me, doesn't it? All the things that aren't innate to the idea of sight made clear. So when I bind Wounded, it would be almost like having him back. It would be, because it would come from me, just as he does.'
'It… it might,' Maati said. His head still felt light. A chill sweat touched his back. 'I suppose it might. But the risk of it would also be huge. Once the andat was let go, you wouldn't be able to recall it. Even if you were to bind another, Clarity-of-Sight would be gone. We have the power now…'
'But my power doesn't mean anything,' Vanjit said. Her voice was taking on a strained tone, as if some banked anger was rising in her. 'Eiah matters. Wounded matters.'
He thought of the Galts, blinded. Had Vanjit held Wounded, they would doubtless all have died. A nation felled-every woman, every man-by invisible swords, axes, stones. It was a terrible power, but they weren't here for the benefit of the Galts. He put his hand over Vanjit's.
'Let us hope it never comes to that,' he said. 'It would be far, far better to have two poets. But if it does, I'm glad you'll be here.'
The girl's face brightened and she darted forward, kissing Maati's lips as brief and light as a butterfly. The andat on her hip gurgled and flailed. Vanjit nodded as if it had spoken.
'We should go,' Vanjit said. 'We've spent so much time talking about how to approach you, I've neglected the classes. Thank you, Maati-kvo. I can't tell you how much it means to know that I can still help.'
Maati nodded, waited until girl and andat had vanished, then lowered himself to the floor. Slowly, the knot in his chest relaxed, and his breath returned to its normal depth and rhythm. In the snow-gray sunlight, he considered the backs of his hands, the nature of the andat, and what he had just agreed to. The cold of the stone and the sky seemed to take his energy. By the time he rose, his fingers had gone white and his feet were numb.
He found the others in the kitchen. Chalk marks on the walls sketched out three or four grammatical scenarios, each using different vocabulary and structures. Eiah, considering the notes, took a brief pose of welcome when he appeared, then turned to stare at him. Irit fluttered about, chattering merrily until he was seated by the fire with a bowl of warm tea in his hand. Large Kae and Small Kae were in the middle of a conversation about the difference between cutting and crushing, which in other circumstances would have been disturbing to hear. Vanjit sat with a beatific smile, Clarity-of-Sight perched on her lap. Maati motioned at Eiah that she should carry on, and with a reluctance he didn't understand, she did.
The tea was warm and smelled like spring. Coals glowed in the brazier. The voices around him seemed hopeful and bright. But then he saw the andat's black eyes and was reminded of his unease.
The session came to its end and the women scattered, each to her own task, leaving only Vanjit sitting by the fire, nursing the andat from a breast swollen with milk. Maati made his way back to his rooms. He was tired past all reason and unsteady on his feet. As he had hoped, Eiah was waiting outside his door.
'That seemed to go well,' Maati said. 'I think Irit's solution was fairly elegant.'
'It has promise,' Eiah agreed as she followed him into the room. He sat in a leather chair, sighing. Eiah blew life into the coals in the fire grate, added a handful of small tinder and a twisted length of oak to the fire, then took a stool and pulled it up before him.
'How do you feel about the binding's progress?' he asked.
'Well enough,' she said, taking both his forearms in her hands. Her gaze was locked somewhere over his left shoulder, her fingers pressing hard into the flesh between the bones of his wrists. A moment later, she dropped his right hand and began squeezing his fingertips.
'Eiah-kya?'
'Don't mind me,' she said. 'It's habit. The binding's coming closer. There are one or two more things I'd like to try, but I think we've come as near as we're going to.'
She went on for half a hand, recounting the fine issues of definition, duration, and intent that haunted the form of her present binding. Maati listened, submitting himself to her professional examination as she went on. Outside the window, the snow was falling again, small flakes gray against the pure white sky. Before Vanjit, he wouldn't have been able to make them out.
'I agree,' Maati said as she ended, then plucked his sleeves back into their proper place. 'Do you think…'
'Before Candles Night, certainly,' Eiah said. 'But there is going to be a complication. We have to leave the school. Utani would be best, but Pathai would do if that's impossible. You and I can leave in the morning, and the others can join us.'
Maati chuckled.
'Eiah-kya,' he said. 'You've apologized for letting Ashti Beg go. I understand why you did it, but there's nothing to be concerned about. Even if she did tell someone that we're out here, Vanjit could turn Clarityof-Sight against them, and we could all walk quietly away. The power of the andat-'
'Your heart is failing,' Eiah said. 'I don't have the herbs or the baths to care for you here.'
She said it simply, her voice flat with exhaustion. Maati felt the smile fading from his lips. He saw tears beginning to glimmer in her eyes, the drops unfallen but threatening. He took a pose that denied her.
'Your color is bad,' she said. 'Your pulses aren't symmetric. Your blood is thick and dark. This is what I do, Uncle. I find people who are sick, and I look at the signs, and I think about them and their bodies. I look at you, here, now, and I see a man whose blood is slow and growing slower.'
'You're imagining things,' Maati said. 'I'm fine. I only haven't slept well. I would never have guessed that you of all people would mistake a little lost rest for a weak heart.'
'I'm not-'
'I am fine!' Maati shouted, pounding the arm of the chair. 'And we cannot afford to run off into the teeth of winter. You aren't a physician any longer. That's behind you. You are a poet. You are the poet who's going to save the cities.'
She took his hand in both of hers. For a moment, there was no sound but the low murmur of the fire and the nearly inaudible sound of her palm stroking the back of his hand. One of the threatened tears fell, streaking her cheek black. He hadn't realized she wore kohl.
'You,' he said softly, 'are the most important poet there is. The most important one there ever was.'
'I'm just one woman,' Eiah said. 'I'm doing the best I can, but I'm tired. And the world keeps getting darker around me. If I can't take care of everything, at least let me take care of you.'
'I will be fine,' Maati said. 'I'm not young anymore, but I'm a long way from death. We'll finish your binding, and then if you want to haul me to half the baths in the Empire, I'll submit.'
Another tear marked her face. Maati took his sleeve and wiped her cheek dry.
'I'll be fine,' he said. 'I'll rest more if you like. I'll pretend my bones are made of mud brick and glass. But you can't stop now to concern yourself with me. Those people out there. They're the ones who need your care. Not me.'
'Let me go to Pathai,' she said. 'I can get teas there.'
'No,' Maati said. 'I won't do that.'
'Let me send Large Kae, then. I can't stand by and do nothing.'
'All right,' Maati said, holding up a placating hand. 'All right. Let's wait until morning, and we can talk to Large Kae. And perhaps you'll see that I'm only tired and we can move past this.'
She left in the end without being convinced. As darkness fell, Maati found himself slipping into a soft despair. The world was quiet and still and utterly unaware of him.
His son was dead. The people he had counted as his friends had become his enemies, and he was among the most despised men in the world. Eiah was wrong, of course. His health was fine. But someday, it would fail. All men died, and most were forgotten. The few that the world remembered were not always celebrated.
He lit the night candle by holding it to the fire, the wax hissing where it dripped on the coals. He found his book and settled close to the fire grate before opening the cover and considering the words.
I, Maati Vaupathai, am one of the two men remaining in the world who has wielded the power of the andat.
Already, it was not true. There were three living poets now, and one of them a woman. Between the time he had touched a pen to this page and this moment, reading it in the early night, the world had moved on. He wondered how much of the rest was already old, already the property of a past that could never be regained. He read slowly, tracing the path his own mind had taken. The candle lent the pages an orange glow, the ink seeming to retreat into the pages, as if they were much larger and much farther away. The fire warmed his ankles and turned strong, solid wood into ashes softer than snow.
