The Land of Broken Roads

The men were too stunned to speak. Ignasi even dropped the cloth he was holding over the bite. Socks snuck in and started licking the wound, and it took three licks for Ignasi to notice and react. “Thank you, friend,” he said, patting the big pup’s nose. But his eyes were still on the empty space on the ground where Marina had been laying, and so was his mind.

Hèctor stepped onto the vacant spot, but gently, as if he thought she might be invisible. She wasn’t, though. She was truly gone. He turned with a look of horror to Dirt and asked, “What have you done with her?”

Dirt picked up the staff. “I… well, it’s hard to explain. But she’ll be fine!” he said. Then, quietly, to himself, he added, “probably.”

Hèctor’s eyes burned with unhealthy intensity. “Please try.”

“Okay, do you remember when I said this was part of a big tree? And she was my friend? Well, one thing the trees can do, is make you travel through the, uh…” Dirt didn’t know the word for roots, so he pulled up a tuft of grass and pointed. “These.”

“Arrels?” said Hèctor.

Dirt peeked at his mind just to make sure and said, “Yes, arrels. They all touch each other underground, sort of, and that’s how they talk.”

Ignasi said, “Trees do not talk, little Dirt.” He got one last lick from Socks and looked down at his forearm in confusion.

“They do. Everything with a mind can talk, somehow,” said Dirt.

“Trees do not have a mind. They cannot think. They are just trees,” said Ignasi. He held his arm up and looked at it, finally losing that glazed look in his eyes. His poor mind steadied itself. He realized he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“Shows what you know. Is your arm better?”

“Hèctor!” said Ignasi, holding his arm out.

“What?”

“Look at my arm!”

“In a moment. Dirt, where is Marina? Where is she?”

“She’s… she’s in the forest. Far, far away. But they’ll give her back soon. Maybe in just a day or two, once they…” Dirt paused. He’d almost said ‘learn everything they wanted to from her.’ Instead he said, “Once they are sure she will be fine.” Which was probably also true.

“Hèctor, look at my arm. The bleeding stopped. I think I can keep it,” said Ignasi, trying to sound calm, but with so many mental shocks one after the other, he was close to manic.

“Dirt, you must give her back,” said Hèctor. Dirt looked at his mind again, and it turned out the man’s primary concern was that she was the one who knew where they were going, and without her, all of this was pointless. There was more to it, but the man’s mind was in such a chaotic state that Dirt doubted Hèctor understood better than he did.

“Okay! I’ll give her back. Let’s go to the tower first, okay? Can you walk?”

Hèctor started to say something angry, even raising his fist, but a quick huff from Socks changed his mind. He glanced nervously at the big pup and lowered his fist again. At that moment, he seemed to regain control of his wits. The wildness in his eyes faded and left only pain behind. His hands shook from overstress, but he stood straighter and took a deep breath. Then another. He relaxed, slightly.

“It’s okay, Hèctor. I know how scary goblins can be. One time, I got punched by a goblin so hard it cracked the bones in my face. Right here,” said Dirt, pointing at the area around his eye. “It hurt every night until Socks’ Mother fixed it. Look.”

Hèctor looked unconvinced, so Dirt pulled his cheek back with one finger to show the three missing teeth on that side. “See? It knocked some of my teeth out.”

The man leaned down for a closer look, lifting Dirt’s chin. He scowled and sighed, but didn’t say anything. Then he finally went over to look at Ignasi’s arm. He pulled at the tooth-marks, looking in to see how deep they still were.

“Socks licked it, so it’ll get better by tomorrow. He does that to me all the time. I get cut a lot,” said Dirt.

Ignasi smiled, but it was a bit forced. The man still had too much fire and sparks in his blood to fully relax, but at least he was in control of himself.

Hèctor exhaled loudly, still trying to relax the rest of the way. It wasn’t easy so far. “I think I could use a drink.”

“Oh, are you out of water?” asked Dirt.

“No. I want vi.”

“Vi? Vi… Oh, vinum! Wine.” The word was close to Dirt’s language and Hèctor’s eyes lit up, telling him he’d guessed correctly.

“Can your staff make wine?” asked Hèctor.

“No, but I bet I know where you can find some.”

“Where?”

Dirt pointed toward the tower. “They killed all the people, but they only burned some of the houses. There’s lots of stuff there still. I found these pants, so I bet someone had wine.”

Ignasi asked, “Did you find some? Did you already drink it?”

“No, I didn’t look. I forgot it existed until now,” said Dirt. And rather than explain, he turned and started toward the tower. The men fell in line behind him.

They’d picked a terrible spot to try and cross, it turned out. Maybe it looked straight, or maybe they were being chased by goblins and not paying attention. Whatever the reason, they had to contend with tangled shrubs, then a wide, waist-deep lake with thick mud underneath. On the other side of the lake was a sort of grass with thick stalks and tufts of fur at the top, which were taller than Dirt was. Taller than Ignasi and Hèctor, too, it turned out.

However, Dirt discovered that he could run and jump against the tall grass and it would break his fall and flatten, without even having to use mana. Then Socks had to try and leaped right over the three humans to land with a heavy thump. He rolled over and got up, having flattened a sizable area. Then he leaned over and fell to his side, flattening even more.

Dirt cheered, then ran and jumped again, flattening more. Between him and Socks, Hèctor and Ignasi didn’t even have to push any out of the way. It wasn’t as fast, but it was a lot more fun. The two men were even smiling by the end.

After exiting the tall grass they had to deal with mud again, or short grass that grew in mud, or small, scarcely-moving streams. One thing after another and none of it easy to cross.

Dirt kept picking up the pace to make sure they made it to town before nightfall, but even after pushing as fast as they could go, they didn’t. Once it got too dark for human eyes, Socks moved to the front and led the way himself, since he could still see just fine. The next hour was spent wide-eyed for the rest of them, walking with a shuffle-step to keep from tripping.

The last section of the journey happened under a bright moon, though, once it finally came up. The moonlight almost ignited the pale tower, causing it to shine brightly against the surrounding dark blues and grays and beckon them onward.

The town was just as Dirt and Socks had left it a couple days ago—silent and still except for crickets and birds. Rather than cheer for joy, which Dirt had almost expected, the men slowed and grew somber as they walked past house after quiet house.

“This is not a good place,” said Hèctor. “It is a place for the dead.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dirt.

“I mean that it is a place of fantasmes,” he said.

“What’s that? What’s a fantasma?”

Ignasi answered, wearing a brave but insincere half-smile. “It means someone who has died. Their body is dead, but their fantasma still walks.”

Dirt swallowed the rush of fear that filled him. The word must mean skeletons. The dark wasn’t so scary, not with Socks around anyway, but all the same, the shadows under the moonlight suddenly took on a much more sinister hue. He said, “Does that happen a lot with dead humans? Do they get up and walk around?”

Hèctor’s black eyes were deeper-set than Ignasi’s, which made them disappear into shadow to leave him looking like a skull. He glanced around and unconvincingly said, “Of course not. Just their fantasmes, if their bodies are not buried.”

“A fantasma is inside you, right?” asked Dirt, pointing at his chest. Not that it would do any good in terms of clarifying.

“Yes,” said Hèctor.

“Okay, then I’ve seen at least one walking around.”

The man spun to face him. “Here?”

“No, in the forest.”

“The forest where Marina is?”

“Oh, well, it’s a big forest, and that one’s dead for good,” said Dirt. “Socks, do you hear anything moving? Any underground scratches?”

Socks raised his head and turned it this way and that. He tilted his ears toward the ground. -No. Just bugs and critters.-

“Okay, will you tell me if—”

-Of course I will tell you, silly Dirt.-

“Nope, he doesn’t hear anything.”

“You cannot hear them until it’s too late,” said Ignasi.

“No, Socks will hear for sure. They’re not that quiet,” said Dirt, trying to remember whether he’d seen Prisca hovering at one point. He didn’t think so.

The men chose not to argue, and ultimately neither they nor Dirt were much comforted. The town might be safe, or it might not. He had to admit that he had a habit of waking up sleeping dangers everywhere he went.

Hèctor asked, “Dirt, you said goblins killed everyone, right? How do you know?”

“From the dead goblins we saw.”

“How do you know they killed everyone, I mean?”

“I guess I don’t know. But there were a lot of skulls in the pile.”

“Can you show me?”

“Sure, it’s just in the tower. You can just walk right in and look.”

Ignasi butted in and said, “I think I don’t want to see that right before I go to bed. We should find a spot to sleep, and deal with the dead in the morning. And if a fantasma comes to snatch us in the night, so be it.”

Dirt helpfully said, “Just so you know, some of the houses have bodies in them. Not everybody got killed in the tower.”

Ignasi shuddered. “Let’s find a graner, then.”

“What’s that?”

“Where animals sleep.”

Dirt didn’t know what that meant, since animals sleep in all kinds of places, but the men searched nearby until they found one. A barn, it turned out. Graner meant barn. And it wasn’t much of one, just three walls and a roof of wooden shingles.

But the ground was flat and the grass growing under it was sparse enough not to be uncomfortable. The two men settled in and made a small fire, which served to chase the shadows away and sooth their dread. Dirt gave them both some sap for dinner so they wouldn’t have to eat that terrible bread.

Ignasi stretched and lay down first under his thin blanket. Hèctor followed shortly after, and the two men lay wide awake, listening for the sounds of an approaching fantasma and hoping none showed up.

Socks simply put both of them to sleep with a mental shove, then said, “Let’s go look around.”

Dirt grinned and stood back up. “You’ve been wanting to stay up a lot lately.”

-Wolves are supposed to hunt at night, so that’s when the Devourer prowls to find us. That’s why Mother always made us sleep at night and go out during the day. But I’m sure we’re fine for a bit.-

“Are you sure it’s safe, then? What do you want to go do?”

-Just come with me for a moment.-

“Of course. Let’s go. Do you want me to ride?”

Socks picked Dirt up and tossed him on his back, then crept away in silence. Everywhere else was silver and black from moonshadow, but the old barn had a warm yellow glow from the dwindling fire that made it seem a welcoming place.

-Fantasma doesn’t mean skeleton. I think it means ghost.-

“Why do you think that?”

-Because, look.- Socks opened his mind for a connection and Dirt received it. The pup shared only one sense, though—a magical one. Ghost sight.

The town lit up into perfect clarity, just as it appeared during the daytime, except only blacks and grays. Socks was careful to keep it constrained to within a couple dozen paces to keep from injuring Dirt’s brain, but that was enough for him to get the idea.

In every window and doorway, under every shadow and beside every gate or corner, was a human face. Some had full outlines and others were just shapes, but they were everywhere, in every direction. They waited silently as corpses, perfectly unmoving, watching with unblinking eyes.

A bone-deep chill passed through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. His human eyes sought out the same doorways and windows and found nothing but blackest emptiness. Or did he? Did something move?

-I didn’t use ghost sight here last time, but this time I wanted to look for goblins so I did. And I found them like this, just watching. I asked Mother and she said they’re the spirits of dead humans.-

A sense of menace gripped him, but Dirt wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined. “Can they do anything? Can they touch us?”

-Usually not. That’s what Mother said.-

“So sometimes they can?”

-Maybe.-

Dirt tried to calm himself as he watched the crowd of the dead through Socks’ senses. Men, women, and children, their faces everywhere. If Socks looked too hard at one directly, it seemed to lose its distinctiveness and fade, only to reappear elsewhere.

“What would make them dangerous?”

-I don’t know. I think all they can do is scare you, maybe, since they’re dead. They’re just spirits now.-

Socks made his way farther into town, watching with ghost sight the whole way. He kept it limited to close by, though, so Dirt could share it. Dirt’s human eyes saw farther in the moonlight and it was disconcerting to see how each empty shadow filled with specters when the two of them got close.

Nothing moved, though. Not even the wind. The air was heavy and cold, almost as thick with humidity as the forest, but it didn’t smell right. Too much swampy ground nearby gave it a scent like rotting plants.

There was a faint pop from inside one of the houses, and both Socks and Dirt swiveled their heads to look and listen closer. But it didn’t repeat. Instead, only silence.

Until a bird hooted, probably an owl. It glided over them, flying without a sound, and disappeared over a roof. Dirt was surprised he couldn’t hear its wings flapping.

-I heard its wings, but they’re very quiet. It’s a quiet bird. It must be a hunter.-

No further hoots came, which only drew out the silence. They crept along, watched by the dead, until they got close enough to the tower for Socks to see it with his ghost sight. Strangely, the closer they got, the dimmer the view in ghost sight became. Socks slowed down a bit, confused.

As soon as they were close enough, the tower burst into view like a roaring infero, engulfed in black flame that swallowed light and distorted everything around it. Tongue of black fire leaped from windows and climbed up the outside of the tower. Inside the flames, the spirits manifested fully, every detail clear as reality. They twisted, mouths open, suffering and screaming as the flames consumed them. Their flesh melted and cracked. Their eyes burst and ran down their splitting cheeks.

Dirt slammed the connection shut, and the tower became just a tower. Empty and white, standing silently in the moonlight.

-I’m sorry, little Dirt. I wasn’t expecting that.- The pup followed the thought with a burst of emotion, mostly sympathy for his little pet. Dirt’s heart pounded and nausea swirled as terror twisted up his guts, but he let himself be soothed, even as his soul trembled from knowing what was happening unseen, so close by.

Dirt didn’t reply, choosing instead to bury his face in the pup’s soft fur and breathe deep, filling his nose and chest with wolf-scent. He was safe. The ghosts couldn’t hurt him. He tried to stop being afraid but he couldn’t because he knew they were still there. He knew.

-I wonder why the tower is burning like that. That didn’t happen in real life. Oh, never mind. It stopped. What are they doing now?-

“What? What happened?” asked Dirt, but he could tell without Socks even saying anything. There was something sickly and malicious in the air, something he could feel in his deepest parts.

A thump landed nearby, so out of place and startling that even Socks jumped and yelped in surprise. They looked at the source and saw a severed human head, someone they didn’t recognize with eyes staring lifelessly and fresh blood oozing out the neck. Dirt blinked and it was gone without leaving even a mark on the grass.

They heard a muffled voice from the other direction and spun, only to see nothing at all. But they heard it again, faintly. A woman moaning in pain.

More sounds came—the wretched thunk of a blade hacking into flesh, screams of suffering far away. Footsteps. Quiet laughter.

Dirt felt a tug on the Home-staff, a jolt like they were trying to take it away from him. Then another on the strap holding the knife sheath. He screamed.

-Hold on. We are leaving.-

Socks turned and jumped forward, but Dirt was yanked backward by his hair. He felt the ghostly fingers as they pressed his scalp, each one distinctly.

Dirt forgot to protect himself with mana and hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him and stunning his diaphragm so he couldn’t breathe.

He tried to get up, tried desperately to inhale and resolve the burning in his chest from lack of air, but he couldn’t. Just short, useless gasps.

The ghosts fought to hold him down, hands pressing on him briefly and disappearing. A cold feeling encircled his neck, like a blade of iron eager to cut.

He screamed, just one short burst, and regretted it since that was the last of his air. He managed to gasp a partial lungful, then another, and avoided passing out. He still couldn’t get up. Something kept pushing him back down, dragging him backward.

Socks’ mind clamped on him heavy as a tree trunk and pulled him the other direction, his entire body at once. Ghostly fingers slipped off him, some pinching or scratching or pulling his hair. But he came free, flying upward out of their grasp.

From above, Dirt could finally see them with his naked eyes. In every window and doorway, under every shadow and lurking in every corner, were the spirits of the dead.