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)
“I think we need a new plan,” I tell him weakly.
“You’re the plan maker,” he says. “You tell me where to go and that’s where we’ll go.”
I think about Margo and her necklace again. She didn’t get the crystals herself. Said there was a… monastery? A library? Something? And that a lot of the crystal hunters stopped there. I eye Kalos. “Do you feel any settlements around here?”
“Nothing that way for certain,” he says, gesturing at the south side of the road, where the Dirtlands begin.
“What about the other way?”
He pauses, considering. “Maybe a little something.”
It’s a start. “Let’s go find that little something, then.”
When we find the cute little square building with the thatched roof, I know we’ve found the place. The walls are stone and rectangular, and the building stands alone, on the side of the road that has grass. Something about the set-up feels homey, even if the world around it is bleak and the land stark. There are a few goats bleating in a nearby pen, one wandering the gardens with a bell on his neck. He cries at Dingle, who dances with excitement, and I snatch his leash before he can race off. Of course, Kalos wasn’t holding his lead. It’s not worth fussing over, though. I stride off the road and toward what must be the monastery Margo had mentioned. The rock walls do remind me of an old-timey church, but it looks strangely naked without a wooden cross or two. There’s a battered wooden door that looks as if it’s been touched by a hundred hands, and I glance over at Kalos, hesitating. “Should we knock?”
He gestures at the nearby road. “Unless you’d rather keep going all the way to Aventine.”
The war city? The one all the hollow-eyed people keep fleeing? No thank you. “I want to stop here. I think this might be the place Margo mentioned to me.”
He shrugs. It’s not an Apathy shrug or an annoyed one. It’s a “you’re in charge, I follow your lead” sort of shrug, which pleases me. How strange is it that I’m learning to interpret shrugs to decipher the mood of a god? I beam at him, fighting the urge to just reach over and impulsively kiss him. Kisses between us aren’t a thing. We can’t be together. There’s no point in even flirting with romance.
No point, I repeat silently to myself, even as disappointment floods my veins.
Dingle bolts, ripping the leash out of my grip in his efforts to reach the other goats. Kalos scoops him up, carrying him as we approach the building. Then the moment with Kalos is gone, and I lick my lips, trying not to think about kisses or anything of that nature.
I head to the monastery doors and knock on the thick, heavy wood. I knock twice before someone answers. The door cracks open and a little man peers out at us. He holds a candle in one hand, his other clutching a cane. He looks feeble and pathetic, his shoulders hunched. His skin is dark and weathered, his stark white hair parted down the center and tied into two long, thin braids near each ear. He peers up at me, looking ancient and frail and on his last legs, and the sight of him is so depressing that I think we’ve come to the wrong place. “I’m sorry,” he says in a papery voice. “I can’t take boarders right now. There’s a plague in the next village. You understand, yes?”
“Oh,” I say, and turn to Kalos, hesitant. Do I say who we are? Do I turn away and leave? I’m flummoxed. When I’d pictured help, I’d pictured someone strong and hearty. Someone that would have answers. Not a frail husk of a grandpa who might topple in a strong wind. “Um, okay. Are we at the wrong place? I’m looking for the guy that trades crystals. A gal named Margo said he was living near the Dirtlands.”
“Margo, you say?” His voice crackles and he peers at me.
I nod absently, wondering what we do now. “Seth’s, ah, companion. We must be at the wrong place. I’m so sorry to bother you.”
“Don’t say that name around here,” the old man says suddenly. He reaches into a pocket and throws what looks like a pinch of salt over his shoulder. “You never know when he’s going to be fully into his powers. He could be listening even now.”
I stop. “Wait, you know, uh…that guy?”
He glances behind me, his gaze landing on Kalos as he holds a squirming goat in his arms. The old man’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh.” He drops to one knee, bowing his head. “My lord.”
Eek. I wince, imagining the crackle of his old knees. “There’s no need for that, sir—”
“It’s not every day one has a god on his doorstep,” the old man continues. He gets to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane, and blows out his candle. “Especially one with good taste in his company.”