distracting conflicts. It's Seedless again."

Eiah put down his wrists, pressing her fingertips against his palms with

the air of a buyer at a market.

"Does it matter?" Eiah murmured. "Say that the andat has been

manipulating us all. What does that change?"

Eiah put down his hands. Her smile was thin and humorless. Something

scurried in the bushes, small and fast. A mouse, perhaps.

"Is all well?" Large Kae called from the fire. In the cart, someone

moaned and stirred.

"Fine," Maati said. "We're fine. Only adjusting something." Then,

quietly, "I doubt it changes anything. Vanjit's more likely to side with

Clarity-of-Sight than with us. If it is scheming against her-and,

really, I can't see why it wouldn't be-it's better placed to get what it

wants. It is her. It knows what she needs and what she fears."

"You think she wants to die?" Eiah asked.

"I think she wants to stop hurting. Binding the andat was supposed to

stop the pain. Having a babe was supposed to. Revenge on the Galts. Now

here she is with everything she wanted, and she still hurts."

Maati shrugged. Eiah took a pose of agreement and of sorrow.

"If she weren't a poet, I'd pity her," Eiah said. "But she is, and so

she frightens me."

"Maati-kya?" Vanjit's voice came from the darkness over Eiah's shoulder.

It was high and anxious. "What's the matter with Maati-kvo?"

"Nothing," Eiah said, turning back. Vanjit was sitting up, her hair

wild, her eyes wide. The andat was clutched to her breast. Eiah took a

reassuring pose. "Everything's fine."

Poet and andat looked at Maati with expressions of distrust so alike

they were eerie.

THE RIVER QIIT HAD ITS SOURCE FAR NORTH OF UTANI. RAINS FROM THE

mountain ranges that divided the cities of the Khaiem from the Westlands

flowed east into the wide flats, gathered together, and carved their way

south. Utani, the ruins of Udun, and then far to the south, the wide,

silted delta just east of Saraykeht.

At its widest, the river was nearly half a mile across, but that was

farther south. Here, at the low town squatting on the riverfront, the

water was less than half that, its surface smooth and shining as silver.

Eight thin streets crossed one another at unpredictable angles. Dogs and

chickens negotiated their peace in bark and squawk, tooth and beak as

Maati drove past. Two wayhouses offered rest. Another teahouse was

painted in characters that made it clear there were no beds for hire

there, and grudgingly offered fresh noodles and old wine. The air

smelled rich with decay and new growth, the cold water and the dust of

the road. There should have been children in the streets, calling,

begging, playing games both innocent and cruel.

Maati drew the cart to a halt in the yard of the wayhouse nearest the

riverfront itself. Large Kae dismounted and went in to negotiate for a

room. After the incident with the andat, the agreement was that someone

would always be in a private room with the shutters closed and the door

bolted, watching the andat. If all went as he intended it, they would be

on the river well before nightfall, but still ...

Vanjit's scowl had deepened through the day. Twice more they had passed

men and women with pale skin and blind eyes. Two were begging at the

side of the road, another was being led on the end of a rope by an old

woman. Eiah had not insisted on stopping to offer them aid. Happily,

there were no Galtic faces at the wayhouse. Vanjit paused in the main

room, her hand on Maati's shoulder. The andat was in her other arm,

concealed by a blanket and as still as death.

"Maati-kvo," she said. "I'm worried. Eiah has been so strange since we

left the school, don't you think? All the hours she's spent writing on

those tablets. I don't think it's good for her."

"I'm sure she's fine," Maati said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"And giving silver to those Galts," Vanjit said, her voice creeping

higher. "I don't know what she means by that. Do you?"

Large Kae came in from a dark corridor and motioned them to follow.

Maati almost had to pull Vanjit to get her attention. She glared at

Large Kae's back as they walked.

"It seems to me," Vanjit continued, "that Eiah is forgetting who are her

allies and who are her enemies. I know you love her, Maati-kvo, but you

can't let that blind you. You can't ignore the truth."

"I won't, Vanjit-kya," Maati said. The room was on the first floor.

Fresh rushes on the floor. A small cot of stretched canvas. Oak shutters

closed against the daylight. "You leave this to me. I'll see to it."

Large Kae left, murmuring something about seeing to the animals. When

the door closed behind her, Vanjit let the blanket fall and set the

andat on the cot. It cooed and burbled, waving its hands and grinning

toothlessly. It was a parody of infantile delight, and seeing Vanjit's

smilepleasure and fear and anger all in the smallest stretching of her

lipsmade Maati's flesh crawl.

"You have to do something," she said. "Eiah-kya can't be trusted with

the andat. You wouldn't ..."

The baby shrieked and flopped to its side, trying to lower itself to the

floor. Vanjit moved forward and lifted it back up before she went on.

"You wouldn't let someone you can't trust bind the andat. You wouldn't

do that."

"Certainly, I'd try not to," Maati said.

"That's a strange answer."

"I'm not a god. I use the judgment I have. It isn't as if I can see into

someone's heart."

"But if you think Eiah can't be trusted," Vanjit said, anger growing in

her voice, "you will stop her. You have to."

Who am I speaking to? he wondered. The girl? The andat? Does Vanjit know

what she's saying?

"Yes," Maati said slowly. "If she isn't fit to be a poet to wield the

andat, it would be my duty to see that she does not. I will stop her.

But I have to be sure. I can't do this thing until I'm sure there's

nothing I can do that will mend her."

"Mend her?" Vanjit said and took a pose that scorned the thought.

"I won't kill someone unless there is no other way."

Vanjit stepped back, her face going pale. The andat's gaze shifted from

one to the other and back, its eyes shining with unfeigned delight.

"I never said to kill her," Vanjit said, her voice soft.