Page 11 of Mischief Maker
“Yes. I can do this.”
“Then please.” I bow, as one would to a god. “Please bring me a bountiful harvest, Lord.”
When he doesn’t move, I raise my head. Kireth’s mouth sits slightly ajar.
“You don’t need to speak to me like that,” he says, and by his change in posture, I would say he’s embarrassed. “You hold the rope. It is by your command that I’m here at all.”
And I still feel guilt for it.
“I know that I’m the one who summoned you, but you are still something beyond me.” I study him, those supernatural horns and gray skin. “You are greater, higher, and more powerful than I am. It would be foolish and disrespectful to forget that.”
Kireth’s face twists in a way I can’t comprehend. Then he turns around and stalks away, tail lashing irritably behind him.
“I will do as you ask,” he calls over his shoulder, voice gruff. “Ninety-five tasks left.”
Kireth
Most of the mortals who summon me are eager to take advantage of me. They know they will have a god under their thumb for the duration of my obligation, and they use their tasks gleefully. It is an incredible power, after all, for a human to have for a short time. Especially if they figure out the secret, like Faela did: that I am capable of more than just the mundane.
I will use my magic for her. Not too much, but just enough to impress her. Just enough, perhaps, to make these struggling crops flourish.
It’s been a long time since I called on my small pool of power. It’s not much in the way of magic, not when compared to the older gods, but it’s all mine. What I want to do will drain me, but I will rejuvenate tonight, especially if Faela allows me to sleep inside the house.
I want to be let back in. This is how I will make sure she keeps the door open for me.
Kneeling at the first row of seeds, I bring my hands down to the soil. When I sowed yesterday, I spent more time with this strange, darkened dirt than I wanted. It is peculiar and seems to host almost no nutrients. It’s as if the life has been sucked out of it.
Waking up the seed sleeping deep in the ground takes more magic than I expected. The tendrils of my power reach for purchase, for sustenance, but I find little there. Still, I manage to raise the seed up and up until it sprouts, the leaves unfurling to the sky.
By the time I have finished with the new crops, my well of magic is nearly depleted. I didn’t intend to use that much, but these plants were resistant to my help. Something is very wrong here. Unfortunately, I do not have the arcane understanding to determine what.
I understand soil, plants, sunlight, and water. I know how to mix all these ingredients together to ensure success and plenty, as I have worked in many fields in my long life. But somehow, whatever is wrong with this place escapes me.
This soil is dead, spent, useless. I think of Faela describing the way her mother went. First her hand, then her body. Everything it touched died.
Has the earth somehow died, too?
Perhaps if one of the ancient gods is still around, one of the great ones like my mother, they would know what is wrong and what to do about it. I suppose that if Faela has not forgotten me, perhaps my mother is still lurking in her temple, too.
Not that it’s my responsibility to fix this awful place. I have completed my task, as wrung dry as I am. Green sprouts have emerged all up and down the new rows. I believe Faela will be pleased with the work I’ve done.
I do not expect exactly how pleased she is.
“Kireth!” When she sees it, she flings her arms around me in pure, thoughtless joy. It reminds me of a child just given a highly coveted toy. “I can’t believe it. That you did this!” Then, as if finally realizing what she’s done, she peels herself away from me and rubs her cheeks. “Sorry.”
I do not mind it in the least, but I don’t need to tell her that.
“You doubted my abilities?” I say instead.
She flushes even harder. “No. Well, I guess... I didn’t know what to expect. But oh, this!” Her arms spread out in front of her, as if she’s embracing the rows of green sprouts. “This is marvelous.”
Her glee radiates out of her in warm, delicious waves, and I’m caught up in them. My fantasy from last night springs back fully formed, and I think of what other pleasures I could give her that would earn a gasp like this one.
Instantly, my cock twitches under my loincloth. I try to tell it to hush, that now is certainly not the time, but it is strangely disobedient.
“Good,” I huff. “I’m glad it meets your expectations. Is that all for today?”
Her smile falters. “Yes. That’s all.”
