31

It was just about dawn when the first of them woke. Kacha had been drifting herself, stirring every now and again to prod exhaustedly at the fire, but she smiled now, in spite of herself, as she watched Peter blink at the sooted ceiling. He turned his head when he noticed her there.

He sat up, clearly sore and confused. "What happened?"

"You were marked." Kacha sniggered at his horrified look of surprise. "You didn't know," she assumed. "Do you remember anything?"

"I was…" His eyes fell. Ethos and Alyce were curled up between them, the little one spooned and at ease for once. Peter went to them, checking for visible signs of harm. "Did he hurt them?" he asked, and he glanced up. "Did he?"

"Relax. They're fine."

"And you? What about you?"

"Fool. You couldn't hurt me even if you tried." She rolled her eyes while he checked his friends again, like she'd lied about their wellbeing. Still, she smirked. "You've improved," she said. "You're far less stuffy than when we met."

Peter flashed her a smile. "Hag."

"Fool," she retorted. "Lose the princess."

It took him a moment to process. His smile faded. "What?"

"The princess, Peter. The princess. She's perfectly nice, but she's bad news." 

"She's not." Peter glanced around; to see, perhaps, if she was about. She wasn't. His eyes returned to Kacha. "She's not nice," he clarified. "She's pretending. She's shrewd. Selfish. And she's completely obsessed with Ethos."

"How long was she dead for?"

Peter sat back on his heels. "About ten days."

Kacha nodded thoughtfully to herself. She removed her prodding stick from the fire and watched its tip ribbon smoke through air. "You should kill her," she said. "Soon."

His response was slow. Very cautiously, he asked, "Why?"

"Because you would be doing her a favor." Kacha's eyes moved to Ethos. He was frowning now at something dreamt, nose buried in Alyce's hair. "How is he?"

Peter followed her gaze. "He's fine. He's tough."

"Peter." She waited for him to look at her. She repeated, "How is he?"

Peter's expression smoothed, bit by bit, revealing a privately troubled mind. "How do you think he is?" he asked. "He's so desperate for direction that he takes advice from the same deranged hellborn who drove him into a corner to begin with."

"They were laughing. They were laughing together during the struggle."

Peter didn't seem all that shocked. More like he'd expected it. "I know how it looks," he admitted, gaze falling away. "It's a challenge not to call him out on it. How Eadric's changed him." 

Kacha watched Peter closely. He'd matured, yes, but he was still honest. She'd find answers in his eyes. "Hans was Sutter's best friend," she said. "Did you know that?"

Sure enough, Peter's glance was startled and scared, like she'd brought up something he couldn't forget. He didn't speak right away, simply sat there and tried to read her expression. And he might have been somewhat successful. He asked, "Do you think that's why they get along?"

So someone had told him. "I think it's a start."

Disheartened, Peter looked down at Ethos, scowled, and stuck a finger in his ear. 

Ethos cringed awake, one arm trapped beneath the young terran. He quickly covered his ear with his free hand and glared resentfully up at Peter. "Really?"

In answer, Peter went for the other.

They scuffled clumsily, at which point Alyce awoke and jumped in, as if it were the natural thing to do. Kacha happily listened to them, prodding the fire, injury aching, enveloped by the sweet sounds of youth. Such sounds were harder and harder to come by.

"Peter, Alyce— clear out," she said. "I need a word with Ethos."

Reluctantly, the three disassembled. Alyce opened the door. Peter took a final swipe at Ethos— a playful one, easily evaded— and scoffed something in the incomprehensible slang of his homeland, to which Ethos laughed, "You're one to talk."

Kacha waited until they'd gone and the door had fallen completely closed. She resignedly gestured Ethos over. "Come closer, you fool."

"You're so unfriendly. Yet I find this part of you very alluring."

She watched him sit across from her and tried very hard not to grin with him. He had a contagious air of amusement. "It's just us now," she said. "Ask your questions."

"Just us," he echoed. "The tono say you're a killer."

An unexpected start, to be sure. He didn't seem at all repelled by the possibility. "You heard about my banishment," she said. "Is that it?"

"It was mentioned."

But no one had explained it to him, not really. Kacha cleared her throat. "It was forty years ago," she said. "I did what was necessary to protect you."

At once, his eyebrows lifted. "Me?"

"It was the day you appeared."

He stared, blankly. "The day I what?"

"Baroona and I found you hiding in the sanctuary," she reiterated, chuckling. "You were very cute, just five or so, exactly like I remembered. But I knew the village would take it as an omen." She smiled and lightly cupped his cheek. "No one expected to see you again."

"Because she killed me, right?"

Kacha blinked at him. "You knew?"

Ethos eased away from her hand. He folded his arms, eyes elsewhere. "She didn't like the way that I looked at her," he muttered. "Or— I don't know, maybe she did. They say she killed me to break prophecy, but her expression said otherwise. There's more to it."

Kacha curbed a longing to hold him. He didn't seem to be in the mood. "I was exiled for the acts I committed that day, but you stayed in the village for nearly a decade." She fell silent, remembering the loss. "And then came the news," she said. "I rushed back to Wyndemere. Such destruction. Alma was fighting the seal and no one could find you. Leemai had his men force me out— that crafty butcher, Cyris, and the four in his charge. It was the second time I mourned you."

"I must have fallen to Harken."

She shrugged. "You were hidden from us."

"If I died in the war, then what was I even doing in Wyndemere? How am I alive?" He wrung his hands and clasped them to stop. "It doesn't make sense, Kacha."

"Fool," she said. "Gods exist beyond sense."

Ethos didn't argue. He just stared low, jaw set as he sorted things out internally. "Eadric asked you if I was real." His eyes suddenly jumped to Kacha. "He thinks I'm a fake," he knew. "Do you?"

Just like Peter, Ethos had changed in their time apart. His veiled seriousness was greater now; it lurked beneath an attractive surface, captivating and vaguely sinister. "You're real," she replied. "Sitting here with me, sharing my roof."

"But am I him?"

"You are who you are."

"I can hear your heartbeat, Kacha." Ethos was intense while he gauged her, but even his newfound maturity couldn't conceal his underlying fear. He said, "I could make you tell me."

"Fool," Kacha leered. "You'll do no such thing."

"No? What makes you so sure?"

Kacha sat forward and unclasped his hands— no easy feat, the way they were clenched. She gently smoothed out his curled, rigid fingers. "Relax," she said. "There's nobody here to deceive you, to make you act against your nature. All that you're feeling, these doubts and concerns… like winter squash, they can easily be diced, boiled, and eaten." She firmly gave his hands a squeeze, to comfort him. "We are no less than what we are, no more than what we aspire to be. And you, Ethos, you are more than this label you've given yourself, this albatross of Alma's Creation to carry about from place to place."

He was watching their hands, eyes hooded. His thumbs moved over her knuckles. When his murky gaze finally lifted, an impish smile spread to his face. "How bold of you," he teased. "What would you have done if I'd meant it?"

"Fool. I'd have mourned you a third time."

His smile gradually softened. He turned and rested his head in her lap, bare feet lost somewhere in the blankets. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. "You always put things into perspective."

She smoothed his hair and asked, "Where are you headed after this?"

"North," he replied. "Back to the farm, to see Peter's kin."

They were silent together for a long time, enjoying the quiet, the comfort, the warmth. "Ethos," she said, when his breathing slowed. "Can you still sense Alma out there?"

"Not unless I go looking for her." It didn't appear to trouble him any. "The headaches are gone, as are the lights. It's like they never existed at all." His left eye opened; the other followed. With a lopsided grin, he asked, "If I were a grumpy old man, would you let me kiss you?"

"I'd let you massage my old lady feet." He was laughing, softly, and Kacha committed the sight to memory. "How serious are you when you tease me?"

Slyly, he asked, "How serious do you want me to be?"

"Fool." Kacha knew better. "This is a habit you must rid yourself of. A heart you've broken, at its best, can mend and learn forgiveness. At its worst, it can seek to destroy you."

He laughed, inverted. "I'd let you destroy me for a kiss."

"Are you listening, my foolish forsaken?" Kacha bent, curtaining him in silver hair. "Long before the war broke out, Alma fell for the hateful Hans Redbeard," she whispered. "He was a lot like you, you see. Charming. Inviting. He enjoyed tricking people into thinking they mattered to him. But he and one of his Council Five had been in love since childhood, and when Alma lost her mind later on, he became the outlet for her rage. You could say that her love for him worsened the war."

A strange expression clouded his features. It was startling.

Taken aback, she ventured, "What is it?"

The clouds passed. "You don't think you matter to me?" 

"It's not your fault," she replied. "I'm sure you care as much as you're capable." 

Ethos touched her face from below. She caught his hand. "You're a deeply industrious soul," he said, in her grip. "You're resilient and unapologetic. You put me at ease." 

"But it's not love. You don't understand what you're doing." Ethos rose from her lap, despite her attempts to stop him. She gave in and hugged him from behind. "Fool," she griped. "Someday you'll thank me. I'll force it out of you if you don't."

Ethos let her do as she liked. He'd gone rawboned all throughout, as if he rarely ate. "Say, Kacha," he said. "Which of the Five was Redbeard in love with?"

"Syan. Her brother founded the Battlefrost territory." Kacha thought he'd speak up again, but he didn't. She tried to see his face. "Why?"

Dismally: "No reason."

"Liar. Fool. Liar."

He'd reverted; hands clasped, eyes low, his austere profile resembled a statue. "It's not important," he murmured. "Everything's under control."

Kacha circled him, on her knees. "Talk to me, boy."

"I think we've talked plenty." Ethos calmly met her glare. "It's fine."

"Fine? Balls. I know that look." Heatedly, she sneered, "You're not being fair."

Her rage somehow got through to him. He smiled. "I know," he said, and he touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Please don't be angry."

"Are you hiding something from me?"

"Look at me, Kacha. Is this the face of a liar?"

He still looked pained by something, but at least he was cracking jokes again. Kacha's eyes went into slits. "Dumb fox," she spat. "I'll beat you like I do the blankets."

Another smile spread. "Anything but that."

Kacha glowered, wishing he'd budge. He didn't. "When you were here last, I said I'd explain it," she reminded him. "But the choice is still yours."

She hated how often she stole his smile. Ethos looked at her then, not with rage, nor frustration, but with hundred-league eyes that knew more than they wanted. As if to spare her their depths, he closed them and sighed. "No," he said. "I'd rather not have that discussion today."

It was final, and Kacha knew better than to push him. Feeling offish about it, she absently prodded at the fire. "The child, then," she ventured. "What's her story?"

"Alyce?" His gaze returned, hooded, then drifted away. "She's interesting," he said. "I pity her sometimes. She gets confused, like I do."

"Do you trust her?"

"Yeah. She feels like family." Ethos suddenly smirked. "Well, I'd never ask her to choose between me and Eadric, of course," he backtracked. "She loves him in ways that I'll never understand. There was some unease on my end when it came to removing the marks."

The boy was hopeless. She sort of loved that about him— his crass refusal to speak his mind. They were passing ships on a cloudless night, hauling secrets in their bellies, flying banners of normalcy. But she was too tired to push the matter, and her body wasn't well, so she rolled up her sleeves, fixed some breakfast, and helped the foursome get on their way. She'd glance at Ethos now and again, just to see if he'd brightened up, and although he'd laugh along with the others, the look in his eyes was mostly the same, restless and elsewhere and perfectly private.

Preparations didn't take long. The boys had gone off— light and dark personified, sitting in the grass together. They were too far away to be overheard, but Kacha saw the exchange turn sour. It was comical, almost. Peter thrust a finger at Ethos, and Ethos, ignited, slapped it away and furiously returned the gesture, but Peter just twisted his finger around until he balked and started kicking. Another fight to ease the stress. Boys, being boys. The discussion was already lost in the tussocks.

By design, it seemed, Alyce ran ahead to join them. Kacha and Una approached more slowly. "He says he can fix it," the princess said, a stride behind. "Can he?"

She meant Sutter, or whatever he was calling himself now. "No."

Una fell silent; her footsteps were like little gasps for air. "And you're sure?"

"Better men than him have tried," she said. "Tried and failed, and failed again. Fools."

Una matched her pace, bracing herself against the cold. Drily, she muttered, "I'm no man."

Kacha smiled, sidelong. "No," she agreed. "But it doesn't matter what you are. Soon you'll care very little for remedies."

"What will I care for?"

"Rage. Violence. Primal things."

The tiny muscles of Una's face were twitching imperceptibly. The poor doomed soul was trying to be brave. "What can I do?" she asked. "Is there anything?"

Kacha looked away. "You can kill yourself." She kept her voice gentle. The statement didn't need any poison to worsen it. "It's what I'd do," she added, glancing. "I'm sorry."

But with that glance, Kacha knew she wouldn't. Fortunately, they were upon the others and out of time to argue about it. Ethos was nursing his hand in the tall grass, trying to scowl while Peter concealed his laughter. Alyce was after a meadow brown moth. The telltale shade of the clouded morning gave the scene a deceptively peaceful glow.

"Be ready for rain," Kacha said to them all. "Are you following the river?"

The boys looked at each other. Peter shrugged and replied, "Seemed like the thing to do."

"Good. If you leave now, you might reach Azoso before it rolls in." Kacha's eyes darted to their littlest member. "You there," she barked. "Can you read storms?"

Alyce jumped in surprise. She'd been gawking at Redbeard's Backbone, meadow browns floating around her face. "No," she replied, expression strange. "Should I?"

Ethos murmured Kacha's name. He was rising to his feet, shaking the hair out of his eyes. It was never in place, his hair. "Thanks," he said. "For everything, I mean. I owe you again."

"Fool," she scoffed. "You've owed me since the day we met."

He grinned. "I guess that's true. Bad form."

She tried to glare, but couldn't. She rolled her eyes affectedly. "Go on," she crowed. "Forge ahead without me. Leave me to my senile doom of prattling on with river fish."

His grin spread. He'd likely remembered the last time she'd said that. " 'It'd be nice if you could come with us,' " he recited, moving near. "I don't know if I'll make it back a third time."

Kacha could feel a pulse in her wound. She gestured him close and kissed his forehead, hugging him only as long as she dared. She stepped back to appraise him, hands on her hips, eyes burning. "Be good," she barked, and glared about. "That goes for all of you. If I catch wind of anyone pulling less than their weight in the world out there, I'll personally come out of retirement to find your sorry useless hide and feed you the skin off the soles of your feet."

Quietly, Peter laughed, "You still paint a vivid picture, Kacha."

"Don't think I won't do it," she seethed, shaking a knobby finger. "I'll find you."

Subsiding, he happily dipped his head to appease her. "Aye, we'll have to be very diligent, then."

Whatever had been plaguing Alyce must have passed or been forgotten, because she pushed her way between the boys and proudly presented a tightly closed fist. She dropped a dead meadow brown into Kacha's hands, cheerfully wiped her nose, and bragged, "I caught it myself." 

Kacha flatly stared down at the crumpled moth. Peter and Ethos leaned over to see. "Thank you," she managed, scowling some as the boys began laughing. "It's lovely."

Alyce went red and spun on them. Feigning a fright, they seized their things and sprinted away as she made chase, shouting about how stupid they were. Una followed along with a sigh, glancing back to wave goodbye, thumb hooked on her travel bag. Kacha wretchedly returned the gesture.

Thunder rolled. A gust of wind caught the dead meadow brown and sucked it away. Kacha's hand returned to her side. "Be good," she repeated, voice swept away in the elements. "Be safe."

They grew small and winked out of sight, and after a while their voices went with them. The birds were silent, watching the clouds race by overhead. Kacha was aware of the presence behind her long before Alma appeared on her right, arms folded, sharing the view.

"You've aged," the twisted creature said. Kooma's voice. Kooma's face. "So sad."

"How did you do it?" Kacha asked, meeting the open kilns of her eyes. One could fall into eyes like that, fall right in and burn alive. "Was it deliberate?"

A throaty laugh spilled out of Alma's throat. She reached for the stormy sky, stretching. "And so it was," she crooned. "The sun appeared, and the things over which it governed ran."

Kacha gazed back out at the land. "And the earth turned the color of blood."

Alma stepped forward, spinning, giddy, sashaying the filthy clothes she'd been sealed in. Her skin threw the grass in shades of gold. "And the earth turned the color of blood," she agreed. "And the blood turned the color of rust turned the color of dawn turned the color of fire— "

"What a grand feast we'll have with them all, out there with the flies and the dead." Kacha headed back toward the hut, shaky without her cudgel in hand. "I never did like that song," she said, swallowing hard to hide the pain. "It leaves a foul taste in the mouth."

"Kacha." Alma caught her from behind. "How could you leave us?"

Kacha was cautiously still; Alma's breath was a blistering steam, burning her cheek raw. "If you're going to kill me, kill me," she grumbled. "I'm too old and tired to play with you."

"So mean," Alma teased, and she snaked her arms around Kacha's waist. "You were nicer before, back when you'd heal all the scrapes on our knees and tell us stories about the stars."

"Fool. Those memories don't belong to you."

Alma's fingers dug into her wound. Kacha gasped, knees buckling. "What happened, Kacha?" the god asked, kindly. "Who did this to you?" 

"Sutter," Kacha wheezed. "It was Sutter."

"The Bonesteel? Alive, how curious. Where is he?"

Kacha's vision was failing. She'd have collapsed the rest of the way to the ground if Alma hadn't been holding her upright. "Gone," she grit out. "He came from a distance."

Alma's grip constricted. "From a distance?"

"Please, I can't… "

Silence, at first. The wailing wind. Alma dropped her into the grass. It was blissfully cool. "You've grown soft, Kacha," she said. "The Kacha we knew would sooner die than beg for mercy. The Kacha we knew was tough as nails."

"The Kacha you knew is dead longsince."

Alma lugged her up from the ground and sat her against the wall of the hut. "Tell us where to find Sutter," she said, crouching nimbly. "We'll let you live. We promise. Just tell us."

Kacha blinked, delirious with pain. "What do you want with him?"

"He'll know where to find Hans. They were friends."

"Fool. You still think of us all as children."

Alma's head tilted, birdlike. Her open kiln eyes were gently confused. "But you are."

A miserable laugh bubbled out of Kacha. "The boy's just like you," she cackled. "There are things in this world that you'll never quite get."

Alma leaned in, perfectly balanced upon splayed fingers. "He is the crow who follows below," she murmured. "The darkness. The calm. The wretched foregone." Her head sank. Black hair slid, grazing the ground. "Terror and thirst. Terror and thirst. We in this land are equally cursed."

"What will you do when you're done with Hans?"

"You ask silly questions that you already know the answers to."

"Spent some time repenting, have you?" Kacha pressed her lips together. "Leave the boy be, Ali," she said. "There's hope for him yet." 

Alma glanced in surprise. "You like him."

"I shouldn't. I wish I didn't. And I think it's unwise to provoke him."

"Unwise, you say. Unwise. Unwise." Her gaze fell. She absently played with the ends of Kacha's hair, fashioning a burly mustache. Blithely, she asked, "Do you think he'll hate me if I kill you?"

Me. I. How rare, for her to be One. "Do you want him to hate you?"

"He should feel something toward us."

"But hate?"

"We asked you a question."

Kacha stared at her. "No," she said. "He'll mourn me and move on."

Alma pouted, burrowing tawny toes in the dirt. "Drat."

"Is that why you brought the princess back?"

"The princess?" Alma leered like the imp she was, full of spirited secrets. "We could hear him thinking about her," she said. "He felt guilt."

"Fool. You really are trying to get him to hate you."

Alma rocked back and forth. "He's a fun achievement," she mused. "He's unexpected."

Kacha stifled a cough. There was blood in her mouth. "Unexpected, you say."

"Unexpected! What did the she-wolf say to the elk?"

" 'Won't you help me across this river?' "

Alma fell backward, into the grass. She flailed her arms and legs. "And the elk said, 'Nay!' " she bellowed, skyward. " 'You'll surely tear my throat clean out before we reach the shore!' "

Smiling, Kacha recited, " 'But that would doom us both to drown.' "

"And what happened then? Did the elk swim her across?"

"Fool," she said. "You know how it ends."

"But we like it much better when you tell the story."

Kacha sighed. "The elk agreed to help the she-wolf."

"Did she tear his throat clean out, then? Did she? Did she?"

"She did. She did. And as they drowned, the elk cried, 'Why?' "

Raindrops sizzled on the old god's skin. "What did the she-wolf say?"

Kacha steadied her ragged breathing, dead-limbed, feeling faint. "She smiled a bloody smile and laughed and said that it was her nature."

Alma let out a happy sound, chest rising and falling. "A nice way to go."

"You'll take him with you, then. Go down together. Is that what you really want?"

She didn't answer. She abruptly sat up and blinked at Kacha. "You're dying, huh, Kacha."

Kacha's right side was a big wet mess. The wound had reopened. But she was too tired to be angry at Alma. "Looks like," she grunted, forcing a rueful smile. "Lucky am I to be uninvolved again."

And then she might have nodded off. Alma was suddenly right in front of her, unexpressioned and staring hard like a child at a disfigured spider. "Kacha," she said. "Keep your eyes open."

"Fool." Kacha felt cold. "Leave me be," she said. "I'll be fine after I rest."

Alma kissed the tip of her nose. "You are old and wrinkly and not the Kacha that we remember," she said, voice low. "But we didn't mean to kill you. Be very still."