PARCE: Resuming the interview with Unidentified Patient #307, who asked to be called Snapper. He is currently telling me a story about his father, set in a faraway world populated with animals. Snapper claims that he and his father were both sheep in this world.
307: My father was no sheep. There’s a huge difference between a sheep and a ram.
PARCE: Indeed. Are you ready to continue?
307: Yeah. So after devouring that poor citizen, Entomber headed back east toward the pig city.
PARCE: Wait. I thought we agreed to focus this first interview on your father.
307: This is relevant, I promise. Can I have that pen and paper back? It’s time for a map.
PARCE: Go ahead, then.
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Sheepskin, Volume I
Part 1: The Old Ram
Chapter 2
307: As I was saying, after swallowing that sheep for the crime of assaulting the pig, Entomber left Fleece City and headed east. The pig city lay in that direction. The Megatropolis. Just like Ptera Peak, you could see that place from anywhere on the continent. Tall buildings on the horizon, with one massive skyscraper right in the middle. Everyone knew that was the headquarters of the Chugg Corporation. In the early morning, when the sun was still low, the shadow of that tower could reach part of Fleece City. And the whole thing was surrounded by a wall fifty feet high.
That wall had only three openings in it. To the south, there was a railroad that connected it to the Quarry. The raw materials went from the Quarry to the Megatropolis, where all the manufacturing and refining happened.
Straight across from Fleece City was the main entrance to the Megatropolis, a giant arched gate with double doors. That way almost never opened. But Entomber wasn’t headed there. He went north, where the wall brushed up against the forest at the base of the mountain range.
The river used to run this way before the pigs rerouted it. All that was left of the old river was a gully that carried waste from the Megatropolis to the ocean. A near-constant stream of green and black sludge ran out of a metal grate at the bottom of the city wall. Byproducts of all the factories and refineries, I think. Of course, the forest couldn’t survive that stuff. The area around the drain had been turned into a bog.
Just the kind of place Entomber would call home. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been born out of that poison.
He followed that garbage river all the way to the coast, where it ran off a cliff. Down below, the shore was permanently stained by the defiled water that washed up against it. Strewn all along the bottom of the cliff, among the rocks, were bones. Piles and piles of sheep bones, hundreds of thousands if not millions of the dead, all heaped up against the cliff and sloping off into the ocean.
Entomber opened his weird shapeless mouth and reversed his guts out again and the corpse of the eaten sheep was puked out over the edge. The half-dissolved body tumbled down the cliff and landed—thwack—on top of the bone pile.
The bones shifted and rattled around as something moved underneath. A dark reddish-black claw curved up from below, hooked the dead sheep, and dragged it down out of sight.
A low, rasping voice echoed up the cliff. “Freshly dead. Well done as always, Entomber. Tribute accepted.”
Entomber’s body shifted around but he didn’t say anything.
After a minute, the voice said, “No tumors. Forelegs broken by dog teeth. Stains of blood not his own. Pig blood. This was not one given to you by Chugg. This one was an execution.”
The skull on top of Entomber’s head pitched forward a little, like he was trying to look like he was nodding. “You’re right about that, great Toxid.”
“Well, Chugg had better get this rebellious behavior under control quickly. Before I acquire a taste for pig blood. His debt continues to deepen and he is testing my patience.”
Entomber said, “The preparations are nearly finished. Then you won’t need tributes anymore. He insists that your forbearance up front will pay off in the future.”
“For Chugg’s sake, I hope you are right. And you can tell him I said that.”
“He knows, great Toxid.”
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Sorry for getting sidetracked there, but it was important. Anyway, while Entomber was doing that, my father was on his way to—
PARCE: Wait a minute. How would you have known about that?
307: About what?
PARCE: That conversation. Between, ah, Entomber and the other creature. Were you there for it? Or are you ready to admit this took place in your imagination?
307: I wasn’t there, and I didn’t imagine it. That really happened.
PARCE: How were you privy to their discussion, then?
307: I was shown later, OK? I saw some of these things, but a lot of it was given to me in visions later on. You wanted to know my mental state. I’m trying to give you the full scope.
PARCE: This is beginning to sound less like an anecdote about your father and more like a tall tale. I have asked you to keep it focused.
307: I will, if you let me. I was about to tell you what my father was doing while I was at school. I wasn’t “privy” to his little trip to the Quarry either, but I thought you would want to know. Can I tell this my way or what?
PARCE: Fine.
307: Thank you. After dropping me off at school, my father headed back west. Way out past our house. The Quarry was that way, but you sure couldn’t see it from our backyard. There was another wall in the way. It was only about half as high as the one around the Megatropolis, but that was nothing to sneeze at. And this wall was much longer. It ran all the way north to south along the plains. The only gap in it was a gate near the south end where the railroad went through.
But my father didn’t go through the gate. Near our house, toward the north end of the wall, was a set of concrete steps. He took those up to the top. He always took a break up there. He liked the salty air that blew in from the ocean. And he enjoyed the view. Everything between the wall and the western coast was rock and sand. No grass here. At the far end, the land stopped off at cliffs that dropped into the water, just like the opposite coast behind the Megatropolis. But there were no piles of bones here.
We referred to this whole area as the Quarry, even though the only place where any excavation happened was in a ravine at the north end. In the middle was the village, twin rows of clay huts with a dirt road between them. To the south, around the terminal end of the railroad track, was the freight yard and a bunch of warehouses. That’s where they loaded up the iron and gold they dug up from the ravine. The trains ran back and forth all day, carting the ore to the Megatropolis for refining and manufacturing, and coming back with big pallets of grass to feed the workers. Nothing grew naturally in the sand over there.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
My dad had a soft spot for those Quarry sheep. He stood up there on top of the wall and watched them dig. The ocean breeze didn’t do them much good against the sun. The only place where they had any shade was under a statue of the goddess of birds, Optera—more like a totem pole, I guess. It stood beside the church at one end of the village with its wings stretching out to either side and its amethyst eyes glimmering.
My dad’s ear twitched. Someone was approaching from the side. He said, “Good morning, Fowler.”
The dog that sat down next to him was lean and muscled, with short brown fur, a pointed snout, and small ears that stood straight up. He was the head of border wall security, and I’m pretty sure he was one of the few Quarry dogs that was a Chugg employee instead of being enslaved. Both of them watched the sheep at work for a minute.
“You’re wasting your breath, Old-Timer,” Fowler said. “And you don’t have much of it left. These sheep don’t want to hear from you.”
“You mean your master doesn’t want anyone talking to them,” my father answered.
“That’s right. Scurvert thinks you are out to incite these sheep to rebellion. No one wants you here.”
“You know better than that,” Old-Timer said. “I’m here to keep them out of trouble. Even if no one listens to me, at least they can let off some steam by shouting me down. Better that than mouthing off to one of your men, right?”
“Suit yourself. It’s not me Scurvert will go after, it’s you,” Fowler answered. “And your son.”
Old-Timer faced him. “What?”
Fowler held up his paw and backed off a step. “Take it easy, old man. I’m just the messenger.”
“If you say so.”
“Today isn’t the day to stir up trouble, Old-Timer. Did you hear of the attack on Mr. Slog in the sheep city this morning?”
“I saw it happen.”
“Then you know everyone is on edge. Scurvert raised the quota here because of that incident. He really doesn’t want anyone talking today.”
Sounds of a commotion from down below made Old-Timer turn his head—and horns—away from Fowler. Both of them watched for a minute. A Quarry sheep over at the food trailer had been knocked to the ground by one of the guard dogs. Probably for not eating fast enough, but you never know. Sometimes the sheep got punished for nothing at all.
I mentioned most of the Quarry dogs were slaves. The pig in charge of the mining operation kept those dogs underfed. Mostly that was to keep them compliant, always hoping he’ll throw them an extra portion. But it also meant that every now and then a dog gave in to the temptation to take a bite out of a Quarry sheep. Fowler didn’t seem to mind; the pig probably didn’t either. But it sure bothered my dad.
“I won’t be intimidated out of doing what needs to be done,” Old-Timer said after the turmoil had died down. He set off down the steps into the Quarry.
As you can imagine, he caught lots of glares as he went. The Quarry sheep were shocked to even see him there, I think. But no one bothered him as he walked down the dusty path through the middle of the village and stopped in front of the Optera statue.
That was where he spent his days while I was at school, standing there and addressing the workers without singling anyone out. I couldn’t tell you exactly what he talked about on a given day, but he stuck with a pretty consistent theme. He would stand there and let the sun beat down on him, just like the workers had to deal with. Then he’d make speeches about how our entire society thrived on the raw material produced by their labor. He would say the only reason the Quarry bosses got away with such terrible working conditions was because of fear. The group had been terrified into compliance because the dog slaves punished individuals. But that was all they were capable of doing. My dad insisted that the sheep could collectively bargain if they would just organize.
PARCE: What did you think about that?
307: It was a nice idea, but he was wasting his time. Those sheep had been broken long ago. They were too afraid to change. In fact, they were willing to turn on him, hoping that showing loyalty to Chugg would earn them some favors.
PARCE: And did it?
307: [Boisterous laughter]
PARCE: Alright, I should have guessed. But your father never gave up on them.
307: No, he didn’t. I wish he had. I especially wish he hadn’t gone there that day. He should have listened to Fowler. But he was a stubborn old ram, after all, and he was going to do things his way.
As you can imagine, Doc, it wasn’t long before my father ended up surrounded by a crowd of angry sheep. They told him to leave, that they were fed up with his crap. Then they started throwing stuff at him. Rocks, sand, scrap metal. Usually, he got to talk before they kicked him out. Today, they didn’t plan to let him say a single word.
Fowler and his dogs didn’t intervene. They’d hand out punishments for almost any other delay in work, but they thought throwing the old troublemaker out was worth it. In fact, they enjoyed watching the sheep tossing stones at one of their own.
Then one voice called out, “Stop.”
My father looked around for the source of that voice as soon as the workers quit pelting him. A young woman had come out of the church and was walking toward him. Well, a female. I think the word you’d use is “ewe.” My father would have said she was about my age. The thing that struck him was her eyes—rather than being black or brown like most of ours, her eyes were the same violet of the Optera totem above them all.
He wasn’t the only one looking. All the workers were. She waited until the clamor had died down, then she spoke. “This old ram has never done us any harm. He comes here to help, and we treat him like this. Why? Yes, we’re afraid of the pig. The dogs protect him. But they can only afford to hurt a few of us to make an example. They can’t do that to all of us, because—”
Another voice cut in right then, loud and harsh: “Dreamer!”
The girl’s head ducked down so fast that at first my dad thought another rock had been thrown. He turned around to see who had shouted. Another sheep was approaching from the direction of the freight yard.
This guy was the only known living ram other than my father. He had a jet-black coat of wool and his horns came out the sides of his head like a bull. He had a thick brow and big cheekbones, a face built for fighting. He walked right through the crowd—no one was about to get in his way—and got right in the young girl’s face.
“Go home, damn it,” he growled. “Now.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll go.” She slunk off down the street like a scolded dog and disappeared into one of the clay huts.
Old-Timer and the other ram stared at each other in silence for a minute. The crowd watched with held breath and clenched teeth.
“Hey!” Fowler yelled from the top of the wall. “Do you want to quit fucking around? If you all have time to stand there, maybe we need to talk to Scurvert about that quota!”
The guard dogs started forward, and the workers all suddenly had someplace to be. Old-Timer and the black ram didn’t move. The dogs weren’t about to make trouble with two rams and everyone knew it.
My dad spoke first. “It’s good to see you, Shiver.”
The black ram nodded to him. “Trampler. I want to talk to you.”
He started walking down the street and my father fell into step beside him.
“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” my father said. “Her name is Dreamer? The name suits her. It’s clear she wants more out of life than this Quarry can provide.”
“Yeah. I actually found her out here. Someone had abandoned a baby girl at the train tracks, can you believe that?” Shiver glanced at his house. “But the name means more than that. She… sees things in her head.”
He stopped and looked all around to make sure they were alone, then he leaned in close enough to whisper. “She asks me about the war. About things I saw and did there. Things I never told her about. I can’t keep secrets from her. Sooner or later she’s going to blab about things we can’t talk about. I don’t know what to do.”
“Those eyes are like the Goddess’s. Have you taken her to the Peak to have her eyes examined by the birds?”
Shiver scoffed. “I won’t go near those pinheads.”
Old-Timer shook his head. “Fair enough. You know, that’s the same story as me and my son. I found him in the plains all alone.”
“I’d heard you had a boy.” Shiver was whispering again. “Everyone was saying your hobble went away soon after you found him. So, are the rumors true? Is the boy a healer?”
“We don’t use that word,” my father snapped, causing him to cough. He glanced over his shoulder. “But yes. He can cause wounds to heal in seconds, just by force of will. I’ve never seen anything like it. He fixed my leg.”
“But not the lump in your throat, sounds like.”
“No. He tried, bless him.” Old-Timer coughed again. “I’ve had it with this. Entomber is breathing down my neck. If only I could show him what I am. What you and I are.”
“The time for that is long past.”
“I know. Anyway, I’ve done my best to keep my son’s secret, but you’re right. People talk.”
Shiver sighed. “So you understand why I can’t have you calling attention to my daughter.”
“I’m sorry, Shiver. You were right to hide her.”
“She’s different. The pigs don’t tolerate different. You know that. If Scurvert finds out about her abilities, he’ll make an example of her. He gets them young, you know.” Shiver came around and faced my dad head-on. “So I need you to leave. She spoke up for the first time today, and the pig’s not going to like it. There will be consequences. Get out of here before you make it worse on my daughter. Please.”
Old-Timer nodded. “I wish you had said something before.”
“I didn’t like what you’re doing here, but you know I respect you too much to argue. But this is where I draw the line.”
“I understand, Shiver. I won’t be back.”
“Thank you.” The black ram turned and headed back down the dirt road. My father followed him until the path split. Shiver kept going south to the freight yard, while Old-Timer turned east and climbed back up the steps. At the top of the wall, Fowler waved him through to the plains without a word.
My dad didn’t go right away. He stopped and looked for a minute at the top of Ptera Peak, the home of the birds. He needed to talk with someone he hadn’t spoken to in a long time.