Ever (13 page)

“Don't show me anything.”

Two large rocks bounce out of the forest, coming toward us. Admat's punishment! I throw myself on the ground.

My bones are not crushed. I hear two thuds and raise my head. The rocks are planted in the ground, side by side.

“My clever wind found them. See? They're both chair shaped.” He sits in one.

The one he's in is narrower than the other and has a more sloping chair back. Each is chest high with a lower shelf for sitting.

“See how my clever wind—”

“Admat's wind.”

“See how it placed them to face the falls.”

I stand, but I don't go near the chair rocks.

“Kezi, I have just one power, the winds. But I'm immortal, and I can see and hear and detect scents at great
distances. All the Akkan gods can. My love, believe me.”

“If you can see so far, what is my pado doing?”

“I can't see as far as the city from here.”

If not for the oath, Pado would be in his counting room, but I don't know where he is now. If not for the oath, Mati would be at her loom. Aunt Fedo would have come to gossip. Nia is probably praying. Flies buzz in the kitchen. Pado and Mati think I'm still at the market, unless Pazur has already told them I'm gone.

“Kezi, my love, what if you could become immortal?”

Admat, don't listen to this crazy masma! Forgive him! But
I
listen.

“Cala became immortal seven hundred years ago. She's the goddess of wild and domesticated animals.”

Is there some masma spell to live forever? “How old are you?”

“My mati is six thousand years old. My pado is four thousand.”

“And you?”

He shifts from one hip to the other in the stone chair. “Seventeen.”

I can't help laughing, although I'm disappointed. Giggling, I say, “Your parents are having children at their age?”

“Seventeen years ago they did.” He laughs too.

“But”—I want to show him how impossible his claim is—“before you were born, who had power over the winds?”

“Nin, the storm goddess, commanded them, but sometimes they were unruly. They always do what I tell them. Kezi, believe me. I'm a god. I have numberless years ahead.”

“Olus . . . we can die anytime.” Knowing when death will arrive may be better than believing it will never arrive at all. “You may live many more years, but you will die when Admat wishes. It's true!”

Instead of answering, he says, “Are you hungry?”

There is no food here. I nod and wait for more magic.

From the pouch on his belt he takes out a wedge of goat cheese. He breaks off a generous portion and gives it to me.

“Thank you.” I take it and touch the empty stone chair. It is solid, warmed by the sun. I dare sit in it, although I brace myself for it to explode.

He takes a piece of cheese for himself and begins to eat.

“Mmm!” I say, tasting the cheese.

He pulls a puffy brown loaf from the pouch. By its
smooth crust I can tell that it is not a meat and barley loaf. With the knife he used before on his wool, he cuts a slice for me.

It's pale tan inside. I smell rye, caraway, and a scent I can't identify. I take a bite.

The slice tastes like bread, but it feels much softer—cloud pudding. “What is it? It's delicious!” This
is
magic.

“Leavened bread. In Hyte you have only flatbread.”

We eat. Sitting there, he appears to be an ordinary—extraordinarily handsome—person. No one could tell he's a masma. I know how kind he is, and I know I love him. I should leave the rest to Admat.

“Kezi . . . I am immortal, whether you think so or not. But I don't know if you can be. It isn't simple.”

If he had said it was simple, I would have known it wasn't possible. “Olus, if an immortal”—I refuse to say
god
—“were sacrificed, what would happen?”

“The priest's knife would hurt, but the immortal would recover. Your pado would fulfill his oath, but you would live.”

Admat, forgive me. “How does a mortal become immortal?”

OLUS

B
EFORE ANSWERING HER
question, I say, “If you were immortal, we could build a house here.”

Her eyes shift away from me.

I've said something wrong. “Are you angry?”

She shakes her head.

“First we would do the wedding pantomime, and nothing would pull us apart.”

She's crying. I'm at her side, bending over her, taking her hands.

She leans her head against my chest. “You haven't”—she grasps my waist and looks up—“even asked about my dowry.”

“The dowry doesn't matter.” I wipe her tears.

She laughs a wet laugh. “It would be a big dowry. But I want to live in Hyte.”

“We can live in Hyte.”

“I would still worship Admat.”

“I know.”

“It would be his will if I became immortal.”

I nod.

“Now tell me.”

I kneel at her knees. “First we have to go to Enshi Rock, but I don't know if we can.”

“Is Enshi Rock in Akka?”

“Yes, but it's over Akka. It floats in the sky.”

“Mmm. Why did you leave?”

“I was lonely.” She won't believe this either: “No one but me is young.”

“Are your parents still there?”

“Yes. Kezi, only a god or a mortal hero or heroine can reach Enshi Rock. I think you're a heroine—”

“I'm not!”

“You saved your aunt. I think that's heroism. But it may not be enough.”

“If I'm not a heroine?”

“You'll have to perform an act of heroism. I don't know what.”

“Go on.”

“Once you are a heroine, you can go to Enshi Rock with a champion.”

She touches my chin. “You.”

I stand. “I don't think I'm a champion.”

She jumps out of her chair rock. “You rescued me from Elon and saved everyone at the market!”

I smile at her vehemence. “If I'm not a champion, I'll have to become one.”

“How?”

“I don't know that either. Some kind of trial.”

“What happens when we arrive on Enshi Rock, if we can?”

“You have . . . you have . . .” My voice is gone. I swallow and try again. “It's . . .”

“Yes?”

“I can't say. The words won't come out. There's an act you must perform to become immortal, a pleasant act, but Cala alone has ever succeeded at it.”

“I wish an altar were here.” She kneels. “Admat, please do not make me die so soon. Let me become a heroine. Let me succeed at the masmas' test. As you wish, so it will be.”

Feeling ridiculous to be praying to another god, I echo, “As you wish, so it will be.”

“How do we find out if I'm a heroine and you're a champion?”

“We try to go to Enshi Rock.” I hold my arms out for her, and she nestles into them.

My swift wind carries us. Two hours pass. We start up the lower slope of Mount Enshi and pass high above a hamlet. Three men are building a hut next to a freshly dug well. Someone must be betrothed. I recognize Kudiya, the boy—young man now—who thought I was a vision. He may be the groom. Kudiya, I think, I have my bride, too.

KEZI

T
HE MOUNTAINS WE'VE
been flying among are tall. Now we are halfway up the grandest of them, its heights wreathed in clouds.

“This is Mount Enshi,” Olus shouts. “Above it is Enshi Rock. I'll clear the sky so you can see.”

Olus does his masma wind magic, and the clouds blow away. The mountain ends in the rounded mouth of a volcano. Above the volcano—
above
it! My fingers dig into Olus's arm. Above the volcano, ivory and topaz cliffs rise in vertical shafts.

Enshi Rock floats in the sky.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them. The rock is still floating. This is beyond a masma's spell. Olus
is
a god!

I stiffen against him.

“There's nothing to fear,” he shouts, holding me tighter.

I fear
him
, the god Olus.

Clouds return and hide the rock again. Olus mutters something. I crane my neck to see his face. He's frowning. Is his wrath directed at me? Have I done something to offend him?

He says into my hair, “We're almost there, my love.”

He isn't angry at me.

We fly up Mount Enshi. I try to shrink into myself to create distance from him.

I want to pray, but to whom?

Fog curls around us. The wind that carries us slows.
We hang in the clouds. I understand that we can't rise farther.

He says, “I must not be a champion.”

How can a god not be a champion? I must not be a heroine.

As soon as we begin to descend, Olus's winds are free again. We land on the lip of the volcano. I stumble away from him. “Forgive me . . . forgive me. . . .” I want to hide from his presence.

“Kezi! What is it?”

There's nowhere to hide. There are only ashes and shiny black stones.

“Kezi!” He runs after me.

I can't outrun a god. I throw myself on the rough ground.

“Don't!” he yells. “Stand up!”

I stand.

“Look at me.”

I can't meet his eyes. I stare a little to the side, as one does with Admat's altar flame.

“Don't worship me,” he begs. “I'm only Olus.”

No, he's not. I begin to weep. Bending over, I sob and sink to my knees. I can't help it, even though he commanded me to stand.

How can Admat be the one, the all, if Olus is a god too and there are many Akkan gods?

Admat is angry at the people of Hyte sometimes, but he loves us. Doesn't he? He is with us every moment. Isn't he? He is with me every moment.

Isn't he?

Is he nowhere and nothing?

Am I alone?