building as if it were coming from a different world. When she came out, he heard her footsteps and the leather physician's satchel bumping against her hip. She stopped just behind him.
'They're beautiful,' he said, nodding at the cranes.
'I suppose,' Eiah said.
'Vanjit? The others?'
'In their rooms,' Eiah said, a trace of satisfaction in her voice. 'Three rooms, and all of them private. Meals this evening and before we go. One length of silver and two copper.'
'You could have paid them the normal price,' NIaati said.
'My pride won't allow it,' Eiah said. She stepped forward and knelt. 'There was something. If you're not tired.'
'I'm an old man. I'm always tired.'
Her eyes held some objection, but she didn't give it voice. Instead she unbuckled her satchel, rooted in it for a moment, and drew out a paper. Maati took it, frowning. The characters were familiar, a part of Eiah's proposed binding, but the structure of them was different. Awkward.
'It isn't perfect,' Eiah said. 'But I thought we could consider it. I've mentioned the idea to Large Kae, and she has some ideas about how to make it consonant with the grammar.'
Maati lifted his hand, palm out, and stopped the flow of words. The cranes called, their harsh voices crossing the water swifter than arrows. He sounded out each phrase, thinking through the logic as he did.
'I don't understand,' he said. 'This is the strongest part of the binding. Why would you change…'
And then he saw her intentions. Each change she had made broadened the concept of wounds. Of harm. Of damage. And there, in the corner of the page, was a play on the definitions of blood. He folded the page, slipping it into his sleeve.
'No,' he said.
'I think it can-'
'No,' Maati said again. 'What we're doing is hard enough. Making it fit the things that Sterile has done is enough. If you try to make everything fit into it, you'll end with more than you can hold.'
Eiah sighed and looked out across the water. The wind plucked a lock of hair, the black threads dancing on her cheek. He could see in her expression that she'd anticipated all he would say. And more, that she agreed. He put a hand on her shoulder. For a moment, neither spoke.
'Once we reach the river, things will move faster,' Eiah said. 'With the Galts' paddle boats, we should reach Utani before the worst cold comes.' To their left, a fish leaped from the water and splashed back down. 'Once I have you someplace with real physicians, I'm going to try the binding.'
Maati drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. A sick dread uncurled in his belly.
'You're sure?' he said.
Eiah took a pose that confirmed her resolve and also chided him. When he replied with one that expressed mild affront, she spoke.
'You sit here like something from a philosopher's daydream, refusing to let me even try to mend your heart,' she said, 'and then you start quaking like an old woman when I'm the one at risk.'
''Quaking like an old woman'?' Maati said. 'I think we haven't known the same old women. And of course I'm concerned for you, Eiah- kya. How could I not be? You're like a daughter to me. You always have been.'
'I might not fail,' she said. And a moment later, rose, kissed his hair, and walked in, leaving him alone with the world. Maati sank deeper into his cloak, determined to watch the birds until his mind calmed. Half a hand later, he went inside the building, muttering to himself.
The evening meal was a soup of ground lentils, rice, and a sweet, hot spice that made Maati's eyes water. He paid an extra length of copper for a second bowl. The commons with its low ceilings and soot-stained walls also served as a teahouse for the nearby low towns. By the time he'd finished eating, local men and women had begun to appear. They took little notice of the travelers, which suited Maati quite well.
In less interesting times, the table talk would have turned on matters of weather, of crop yields and taxes and the small jealousies and dramas that humanity drew about itself in all places and times. Instead, they spoke of the Emperor, his small caravan on its way to Pathai or else Lachi or else some unknown destination in the Westlands. He was going to broker a new contract for women, now that the Galts had been destroyed, or else retrieve the new poet and march back in triumph. He had been secretly harboring the poets all this time, or had become one himself. Nothing that approached the truth. Small Kae, listening to two of the local men debate, looked on the edge of laughter the whole evening.
As the last of the sunset faded, a pair of the older men took up drums, and the tables nearest the fire grate were pulled aside to clear space for dancers. Maati was prevented from excusing himself from the proceedings only by Vanjit's appearance at his side.
'Maati-kvo,' she murmured, her hand slipping around his arm, 'I spoke to Eiah-kya. I know it was wrong of me to interfere, but please, please, will you reconsider?'
The older of the two men set up a low throbbing beat on his drum. The second drummer closed his eyes and bobbed his head almost in time with the first. Maati suspected that both were drunk.
'This isn't the place to discuss it,' Maati said. 'Later, we can
…'
'Please,' Vanjit said. Her breath wasn't free from the scent of distilled wine. Her cheeks were flushed. 'Without you, none of us matter. You know that. You're our teacher. We need you. And if Eiah
… she pays its price, you know that I'll be there. I can do the thing. I've already managed once, and I know that I could do it again.'
The second drum began, dry and light and not quite on its mark. No one seemed to be paying attention to the old man in the corner or the young woman attached to his arm. Maati leaned close to Vanjit, speaking low.
'What is it, Vanjit-kya?' he asked. 'This is the second time you've offered to bind Wounded. Why do you want that?'
She blinked and released his arm. Her eyes were wider, her mouth thin. It was his turn to take her arm, and he did, leaning close enough to speak almost into her ear.
'I have known more poets than I can count,' he said. 'Only a few held the andat, and none of them took joy in it. My own first master, Heshai of Saraykeht, planned out a second binding of Seedless. It could never have worked. It was too near what he'd done before, and part of Sterile's failure was that I borrowed too much from his design.'
'I don't know what you mean, Maati-kvo,' Vanjit said. Three women had stepped into the dancing space and were thumping in a simple pattern, keeping time with one drum or the other.
'I mean that everyone wants a second chance,' Maati said. 'Clarityof-Sight…'
Maati bit down, glancing to see if anyone had heard him. The music and the dance were the focus of the room.
'The little one,' Maati said, more quietly, 'isn't what you'd hoped. But neither would the next one be.'
He might just as well have slapped her. Vanjit's face went white, and she stood so quickly the bench scraped out from under her. By the time Maati rose, she was halfway to the door leading out to the stables and courtyard, and when he reached her, they were outside in the chill. A thin fog blurred the lantern hanging above the wayhouse door.
'Vanjit!' Maati called, and she turned back, her face a mask of pain.
'How could you say that? How could you say those things to me?' she demanded. 'You had as much to do with that binding as I did. You are just as much responsible for him. I offered to take Eiah's place because someone would have to, not because it's something that I want. I love him. He's my boy, and I love him. He is everything I'd hoped. Everything!'
'Vanjit-'
She was weeping openly now, her voice high, thin, and wailing.
'And he loves me. No matter what you say, I know he does. He's my boy, and he loves me. How could you think that I'd want a second chance? I offered this for you!'
He took her sleeve in his fist, and she pulled back, yelping. She tried to turn away, but he would not let her.
'Listen to me,' he said sternly. 'You don't need to tell me how deeply you-
