Ever (14 page)

OLUS

K
EZI RAISES HER HEAD.
Tears drip from the tip of her nose. “Olus, god of the winds, forgive—”

“Stop!” I take her hand, which is limp in mine, an obedient, worshipful hand. “Kezi . . .” I raise her up and
move her hand to my chest. “Do you feel my heart?”

She nods. The tears course down her cheeks.

I let her hand go, and it drops like the hand of a puppet. I pull around us my comforting breeze, which carries the scent of cypress.

Gradually she stops crying. “Olus, god of the winds, forgive my—”

“There's no need for forgiveness.”

She looks up, where Enshi Rock is again hidden by clouds. “Olus, god of the winds, is there a god above the Akkan gods, one you pray to?”

I wish she'd stop saying
god of the winds
. “We don't pray. Ursag—he's the god of wisdom—believes more may exist than we know. The
more
may be Admat. Most of his holy text may be true.”

She whispers, “But Admat is not the one, the all.”

“No.”

“Olus, god of the winds, did you make the altar flame flare when Pado swore his oath?”

“I didn't cause the flare. Admat may have, or something else. The lamp oil may have been impure.”

The earth rumbles and growls. The ground tilts. Instantly we are ankle deep in stones and ash.

“Admat!” Kezi shouts.

I lift her, ready to ride a wind to safety. She is wood in my arms. The ground levels as the world rights itself. I set her down. She backs away from me.

“It was just Hannu. My mati. She probably doesn't like one of her pots. When she's annoyed, she isn't careful.”

“She's the goddess of pottery?”

“Of pottery and of the earth.”

“The earth!” She faces away from me. “Olus, god of the winds . . . forgive me. I'm just someone who likes to dance and knot pretty rugs. I can't become a goddess.”

KEZI

“K
EZI, WE HAVE NO
holy text.”

Without turning, I know his eyes are pleading. How
can a god be pleading with me? How can I know a god so well?

“We're not everywhere and everything. My knowledge is different from yours, but no greater. I'm a clumsy dancer. I don't know how to make rugs. If the ground were smoother, I would kneel to you.”

I shake my head so hard, it hurts.

“I
should
kneel. It takes more courage to be a mortal than it takes to be a god.”

“Olus”—I use all my own courage to ask this—“god of the winds, have you ever killed any mortals?”

“No! And none have been sacrificed to me. We don't allow it.”

“Olus, god of the winds, have you punished any mortals?”

“Elon.”

I hear the satisfaction in his voice. My fear lessens—a little.

“But Elon suffered no more than a scraped knee and a bump on his head. Oh! Once I punished a merchant by stealing his spices.”

Not a terrible punishment. “Why, Olus, god of the winds?”

“First his camel kicked me, and then he kicked me.
Elon kicked me, too. Remember? People seem to like to kick me.”

I can't help smiling.

“I wish
you
would kick me instead of being afraid of me.”

I turn around.

He turns too and presents his rump. “Kick me.”

“Oh, Olus.” I'm laughing, and I forget to call him
god of the winds
. “I can't kick you.” He's become Olus the masma again to me, even though I know he's a god. “I don't want to kick you.”

He faces me. When I meet his gaze, at first I see worry in his eyes. Then his whole face smiles, as if I were the god and I had stopped being angry at him. He holds out his right hand. I hesitate. Should I?

I take his hand and raise it above my head. Dip, step, dip, step. Low kick. I come in close for a kiss. He smells of the waterfall.

He kisses me again. And again.

We pull apart a little but remain so close, our breaths mingle.

“Love, do you still believe in Admat?”

“How can I tell?”

He brushes ash from the neckline of my tunic. “Must
you be sacrificed?”

Must I? “If I'm not, Admat—if he exists—will punish me and Pado and Mati and my children and grandchildren.” He may even be able to punish Olus.

“Worse than death?” He adds quickly, “I know there are worse punishments.”

And many ways to die more painful than by a priest's knife. “My family still believes.” I walk to the edge of the volcano. My twenty-seventh day is ending. I can barely see the lava steam below.

If I'm sacrificed after I become immortal, will I endanger Pado or Mati? Becoming a goddess has nothing to do with them. Pado will have fulfilled his oath. “I can live only if I'm immortal.”

Olus sounds sad. “Don't you want to be immortal?”

“To save my life, yes. To live forever . . . I can't imagine how that would be.”

“Neither can I.”

I turn my back on the volcano. “But you know how it is for the other gods.”

“A few have put themselves to endless sleep, but not the rest.” He comes and tugs me gently away from the edge. “You might step off without realizing. My winds can't go into the volcano.”

He's such a loving person . . . masma . . . god!

“Olus, I'd rather live a human life—worship a god, have a husband and children and grandchildren, knot many rugs, and die.”

“I might, too. Er . . . I don't mean have a husband or knot a rug.”

We laugh.

I say, “I'm not a heroine, so—”

“You are! I'm not a champion.”

“You are, or neither of us is. What must we do?”

“The god of wisdom will know. I'll go to Enshi Rock and ask him.”

I have to stay here alone!

“Don't worry. We'll descend to the lower slopes. You can wait for me there.”

“Olus . . .” I'm frightened again. How did he know I didn't want to be here by myself? “Can you read minds or hear my thoughts?”

“No.” He drops his arm and steps away from me. “You did this.” He hitches up his shoulders. “You did it with Elon too. Come.” He holds out his arms to carry me.

“Might I ride a wind on my own?”

Oh! I'm in the air! I'm sliding—very fast. My legs are higher than my head. I wave my arms, trying to right my
self. Next to me Olus is laughing! His wind raises my back and head. I'm still sliding but sitting up. Amazing!

We zoom down the mountain, a few feet from the ground. The tree line is rushing at us. We'll crash!

My wind lifts me, and his does the same. We're inches above the trees. I reach down. My wind slows while I run my hand through leaves. Then the wind gains speed again.

A few minutes later we are received by the soft Akkan grass on a stream bank.

“This is better. Can you stay here?”

I nod. Olus gives me the rest of the cheese.

A breeze brushes across my arms. “I smell roses! And cheese.”

“My stalwart wind loves roses. If there's danger, it will carry you to safety.”

“Hurry back.”

“I'll return as soon as I see Ursag. If I have to undergo a trial, I'll tell you.” He kisses me. Then one of his winds takes him. He rises, facing me, peering down until his head disappears into a cloud. It swallows the rest of him, but I continue to look up, hoping the cloud will float away. After a few minutes it does. I see a black speck, then only blue.

OLUS

T
HE SKY HAS CLEARED
and the early stars have come out when I reach our temple, which sits high on four thick stone legs, like table legs. Hannu created the temple to be open to the air at its base, as if she knew she'd someday have a son who feared tight places. The temple stairs twist around the eastern stone leg and enter the temple at the first story. I begin to climb. Ursag's library takes up the entire fifth story.

I'm halfway to the door at the top of the stairs when Puru appears three steps above me.

He may know what needs to be done better than Ursag. I say, “Kezi—”

“I . . . will . . . go . . . to her.”

“Why? Wait!” The sight of him will frighten her. But Puru has vanished. Although I jump on my swift wind, I can never catch up, because Puru's travel is instantaneous. As I skim off Enshi Rock, I look down to see her. There she is, on the stream bank, still alone. Puru must have gone somewhere else first. Perhaps I can reach her before he does.

My swift wind carries me into a thundercloud, as it has many times. I'll be beyond the cloud in a moment. But the cloud changes into a swarm of bees. How could it?

Although I flail my arms, the bees stay with me, buzzing and stinging. I've been stung before, but not like this. I close my eyes to protect my eyeballs. My wind carries the bees with me. I summon my whisking wind, but it can't whisk them free.

My skin burns, tightens, presses in on me. I am as squeezed and swollen as a blister. I scream. My howling wind joins in, the yowl streaming behind me but not drowning out the furious bees.