This isn’t our house, of course—it belongs to Omos and the other missing monks—so I can’t dictate how Omos handles his home. After all, we’re staying here out of his generosity, too. But that doesn’t mean I have to be easy about it.
I start hiking across the grassy pastures. The goats are grazing at the farther pastures because the nearer ones are shorn clean, and as I walk, I realize some of the aches in my body lift. We’re too far apart, then, me and Kalos. We’re stretching our spirit-tether. No wonder I’m so achy.
After a short hike to the back of the grassy pasture, near the bee hives, I find Kalos. He’s reclining in the tall grass, humming to himself as he weaves together a grass crown. He has a long stem of grass hanging from his mouth, and his silvery hair ruffles in the breeze. It hasn’t grown out any since we cut it, and it makes me wonder if it’ll grow at all, because he isn’t human. He hasn’t sprouted a single beard hair, either. I know because I’ve licked every inch of his jaw and face. Do his nails grow, I wonder idly. Does it even matter?
“There you are,” I say, smiling. “Decorating the goats again?”
“I would, but they keep eating my creations,” he comments. “It’s incredibly rude. Don’t they know I’m a god?”
“Probably not.” I sit down in the tall grass next to him, arranging my tattered skirts and tucking them under my legs so they don’t flap up in the breeze. “You were stretchingour bond.”
“Was I?” He looks up at me, chagrined. “Rhagos’s pits, I’m sorry, love. Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t notice until I came outside and it felt better. It’s time I got up anyhow. I could use a good shoulder rub.”
“One good shoulder rub on its way,” he agrees, working faster on the crown. “Let me just tidy this up.” Once the crown is completed, he puts it on my head and grins at me. “Beautiful. Want to rule a country or two? I bet we can make it happen.”
“No thank you,” I say primly, touching the crown in my hair. I have no desire to rule anything. “Are you hiding back here?”
“Indeed. Far away from Omos’s guests. Hopefully they’re just crystal traders and don’t want to linger.”
I nod absently, rubbing my aching neck.
That gets his attention. Kalos sits up, frowning. “Are you hurting?”
Managing a smile to ease his fears, I reply. “Just tight shoulders from leaning over the books.”
“You work yourself too hard.” He gets on his knees at my side, making himself taller so he can rub my shoulders. His hands are like magic as he begins to knead the base of my neck, and I close my eyes, leaning in against him. “And the village is not nearly grateful enough for how hard you’re pushing yourself.”
It’s a familiar argument. He doesn’t like how hard I work, but he doesn’t have the context that I do. I think of the thousands of different pills back home for remedies of all kinds. I think of the pharmacies where you could just walk in and find a solution to small ailments. I think of the internet, full of all kinds of information—good and bad—where you could research anything you had questions about. Twenty-four-hoururgent care. There’s none of that here. There’s a wealth of knowledge that I feel like these people should have and just don’t have the access to. That’s what drives me to pick up the quill and ink every day. It’s wanting people to have the tools to heal themselves.
So I don’t reply to his gentle chiding. We both know I’m going to do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. “Speaking of books, I should probably pay another visit to the village tomorrow. I want Metta to go over the new chapters now that I’m on a different ailment.”
He grunts. “If we must.”
“Only if you’re up to it, of course.” I reach up and brush his fingers with mine. Today is a good day for him but yesterday had been bad. He tries to meditate when I sleep, to give his apathy a “chance to breathe” as I like to call it, but some days it catches up with him. Yesterday he’d sat near the hearth and stared at the soot-covered stones until the sun went down, and nothing could break him from it. I’d pulled my chair next to his and kept him company, setting his hand on my leg while I worked on my book.
I always want him to know that even when he’s out of it, I’m still here with him.
Kalos presses a kiss to the back of my head, his thumb stroking over my neck. “We’ll go if it’s a good day. You’ve worked too hard on this. I want them to show you a bit of gratitude at least.”
Rolling my eyes, I bite back a smile. The villagers have been slowly growing more on board with my book of cures as the weeks have passed. I think Metta was skeptical until two weeks ago. She’d shown me a swollen finger, red with infection from a heinous-looking scab. I’d shoved the book in her direction and talked her through how to find the information she was looking for. She’d made a poultice as described in thebook, and when we’d returned a few days later, her hand was healed. After that, Metta was all eagerness to see what other “magic” the book had for them.
That was a good day.
Now, when we arrive for a visit to town, a few people stop by Metta’s hut while I’m there, and we talk over cures. I guide them on how to use the book. It’s exciting, and I wonder if this is how Dewey felt when he first devised his Dewey Decimal System - like you’re a shepherd guiding them towards knowledge. It’s a high unlike any other.
“Tomorrow,” I agree, turning to look up at him. “It’ll be nice. We can pack a lunch and make a day of it.”
“Lovely. Can’t wait.” His voice is flat with mock irritation, and he brushes my hair off my nape and kisses the side of my neck. “As for packing a lunch, you know I don’t eat food.”
Oh, I know he doesn’t. Months in and he still can’t stop himself from pointing out how gross he finds most foods. “I thought the lunch would be for me.”
“I’ll just have to get all my nibbling out of the way in advance.” His hand slides to the front of my dress and he cups my breast, skimming his fingers over my nipple.
I suck in a breath, glancing toward the road. I half-expect to see Omos wandering our direction with the strangers in tow, but they’re mere blots on the horizon. “We should go inside.”
“Later.” His seeking hands move to my skirt, hiking it up as his fingers make their way up my thighs. “The grasses are tall here and no one’s looking in our direction.”
