Book 2 Ch 45: New Ways to Worship

They came back to Greytip just in time to see him devouring a fish roughly the size of his own head whole as it wriggled and fought against him. He threw his neck back a few times making the fish sink deeper and deeper until he was able to simply push the fish down the last part of his throat. He turned his attention to them and clacked his beak a few times.

“We need to head back soon. Things in the beneath come up in the dark.”

“I might have something coming up as well,” said Pyotr with a frown.

“I was just considering asking if there were any female winged back at the village,” replied Ollie with a wink.

Michael shook his head. “We’re good to go, thank you.”

Greytip nodded and they all carefully got back onto the boat. The trip back was uneventful aside from some large dark shapes in the water and a bit of surprise when a few of the glowing bugs they’d seen in the fishing village landed on the boat. Michael and Marcus were both quiet, still recovering from what Veras had brought out of them. Michael had initially expected the goddess of love to be something warm and kind, and there was some of that to how she spoke to him and how her presence touched his mind, but he’d forgotten that love has other aspects that are harder to deal with. Love can be hungry. It can be desperate. Love can eat at you and its absence can drive you mad.

They arrived back at the fishing village and Marcus paid Greytip the other half of his fee for their safe return. He took the coin with a clack of his beak and quickly made it disappear into a pouch somewhere in the folds of his feathers.

“Do you have a place we can rest for the night?” asked Michael, taking the lead since Marcus seemed too out of it to take the role of lead negotiator.

“We have extra nests, yes yes. But they are for hatchlings. Our beds would not suit your frail forms.”

“What about storage buildings? Just a place with a roof we could put our bedrolls in?”

Greytip cocked his head for a moment and clacked his beak a few more times. “Follow.” He hopped along the dock and got to more solid ground before they reached a small shack on the edge of the village. It smelled vaguely of smoke and inside was a large stone fireplace and several long intersecting beams toward the ceiling.

“You can stay here for the night. Don’t use the smokehouse much. Prefer them wet and wriggling.”

Michael nodded at Greytip. “Thank you, you’ve been a great help.”

“I always help those who pay me to help them, yes.”

With that, the seagull-like winged hopped away and flew a short distance to land on a nearby roof and rub his face against a smaller seagull with the same coloring as him. Michael felt a pang in his chest at it and heard a whimsical sigh from Veras as he watched the brief exchange.

Everyone filed into the smokehouse and laid out their bedrolls, getting comfortable and snacking on some of the provisions they’d brought. For Michael that meant salted fish and some trail mix. He never cared much for fish in his old body, but his new one would’ve probably been in heaven if he lived in Scandinavia and was regularly able to eat pickled herring and lutefisk. Once he was full, he wordlessly went to his bedroll and went to sleep. Even Ollie had the good sense not to bother him and Marcus as they tried to mentally steady themselves.

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Sleep proved not to be as restorative as he’d hoped, with his dreams filled with memories and fantasies of Sara. He found himself tossing and turning all night as the thoughts of her tore at him and he woke up distinctly uncomfortable and in dire need of a cold shower more than once. Apparently love encompassed lust as well, not that it was all that big of a jump.

Michael got an early start to the morning and took some time to train before the others were up. He dedicated a few hundred swings of his new mace to Bruntus, and took some extra time to thank Nykas for making his path cross with Greytips. The winged’s comments were strange and oddly worded, but they were also very funny, and Michael appreciated that.

By the time the others woke up, Michael had calmed down quite a bit. Sleep hadn’t helped, but rote repetition of movements in the cool and humid morning air seemed to help tremendously.