The Land of Broken Roads

Dirt scowled. “I don’t know. We probably should, but I can’t decide,” he said. “The little ones look so helpless.” He gazed out at the crowd again as more gathered and waited to watch from a short distance away. They huddled over the muddy pathways between the tents, and the larger cubs put the littler ones on their shoulders to get a better view.

-It does not matter if they’re helpless, if we decide to kill them,- said Socks.

“So the Eye made all these?” asked Antelmu. He thought of the man-eaters, which were a mish-mash of spare parts. It was believable some horrible thing had crafted them. “They don’t look like abominations.”

-The adults are. I don’t know what that makes their offspring.”

Dirt turned to the man stuck in the tree and asked, “Did the thing that made them tell you why it did it?”

His tired eyes glanced at Dirt, then out at the crowd. “The god said nothing. It had no mouth to speak. But I know who they were; did you know that? Did I tell you? I know who every one of them was before our god’s anger made them something else. I still recognize them. They don’t answer to their old names.”

“Wait, it didn’t speak? How do you know your job is to teach?” asked Antelmu.

“The soulless ones told me. Sometimes they drop their masks, when none of the children are around,” said the old man.

“How do you know they’re soulless?” asked Antelmu.

“Because sometimes they drop their masks!” he whispered loudly, like a hiss. He looked all around, and Dirt wondered what he’d be doing with his hands if he had any. So many emotions played on his face that it was hard to tell where any of this was going. “In those moments, I know what they are. I see deadness there, gray and sunken eyes with worms moving underneath. Much like their voices. I hear their old voices in their speech. I wanted to ignore them, but how could I? Not when they speak with those voices. I was there when they were squeezed out of their mothers. I still remember.”

“Why do they even exist?” asked Antelmu. The older boy had a certain incredulity about all this that was leading him to ask useful questions, so Dirt left him to it.

“Why?” asked the old man. He sounded offended. “Why?!” he shouted. “You question the act of a god!”

“My tribe doesn’t worship gods because they’re all evil. And this proves it,” said Antelmu.

Dirt scowled but didn’t argue. Instead, he looked at the man’s mind and found his anger entirely feigned; the truth was he’d forgotten the answer and didn’t want to let on. Something had happened in his tribe that triggered the descent of their most feared god, but he no longer knew what it was. Dirt said, “What Antelmu means, is why did it turn them into creatures like this, instead of just killing him. Why this? Not, why did something happen in the first place.”

“Go ask them, if you’re so curious! You want to have someone walk you through tying a knot or carving a flute out of bone, come back and bother me then,” said the old man, crossly. Right after saying that, he realized he’d just told newcomers to stop talking to him, leaving him to go back to staring at nothing. He softened his voice and said, “Is there anything else you’d like to know? Some of our stories, perhaps, from when we were still a people?”

Socks said, -You are not deciding very fast.-

“It’s not like we’re in a hurry all of a sudden!” thought Dirt. “I’m working on it.”

-Just decide one way or the other. It doesn’t matter to me. There are not many of them and we will leave soon and never see them again. I still think we should kill them, but I will let you decide. If you hurry,- said Socks. His words were tinged with memories of what Father had told him, the havoc he expected his son to cause. This was a perfect opportunity to kill a lot of things at once. He itched to make the ground explode, right under the biggest portion of the crowd.

“I’m going to be honest, Socks, the only reason I’m hesitating is because the little ones are so cute. I wouldn’t hesitate if they were baby goblins. But they’re so fuzzy! They’re cute. And they’re basically still humans on the inside,” said Dirt. “They’re not… they don’t seem dangerous.”

-We have killed many cute things. You eat squirrels, remember?- said Socks.

Antelmu scowled at that, but Dirt just shrugged. Hungry was hungry.

“Please don’t just stand here silently,” begged the old man. “Silence is the one thing I can't stand. I get too much of it. Curse me, if you want to. Slap me, if you feel bored. I feel no pain. Did you know what they call me? The Face. That’s all I am to them now. Just a face. A mouth that talks. Nothing more. Not a person at all. Hardly even alive.”

“Do you know much about eggs? Or gryphons?” asked Antelmu.

“What do those things have to do with each other, young man?” asked Face, arching a quizzical eyebrow.

Antelmu pointed up toward Socks’ back, where the egg rested happily in its nest of blankets, still covered. “Because we have a gryphon egg.”

“Put it back, you fool child! No, it’s too late. They’re hunting you already. Go away and bury it, then keep running as fast as you can go. The parents will come for you, surely. The gods made no greater hunters. They will never relent. Never!”

Antelmu looked a bit more nervous, but said, “The parents are both dead. That’s how we got it in the first place.”

“Doesn’t matter! Any others will know it’s not yours. If they spot you with it, or even smell it on you, your mother will be burying you for days, one tiny piece at a time. They’ll be so mad they won’t even eat you,” said Face, with enthusiasm.

-That will not happen,- said Socks.

Face strained to look up at the sky and said, “There it is again. That voice.”

Dirt smirked and said, “It’s the giant wolf. That’s how he talks.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Face.

“Why not?” asked Dirt.

“Because he’s not real,” said Face.

Socks snorted and Dirt grinned at him. “Hear that, Socks?”

-How can I hear when I am not real?- said the big pup.

“Exactly,” said the old man. “You can’t hear anything. This little boy is toying with my madness.”

-He is a pest sometimes,- said Socks.

“I’m glad you understand.”

One of the half-dead, a lanky man with deep eyes and spotty brown fur, trudged up the small, muddy path, brown tail swishing back and forth behind him as he walked. Socks stood straight, watching intently and ready to pounce. But the man showed no signs of hostility; instead, he affected an air of meekness that might have been disarming, if Dirt didn’t know what he was.

“I hope I do not intrude,” he said with a rich, sonorous voice that should have belonged to a real person. “I only come to ask how we can better please you. Have you come to speak with our elder, or do you have another purpose here?”

Dirt stared, unsure if he was willing to speak with a corrupted half-dead. The beast man’s outward appearance was pleasant enough, with a bit more of the animal than the children had; but he wore it well, and his clothes were tidy and neat. His demeanor gave no hint of his true nature.

Socks was about to flatten him where he stood with a hammer of mental force, but Dirt thought, “Wait. Let’s see if we can learn something.”

The beast man’s empty mind showed sensation, but no thought. Pure vision, devoid of any interpretation as he looked at Antelmu and Dirt and Socks’s paws, never meeting the predator’s eyes. It turned Dirt’s stomach and set him on edge, and he found himself curling his toes inside his shoes.

“Well, answer him!” commanded Face. “I’d like to know as well. What business do you have just dancing into our home? How did you even get over the wall?”

“We rode him,” said Dirt, pointing at Socks. Then he turned to the half-dead and forced himself to speak. “We were just passing by and wanted to see what was here. We’ve never seen creatures like you before. What are you?”

“We are The People,” said the beast man, congenially. “We are as you see us.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“Many generations,” he replied.

“You didn’t always look like that, though, did you,” said Dirt, probing.

The beast man laughed, revealing sharp teeth. It might have been a warming, friendly sound if not for the blankness of his mind. “How else would we have looked? You shouldn’t trust our elder. He is older than he says. His mind is gone, poor man.”

“Then why are you furry and he’s not?” asked Dirt. The lie was so obvious Dirt found himself curious what sort of excuse the abomination would come up with.

“Because the elder was planted as a tree and grew that way, and we weren’t,” said the beast man. “I ask your pardon if he gave you a different explanation. Whatever he told you likely doesn’t make sense.”

Dirt scowled. A tree growing a man out of one side didn’t make sense either, but it was a nonsensical situation to begin with. He wondered if it might have been a convincing answer, if he didn’t already know better.

He looked out into the other minds around, curious what the little ones thought of this, and there were too many of them clumped too closely together to get individual details. But the general sense seemed to be of fading fear and growing curiosity.

Another individual came walking up, a woman with tawny yellowish fur and sharp blue eyes. Several more, including about thirty children, moved forward as well, but not nearly so close. Just close enough they could hear, which they pointed their ears forward to do, like a wolf would.

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“What does your tribe think about humans?” asked Dirt.

“We haven’t been in contact for quite a while, but we’d be willing to enter good relations,” said both of them, the man and the woman, at the exact same time. In the exact same tone of voice. Then, realizing their error, they looked at each other and laughed congenially, like friends sharing an old joke.

“Their masks slip,” said Face. “They slip, they slip, they slip.”

The woman said, “You’ll pardon me for asking, but is there any danger from the wolf? The children know to stay back from strange animals, but we have never seen one like that. He looks rather smart.”

-What are you going to tell them, Dirt? I do not like them standing so close.-

Dirt inhaled fresh mana and sent it all through his skin, just to mollify Socks. “He doesn’t bite out of nowhere. He’s not a mere animal.”

“How long will you be staying?” asked the woman. She had convincing nervousness on her face, the kind a person might try and fail to hide. Dirt hated it, because it introduced a bit of doubt. What if he was wrong about this sort of creature? What if she was still alive after all, her soul still intact and somehow controlling this body, just in a way he wasn’t familiar with? Then he remembered how they’d spoken at exactly the same time and changed his mind.

“Not long. We were just curious. Let me ask you something, though. Do you recognize me?” asked Dirt.

Antelmu arched an eyebrow in an exaggerated way, wondering where that had come from. But Dirt waited for their answer. They didn’t reply very quickly, so he said, “Look close if you’re not sure. Do you know who I am?”

Socks raised his hackles slightly; Dirt felt tension enter the air without even having to look. The beast people must have noticed because they both froze. He waited, and Socks didn’t growl. The beast couple looked at each other, then back at Dirt.

The woman said, “I don’t. I’ve never seen you before. Should I know who you are?”

“You really don’t? Are you sure? You’re not lying, are you?” said Dirt. If they were lying, he’d never know. But if they knew him and told the truth—well, that’d be worth knowing.

The man held his hands up in a conciliating way, and Dirt noticed his fingertips were bare pads like Socks’s toes. “I don’t know what answer to give you, little friend. We don’t know you. We haven’t seen one of your kind since the plague.”

“The plague?” asked Antelmu nervously. Dirt saw in his mind that the boy took that word far more seriously than most other threats and was already starting to make plans about how to leave without anyone touching him.

“It’s been years, but many of us died. It erased an entire generation of children, which is why the rest are so young. We had to start over,” said the man.

“There was no plague! It was the god. Why are you lying, you soulless monstrosity!” shouted Face.

Dirt ignored him and said, “If you don’t recognize me, then maybe you’ve heard my name. Avitus Numitorius Urbanus. Do you know who that is?”

Face said, “What? What was that name? Say it again.”

“Avitus Numitorius Urbanus. That’s my name.”

“Liar!” shouted Face.

“If we knew who you were, we would have welcomed you as a friend. Why do you keep asking?” asked the beast man. The man’s hands at his sides went taut, strengthening to support the short claws on each fingertip.

Dirt said, “Because I know what you are, and what made you. Why is it trying to exterminate humankind? Can you just tell me that, at least?”

They dropped their masks then, not just the two nearby but all adults across the entire tribe. The little ones noticed and huddled away from them, fearful in a way that told Dirt they’d seen it before. All across the tribe, the adults stood still as rocks, hands at their sides, faces blank. Parents carrying children dropped them or, in the cases of the smallest ones, set them down roughly. Some were snatched away before they landed by older children who must have developed reflexes for this.

“We want to come in,” said every adult at once, in the same voice, the same inflection. The voice was a monstrous choir in perfect harmony and even Dirt, having seen so much, was struck with genuine horror. “We cannot come in if you are here.”

The adults stepped forward. On cue, the older children picked up younger ones or took them by the hand and hurriedly dragged them back toward the fence. Those of middling ages were smart enough to follow on their own, and before long, not even an infant was left. They had all retreated.

Socks sent Dirt and Antelmu a quick mental image of the fear he smelled. The little ones were scared now, but the adults smelled like no emotion at all. Like corpses whose hearts were still beating.

As they walked forward, some of them shed clothing to expose limbs they shouldn’t have. Singular wings with hooked claws on the end or long, many-jointed arms wrapped around their chests. One woman shed her pants, revealing her to be covered by beast fur all the way to her toes. Six more tails sprouted that had been hidden under her clothing and they moved intelligently like the tentacle-beast’s had.

“You had best get back on your wolf and flee, boys,” said Face.

Socks lifted the egg, blanket nest and all, and set it down gently near Face’s tree. -Grab your spear, little Antelmu, and guard your egg. I am afraid I will break it.-

Antelmu spun and rushed to Socks’s harness and yanked his spear out, flashing the broad, silvery tip in the sunlight as he spun it in a wide arc with his good hand.

The half-dead raised no battle cry, no bestial shriek to spur themselves forward. They simply broke into a hungry dash and rushed forward, charging up the slight incline. When the pair who had been speaking came for Dirt, Socks gripped them both with his mind and twisted them in half. Then he dug his claws into the ground and propelled the chunks into the rushing crowd at full force. They struck with that heavy, sickening thud that only a large lump of flesh can cause. There were no cries of pain.

“Spare the children for now, please, Socks,” said Dirt.

-Fine. They are separated anyway. I am glad I finally get to kill these things,- said Socks.

The front of the charging crowd slammed into a wall of mental force and clawed at the air. Socks deftly leaped over it and began to lay waste all around him, thrashing and clawing and using his immense size to crush them.

In an instant, ten were dead, then five more. Although the half-dead fought with everything they had, weapons and claws and teeth, they had no mana, nor any weapons that could pierce his hide. He towered above them, and they threw rocks and darts at his eyes that never pierced them. They hacked at his legs with axes and tried to rip away flesh with their teeth. They clung to him tenaciously until he flung them off, sending one after another crashing through a house or landing with a crack.

The injured rose and kept coming, unheeding of any injury. Some veered from Socks and came for Dirt or Antelmu, and despite Antelmu’s rather impressive posture of martial readiness with his spear, none came close.

Face had a prime view of the carnage. At first he was shocked, but soon he comprehended and wept, heartbroken. He whimpered the forgotten names of the fallen as they died, his mind spinning with rushed memories of the beloved people they had been. Dirt felt so much pity for him that tears came to his own eyes. What a terrible thing to have to behold, after he’d endured so much.

All in all, it wasn’t much of a fight, and it was over quickly. Socks came out completely unscathed, although he had blood halfway up all four legs that wasn’t his. The ground was an absolute mess, as bad as a goblin-strewn battlefield, and the area stank with the scent of blood and torn intestines and urine and pain.

The children had screamed at first, but now the older ones stared in complete shock and the younger ones cried hopelessly. There were still several hundred of them left, and Dirt realized that not killing them would be to kill them—who was going to feed them now? Perhaps a fast death would be better than a slow one.

Socks saw his thoughts and said, -Do you want me to take care of them too?-

Dirt couldn’t bring himself to say yes, however. Not yet. He shook his head and Socks huffed. The pup padded back up the incline and sniffed Antelmu, who was nauseous and turning green. He gave the boy a little lick on the face and said, -If you throw up, don’t get any on your clothes.-

Antelmu nodded, breathing heavily and trying his best to resist the urge.

-What do you want to do about Face? It would be a shame to leave him here alone like that,- asked Socks. The pup felt the same way about him that Dirt did. He should probably be put out of his misery, but neither of them wanted to be the ones to do it.

An odd and unlikely idea struck Dirt. This place had a hint of the surreal to it, and not from all the fresh corpses or the slaughter he’d witnessed. Something about the spot tugged at the edges of his perception, and it reminded him somewhat of dealing with Caeso, and Apkallu before him. Had it been there from the start, or was it only awakening now? Face had mentioned fae. It might be foolish, but now that the thought had entered his head, he wanted to see if he was right. Sensing the dream from the physical world might come in handy someday. He said, “Apkallu, can you hear me? Apkallu? Apkallu! Are you around?”

As if stepping from unfolding flaps of air, the fae man came into view. He was no more than an inch taller than Dirt, and the sunlight made his blue skin sparkle. His violet hair was down to his shoulders now in a style Dirt didn’t recognize. Rather than wearing a fine senatorial robe, he wore a tunic of gold cut in a similar style to what the beast-men had on, and shoes of white leather.

“Now that I am here, please call me Incantatus. So! You must have felt the call of my realm. You cannot resist forever; it’s part of you now. Is that it?” said Apkallu. Before he got an answer, he turned to Face and raised his hands to exclaim, “Ah! What a delight! Lepas! My sister still thinks you will come to her.”

“Why do you torment me now, of all times, when I am at my lowest, you cursed fae! A curse on you, and another, and another! May the rest of your days be spent in nightmares!” spat Face, his misery turning to anger.

“Now now, Lepas, I am not the one who torments you. That is my sister.”

“She dances and beckons and dances, but I cannot move! She taunts me, late at night when I am alone. How am I to follow? How, you hateful thing? Go back to whatever dream spawned you and leave reality to the real and living.”

Incantatus laughed, lightly, like coins on strings in the wind. He looked around and said, “It seems to me you don’t have many of the living left. Come, take my hand, and I will lead you to my realm instead. You would not be the only finite one there.”

The fae man held out his hand, silver rings gleaming. Lepas, of course, didn’t move. “No? A shame. Perhaps another time, when you are dissatisfied with staying where you are. Now, dear Avitus, why did you call me? Perhaps you wish to come with me? This is a place you could enter, if you so chose.”

“I honestly didn’t have a plan at all. I just felt something and wondered if it would work. Can you get him out of there?” Dirt asked.

“Can I?” replied Incantatus. “Can I. Hmm. Yes.”

Dirt scowled. Nothing he said was true, so was that a no? But then, nothing he said was false, either.

“What will you give me if I do?” asked Incantatus.

Dirt supposed that was a fair question. “What do you want?”

-Do not forget that I am his friend, little dreamborn,- said Socks, his mental voice tinged with menace.

Incantatus regarded the wolf coolly, and Dirt remembered then to look at the fae’s mind. It glowed, but was shut tight against all observation. It would take a little more time and effort to peek inside than he wanted to give. The fae said, “A bond. Next time you call me, you must come and see my realm. Promise that, and I will get him out.”

Well, that seemed easy enough. All he had to do was never call Apkallu again, or at least not until he’d had a chance to ask the trees about him. Socks snorted, untrusting, but he didn’t think it was a terrible deal either. Dirt and the pup looked at Antelmu for the final concurrence.

“I wouldn’t trust him,” said the older boy.

“I don’t,” said Dirt.

“Avitus, you wound me,” said Incantatus, playacting being stabbed in the chest.

“Fine. Get him out, and I’ll agree to go with you next time I call you.”

Incantatus smiled, a bit too widely for his face. He spun on his heels and stepped lightly over to Face. Dirt felt new pressure on the world as more of the dream manifested, and recognized a seeming. The proper boundaries between worlds had thinned.

The fae reached into the thick tree trunk and took Lepas’s hand, then led him out of the tree. The shocked old man stumbled forward, a knee appearing, then a leg. His eyes went wide when his foot touched the cold dirt. His other leg stepped forward and he emerged from the tree entirely. His aging skin sagged, his limbs weak and thin, but he was free, and could walk on his own power.

Face let go of Incantatus’ hand and raised his palms up to look at them. He flexed his fingers, then looked down at his feet and lifted them one by one, almost hopping in excitement. Apparently his madness let his mood shift wildly, as there was no mourning left in his mind.

“Now that you are out, dear Lepas, do you want to come with me, or stay here?”

“You’ll let me stay here? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” said little Incantatus, smiling warmly. “But I do think you’d be better off if you came.”

Lepas put his hands on the little man’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. His voice full of warmth, he said, “I’ll never forget what you did for me. But they need me here. The little ones need me. They have no one else. I thank you, but I cannot come.”

“Are you sure?” asked Incantatus.

“I am sure. If I can ever find another way to thank you, I will. Gods above and below, it’s cold out here! I need to find some clothes,” said Lepas, rubbing his arms to stir up some blood.

“One last chance,” said Incantatus.

The children stared, amazed, minds reeling from shock after shock. Was that really Face, come out of the tree?

“I have to stay,” said Lepas. He took a trembling step down the incline, toward the nearest children. Then another.

“Then I bid you farewell. And to you, Avitus. I will hold you to your bargain. Don’t forget it,” said Incantatus. And with that, he disappeared.

The seeming vanished. Lepas’s new body vanished with it. His head and shoulders fell, and he was dead before they hit the frozen ground.