Dirt’s agreement made Biandina wilt just a bit further, which Dirt regretted since he’d been kidding. Sort of. She avoided the gazes of the children clinging to her and said, “I can feel that eye up there in the sky, watching me always. Even right now. I know it’s there.”

“It’s not,” said Dirt.

-It’s not,- said Socks. -We can tell and it is not in the sky.-

Dirt felt bad, so he stepped over and patted her on the shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, I would never have guessed that would happen either, and I have seen a lot of things.”

Socks perked his ears up a bit and said, -I wonder, humans. Why do you tell your progeny about this, if you don’t want them to do it anymore? The wise thing would be to forget entirely. No one would invent the idea of sacrificing an animal if no one told them about doing that.-

Biandina’s babbu answered, “Because we sacrifice to other things. The sky and wind, the earth and water. Our ancestors. We tell our children they must never sacrifice to any gods.”

“Why not?” asked Dirt. “Do you think they’re bad?”

“They are the Seven Destroyers,” answered the old man. “The ones who bring nothing but calamity and suffering. They cannot be slain, but they are not part of the true order, and that is why they are gods.”

“Seven Destroyers? What are you talking about?” Dirt asked.

“Why don’t you answer that, girl?” said the old woman. She kept glancing back at the empty treasury and the mummy dust left by its inhabitant, and from the set of her shoulders it looked to Dirt like she was trying to direct attention away from it.

Biandina swallowed in embarrassment and said, “The seven gods are the whirlwind that eradicates, the wildfire that consumes, the blizzard that buries, the earthquake that shatters, the lightning that stops the heart, the hail that destroys, and finally, the murderer in the shape of a woman, who gives birth to death.”

“To them you must never sacrifice, for they regard only wickedness and deliver only misery,” said the old woman.

“That’s a list, not an explanation. So they’re elementals, I guess? Like the wind?” said Dirt, growing more confused. Why would they think a god was a storm, instead of a being great enough to create one? And the gods weren’t evil, they were… He paused. In his heart, he felt the old rumblings of piety and worship, but those feelings had no object and never explained themselves. The gods couldn’t be evil, though. That was ridiculous.

The old man gave him a tired look, one with some anger behind it, and said, “The gods are the gods. You’ll know them when you see them. Other than this one, I suppose.”

“No, I recognize a god. I just don’t think you have the right idea about her,” said Dirt. If they were evil, he wouldn’t feel such yearning for them. He recognized Melodia, even in this state, and they did not. That was all there was to it. But if sacrificing to them caught the attention of that thing in the sky, then their beliefs were wrong but certainly not foolish.

Socks said, just to him, -Are you sure they’re wrong? Are you sure it’s not a god up there? Something happened to them, after all. Maybe it made them harmful. Like what happened to the Devourer.-

Dirt felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air drifting down from the hole in the dome. The very idea that something as great and marvelous as a god could turn into something like the Eye was too horrific to contemplate. Even considering it felt like blasphemy.

“I didn’t make the gods evil, Socks,” said Dirt, trying to convince himself more than Socks. His fingertips trembled against the cloth of his pants and he clenched his forearms to make them stop. “That can’t be right. They used to help and protect mankind, so they couldn’t... well…”

-It was just a thought. Do not be upset, little Dirt. There is no way for us to find out right now, so you don’t have to think that if you don’t want to. Someday we will learn the truth and you can believe that instead,- said Socks. He sent Dirt a puff of warm reassurance, and it helped.

Dirt cleared his throat and said aloud, “Actually, Socks and I know what that eye is that Biandina saw. We fought it once, but I can’t say we won, exactly. I think it just gave up and left. The Father of Wolves called it the Great Enemy of Mankind. We just call it the Eye, even though it’s a lot more than just an eye. It wants to get rid of every human. Eradicate us.”

“What you are saying is not too far off from the truth,” said the old woman. Gnese, if Dirt remembered what Biandina had called her. Gnese. “It is the Murderous Lady, and like all the gods, she takes many forms. Some she kills directly, but often she corrupts and watches for harm to be done.”

Dirt tried to keep from scowling and probably failed. He was never going to win the argument about Melodia. And frankly, he was afraid he was wrong and it was her. What she had become.

Socks said, ­-Want me to get rid of the statue? I can carry it away and smash it, and then no one could sacrifice to it.-

Gnese, the old woman, replied, unsuccessfully swallowing the sharpness on her tongue. “We can’t get rid of it. We’ve tried.”

The old man said, “Our tribe has been here for thousands of years. I could tell you the names of a hundred generations of my fathers, most of whom dwelled right here between these walls. All of them have wished to be rid of the burden of its presence. If there was any way to be rid of the Murderous Lady, we would have found it.”

“So,” said Dirt, pausing to reformulate his question and not seem like a dullard, “what happens when someone tries to break it apart and carry away the pieces?”

Gnese answered, “She returns to her place during the night, in the first moment no one is watching, perfectly whole and reformed, with no hint of a crack in the stone. We have tried everything.”

“Wait, really? If you break her all up and carry the pieces away, she just reappears when no one is looking? And I guess you tried having someone watch and it only worked for so long.”

“That is correct,” said Gnese. “We have an old story about a family who was tasked with watching the plinth night and day. They made it a year.”

-Then why not dig yourselves a new den somewhere else?- asked Socks.

“Even with her there, there is nowhere safer than here,” said the old man.

“Oh,” said Dirt. From what he’d seen of the rest of the world, he could believe that was the case. If nothing else, the netting would keep the birds from carrying people away.

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-I have a question and then I will move so people can use the doorway. Why did you do it, Biandina? What did you want from the goddess?- asked Socks, turning his head slightly to fix his fearsome yellow eyes on her.

The room went silent and Dirt wondered whether it was because they all knew and it was shameful, or because they didn’t. The silence was long enough that Dirt started glancing in random minds nearby and it turned out, almost no one knew. He held his breath in anticipation right along with the rest of them.

Biandina hesitated to answer. “I…” She looked at her father.

“We really should not say, great one,” said the babbu.

­-Answer or I will pry it from your minds,- said Socks, sternly.

“Can he do that?” whispered Biandina, mostly toward Dirt.

“Yep, easily.” In fact… “You already know, don’t you?” said Dirt, just to Socks.

-Yes. You will think it is interesting,- replied the pup, with just a hint of a twitch in his ears. Dirt was sure that on the other side of the door, Socks was wagging his tail.

Babbu was close enough to hear Dirt’s reply, of course, and he swallowed dryness then answered with hesitation in his voice. “A rucca carried off her brother several weeks ago, before the first storm. I told her we could not send out the riders to bring him back and she did not forgive me. She sacrificed to the Lady for revenge. For power to kill the rucche.”

“What’s a rucca?” asked Dirt.

“Rucche are the great birds that you rescued her from,” said the babbu, as if admitting to a crime.

Dirt’s eyes widened as he realized why they didn’t want to say. The sacrifice had worked! Out of nowhere, Socks and Dirt had come along and not only rescued Biandina, but killed the bird that took her and all the ones that shared its nest. Her brother’s bones might be among the others they’d seen.

Not only that, but now Socks had told everyone about killing the rucche. The leaders must have thrown her out before anyone discovered her intent, and that was why none of the adults involved were happy to see her again. Sometimes the sacrifices worked.

That recognition seemed to change everything. He had a million more questions now, none of which they were likely to get answered. What sorts of requests did the ‘Murderous Lady’ grant, and how often? Was there any sort of pattern that they knew? Did it always attract the attention of the Eye? What specific harms could result from such a sacrifice? Did something bad always happen to the supplicant? Or was it secretly banned because bad things often happened to others, at the supplicant’s request? Dirt had no idea what to make of it, and Socks didn’t weigh in either.

The same realization—that Biandina’s sacrifice had worked—spread through the crowd. Dirt could watch their faces and see each person figure it out. No one spoke, not even the little ones. He looked at the statue, wounded and suffering, standing silently above them all, mere ancient stone. Melodia…

“All we are waiting for now is the disaster she called down. She must leave before it finds her,” said the old man. He seemed pale now; frail, after so many terrors had come and gone in a few short hours.

Dirt expected everyone to start talking all at once, making sure their neighbors all had the same realization, but they didn’t. No one spoke, and when Dirt glanced at Socks’ mind, the pup smelled the twin scents of awe and horror.

With nothing left to discuss, Socks finally pulled his head out of the doorway and a new crowd of people tried to push their way in. Some peered around like they were simply curious, but one of them was Biandina’s mother, who rolled through the crowd like a boulder until she made it to her brood. The infant in one arm limited how much she could do, but with her spare arm, she tried to shoo the rest away from their sister. They refused to comply, and she gave a mean glance at her mate, who stood by and didn’t help.

With the new crowd came a hundred questions, not all of them quiet. The old man and woman glared around, but not convincingly; too many people had seen their terror and helplessness during the fight earlier. The rumor broke like water from a dam and the room quickly filled with speech and commotion.

“How long will you be staying?” asked the old man over the sound of the crowd. His tone of voice conveyed that he hoped it would not be very long.

“We should probably stay for a few days so that if anything dangerous comes around, Socks and I can kill it for you,” said Dirt, pretending not to catch his intent. “Oh, you should probably burn that dead body instead of burying it. You can guess why.”

“It is not easy to spare so much wood,” said the old man.

“Then carry him out and Socks can burn him later.”

“Do not ask us for wood. We must spare it for the coldest nights.”

“Socks can make fire with magic. We won’t need any wood,” said Dirt.

“Then burn those clothes. The blood of the corrupted can cause disease, even if you wash them,” said the old man.

“But I don’t have anything else to wear,” said Dirt.

“Then go naked! It’s not my problem. I am simply warning you. Do as you wish,” said the old man, almost succeeding at not raising his voice. And with that, he joined the throng pressing their way back out the door.

Dirt pulled his shirt off, kicked off his leather shoes, and then removed his pants. He tossed shirt and pants on the dead body and examined his shoes. They were blood-free, so he put them back on. His actions caught a few surprised glances, but he paid them no mind. They’d probably stare no matter what he did, and it was too late to worry about fitting in and acting like a regular human. Ideally, he’d be able to get some of their clothes somehow. Those furs looked plenty warm. Even the thick woolen clothing they wore inside was warmer than what he’d owned.

He summoned a few embers to float nearby and keep him warm, then went back to Biandina’s family. The older children, the boy and the girl closest to her age, gave Dirt sideways grins that looked slightly embarrassed, but the younger children furrowed their brows in concern. Dirt found the mind of the girl named Eudossia, who’d first snuck in to find her sister, and she was mostly concerned that Dirt would be cold. He stood a little closer to her and held one hand up, then made an ember hover over it. He showed it to her and let her feel the warmth on her face, and all seven of the other children leaned in to inspect it themselves.

“As long as it’s not windy and I’m not wet, I won’t get cold. I should probably wash all this blood off, though,” said Dirt, taking note of how much had seeped through to stain his skin. “Does anyone know where I can get a rag?”

The mother and father ceased their angry, whispered conversation and looked over at him. He stood so naturally amidst their offspring that they weren’t sure what to say.

“And some water. But I already know where I can find some of that,” said Dirt.

The babbu gave a resigned sigh and scratched his beard, putting on body language of relaxing, ceasing his wariness. He said, “Are you one of ours, now?”

Dirt grinned. “No, not unless you can beat Socks.”

“What’s your plan, then?”

“Well, first, I need to wash off. But after that, I’d like to come see your house and learn all your names, if you’ll have me,” said Dirt.

The mother had not softened in the slightest. Her face was still hard as flint. “We don’t have room,” she said.

“Oh, Socks will have to stay out, obviously, but he won’t mind. He can see through walls. When he gets bored, I’ll leave you alone and go do something else for a while,” said Dirt.

“The girl is not welcome back,” said the mother, with finality in her voice. “Do not toy with us like this.”

“What makes you think I’m toying with you?”

“You take after your wolf. Find a curiosity, sniff at it, poke it, maybe dig a little hole, and then move along without any mind for the mess you’ve made,” she said. “We have to live here. My daughter is dead. She died the day she prayed to the Murderous Lady. Do you think to just leave her in our arms and all will be well? Go run along, little boy.”

“She’s alive. She’s right there, face pale as ashes and heart so full of guilt she might just die of nothing. Look at her,” said Dirt, pointing.

The mother stared down at him and did not look.

He pointed more insistently and the woman just stared even harder, widening her forceful eyes. Dirt, who had once deliberately met the eyes of the Mother of Wolves, was not intimidated.

They stared and stared at each other, long past when it made everyone else uncomfortable. Dirt had to admit she had a respectable amount of willpower, but he was Avitus.

Eventually, she looked away first, even glancing involuntarily at her daughter. She said, “You don’t know what you’re doing. But fine. Come visit. She may come as well. We still have her things and perhaps she’ll need them.”

Dirt nodded and said, “Thanks. And don’t worry too much. I know what I’m doing, it’s you who doesn’t. But maybe once you do, you’ll feel better about it.”

-Come out of there already,- said Socks, leaning down to peer through the doorway with one eye. -I will lick you clean.-

Dirt smiled at the woman, whose face still failed to soften. He said, “Guess I’d better go.”

“Because he’s terrifying and you have to obey him?”

“No, silly, because he’s my best friend.”