Ever (22 page)

OLUS

W
HILE
K
EZI WALKS TO
the river to scrub off the stench of Wadir, I ride her winged steed to the jug at the edge of the volcano.

My winds exit in a trice. I dispatch my clever wind and my fetching wind on an errand. Then I ride the stallion to a higher bend in the river, where I bathe too and shave off my beard.

Soon Kezi will try to become immortal. If she fails, we'll have two weeks. Now that I know the truth about Wadir, I won't have even the consolation of following her there.

After my bath, I return to the meadow, where my fetching wind has already left a big sack. While the stallion grazes, my clever wind opens the sack, sets up the table and chairs. I command my hot wind to keep the warm food warm and my chill wind to keep the cold food cold. I command my barrier wind to prevent the scents from straying to Kezi and spoiling the surprise. My clever wind arranges plates, bowls, and tumblers, all of them Hannu's creations.

The horse would like to share our meal, but my barrier wind keeps him away.

Everything is ready. Ready. Ready.

How long can she take to bathe?

Perhaps a current has caught her. Or a snake has bitten her. I listen for distant noises and hear her singing and splashing.

Now gurgling laughter.

I wait and wait. At last I hear her surge out of the water. A few minutes later she calls, “I had no soap, but I
scrubbed and—” She emerges at the edge of the trees and stops, looking astonished. I grin like a fool and let my barrier wind release the scents.

“From Enshi Rock?”

“From the kitchen of the Akkan gods.” Only therka is missing. I pull a chair out for her.

Instead of sitting, she examines the chair, which is made of golden oak. On each side is a low relief of people walking, arms raised, holding up the armrest. She runs her fingers along the carving. The seat is leather. She leans her palm into it, then finally sits.

I take the other chair.

She tilts her plate up. The rim is tan and turquoise, the colors bleeding into each other and rising in peaks toward the center. Behind the peaks a gray sky swirls.

“My mati Hannu made the plates.”

“There's a countryside in this one. If we were tiny, we could go into it. Your winds could carry us to a peak. What would we see far away?”

I grin. “An enormous bowl of goat stew.”

“Huge mutton chops.”

“Would you like an actual duck egg?” I give her a boiled egg from a pile of a dozen and take one too. Then I pour pomegranate juice into each of our tumblers.

She touches the egg. “It's still warm, and the shell isn't cracked.”

“My clever wind is very clever.” I feel ridiculously proud. “The bean patties are excellent.”

She nods and takes one. “Mmm.” Her face changes. She puts the patty down. “Olus?”

“Yes?”

She leans back in her chair. “I'm being silly, but . . .”

“Please tell me.”

“The food. In Wadir it was mud. When I was Eshar, the mud tasted and looked and smelled like duck eggs or stew or soup. What if this delicious food is really . . .” She shrugs. I see she's on the verge of tears.

I rub her back, wishing I knew the right words to say. I remember the bees and the spiders and Kudiya who wasn't Kudiya. This food
could
be mud.

“What if
Kezi
isn't my true name? And not
Eshar
either.” She takes my hand, turns up the palm, and traces the lines in it. “What if I were told my truest name and then I would be someone else and have a pado who never swore an oath and there would be no need for me to be sacrificed or to try to be immortal?”

Then I might still be Olus, but there would be no Kezi. I clasp her hand, and she squeezes mine.

“It may all be a dream,” I say. “No matter what anyone wishes, so it would be.”

“So it would be.” She nods. “Who knows what my truest name would make me? So it would be.” After a moment she smiles and picks up her bean patty.

I don't like that smile, so sad it's barely a smile at all.

“What else do the Akkan gods dine on?” she asks.

“Therka is our drink, but I couldn't bring any.” I load her plate with catfish, beets, barley, and turnips. As I dish out the turnips, I say, “My pado, Arduk, calls me Turnip. It's his name for me.”

The smile loses its sadness. “Turnip?”

“Turnip.”

She shakes her head wonderingly. “My love is a god called Turnip.” She giggles.

“He may name you Garlic.”

“I like garlic.”

Dusk falls. We end our meal with dates and pistachios. My clever wind brought no figs.

“Thank you for this meal.” Kezi licks her fingers. “Olus? Does the test for immortality take long?”

“Only a moment.”

“A moment to decide everything?”

“Yes.”

“So I could wait almost until the end, right?”

I nod. In case she can't see me in the deepening twilight, I say, “Yes.”

“I have fourteen days after today. You can show me Akka before we have to know the future. Let's not hurry.”

KEZI

W
E BED DOWN IN
the meadow. Olus wraps us in his warm wind, which is both mattress and blanket. He kisses me good night and then kisses me again more lingeringly. I slide closer. My hand strokes his arm, his back.

“Kezi . . .” He draws away.

“If I die . . .” I whisper, moving near again.

“Shh.”

In the morning we breakfast on yesterday's leavings, almost as much a feast as it was last night. I pile the dishes until he tells me to stop. His winds will return everything to Enshi Rock. We can leave.

I dance to my horse, who raises his head, his lips trailing grass. He needs a name. I rub his muzzle until his name comes to me. “Your name is Kastu.”
Kastu
means
silver
. Grasping his mane, I throw myself on his back. “Let's race!”

Kastu's wings beat the air. We rise.

I turn, looking for Olus.

He's behind and falling farther behind, stroking the air desperately, his face red. I pull back on Kastu's mane and see Olus's grin begin. The god called Turnip is a clown! I lower my head to Kastu's neck and urge him to his greatest speed.

He stretches himself. The wind whips my hair back and stings my ears. Olus catches up easily and circles us, lying on his back, arms folded, feet crossed at the ankles, completely at ease.

I have never laughed so hard.

A moment later he comes to ride behind me on Kastu's
back, so we can talk and be close.

We circle Mount Enshi and head for Neme, the only city in Akka. It is much smaller than Hyte. The houses are made of wood, and the streets are paved with stones. Olus takes me to the temple, a semicircular wall of marble blocks, sacred to Ursag, the god of wisdom. Words have been chiseled into the wall.

This is a temple? A wall covered with writing in a script I don't recognize? “What do the words mean?”

“They're a selection of Ursag's writings.” Olus reads: “‘Lend to strangers; give to friends.' ‘A man of bad character can never acquire knowledge.' ‘It is—'”

“A woman of bad character can?”

He smiles. “Tell Ursag. He loves to debate.”

I don't know if I'll be able to argue with the god of wisdom, but I think that a smart man or woman can easily acquire knowledge.

Olus reads on. “‘Widows and orphans owe no taxes.'”

“We have the same law!”

“‘No plea to a judge has been made unless it has been made in writing.'”

I'd better learn to read and write if . . .

“There are hundreds of adages here, thousands in the library on Enshi Rock.”

What would be the right dance for the god of wisdom? Something measured. I dip my head. My arms describe slow circles in the air. I turn, then twist from the waist. There are many twists and turns in the thoughts of the wise.

Olus is smiling with such pleasure that I almost stumble. When I finish dancing, we leave Neme behind and fly over forests and meadows and streams before the sun sets. Everywhere, I compare Akka with Hyte. Hyte has wider roads and flatter land for planting. But Akka has rushing rivers, and the mountains are grand.

Over the next twelve days Olus takes me to every fine viewpoint he knows. I watch as his winds make cloud shadows slide across the hills. We visit the ruins of ancient Akkan temples to unknown gods. We pass two days at the falls of Zago, talking, talking, talking—about what we think, what we feel, what's happened to us. But never about what will happen.

The twelfth day we spend riding a single-masted boat down one of Akka's rivers. The banks glide by, while I clasp Olus's hand and try to hold back the minutes. I want the river to stop flowing. The sail can continue to billow, but we must not move. Olus's winds must blow time itself away and stretch this moment into eternity.

OLUS

T
HE AIR IS COLD
with the promise of autumn when I awaken at dawn on our last day but one. We are back at the falls of Zago. Kezi is several feet from me, still asleep in her wind cocoon, lying on her side, her hand cradling her cheek.

I imagine her lying this way on the temple altar in Hyte, lulled to sleep by prayer chants.

Stop! She will become immortal.

Before anything else, we will need breakfast, and the Zago teems with trout. I make a fire. In a few minutes a big fish wriggles in my arms. I drop it on the riverbank and take out my knife. While the fish flops and flails, I
stand over it. My appetite vanishes, and my arm trembles until I drop the knife.

Kastu whinnies.

Kezi leans on her elbow and watches me throw the fish back into the river.

“I didn't like the looks of it,” I say. “We can breakfast on the remains of dinner.” I douse the fire.