Otah was shouting something, but Maati's ears were rushing with blood
and raw anger. He saw the armsmen shift forward, blades at the ready,
but Maati was far past caring. Every injustice, every slight, every
cupful of pent-up outrage spilled out, all made worse by the fact that
Otah-self-righteous, entitled, and arrogant-was so busy shouting back
that he wasn't hearing a word of what Maati was saying.
When he noticed through his rage that a third voice had entered the
fray, he couldn't say how long it had been going.
"I said stop!" the Galt shouted again. "Stop it! Both of you!"
Maati turned to the girl, a sneer on his lip, but he was having a hard
time catching his breath. Otah also was now silent, his imperial face
flushed bright red. Maati felt the urge to offer up an obscene gesture,
but he restrained himself. The girl stood in the space between the two,
her hands outstretched. Danat stepped to her side. If anything, her
anger appeared as high as either of her elders', but she was able to
speak coherently.
"Gods," she said. "Is this really what we've been doing? Someone please
tell me that the world is on its knees over something more than two old
men chewing over quarrels from their boyhood."
"This is much, much more than that," Otah said. His voice, though
severe, had lost some of its certainty.
"I wouldn't know from listening to that display," Idaan said. "Ana-cha
has more sense than you on this, brother. Listen to her."
Otah had calmed down enough to look merely peeved. Maati held his fist
to his chest, but his heart was slowing to its usual pace. Nothing had
happened. He was fine. Otah, across from him, took a pose appropriate to
the beginning of a short break in a negotiation. His jaw was tight and
his stance only civil. Maati replied with one that accepted the
proposal. He wanted to sit at Eiah's side, to talk with her about what
to do next and how to go about it. It would have been a provocation,
though, so instead, Maati retreated to the door leading out into the
cold, black courtyard and the clean night air.
It had been a mistake. Otah was too proud and self-centered to help
them. He was too wrapped up in anger that the world hadn't followed his
one and only holy and anointed plan. They should have gone on to Utani,
found someone in the utkhaiem who would support them. Or they should
have gone after Vanjit themselves.
They should have done anything but this.
Voices came from behind him. Danat's, Otah's, Eiah's. They sounded
tense, but they weren't shouting. Maati pressed his hands into their
opposite sleeves and watched his breath steam like a soup kettle. He
wondered where Vanjit was and how she was keeping warm. It seemed the
woman had become two different people in his mind-one, the girl who had
come to him in despair and been given hope again, the other a halfmad
poet he'd loosed on the world. The impulses to kill her and to see to
her care shouldn't have been able to exist in him at the same time, and
yet there they were. He prayed she was dead, and he hoped she was well.
Between that and seeing Otah again, his head was buzzing like a hive.
"We've reached a conclusion," Idaan said from behind him. He turned. She
was standing in the doorway, blocking the light. His belly itched where
her assassin had stabbed him all those years before.
"Should I be grateful?" Maati asked. Idaan ignored the jab.
"If you and Otah can't play gently, and it's clear as the moon that you
can't, we're going to go through channels. Eiah's talking with Danat.
They sent me to speak with you."
"Ah, because we're such excellent friends?"
"Say it's because our relationship is simpler," Idaan said. Her voice
took on the texture of cast iron. "Tell me what happened."
Maati leaned against the rough wall and shook his head. He'd become too
excited, and now that he was calming, it was coming out in an urge to
weep. He would not under any circumstances allow that in front of Idaan.
Idaan, who'd tried to have Otah killed and had now become his traveling
companion. What more did anyone need to know to understand how far Otah
had fallen?
"Maati," Idaan said, her voice still hard. "Now."
He began with leaving the school, Eiah's opinion of his health, Vanjit's
escalating unreliability. The story took on a rhythm as he told it, the
words putting themselves in order as if he had practiced it all before.
Idaan didn't speak, but her listening was intense, drawing detail from
him almost against his will.
It was as if he were telling himself what had happened, offering a kind
of confession to the empty night, Idaan Machi-of all people in the
world, Idaan Machi-as his intercessor.
He reached the end-Vanjit's discovery of the poison, her escape, his
decision to find help. Somewhere in the course of things, he'd let
himself slip to the ground, sitting with his legs stuck out before him
and the stone paving leaching the warmth from his body. Idaan squatted
beside him. He imagined that the manner of her listening had softened,
as if silences could differ like speech.
"I see," she said. "Well. Who'd have thought this would become worse?"
"You led him to us," Maati said.
"I did my best," Idaan agreed. "It's been years since I put my hand to
this kind of work. I'm out of practice, but I did what I could."
"All to regain his imperial favor," Maati said. "I would never have
guessed that you'd become his toady."
"Actually, I started it to protect Cehmai," Idaan said as if he had
offered her no insult. "With you stirring up the mud, I was afraid for
him. I wanted Otah to know that he wasn't part of it. And then, once I
was at the court ... well, I had amends to make to Danat."
"The boy?"
"No. The one he's named for," Idaan said. She heaved a great sigh. "But
back to the matter at hand, eh? I understand how hard and confusing it
is to love someone you hate. I really do. And if you call me his toady
again, I swear by all the gods there ever were, I'll disjoint your
fingers. Understood?"
"I didn't mean for it to happen like this," Maati said. "I wanted to
heal the world, not ... not this."
"Plans go awry," Idaan said. "It's their nature. I'm going back in. Join
us when you're ready. I'll get something warm for you to drink."
Maati sat alone, growing colder. Behind him, the wayhouse ticked as the
day's heat radiated away. An owl gave its low coo to the world, and the
darkness around him seemed to lessen. He could make out the paving
stones, the outline of the stable, the high branches rising toward the
stars like thin fingers. Maati rested his head against the wall and let
his eyes close.
The trembling had stopped. The anger was less immediate, chagrin slowly
taking its place. He heard Eiah's calm voice, as solid as stone, from
within. He should be with her. He should be at her side. She shouldn't
have to face them by herself. He rose, grunting, and lumbered inside,
his knees aching.
Otah was sitting in a low wooden chair, his fingers pressed to his lips
in thought. He glanced up as Maati stepped into the room but made no
other acknowledgment. Eiah, speaking, gestured to the space between Otah
and Danat. Her voice had neither rancor nor apology, and Maati was
reminded again why he admired her.
"Yes," she said, "the andat outplayed us. From the beginning with Ashti
Beg to the end with me, we wanted to think of it as a baby. We all knew
it wasn't. We all understand perfectly well that it was some part of
Vanjit's mind made flesh, but ..."
She raised her hands, palms out. Not a formal pose, but the gesture was
eloquent enough.
"So what does it want?" Danat said. "If it truly wants Vanjit killed,
why didn't it help you? That would have done all it wanted to do."
"It may want more than freedom," Idaan said, speaking over her shoulder
as she pressed a warm bowl into Maati's hand. "There's precedent.
Seedless wanted his freedom, but he also wanted his poet to suffer.
Clarity-of-Sight may want something for Vanjit besides death."
"Such as?" Large Kae asked.
"Punishment," Eiah suggested. "Or isolation. Or. .."
"Or a sense of family," Ashti Beg said, her voice oddly contemplative.
"If we think of the babe as having more than one agenda, this could be
its way of making a world that was only mother and child. Alienating all
the rest of us."
"But it also wants its freedom," Maati said. Small Kae shifted on her
bench at the sound of his voice, making room for him. He moved forward
and sat. "Whatever else it wants, it must want that."
A puff of smoke escaped from the fire grate. Maati sipped the drink
Idaan had given him-rum with honey and apple. It warmed his throat and
made his chest glow.
"Is this really what we should care about?" the Galtic girl-Anaasked. "I
don't mean that as an attack, but it seems that we've estab lished that
the girl's less than sane. Is there something we gain by trying to guess
at the shape of her madness?"
"We might have a better idea of where she's gone," Small Kae offered.
"What she might do next?"
"Ana's right," Danat said. "We could roll dice about it, but there are
some things we know for certain. She set out half a day's boat ride
north of here a night ago. If she goes upriver, she'll need to hire a
boat. If she goes down, she could hire one or build a raft and rely on
the current. Or she can go east over land. What about the low towns?
Could she have found shelter in a low town?"
The group was silent, then Danat said, "I'll get the keeper. She may
know something of the local geography."
It was, Maati thought, a strangely familiar feeling. A handful of people
sitting together, thinking aloud about an insoluble problem. The weeks
at the school, sitting in the classrooms with chalk marks on the walls.
All of them offering suggestion, interpretation, questions opened for
anyone to answer if they could. He took an unexpected comfort from it.
The only one who didn't speak was Otah.
The conversation went on long into the night. The longer they took to
find Vanjit, the greater her chance of escape. The greater her chance of
dying alone in the wild. The Galtic girl and Small Kae had a long
discussion of whether they were going to rescue Vanjit or if the aim was
to kill her; Small Kae advocated a fast death, Ana wanted the chance to
ask Vanjit to undo the damage to Galt. Danat counted the days to Utani,
the days back, guessed at the size of the search party that could be raised.
"There is another option," Eiah said, her pearl-gray eyes focused on
nothing. "I had a binding prepared. Wounded. If I can manage it, we
would have another way to heal the damage done to Galt."
Ana turned toward Eiah's voice, raw hope on her face. Maati almost felt
sorry to dash it.
"No," he said. "It can't be done. Even if you knew it well enough to
perform it blind, we hadn't looked over the most recent version. And
Vanjit ruined the notes."
"But if Galt could be given its eyes again . . ." Danat said.
"Vanjit could take them away again," Maati said. "Clarity-of-Sight and
Wounded could go back and forth until eventually Eiah tried to heal
someone just as Vanjit tried to blind them, and then the gods alone know
what would happen. And that matters less than the fact that Eiah would
die if she tried the thing."
"You don't know that," Idaan said.
"I'm not willing to take the risk," Maati said.
Otah listened, his brow furrowed, his gaze shifting now and again to the
fire. It wasn't until morning that Maati and the others learned what the
Emperor was thinking.
The morning light transformed the wayhouse. With the shutters all
opened, the benches and tables and soot-stained walls seemed less
oppressive. The fire still smoked, but the breeze moving through the
rooms kept the air fresh and clear, if cold. The wayhouse keeper had
prepared duck eggs and peppered pork for their morning meal, and tea
brewed until it was rich with taste and not yet bitter.
They were not all there. Ashti Beg and the two Kaes had stayed up after
many of the others had faded into their restless sleep. Maati had
slipped into dream with the sound of their voices in his ears, and none
of them had yet risen. Danat and Otah were sitting at the same table,
looking like a painter's metaphor of youth and age. Eiah and Idaan
shared his own table, and he did not know where the Galtic girl had gone.
"She didn't blind Maati. Why?" Otah asked, gesturing at Maati as if he
were an exhibit at an audience rather than a person. "Why spare him and
not the others?"
"Well, for Eiah it's clear enough," Danat said around a mouthful of
pork. "She didn't want another poet binding the andat. As long as
Vanjit's the only one, she's ... well, the only one."
"And the two Kaes," Eiah said, "so that they couldn't follow her."
"Yes," Idaan said, "but that's not the question. 117hy notMaati?"
"Because . . ." Maati began, and then fell short. Because she cared for
him more? Because she didn't fear him? Nothing he could think of rang true.
"I think she wants to be found," Otah said. "I think she wants to be
found, in specific, by Maati."
Idaan grunted appreciatively. Eiah frowned and then nodded slowly.
"Why would she want that?" Maati asked.
"Because your attention is the mark of status," Eiah answered. "You are
the teacher. The Dai-kvo. Which of us you choose to give your time to
determines who is in favor and who isn't. And she wants to show herself