Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
The next day is one of his bad ones. When I wake up in the morning, my head is resting on Kalos’s shoulder. I sit up and rub my mouth, dazed and stiff. “Sorry, did I sleep on you?”
He doesn’t respond.
I peek over at his face and my heart sinks.
Kalos’s eyes are open, but there’s a dullness in them.
He stares ahead at nothing, and no amount of me calling his name or gently nudging him gets a response.
He’s in one of his fugue states, and they always seem to hit at the worst times.
Every time I seem to forget that he’s Apathy, the universe reminds me that it’s not quite as simple as cheering him up and keeping him moving.
“I’m here,” I say, gently stroking his face. “We’ll take a break today, hmm? Approach things fresh tomorrow. Today, we rest.”
Because I can’t sit by the side of the road with a blankly-staring, beautiful man at my side (and I sure can’t go into town), I get to my feet. Ignoring the discomfort of our sodden clothing, I shoulder our pack and hold my hands out to Kalos.
“Up we go.”
Still no response. Right. I lean over and find his hands, grasping them in mine, and give him a gentle tug.
He rises to his feet, reluctant, but I keep smiling and encouraging him.
It’s not his fault that he’s saddled with Apathy.
It’s a bad situation and we just need to work our way through it.
I know he’d encourage me to keep going, so I’m doing the same for him.
With painstaking slowness, we make our way off the road and towards a distant barn.
We don’t go inside, but I sit Kalos down against the barn wall and set our pack next to him.
The early morning sunlight feels amazing, so I take Kalos’s cloak off him, talking through what I’m doing.
If he’s in there, I don’t want him thinking he can’t trust me.
I spread our cloaks to dry out in the sun, and I do the same for Kalos’s puffy white shirt.
Dingle remains close by even though no one has his lead, and I’m grateful that the goat isn’t inclined to leave.
Like Kalos said, he likes it here with us.
I spend the morning airing out our wet clothing in the relative privacy of the back of the barn and scrounge nearby for foodstuffs.
There’s a tree in the distance that has a few pieces of fruit on low branches.
They’re green and probably not ripe, but I pluck them anyhow, because my stomach is miserable.
Then there’s nothing to do but nap and wait for Kalos to return to himself.
My belly full of hard green plums, I curl up against his side and play with his fingers, stroking and caressing his hands.
“Let’s see, what have I not told you about from my world?
Shakespeare, maybe? I’m not well-versed on it but I think I can manage the plot of Romeo and Juliet.
Once upon a time, there were two young people in a place called Verona, and their families were at war with each other… .”
“Are we planning on sleeping in fields forever?” he says the next morning.
I rub my eyes and sit up, wincing as I do.
Kalos and I are still seated next to each other, our shoulders brushing, and I slept propped up against the rough, weathered wood of the barn-side.
How is it that I’m sore everywhere and all I did was sit around yesterday?
But I’m exhausted and aching like I hiked for miles yesterday instead of sitting behind a barn, talking to a dissociated god.
“Good morning, Kalos. I’m glad you feel better. ”
“I wouldn’t say ‘better.’ I woke up and I’m still here, after all.” Kalos gestures at his surroundings. “The mortal world lost its charm eons ago.”
Happy to see you, too. But I just hug his arm, relieved that he’s broken free from the fugue and he’s back to his normal sour self. “Dingle will be glad to see you back to yourself.”
He eyes me. “Not you?”
I’m surprised by the directness of his question. We stare at each other, and I feel a bit of heat creeping into my cheeks. “Of course I am.”
A vulnerable silence falls between us. I wait for him to say something. He just gazes at me, thoughtful.
I nudge him with my arm and break the spell. “I’m famished. You want to head into town now?”
“You mean you haven’t been? You’ve waited all this time?” He seems put out at the delay, casting me a frustrated look as he gets to his feet and dusts his wrinkled clothing off. “Why?”
Does he not realize what he was like yesterday? Or is he just being a brat? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. I stifle my irritation and remind myself that he can’t help it. “Yesterday was inconvenient,” I say, being deliberately vague. “But I feel good about our odds today.”
He huffs, frowning down at one pathetic-looking sleeve.
He brushes his fingers through his tangled, short hair, and I’m disgusted that it somehow looks better than before.
It’s just the right amount of sexy and tousled, whereas mine probably looks like “street rat” and “bird’s nest.” “We look like vagabonds.”
“I imagine we do,” I say cheerfully. “Now, shall we round up our goat and see if we have any luck?”
Dingle is a short distance away, eating some of the fallen green fruit at the base of the tree.
When he sees Kalos, he makes a happy bleat and prances over to us, dragging his mud-encrusted lead rope along after him.
He butts Kalos in the legs in his favorite goat-ish greeting and dances around him, elated to see his favorite person. Me, he ignores.
Oh well. You can’t win them all. “Grab his lead, will you? I’ve got our pack.”
We head the short hike down the road and over the hill towards the tiny town we’ve staked out.
There are a few people out in the morning light, and I hear a rooster somewhere in the distance.
Overall, it looks nice and settled and domestic, and best of all, untouched by ravaging armies.
We walk down the rutted, muddy road, and I eye each building, trying to figure out who would be most amenable to an offer of help in exchange for a bite to eat.
Not the blacksmith, that’s for sure. I know nothing about metal.
Not the horse stables, because I don’t know anything about them, either.
A delicious scent wafts through the air and my mouth floods with saliva just as I see a sign with a loaf of bread on it, the end sliced off. Either the shop is a bakery or a restaurant, but it doesn’t matter. It’s our next destination. “Let’s stop here.”
There’s a grassy mat just outside the wooden door, and the windows to the shop are open, letting the incredible scents waft out.
Dingle is tied to the nearest hitching post, and he makes a warbling protest as we head inside, scraping our battered shoes on the mat first. The interior of the small shop is nearly empty, save for a very long counter covered in breads of all kinds and a cooling rack filled with buns.
Behind the counter is an enormous oven, and a woman is using a paddle to pull a loaf out.
She turns to frown at us, eyeing our clothing with disdain. “Beggars get scraps on Sundays.”
I beam brightly at her, putting on my best customer service face. “You look incredibly busy. I don’t suppose you’d want some help today in exchange for a bit of food or some coin? I’m a very hard worker.”
The woman’s expression darkens. She makes a shooing gesture at us. “Away with both of you.”
“Please,” I say, a note of desperation in my voice. “We’re very hungry and we’re not asking for handouts. We’re willing to work—”
The woman turns her back, pulling more bread out of the oven.
“Just take one,” Kalos says, gesturing at the spread on the counter.
“No,” I hiss, pushing his hand down just in case he tries to grab one. Like I didn’t have the same thought? But I refuse to break the rules and end up like Seth and Margo. “It’s wrong.”
The woman turns towards us and sets the newest loaf of bread down at the far end of the counter. Instead of going in for another, she turns the paddle and brandishes it like a weapon. “Get out of my shop, the both of you. I don’t want you in here.”
“I just want to work for a bit of bread,” I exclaim, determined to make her see my side. “Do you have dishes? I’ll do all of them! Do you need your dough kneaded? I can do that! Just give me a chance!”
She swats me with the paddle, hitting my arm with a resounding smack that makes me jump.
Kalos gives me a calm, if annoyed, look. “You want me to kill her?”
I steer him back a step, standing in front of him. “Absolutely not. She’s just minding her shop.” I turn back to the woman and try another smile. “We’re just travelers down on our luck. We were robbed in Balsingra and now we’re trying—”
“Out,” she roars, waving the paddle at me again. “I’ll not hire vagrants! Out with both of you before I send for the bailiff!”
“Oh, come on,” Kalos mutters from behind me. “We’re making this far too difficult on ourselves.”
“No,” I hiss again. We’re not killing anyone over a stupid mouthful of bread. We’re not. I turn to the woman. “Alright, ma’am. If you don’t need help, perhaps you know someone else that might be hiring workers—”
She tries to swat me with the bread paddle again, but I move out of the way.
Kalos steps forward and grabs the paddle by the long handle. He stares at the woman, who glowers back at him. Uh oh.
“Let’s just go.” I tug on Kalos’s sleeve. “There’s got to be other people around here that will help us.”
“Probably not,” Kalos says in that too-calm voice. He never breaks eye contact with the woman. “It is the Anticipation, after all. Everyone’s got to look out for themselves.”
“Yes, but—”
I sneeze.