Merem rocks Kezi in her arms. Kezi’s face is in her mati’s bosom. As Senat comes back in, Merem says, “Kezi can be a priestess and belong to Admat that way.”
I know the sacred text better than that, and I’m sure Merem does too. Only Kezi’s death will fulfill the oath.
Senat joins his wife and daughter on the floor, puts his arms around them both, and rocks with them.
“Pado?” Kezi breaks out of their embrace and stands, swaying.
Senat rises too. Merem stays on the floor.
“Pado?”
“Yes?”
“Must I die today?”
“No!” I shout.
“No!” Merem yells, as hoarsely as when she was sick.
“No!” Senat bellows.
I want him to declare she’ll never be sacrificed. Senat, save your daughter and break the oath. Suffer the consequences if they come.
Kezi wets her lips. “May I go to the wedding?”
“What wedding?” Senat looks bewildered.
“Belet’s,” Kezi says.
He nods. “We’ll all go.”
Kezi approaches Admat’s altar and stands near the kneeling Nia.
“Admat,” Kezi prays, “ruler of the world, I submit to you and the oath that my pado made.” Her voice sweetens into a wheedle. “Admat, allow me a little more of my youth. Give me the rest of the fig season. In one moon, in thirty days, when the last figs have ripened, my pado will bring me to the temple.” She swallows—I see her throat constrict and expand. “Then the priests will spill my blood for you. Admat, I beg of you, give me a month.”
I call my quick wind from the search for Admat and send it to the courtyard altar. The altar flame flares, subsides, and flares again.
Kezi, Senat, and Merem gasp. Nia whispers, “As you wish, so it will be.”
I wish one of them would ask for her life to be entirely spared. I wish I could put the words in their mouths. Then I would make the flame bright enough to light up the entire city.
12
KEZI
ADMAT WAS MERCIFUL. I wonder if he may grant me more time in a month.
Nia, who is at my elbow, bows to me, her face awed. She backs out of the courtyard.
Pado and Mati and I smile at one another.
“See how happy we are to have a month.” Mati wipes her eyes. “A month.”
“Hush,” Pado says. “We’re grateful, Admat.”
I swallow my tears. I will not spend my last month weeping. “Don’t cry, Mati. Did I get dirt on the tunic?”
Mati shakes her head.
“Mati . . . Pado . . . the wedding. We’ll miss the priestess’s song.” I’m dressed, but they must change their clothes.
“Never mind the song,” Mati says. “Come with me.” She takes my hand and leads me away.
In the family storeroom I stand close to her while she bends over to open a small basket. She says something. I can’t concentrate. I hear caravan, exchange, and horse. Horses are valuable. I’ve never seen a caravan. I wonder if I’ll see one before— I choke off the thought.
Mati opens the basket. Inside is a necklace, which glitters. My vision blurs.
Mati holds the necklace out to me. “Put it on.”
Her hands seem to wag back and forth. I feel as if I’m underwater. Mouth open, I suck in air.
“Put it on.”
I grasp Mati’s arm to keep from fainting again. She pulls me into her. I feel the necklace against my neck and smell her clove perfume. I don’t know how long we cling. My dizziness comes and goes in waves.
Eventually I feel better and draw away. “Give me the necklace.”
She puts it into my hands in a jumble. My hands drop an inch because I don’t expect the weight. I untangle the jumble. Blue and orange gems alternate with gold beads.
“It was for your wedding day.” She cups my chin in her hands. “Put it on. Wear it today. My love, wear it today.”
While I fumble with the clasp, she searches through a pile of baskets until she finds the one she wants. This one holds a pair of earrings, each one a gold crescent moon hung with gold cones. “These were my mati’s. Put them on too.”
I do. At the wedding I’ll be more bejeweled than the bride.
Mati digs through more baskets. “Everyone will remember my beautiful daughter.”
“Mati?”
She looks up from her search, more jewelry in her hands.
“Did Admat choose me because Aunt Fedo uses a cane, and I don’t have a blemish?” Sacrificial animals must be without a blemish or they’re not acceptable to Admat.
“Admat’s ways—” She’s crying too hard to finish. The bracelets in her hands clank against one another.
Admat’s ways are unknowable. We can’t understand his plan, which is always for the best.
She holds out a copper arm bracelet and two silver ones plus a gold ankle bracelet. “Wear everything. People will speak of you forever.”
I nod and put on the bracelets. Mati ties my hair with a ribbon of hammered copper.
Before we leave for the wedding, I run to my room and roll up one of my favorite rugs as a wedding gift, since the rug I was working on isn’t ready. In this rug, two full-grown date palms stand side by side, their fronds mingling. Next to them are two baby date palms, one a little taller than the other. They are a family, and the mati and pado wouldn’t grow so close and share the rainfall if their love weren’t strong.
I’m proud of this rug because of my workmanship on the overlapping fronds. Admat! That was hard to do.
Pado and Mati are waiting for me in the reception room. They have put on street faces. Neither one is crying, but their expressions are grim.
“Come,” I say. “I’m alive today. Please don’t grieve yet.”
13
OLUS
MY WINDS RETURN to me. They have been everywhere and failed to find Admat. Perhaps he is insubstantial as well as invisible, and my winds swept through him. Or perhaps he is in Wadir, the land of the dead, where my winds cannot go.
If I can’t rescue Kezi by appealing to Admat—appealing to him directly, god to god—I must find another way to save her, with or without him.
Kezi and her parents leave for the wedding. I decide to go too. If an opportunity arises, I will be on hand. The goats will be safe with my minding wind.
I strip off my tunic. Dressed only in a loincloth, I will be a slave at the wedding. Slaves are all but invisible, almost as unseen as Admat. No one expects a slave to be an acquaintance. Senat won’t recognize me if I don’t draw attention to myself. Everyone will think I belong to someone else.
My south wind takes me high above Hyte, high enough for anyone who looks up to think me a bird. When I reach my destination, I wrap myself in fog. My downwind deposits me in a deserted alley. The alley is too narrow for comfort, but I endure it. I watch my feet and ignore the encroaching walls. The alley winds to the King’s Road, the broad avenue that leads from the city gates to the palace. The wedding is in the open air, in the avenue.
I’ve observed many Akkan weddings, but I’ve never watched one in Hyte. I hurry along the seven-foot-high wall that lines the King’s Road. Luckily, the wedding guests have their backs to me. They face a priestess who is singing praises to Admat. Nearby is a recess in the wall, which I slip into. From its shadow I watch for something a slave can do. Kezi and her parents haven’t yet arrived.
The priestess’s voice is high and piercing.
“Thanks to Admat,
Maker of Damki,
Maker of Belet . . .”
Several children play and squabble on the outskirts of the guests. Their piping voices mingle with the priestess’s song.
Long tables, placed end to end, extend down the middle of the street. A skinny yellow dog sits near a table, nose up, waiting. A parade of a dozen male servants and slaves turns out of an alley across from me. The servants wear coarse tunics and sandals. The slaves wear loincloths and are barefoot.
I slide ou
t of my sandals.
Slaves and servants alike carry trays of covered bowls and plates, which they arrange on the tables. They return to the alley. Since the tables aren’t filled, I assume they have gone back for more. When they return, perhaps they’ll stay, and I’ll find some unobtrusive occupation.
Kezi and Senat and Merem enter the avenue from their street. Kezi gives the rug she is carrying to Merem and hurries toward the celebration. Her blue tunic glows in the sunlight. I don’t know what the effort is costing her, but she is smiling.
She passes by without seeing me. Her cinnamon scent is in the air. I could run out and touch her. We are together. Not truly together. Apart, but I am with her.
14
KEZI
THE PRIESTESS FINISHES her song as I reach the cluster surrounding her.
“. . . Of all happiness.
Thanks to Admat.”
Her listeners turn away. I see the bride and groom, Belet and Uncle Damki. Belet looks lovely in a purple tunic. Uncle Damki is almost as handsome as Pado. I smile and wave.
Belet sees me and waves back.
My eyes fill in spite of myself. I pretend a stone has gotten into my slipper. I bend over and adjust the felt. When I straighten, Aunt Fedo is hugging Belet. Now I’m furious. If Aunt Fedo weren’t so strong willed, Nia would have been able to keep her out.
A musician shakes a copper rattle. I seem to hear each bead strike metal.
Admat, I pray, let me savor my cousin’s wedding. Let me savor everything until I have to die.
The rhythm of the rattle enters me. I bend my knees and bob gently. A circle forms around Belet and Uncle Damki. Mati and Pado stand on either side of me. Aunt Fedo is directly across from us. She smiles and waves. I smile back. She is still my beloved aunt.
To the left of Aunt Fedo, separated from her by two men, is Elon, whom I might have married. Why did I like him so much? He has a curly beard, and I prefer a clean shaven man. His posture is poor. Aunt Fedo says a man who doesn’t stand straight is selfish.
A smoke diviner joins Belet and Uncle Damki and lights incense in a censer. This is the most anxious moment in the wedding. Smoke streams out of the censer. The diviner will observe the smoke designs and announce whether or not the marriage omens are good. If they are bad, the wedding will be called off, even now.
A breeze blows across my neck. The smoke writhes and throbs with the rhythm of the rattle. It forms waves, spirals. It widens, then narrows. I’ve seen smoke come from a censer before, but never like this. This smoke seems alive. The diviner’s eyes are enormous. She’s never seen anything like this either. People whisper around the circle.
The diviner clears her throat, looks down at her hands, up at the sky. Her reputation will suffer if she can’t interpret the omens. “The portents are excellent,” she says at last. “The groom and bride will love each other forever. The bride will bear a dozen healthy children.”
Everyone sighs with relief, except Mati and Pado and me. We’re part of the wedding and not part, here and not here.
A priest enters the circle, bearing a clay tablet. On the tablet rest two ripe dates and two balls of barley soaked in vinegar. The dates represent the joy in marriage. The sour barley balls represent the difficulties. The marriage contract has been written on the tablet in tiny wedge letters.
I’ve seen my parents’ marriage contract many times, although I can’t read it. I can write only my own name and can read only the names of my parents and Aunt Fedo and Admat.
The priest intones three times over:
“The omens are favorable,
But the outcome is with Admat.
As he wishes, so it will be.”
Belet pops a ball of barley into her mouth. “I will endure any trouble that comes.”
I taste the vinegar in Belet’s mouth. I’ll never be a wife.
Uncle Damki holds a date up to Belet’s lips. She opens her mouth and takes it in. I taste the date too.
“I will be a sweet wife. I am your wife.”
Next, Uncle Damki eats the barley and the date. “I will endure the bitterness. I will welcome the sweet. I am your husband.”
They are married. I cheer with everyone else.
Belet begins to dance. Uncle Damki backs away from her. The women circle her and dance too. At last! Mati and I join in. Pipes and a lyre accompany the rattle. A singer begins to wail.
Several men stand outside the circle and watch. A few step from side to side, snapping their fingers.
Right foot behind my left. I dip, my eyes half closed, losing myself in pleasure. Left knee raised, higher than the other dancers’, higher than the bride’s, I point my toes in my felt slipper. Bend at the waist. Three steps back. Straighten. Raise my arms. Toss my hair. Make my bracelets and earrings jingle.
The song ends, but the singer starts another one, and the musicians join in. Mati can’t catch her breath. She squeezes my hand and drops out of the dance. I continue.
Elon is among the men who are watching the women. His eyes follow me. I blush. A slave is sweeping and watching me too.
My blush deepens. The slave is flawless, without a blemish. Majestic, taller than Elon, more muscular. I am only peeking at him and looking away and peeking again. But since the slave wears no tunic, I see that his muscles are powerful but not blocky. He stands straight, and he is clean shaven so I see his square jaw and his wide mouth.
Aunt Fedo says a wide mouth means deep feelings. I think Admat gave me Aunt Fedo’s owl eyes today, because I see humor and sadness in that mouth.
The slave shouldn’t stare at me. While he stares, he sweeps across Elon’s foot.
Elon kicks him hard in the shins, and he almost falls. I stumble. The slave regains his footing. So do I. He bows to Elon and says something, which must be an apology. He glances at me to see if I was watching. I lower my eyes.
I am glad I will never marry Elon.
Elon ignores the apology and looks back at me. I turn my head to the right and lift my chin. The rhythm of the rattle becomes faster and more complex. I forget both Elon and the slave.
15
OLUS
SHE’S SEEN ME! Except for the young man who kicked me, no other guest has noticed me, and I’m certain the young man forgot me as soon as he finished applying his foot to my legs.
She saw me! I wonder if she thought about me longer than the young man did. I am thinking ridiculous thoughts, but I hope she liked me. She had no time to form an opinion, and she has much more to think about than me, but I hope she liked me.
If I sweep much longer, someone will find it odd. The slaves and servants have noticed me already. I don’t think I’m in danger from them, as they are unlikely to speak to their masters. I slip back into my wall recess and look for something else to do.
Merem is at the edge of the circle of female dancers, watching Kezi. Aunt Fedo joins her for a while and then moves away. Merem remains. Sometimes she smiles. Sometimes her eyes fill.
Senat watches from the vantage point of the beer vat. I hear him boast to the other drinkers about Kezi’s grace and mastery of the dance. He brings the beer straw to his mouth too often and weeps openly. Then he grows silent. He doesn’t tell anyone his daughter’s fate.
She dances for hours. I imagine carrying her to safety on my strong wind. But I fear that the wrath of Admat would be unleashed against her and her family. If I were sure there was no Admat, I would fear nothing.
I wonder what Hannu and Arduk would think of her.
They’d call her a soap bubble, but what else? A heroic and exquisite soap bubble? A soap bubble worth saving?
It doesn’t matter what they think. Somehow I will save her.
16
KEZI
THE SUN SETS. Torches are lit and held by slaves. I whirl, sway, and step, step, step. While I dance, I am free of my fate. Admat moves with me, and he is eternal.
But finally I need food and drink more than I need to dance. I bow at the waist and stop. Mati wraps a shaw
l around my shoulders. The night air is cool. The shawl is linen, embroidered with purple thread. I run my palm across the smooth cloth, then touch Mati’s cheek to thank her for the shawl. I want to feel everything.
Mati leads me to the feast tables and loads a plate for me with goat cheese, onions and lentils, millet bread, and mutton spiced with mustard.
The bread breaks in my hand—proof of its freshness. I devour it and spear a chunk of mutton with my knife. The mustard is sharp, the mutton moist and gamey, baked to the melting point. I’ve never tasted anything so good.
The musicians stop playing. I hear Uncle Damki’s shout of laughter. A young pig roots under the table. I see its back legs and its spotted rump.
The magnificent slave stands at the end of the table, stacking dirty dishes. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him as I eat.
He collects two tall piles of plates. He’ll take the plates and go, although I want him to stay. Like the joy of dancing and the delicious food, his magnificence holds off my grief. I wonder if he belongs to Uncle Damki or to Belet’s parents.
He doesn’t go—as if he heard me want him not to! Instead he begins to unpile the dishes, re-creating the mess he has just cleaned up.
I’m so surprised, I nudge Mati.
“What is it, love?”
He stops moving.
“Never mind.” I don’t want to cause him trouble. I take my last bite of mutton. My plate is empty.
Mati takes it away and entwines her arm in mine. “I think we should congratulate Belet’s parents.”
Her parents have sworn no oath that they mustn’t be congratulated. I don’t want to see their joy. I don’t want to speak about Belet and Uncle Damki, who have years ahead of them. I free my arm from Mati’s. “You go.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She goes. The slave is piling dishes again. Why?
Several other wedding guests—no one I know—are taking food, but they don’t seem to notice him. What if he is invisible to everyone but me? What if he is my guardian, sent by Admat to watch over me in my last days?