The God Eaters

by Jesse Hajicek

  "Wait a second," Ash said, and Kieran obligingly reined in.

  "Problem?"

  "We're actually going to Canyon? I thought you were saying that in front of that old man as a kind of misdirection."

  "What good would that do? They can track us, remember?" Kieran started down the Canyon road. "Never leave a live enemy behind you. I know this area better than just about anybody. Me and Shan had a shack upstairs of Canyon, up on Blind Horse Hill. I wonder if it's still there." He shook his head, frowning. "What am I thinking? It hasn't been half a year since I saw it last. Of course it's still there."

  Ash sensed the sadness behind the words, and decided to do Kieran a favor by ignoring the digression. "So you're planning an ambush."

  "Yep. There's a great place for it, up this way a stretch. Used it a few times before. Nice high rock, good campsite behind it, and you can see about a mile back down the road. We'll just pick them off. Wish I had a decent rifle, I can't do anything at range with a short barrel."

  "Do we have to kill them?"

  "How long do you want to be running?" Kieran retorted.

  "I don't think I can help. I won't try to stop you, but you'll have to do it by yourself."

  "You were about to shoot that stupid woman, I could tell by her reaction. She saw it in your face."

  Ashamed, Ash looked away. "Maybe. I don't know. Just -- don't plan on me killing anyone."

  "Your conscience is going to land us back in Churchrock."

  "Would you rather I let you count on me, and then found I couldn't pull the trigger? Is that a good plan?"

  Kieran's lips thinned, and he didn't answer for so long that Ash thought he wasn't going to. After several minutes, though, he said suddenly, "I'm an unforgivable asshole for making it sound like I'm mad you don't want to kill folks. I wouldn't even ask if I didn't think two shooters would near double our chances. But you're right about not planning on it. Fact is, I hope you don't have to kill anybody. I hope to -- fuck it, I can't 'hope to god' like people do, I don't believe in that shit. I hope to the old gods, they were right bastards but I know they were real. Be a damn shame for you to get twisted like me. That's part of why I didn't want you to come with me. I guess it's pretty unlikely we'll survive without doing some nasty shit."

  He turned his green gaze on Ash, who was staring in surprise at this uncharacteristically long speech, and for once he didn't smile even a little at Ash's expression. Shortly he looked away again and continued. "That little robbery was a tiny tykes' birthday party compared to pretty much everything we'll have to do from here on in. We barely inconvenienced that bigoted old twat, and the fact is if you hadn't taken the lead, I would've just shot her. Just shot her in the face without giving a damn one way or another.

  "I know I'm warped as all hell. Didn't feel nice getting this way. To keep that from happening to you, I'd have done anything, even send you away and let you think I was okay with it. Too late for that. Now I ask you to shoot somebody. Fucked in the head, me. Look, Ash, do you have the faintest concept what the hell kind of disgusting heartless broke-brained thug I am?"

  Fighting the urge to smother Kieran with stupid reassurance, Ash forced himself to answer honestly. "You're a criminal, yes, a murderer, and that doesn't go away. You're badly damaged.

  Sometimes I'm a little frightened of what you might do. But heartless? Listen to yourself. And I'm sad, but not disgusted."

  Kieran chewed his lip and watched the road for a while. A sad smile slowly grew across his face.

  "You're really a good guy, Ash. I mean really a stand-up guy. There aren't enough apologies or thanks, and that shit never changes anything, but I want you to know I'm glad you're around."

  "Thank you," Ash said, a little stunned. "That matters."

  "Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Smile going bright, Kieran reached out and ruffled Ash's hair. He sat straighter in the saddle for hours after that.

  The sky was still light when Kieran turned off the road into a narrow wash, but the sun had been behind the mountains for an hour. It was a rotten path, so choked with brush and boulders that they had to dismount and coax the horses along. After about half a mile, though, it opened up, curving back the way they'd come, and ended at a bit of sandy, gently sloping ground surrounded by flat-topped rocks the size of four-story tenements. Kieran handed Ash his reins.

  "Should be water down there, you might have to dig for it. Don't make a fire unless you're sure it won't smoke." Before Ash could reply, Kieran was halfway up one of the cliffs, climbing a nearly vertical face of broken stone as if it were a hotel staircase.

  Being busy keeps you from worrying -- Ash had heard that lots of times. It didn't seem to work very well, though. He gave the horses and camp chores his full attention, but he was still sick to his stomach.

  Building a good fire was easy. He found quite a bit of wood caught in a dry jam in a narrow tributary canyon, and it was all completely desiccated. A single match, a brief flare of high flame, and it was burning quietly and steadily, giving off no more smoke than a cigar. Where Kieran had pointed him for water, he was pleased to find a tiny stream. Just a thin trickle, like something poured out of a teacup, but clear and steady.

  He reorganized the packs and saddlebags. There was a shaving kit among the items from the dry goods store, including a little round mirror; he propped it against a stone and cleaned up his face.

  He didn't really need it yet, only started to get obviously scruffy after four or five days, but he had the time so he guessed he might as well. Then he stared up for a while at the rock that had swallowed Kieran. Waiting for shots.

  There were fat felted blankets rolled up and tied to the packs, and an oilcloth, so he made a bed.

  There were also a skillet and a saucepan. Using the saucepan as a mixing bowl, he had a go at flatbread, certain that Kieran would laugh at him for it. Then he put some water in the floury saucepan and boiled it until it thickened. Handful of beans, some rice -- there wasn't much of either -- and the contents of a can of stewed tomatoes. It took some doing to find the can opener, but in the process he located a string of chilies and a box of salt. Amazing that all this food had been crammed into their packs.

  And what if they didn't live to eat it? And what if the Watchmen had snuck up on Kieran and used some quiet magic to abduct him? The thought made Ash's chest tighten up so he couldn't breathe. Night's chill seemed more severe suddenly. He thought of Kieran up there on that rock alone, in the dark, waiting for his chance to do murder. It wasn't right. He didn't know what he could do to change it, but it wasn't right. Leaving the stew simmering at the edge of the fire, he went to the place where Kieran had climbed up.

  There was a scuffing sound above, and a shower of dust. "You want me to fall on your head?"

  said Kieran's voice. "Get back from there."

  Feeling foolish, Ash went back to the fire. Kieran descended in a patter of gravel, slapped dust from his pants. Ash said, "You don't think they're coming?"

  "They won't move in the dark. They're not in a hurry. Besides, I couldn't hit jack shit -- it's pitch black down on the road. What are you making? Smells almost like real food."

  "I'm not sure. I just sort of threw together some stuff I found. I wasn't really paying attention when you said what you were getting -- thanks for the shaving kit, by the way."

  "Don't need your chin wearing a hole in my shirt at night." He picked up a slab of bread, took a thoughtful bite. "You made flatbread?"

  "Is it okay?"

  "It's just like my mom made."

  "Thanks."

  "She made shitty flatbread. She was a terrible cook." Nevertheless he went on eating it, tearing off big bites and gulping them down, barely chewing. Then he reached for another. Ash had to grab his own and hold it, for fear Kieran would eat his share too. After a while, he tasted the stew, and was surprised how good it was. He set it between them, and they ate out of the pot with tin spoons. Kieran made sounds of approval. "Stick to this stuff. This is good."
r />   "Total accident, I swear."

  "Nah, you have an instinct for it. I think you have a cooking talent."

  Ash beamed. "Thank you!"

  "Yeah." Kieran gave a wry grin. "You'll make someone a wonderful wife someday."

  "Oh, go to hell. See if I ever do anything nice for you again."

  "You will. I have no idea why, but I bet you'll go on being nice to me until it lands you in a pine box."

  "You want me to tell you why?"

  Kieran's smile faltered, came back forced. "Hell no."

  Ash dropped his spoon into the empty pan. "You get to wash up."

  After a moment's dismay, Kieran laughed. "I guess that's fair. Even if the flatbread was pretty bad."

  "If you'd pretended it was good, I would have washed up as well," Ash retorted. He stood and stretched, with a jaw-popping yawn. He went and lay down on the bed he'd made. Got up, moved a rock he'd missed, lay down again.

  He wanted to be sleepy and content, listening to Kieran moving around the camp. Sleep was lurking; all his muscles ached with tiredness. But something in him was too tense. Knowing that there would be a fight tomorrow, knowing almost for sure that someone would die, it was different from the vague knowlege that their chances weren't so good. He lay on his side and watched the last red embers of the fire collapse on themselves, seeing Kieran as a mobile shadow beyond.

  He was jolted out of a doze by his glasses shifting on his face. He'd forgotten he was wearing them. Now Kieran gently removed them and set them aside. Ash could see his smile by golden light; he'd built the fire up. "You gonna sleep with your boots on?" said Kieran quietly.

  "Should I?"

  "I'm not."

  Ash groaned a little as he sat up, stretching muscles that had begun to tighten up from being at rest. His fingers were clumsy on his bootlaces. Meanwhile, Kieran flipped the buckles of his own boots one after another as if he weren't tired at all.

  "You just made the one bed," Kieran said accusingly. "You're trying to get into my pants again."

  "What do you mean, again? I've never been there."

  "I mean you're trying again."

  "But --" Ash finally got his boots off. "But we always..."

  "You figure everybody always sleeps all cuddled up, around here? Now we have blankets, we don't have to do that anymore."

  "Oh." We're back to this stage again? I could kick him, the tease. Or am I being selfish? "Well then. I guess I should, um, I'll just..."

  "You'll take your damn coat off in bed, you rude bastard. Were you raised in a barn? Give it here."

  Ash saw the glint of teeth, and realized Kieran was just playing with him again. He relinquished his coat, shivering, the fire's warmth just a stripe down his side. Wished he hadn't lost that blue sweater. Kieran draped Ash's jacket across their feet and spread his own long coat atop the blankets. Then he lay down in such a way that there was nowhere for Ash's head but on his shoulder.

  Gratitude robbed Ash of all his strength. He took the offered embrace, and the sweetness of it made his eyes sting; he didn't trust himself to speak for a long time. And when he was finally about to talk, Kieran's hand began stroking his hair, and that stripped him of words again. In the end, he wasn't the one who broke the quiet.

  "You remember once, you asked me about my real name?"

  "Yes," Ash whispered.

  "It's Kai."

  "That's beautiful."

  "It's a plain word. Spirit, courage, ghost, soul. Not sure which one my mother meant when she named me. She never said, I never asked."

  "Can I call you Kai?"

  "Not in front of people."

  "I understand." Gathering his courage, Ash raised himself on one elbow, resting his other hand on Kieran's heartbeat, searching for clues in eyes that the firelight had turned black. He found only mild worry and calm affection. Now he couldn't remember how he'd meant to say it, and the sound of Kieran's real name closed his throat. "Kai."

  "Now, don't you get sentimental on me." There was a smile in Kieran's voice.

  "It's not sentiment, really. I just -- knowing that tomorrow --"

  "I'm going to win, you idiot. Don't start talking like this is the last time you'll see me. I'm going to drag you across half this desert before I'm through."

  "Promise?"

  A low laugh. "I don't like to make promises. But that's the plan."

  "When you say things like that, I believe you really like me. But sometimes you act like I'm a bother. And I -- I just really need to know. How you feel about me."

  "Oh hell." Kieran's brow furrowed, and he bit his lip. The warmth between them passed on his sudden anxiety. "Ashes, I do like you. I do." The hovering 'but' was louder for being unsaid.

  So it's my turn to be reasonable. I suppose it's about time. "I won't get mad or whiny if you don't say what want to hear. I'm asking so we can be clear with each other. I think we can do that."

  "You can't just -- empath it out of my head, then."

  "No. I can feel that you're discouraged, that's all."

  "Discouraged? I'm scared shitless. You probably think I'm just gun-shy."

  "You have reason."

  "But holding you off won't change our chance of surviving."

  "True."

  Kieran reached up and tucked a strand of Ash's hair back, watching his eyes. "The way you trust me, and how you act small and young, and you need me, and then I see the steel under all that cream and sugar -- it's confusing. And scary. And sexy as dammitall. I don't know what to do about it."

  Ash swallowed down a reply that he knew he would have phrased wrong, not sure he could find a line between crude and stilted. Instead, going slowly to give Kieran time to refuse, he bent close enough that he could feel Kieran's breath on his lips. Their noses bumped, and Kieran gave a whisper of a laugh but didn't push him away. Kieran's hand found the gap between shirt and trousers and wrapped warm around Ash's side, the other hand still in his hair, not pressing.

  Waiting. Delicious agony. By tiny fractions of inches, Ash followed the trail of Kieran's breath.

  Lips brushed, dry, tentative, touched again and stayed. Kieran's hand slid suddenly up his back, between his shoulderblades, and pulled him down hard.

  With a groan in his throat, Ash melted like wax, forgot himself in the realness of Kieran's body all along the length of him. And this time Kieran was making sounds too, crushing him, bruising his lips, and it was better than anything, worth anything.

  The first time they'd kissed, back in the prison cell, it had been tainted with hopelessness and fear, a tiny flame of comfort in smothering darkness. Now, though tomorrow promised danger, they were free, alone under stars thick as paint. Nothing to distract or interrupt. Ash gave his whole attention, knew nothing but this kiss, the heat and strength of Kieran's arms around him, the unbearable sweetness of his mouth, heavy coolness of his hair falling down around them when he rolled Ash under him.

  Their legs twined together, and Ash was unprepared for the lightning jitters caused by Kieran's thigh grinding into his crotch. He couldn't get enough air, had to break the kiss to gasp, groan out his need, fumbling at the buttons of Kieran's trousers, biting at Kieran's neck and ear, tasting salt.

  He could feel Kieran's arousal, both by empathy and by the obvious and rather frighteningly large erection just one thin layer of leather away from his hand. He didn't know what he was going to do once he got these pants undone, only that he needed them the hell out of the way.

  Quick, before Kieran changed his mind.

  Suddenly Kieran's arms tightened so he couldn't breathe, making his ribs creak. The sand-and-syrup voice that was his greatest weakness murmured his private nickname into his ear: "Oh Ashes, my Ashes." There was no bearing that; he was whimpering, arching against Kieran's hip, pulling his hair; gone.

  As he subsided into himself among whirling sparks and warm dizziness, he realized what he had done, and was horrified. Kieran drew back to look down at him, expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," Ash whispered.r />
  "It's all right."

  "Are you... mad at me?"

  Kieran suddenly grinned, chuckling low in his throat. "Mad? Because you're so hot for me that you lost it just because I said your name? Hell no, I'm not mad." He moved aside. "You might want to go clean up, though."

  Though Ash was still embarrassed as he went to the stream to wash, he began to be able to see the humor in it. He heard Kieran rustling around, probably smoothing the bedding disrupted by their rolling. Without turning, he said, "This raises an ambiguity."