The God Eaters

  The blonde burnt some beans and rice and scraped it onto a plate for them, unspeaking, then fled the kitchen. Kieran nudged Ash awake and shoved a fork at him. They both ate with heads drooping, chewing slowly, like cows. The cheap, greasy leftovers were delicious.

  Shou-Shou poked her head into the room when they were almost done. "No one's in the bath, and you're not sleeping on any bed of mine all filthy like that. Use the plain soap." She waited for the beginning of Kieran's nod, then vanished again. Despite how late it felt, it was really only mid-evening, and she had business to conduct.

  "Bath," Ash said in a stunned tone.

  "This way." Kieran stumbled back out onto the porch, with Ash reeling after. He led the way to the most sheltered side of the house, where a lattice of wooden slats screened the bath pool from the world.

  It was a social space for the girls, not a working one, and it was a mess with their special towels and scents and brushes scattered all over. The water was well cooled, edged with floral-smelling scum. Kieran stripped off his dirt-stiff prison clothes and threw them aside; they'd probably have to be burned.

  Climbing into the water, he instantly started shivering. It was freezing. He looked up to warn Ash, and found that the northerner had made no move toward the pool, but was staring with glazed eyes, swaying slightly.

  "Ash. Snap out of it. Gotta wash or Shou-Shou won't give us beds."

  "Hnf. Oh. Uh-huh." Ash shucked his clothes with movements as creaky as an old man's. His emaciated body was livid with scratches and sunburn. Though once Kieran might have been aroused or embarrassed by Ash's nakedness, now he could only pity. He reached up a steadying hand to Ash's wrist, fearing a tumble and a broken neck.

  The water seemed to wake Ash up, though it made his teeth chatter. Kieran located the cheap soap, used it, and gave it to Ash. He had to keep reminding the white boy of missed spots. "Duck your hair again." "You planning to wash your other arm too?" After he'd rinsed the desert off himself, he took the soap away and scrubbed Ash's back for him, and finished off washing his hair, since he seemed to be having trouble holding his arms up long enough.

  He could barely climb out. Then he had to clasp Ash by the wrists and drag him out by main force. Ash couldn't stand; he knelt on the wet boards of the porch, wracked with shivers. Kieran, nearly as exhausted, made an abortive attempt to towel them both dry, then gave up and stole a couple of bathrobes off the row of hooks on the wall. Shrugged into the largest one himself. It was still far too small. Wrapped the next-largest around Ash, and wrapped himself around Ash as well, and stayed like that until they'd both stopped shivering.

  After a time, he moved to stand, but Ash had buried his face in Kieran's chest, and refused to budge. Kieran sighed. "Are you asleep again?"

  "No," Ash murmured.

  "Do you want to be?"

  A pause. "Yes."

  "Then we gotta get up. Come on, you can do it. I'll help you."

  He coaxed Ash to his feet, but the northerner was still refusing to look at him. At last he took Ash by the shoulders and pushed him off. Ash turned his head, but not fast enough.

  "You're crying? Ash, of all the stupid..."

  "I'm just tired. I'm sorry."

  "Well, after everything... look, it's all right. Let's just deal with stairs now. Okay?"

  A sniffle. "Okay."

  Getting up the back stairs to the attic was less of a chore than he'd feared it would be. Ash steadily put one foot in front of another, and though he occasionally reeled backwards, he did it slowly enough that Kieran could catch him. The attic door was standing open. By murky streetlamp light reflected off the sloped ceiling, Kieran could see that a mattress had been laid out for them between rows of steamer trunks and hat boxes, with clean bedding on it.

  Ash let out a weak chuckle. "Only one bed. They must think we're..."

  Not bothering to answer, Kieran shut the door and helped Ash to the bed. He separated sheet from blanket and tucked the blanket around Ash. Rolled himself in the sheet and lay down.

  Suddenly the silence was deafening. When Ash's breath shuddered and hitched, the sound ran across Kieran's skin like a wind.

  "Please stop crying," Kieran murmured.

  "I'm s-sorry." Another whispered sob. "It's nothing, I'm just so tired."

  "Then sleep. That's what you do when you're tired. Not cry. Sleep."

  No answer.

  Kieran sighed exasperation. He raised himself on one elbow and took Ash's shoulder, made him turn over and show his face. Ash did look exhausted, so fragile and sunken-eyed, but he was also clearly miserable. He rubbed a chapped-knuckled hand across his nose, stared wet-eyed at Kieran, and said nothing.

  "Spit it out," Kieran demanded.

  "I'm... I'm so --"

  "Sorry, I know, I heard you. Now what's really wrong?"

  Ash stared hopelessly for another long moment, then surrendered with a sigh. "There's nothing I can do about it. All right."

  "About what, for fuck's sake?"

  "I'm afraid to sleep because I know you'll ditch me. You don't want me around. But I'm just embarrassing us both. I'm sorry, I'd be stronger if I weren't so damned tired."

  Kieran blinked, amazed. "You really think I'd do that? Sneak out? Leave while you're sleeping?"

  "You're saying you won't?"

  "It never crossed my mind."

  "Okay." Not completely convinced.

  "You win, Ash. You were right, I didn't want to split up. Figured we should, but we didn't, and I don't want to fight about it anymore. I can't stand it when you cry. It's not goddamn fair."

  "And I can come with you? Wherever we go from here?"

  "If you wake up and I'm not there, I'm just taking a piss or getting coffee or something. Swear I won't ditch you. Cross my heart and hope --"

  "Don't." Ash's fingers stilled his lips. Kieran smiled and kissed them, took the hand's wrist and kissed the palm. Ash's eyes went round. "Kieran..."

  Feeling half like a liar and half in love, Kieran kissed his mouth lightly, then burrowed in behind him and snaked an arm around his waist. "Sleep," he commanded. "I cannot believe how fucking tired I am. Sleep now."

  One last shuddering exhalation, and Ash relaxed all at once. Leaning back against Kieran's chest, his damp hair cold in the hollow of Kieran's throat, his thin body feverishly warm. Precious.

  Perishable. Kieran thought distantly, Maybe we'll be lucky. Maybe I can keep him alive long enough to dump me. Because once the novelty wears off he'll get tired of me real fast. Wonder if saying I-told-you-so will make it sting me less when he changes his mind. Oblivion killed the thought and dragged him under.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Slowly, luxuriously, Ash floated through layers of dream to gentle wakefulness. The knowledge of where he was filtered into him bit by bit. A smell of food and soap and cosmetics. Mildew and chemicals. A mattress beneath him that was wide and soft, though a ridge where a rip had been repaired dug into his hip. Golden light and a growing warmth, approaching the threshold of unpleasantly hot but not quite there yet. He was clean, wrapped in cotton sheets worn soft with age. Under the sheets he was wearing only a too-small robe of yellow silk with frayed cuffs.

  He was alone. For the first time since his trip in the jail car, he had a space entirely to himself. It was a narrow, peaked room, painted white with thick, gloppy paint. There was a small window at one end, admitting bright sunlight. His bed was a mattress on the floor, hemmed in by battered trunks and crates overflowing with dusty clothing. A fly beat itself against the upper part of the window. The lower part was open. Midday, from the way the light lay on the floor.

  He remembered Kieran's assurance of last night, and was able, for the moment, to believe it; that though he'd been left alone in this room, he was not alone in the world. He wanted to think that his sense of Kieran's presence was empathic power rather than wishful thinking.

  He threw off the covers and examined his body. He was thin, his hipbones standing out like knives. All the little
cuts and scrapes that had annoyed him so much yesterday were scabbed over now, and no longer felt like anything. His feet were a mess, cracked and blistered. There were streaks and patches of sunburn on his arms and hands, pink but not painful or itchy, just a bit warm. He knew from experience that these would fade in a day or two back to his usual whiteness, their only lasting effect to increase the general profusion of freckles.

  Adjusting his borrowed robe for maximum modesty, he cautiously opened the door. A smell of food and faint sound of conversation drifted up from the stairway at the end of the hall. He followed it.

  Downstairs, the soothing white walls gave way to garish flowered wallpaper, the whole decor pink and gold like a girl's bedroom. Which was probably the point. There was a hallway lined with doors, each door labeled with a flowered plaque: Kitta, Darcy, Jeri-Lou. The hall was L-shaped, and at the corner of the L was an open room furnished like a sort of parlor; he put his head in and saw a piano, several couches, a cheap rug, a lot of dirty dishes and empty bottles.

  The occupants of the house had not yet cleaned up last night's debris. Not early risers.

  Understandable, he supposed.

  Overlaying the perfume and spilled beer he smelled a delicious waft of coffee. He let it lead him to another stairway, this one opening out into a large area a bit like a shabby gentlemen's club, with deep chairs and bare wood floors, a bar occupying one corner, brass-bound kegs gleaming.

  This, he supposed, was how the house pretended to be a legal operation -- though he guessed that there were a few bottles of bootleg hard liquor around here somewhere. A door beside the bar stood open; the streak of light that fell from it was eclipsed by a moving shadow, and he heard a clank of dishes and a grumbling female voice.

  When he appeared at the kitchen doorway, the three women in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Kieran wasn't there, just these women. One, a handsome woman with skin so black it looked almost dusty, like a plum, burst out in loud laughter.

  "What are you supposed to be?" she said. One of the others, a plain brunette, gave a chuckle. The third woman was Ami, who looked a bit sulky, and didn't smile.

  The brunette gestured to his bare legs with a coffee spoon. "You look like a chicken," she said in a lovely, smooth voice. "Is Shou-Shou hiring boys now? Is that the deal? I thought she had an agreement with that place. What's it called."

  "Cat and Peaches," the black woman filled in. "They're going to make a stink." She had a faint Prandhari accent, though her skin marked her as Paiwaar. A world traveler. "Isn't that one of Ami's robes?"

  "Er." Ash didn't know whether to challenge their misunderstanding or not. "Can I have some of that coffee?"

  The black woman shrugged. "Help yourself."

  While Ash was busy with finding a cup and wrestling the huge kettle, Ami spoke, sounding more apprehensive than sullen, though she still looked pouty. "Where's Kieran?"

  "I don't know."

  "Are you his boyfriend?"

  "I don't know." It didn't seem odd to be asked that question so bluntly here. Maybe rooming with whores wasn't such a bad prospect. He sat down next to her, giving her a crooked smile. "You sound like you know him. But last night you didn't look like you did."

  "Didn't recognize him." Ami looked like she was going to say more, but thought better of it.

  The brunette leaned over the table, looking eager. "This sounds like gossip. Who's Kieran?"

  The black woman, checking something on the stove, turned with a gunky spoon in her hand.

  "Before your time, love. You ever hear Shou-Shou talk about a girl named Rasa?"

  "The one who died in Pinkie's room?"

  "That's the one. This wasn't such a nice house then. It was before Shou-Shou took over. Run by a man at the time, and you can guess what that was like."

  The two white girls wrinkled their noses. Ash did arithmetic in his head and realized the black woman must be a lot older than she looked.

  "Anyway, she had a kid already when she came here. Boyfriend ditched her or something. Most of the girls liked the kid, but the owner didn't want him around. Kept bugging Rasa to get rid of him or put him to work. Finally just pimped him out without telling her. She found out and tried to leave. There was a big scene, and the owner kicked her in the stomach, and she died the next night. That was what made Shou-Shou take over the business, but by then the kid was already gone."

  Ash drank coffee to cover his discomfort; it burned his tongue. "How old was he when this happened?"

  "Nine or ten, I guess." She looked at him more closely. "I bet you are his boyfriend. You're just his type."

  "I am?"

  "You sure are. You got eyes like big blue china plates. Bet he couldn't tell you 'no' if his life depended on it."

  In light of yesterday's events, that was almost literally true. Ash wasn't sure that was a good thing. "I don't think he's happy about it though."

  She chuckled. "Typical." Then, to the brunette, "Anyway, he used to come around sometimes.

  When he got too beat up or hungry. Never stayed long, though. He's like one of those cats, you know, come around to eat but never let you pet them. He was turning tricks, of course, and Shou-Shou would've let him do it here but he wouldn't. Never liked to have a closed door between him and the desert. After a while he stopped coming around."

  "I know where he was," Ami blurted. "He was killing people." Then she looked past Ash at the door and blanched.

  "We don't need to talk about that," said Kieran's voice.

  Ash turned with a slightly pained smile. The pain went out of it when he saw Kieran smiling back. And not his public smile, either, but something a little bit wry and hopeful, for Ash alone.

  The rest of the world seemed to gray out. That's it, I'm definitely in love with him, no question anymore. It's him, not just his looks. Though -- fiery hell he's gorgeous.

  A robe was apparently beneath his dignity; he'd constructed some kind of kilt out of a dark blue bedsheet. His hair was freshly brushed, gleaming smooth as black water over his shoulders and past his waist. Unbearable glory. Ash considered testing the theoretical utility of blue eyes in the ordering about of Kierans by commanding him straight up the stairs to bed, but it looked like he was in taking-care-of-business mode. In one big, knuckly hand he held a cup with a brush and razor sticking out of it.

  "Found this lying around," he explained, offering it. "You might want to use it pretty quick here.

  You're starting to look like a grownup."

  Ash made sure to touch Kieran's fingers when he took the shaving mug. Despite his calculation, he still felt his face go pink. Kieran looked amused, but his eyes were burning darkly, and their green fire promised that it wouldn't be long before the last distance between them was erased.

  Ash had to turn away quickly.

  The brunette at the table raked her eyes up and down Kieran's body. "Now that's more like it,"

  she purred.

  Kieran grinned. "Sorry, sweetheart. You've got the wrong equipment." To the black woman he said, "Jindallie, wasn't it? You remember me, right?"

  "Mm, not so big or smiley, but sure I do. I guess you want some of this." She waved the spoon.

  "I don't want to piss off Shou-Shou. We need some clothes, and she might not give 'em to us if we've been eating up all her food." But he was joking; as he spoke he was getting bowls down from a cupboard, going right to them as if he knew where they were kept.

  They didn't speak while they ate. Ash gloried in the food and the sunlight, in the rays of contentment that beamed out from Kieran's smile and warmed him from the inside. He had never seen Kieran so peaceful -- so beautiful, when he was happy, that it made Ash's heart ache.

  Over the next couple hours, different women filtered in and out of the kitchen; some sampled Jindallie's cooking, others pronounced themselves too hung-over to eat. Most were white, and had Rainet or Eskard accents. Ash guessed that they had come south to seek their fortune just as so many men had, but found as
little honest work available here as there. According to the wisdom of the Church, a woman existed to be a wife; those who couldn't or wouldn't marry were beneath its notice, as much in the south as in the capitols of the Commonwealth.

  They didn't seem unhappy. Rather, no less happy than the women who sold hot pork buns on the streets of Ladygate, or the ones who mended clothes or nets, or most of the wives either. Ash was beginning to think that people's happiness had very little to do with their lot in life. It was annoying to find such a smarmy truism borne out in experience.

  The whores sat at the table or leaned in the doorway, went out into the yard to squint at the sun, praised the food or complained of their hangovers, yawned and scratched. Ash went looking for a mirror and shaved, then came back for more coffee. The women teased him about how young he looked without stubble. He found himself becoming more and more at ease in their company.