An old tongue for an old thought. Cehmai let the words that followed
it-the ancient ritual known more by its rhythm than its significancewash
over him. He closed his eyes and told himself he was not drowning. He
focused on his breath, smoothing its ragged edges until he regained the
appearance of calm. Ike watched the sorrow and the anger and the
jealousy writhe inside him as if they were afflicting someone else.
When he opened his eyes, the andat had shifted, its gaze on him and
expressionless. Cehmai felt the storm on the back of his mind shift, as
if taking stock of the confusion in his heart, testing him for weakness.
Cehmai waited, prepared for Stone-Made-Soft to press, for the struggle
to engulf him. He almost longed for it.
But the andat seemed to feel that anticipation, because it pulled back.
The pressure lessened, and Stone-Made-Soft smiled its idiot, empty
smile, and turned back to the ceremony. Adrah was standing now, a long
cord looped in his hand. The priest asked him the ritual questions, and
Adrah spoke the ritual answers. His face seemed drawn, his shoulders too
square, his movements too careful. Celunai thought he seemed exhausted.
The priest who stood behind ldaan spoke for her family in their absence,
and the end of the cord, cut and knotted, passed from Adrah to the
priest and then to Idaan's hand. The rituals would continue for some
time, Cehmai knew, but as soon as the cord was accepted, the binding was
done. Idaan Machi had entered the house of the Vaunyogi and only Adrah's
death would cast her back into the ghost arms of her dead family. Those
two were wed, and he had no right to the pain the thought caused him. He
had no right to it.
He rose and walked silently to the wide stone archway and out of the
temple. If Idaan looked up at his departure, he didn't notice.
The sun wasn't halfway through its arc, and a fresh wind from the north
was blowing the forge smoke away. I ligh, thin clouds scudded past,
giving the illusion that the great stone towers were slowly, endlessly
toppling. Cehmai walked the temple grounds, Stone-Made-Soft a pace
behind him. "There were few others there-a woman in rich robes sitting
alone by a fountain, her face a mask of grief; a round-faced man with
rings glittering on his fingers reading a scroll; an apprentice priest
raking the gravel paths smooth with a long metal rake. And at the edge
of the grounds, where temple became palace, a familiar shape in brown
poet's robes. Cchmai hesitated, then slowly walked to him, the andat
close by and trailing him like a shadow.
"I hadn't expected to see you here, Maati-kvo."
"No, but I expected you," the older poet said. "I've been at the council
all morning. I needed some time away. May I walk with you?"
"If you like. I don't know that I'm going anywhere in particular."
"Not marching with the wedding party? I thought it was traditional for
the celebrants to make an appearance in the city with the new couple.
Let the city look over the pair and see who's allied themselves with the
families. I assume that's what all the flowers and decorations out there
are for."
"There will he enough without me."
Cehmai turned north, the wind blowing gently into his face, drawing his
robes out behind him as if he were walking through water. A slave girl
was standing beside the path singing an old love song, her high, sweet
voice carrying like a flute's. Cehmai felt Maati-kvo's attention, but
wasn't sure what to make of it. He felt as examined as the corpse on the
physician's table. At length, he spoke to break the silence.
"How is it?"
"The council? Like a very long, very awkward dinner party. I imagine it
will deteriorate. The only interesting thing is that a number of houses
are calling for Vaunyogi to take the chair."
"Interesting," Cehmai said. "I knew Adrah-cha was thinking of it, but I
wouldn't have thought his father had the money to sway many people."
"I wouldn't have either. But there are powers besides money."
The comment seemed to hang in the air.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Maati-kvo."
"Symbols have weight. The wedding coming as it does might sway the
sentimental. Or perhaps Vaunyogi has advocates we aren't aware of."
"Such as?"
Maati stopped. They had reached a wide courtyard, rich with the scent of
cropped summer grass. The andat halted as well, its broad head tilted in
an attitude of polite interest. Cehmai felt a brief flare of hatred
toward it, and saw its lips twitch slightly toward a smile.
"If you've spoken for the Vaunyogi, I need to know it," Matti said.
"We're not to take sides in these things. Not without direction from the
Dai-kvo."
"I'm aware of that, and I don't mean to accuse you or pry into what's
not mine, but on this one thing, I have to know. They did ask you to
speak for them, didn't they?"
"I suppose," Cehmai said.
"And did you speak for them?"
"No. Why should I?"
"Because Idaan Machi is your lover," Maati said, his voice soft and full
of pity.
Cehmai felt the blood come into his face, his neck. The anger at
everything that he had seen and heard pressed at him, and he let himself
borrow certainty from the rage.
"Idaan Machi is Adrah's wife. No, I did not speak for Vaunyogi. Despite
your experience, not everyone falls in love with the man who's taken his
lover."
Maati leaned back. The words had struck home, and Cehmai pressed on,
following the one attack with another.
"And, forgive me, Maati-cha, but you seem in an odd position to take me
to task for following my private affairs where they don't have a place.
You are still doing all this without the l)ai-kvo's knowledge?"
"He might have a few of my letters," Nlaati-kvo said. "If not yet, then
soon."
"But since you're a man under those robes, on you go. I am doing as the
Dai-kvo set me to do. I am carrying this great bastard around; I am
keeping myself apart from the politics of the court; I'm not willing to
stand accused of lighting candles while you're busy burning the city down!"
"Calling me a bastard seems harsh," Stone-Made-Soft said. "I haven't
told you how to behave."
"Be quiet!"
"If Vol, think it will help," the andat said, its voice amused, and
Cehmai turned the fury inward, pressing at the space where he and
Stone-blade-Soft were one thing, pushing the storm into a smaller and
smaller thing. He felt his hands in fists, felt his teeth ache with the
pressure of his clenched jaw. And the andat, shifted, bent to his
fire-bright will, knelt and cast down its gaze. He forced its hands into
a pose of apology.
"Cehmai-cha."