across and then let it beat itself to death. She's quite the hunter."
She slung the bow back over her shoulder, walking carefully into the
trampled garden. Flies rose from the beast in a buzzing cloud. Idaan
ignored them, putting her hand on the dead buck's flank.
"It's a waste," she said. "If I had rope and the right knife we could at
least dress him and eat something fresh tonight. I hate leaving him for
the rats and the foxes."
"Why did you kill him then?"
"Mercy. You were right, though. Vanjit's in the city somewhere. That was
a good call."
"I'm half-sorry I said anything," Maati said. "You'd kill her just as
quickly, wouldn't you?"
"You think you can romance her into taking back her curse. I'm no one to
keep you from trying."
"And then?"
"And then we follow the same plan each of us had. It's the one thing we
agree upon. She's too dangerous. She has to die."
"I know what I intended. I know what Eiah and I were planning. But that
was the andat's scheme. I think there may be another way."
Idaan looked up, then stood. The bow was still in her hand.
"Can you give her her parents back?" she asked. "Can you give her the
brothers and sisters she lost? Udun. Can you rebuild it?"
Maati took a pose that dismissed her questions, but Idaan stepped close
to him. He could feel her breath against his face. Her eyes were cold
and dark.
"Do you think that Galt died blind because of something you can remedy?"
she demanded. "What's happened, happened. You can't will her to be the
woman you hoped she was. Telling yourself that you can is worse than
stupidity."
"If she puts it to rights," Maati said, "she shouldn't have to die."
Idaan narrowed her eyes, tilted her head.
"I'll offer you this," she said. "If you can talk the girl into giving
Galt back its eyes-and Eiah and Ashti Beg. Everyone. If you can do that
and also have her release her andat, I won't be the one who kills her."
"Would Otah let her live?" Maati asked.
"Ask him and he might," Idaan said. "Experience suggests he and I have
somewhat different ideas of mercy."
At midday, they returned to their camp. The boat was tied up at an old
quay slick with mold. The scent of the river was rich and not entirely
pleasant. Two of the other scouting parties had returned before them;
Danat and one of the armsmen were still in the city but expected back
shortly. Otah, in a robe of woven silk under a thicker woolen outer
robe, sat at a field table on the quayside, sketching maps of the city
from memory. Idaan made her report, Maati silent at her side. He tried
to imagine asking Otah for clemency on Vanjit's behalf. If Maati could
persuade her to restore sight to everyone she'd injured and release the
andat, would Otah honor Idaan's contract? Or, phrased differently, if
Maati couldn't save the world, could he at least do something to redeem
this one girl?
He didn't ask it, and Idaan didn't raise the issue.
After Danat and the armsmen returned, they all ate a simple meal of
bread and dried apples. Danat, Otah, and the captain of the guard
consulted with one another over Otah's sketched maps, planning the
afternoon's search. Idaan tended to Ana; their laughter seemed
incongruous in the grim air of their camp. Eiah sat by herself at the
water's edge, her face turned up toward the sun. Maati went to her side.
"Did you drink your tea this morning?" she asked.
"Yes," he lied petulantly.
"You need to," she said. Maati shrugged and tossed the last round of
dried apple into the water. It floated for a moment, the pale flesh
looking nearly white on the dark water. A turtle rose from beneath and
bit at it. Eiah held out her hand, palm up, fingers beckoning. Maati was
vaguely ashamed of the relief he felt taking her hand in his own.
"You were right," Maati confessed. "I still want to save Vanjit. I know
better. I do, but the impulse keeps coming back."
"I know it does," Eiah said. "You have a way of seeing things the way
you'd prefer them to be rather than the way they are. It's your only vice."
"Only?"
"Well, that and lying to your physician," Eiah said, lightly.
"I drink too much sometimes."
"When was the last time?"
Maati shrugged, a smile tugging at his mouth.
"I used to drink too much when I was younger," he said. "I still would,
but I've been busy."
"You see?" Eiah said. "You had more vices when you were young. You've
grown old and wise."
"I don't think so. I don't think you can mention me and wisdom in the
same breath."
"You aren't dead. There's time yet." She paused, then asked, "Will they
find her?"
"If Otah-kvo's right, and she wants us to," Maati said. "If she doesn't
want to be found, we might as well go home."
Eiah nodded. Her grip tightened for a moment, and she released his hand.
Her brow was furrowed with thought, but it was nothing she chose to
share. Don't leave me, he wanted to say. Don't go back to Otah and leave
me by myself. Or worse, with only 17anjit. In the end, he kept his silence.
His second foray into the city came in the middle of the afternoon. This
time they had set paths to follow, rough-drawn maps marked with each
pair's route, and Maati was going out with Danat. They would come back
three hands before sunset unless some significant discovery was made.
Maati accepted Otah's instructions without complaint, though the
resentment was still there.
The air was warmer now, and with the younger man's pace, Maati found
himself sweating. They moved down smaller streets this time, narrow
avenues that nature had not quite choked. The birds seemed to follow
them, though more likely it was only that there were birds everywhere.
There was no sign of Vanjit or Clarity-of-Sight, only raccoons and
foxes, mice and hunting cats, feral dogs on the banks and otters in the
canals. They were hardly a third of the way through the long, complex
loop set out for them when Maati called a halt. He sat on a stonework
bench, resting his head in his hands and waiting for his breath to slow.
Danat paced, frowning seriously at the brush.
It struck Maati that the boy was the same age Otah had been in
Saraykeht. Not as broad across the shoulders, but Otah had been Irani
Noygu and a seafront laborer then. Maati himself had been born four
years after the Emperor, hardly sixteen when he'd gone to study under
Heshai and Seedless. Younger than Ana Dasin was now. It was hard to
imagine ever having been that young.
"I meant to offer my congratulations to you," Maati said. "Ana-cha seems
a good woman."