Morning arrives far too early, and then Omos is there, handing us our packs and is all smiles of excitement. "It is a good day for traveling," he tells me as he helps me put on my pack. "The weather is fair and lovely and there's a nice breeze. The gods are smiling down on you."

I want to retort that the gods are ill-tempered brats and that's why they're on the mortal plane, but I don't. Omos is just too nice. My pack is heavy with food supplies, extra blankets, a change of clothing, and anything else he could think to give us. I'm utterly touched by his kindness. As I look around his little monastery, a fat goat rambles past, heading for the crops, and he immediately chases it down, pushing it back toward the field. I smile at the sight, because this is such a peaceful existence.

Then, I glance over at Aron. There's nothing peaceful about the guy at all. Even standing still, he screams authority and arrogance…and impatience. His big arms are crossed over his chest and his long hair has been pulled back into a tail at his nape. The scars on his face are vivid against the sunlight and his strangely colored eyes look like slits as he watches me. I get the impression he's impatient and ready to be off, but I'm not ready to leave yet.

I like it here with Omos. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. Like the world's not falling apart around my ears. And for a moment, the realization that I have to leave this safety is too much. I'm overwhelmed.

A gentle hand pats my back. "It'll be all right, my dear."

"I don't want to leave," I whisper to him, even as I fuss with the straps on my pack.

"I know. But you have a greater fate ahead of you than that of this poor monk." He smiles at me, so peaceful and fatherly that I fling my arms around his neck and hug him close. He pats my back and then whispers in my ear, "Be careful, lest Aron decide I'm stealing you away from him."

"Aron can go fuck himself," I murmur into his ear, but when I pull away, Aron's glowering at us both. He looks…jealous. It's not in a sexual way, of course. Not with Aron. It's more of a someone-else-is-playing-with-his-toys way. I ignore him, still mad about last night.

Omos just chuckles and pulls something from his belt. "He is who he is, Faith. Remember that. Do not expect him to be more or less."

"Yeah, yeah." I'm still sad that I have to trade sweet, gentle Omos for Aron and his Big Dick Energy. Even now that energy is practically blazing with impatience, and he casts another look at the road, as if he were hoping we were already on it. His pack is twice the size of mine, but he's a bigger dude, and strapped to it are what look like a half-dozen homemade spears. On his lower arms, he's got crude leather bracers and has knives strapped there, as well. He's been busy while I slept and talked with Omos.

He looks like he's going to war, and that gives me a chill.

I turn to look at Omos again, and he sees the panic on my face. "It will be all right," he tells me in a gentle voice. "You are here for a reason, Faith. Remember that."

"Yeah, to be a target," I mutter, but I hope he's right to a certain extent. I don't think I'm a chosen one or anything, but maybe the fact that my wagon's hitched to Aron's means something.

Omos shakes his head and presses a pouch into my hand. "This is all the coin I have. It will do you more good than me."

"Oh, Omos, we can't take this." I feel so guilty, because it's clear that he's stripping his kitchen to feed us, and now he's giving us all his money?

"You can and you must. You have a hard road ahead of you, and if a little coin makes it easier, then it is the least I can do." He hesitates and then pulls out a scroll from within his robes and holds it toward me. "This is my letter to my goddess."

"I hope we find her."

"I hope you do not," he says in that same gentle voice. "I would rather you find your way home instead."

My eyes fill with tears. "Me too."

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26

ONE WEEK LATER

I eye the piles of land-hippo poop littering the road and sidestep, only to end up in mud anyhow. "Man, these roads are terrible."

"That means we are close to Katharn," Aron tells me. "Very close. It will get worse."

"Let's pause for a moment so I can switch to my boots, then," I tell him, and sit down on a grassy spot off the edge of the road.

Aron sighs heavily with irritation, but he follows me and waits nearby. I'm getting used to his surly personality, though, and his bitching and moaning no longer sets me off. It is what it is—just part of his “arrogance” personality. And, well, he's a god. Or part of one. I kind of expect him to be a dick to “mortals.” In a way, I kind of appreciate his griping, because it makes me remember that someone else hates being here as much as I do. It's funny, because this is his world, but he doesn't seem to appreciate any of it. I can understand my dislike of it given that it's so very different and crude compared to my modern world.

Just like right now, I'm covered in mud and sweat and grime from a week straight of traveling, and Aron looks as fresh as a daisy. The traveling doesn't bother him, even though my feet blistered up and swelled like balloons. I glance over at his sandal-clad feet and he doesn't even look as if he steps in mud. I can't seem to keep out of it. He's just as cool and handsome as he was the day he first showed up…and that could be a problem.

He doesn't blend.

Our surroundings are muddy road and cottages that trail toward a distant walled city. Katharn, which we've been heading steadily toward for a week. The scenery has changed slightly from the Dirtlands in that there are trees and fields and pasture animals. We've passed a few outlying farms here and there, but this entire area is pretty quiet and settled…and poor. The few people we've seen working in fields as we walked looked tired and worn and hungry, shoulders hunched from long hours of labor. They stared at Aron, his strong, proud body, and then at me, and I felt acutely vulnerable.

No one tried anything, of course, but they were farmers. Now, we're approaching the city and I'm trying to imagine all the horrible things that might be waiting for us. Thieves and cutthroats for sure. Worse, if there's another god Aspect nearby. I work on fastening my boots, which are too tight and uncomfortable compared to the sandals, but seem smarter if we're heading into the city itself. "Do you know much about this place?" I ask, trying to think of the best way to phrase what I want to say next.

"Katharn?" Aron grunts. "Only that it exists. It is claimed by no god as a stronghold."

"No? How come?" I wiggle my feet in the boots, trying to stretch the leather.

"Look around you. Do you think the sight of this would make anyone proud?" He sweeps an arm through the air at the distant buildings. "This is a poor place. A place for pickpockets and mercenaries. There are no grand temples or manicured gardens, no noble houses or anything of the like. It is the armpit of the mid-lands, necessary but foul."

I stand again and tuck my sandals into my bag. "Thought you didn't know much about this place."