After Incantatus had turned and vanished in the dimming twilight, Dirt turned back to the stunned, terrified children and sighed. “I try to get along with everyone I meet, because I’m just a tiny little human. But something about him makes me not trust him.”
Biandina gave a snort, which was probably meant to sound like a chuckle, but there was no mirth in her eyes. “Obviously,” she said.
“My plan is to be asleep when he comes back, since he can’t come in anyway. You know what I miss right now? My hot bath. I could use a good soak,” said Dirt, kicking a little rock he spotted on the floor.
“What’s that?” asked Antelmu. “Oh, washing with hot water? Should we heat some up?”
“No, it’s… I guess you don’t have a word for it,” said Dirt, realizing what he was saying. In their language, the words he was using just meant ‘hot wash’. So he explained, “In my language it’s caldarium. It’s a big basin or pool of water that you get in, and it’s all hot water. We had a lot of words for different kinds of baths and places to put them in. It feels really nice.”
“I thought you were raised by trees and wolves and never saw a human until recently,” said Biandina.
“Oh, that’s true, too. But my language came from somewhere, didn’t it? I didn’t know what all the words meant until we started finding things. For example, I know the word cat, and it’s the same word in my language. But I don’t know what a cat is. I knew a bath the moment I saw it, and not before. It’s that way with a lot of things,” said Dirt.
Here he was, annoyed at how evasive and slippery Incantatus was and how everything he said probably had two meanings, and Dirt was doing the same thing. Everything Dirt said was true, but in another sense, he was still lying to them.
Dishonesty would hurt his magic. He knew that from somewhere deep inside, from when he was Avitus. How long did he dare keep this going? He didn’t have to spill everything, but neither should he stay in situations where he would be tempted to lie.
There was a moment of quiet after that, during which the children exhaled some of their fear. Antelmu stepped over and poked the hide in its water bath, letting out a little bubble that was hiding. Biandina watched Dirt out of the corner of her eye. She tried to make it look like she was watching out the window until Dirt stepped away from it.
Dirt didn’t need to see her thoughts to watch the wheels turn in her mind. She’d been paying attention to what Incantatus had been saying, and the hints that Dirt had let slip. Antelmu caught on as well and stopped short of glaring at her, but he was on edge.
Biandina started with, “You must have had parents. Who birthed you?”
“Biandina!” hissed Antelmu. Dirt glanced over in surprise at the other boy defending him. “Just leave him alone.”
“No, Antelmu, you don’t get to—”
“Just leave it! If he doesn’t want to say anything, he doesn’t have to,” said Antelmu. “Why do girls always pry so much?”
“I’m not prying, I’m just asking!” said Biandina. “This is not prying. I just asked a simple question. I’m not saying he’s hiding anything.”
“When we first saw him, he was naked. Where would he be hiding it?” said Antelmu.
“He had clothes when I met him,” said Biandina. “They got ruined, but that’s not the point. The point is, he might be keeping secrets from us.”
“Of course he has secrets, but that’s fine,” said Antelmu. “People don’t have to share absolutely everything.”
Dirt cut in before the argument got worse. “I don’t remember my mother. Not her name, or the color of her hair, or a thing about her. You’re both luckier than me in that regard. Is anybody else hungry? I’m ready for some meat.”
They were both hungry, it turned out, and after Biandina revived the coals and put a fresh one on, sitting around it and listening to the meat sizzle was just the thing to help them relax.
Dirt stayed tense, though. He decided to tell them where he was really from, then changed his mind, then changed it back and forth a dozen times. The problem was that he hadn’t told any humans yet. The trees and the wolves knew, but neither group cared. Humans, though, were another matter. If Dirt felt this much guilt over breaking the world, how much revulsion or hatred would a regular human feel? The two children were here to help him save mankind, so would they feel betrayed if they knew?
He finally decided that he would give them complete and honest answers from now on, and if that required him to say he was Avitus, then so be it. No one talked until the meat was cooked and the first strips were half eaten. Biandina was the first to say anything, and she asked, “Where did you see the hot bath?”
Dirt replied, “I’ll tell you, but only if you can keep a secret from Socks. He doesn’t know yet.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Just don’t think about it when he’s around. It’ll be good practice,” said Dirt. He glanced out the window, which was silly, because that wouldn’t tell him if Socks was watching right then. He motioned for Biandina and Antelmu to lean in close, and they gathered conspiratorially over the little fire. He cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered, “It’s in the forest. The dryads found a huge, buried city there and raised the whole thing out of the ground. The city was called Turicum, and it was made by my people. When we go there, I’ll show you, and we’ll sit in the baths.”
“Why aren’t we telling Socks? Hasn’t he seen it?” whispered Biandina.
“He hasn’t been there since before they raised it, and I want it to be a surprise. The bath in my villa is big enough for him to get in and I can’t wait.”
“Are there other people there now?”
“I’m the last of my people, unless you count all our descendants. But Marina might be there now. She was looking for a man to mate with, and she’s going to raise her baby in the forest so the trees can watch it grow up. I’m excited for her. I hope she’s there. How long do humans carry their young?” said Dirt.
“Nine months,” said Antelmu.
“Wait, really? That long? Just for a little tiny baby?” said Dirt.
Biandina forced a smile and said, “How long did you think?”
“Socks said wolf pups are carried for sixty days before they’re born, and they come out huge.”
“Horses take longer than humans. Horses can be as long as a year. But sheep are only five months. Everything is different,” said Antelmu.
“I never knew. I don’t really know much about animals, do I? Except what they taste like,” said Dirt.
“I can’t believe Socks was only carried for sixty days. His poor mother! He must have grown a lot since he was born,” said Biandina.
Dirt smirked. “If you saw his mother, you’d understand. He had about forty siblings in the litter, too, and I bet she still had room for more.”
“Forty? At once? How does that even…” said Antelmu, bewildered.
“If you saw his father, you’d understand,” said Dirt, with a smile that quickly grew mischievous.
“Oh, no,” said Biandina. “Don’t encourage him, Dirt. Please don’t.”
“What?” said Antelmu. “I didn’t say anything. Yet.”
“No, but I know you. In fact, I bet you were about to tell the one about the sleeping giant and the man with the axe,” said Biandina. “Don’t.”
“Fine,” said Antelmu. But he gave Dirt a look with a particular glint in his eye, and Dirt was sure he’d hear it as soon as Biandina was out of view.
After dinner, Biandina used a rock to break up the coal and store away the part that hadn’t started burning yet. The rest she covered in ashes, leaving a little hole for air so it’d still be there in the morning. Then she leaned back casually and said, “Well, shall we stay up to midnight tonight?”
“Oh, you don’t have to. Like I said, he can’t come in,” said Dirt.
“Dirt,” she said sternly. The room grew serious. “I am not letting anyone put you in chains. You are under my protection until Socks comes back. We are staying up tonight, and if he appears, we’re going to fight. Antelmu, do you want to wait upstairs in our room, or down here?”
“My bow is upstairs. I should have it with me,” said Antelmu.
“We’ll go upstairs.”
“I wasn’t saying we needed to stay up there,” said Antelmu.
“It’s fine. We’ll stay upstairs. Dirt, can you close off the stairs behind us?”
“Sure, that’s not a bad idea.” said Dirt. “It’ll be thin so you can just break through it if you need to.”
Biandina nodded and led the boys up the stairs. The mood felt like Ogena, when the goblins were outside and everybody was getting ready for a war. Dirt watched their minds and both children were already plotting for combat. Antelmu was thinking about shooting his arrows out the window and how to adjust for such a low angle. Biandina was thinking how she could use her feet to free Dirt if someone grabbed him, and what sort of wooden weapon to ask him to make. She needed something, and it might be best to leave the knife with him.
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Dirt was apprehensive, but not quite scared. There was no way the fairy creatures could get inside the tower, and his lights would keep the noisy black fog away. And even if they did get in somehow, Dirt would attack their minds, and win. But despite all that, what would it hurt to take precautions?
He sealed the stairwell at the seventh floor, and they made their way down the dark hallway and into their room. Biandina really had done a nice job tidying it up and making it look welcoming. The blankets were spread and smoothed out, the packs were set evenly against the wall, and the random useful objects were set out in an orderly way.
The three of them got a drink from the basin, which was still nearly full, but frigid. That made it taste better, but after two drinks he wanted to climb under the blankets. He summoned three warming embers and the room quickly got more bearable.
Antelmu checked his bow and set it nearby, then laid his arrows next to it so they’d be ready. He gave a long gaze out the window, then sat on the blankets. He pulled his knees up to his chest and said, “So what are we going to do while we wait?”
The wind started blowing. All three of them glanced out the window, but the last of the light was fading, leaving moonless darkness. The wind blew mildly at first and washed some of the heat from the room, but Dirt’s embers were strong and they paid it no mind other than to sit there and worry.
They sat in silence for a short while, all staring out the window. Dirt watched for minds, hoping the wind was an elemental, but there were none to be found. Just those of Biandina and Antelmu trying not to lose themselves in dread, but rather to wish it away by willpower.
It was going to be a long night, and Dirt had already told most of his stories. He tried to remember what he’d left out. The digger people under the mountain? He hadn’t told them about those. Or the Devourer’s storm, but that would just give them something else to worry about.
“Do you want to try doing magic?” he finally said.
Biandina and Antelmu jerked upright in surprise and turned to face him.
“I can’t teach you how to breathe mana in, but I can push some into you and show you a little about how to use it,” he said.
“And do what?” asked Biandina.
“Only the simplest things. Okay. When Socks and I first did this, it burned. It was painful and hard to use. But there’s a trick—you have to relax and let it go where it wants. There’s a part of you that mana belongs in, but I don’t think I can put it there directly. So if it feels like something went wrong, don’t worry. That’s how it’s supposed to feel.” He reached for Biandina’s wrist, but she pulled it away.
“Wait, what’s mana? And where in my body does it go?” she asked.
“Mana is raw magic, and it goes in your mana body. It’s not a place in your body, it’s one of the bodies you have. But that’s complicated and I’ll let the trees explain it. Here, take my hand,” said Dirt.
“Is it going to hurt?” she asked, moving her hand forward hesitantly.
“Probably, but not as bad as having your arm burned off or getting skewered by bird talons. Ready?”
“Wait,” said Antelmu. “Do me first.”
“Why?” asked Dirt.
“Because I need to see how much it hurts before you try it on her,” he replied. His voice was slightly shaky.
“That’s a noble sentiment. Here, give me your hand,” said Dirt.
Antelmu held his breath and stuck his hand forward. Dirt took hold of it and kept Biandina’s in the other. Then he nudged a small amount of mana into both of them at the same time.
The children didn’t gasp or hiss, but they did squirm and grit their teeth, showing Dirt it had worked.
“It goes where you think about, so try not to focus on it. Just relax. Look out the—” started Dirt, but in the distance he saw rows of little red lights that reminded him of eyes. They were too far to make out. “Look at the wall and don’t think about it hurting.”
“That really stings,” said Antelmu.
Dirt said, “Yep. And I can’t get it back out for you. You’ll have to wait until it seeps out on its own, or let it go where it’s supposed to. Try thinking about horses.”
Biandina relaxed and her face lit up. She pulled her hand away and looked at it. When she met Dirt’s gaze, her eyes sparkled with wonder.
“That was fast. That’s almost not fair. It took me forever,” said Dirt, feigning a scowl.
“What did you do?” asked Antelmu, still squirming.
“I just let it go where it wanted, like he said,” replied Biandina.
All three of them jumped when a large owl flapped in and landed on the windowsill. Its expressionless face regarded them for a moment, until it hooted and flew away on silent wings.
None of them said it must be the fae, but Dirt was sure they all thought it.
“So what can I do with mana?” said Biandina, a bit loudly.
Dirt said, “Lots of things, but human magic is too much to start on right now. So try… um… put it in your hand and hit the wall.”
She did so gingerly at first, then harder, and harder still, until she was punching as hard as she could. Antelmu winced at the sound, and when Biandina hissed in pain and shook her hand because the mana was running out, he darted over to make sure she was okay. Her knuckles showed no sign of damage.
“How come you’re so good at this?” he complained, once he was satisfied she was unharmed.
“Just lucky, I guess,” she said. “Can you give me some more, Dirt?”
“Sure can. But not too much at once. I think I’ll make you practice a bit more first,” said Dirt.
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Because the first time I figured out how to use it, I jumped really high and used it all up, and it was a long fall back down,” said Dirt, grinning. “It was right outside Socks’s den and Mother caught me, or I would have gone splat.”
He gave Biandina a bit more the next time, but still not enough to hurt herself. She used it to jump high enough to touch her back on the ceiling, but fell awkwardly and bruised her knees and elbow when she landed.
Antelmu had taken to pacing back and forth in the hall, stomping in a way that made even his footsteps sound frustrated. All at once he stopped, and ran back into the room. “I did it!” he announced proudly. He punched the wall, only about half strength at first, then several more times as hard as he could. He laughed in amazement all the while, pleased that it didn’t hurt.
Dirt spotted motion in the blackness outside, a flutter of something pale that reminded him of cloth. He ignored it.
They spent quite a while playing with mana, growing more proficient at absorbing it and using it in different parts of their bodies. They were too overjoyed to sleep and staying up was easy. It wouldn’t just be Dirt and Socks enjoying a midday nap tomorrow.
All the while, strange sights could be seen in the window, and sounds that could have been natural but felt out of place, like a raven’s call. Dirt wasn’t the only one who saw it—he caught the other two twitching at motion outside, or stopping mid sentence to listen to something. But neither of them said anything, and nothing happened inside the room.
A three-quarters waxing moon came out, lighting up the whole landscape. They all went to the window and looked then, bracing themselves for some new horror. But there was nothing unusual—just moon shadows and silver light bathing the rocks and snow. The dark ground and bone pile sat silently in the distance, waiting.
“When the moon gets to about there, it’ll be midnight,” said Biandina, pointed about a quarter up the sky. “We need to make sure Antelmu and I are ready with mana when it comes.”
Something enormous flew up past the window, inches away from their faces. It went too fast to even tell if it was feathers, cloth, or something else, but all three of them screamed and jumped back. They heard tittering and chuckling outside, but laughed at themselves and ignored it. They turned from the window and got back to practicing.
Midnight came suddenly, with no warning. They only knew it when they noticed Incantatus sitting placidly in the window, his small, golden-sandaled feet dangling into the room.
His robe was black now, and his hair red and orange like flame. His eyes had faded to a dull black that glimmered faintly, as if the shadows they contained were not uniform. In one hand, he carried a chain of rusty metal links, each link bearing nasty hooks.
A dream washed over the room, a nightmare. A haunted feeling of unreality gripped them and only Dirt had the discipline to resist. He shook Biandina and Antelmu, then lifted a splash of water from the basin with his mind and tossed it into their faces. That woke them up, just in time. The floor of the room stabilized, no longer about to collapse. The wave of black insects retreated and vanished in the shadow.
“I’ll give you one chance to just leave us alone, and if not, I’m going to hurt you,” said Dirt.
“I’ll give you one chance to submit to me, before you wither and die,” said Incantatus. He held up the chain, which clinked and rustled loudly, to show a loop that Dirt supposed was for his neck. Once worn, the jagged hooks might never come out. “Lower your head, Avitus. This shall be unto you a radiant periapt, and never more shall you hunger, for you shall be mine.”
“I’m not hungry, and I don’t think I believe a single thing you say,” said Dirt.
“Surely you yearn against the emptiness,” said Incantatus, dismayed. Venom dripped from his lips, and he licked it away. “You ate my food! Part of you is now the dream, and you must either come, or suffer the lack of it.”
Dirt regarded the strange little man, noting his anger and frustration, but also his sincerity. He couldn’t lie, after all, but what was the real truth? One truth he was certain off—he truly felt nothing like the man was trying to convince him of.
“I warned you,” said Dirt. He threw a mental attack straight into the small man’s mind, full of distress and fear and most of all, wakefulness. Bright alertness, bright as the sun.
Incantatus screamed and fell backward out the window. The chain slid into the room and vanished into smoke.
Dirt ran to the window and saw Incantatus falling. He hit the ground like it was a huge pile of pillows, then rolled to his feet and stumbled slowly toward the bone pile.
Well, he could move faster than that. “I’ll be right back,” said Dirt, and he dove out the window himself. He chased Incantatus and sent another mental jolt, which made the fairy scream in pain and clutch his temples.
“Torment me not!” shouted Incantatus, spinning to face Dirt with a face cracked and leaking yellow fluid that hissed and spat where it hit the ground.
“You better keep running,” said Dirt.
The fae man’s face tore in an expression of rage, and the discipline keeping his thoughts from Dirt’s sight cracked open. Inside was a deeper rush of chaotic images than Dirt could fathom. The strange creature wasn’t fully here, but neither was he absent. He was walking in a hundred variations of this place at once, and not all of them were unpleasant.
In one, he led a sad-looking dream version of Dirt by a chain around his neck that dripped blood where the hooks bit in. In another, he laughed and threw out a table containing a rich feast of steaming meats and vegetables and all the honey anyone could wish for, and Biandina and Antelmu squealed in delight and dug in. In a third, the tower started creaking and falling over.
But none of those were real, and with the fairy this close to reality, that mattered. They spun off and vanished, only to be replaced by something new. But never far, never far from here, and never truly free of the suffering Dirt had inflicted on him.
“Hey, Incantatus,” called Dirt.
The fairy stopped and twisted his head around on his shoulders to look back at Dirt.
“Don’t think about your real name. Whatever you do. Think of anything else but your real name. Don’t think your real name!” This was the meanest trick Dirt ever used on Socks, but it worked every time.
And it worked this time. Apkallu. An ancient name, more ancient than the Sunset Empire. It creaked and groaned with weight and import, leaning this way and that under its own bulk, and then it vanished. The fae closed off his mind again.
“Apkallu,” said Dirt out loud. “Now we know each other’s names. Perhaps next time we meet, you’ll be nicer, and not try to trick me. We could still be friends.”
“Do not seek to bind me now, not while in this form. Have mercy, finite one.”
“That’ll depend on whether you keep bothering us.”
Apkallu turned and kept walking, speeding up faster than human legs could move, and all at once, the night was empty, just a night again. No strange minds lingered, no odd sounds on the air.
Dirt, strangely, felt no relief. Nor, if he was honest with himself, had he felt much danger to be relieved from. All that was left was curiosity. As unpleasant as the interactions had been, broadly considered, Dirt hoped it was not the last. There were too many questions.
The enchanted lights on the tower’s exterior were running out of mana, so Dirt refilled them before he headed back up. He met Biandina and Antelmu near the bottom staircase, rushing at a reckless pace to come save him.
-My sister is amused,- said Socks. The other two children perked up—they heard it too. -She said she has never seen a human chase off a dream-born before. Go to bed. We will be there late in the morning.-