Pilgrimage

by Kim Fielding

  “What’s worrying you, big guy?” He was playing with Goran’s chest hair, combing it this way and that with his fingertips and occasionally giving it little tweaks.

  “We’re heading west.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “We’re going to pass very close to where I lived as a child.”

  Mike stilled his hand. “Is that dangerous? Will someone recognize you?”

  “I don’t know.” Goran didn’t sound especially concerned about this possibility.

  But Mike was worried about it. “What if they realize you killed the lord? Won’t you want to—”

  “Nobody will care. After his death, his heirs fought each other viciously—so much so that they got distracted and other lords were able to come back in and snatch up the lands he’d stolen. There’s nobody who cares to avenge him.”

  Well, that was good. But then what was the problem? Mike had learned by now not to push. He remained quiet, gently stroking Goran’s chest.

  Eventually, Goran sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m being foolish.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I haven’t been back there since my father died. I don’t know if I can…. It haunts me.” He gave a sad sort of laugh. “I’m plagued by far too many ghosts.”

  “Would it help to see it again? With a friend at your side?”

  Goran’s breath hitched slightly. “I don’t…. It would add an extra day to our journey.”

  “So? I’d be happy for more time with you. And if a detour pisses Alina off, well, screw her.”

  Goran gave him a fierce hug, squeezing him so tightly Mike could barely breathe. “Thank you,” Goran said and planted a kiss atop Mike’s head.

  Two days later—after a night of especially vigorous and intense sex—they turned onto a small road leading through a thick forest. Goran held himself stiffly as he walked, but he relaxed a little whenever Mike bumped against him or fondly squeezed his ass. This forest was thicker than the ones Mike had seen before, the path more overgrown. At times the trail disappeared completely and Mike would have worried they were lost, except Goran was obviously confident about the way.

  “Nobody has hunted here for a long time,” he said at one point as a deer nonchalantly strolled in front of them.

  “Do you think you were the last one? You and Pavo?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe the lord had men here until he died. I don’t know.”

  Their footfalls were barely audible on the leaf-blanketed ground, and sunlight shone weakly through the boughs, giving the travelers the sense that they were deep underwater. It was easy to imagine they were the last two men in the world. And then Mike wondered if there were worlds like that, where only two men were left, and they loved each other but couldn’t possibly procreate. That thought made him sad, and then he laughed at himself. To think that a short time ago, he didn’t even believe in other worlds!

  Goran was uncharacteristically quiet and Mike didn’t want to disturb him, so instead he imagined all the permutations of himself that might exist. A world where he had been a better ballplayer, good enough to make the pros. One where he was straight, and one where he aced his English classes and sucked at math. A world where Benny never tore his heart out. No, aside from the ballplayer part, he liked his own life better. Benny was an asshole, and Mike was belatedly happy to be rid of him.

  Mike was so lost in his musing that he didn’t notice Goran had stopped until he’d almost walked into him. Goran made a soft noise as he stared ahead.

  Ruins. Broken chunks of stone that looked to have been damaged centuries ago instead of decades. Tall trees grew through the rubble. One of the few intact portions of the castle wall surrounded a gaping hole where the main gate had once been. Whatever had once blocked the castle from invaders—unsuccessfully—was long gone.

  But Goran’s attention wasn’t on the castle ruins themselves but rather on a small spot slightly off to the side. He moved a little closer with Mike in his wake, and Mike saw the foundation of what had once been a stone-and-wood building. A few of the charred timbers were still evident. Goran stopped again. “He’s not here. Father. I… I almost expected to see his corpse. His skeleton.”

  Mike wasn’t sure whether Goran was relieved or disappointed. “I don’t see any signs of, um, bodies.”

  “Somebody must have buried them. There used to be a village nearby. Maybe they came.”

  “Do you want… do you want to build something? A memorial of some kind? I’ll help.”

  “No.” Goran shook his head. “Nobody would ever see it but me, and I already remember.”

  “I can remember too.”

  Goran gave him a brief but true smile and then a rough one-armed embrace. “Thank you.”

  “Gor? Tell me a happy memory of your family.” Because that was what had sustained Mike after his father died—remembering all the good times. And there had been a lot of them. Those awful final months with the tubes and monitors faded in importance the more he recalled backyard ball games, happy celebrations, wonderful vacations. It mattered less that Dad had died weak and in pain when Mike thought about the time his father had come home from work early, filled a bunch of water balloons, and pelted Mike and Marie when they came home from school. Even Mom had joined in the ensuing melee.

  “I was very small,” Goran said quietly. “Five or six. Some of the older children had told me stories about a monster who crept into houses at night and ate small children. They said they were safe because they lived inside the castle walls, but not me. I was scared to sleep at night. And I guess those children knew that, because every day they had more terrible stories.

  “I’m not sure how my parents found out. Maybe Pavo told them, although I told him not to. I didn’t want them to think I was a coward. But they did find out, and every night for a week, my parents stayed awake by my side—my mother with her sword near at hand and my father with his bow.

  “And one night my father said he heard a noise outside the hut. ‘Stay inside!’ he told me. ‘You’ll be safe here with Mama.’ I knew Papa could beat any monster, so I wasn’t afraid for him. He went out into the night. A few minutes later there was shouting and a terrible howling. And then Papa came rushing back inside. ‘Come see!’ he bellowed.

  “Mama and I ran outside. Right on our doorstep was this… creature. It was horrible. Teeth, claws…. But it was dead. Papa had killed it.”

  Mike couldn’t help interrupting. “What was it?”

  Goran laughed softly. “Nothing real. I didn’t realize it until years later, but Mama and Papa had patched together the most frightening parts of several creatures to create a monster. At the time I thought it was real. And even better, that very night Papa dragged the corpse into the castle—he must have planned this ahead of time with the night guards—and to the room where some of my worst tormentors lived. I got to come along. He pounded on the door. Those children’s parents must also have been in on it, because they just opened the door and stood back. As soon as the children came to see, Papa held up his monster and roared! Two of the boys actually pissed themselves, they were so scared.

  “And Papa said, ‘Look what Goran and I killed!’ He sounded so sure of himself that I think I began to believe I really had helped. Every child in the castle certainly did, even Pavo. I was a hero after that.”

  Tears were coursing down Goran’s cheeks, but he was smiling. Mike folded him into an embrace. “Your parents loved you so much, Gor.”

  “I know.”

  “They’d be proud to see you now.”

  Goran buried his face in the crook of Mike’s neck. “Why? I’m nothing.”

  “You’re brave and strong and kind and loyal and loving. You’re smart and you’re sweet. You’re the best man I know.”

  Goran snuffled, but Mike thought he felt a smile against his skin as well. “Don’t forget handsome and a good lover,” Goran said.

  “As if I could forget that.”

  With a noisy sigh, Goran pulled away. He gav
e Mike an apologetic grin before moving off a few yards. He stood beside his old home, head bowed, murmuring quietly. Mike waited. He watched as Goran knelt, unsheathed his knife, and laid it on the ground. Then he stood and rejoined Mike.

  “Were you making an offering?” Mike asked.

  “Yes. To Lovacha. She’s the god of hunters. My parents always honored her.”

  “But your dagger….”

  “I can buy another when we get to Tesriya. You’re not the only one who must make sacrifices.”

  Goran was still slightly subdued as they headed back to the main road, but a good deal of his original sparkle had returned to his eyes. He even sang a little, although the tunes were on the mournful side.

  “GOR?” MIKE began hesitantly a couple of hours later. “What happens to people when they die?”

  “You’re asking me? You’re the man who met a god.”

  “The subject didn’t come up.”

  Goran climbed over a large fallen log. Mike chose to go around, which meant he had to hurry to catch up. When he did, Goran slung an arm around him. “My mama always said it didn’t matter—everyone would find that out soon enough. Concentrate on a good life, she said. The priests say that if we’re good, we go to serve the gods forever. Which doesn’t really appeal to me all that much, actually.”

  “Me either.” Mike was serving gods enough as it was.

  “I like to think about Goran the Hunter, up in the sky. Maybe when we die, we get to visit the stars.”

  Christ. Mike was so close to spilling his secret he had to bite his tongue. “I like that idea,” he managed to say.

  “Maybe… I know you have to return to California. But maybe someday we’ll meet again, up there.” Goran pointed upward.

  Hell. Maybe someday they would.

  Chapter 17

  THE ROAD to Tesriya wasn’t nearly long enough for two wanderers who didn’t want the journey to end. Mike and Goran were dragging their feet by the time they neared their destination. They entered through the main gate in the late afternoon, and a pair of bored guards and a few equally bored townspeople watched them pass without comment.

  “The shrine is about a league from here,” Goran said. “At the top of that hill.” He pointed to a green mound that rose some distance from the town walls.

  “I would hate to walk back downhill in the dark. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow.”

  Goran grinned. “Good plan.”

  Tesriya was a small town. Not desperately poor like some of the places Mike had seen near the beginning of his pilgrimage, but a little shabby. It was clearly a backwater, one of those places where nothing much ever happened and that few people outside the region ever thought about. The locals were dressed very plainly, and the shops were few and sold only the most utilitarian wares.

  “This is the kind of place where people wore mullets and parachute pants even in 2004,” Mike said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  They found a shop that sold instruments of destruction: knives, swords, spears, and a variety of other sharp things Mike couldn’t identify. While Mike tried not to die of boredom, Goran spent an eternity trying out every knife in the place. It reminded Mike of when he was small and Marie and his mother dragged him to the shoe store. Even once Goran found a blade that satisfied him, he engaged in a long and spirited round of haggling with the shopkeeper. All of this apparently constituted the best entertainment available, because a small crowd filled the shop, watching and chiming in. In that respect, Mike decided, this was more like one of his father’s hardware-store forays. Every man in the store always seemed to have an opinion about each other’s home improvement projects: Nah, you don’t want a slotted hex washer on that one. Use a Torx pan head instead.

  When the locals weren’t butting into Goran’s business, they were giving Mike very strange looks. Maybe they didn’t understand why he wasn’t having fun too. He ignored them.

  Mike was relieved when Goran finally completed the purchase and sheathed his new knife. “Dinner?” Goran asked as they walked out onto the street. “I have enough coppers left for an inn tonight.”

  “Sounds good.” No point in arguing on what was likely to be their last night together.

  There wasn’t much choice of accommodations—Tesriya boasted a grand total of two inns. They chose the one that looked slightly less likely to house rodents in the kitchen. Besides, that one had a bigger common area, which meant the smoke from the fire and the stink of sour ale and unwashed bodies was less oppressive. The place was crowded, and everyone turned to stare until Goran glared at them. Mike and Goran found an empty table near the door, and Mike sat while Goran negotiated with the landlord. Goran must have been successful, because he returned to the table with two tankards and a wide grin. “Food’ll be out shortly. And he says he has a private room. He claims he’ll find better linens for us. Don’t know what he means.”

  “I bet it’s not as nice as the White Hart.”

  Goran lightly punched Mike’s arm. “I’ve spoiled you.”

  Mike’s answering smile was a little strained. Goran had spoiled him. Mike would never meet someone like him again.

  They sat and sipped their ale, watery though it was. Mike’s stomach grumbled loudly enough that Goran heard it and laughed. “I guess I haven’t been spoiling you enough if you’re starving.”

  “Maybe not. But I saw you eyeing that guy’s stew—or whatever he’s eating.”

  “Hmm. I bet we could polish off a good chunk of bundabeast tonight, if we had one.”

  “Bundabeast. It’s what’s for dinner.”

  Goran tilted his head. “Sometimes you say the strangest things. I wonder—”

  “My master wishes to speak with you.”

  Mike looked up sharply at the same time as Goran jumped to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who’d spoken was dressed in fancier clothing than anybody else they’d seen. He was accompanied by two armed men. Mike put his hand up to halt Goran and the entire inn went silent, just like in a bad movie when the gunslinger enters a bar. This particular man looked a little old and chubby to be a good fighter, but his pals were in pretty good shape.

  “Who are you?” Mike demanded.

  The man gave him an extremely disdainful look. “I am the private secretary of the Right Honorable Lord Meliach. His lordship wishes to speak with you. Now.”

  Oh, shit. “He’s here in Tesriya?” Mike shot Goran an uneasy look.

  “Of course. And he is quite impatient.”

  Mike’s mind veered crazily to Florence Richardson—the secretary to the CFO of Mike’s company—a whip-thin woman who terrorized the entire finance department and could emasculate her boss with a single glance. But even Ms. Richardson didn’t show up at a cubicle flanked by men with swords.

  Mike stood. “Fine. I’ll go.” He turned to Goran. “Wait for me here. Keep my dinner warm, okay?”

  “You are not going anywhere without me.”

  “But I have to talk to Lord Meliach and… and you’re not… not supposed to—”

  “You are not going anywhere without me.” Goran crossed his arms over his chest.

  “But Agata told me I can’t—”

  “Not.”

  The entire room was staring at them—they had evidently topped the knife-shopping experience—and the secretary was looking increasingly pissed off. Agata was just going to have to deal, Mike decided. This was out of his hands. It was fate, maybe.

  Mike nodded. He stood and trailed Meliach’s men out of the inn. Goran followed so closely he was nearly stepping on Mike’s heels.

  They made their way down the cobbles like a strange and well-armed parade. Fortunately, the parade route was brief. The secretary stopped at one of the town’s fancier houses and knocked sharply. As soon as the door opened, he led them inside.

  They went up a set of creaky wooden stairs, down a hall, and into a large room. Two men sat in carved wooden chairs on either side of a large
fireplace. One of them was the blond man who’d mistaken Mike for Meliach when they were in Varesh. And the second one—

  “Good gods!” Goran exclaimed.

  Lord Meliach rose from his chair, stalked across the room, and stopped inches in front of Mike. It was very disconcerting—like looking into a mirror where the reflection didn’t quite match. Meliach was exactly Mike’s height and probably within a few pounds of his weight. His cowlick was standing up, as it tended to do late in the day, and his canine teeth were long and sharp. Mike wondered if Meliach got called “vampire boy” when he was a kid too. His nose had the bump that Mike’s mother always blamed on a baseball mishap but that his dad had whispered came through Mom. Meliach even had the freckle on one cheek that Marie used to teasingly call Mike’s beauty mark.

  They stared at each other.

  Meliach’s friend came over too. “He didn’t have that wound on his face when I saw him before. That’s why I thought—”

  “Yes,” Meliach interrupted, “I can see that it’s a fresh scar. Who are you?” he asked, clearly questioning Mike.

  “Michael Carlson.”

  Meliach chewed on this a moment. Then Blondie spoke up. “Is it possible you have a twin? Perhaps—”

  “It is not possible. Besides, even among twins, have you ever seen such a close resemblance?”

  Everyone in the room shook their head, including Mike. Marie’s good friends Jenna and Janine were identical twins—the kind who dressed alike even as adults. It was easy to mistake one for the other. But if you saw them standing next to each other, there were clear differences.

  “What are you?” Meliach asked. “And why are you on a pilgrimage to Alina’s shrine?” He didn’t look pleased. Mike very much hoped he never displayed that cold glint in his own eyes.

  “Mike? What’s going on?” Goran looked bewildered.

  Mike’s head hurt, and his brain couldn’t come up with a single explanation that was likely to satisfy Meliach. Mike wasn’t stupid, and probably Meliach wasn’t either. They could sniff a load of bullshit from pretty far away. As a last-ditch effort, Mike attempted evasion. “I can’t tell you. Look, I promise I’m no threat to you. I’m doing… something I was told. I’m almost done. Then I’ll go back home and you can forget you ever saw me. I think… things in your town might improve after I go.”