Pilgrimage

by Kim Fielding

  “Of course you do. And even if you didn’t, you need a guard. I am a very good guard.” To demonstrate, Goran leapt to his feet, pulled out his sword, and waved it around gymnastically. He certainly looked impressive, even though he swayed a little whenever he tried to stand fully upright. The other customers and the inn’s owners ignored him, as if they were used to watching this sort of thing. He did a pirouette, lopped off the head of an imaginary opponent, and collapsed back onto the bench. He set the sword on the table before downing the last of his ale.

  “That was great,” Mike said, not wanting to piss the man off. “But I don’t need a guard. I mean, I don’t have anything for anyone to steal.”

  “Pilgrims rarely do. But you still need me to protect you.”

  “I do not,” said Mike, but he was wondering what he needed protecting from.

  “Of course you do. A pretty boy like you, traveling all by himself—”

  “I’m not pretty and I’m not a boy!”

  Goran grinned. “A pretty man, then. And you’re no fighter, anyone can see that just by looking at you.”

  Well, that was true enough. Mike’s last fight had been in second grade, when he and a girl named Jennifer Tucker had a pushing, scratching melee on the playground over who was next on the swing. But Mike was still offended. Sure, he was on the short side and his physique was more lean than bulky. Unlike Goran, he wasn’t built like Conan the Barbarian. But he wasn’t a wimp, and he wasn’t helpless either.

  Mike pushed his still-full tankard of ale across the table. “Here, have mine. I gotta go.” This time Goran was too busy reaching for the ale to grab Mike’s arm, so Mike made it out of the inn and down the street, heading in what he hoped was the opposite direction from his arrival.

  But he’d made it less than two blocks before Goran came loping up to his side and grasped his shoulder. “You think singing is the worst thing that can happen to you?” Goran asked.

  Mike felt his cheeks flame. “You saw….”

  “Of course I did. Heard you caterwauling too.”

  “You didn’t do anything to save me then.” Mike wrenched himself free and continued on his way, this time more quickly.

  But of course Goran had longer legs—he was a good eight inches taller—and he had no problem catching up. This time he spoke as they moved. “I didn’t save you because you hadn’t hired me yet. Besides, it wasn’t such a big thing. People laughed and that was all.”

  “It was fucking humiliating!” Mike growled.

  “And if you think that’s the most humiliating thing that can happen to you, you have some unpleasant surprises ahead. Which is why you need to hire me.”

  Mike stopped in his tracks and glared up at Goran, who also stopped. “I don’t understand why you’re being so insistent about this,” Mike said. “You know I’m a pilgrim, and I’m not supposed to have any supplies. I have exactly twelve coppers to my name. I’m not real up on the exchange rate, but I’m guessing twelve coppers isn’t much.”

  “No, it isn’t. But you have other ways to pay.” Goran waggled his eyebrows.

  Mike’s jaw dropped. “You think—you think I’m going to pay you with my ass like some kind of whore?” His voice had risen considerably—several passersby laughed at his outburst.

  Goran, though, just shook his head. “It’s a very nice ass, but no, I had something else in mind.” He moved closer and bent to whisper in Mike’s ear. “You have a book. I saw it last night.”

  “Um… so?” Mike blinked at him.

  “Pay me with that. After your pilgrimage is complete and you don’t need it anymore.” Goran seemed to be completely serious. For once he wasn’t smiling and his eyes gleamed.

  Mike thought about the slim volume tucked in his vest pocket. It didn’t look like much. Except it was old and handwritten, and… what if the printing press hadn’t been invented here? “How many coppers is my book worth?”

  “Coppers?” Goran chuckled. “I know a man who’d pay ten dinarka for that book.”

  Still with the exchange rate issue. Mike had a currency-exchange app on his iPhone. It would sure come in handy right now. “Is that a lot?”

  “I could live off ten dinarka for almost a year.”

  “Oh.”

  Goran held his arms out wide. “So? Am I hired?”

  Mike had no reason to trust this guy. He could be lying about the book’s value. And even if he was telling the truth, maybe he planned to lure Mike somewhere and steal it—possibly slicing Mike’s throat in the process. Kindness of strangers indeed.

  No doubt sensing Mike’s feelings, Goran sighed. “I’ll tell you what. Give me three days. If you’re not satisfied with my services then, I’ll go, and you’ll owe me nothing. But if you are satisfied—and you will be—you agree to take me on.”

  “A trial period?”

  Goran shrugged. “If that’s what you call it.”

  Mike leaned against the nearest building and closed his eyes, considering his options. He could refuse, but then the big lug was likely to continue to hound him. He could say yes for now and try to ditch Goran later, but given Mike’s unfamiliarity with the route, he’d probably fail. He could give Goran a trial and hope his neck—and everything else he treasured—stayed intact. He opened his eyes. “Fine. Three days.”

  Goran gave his biggest grin yet and clapped his hands. “Excellent! I promise I’ll satisfy you completely.”

  Mike wasn’t sure whether the double entendre was intended, and was afraid to find out.

  Chapter 5

  “SO, YOU want to show me how useful you are?” Mike asked.

  Goran nodded eagerly. He reminded Mike of a dog his family had acquired when he was a kid—Harry the Newfoundland. Harry was big and handsome and eager to please but not especially bright. At least Harry’s love of liquids had been limited to water—Mike had already caught Goran looking longingly into the taverns they passed.

  “What do you need?” Goran asked.

  “Toiletries.” When Goran looked at him quizzically, Mike sighed. “A hairbrush. Toothbrush. God, clean underwear would be nice.”

  At least Goran managed to follow through with that much—sort of. He took Mike to a crowded little shop with a stooped, witchy-looking proprietor. She provided a wooden comb and a small bundle of twigs that, apparently, you were supposed to chew to clean your teeth. “Sweet gum,” explained the old lady, as if that were a selling point. She also found him a cake of ashy soap, which she wrapped in cloth. These things cost him a copper. She sold straight razors too, but Mike took one look at them and decided he’d rather grow a beard. Goran boasted that he shaved with his dagger. Quite possibly the truth, but horrifying.

  Mike tried to buy underwear, but apparently it hadn’t been invented. Everyone here went commando, it seemed, except during very cold weather, when they piled on layers of scratchy wool under their clothes. Mike wasn’t about to try that, and besides, he couldn’t afford medieval long johns. To his dismay, he couldn’t afford proper shoes either. He ended up paying two more coppers for a pair of flimsy leather sandals and eyed Goran’s enormous sturdy boots covetously.

  Their shopping complete, Goran led Mike through the city. It was a busy place, with carts pulled by donkeys or people, squares packed with market stalls, workshops where men made rope or blew glass, and lots of other activities Mike didn’t recognize. People seemed fairly cheerful even though everyone seemed to be working really hard, and the air reeked from a hundred unpleasant smells.

  After perhaps twenty minutes, they reached another city gate. There were only two guards at this one, and they looked bored. They weren’t questioning anyone who entered or left the city.

  “Don’t you have to get your things before we leave?” Mike asked.

  Goran shrugged. “These are my things.”

  “But….”

  “I have my blades. They’re all that matters.” Goran strode through the gate, Mike hurrying alongside.

  There was nothing much of intere
st outside the city—more farms and small houses, a steady stream of people coming and going. Goran kept up a brisk pace but didn’t talk. Mike found himself wondering about his new companion. Did he have family somewhere? How had he learned to swordfight? Did he often take on jobs like this one? For the first time since this ridiculous adventure began, Mike was thinking about someone else as a real person, a human being with a past and needs and emotions, and not just as a minor character in a bad movie.

  But Goran asked questions first. This happened at midday, when they stopped to rest their legs and drink from the river. Goran had chosen a peaceful spot for this, a sunny little meadow dotted by yellow and pink flowers and with rabbits bouncing here and there.

  “If I had a bow, I could get us a meal,” Goran remarked. He pointed his finger at an especially chubby bunny nearby.

  “You’d kill one of them?”

  “If I had a bow. Maybe tonight I can try setting a snare.”

  “But… they’re cute.”

  Goran gave him a very strange look. “They taste good. Don’t they eat rabbit in Dalibor?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re not from Dalibor?” Now Goran looked startled, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that people could be from somewhere else.

  “No.” Mike sighed. “I’m from California.” That wasn’t enough information to violate Agata’s orders, he hoped. He hated trying to keep track of too many lies.

  “Calif… I’ve never heard of it. It must be far away.”

  “It is.”

  “And how have you come so far without a guide? You don’t look as if you’ve been traveling far.”

  “I… well, Agata brought me.” Again, skating on the edge of permissibility but not, he hoped, quite over.

  Goran had very expressive eyebrows, although they tended to be obscured by unruly locks of hair. “Agata? The goddess Agata?”

  It was a very strange conversation, one Mike couldn’t have imagined a couple of days earlier. He nodded.

  His guide whistled and shook his head. “This isn’t good. Why would Agata help you reach Alina’s shrine?”

  “She said she was concerned about these people who’ve been cursed. Why? Is it weird?”

  “It’s… troubling. The Sisters do not get along.”

  “Great.” Mike rubbed his face. “Just what I need. Celestial sibling rivalry.”

  Goran picked up a stone and tossed it into the river, where it landed with a plunk. “Why are you paying homage to the death god, Mike? I’ve known plenty of men who prayed to her, but you don’t seem the sort.”

  “I… it’s a long story.”

  “We have three days,” Goran answered, dimpling. He was disarmingly boyish when he did that, although Mike had noticed some time ago that his black hair was shot with a few strands of silver.

  Mike tossed a rock too, but of course his didn’t go nearly as far. “How far to Kutina?”

  “Late tomorrow, if we walk until sunset today and begin early.”

  “Then let’s get started.” Mike stood and brushed dirt from his hands.

  THEY SPOKE very little that afternoon. Mike was in a foul mood—he was hungry again, and his feet hurt. The sandals protected his soles but didn’t give any support. The road rose slowly but steadily, and the farms became more scattered, with stands of woods or chunks of barren rock filling the space between them. At some point they lost the river, and Mike worried about that. How would they find water?

  Goran, on the other hand, was obnoxiously cheery, swinging his arms and humming to himself. “Did you pray for the death of your enemy?” he asked out of the blue.

  Mike almost stumbled in surprise. “I don’t have any enemies. There’s a few people who annoy me, I guess, but I don’t want them dead.”

  “Then what did you ask of Alina?”

  “Nothing. I never even heard of her until a couple days ago.”

  “Did you do something to make her angry? To curse people?”

  “Not exactly.” After thinking for a moment, Mike decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell him part of the tale. “But somebody else did. And I guess he’s a selfish bastard who won’t apologize. Agata seems to think I can do it for him.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” Goran frowned. “A penitent must make the pilgrimage on his own behalf.”

  “Yeah, well, Agata thinks she found a loophole.”

  Goran was quiet for a mile or so, probably thinking that through. The sun was getting low on the horizon, and Mike hoped his guide had a plan in mind for dinner and a bed. Beds, plural, that was. If time was moving at the same rate back home, it was Monday night now. That meant Mike had missed a day of work without calling in, and Dan was probably royally pissed off at him—the quarterly reports were due. Excuses about quarreling goddesses were probably not going to fly with him. Christ, Mike was going to be unemployed when he returned home—if he actually returned home. Shit.

  “Why did you agree to do this for Agata?” Goran finally asked. “Did you pray to her for something? Oh! Are you hoping for a child?”

  “Can men get pregnant in this place?” Mike asked, aghast.

  Goran laughed. “Of course not! That’s ridiculous.”

  “You have no idea what ridiculous means, buddy.” Mike sighed. “So no, a kid is not in my foreseeable future.”

  “Doesn’t your wife want a baby?”

  “What makes you think I have a wife?”

  “If you’re trying to please Agata, you must be hoping for fertility. And if you’re hoping for fertility, you must have a wife. Oh! I see.”

  Mike was a little dizzy from Goran’s reasoning. “You see what?”

  “You don’t have a wife because your cock doesn’t work.” He nodded. “That’s what you want from her—to make your cock hard again.”

  “My cock works just fine!” Mike yelled. Which was unfortunate, because just then they passed a man and woman and small child. The trio gaped, Goran snorted, and Mike blushed again. He waited until the family was out of earshot before repeating—in a quieter voice—“I have no problems in that department. And I don’t have a wife, and I don’t want one. I’m gay.”

  “You don’t seem very happy.”

  Mike was tempted to kick Goran, which would have been a mistake given Mike’s flimsy footwear and Goran’s considerable size and weaponry advantages. But then he realized Goran wasn’t teasing him. “Not happy gay. Homosexual gay.” When Goran still looked puzzled, Mike elaborated. “I’m attracted to men.”

  “Me too,” Goran replied cheerfully. “Women are too… squishy.”

  Squishy. Mike had never thought of women quite that way, but okay. “So I like men and my dick’s up to par and I don’t want any kids.”

  “Then why… why Agata?”

  For a moment, Mike considered spilling his guts and telling Goran everything. But he didn’t really know this man and still wasn’t sure he could trust him. And spouting off about alternate worlds and Lord Meliach might not be so wise even if Agata hadn’t forbidden it. He settled on a partial truth. “I’m really hoping that if I do this, Agata will do something for me in return. And it doesn’t involve penises or children.”

  “But you won’t tell me what,” said Goran, suggesting that he was shrewder than Mike had guessed.

  “I’m sorry. No.”

  Goran didn’t press the matter, but he looked disappointed. He let his head hang and dragged his feet a bit, churning up clouds of dust that made Mike cough. The sun had disappeared over the top of the next hill and the light had begun to fade when he asked quietly, “Do you have a husband?”

  “No,” Mike answered shortly.

  “Oh. I did. Once.”

  “You had—”

  But before Mike could finish his question, Goran bounded ahead, hurrying toward a squat stone structure with a front yard full of seedlings and a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. It was the first house they’d passed in some time. Goran pounded on the front door, which opened just as M
ike arrived at his side.

  “Yes?” asked the wary-looking woman who peered out at them. She had a toddler on one hip and a large wooden spoon in her hand.

  “Good evening,” said Goran, and he gave her a small but definite bow. “My master is on a pilgrimage. We’d beg of you a meal and ale and a place to rest for the night.”

  She had the sort of expression Mike had when little kids came to his door selling cookies or candy or magazines for various fundraisers—annoyed but not willing to be an asshole about it. Her kid had a runny nose and looked as if he’d been crying. His bottom lip was still a little wobbly. The woman was still standing there when a man appeared behind her. He was carrying a child too—a younger baby—and looked even less happy than his wife. But she turned her head slightly. “Pilgrims,” she said.

  After a pause, he nodded. “There’s a lean-to behind the house with clean hay. You can sleep there. I’ll bring you a meal.”

  “And ale?” asked Goran.

  “And ale.” The man pushed the door shut.

  The lean-to wasn’t very big, and most of it was taken up by hay and farming tools. At least the hay would be more comfortable than bare ground, Mike hoped. He settled down and took off his sandals so he could rub his feet. Goran plopped down next to him without bothering to remove his weapons. “See? I’ve helped you already,” he said.

  “I could have asked them by myself.”

  “But they might have refused. You look more important with a guard.”

  Mike doubted that he looked important ever but didn’t say so. Besides, the man of the house came out just then. He silently handed Goran a basket and then quickly walked away. The basket proved to contain a couple bowls of watery stew, a small loaf of brown bread, and a chunk of slightly moldy cheese. There was also a metal bucket full of ale. There were no cups or cutlery.

  While Mike slurped at his stew, Goran chugged ale. Some of it dripped down his chin, but he didn’t seem to care. He drank an enormous amount, belched, and set the bucket down. “The Bearded Hare had better,” he said as he tore off a piece of bread.