“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 somanythis 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 mindand 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.
No one that loves animals like that can be a bad person, I decide. His sweet grandpa act must be legit.
“Aha!” He holds a battered leather-bound book aloft. “Here we go. I like to put all my notes of the people I’ve met this Anticipation. It might be of value to future generations.”
“Who else have you met?” I ask, curious.
He chuckles again, moving to a tiny table across the room and seating himself at a stool there. Omos adjusts his robes, hands a sad-looking turnip to Dingle, and opens his book. “The first I met was the Butcher God. He was quite fearsome, but his Anchor was a lovely woman. That was well over a year ago. Or was it two?” He flips through the pages, looking for answers.
“I thought all the gods were kicked out at the same time,” I say, glancing over at Kalos. He’s leisurely flipping through a book as well, but his expression is the opposite of Omos’s—he’s bored out of his mind.
“Not always,” Omos replies. “And not all gods. The Lord of the Wild, Kassam, was not in the last Anticipation. And I have had no reports of the Lady Anali thus far. Either she will be descending soon, or she will not be participating in this Anticipation.”
“Or she’s in hiding,” adds Kalos.
So heislistening, despite his apathetic appearance.
“Why, yes, it could be that,” Omos says and pulls a tiny pair of spectacles out of his pocket, perching them on his nose. He peers down at his book and frowns. “I need a light. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“Any others like me?” Kalos asks in that bored tone.
I go still, my body flooding with fear. We’ve been on the run from the Aspect of him that was at the swamps, but I’d somehow forgotten that there are two more out there, three others in total. And they’re all going to be gunning for each other.
“Not here specifically,” Omos says, consulting his notes. “But one was in the region a few weeks ago before I stopped receiving information about him. Of course, it could be that the entire town has passed due to plague.” His mien turns sad, and he makes a warding gesture at his shoulder.
