Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
After two days of trudging through endless swamps, I’m ready to throttle Kalos. Or Dingle. Or myself.
I never thought I’d hate water so much. Or mosquitos.
Or trees. Or mud. I’m lucky that the alligators or whatever else lives here avoid us.
They instinctively shy away from us, and I’m guessing that it’s because of Kalos, and the same reason that the mosquitos don’t even bite him.
He gives off some sort of vibe I can’t see, and they don’t mess with him.
I’m not so lucky as that. I’m bug-bitten over every bit of skin, even the parts that aren’t exposed.
I can’t scratch because I don’t want to make things worse (and I know if I start, I’ll never stop) so I apply mud and grit my teeth.
We have to pause multiple times a day so I can pull leeches off my skin.
Luckily, they fall off with a touch of the herby-smelling oil that Jemet gave me.
I’d cover myself in it, but the water would wash it away.
So I just pause, dab, watch them fall off, pause and dab and watch them fall.
It’s amazing how you get used to even the worst things in the world quickly.
Dingle is having a blast in the swamp, at least. He eats everything within reach, frolics over roots and across fallen, rotting trees, and I’m constantly retrieving him out of trouble because he wants to explore.
The last thing I want in a never-ending, bug-filled swamp? An exploring, hyperactive goat.
By the time we stop each night, I’m exhausted, filthy, and my feet are pruny with water and feel disgusting.
I study the map over and over as I eye our diminishing supplies.
My pack gets lighter every day, which is a good thing, but I underestimated how very hungry I’d be.
As Kalos’s Anchor, I’m already eating three times what I normally do.
Add in a day of exercise on top of that and even the tree bark that Dingle pauses to nibble on starts to look good.
I’m rationing things as best I can, but we’re going to be cleaned out if we don’t find something—or someone—soon.
On day three of our endless swamp trudging, I put a hand over my eyes to shield them from the blinding afternoon sun. We’re walking directly toward it, now heading west towards (what I hope) is the coast, and it’s roasting my already sunburned face. “I wish I had a sun hat right about now.”
“That’s the only thing you want right now?” Kalos comments, the first time he’s spoken today.
I glance over at him, surprised. Is he in a chatty mood or just being bitchy because of opportunity? It’s hard to tell sometimes. “Yes, well, I want a lot of things, but a sun hat feels like it could have been do-able. How are you holding up?”
“I am a god, condemned to walk amongst mortals and I’ve been assigned an Anchor that has no idea what she’s doing and asks me insipid things like ‘how is your day going.’”
I stick my tongue out at him. “Excuse me for asking.”
“Excused.”
That…wasn’t what I meant. I frown over at him, then gather my wet, heavy skirts and sling a leg over a low-hanging branch. “There’s a lot of dead trees in this area. I hope that’s a good sign.”
“Yes, nothing is more encouraging than dead foliage. So very exciting.”
He must be feeling good, because he’s being a real snarky bitch right now. “Okay, we won’t talk about the trees or how your day is going. Let’s talk about where we’re headed. What’s Ballingra like?”
“Balsingra. And how would I know?”
“Well, you just corrected me on the pronunciation, so you tell me.”
Kalos shoots me a look that tells me I’m rising to meet his levels of snark. “I told you my memory was wiped.”
“You did. But you’ve remembered other things. I was just curious, that’s all. I know nothing about the city, and anything would be helpful.” I pause, and add, “I’m just making conversation.”
“Why?”
It doesn’t come across like a petulant two-year-old asking why why why from the back seat of a car.
Rather, he seems genuinely puzzled as to why I’d want to converse with him.
Like this is something that’s never occurred to him before.
It actually makes me sad on his behalf. Does he not have any friends even when he’s in the heavens, or wherever it is he hangs out when he’s immortal?
“I figure since we’re in this together, we should get to know each other.
It’s nice to have company, and we’ve got the same goal—keeping you alive. ”
“I don’t care what happens to me.”
“You say that, but I think you do care. You could sabotage this, you know. If you really wanted to die, you could just sit down and refuse to keep moving. Or trip me and hold me under the water until I drown. Or disease the hell out of me. There’s a million ways out of this situation, so the fact that you’re still in it tells me that you want to be here, on some level. ”
Kalos gazes at me.
“What?” I ask, unable to read his expression.
“You’re right.” There’s genuine surprise in his voice. “I hadn’t realized it until now, but I suppose part of me does want to be here. I find aspects of this situation interesting.”
Considering he just spent a month staring into space?
I’m guessing there’s a lot that’s more interesting than staring at absolutely nothing.
“I know you’re the Aspect of Apathy and it’s going to be very hard for you to be proactive.
I get that. I do,” I say, keeping my voice as cheerful as possible.
“It’s one reason why they put us together.
I’ll be pushy enough for both of us. You can stand back and let me handle things. ”
He pauses, looking at me thoughtfully. “Because you’ve had experience with that before?”
“In a sense? I’m used to holding down the fort while everything’s burning down around us.
” I don’t launch into a story about my brother and his cancer treatments, and how I juggled taking care of him while holding down jobs to pay the bills.
What it felt like wearing a mask to be optimistic and efficient at all times, even when I was bone tired, because one of us had to be handling things well.
If I crumbled, David would not be far behind.
And I loved David and wanted to make things as easy as I could for him, so I put on a smile and kept going.
Loved David.
Past tense.
Because I’ll never see my brother again.
A knot the size of a fist lodges itself in my throat and tears burn my eyes. I turn away from Kalos and start wading through the knee-deep swamp water, Dingle hopping through the muck at my side. “Let’s just keep going,” I croak after the god. “Come on.”
I hear him walking, the splashing of water telling me that he’s following after me.
“Walls,” he says after a moment. “Layers of them in Balsingra. I remember that. Lots and lots of walls, ringing the different parts of the city and separating them from each other.”
Oh. I sniff back my tears and nod as he jogs to my side. “Walls. Interesting. Thank you.”
He says nothing, but it still feels like progress.
It takes two more days to get out of the swamp.
They’re two of the longest days of my life, and I’ve had some very long days before.
But by the time the swamp levels out and the trees become so sparse that we see nothing but mud flats as far as the eye can see, I’m so tired I’m numb.
I’ve got mud in places I didn’t know I had places, so many bug bites that I feel like one big blister, and I’m almost out of rations.
I’m thirsty, my stomach’s growling, and Dingle smells utterly foul.
Wet goat and swamp muck are not a great combination.
Kalos hasn’t complained in the slightest, though.
I’m rather impressed with that. He never volunteers conversation, and I don’t expect it from him.
But when I ask him questions, he answers to the best of his ability.
Most of his answers are “I don’t know” or “Why are you asking?” but they’re still answers, at least.
The one bright spot? There’s no sign of the enemy army that was supposedly hot on our tails. Either we’ve lost them cutting through the swamp, or they elected not to come after us.
I’ll take it.
The sight of a small fishing village on the horizon makes me burst into tears of joy.
I clutch at Kalos’s arm in sheer delight as I point to it, and he stares at me in shock when I grab him.
I’m shocked, too—the mere act of touching him sends a hot flash through me, as if I’ve had a sudden spike in fever.
“Sorry,” I say, immediately releasing him. “I was just…excited. Please don’t give me the plague. Not after all we’ve been through.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “I won’t give you a sickness every time we touch. The first time is just to link us.”
“You said it was to teach me a lesson!” I remember, because I’d wanted to choke him for being so petty.
He gives me a dismissive look. “We’re not to use our powers—for good or evil—while we’re here. The High Father wants us humbled.”
He can’t use his disease powers while he’s here? That’s a relief. I reach out and pat his arm, then smooth it as if I can wipe away my touch. “I am sorry, though. I’m sure you don’t want to be manhandled by a mortal.”
Kalos glances down at his arm where I’ve grabbed at him. He says nothing.
“A village,” I tell him again happily, turning back to the settlement in the distance. “Fresh water. Food. Do you think they’re friendly?”
He huffs. “Not if we tell them who we are.”
Oh. Good point. I’m not traveling with someone who is likely very popular amongst mortals if the goal is to “keep him apathetic.” I suppose it’d be too much to hope that they’d be in awe. Most likely they’d try to stone us or run us out of the village entirely. “Okay, we need a plan.”
He looks at me, waiting.