"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."