Ever (27 page)

Pado doesn't blink. He is with me, as I know Olus and Mati and Aunt Fedo are. Olus sees me. He'll see the knife come down. I won't. I'll see only my pado's eyes.

OLUS

T
HE KNIFE DESCENDS.
Kezi's blood spurts. My own blood throbs in my ears. She moans. I shout. Her aunt and mati clutch each other.

Kezi continues to stare fixedly at her pado. Has she died? Has Admat—

No! She still breathes—shallowly. Her chest rises and falls, imperceptibly except to me. She must be in such pain, but after the one moan she is silent.

The priestess closes her eyes. Lesu takes Senat's hand and tugs him from the room. The high priest tells Senat, “Her sacred body will be washed. We will pray over it today and . . .”

They won't!

My gusty wind blows open the double doors to the room that holds her. My cradling wind and my gentle wind pick her up and waft her through several small
rooms—but not the one we're crowded in—between the open bronze doors, into the sky, and away to Enshi Rock.

I say farewell to Merem and Aunt Fedo, although I doubt they hear me. From the temple I walk to the gates of Hyte. All the while, I listen to Kezi's weak breaths.

KEZI

Y
EARS HAVE PASSED.

When I reached Enshi Rock after my sacrifice, the goddess of medicine nursed me back to health. The god of forgetfulness offered to mist my sacrifice, but I told him not to. Since my days in Wadir I've wanted to remember everything.

As soon as I was well enough, Olus and I married. The
ceremony was performed at Olus's temple in Akka, so our worshipers could attend. I even coaxed a few mortal women to dance with me. Kudiya was the only mortal man brave enough to dance with Olus and the gods. In the wedding pantomime Puru, of all gods, took the part of Gossip and enthusiastically clapped together the donkey's jawbones. Nin, the storm goddess, was Storm, naturally, and the war god was War. Hannu and Arduk pretended to be the arguing children.

Our most unusual wedding guests were Olus's goats. He says they deserve his gratitude for bringing us together. Arduk provided delicious grass and herbs for them.

Everything would have been perfect if Mati and Pado and Aunt Fedo could have taken part.

I often watch and listen to them from the falls of Zago. They suffered, Pado most of all. Mati blamed herself for making so much of her illness. Aunt Fedo blamed herself for forcing her way into our house. Pado blamed himself for everything.

At first their sole comfort was in the disappearance of my body from the temple. They hoped that the miracle was a sign of Admat's forgiveness and of my forgiveness.

I asked the goddess of sleep to send them dreams. She sent dreams of me laughing, dancing, knotting rugs. After
my children were born, the goddess sent dreams of them, too. The dreams consoled my parents and Aunt Fedo.

The priests and priestesses of Hyte also call my disappearance a miracle. Some people believe that Admat took me to Wadir to become his wife, and they worship me!

Everyone looks on my words about human sacrifice as truth. Even the holy text has been changed.

I ride Kastu to my temple in Akka every week. The temple has a red door, just as the houses in Hyte do. The walls are hung with rugs. Some rugs I made and some were offerings of other weavers. Hannu sent pots, and Arduk filled them with flowers that never die. Olus's winds blow in spicy and sweet scents. Musicians and dancers practice their arts in my courtyard. They are welcome, as long as they let the unskilled join in.

My temple has a quiet room for conversation. People talk more easily to me than to the other gods, because they know I used to be mortal. They tell me their questions, and I tell them mine, and we wonder together.

Olus and I raised three daughters and three sons. All were born mortal. Ursag says it's because I was born mortal. Two sons and one daughter chose to drink therka and were able to swallow it. The others chose not to drink and remained mortal. I am glad for those who will live
eternally and for those whose lives will be fleeting. Death in old age is often welcome. My mortal children will help populate the earth.

For one month in twelve I seek Admat. It is a sacred quest, but thus far I haven't found him. The god of everywhere and everything remains hidden. Olus always accompanies me on my searches. Puru sometimes gives us puzzling advice.

I know that fate may be thwarted. We strive for happy outcomes.

Deleted Chapters from
Ever

An Interview with Gail Carson Levine

A Sneak Peek at Gail Carson Levine's Next Novel,
A Tale of Two Castles

My favorite chapter in
Ever
is the twenty-first, a quiet chapter told by Olus, god of the winds. The first wave of disaster has struck Kezi. The second wave will descend soon. Waiting for it, Kezi, her father, Senat, her mother, Merem, and her aunt, Fedo, collect in the family eating room to chat and snack. Without their knowledge, Olus watches and listens from a distance with his powerful god's eyes and ears. The mortals reminisce about Kezi's childhood, her parents' courtship, and even Merem's childhood. Tragedy has afflicted them, but they have a happy day, expressing their love for one another, being freer about it than they would ordinarily.

Even Olus, the solitary observer, is happy, too, by entering into their joy.

It's the saddest kind of happiness. I've experienced it myself when people I love have become terminally ill. It pleased me to put this loving interlude into my book. For me, it's the novel's truest moment.

Naturally there's a lot more love in
Ever
in addition to this chapter.
Ever
is as much a love story as it is an exploration of faith. There would be no story if Olus and Kezi didn't love each other.

I've put romance in many of my books, and each time I've had to make the characters fall for each other, which is always interesting. In
Ever
, Kezi and Olus have to love each other enough to endure horrible trials. So how did I push them into it?