Page 66 of Something Human

It was getting too dark to properly appreciate the look Adares gave him at that. He had to use his imagination again.

“The thing is,” Adares said, “with you I’m never sure. That could be true.”

Adares linked his hands behind his head as he lay on his back in the grass. “This Great Pattern,” he said. “Are the gods part of it, or are they outside it?”

“Both.”

“Right … ”

“No, do not pretend that makes sense to you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It is a paradox. We say they dance the pattern—that’s a metaphor.”

“No kidding. So they create it?”

“Maybe. Some people say so. Or they see it, and follow it in their dance.”

“I see. No, I do. They’re outside of the pattern, but in it at the same time.” He closed his eyes. He sounded drowsy. “I don’t know what made me think of that. Maybe just … Making love to you makes me feel connected to it, whatever it is. As if it flows through us all the time, but when you’re in my arms I can feel it. That probably strikes you as blasphemous.”

“Mm,” said Rus noncommittally, because it didn’t really, but he supposed that it should.

They were lying in the shadow of one of the outer ring stones at the south circle. It was the least sacred part of the site—the outer ring stones were more or less decorative—which was why Rus had picked it when he wanted shade, but the location still made him slightly nervous.

They had ridden out here early, while the dew was still on the grass. They had lain down together in the sunlight, stripped to the skin, and taken their time together. It had been the best time yet, in a way: unhurried, place and time both ideal for it, neither of them in pain. Adares had climaxed twice: once with Rus’s hand stroking him, once with Rus inside of his body. That meant that the scales were balanced between them again, and Rus had pretended to take this very seriously as a point of honour, because Adares seemed to find that sort of thing funny.

Now they were lying in the shade because the sun had grown hot. Rus had made good on his threat to explain the carvings on the stones.

“So this job you have now,” Adares began, opening his eyes and turning on his side to look at Rus. “It’s second-in-command of all the priests of the whole tribe, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and successor to the stathan when he dies.”

“And you’re only nineteen?”

“Twenty, now.”

Adares reached out and trailed a finger down Rus’s side. “We must have been born at the same time of year. I’m twenty-five this past winter. Did you want the job?”

“No.”

“But it’s an honour.”

“It is.”

“But you don’t want it.”

“No. Is that like you, being archon of Tios?”

“No! No, not at all. At least not any more. It’s grown on me—or I’ve grown into it, or something. I’m … I don’t know.” He settled on his side, head propped on his hand, and after a moment accepted the change of topic. “In some ways, these last six months … seven months … have been the worst of my life, but in some ways, oddly enough, I’m enjoying myself. It’s almost like starting a new colony, figuring out how we’ll cope without Pheme. And you remember what I was most afraid of in the fall—that the Phemian army would be sent over to clean up our mess?”

“That’s not a threat any more.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. I’m honestly glad of that. Even if it comes with a sentence of permanent exile for me—it hasn’t come to that yet, but it may. Especially after the business with the publicly-owned slaves.”

“The what?”

“Slaves owned by the state … You wouldn’t really have anything like that here, because you don’t have a concept of ‘the state,’ but we have a lot of them in Pheme, and had a few hundred in Tios, until this spring. But there was some suggestion that they were actually the property of Pheme, and as such should be sent back. It would have been a crisis for Tios, if we’d had to do that, because, frankly, we need their labour—we don’t have a surplus of workers, and some of them are skilled.