Page 2 of Mischief Maker
Perhaps it was foolish of me to make the journey all this way when I could be back home doing chores, when I could still be desperately trying to keep up with everything—and failing.
That’s all I am now: a failure, unable to care for the one thing my mother left me. The farm my parents founded, that they labored over while I was young. The farm that was left to my mother and me after Father passed away. The farm that no one in the world but me even cares about.
I say the final word—the god’s name—and wait.
And wait.
This is a ridiculous errand. I knew it wouldn’t work, knew the old gods were a legend. If they ever existed at all, they are long gone now, lost to time.
But my mother still believed in them before she died, so I decided to gamble. Now look what mess I’ve made, leaving the farm behind to travel all this way to Kireth’s temple, and nothing will come of it. I’ve wasted my time. I hope that the sheep and cows are all right in my absence.
I listen and wait, hoping. The leaves whisper in a light breeze, but there is no other sound here in the deep woods.
That’s it, then. This was a mistake. I rise to my feet and turn around, heading back down the path that will return me to where I left my horse, Rye.
“Going so soon?”
It’s a young man’s voice. I turn around and there he stands, leaning against the side of his temple casually, one arm draped over a corner. The look on his face is as if he’s the one who’s been waiting for me all this time.
His skin is gray, like stone. He has not one, but two sets of horns—shorter ones in the front that wind upward, and longer ones in the back that curl over his head, reminding me of a ram. He has pointed ears and just as pointed claws at the tips of his fingers.
Behind him, a long tail with a spade tip flicks back and forth.
I don’t answer at first because I don’t really believe he’s here. Kireth. A minor god in his own right, known to the valley people as a “demon.” He is standing right there, watching me, and wearing little more than a loincloth around his waist. Every one of his muscles is lithe and defined, as if disguising a great power hidden inside him.
“You had words just a moment ago,” he says with a chuckle, leaning back on the temple. “When you summoned me.”
Right. I have to remember why I’m here. It’s worked, that much is clear. Honestly, though, I’d never really thought past that. Maybe I hadn’t actually believed summoning him would work, and I came here because I needed an excuse to escape my dying harvest and disintegrating paddocks.
“Sorry,” I say. I can’t take my eyes off of him. His tail makes curlicues in the air as it dances, as if trying to entrance me, and he’s dragging his claws up and down the stone impatiently.
This is why I’m here, of course. To summon Kireth and put him to work. But now that he’s standing in front of me, I’m tongue-tied.
“I did call you.” I clear my throat as I squeeze the words out. “I need your help.”
He sighs. “Yes, of course you do. That’s the only reason anyone ever calls me.” Then he taps his chin thoughtfully. “Though you’re the first mortal I’ve seen here in hundreds of years.”
I’m not surprised. Mother and I, like her parents before her, live in the far-off mountains. It took me most of the day to get here, to Kireth’s woods, and I’ll probably get home just as the sun comes up. We’ve kept to our ways there, separate from the valley people, who believe in different gods and more modern things.
That’s why Mother is dead, after all. There was no one in the village who could help her, and she couldn’t make the journey to the valley while the darkness consumed her body.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your rest,” I tell him. What else do you say to an immortal being? I am nothing compared to him.
Kireth’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead. Then he grins a wide, mischievous grin, and hops down from the temple like it’s meant nothing to him this whole time.
“Are you?” he asks, tucking his hands behind his back. “You’re sorry to have awoken an ancient, immortal being so that he may help you?”
A stone falls into my belly. That is what I’ve done, isn’t it? I’ve called upon a god because of my own impotence, my own faults. What right do I have to make him work for me, to fix what I’ve broken?
But then I steady myself. No. I came here and made this journey because I need Kireth. I can’t survive much longer without him, and neither will my sheep or my horse or my dog.
“Yes,” I say, ducking my head in a way that I hope comes across as polite. “I truly am sorry, but I can’t do this alone.”
There’s no reply. When I venture to open one eye and look up at him, the trickster god is bent forward, studying me carefully. His big smile is gone and now his face gives away nothing.
“Who are you?” he asks, tilting his head. His tail flicks again, more insistently this time.
“Me?” I fumble with my words, his penetrating gaze making me clumsy and nervous. “I’m Faela.”
