Seasons of War

womb,’ the andat said. ‘Scarred it. And I’ve done the same to every woman in the cities of the Khaiem. Machi, Chaburi-Tan, Saraykeht. All of them. Young and old, highborn and low. And I’ve gelded every Galtic man. From Kirinton to Far Galt to right here at your doorstep.’
    ‘Papa-kya,’ Eiah said. ‘It hurts.’
    Otah knelt, drawing his daughter to him. Her mouth was thin with pain. The andat opened its hand, the long fingers gesturing him to take her. The Khai Cetani was at Otah’s side now, his breath heavy and his hands trembling. Otah took Eiah in his arms.
    ‘Your children will be theirs,’ it said. ‘The next generation will have the Khaiem for fathers and feed from Galtic breasts, or else it will not be. Your history will be written by half-breeds, or it won’t be written.’
    ‘Maati,’ Otah said, but his old friend only shook his head.
    ‘I can’t stop it,’ Maati said. ‘It’s already happened.’
    ‘You should never have been a poet,’ Sterile said, standing as it spoke. ‘You failed the tests. The strength to stand on your own, and the compassion to turn away from cruelty. Those are what the Daikvo asked of you.’
    ‘I did my best,’ Maati breathed.
    ‘You were told,’ it said and turned to Otah. ‘You went to him. When you were both boys, you warned him that the school wasn’t as it seemed. You told him it was a test. You gave the game away. And because he knew, he passed. He would have failed without you, and this could never have happened.’
    ‘I don’t believe you,’ Otah said.
    ‘It doesn’t matter what you think,’ it said. ‘Only what he knows. Maati-kvo made an instrument of slaughter, and he made it in fear; that makes it a failure of both his lessons. A generation of women will know him as the man who stole motherhood from them. The men of Galt will hate him for unmanning them. You, Maati Vaupathai, will be the one who took their children from them.’
    ‘I did . . .’ Maati began, and his voice fell to nothing. He sat down, his legs seeming to collapse beneath him. Otah tried to speak, but his throat was dry. It was Eiah, cradled in his arms, who broke the silence.
    ‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘Leave him alone . He never did anything mean to you.’
    The andat smiled. Its teeth were pale as snow and sharp.
    ‘He did something mean to you , Eiah-kya,’ it said. ‘You’ll grow to know how badly he’s hurt you. It may take you years to understand. It may take a lifetime.’
    ‘I don’t care!’ Eiah yelled. ‘You leave Uncle Maati alone !’
    And as if the words themselves were power, it vanished. The dark robes fell empty to the stone floor. The only sounds were Eiah’s pained breath and the moaning of the city. The Khai Cetani licked his lips and looked uneasily at Otah. Maati stared at the ground between his hands.
    ‘They’ll never forgive this,’ Cehmai said. ‘The Galts will kill us to a man.’
    Otah smoothed a hand over his daughter’s brow. Confronting the andat seemed to have taken what strength she had. Her face was pale, and he could see the small twitching in her body that spoke of fresh pain. He kissed her gently where her forehead met her hair, and she put her arms around him, whimpering so softly that only he could hear it. There was blood soaking through her robe just below where the cloth widened at her hips.
    ‘No. They won’t. Cehmai,’ Otah said, his voice seeming to come from far away. He was surprised to hear how calm he sounded. ‘Take Maati. Get out of the city. It won’t be safe for either of you here.’
    ‘It won’t be safe for us anywhere,’ Cehmai said. ‘We could make for the Westlands when spring comes. Or Eddensea—’
    ‘Go now, and don’t tell me where. I don’t want the option of finding you. Do you understand?’ He looked up at Cehmai’s wide, startled eyes. ‘I have my daughter here, and that’s bad enough. When I see my wife, I don’t want you anywhere I can find you.’
    Cehmai opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it again and silently took a pose that accepted Otah’s command. Maati looked up, his eyes brimming and red. There was no begging in his expression, no plea. Only remorse and resignation. If he could have moved without disturbing Eiah, Otah would have embraced the man, comforted him as best he could. And still he would have sent Maati away. He could see that his old friend knew that. Maati’s thick hands took a formal pose of leave-taking, appropriate to the