today must have been four days' ride."
"We'll do well enough," the boatman agreed. "Have you in Utani before
the last leaf drops, that's certain."
Large Kae went across to the shore, two tents on her wide back. Eiah was
just behind her with a crate of food to make the evening meal. The
twilight sky was gray streaked with gold, and the calls of birds gave
some hint to where the boatman's songs had found their start. On another
night, it would have been beautiful.
"How many days do you think that would be?" Maati asked, trying to keep
his tone light and friendly. From the boatman's perfunctory smile, it
wasn't an unfamiliar question.
"Six days," the boatman said. "Seven. If it's been raining to the north
and the river starts running faster, it could go past that, but this
time of year, that's rare."
Vanjit shifted past them, brushing against Maati as she stepped onto the
plank. The andat was curled against her, its head resting on her
shoulder like a tired child might.
"Thank you," Maati said.
They made camp a dozen yards inland, where the ground was dry. It was
habit now. Routine. Eiah dug the fire pit, Small Kae gathered wood.
Large Kae put the sleeping tents in place. Irit would have started
cooking, but Maati knew well enough how to take her part. A few bowlfuls
of river water, crushed lentils that had been soaking since morning,
slivers of salted pork, an onion they'd hauled almost from the school.
It made for a better soup than Maati had first expected, though the gods
all knew he was tired of it now. It would keep them alive until morning.
Vanjit stepped out of the shadows just as Maati filled a bowl for the
boatman, the andat on one hip, a satchel on the other. Everyone was
aware that she hadn't helped to make camp. No one complained. In the
firelight, she looked younger even than she was. Her eyes flashed, and
she smiled.
Vanjit sat at Maati's side, accepting the next full bowl. The andat
rested at her feet, shifting its weight as if to crawl away but then
shifting back. The boatman and his second went back to their boat, bowls
steaming in their hands. It was, Maati supposed, all well for passengers
to sleep on the shore, but someone needed to stay with the boat. Better
for them as well. It would have been awkward, explaining why the baby's
breath didn't fog.
When they had gone, Eiah rose to her feet. The darkness under her eyes
was dispelled by her smile. The others looked up at her.
"I would like to announce a small celebration," she said. "I've been
reworking the binding for Wounded, and as of today, the latest version
is complete."
Small Kae smiled and applauded. Large Kae grinned. Eiah made a show of
pulling a wineskin from her bags. They all applauded now. Even Vanjit.
But Eiah's gaze faltered when her eyes met Maati's, and his belly soured.
Something in her wine to deepen her sleep. She mustn't see the blow coming.
"Yes," Maati said, trying to hide his fear. "Yes, I think celebration is
in order."
"You've seen the new draft?" Vanjit asked as Eiah poured the wine into
bowls. "Is it ready?"
"I haven't been through it all as yet," he said. "There are some changes
that make me optimistic. By Udun, I'll have a better-informed opinion."
The two Kaes were toasting each other, the fire. Eiah came to Maati and
Vanjit. She pressed bowls into their hands, and went back to pour one
for herself. Maati drank quickly, grateful for something to do that
would occupy his hands and his mind. If only for a moment.
Vanjit swirled her wine bowl, looking down at it with what might have
been serenity.
"Maati-kvo," Vanjit said. "Do you remember when I first came to you?
Gods, it seems like it was a different life, doesn't it? You were
outside Shosheyn-Tan."
"Lachi," Eiah said from across the fire.
"Of course," Vanjit said. "I remember now. I met Umnit at a bathhouse,
and we'd started talking. She brought me to Eiah-cha, and Eiah brought
me to you. It was that abandoned house, the one with all the mice.
"I remember," Maati said. The two Kaes exchanged a glance that Maati
didn't understand. Vanjit laughed, throwing back her head.
"I can't think what you saw in me back then," she said. "I must have
looked like something the dogs wouldn't eat."
"They were lean times for all of us," Maati said, forcing a jovial tone.
"Not for you," she said. "Not with Eiah to look after you. No, don't you
pretend that she hasn't supported us all from the start. Without her, we
would never have come this far."
Eiah took a pose that accepted the compliment and raised her wine bowl,
but Vanjit still didn't drink from her own. Maati willed her to drink
the poison, to end this.
"I think of who I was then," Vanjit said, her voice soft and
contemplative. She sounded like a child. Or worse, like a grown woman
trying to sound childish. "Lost. Empty. And then the gods touched my
shoulder and turned me toward you. All of you, really. You've been the
only family I've ever had. I mean, since the Galts came."
At her feet, Clarity-of-Sight wailed as if heartbroken. Vanjit turned to
it, her brow furrowed in concentration. The andat squirmed, shuddered,
and became still. The tension in Maati's shoulders was spreading to his
throat. He could see Eiah's hands clutching her bowl.
"The only family I've had," Vanjit said, as if finding her place in a
practiced speech. And then softly, "Did you think I wouldn't know?"
Large Kae put down her bowl, her gaze shifting from Eiah to Vanjit and
back. Maati shifted to the side, his throat almost too tight for words.
"Know what?" he asked. The words came out stilted and rough. Even he
wasn't convinced by them. Vanjit stared at him, disappointment in her
expression. No one moved, but Maati felt something shifting in his eyes.
The andat's attention was on him, the tiny face growing more and more
detailed with each heartbeat.
Vanjit held out the poisoned wine bowl. The color was wrong. No human
would ever have seen the difference, but with the andat driving his
vision and hers, there was no mistaking it. The deep red had a greenish
taint that no other bowl suffered.
"What ... what's that?" Maati squeaked.
"I don't know," Vanjit said in a voice that meant she did. "Perhaps you
should drink it for me, and we could see. But no. You're too valuable.
Eiah, perhaps?"
"I'm sorry. Did I not clean the bowl well enough?" Eiah asked.
Vanjit threw her bowl into the fire, flames hissing and smoke rushing up
in a cloud. There was rage in her expression.
"Vanjit," Eiah said. "I don't think ..."
Vanjit ignored them, untying her satchel with a fast scrabbling motion.