The Land of Broken Roads

The icy wind blew right through his clothing like it wasn’t there, and the fact that it was still wet with blood made it worse. The wet spots stuck to his skin and got so cold it stung. He gritted his teeth and flexed the muscles in his chest to keep from shivering, then did his best to focus. His anger was slow to fade and helped keep him warm. Stupid humans.

The dome he stood on wasn’t high enough to get a good view of the full scenery and the netting covering the rest of the outpost took up most of his field of vision. It made a wide, uneven grid of dark edges containing white squares of melting snow; a view he found rather remarkable. Entirely unlike anything he’d seen before, but now wasn’t the time to enjoy it.

Instead, he looked for minds. Socks’ glowed brightly, brighter than anything else, since he was so close. The cluster of humans below were near enough to tell apart, their minds turbulent and troubled. Dimmer human minds filled his view beyond those ones. Nothing like the blinding glow of Ogena, but still too many to tell them apart without serious effort. It was impossible to look away from some and see others, since there wasn’t any directionality in the mental world. Just bright and dim, near and far.

But wind elementals weren’t humans and it should be easy to pick them out if he watched, so watch he did, with both his mind sight and mana body.

There wasn’t any natural wind now, but if enough air moved, they had to start showing up, right? The wind Dirt made typically didn’t go far, which he knew from watching the ferns when he first learned how. Maybe it would help if he made the wind longer, since true wind stretched farther than he could guess.

Rather than improvise how to make that work, he aimed it in different directions. Upward had the greatest effect. The rising wind caused an updraft that lifted air from all around and rose like a tree, far, far overhead, until it spread out like branches and faded. Here below, the rushing air whistled softly in the netting and would have made the whole place whip and shake without snow to hold it down.

Surprisingly, at the very top of Dirt’s wind-pillar, fog appeared and grew into a thin, wispy cloud. He looked harder with his mana body, wondering if he was missing something, or if another creature was nearby doing magic at the same time, but he found nothing unusual.

He went to ask Socks about it, but the pup was as surprised as he was, and as curious. He’d stuck his head back through the door, blocking it again, and had just the right angle to watch. Perhaps they could ask Father someday. Or the wind itself, if it ever showed up.

Dirt decided to see how much cloud he could make. He poured in more and more mana, calling as much wind into being as he could. He even tried lifting the air with his mind to make it go faster, but that proved impossible—there was nothing for him to grab onto, and he hadn’t figured out how to make a whole wall like Socks did.

Overhead, the cloud stretched and drifted away from the updraft and never grew into anything big enough to cause shade, but it was interesting to watch. Dirt tried drawing with the wind to make it different shapes, but if he didn’t direct the wind straight up, it didn’t go as high, and wouldn’t make any cloud.

A massive gust of wind burst out of the hole in the roof, creating a momentary roar that vanished faster than it arose. Dirt peeked down and saw Socks with his chin on the ground and his eyes turned upward, looking almost guilty.

-I wanted to try,- the pup told him. But it implied more than that; he’d tried doing magic naturally, instinctively, in the manner of wolves. Not with all the sigils and preparation of humans.

“Well, you didn’t break anything, so try as much as you want,” said Dirt.

The humans down there were standing as close to Socks as they dared get, which wasn’t that close other than Biandina. They crowded together to peer up through the roof and watch Dirt wave his staff and cause clouds to appear. The armed men let their weapons sag, and larger children held up the smaller ones so they could see.

Well, he didn’t have much of a show to put on. He couldn’t call lightning or play music. He went back to his task, raising his staff again and regenerating the upward pillar of air. Another burst of wind fired out of the hole like an arrow, though, only a moment later.

-Sorry. It’s harder than it seems. I keep wanting to move the air with my mind, but that’s not the same,- said Socks, just to him.

Dirt replied with a puff of amusement, then one of affection. After that he added, “Just make sure to catch me if you break the dome.”

-Maybe, if I think of it in time,- said Socks, returning the two emotions. -Remember to yell.-

Grinning, Dirt went back to making his air pillar. That much motion and a little cloud was sure to attract the wind’s attention eventually, right? How did the wind decide where it wanted to go, and when?

There was a little squeal from down below and Dirt peeked over the edge again to see that Socks had picked up two of Biandina’s smallest siblings and put them on his head, right between his ears, so they wouldn’t be underfoot as the humans began to ignore the wolf and the blood on the ground and pack more tightly together. The little ones clung to each other like chicks in a nest, eyes wide, and Biandina did her best to comfort them with a wave and soothing words. Dirt found her mind, mostly by familiarity, and saw that she was worried Socks might try to keep them. She was already imagining how to gesture to convince him they needed to stay here.

Dirt’s idea of making wind to summon more wind worked. When he looked back up to resume his task, he saw the cloud being pushed in half by a gentle crosswind, and soon he found the mind of a wind elemental. Just a small one, but the shape of its mind was unmistakable when compared with all the humans. Its perceptions stretched from near to far, but nothing like the wind-mother’s.

He formed the opening of a conversation in the world of magic, drawing the sigil for ‘beginning of a new process,’ like he’d been taught. The little wind caught sight of it immediately and Dirt felt a slight increase in the breeze as it descended to see what he was. He watched it feel him and saw the shape of his body and clothing passing through the twisting tangles of its mind, before it began drawing its reply.

This one’s mind was small enough he could grasp more of it than the big one, and he verified something the dryads had told him. They said the physical world was like a dream to the elementals, and from what Dirt saw, that wasn’t far off. Only a small portion of its awareness took any note of him, responding in a way that seemed very much like dreaming.

In dreams, other than those shared with Socks, Dirt acted and moved and spoke, but it was hard to say he had any control. It was just things that happened. Conversations that seemed real but upon waking seemed garbled and incoherent, due to the nature of the world of dreams. Humans only drifted across that world, awake or asleep, and made ripples but never saw the depths.

That’s what the elemental seemed like to Dirt. He was talking to its dream, a part distant from the core of its reality. In fact, its presence in the world of dreams was probably more concrete than it was here.

The elemental took hold of his ‘beginning a new process’ sigil and began to speak. The words it formed were more familiar than Dirt expected, which made him wonder if the small ones had a simpler vocabulary. It drew Dirt’s air pillar, described it by its natural process—a system of incoming pressures with lower pressure above, squeezing the air upward. The elemental’s mind was tinged with curiosity, although the object of its curiosity wasn’t clear. What was he doing, perhaps, or why.

Dirt learned a new sigil: cloud, which was a variation of water. That appeared when the elemental drew it plainly, almost by itself, with the sigil for ‘small’. Why was he making a small cloud? That must be it.

He thought about that for a moment, then redrew the opening sigil, as if to start a new conversation. In the places where the conversation might begin, he drew the sigil for ‘empty’, and sent a mental puff of desire.

From there they began a mostly pointless artistic dance, drawing sigils for each other in combinations Dirt had never considered, and might not have any effect if powered. He and the elemental tossed ideas back and forth, making one change each time; it was just like the imagination games he and Socks played, although he was worse at this. Was this elemental truly a child? Did that word even apply here?

Dirt tried to steer the conversation toward something productive, since he was really starting to get cold up here, but if the little elemental understood, it disagreed. Finally Dirt said, aloud, “Okay, this is fun, but let’s try something else.”

The elemental processed the words as vibrations in the air, which Dirt could see in its mind. He sent a purely mental image of that perception, along with the idea of a question. Something similar had worked on the trees, so maybe?

The elemental floundered for only a moment before figuring it out. There was a moment of greater clarity, a brightness in its mind that made Dirt wonder if perhaps he’d done something to wake it up. But that faded, and afterward it drew a series of complex symbols, each modifying the others in a dazzling array.

Dirt worked his way through it, doing his best to decipher what the little wind was saying. That sigil looked like an overlay of ‘motion’ and ‘small’ but was its own thing, and soon he realized that was the sigil for ‘vibration’. As for the others, some of what he saw appeared to have no meaning at all, except for how they fit together. They looked incomplete, but not in a way that anticipated he would have more to add.

He traced the process with his mind and felt a rhythm there, something familiar, on the edge of recognizability.

Socks interrupted, -Let me try.- Dirt watched as his mind withdrew from words and concrete thought into a more primal mode, one of impression and sensation and instinct. Something purely wolf, with no human influence at all. Except that wasn’t quite it, because the rhythm of speech, the sounds and cadence of Dirt talking, remained in his mind, but without meaning behind them.

A new magical array spread before them, Socks interposing his own magic between Dirt and the elemental. The pup was rigid with concentration, ridding himself of most of his ideas of magic. It had been too human, Father had told him. Wolves had different magic and for complicated things, he’d been copying Dirt. Not this time.

The elemental’s intent became clear, now that he could see what Socks was doing. The little wind had drawn a single pattern that described an entire language at once. Not each word, or even any meaning, but its name in the world of magic. The pattern of it, the process and rhythm. Socks could feel it in a way Dirt couldn’t and spoke it clearly for the elemental to see.

Dirt understood it now that he could see it in Socks’ mind. That was his language, its name, and it was beautiful. He felt its grammatical accuracy, its ease and fluidity, its stateliness and poetic lyricism, all circumscribed into an expression that no tongue could communicate. He would never forget it. Indeed, if this was all he learned today, it would be worth all the effort.

He did his best not to admire it too much, though, lest he risk missing something else important. The pup was describing a mind now—Dirt’s mind—by imprinting his impressions themselves on the world of magic directly. It caused a dizzying amount of new signs and symbols to flash into being. The mind, Socks said, belonged to the little boy-shape in the air there atop the dome.

Next to it, Socks drew his own mind, vast and pure and primal, and set the two symbolic constructions together in a way that indicated unity of purpose.

Then he created a new magical array, one that indicated many humans huddling sheltered below, out of the reach of the wind. But their voices still rose into the air and he depicted the rhythm and sounds of their speech from the perspective of a total outsider, which he was. A different language, the one spoken here, and the one the little elemental had first mentioned. Dirt watched eagerly to see how it differed from or matched his own.

Then, finally, Socks created an opening and imprinted a language-impression into the two minds he’d drawn, but in an incomplete way. A hollow where a new language needed to go. Give us their tongue, Socks was saying, in the pure processes of magic. After that, down below, the pup gave a tiny whimper as his concentration broke. The magical images vanished. He huffed wearily, the gusts of his breath rippling the clothing of the small crowd.

The elemental paused, pondering, its mind chasing inscrutable things across the vast winding tunnels of its thought. Then it vanished, winking out of existence entirely. The area settled into a silence that made Dirt’s ears ring.

He leaned over the edge to look at Socks, but his friend had nothing to say after such intense concentration. The small crowd of humans peered back up at him through the hole in the roof, eyes curious. The little ones on Socks’ head had each grabbed an ear and seemed less scared now.

Behind him, the sky opened and a new wind rushed out, chill and menacing. It whipped at Dirt, causing his clothes to flutter violently and his eyes to water so bad he had to close them. Before he could look again with his mind-sight and see what it was, a stunning shock of energy lit into him, forcing him rigid. He heard an audible buzzing sound and he lost all sense of balance, even forgetting where he was, and drifted emptily, nearly unconscious.

Dirt shook himself to keep from falling asleep, but he was on the cold hard ground of the outpost now. Socks licked him back awake, the warm, wet tongue sparking him back into full consciousness.

“Is he alive?” asked an old man, his voice rising from the muttered whisperings of a large crowd.

“Ow,” said Dirt. He tried to sit up and got a splitting, screaming headache for his efforts. “I’m alive, but I wish I wasn’t awake.”

He whimpered in pain as the headache refused to abate. The gasps of the crowd did nothing to alleviate it. He clutched his head and rolled onto his side, moaning.

-Do you want me to make you go to sleep?- asked Socks.

“Maybe, if it doesn’t go away soon. This really hurts. Did I fall and crack my skull?”

“Child, did you speak? Can you say that again?” asked the old man.

“Say what again? Oh, I can speak your language now. That’s good. Can you be quiet for a moment?” said Dirt.

-Everyone be quiet,- commanded Socks in the new language, his mental voice filling every head in the outpost.

Soon enough, the headache abated and Dirt rolled onto his back with a sigh of relief.

The moment he did, Socks began licking him exuberantly, rejoicing. -We did it!- The little ones atop his head held on for dear life, not knowing that was the safest place they could possibly be.

Dirt climbed to his feet gingerly, fearful the headache might come back. It did not, thank the Gods. Then he fell onto Socks’ snout and squeezed, giving the pup a giant hug. “We did indeed. How did you figure that out?”

-Only by watching you. I closed off my mind sight and just watched with magic and saw how it felt, and everything you two were saying started to make sense,- said Socks.

Dirt grinned. “I guess we both learned at the same time, because—”

Before he could finish the thought, the old woman clutched his shoulder with a firm hand to get his attention. “You can speak our language? Why did you not before?”

“Because I couldn’t before, silly. I learned just now by asking the wind,” he said. Perhaps he wasn’t being quite fair, but she’d reminded him he was still somewhat angry with their tribe. “What did you think I was doing up there?”

The old woman stared back at him, struggling to find a reply.

Dirt gave her to the count of three before pushing past her to get to the girl. He didn’t have to squeeze through to get to her, since the crowd parted to let him by. “Hello, Biandina. My name is Dirt. It means dirt in your language. And that is my best friend, Socks. His name means socks, which some people think is funny.”

“Your name is… Dirt?”

“Yep! And I know you think you’re cursed, but you’re probably the second luckiest human alive, because Socks and I were there to save you. How likely do you think that is? Socks is the only wolf anywhere who has a pet human. I doubt anyone else would have thought about saving you, even if they could,” said Dirt.

“I did something I can’t take back,” said Biandina. “Even if you saved me once, it doesn’t change that.”

“You sacrificed a rabbit to the gods. So what? Look at her. Do you think she’s in a position to do anything about it? I did some—, er, I know of someone who did something way, way, worse than that,” said Dirt. “And that person is fine.”

“And who would that be?” said Biandina’s babbu, stepping between Dirt and three of his children.

“Probably no one you’ve ever heard of, unless you’ve been to Turicum,” said Dirt. “But don’t you have bigger problems? Like that guy I killed? Did you know he was a half-corpse, or was that a surprise?”

“He is the reason—!” began the old woman.

Socks interrupted her, saying, -Do not raise your voice at my little Dirt when he has done nothing wrong.-

To her credit, she exhaled and calmed down. Then she said, “I apologize, great one. Corruptions like Iliaru are the reason she must leave. She begged the Murderous Lady for strength and will soon end up like him. We are fortunate we caught her before she turned into… that.”

Dirt nodded. “Well, first off, that statue is Melodia, the mistress of song, not the Murderous Lady. And second, the gods are gone from the world. I have that on good authority. So begging her won’t get you anything, good or bad. And third, there aren’t enough humans left in the world to just throw one away, when she seems perfectly fine to me. And let’s be honest, after that thing with the skeleton, you’re not in a position to be criticizing anybody.”

“No, Dirt, Gnese is right. I saw it,” said Biandina, eyes downcast and feigned courage in her voice. She looked up and continued, “I thought maybe… I just wanted… I knew what would happen, but… I know something saw me. I know it did. That’s why I confessed instead of hiding. I need to leave. I need to die.” The last word came out a whisper.

Her siblings’ faces were ashen and fearful, the same misery that Dirt saw on so many others. Stoic, perhaps, but suffering.

Dirt asked, “What did you see?” Was Melodia not truly gone? Did he dare get his hopes up?

She pointed at the hole in the ceiling and said, “The moment the rabbit’s blood touched her feet, I looked up and saw a… giant eye. It was right up there, through the hole. Then it blinked itself away, leaving empty sky.”

Socks raised his head and looked at Dirt. Dirt looked back. Both of them were thinking the same thing.

“What? Are you two talking again?” asked Biandina.

“No. But I guess I was wrong. I guess it is a big deal,” said Dirt. “Maybe one of the worst possible things you could have done.”