expression. It would have been too much to hope for that Cehmai would
drop everything in his life and take to the road at once. And still,
Maati had hoped for it....
Inside the thick stone walls of the farmhouse, the air was cooler and
rich with the scent of dog and old curry. The afternoon faded slowly,
the sun lingering in the treetops to the west, its light thick and
golden and softened by Maati's failing eyes. Cicadas set up a choir. He
sat on a low stone porch, watching everything and nothing.
Maati had known quite well that Idaan and Cehmai had been lovers once,
even while Idaan had been married to another man and arranging the
deaths of her family. Cehmai's betrayal of her had been the key that
brought her down, that lifted Otah into the role of Khai Machi, and from
there to Emperor. Cehmai had, in his fashion, created the world as it
was with the decision to expose his lover's crimes.
Maati had thought the man mad for still harboring feelings for the
woman; she was a murderer and a traitor to her city and her family. He'd
thought him mad twice over for wanting to find her again after the andat
had vanished from the world and the poets had fallen from grace. She
would, he had expected, kill Cehmai on sight.
And yet.
As a boy, Maati had taken another man's lover as his own, and Otah had
forgiven it. In gratitude or something like it, Maati had devoted
himself to proving Otah's innocence and helped to bring Idaan's crimes
to light. Seedless, the first andat Maati had known, had betrayed both
the poet Heshai who had bound him and the Galtic house that had backed
the andat's cruel scheme. And the woman-what had her name been?whose
child died. Seedless had betrayed everyone, but had asked only Maati to
forgive him.
The accrued weight of decades pressed upon him as the sun caught in the
western branches. Dead children, war, betrayal, loss. And here, in this
small nameless farm days' travel from even a low town of notable size,
two lovers who had become enemies were lovers again. It made him angry,
and his anger made him sad.
As the first stars appeared, pale ghost lights in the deepening blue
before sunset, Idaan emerged from the house. With her leather gear gone,
she looked less like a thing from a monster tale. She was a woman, only
a woman. And growing old. It was only when she met his gaze that he felt
a chill. He had seen her eyes set in a younger face, and the darkness in
them had shifted, but it had not been unmade.
"There's food," she said.
The table was small and somehow more frail than Maati had expected.
Three bowls were set out, each with rice and strips of browned meat.
Cehmai was also pouring out small measures of rice wine from a bone
carafe. It was, Maati supposed, an acknowledgment of the occasion and
likely as much extravagance as Cehmai's resources would allow. Maati
took a pose that offered thanks and requested permission to join the
table. Cehmai responded with one of acceptance and welcome, but his
movements were slow. Maati couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion or
thought. Idaan added neither word nor pose to the conversation; her
expression was unreadable.
"I've been thinking," Cehmai said. "Your plan. I have a few questions
about it."
"Anything," Maati said.
"Would your scheme to undo what Sterile did include restoring the Galts?"
Maati took a strip of the meat from his bowl. The flesh was pleasantly
rich and well-salted. He chewed slowly to give himself time to think,
but his hesitation was answer enough.
"I don't think I can join you," Cehmai said. "This battle I've ... I've
lost my taste for it."
Maati felt his own frown like an ache.
"Reconsider," he said, but Cehmai shook his head.
"I've given too much of my life to the world already. I'd like to keep
the rest of my years for myself. No more great struggles, no more cities
or nations or worlds resting on what I do or don't do. What I have here
is enough."
Maati wiped his fingers on his sleeve and took a pose of query that
bordered on accusation. Cehmai's eyes narrowed.
"Enough for what?" Maati demanded. "Enough for the pair of you? It'll be
more than enough before many years have passed. It'll be too much. How
much do you work in a day? Raising your own food, tending your crop and
your animals, making food and washing your robes and gathering wood for
your fires? Does it give you any time at all to think? To rest?"
"It isn't as easy as living in the courts, that's truth," Cehmai said.
His smile was the same as ever, even set in this worn face. "There are
nights it would be good to leave the washing to a servant."
"It won't get easier," Maati said. "You'll get older. Both of you. The
work will stay just as difficult, and you'll get tired faster. When you
take sick, you'll recover slowly. One or the other of you will strain
something or break an old bone or catch fever, and your children won't
be there to care for you. The next farm over? His children won't be
there for you either. Or the next. Or the next."
"He's not wrong, love," Idaan said. Maati blinked. Of all the people in
the world, Idaan was the last he'd expected support from.
"I know all that," Cehmai said. "It doesn't mean that I should go back
to being a poet."
"What else would you do?" Maati said. "Sell the land rights? Who is
there to buy them? Take up some new trade? Who will there be to teach
you? Binding the andat is the thing you've trained for. Your mind is
built for the work. These girls ... you should see them. The dedication,
the engagement, the drive. If this thing can be done, they will do it.
We can remake the world."
"We've done that once already," Cehmai said. "It didn't go well."
"We didn't have time. The Galts were at our door. We did what we had to
do. And now we can correct our errors."
"Does my brother know about this?" Idaan asked.
"He refused me," Maati said.
"Is that why you hate him?"
The air around the table seemed to clench. Maati stared at the woman.
Idaan met his gaze with a level calm.
"He is selling us," Maati said. "He is turning away from a generation of
women whose injuries are as much his fault as ours."
"And is that why you hate him?" Idaan asked again. "You can't tell me
that you don't, Maati-cha. I know quite a lot about hatred."