Daniel Abraham - Price of Spring

He began with leaving the school, Eiah's opinion of his health, Vanjit's escalating unreliability. The story took on a rhythm as he told it, the words putting themselves in order as if he had practiced it all before. Idaan didn't speak, but her listening was intense, drawing detail from him almost against his will.

It was as if he were telling himself what had happened, offering a kind of confession to the empty night, Idaan Machi-of all people in the world, Idaan Machi-as his intercessor.

He reached the end-Vanjit's discovery of the poison, her escape, his decision to find help. Somewhere in the course of things, he'd let himself slip to the ground, sitting with his legs stuck out before him and the stone paving leaching the warmth from his body. Idaan squatted beside him. He imagined that the manner of her listening had softened, as if silences could differ like speech.

"I see," she said. "Well. Who'd have thought this would become worse?"

"You led him to us," Maati said.

"I did my best," Idaan agreed. "It's been years since I put my hand to this kind of work. I'm out of practice, but I did what I could."

"All to regain his imperial favor," Maati said. "I would never have guessed that you'd become his toady."

"Actually, I started it to protect Cehmai," Idaan said as if he had offered her no insult. "With you stirring up the mud, I was afraid for him. I wanted Otah to know that he wasn't part of it. And then, once I was at the court… well, I had amends to make to Danat."

"The boy?"

"No. The one he's named for," Idaan said. She heaved a great sigh. "But back to the matter at hand, eh? I understand how hard and confusing it is to love someone you hate. I really do. And if you call me his toady again, I swear by all the gods there ever were, I'll disjoint your fingers. Understood?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen like this," Maati said. "I wanted to heal the world, not… not this."

"Plans go awry," Idaan said. "It's their nature. I'm going back in. Join us when you're ready. I'll get something warm for you to drink."

Maati sat alone, growing colder. Behind him, the wayhouse ticked as the day's heat radiated away. An owl gave its low coo to the world, and the darkness around him seemed to lessen. He could make out the paving stones, the outline of the stable, the high branches rising toward the stars like thin fingers. Maati rested his head against the wall and let his eyes close.

The trembling had stopped. The anger was less immediate, chagrin slowly taking its place. He heard Eiah's calm voice, as solid as stone, from within. He should be with her. He should be at her side. She shouldn't have to face them by herself. He rose, grunting, and lumbered inside, his knees aching.

Otah was sitting in a low wooden chair, his fingers pressed to his lips in thought. He glanced up as Maati stepped into the room but made no other acknowledgment. Eiah, speaking, gestured to the space between Otah and Danat. Her voice had neither rancor nor apology, and Maati was reminded again why he admired her.

"Yes," she said, "the andat outplayed us. From the beginning with Ashti Beg to the end with me, we wanted to think of it as a baby. We all knew it wasn't. We all understand perfectly well that it was some part of Vanjit's mind made flesh, but…"

She raised her hands, palms out. Not a formal pose, but the gesture was eloquent enough.

"So what does it want?" Danat said. "If it truly wants Vanjit killed, why didn't it help you? That would have done all it wanted to do."

"It may want more than freedom," Idaan said, speaking over her shoulder as she pressed a warm bowl into Maati's hand. "There's precedent. Seedless wanted his freedom, but he also wanted his poet to suffer. Clarity-of-Sight may want something for Vanjit besides death."

"Such as?" Large Kae asked. "Punishment," Eiah suggested. "Or isolation. Or…"

"Or a sense of family," Ashti Beg said, her voice oddly contemplative.

"If we think of the babe as having more than one agenda, this could be its way of making a world that was only mother and child. Alienating all the rest of us."

"But it also wants its freedom," Maati said. Small Kae shifted on her bench at the sound of his voice, making room for him. He moved forward and sat. "Whatever else it wants, it must want that."

A puff of smoke escaped from the fire grate. Maati sipped the drink Idaan had given him-rum with honey and apple. It warmed his throat and made his chest glow.

"Is this really what we should care about?" the Galtic girl-Anaasked. "I don't mean that as an attack, but it seems that we've estab lished that the girl's less than sane. Is there something we gain by trying to guess at the shape of her madness?"

"We might have a better idea of where she's gone," Small Kae offered. "What she might do next?"

"Ana's right," Danat said. "We could roll dice about it, but there are some things we know for certain. She set out half a day's boat ride north of here a night ago. If she goes upriver, she'll need to hire a boat. If she goes down, she could hire one or build a raft and rely on the current. Or she can go east over land. What about the low towns? Could she have found shelter in a low town?"

The group was silent, then Danat said, "I'll get the keeper. She may know something of the local geography."

It was, Maati thought, a strangely familiar feeling. A handful of people sitting together, thinking aloud about an insoluble problem. The weeks at the school, sitting in the classrooms with chalk marks on the walls. All of them offering suggestion, interpretation, questions opened for anyone to answer if they could. He took an unexpected comfort from it.

The only one who didn't speak was Otah.

The conversation went on long into the night. The longer they took to find Vanjit, the greater her chance of escape. The greater her chance of dying alone in the wild. The Galtic girl and Small Kae had a long discussion of whether they were going to rescue Vanjit or if the aim was to kill her; Small Kae advocated a fast death, Ana wanted the chance to ask Vanjit to undo the damage to Galt. Danat counted the days to Utani, the days back, guessed at the size of the search party that could be raised.

"There is another option," Eiah said, her pearl-gray eyes focused on nothing. "I had a binding prepared. Wounded. If I can manage it, we would have another way to heal the damage done to Galt."

Ana turned toward Eiah's voice, raw hope on her face. Maati almost felt sorry to dash it.

"No," he said. "It can't be done. Even if you knew it well enough to perform it blind, we hadn't looked over the most recent version. And Vanjit ruined the notes."

"But if Galt could be given its eyes again…" Danat said.

"Vanjit could take them away again," Maati said. "Clarity-of-Sight and Wounded could go back and forth until eventually Eiah tried to heal someone just as Vanjit tried to blind them, and then the gods alone know what would happen. And that matters less than the fact that Eiah would die if she tried the thing."

"You don't know that," Idaan said.

"I'm not willing to take the risk," Maati said.

Otah listened, his brow furrowed, his gaze shifting now and again to the fire. It wasn't until morning that Maati and the others learned what the Emperor was thinking.

The morning light transformed the wayhouse. With the shutters all opened, the benches and tables and soot-stained walls seemed less oppressive. The fire still smoked, but the breeze moving through the rooms kept the air fresh and clear, if cold. The wayhouse keeper had prepared duck eggs and peppered pork for their morning meal, and tea brewed until it was rich with taste and not yet bitter.

They were not all there. Ashti Beg and the two Kaes had stayed up after many of the others had faded into their restless sleep. Maati had slipped into dream with the sound of their voices in his ears, and none of them had yet risen. Danat and Otah were sitting at the same table, looking like a painter's metaphor of youth and age. Eiah and Idaan shared his own table, and he did not know where the Galtic girl had gone.