Idaan made a low grunt of pleasure, reached across Eiah and shifted a
stray chunk of wax into place. Eiah's fingers caressed the new join, and
she nodded to herself. Armsmen brought the wild, flickering light close,
the waxwork lettering seeming to breathe in the shadows.
"Maati's warnings," Otah said. "You can't know what will happen if you
pit your andat against hers."
"I won't have to," Eiah said. "I've thought this through, Papa-kya. I
know what I'm doing. There was another section. It was almost square
with one corner missing. Can anyone see that?"
"Check the satchel," Idaan said as Otah plucked the piece from the hem
of Eiah's robe. He pressed it into her hand. Her fingertips traced its
surface before she placed it at the bottom of the second almost-formed
tablet. Her smile was gentler than he'd seen from her since he'd walked
into the wayhouse. He touched her cheek.
"Maati doesn't know you're doing this, then?" Otah asked.
"We didn't think we'd ask him," Idaan said. "No disrespect to Eiahcha,
but that man's about half again as cracked as his poet."
"No, he isn't mad," Eiah said, her hands never slowing their dance
across the face of the broken tablets. "He's just not equal to the task
he set himself. He always meant well."
"And I'm sure the two dozen remaining Galts will feel better because of
it," Idaan said acidly. And then, in a gentler voice, "It doesn't matter
what story you tell yourself, you know. We've done what we've done."
"I wish you would stop that," Eiah said.
Idaan's surprise was clear on her face, and apparently in her silence as
well. Eiah shook her head and went on, her tone damning and conversational.
"Every third thing you say is an oblique reference to killing my
grandfather. We all know you did the thing, and we all know you regret
it. None of this is anything to do with that. Papa-kya and Maati love
each other and they hate each other, and it doesn't pertain either.
Maati's overwhelmed by the consequences of misjudging Vanjit, and he
might not be if he weren't hauling Nayiit and Sterile and Seedless along
behind him."
Idaan looked like she'd been slapped. The armsmen were crowded so close,
Otah could hear the low flutter of the torches burning, but the men
pretended not to have heard.
"The past doesn't matter," Eiah said. "A hundred years ago or last
night, it's all just as gone. I have a binding to work, and I'd like to
make the attempt before Vanjit blinds Maati and walks him off something
tall. I think we have something like half a hand."
They worked together in silence, three pairs of hands putting the wax
into place quickly. There were still sections missing, and some parts of
the tablets were shattered so thoroughly that Eiah's markings were all
but lost. His daughter passed her fingertips slowly over each of the
surfaces, her brow furrowed, her lips moving as if reciting something
under her breath. Whether it was the binding or a prayer, Otah couldn't
guess.
Idaan leaned close to Otah, her breath a warm and whispering breeze
against his ear.