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)
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.
Right. He’s not going to come up with anything. It’s all on me. For a moment, I feel a brief rush of frustration, but I push it aside. This is what I signed up for. I press my muddy fingers to my equally muddy, bug-bitten brow and think. We can’t go in and announce ourselves. We need a cover story of some kind, and we need to think carefully about who we approach. As we get closer to the village, I notice there’s a few cabins (hovels, really) scattered along the shores next to rickety docks. It’s a poor village, that’s for sure, and there’s a smell of rotten fish in the air.
I eye the cabin closest to us—and farthest from the village—and notice the door opens and an old man steps out. I touch Kalos’s arm again, leaning in close to whisper. “Follow my lead.”
He glances down where I’m touching him.
“Shit. Sorry.”
“You can’t keep swearing every time you touch me,” he comments.
No, I can’t. And I can’t keep grabbing him every time I feel like it, too. I need to remember that he’s a god and he’s off limits. I smooth my hands on my swamp-encrusted clothes and try to compose myself. “Let me do the talking.”