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)
“It happens occasionally,” I explain. “He’ll pull out of it in his own time.”
His eyes widen, but he nods. “I see. I have a friend in Yshrem who has seen an Aspect of Apathy there. From what I understand, they are very…passive.” He studies Kalos a while longer, then looks at me speculatively. “And you came here from where?”
“A swamp from somewhere,” I say vaguely. Not because I don’t want him to know the name of the place, but because I have no idea what it was called. I uncover the food tray as he pulls off his cloak and gesture at it. “I’m not a cook, but I thought you might be hungry. I dug around in your stores and organized your nuts and cheese, and I marked where I pulled them from just in case.”
Omos’s face softens. “That’s very kind of you.”
He sits down at the table and picks up a small wedge of cheese. I pour him a cup of fresh water that I retrieved from the well, because the least I can do is help when he’s letting us stay with him. Once he’s taken care of, I move back to Kalos’s side to check on him. There’s a stray lock of hair in his face, close to his staring eyes, and I gently brush it out of the way. I can’t resist giving his cheek a little caress as I do.
“I see why he is fond of you,” Omos says. “Your heart is full of empathy.”
Flattery for being a decent human being feels wrong. “Anyone would do this for another.”
“You would be surprised.”
I sit down on a stool, pulling my chair over near Kalos’s. I watch as Omos eats, trying to think of what to ask without seeming like I’m pumping him for information. I have a million questions about everything, but it’s obvious the monk is tired. “How are things in town?”
He brightens, cutting a slice off a small green apple as he does. “The woman I visited is doing much better. I am hopeful that the sickness won’t spread, but it’s difficult to say. I would normally say a prayer that she avoids Lord Kalos’s dread gaze, but, well…”
“I can assure you he’s not thinking about strangers and making them sick right now. It takes all that he has just to keep himself alive.”
Omos watches me as he eats. “I am very curious about him. And you.”
“We’re not all that interesting,” I admit. “I showed up here to serve him, and it feels like ever since, we’ve been on the run for one reason or another.”
“The Anticipation,” Omos says, nodding. “Not all want to see a god appear in their city.”
I can’t blame them, especially with the reputation Kalos has. Hell, their entire religion seems to be all about how they can avoid his attention. “It’s to be expected. I just…how long does this go on for? How long are we supposed to run?”
“No one can answer that except the Fates.”
“And the Anticipation? How long is it supposed to go on?”
He avoids looking at me. “Some have gone on for years. The longest was a decade.”
A freaking decade? A decade of hiding out from people who want to kill me? I blink, digesting his words. It sounds nightmarish, but what other options do we have other than to keep running? “I see.”
“Know that I will support you and the Vulture Lord in any way I can,” Omos says, tone kind. “My home is open to anyone who needs assistance. It is my Lady Magra’s way to share the bounty of the earth with others.”
And it’s Kalos’s way to spread disease and ruin. How long before we destroy Omos’s life, too?
The next morning, Kalos is still in a fugue state. I talk to him as I eat breakfast, chatting about nothing in particular as Omos picks through his books nearby. It’s raining outside, which means all the goats are huddled in the barn. The day is gloomy and quiet, with candles and the fireplace providing the only light inside the monastery.
My clothes need washing, the hem of my skirt filthy and muddy. I have my old dress, worn down to scraps, and change into it as I warm water over the fire and get a few slivers of soap from Omos and a scrubbing brush. He hands me herbs to put in the water to make it smell nice, too, and pulls a wooden rack near the fire so my clothes can dry through the day since we can’t hang them outside.
I stoke the fire as the water warms, then approach Kalos. I unbutton his shirt, leaning over the god. “Why don’t I do your laundry for you?” I whisper, my words soft and gentle. I don’t think he’s in pain when he’s like this, but you never know. I’d rather play it safe and choose kindness. “Let’s get you undressed and get some fresh clothes on you. It’ll make you feel better. There’s nothing nicer than clean clothes. Until then, you can sit here by the fire, wrapped in cozy blankets. Doesn’t that sound nice?”