Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
“They murdered me,” says Ky.
Ethram sits in bed, staring at the cup of tea Ky has set in his hands. His face is soft, open, as he looks Ethram over, and so it takes a long, bitter moment before the meaning reaches him in full.
He’d been telling Ethram about the memories that had returned to him in the night. He’d told him of bountiful springs and sparkling processions. Of an ancient town of artists and dancers and worshippers. And then this.
At least Ethram had been given tea this time.
“They held me down and cut me, and my god-blood bled from me. I remember that now.”
The tea seems to go cold. Or maybe his fingers are numb. “Perhaps you were better off not knowing, after all.”
“It is only one memory amongst many,” he says, dismissive.
“I remember my work, and my charges, and my burden. The way Esk was once. A crown of plum blossoms and a crown of ivy. My brothers and sisters dancing in the stars. Sacred apples in a grove tended by leaf-haired attendants. All that has vanished and faded. Something has gone wrong in the years I’ve been gone.
So much has been forgotten. Where have we all gone?
” His gaze goes distant. He’s not looking at Ethram any longer.
He’s looking at a world an age away with a sort of distant longing.
And then he’s back, blinking to the surface, and his face clears.
“But for now, there are hedgerows to prune. How do you feel about putting out bird feeders for the winter?”
“I think a bird feeder is a fine idea, but may we return to your opening statement?” Ethram rubs at a sore spot on his neck, and Ky stops his hand with a small smile. “Who murdered you?”
“Jealous creatures. I suppose they wanted my power or my domain. I do not think they got it, in the end. I think my death must have killed half the souls in Esk with the destruction it surely wrought.” He hums, and traces the sore spot on Ethram’s neck like it is something precious.
“I am surprised to know they killed me, though. I thought myself too strong for such things. Too powerful.”
“They didn’t kill you. You are here.”
“They killed the god,” Ky says. “What is left of me is less than that.”
“But that cannot be true. If that were the case, then the healing springs would have faded centuries ago. They only started failing the year I found you in the archives—”
“The springs are failing?” Ky’s hand tightens against Ethram’s shoulder. “Why did you not say?”
Ethram stares. “Because I did not want you to go away.”
There is trouble on Ky’s face, brewing like a distant storm. “If the springs fade, then all that remains of Esk will go away forever.”
He is unsurprised by Ky’s pronouncement. “I feared so. And if you return to the dark, to the archives or wherever you came from, will that fix things?”
The storm fades from Ky’s face. Instead, there is only the placid weariness of resignation. “No,” he admits. “What was broken will take more than my sacrifice to mend. What tenuous power remained is shattered now. It must be rebuilt from the start.”
“Good,” Ethram says, then pinches his brow. “Well, not good, but…”
Ky laughs. It’s a low ripple of a sound. “Yes, my heart. I know.”
“And if…if I were to take you to the Gardens, to the Casca family, what would happen? They worship you, I think. Or, they worship a memory of what you were. Might you be able to fix the springs somehow?”
“It would not help. I cannot assist them from this side of the river. Here, I truly am just a man, Ethram.” He brushes fingers to Ethram’s pulse. “Though there must be more left of my godhood than I thought. Perhaps something of me is still in the river.”
“How much more of you is there?” he says, faint.
Ky’s amusement is rich in his voice. “You never need to know. What I was in the river was a dormant, dying thing, and not so impressive. But if there is an echo of me remaining in that dark place, there is always a risk that what pieces of me are here in this world will be called back to it. Like calls to like, after all.”
“Then you are not safe.” Ethram clutches his tea. “Could we summon what was left in the river to you here? Could you be whole on this side of the river?”
He shakes his head with the slightest of movements.
“I do not have the strength. And no matter if I reclaim my godhood or not, it does no good to anyone unless there are consecrated ones in the Gardens to weave me into the ways of this world, and the time for the truly consecrated seems to have passed.” Again, the storm crosses his face, and is gone.
“It’s all torn up. My purpose in life and in death is to guard the banks of the dark river.
That has not changed. But what does it say of me that I do not wish to go back? ”
Ethram’s chest aches. Ky’s words barely make sense, and the only thing that he hears is that Ky wants to stay. “Then we will find a way,” he says.
Ky smiles. “It’s nothing that will be untangled in the space of a cup of tea. Let us put it aside.”
Ethram had woken with Ky pressed against him, murmuring in an odd, flowing language.
Murmuring to himself, he’d thought, and then Ky had pressed his mouth to Ethram’s temple, and he’d known the words had been for him.
Ky’s fingers had been pearl-nailed and tipped in sharp points, more like claws than ever.
He’d seemed to glow as if lit from within by a dull aether storm.
It’s fainter now. He’s pulled it all back inside him, hidden it away, but there is no hiding it entirely. Ky is different.
Ky notices him staring. “There is no reason to fret, my heart. I am still your Ky.”
“For now.”
He kisses him. It’s a sweet kiss. It lingers. “For now,” he says, soft against his lips. “And no matter what happens, for all time, too.”
All time, thinks Ethram. It’s different from a creature that has already lived more time than Ethram’s history books cover. Even if he had been sleeping for most of it.
“You cannot promise that to me,” he says, leaning in to rest his head against Ky’s shoulder. River rushes and rain. Linen sheets and sweat. “My Ky. You are beyond me. If that changes, it changes.”
“Not I,” says Ky softly, and so darkly. “I am the river that runs for eternity. The springs that bring oblivion. I do not cease. I do not falter. I am yours, always.”
He takes Ethram’s cup of tea and sets it aside.
Then he threads a hand through Ethram’s hair, pushes his head gently until they’re a handspan apart from each other, breath to breath.
His eyes are aglow, a ring of silver around the grey.
He kisses him, and does not stop until Ethram is forced to tear them apart just to breathe.
Ky laughs. “I was not jesting about the hedgerows,” he says after a space. “Come. It will be done quicker with two.”
Ethram rather feels like he’s just read a book with half the pages missing, but he smiles. “I’ll be doing nothing quickly today,” he cautions, as Ky drags him out of bed.
But he goes. There are hedgerows to prune, after all.