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)
Knocking on the door gets no answer. I try twice before I give up and head over to the next house and knock again. I try three more doors before someone opens up a crack and glares out at me, their face hidden behind a scarf over the mouth and nose. “Go away! There’s sickness here!”
“I’m looking for the spinner,” I say, smiling brightly. “Then I swear I’ll leave.”
“Spinner’s sick, too,” the person tells me, but points a finger at a house nearest to the well at the edge of town.
As I turn to leave, I’m peppered by dirt from behind. I turn and the next handful hits my face. Sputtering, I wipe the grains away. Not dirt—they’re throwing salt on me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the villager says again. “You’ll catch what we have.”
I don’t know if telling them Kalos is with me will scare them more than they already are, so I opt to say nothing about him at all. “I promise I won’t. Thank you again.”
Wiping the sticky grit of salt from my face, I move to the house that’s been designated as the spinner’s. There’s a little garden to one side of the small house, choked in weeds. An enormous pig wallows in mud in a small pen, and there’s no smoke coming from the chimney of the house. The vulture symbol here is faded and old, but still on the door, and I wonder how long this poor woman has been sick.
I knock, and of course no one answers. I hesitate for a moment, because it seems rude to barge into a stranger’s house, but what if she’s on death’s door? What if she’s too sick to get up? I touch the weathered wooden door and look over at Kalos, waving him to my side.
He saunters over without a lick of haste. “Ready to go?”
“What’s she sick with?” I ask, indicating the door. “The spinner? Can you tell?”
Kalos makes a face at me. He leans against the wall of the hut, a wood-and-mortar job that looks like it’s seen better days, then crosses his arms and regards me. “Well, she’s full of sickness from the well itself. All kinds of impure things are in the water. But today? She’s got the shits because of something she ate. Satisfied?”
“No plague?” I double-check, just to be sure.
“Zero plague, just poor choices.”
Poor choices, huh? It makes me wonder if it’s really her choice or if it’s something out of her control. Maybe she’s unaware the well water is bad? I knock again, and when there’s no answer, I push the door open gently. “Hello?”
There’s a strange, sour smell that wafts out of the house the moment the door is cracked, and I step back, fanning the air.
“Don’t come in,” says a weak, wobbly voice from somewhere in the dark recesses of the small house. “I’ve got the plague.”
“Omos sent me,” I say, as if that explains everything, and go inside anyhow. I leave the door wide open for light and look around. The house is tiny inside, with a clutter of objects pushed into every corner—a spinning wheel, a heavy cauldron for cooking, a clothing trunk, a rocking chair, and in the corner, near the dark fireplace, is a bed with a blanket-covered figure in it. There are a few buckets and bowls lined up at the edge of the bed for puking, and the sour smell is even worse in here. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
“Plague,” she says again, struggling to sit up.
“It’s not the plague, ma’am,” I say as polite as I can. “Like I said, Omos sent me. Would you like a drink of water?”
A hand gestures out from under the blankets, pointing. I spot a wooden bucket, and when I lean over it, I can see there’s already water in it…and a gross-looking film on top.
“Well water,” Kalos says in a low voice. I didn’t realize he’d followed me inside. “Something probably died in it.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, bracing myself. I ignore the urge to shriek (and alternately dig them a new well). If this is the water they’re working with, we need to at least sterilize it. “I’m going to boil your water first, ma’am,” I say. “You need to do this every time. It gets rid of any microbes or pathogens.”
“What?” she asks, and it’s clear she doesn’t know what those are.
“It gets rid of the Vulture God’s foul touch,” Kalos offers. “He’s cursed the water here.”
I shoot him a look.
Kalos shrugs.
I try to pick up the heavy cauldron by the handle, but it’s like trying to heft a boulder. Jesus, when did I become so weak? I start to drag it across the floor before a hand touches my back, stopping me. Kalos takes it with one hand, lifting it to the hook atop the fireplace. He squats down next to it and taps a finger on the wood left there, and it instantly bursts into flame.