Daniel Abraham - THE

I say we give the world to the trees and the worms. One great nation of

the eyeless."

"Vanjit," Maati said. His back hurt like someone had stabbed him and

left the blade in. He fought to find the words. "You mustn't do this. I

didn't teach you this."

"I did what you told me," she said, her voice rising. The andat's cry

rose with her, an infantile rage and anguish and exultation at the

world's destruction. "I did what you wanted. More, Maati-kvo, I did what

you couldn't do yourself, and you hated me for it. You wanted me dead?

Fine, then. I'll die. And the world can come with me."

"No!" Maati cried.

"I'm not a monster," Vanjit said. Like a candle being snuffed, the

andat's wail ceased. Vanjit collapsed beside him, as limp as a puppet

with cut strings.

There were voices. Otah, Danat, Eiah, Idaan, Ana. And others. He lay

back, letting his eyes close. He didn't know what had happened. For the

moment, he didn't care. His body was a single, sudden wash of pain. And

then, his chest only ached. Maati opened his eyes. An unfamiliar face

was looking down at him.

The man had skin as pale as snow and flowing ink-black hair. His eyes

were deep brown, as soft as fur and as warm as tea. His robe was blue

silk embroidered with thread of gold. The pale man smiled and took a

pose of greeting. Maati responded reflexively. Vanjit lay on the floor,

her arm bent awkwardly behind her, her eyes open and empty.

"Killed her," Maati said. "You. Killed her."

"Well. More precisely, we wounded her profoundly and then she died," the

pale man said. "But I'll grant you it's a fine point. The effect is much

the same."

"Maati!"

He lifted his head. Eiah was rushing toward him, her robes pressed back

like a banner by her speed. Otah and Idaan followed her more slowly. Ana

and Danat were locked in a powerful embrace. Maati lifted his hand in

greeting. When she drew near, Eiah hesitated, her gaze on the fallen

girl. The pale man-Wounded-took a pose that offered congratulations, and

there was irony in the cant of his wrists. Eiah knelt, touching the

corpse with a calm, professional air.

"Oh, yes," the andat said, folding its hands. "Quite dead."

"Good," Eiah said.

"He isn't standing," Idaan said, nodding toward Maati.

Eiah's attention shifted to him and her face paled.

"Just need. To catch my breath."

"His heart's stopping," Eiah said. "I knew this would happen. I told you

to drink that tea."

Maati waved his hand, shooing her concerns away. Danat and Ana had come.

He hadn't noticed it. They were simply there. Ana's eyes were brown and

they were beautiful.

"Can't we ... can't we do something?" Danat asked.

"No," said the andat in the same breath that Eiah said, "Yes. I need my

satchel. Where is it?"

Danat rushed back to the great doors, returning half a moment later with

the physician's satchel in his hands. Eiah grabbed it, plucked out a

cloth bag, and started shuffling through sheaves of dried herbs that to

Maati looked identical.

"There's another bag. A yellow one," Eiah said. "Where is it?"

"I don't think we brought it," Danat said.

"Then it's back at the quay. Get it now."

Danat turned and sprinted. Gently, Eiah took Maati's hand. He thought at

first she meant to comfort him, but her fingers pressed into his wrist,

and then she reached for his other hand. He surrendered himself to her

care. He didn't have a great deal of choice. Idaan squatted at his side,

Otah sitting on the dais. The andat rose, stepping back by Ana's side as

if out of respect.

"How bad?" Idaan asked.

"He hasn't died. That's what I can offer for now," Eiah said. "Maati-

kya, open your mouth. I don't have time to brew this, but it will help

until I can get the rest of my supplies. It's going to be sweet first

and then bitter."

"You've done it," Maati said around the pinch of leaves she put on his

tongue.

Eiah looked at him, her expression startled. He smiled at her.

"You bound it. You've cured the blindness."

Eiah looked up at her creation, her slave. It nodded.

"Well, no," she said. "I mean, yes, I bound him. And I did undo Vanjit's

damage to Ana and myself. And then you, when I saw that she'd done it."

"Galt?" Ana asked.

"I hadn't ... I hadn't even thought of it. Gods. Is there anything

different to be done? I mean, a whole nation at once?"

"You have to do everything," Maati said. "Birds. Beasts. Fish. Everyone,

everywhere. You have to hurry. It's only a thought." The herbs were

making his mouth tingle and burn, but the pain in his breast seemed to

ebb. "It's no different."

Eiah turned to the andat. The kind, pale face hardened. No matter how it

seemed, the thing wasn't a man and it wasn't gentle. But it was bound to

her will, and a moment later Eiah caught her breath.

"It's done," she said, wonder in her voice. "They've been put back. The

ones who are left."

Ana stepped forward and knelt, wordlessly enfolding Eiah in her arms.

From where he lay, he could see Eiah's eyes close, watch her lean into

the embrace. The two women seemed to pause in time, a moment that lasted

less than two long breaths together but carried the weight of years

within it. Eiah raised her head sharply and the andat twitched. Idaan

leaped up, yelping. All eyes turned to her as she pressed a flat palm to

her belly.

"That," she said, "felt very odd. You should warn someone when you're

planning something like that."

"Sterile?" Otah asked. His voice was low. There was no joy in it.

"Repaired," Eiah said. "We can bear again. Galts can father children and

we can bear them."

"I don't suppose you could leave me as I was?" Idaan asked.

"So we've begun again," Otah said. "It is all as it was. We've only

changed a few names. Well-"

Wounded cut him off with a low bark of a laugh. Its eyes were fixed upon

Eiah. Otah looked from one to the other, his hands taking a querying

pose. Woman and slave both ignored him.

"Everyone?" the andat asked.

"Everyone, everywhere," Eiah said. "It's only a thought, isn't it?

That's all it needs to be."

"What are you doing?" Ana asked. It seemed like a real curiosity.

"I'm curing everyone," Eiah said. "If there's a child in Bakta who split

her head on a stone this morning, I want it fixed. A man in Eymond whose

hip was broken when he was a boy and healed poorly, I want him walking

without pain in the morning. Everyone. Everywhere. Now."

"Eiah Machi," the andat said, its voice low and amused, "the little girl

who saved the world. Is that how you see it? Or is this how you

apologize for slaughtering a whole people?"

Eiah didn't speak, and the andat went still again. Anger flashed in its

eyes and Maati's hand went out, touching Eiah's. She patted him away

absently, as if he were no more than a well-intentioned dog. The andat

hissed under its breath and turned away. Maati noticed for the first

time that its teeth were pointed. Eiah relaxed. Maati sat up; his breath

had almost returned. The andat shifted to look at him. The whites of his

eyes had gone as black as a shark's; he had never seen an andat shift

its appearance before, and it filled him with sudden dread. Eiah made a

scolding sound, and the andat took an apologetic pose.

Maati tried to imagine what it would be like, a thought that changeable,

that flexible, that filled with violence and rage. How did we everthink

we could do good with these as our tools? For as long as she held the