Free Ever by Gail Carson Levine Page B

not for the oath, Mati would be at her loom. Aunt Fedo would have come to gossip. Nia is probably praying. Flies buzz in the kitchen. Pado and Mati think I’m still at the market, unless Pazur has already told them I’m gone.
    â€œKezi, my love, what if you could become immortal?”
    Admat, don’t listen to this crazy masma! Forgive him! But I listen.
    â€œCala became immortal seven hundred years ago. She’s the goddess of wild and domesticated animals.”
    Is there some masma spell to live forever? “How old are you?”
    â€œMy mati is six thousand years old. My pado is four thousand.”
    â€œAnd you?”
    He shifts from one hip to the other in the stone chair. “Seventeen.”
    I can’t help laughing, although I’m disappointed. Giggling, I say, “Your parents are having children at their age?”
    â€œSeventeen years ago they did.” He laughs too.
    â€œBut”—I want to show him how impossible his claim is—“before you were born, who had power over the winds?”
    â€œNin, the storm goddess, commanded them, but sometimes they were unruly. They always do what I tell them. Kezi, believe me. I’m a god. I have numberless years ahead.”
    â€œOlus . . . we can die anytime.” Knowing when death will arrive may be better than believing it will never arrive at all. “You may live many more years, but you will die when Admat wishes. It’s true!”
    Instead of answering, he says, “Are you hungry?”
    There is no food here. I nod and wait for more magic.
    From the pouch on his belt he takes out a wedge of goat cheese. He breaks off a generous portion and gives it to me.
    â€œThank you.” I take it and touch the empty stone chair. It is solid, warmed by the sun. I dare sit in it, although I brace myself for it to explode.
    He takes a piece of cheese for himself and begins to eat.
    â€œMmm!” I say, tasting the cheese.
    He pulls a puffy brown loaf from the pouch. By itssmooth crust I can tell that it is not a meat and barley loaf. With the knife he used before on his wool, he cuts a slice for me.
    It’s pale tan inside. I smell rye, caraway, and a scent I can’t identify. I take a bite.
    The slice tastes like bread, but it feels much softer—cloud pudding. “What is it? It’s delicious!” This is magic.
    â€œLeavened bread. In Hyte you have only flatbread.”
    We eat. Sitting there, he appears to be an ordinary—extraordinarily handsome—person. No one could tell he’s a masma. I know how kind he is, and I know I love him. I should leave the rest to Admat.
    â€œKezi . . . I am immortal, whether you think so or not. But I don’t know if you can be. It isn’t simple.”
    If he had said it was simple, I would have known it wasn’t possible. “Olus, if an immortal”—I refuse to say god —“were sacrificed, what would happen?”
    â€œThe priest’s knife would hurt, but the immortal would recover. Your pado would fulfill his oath, but you would live.”
    Admat, forgive me. “How does a mortal become immortal?”

31

    OLUS
    B EFORE ANSWERING HER question, I say, “If you were immortal, we could build a house here.”
    Her eyes shift away from me.
    I’ve said something wrong. “Are you angry?”
    She shakes her head.
    â€œFirst we would do the wedding pantomime, and nothing would pull us apart.”
    She’s crying. I’m at her side, bending over her, taking her hands.
    She leans her head against my chest. “You haven’t”—she grasps my waist and looks up—“even asked about my dowry.”
    â€œThe dowry doesn’t matter.” I wipe her tears.
    She laughs a wet laugh. “It would be a big dowry. But I want to live in Hyte.”
    â€œWe can live in Hyte.”
    â€œI would still worship Admat.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œIt would