He felt Eiah's sigh as much as heard it.
"What happened out there?" he asked. "The truth, not what you said in
front of the others."
Eiah leaned forward. For a moment, Maati thought she was weeping, but
she straightened again. Her eyes were dry, her jaw set. She had pulled a
small box of carved oak from under the cot, and she handed it to him
now. He opened it, the leather hinge loose and soft. Six folded pages
lay inside, sewn at the edges and sealed with Eiah's personal sigil.
"You didn't send them?"
"It was true about the trade fair. We did find one. It wasn't very good,
but it was there, so we stopped. There are Galts everywhere now. They
came to Saraykeht at the start, and apparently the councillors and the
court are all still there. There are others who have fanned out. The
ones who believe that my father's plan is going to work."
"The ones who see a profit in it. Slavers?"
"Marriage brokers," Eiah said as if the terms were the same. "They've
been traveling the low towns making lists of men in want of Galtic
peasant girls to act as brood mares for their farms. Apparently eight
lengths of copper will put a man's name on the list to travel to Galt.
Two of silver for the list to haul a girl here."
Maati felt his belly twist. It had gone further than he had dared think.
"Most of them are lying, of course," Eiah said. "Taking money from the
desperate and moving on. I don't know how many of them there are out
there. Hundreds, I would guess. But, Maati-cha, the night I left? All of
the Galts lost their sight. All of them, and at once. No one cares any
longer what's happened with my brother and the girl he was supposed to
marry. No one talks about the Emperor. All anyone cares about is the
andat. They know that some poet somewhere has bound Blindness or
something like it and loosed it against the Galts."
It was as if the air had gone from the room, as if Maati were suddenly
on a mountaintop. His breath was fast, his heart pounding. It might have
been joy or fear or something of each.
"I see," Maati said.
"Uncle, they hate us. All those farmers and traders and shepherds? All
those men who thought that they would have wives and children? All those
women who thought that even if it hadn't come from their body, at least
there would be a baby nearby to care for? They think we've taken it from
them. And I have never seen so much rage."
Maati felt as if he'd been struck, caught in the moment between the blow
and the bloom of pain. He said something, words stringing together
without sense and trailing to silence. He put his face in his hands.
"You didn't know," Eiah said. "She didn't tell you."
"Vanjit's done this," Maati said. "She can undo it. I can . . ." He
stopped, catching his breath. He felt as if he'd been running. His hands
trembled. When Eiah spoke, her voice was as level and calm as a
physician's announcing a death.
"Twice."
Maati turned to her, his hands taking a pose of query. Eiah put her hand
on the table, papers shifting under her fingers with a sound like sand
against glass.
"This is twice, Maati-cha. First with Ashti Beg, and now ... Gods. Now
with all of Galt."
"Is this why Ashti Beg left?" Maati asked. "The true reason?"
"The true reason is that she was afraid of Vanjit," Eiah said. "And I
couldn't reassure her."
"Children," Maati said. The pain in his chest was easing, the shock of
the news fading away. "I'll speak with Vanjit. She did this all. She can
undo it as well. And ... and it does speak to the purpose. We wanted to
announce that the andat had returned to the world. She's done that in no
small voice."
"Maati-cha," Eiah began, but he kept talking, fast and loud.
"This is why they did it, you know All those tests and lies and
opportunities to prove ourselves. Or fail to prove ourselves. They broke
us to the lead first, and gave us power when they knew we could be
controlled."
"It looked like a wiser strategy, if this is the alternative," Eiah
said. "Do you think she'll listen to you?"
"Listen, yes. Do as I command? I don't know. And I don't know that I'd
want her to. She's learning responsibility. She's learning her own
limits. Even if I could tell her what they are, she couldn't learn by
having it said. She's ... exploring."
"She's killed thousands of people, at the least."
"Galts," Maati said. "She's killed Galts. We were never here to save
them. Yes, Eiah-kya. Vanjit went too far, and because she's holding an
andat, there are consequences. When you slaughter a city? When you send
your army to kill a little girl's family in front of her? There are
consequences to that too. Or by all the gods there should be."
"You're saying this is justice?" Eiah asked.
"We made peace with Galt," Maati said. "None of Vanjit's family were
avenged. There was no justice for them because it was simpler for Otah
to ignore their deaths. Just as it's simpler for him to ignore all the
women of the cities. Vanjit has an andat, and so her will is now more
important than your father's. I don't see that makes it any more or less
just."
Eiah took a pose that respectfully disagreed, then dropped her hands to
her sides.
"I don't argue that she's gone too far," Maati said. "She's killing a
horsefly with a hammer. Only that it's not as bad as it first seems.
She's still young. She's still new to her powers."
"And that forgives everything?" Eiah said.
"Don't," Maati said more sharply than he'd intended. "Don't be so quick
to judge her. You'll be in her position soon enough. If all goes well."
"I wonder what I'll forget. How I'll go too far," Eiah said, and sighed.
"How did we ever think we could do good with these as our tools?"
Maati was silent for a moment. His memory turned on Heshai and Seedless,
Cehmai and Stone-Made-Soft. The sickening twist that was Sterile, moving
through his own mind like an eel through muddy water.
"Is there another way to fix it?" Maati asked. "After Sterile, is there
a way other than this to make the world whole? All those women who will
never bear a child. All those men whose money is going to charming
Galtic liars. Is there a way to make the world well again besides what
we're doing?"
"We could wait," Eiah said, her voice gray and toneless. "Given enough
time, we'll all die and be forgotten."
Maati was silent. Eiah closed her eyes. The flame of the night candle
fluttered in a draft that smelled of fresh snow and wet cloth. Eiah's
gaze focused inward, on some landscape of her own mind. He didn't think
she liked what she saw there. She opened her mouth as if to speak,
closed it again, and looked away.
"You're right, though," Maati said. "This is twice."
They found Vanjit in her room, the andat wailing disconsolately as she
rocked it in her arms. Maati entered the room first to Vanjit's gentle
smile, but her expression went blank when Eiah came in after him and
slid the door shut behind her. The andat's black eyes went from Vanjit
to Eiah and back, then it squealed in delight and held its thick, short
arms up to Eiah as if it was asking to be held.
"You know, then," Vanjit said. "It was inevitable."
"You should have told me what you intended," Maati said. "It was a
dangerous, rash thing to do. And it's going to have consequences."
Vanjit put Clarity-of-Sight on the floor at her feet. The thing shrieked
complaint, and she bent toward it, her jaw clenched. Maati recognized
the push and pull of wills between andat and poet. Even before the andat
whimpered and went silent, he had no doubt of the outcome.
"You were going to tell the world of what we'd done anyway," Vanjit
said. "But you couldn't be sure they would have stopped the Emperor,
could you? This way they can't go forward."
"Why didn't you tell Maati-kvo what you were doing?" Eiah asked.
"Because he would have told me not to," Vanjit said, anger in her voice.
"I would have," Maati said. "Yes."
"It isn't fair, Maati-kya," Vanjit said. "It isn't right that they
should come here, take our places. They were the killers, not us. They
were the ones who brought blades to our cities. Any of the poets could
have destroyed Galt at any time, and we never, ever did."
"And that makes it right to crush them now?" Eiah demanded.
"Yes," Vanjit said. There were tears in her eyes.
Eiah tilted her head. Long familiarity told Maati the thoughts that
occupied Eiah's mind. This girl, sitting before them both, had been
granted the power of a small god by their work. Maati's and Eiah's. The
others had helped, but the three of them together in that room carried
the decision. And so the weight of its consequences.
"It was ill advised," Maati said. "The low towns should have been our
allies and support. Now they've been angered."
"Why?" Vanjit asked.
"They don't know what our plan is," Maati said. "They don't know about
Eiah and Wounded. All they see is that there was a glimmer of hope. Yes,
I know it was a thin, false hope, but it was all that they had."
"That's stupid," Vanjit said.
"It only seems that way because we know more than they," Eiah said.
"We can tell them," Vanjit said.
"If we can calm them long enough to listen," Maati said. "But that isn't
what I've come here for. I am your teacher, Vanjit-cha. I need two
things of you. Do you understand?"
The girl looked at the ground, her hands rising in a pose of acceptance
appropriate for a student to her master.
"First, you must never take this kind of action with the andat without
telling me. We have too many plans and they are too delicate for any of
us to act without the others knowing it."
"Eiah sent Ashti Beg away," Vanjit said.
"And we discussed that possibility before they left," Maati said. "The
second thing ... What you've done to the Galts, only you can undo."
The girl looked up now. Anger flashed in her eyes. The andat gurgled and
clapped its tiny hands. Maati held up a finger, insisting that she wait
until he had finished.
"If you hold to this," he said, "thousands of people will die. Women and
children who are innocent of any crime."
"It's what they did to us," she said. 117hat they did to we. Maati
reached forward and took her hand.
"I understand," he said. "I won't tell you to undo this thing. But for
me, think carefully about how the burden of those deaths will weigh on
you. You're angry now, and anger gives you strength. But when it's
faded, you will still be responsible for what you've done."
"I will, Maati-kvo," Vanjit said.
Eiah made a sound in the back of her throat, its meaning unguessable.
Maati smiled and put a hand on Vanjit's shoulder.
"Well. That's settled. Now, I suppose it's time to get back to work.
Give these people in the low towns something to celebrate."
"You've done it, then, Eiah-kya?" Vanjit asked. "You've found the
insight you needed? You understand Wounded?"
Eiah was quiet for a moment, looking down at Vanjit and Clarity-ofSight.
Her lips twitched into a thin, joyless smile.
"Closer," Eiah said. "I've come closer."
17
Seeing Balasar Gice shook Otah more than he had expected. He had always
known that the general was not a large-framed man, but his presence had
always filled the room. Seeing him seated at a table by the window with
his eyes the gray of old pearls, Otah felt he was watching the man die.
The robes seemed too large on him, or his shoulders suddenly grown small.
Outside the window, the morning sun lit the sea. Gulls called and
complained to one another. A small plate had the remnants of fresh
cheese and cut apple; the cheese flowed in the day's heat, the pale
flesh of the apple had gone brown. Otah cleared his throat. Balasar
smiled, but didn't bother turning his head toward the sound.
"Most High?" Balasar asked.
"Yes," Otah said. "I came ... I came when I heard."
"I am afraid Sinja will have to do without my aid," Balasar said, his
voice ironic and bleak. "It seems I'll be in no condition to sail."
Otah leaned against the window's ledge, his shadow falling over Balasar.