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)
“Bleed them,” Metta says, her posture one of pure defiance. “To let the skull demons out.”
Oh boy.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
By the time I run out of ink, I have pages of notes and a pounding headache. Kalos’s gaze is looking a little distracted and vague, and I worry over him lapsing into fugue. We head out with the chicken under Kalos’s arm, and when Borja protests about it, he gives her a mighty scowl that shuts her up.
“I’m going to name it Anali, because it’s always squawking and reminds me of her.” He pets the chicken tucked against his chest as he walks. “It’s a good name.”
“Isn’t that a goddess?” I ask. It sounds familiar.
“Goddess of Light and Good Health,” he agrees. “And squawking.”
I guess a goddess of good health would irritate a god of disease. I watch him as he strokes the feathers, so tender and careful with the poor abused bird. He’s good with Dingle, too. There’s a soft heart underneath that jaded exterior. I wonder if he deliberately buries it because kindness and empathy aren’t things that naturally go with his job. Then again, why not? There are far worse things than a god full of empathy for the people he must make sick.
I wonder if he ever hates his job.
Omos greets us at the door just as the sun is setting. He looks unsurprised by the poor plucked chicken and offers to take it from Kalos. Anali the chicken is settled in with the others in the coop, and I’m starving yet again so after a quick wash-up, I eat and eat while I tell Omos of my notes and Metta’s “cures.”
The monk is not surprised by our story. “The townspeople are a superstitious group, but they mean well. Unfortunately, you’ll find that most villages, especially the ones near the Dirtlands, are rather insulated and backward-thinking. They’re more enlightened in Yshrem, but that place is very far away. For the people here, an extended education is a luxury. They are farmers and ranchers, not scholars.” He sets down another plate of cheese and some hard bread to go with it. “But I find that they are the ones that need help most of all.”
He’s right. It’s going to be harder than I expected, but it’s my fault for thinking I could just swan in and offer a few nuggets of advice. To these people, demons and gods are far more likely occurrences than, say, penicillin. It makes me a little tired to think of how much I need to get done, but I’m just as determined to help, if not more so.
Kalos and I chat with Omos for a while about the village. It grows late and we clean up and get ready for bed. Omos retires to his cot on the far side of the house. I pour a bit of water in the basin and wash up, my thoughts swirling on the book and the best way to handle it. One volume containing the simplest answers? Or several volumes, each one hitting a different ailment? Would that be too much information?
By the time I finish washing, I’m exhausted from the day’s events and ready for bed. My stomach hurts from all the cheese and bread I’ve stuffed into it, but I know I’m going to wake up ravenous. It’s the curse of the gods to always be hungry. I step behind a screen and change into my sleeping gown, and when I come out with my folded clothes, I’m not surprised to see Kalos is already in bed waiting for me.
He pats the mattress in invitation and has left a spot for me. I’m not getting lascivious vibes from him at the moment, so maybe he just wants to curl up together for a while. I’m so weary and discouraged that cuddling actually sounds pretty awesome. How long has it been since someone snuggled me? Not since I was a child.
I climb into bed and fit myself against him, my back to his front. He pulls the blankets over us, wraps an arm around my waist and tucks his chin against my shoulder. “Still want to see this through? Or are you giving up on them like I have?”
“I give up on no one,” I tell him, yawning.
“I noticed. It’s admirable.” His hand smooths up my shoulder and he digs his thumb in, working the muscle. “Sometimes I wish I had the same drive.”
I have to bite back a moan of pleasure at the massage. “If you did, you wouldn’t need me.”
He chuckles. “I suppose not.”
His hand continues to rub at my shoulder, and I roll forward so he has more room to work. “That feels wonderful,” I tell him, and he shifts his weight behind me, leaning on me as he rubs my shoulder even harder. I can feel the press of his arousal against my backside, and my thoughts are turning amorous. As he massages me, liquid heat feels as if its pooling in my veins, and I want more. I whisper, “Are you going to kiss me now?”