It took Socks forever to return with the meat, since the herd was at the far end of the valley. In the meantime, Dirt joined Ignasi and Hèctor as they rummaged around the dead city. One of the first things Hèctor found was a pull-cart designed for a person instead of an animal, which dramatically increased the amount of things they decided they needed. Ignasi saw it and went pale and acted tired, making a big show of how eager he wasn’t to drag that thing across the landscape. Hèctor had to fix it, so Dirt followed Ignasi for a while instead.

Ignasi was better at looking for things than Dirt was, since he knew what everything was and how people lived, and it didn’t take long to find plenty of stuff worth keeping. Dirt had thought to look for smaller beds, but that wasn’t the case—everyone put all their children into one, so a house with more than one large bed was the best place to look. A house with just one large bed might have children, but they were poor, which meant they probably only owned the clothes they had on when the goblins attacked.

Dirt ended up with a full set of clothing to complement his pants. He got a wide, yellow tunic, a red shirt with black borders, and even gray woolen socks and leather shoes that didn’t have any holes in them. Those had belonged to a woman and they were too big for him, but they’d do on the rare occasion he felt like putting something on. To top it off, Ignasi tossed him a good woolen blanket in case he got cold or wanted to sit on it instead of the ground.

Much of the rest was things Ignasi wanted but Dirt didn’t. Dirt didn’t need any candles or oil, or a second knife, or a spoon, or anything like that. Some things might have been nice but were rotten, like the scented oil. And he didn’t need any dried old medicinal herbs or bandages, since Socks could just lick his cuts. Ignasi took all that stuff. Dirt did, however, take a little pot of salt. And while they didn’t come across any backpacks for him, Ignasi did find a hefty twine sack that he wove a couple straps into and converted. The man even put a little cup at the bottom and a loop at the top so Dirt could rest the Home-staff in it and have both hands free if he wanted.

-I am coming back. Get the fire ready. A lot of fire. I have a whole bull,- said Socks, to everyone.

Ignasi laughed and stood up from the bottom-shelf jars he was looking through for more wine, because apparently eleven wasn’t enough bottles now that they had a cart to put them on. “A whole bull. How is he carrying an entire bull? In his teeth?”

Even though the man was talking to himself, Dirt answered, “His father can carry eight bulls at once in his teeth. But Socks is probably carrying it on his back. I bet he’s going slow because it’s heavy or he’d be back already.”

Ignasi said, “You have a habit of saying insane things that I can’t help but suspect are true. I hope I never meet his father. Now come. Socks might like you, but I am not interested in testing his patience.”

When they found Hèctor, he was carrying a big armful of crumbling old firewood into the grass where a narrow street had been, right between two short stone walls. He dropped the chopped logs and they fell apart into splinters and sawdust, making him cough.

“It looks like you have this handled, Hèctor. Shall we leave you to it?” said Ignasi, his voice subtly jovial.

“I wonder if that wolf pup has ever tasted human flesh. Wanna find out?” said Hèctor.

“Actually, he has,” said Dirt.

“I thought you never saw a human before us,” said Hèctor.

“Socks has. He saw exactly one, before you,” said Dirt, trying not to smile. It was Dirt’s flesh he’d tasted, when licking his wounds shut.

“Wait,” said Ignasi.

Hèctor said, “Just get some more firewood. Actually, Dirt, you get the firewood. The stuff in the middle of any stack will be in the best shape. I need a lot, so hurry. Ignasi, I saw some rosemary under a window by that house. Go pick it all and look for more. And get some salt.”

Dirt hopped over the wall and headed to a stack of firewood taller than he was, against the rear wall of the nearest house. It was all split into triangles and stacked tightly, and when he tried to pull some out of the middle, it wouldn’t come. He pulled harder, then harder, and then used a little mana and really gave it a tug.

The whole stack fell over with a crash and wood went flying everywhere.

Hèctor called, “Dirt, are you still alive?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” He grabbed as much as he could carry and hustled back around to where Hèctor was. The man pointed at a spot, and Dirt dumped it over the wall.

“Good. I need twenty more of those.”

“Okay!”

After ten trips, Dirt wondered if there was an easier way to do this, but there probably wasn’t. He could only carry four or five pieces without using mana, and his arms weren’t big enough to carry more than that anyway. Too bad Socks wasn’t here because he could’ve moved the whole stack at once. Dirt decided he really ought to learn the trick of that. Even though he had arms, moving things with his mind would be useful.

Once Hèctor was satisfied there was enough wood, Dirt watched him stack it in a careful circular pattern that got higher and higher. Inside the circle, he stuffed fibers and shavings and splinters. When the firewood tower was complete, he stepped back and said, “We need a lot of coals, so we’re going to get it burning and topple it when it’s ready. Now go find me a rake.”

“What’s a rake?”

“Never mind, then. Sit over there and stay out of the way,” said Hèctor. Dirt obliged and took a seat on the wall. The man knelt with a flint and steel and popped off a bunch of sparks until finally one caught and a thin wisp of smoke appeared. He blew on the tiny flame and it was only a moment before the entire stack was burning, sending flames five paces into the air and creating a trail of smoke poofs that reached much higher than that.

Ignasi returned with a wicker basket containing an alarming amount of rosemary, which was a plant with thin, needle-like leaves and a sharp scent. “Think this’ll be enough, dear Hèctor?”

“It’s a start,” he said with a flat voice and a twinkle in his black eyes.

“Come help me chop this up, Dirt,” said Ignasi. He headed toward the nearest house and Dirt followed him in. He headed to the cooking area and pulled out a hard, graying panel of wood and set it on the table. “This is a cutting board. That is a knife. I suppose you can guess what I want you to do?”

“I can guess. But I’m going to use my own knife instead of that rusty one.”

“Don’t. You’ll dull it with all the chopping.”

“It hasn’t gotten dull yet. I didn’t know that could happen.”

“What do you mean it hasn’t gotten dull?” said Ignasi. He gently plucked it from Dirt’s hands and tested the edge. Then he held it out in both palms and gave it a good look.

“I cut all sorts of stuff with it. Wood, mostly, but sometimes flesh or bones. And Socks and I used it to fight a couple times. He chops things up with it.”

“You’ve never sharpened it? Have you ever oiled it to keep the rust off?”

“No. Was I supposed to? Where do I get oil?”

“Well, I suppose we’re about to find out if it will need sharpening. Start chopping. That rosemary deserves it.”

Dirt obliged, hacking away and trying to cut every leaf at least once. Ignasi went next door to get another cutting board, and when he returned the two of them made short work of the rosemary, leaving a giant stack in the middle of the table.

The scent was incredible. It was complex and sharp and curious, unlike anything Dirt had ever smelled before. It didn’t smell edible, was the main thing, and when Dirt tasted some it was bitter. The oils from the plant seeped into his fingers and they smelled like rosemary long afterward.

Ignasi took Dirt’s knife again to give it another examination. He held up a length of cloth and ran the edge against it, and the cloth sliced in two just as expected.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Hèctor,” called Ignasi.

“What?”

“Guess what Dirt has?”

“A boil?”

“Even better. An eternal blade.”

To Dirt’s surprise, Hèctor stepped away from the fire without complaint and came in to see. “Look at this.”

The other man took it and examined it closely, from smooth hilt to tip. Ignasi said, “He says he’s never sharpened or oiled it.”

“Where did you get this?” asked Hèctor.

“In a tomb. Socks and I found an old city and explored it.”

The man regarded him, eyes piercing again, and Dirt peeked at his mind just a little. Hèctor wasn’t sure if Dirt was lying, and the boy’s face wasn’t giving it away.

“Do you mind if I try to dull the blade a little? If I do, I’ll sharpen it for you,” he asked.

“Sure, go ahead.”

Hèctor stepped around to an unused corner of the table and smacked the edge into the wood, at least twenty times. He swung with force but didn’t keep his arm rigid to try and cut through. Just enough to flatten the edge, not that it would do him any good. Dirt had tried to cut a rock once, and while it hadn’t worked, it also didn’t hurt the knife.

“What’s an eternal blade?”

Ignasi said, “A blade that never needs sharpening. I only know of two, but there are supposedly more. One is a sword held by our King, and if anyone else touches it, they’re executed immediately, no matter who it is. The other is just a rumor, but it’s a dagger much like this one, I suppose. It’s called the Wandering Curse and anyone who picks it up can never drop it until they kill a loved one. In the days of the old kingdom, a man held it his whole life, never putting it down until he died. They buried it with him and someone dug up the grave a week later.”

“If there’s only two, how come you have a name for them?”

Ignasi shrugged. “Because they come from ancient times, so old no one can name the kingdoms that made them. Tradition holds that the King’s sword wasn’t forged by humans, but I don’t believe that. And like I said, there are supposed to be more. I hope this is a third, and not the Wandering Curse.”

“Well, I can put it down,” said Dirt.

“Good point.”

-I am here. Come out.-

Hèctor turned immediately and stepped out, mouth pursed like he was still thinking. Dirt and Ignasi followed him out.

Socks was near the road and stood over a headless bovine, missing all its guts. His face was bloody from ears to whiskers, and judging by how he wagged his tail, he’d been enjoying himself.

-Cook it,- said Socks.

“We’re just getting the fire ready. It’s going to take a while. I hope you don’t mind,” said Hèctor, voice unsure, like he was trying to decide how polite he wanted to sound. “Can you pick up things that are burning like you pick up little Dirt, there? Or would that hurt you somehow?”

-It won’t hurt me. The fire has to get on me for it to hurt,- said Socks.

“Good. Then can you knock that burning tower over and spread it around right there? Wait, here,” said Hèctor. He took a stick and drew two lines, making a square with the stone walls on either side. “Try and push all the wood between these lines and spread it out evenly.”

Socks paused, thinking, head tilted as he stared at the tower. The pup’s mind spun as he puzzled out the best way to go about it. He glanced at the stone fences to either side and got an idea. The tower crashed forward in a huge shower of sparks. A rush of heat hit Dirt all the back by the doorway, but instead of going everywhere, the burning logs crashed into an invisible wall and bounced around inside it. They came to rest in a near-even layer on the ground and Socks spread them just a bit more to make it flat.

­“Oh, you did it different!” thought Dirt.

­-I never tried it like that. I always only grabbed things, but I can put a barrier. It was a lot easier than grabbing each piece,- said Socks, just to him.

“You could do all sorts of things with that. Can you make it big and block the wind?”

-I bet I could. I’ll practice. How are they going to cook it?-

“I don’t actually know,” replied Dirt. Then, aloud, he said, “So how are we going to cook it? Do we just throw it on the fire?”

Hèctor said, “It has to be above the fire to cook, not in it. It’ll just burn if we throw it in. Ignasi, get a pot for the fat.”

He stepped over near the fire, more ember than flame now and hot enough he had to squint. He picked up some rusty metal poles that Dirt hadn’t noticed before and held them up. “We’re going to put the meat on these and hold it over the fire that way. Come here.”

Dirt followed Hèctor to the dead bull, where the man knelt and got to work with Dirt’s knife. Dirt and Socks watched with great interest as the man took the carcass apart. First he removed the skin in one large piece and lay it out nearby. Next, using clever spiral cuts, he removed the meat in long chunks no more than a finger’s length thick, which he piled up on the skin. He also removed the fat and set it all in a heap on a different section of skin.

Ignasi brought out the chopped rosemary in a bundle of cloth, which he set near the carcass along with a pot of salt. Then he scooped up all the fat into a metal pot and carried it back inside.

Dirt and Hèctor salted the meat and rubbed rosemary all over it, then skewered it on the metal in a wavy pattern that helped them pack as much on as possible. Once as much of the meat was ready as they were going to fit, which was most of it, Socks lifted the roasts and set them over the fire, with the metal poles held up by the two stone fences.

Socks sat down close to the fire so he could watch and smell it as it cooked, since the scent changed over time. Dirt sat inside his front paw, arm resting on the pup’s foreleg. “It already smells good. How long does it take?” he asked.

Hèctor sat nearby, but still a couple body lengths from the pup. “A few hours, I’m guessing. I’ve never cooked this much at once, but it won’t be done at the same time. We’ll eat it bit by bit. Or Socks will, I suppose.”

-You little humans don’t eat very much. I can share.-

“I figured. Thanks. Dirt, I want to hear more about that ruined city where you found this knife,” said Hèctor.

Dirt told the whole story, starting with those rolling hills and chasing the deer. How they’d seen the road and followed it up to find a whole city up there. Its name had been Ocriculum, he now knew, and that statue was a famous hero that Prisca’s memories recognized but didn’t name. Dirt talked about walking into the buildings and wondering what it had been like when people lived there, but didn’t mention how he was sure he recognized it and started crying.

He told how they’d found the rusted metal doors to the underground and explored, accidentally letting out the smoke monster and how Father scared it off with a howl. Both Hèctor and Ignasi shifted uncomfortably at that part, and Dirt didn’t need to see their minds to know they’d been waiting for something like that, something to justify not doing what Dirt had been up to. Humans didn’t seem to do a lot of exploring these days. He left out the twisted statue of the god in that giant burial room, though, since he still wasn’t sure himself what to think about it. The story ended with him opening the tomb and taking the knife.

Hèctor had a certain glint in his eye and his mind spun with possibilities he shied away from instead of embracing. Things he wasn’t sure he dared let himself dream. Finally, he asked, “Do you think there are more? More knives, or other treasures in a place like that?”

“Probably. We only opened one tomb. And the lamps still worked, if you wanted to take those. Why? Are you thinking of going on an adventure?”

Hèctor snorted. “No, no, this is more than enough of an adventure for one lifetime. We might save a lot of lives if we succeed. Maybe turn back the end for just a while. I’m content to do one thing that matters. But I can wonder. All that gold, and maybe even an eternal blade. I never thought I’d see one.”

Ignasi had been listening from the doorway nearby, close enough he could peek back at the pot of fat every so often, and the men fell silent after that. Dirt only allowed himself a few peeks at their thoughts, and both men were thinking bright and vivid things, grand imaginings about unearthing gold and other treasures and winning fame and comfort.

Just the glimpses Dirt got filled him with that familiar longing for his lost people, that grand and beautiful empire. These men dreamed of winning a few scraps, but they’d never know the truth of it, how glorious it had been.

­-You told me not to let you think about that too much,- Socks told him.

Dirt grinned. He’d said that, hadn’t he? It always made him sad. To change things up, he held up the Home-staff and said, “Home, I hope you’re having fun watching this. It’s interesting, isn’t it? Will you ask Marina if she wants to come join us for dinner? Are you done with her? Is she ready to come back?”

The staff shook slightly in response and then fell still again. A moment later it vibrated so strongly he almost dropped it, since he wasn’t holding it very tightly. It kept trying to jerk toward an open spot of grass, so he stood up and carried it over, set it down, and stepped back.

Marina appeared with a heavy thud and a groan, like she’d fallen from above and landed there. Even expecting it, Dirt still jumped in startlement and took a second to process what he was looking at.

“Oh… Oh! Look, she’s back!” Dirt yelled. The men had been watching, though, and already knew. They hurried over while Dirt rolled the poor woman onto her back and wiped the hair out of her face. “It’s okay, Marina. Just lay there for a moment. You’ll feel better soon. Trust me, I know. Can one of you give her a little water?”

“Ow,” groaned Marina. Her clothing was all dirty now, especially below the knees, which Dirt only noticed because the dirt was black and stood out. Her straight brown hair stuck to beads of sweat forming on her forehead, and her narrow face was pinched with pain.

“Are you alright?” asked Hèctor, leaning in.

“Ow, I said.”

“She’ll be fine. The first time the trees did this to me, it made me so sick I thought I was dying. They’ve gotten gentler, but not by much.” Dirt patted her head softly.

“Thank you, Dirt, but that doesn’t help. Would all of you back up a little and give me room to breathe?” she said.

Dirt and the men obliged, getting up and moving back a step or two. Socks, however, leaned down and sniffed her thoroughly. -She smells like ferns and dirt. Dirt’s dirt.-

“I miss that dirt,” said Dirt. He leaned in and sniffed as well. “She does. You smell like my dirt, Marina.”

“Thank you? Wait, what was that?” Marina said, confused. She sat up and looked around, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. “That voice?”

­­-That was me, silly human,- said Socks, wagging his tail.

“Socks?” she said.

-Yes.-

She slumped back into the grass and rubbed her forehead. “Ow.”

Ignasi said, “Believe it or not, the giant wolf who speaks in our minds is not the most frightening thing we saw while you were gone.”

“Oh, you have no idea what frightening is,” said Marina.

“I think we have some idea,” said Hèctor.

Marina sat up again, color returning to her face. Dirt peeked at her mind just to be sure, and fortunately the dizziness was wearing off now. She was fine.

“So, dear Marina, what do you have to say for yourself? Where have you been, while we were doing all the work?” said Ignasi.

“Where do I start? I guess with this,” she said, holding up one hand to show a bracelet of living green vines wound tightly around her wrist.