The Dig (19 page)

The crowd was jubilant. Irin was horrified. Twill told them what they wanted to hear. Everything will be all right, no extreme measures necessary, but we will do something so that we are not doing nothing.

“Now, the safety of dark’s dome will leave us any moment. Get you all home and make-safe as quickly as you can!”

Irin stepped out and spun slowly around in dismay as his people stood and made their way to the tunnel to leave.

“W
AIT!”
I
RIN SHOUTED TO THE CROWD.
They paused and looked back at him. “This is no solution! Pret and Wil’s vision sees the
entire
valley
destroyed. There are no more houses. There is
nothing
!”

The murmur resumed, and many retook their seats.

“Listen to me. Listen to Wil. We
melt
the solid to make your houses. My brother, Pwig, mixes and melts solid for the pouring of k’yot threads. And all of us can tell you for certain that the solid that blocks rain and keeps out a screamer
cannot
keep out fire.”

More people sat, and Irin seized the opportunity. Some were growing frightened again, and that was a good thing. Ilter grabbed Irin’s arm, but his father stopped him and gestured for his son to sit. Ignoring them both, Irin turned to Wil, gesturing once more for him to come forward. For whatever reason, this time he did not receive the same resistance from Wil.

“Now, please, ask your questions of Wil and he will tell you what is coming.”

Wil walked to the center and looked around him at all the people. A newest cried, and a woman tried to put it to her breast. His gaze held on her for a moment, and Irin hoped that his friend would think of Owil, back at his house, and her growing belly.

A man on one of the high rocks stood and spoke.

“Where does this rock come from, and why does it come to us?”

Wil glanced at Irin and then back at the man.

He said too quietly, “It comes from the stars…”

Irin leaned close, “Louder. And speak with strength. This may be our only chance.”

Wil nodded nervously and repeated, this time with a power Irin had never heard from his friend. It may have been contrived, but it was perfect. “It comes from the stars… and the reason it comes to the valley is… well, that is where it is pointed. Like a stone that is thrown, this is simply where it lands.”

The man sat back down, and another rose from a lower rock behind Wil.

“I want to know why you think this dream is real. I dream of running along the tops of these mountains, but it never happens—probably never will!”

“It is hard to explain,” Wil replied. “But a dream feels like one thing, and a vision feels like another.”

Questions like these came for a while, some merely repeating those already asked. Finally, Twill swung his walking stick in front of Wil.

“That is enough. My people do not wish to leave their homes. Most of them clearly do not believe this is going to happen, and those who do are more afraid of the screamers that will surely kill them if they leave.”

Irin stared at the back of Twill’s head and imagined what might happen if he struck him. He guessed that it would work against his goal, people seeing him as more tyrant than savior. He waited for the feeble voice to fall silent.

“I ask this,” Twill continued, “and afterward let there be no further discussion of the matter. Those who believe the ridiculous dream of this killer rock, stand now.”

The people remained seated, looking around them. Irin could tell that some wished to stand but did not want to be the only ones. A new murmur began, and Irin saw some people pointing behind him. He turned and saw one person standing. Orin.

Irin closed his eyes and raised his chin to her. When he opened them again, he could see that Oinni had stood as well, along with her eldest new, now called Inni after his dead father. Irin watched as an oldest woman, Olin, also stood up. Her oldest man had been taken in the recent attack. Many more people began to speak among themselves when they saw her stand. Soon all the families of the attack victims were on their feet, and others, who had not found it in them to stand before, rose as well.

Irin watched with relief as more and more stood. In the end, half the gathered were now on their feet. He stepped forward to speak, but Twill again swung the stick in front of him.

“Now… very well,” the oldest’s thin voice cried out, “you are believers. But the more important question is this. Who, of those standing, does
not
wish to leave Pwin-T? It is fine to fear the dream coming true, but sit back down if you have no intention of following this… this
old
into certain death outside the valley.”

Irin stepped around the upraised stick and looked out on the throng. He raised his chin to them all. No one who had stood sat down.

“Fine,” Twill concluded. “Those who leave, we hope some of you survive to return to the rest of us. Let us make-safe and discuss tomorrow how we can help the travelers.”

As everyone began to leave, Irin spoke again. “Those who are fleeing with us, please stay for a moment. The rest can go ahead. We have plans to discuss.”

Irin’s new followers sat back down as the rest made their way from the circle.

Twill moved close to Irin. “Hear me, Irin,” he said quietly. “Have your talk while those with good sense make-safe, but think hard on this: do you
really
believe I would allow you to take all these foolish believers to their deaths? No one will be coming with you. Be sure of that—it will not happen.”

And he shuffled away, with Ilter assisting him into the tunnel.

What could Twill do to stop it, Irin wondered. The oldest had tried to convince them all, and it didn’t work. But the man was a wise and influential manipulator and may very well disrupt his plans. Irin continued to ponder this in the back of his mind, hoping that the process of planning would solidify his people’s decisions.

The last of the nonbelievers exited, and Irin raised his hands to hush the low whispers of the group. “I know the risk you take in doing this,” he began. “And I promise you this: we
will
make it out of the valley. When the day comes, we will watch the skies in daylight to see the rock come down. When it comes, we will grieve for those left behind. They will not be forgotten.”

“What if it does not come?” asked a man near the front.

“If it does not, we will return immediately to the valley and rejoin the people, thankful that they are still alive. Now, here is what we must do…”

Irin called on several people to lead various aspects of the preparations. Norrit would lead a group of men and women to visit every house and borrow k’yots from those who had decided to stay behind. Pwig, Irin’s brother, would gather rope and cutters. Every household would bring its lightsticks. Wil volunteered to gather dylt, gwottle, and k’yon seeds to replant elsewhere. Irin asked if he could lead a group to create bundles of food for the journey as well. Other people shouted out other ideas.

“We need plenty of firedust…”

“Firepots for cooking…”

“. . . and for melting solid!”

“Sleep mats…”

“… more clothes for the coming cold…”

The meeting went on until the eastern sky began to brighten, prompting everyone to depart quickly to make-safe.

Irin called out as they left, “Bring everything back to the Gathering Rocks for the next two days. We leave on the third.” Then he walked to Orin, who looked at him with eyes wide. “Orin,” he said, “return to the house and get Tillyt to help you make-safe.”

“What? Where are you going?” she gasped, terrified. “The daylight comes!”

“I’ll come quickly, before the sun reaches the mountains. I will tap on the door three times with a stone. Wait for me.”

She looked at him in fear, but he squeezed her head and pushed her away. She loped out of sight around the bend in the path.

Wil looked at him, confused. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Go to your house and make-safe. I must get something.”

Irin jogged down the rightmost path, leading to the Clothes House, as Wil ran off in the other direction, toward his own house. Irin felt nervous as he trotted alone through the city. Not a single other person could be seen; every house had already made-safe. He came to the Clothes House, its doors left open as usual, for no one slept there. Inside, he found what he needed, picked it up, and stepped outside.

He checked the horizon; daylight would come anytime. The mountain paths were all fully visible now, and he scanned them to spot any sign of screamers coming. Seeing none, he ran up the main path to the city center, then cut left. He stopped outside the house, picked up a stone, and gave three light taps on the door. He looked around nervously as he waited, listening for any movement outside. Screamers had been through the city at this hour many times.

He heard the door’s pushlocks turn, and the door pulled away from the opening.

“Irin?” Twill said, bewildered. “What are you doing at my house with the sun rising?” Behind Twill, Ilter leaned the door against the inner wall. “Are you so foolish that you wish to be ripped apart by screamers before you can even
try
to take away these foolish followers?”

Ilter stepped in front of his father and grabbed Irin’s middle. “You had better run to your house now,” he said. “Do not worry, we will end this tomorrow.”

Ilter’s face suddenly changed. His eyes rolled backward and showed only white as his hand dropped from Irin’s middle. A ribbon of blood trickled over his lower lip.

The cutter had sunk so deep beneath the jaw, Irin supposed it had reached the inside of Ilter’s head. He withdrew the weapon and let Ilter fall to the floor, clutching at his neck and gurgling blood.

Twill saw the blood and took a step backward in horror. “What have you…” He fell to the floor, and something gave way inside his midsection.

Leaping forward, Irin dragged the cutter across the oldest’s throat until he felt it hit bone. The mouth opened wider than Irin thought possible, and Twill briefly moved as if trying to cough. His body slumped.

Wiping the bloodied cutter on Twill’s clothing, Irin poked his head out the door opening. When he saw nothing moving in any direction, he dashed up the path toward his house. His eyes darted about. Acute fear buzzed in his head. Fear of being caught—no one had ever done what he just did. To intentionally end another’s life. Fear of screamers—they could run three times faster than a person and his house was not yet in sight. Fear of Orin, his father, his mother, finding out what he had done.
It had to be done
.

At the door to his house, Irin picked up a stone and tapped on the door three times. Behind him he heard a barking squeal from the mountain pass, and looked back to see the sunlight fire the tops of the mountains. Three screamers were galloping toward the city. He had never before seen one in its entirety. His heart pounded in his ears as he imagined seeing all three—close up and very soon.

Again he tapped the door three times, but not a sound came from within. The barking continued, and he looked back in panic. He could see each creature galloping on all four of their long, thin legs. The one in front, the largest, was about as tall as his house.
Where is Orin!

He sprinted around the corner and rapped on his father’s door. Peering back around the corner, he saw that the screamers were clambering over the gate with ease. One of them spotted him and squealed, twisting its long neck toward him. As all three came at him, he slammed the rock continuously on his father’s door. When they were just four houses away from him, Irin heard Orin scream from around the corner. He darted back around to his doorway, where she stood with his father. Both wore expressions of terror. Irin knocked them out of the way and grabbed the door as the largest screamer reached the opening and darted one of its front legs at him. Irin dug in and slammed the door shut with his shoulder, smashing the clawed foot against the jamb.

Orin and Tillyt rushed forward to lend their weight just as a tremendous blow from without flung Orin to the bed mat and opened a gap between the door and the wall. Two massive sets of claws snaked in from above the door. Irin released one handle, grasped the cutter tucked into his waist, and swung it blindly over his head. Feeling it sink into flesh, he twisted; then it was ripped from his hand. A fearsome screech sounded from mere inches away, and both long legs withdrew, taking the cutter with them. Father and son wedged their feet against the floor and pressed forward again with all their might, and the door sealed. Irin immediately twisted the handles.

Two huge slams struck the door again before the clawing and scritching sounds began. Gasping for breath, the two men sank to the floor. Irin looked back at Orin, panting heavily on the mat and pressing her hand against a gash on her forehead. He rushed to her side and moved her hand away to see. There was a large bump on her head, and he could see that the cut came only from the impact of the door, not from the terrible claws. He grabbed a piece of clothing from the pile and pressed it against the wound, tilting her onto her back.