Chapter 23 #2
“I have an idea of where to go,” I say, and the god gestures that I should lead the way.
The weather hates us. If there’s a weather god, he’s not in the mortal realm, because if he was, he’d have more sympathy for us.
At first, it’s brutally hot and muggy, with the air so thick it’s like moving through soup.
It makes traveling feel like pure effort, and by the time we stop for the evening, I’m wrung out and my clothes are sodden with sweat.
Did I mention we have no money? Because we have no money.
I drink from streams and eat a few berries.
We pass an orchard, but everything left on the ground is rotten and the branches themselves are bare.
Just my luck to be a few days past apple picking season.
Dingle eats his fill and belches happily for hours.
I go to bed that night hungry and positive that I’m crawling with parasites thanks to raw-dogging the water.
Kalos says he won’t let me get sick, but the thought of ingesting microscopic things makes me queasy anyhow.
The next day it rains. Not a little rain.
Not a gentle mist. There is thunder and lightning and sheeting rain that blocks my vision.
It’s an absolute torrential downpour that washes out the roads and destroys my shoes.
I take them off and hold them as I squelch through the mud, miserable, as we head towards our new destination.
“Do you want to stop under a tree for a while?” Kalos asks, his sodden cloak plastered to his big form.
I shake my head. “The sooner we get to the Dirtlands, the better.” The sooner we get him to a no-magic zone, the better. Everyone’s safer in that situation.
“You know we won’t get there tomorrow,” he points out.
“I know.”
“It’s fine if we take a break and wait for the weather to pass.” He glances up at the sky. “Seth won’t be going anywhere in this. He has a lot of mounted troops and this will be impossible for them to navigate. They won’t catch up to us if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I’m not worried about Seth. Okay, I am a little, but I’m more concerned about Kalos causing others to be sick just by his proximity. Hasn’t he made me sick accidentally every time he’s used his powers? It just makes sense to steer clear of civilization. “I know it won’t be today, or even tomorrow.”
“Or even a week from now. There’s a lot of road between Balsingra and the Dirtlands.”
I fight back a whimper and put a cheery smile on my face. “And every day that we push is a bit more travel we’ve conquered. I don’t mind if we keep going.”
Kalos grabs my arm. “I mind.”
That makes me pause. I study his face, worried. He’s been quiet. I don’t know anything about gods and what if he’s sick and masking it? What if Seth did something to him? “Are you all right? Do you feel well?”
“I’m fine. But I don’t want to continue in this rain.
It’s miserable and Dingle smells foul.” He gestures at the little goat.
Instead of his usual charming antics, Dingle is trudging alongside us, as if the weather is beating him down, too.
“We should find an inn and lay low for a few days to recover. You’re still not feeling well. ”
An inn. “With what money?”
He wipes streaming rainwater from his face and flicks his fingers. “There’s an easy fix for that.”
Oh, I just bet there is. “I don’t want an easy fix, Kalos.”
“I figured you wouldn’t, but I thought I’d suggest it anyhow.” He glances over at me. “We could just rob someone. No one gets hurt that way.”
“I appreciate the brainstorming, but we’re not robbing anyone, either. I don’t want us to turn out like Seth and Margo, all right?” I keep smiling, even though it becomes more difficult when my foot sinks down into even more mud.
Kalos offers me a hand. I take it and realize he’s no longer holding Dingle’s lead.
The leash drags through the mud and dirt after the goat, who continues to trot at our sides like a well-trained dog.
I make a sound of protest as I spot it. “Don’t worry about him,” Kalos says, as if reading my mind.
“He likes it with us. He’s not going anywhere. ”
“We should still hold onto his leash, just in case.”
“You worry too much, Elsie.”
Someone has to. The Aspect of Apathy doesn’t worry enough, as far as I’m concerned. “Worrying keeps us safe.”
“I don’t think worrying will do much against assassins,” he comments. “Or poison.”
“Neither of which are on the road with us at the moment, so I’ll stick to worrying, thank you very much.”
He chuckles and gives my hand another squeeze before he lets it go. “I don’t know how you stand being a mortal. Being this wet and muddy is disgusting. I’m positive this is a storm sent by the High Father to humble me.”
I glance over at him, amused. The sourer my mood gets, the brighter his becomes. For some reason, it makes me feel better to see him cheery, even if he’s focused on abandoning our trek. “Is it working? Are you humble?”
“I might look humble, but that’s all.” He flicks a bit of mud off his cloak. “His storms do nothing to me. I don’t care about them.”
“You’re Apathy, you’re not supposed to care about anything.”
“Exactly.” He gives me a reluctant smile that steals my breath, as if we’re sharing a secret between us. “Can I tell you something, Elsie?”
“Of course.” My stomach feels full of nerves. Is this what butterflies in the stomach feel like? All jittery? What’s he going to say? Is he going to confess love for me? Tell me how he’s recanted his ways now that I’ve put my foot down? Spill all his secrets about the whole Belara thing?
“We should get off the road soon. There’s a village farther up.”
Oh. Or we could talk about villages, I guess. I don’t know why I’m disappointed. I glance up ahead, but between the steaming ground and the steady drench of rain, visibility is nil. “How can you tell?”
“I can feel them. Pockets of humanity have a throb to them that every god feels.”
Really? That’s fascinating. “Do you feel if they’re healthy or sick?”
“I can when I’m at home.” He shoots me a sly look. “When I’m seated upon my throne of scabs.”
I snort.
“I know you don’t want to kill anyone, but robbery is a victimless crime.”
I think he and I have very different ideas of “victimless crimes.” “I guess we could try and find some odd jobs if there’s a town and it’s safe for us to go there. Maybe we can work to earn enough food and a bit of coin for the road.”
“Ugh. Have it your way.” He’s not thrilled with my suggestion but shrugs anyhow. “I’m not sure why you’d want to work when there’s ways around it.”
I remind myself that he’s Apathy. “Because there’s nothing wrong with working for what you want.”
“Mm.”
“Don’t ‘mm’ me,” I say, laughing despite the situation.
I’m hungry, I’m cold, I’m wet, and I’m tired, but for some reason, Kalos’s disdain for a bit of manual labor strikes me as funny.
“What, do you think I’m going to march up to someone’s door and ask if the god of disease can clean their stables?
I’ll work. You just hide out and watch Dingle or something. ”
“I don’t like that you have to do everything.”
“So you’re going to work alongside me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I laugh again.
We head toward the direction Kalos points to and sure enough, within an hour, I see the lights of a village just as it grows dark and the rain dies off.
The sight of it is so overwhelming I want to cry with joy.
Or collapse. I do neither, though, because it’s muddy and I suspect if I sit down, I’m not going to be able to get back up.
By the time we get to the village proper, it’s very late and all the houses are dark.
There’s an open-faced stable near the edge of town, but every time we approach, the horses get nervous.
Dingle starts bleating his loud angry/hungry cry, and no amount of fabric offered to him shuts him up. He wants food.
I don’t blame him. I want food, too.
The inn doors are closed and there’s a plaque on the door with unfamiliar writing.
Probably “no vacancy” judging from how tight it’s locked down.
Frustrated and exhausted, we head back out to the nearby fields, resting against a farmer’s split-rail fence while Dingle pulls up tufts of grass and chews away.
Kalos sits next to me, his clothing as sodden and uncomfortable as mine. “Was this what you expected when you offered to join me?”
“I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest. I just knew I’d do whatever it took to save David.”
“Because you loved him more than you loved life itself,” he states.
I pause, because he makes it sound so simple, so altruistic.
I don’t know if I think of it like that.
I don’t know if I ever have. “It’s not that.
It’s…” I drum my fingers on my lips, trying to think of how to express just how I feel about David and the sacrifices he’s made.
“When my parents passed away, it was a very sudden surprise. They were young and hadn’t planned for it.
David was twenty-two at the time and I was fifteen.
Rather than send me into state care, he adopted me and took care of me from then on.
It meant putting aside his college education and his dreams to work and take care of me.
He kept us together when it would have been easier for him to walk away, but he wanted things to be as normal as they could be for me.
I got to go to the same schools, to live in the same house, and graduate with my friends.
David worked two jobs to make ends meet.
And then when I graduated and started college, he wanted to start his classes again, but he got sick.
Suddenly he couldn’t work and his insurance wouldn’t cover his treatments.
He was so weak and so sick, and I’d always seen my brother as strong and capable.
I knew it was my turn to help. So I did. ”
I think back on those dark years, when I worked every shift I could, and drove David to his chemo sessions.
To the long days afterwards, in which David endured horrible sickness because the cure is almost as bad as the disease.
To being exhausted with no end in sight, but knowing I had to keep going, because David needed me.
To seeing all the bills coming in and knowing we couldn’t pay them.
We’d lost my parents’ house and moved into an apartment, and I smiled and told David it was fine.
That it was closer to David’s hospital. Less driving, and wasn’t that a bonus?
Just like I never “minded” getting extra shifts because wouldn’t it be nice to have a bit more extra cash?
Never mind that I was exhausted. Never mind that I felt just as hopeless as David sometimes.
Someone had to bring the cheer, and I wore that responsibility like a cloak.
“I don’t know if it was altruism,” I say softly. “But I knew what it was like for him to be sick, and I’d have done anything to save him from that again.”
“I still think you’re too soft. You need to toughen up.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “If I was tougher, you and I would probably already be dead. Or we’d be working with Seth. There’s nothing wrong with feeling things for people. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to spare someone pain, especially if you love them.”
“But would he have done the same for you?” Kalos asks.
“Does it even matter?”
“To me it does.” He picks up one corner of his sodden cloak and wrings it out.
He would have. Hadn’t David already given up years of his twenties just to take care of a bratty younger sister? “I wouldn’t have asked him to.”
“He didn’t ask you to do this.”
“No, he didn’t. And he wouldn’t have. We’re both martyrs like that.
We shoulder the burdens and hope that the other person has a better life.
” I hug my sodden clothing closer to me.
It’s cold and I’m wet and miserable but thinking about David reminds me of what I’m doing this for, and for some reason, the weather seems less awful now.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t know why my volunteering bothers you so much. ”
“Because people are taking advantage of your goodwill,” Kalos grumbles. “And I don’t like that.”
“No one is taking advantage of me,” I chide him gently. “I knew exactly what I was getting into.”
“Yes, and now you’re stuck with me.”
“I’m not ‘stuck.’” I nudge him with my shoulder. “I don’t feel stuck, or trapped, just for the record. We’re friends and we’re working together.”
He ‘hmms’ again in that vague, noncommittal response. “I am sorry you had to give up your world and family to be with me. I know how difficult it can be when you’re stuck in a place you don’t want to be.”
And he gestures vaguely at our surroundings, even as the rain begins to patter down again.
I bite back a chuckle. “Someone up there is definitely trying to make you suffer.” At his wry look, I adjust my wet hood over my head, shielding my eyes so the rain doesn’t fall directly onto my face.
“As for leaving home, I do miss my brother, but it’s not so bad here.
The biggest regret I have is that I won’t be able to watch him flourish.
Because I have to believe that Lachesis was telling me the truth, and David is going to have an amazing life. ”
“When I return home, we’ll ask the Fates if you can see him.”
I give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“The Fates on our side can catch glimpses of the past, present and future. With the right incentive, they can look in on someone for a god.” He gives me a lofty look. “I would do that for you.”
I shoot him another confused glance. I’m still not following. “But…Kalos…we won’t be together then. When you return home, I’ll be dead.”
I’ll be another world away—back to Earth and its afterlife.
“Dead. This bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does!”
He stares at me, a look of distaste on his face, and it makes me wonder if this hadn’t occurred to him sooner. We’re so comfortable and at ease with each other, it’s hard to think about this just…ending. That I’m going to die for him to ascend back to his rightful place.
“Mm,” is all he says again, and the mood has changed.