Free The Keeper's Shadow by Dennis Foon Page A

that will feed them.
    Mabatan returns to the house where she left Alandra under Resa’s watchful eye. The warrior is standing outside, leaning on the door. “No real problems, but—” says Resa, pointing out the mess of overturned food and broken bowls that was once Alandra’s dinner tray, “she’s as testy as they come.”
    Shaking her head, Mabatan sighs. “I will need your help, Resa, over the coming days.”
    â€œWhatever you need, just ask. Why aren’t you killing her, anyway?”
    â€œShe is to be cleansed.”
    â€œAh,” says Resa knowingly, and laughs. “A fate worse than death!”
    With a wry smile, Mabatan opens the door, muttering, “Yes, but for who?” And stopping just one step inside the room, she waits until the door locks behind her.
    The room stinks of Dirt. Dirt and sweat. And fear. The healer’s body is never still, never relaxed. She’s been pacing so much she’s worn a path on the hemp mat that covers the cellar floor. Kicking at the wall, the Dirt Eater cries out in frustration. “What do you want from me?”
    Mabatan would much rather be anywhere else, in the company of man-eating Skree, for instance, than here beginning this, but she sits cross-legged on the floor, her ease a pointed contrast to the Dirt Eater’s agitation. “I want you to be cleansed of Dirt,” she answers simply.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” the healer demands, every word rising in desperation. “You took my Dirt. Cast it into the wind. Locked me in this room. How am I not cleansed?”
    â€œPerhaps in a week you will be cleansed. Perhaps, not for a month. How often and how much you have taken the Dirt will determine your recovery. Until then, the Dirt Eaters can find you. You know this.” Mabatan notes the way the healer’s left hand squeezes the fingers on the right, the way she looks down at the floor.
    â€œThey came into my dream.” Although barely above a whisper, the healer’s words are clear. “How did you know?”
    â€œIt is what they do. What is it that they want?”
    â€œStowe. The children. Me. To go back. Back to Oasis.” Alandra slumps onto the floor. She seems exhausted, her tone defeated.
    â€œWhat did you tell them?”
    â€œThat I don’t have Stowe. That I have not discovered what happened to the children.”
    Mabatan listens carefully to the beating of the Dirt Eater’s heart. It is fast but steady. She is not lying, but she is being as careful with Mabatan as she was with the Dirt Eaters in her dream.
    Mabatan speaks slowly so that her words might be heard and understood. “Dirt owns those who use it. And it will fight the body that does not remain true to it. You are a healer. Tell me your symptoms.”
    The Dirt Eater puts her fingers to her neck and counts. “My heart rate—much faster than normal. And I feel weak, irritable, not myself. I thought it was just fear, but I’m not afraid now, and still my hands…” Holding them in front of her, the healer tries to steady their trembling. Mabatan can see the anxiety mount in her eyes when her effort fails.
    Mabatan rises and takes the Dirt Eater’s hands in her own. They are so ghostly pale and fragile. They could so easily be broken. “Did your friends ever tell you why they have no children?”
    The healer looks at Mabatan, surprised. “There is a chemical in the caves of Oasis. As long as they stay inside, they age slowly but they can’t reproduce.”
    â€œSo the Masters of the City,” says Mabatan, carefully picking her words, “battle old age, because they do not live in the Caves?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œBut the Masters also have no offspring.”
    Alandra shrugs. “That could be their choice.”
    Mabatan focuses squarely on the healer. “It is because they eat Dirt.”
    The Dirt Eater’s eyes shut