WHILE KEZI 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.
“Left foot, right foot.
Heel, toe.
Dunk face . . .”
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.”