Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
After I eat an embarrassing amount of food, the fatigue of the day sets in and I yawn, and yawn.
Omos finds blankets for me and makes up one of the cots scattered about the large library.
“I’m afraid there’s only one private chamber and I’ve filled it with bits and bobs.
Is this all right for tonight? I can clean it out tomorrow and make it ready for you and Lord Kalos. ”
“This is perfect, and no need for you to displace yourself,” I reassure him as he hands me a fluffy goose-down pillow that makes me want to weep with joy. “Thank you so much.”
Eventually he finishes cleaning his tiny kitchen and heads to bed, and I’m left alone in the main room with Kalos. He hasn’t moved from his seat by the now-dying fire, legs sprawled. He’s flipping through an entirely different book, his expression just as bored as it was when we arrived.
I’m uneasy at his lack of enthusiasm for our surroundings.
Omos has been so kind and I’m ashamed how much of his cheese and bread I ate without offering a penny of recompense.
Kalos might think that being served is his divine right, but I am all too acutely aware of how much hard work making food like that entails, and I feel guilty.
Not guilty enough to not eat, of course.
Even after the fire goes out, however, I can’t sleep.
My mind won’t turn off despite the quiet darkness.
I roll over on my side, facing towards Kalos’s seat. “I know you’re awake.”
“I never pretended not to be.”
“Do you want a bed for yourself? You can have mine.” I hesitate. “Or we can share. I’m sure we can squeeze in together.”
Is my heart fluttering? Am I nervous at propositioning a god? How do I even know he’s interested when he’s so good at hiding his emotions?
“I don’t sleep.”
“I know that. I was just…you know what? Never mind.” I try to hold back my…disappointment? Irritation?…that he’s being so obtuse and continue. “Is this okay? That we’re here?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“You’ve been quiet.”
“I am Apathy. Was I supposed to be garrulous?”
His tone is even and cool, but him using a big fancy word like that tells me everything. He’s irked. “I can tell when your mood is off, Kalos. And right now, it’s off. So tell me what’s bothering you. Either we can fix it, or we can’t, but I’d rather know what’s going through your mind.”
He’s silent for a long moment, and there’s no sound but that of crickets chirping outside.
I’m just about to turn away and give up on getting an answer from him when he speaks.
“A lot of aspects have come through this particular spot. I don’t like that.
I don’t know if that makes it safe for us or not. ”
I’ve considered that, but given that we’re low on funds, a kind, gentle man who wants to feed us trumps a lot of things. “As if we have other options?” I joke.
“We do. We can rob him, steal his money, and keep moving.”
I sit upright. “You’re joking.”
Kalos is silent. He’s not joking.
“No,” I say. “Absolutely not. You need to learn that people aren’t speedbumps slowing you down along the way.”
“I don’t know what a speedbump is.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re people and you need to start giving a shit about them or else you’re never going home.”
In the darkness, he hmphs, an amused sound. “You have it all wrong, Elsie. I go back when my other aspects are dead. It doesn’t matter how good of a job I do.”
For a moment, I’m so angry I’m speechless.
“It doesn’t matter,” he continues in that bored tone. “None of it matters.”
Realization hits. I’m trying to treat him like a normal person.
Like he has the same moral compass I do.
He’s not going to understand until I show him, until I make people matter to him.
And I keep forgetting he’s Apathy. It’s going to be harder for him to care about anything because it goes against his very nature.
I need to stop being angry with him and start looking for solutions.
“You’re right. It might not matter if you help people…
this time.” I keep my voice gentle. “But you’ll keep being sent back on Anticipations because you haven’t learned your lessons.
Is that what you want? You hate it here.
You hate everything about this. I can’t imagine you want to go through this ordeal over and over again. ”
He’s quiet, and I wonder if I’ve reached him.
“Do you hate it here, too?” he asks.
Now it’s my turn to be silent. I…don’t know how to answer.
I’ve never thought of this world as “like” or “dislike.” It’s my only option.
I made the choice to be here, even though there was really no choice at all.
“I miss my brother. I worry about him and how he’s feeling.
I left when he was getting sick again, and I keep wondering if Lachesis is good on her word or if she was stringing me along.
I think about my jobs back home. The future I thought I was going to have.
I’ve lost everything I knew. I’ve been thrust here to sleep on the road, get chased by soldiers, and get sick every time you lose your temper. How do you think I feel?”
“I imagine you resent me.”
I let out a frustrated breath. If only it were that simple. Resent him? Sometimes. Blame him for it? No.
He’s just a mass of contradictions. Sometimes he drives me crazy with the way he acts. And sometimes…I keep thinking about the times he’s held me. I daydream of what it would be like between us if we had the time to catch a breath.
I wonder what he’d be like if he wasn’t saddled with Apathy, and if he’d take me in his arms instead of making me wonder if I’ve imagined the times we’ve kissed. “I can’t afford to resent you, Kalos.”
My answer must piss him off. “Go to sleep,” is all he says.
It’s the best sleep I’ve had in months.
Despite my difficulty falling asleep, I wake up refreshed and relaxed, with a smile on my face. There are no crazy dreams, no waking up screaming, no horses coming out of paintings.
I roll over in bed and look for Kalos in his seat by the fire, but his chair is empty, the fire still out.
I sit up and put my boots on, and as I do, Omos enters the room.
He smiles at me as he carries a mortar and pestle to a table covered in books and begins rearranging things to try and make a workspace.
When the books are all stacked high, he pulls a bundle of herbs from one of the ceiling hooks and starts grinding them. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
I finger-comb my tangled hair, stifling a yawn. I glance around the room, but there’s no sign of a sulky god. I don’t feel pain, though, so he must be close by. “It was time for me to get up. Where’s Kalos?”
“Out in the goat pen. He’s truly fond of them, you know. It changes everything I’ve heard about the Vulture God. I’m going to make a note of it in my diaries.”
“He does love a goat,” I admit. I wonder what he imagined Kalos to be like.
I think of the temple back in Balsingra, the vultures, the warding signs everyone makes whenever he’s mentioned, and it makes me a little sad.
He’s despised wherever he goes. He is disease, true, but he’s also got feelings in there. Somewhere. Deep, deep down.
Omos continues to grind herbs. “My lord asked me if I had clothes for you. Better clothes. Yours apparently offend his sensibilities. He said some very colorful things about them.”
Deeeeep, deep down.
I’m determined not to take offense, though. It’s too early in the morning. I get up and make my bed, tucking the blankets under the thin padding atop the cot. “He does enjoy nice clothing.”
“Oh, he didn’t ask for himself.” Omos glances over at me.
“I confess I don’t have much more than some blankets and extra robes left behind by my brothers.
Oh, and a few odds and ends left by travelers.
They’re all in storage. You’re welcome to sew yourself something.
Whatever I have is also yours. It is Magra’s way. ”
Sewing. Another skill I’m helpless with.
Back home, there’s just no need to sew unless you’re a hobbyist of some kind, and I never had the time to learn.
Hell, I never had free time. I was too busy picking up extra shifts, enticed by the idea of overtime pay.
“I’m pretty useless with a needle and thread. ”
He chuckles. “Aren’t we all?”
He’s such a nice man. I want to hug him for how kind and understanding he is.
I move toward the table where I’d sat to eat last night—there’s at least four tables scattered about the enormous, book-laden room, and each of them is covered with scrolls, maps, or tomes of some kind.
There’s a new tray out this morning, with a new loaf of bread and a few pieces of fruit.
I snatch up a small plum before I even think about it and take a bite.
It bursts on my tongue, filling my mouth with sweetness.
Decent food, freely given. Omos is a saint among saints.
“You know, there’s a seamstress in Thornhill,” Omos continues. I don’t know if he feels the need to fill silence, or if he simply likes having an audience. “I’d suggest that you visit her if you need clothing but now is not a good time. She’s caught a little something.”
“Oh?”
He nods and finishes his grinding, then taps the contents of the mortar onto a narrow tray that he then uses to pour into a pouch.
“Sickness in Thornhill. Not from your lord. Just the usual trials that the gods choose to send our way. I’m heading out to bring them some tea, but I’ll be back this afternoon. Can you watch the farm for me?”
“Of course.”