(Continued from Part 1)

“Mortimer, you stink!” Gus said, pointing a finger at the object of his ridicule.

“Hey, leave him alone.”  Bart’s head, topped with his mop of brown hair, peered over Gus’s shoulder.  It was an easy feat, given that he was a foot taller than his companion.  “What did ol’ Mort ever do to you?”

“It’s true!” Gus slapped his hand on the fence of the corral.  “All the other pigs try to avoid their own poop, but Mortimer doesn’t care.  He’s so old and fat, he just lays right in it.  Don’t you, you stupid fat hog? I swear, if my father weren’t around, you’d be bacon by now.”

Bart watched as Mortimer, seemingly offended, waddled away towards a shady spot in the pen.  “OK, maybe he does stink.  But I thought you wanted to talk about Katya.”

Gus turned around.  He resembled a pig in some ways himself, with his round face and upturned nose.  Even the wispy hairs on his upper lip and chin made him look porcine.  “I do want to talk about her,” he said.  “I’ve got a plan.  This evening, when Katya gets back from the berry-picking, you’re gonna pick her up and drop her in the pen with Mort.”

Bart stopped and considered for a moment.  “That’s not really much of a plan, is it?”

Gus narrowed his eyes and snarled.  “You didn’t let me finish! You’re not actually going to drop her in there.  Right when she thinks she’s going to fall and get covered with mud and pig crap, I’ll show up and stop you.  All you have to do is pretend like you’re scared of me, and do what I say.  Once she sees that I’m her savior, she’s going to want to marry me even more than she does now.”

“Hmm,” Bart said, absent-mindedly scratching himself behind his neck, “I don’t think it’s going to work.  I mean, I’m pretty sure she knows that we’re friends.  So isn’t she going to figure out that this is all a trick?”

“She’s not gonna figure out anything!” Gus bared his finger at the larger boy.  “Girls aren’t smart like that, Bart.  Don’t you think I know what I’m doing? I’m the son of the chief elder, for Omim’s sake.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it,” Bart said, “but what do you mean ‘even more than she does now’?”

“Look, you know as well as I do that Katya’s the prettiest girl in the village.  Her father’s been holding on to her for as long as he can, way past the age of womanhood, because he wants to cash in on her wedding.  And now my dad is willing to pay for her to be my bride, which means it’s going to happen whether she likes it or not.”

“So if she’s going to marry you anyway, why all this pig-throwing stuff?” Bart asked, motioning towards the pen.

“Because, there’s a big difference between what a girl will do because she has to and what she’ll do when she wants to.  Don’t you know anything?” Gus frowned as Bart stood silently and raised an eyebrow at him.  “Look, just be ready by sundown, OK? I’ll give you a signal.  And whatever you do, don’t let word get around!  If anyone finds out about this, then…”

His words were cut off by the sound of cracking branches coming from the nearby forest.  A moment later, Ian emerged into the village clearing, covered in scratches and pine needles.

Gus stared at him for a few moments, bewildered.  “Ian? What are you doing here? Were you listening in on us?”

“I…” Ian had to gasp out the words due to his exertion.  “I need to talk to the elders.  To your father.  It’s an emergency.”

Gus glanced at Bart, as if trying to confirm he had heard the sudden change of topic correctly.  Then he looked back at Ian and crossed his arms defiantly.  “My father is busy.  He doesn’t have time for artisan nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense!” Ian shouted, a bit louder than he had intended.  “I just fought with an orc in the woods!”

The absurdity of juxtaposing those two statements made both Gus and Bart burst out laughing.  Ian’s face began to flush red.

“Sure,” Gus said between gasps of air, “and I just saw a wisp come out of Bart’s ass!”

“Well,” Ian said, “I guess you do usually have your head stuck up there.”

A sudden hush seemed to fall over the three of them.

Gus’s nostrils flared.  “What did you say?”

Ian’s eyes went wide when he realized what he had done.  “I uhh…” he said, stepping back a few paces.

“Bart,” Gus said, “let’s show this little freak what we do with people who spy on…hey!”

Ian had already begun to take off before Gus finished speaking.  Bart may not have been fastest runner in the village, but he knew from experience that it would be better to get a head start against those long strides.

The houses on the southern edge of the village tended to be larger than most, and so Ian had only gone past one of them before he began to hear signs of pursuit.  Despite his rapidly-fading stamina, he made a dash around the next corner and spotted a likely hiding spot behind Elder Farnish’s wood pile.  He dove for it immediately, sliding against it and rolling himself into a ball.

His gambit paid off when Bart ran by seconds later without so much as a backwards glance.  Ian continued to stay put after the tall boy had gone out of sight, waiting to see if he would notice his mistake and immediately double back.   A moment later, his heart jumped when a face suddenly bounced around the corner and looked directly at him.  Then a hand appeared in front of it, waving at him excitedly.

It was Pip, the local orphan boy.  “Hey Ian, what are you doing in there?” he asked.

“None of your business,” Ian said.

“Are you hiding from Bart? I just saw him run past here.  Hey, do you want me to try and throw him off your trail? That guy is such a jerk.”

Ian stood up and dusted himself off.  It had never been made clear to him where Pip had come from or why he had remained in the village for so long, instead of being shipped off to the Wanderer academy in the capital.  “I don’t need your help, OK? I can take care of myself.”

Pip nodded with aplomb.  “Alright.  So do you want to play a game then? Looks like you’re already set to play hide and seek.”

Ian made a huffing noise.  “I don’t have time.  I have to go see my father.  It’s about something really important.”

Pip smiled.  “OK then.  If I were you I’d go that way, though.  Not that I’m helping you or anything!”  He gave Ian an exaggerated wink.

Ian scowled, then showed Pip his back and jogged away.  He turned to his left, following the edge of the town clearing until he came to the main road.  From there, he could see the village for what it was: little more than a small collection of ramshackle dwellings thrown up on both sides of the central roadway.  The road widened slightly at the center into something resembling a main square, currently empty except for a few lazy residents sitting outdoors and gossiping.  Ian continued across to the southern side, where the houses were little more than tightly packed together huts.  His own home was distinguished by the brick kiln out back, still smoking from a recent firing.

When he stepped inside, he saw what the kiln had been used for: sitting on the cooling table was his father’s favorite creation, affectionately dubbed ‘The Piece.’  Physically, it resembled an 8” circular plate with ornamental web-like lines running across its surface.  But it was the finish that made The Piece special; it was glazed with a process that his father had invented, which involved painstakingly collecting the white dust spewed by the byeff fungus when it burst open to lay spores in the surrounding area.  The dust was mixed with a clear lacquer and then fired onto The Piece layer by layer, slowly building up a hard, perfectly white enamel.  To Ian’s knowledge, there was nothing similar to The Piece anywhere in the entire region; it could easily have fetched a high price if sold as a fancy wall decoration for some rich household in the capital.

That is, if his father could ever be convinced to sell it.  As it was, he had always insisted that The Piece wasn’t ‘ready’ yet, and required ‘one more’ coat of glaze before it would be complete.  Looking at it then, Ian let out a small sigh.  Certainly, finishing The Piece had become something of an inside joke in their small family, but it was also the longest-running of his father’s many eccentric, unprofitable projects.

With a creak, the back door to the house opened to admit his father, carrying a cloth sack filled with dried rushes.  He was a tall man, with unkempt, shoulder-length hair that partially hid a magnanimous face with a friendly smile.

“Ian! You’re back a little early.  Giesling didn’t kick you out, did he?”

“No,” Ian said, “I ran back as fast as I could.  Something terrible has happened.  I just fought with an orc in the woods.  I came to warn everyone.  The village might not be safe anymore!”

“Hmm…” His father considered the matter carefully.  “How do you know it was an orc?”

“Well it definitely wasn’t human!” Ian said. “It was hideous.  And it had an orcish helmet on.”

“Ah, but that doesn’t mean anything necessarily.  It could have been stolen,” his father said.  “Do you remember what it looked like? Maybe I could draw it for you. I wonder if a drawing of an orc would sell to a caravan…”

Ian threw up his hands.  “Don’t you think you should be taking this a bit more seriously?! Orcs! There could be thousands of them by now, crawling all over the woods.  And what about the Decay? What if the orc was fleeing from it?”

“Now, now,” his father said, “let’s not get too worked up over one orc.  I mean sure, seeing one is pretty rare.  But it’s not totally unheard of.  It was probably lost when you came across it.  Maybe it got sick was wandering off to die.”

“Sick? Actually, there was something sort of strange about it…the inside of it…” Ian trailed off.  “I don’t know, it still seems dangerous to me.  Should we go and tell the elders?”

“I’ll tell you what,” his father said, “I’ll bring it up next week at the festival planning.  Why don’t you help me prepare these rushes right now? I’m going to weave them into a basket for Lady Miranda.”

“The elders…next week…” Ian paused for a moment, lost in thought.  “Hey, wait a minute.  What do you know about that letter saying that I’m going to be Giesling’s apprentice?”

His father frowned.  He slung the rushes off his shoulder and turned away, suddenly appearing busy.  “It seems like you’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry! Why would I want the elders deciding my fate behind my back? Please tell me you didn’t sign that letter!”

His father turned and looked his son up and down.  His eyes were loving, but sad.  “Well, you never seem to want to help me with my projects.  Perhaps the elders are right.  This could be the best thing for you.”

Ian’s jaw dropped.  “’The elders are right’? Since when do you say things like that?!” He turned away and began to storm out.

“Ian! Wait a second!”

“Forget it.  I’ll see you later.  Try not to sell me to any passing caravans while I’m gone.”  He stomped out the front door without looking behind him.  What’s worse, he thought, my own father conspiring against me, or running all that way and almost getting my butt kicked for nothing?

Glumly, he began walking back towards the square, his eyes planted at his feet.  I guess I should be glad for the excitement.  Everything here is so boring, anyway.  Say, I wonder where…

Before he could complete the thought, he was airborne, lifted by two strong hands grasping under his armpits.

“Bring him over here,” Gus’s voice called out from behind him, “I’ll grab his legs.”

“Hey! Stop! Cut it out!” Ian writhed furiously, but Bart’s grip was implacable, and soon Gus managed to get a hold of him as well.  “What are you doing?!” he yelled as they began frog marching him through the village.

“We’ve had a little change of plans,” Gus said.

“What? Help! Someone help me!”

“Aw, keep it down, you’ll spoil the fun.  We’re almost there anyway.”

When Ian looked down to see where they had taken him, he saw Mortimer’s flat nose and beady eyes staring back up at him.  “No! Not that! Please!”

His outburst made Gus and Bart laugh uproariously as they swung him back and forth and heaved him over the fence.  He landed on his side in a particularly fetid pile of ‘mud’, the laughter of his tormenters still echoing through his gunk-filled ear.

Mortimer didn’t seem nearly as amused.  He calmly waddled over towards Ian, taking a sudden keen interest in the area near his right shoe.

“What are you doing? Stay away from me.”  Ian attempted to wave off the old hog with his foot, which made him notice something odd: the bottom of his shoe was smoking.  It had started as a subtle vapor, barely distinguishable from the steam that rose from the fresh pile of pig dung, but in only a few seconds it had grown considerably in size and visibility.  “What in Omim’s name…” he said, leaning in closer.

Mortimer had grown more curious as well.  Gingerly, he stepped forward and sniffed at the shoe, coming close enough to touch his wet nose on its surface.

At that instant, the old hog let out a blood-curdling squeal as his face melted into brown goo.

It happened in a flash; one moment Mortimer was a fully formed pig, and the next he was a skeleton, standing in place with his flesh exploding in all directions.  Where the brown muck that had been his skin hit the mud, it seemed to multiply, transforming the ground itself into a tidal wave of ooze.

Gus and Bart stopped laughing for a split second before the wave washed over them, melting them instantly.  Ian looked on in shock as the chain reaction began to grow out of control.  Wherever the goo traveled, it transformed the ground it touched into more of itself, and the force of the change was enough to send it flying explosively in all directions.

Ian scrambled to his feet as fast he could and vaulted over the fence.  All of the pigs were gone.  Gus and Bart had been completely obliterated as well, leaving behind only fragments of bone, some tattered clothing and two pairs of boots.  And yet somehow, he himself had suffered no ill effects despite being covered from head to toe by the sticky brown fluid.  To his right, he could hear people screaming as the villagers ran out of their houses in panic.  “Decay! It’s the Decay!” someone shouted, but screams of pain and the sizzling sound coming from the ground made it impossible to determine who it was.

“Father!” Ian yelled, running towards the center of the village.  The town square was crowded with people running between the penned animals, and the Decay was eating through them all with equal vigor.  Somewhere a cooking fire had overturned, and soon the square began to fill with black smoke as flames began to spread among the tightly packed houses.  Pulling away from a melting hand that had reached out to grab his arm, Ian took off and made a bee-line towards his own house.

“Father! Are you in here?!” He yelled as he burst inside.  The only reply was the creaking of the back door as it flapped in the wind.  Did he run out that way? A crackling noise from behind made him aware that the flames were rapidly approaching.  The Decay was helping to spread them somehow, the ooze igniting on contact with the fire like lamp oil.  Ian looked around in panic, searching for a clue to his father’s whereabouts.  Randomly, his eyes settled on The Piece resting on the table beside him.  Without thinking, he grabbed it and then rushed out the back door, leaving the rest of the household to be consumed by the blaze.

The area behind the cottage was empty, so Ian ran back around to check the town again.  One look told him that going back through the center of it wouldn’t be as easy a second time.  Just then, through the chaos and the half-melted bodies, Ian spotted a small shape coming towards him.  The shape looked up, and its brown goo-covered face brightened with recognition.  “Ian!” Pip exclaimed, “Come on, we gotta get out of here!”

“I have to find my father!” Ian yelled.

“No good!” Pip grabbed Ian by the arm and attempted to drag him in the opposite direction.  “It’s the Decay, Ian! This whole place is lost! We have to head down out of the mountains!”

“No! I can’t leave yet!” But even as he said it, Ian knew that Pip was right.  Half the village was already a raging inferno, and the other half…Ian could barely bring himself to look at it.

Cursing, he turned and followed in Pip’s footsteps as they ran through the frothy brown muck streaming down the main road.  He sprinted as fast as he could, for as long as he could, keeping his gaze forward and focusing all his attention on his breathing to increase his stamina.

Finally, after running for what seemed like miles, he collapsed face-first onto a low ridge.  Beside him, Pip was kneeling calmly, looking in the direction they had come at the burning remains of the village.

They both stayed and watched it for far too long, unable to tear themselves away from the sight.  Ian felt strangely numb.  He had seen what had happened with his own eyes, and yet his brain was simply refusing to process it.  He tried to speak to himself, to narrate the events that had led up to the calamity, but all that came out was incoherent mumbling.  What could he possibly say as he sat and watched his own village, the only home he had ever known in his life, simultaneously going up in flames and melting into brown ooze?

“Wow,” Pip said, as if answering the question, “I never realized burning pig shit could smell that bad before!”

Continued in Part 3.

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