scheming to haul countless thousands of blinded women from Kirinton,
Acton, and Marsh.
He tried to picture his old friend and enemy, but he could conjure only
a sense of his presence. Otah's face escaped him, but it had been a
decade and a half since they had seen each other. All memory faded, he
supposed. Everything, eventually, passed into the white veil and was
forgotten.
The snow made roadway and meadow identical, so the first bend in the
road was marked by a stand of thin trees and a low ridge of stone. Maati
watched the dark buildings vanish behind the hillside. It was unlikely
that he would ever see them again. But he would carry his memories of
the warmth of the kitchens, the laughter of women, the first binding
done by a woman, and the proof that his new grammar would function.
Better that than the death house it had been when the Galts had come
down this same road, murder in their minds. Or the mourning chambers for
boys without families before that.
Vanjit shuddered. Her face was paler. Maati freed his hands and took a
pose that expressed concern and offered comfort. Vanjit shook her head.
"He's never been away," she said. "He's leaving home for the first time."
"It can be frightening," Maati said. "It will pass."
"No. Worse, really. He's happy. He's very happy to be leaving," Vanjit
said. Her voice was low and exhausted. "All the things we said about the
struggle to hold them. It's all truth. I can feel him in the back of my
mind. He never stops pushing."
"It's the nature of the andat," Maati said. "If you'd like, we can talk
about ways to make bearing the burden easier."
Vanjit looked away. Her lips were pale.
"No," she said. "We'll be fine. It's only a harder day than usual. We'll
find another place, and see you cared for, and then all will be well.
But when the time comes to bind Wounded, there are things I'll do
differently."
"We can hope it never comes to that," Maati said.
Vanjit shifted, her eyes widening for a moment, and the soft, almost
flirting smile came to her lips.
"Of course not," she said. "Of course it won't. Eiah-cha will be fine. I
was only thinking aloud. It was nothing."
Maati nodded and lay back. His thick robes cushioned the bare wood of
the cart's side. Crates and chests groaned and shifted against their
ropes. Small Kae and Irit began singing, and the others slowly joined
them. All of them except Vanjit and himself. He let his eyes close to
slits, watching Vanjit from between the distorting bars of his eyelashes.
The andat squirmed again, howled out once, and her face went hard and
still. She glanced over at Maati, but he feigned sleep. The others,
involved in their song and the road, didn't see it when she pulled
Clarity-of-Sight from her cloak, staring at it. The tiny arms flailed,
the soft legs whirled. The andat made a low, angry sound, and Vanjit's
expression hardened.
She shook the thing once, hard enough to make the oversized head snap
back. The tiny mouth set itself into a shocked grimace and it began to