A World Without Heroes
Page 44
“Yes, and I’ll be just fine once you reattach me to my body.”
“Where is your body?” Rachel asked.
“Hard to say. I can feel that I was buried. I could tell they didn’t take me far. Look around.”
Jason and Rachel searched the surrounding area. Off at a diagonal between the northbound and eastbound roads Rachel noticed a rectangular patch of churned-up earth. “I think I see where they buried you.”
“Good. Go exhume me, and I’ll help you get my head down.”
“You still have control over your body?” Rachel exclaimed.
“My body doesn’t feel disconnected,” Ferrin explained patiently. “Blood from the heart in my body under the ground is still flowing into my head up here. The air I breathe in this sack is still filling my lungs. All my nerves remain in contact with my brain. That is what makes me a displacer.”
“And you can reattach your head?” Jason asked.
“Nothing could be simpler. Coming apart doesn’t serve much purpose unless you can put yourself back together. But I need you to dig me up first.”
“Should we do this?” Jason whispered to Rachel.
“We can’t just let him die,” she replied softly.
“What if he’s lying? What if he’s a criminal?”
“Then he’s probably on our side.”
Jason and Rachel shed their cloaks. Crouching in the freshly turned soil, Jason began scooping away loose dirt with his hands, getting gritty bits of earth under his fingernails. Rachel set to work alongside him. The hole had been recently filled, so the dirt moved easily. Before long they reached the body, maybe three feet under, lying supine. They worked to clear the soil from atop the length of the body, mounding it off to either side. Soon the body sat up and started helping.
Jason and Rachel stepped away from the hole as the headless body clambered out like some monstrosity from a horror movie. Hearing about a headless body from a voice in a sack was one thing—watching a headless body rise from a shallow grave was another.
“I can’t see a thing through this sack,” Ferrin declared. “Could one of you lead my body over here?”
Rachel shook her head and gestured for Jason to do it. He approached the body, which stood motionless beside the hole, one hand outstretched. It wore a gray shirt, canvas pants, and rope-soled shoes, all caked with earth. As Jason drew near, he stared down at the headless neck, observing a perfect cross-section of muscle, skin, fat, blood vessels, bone, the spinal cord, the esophagus—everything. Strangely, no soil clung to the exposed tissue. Measuring himself against the body, Jason found that the neck came up to the top of his chest.
Jason took the hand of the body and led it over to the gibbet below the bag. “Pleasure to meet you,” the muffled voice said, while the body shook his hand gratefully. “Can you see how they fastened me up here?”
Rachel approached cautiously, keeping her distance, an expression of morbid fascination on her face.
“A cord holding the bag shut is looped over a hook,” Jason said.
“Can you reach it?” Ferrin asked.
“Not even close.”
“Could you reach if I put you on my shoulders?”
“I think so, but I don’t want to scramble your insides. What if I hurt your spinal cord or something?”
“Don’t worry. The displacement field that keeps me connected protects the exposed portions of my anatomy.”
The body crouched down.
“I’m not sure I could balance on you without a head there. Plus I’m taller than you. Why don’t you climb on my shoulders? You should be able to unhook the bag by touch just fine.”
“Fair enough.”
Jason knelt down, and the body, feeling its way, sat on his shoulders. Rachel came forward and helped Jason stagger to his feet. He moved under the bag.
“I have it,” Ferrin announced.
Jason knelt again, and the body dismounted. The body opened the mouth of the bag, removed the head by the hair, and held it so that it could see Jason and Rachel.
“Many thanks,” the head said. “You saved my life.”
“Our pleasure,” Jason replied.
Rachel shook her head slowly. “Not to be rude, but this is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jason couldn’t help agreeing—although, amazingly, crazy things were starting to feel almost expected now.
The body set the head on the stump of the neck. Head and body instantly fused together without any mark to suggest they had ever been separated. Ferrin had a black eye and scrapes on his forehead and left cheek.
“Better?” Ferrin asked.
“Less weird,” Rachel acknowledged gratefully.
Jason smiled. “I’m Jason. This is my sister, Rachel. Looks like you got beat up.”
Ferrin flashed a lopsided smile. “The price I pay for being wizardborn.”
“Was your father a wizard?” Rachel asked.
“Are you two as naive as you act?” Ferrin asked. “How can that be?”
“We’re from far away,” Jason reminded him.
“So far away that you haven’t heard of displacers or the wizardborn races? Never mind, I don’t mean to pry; you two just saved my skin. Rachel, when I say ‘wizardborn,’ I mean metaphorically. My race did not occur naturally. Displacers were created by wizards.”
“I see,” Rachel said.
“None of the wizardborn get much love from regular humans,” Ferrin continued. “But displacers are especially despised—partly because we’re hard to distinguish from regular humans, partly because our race is dying out, making us easy to pick on.”
“Some bullies figured out you were a displacer?” Rachel asked.
“They were merciless. Once my head was in the sack, they kicked me up and down the road. A real group of princes, let me tell you. I suppose I should be grateful they wanted me to die a slow, torturous death, because now I may actually survive, thanks to your kindness.”
“Did you know them?” Jason asked.
“Not personally. I saw them in an alehouse west of here. They must have followed me out of town.”
“Where were you coming from?” Jason asked.
“Away farther to the west. I should have seen it coming. Too many of these small-town bumpkins prey on outsiders.”
“We’ve noticed,” Rachel said.
“Do you travel a lot?” Jason asked.
“It’s all I do,” Ferrin replied. “Displacers are wanderers. We’re not like the drinlings or the Amar Kabal, with a homeland to call our own. We’re unwanted, so we try to keep our identities secret and get by however we can.”
“Where is your body?” Rachel asked.
“Hard to say. I can feel that I was buried. I could tell they didn’t take me far. Look around.”
Jason and Rachel searched the surrounding area. Off at a diagonal between the northbound and eastbound roads Rachel noticed a rectangular patch of churned-up earth. “I think I see where they buried you.”
“Good. Go exhume me, and I’ll help you get my head down.”
“You still have control over your body?” Rachel exclaimed.
“My body doesn’t feel disconnected,” Ferrin explained patiently. “Blood from the heart in my body under the ground is still flowing into my head up here. The air I breathe in this sack is still filling my lungs. All my nerves remain in contact with my brain. That is what makes me a displacer.”
“And you can reattach your head?” Jason asked.
“Nothing could be simpler. Coming apart doesn’t serve much purpose unless you can put yourself back together. But I need you to dig me up first.”
“Should we do this?” Jason whispered to Rachel.
“We can’t just let him die,” she replied softly.
“What if he’s lying? What if he’s a criminal?”
“Then he’s probably on our side.”
Jason and Rachel shed their cloaks. Crouching in the freshly turned soil, Jason began scooping away loose dirt with his hands, getting gritty bits of earth under his fingernails. Rachel set to work alongside him. The hole had been recently filled, so the dirt moved easily. Before long they reached the body, maybe three feet under, lying supine. They worked to clear the soil from atop the length of the body, mounding it off to either side. Soon the body sat up and started helping.
Jason and Rachel stepped away from the hole as the headless body clambered out like some monstrosity from a horror movie. Hearing about a headless body from a voice in a sack was one thing—watching a headless body rise from a shallow grave was another.
“I can’t see a thing through this sack,” Ferrin declared. “Could one of you lead my body over here?”
Rachel shook her head and gestured for Jason to do it. He approached the body, which stood motionless beside the hole, one hand outstretched. It wore a gray shirt, canvas pants, and rope-soled shoes, all caked with earth. As Jason drew near, he stared down at the headless neck, observing a perfect cross-section of muscle, skin, fat, blood vessels, bone, the spinal cord, the esophagus—everything. Strangely, no soil clung to the exposed tissue. Measuring himself against the body, Jason found that the neck came up to the top of his chest.
Jason took the hand of the body and led it over to the gibbet below the bag. “Pleasure to meet you,” the muffled voice said, while the body shook his hand gratefully. “Can you see how they fastened me up here?”
Rachel approached cautiously, keeping her distance, an expression of morbid fascination on her face.
“A cord holding the bag shut is looped over a hook,” Jason said.
“Can you reach it?” Ferrin asked.
“Not even close.”
“Could you reach if I put you on my shoulders?”
“I think so, but I don’t want to scramble your insides. What if I hurt your spinal cord or something?”
“Don’t worry. The displacement field that keeps me connected protects the exposed portions of my anatomy.”
The body crouched down.
“I’m not sure I could balance on you without a head there. Plus I’m taller than you. Why don’t you climb on my shoulders? You should be able to unhook the bag by touch just fine.”
“Fair enough.”
Jason knelt down, and the body, feeling its way, sat on his shoulders. Rachel came forward and helped Jason stagger to his feet. He moved under the bag.
“I have it,” Ferrin announced.
Jason knelt again, and the body dismounted. The body opened the mouth of the bag, removed the head by the hair, and held it so that it could see Jason and Rachel.
“Many thanks,” the head said. “You saved my life.”
“Our pleasure,” Jason replied.
Rachel shook her head slowly. “Not to be rude, but this is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jason couldn’t help agreeing—although, amazingly, crazy things were starting to feel almost expected now.
The body set the head on the stump of the neck. Head and body instantly fused together without any mark to suggest they had ever been separated. Ferrin had a black eye and scrapes on his forehead and left cheek.
“Better?” Ferrin asked.
“Less weird,” Rachel acknowledged gratefully.
Jason smiled. “I’m Jason. This is my sister, Rachel. Looks like you got beat up.”
Ferrin flashed a lopsided smile. “The price I pay for being wizardborn.”
“Was your father a wizard?” Rachel asked.
“Are you two as naive as you act?” Ferrin asked. “How can that be?”
“We’re from far away,” Jason reminded him.
“So far away that you haven’t heard of displacers or the wizardborn races? Never mind, I don’t mean to pry; you two just saved my skin. Rachel, when I say ‘wizardborn,’ I mean metaphorically. My race did not occur naturally. Displacers were created by wizards.”
“I see,” Rachel said.
“None of the wizardborn get much love from regular humans,” Ferrin continued. “But displacers are especially despised—partly because we’re hard to distinguish from regular humans, partly because our race is dying out, making us easy to pick on.”
“Some bullies figured out you were a displacer?” Rachel asked.
“They were merciless. Once my head was in the sack, they kicked me up and down the road. A real group of princes, let me tell you. I suppose I should be grateful they wanted me to die a slow, torturous death, because now I may actually survive, thanks to your kindness.”
“Did you know them?” Jason asked.
“Not personally. I saw them in an alehouse west of here. They must have followed me out of town.”
“Where were you coming from?” Jason asked.
“Away farther to the west. I should have seen it coming. Too many of these small-town bumpkins prey on outsiders.”
“We’ve noticed,” Rachel said.
“Do you travel a lot?” Jason asked.
“It’s all I do,” Ferrin replied. “Displacers are wanderers. We’re not like the drinlings or the Amar Kabal, with a homeland to call our own. We’re unwanted, so we try to keep our identities secret and get by however we can.”
