The God Eaters

  There was a lull during which Ash held Kieran's hand and periodically kissed the knuckles, even though they were smeared with dried blood. Kieran thought for a while that he might be falling asleep, but as the tickling in his lungs settled down to a dull feeling of stiffness, unreality began to fade. The blanket was way too warm, and his shoulder hurt like hellfire, and his thoughts began to string together properly.

  "Tell you what," he said, and something in his voice made Ash look up suddenly with an expression of relief. "You climb next to me, and we'll sort of leapfrog it. I mean, you find a hold, grab on good, and then kind of push on my back while I move my hand."

  "It's a long climb. Do you have the strength for it?"

  "Think so. If I rest once we get there, before we start down."

  "Maybe you should rest here a while longer first."

  "Won't help." Wincing and groaning, Kieran sat up and pushed the blanket aside. When he tried to get his legs under him, Ash grabbed his left arm and helped. He leaned on Ash while dizziness coursed through him and then faded. "God damn that hurts. Okay, let's do this."

  Ash ducked under Kieran's arm, and together they wobbled across the broken ground. The walk made him tired, but it didn't exhaust him; he rested sitting, didn't have to lie down. While he rested, Ash ran back and got the blanket and canteen, scooted down the cliff like a lizard to get more water, came back up nearly as fast as Kieran would have. Between them, they drained the canteen. Ash tossed it down to the spot where they'd slept last night. The mark of the bedroll was clear on the dust. Kieran wished fiercely he could turn the clock back and be there again, live last night again a few more times before coming to this. He wasn't afraid of dying, but leaving Ash -You'll live, you bastard, because if you break that boy's heart by croaking, that's your only chance at redemption down the shitter. Your next life, you'll be a damn rattlesnake or something.

  He wasn't sure where that thought came from -- he'd never been much of a believer -- but it still gave him strength.

  "You ready?"

  "Ashes, listen, I'm really sorry about -- you know. Everything."

  "No, no, no. You say that kind of thing when you're dying. And even then it's kind of trite. Tell you what, if you ever get a good chance for last words, how about you just tell a long joke and leave off the punchline?"

  "Okay." His smile was thin, but genuine.

  "You really think you can handle this right now? We could camp up here tonight."

  "Nah. We have to get moving. You can bet those whitecoats' officers know they're dead. No, I got it. It's not really vertical here, so if I slip I'll just kind of bounce and roll."

  "And break your head open. Let's try to avoid that." Ash backed over the edge, then beckoned.

  What followed was the hardest half hour of Kieran's life, at least in a physical sense. Going up and down had tired Ash out, so he sometimes couldn't quite hold Kieran up while he shifted holds; they both had near-misses, flailing and scrabbling one-armed at the rocks. With one hand having to do all the work, they tore up their fingers something awful. Kieran's left arm started shaking almost immediately, followed by his legs, and then his whole body was quivering like custard. Sweat poured off him. The wound hurt, of course, and his broken collarbone sometimes jarred and made him want to puke. Despite the water he'd had before starting, his head was pounding with dehydration before they were halfway down.

  But Ash kept murmuring encouragement, even when his fingers were bleeding. The boy who'd been unsure whether he could climb at all now did the whole thing with one hand, hanging on less-than-certain bits of the slope to leave Kieran the easy path, and all the time he was saying,

  "I've got you, you're doing fine, left foot about six inches farther down, ready? you're doing great, we're almost there." Eyes so calm and kind that they seemed to numb away the pain like a pipe of poppy.

  When Kieran finally reached the bottom and sank to his knees, Ash left him there and wobbled away. It was an effort not to call after him. Weariness warred with frustration in Kieran's mind; he hated being so helpless. His exhaustion kept him from expressing his anger, while the anger kept him from collapsing, but it was something else that snuck up and won the war: So much for fragile. I didn't think he had it in him, not any of this, killing a man or dealing with a messy wound or climbing like that -- but he does have it, in spades. There's no telling how tough he really is. Steel under the meringue and cherries -- enough steel to arm a battalion.

  "This is going to seem stupid," Ash said behind him, "but it makes sense when you think about it. Are you all right sitting like that?"

  "Yeah. What's going to be stupid?"

  As an answer, cool hands gathered up his sweat-damp hair and pulled his kerchief off his head. It felt nice, but he was puzzled when it felt like Ash was combing his hair.

  "I'm thinking about it, and it's still stupid."

  It sounded like Ash had something in his teeth when he replied. "Just a second... I had the damnedest time keeping your hair out of the bandages, so..." The sensation of tugging changed from combing to braiding. "Otherwise we'll maybe end up having to cut it off. And I get the feeling you wouldn't enjoy that." Another minute, and the rope of a braid slapped against his spine. Then a damp cloth spread blessed coolness across his neck and back, washing off the itchy grit.

  Kieran sighed happily. "Okay. Good idea after all."

  "Still feeling all right?"

  "Little tired. Sore. But the shock's over. I'm coping."

  "Good. I think it would be easier if you rode and I led the horse. I mean, through that twisty little path. You want help getting up?"

  "No." Kieran started, wobbled, stopped. "Yes."

  Getting into the mare's saddle was easier than he'd expected. It was staying there that was hard.

  He was starting to be really sick to his stomach, very dizzy and tired. He nearly fell asleep while Ash attached the gray's lead to the mare's saddle, though it couldn't have taken more than a moment. It seemed to take forever to get back to the road.

  When they reached it, Ash tried to turn back the way they'd come. Kieran said, "Whoa, where are you going?"

  "You really need medical attention."

  "I'm not going to get it in Smith. Not after we robbed the store."

  "Smith? You mean that place had a name? Look, never mind, at least we can find some shelter. It can't be good for you to be out in the sun like this, and when night comes --"

  "No no. Go the other way. That way."

  "To Canyon? Kieran, we can't -- ohshit." This last was because Kieran had begun to topple off the horse. Ash managed to catch him in time, and prop him back up, but he couldn't sit up straight anymore. He clutched the saddle horn in a white-knuckled grip, shivering. Some time went away; Ash moved around and did things, and Kieran studied the mare's brown mane. Light in the coarse hairs made strange shapes, pulled him in and lost him, and whenever the horse impatiently shook her head, he felt as if he'd been thrown across a room.

  When Ash pried his foot from the stirrup, he thought at first he was supposed to get down, and voiced an incoherent protest. But instead, Ash climbed up behind him.

  "Lucky we're both skinny," Ash said as his arm circled Kieran's waist. "No way would this work if we were fat. You can lean back, I've got you -- ow! Careful!"

  "What? What'd I do?"

  "Smacked me in the nose with your head, is all. Just relax and try to rest. I won't let you fall."

  A pale hand reached past to pick up the reins. White fingers, pink knuckles, all spattered with freckles. As if someone had dipped a brush in liquid bronze and flicked a spray across silk.

  Kieran sagged back; their skin immediately stuck together with sweat where it touched, and his shoulder was aching even more now. But it felt good to rest. Good to know he was being supported and wouldn't pitch out of the saddle.

  "Now." Ash's voice was soft in his ear. "You wanted to go to Canyon? Why?"

  "No. Just before it. There's a crossing. Unmarked. It's
hard to see... first flat place you come to, big open space... sometimes you can't see the road, it gets washed out. West. From there."

  "And what's down that road? Shelter? A healer? You need a healer, or at least a doctor."

  "Yeah. Show you when we get there. M gonna sleep now."

  A kiss landed on the side of his neck. "Okay. You sleep."

  Kieran's eyes were falling shut as the horse began to walk. He wanted to say: Keep talking, it helps when you talk. But his mouth wouldn't move. He sank into a strange, paralyzed state between sleep and waking, suspended between pain and comfort.

  After a stretch of time he couldn't measure, full of whirling thoughts and windy silences, Ash's voice started up again. The sound was so near it vibrated his skin; the meaning so distant it took ages to filter down.

  "I should have shot sooner. I guess I froze up -- not that that's an excuse. If I'd been helping all along, from the start, then maybe that, that fucker wouldn't have got you. Does it ever scare you how good it feels to shoot someone? No, I don't suppose it does; you're not afraid of anything.

  Except maybe me, sometimes. I suppose because I'm a thing that can be taken away from you, and you're scared that if one more scrap of happiness is stolen from you, you'll break. So the more you like me, the more I scare you. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, though." A slight shifting, as if Ash tried to see Kieran's face. Kieran could feel a smile lurking in his throat, but it didn't reach his lips, and Ash went on talking.

  "You know what's funny? I felt the death when I killed that guy, but it didn't hit as hard as when you were shooting people at Shou-Shou's. It just numbed me. Sort of blinded me, like looking at the sun. That's fading now. Enough that I can tell you're sleeping better because I'm here. Don't worry. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried. I'm not going to leave you alone.

  "I love you, Kieran. I'm not deluded, and I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I'm not going to give up on you. You can't even get rid of me by dying, I'd follow you. Kai. My beautiful Kai. I'd follow you."

  Kieran didn't like the implication of that, but was too far down to protest. Eventually, the meaning of the words Ash was murmuring fled entirely, leaving only a tenor lullaby to assure him that someone was watching over him while he slept.

  Chapter Nineteen

  He'd run out of things to talk about and was mumbling nonsense by the time he found the turnoff Kieran had told him to look for. He babbled about that for a while, then recited some poetry he'd had to memorize in grammar school. It was terrible, stupid, self-righteous poetry, but it was all he could think of right now. And he had to keep talking, because whenever he fell silent, Kieran started to have nightmares. He could feel them through the place where their skin touched.

  Throat-sore and thirsty, he could barely keep Kieran in the saddle. He rode straight at the setting sun now. From her plodding pace, the mare was just as tired as he was. The skin of his face felt tight with sunburn. Even Kieran was a little burned, despite his dark skin; some red was showing under the brown in places. They'd left the canyonlands behind, or at least that particular stretch of them. This faint track crossed a flat pan of featureless yellow-gray dirt. He prayed they reached something before dark, because it would be easy to get lost here, and they were almost out of water.

  As the sun went behind the mountains, chill descended like a wall. He stopped long enough to get their coats from the bundle behind the gray's saddle, but he did it without dismounting; he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to get up again. Careful not to let Kieran fall, he put on his sheepskin jacket, wincing as the dirty fleece scraped his sunburn. Then he arranged Kieran's leather coat like a blanket, before coaxing the mare to walk again.

  All this should have made Kieran wake up, at least a little. It didn't.

  Now that the sun's heat was gone, Ash could tell that the warmth he was feeling from Kieran's skin was too much. Fever. Between that and the stupor in which Kieran seemed caught, which was even now pitching toward nightmare again, Ash began to worry that things were rather more severe than he'd thought.

  But what could he do about it? Stop and make camp? Here, where there was no water he could find, and Kieran unable to perform his near-magical water-finding act? The horses were exhausted, Ash was exhausted, and Kieran was more passed out than sleeping, spiraling down into a fever dream.

  "It's all right," Ash tried to say, but his voice scraped out like rusty nails. He couldn't talk anymore. So he tightened his arm around Kieran's waist and thought at him. I'm here, I have you, I love you, I won't ever let you fall. Everything is going to be all right. Lean on me, stay with me, I'll take care of you.

  And the rising spin of fear broke; Kieran relaxed into more restful slumber as if Ash had spoken.

  What was that? No one ever told me empathy goes both ways. Well, no one ever told me anything useful about it, I guess. But if it can give Kieran any comfort... For the first time since he'd learned he was an empath, Ash was glad of his Talent. He went on sending love and calm, while the light faded.

  Just when it had become so dark that he thought he would have to stop, he made out a yellow speck of light in the distance.

  So there was something out here, after all. He rode toward it, expecting more lights to join it at any moment, but none did. If it wasn't a town, what was it? A lone farmhouse? That might be easier to deal with, though he might have to sit awake and guard Kieran all night if it looked like the occupants might be going to inform on them. Or god forbid, try to capture them. His weariness spiked at the thought, reminding him that he hadn't slept enough last night. Then up before dawn, a fight, lots of climbing, then riding all day -- on an empty stomach, he realized.

  He'd forgotten to eat. Kieran hadn't eaten either. Nor had the horses.

  But there was this light. Coming closer. A window, a lamp in a window. A shape moving in front of it, alerted by the sound of the horses; window in a pale wall, square building, shaped funny on top... a dome. It had a dome. It was a temple. Of all the rotten luck. But there was no choice.

  What was a temple doing way out here?

  A rectangle of dim brownish gold opened in the middle of the wall. There was a man-shape silhouetted in it, black against the light spilling from another room. A moment's hesitation, and the man came out into the night, head forward as if he were squinting, trying to see in the dark.

  He was wearing the long robe of a priest, open over more normal clothing.

  "Hello?" A soft voice, uncertain. "Do you need shelter?"

  Ash stopped the mare. The gelding tugged at the lead a bit, then stopped as well. Ash croaked,

  "Help?"

  "Oh my. Miyan! Miyan, come quick!" The priest rushed to Ash's side, reaching up as if to take Kieran.

  "No," Ash croaked. "Other side. Left... left side." He moved the coat they'd been using as a blanket, so the priest could see the way Kieran's right side was all bandaged up.

  Another shape came out of the door, a smaller one in a skirt. There was a feminine gasp, then a burst of Iavaian.

  The priest, to Ash's astonishment, replied in the same language.

  Working together, the priest and the native girl managed to take Kieran's weight as Ash eased him down. He didn't wake. Then Ash dismounted, and immediately crumbled to his knees.

  "Are you hurt as well, son?" said the priest.

  "No. Just tired. Take care of him, please, please. Do you have any medicine? Bandages? Even clean water --"

  The girl reached out to pat Ash's hand. "You no worry. We fix. You good man, bring him to help. We help." She bent over Kieran, examining the bandages. "What happen? You shoot him?"

  "No!" Ash struggled to his feet. He tried to pick Kieran up, but his shaking arms couldn't even begin to lift the tall Iavaian. The priest motioned him away and, with a grunt of effort, picked Kieran up all by himself.

  "Oh god -- careful --" Ash followed, reaching helplessly, but the girl caught his arm.

  "He strong. You no worry. You worry?"
>
  "Yes."

  "Why? He good servant?"

  "Servant?" Ash gasped. Then he flung up a hand to shade his face as they went inside; the lamplight was blinding after the dark outside. The girl tugged his other hand, leading him after the priest who staggered under Kieran's weight.

  "Not servant?"

  "Not even close," Ash said absently, far more interested in following Kieran than answering the child's questions. Squinting against the light, he saw that they'd gone through the temple part of the building and into a smaller room that contained a bed and table.