The Land of Broken Roads

The roads weren’t as straight as Dirt’s people used to make, nor the angles of construction anywhere near as exacting, but there was a certain similarity that felt familiar. The city inside the walls had houses that went right up to the road with doors that opened right onto the street, and most were at least two stories, even the narrow ones. Covered alleyways led between them to other streets, or small gardens, or the Gods only knew what else.

Many of the houses had shops on the bottom floor, with colorful signs that Dirt still couldn’t quite read, since most of the letters looked different and the words weren’t his original language. The shops seemed untended, with closed shutters or dusty cobwebs in windows that opened into darkness.

Still, it wasn’t abandoned. This part of town looked like it was dying, but not dead; and there were still plenty of humans inside. Too many to count, the farther he got, but none that looked close enough to be in any of the buildings on this street. What had those four women been doing, then?

The street ended at an intersection and Dirt turned left, since it looked like it would lead him closer to the center of town. An old woman peeked at him out a second-story window, gray hair peeking out from under a shawl. She reminded Dirt of a pale, wrinkly goblin, and Dirt couldn’t help peeking at her mind.

Her thoughts about him were complicated, but informative. He shouldn’t be out running around alone like this. Loners were trouble. And where did he get the new clothes? He must be stealing, but everything was already picked over. When she closed her shutters and withdrew into her home, he decided to stop looking at all their minds unless he felt threatened. He was already going to stand out; humans had a very small set of things they found acceptable, and it’d be best if he wasn’t too far outside it.

Near the end of that street, it intersected with a bigger one that went straight to the center of town, which was a nicer building than all the rest, with towers at each of the four corners and stylistic stonework all the way up and down. Humans milled about in the area surrounding it, marking that as the city’s forum. That house might be a temple, perhaps, or some sort of civic building he wasn’t familiar with. People often gathered there for the city’s business, it appeared, standing under tents or awnings and others carrying baskets or sacks.

A group of children, all smaller than him, ran out from one alley, across the street, and into another alley, before he could stop and say hello. A dog barked from inside a nearby house, sounding surprisingly unlike a wolf.

This was it. Dirt was in a truly human place, one still occupied. New scents and sounds surrounded him—baking bread and laughter, rotting garbage and slamming doors. It seemed everywhere he looked was something new. That shop sold meat, even though it looked like they didn’t have much; that one sold clothing but it wasn’t open right now. Up ahead, a man pulled a cart whose contents were under a blanket, and two women fell in behind him and chatted loudly about running out of salt.

He walked down the center of the street, tapping the staff with each step and listening to how the sound vanished in the growing turbulence of life. A man younger than Hèctor gave him a long look, then nodded. Dirt nodded back and the man turned away. In fact, it seemed everyone noticed him, looking him over without coming to say hello, and he wasn’t sure if that was normal.

Was he already standing out? He had all the same clothing as they did. Pants, shirt, shoes. He was holding a staff and they weren’t, but did that matter? He opened his mind-sight again to see if he could learn anything, but it overwhelmed him and he closed it again. It’d take a little more practice to learn to tell them apart with so many, and now was not the time to just stand there with a blank look on his face.

Commotion seemed to be growing in the forum, so Dirt hurried along in that direction. All along the street, people stopped what they were doing and looked to see what was going on, even though there wasn’t much to see. Or hear. Dirt supposed they were stopping to look because everyone else was.

He kept walking, but before he made it to the forum two men with bows came walking boldly from the crowd. Everyone scrambled to get out of their way, except for four women who followed close behind, who pulled up their skirts a little so they could walk fast enough to keep up.

“Make way!” one of the archers shouted, his voice echoing off the buildings all the way up and down the street. He didn’t need to, though—there was plenty of room to get through. People got out of the way anyway, moving toward the edge of the street. Dirt was too slow to react and found himself standing alone in the middle of the road.

The two archers and four women reached him and slowed slightly, giving him curious looks, or disapproval.

Dirt made a quick decision and said, “Hey, are you looking for me?”

“Get out of the way!” scolded one of the women. They passed him and kept going.

“From outside the wall?” Dirt called after them.

That got them to stop. The men slyly drew arrows and turned around, not quite nocking them, but ready to in an instant. Seeing that, the crowd quickly went silent, then began whispering to each other to figure out what was going on.

“Were you playing a trick, boy? What were you doing near the wall?” said an archer. He wore a round metal helmet and had a long, bushy mustache that covered his mouth but not his chin.

“I wasn’t playing a trick at all. I just said hello, but no one answered,” said Dirt. He loosened his grip on the staff a little and relaxed his posture, hoping it made him look friendlier.

“What did you say, exactly?” said the other archer, with the less impressive mustache. He looked a lot younger.

“I yelled hello and asked how you get in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare anybody. I didn’t know there was a gate until right after that.”

“That’s what we heard,” said one of the women. They were older than Marina, but not all crinkly like the woman in the window, and not wearing anything to make them stand out. If anything, their clothing looked a lot more worn than he would have expected.

The men angrily put their arrows back and slung their bows over one shoulder. “I knew this was a waste of time,” said the first one. He turned to walk back toward the forum.

“If you can find his parents, tell them to whip him black and blue. Don’t come running to us with stupid stories again,” said the second.

One of the women, who had a pudgy face, said, “There was no mistaking it! It obviously wasn’t him!”

The first archer gestured at Dirt and said, “Then how did he know what you heard? Boy, was it you who shouted?”

“Yes, it was me,” said Dirt. “Was I not supposed to do that? Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Pranks about the walls are serious trouble!” yelled the first archer, learning forward to make himself more intimidating. He pointed a finger in Dirt’s face, and Dirt felt himself instinctively wanting to shy away from it. This must be how humans raised their young, like when Mother growled at her pups.

“It wasn’t a prank,” said Dirt. Actually, was it a good idea to tell them he was from outside? There were so many people here that they weren’t sure if he belonged or not, which had never occurred to him. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“See that you do not!” yelled the man, a speck of spittle somehow making it past his giant mustache to land on Dirt’s shirt. “Or I’ll throw you over it! Understand?”

“I understand,” said Dirt. He shied away from the looming man and peered around for a path to escape. He should just go to a different street and meet some other people, or maybe find children his size first and talk to them.

“Do you? Or do you need some bruises to help you remember?”

“I’ll remember!” He looked in the man’s dark brown eyes while he said it, to look more sincere. The archer nodded and stood back up straight. He peered down side-eyed at Dirt, nodded, and stepped to leave.

“Where’d he get the shirt?” asked the fat-faced woman.

Dirt looked down at his nice red shirt, with black embroidery all around the hem. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Where’d you get it, boy?” she asked, stepping forward.

The men looked exasperated and ready to be done with this, but they didn’t stop the woman from getting close and pinching the hemline around Dirt’s neck.

“Are you going to pretend like you recognize it now?” asked the younger archer. “Turn him from a prankster to a thief?”

“Of course I recognize it,” she snapped back. “This pattern is from Llovella, and it’s too clean for a fifteen-year-old shirt.”

Dirt squirmed, trying not to look too guilty. He glanced around with fresh eyes at the clothes everyone else had on, and most of it was ragged and repaired with patches, not just these women’s. He might have the only complete, unmarred shirt on the entire street.

“Sixteen years, now,” said one of other women, with graying hair. “Looks like he stepped right out of a painting, doesn’t he?”

They all started giving Dirt long, appraising looks, considering his attire from head to toe. At least his hair was combed. Still, he hadn’t expected this. Looking too nice?

­-Do you want me to come?­- asked Socks.

“Not yet. I’m not sure how to tell everyone,” said Dirt.

-Just tell them and if they get mad, then I’ll come,- said Socks.

“Okay. Here goes,” replied Dirt. He took a deep breath and stood up straight. Aloud, he said, “I got the shirt in… How did you say the name? Llovella? Is that a town with a big tower in the middle? Is that what it’s called?”

No one answered and the atmosphere grew tense. Dirt swallowed and said, “I guess that’s what it’s called. Marina never actually said, now that I think about it. Anyway, I’m not scary or anything. I just wanted to come meet some humans.”

The first archer snorted and said, “I suppose you simply walked up and jumped over the wall?”

Dirt felt fear creeping in, nervousness that he was about to ruin everything. Why was this so hard? He was a human just like them. At least they weren’t pointing a sword at him like Hèctor had done.

“Okay, well, if I show you something, can you promise to listen and not attack me or anything? Or scream and run away?”

“He’s a goblin in disguise,” muttered one of the women.

Another woman snorted at the obvious joke, but the good humor died immediately as everyone starting wondering if that was possible.

“I’m not a goblin. I’m human. Obviously. I’m not even green!”

The younger archer said, “And he’s not walking around shouting Boy! Meat! Good boy!” However, he didn’t use his own language for the ‘boy, meat’ part. He used Dirt’s.

Dirt felt the blood leave his face. It’d never occurred to him until this moment, but goblins spoke his language, didn’t they? His old one, from the Sunset Empire. At least the few words they knew. How was that possible?

“I promise I’m just a normal human. And I have friends coming to the gate. If you take me there, we can meet them and they’ll explain,” said Dirt. He could tell by the way they stood that he was becoming less convincing with every word he said.

“What’s your name, boy?” asked the older archer.

“Dirt,” said Dirt. “It means Dirt.”

“And your father’s name?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Mother’s?”

“Her either.”

“Do you have a family name at all? Any names besides Dirt?”

“Avitus,” said Dirt, and immediately regretted it.

Fortunately, the older archer thought it was a joke and just laughed. “Good name for an orphan.”

“I really do have friends coming to the gate, though. Can you tell me where it is so I can meet them before I do something else stupid?”

The older archer looked at the women, then twitched his entire mustache. He exchanged a knowing nod with the younger man and said, “Fine. Come with me, little Avitus. Genís, you escort the ladies home and check the walls. Just to be safe.”

The younger archer said, “Don’t get eaten, old man.”

The older man snorted again and gave Dirt a little shove on the shoulder to get him moving. Dirt didn’t know which direction he was supposed to walk, though, so he just stumbled. Then, just like that, the archer was leading him through the bustling streets. They didn’t pass through the forum, turning instead onto a less-populated side road, then another. Each turn led them somewhere emptier and emptier until finally, there was hardly a soul to be seen.

Satisfied they were isolated enough for conversation, the man said, “Where have you been staying, boy?”

“Just kind of all over the place, I guess,” said Dirt.

“Who’s been feeding you?”

“A friend. A couple friends.”

“Who?”

“I doubt you know them. Home, and Socks,” said Dirt. He started feeling a little guilty about the misdirection, but it didn’t quite count as lying, so he decided it was fine. They were honest answers, after all.

“Did you steal the clothes you have on?” asked the archer, quietly.

Dirt stopped walking, thinking. He furrowed his brow and squeezed the staff. He looked around and found that there were only a handful of people around, and no one was watching. “Remember when I asked if I could show you something?”

The man gave him a knowing look, but there was something of pity in it. He said, “I was an orphan like you, boy. Dirt. Avitus.” That name made him grin again. “I know how it is. But you’ll have to be smarter from now on because you’re not fooling anybody. Wearing stolen clothes that obvious, then causing commotion? You’re going to get beaten. If you’re lucky. If you’re not lucky, whatever baker you’re stealing from will kill you and toss your body into the river. So let me ask you, boy. Do you need help?”

Dirt looked at the ground, feeling ashamed, if not for the reasons the man thought. Dirt took only the briefest glimpse at his mind and found troubled sympathy. Pity. That made it worse. He was going to have to explain, and the man would think him a liar who spurned a moment of charity.

“Don’t run, Avitus. I won’t hurt you. I won’t do anything at all, if you don’t want. But I know a safe place you can stay. You can even bring a friend or two. Shall we sit down and talk about it?” asked the archer, gesturing at a bench built into a house’s façade. “My name is Vidal, by the way.”

Dirt sat where Vidal indicated and leaned forward on the staff, his mind spinning as he tried to think how to approach this.

“When I was your age, times were not this bad,” said Vidal, looking down the street the other direction. “People still travelled, and boats came on the river, and there was plenty of food. But not for me. Not for little Vidal. Roach, they called me.”

The man paused, apparently waiting for Dirt to speak. “Vidal, can I ask you something? Do your people know any magic?”

“No one in the guard knows any magic. That’s women’s business, curses and such. Women and noblemen. Why do you ask me that, of all things? Have you been cursed?”

“It’s complicated, but not like you’re thinking. But I want to show you something, and you have to promise not to scream and run away. Or attack me.”

Vidal’s kind face hardened a bit, his eyes growing more wary. “Show me what? Something wrong with your knife?”

“No, that’s not it. Watch,” said Dirt. He gritted his teeth and snapped his fingers, making a light. It hovered lazily above his head, hard to see in the sunlight but still bright enough to add to the shadows nearby.

It took Vidal a moment to realize what he was seeing, and his eyes got wider and wider. He leaned away to get a clearer look and almost fell off the bench.

Dirt said, “I’m not from here. Those ladies were right. I was outside, yelling over the wall, just a little bit ago. I jumped over, but I have no idea where to go from here.”

Vidal’s mind spun until something clicked. He jumped to his feet and shouted a word Dirt didn’t recognize, drawing an arrow and unslinging his bow in one quick motion.

“Wait! I’m not scary! I won’t hurt anyone!” yelled Dirt, standing and holding out his hand. He made the light go out, but it was too late.

Vidal fired an arrow at him, but it was a trick and never would have hit. It was meant to scare him. But he only realized that in midair as he jumped up to the nearest roof to get away. Dirt landed on the hard tiles and froze, realizing he’d ruined everything. That was not a typical human jump. He turned and saw Vidal nocking another arrow, and something in the man’s eyes told Dirt the next shot wouldn’t miss.

Dirt jumped again and an arrow whistled inches from his head. He landed on the roof across the street, then ran along it and jumped to the next one.

Behind him, Vidal shouted, his stentorian voice roaring up from the road and seemingly filling the whole city. It wasn’t a word, but rather just a pattern, three short bursts of sound. A moment later, a bell rang, then another.

Dirt ran from one rooftop to the next until he hit a loose tile and slid all the way down, falling two stories onto the hard cobblestone. Mana saved him from breaking any bones, but people saw him land, then rise, and jump again. A chorus of terrified shouts followed after him.

Bells rang and horns called, echoing through the hard streets. Doors and shutters slammed and hard-booted feet clacked as soldiers ran. All this just for him? This was so stupid! Why does this happen every time? He should’ve just walked in like normal with Marina and the others and kept his mouth shut. He should’ve known. Humans were wary and mistrustful creatures. Weak and small and skittish. The slightest thing could set them all off. And to make it worse, Vidal had turned out to be someone Dirt genuinely wanted to be friends with.

Dirt ran up the street, wondering if he could just stop and hide and let everyone forget about him for a little while. Only Vidal and a few others knew what he looked like, so maybe if he took his shirt off?

No, he should head out and let Hèctor and the others figure out what to do. He inhaled more mana and jumped up to the roof again, then sprang like a bug to the next one, soaring high in the air. High enough to see the wall, and over there, the gate. Socks was standing patiently not too far beyond it. Dirt jumped, ran, and jumped again, and soon he landed in the middle of the widest road in the city and sprinted down it at wolfish speed.

Archers, dozens of them, stood on the walls over and around the gate, all their bows drawn and facing outward. Dirt slid to a stop, wondering why they’d be more concerned about outside when the alarm had been raised in here.

“Fire!” shouted a foreman.

Dirt screamed “No!” as countless bowstring were plucked, sending a hail of arrows down onto his friends. “Stop! He’ll kill you all!”

The men shouted in fear as the arrows all bounced off of nothing in midair, many of them flung away as if by a swiping hand.

“Stop!” Dirt shouted again, screaming as loud as he could. Everyone but the archers ran the opposite direction, away from the gate and into the town, but at least they weren’t screaming. They probably hadn’t seen Socks yet.

Before Dirt could shout again, the gate vibrated and then shattered inward, the whole thing coming off its rails and flying into the street. The concussive sound was deafening as it echoed on the stone.

Socks calmly walked in, blocking all the arrows with a mental shield. Hèctor and the others crouched beneath him for safety, creeping as he went.

-Hello, Dirt.- said the pup, walking forward until he got to Dirt. Then he licked him. -Are you all right?-