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?”
31
OLUS
BEFORE 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.
32
KEZI
THE 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?
33
OLUS
KEZI 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.”
34
KEZI
“KEZI, 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 myself. 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.
35
OLUS
THE 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.