Groundtalker

Why did it always seem to turn out like this?

Jared ran for all he was worth, tearing through thick underbrush and getting his clothing snagged. He ignored the tears. This particular suit hadn’t cost that much. He didn’t think. Surely Mae knew by now not to set out nice clothing for him on days he was off duty, right?

Of course, he was technically supposed to be on duty. But Mae knew him better than that. He was on duty when he decided he was, and that never happened on a Monday.

But it also wasn’t Monday. He kept forgetting that. He had been given Monday off, because his employers had recognized his propensity to ignore his Monday tasks. But that just made Tuesday his new Monday. Obviously.

He ducked just in time to avoid a particularly low tree branch before it could clothesline him and send him sprawling. He cursed under his breath, scrambling over a fallen log. The storm last night had not been kind to this strand of forest. The thought made him glance up at the sky. Clear skies. Not that it meant anything. The weather could change in seconds from bright sun to hurricane. It was simply one of the risks of living in the hidden lands.

Unfortunately, glancing upwards had distracted Jared from watching where he was going. He tripped over the tip of rock that protruded from the ground and stumbled, catching his balance. He could practically feel the ground rumble in laughter.

“Ha, ha,” he muttered. “Very funny. I’m trying not to die here.” The ground rumbled again, with a vague impression of, And whose fault is that?

“I don’t need your sass,” he snapped, already running again. An impression of indignation.

“You are to sassy!” he exclaimed. “You talk back to me all the time! Oh, stop it. You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant. Talking back is only polite when someone has actually spoken to you first.”

The ground seemed to mutter to itself in sullen grumblings. For all of its use of sarcasm and mockery, it sure had trouble understanding the concepts.

“I’m sorry, friend,” Jared said breathlessly, lungs burning from exertion. “I’m just under a lot of stress right now.”

Questioning. “Chased. Yes, again. No, they’re not...oh, spirits, when have they ever been friendly?”

Indignation again. “She doesn’t count. We were playing a game, and I was eight. No, not eight...Will you cut it out? I was eight years old. Yes, that is a long time ago. No, not yesterday, you buffoon. I’ve explained this to you before.” The ground didn’t understand time at all. Everything seemed to blur together for it.

He heard pursuit behind him and cursed. He wasn’t going fast enough.

At the thought, he heard a yelp behind him. He spared a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see a few of his pursuers trip. He smiled.

“Thanks, friend.” A supercilious response. “Yes, you’re forgiven for your previous sass and for tripping me. But the sass you just used will require something else to receive forgiveness.”

More yelping from behind him, followed by a sense of satisfaction from the ground.

“Alright, you win,” Jared gasped, legs and lungs burning. More satisfaction. “Don’t push it, friend.”

He finally reached the edge of the forest, which led out to a wide expanse of hot sand.

Sand. Sand was...strange. He never knew quite how to deal with the fickle stuff. Dirt was a little literal, but sand was just plain vapid. Oh, well. Most of his pursuers were tangled up at the moment anyway. Dirt was seeing to that.

He scrambled across the sand, annoyed, as usual, at how difficult it was to run across the shifting substance. His feet sunk in several inches and the sand snuck into his shoes, weighing down his feet.

“Do you mind?” he muttered irritably as a particularly large amount of sand got into his shoes. The sound hmmmed lazily, seeming totally content.

“No, this is not a good thing. You see, it makes it very difficult for me to walk.” Faint confusion. “You are getting in my shoes. It is heavy.” Contented hmmming. “No, still not a good thing. I know you like to be close and personal, but I need some space right now.”

More confusion. Jared sighed. Sand was just not helpful.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Just make sure to get in everyone else’s shoes too.” Contentment. Sand liked to get in peoples’ shoes. Made it feel all cozy. Jared didn’t understand that, personally. He had smelled shoes before, and it wasn’t pleasant. But of course, sand couldn’t smell. Could it?

Regardless, he could see the last trial ahead. He groaned loudly. The sand hummed back at him, imitating the noise.

“Hush, you,” he muttered. It ignored him completely. He would be happy to get off the sand.

That was, of course, if it didn’t mean stepping onto rock. He hesitated at the edge of the sand briefly.

“Remind me again why I do this?” The sand, of course, had no response for him. He took a deep breath and stepped onto the rock.

Immediately, he sensed a great solidity, and he began to sprint again. However, he also felt an immense discomfort. The rock was too silent, yet he could feel its presence, like when his employer came and watched him work from the corner, those disapproving eyes drilling holes into the back of his skull.

He just kept running, not saying a word. Most of the time, if he didn’t talk out loud, the ground didn’t talk to him. In fact, sand and dirt never talked to him unless he spoke to them directly. But rock…

You should not do this. He sighed. So much for that.

“I believe we have had this conversation before,” he said, puffing. He couldn’t see his pursuers over his shoulder, but that was no reason to slow down.

Four thousand, one hundred, eighty nine times.

Stupid rock. Or, well, smart rock. The only ground that could count, and seemed to have a perfect memory as well.

“Well,” he replied breathlessly, “then you should know by now that telling me is futile.”

So is your existence, the rock said. Yet you continue to do that.

Rock also happened to be the only ground with the capacity for intentional and clever use of sarcasm and insults.

“Alas,” Jared replied, “but you are incorrect. You see, I stopped existing months ago. You are simply imagining me. So why don’t you just ignore me, seeing as I am a figment of your imagination?”

I would never imagine something so stupid.

“Well, that was uncalled for!” Jared exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder again. Were those little dots in the distance moving towards him?

How long until the others get here?

“Not sure,” he admitted, dodging around a clump of bulging rock.

The least you could do is come alone.

“I do so try,” Jared replied. “It never works out.”

Then stop stealing things.

“I don’t see you being very helpful,” he protested. “If you would just do as I ask-”

I am not swallowing the entire court of magistrates.

“Then I am not going to stop stealing from them,” Jared said stubbornly. He could be stubborn too. So there, stupidly smart rock.

Maybe I’ll just swallow you.

“No you won’t.” Jared was fairly certain of that. Ahead, he finally saw his destination. The mountain stood tall, covered in random patches of sand, rock, and foliage. It made for quite the impressive sight.

He felt a raindrop hit his face. Spirits, he cursed inwardly. That wasn’t a good sign. Had he been too slow? But not, the rain was cool as it splattered on his face. No real danger yet.

He scrambled off the rock and onto the mountain, sprinting up to the top. A barrage of varying sensations attacked him as he crossed the varying types of ground. By the time he reached the top, he had a massive headache. He groaned, peeking into the long, circular hole at the very peak of the mountain. It was pure black, and he had no idea how far down it went. Forever, he assumed. All the way down to the spirits themselves.

The hole hissed at him, angry.

“Now, now,” he chided, “no need for that. I came as quick as I could, I tell you. No need to get snappy.”

He pulled the strange assortment of objects out of his pockets and started dumping them into the hole. He had no idea what they were. Metal, plastic, various colors and shapes. A couple pieces of paper with complicated diagrams and sloppy writing. It all looked like junk to him. But for some reason, the mountain wanted it. And it was important to give the mountain what it wanted.

The hissing subsided, replaced by a sensation of satisfaction. Good. The rain on his face had already begun feeling warm.

“There now,” he said. “That’s better.” He patted the ground beside the hole, and then started to trudge back down the mountain.

When he reached the rock, it immediately started to chastise him again.

You should not do what you do.

“You know perfectly well that I have to,” Jared replied.

No I don’t.

“I don’t want the spirited sky to start boiling and the ground to start shaking!”

For once, the ground didn’t reply for a long moment. Jared started to think it might have forgotten about him.

I don’t understand why it talks to you, of all people.

“Well, you talk to me,” Jared pointed out.

That’s different.

“Why?”

Because I don’t only talk to you.

“Yes you do,” Jared said. “I’ve talked to other groundtalkers. They say rock doesn’t speak.”

They just aren’t listening.

“I wish I could learn how to do that,” Jared said appreciatively.

But I still don’t understand. Why you?

“Because I don’t give a spirit’s backside what the Magistrate thinks of me, or of its research and advancements.”

Maybe you should.

“Buddy, you’re a rock,” Jared said. “Why do you care?”

There is someone coming.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jared asked, dodging around a piece of rock that was jutting up sharply. “People come, regardless of whether or not I steal things and give them to the mountain. Ack!”

That last part came as the ground shifted beneath his feet, causing him to slip into a small crater. The top sealed over his head nearly completely, leaving only a small slit for air to come in. Above, Jared could faintly hear voices.

Ah. Someone is coming.

“Thanks,” Jared whispered.

Shut up, stupid.

Right. Okay, then. He lay on his back, trying to keep himself from whistling or humming to pass the time. After what seemed like an eternity, the rock popped him back out, like someone spitting out an especially bitter porci berry.

Jared brushed off his clothing, and then went on his way.

***

“Are you telling me,” Christine said, rubbing her temples, “that he got away again?”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, magistrate.”

“One man,” she said flatly. “One smeck of a man.”

“He’s a Groundtalker,” one of the guards companions protested.

Christine glared at him. “You’re trained to deal with all Talkers,” she snapped. “Stop making excuses.

“This is no regular Groundtalker, magistrate,” the first guard said solemnly. “I seen the ground bend to his will, I did.”

“Stop making up stories,” she snapped again. The guard paled, looking at his feet.

Christine sighed, closing her eyes. “You are dismissed.” The men were more than happy to retreat.

Years of research and planning, foiled again and again by one man. They never even got close enough to see him, let alone catch him. Surely it was all a grand scheme, a group of people working together? Surely, one man could not be doing this all. Perhaps there was a faction among the people. They had voted, and a unanimous vote had come back in the affirmative. It was time for the outside world to find the hidden lands. They had been searching for a way to do it for years. Every time they got close, it would get snatched away.

She would never get off this accursed land. Her family thought she was dead. She might as well be.

The door to the chamber opened again, and Christine looked up irritably. The main guard walked in, a man wearing a suit that she thought had once been fine. The guard-Jared, she thought he was called-smiled at her lazily, and she glared back.

“And where,” she snapped, “have you been?”

“It’s my day off,” he replied, sliding into a chair.

“It is most definitely not.” She continued to glare at him. “I assume you heard the news?”

The younger looking man shrugged indifferently, that stupid smile still on his face. He appeared to be in his early twenties, although he had arrived on the hidden islands decades before Christine. Despite that, he had neither the physical nor mental maturity to be in his fifth or sixth decade.

“Don’t be so flippant, soldier,” she snapped. “You know this is a problem. At the rate the population is growing here, the island’s resources will be depleted in a matter of years.”

He snorted. “Yeah, sure. That’s what they said ten years ago.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Talking to Jared always gave her a headache.

“And what in the spirits’ names did you do to your suit?” she exclaimed. “I would be tempted to believe you chased after the thief yourself, if your underlings hadn’t expressly told me otherwise.”

He shrugged. “It’s my day off.”

Spirits. How had this man ended up as head of the guards of this facility? Apparently, he’d had the position for decades, and had a reputation for being very good at what he did. So far, Christine had seen nothing to indicate his competence.

“Do you have any idea,” she said through clenched teeth, “how important our work here is?”

His face grew almost solemn. “Yes.”

“And still you neglect your duties?” She felt her indignation rising.

He leaned forward in his seat, clasping hands before him and looking her straight in the eye. “I do my job, miss. You just don’t know what that job really is.”

With that, he stood up, and strolled out the door.