leap himself, he had been sure the moment his feet left the rough, hot
stone that he would die. That pause, divorced from earth and water,
willing himself hack up, trying to force himself to fly and take hack
that one irrevocable moment, had felt very much like sitting quiet and
alone in this garden. The trees shifted like slow dancers, the flowers
trembled, the stone glowed where the sun struck it and faded to gray
where it did not. He rubbed his fingers against the gritty bench to
remind himself where he was, and to keep the panic in his breast from
possessing him.
He heard the door slide open with a whisper, and then shut again. He
rose, forcing his body to move deliberately and took a pose of greeting
even before he looked up. Maati Vaupathai. 'l'ime had thickened him, and
there was a sorrow in the lines of his face that hadn't been there even
in the weary days when he had stood between his master Heshaikvo and the
death that had eventually come. Otah wondered whether that change had
sprung from Heshai's murder, and whether Maati had ever guessed that
Otah had been the one who drew the cord across the old poet's throat.
Maati took a pose of welcome appropriate for a student to a teacher.
"It wasn't me," Otah said. "My brother. You. I had nothing to do with
any of it."
"I had guessed that." Maati said. He did not come nearer.
"Are you going to call the armsmen? There must be half a dozen out
there. Your student could have been more subtle in calling them."
"'There's more than that, and he isn't my student. I don't have any
students. I don't have anything." A strange smile twitched at the corner
of his mouth. "I have been something of a disappointment to the Daikvo.
Why are you here?"
"Because I need help," Otah said, "and I hoped we might not be enemies.
Maati seemed to weigh the words. He walked to the bench, sat, and leaned
forward on clasped hands. Otah sat beside him, and they were silent. A
sparrow landed on the ground before them, cocked its head, and fluttered
madly away again.
"I came back because it was controlling me," Otah said. "This place.
These people. I've spent a lifetime leaving them, and they keep coming
back and destroying everything I build. I wanted to see it. I wanted to
look at the city and my brothers and my father."
He looked at his hands.
"I don't know what I wanted," Otah said.
"Yes," Maati said, and then, awkwardly, "It was foolish, though. And
there will be consequences."
"There have been already."
"There'll be more."
Again, the silence loomed. There was too much to say, and no order for
it. Otah frowned hard, opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again.
"I have a son," Maati said. "Liat and I have a son. His name's Nayiit.
He's probably just old enough now that he's started to notice that girls
aren't always repulsive. I haven't seen them in years."
"I didn't know," Otah said.
"How would you? The Dal-kvo said that I was a fool to keep a family. I