Pilgrimage

by Kim Fielding

  Mike wanted desperately to argue, but he recognized the expression in the god’s eyes—Mike’s father had one very like it. It meant the matter was settled. “Can I say good-bye, sir? Please?”

  “Yes. But only briefly. I have other matters to attend to.”

  Mike rushed to Goran. There were no words for this situation, so they hugged as hard as they could and kissed, and Mike inhaled his husband’s scent for the last time. “I love you,” Goran said. “So much.”

  “Me too. Please, please take care of yourself. Promise me.”

  Goran nodded against him.

  “Michael,” Tomismoran called.

  Mike tore himself away. It hurt more than any of his knife wounds, but he walked back to the gathered gods. Alina and Agata smiled at him—sweet smiles without any irony to them. “Safe journeys, son,” said Tomismoran.

  Mike’s stomach plunged and everything went black.

  Chapter 20

  “MIKEY! YOU look like the weekend chewed you up and spit you out. Tell me you’re ready to work on the quarterlies.”

  Mike glanced at his boss and sighed. “I’m living for it, Dan.”

  Dan clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Fantastico. What the hell happened to your face?”

  Automatically, Mike touched the bandage on his cheek. He didn’t really need to cover it anymore—it had healed well—but he couldn’t think how to explain a weeks-old scar appearing over three days. “Got into a fight,” he said.

  “You? Really? Wow, didn’t know you were such a wild man on your off time. Jekyll/Hyde thing, huh?”

  “Something like that. Dan, if you want me to get these reports finished, I need to get to work.”

  “Sure thing, Mikey-Mikey.” With another hard shoulder clap, Dan marched away from Mike’s cubicle.

  The spreadsheets weren’t any comfort this morning. Yes, the numbers were all there, nicely lined up, and the equations were as neat and tidy as always. But there was a ragged hole in Mike’s chest. It hurt so much that sometimes he glanced down at his lap, almost expecting to see bloody chunks that had once been his heart. He’d felt this way since Saturday morning, when he’d opened his eyes and found himself lying on his living-room floor.

  He’d known at once it hadn’t been a hallucination or a drunken delusion. For one thing, his rucksack was squished painfully under his shoulders and he was wearing the clothing Agata had stolen for him in Dalibor, along with the boots from Varesh. For another, he could see the scars on his arms and feel the one on his cheek. But most important was the horrible pain of loss—a pain no dream could conjure.

  He’d checked his iPhone, sitting where he’d left it on the coffee table, and wasn’t terribly surprised to discover he’d been gone only one night. If gods could yank him from one world to another, surely they could handle time differentials with no problem. “Thank you, Tomismoran,” he said, grateful that he wasn’t unemployed, homeless, and presumed dead. He was especially glad his mother and sister hadn’t needed to mourn his loss.

  He took a long, wonderful bath and put on clean, soft clothing—including underwear. He checked his e-mail. He ordered pizza. He lay down in his queen-size pillow-topped bed. And he cried. He spent most of the weekend like that—eating, napping, crying. When he slept he dreamed of Goran’s smell, his taste.

  But he got up at six on Monday morning as he always did, and he went for a jog, running through overzealous lawn sprinklers and dodging the garbage cans placed at the curbs for emptying. Then he showered and dressed in khakis, button-down, tie, and loafers, and he drove himself to work. And now here he was, working on the fucking quarterly reports while the remains of his heart lay pulsing in his lap.

  The day crawled by. He couldn’t lose himself in his work as he used to, and he was wiped by the time he e-mailed the reports to Dan at seven o’clock. He ordered Chinese for dinner, vegged in front of the TV for a short while, and went to bed early. Maybe that was the solution—work himself to exhaustion and he wouldn’t have the energy to think about Goran. He could just be numb. He was aware this wasn’t much different from Goran’s attempts to drink his ghosts away.

  But there was still something he had to do, a promise he meant to keep. On Tuesday he sent a text to Mom and Marie: Have sthing important to tell you. My place for dinner on Sat?

  Marie answered him right away: We already know ur gay, Mikey. LOL. See you Sat @ 7.

  And Mom wasn’t far behind her: What’s the matter honey? Everything ok?

  Tell you on Sat, he answered.

  He’d never been the praying type, and he wasn’t sure Goran’s gods could hear him in this world. But every day that week, he sat in his living room and addressed Alina, Agata, Tomismoran, and any deity who would listen. “Please keep Goran safe and well. Please help him be happy.”

  MIKE WASN’T the world’s greatest cook and it was too hot for the oven, so on Saturday he bought a rotisserie chicken and a few other items at the grocery store. He got a couple of bottles of wine too. Alcohol was going to be a good thing tonight. He made a big salad with spinach, arugula, chicken, and mandarin oranges, and he sliced up a loaf of french bread. He cleaned his apartment. It wasn’t actually that messy, but he always cleaned before his mother came over.

  And then he waited, alternately pacing and staring blankly at the TV.

  He heard his mother’s approach before she rang the bell—her heels click-clacked on the sidewalk outside. As soon as he opened the door and she saw his face, she gasped. He’d intentionally not worn a bandage today. “Darling! What did you do to yourself?” She reached up to trace the scar.

  “Cut myself shaving.”

  “Michael! Were you in an accident?” She twisted around, probably to see if his car was in the lot.

  “No, Mom. Come in. This is… part of what I need to talk to you about.”

  She entered the apartment and looked around suspiciously, as if she expected something to leap out at her. When nothing did, she dropped her purse on the coffee table. The bag was enormous, covered in jangling buckles and with charms hanging from the zippers. He always wondered how she avoided back problems from lugging that thing around.

  He smiled at her and began to set the kitchen table for dinner.

  “Can I help, Mikey?”

  “Nope. Everything’s under control. Um, you can pour yourself a glass of wine if you like.”

  “Wine and not beer? Is this an occasion?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She wandered for a few moments, peering through his windows and at his bookshelf. “Next time I’m bringing you a plant. I’ll make some cuttings. You need greenery around this place. It’s good for your lungs.”

  “Thanks. That’d be nice.”

  The bell rang again and Mom let Marie inside. Marie immediately exclaimed over Mike’s cheek too. “He won’t tell me what happened to him,” Mom said. “It’s a big mystery.”

  “I’ll tell you soon enough. Let’s eat first, okay?”

  They sat around the kitchen table and had one of their usual conversations. That meant that Mike mostly stayed quiet while Mom and Marie bickered happily over TV shows, potential vacation destinations, politics, and dating habits. Mike couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of it, the comfort he felt when Marie reached over to adjust Mom’s hair and Mom yelled at her for playing with hair at the dinner table. He loved them. It would have broken his heart never to see them again and to know they would have grieved and wondered over his sudden disappearance. His heart was broken anyway, of course. Unsolvable puzzle.

  “Mikey, honey, tell us what’s wrong.” It was Mom’s turn to break the rules; she smoothed Mike’s hair back. “You look so sad.”

  “Let me clean up first and then I’ll spill.”

  They waited impatiently while he put away the leftovers and washed the dishes. To be honest, he took his time over it. He was nervous about the upcoming discussion. But eventually the kitchen was spick-and-span. He ducked into the bedroom and came back out with a
pile of things: his clothing from the alternate world and other souvenirs. He set them down on the coffee table and sat between the women on the couch.

  Marie poked at the boots. “Are you suddenly into cosplay or Ren faires or something? Is that what you wanted to tell us?”

  “Do I really seem the type?”

  “I dunno. Maybe you’re having an early midlife crisis.”

  He smiled at her. “Not yet. Um… I have sort of a long story to tell you guys. It’s going to sound really wild. But I promise it’s not a joke and I’m not crazy or anything. So if you could maybe just listen to the whole damn thing before drowning me in disbelief, I’d really appreciate it.”

  His mother and sister exchanged alarmed looks. He wasn’t usually much for speeches or wild tales. Until Agata had shown up, he’d lived such a boring, predictable, safe life that sometimes he’d been a little tempted to make something up just to seem slightly more interesting. But he hadn’t possessed the creativity for that.

  He cleared his throat. “Last Friday night I was, um, hanging out at home.” He decided not to tell them exactly what he was doing. Even thinking about it was embarrassing. “And this lady showed up. By showed up, I mean actually popped into my living room without using a door or window—just poof!—because she’s actually a god and she wanted to take me to another world where I was supposed to go on a pilgrimage to atone for my alternate self’s asshattery.” He took a great whooping breath and let it out in a whoosh.

  Mom and Marie were speechless—pretty much a first for either of them. He took advantage of it and forged ahead. “And that’s what she did. Her name’s Agata, by the way, and she’s kind of in a perpetual feud with her sister Alina. Who’s also a god, of course. Agata zapped me to this other world wearing nothing but my underwear. She told me if I ever wanted to get home, I had to visit all these shrines. Also, I was going to save an entire community who’d been cursed by Alina. I didn’t really have any choice, so I agreed. It took me weeks and weeks, even though less than a day had passed when I returned here. And while I was there, I… I fell in love with a man named Goran, and I married him.” He paused to let that sink in.

  One of the things he dearly loved about his mother was her ability to remain levelheaded and bossy even under extreme circumstances. If the zombie apocalypse happened, she would stand calmly in the middle of the street, telling the neighbors where to seek shelter and how to fashion weapons. She didn’t fail Mike now. She gave him a stern look and patted his knee. “Michael. You are going to explain what you’re talking about. You’re going to do it slowly and carefully and I am going to ask questions and you will answer them. But first you’re going to fetch me another glass of wine. In fact, bring the whole bottle.”

  Impulsively, he gave her a quick hug. “Okay, Mom.” And he followed her instructions—as he usually did.

  Although Mom and Marie did ask quite a few questions as he talked on and on, neither of them dialed the loony bin to come cart him away. When he got to the part where he and Goran married, Mom and Marie got all misty-eyed. But then he got to the end—the part where he left Goran—and Mike suddenly broke down in huge, mortifying sobs.

  Marie and Mom enveloped him in a group hug. After a while, Mom pulled a package of tissues from her purse and handed them over. “Sorry,” he sniffed when he could speak again. “I gave Alina my tears in Varesh and now I can’t seem to stop.”

  “It’s okay, Mikey. It’s good for you. Keeping all that emotion inside is bad for your stomach.” She kissed his cheek.

  He drooped against her and leaned his head on her shoulder. He hadn’t done that in a long time, but he felt so goddamn drained. Didn’t matter how old he was—sometimes a guy just needed his mother. He liked it when she started playing with his hair.

  “So have you two decided I’m certifiable?” he asked.

  Marie shook her head. “You’re the sanest person I know.”

  “And frankly,” his mother chimed in, “I don’t think you have the imagination to make up a story like that.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he said, but he was relieved.

  His sister picked up the vest Agata stole for him and inspected the embroidery. “Besides, you have proof. This stuff, plus your scars. I just saw you… what? Two weeks ago? And you weren’t sliced and diced then.”

  He sat up straight and looked back and forth between them. “So you’re actually willing to believe this happened to me?”

  “Maybe,” Mom said. “Strange things happen. Remember when Uncle Edwin said he was abducted by aliens?”

  “Uncle Edwin was a drunk, Mom.”

  “I know that. But after that, what happened? He never touched another drop of alcohol in his life. Sober as a judge until the day he died. None of us ever would have thought that was possible. And my friend Nina. She was diagnosed with cancer, and the doctors gave her only six to eight weeks. She refused chemo—didn’t want to spend her last days like that, she said. But she was still alive three months later, and when she went to the doctor, they found no sign at all of the tumors. They were just gone. That was ten years ago, Mikey, and I just had lunch with her last week. Or our old neighbor, Camille. Remember her? Tiny little thing. One day she was walking with her youngest—What was that boy’s name?”

  “Derek,” answered Mike. He’d had a crush on Derek when they were in their teens.

  “That’s right. Nice boy. Well, he was a baby in a stroller, and they were crossing the street. A car came speeding right at them! Camille tried to get away, but the stroller ended up caught under the car. And you know what she did? That tiny little thing lifted that car with her bare hands, all by herself, and kicked the stroller free. Poor Derek was a little bruised and scraped, but that was all.”

  “I remember that!” Marie exclaimed. “It was on the news and everything.”

  Mom nodded. “Mikey, the universe is much more amazing than you’ve ever given it credit for.” She kissed his cheek again. “If you want to know the truth, the part I’m finding hardest to buy is that you finally decided to get married. I thought I’d be long in my grave before either of my children decided to settle down. And as for grandchildren….”

  “Mom!” Marie and Mike cried in unison.

  She grinned for a moment before her expression turned serious. “You really fell for this Goran, didn’t you, honey?”

  “Mom, I love him so much.” His voice broke, but at least he managed not to start crying again. “I’d do anything to have him back.”

  “Actually, that will not be necessary.”

  You’d think Mike would be used to beings popping in and out by now, but he wasn’t. And of course it was a first for Mom and Marie. Marie shrieked. Mom leapt to her feet, looking fierce. And Mike jumped about three feet straight up.

  But when he saw who one of those beings was….

  “Goran!” Mike yelled. He launched himself over the coffee table and into his husband’s big, strong arms. Goran squeezed him fiercely and snuffled at the crook of Mike’s neck.

  They remained like that for a long time. Mike had nearly forgotten anyone else was in the room. But someone cleared her throat quite pointedly, and Mike and Goran separated a little. Not much—neither wanted to lose contact with the other.

  “Hello,” said an unfamiliar woman. Except she wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. She wore a complicated outfit made of layers of knitted and woven shapes, and she bore a distinct resemblance to Agata and Alina. She looked younger, however. Closer to his age.

  “Ariana?” Mike guessed.

  She dimpled at him. “Of course. It’s lovely to meet you, Michael.”

  “Uh, likewise. And… and this is my mom and my sister. Mom, Marie, this is Ariana. The god. I told you about her.”

  When Mike and Marie were little, they used to catalog and name their parents’ expressions. Now Mom brought out her Company Smile. “I’m honored,” she said.

  That earned her a pleased nod from Ariana. Marie could only manage a sort of wave, but Ariana
must have been used to people taken aback by her sudden appearance. She waved back.

  The introductions over, Mike and Goran moved back into an embrace. Mike couldn’t get enough of feeling that body against his, so solid and real. “How?” he asked. “How are you here?”

  “My Lady Ariana, of course.”

  “But I don’t—”

  Ariana interrupted. “He made a pilgrimage to my shrine.”

  That made Mike pull away slightly to blink at his husband. “You did?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t…. Gods, Mike, I’ve missed you so much! But then I got to thinking how lucky I was that our paths crossed, even if it was for so short a time. And I figured Agata got what she wanted already, by tricking Alina. And Alina got all those offerings from you. Even Tomismoran—you thanked him, and after you left, I thanked him too. But Ariana must have played a part in the whole thing, and nobody had thanked her. So I did.”

  Ariana smiled warmly. “People often curse me. Or they forget me or deny I exist. It’s rare for someone to thank me for my work. Very rare. And Goran was so very sincere about it. He made me a very generous offering.”

  Mike frowned for a moment, trying to think what that might have been. But then it dawned on him what was missing. “Your sword!” he exclaimed. “You gave her your sword!”

  “Yes.” Goran shrugged. “Because it was important to me, and I wanted her to know how grateful I was. Besides, I’m tired of killing, Mike. I’ve had enough.”

  Mike kissed him—lightly, on the lips—just to let Goran know he was loved.

  Ariana grinned mischievously. “Goran’s gift touched me. But also I heard what my father said when Agata and Alina were squabbling again. ‘Why can’t you be more like Ariana?’ Good, sweet, perfect, obedient Ariana. Well, I’m not so good and obedient, not always. I have a mind too! And since I was pleased with Goran anyway, I thought, why not send him here, if that’s what he’d like? He’s not supposed to be here, and my father and sisters will likely be quite put out.” Her grin increased three notches.