The Dirt Eaters

Chapter 9 - The Final Test

IT COMES AT NIGHT, IT HAS A BITE, 
AND LEAVES ITS STINGER IN YOU. 
YOU WILL NOT CRY, YOU WILL NOT DIE, 
BUT ONE WRONG WORD WILL KILL YOU.

—LORE OF THE STORYTELLERS

THE MOON PULSES FAINTLY behind a luminous haze in the orange-black night sky. Outside Brother Raven’s tent Roan smiles at the loud snoring he hears. Raven is still recovering from the previous evening’s binge. Roan treads lightly to the opposite side of the encampment to find Feeder also sleeping. He gently nudges the cook awake. Feeder’s eyes snap open, and he sits up abruptly.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Sh!” Roan commands in a whisper. “You tried to tell me what was going to happen. ‘One comes, one goes,’ you said. I know what it means now. There are always seventy-five Brothers in the camp. One Brother is sacrificed for the new one. This year, you die for me.”
“I won the lottery.” Feeder smiles. “It’s the first time I’ve won something in my whole life.”
“You don’t have to die. We could run away.”
“We can’t do that.”
“It would be hard, but we could try.”
Feeder shakes his head. “I’m staying.”
“Why?”
“I’ve finally found my purpose.”
“What?”
A beatific expression spreads over Feeder’s face. “I didn’t understand before. I was afraid of everything. But then something wonderful happened. Brother Wolf spent hours talking with me. Brother Raven invited me to his tent. They helped me see who I am. Helped me find my destiny. You see, I’m not going to die. I’m going to live. Forever.”
“They did something to you, Feeder. Put some kind of drug in you, maybe. In that cut behind your ear.”
“Before, most of the Brothers thought I was a fool, stuck in the kitchen, too weak to fight, afraid to go on Visitations. But everyone thinks I’m important now. You should see the way they look at me. The respect.”
“Feeder, they want to butcher you.”
“You’re jealous. You liked me better weak, so you could lord it over me. But I’m strong now, and I’m no longer afraid.”
“Then come with me.”
Feeder stares at Roan with wild, glazed eyes. In the shadowy light, the cut behind his ear seems to be throbbing. “I’m staying. And so are you. If you go, you’ll ruin it for me. I’ll lose everything. You can’t go. I won’t let you.”
Roan, bent on preserving his own escape, improvises. “You’re right, Feeder. Forgive me. I didn’t realize you wanted this.”
“I do, more than anything.”
“Then you’ll have what you want. But you mustn’t tell anyone that I suggested leaving. If you do, they’ll lose faith in me. They’ll cancel my initiation and you’ll miss your chance.”
Feeder winces. “They can’t do that.”
“They won’t. Not as long as they’re sure I’m committed. But if there’s any doubt in their minds, you know that will change everything.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“Thank you, Feeder. I needed to be sure it’s what you wanted. Sleep well.”
There’s no time to spare. Roan must leave at once. He’ll have to get more provisions, without Feeder’s help. He pads his way to the cook tent and gingerly negotiates the dim interior. In the wavering half-light of the torch at the entrance, he loads the pack he brought with dried goat meat and fruit and fills his water sack from the cistern. Then—a sound. He ducks behind the chopping block.
Two voices, slurred with drink.
“Be right there, I’m just gonna grab a handful.”
One of the Brothers enters the tent.
Roan watches the man’s shadow glide to the chopping block, his hand reach into the jar that holds the dried fruit. Roan doesn’t breathe. The Brother drops a piece of fruit. It hits Roan on the head, and bounces onto the clay floor.
“Damn!” The Brother bends over to pick up the lost tidbit, inches from the frozen Roan.
“Hurry up!” growls the voice outside.
“One second!” the Brother hisses, still reaching. Roan is poised to spring.
“C’mon, or I’m finishing this bottle myself!”
The Brother sighs and saunters out.
Roan exhales, then takes in some more air. When he figures the two Brothers are out of earshot, he puts on his pack and looks out the entrance. They’re gone. He winds his way behind Saint’s tent to the small enclosure. He lifts the canvas door, ready to leap on the motorcycle. His heart sinks. The bike is gone.
Saint took it. Where did he go? What do I do now? Roan’s head buzzes with questions. There’s no escape without the bike; Roan wouldn’t get more than a few miles. The only reason for leaving tonight is his fear of Feeder talking. He’ll have to wait. And pray that Feeder stays silent.
After the wake-up bell next morning, Roan strolls by Saint’s tent.
“He’s not back yet,” says Raven, appearing behind him.
“Where did he go?” asks Roan casually.
“Come, come, he didn’t tell you?”
Raven touches Roan’s cheek. Roan jerks back. “It makes you nervous, doesn’t it? How different your life would be without Saint. You know, the last trial is both the simplest and the most difficult. But don’t worry—soon you’ll truly be one of us.”
“Is that where Brother Saint’s gone? To prepare my trial?”
“Be ready. He could return at any time!”
Roan’s relieved: clearly Raven hasn’t spoken to Feeder yet. Roan heads off to Brother Wolf’s class, only to find out it is cancelled. Brother Wolf and many of his classmates have been called away. Preparing himself for what is coming, Roan returns to his tent and puts his sand-painting furs in the top of his pack to conceal his supplies. Then he picks up his hook-sword, goes to the practice area, and works out until the bell. By the time it rings, he has mastered some of his growing anxiety. Taking what he hopes looks like his sand-painting gear, he fastens his weapon in its sheath and heads for the midday meal.
Roan sits far away from the others, observing. Feeder is serving the soup, and it’s clear that everyone’s attitude toward him has transformed. They no longer ignore him or act as if he’s invisible. Instead, they talk and joke with him and compliment him on his fine cooking. Whose soup will you eat once Feeder’s blood is on your hands? wonders Roan.
Brother Asp joins Roan at the table. Roan looks at him, trying to understand how he could be so wrong about a person.
“You seem bothered, Roan.”
“Saint told me about the Visitations,” Roan says in a low voice. “I wondered how you feel about these events.”
Asp sighs. “The Visitations are an important part of the Friend’s work.”
“But you’re a healer.”
“I heal the brethren and those who worship the Friend.”
“What about the others?”
Brother Asp looks down at his plate. “If they fall outside the Friend’s light, they are not visible.”
A blast of horns shatters their dialogue. High, wailing trills and the roar of Saint’s motorcycle capture everyone’s attention. Clambering up onto a table, Brother Raven announces, “Everyone to the Assembly. A joyous victory for the Friend. Come!”
Surging with excitement, all the Brothers are out of their seats within seconds. Brother Asp grips Roan’s hand. “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, Roan. Come!” Roan puts on his pack and tightens it on his back as they join the throng.
Just as the brethren settle onto the tiered benches, Saint rides to the center of the arena, gets off his bike, and addresses his followers.
“Brothers! The Friend is great!”
“The Friend is great!”
“For years the renegade leaders of Fandor have eluded us, a blight in the eye of the Friend. Today, with a handful of our best, and with the Friend’s blessing, we went to Fandor and liberated their chief and his lieutenant.”
The brethren stomp their feet and cheer as Brother Wolf, his tunic torn and bloody, enters at the head of the band of battle-worn Brothers. Pulling on coarse hemp ropes, they lead two hard-looking men, battered and bruised and limping from their wounds, across the rough wooden floor.
“Roan of Longlight!” Saint calls. “Join us. Meet the ones who murdered your people and destroyed Longlight.”
Roan, heart racing, walks down to Saint and the prisoners, all eyes upon him.
“I promised that you would find justice, Roan. It stands here for the taking.”
Pain and fury boil inside Roan. He stares at the accused killers. “You attacked Longlight? You killed my people?”
The taller of the two looks at Roan, dazed. “Yes,” he says in a flat voice, “we killed everyone.”
“Why?”
The prisoner speaks with difficulty. His teeth are broken, and blood oozes from his mouth. “The City paid us. Take the two, they said. Kill the rest.”
“Who are the two?”
“You and the girl.”
“For what purpose?”
“That’s all I know.”
“For what purpose?!” shouts Roan.
“I don’t know,” the man repeats. He looks down at his feet.
Roan spots the bulging wound just behind the captive’s ear. The same as Feeder’s. Whatever that thing is, the Friends use it to make people say and think what they want. But Roan knows the truth. These two men are innocent. The real killers are all around him.
“Are you satisfied?” Saint asks him.
Saint is so sure of me, so sure, Roan thinks. That is his weakness.
Roan nods ever so slightly. He looks at the Assembly, at the expressionless faces of the Brothers. They are unified in their desire to obscure the truth, to keep Roan happy so that he will become one of them.
“The time has come for your final trial,” says Saint. “Though it will be more of a pleasure than a pain. You are being given the honor of making the offering.”
“Use your weapon,” Brother Wolf says, nodding at the beautiful hook-sword crafted by his own father. “For the Friend. For your family.”
Wolf unsheathes the sword from the side of Roan’s pack and puts it in Roan’s hand.
Saint smiles at Roan. “It’s what you’ve been waiting for. Justice. Take it.”
Roan doesn’t move.
The Prophet whispers in Roan’s ear. “The thought of killing is hard for you. That’s why this is your final trial. Do not hesitate. You swore to kill the people who destroyed Longlight.”
“I did.”
“This is your chance. Use your sword. Take them.”
“Take them! Take them! Take them!” chant the Brothers.
Roan stands still, clenching his sword.
The Prophet whispers again. “Now, Roan. Do it!”
Roan looks at the brethren, their faces twisted with blood lust. Their chant has changed now, to “Kill, kill, kill!”
“Roan!” yells Saint. Roan looks into the Prophet’s eyes, and for a moment time stands still. Roan places those eyes, he remembers them at last. They are the eyes that lay behind the red mask of bone. This is the man who stole his sister, the man responsible for killing everything Roan loved.
“I have seen you!” cries Roan. He leaps at Saint, swinging the blade, slashing Saint’s head, his ear, his neck.
The Prophet falls without a word, blood pouring. Brother Wolf flies at Roan, but Roan dodges him at high speed and drops the master with a smash to the chest. The other Brothers converge on him, but Roan sees the path between as clearly as if the men are slowly falling grains of sand. Slipping through his assailants, he leaps onto Saint’s motorcycle, kick-starts the engine, and is gone.