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“Baraboo, you must know this for lies.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jemel says and he leans closer to Xan, leans into a kiss.

But Xan pulls away from Jemel as if stung, “No.”

“No?”

“You think you must commit the sins of the body that you desire in order to fight some demon? You think if you reveal your face to me I will not be able to resist you?”

“What do you mean?”

Xan pushes Jemel away and stands up. “Any man can resist. If I kissed you now it would be a free choice. Not because your face is so beautiful I cannot help myself. And I can walk away from you too. If you did not want it.“

Jemel looks up at Xan, towering over him. He truly, deep in his heart, does not want Xan to walk away from him. Not ever. But what does he want? To sin? To commit a great sin? “And now, would you make that free choice?” Xan says.

“Would you?”

Jemel looks at Xan. He nods, a slight gesture. His heart is beating so hard. “I would.” The words seem to ache. To hang in the air like drops of light.

“Baraboo,” Xan says. He crouches down and places one large hand on Jemel’s face, leans close and their lips touch.

The sensation is sweet, but only for a moment. Jemel’s belly leaps with fear. Xan’s mouth opens, Jemel feels the tip of Xan’s tongue graze his lower lip, and it feels like something is burning him there. He yelps and pulls back and away.

“Priest?” Xan says, looking at Jemel, confused, lips soft.

“I am sorry, I…”

Xan still has a hand on Jemel’s face. “Is it not your will?”

Jemel’s throat aches. It is his will, he is sure. And yet, he cannot. He cannot. He is as fearful and ready to flee as he would be if the library was aflame. “It is my will, but, I, I cannot. I cannot.”

Xan nods, “Very well. You do not have to. We can simply rest. I ask nothing of you, priest.”

“I know you don’t.” Jemel’s heart is beating as fast in his chest as it would be if he had run a thousand miles. His feelings confuse and frighten him. Desire, despair. He can barely tell them apart. He realises he is shaking.

Xan leans back. He looks at Jemel for a long moment. Then gets carefully to his feet and starts to move away across the library.

“Where are you going? Jemel calls out, his voice breaking as his tears threaten to start falling again.

“I need to find a spot to piss,” Xan calls back, not looking around.

22

JEMEL

Jemel watches the dark, waiting for Xan to come back. “Don’t you dare piss on any of my books,” he says quietly. It’s something he might have said spitefully, but now, out of Xan’s hearing, he speaks with affection.

Then he leans back. He inspects himself. What is wrong with him? Why did he reject Xan? Now, when he knows it is his will? Why can he not simply do as all men do?

Xan seems to be gone a long time. So long that Jemel starts to fear he is not coming back. Perhaps he is angry that Jemel offered himself and then took that offer away and he is too fine a man to insist Jemel keep the bargain he made before their lips met.

He glances at Xan’s small pack, left lying on the ground. It is just a bag of thick linen canvas, with some straps crudely attached for carrying and another to close it. It gapes open on either side of the strap. And sticking out on one side, is, very clearly, a leather travelling flask.

Jemel reaches for it. Xan said he had nothing to drink. Perhaps he forgot he had this, although that seems quite unlike him. But whatever the reason, Jemel’s throat is parched. He brings the flask gratefully to his lips.

But before he can drink, he hears Xan shout, “No!” and looks up in surprise. Xan is racing across the library.

Jemel lowers the flask. “Sorry, did you not want to share your water with me?”