Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
“Very well.” If anything, I might be even more aroused than before.
Kalos studies my fingertips, then brushes his lips over one again. “Tell me your grand plan. This book you want to make. You know they cannot read.”
It’s hard to concentrate when my fingers are being nibbled on, but I don’t pull my hand away. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to…and I don’t want to. I tell him all about the visual signs back home, how some common symbols help those that can’t read or are unfamiliar with the language. How we can make a picture book of ailments and how to make cures for them.
As I talk to him, I work through it in my mind. Organization will be key. We can use different color corners on each section of the book. All the pages with a bright red corner can be head pain, all the pages with a yellow corner, stomach pain, and so on. We can draw symbols of the ailment (or a close proximity) and a picture of the herb to use, along with how to use it. It’s going to take some serious testing and working with the villagers, but I want them to be empowered with knowledge. I want them to realize that they can tend to themselves.
That not everything is a death sentence. I can’t imagine how scary it is to get a rash or an allergic reaction and immediately think you’ve got the plague and you’re going to die. I remember how dark it felt when David was going through the worst of his chemo, when he was at his sickest, when hope felt very far on the horizon. How many symptoms we’d google on the daily, determining which ones were normal and which ones meant a trip to the doctor.
I don’t want others to have that endless fear. I want them to feel relief. I want them to know someone’s looking out for them, even if it’s just me.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Omos has a small, leather-bound book full of blank parchment that he gifts me for my idea. The entire thing is beautiful and clearly handmade, and I hate the thought of scribbling notes into it and ruining what looks like hundreds of hours of work. But the monk shakes his head, offering me a leather-wrapped packet of quills and a small, flat pot of ink with a cork stopper. “What is parchment paper for if not to be written on? Lady Riekki, the Knowledge-bringer, would be most pleased with your efforts.”
Kalos coughs into his hand, shooting me a meaningful look.
I take the gifts from Omos and promise to return in a few hours. Once Kalos and I are on the road to the village, I demand answers. “What’s with the coughing, by the way? What do you know?”
“Lady Riekki, the goddess of knowledge, is in danger of losing her throne. Who do you think Seth is going after? To him, she’s the weakest link.” He takes the journal from me and admires it, touching the small, braided ribbon tucked between the pages. “This is quite nice work.”
“What do you mean, she’s in danger of losing her throne? Seth isn’t a god of knowledge!”
“You think he cares? He sees her as the weak spot.” He shrugs and hands me back the journal. “He plans on pushing his way into our ranks by edging her out. He’s killed two of her Aspects thus far and told me of his plans to capture the other two and hold them hostage until he gets his way. If her worshipers turn to him, he’ll weaken her even more and make a good case for replacing her.”
The thought that a god can play by the “rules” set for them and still lose is a little terrifying. “Is that even allowed?”
“If the High Father views it as beneficial overall for Aos, I imagine he’d allow it, which is unfortunate. Riekki is a bit of an idiot, but she’s harmless. Like all of us, she gets caught up in the smaller things and loses the bigger picture.”
Kalos lapses into silence, and I wonder if he’s worried about his own place in his world. We walk down the dusty road together. It’s a lovely day with birds singing and a gentle breeze to rustle the grasses on the “good” side of the road (there’s nothing on the other side but dirt), but I can’t relax. He’s quiet for so long that as we walk, I start to worry he’s heading into another fugue state. If he is, I’d rather be back at the monastery than the dirty little village.
“You okay?” I finally ask, reaching over and touching his arm. “Do we need to pause for a while?
He glances over at me, and a wry smile curves his handsome mouth. “You know you don’t have to be my caretaker at all times, Elsie. You can just be my companion.”