THE (tlpq-4) (39 page)

Galts' paddle boats, we should reach Utani before the worst cold comes."

To their left, a fish leaped from the water and splashed back down.

"Once I have you someplace with real physicians, I'm going to try the

binding."

Maati drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. A sick dread uncurled

in his belly.

"You're sure?" he said.

Eiah took a pose that confirmed her resolve and also chided him. When he

replied with one that expressed mild affront, she spoke.

"You sit here like something from a philosopher's daydream, refusing to

let me even try to mend your heart," she said, "and then you start

quaking like an old woman when I'm the one at risk."

"'Quaking like an old woman'?" Maati said. "I think we haven't known the

same old women. And of course I'm concerned for you, Eiah- kya. How

could I not be? You're like a daughter to me. You always have been."

"I might not fail," she said. And a moment later, rose, kissed his hair,

and walked in, leaving him alone with the world. Maati sank deeper into

his cloak, determined to watch the birds until his mind calmed. Half a

hand later, he went inside the building, muttering to himself.

The evening meal was a soup of ground lentils, rice, and a sweet, hot

spice that made Maati's eyes water. He paid an extra length of copper

for a second bowl. The commons with its low ceilings and soot-stained

walls also served as a teahouse for the nearby low towns. By the time

he'd finished eating, local men and women had begun to appear. They took

little notice of the travelers, which suited Maati quite well.

In less interesting times, the table talk would have turned on matters

of weather, of crop yields and taxes and the small jealousies and dramas

that humanity drew about itself in all places and times. Instead, they

spoke of the Emperor, his small caravan on its way to Pathai or else

Lachi or else some unknown destination in the Westlands. He was going to

broker a new contract for women, now that the Galts had been destroyed,

or else retrieve the new poet and march back in triumph. He had been

secretly harboring the poets all this time, or had become one himself.

Nothing that approached the truth. Small Kae, listening to two of the

local men debate, looked on the edge of laughter the whole evening.

As the last of the sunset faded, a pair of the older men took up drums,

and the tables nearest the fire grate were pulled aside to clear space

for dancers. Maati was prevented from excusing himself from the

proceedings only by Vanjit's appearance at his side.

"Maati-kvo," she murmured, her hand slipping around his arm, "I spoke to

Eiah-kya. I know it was wrong of me to interfere, but please, please,

will you reconsider?"

The older of the two men set up a low throbbing beat on his drum. The

second drummer closed his eyes and bobbed his head almost in time with

the first. Maati suspected that both were drunk.

"This isn't the place to discuss it," Maati said. "Later, we can ..."

"Please," Vanjit said. Her breath wasn't free from the scent of

distilled wine. Her cheeks were flushed. "Without you, none of us

matter. You know that. You're our teacher. We need you. And if Eiah ...

she pays its price, you know that I'll be there. I can do the thing.

I've already managed once, and I know that I could do it again."

The second drum began, dry and light and not quite on its mark. No one

seemed to be paying attention to the old man in the corner or the young

woman attached to his arm. Maati leaned close to Vanjit, speaking low.

"What is it, Vanjit-kya?" he asked. "This is the second time you've

offered to bind Wounded. Why do you want that?"

She blinked and released his arm. Her eyes were wider, her mouth thin.

It was his turn to take her arm, and he did, leaning close enough to

speak almost into her ear.

"I have known more poets than I can count," he said. "Only a few held

the andat, and none of them took joy in it. My own first master, Heshai

of Saraykeht, planned out a second binding of Seedless. It could never

have worked. It was too near what he'd done before, and part of

Sterile's failure was that I borrowed too much from his design."

"I don't know what you mean, Maati-kvo," Vanjit said. Three women had

stepped into the dancing space and were thumping in a simple pattern,

keeping time with one drum or the other.

"I mean that everyone wants a second chance," Maati said.

"Clarityof-Sight. . ."

Maati bit down, glancing to see if anyone had heard him. The music and

the dance were the focus of the room.

"The little one," Maati said, more quietly, "isn't what you'd hoped. But

neither would the next one be."

He might just as well have slapped her. Vanjit's face went white, and

she stood so quickly the bench scraped out from under her. By the time

Maati rose, she was halfway to the door leading out to the stables and

courtyard, and when he reached her, they were outside in the chill. A

thin fog blurred the lantern hanging above the wayhouse door.

"Vanjit!" Maati called, and she turned back, her face a mask of pain.

"How could you say that? How could you say those things to me?" she

demanded. "You had as much to do with that binding as I did. You are

just as much responsible for him. I offered to take Eiah's place because

someone would have to, not because it's something that I want. I love

him. He's my boy, and I love him. He is everything I'd hoped. Everything!"

"Vanjit-"

She was weeping openly now, her voice high, thin, and wailing.

"And he loves me. No matter what you say, I know he does. He's my boy,

and he loves me. How could you think that I'd want a second chance? I

offered this for you!"

He took her sleeve in his fist, and she pulled back, yelping. She tried

to turn away, but he would not let her.

"Listen to me," he said sternly. "You don't need to tell me how deeply you-

Vanjit snarled, her lips pulled back from her teeth like a pit dog's.

She pulled away sharply, and Maati stumbled, falling to his knees. When

he rose, he could hear her running footsteps fading into the dark, but

the fog had thickened so badly that he couldn't see his own hand in

front of his face.

Except that, of course, it hadn't.

He stood still, heart racing, hands trembling. The raucous sounds of the

dance came from behind him and to the left. The poorly played drums

became his polestar. He turned and made his slow, careful way back

toward the wayhouse. The ground was rough under his feet, gravel and

weeds taking him at slightly different angles with every step.

He shouldn't have tried to hold her. She was upset. He should have let

her go. He cursed himself for his stubbornness and her for her lack of

control. The drums had given way to a flute and a low, warbling singer.

Maati's outstretched fingers found the rough planks of the wall. He

leaned against it, unsure what to do next. If he went back to the main

room, his sudden infirmity would call attention to him, to the others,

to Vanjit. But if he didn't, what would he do? He couldn't navigate his

way back to his room, couldn't reach shelter. His robes were damp with

the fog, the wood under his palm slick. He could stay here, pressing

against the wayhouse like he was holding it up, or he could move. If

there was only some way to find Eiah ...

He began inching away from the door. He could follow the walls around

the building, and find the deck. If he waited long enough, Eiah would

come looking for him, and that might well be one of the first places

she'd look. He tried to recall where the deck's railing began and ended.

He had been there for hours earlier, but now he found the details

escaped him.

He stumbled over a log and bruised his knee, but he didn't cry out. The

cold was beginning to numb him. He reached the corner and a set of

stairs he didn't remember. The prospect of sitting in the cold at the

edge of the unseen lake was becoming less and less sustainable. He

started devising stories that would cover his blindness. He could go

near the common room, cry out, and collapse. If he kept his eyes closed,

he could feign unconsciousness. They would bring Eiah to him.

He stepped in something wet and soft, like mud but with a sudden,

billowing smell of rotting plants. Maati lifted his foot slowly to keep

the muck from pulling off his boot. It occurred to him for the first

time that they had done this-precisely this-to a nation.

His boot was heavy and made a wet sound when he put weight on it, but it

didn't slip. He started making his way back toward where he'd been. He

thought he'd made it halfway there when the world suddenly clicked back

into place. His hands pink and gray against the damp, black wood. The

thin fog hardly worth noticing. He turned and found Vanjit sitting

cross-legged on the stones of the courtyard. Her dark eyes were

considering. He wondered how long she'd been watching.

"What you said before? It was uncalled for," she said. Her voice was

steady as stone, and as unforgiving.

Maati took a pose that offered apology but also pointedly did not end

the conversation. Vanjit considered him.

"I love Eiah-cha," she said, frowning. "I would never, never wish her

ill. Suggesting that I want her to fail just so I could remain the only

poet ... it's madness. It hurts me that you would say it."

"I never did," Maati said. "I never said anything like it. If that's

what you heard, then something else is happening here."

Vanjit shifted back, surprise and dismay in her expression. Her hands

moved toward some formal pose, but never reached it. The shriek came

from within the wayhouse. The music stopped. Vanjit stood up muttering

something violent and obscene, but Maati was already moving to the door.

The large room was silent, drums and flute abandoned where they had

fallen. The woman who'd screamed was sitting on a stool, her hands still

pressed to her mouth, her face bloodless, and her gaze fixed on the

archway that led to the private rooms. No one spoke. Clarity-of-Sight

stood in the archway, its hands on the wall, its tiny hips swaying

crazily as it lost and regained and lost its balance. It saw Vanjit, let

out a high squeal, and waved its tiny arms before sitting down hard and

suddenly. The delight never left its face.

"It is," someone said in a voice woven from awe and tears. "It's a baby."

And as if the word had broken a dam, chaos flowed through the wayhouse.

Vanjit dashed forward, her hands low to scoop up the andat, and the

crowd surged with her. The chorus of questions and shouts rose, filling

the air. Maati started forward, then stopped. The older of the drummers

appeared from amid the throng and embraced him, tears of joy in the

man's eyes.

Through the press of the crowd, Maati saw Eiah standing alone. Her

expression was cold. Maati pulled back from his grinning companion and

struggled toward her. He heard Vanjit talking high and fast behind him,

but couldn't make out the words. There were too many voices layered over it.

"Apparently we've decided not to travel quietly," Eiah said in tone of

cold acid.

"Get the others," he said. "I'll prepare the cart. We can leave in the

night."

"You think anyone here is going to sleep tonight?" Eiah said. "There's a

baby. A full-blooded child of the cities, and Vanjit the mother. If the

gods themselves walked in the door right now, they'd have to wait for a

room. They'll think it's to do with me. The physician who has found a

way to make women bear. They'll hound me like I've stolen their teeth."

"I'm sorry," Maati said.

"Word of this is going to spread. Father's going to hear of it, and when

he does, he'll be on our heels."

"Why would he think it was you?"

"Galt went blind, and he headed west. For Pathai. For me," Eiah said.

"He can't know you're part of this," Maati said.

"Of course he can," Eiah said. "I am, and he isn't dim. I didn't think

it was a problem when no one knew who or where we were."

A round of cheering broke out, and the wayhouse keeper appeared as if

from nowhere, two bottles of wine in each hand. Vanjit had been ushered

to a seat by the fire grate. Clarity-of-Sight was in her arms, beaming

at everyone who came close. Vanjit's cheeks were flushed, but she seemed

pleased. Proud. Happy.

"This was my mistake," Maati said. "My failure as much as anything. I