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)
Kalos is quiet as we walk, and I glance over at him. I made him put a scarf over his bright silvery hair before we left, and without the distracting tousle of his silver mane, his features are more pronounced, his mouth larger and poutier, his nose bigger, his eyes vivid green and thoroughly bored. “Are you all right?” I ask him. “Is the nearness of the dead land bothering you?”
“I can manage.” He shrugs. “I just think this is a fool’s errand.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re going. It feels good to be doing something.” I lift my chin, determined to keep my mood light. “I’d love to get some answers.”
He reaches out and tugs on a loose lock of my hair. “You never ask me your questions. Maybe I have the answers you’re seeking.”
I tuck my windblown hair behind my ear, very aware of Kalos’s touch. His nearness. “You know where your other aspects are?”
“No,” he scoffs. “I doubt this spinner does, either. That’s all you want to know?”
“Not everything. If she can tell us where we can go to be safe, that would be useful. Or if you have any enemies coming after you. I just need to know how safe we are.”
“All the other gods are my enemies,” he says with a shrug. “And we’re not safe. Feel better?”
I shoot him a cross look. “I think I’ll take my chances with the spinner’s answers, Mr. Helpful.”
He shrugs, a sly little smile on his face. “I tried.”
Except I know him well enough to know that his answers aren’t necessarily right. He’ll do as little as possible because of the apathy, because he can’t fathom doing more. Which is why I need to take the lead. I reach out and take his hand, holding it as we walk. “If it makes you feel any better about today, I’m glad that we’re doing something.”
“Mm,” is all he says, but he doesn’t pull his hand from mine.
The road slopes over the hills and moves away from the Dirtlands and the trees, into grassy rolling meadows. Up the hill I can see a cluster of cottages, just where Omos said they would be. As we approach the outskirts of the village, I notice a large, flat rock next to the side of the road. There’s a red vulture symbol painted across it, and a few large holes pockmarked into the rock itself. The holes are filled with liquid and what looks like coins.
“Are these offerings to you?” I ask, curious.
“No. The symbol lets outsiders know there’s plague inside the town and not to enter.” He points at the coins. “Those coins are here in vinegar to kill disease, and merchants will leave their goods behind at this stone.”
My mouth drops open. “Is there plague still here? Omos said it was gone.”
He snorts. “No. Just paranoia.”
“Paranoia doesn’t make people sick,” I fret. Omos said that there were several sick in town.
“I didn’t say there wasn’t sickness. I said it’s not plague. These people aren’t educated,” he says, tone dismissive. “Someone gets a headache or a rash and suddenly they decide it’s the plague.”
I have a headache today. I must admit, it makes me uncomfortable to think it might be the start of something worse. No wonder people panic. “Is it safe to go inside?”
“It is. Just…don’t drink the water. The well isn’t very clean.”
I stare at him, surprised again that he can tell that just by being in the general area. He’s a god, true, but I forget because a lot of the time he just acts like a normal man—an apathetic and haughty one. Even now, he’s holding my hand, our palms clasped like we’re a young couple instead of a god and his mortal Anchor. “Not drinking from the well, I promise.”
“Good.”
“You could fix it, you know,” I point out. “The well?”
“Sunshine, if I used my limited magic protecting all these mortals from themselves, you’d be a shriveled husk.” He eyes me. “And I like you far more than them, so no.”
I shouldn’t be flattered, but I am.
We head into the town itself. It’s not much more than a couple dozen houses scattered loosely along the dirt road. There are a few domesticated animals in small pens, a cat that runs away when we approach, and absolutely no one out and about. My skin prickles with discomfort. “Where is everyone?”
“Staying inside, I imagine.” Kalos lets go of my hand to point at the nearest door. It’s marked with another vulture symbol, this one in a faded white paint instead of the lurid red. “Want to turn around and leave?”
“Not before I find the spinner.”
I march through the town, looking at all the houses. They’re small and poor compared to what I’m used to — there are no glass windows, just wooden casements drawn tightly closed. Every roof is thatched, every path a muddy trail, and the entire community seems poor. Not all doors have the vulture symbol drawn on them, though, so I indicate that Kalos should remain in the street while I approach the nearest house.