The Dirt Eaters

by Dennis Foon

  For three days they paddle, the rafts separate by day, lashed together by night. On the afternoon of the fourth day, Lona’s the first to notice the change in the water.

  “Can you sniff it? It’s smelling kind of nice.”

  Lumpy leans close to the surface, then looks at his friends. “I wouldn’t risk drinking it, but I don’t think it has the power to burn.” He breaks off a piece of bread and throws it in the water. The bread doesn’t disintegrate; it simply bobs on the surface.

  “Look! A fish!” Jaw shouts with glee.

  The children crane for a look. Sure enough, a carp is nibbling on the bread. There’s life in the water here. Roan and Alandra share a look of relief and anticipation. It confirms what they saw in the dream. In the distance, they make out a shoreline backed by a cascade of hills.

  Alandra’s call of “Sheets off!” is met by cheers as the kids take in the sun and stretch out their limbs. But their celebration is short-lived.

  Behind the group, a craft’s approaching fast. As it draws closer, Roan makes out eight men, paddling in unison and achieving great speed. One of the men stands, raising a heavy crossbow horizontally across his chest. A sharp whine accompanies his arrow as it blasts through the air, straight at Roan. Roan’s eyes focus on the missile. He pivots, but too late: he is hit. Lelbit replies with an arrow of her own. It’s a long way to the Friends’ raft, but the shot hits its mark. The crossbowman and his weapon fall overboard.

  The children gawk at Roan, the arrow stuck straight through his bloody arm.

  He smiles faintly at them. “I’m alright, don’t worry. Just think good thoughts, okay?”

  Lelbit dips one of her cloth-wrapped arrows into a jar containing a tar-like substance, then lights it with a spark from her fire stone. Drawing back her bow, she sends the flaming arrow hurtling at the approaching raft. It hits the sap-laden sticks, which ignite instantly. As the Brothers frantically attempt to douse the fire, she shoots one arrow after another, until the raft explodes in flames. Their clothes on fire, the Friends have no choice but to leap into the water.

  Lumpy lashes the rafts together so that Alandra can attend to Roan while he and Lelbit paddle toward the shore, which is now clearly in sight.

  Alandra’s fingers hover over the wounded area. “It’s missed the bone.” Tearing a strip from the bottom of her shirt, she ties off Roan’s arm at the shoulder. With a warning look, she commands, “Hold steady.” Roan controls his breath as she cuts off the feathered end of the arrow, each small movement a jab of pain. There is a searing tug as she extracts the shaft.

  “It pierced cleanly,” Alandra says. Giving Roan a quizzical look, she shifts his attention to the children. He sees that each one of the boys and girls is focusing on his wound. He’d asked them to think good thoughts, but they seem to have taken him at more than his word. “Roan,” Alandra says, awestruck, “the wound’s already begun to heal.”

  The children are the first to step out onto the warm, white sand. They scramble over each other to cast off their four days of captivity in an eruption of running, jumping, wrestling, tumbling, and mad digging in the sand. While the other three leaders unload the rafts, Roan keeps vigil over the lake. He knows the water alone would not have killed the remaining Brothers, and those who survived are certain to follow.

  Once they’ve unloaded, Roan calls out to the playing children. “I need you!”

  Every child instantly rushes over. Lona’s a step behind, having buried herself in the white sand.

  “What do you want us to do?” Bub and Jaw ask together.

  “First we have to put our packs on and fill up our water sacks from the big bottles.”

  The children bolt into action, and within minutes they are ready for Roan’s next instruction. “See those hills? We have to get over them. Whoever finds the trail first gets to ride on my shoulders.”

  The youngest ones screech with delight as they charge to the hillside. Clambering through the brush, the little horde runs back and forth until, gathering together, they sit, all eyes on the puzzle.

  Little Lona is the one who finally stands up and walks along the edge of the stone. When she stops, she begins to bounce up and down. Bub and Jaw join her, taking her hands, and they jump together, over and over, until the three of them disappear.

  Lumpy anxiously runs to the spot, followed by the others.

  “We’re down here!” Bub yells up from the bottom of a gaping cranny in the rock. “You can get to the other side from here!”

  Lumpy eyes Roan. “Did you know they’d find that?”

  “Had a hunch.”

  Lumpy shakes his head. “Good. We’ll need a few more of those before the day’s through.”

  While Alandra leads the children through the tunnel-like fissure under the rock, the others work to remove any sign of their landing. They break up the rafts and brush the sand to eliminate footprints. Using thin sticks as a base, they weave in grassy material, hoping to disguise the newly exposed opening, though nothing can replace years of natural camouflage. The end result is merely adequate, but with luck, it will buy the group some time.

  Arriving at the other end of the tunnel, Roan scans the range of forbidding, rough-hewn hills.

  “For me the Dreamfield is poetry,” says Alandra, joining him. “It resonates truth, but I can’t hold on to it. Not like you can.”

  “I may remember the way, but it looks like pretty rough going.”

  “I’d call it treacherous,” Lumpy pipes in. “How do we get all these cubs through it?”

  At the ready, Jaw reaches up and takes Lumpy’s hand. “You don’t have to be scared, Lumpy. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Thanks, Jaw,” Lumpy says, with obvious pleasure.

  Lona, not one to forget her prize, skips up to Roan.

  “Bend yourself over, I get my ride!”

  Alandra does her best to intervene. “Lona, Roan has a wound on his arm, and there’s rough climbing ahead.”

  “I’m not sitting on his arm, I’m sitting on his shoulders, and there’s nothing wrong with them. Besides, I already looked at the trail and it’s smooth as a pickle.”

  Ignoring their chuckles, she drags them around a bend to a decrepit, overgrown road that winds through the landscape.

  “See?”

  Roan smiles at the bemused Alandra. He bends down and the tiny waif clambers onto his shoulders, queen of the world.

  THE PRECIPICE

  THOSE WHO TURN FROM THE FRIEND SHALL BE ABANDONED FOREVER.

  —ORIN’S HISTORY OF THE FRIEND

  THE RIGORS OF THE TRAIL and the caretaking of the children demand all of Roan’s concentration. Though his every step is weighted with a sense of impending danger, he cannot enter the deep meditative state required to leave his body and scout the path behind them. For the moment, he’s content to leave that to Lelbit, who’s on constant watch at the tail of the company. His greatest concern is the huge chasm he saw in the Dreamfield, a chasm they’ll soon be approaching.

  The night is warm, a blessing since they can’t risk announcing their whereabouts with a fire. After dark, the young ones wrap themselves in their sheets and stare up at the sky while Alandra shows them the seven stars of the Pleiades, seven sisters placed in the heavens by the god Zeus to protect them from Orion the Hunter.

  “Is that where we’re going?” Lona wonders aloud.

  “No,” Alandra replies. “We will find a safe place here on the earth.”

  “What if the hunters come again?”

  “They’ll be sent to their master in the sky.”

  Roan notices that Lumpy has walked over to Lelbit, who’s standing apart. He touches her shoulder and they stand solemnly, arms round each other’s waists. There is no mistaking the troubled looks on their faces.

  After two days, the narrow
, broken road begins to ascend, and the steep slope slows the children down. Lumpy and Alandra take the lead, with Roan and an edgy Lelbit in the rear. Lelbit’s vigilance is not made any easier by Bub and Jam, who’ve fashioned slings out of their belts and appointed themselves her rearguard deputies.

  “Looks like a dead end!” Lumpy calls out from high over a dark, bottomless ravine.

  Roan points out a dangerously narrow ledge, all that’s left of the crumbled road.

  “There’s got to be another way.”

  “That’s the only way. And it takes us where we have to go.”

  Lelbit nudges Roan to look behind them. Below, at the start of the rise, are four small shapes, one slightly larger than the others.

  The big one is Saint, Roan guesses. “We’ve got to put more distance between them and us. Let’s tie some sheets together for a handhold!”

  He and Lelbit get swiftly to work. Twisting, then securing the sheets together, they fashion a kind of rope.

  “Everybody! Put your left hand up in the air,” Roan instructs, an order some of the younger ones struggle with. “Hold the rope with that hand and follow Alandra. Keep looking forward. Don’t look down. If you slip, hold tight to the rope and you’ll get your footing back. If you hear noises or shouts behind you, ignore them. Keep moving. I promise to tell you everything that happens back here once we get to the other side.”

  As the sun begins its downward arc, the treacherous ascent begins. The children cling to the rope and cautiously move forward in single file. Roan shouts encouragement to them, reminding them to keep their eyes on the person in front of them, not on their feet. He has glanced down at the chasm of jagged stone beneath, and he fervently hopes they’ll clear this gorge before their pursuers reach them. But looking back, he can see the men have gained ground.

  He turns to see Lona, just in front of him, stumble. She shrieks as some rocks tumble off the ledge, plummeting into nothingness. Roan steadies her with his free hand, and she starts to cry.

  “Look in my eyes, Lona.”

  She turns her head so her tear-filled gaze meets his.

  “Don’t be afraid. We’re going to be alright.”

  “Okay,” she murmurs.

  “We’ll be alright.”

  She turns back and follows the line. That’s when Roan hears Lelbit stir behind him. He looks to see her drawing an arrow. Saint and the three Brothers are almost upon them, holding shields fashioned from pieces of their abandoned raft.

  “You two will have to anchor this end. Can you handle it?” Roan says quietly to Bub and Jam, in line just behind him.

  “We’re the deputies. We can handle everything,” Bub replies, firmly gripping the rope. The two bigger boys take their positions ahead, leaving Roan and Lelbit to face the assailants.

  “I don’t wish to hurt anyone,” Saint announces from behind his shield. “It’s you I want, Roan. There’s much work ahead of us.”

  “I will not come.”

  “Bring the children. The others, too. There are so many who need to be saved from the City. Roan, you cannot escape it. You must fight it. We must fight it together.”

  “I gave you my answer.”

  “You don’t understand. You are needed. If you leave to save these children, you abandon all the others. There are many who need your help. I can’t do this alone. Without you, there’s no hope for any of them.”

  Roan feels himself wavering. What about the others? How many more will suffer? If it’s true that Saint intends to go up against the City, maybe they could join forces to find Stowe.

  But a vivid memory of Longlight erupts in Roan’s mind. The broken walls, the smoldering houses. The bones of his people floating in the Fire Hole. Those are Saint’s methods. The work of a man who would use any means necessary to achieve his ends. Roan must find his own way. A path that does not seek violence. A path that respects peace. He will look in front of him, not behind. It’s the only way to honor the death of Longlight.

  He locks eyes with the Prophet. “Let us go.”

  Saint holds his position.

  Roan turns his back on the Prophet, takes five steps forward. For a brief moment, the possibility of truce hangs in the air.

  Saint bellows, and his men charge. Lelbit whirls, firing an arrow at the lead man, aiming below his shield. As the arrow hits his leg, he crumbles, tumbling into the dark chasm. She lets loose another arrow, and this time the Brother’s shield is so close her arrow pierces it. That man also staggers to his death. The Brother shielding Saint lifts his spear. With a frightening growl, he charges, the tip leveled at Roan’s heart. Roan dodges his thrust and chops the Friend on the back, then kicks him over the edge.

  Regaining his footing, Roan rushes back to join Lelbit, only to see Saint’s battle-axe blistering through air. With a horrible crack, it buries itself deep in Lelbit’s left side.

  “Lelbit!”

  Saint rips out the blade, and Roan cries out in despair as his comrade collapses onto the ledge.

  Roan draws his hook-sword, meeting Saint’s battle-axe with a crash. The opponents strike their weapons again and again, teetering on the narrow ledge. Seeing Roan’s arrow wound oozing blood, Saint aims his fist. Pain jolts through Roan and he staggers, striking desperately with his sword. A point catches Saint in the thigh. Growling with rage, Saint smashes at Roan’s wound again. Roan buckles, his head dangling over the chasm. Instantly, Saint’s blade is at his throat.

  “You never understood, you never—” Saint gasps in astonishment. Lelbit, kneeling behind him, has thrust an arrow through his neck.

  The Prophet meets Roan’s eyes in desperation. “Help Kira,” he rasps, then lurches forward. Roan reaches, but too late. Saint plunges over the edge, toppling into the abyss.

  Roan, heart pounding, looks up to see Lelbit still kneeling in the same spot. Her mission complete, she smiles weakly at Roan and crumples into his arms. In the distance, Lumpy waits with the children, safely on the other side of the abyss. Roan stares helplessly at his friend. They both know that what Lumpy has lost he will never have again.

  THE WAY HOME

  THE FIRST ONES HAD A VISION AND THE VISION WAS LONGLIGHT. AND HER FATHER AND HER SON, IT WAS SAID, WOULD BUILD THE NEW WORLD.

  —THE BOOK OF LONGLIGHT

  IN THE SHADE OF THE FIR TREES the Dreamfield had promised, Lumpy places the final stone on the mound where Lelbit lies. Jaw solemnly takes his hand and Lumpy circles his other arm around Bub and Jam. Everyone assembled, Roan offers the prayer of Longlight.

  That the love you bestowed might bear fruit

  We stay behind.

  That the spirit you shared be borne witness

  We stay behind.

  That your light burn bright in our hearts

  We stay behind.

  We stay behind and imagine your flight.

  Lumpy’s reflection appears over Roan as he drinks from a clear, fresh stream. His heart sinks at the sight of the pack on Lumpy’s back. But he prepares himself to accept whatever decision his friend has come to.

  “Well, I’m off. It won’t be easy to camouflage the tunnel. But Lelbit and I had some ideas. It was something she thought we should do.”

  “It’ll mean crossing the chasm.”

  Lumpy shrugs. “Lelbit would expect me to do it, and she’s not the kind of person you cross.” Eyes brimming with pain, he sighs. “It’ll be like she’s there with me, you know?” Look­ing away, he reaches into his pocket. “This belongs to you,” he says, and hands Roan the silver ring.

  Roan nods, cupping the ring in his palm. He searches Lumpy’s face. “You won’t be coming back?”

  Lumpy gives him a long look, then winks. “A few of those kids would miss me, I think.”

  “I would miss you too,” Roan says, embracing his friend. “We w
on’t leave till you return.”

  Lumpy smiles, and with a wave he’s gone.

  It will be good to camp in this place for a while, Roan thinks. He watches the rippling water, contemplating Saint’s final words to him. In those last moments, Roan saw the pain in the Prophet’s eyes, the desperation of someone who had run out of options. Lumpy’s scars are on the surface, Roan muses. Saint’s scars were inside, and they went deep. Roan knows how close his own experiences brought him to the edge of something dangerously similar.

  Help Kira. The words haunt Roan. Hints of what lies behind them glimmer at the edge of his consciousness. What had Saint said? “If you save these children, you abandon all the others.” Kira had spoken of losing a child, and Saint had said there would be others. Who are these others? he wonders. Help Kira. Yes, Saint, I will. But I need time. Time to make a safe haven for these children. Time to develop their strength, and to teach them to defend life in the new home we’ll create together.

  Roan fingers the silver ring Saint gave him, the ring he keeps as a reminder of his shame, when vengeance ruled him. No more.

  He watches Lona and Bub toss twigs into the stream. The sticks, teased by the current, dip and spin, then float out of sight. Lona throws in more. An endless flow of water and wood and children’s laughter. Alandra, her feet bare, sinks down beside him and dips her toes into the water. She seems so comfortable in this world. But only part of her is here, he knows. The rest of her lies with the Dirt Eaters; he has no doubt they have plans for Roan and these children. Plans he may or may not be willing to join. But that is in the future. For now, Roan decides he wants to trust her.

  He digs into his pack and pulls out his gifts. His hook-sword from Brother Wolf and the recorder from Brother Asp, Orin’s book and the rag doll his sister Stowe lost in the snow. He lays Saint’s ring beside these objects on the ground around him. He and his sister are the last living members of their village. These gifts are the markers of their journey, and have now become a part of the history of Longlight as well. How he will connect his truth with its legend, he is not sure. But it will be easier, he knows, surrounded by the sound of singing. On the bank, on the stones, on the tree bark, on the children’s shoulders, are perched white crickets, creating their ethereal song.