Page 21 of Something Human

There was something a little, well, off about petitioning the chaste goddess with an invocation of her earthly friendship, given the way he knew he had started to feel about Rus. But he forged ahead. Friendship was—undeniably—what they had, and it felt miraculous, and he was grateful for it.

“I thank you for granting him to me, divine Anaxe. I never looked to have a friend like this—I didn’t know what my life was lacking. And I’m not a fool, divine Anaxe—I know that he will have to go back to his people, as I will go back to mine, and we may never meet again after we leave here—and he will probably forget me. But please, holy goddess, let him go back, not to the funeral pyre, not with the men of his kin that I killed, but alive—please, even if it means he must ride against my people again in another battle.”

Even if it means I lose my city and go back to Pheme and start over. He did not say that out loud, but he was startled to find it in his mind. And, because there was more in his mind than that, he forced himself to go on.

“I do … I do want him—I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, and I can’t lie to you. He’s so different, so vital and captivating and … lovely. I do want to touch him, I want to know what it would be like to kiss him, to be the first man who’s ever … I mean, how could I not want that? But what we have now … it’s good. It’s more than good.” He cleared his throat.

“According to the custom, this is something of his, which I give you as an offering.” He laid the heavy gold object on the step above him. “I am sure you know him already—he is your servant, and the servant of your divine brothers and sisters. If not for my sake, maybe you will protect him for his own—he worships you, I am sure, with more reverence than I ever have. He calls you something different—I don’t know what it is, it probably has a sort of phlegmy ‘h’ in it somewhere … ”

He stopped. He found himself—as if the impulse had been thrust into him like a sword’s point—suddenly about to laugh. He looked up at the goddess’s half-hidden face again with surprise.

“Thank you, my lady,” he whispered.

He went back to the storeroom behind the temple of Soukos. He would check on Rus, see that he was comfortable, then go and see what he could find in the pharmacy. He felt calmer now; the panic of earlier had ebbed, as if the hand of the goddess had smoothed it away.

Rus woke at the sound of the door closing, and as Adares approached the bed, he asked something, softly and hoarsely, in the Luth language.

“What can I do for you, Rus?” Adares whispered, leaning over him. He did not expect an answer that he could understand.

Rus blinked up at him for a moment. “Like last night,” he said finally, evidently finishing a sentence. “Have I been speaking the wrong language?”

Adares almost laughed with relief. “Yeah, but it’s my fault—I didn’t try to get you to switch. Do you want more water? Then I’ll go see whether the pharmacy has anything to help your fever.”

Rus shook his head impatiently. “You have to let a fever run its course—even I know that. Get in with me again. Like last night.”

“Oh. Of course. Just—just let me put the water by the bed first, so I can reach it if you want any.”

Having done that, he lay down beside Rus and reached over to stroke his back, like the night before. Rus fell asleep almost immediately.

CHAPTER VII

ADARES WOKE TO a soft, grey light and a soothing, familiar noise. He turned to see Rus lying awake beside him. In the light, he looked very pale. His eyes met Adares’s.

“It’s raining,” Rus said. He smiled.

“You’re feeling better.”

“Much better. Thank you, my friend. You have been very kind.”

Without thinking, Adares leaned over and put his lips briefly to Rus’s forehead. Rus looked startled, but said nothing.

They went out into the rain and washed at the fountain. Rus reluctantly washed his hair with soap, grumbling about how it would be dry and tangled as a result, and Adares laughed at him. The rain stopped and the sun came out, weakly. They went inside to dress, and Rus looked for the pin to fasten his kilt.

“Did it fall down behind the bed?” he asked, trying to peer between the mattress and the wall.

“Actually, I know where that pin is.”

“Ah, do you?” Rus looked up at him from where he was draped across the bed, his kilt half-wrapped and not fastened.

“It’s on the upper steps in the temple of Anaxe. I gave it as an offering for your recovery, last night when you were feverish. It’s a custom, when you pray for someone’s health, to offer something of theirs.”

“And you offered my kilt pin? To Kahait?”

It did have an “h” in it. And Adares was surprised to see that Rus was turning rather pink about the whole thing. He sat up and gathered up the loose fabric of his kilt.

“We don’t usually bother Anaxe in cases of sickness,” Adares went on quickly, pretending not to notice Rus’s embarrassment. “We pray to her servant, Petteia, usually. But Petteia has no temple here. I was worried about you. I had to do something. The pin was the only thing of yours that I could think to offer—I didn’t know how to get that torque thing off, without half choking you.”

“Yes.” Rus smiled, though he was still blushing steadily. “It’s just … I guess it’s a good omen. With my people, the pin that you do up your kilt with … it’s the sort of thing that might be given sometimes as a love token. And so, when a young man wants to go courting, he will give an offering of his kilt-pin—so that the goddess will give him success.”