Without turning, I know his eyes are pleading. How can a god be pleading with me? How can I know a god so well? “We’re not everywhere and everything. My knowledge is different from yours, but no greater. I’m a clumsy dancer. I don’t know how to make rugs. If the ground were smoother, I would kneel to you.” I shake my head so hard, it hurts. “I should kneel. It takes more courage to be a mortal than it takes to be a god.” “Olus”—I use all my own courage to ask this—“god of the winds, have you ever killed any mortals?” “No! And none have been sacrificed to me. We don’t allow it.” “Olus, god of the winds, have you punished any mortals?” “Elon.” I hear the satisfaction in his voice. My fear lessens—a little. “But Elon suffered no more than a scraped knee and a bump on his head. Oh! Once I punished a merchant by stealing his spices.” Not a terrible punishment. “Why, Olus, god of the winds?” “First his camel kicked me, and then he kicked me.
