me and starts to fall. I catch her around the waist and bring her down slowly. She runs from me.
She runs until she reaches the nearest of the feast tables, which is deserted. For several minutes, which pass like months, she lingers there. Then she turns my way. To my amazement, she smiles.
I rise on my merry wind and smile back, although shecannot see.
She points her toe, turns her foot to the side, raises her arms, and performs a brief leaping dance. When sheâs finished, she joins the dancers again.
Did she like our kiss?
20
KEZI
A FTER THE WEDDING I sleep into the afternoon. I awaken thinking of Olus.
Sleep has brought understanding. There is no mention in the holy text of Admat ever sending guardians to people. I am not so extraordinary that he would send one to me.
Olus must be a masma, a sorcererâa foreign masmabecause of his accent and his foreign name. This explains everything: how he kept the plate from breaking, how he followed us without our knowing, how he so easily defeated Elon, how he raised me in the air.
Masmas are people, like everyone else. Most are believed to be bad, but some are decent, even devout. Olus couldnât be evil, or Pado would have known. Pado wouldnât rent his land to an evil person.
Olus may be able to fly much higher than he lifted me. What marvelous magic!
I wonder why I caught his interest. Is he thinking of me right now? Or of his goats? Probably his goats!
I stretch in bed. My legs are sore from so much dancing. I would love to dance while flying. Mmm, mmm. Such a thrill to leap a mile, to touch a cloud.
These may be sinful thoughts, but I donât see why.
I sit up.
It is as if yesterday were in a corner, waiting to pounce, and now it does. I hadnât forgotten the oath and the sacrifice, but I hadnât looked in that corner until now.
I slump back and roll over, pressing my face into the mattress. My tears seep through the sheet into the wool stuffing. Soon I smell wet sheep. I canât stop crying.
Mati comes in and sits next to me. She pulls me againsther and rubs my back.
âWill . . . will . . .â
âWhat?â
âWill . . . will . . . the knife . . . hurt?â The priestâs knife.
She holds me at armâs length and touches the tip of my nose the way she used to when I was little. âAdmat wonât let it hurt.â
Maybe he is so angry with me that he wants it to hurt.
Pado parts the curtain that crosses my doorway. When he sees us crying, he runs in. He kneels at my bedside. The three of us weep, clinging to one another.
After a while he pulls himself up and sits on the bed, too. The bed groans under the weight of all of us.
I have no more tears left, so I laugh. âThe bed will collapse.â
âNo matter,â Pado says.
The bed has to last only a few more weeks. Of course, thatâs not what he meant.
Mati says, âAunt Fedo came while you slept.â
âWe told her,â Pado says. âSheâs weeping, too.â
âSheâs here? Where?â
âIn the reception room,â Mati says.
I donât want to see her.
But I do see her. Mati and Pado wait outside my room while I dress in my everyday tunic, which has a green stain at the hem.
Aunt Fedo is in the copper-inlay chair, head down, looking into her lap. When she hears us, she tries to stand but drops her cane. She bends over to reach for it. Her back shakes with sobs.
Through her tunic I see the bumps of her spine. Her hair is as much gray as brown. How many more years have I given her?
We may both die tomorrow, in spite of Padoâs oath. As you wish, so it will be.
21
OLUS
L AST NIGHT, AS I rode my north wind back to my goats, I thought of a glimmer of a plan for how Kezi may be saved, but the plan has a thousand obstacles, and I may be one of them. Before we can face the obstacles, I have to speak to her again, and I donât know how to accomplish even
She runs until she reaches the nearest of the feast tables, which is deserted. For several minutes, which pass like months, she lingers there. Then she turns my way. To my amazement, she smiles.
I rise on my merry wind and smile back, although shecannot see.
She points her toe, turns her foot to the side, raises her arms, and performs a brief leaping dance. When sheâs finished, she joins the dancers again.
Did she like our kiss?
20
KEZI
A FTER THE WEDDING I sleep into the afternoon. I awaken thinking of Olus.
Sleep has brought understanding. There is no mention in the holy text of Admat ever sending guardians to people. I am not so extraordinary that he would send one to me.
Olus must be a masma, a sorcererâa foreign masmabecause of his accent and his foreign name. This explains everything: how he kept the plate from breaking, how he followed us without our knowing, how he so easily defeated Elon, how he raised me in the air.
Masmas are people, like everyone else. Most are believed to be bad, but some are decent, even devout. Olus couldnât be evil, or Pado would have known. Pado wouldnât rent his land to an evil person.
Olus may be able to fly much higher than he lifted me. What marvelous magic!
I wonder why I caught his interest. Is he thinking of me right now? Or of his goats? Probably his goats!
I stretch in bed. My legs are sore from so much dancing. I would love to dance while flying. Mmm, mmm. Such a thrill to leap a mile, to touch a cloud.
These may be sinful thoughts, but I donât see why.
I sit up.
It is as if yesterday were in a corner, waiting to pounce, and now it does. I hadnât forgotten the oath and the sacrifice, but I hadnât looked in that corner until now.
I slump back and roll over, pressing my face into the mattress. My tears seep through the sheet into the wool stuffing. Soon I smell wet sheep. I canât stop crying.
Mati comes in and sits next to me. She pulls me againsther and rubs my back.
âWill . . . will . . .â
âWhat?â
âWill . . . will . . . the knife . . . hurt?â The priestâs knife.
She holds me at armâs length and touches the tip of my nose the way she used to when I was little. âAdmat wonât let it hurt.â
Maybe he is so angry with me that he wants it to hurt.
Pado parts the curtain that crosses my doorway. When he sees us crying, he runs in. He kneels at my bedside. The three of us weep, clinging to one another.
After a while he pulls himself up and sits on the bed, too. The bed groans under the weight of all of us.
I have no more tears left, so I laugh. âThe bed will collapse.â
âNo matter,â Pado says.
The bed has to last only a few more weeks. Of course, thatâs not what he meant.
Mati says, âAunt Fedo came while you slept.â
âWe told her,â Pado says. âSheâs weeping, too.â
âSheâs here? Where?â
âIn the reception room,â Mati says.
I donât want to see her.
But I do see her. Mati and Pado wait outside my room while I dress in my everyday tunic, which has a green stain at the hem.
Aunt Fedo is in the copper-inlay chair, head down, looking into her lap. When she hears us, she tries to stand but drops her cane. She bends over to reach for it. Her back shakes with sobs.
Through her tunic I see the bumps of her spine. Her hair is as much gray as brown. How many more years have I given her?
We may both die tomorrow, in spite of Padoâs oath. As you wish, so it will be.
21
OLUS
L AST NIGHT, AS I rode my north wind back to my goats, I thought of a glimmer of a plan for how Kezi may be saved, but the plan has a thousand obstacles, and I may be one of them. Before we can face the obstacles, I have to speak to her again, and I donât know how to accomplish even