THE (tlpq-4) (46 page)

Eiah, from himself. The nights of conversation and food and laughter

were gone like a pleasant dream. They had created a women's grammar and

the price was higher than he could have imagined.

Murder. He was planning to murder one of his own.

As he had expected, the boat was too small for any more private

conversations. He had managed no more than a few moments with Eiah when

none of the others were paying them attention. Something in Vanjit's

wine, perhaps, to slow her mind and deepen her sleep. She mustn't know

that the blow was coming.

He could see that it weighed on Eiah as much as it did upon him. She sat

carving soft wood with a knife wherever Vanjit was not, her mouth in a

vicious scowl. The wax tablets that had been her whole work before he'd

come to her lay stacked in a crate. The latest version of Wounded,

waiting for his analysis and approval. He imagined the two of them would

sit nearer each other if it weren't for the fear that Vanjit would

suspect them of plotting. And he would not fear that except that it was

truth.

For their own part, Vanjit and Clarity-of-Sight held to themselves. Poet

and andat in apparent harmony, watching the night sky or penetrating the

secrets of wood and water that only she could see. Vanjit hadn't offered

to share the wonders the andat revealed since before they had left the

school, and Maati couldn't bring himself to ask the favor. Not knowing

what he knew. Not intending what he intended.

When evening came, the boatman sang out, his second joining the high

whooping call. There was no reason for it that Maati could see, only the

habit of years. The boat angled its way to a low, muddy bank. When the

water was still enough, the second dropped over the side and slogged to

the line of trees, a rope thick as his arm trailing behind him. Once the

rope had been made fast to the trees, he called out again, and the

boatman shifted the mechanism of the boiler from paddle wheel to winch,

and the great rope went taut. It creaked with the straining, and river

water flowed from the strands as if giant hands were wringing it. By the

time the boatman stopped, the craft was almost jumping distance from the

shore and felt as solid as a building. It made Maati uncomfortable,

afraid that they had grounded it so well that they wouldn't be able to

free it in the morning. The boatman and his second showed no unease.

A wide plank made a bridge between boat and shore. The boatman wrestled

it into place with a stream of perfunctory vulgarity. The second, his

robes soaked and muddied, trotted back onto the deck.

"We're doing well, eh?" Maati said to the boatman. "The distance we went

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.

When she lifted it, blocks of wax spilled out, gray and white, like

rotten ice. Maati saw bits of Eiah's writing cut into them.

"You were going to kill me," Vanjit said.

Eiah took a pose that denied the charge. The firelight flickered over

Vanjit's face, and for a moment, Maati thought the poet might believe

the lie. He cleared his throat.

"We wouldn't do that," he said.

Vanjit turned to him, her expression empty and mad. At his feet, the

andat made a sound that might have been a warning or a laugh.

"Do you think he only speaks to you?" Vanjit spat.

Maati sputtered, falling back a step when Vanjit lunged forward. She

only scooped up the andat, turned, and ran into the darkness.

Maati scrambled after her, calling her name with a deepening sense of

despair. The trees were shadows within the night's larger darkness. His

voice seemed too weak to carry more than a few paces before him. It

couldn't have been more than half a hand-less than that, certainlywhen

he stopped to catch his breath. Leaning against an ancient ash, he

realized that Vanjit was gone and he was lost, only the soft rushing of

the river away to his left still there to guide him. He picked his way

back, trying to follow the route he had taken and failing. A carpet of

dry leaves made his steps loud. Something shifted in the branches

overhead. The cold numbed his fingers and toes. The half-moon glimmering

among the branches assured him that he had not been blinded. It was the

only comfort he had.

In the end, he made his way east until he found the river, and then

south to the wide mud where the boat still rested. It was simple enough

to find the little camp after that. He tried to nurture some hope that

he would step into the circle of firelight to find Vanjit returned and,

through some unimagined turn of events, peace restored. The laughter and

soft company of the first days of the school returned; time unwound, and

his life ready to be lived again without the errors. He wanted it to be

true so badly that when he stumbled into the clearing and found Eiah and

the two Kaes seated by the fire, he almost thought they were well.

Eiah turned gray, fogged eyes toward him.

"Who's there?" she demanded at the sound of his approaching steps.

"It's me," Maati said, wheezing. "I'm fine. But Vanjit's gone."

Large Kae began to weep. Small Kae put an arm over the woman's shaking

shoulders and murmured something, her eyes closed and tearstreaked.

Maati sat at the fire. His bowl of soup had overturned.

"She's done for the three of us," Eiah said. "None of us can see at all."

"I'm sorry," Maati said. It was profoundly inadequate.

"Can you help me?" Eiah said, gesturing toward something Maati couldn't

fathom. Then he saw the pile of wax fragments. "I think I have them all,

but it's hard to be sure."

"Leave them," Maati said. "Let them go."

"I can't," Eiah said. "I have to try the thing. I can do it now. Tonight."