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’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.