The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,41
of povvy. He seems a bit discomfited by how long it’s taking to chew. “You’re saying you think … you think the people who ascended, my people, are gods?”
Though it’s clear he’s trying to sound neutral, there’s a note of incredulity in his voice that cuts me.
Whoever this boy is, it’s clear he doesn’t think he’s divine.
Perhaps, when they left us, the gods simply forgot what divinity meant.
North’s still chewing, and when I don’t answer, he asks, “If you believe all the gods left, then what is the temple we’re going to? Why have a temple if there are no more gods?”
“There is one divinity who remained to guide my people through the centuries,” I say, keeping my eyes on my own food, trying not to marvel at the novelty of explaining my own existence. “The living divine who walks among us.”
North finally manages to swallow the mouthful he’d been chewing. “Where I come from, we remember religion from long ago, but no one practices it anymore. It causes so many problems—so much violence—like your cultists. Why are they looking for you, anyway?”
He’s being so careful, and yet I can see it in his face, hear it in his voice—he speaks of religion the way he spoke of magic. Like both are somehow no more than the product of foolish minds.
My answer—I am the living goddess, and they want to kill me—hangs on my lips, but the words don’t come out. A tiny, shame-filled part of me knows why: though he would try to hide it, this boy would find the idea ridiculous. He would find me ridiculous.
And, sitting here beneath the first lilac streaks of sunrise with the only person I’ve met since I was a child who didn’t know me by my divinity first, I find I want to stay as we are just a little bit longer.
“Finish eating,” I advise him, ignoring his question and entertaining the cat with one of the laces on the pack. “We ought to keep moving.”
North lifts the strip of povvy and asks curiously, “What is this, anyway? I’ve never had anything like it.”
“Povvy,” I tell him. “Dried and salted and spiced.”
“What’s povvy? A kind of root?”
I hide my smile—no doubt he dislikes feeling ridiculous as much as I do. “No, not a root. Povvies are little rodent-like creatures who live in the forest-sea, though the ones we eat are usually raised by farmers for their meat. They get very fat if you let th—are you all right?”
North’s gone absolutely still, his eyes wide, his face a mask of horror. “This—this was an animal? This was—was alive?”
I lean forward, alarmed, though I cannot reach out to him. “Yes, of course—it makes excellent food for traveling, dense protein and—”
“I’m going to be sick,” North mumbles, dropping the strip of povvy and lurching to his feet. The cat leaps out of the confines of the pack and stalks over to the discarded meat, flashing North a very dirty look indeed before snatching it up and then carrying it behind a nearby stone to feast in private.
“Take deep breaths,” I urge North, getting to my feet as well, although I can do nothing but offer advice from a distance. “Bend down, lean your elbows on your knees—that way, yes. Keep breathing …”
It takes him several long moments, but he manages not to throw up. The look he finally shoots me is accusatory. “How could you—how can you eat flesh?”
“How can you not?” I reply, as confused as he. “We eat what we must—food is scarce and meat is filling. We have always done so—your ancestors did so. Have you no meat in the clouds?”
North shakes his head vehemently. “We have no animals at all. Birds, yes, but no one …” He stops, swallowing hard, catching his breath. “No one would ever think of eating one.”
He looks so distressed, so suddenly forlorn and out of place, that I find myself moving quickly toward the cloth containing our meager meal and gathering up the rest of the povvy strips so that I can stash them away in my pack, out of sight.
“Wrap up what remains there and bring it with you,” I tell him. “None of that is meat; it is all vegetable and grain.”
North looks as if he’s doubting he’ll ever eat again, but he’s no fool even if he is out of his depth. He gathers up the corners of the cloth, wrapping up the last of the food, and then tucks the packet into