The Downs (8 page)

The nickname surprised Enitan so much that he released Rig’s hand and momentarily forgot to argue. Nobody had called him that since he was a small boy. Maybe Rig only said it because he was accustomed to shorter names, but still, it was nice. Enitan closed his eyes and listened to Rig sing.

“Nap,” Rig ordered when he was done. “A little sleep will finish the job.”

Enitan felt much better. His head had cleared, and the pain from the bites had faded to discomfort. He wasn’t especially tired, but he knew better than to argue with Rig. “Fine. But beginning tomorrow, I’m helping you build your house.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know. I want to.” Assuming he could learn a few basic construction skills, it would be a good way to repay Rig for his care, room, and board. And the work would have the added benefit of increasing Enitan’s strength. If he was going to climb back to the Reach, he needed to get serious about rebuilding his muscles.

“All right then. Tomorrow. If you feel up to it.”

“I will.”

Enitan ended up dozing after all, more from boredom than anything else. He was so damned tired of inactivity! When he woke up, he carefully stood and stretched. He was a bit achy, but that was all. “Healed,” he announced to Rig, who was working on something at the table.

Rig blinked at him and looked away. “Good.”

Enitan didn’t bother trying to cover himself before padding over to pour a cup of water. The hut was warm, and Enitan didn’t see his borrowed shirt anywhere; and besides, at this point Rig was better acquainted with Enitan’s naked body than Enitan was himself. Something nice-smelling was bubbling in a pot over the fire, and the lantern cast warm light over the cabin’s interior. The little room felt homier than the family mansion in the city ever had.

“What are you doing?” Enitan asked.

Rig seemed to be struggling with fabric, needle, and thread. He smiled slightly. “It was supposed to be a surprise but you woke up too soon.”

“A surprise?”

“Not anymore.” Rig held up the fabric for inspection, and Enitan saw that it was one of Rig’s pairs of trousers. Rough brown fabric, plain but sturdy. One leg was shorter than the other.

“What in heavens are you doing to your clothes?” Enitan asked.

“Your clothes now. I’m shortening them. I’ve already taken in the waist.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous to do construction dressed like that.” Rig flapped his hand in Enitan’s direction.

Enitan grinned.

****

After weeks of going pantsless, wearing trousers felt odd. Rig had done a passable job tailoring them, but they chafed a bit. Enitan didn’t complain though. He was getting what he wanted: a chance to work.

When they reached the lake, Enitan glared balefully at the water before enduring a lecture from Rig on the safe handling of tools. He got a tour of the unfinished interior of the house, which was very interesting, and then settled into the main room downstairs to help Rig drill holes in logs.

“Why?” Enitan asked.

“For the pegs that will hold everything together. It’s important to get the placement and depth right.”

That made sense. And even though Enitan was awkward with the drill at first, he soon became accomplished enough to impress. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Rig asked after a while.

“Never even seen anyone else drill. But it’s not that hard.”

“Even Dany had a tough time with it at first, and he has a real talent for this kind of thing.”

Enitan felt a strange mixture of jealousy and pride, neither of which was called for. “I used to fight. I told you that. It was one of the few things I was good at. And it’s not really all that different from this, when you think about it.” He lifted the U-shaped drill and looked at it. “It’s just using your body correctly. The careful application of strength.”

“There’s a big difference between a sword and a drill.”

“Just metal with a handle, either way.” Enitan grinned and resumed work.

That evening, Enitan’s back and arms were sore. But he accompanied Rig to the lake the next day and the day after that, and the soreness went away. Together they drilled, they cut, they moved wood into place, they hammered. They joked and chatted while they worked, mostly about inconsequential things. Enitan talked about some of his lovers and some of his fights. He described everyday life in the city. Rig catalogued every toxic organism in the Downs and told funny stories about life in the village. If sometimes one of the men found his gaze lingering on the other’s body, neither commented on it.

At the end of each afternoon, they checked a stretch of lake for trancebeetles before stripping and wading into the shallows to bathe. Often they laughingly splashed each other. As they played, a hand would occasionally brush against a back or shoulder or thigh, or even an ass, but it was only a game, signifying nothing.

Enitan fell onto his mat each night wonderfully exhausted, Rig’s big body just out of reach.

But one morning Rig stood at the door and announced they wouldn’t be going anywhere that day.

“Why not?” asked Enitan, who was still eating breakfast.

“Fog’s coming. If you have anything to do outdoors, do it now. When the fog comes, we’ll be inside for the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow too.”

“All right.” Enitan stood, gathered the crumbs from his meal, and wandered outside. He sprinkled the crumbs on the ground, but Rig’s bird didn’t appear, which was unusual. It generally dove into view as soon as it caught sight of Rig— or Enitan, who’d taken to feeding it too. In fact, everything was eerily still. No birds called; no insects buzzed. There was no sign of the small furry creatures that often scurried over tree trunks. And the sky was a uniform dull gray, ugly and heavy-looking.

Enitan quickly used the outhouse and hurried back. Rig remained at the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “We have enough water and food to last us, but we’re going to be stuck with the chamber pot for a while. Not very pleasant, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe the fog won’t come.”

“It will.”

He was right. Enitan stood with him at the open door, watching the clouds sink closer and the light grow dim. The thicker the sky became, the harder it was for Enitan to draw breath. He didn’t remember his fall to the Downs, yet his skin seemed to recall searing agony, and his eyes were watery. Not a single sound was audible except for those slight noises made by Enitan and Rig.

“It’s time,” Rig finally said, goaded by some cue Enitan couldn’t discern. He gently pushed Enitan fully into the house and closed the door.

“Can the fog open doors?” Enitan asked, horrified, after watching Rig fasten the latch.

Rig shook his head with a wry chuckle. “No. But the lock makes me feel better.” Then he blocked the very small gap between door and threshold with a folded blanket.

If it weren’t for the fire and the lantern, the room would have been completely dark. But… the fire. That sparked a question. “Can’t the fog get in through the chimney?”

“The smoke and rising heat keep it out. And if we were to run out of firewood, we would close the damper. A couple of vents near the floor give us fresh air. They’re lined with filtermoss to neutralize out the fog.”

Frightened, Enitan ignored the part about filtermoss and looked at the substantial stack of chopped wood. “Run out of firewood?”

“It’s very unlikely. But we have enough food and water and lanternseed oil to last about two weeks, if we’re careful.”

Enitan shuddered. “Is that—”

“Probably unnecessary. It almost never lasts more than a day or two. The longest I’ve ever seen it was six days. But there are stories about fogs that remained for longer than that. I won’t have you dying of dehydration or going insane in the darkness just because I was unprepared.”

An unexpectedly warm feeling pulsed through Enitan’s chest. Rig was looking out for him. “I was in the dark when I first arrived here. I wouldn’t be scared or go crazy as long as you were with me.”

Rig’s crooked smile made him beautiful.

At first, passing the time was not difficult. They occupied themselves with small tasks such as cleaning, food preparation, and mending clothes. Sometimes they just sat, each lost in his own thoughts. But shortly before dinnertime, when Enitan was beginning to get bored, Rig rummaged in a wooden chest and, with a triumphant noise, pulled out a small box. He carried it to the table and began taking out small carved figures.

“What’s that?” Enitan asked, coming close to see better.

“Mice and burrows. It’s a game. Can I teach you to play?”

Enitan took the second stool. “All right.”

The game had complicated rules and he was very bad at it, but that didn’t bother him. Playing kept them busy, and Enitan’s losses were spectacular enough to make Rig laugh. Not cruelly. Just… amused. Enitan couldn’t help laughing with him, but as he looked at the sparkle in Rig’s eyes, it occurred to him that Rig must usually spend fogtimes locked up in solitude.

By the time Rig doused the lantern, Enitan yearned to touch him. But he didn’t. They lay on their sleeping mats an arm’s width apart.

A swift look through the peephole in the morning revealed the fog still there. Rig and Enitan ate, they cleaned, they played mice and burrows. They went to sleep early.

Midmorning on the third day, the cabin reeked of the chamber pot and unwashed bodies. Enitan paced restlessly. Several years earlier, he’d attended a party at the home of a Council member. The family was considerably wealthier than his own, their house much grander, their gardens far more spectacular. The centerpiece of the largest garden was an iron cage; and inside the cage, a ragged-looking cockatrice moved back and forth, back and forth, its glazed eyes never blinking. Now Enitan knew how the creature felt.

“Play another round of mice and burrows with me,” Rig suggested.

“So you can trounce me again?”

“I’ll let you go first. Maybe you’ll have good luck this time.”

Enitan shook his head and continued walking.

“If you don’t stop, I am going to tie you to the table.”

Although that gave Enitan a pleasant image of the games he sometimes played with his bedmates, he growled. “Try it. You may be big, but I can fight.”

An odd light kindled in Rig’s eyes just before he launched himself and tackled Enitan.

Rig was considerably bigger— heavier, and with a longer reach. But he had the temperament of a healer. On the other hand, Enitan had been sparring since he was a child. He knew exactly what moves to make, how to judge his opponent’s weaknesses and take advantage of them, how to precisely leverage his own bones and muscles to control another man. Enitan was careful not to injure Rig, but several minutes of rolling around on the floor ended with Rig pinned facedown while Enitan straddled his body and kept his wrists trapped behind his back.

Rig struggled a moment or two longer before going limp beneath him. “You are really good at fighting.”

“And you’re as bad at wrestling as I am at mice and burrows.”

When Rig sighed, his entire body moved. “I suppose so.”

Enitan released his hands, but Rig made no attempt to dislodge him. And Enitan didn’t move either because it felt good to sit on top of him. Not because it made him feel triumphant. It was body contact, and he’d been missing that.

But then his stupid cock began to harden. The last thing Enitan wanted was an unpleasant scene when neither of them could leave the cabin, so with a regretful little grunt, he climbed off. He offered a hand to help Rig stand, and if Rig squeezed a little too hard, well, Enitan couldn’t blame him.

Enitan walked to the door and pounded it impotently. “Damn Minna!” he spat.

“Your sister is capable of bringing down the fog?”

“No. Although I’d wager she wishes she could. She likes to control things.”

“So why blame her now?”

Enitan turned his back to the door and slid down into a sit. He bent his knees, wrapped his arms around them, and leaned against the door. “Because she trapped me here.”

“Is that really such a terrible fate?” asked Rig, sounding angry.

“This isn’t my home.”

“But it can be. Don’t you see that? Just like it became Dany’s.”

“I’m not Dany!” Enitan roared. And he wasn’t sorry for yelling. He was not a sweet boy who’d happily forget his past and accept a new life. He was good at building things, but no prodigy. And he had no intention of meeting up with Rig once a month to scratch their mutual itch.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rig answered quietly. Then he sat on one of the stools and faced the low flames in the fireplace, smoothing his hair back from his face.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Eventually Rig broke the silence. Still not looking at Enitan, he said, “You shouldn’t go back to the city.”

No use denying it. “Why not?”

“Because nothing waits for you there.”

“Revenge.”

Rig snorted. “Revenge has no magic. It won’t change what’s already happened. And what will happen to you when it’s over?”

Enitan shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He’d never heard of anyone returning from the Downs, and he didn’t know what the penalty would be. Another brutal trip across the Reach, another fall? Maybe they’d just kill him.

“Why can’t you see more worth in yourself?” Rig asked in a strained voice. “Why can’t you see your value?”

“What value is that?” Enitan’s mouth tasted bitter.

Rig stood, crossed the room, and crouched beside him. Even like that, he was huge. A solid wall of a man. “You’re a fighter.”

“And how does that do anyone any good? Are you planning to go to war, Rig? Who needs to be fought?”

“Not who. What.” With a grunt, Rig sat in front of him. “We have to fight the Downs.”

Enitan narrowed his eyes. “How? You want me punch the dragonfish and stab the arrow beetles? Choke the fog into submission?”

“No. But I want you to get up again after the fog has scoured you and the trancebeetles have bitten you. I want you to keep on living and hoping, even though you know there are a million things that can hurt you.”

The anger drained away from Enitan at once, leaving him weary. “I can’t do that.”