Two days later she thought some burrowing creature found her toes and was devouring them. She screamed and screamed and was ignored. Eventually her voice gave out and she screamed in silence. Something with a thousand thousand legs crawled circles under her hair as if deciding where to lay its eggs in her flesh.
Late one evening, near the end of the third week, Mother Earth spoke. It told her of the days before it became infected with humanity. It spoke of strange and ancient creatures, less than myths for ten thousand generations of man. It said mankind hunted them to extinction, decimating the great forests, and crushing the world beneath worked stone.
As her tribe lay sleeping, the spirit of the world gave her purpose. Erdbehüter would be the voice of earth and stone. She would command the bones of the world. Humanity was an infection and Erdbehüter would scrape it from the flesh of the Mother.
That night she dreamed of rocks pushing up from the unforgiving soil of the GrasMeer. Boulders, larger than the biggest tent, tore free and rolled screaming through the centre of her tribe’s temporary village. Later, when peace and silence once again claimed the air, she knew this was what the world was supposed to be. No one spoke. No one planned for tomorrow or worried about yesterday. The stars spun overhead, looking down upon an earth free of disease.
Erdbehüter slept then.
She woke as the earth pushed her free, gave birth to her, spilled her from a warm womb of maggots and damp soil. Nothing remained of her tribe, no hint humans polluted this hill. The horses’ corral had been sundered, splintered wood littering the ground. The beasts, still in tune with the spirit that birthed them, were untouched.
She’d taken a horse, ridden it north toward the city-states. Starting where the infection ran unchecked made sense. She would call the forth the bones of the earth, crush the works of man, return the world to its natural state. Somewhere south of Abgeleitete Leute, she fell afoul of a Slaver-type Gefahrgeist. She travelled with the band of enslaved followers for months before the motley group caught the attention of a newly Ascended god. Morgen burned the Slaver to ash—he had an unmistakable hatred for the breed—and those few who survived his cleansing fires joined the ranks of the Geborene Damonen. The godling took a special interest in Erdbehüter, brought her under his wing. He told her of his plans for a perfect world, showed her how it was one and the same as the world the earth spoke of.
“Humans are lost animals,” he said, and she saw the absolute rightness of his words. “With your help I will make them perfect animals.”
She gave herself to him then, promised her soul and all she was to his service. Sometimes she even thought she did it of her own free will.
“Rutting tent!” Ungeist kicked the heaped pile of fabric, glowering at the mess. His listless hair, usually combed forward to hide his receding hairline, hung limp and greasy.
Poles jutted at random angles, and the tent looked to be upside-down. The armpits of his white robes were stained yellow with sour sweat. He glanced at her through the fire and she saw what he was thinking.
“No,” she said.
He moved closer, sitting just beyond arm’s reach. “No what?”
“No to everything.”
He raised an eyebrow, giving her that hooded look she’d fallen for. “No to—”
“I’m not erecting your tent for you.”
“How about erecting—”
“No. We’re not sharing a sleeping roll.”
“But it’s the most natural thing for a man and a woman to do.” He gestured at the night sky, bright stars stabbing holes in darkness. “We are animals. We must give in to the urges of animals. Otherwise…” He left the rest unsaid, a challenge to her beliefs.
He knows me too well. He had a talent for talking his way between her thighs. While not a Gefahrgeist, he was still a skilled manipulator. All part of being a priest. Ungeist often travelled and proselytized, spreading the word. She wondered if he really believed or only served Morgen because it suited him.
“There is a stone about the size of your horse buried in the soil beneath your arse,” she said.
He glanced down, rubbed at the dirt with his fingers. “No need to—”
“If you try and touch me it will squish you like the bug you are.”
Ungeist nodded, glanced back at the ruin of his tent. “Were did we go wrong? I thought we were happy.”
“You were happy,” she said. “You decided everything for us. We always did what you wanted. I followed.”
He shrugged. “In every relationship someone must lead. You never seemed interested in leading. Don’t be angry at me that you are a born follower.”
“I’m not,” she said, keeping her calm. “Many times I tried to take the lead but you ignored me.”
“You weren’t forceful enough.” He shook his head. “Too quiet. You want me to lead.”
“I do not.”