CHAPTER FIVE
The wrinkled god used his stick to wipe away the message he had written in the sands. I swallowed the lump in my throat and ventured to speak above a whisper. “Doesn’t he talk?”
Ros shook his head. “The traveler who talks too much is likely to get into trouble, and the god is mute for the same reason.”
“Does he mind getting us into trouble?” I wondered before the light from the torch glistened off something I hadn’t noticed.
The man’s frock had hidden much of the wall behind his legs, but I caught a glistening of something metal that ran from his leg to the stones. I blinked at what I soon made out to be a silver chain and shackles, the latter of which wrapped around one of the god’s ankles. The chain was connected to the wall and deeply embedded into the stone.
I ca
