by Kim Fielding
Mike was hungry and thirsty enough that he didn’t care how anything tasted. He simply ate and drank. Goran did the same, taking most of the ale for himself and then looking mournfully into the empty container. “Wish there was more.”
“If you drink more, you’ll be drunk.”
“I know.”
After that, they said little. They each made a quick trip away from the house to empty themselves; then they lay down on the hay a few feet apart. Mike used Agata’s scarf as a small makeshift blanket. Goran must have been comfortable enough without, because within moments he was snoring softly. Mike fell asleep soon after.
MIKE HATED goddamn roosters. He was sure of that fact despite his general disorientation as he sat up and peeled his eyes open—first trying to remember where the hell he was, and then wondering where Goran had gone. More bread and cheese had materialized in the basket while he slept, along with some kind of egg-and-milk-and-herb thing that was tasty enough to make him reconsider his antipathy toward chickens. There was a bucket about one-fifth full of ale, which Mike finished off. He attempted to tame his hair with the wooden comb and chewed one of his tooth-cleaning sticks. The stick did freshen his breath, but he didn’t know whether it did anything for general dental hygiene. He hoped he didn’t end up with serious problems, because if he was unemployed when he returned, it also meant the loss of his dental insurance.
He was still thinking about his teeth when Goran appeared around the corner of the house. He was grinning and carrying what appeared to be a hunk of raw meat. When he got closer, Mike saw that it was, in fact, a dead and skinned rabbit. “Dinner,” Goran announced. “We can use your scarf to wrap it in.”
“I thought you needed a bow.”
“Borrowed a sling from our host. He uses it to scare birds from the fields. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Mike’s muscles were sore, and he wasn’t all that happy about using the scarf to carry a bloody carcass. But real meat for dinner would be nice. So instead of arguing, he stretched and nodded. “Let’s go.”
The farm couple was standing in front of the house when Mike and Goran came around. But their demeanors had improved considerably—they were now smiling widely. They even waved as Mike and Goran left. “Why the change in attitude?” Mike asked when they were a little way down the road. He gestured back at the couple to show who he meant.
“Caught them some rabbits too. Eight of them. There are a lot of rabbits around here! That family will eat well for several days.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Don’t like to be a burden,” Goran replied. He wasn’t looking at Mike.
Mike decided to file that away for later pondering. He still didn’t know what to make of his companion.
An hour or so into that day’s journey, the landscape began to change. The shady forests segued into small stands of scrub, and the cropland disappeared entirely. Instead, sheep and goats nibbled at pale greenery growing among the rocks. Mike and Goran didn’t pass through any towns, just occasional clusters of a few stone houses. Each of these clusters had a well where the travelers paused for a drink. Goran frowned, looking as if he were wishing for something stronger than water. In the early afternoon, they passed some jagged rocks bigger than any mansion. The sun had grown warm by then, so they chose a spot where the rocks offered a bit of shade. Goran gathered twigs and used a flint to start a fire, then stuck the rabbit in the flames to cook. He sat next to Mike to wait for lunch.
“You’d make a great Boy Scout,” Mike observed after a long stretch of silence.
“What’s that?”
“It’s… nothing. Something back home.”
Goran shot him a sidelong glance. “You miss your home.”
“God, yes.” A thought occurred to Mike a moment later. “Where’s your home? That city at the border?”
“No. I wander.” Goran stared down at his big hands and sounded wistful.
“But where are you from?”
“Far. Maybe not so far as you, though.” He got up to poke at the fire and rearrange the rabbit. The meat was starting to smell good, making Mike’s mouth water. But it must not have been cooked enough, because Goran sat back down. “You don’t have a husband, but you must have family who miss you.”
“Yeah. Me and my mom and my sister—we argue, but we love each other.”
“Do they know where you are?”
Mike’s stomach clenched. He hadn’t even thought about them. Probably by now they’d noticed he’d gone missing, and they must be frantic. It wasn’t Mike’s style to disappear without saying anything. Although his trip to this world had been entirely involuntary, he felt guilty about causing his family grief. His friends would be worried too. Crap. “No,” he whispered.
Goran patted Mike’s shoulder. “You’ll complete your pilgrimage, and you’ll see them again soon. Imagine the stories you’ll be able to tell them about what you’ve seen!”
Stories that would get Mike committed. But he managed a small smile for Goran. “How about you?”
“No family.” And that must have been an uncomfortable subject too, because Goran suddenly rose. He walked quickly around the rock and out of sight. Maybe he just had to take a piss, but he was gone a long time. When he returned, he checked their meal and pronounced it ready.
Half the rabbit was burned and the other half still fairly raw. They had no cutlery except for Goran’s dagger, no plates or napkins. But the meat tasted good and filled Mike’s stomach, so he couldn’t complain. He hadn’t eaten anything cooked over a campfire since his family spent a long weekend at Yosemite when he was a little kid. It was a good memory. They’d enjoyed hiking around the waterfalls and scrambling over rocks. Then, in the evenings, they cooked hot dogs and s’mores. They’d seen bears. Marie got a sunburn and Mike fell and skinned a knee, and at night their dad told them ghost stories and they slept in a tent.
Buoyed by a good meal and happy recollections, Mike started the afternoon portion of the walk in a better mood. Goran seemed to have shaken off whatever upset him earlier. He was humming again. Sometimes he pointed out things he thought might interest Mike, such as a large bird with red-and-black plumage and a prickly plant Goran said was useful for treating wounds.
As the day grew later, they approached a village. It didn’t have a wall around it, and the streets were unpaved. The locals were dressed more raggedly than Mike. They eyed Goran apprehensively, clearly hoping he’d move on quickly. But he stopped in front of a tiny building instead. “Buy us dinner?” he asked Mike.
Mike hadn’t even realized they were at an inn. There was no sign. “I told you. I have very little money.”
“But you have enough for two meals.”
“Yes. But I need to save it.”
“Why?”
“In case I need it later,” Mike said, slightly exasperated.
“You could die tomorrow. Enjoy what you have while you can.”
That was a cheery thought, and it ran contrary to Mike’s fiscal-analyst heart. But Goran looked stubborn, and Mike was suddenly afraid of being abandoned. His guardian had proven much more helpful than he’d anticipated. “Fine,” he grumbled.
As it turned out, Goran ate very little, choosing to drink his dinner instead. After forcing down the slop that passed for stew in this dirty little place, Mike wondered if Goran hadn’t chosen the wiser route. But no, Mike needed to be sober for the shrine, and according to Goran, Kutina was very near. Goran, however, was obviously pretty buzzed by the time they hit the road again. His steps were unsteady and his path tended to veer. He mumbled to himself too, snatches of words Mike couldn’t understand. Once Goran tripped over a large rock and barely avoided landing flat on his face, and after they’d left the village and were heading up a steep hill, he pulled out his sword and swung it randomly through the air. Alarmed, Mike kept a safe distance away.
There were no signs of habitation here at all, not even any sheep. Just stones and scrub and dirt and the sky ti
nged orange and red with the setting sun. Mike worried that they were lost… or worse. If Goran actually intended to slit Mike’s throat, this would be a fitting spot.
But as they crested the hill, Mike realized that the scattered boulders were in fact the ruins of what had once been a good-sized town. None of the structures were even remotely intact, but a few walls remained in a half-tumbled state and some foundations were visible beneath the weeds. They even passed a broken fountain with bits of intricate mosaic around its base. “Kutina?” Mike asked Goran, who was several paces ahead of him.
“Yes.”
“What happened here?”
“War. A long time ago.” Goran seemed very sober now.
It made sense that the goddess of death would have a shrine in a place like this—a dead city. Mike wondered what the war had been over. Did anyone remember? Did it matter anymore?
At the far end of the ruins, a single small building still stood—barely. It leaned crookedly, and the building stones were cracked and chipped. The figures carved into the walls were too worn to make out. “Doesn’t look up to code,” Mike said.
Goran frowned at him. “What?”
“Nothing. Okay. The book says I’m supposed to make an offering of flowers.” Mike looked around and noticed wildflowers blooming here and there. “Any specific kind?”
“No.”
Goran sat on what looked like the pedestal of a broken column, and he watched as Mike gathered flowers. Looking closely, Mike realized there were several species. He didn’t know if any of them existed in his own world—he knew nothing about botany or gardening. Back when he and Benny were dating, they used to spend hours talking about buying a house someday, and Benny would drone on about what he wanted to plant there. Mike never paid much attention to the words, although he’d enjoyed watching the enthusiasm on his lover’s face. Christ, Mike had almost forgotten about those conversations and the deep comfort he’d felt when entwined with Benny on the couch, dreaming about the future. A future that never happened.
“Is this enough, do you think?” Mike held up a healthy handful of blooms in pink, yellow, purple, and white.
“Probably.”
Deciding it was the best answer he was likely to get, Mike cautiously entered the shrine. The floor was stone, littered with dirt and dried leaves that had drifted in. There were no adornments except for a statue up against one wall. Mike couldn’t make out the details at first—it was quite dark inside—but when he got closer he saw that it was a woman who resembled a thin version of Agata. She was smiling, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. Shivering a little, Mike set the flowers atop the pile of dead stuff at her feet. It was a big pile of former offerings, long ago turned brown and black. He’d thought flowers an odd thing to bring to a death god, but now it made sense—the bright flowers of his offering were already wilting, the first stage of their demise.
The guidebook hadn’t said anything about a prayer. “Gonna have to wing it,” Mike muttered. And then he said more loudly, “Hello, um, Lady Alina.” Was that how you addressed a goddess? Somehow his scattered childhood etiquette lessons had never covered that subject. “Please accept these flowers as my gift. And please accept my apologies for… for your being slighted after the wedding tournament. Um… amen.”
He backed quickly out of the shrine.
Goran was standing and waiting for him, his body dark against the last of the day’s light. Mike couldn’t make out his expression. “I guess we’re done here,” Mike said. “Where are we going to sleep?”
“Not here. Too many ghosts.”
Mike didn’t believe in ghosts. Of course, he also didn’t believe in alternate universes and feuding gods.
The pathway down the hill was treacherous in the dark. Mike stumbled a few times. One of those times he certainly would have fallen if Goran hadn’t caught him in his strong, steady arms. Warm arms, Mike couldn’t help but notice as he righted himself. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“It’s my job.”
At the base of the hill, Goran simply plopped himself down on a spot of relatively rock-free ground. He lay down at once, again not bothering to remove his weapons or boots. There was something oddly forlorn about the big man curled like that, with nothing around him but emptiness. Emptiness and Mike.
Sighing, Mike lay a few feet away. This was his most uncomfortable bed yet, but at least the night was balmy, and he didn’t need the bit of extra warmth the scarf could provide. The scarf was still bloodstained from the rabbit; he’d crumpled it and shoved it in his pocket. It smelled, but then so did he. He really, really wished for a bath and clean clothing.
“Mike?”
Mike wondered why Goran was whispering when there was nobody but them for miles. “Yes?” Mike whispered back.
“I know it hasn’t been three days yet, but—”
“You’re hired. You’ve passed your trial period with flying colors.”
“Thank you.” Goran’s voice was tight with emotion, but Mike couldn’t tell which emotion. “Good night, Mike.”
“Night, Goran.”
Chapter 6
THERE WERE no roosters this morning, which was good. But there was also no breakfast, not even water to drink, and Mike’s body had reached new levels of soreness after a night on the bare ground. He would have sold his soul for an air mattress. Goran, of course, was cheery again. He bounced impatiently, waiting for Mike to comb his hair and gnaw on his tooth stick. After Goran emptied his bladder, his entire morning grooming ritual consisted of running his fingers through his long hair and then retying the leather cord that attempted to bind it.
“Where do we go next?” Goran asked while Mike adjusted a sandal strap.
Mike looked up at him sharply. “I thought you knew. You’re my guide. Been this way lots of times, you said.”
Goran’s grin was not at all chagrined. “I exaggerated. I have traveled nearly everywhere in Nenahde at one time or another. But I never exactly made the pilgrimage.”
“Then why the hell—”
“You needed a guard. I needed a job. Doesn’t matter if I don’t know the exact route we’re meant to take—your book tells you that. I can help keep you safe and find you food and places to sleep.” He spread his arms. “You’ve seen that already.”
Mike was tempted to be angry. But Goran was telling the truth; he had already proven himself helpful. And if Mike was honest with himself, he enjoyed having company. It had been a long while since he’d spent more than a couple hours with anyone except coworkers, and he was finding the companionship pleasant.
He tossed his tooth stick away and pulled the book from his vest. “Fine. But no more lies, okay?”
“Not even polite ones, like, Yes, Mike, you are very agreeable first thing in the morning?”
Mike tossed a pebble at him. He missed, which made Goran laugh.
After wiping his hands as clean as possible on his trousers, Mike opened the book. He skipped over the first few pages, which were about Kutina, then slogged through several paragraphs in which the author inexplicably decided to discuss his views on whether young people should choose their own spouses or allow their parents to choose for them (the author favored the latter). Mike briefly wondered whom his mother would pick for him. She’d never much cared for Benny, even before he broke Mike’s heart, but at this point she’d probably pounce on the nearest available suitor.
“Okay,” Mike said after a while. “I guess next we’re supposed to go somewhere named, um, Ugolin. Does that sound familiar?”
“Yes. I know it.”
“Is it far?”
“Four days. Perhaps five.”
“Great.” Mike sighed before peering at the text again. “I’m supposed to make some kind of offering there, but I can’t make out this word. Can you?” He held the book toward Goran.
Goran hung his head. “I can’t read.”
“Oh.” Such a possibility had never occurred to Mike. But now that he thought of it, he’d seen very little writing
anywhere, not even on shop signs, which relied mostly on pictures. Maybe literacy wasn’t very common in this place. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized. Where I’m from, everyone learns to read.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. We have schools. There are even laws that say you have to go until you’re eighteen.”
“Everyone goes? Even the poor? Even children with no families?”
“Everyone. Some schools are a lot better than others, of course. In my town, the schools in the poor part of town were definitely crappier than near me. Older, kinda run-down. Some didn’t even have air-conditioning.”
“Air-conditioning?”
“It’s… never mind.” Mike closed the book, tucked it away, and stood. “This book is not as helpful as it should be. I’d give it, like, two stars at best. I guess we can just head to Ugolin and figure things out from there.”
Goran nodded. “Good.” He took off at a quick pace that left Mike struggling to keep up.
THE LANDSCAPE didn’t change much over the next few days, which left them few options for food and shelter. But Goran always found a place to beg a meal—and ale. The locals weren’t exactly thrilled to be donating, but they always gave a little. And when he could, Goran performed some small service in return, such as gathering firewood or spending an hour hauling rocks out of someone’s pathetic attempt at a vegetable garden. Judging from the expressions on people’s faces, Mike guessed that Goran’s services were quite unexpected. When he asked Goran why he did them, his guard only shrugged and repeated, “I like to be useful.”
The people here were poor. Not college poor, as Mike had experienced when he was a student sharing a crappy apartment with four other men and living off ramen noodles, but truly poor. No shoes, not even thin-soled sandals like his. Rags for clothing. Tiny houses in disrepair, with skinny dogs and skinny goats and skinny chickens and skinny children. The kind of poverty that meant doing backbreaking work from dawn until dark and still not having enough food to feed the family. He knew there were places in his world where people had this little, but he’d never seen them firsthand. He felt ashamed for all the times he’d whined about his own minor misfortunes such as slow Wi-Fi or malfunctioning espresso machines.
