you tell me where I can find more humans?” he asked. He felt his voice getting softer, like it was already trying to hide.

They didn’t answer, instead just glancing at each other while they tried to figure out how to deal with him. They were growing more anxious the longer he stood there, as if he might present some sort of threat.

He knew he’d failed. They couldn’t understand each other and they were not here to be friendly. He started talking, hoping that somehow some of it would get through.

“My name is Dirt, and my best friend is a wolf pup. He’s the strongest of the brood and we’re exploring the world together. I’m also friends with a forest of trees so big I’ve never been to the top, and one of them gave me this. It’s a part of herself so she can always watch,” he said, gesturing with the staff. They flinched back slightly, as if he might leap forward and try to whap them with it.

Dirt’s heart was breaking and this wasn’t working. He continued, “I lived three thousand years ago and forgot everything. I killed an undead wizard. I fought goblins, and Socks and I faced even scarier things than that. I’m not lonely, but you’re my own kind. I promise I’m valuable. You’re humans. Please.”

“Està balbucejant. Anem només,” said the bearded man with the sharp black eyes. He waved for the others to follow him.

Dirt stepped forward and said, “Wait!”

The beardless man drew his sword and pointed it at Dirt. “Ves-te'n, noi. No ho tornaré a preguntar,” he said. The meaning was clear. Go away.

Dirt stared, unmoving. He couldn’t believe it. They’d really kill him, just to be rid of him?

“Dirt,” he said, pointing at himself. “Dirt. My name is Dirt.”

The beardless man lowered his sword, slightly, pointing it at the ground instead of at Dirt’s face. “Derrrt?” he said, rolling his r. “Hèctor.” He pointed at the shorter, bearded man and said, “Ignasi.” Then the woman. “Marina.”

Strangly, all three names sounded familiar to him. Hèctor sounded like Hectorus, Ignasi like Ignasius, and Marina was familiar as well. He might have even known people with those names, long ago.

Dirt brightened, realizing they weren’t so foreign after all. “No hostil,” he said, stepping slowly forward. He reached his hand out, covering Hèctor's sword with it. “Hèctor no hostil. Ignasius no hostil. Marina no hostil. Dirt no hostil.”

“Hèctor si hostil,” said Hèctor. He raised his sword and pointed it at Dirt’s face again.

“Why?” said Dirt, eyes filling with tears. He’d tried everything. What was wrong with them?

Dirt heard the familiar sound of Socks landing gently from a jump. The pup ended up right above him, the shadow from his nose covering Dirt’s face.

The humans blanched and stepped back. The scent of terror filled the air and their minds reeled, unsure what to do. They began shouting to each other, too fast and confused for Dirt to make out any of the words.

Socks growled, teeth bared in menace. Saliva dripped from his lips and landed around Dirt.

Hèctor whimpered, face twisted. He tried to turn and run but he couldn’t move his sword. It stayed in that spot in the air like it was buried in wood. Dirt realized Socks was holding it with his mind.

“Socks, don’t kill them! Please don’t kill them!” said Dirt aloud, turning and waving his hands. “Please don’t!” he sent in thought.

-I do not like them.-

“Please, I don’t want the first and maybe only humans I meet to get killed right away. I don’t want that to be my only memory, forever.”

-I won’t kill them. Instead, we will hunt them.- The big pup stepped forward, placing a clawed paw right beside Hèctor’s sword. He leaned down, sniffed the man, and growled again, low and loud enough to make the ground tremble.

The others fled in total panic, and from what Dirt could gather of their minds, they were hoping that eating Hèctor would slow Socks down enough for them to get away.

Dirt grabbed Socks’ foreleg. “Don’t! Please, don’t!” he begged aloud. Hèctor’s eyes met his, pleading and terrified. “Please, Socks, let them go! They didn’t know! We just can’t understand each other!”

-I’m just scaring them.-

Hèctor looked up into Socks’ eyes, the wolf pup more than twice his height. Then he let go of his sword, which remained stuck in midair, and fled after the others. Socks barked at him and the man ran even faster, stumbling and losing a shoe.

-We will follow them at a distance and watch their minds and see what they are doing. I bet they lead us to the other humans. How does that sound?- asked Socks, his demeanor suddenly shifting. He wagged his tail happily and let his tongue loll out.

Dirt sighed. At least Socks’ antics were keeping him from crying in bitter disappointment. He took a few deep breaths and decided it could have gone worse. It could certainly have gone better, but it could have gone worse. And there’d be more chances.

“What are you going to do with the sword?” asked Dirt.

-Maybe I’ll give it back to him if he’s nice to you. Maybe I’ll keep it. I haven’t decided. But watch this!- replied Socks with excitement. The sword began swiping fiercely through the air, swung only by the force of Socks’ mind. It flew in wide, swift arcs, making circles around them and trimming the brush.

Dirt watched with growing envy. “I need to learn how to do that with my knife.”

-Let’s give him his shoe back,- said Socks. The pup picked up Hèctor’s shoe with his mind and flung it forward with cannon force into the distance.

From down on the ground, Dirt couldn’t see far enough, so he watched in Socks’ mind as the shoe smacked the poor man in the back of the head, still running. The humans hadn’t made it very far, it turned out, since they were probably running without magic.

­-This might be too easy,- said Socks.

“Better than too hard. And more fun than waiting around for the Devourer to find you.”

Dirt looked around for the bread, which he didn’t remember dropping. When he found it, he was pleased that it hadn’t been stepped on. He dusted it off and turned it over, considering it carefully. The giant pup lifted Dirt up onto the familiar spot on his back and Dirt crossed his legs and sat down, laying the staff across them. He held the bread in both hands, trying to decide if he wanted to eat it now, or save it for when he was hungry. Either way, Socks would probably want a taste, so they’d have to share that sense first.

-There will be other humans who like you, Dirt. You are not the runt of the litter. Mother would not have eaten you, if you were a wolf,- said Socks. He turned his head to look at Dirt with one eye. ­-Next time, I’ll lick you all clean first.-

Dirt smiled, letting a bit of warmth into his heart after all that stress. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go!”