Daniel Abraham - THE

"You saw her," Danat said.

"I did."

"Where is she? What did she want?"

"She's at the palaces, and there's no point in rushing over there like a

man on fire. She can see everything, and she knows to watch. We could no

more take her by surprise than fly."

Maati took a deep breath and turned back along the path they'd just

come. There was no reason to follow Otah's route now, and Maati wanted

to sit down for a while, perhaps drink a bowl of wine, perhaps speak to

Eiah for a time. He wanted to understand better why the dread in his

breast was mixed with elation, the fear with pleasure.

"What does she want?" Danat asked, trotting to catch up to Maati.

"I suppose that depends upon how you look at things," Maati said. "In

the greater scheme, she wants what any of us do. Love, a family,

respect. In the smaller, I believe she wants to see me beg before I die.

The odd thing is that even if she had that, it wouldn't bring her any

last„ ing peace.

"I don't understand."

Maati stopped. It occurred to him that if he had taken the wrong pose,

made the wrong decision just now, he and the boy would be trying to find

their way back to camp by smell. He put a hand on Danat's shoulder.

"I've asked Vanjit to meet with me tonight. She's agreed, but it can

only be the two of us," Maati said. "I believe that once it's done I'll

be able to tell you whether the world is still doomed."

29

"No," Otah said. "Absolutely not."

"All respect," Maati said. "You may be the Emperor, but this isn't your

call to make. I don't particularly need your permission, and Vanjit's

got no use for it at all."

"I can have you kept here."

"You won't," Maati said. The poet was sure of himself, Otah thought,

because he was right.

When Danat and Maati had returned early, he had known that something had

happened. The quay they had adopted as the center of the search had been

quiet since the end of the afternoon meal. Ana and Eiah sat in the

shadow of a low stone wall, sleeping or talking when Eiah wasn't going

through the shards of her ruined binding, arranging the shattered wax in

an approximation of the broken tablets. The boatman and his second had

taken apart the complex mechanism connecting boiler to wheel and were

cleaning each piece, the brass and bronze, iron and steel laid out on

gray tarps and shining like jewelry. The voices of the remaining armsmen

joined with the low, constant lapping of the river and the songs of the

birds. At another time, it might have been soothing. Otah, sitting at

his field table, fought the urge to pace or shout or throw stones into

the water. Sitting, racking his brain for details of a place he'd lived

three decades ago, and pushing down his own fears both exhausted him and

made him tense. He felt like a Galtic boiler with too hot a fire and no

release; he could feel the solder melting at his seams.

If they had followed his plan, Danat and Maati would have returned to

the quay from a path that ran south along the river. They came from the

west, down the broad stone steps. Danat held a naked blade forgotten in

his hand, his expression set and unnerved. Maati, walking more slowly,

seemed on the verge of collapse, but also pleased. Otah put down his pen.

"You've found her?"

"She's found us," Maati said. "I think she's been watching us since we

stepped off the boat."

The armsmen clustered around them. Eiah and Ana rose to their feet,

touching each other for support. Maati lumbered into the center of the

quay as if it were a stage and he was declaiming a part. He told them of

the encounter, of Vanjit's appearance, of the andat at her side. He took

the poses he'd adopted and mimicked Vanjit's. In the end, he explained

that Vanjit would see him-would see only him-and that it was to happen

that evening.

"She doesn't know you," Maati continued, "and what little she does know,

she doesn't have a use for. To her, you're the man who turned against

his own people. And I am the teacher who gave her the power of a small god."

"And then plotted to kill her," Otah said, but he knew this battle was

lost. Maati was right: neither of them had the power here. The poet and

her andat were their masters whether he liked it or not. She could

dictate any terms she wished, and Maati was important to her in a way

that Otah himself was not.

It was a meeting with the potential to end the world or save it. He

would have given it to a stranger before he trusted it to Maati.

"What are you going to tell her?" Ana asked. Her voice sounded hungry.

Weeks-months now-Ana had been living in shadows, and here was the chance

to make herself whole.

"I'll apologize," Maati said. "I'll explain that the andat manipulated

us, playing on our fears. Then, if Vanjit will allow it, I'll have Eiah

brought so that she can offer her apologies as well."

Eiah, standing where Otah could see her face, lifted her chin as if

something had caught her attention. Something ghosted across her

facealarm or incredulity-and then was gone. She became a statue of

herself, a mask. She had no more faith in Maati than he did. And, to

judge from her silence, no better idea of what to do either.

"She has killed thousands of innocent people," Otah said. "She's

crippled women she had numbered among her friends. Are you sure that

apologizing is entirely appropriate?"

"What would you have me do?" Maati asked, his hands taking a pose that

was both query and challenge. "Should I go to her swinging accusations?

Should I tell her she's not safe and never will be?"

The voice that answered was Idaan's.

"There's nothing you can say to her. She's gone mad, and you talk about

her as if she weren't. Whatever words you use, she's going to hear what

she wants. You might just as well send her a puppet and let her speak

both parts."

"You don't know her," Maati said, his face flushing. "You've never met her."

"I've been her," Idaan said dismissively as she walked down the steps to

the now-crowded quay. "Give her what she wants if you'd like. It's never

made her well before, and it won't make her well now."

"What would you advise?" Otah asked.

"She'll be distracted," Idaan said. "Go in with a bowman. Put an arrow

in the back of her head just where the spine touches it."

"No," Maati shouted.

"No," Eiah said. "Even if killing her is the right thing, think of the

risk. If she suspects, she can always lash out, and we haven't got any

protection against her."

"There doesn't need to be anyone there for her to be suspicious," Idaan

said. "If she's frightened by shadows, the end is just as bloody."

"So we're giving up on Galt," Ana said. Her voice was flat. "I listen to

all of you, and the one thing I never hear mentioned is all the people

who've died because they happened to be like me."

Maati stepped forward, taking the girl's hand. Otah, watching her,

didn't believe she needed comfort. It wasn't pain or sorrow in her

expression. It was resolve.

"They don't think they can move her to mercy," Maati said. "I will do

everything I can, Ana-cha. I'll swear to anything you like that I will-"

"Take me with you," Ana said. "I'm no threat to her, and I can speak for

Galt. I'm the only one here who can do that."

Her orders were met by silence until Idaan made a sound that was equally

laughter and cough.

"She told me to come alone," Maati said. "If she sees me leading a blind