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)
He shakes his head at me. “Eat as much as you like. A devotee of Magra always feeds those at his table.”
Sounds good. I pick up the cheese wedge and take a large bite out of it. It’s tangy and sour, and probably one of the best things I’ve eaten in forever. I almost groan aloud I take another bite and cram some bread into my mouth after it. “So good.”
The monk beams with pleasure. “The cheese is from my goats. They’re wonderful companions. How did you acquire your little friend?” He produces a carrot from a pocket and waves it at Dingle.
Between bites, I answer. “He was going to be sacrificed to Kalos.”
Omos straightens, startled. “Oh, my goodness. They still sacrifice to him—er, to you, my lord?” He turns and looks over at Kalos. “I didn’t realize such things were done. I’m sure it’s fine, of course.”
Kalos lifts one bored shoulder. “I didn’t ask them to.”
“You didn’t tell them not to, either,” I point out.
He shrugs again, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He touches the corner of his mouth as he eyes me, and I check myself. Sure enough, I’ve got crumbs on my face. I swipe them away and Kalos’s smile only grows wider.
“I see,” Omos says in a very neutral voice. “How may I assist you, my lord? Every Aspect that comes to my doorstep requires something from me, and I wish to be of service.”
“Have you met a lot of aspects?” I ask, surprised.
“More than I would care to, if I am being honest. You do not lead quiet lives.” The look he sends Kalos’s way is apologetic.
Good point. I glance over at my partner, but Kalos is sprawled in his chair by the fire, idly picking through a nearby book. He looks completely tuned out, which isn’t surprising. Some of it might be for show—so he doesn’t give away anything to Omos—but I know not all of it is. His attention is quick to wane even on the best days. It’s up to me to do the talking. I smile brightly at Omos and gesture to my surroundings. “This is a big place for just one person. You’re here alone?”
“I am.” He pulls books off a chair nearby and sets them atop another wobbling stack. Herbs hang from the ceiling in bunches, and one dried cluster brushes across his bald head before he sits down. “When my brethren heard of an upcoming Anticipation a few years ago, they went on pilgrimage in the hopes of being there when the magic happened. They’ve never returned or sent word, and I fear the worst.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am too. They are good men and mean to spread light in the world, but not all wish to do so.” The monk gives me a faint smile. “I keep this place up to help travelers. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. If I’m being honest, I enjoy the quiet. I am happiest with my goats, my garden, and my nose in a book.” He settles his robes about his body and turns back to me. “I feel that if the gods need me, they know where I am. And now you are here, and I am ready to be of service in any way I can.”
“We need a safe place to stay for a while.”
“Of course.”
I grimace, taking another bite of cheese. “We can’t pay, either.”
He looks offended. “Lady Magra would have my head if I did not share her bounty with visitors.”
Magra? Is that a nearby ruler or some other name I don’t know? I glance over at Kalos.
“Goddess of Plenty,” Kalos says idly, flicking another page in his book. “Lady of the Harvest.”
Ah.
Omos’s eyes have gone wide. “Another from a distant land? My goodness, the High Father must truly be planning something special for this Anticipation.”
Uh oh. “I didn’t say that.”
“There are so many this time. Fascinating. Do you know, I think every god has been paired up with at least one Anchor from another world? Perhaps there is something your people can teach that ours cannot.”
Kalos snorts.
I shoot him a dirty look and pick up a piece of dried fruit. “Maybe we have a different perspective because it’s all new to us, too.”
Omos brightens. “That is a lovely way of looking at it. May I write that down?”
I don’t feel like it’s worth taking note of, but who am I to question? “Go ahead. I’ll just keep eating all your food.”
He chuckles as he gets to his feet, picking through a stack of books. “It is Lady Magra’s food. I am simply its purveyor. Now where did I put my journal?” He putters around the book-covered room, clucking to himself as he picks through piles of tomes. I keep eating, as if I’m worried he’ll change his mind and therefore I need to cram as much as I can into my mouth. Dingle follows Omos around, and it takes me a moment to realize that the monk is handing out little bits of raw vegetable to our pet as he moves about. He really does love goats.