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my wife. As you wish, so it will be.”
    Mati and Nia and I echo, “As you wish, so it will be.”
    Pado rises. He turns to the bed, then back to the altar. “Admat,” he intones, “god of oaths, hear my vow.” His voice grows deep and resonant, his ordinary voice. “Save my wife, and I will sacrifice to you whoever first congratulates me on her recovery.”
    The room brightens. The walls glow red.
    Nia’s prayer rises, “As you wish, so it will be.”
    I feel the room spin and don’t know whether Admat is spinning it or my own worn nerves. I grip the windowsill to keep from falling. How could Pado have sworn such a terrible oath?
    His voice sounds glad. “Thank you, Admat, merciful one.” He strides to Mati and smiles down at her.
    Mati raises her head. “You may leave, Nia.”
    Nia glides from the room.
    â€œIt’s a dangerous bargain, Senat,” Mati says.
    â€œFor three days,” he answers. “I’ll take care. You’ll live, and no one else will die.”
    The oath laws! Pado is using Admat’s oath laws. An oath to him is void after three days. If Mati lives and Pado receives no congratulations for three days, no one need be sacrificed.
    The holy text says:
    Swear on Admat and be blessed .
    Admat, protector of oaths .
    I’m reassured, until I remember another line of text:
    Make not an instrument of Admat .
    Use him at your peril .

5

    OLUS
    I SINK ONTO THE DRY GRASS. I didn’t know they practice human sacrifice here. In Akka it is not tolerated. Hannu sent earthquakes until people stopped.
    Apparently Admat doesn’t object or hasn’t objected in a way his followers understand. Or there is no Admat.
    When Senat swore his awful oath, I didn’t make the altar flame flare, but I don’t control my winds all the time. When they’re not needed, I let them go where they will. The flare might have been the result of wind or Admat or an impurity in the lamp oil.
    I am overcome by a craving for Enshi Rock, where my fellow gods may be thoughtless but never malevolent. My collecting wind gathers the goats. I untie my donkey from its tether behind the hut and mount it.
    â€œYou haven’t tasted the grass on Enshi Rock,” I tell the goats as they rise, bleating pitifully, on my north wind. The donkey hee-haws and bucks in fright, and I have trouble keeping my seat. “You’ll be glad I took you,” I tell the animals. My strong wind blows a cloud our way. We are enveloped in fog, which calms them as they grow accustomed to flight. The goats cease their bleating. The donkey stops braying.
    When we are too high to be seen by mortal eyes, I dismiss the cloud and arrange the goats in single file behind me. My tunic billows in the wind. I am the kite and the goats are my tail.
    Ha! Admat probably doesn’t travel trailed by goats.
    I sweep over Enshi Rock. After six months’ absence I see it with fresh eyes. The white temple is stark against the cloudless sky. On the roof my canopy ceiling remains in place.
    The temple is ringed by terraced gardens, farms, a lake, and workshops for the gods’ purposes. A peninsula of land, like an open palm, supports the amphitheater.
    What strikes me most, after my time in Hyte, is the absence of mud bricks. Here in Akka, where we have mountains and forests, we build with stone and wood.
    I bring the goats and my donkey down in an empty paddock near the stables. Then I muster my courage and start for Puru’s hut, which lies between the temple and the workshop of the goddess of love and beauty. I want to see my parents, but first I have questions for the god of destiny.
    I’ve never visited him before. The hut, a single room lit by an oil lamp, is small and windowless. My heart hammers. I must leave!
    â€œWelcome . . . Olus. . . . Sit . . . and stay with me awhile.” A chuckle emanates from his orange wrappings. He is seated on a