“Oh?”
He nods and finishes his grinding, then taps the contents of the mortar onto a narrow tray that he then uses to pour into a pouch. “Sickness in Thornhill. Not from your lord. Just the usual trials that the gods choose to send our way. I’m heading out to bring them some tea, but I’ll be back this afternoon. Can you watch the farm for me?”
“Of course.”
“Take your fill of whatever food I have and bring your apple cores for the goats.” He chuckles to himself. “They love a little treat.” He pulls on a cloak hanging from a knob near the front door. As I watch, he takes a sprig of a dried plant and stuffs it into something that looks like a leather cone. It isn’t until he raises the cone to his face that I realize what it is—a plague mask. The “face” is that of a bird with a long, long nose.
I’d be willing to bet the bird is a vulture.
My stomach churns a little at the sight. Not Kalos, he said. But maybe one of his aspects has been nearby and just skipped Omos? I’m going to worry every time someone so much as sneezes, thinking that we’re in danger.
Omos turns to look at me, no longer a kindly old monk but a stranger. “If anyone comes to trade crystals, make them sit outside and wait. Don’t tell them Lord Kalos is here.”
I nod. I’m not putting a target on my back.
After he leaves, I eat three apples and all the bread before the bottomless pit of my stomach seems to be sated. After drinking some water from a pitcher, I wash my hands and head outside in search of a cranky god and a goat. It’s a bright, sunny day, with a gentle breeze and puffy clouds in the sky. Kalos is sitting on the railing of the goat pen, watching them eat. He leans on his knees, all slouchy casualness, and the wind ruffles his beautiful silver hair. It’s a quaint picture and brings a smile to my face. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” he asks, all fussy Kalos. He straightens and arches a brow at me, a look of pure distaste on his face. “Or is it a disturbing one?”
“Disturbing? Why?” I’m genuinely puzzled at his comment.
Kalos gestures at one of the goats, a pale white one with a fuzzy orange spot on her side and a hanging udder. “The monk yanked on their teats earlier and milk shot out. Youdorealize that’s what you’ve been drinking?”
I smother a laugh behind my hand. “I know where milk comes from, yes. How is it you weren’t aware?”
“Like I notice what humans are shoving into their mouths at all times?” He scoffs at me. “I have better things to do than to watch you all taste random animal body fluids.”
When he puts it that way, it doessound rather gross. Still, I know he loves Dingle, and the goat isn’t exactly a bastion of cleanliness. Maybe he’s just being surly this morning for the sake of being surly. Biting back my amusement, I move to his side, leaning on the fence next to him. “I’m really glad we’re staying here for a few days. I already feel better after a good night’s sleep.”
“Well, as long as you’re happy,” he says in a cranky tone.
“Did you want to leave?” I ask, bracing myself for whatever answer he gives. If he doesn’t want to stay, it’s not like I have a choice. We’ll move on, just as we always do, because my job is to be his companion.
He looks over at me and shakes his head. “We can stay. It’s not your fault I’m in a mood. I’m taking it out on you and there’s no reason for it.”
That’s as close to an apology as I’ve ever gotten from him. “Are you…okay?”
Kalos huffs. Dingle bounds over, butts at Kalos’s leg, and bounces away again. The god watches the goat frolicking with the others, and it’s like he’s deliberately trying not to look in my direction for some reason. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You tell me. Do we need to talk about something?”
He pauses long enough to scowl at me. “Do you have to besodelighted in everything the monk says?”
I’m taken aback. I didn’t think I was being ridiculous, just friendly. “Omos has been nice. It feels like a rarity these days.”
“I’m nice,” he mutters. “I haven’t killed anyone that’s annoyed me recently.”
Is he…jealous? Is that what this is? It’s unlike him to actually give a shit about anything, much less me. I touch a finger to his hand, tentative. “Do we need to talk, Kalos?”
He eyes my finger resting on his hand, and I wonder if my touch is bothering him, too. Then he shakes his head and groans, rubbing his free hand down his face. “I am in a foulmood. I don’t know how he can stand to live here.” The god gestures at the distance. “I can feel the throb of the land. The magic has been torn asunder and the world ripped open, just like this.” He indicates his sleeve, and sure enough, there’s a tiny tear there, near the cuff. “It’s affecting me.”
Oh. I didn’t realize that the proximity to the Dirtlands was going to bother him so much. With sympathy, I squeeze his hand, and when he doesn’t pull it from my grasp, I keep holding it. It feels like he needs comforting of some kind, even if it’s just a touch. “I don’t want you in pain. Should we go? We can pack up and be gone tomorrow.”
Kalos considers this, then shakes his head. “No. This is a good spot to hide. A safe spot. If it bothers me, no other god is going to linger here, either. It’ll be a good place for us to regroup and consider our next move.” He glances over at me. “If you are happy and content here, then it’s just as good as anywhere else.”
“Yes, but I’m here foryou.”
He eyes me. “You do know that if it were up to me, I’d still be sitting in my chamber back at the temple?”
