Brute (32 page)

“My g-gentle giant,” Gray laughed, pulling Aric to a halt on the path and tugging his head down by the hair, giving him a long and thorough kiss.

T
HEY
stopped briefly twice more, and Gray continued to seem in high spirits. But then Aric’s stomach began to rumble demandingly, and he noticed that Gray was slightly favoring his right foot. Aric was feeling caught between the urge to pick up the pace and the desire to protect his lover from harm when they came to a small clearing.

Aric halted. “There’s a funny sort of building here.”

“G-good! It was built long ago for pilgrims. There may even be food. The priests at the V-vale tend to it now and then.”

The rough-hewn log building was about eight feet square, and the entry was simply a low, uncovered opening that forced Aric to duck to get inside. There were no windows, but spaces between the logs allowed dusty filtered light into the structure. Furnishings consisted of a wonky table, two wobbly benches that could serve as narrow beds, and a shelf containing some wax-sealed clay jars. Aric opened a few and assessed the contents: dried meat, some sort of biscuit the consistency of thin bricks, and mushy fruit floating in fermented juice.

“Not much of a meal, but I guess it’ll do,” he said, handing Gray a chunk of meat.

“There’s a little stream v-very close, if you want to fetch us some water.”

“All right. I’ll try not to drown in it.”

Gray made a very strange face and then nodded.

Aric took the tin flask with him. He cocked his head when he stepped out of the hut and then followed the sound of muted trickling, away from the road and behind some bushes. It was a very shallow creek. He probably couldn’t have drowned in it if he’d tried. But it was enough to slake his thirst and fill the container for Gray.

“Do they get a lot of pilgrims this way?” he asked when he reentered the hut.

Gray took a gulp of water. “I’m not sure. I think quite a f-few people visit just to see the Vale and pay their respect to the gods. Most don’t ask for a g-gift. They don’t want to pay the p-price. Only the foolish ones d-do that.”

“You’re no fool. You were in love.”

Gray’s smile was slow and warm, and he reached over to touch Aric’s arm. “I had no fucking idea what real love is.”

“And you do now?” Aric knew it was stupid, but he was greedy for just a little reassurance.

“Gods, yes! Ismundo didn’t love Ebra any m-more than I love you.”

Aric snorted. “First I was a statue of a giant who moved rivers, and now I’m a goddess?”

“N-not exactly.” Gray’s hand moved down to pat Aric’s groin.

Aric had another of those quick visions. This one involved tearing every shred of clothing off Gray, dragging him out into the soft greenery and fallen needles outside the hut’s entrance, and rutting until Aric was as blind as Gray was. It was a very tempting idea. It was also impossible. The king’s men could show up any moment, and in any case, Aric wanted to reach the Vale before sunset.

Gray was still limping a little when they set off again, but he refused to talk about it or allow Aric to take a look at his foot. “It’s n-nothing. Just a little sore.”

The trees continued endlessly until it seemed to Aric as if they’d been in the forest forever. There were no real landmarks, and if they had come upon even a single crossroad or alternate pathway, he would have suspected that they were wandering in circles. But then they came to another clearing, this one much larger, with a two-story building that was considerably more elaborate than the hut where they’d lunched. It was decrepit, however, the front door hanging unevenly and the roof sagging under years of moss and leaves and branches.

“What’s this place?” Aric asked.

“It was an inn. Closed n-not long before I was here last. Too little trade, I guess.”

Aric grunted in response. But what he was actually thinking was how the place looked like it had been abandoned a very long time ago. And for all those years that it had been accumulating debris and falling apart, Gray had been chained in a tiny cell, naked and cold and starved.

Maybe these thoughts occurred to Gray as well, even though he couldn’t see the structure, because he had an uneasy look on his face and was tugging Aric along. “Come on. It’s g-getting late, isn’t it? I can feel the air cooling.”

He was right, and Aric led them on.

Only a short time later, he realized that the road had begun to slope downward. It was a very gentle slope and the trees were still thick, so he couldn’t see what lay ahead of them, but he suspected they were approaching the Vale, and he hastened their pace. Gray had to make a bit of an effort to keep up, but he didn’t complain and Aric didn’t slow. The road rose again, very briefly, and then dropped quite steeply out of the trees—and finally Aric could see the Vale.

It was actually a long, broad valley, with more wooded hills rising up on the other side. The valley itself was green but bare of trees, except for those ringing a small blue lake. It was shaped a little like a fish, he thought: fat and round on one end and tapering to a sort of tail on the other. This was the place he had been thinking about for months, the place that had ruined Gray and, indirectly, changed Aric’s life forever. It didn’t look impressive enough to cause such transformations.

The sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon, so he continued to walk quickly downhill, almost dragging Gray alongside. A few low buildings were scattered not far from the pond, and it was to those that the road seemed to lead. It didn’t take long to reach them, and as Aric and Gray approached, three priests in faded purple robes came out to meet them. The oldest was quite ancient and wizened, and he gave Gray a slightly startled look that made Aric wonder if the priest recognized him. The other two were younger, one of them short and plump and the second of about average height and very handsome.

“Greetings,” said the oldest priest. “I hope your journey to the Vale was a pleasant one.”

Gray surprised Aric by giving the priest one of his bows. “Th-thank you. We’ve come a long way.”

“Please, follow us and join us for our evening meal. Then we will prepare some beds for you for tonight. Our quarters here are simple, but most pilgrims find them pleasant.”

“No,” Aric said. “Um, I mean, no thank you. Not yet anyway. We’d like… we have a request for the gods.”

The younger priests’ polite smiles disappeared, and their faces became grave. The oldest one just looked sad. “You understand there is a price, and it is always a dear one.”

It was Gray who answered. “I know.”

“Perhaps you would wait until morning, then. Consider your decision just a bit longer.”

“We’ve d-decided, sir. And we haven’t t-time to spare.”

The priests exchanged glances, and then the oldest one shrugged. “Very well. A purification ritual must be performed before you may approach the pool. Kashta will attend to you.”

As it turned out, Kashta was the handsome priest, a man in his early twenties with unruly brown hair and warm brown eyes. He took them to one of the little buildings, a structure not much more complicated than the hut in which they’d rested earlier in the day. But long sticks of incense burned in this place, as did several huge candles. There was a washstand that held a silver pitcher and an ornately decorated basin. Several shelves hung on the wall; some were bare and some contained little pots and jars.

“Please,” Kashta said when they were inside. “Remove your clothing.” He had a strange accent with a sort of liquidity that Aric found soothing. He watched as the priest closed a panel of bright fabric over the doorway, and then Aric turned to Gray. “Do you need help?”

“I think I c-can manage to strip by myself, thank you,” Gray replied with a smile. He began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, but Aric could see that his hands were trembling slightly. In fact, Aric’s own hand was none too steady as he worked at the large button on his trousers. But eventually he and Gray stood bare on the wood floor of the hut, waiting. The scars from the shackles seemed very clear on Gray’s body, but at least his bones were no longer prominent, and he stood very straight. As for Aric, it was the absence of the cloak that made him feel especially naked, which he knew was silly.

Without comment, Kashta took their clothing, folded it carefully, and set it on a shelf. He put Aric’s satchel there as well. Then he padded over to the washstand and poured some water into the basin. “Please cleanse your face and hands.”

Aric led Gray to the basin, but Gray lifted the corner of his mouth. “Let me wash you, Aric. P-please.” It was a strangely intimate act to be performing in front of a stranger, but the priest didn’t seem surprised or upset. He simply waited while Gray dabbed water over Aric’s cheeks and brow, then took Aric’s hand in both of his and dipped it in the basin.

“It’s half the work with me,” Aric joked.

“Is the m-missing hand still hurting?”

“No.” It was a lie; it had been aching all day.

Gray probably sensed the untruth, because he made a face. But he didn’t pursue the matter, instead tending to his own washing.

Then Kashta came forward with one of the little clay pots. He dipped his fingers inside, and they came out smeared with a greenish, leafy-smelling ointment. He mumbled some sort of blessing under his breath as he smeared the ointment on Aric’s forehead, chest, belly, and—embarrassingly—his soft penis. Then the priest did the same to Gray, bringing a slight stab of jealousy to Aric at the sight of someone else touching his lover.

After the ointment, there were herbs to be sprinkled on their heads—Aric had to crouch for that part—then droplets of oil on their feet, and finally a nauseating-looking paste applied to their wrists. The two of them smelled, Aric thought, like an over-spiced dinner.

Kashta seemed satisfied, but he didn’t return their clothing. Instead he took lengths of red silk and tied them around Aric’s and Gray’s loins like breechclouts. Aric had never worn silk before, and he liked the feeling of it against his skin. But that thought made him blush a little, and then blush even more when the handsome priest gave him a knowing wink.

“Follow me, please,” said Kashta, leading them out of the hut and toward the ring of trees. The other priests weren’t in sight, and when Aric took a nervous glance in the direction of the road, there were no hordes of soldiers either.

Kashta stopped just outside the trees. “I will not go any further. But the rest is simple. The supplicant must merely kneel before the pool and offer up his request to the gods, and then fill his hands with water for a drink. Only one handful,” he added sternly, as if the visitors might be considering draining the entire pool.

Aric took Gray’s hand in his and began the walk through the trees. His heart was fluttering in his chest and Gray’s breathing sounded a bit labored, and the trees themselves grew more thickly than Aric had anticipated.

Which was perfect for what he had to do next.

Aric squeezed Gray’s hand, mumbled a single word—“Sorry”—and let go. Then he began to run to the pool.

“
A
RIC
!
Aric!
Damn you, you idiot, get the fuck back here!”

As Aric dodged around trees and raced for the pool, he was hoping most vehemently that the gods wouldn’t mind Gray’s outburst in their sacred Vale. Really, the gods shouldn’t fault Gray for it, Aric thought. Of course Gray was upset. Aric had deliberately abandoned him amongst the maze of vegetation, leaving the blind man to stumble around as he helplessly tried to feel his way to the water.

Naturally, Aric got there first.

He remembered Gray’s dream about drowning, but such a fate seemed pretty unlikely at the moment, and he didn’t have the luxury of caring. He threw himself onto his knees at the grassy edge of the pool, and, ignoring the continued swearing and increasingly incensed shouting coming from the trees, he lifted his eyes to the heavens. He didn’t have the pretty words Gray would have; Gray probably would have made a poem out of his plea. Aric just had to hope the gods didn’t mind his plain language.

“Please. Gray Leynham, he made a mistake all those years ago. He was really only a boy. And he’s suffered so much for it. Please, please take your gift back. Take away his Sight. I’ll pay whatever price you want. Take my other hand, take my life, take…. I give you everything I have. Just please do this for Gray.”

Gray was still swearing furiously, and with Aric’s voice as a guide, he was coming closer.

With only one hand, Aric couldn’t make a very good cup to hold the water from the pool. But his hand was a big one, and he was able to scoop a mouthful of liquid into his palm. The water tasted oddly salty and metallic—like blood, in fact. And although it was cool inside his mouth, it burned like fire as it traveled down his throat. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he thought he could feel it filling his body and running through his veins. He didn’t hear a godly voice, yet there was a sort of echo, as if someone had just spoken. Deep in his heart, Aric knew to a certainty that his plea had been granted.