Ever (24 page)

Ursag's voice calls, “Come!”

We file down the narrow center aisle between shelves that sag with the weight of the tablets they hold. Kezi precedes me and lets my hand go. I open and close my empty fingers. From behind me Hannu presses the flat of her hand between my shoulder blades.

Puru and Ursag are silhouetted against a bright window. Ursag leans over a table and pours therka into six goblets. Puru holds something in the folds of his linens.

Ever since Kezi left the Hyte market with me, we've been traveling toward this gathering.

“Puru!” Kezi runs toward him. She opens her arms as though to embrace him, but stops short and only touches his shoulder. I've never seen anyone else touch him.

He doesn't move, except his chin comes up a little.

Puru, help her! I think. Nudge destiny!

“Thank you, Puru,” she says. “Your words saved me.”

“What . . . words . . . ?”

“‘Fate may be thwarted.'”

“‘I . . . long . . . for . . . a happy outcome.'”

“I sprouted feathers, but I left Wadir.”

“Yes . . .”

I feel as if I'm miles away, watching everyone from the pasture with my goats.

Hannu bursts out of the aisle. “We hope she will be our daughter, Puru.”

“Hope . . . and . . . fate . . . live in separate houses.”

“This is no time for enigmas,” I say, irritated. Help her!

“No . . .”

“Turnip, he means hope has no influence over fate.”

Of course. But Kezi has suffered enough. I want to spill the therka out the window.

“Ursag,” Arduk adds, “we've brought the heroine Kezi to you.”

Ursag puts down the therka. Two goblets have yet to be filled. “Kezi!” he says. “Welcome to Enshi Rock.”

She turns from Puru. “Thank you.” Her face is awed.

With his shaggy hair, Ursag is a date palm leaning over her. “Heroes and heroines are revered on Enshi Rock above gods and mortals alike.”

She blushes. “Thank you.”

“Champions, too, Turnip.”

“Puru has a gift for each of you,” Ursag adds.

Puru holds out two clay tablets. Balanced on each is a green limestone seal. I see Puru's fingers for the first time. The god of destiny bites his fingernails.

I reach for a tablet and seal.

“No . . .” Puru crosses his arms.

I take the correct ones but don't look at them. Instead I watch Kezi receiving hers. She puts the seal down on the table with the therka and the goblets and traces the figures on the upper half of the tablet, where her story is told in low relief.

“Olus, look! Here I am, coming down the stairs. This is the stream I crossed. That's a warki. Look! There you are, falling into the volcano, and there's Kastu. But the warki god isn't in it. You don't know about him, do you, Puru?”

“Warki . . . god . . . ?”

“He rules the warkis. Olus, what do the words say?”

“‘Kezi of Hyte, daughter of Senat and Merem, traveled to Wadir, overcame hunger and thirst, sprouted feathers, shed feathers as no one had done before, climbed out of Wadir as no one had done before, and saved the god of the winds to become a heroine of Akka. Much praise to heroine Kezi of Hyte.'”

“Oh!”

I believe I know what she's thinking: that she has the
tablet and seal no matter what comes next. I disagree. She can't take the seal and the tablet to the grave.

“Let me see yours,” she says.

I put my seal on the table next to hers and tilt the tablet toward her. It depicts a bee and a spider and me, all the same size, then another image of me, climbing a rock wall with Kudiya.

“Read it, please.”

“‘Olus of Akka, god of the winds, son of Arduk and Hannu, endured bees and spiders, conquered his fear of confinement, succored Kudiya of Akka, carried him from a well during an earthquake as no god had done before, to become a champion of Akka. Much praise to champion Olus of Akka.'”

Hannu picks up Kezi's seal. “I will make pots of your triumphs.”

“Kezi can knot rugs,” I say. If she lives.

Ursag fills the remaining goblets. I stop breathing. In a moment we'll know.

KEZI

P
URU GIVES ME
a goblet. The beverage is golden colored, too syrupy to be apple juice, not syrupy enough to be honey. I wait for someone else to drink. When will the test come? The day is half over.

“What do you hope to be goddess of?” Ursag says.

The test is coming soon or he wouldn't be asking. I haven't thought of the kind of goddess I should be. I look at Olus.

He smiles at me, but it's not a real smile. How frightened he is!

I can't be goddess of anything important. How can I be? “Goddess of the dances of Hyte?”

“Bunda is the goddess of dance, Green Bean. She won't want to give up any dances.”

I remember that there is a god of weaving. I turn the goblet in my hand.

Everyone waits. The linens over Puru's fingers flutter.
I think he may be frightened too.

What can I be goddess of? Admat, if he exists, is the god of everything. The Akkan gods probably need no one else. What's left?

It comes to me. “If I can, I will be the goddess of uncertainty.”

Puru's shoulders slump. I've chosen wrong!

But Hannu cries, “Glorious!”

“Original,” Ursag says. “We have no god or goddess of doubt.”

They raise their goblets.

“This is therka, Kezi,” Ursag says. “You will find it only on Enshi Rock.”

“Drink, Green Bean.”

“Wait!” In front of all of them, Olus kisses me on the lips.

The kiss alarms me more than anything. I'm embarrassed, too, but I understand it's the last kiss before my fate is decided, so I kiss him back.

Arduk coughs. Olus and I separate.

I taste the therka. The flavor is fruity and nutty. I roll it around in my mouth, savoring it. Then I try to swallow, but my throat closes. I try again, but I can't swallow. I see Olus's face. This is the test!

OLUS

K
EZI'S FACE TURNS
red. Her eyes bulge.

I must do something! I thread my thinnest wind between her lips into her mouth to ease her throat open.

Her cheeks puff with my wind, but she seems unable to swallow. She spits the therka out. Therka runs down her chin.

She cannot become immortal.

KEZI

U
RSAG APPROACHES, HOLDING
his hand out for my goblet.

“No!” I hold the goblet against my chest. “Puru, I long for a happy outcome.”

“Kezi . . .”

“Yes?” Hannu says.

“It . . . is . . . over. . . .”

Ursag comes closer.

“No!” Olus cries.

I feel his wind whirl around me, keeping the others away. I put the goblet to my lips. Fate may be thwarted.

Again I take in therka and cannot swallow. As I hold it in my mouth, I imagine Admat's altar and the altar flame. In my mind I look directly into the flame.

With therka in my mouth and Olus's wind swirling, I bend my right knee and point my toes. I lean back on my left hip and glide into the next step.

As I dance I spit out the therka. But I don't give up the goblet.

Hannu begins to clap. Arduk joins in. I have my beat. I thrust my right shoulder forward, then my left. Right hip forward, left. I raise my arms, still holding the goblet.

I chose the wrong kind of goddess to be. Puru's slumping shoulders told me so.

Sway. Turn.

People need an uncertainty deity. They should question the gods. The people of Hyte should doubt Admat's holy text and his wrath against his worshipers who love him.

Lower my arms. Don't spill the therka.

Hannu quickens the beat.

Dip. Step.

Hannu is the goddess of earth
and
pottery. Cala is the goddess of wild
and
tame animals. Abdi is the god of cleanliness
and
laundry. I can have more than one power.

Bend. Straighten.