who brought him wine and food. Eiah had been no more than a girl, then.
Bright, engaged, curious. But more than that, she had been joyful. And
he remembered himself as being a part of that joy, that comfort.
He lumbered into one of the wide, bare rooms where rows and columns of
cots had once held boys no older than ten summers, wrapped in all the
robes they owned to keep off the cold. He leaned against the wall,
feeling the rough stone against his back.
Another winter in this place. There was a time when he'd thought it wise.
Footsteps came from behind him. Vanjit's. He knew them from the sound.
He didn't turn to greet her. When she stepped into the room, waxed silk
shining like leather, she didn't at first look at him. She had grown
beautiful in an odd way. The andat held against her hip clung to her,
and there was a peace in her expression that lent her an air of
serenity. He wanted to trust her, to take her success as the first of a
thousand ways in which he would be able to set the world right, to
unmake his mistakes.
"Maati-kvo," Vanjit said. Her voice was low and soft as a woman newly woken.
"Vanjit," he said, taking a pose of greeting.
She and the andat came to sit at his side. The tiny thing balled its
hands in the folds of Maati's robe, tugging as if to draw his attention.
Vanjit appeared not to notice.
"Eiah-cha is doing well, isn't she?" Vanjit asked.
"I think so," Maati said. "She's taken a wide concept, and that's always
difficult. She's very serious, though. There are a few flaws. Structures
that work against each other instead of in concert."
"How long?" Vanjit asked. Maati rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.
"Until she's ready? If she finds a form that resolves the conflict, I
suppose she could start the last phase tomorrow. Two weeks. Three at the
earliest. Or months more. I don't know."
Vanjit nodded to herself, not looking up at him. The andat tugged at his
robe again. Maati looked down into the black, eager eyes. The andat gave
its wide, toothless grin.
"We've been talking," Vanjit said. "Clarity-of-Sight and I have been
talking about Eiah and what she's doing. He pointed something out that I
hadn't considered."
That was possible, but only in a fashion. The andat was a part of her,
as all of them reflected the poets who had bound them. Whatever thought
it had presented in the deep, intimate battle it waged with Vanjit, it
had to have originated with her. Still, she was as capable of surprising
herself as any of them. Maati took a pose that invited her to continue.
"We can't know how Eiah-cha's binding will go," Vanjit said. "I know
that we were first as a test of the grammar. That Clarity-of-Sight
exists is proof that the bindings can work. It isn't proof that Eiah-cha
... Don't misunderstand, Maati-kvo. I know as well as anyone that
Eiah-cha is brilliant. Without her, I would never have managed my
binding. But until she makes the attempt, we can't be sure that she's
the right sort of mind to be a poet. Even with all our work, she might
still fail."
"That's true," Maati said, trying to turn away from the thought even as
he spoke.
"It would all end, wouldn't it? What I can do, what we can do. It
wouldn't mean anything without Eiah-cha. She's the one who can undo what
Sterile did, and unless she can do that ..."
"She's our best hope," Maati said.
"Yes," Vanjit said, and turned to look up at Maati. Her face was bright.
"Yes, our best hope. But not the only one."
The andat at her hip clucked and giggled to itself, clapping tiny hands.
Maati took a pose of query.
"We know for certain that we have one person who could bind an andat,
because I already have. I want Eiah-cha to win through as badly as
anyone, but if her binding does fail, I could take it up."
Maati smiled because he could think of nothing else to do. Dread knotted
in his chest. His breath had grown suddenly short, and the
warehouse-wide walls of the sleeping quarters had narrowed. Vanjit
stood, her hand on his sleeve. Maati took a moment, shook his head.
"Are you well, Maati-kvo?" Vanjit asked.
"I'm old," he said. "It's nothing. Vanjit-kya, you can't hold another
andat. You of all of us know how much of your attention Clarity-of-Sight
requires.
"I would have to release him for a time," Vanjit said. "I understand
that. But what makes him him comes from me, doesn't it? All the things
that aren't innate to the idea of sight made clear. So when I bind
Wounded, it would be almost like having him back. It would be, because
it would come from me, just as he does."
"It ... it might," Maati said. His head still felt light. A chill sweat
touched his back. "I suppose it might. But the risk of it would also be
huge. Once the andat was let go, you wouldn't be able to recall it. Even
if you were to bind another, Clarity-of-Sight would be gone. We have the
power now ..."
"But my power doesn't mean anything," Vanjit said. Her voice was taking
on a strained tone, as if some banked anger was rising in her. "Eiah
matters. Wounded matters."
He thought of the Galts, blinded. Had Vanjit held Wounded, they would
doubtless all have died. A nation felled-every woman, every man-by
invisible swords, axes, stones. It was a terrible power, but they
weren't here for the benefit of the Galts. He put his hand over Vanjit's.
"Let us hope it never comes to that," he said. "It would be far, far
better to have two poets. But if it does, I'm glad you'll be here."
The girl's face brightened and she darted forward, kissing Maati's lips
as brief and light as a butterfly. The andat on her hip gurgled and
flailed. Vanjit nodded as if it had spoken.
"We should go," Vanjit said. "We've spent so much time talking about how
to approach you, I've neglected the classes. Thank you, Maati-kvo. I
can't tell you how much it means to know that I can still help."
Maati nodded, waited until girl and andat had vanished, then lowered
himself to the floor. Slowly, the knot in his chest relaxed, and his
breath returned to its normal depth and rhythm. In the snow-gray
sunlight, he considered the backs of his hands, the nature of the andat,
and what he had just agreed to. The cold of the stone and the sky seemed
to take his energy. By the time he rose, his fingers had gone white and
his feet were numb.
He found the others in the kitchen. Chalk marks on the walls sketched
out three or four grammatical scenarios, each using different vocabulary
and structures. Eiah, considering the notes, took a brief pose of
welcome when he appeared, then turned to stare at him. Irit fluttered
about, chattering merrily until he was seated by the fire with a bowl of