Pilgrimage

by Kim Fielding

  He kissed Goran as thoroughly and ardently as he was able—which was pretty damn well.

  At some point the kissing became more. They fell to the ground and moved against each other, seeking to become one in body as well as in spirit. Sometimes Mike was on top and sometimes Goran—it didn’t matter, and most of the time Mike couldn’t discern which way was up. It was as if the great, deep sky had swallowed them and they floated and tumbled in the star-speckled blackness. There was no yesterday and certainly no tomorrow, no worlds here nor there. Just the two of them and the universe and the sweet heat of their bodies together.

  They came with ragged cries and lay tangled together, spent and complete.

  “We may be having a very short honeymoon,” Mike said when he could speak again, “but I wouldn’t trade it for a month in Maui.”

  Goran chuckled and ruffled Mike’s hair. “I even love you when you make no sense.”

  “I wish… now that you know my secret, I wish I had time to tell you about my world, Gor. It has a lot of problems. But there are such wonderful things too!”

  “Like what?”

  “Like… driving up Highway 1 in Mendocino, watching the Pacific Ocean crash on the rocks. Like smartphones. Like seeing the sunrise over the top of Yosemite Valley. Like… Thai food. Jumbo jets and swimming pools and antibiotics and a really good baseball game.” He chuckled. “And sexy underwear and great footwear.”

  “I wish you had time to explain all that to me.”

  After a long period of sleepy silence, Goran kissed Mike’s forehead. “Mike? Will you teach me a song from your world?”

  “Ugh. You heard what an awful singer I am.”

  “I don’t care. And there’s nobody else to hear but me. Please?”

  Mike rubbed his face. “What kind of song?”

  “You could teach me the one you were singing when I first saw you.”

  “The national anthem? Good gods, no. How about….” He chewed his lip. “How about a song about California? One I’m going to mangle less horribly.”

  “Good. Perfect.”

  Mike took a deep breath. If there was a Don Henley god in this world, now would be a good time for that deity to help out. Mike opened his mouth and began to warble about a dark desert highway.

  Chapter 19

  MIKE NOW knew how it felt to wake up on the morning of your execution. It wasn’t a good feeling, not even if your brand-new husband smiled at you and kissed you and sang “Hotel California.” The sky was blue and innocent; birds trilled somewhere. There were delicious leftover pies to eat. It was a beautiful day. Mike was miserable.

  It didn’t take them long to perform their morning rituals and assemble their few belongings. They held hands as they began walking up the path, exactly as newlyweds should. Mike felt absurdly like Dorothy strolling the yellow brick road.

  Something had been bothering him since the night before. Well, several somethings, but he chose to address only this one. “Gor? Are you going to be safe? Meliach’s probably not happy that you know his secrets.”

  “I am not afraid of Lord Meliach.”

  “I know. I mean, you’re an amazing fighter and everything, and I guess you can keep a low profile if you think he’s nearby, but—”

  “He won’t harm me.” Goran sounded so definite that Mike dropped the subject. He didn’t have any right to tell Goran how to live his life, and Goran was too stubborn to listen anyway.

  The last part of the hill was steep. They both walked slowly, not because of the exertion required but because they didn’t want to reach their destination. But of course it inevitably happened, and the site was as bleak and desolate as Mike’s mood.

  The entire hilltop was bare of vegetation, as though someone had bathed the entire summit with Roundup. Not a single blade of grass survived, not a twig or petal or stem. No sign of any living thing, in fact, not even a bug. In the exact center of the emptiness was a long, low altar of rough stone. It reminded Mike of a piece of Stonehenge laid flat, held above the barren ground by smaller blocks of stone. As they moved closer, Mike saw the altar was badly stained; rust-brown splotches and black charred spots marred the pale-gray rock. It was terrifying.

  Even worse was what lay around and under the altar stone. “Oh no,” Mike whispered.

  Goran squeezed his shoulders comfortingly.

  Bones. Some were animals. Dogs. Horses. But many of them were human, both adults and—horrifyingly—children.

  “Human sacrifice?” rasped Mike.

  “The offering has to be loved. You like your boots, Mike, and that underwear you left in Obrov, but you don’t love them.”

  “No. I don’t. But to kill a person, Gor! In cold blood, not in self-defense or revenge or during a battle. And someone you know and love…. How could anyone do that?”

  “Desperate people can. If it means winning a war. Or stopping a plague. Or making sure that people aren’t denied the peace of death.”

  Ice filled Mike’s veins. He knew what was about to happen, and it was like being in one of those terrible dreams where a monster chases you and you can’t fucking move, legs stuck in goddamn glue or molasses, and it’s coming nearer and nearer. Only this was no nighttime phantasm.

  Goran unbuckled his belt. He removed the knife and set the belt and sword on the dirt. He placed the knife on the edge of the altar, very close to Mike. And then he climbed onto the rock and lay down as if it were a bed. His arms were at his side, his legs very slightly spread. He looked relaxed. He even smiled a little when he turned his head to look at Mike. “Slicing the throat is easiest. The blood will spurt, but you don’t have to worry about missing on the first try. And it’ll be fast. Just cut deep.”

  “I…. No.” Mike wanted to shut his eyes and cover his ears like a small child. He wanted to vomit.

  “You said you love me, Mike, and I know it’s true. What else do you have to offer?”

  “I can’t! I won’t.”

  “You have to.” Goran’s voice was very gentle. “It’s all right. You’ll bring Meliach’s people what they need, and you’ll return to your family. And I…. It won’t hurt me much. Probably less than that cut on your arm. You’ve seen my scars—you know I’m no stranger to the wrong end of a knife.”

  “But… you’ll die.”

  Goran shrugged, which looked strange in his relaxed position. “I’ll die anyway. In a fight or at the end of a rope or from too much drink. I’ve been dying for years, Mike. This time with you… I finally lived again. It was beautiful. More than I dreamed of. I am at peace, my beloved.” He looked like he meant it.

  Mike, however, was as far from peace as it was possible to get. The ice inside him had melted only to be replaced by a buzzing, whirling maelstrom. A puzzle that had no solution. He couldn’t murder Goran. Would not. But on the other hand, he couldn’t—

  Oh, yes he could.

  Mike scrambled onto the altar near Goran’s head. As Goran crooked his neck in alarm, trying to see what Mike was up to, Mike dropped to his knees. “Alina! I give you my home.”

  Goran sat up quickly. “No! Mike!” He tried to reach for Mike, but Mike pushed him as hard as he could. It wasn’t enough to topple Goran off the stone. He was heavy. But it caught him off-balance, and he fell to his side.

  Mike spoke very, very fast. “I give you my home I love it I love my home more than almost anything in any world I renounce my request to return home.” Maybe that was enough, but Goran was unmoving, so Mike added more, this time a little more slowly. “I’ve given you blood and tears and… and underwear. Please forgive that asshole Lord Meliach and take back your curse. Please don’t make those people suffer any longer. I’m sacrificing my chances of returning home. I don’t have anything to stab or, or burn, nothing even symbolic. But I’m sacrificing my hopes of home. Please let that be enough.”

  Nothing happened. Mike wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting anyway. A clap of thunder out of the blue sky? A burning bush on the barren ground? All he got was Go
ran looking furious.

  “How could you do that!” Goran yelled. He jumped off the altar and paced angrily, waving his arms around. “How could you do that? Your family, Mike, and all those things you talked about. I can’t give you a good life here. You know how I live. I own nothing but what you see, I’m not good at much of anything except killing, I can’t read, I can’t—”

  Mike scrambled off the altar and planted himself in front of Goran. “I don’t care. I don’t give a flying fuck if we spend the rest of our days eating raw bundabeast and sleeping on gravel. I love you. I am not going to murder you, and I’m not going to leave you.”

  Goran glared at him for about five more seconds before melting and scooping him into a fierce embrace. “You shouldn’t have done this,” Goran said.

  “I’ve been making safe and predictable choices my whole life. Time for a stupid, noble sacrifice. Especially when I know in my heart it’s the right decision.” He sniffed. “And you called me beloved. I’ve never been a beloved before, and I don’t want to stop now.”

  They both laughed and cried a little at the same time, which gave Mike the hiccups. Then they sat side by side on the altar. Goran put his knife away. Mike swung his feet. It was a beautiful day, Mike thought. He knew he’d grieve his loss soon enough, but not right now. Now he felt more comfortable with himself than he ever had before. Now his heart was open.

  “Where should we go?” Goran asked.

  “You tell me. It’s your world.”

  “We could… would you like to go to Strazha? It’s not all that far from here. We could stay for a while. I could find some work.”

  Mike shrugged. “Sure. Do you think I could find something too? I’m not feeble, you know.”

  “I know,” Goran said with a slightly lascivious grin. “And you can read, which is rare enough. That could be useful.”

  “Sure. Or we could return to that village on the river road. We don’t have any money for the White Hart, but maybe the locals would hire you to scare off bandits. And I could—”

  A female voice interrupted him. “You are a very clever human.”

  Mike and Goran leapt off the altar, Goran ready to draw his sword. A woman—middle-aged, quite thin, and beautiful—stood in front of them. Mike recognized her from the statue he’d seen in Kutina. “Alina?” he squawked.

  She nodded regally. Goran gasped and fell to his knees, but Mike remained standing. He hadn’t bowed to Agata, and he didn’t intend to bow to her sister. He did drop his head a bit, mimicking the clumsy bow of the boy at the bakery. “Um, hello,” he said.

  “I was positive you were going to give me that man.” She pointed at Goran. “You surprised me. That doesn’t happen often.”

  He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or bad. She didn’t seem angry, but he wasn’t particularly experienced in reading gods’ moods. “I made the right decision,” he said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Is it… is it enough? Will you lift the curse on Meliach’s people?”

  Now she looked stern. “I already have. I honor my obligations, even if trickery has been used.”

  Goran had been turning his head back and forth, following their conversation. Now he rose and stood slightly ahead of Mike. “It wasn’t his idea, my lady. He wasn’t given any choice.”

  “There is always a choice. My sister Ariana spins the strands of fate, but humans weave them together.”

  Mike and Goran exchanged bewildered looks. Mike was going to ask Alina for an explanation, but another figure appeared next to her. No poof or pop or zap. Just not there one moment and there the next.

  “I see you’ve met Michael,” Agata said. She was smiling the same way Marie used to when she tattled on Mike and he got in trouble. It was the grin of the triumphant sibling.

  Alina didn’t seem startled or put out by Agata’s sudden appearance. “I’ve been watching him for weeks. You’re very pleased with yourself, are you not?”

  “I chose so wisely! His decision today—choosing to protect his husband—that was delightful.”

  Goran looked nervous. Mike couldn’t blame him. Poor guy had never met even one god before, and here he was faced with two of them. Mike grabbed Goran’s hand and dragged him back a little so they were side by side.

  The gods didn’t pay either human any attention. They squared off with one another. “You enjoyed your game this time, sister, but next time perhaps I will triumph,” Alina said.

  “Next time? Sister, I have no need to curse humans who break their promises to me, because none dare to do so.”

  “None do so because the creatures would rather fuck than die. But they all come to me in the end, don’t they?”

  “At the very end. I have them for decades first.”

  The gods looked furious by now—a truly terrifying sight. Mike and Goran backed up as far as they could, which wasn’t much. The altar was behind them. Mike hoped the gods forgot all about them, but he didn’t know how likely that was. They were yelling at each other now, each god boasting about her own powers and belittling her sister’s. They looked about two seconds away from a celestial face-clawing.

  “Daughters!”

  Now everyone was shocked—Goran, Mike, Agata, and Alina. A man had appeared; he was older, tall, and broad. He wore a tunic, but his face reminded Mike of the male newscasters that used to be so prevalent on the networks, the ones who were chosen for their resonant voices and fatherly, authoritative looks. And an odd thing happened. Well, another odd thing happened. All of a sudden Agata and Alina appeared much younger. They still scowled at each other, but now they resembled chastised teenagers. “Hello, father,” they mumbled in unison.

  “Oh, holy heavens,” Goran breathed. He looked as if he might faint. “T-Tomismoran?”

  Tomismoran didn’t even glance their way. He was too busy glaring at his daughters. “You have disturbed me again!”

  Alina took a step forward. “But father, I had given a perfectly fair punishment to a lying human, and she butted in. It was none of her business at all! She dragged this man all the way from another world just to make fun of me.” She pointed at Mike, who wished he were invisible.

  “That’s not true!” Agata exclaimed. “I was concerned about those poor people. She was making them suffer and—”

  “I wasn’t making them suffer! It was that stupid lord. If he’d only kept his promise—”

  “Then smite him, not those innocent—”

  “You don’t care about those people! You only wanted—”

  “Enough!” Tomismoran’s roar shook the ground. All the gods kept their feet, but Mike and Goran fell and landed on their asses. They stayed there. Seemed safer.

  “I am wearied of your eternal bickering,” Tomismoran said. “You are old enough to have learned to get along by now. Why can’t you be quiet and obedient, like your sister Ariana?”

  The goddesses made matching sour faces. They looked one step away from sticking out their tongues. But they remained silent, which seemed to mollify their father a little. He huffed. “What’s done is done. You will find common ground over this matter. Alina. Did this human properly complete his pilgrimage?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “He made all the appropriate offerings?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And were they sincerely given?”

  She thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Father. They were.”

  “And although he is human, and he is not exactly the man who wronged you, has he found favor in your eyes?”

  Alina gave Mike a long, considering look. It took all his will not to squirm, and he was relieved when she turned back to her father. “He understands the importance of death. And he was surprisingly fierce when confronted by bandits. Yes, he has found favor.”

  Mike let out a long, whistling breath.

  But Tomismoran wasn’t finished. “Agata, has this man done all that you asked of him?”

  “He has, Father.” Apparently she was willi
ng to forgive Mike telling people about his origins.

  “Has he found favor in your eyes?”

  Again that long look. Mike hoped never to face scrutiny from a god again. But finally Agata nodded. “He is an ardent lover. Even believing that he would return home today, last night he authentically pledged himself to his beloved. He chose love over home.” Her eyes sparkled. “And he gave Alina an undergarment as an offering. Yes, he has found favor.”

  Tomismoran looked satisfied. “Good. Then I will hear no more from either of you on this matter.” He crooked a finger at Mike. “Come here, human.”

  Mike’s knees felt weak, but he rose and stepped closer. Goran stood too, but Mike gestured him to stay where he was. For once, Goran listened. Tomismoran gave Mike a faint smile, and for a moment—just a fraction of a second—he reminded Mike of his own father. “You have done well under difficult circumstances, human. I will send you home now.”

  “Oh!” Mike’s heart raced. “But I sacrificed—”

  “I know what you did. You gave up your hope of home. But that doesn’t mean I can’t send you anyway. You don’t belong in this world.”

  “I…. Thank you, sir. I didn’t expect—”

  “I know.”

  Mike turned to look at Goran, who stood all alone near the altar. Then he faced Tomismoran again. “Please, sir. I don’t mean to be ungrateful or disrespectful. But I don’t want to leave Goran.”

  “I understand, son. Your husband is a good man. He was willing to give up his own life for your happiness.”

  “He was. It’s just… I don’t think I’ll ever be happy without him.”

  Tomismoran set a hand on Mike’s shoulder. It was a huge hand—bigger even than Goran’s—and very heavy. But the touch somehow made Mike feel a little stronger. Maybe a tiny bit of godly power transferred the way heat does. “Son, human lives are so short and yet so complicated. You take my daughter Ariana’s strands and you braid and twist them about you until you can’t see your own patterns any longer. Go home. See what you weave.”