The Dirt Eaters Page 22

Saint speaks quietly. “I have no choice, Roan. Neither of us has a choice. You’re with me, or we’re both dead.”

  Roan does not answer.

  Picking up his lantern, Saint mutters, “We leave in the morning,” and slams the door behind him. Flushed with adrenaline, Roan is left to contemplate his fate in the darkness. He is confused by the concept of choosing between evils. It’s something Alandra’s done, watching child after child be sent to certain death, waiting for the chance to save a few. And although Saint claims a larger purpose, he’s killed too many trying to attain it. Whatever that voice was, Roan’s happy it stopped him, or he’d be bearing the same burden.

  It takes an eternity to calm himself, but Roan finds his breath again. Once he does, he floats free, honing in on the sound of Alandra’s voice.

  “The meal was remarkable, Yasmin, so delicious. And I hear you’re making my favorite flan for the dinner tonight.”

  The chef smiles proudly as she stirs a large pot of custard in the steaming kitchen. “I am, my friend. And today it must be perfect, for the Prophet is here. I had the honor of cooking for him once many years ago. He was especially fond of my flan.”

  “If I know you, many wonders are in the works.”

  “Ah, yes, yes, it’s lovely to treat an appreciative palate. I waste my time trying to please the others. All they really care about is that,” Yasmin mutters, pointing at the large keg of wine in the pantry.

  Alandra nods sympathetically and moves close to the simmering custard. She sniffs dreamily. “Could I have a little taste?”

  Yasmin chuckles. “Even before it has time to set, you can’t resist my flan!”

  She puts a spoon in the liquid, blows on it, and holds it up to Alandra’s lips.

  “Mmm...heaven,” Alandra murmurs. “Although, forgive me for saying this, Yasmin, but isn’t it missing something?”

  Yasmin nods sadly in agreement. “I know, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  Alandra pulls a small package out of her pocket. Yasmin’s eyes open wide.

  “What have you there?”

  Alandra smiles and holds the mystery ingredient under Yasmin’s nose.

  “Vanilla! You found me vanilla! How did you get it?”

  “Trade secret. But there should be just enough.”

  Yasmin unwraps the precious stick and draws it through the warm cream. “You’re wonderful! Thank you!”

  Ecstatic, the chef immerses herself in her preparations, allowing Alandra to slip unnoticed into the pantry. She pulls the cork from the raiders’ cask of wine, spills the contents of a small vial inside, and replaces the stopper. Calling her good-byes to Yasmin, she heads off along the street.

  The water purification plant is her next destination. Roan sees Alandra put on her most gracious smile to greet Master Vorn, the plant’s tall, somber overseer.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, master, but I’ve come to get water for the children’s journey.”

  “That order comes from the Children’s Home.”

  “Normally it would, yes, but with the group being so large, you know, fourteen children, I’ve been drafted to arrange the transport preparations. I’ll need enough for seven days.”

  Water for the rafts, Roan realizes.

  “If it was anyone else, Miss Alandra...”

  “And how could I forget? I’ve brought you more of the vervain I prescribed.”

  A look of embarrassed relief crosses Vorn’s face.

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Alandra, thank you. Just give me a few minutes to get the water ready.”

  As soon as he’s gone, Alandra slips over to the big output pipe. She locates the opening, a small hatch on the pipe that allows a dropper to be inserted for water quality testing. She pulls a wrench from her satchel and twists the nut.

  Roan watches helplessly as the overseer returns. But it seems Alandra’s heard Vorn’s footsteps, for she’s quickly covering her activity.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Bottles or containers?”

  “Bottles, please.”

  “I’ll need some time to load the wagon.”

  “I don’t mind waiting, Master Vorn. I’ve always enjoyed contemplating your remarkable waterworks.”

  His face flushing, Vorn leaves. And with one more twist of the wrench, the hatch is open. Alandra pulls a pouch from her pocket and tips its contents into the water supply. She replaces the lid and secures the nut seconds before Master Vorn returns.

  Thanking the overseer for his diligence, Alandra covers the large-wheeled water wagon and heads home. Roan knows the lake road’s a slow downhill all the way to her house, so it’s no surprise when she doesn’t even pause before moving on.

  “Alandra, my love, how are you?” Mrs. Fligg extravagantly intones.

  “Thank you for your concern, but everything’s fine.”

  “Who would have guessed? Such a nice boy, that Korr. My darlings just loved him. And you had him there the whole time, living under your own roof.”

  “I know,” sighs Alandra. “People can be so deceptive.”

  “Well, let’s think of happier things, shall we?”

  “The Jabberwocky Wagon’s driver has requested that the children be given no liquids before the trip this time.”

  The matron nods. “That makes a good deal of sense, the body fluids and all. It’s a wonder they haven’t thought of it before. I’ll follow his directions to the letter.”

  Behind her courteous veneer, Alandra clearly wants to shriek. If they make it out of this alive, maybe she’ll teach him some of her self control.

  When Alandra arrives home, Lelbit’s bent over the stove, stirring an herbal potion that bubbles in a large pot. Once the liquid cools, Alandra helps Lelbit submerge big white sheets, then hang them on the rafters to dry.

  Alandra pulls up the floorboard revealing Roan’s pack and other belongings. She draws out the hook-sword, and light cascades along the finely honed blades.

  “Make sure he gets this.”

  As Lelbit nods gravely, Roan feels his fate and the hook-sword’s join once again.

  Evening is approaching by the time Alandra makes her way to the raiders’ barracks. The lights are off in many of Fairview’s homes, and people are snoozing on their porches. Hovering above as she opens the door a crack, Roan spies the mercenaries, half-empty mugs of wine still in their hands, sprawled everywhere, snoring. Whatever Alandra put in their drink has worked well. Satisfied, she closes the barracks door and moves toward Brack’s house.

  “Alandra!” calls Brack, when he sees her. “Dinner’s being served!”

  “Sorry, an emergency with one of my patients.”

  “You look ravishing,” murmurs the Bird Man. As he bows to Alandra from his seat, his head drops, snoring.

  “Forgive Brother Raven,” Saint apologizes, taking Alandra’s hand. “He nipped into the warriors’ wine.”

  Raven’s defection leaves Brack, Saint, and ten Friends at the table. No one’s poured any water from the pitcher, though. Yet Alandra remains composed throughout the meal, even managing to seem charmed by the small talk.

  When the last plate is cleared, she ventures flatteringly to Saint, “I’ve heard so much about you. Your accomplishments are legendary.”

  “They are not my accomplishments, Alandra, they’re the Friend’s. Everything I do is on His behalf. I am only His messenger.”

  “And when you are offered the famous flan of the great chef Yasmin, do you eat it on His behalf as well?”

  Saint stares at her. Brack turns white. All are silent, wondering what the Prophet’s reaction will be to this sacrilege. After a tense moment, he bursts into laughter, and everyone in the room joins in.

  “No, my young beauty, I eat for myself, but with thanks to the Friend!”

  Alandra smile
s and rises. “Then excuse me while I go into the kitchen to see how the dessert is coming.”

  Yasmin and all four of Brack’s kitchen staff are asleep at the kitchen table. A tray filled with small dishes of flan sits on the counter. Alandra takes a small vial out of her pocket and swallows the contents. An antidote to the “vanilla” she put in the flan, Roan guesses as she whisks the tray away.

  “I’ve been given the honor of serving dessert to you fine gentlemen,” Alandra announces, placing a dish in front of each man with an affable smile. “The chef made this especially for the Prophet.”

  But neither Saint nor any of the Brothers touch the dessert.

  Saint smiles a little sheepishly. “I mean no insult to your fine chef, but I’ve found lately that such rich foods don’t agree with me. My men abstain out of respect.”

  Alandra smiles demurely. “I admire their loyalty, but it will break Yasmin’s heart to see her attempt to serve you refused. Such a delicacy is an honor to the Friend. At least have a little, so that all may enjoy.”

  Saint relents, eating a spoonful. Brack and the Brothers each have a spoonful too. Saint sniffs at his bowl. Smacks his lips. And takes another few bites. Now all are free to dive in, and their bowls are emptied in short order. But Saint leans back, patting his belly. “Forgive me, I mustn’t continue.”

  “Please don’t apologize. You’ve well honored Yasmin’s efforts,” Alandra tells him. Roan wonders if the Prophet has eaten enough. How long will they have?

  Brack slumps forward, drugged by the flan. Saint looks at him, then at Alandra. “The Governor must have been sharing that nip with the ambassador,” she says with a wink.

  Before she can finish speaking, one Brother after the other falls forward in his seat, snoring. Saint, confused, scowls at Alandra. He jolts up from his chair, knocking it down, and lurches for her. But the drug takes him as well, and he falls in a heap at her feet.

  Lelbit waits in the shadows. Alandra sees her and nods.

  FLIGHT

  THIS IS THE RIDDLE OF HIS COMING. THOUGH LONGLIGHT HAS PERISHED, HE WILL BE HER SON. AND HE WILL SEE CLEARLY WHAT HE HAS NEVER SEEN. AND THOSE WHO WALK WITH HIM WILL SHARE HIS VISION.

  —THE BOOK OF LONGLIGHT

  A DOOR SLAMS. FOOTSTEPS. A jangle of keys, and the cell door bursts open.

  Roan smiles. “Lelbit!”

  Intent on her purpose, Lelbit unlocks Roan’s bonds, hands him his hook-sword, and leads the way.

  In the front yard of the Children’s Home, they find Alandra at her wit’s end.

  “We’re not goin’ to go with you. We’re goin’ with the Jabberwocky Wagon!” shouts Jaw.

  “I thought we were getting ice cream!” wails Lona.

  “We’re not going nowhere except with the Jabberwocky Wagon that’s taking us to our new folks,” Bub states with finality, and he sits down on his pack, just to the right of the snoring Mrs. Fligg.

  Once they spot Roan, however, all of the children leap up, begging him to play.

  “Quiet!” he shouts over the din, and they instantly fall silent. “First of all, you should know my real name is Roan.”

  “I like that name!” Lona squeaks.

  “I’d like to take you somewhere else, and not in the Jabberwocky Wagon.”

  “Does that mean no ice cream?” Bub wonders.

  “That’s right. Because what you were told about the Jabberwocky Wagon wasn’t true. It was a story made up to capture you. My friends and I want to leave here forever and find a new place to live. It won’t be easy. There might be trouble along the way. Some of us might get hurt. But if we stay here, we’ll be hurt for sure. Would you be willing to come with us?”

  For a moment, no sound. Roan feels the force of their eyes on him, feels their collective power.

  Then “Yes!” the children cheer. “We want to come! We want to come!”

  “Good. We have to hurry. And remember, be very, very quiet.”

  The children pick up their packs, and Roan leads the silent procession through the eerily deserted town. They walk with care in the bright moonlight, alert for any movement, any sound. A pair of raiders snore on the sidewalk, and the children stare fascinated at their scarred faces. Lelbit, pushing the supply wagon she’s fetched from Alandra’s home, wordlessly shoos them along.

  Ahead, the gate is barred, the gatekeeper fallen beside it. Roan extracts the iron bar that locks it shut. While the others wait, he and Lelbit cautiously push open the massive doors. With his finger over his lips, he motions the children to follow him through. The group begins to move, but they freeze at the sound of a man’s voice.

  “Alandra!”

  A hand grips her wrist. Alandra goes pale.

  “It’s late to be going out,” the gatekeeper mumbles, his eyes half shut.

  She bends low, her face close to his.

  “I know,” she murmurs, “but I’ll be alright. You should rest now. Rest.”

  The man lets out a deep sigh, and his chin falls to his chest. Alandra nods to Roan, who guides the children out.

  Once through the gates, the group walks as quickly as the children can manage.

  “We don’t have much time,” Alandra whispers to Roan as they near the lake.

  Roan turns to face the children. “We’re almost there,” he says. “See my friend down by the water? Who’s going to get to him first?”

  “Me! Me! Me!” the children shout as they bolt toward Lumpy. At the shore, where Lumpy has set out the rafts, Alandra wraps treated sheets around each of the children, while Roan, Lumpy, and Lelbit load the vessels with food, water, and supplies.

  “The sheets will stop the lake gas from burning your skin,” Alandra explains. “You need to stay wrapped up, even your faces, until Roan tells you it’s safe to take them off.” She gives Roan a worried look.

  They turn back to Fairview, scanning it for movement. A light flickers in the distance.

  “Everybody on board now!” Roan orders.

  Lumpy takes the first group of children, Alandra and Lelbit the second. Roan follows with the last group of children. Poling through the shallow, bubbling water with long oars Lumpy’s fashioned out of splayed tree trunks, they push furiously, propelling the rafts out onto the lake as fast as they can.

  They haven’t gone far when they hear an ominous sound. The roar of an engine: Saint’s motorcycle. Roan turns to see him, with the Brothers on horseback galloping behind. Within moments, the Friends have reached the shore.

  “Come back!” bellows Saint, his voice thundering over the water. “Come back, Roan. You endanger them all!”

  Roan hears Lona whimper, and he calls out to the children. “Don’t worry. Stay wrapped up tight and everything will be fine.”

  The children fall quiet, comforted, but Roan wonders if he can keep his word. A slew of spears hurled by the Brothers are sailing over the water at them. The weapons fall short, sizzling in the acid waters.

  Before the Brothers can launch another wave of spears, Lelbit raises her bow and lets a few arrows fly. One Brother falls. Another clutches his chest. Two more go down before the rafts float out of range.

  Roan observes the Brothers’ movements. Saint and his men are hacking down branches. In half a day they’ll have constructed their own crafts and be in hot pursuit.

  “We’ve got to put as much distance between us and them as we can,” he tells the others. “They won’t be far behind.”

  Rounding the point, they get a full view of the lake. It’s a sea of toxic, stinking water. No shore in sight. Roan feels the snow cricket wriggling in his pocket. He sits it on his flat palm and waits patiently. Within moments, the cricket positions its head north.

  “According to the cricket, that’s the way we go,” Roan announces, pointing to the watery horizon.

  The raft
s are sturdy and hold their loads well. The paddlers keep their strokes even and steady, and labor without pause. But the vessels are far from streamlined and the paddlers must take care not to splash, so the going is slow.

  By the time the moon sets, the wind is quiet and the lake still. The three rafts pull closer, and Lelbit lashes them together. Bread, cheese, and water are passed around, the children eating and drinking under their protective sheets. The four leaders decide on alternate shifts, two of them sleeping while the other two keep the craft moving on course.

  The children, however, do not rest easily. Excitement wakes them, and one by one they peek out of their protective covers.

  “You should be sleeping,” Roan advises, but his attempt at sounding stern fails miserably. In a moment, all of the children’s heads have bobbed out of their sheets.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Me neither,” says Bub.

  Roan sings a lullaby to soothe them, something he’s almost forgotten how to do. It’s one his mother sang to him many years ago.

  Far beyond sea, the waters run deep.

  Far beyond hill, the mountains are steep.

  There you will find

  in Earth and in mind

  Your dreams never sleep

  where your heart can keep them.

  As he sings, Roan looks up into a night sky thrilled with stars. He ponders the galaxies within galaxies that brought back his mother’s song. And he wonders if his mother ever imagined where he’d find himself this night.

  “Breakfast!” calls Lumpy, who’s been paddling with Lelbit since taking over the shift.

  While the children eat, Lumpy teaches them finger games. They’re fascinated by his scars, asking endless questions of him and Lelbit. Jaw, in particular, adopts Lumpy as his special friend. During her rest time, Lelbit takes bundles of cloth from her pack and ties small pieces of the material around some of her arrows. Roan catches her eye. They share a foreboding, and he’s glad she’s found some way to prepare.

  Their short respite over, the travelers separate the rafts and the paddling begins again in full force.

  The most startling revelation on the journey is the children. Huddled together on the tiny rafts, forbidden to take off their protective sheets, unable to run or jump, they could easily explode in frustration. But whenever they grow restless, a calming word from Roan is all it takes. He draws their attention to the dappling of moon and sun on the water, the faces of ferocious beasts in clouds, the drift of a seabird soaring in the wind, and they’re instantly content.