cells, and Irit and Large Kae were sitting at the window that Maati
remembered looking out when he had been a child called before Tahi-kvo.
Bald, mean-spirited Tahi-kvo, who would not have recognized the world as
it had become; women studying the andat in his own rooms, the poets
almost vanished from the world, Galts on the way to becoming the nobles
of this new, rattling, sad, stumble-footed Empire. Nothing was the same
as it had been. Everything was different.
Vanjit, sitting with her legs crossed by the fire grate, smiled up at
him. Maati took a pose of greeting and lowered himself carefully to her
side. Irit and Large Kae both glanced at him, their eyes rich with
curiosity and perhaps even envy, but they kept to their window and their
conversation. Vanjit held out her bowl of cooked wheat and raisins, but
Maati took a pose that both thanked and refused, then changed his mind
and scooped two fingers into his mouth. The grain was rich and salted,
sweetened with fruit and honey both. Vanjit smiled at him; the
expression failed to reach her eyes.
"I looked over your work. Yours and Eiah-cha's," he said. "It's
interesting."
Vanjit looked down, setting the bowl on the stone floor at her side.
After a moment's hesitation, her hands took a pose that invited his
judgment.
"I . . ." Maati began, then coughed, looked out past Large Kae and Irit
to the bright and featureless blue of the western sky. "I don't want to
hurry this. And I would rather not see any more of you pay the price of
falling short."
Her mouth tightened, and her eyebrows rose as if she were asking a
question. She said nothing.
"You're sure you want this?" he asked. "You have seen all the women
we've lost. You know the dangers."
"I want this, Maati-kvo. I want to try this. And ... and I don't know
how much longer I can wait," she said. Her gaze rose to meet his. "It's
time for me. I have to try soon, or I think I never will."
"If you have doubts about-"
"Not doubts. Only a little despair now and then. You can take that from
me. If you let me try." Maati started to speak, but the girl went on,
raising her voice and speaking faster, as if she feared what he would
say next. "I've seen death. I won't say I'm not afraid of it, but I'm
not so taken by the fear that I can't risk anything. If it's called for."
"I didn't think you were," he said.
"And I helped bury Umnit. I know what the price can look like. But I
buried my mother and my brother and his daughter too, and they didn't
die for a reason. They were only on the streets when Udun fell," she
said, and shrugged. "We all die sometime, Maati-kvo. Risking it sooner
and for a reason is better than being safe and meaningless. Isn't it?"
Brave girl. She was such a brave girl. To have lost so much, so young,
and still be strong enough to risk the binding. Maati felt tears in his
eyes and forced himself to smile.
"We chose it for you. Clarity-of-Sight," she said. "I saw how hard it is
for you to read some days, and Eiah and I thought ... if we could help ..."