Seasons of War

ground would reclaim its own.
    Maati tied his mule to a low, half-rotten post and made his way in. The grand room where he and the other boys had stood in rows each morning before marching off to their duties and classes. The wide corridors beyond it, lit only by the reddish rays of the evening sun. Where were the bodies of the boys who had been here on the day the armies of Galt arrived? Where had those bones been buried? And where, now, were Maati’s own students? Had something gone awry?
    When he reached the inner courtyard, his concerns eased. The flagstone paths were clear of dirt and dust, the weeds and grass had been pulled from between the stones. And there, in the third window that had once been the teachers’ quarters, a lantern glowed already against the falling night.
    The door that opened to the wide central hall had been fitted with a new leather hinge. The walls and floors, freshly washed, shone in the light of a hundred candles. The scent of curry and the sound of women’s voices raised in conversation came through the air as if the one were part of the other. Maati found himself disoriented for a moment, as if he’d walked down a familiar street only to find it opening upon some unknown city. He walked forward slowly, drawn in by the voices as if they were music. There was Ashti Beg’s dry voice, Large Kae’s laughter. As he drew nearer, the pauses between the louder voices were filled with the softer voices of Vanjit and Irit. The first words he made out were Eiah’s.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but how would you fit that into a grammatic structure that doesn’t already include it? Or am I talking in a circle?’
    ‘I think you may be,’ Small Kae replied. ‘Maati-kvo said that binding an andat involves all kinds of inclusions. I don’t see why this one would be any different.’
    There was a pause, a sound that might have been the ghost of a sigh.
    ‘Add it to the list,’ Eiah said as Maati turned through a well-lit doorway and into the room.
    ‘What list?’ he asked.
    There was a moment’s silence, and then uproar. The circle of chairs was abandoned, and Maati found himself the subject of a half-dozen embraces. The dread and anger and despair that had dogged his steps lightened if it didn’t vanish. He let Vanjit lead him to an empty chair, and the others gathered around him, their eyes bright, their smiles genuine. It was like coming home. When Eiah returned to his question, he had forgotten it. It took a moment to understand what she was saying.
    ‘It’s a list of questions for you,’ she said. ‘After we came and put the place more or less to rights, we started . . . well, we started holding class without you.’
    ‘It wasn’t really the same,’ Small Kae said with an apologetic pose. ‘We only didn’t want to forget what we’d learned. We were only talking about it.’
    ‘After a few nights it became clear we were going to need some way to keep track of the parts that needed clarifying. It’s become rather a long list. And some of the questions . . .’
    Maati took a pose that dismissed her concerns, somewhat hampered by the bowl of curried rice in his hand.
    ‘It’s a good thought,’ he said. ‘I would have recommended it myself, if I’d been thinking clearly. Bring me the list tonight, and perhaps we can start going over it in the morning. If you are all prepared to begin working in earnest?’
    The roar of agreement drowned out his laughter. Only Eiah didn’t join in. Her smile was soft, almost sad, and she took no pose to explain it. Instead, she poured a bowl of water for him.
    ‘Is Cehmai-kvo here?’ Large Kae asked.
    Maati took a bite of the rice, chewing slowly, letting the spices burn his tongue a little before answering.
    ‘I didn’t find him,’ Maati said. ‘There was a message, but it was out-of-date. I searched as long as there seemed some chance of finding him, but there was no sign. I left word where I could, and it may very well reach him. He might join us at any time. My job is to have you all prepared in case he does.’
    It was kinder than the truth. If Maati’s failure had been only that he hadn’t found help, it left them the hope that help might still arrive. It was no great lie to give them an image of the future in which something good might come. And it was easier for him if he didn’t have to say he’d been refused. Only Eiah knew; he could hear it in her silence. She would follow his lead.
    Maati’s mule was seen to, his