Seasons of War

from the thought even as he spoke.
    ‘It would all end, wouldn’t it? What I can do, what we can do. It wouldn’t mean anything without Eiah-cha. She’s the one who can undo what Sterile did, and unless she can do that . . .’
    ‘She’s our best hope,’ Maati said.
    ‘Yes,’ Vanjit said, and turned to look up at Maati. Her face was bright. ‘Yes, our best hope. But not the only one.’
    The andat at her hip clucked and giggled to itself, clapping tiny hands. Maati took a pose of query.
    ‘We know for certain that we have one person who could bind an andat, because I already have. I want Eiah-cha to win through as badly as anyone, but if her binding does fail, I could take it up.’
    Maati smiled because he could think of nothing else to do. Dread knotted in his chest. His breath had grown suddenly short, and the warehouse-wide walls of the sleeping quarters had narrowed. Vanjit stood, her hand on his sleeve. Maati took a moment, shook his head.
    ‘Are you well, Maati-kvo?’ Vanjit asked.
    ‘I’m old,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing. Vanjit-kya, you can’t hold another andat. You of all of us know how much of your attention Clarity-of-Sight requires.’
    ‘I would have to release him for a time,’ Vanjit said. ‘I understand that. But what makes him him comes from me, doesn’t it? All the things that aren’t innate to the idea of sight made clear. So when I bind Wounded, it would be almost like having him back. It would be, because it would come from me, just as he does.’
    ‘It . . . it might,’ Maati said. His head still felt light. A chill sweat touched his back. ‘I suppose it might. But the risk of it would also be huge. Once the andat was let go, you wouldn’t be able to recall it. Even if you were to bind another, Clarity-of-Sight would be gone. We have the power now . . .’
    ‘But my power doesn’t mean anything,’ Vanjit said. Her voice was taking on a strained tone, as if some banked anger was rising in her. ‘Eiah matters. Wounded matters.’
    He thought of the Galts, blinded. Had Vanjit held Wounded, they would doubtless all have died. A nation felled - every woman, every man - by invisible swords, axes, stones. It was a terrible power, but they weren’t here for the benefit of the Galts. He put his hand over Vanjit’s.
    ‘Let us hope it never comes to that,’ he said. ‘It would be far, far better to have two poets. But if it does, I’m glad you’ll be here.’
    The girl’s face brightened and she darted forward, kissing Maati’s lips as brief and light as a butterfly. The andat on her hip gurgled and flailed. Vanjit nodded as if it had spoken.
    ‘We should go,’ Vanjit said. ‘We’ve spent so much time talking about how to approach you, I’ve neglected the classes. Thank you, Maati-kvo. I can’t tell you how much it means to know that I can still help.’
    Maati nodded, waited until girl and andat had vanished, then lowered himself to the floor. Slowly, the knot in his chest relaxed, and his breath returned to its normal depth and rhythm. In the snow-gray sunlight, he considered the backs of his hands, the nature of the andat, and what he had just agreed to. The cold of the stone and the sky seemed to take his energy. By the time he rose, his fingers had gone white and his feet were numb.
    He found the others in the kitchen. Chalk marks on the walls sketched out three or four grammatical scenarios, each using different vocabulary and structures. Eiah, considering the notes, took a brief pose of welcome when he appeared, then turned to stare at him. Irit fluttered about, chattering merrily until he was seated by the fire with a bowl of warm tea in his hand. Large Kae and Small Kae were in the middle of a conversation about the difference between cutting and crushing, which in other circumstances would have been disturbing to hear. Vanjit sat with a beatific smile, Clarity-of-Sight perched on her lap. Maati motioned at Eiah that she should carry on, and with a reluctance he didn’t understand, she did.
    The tea was warm and smelled like spring. Coals glowed in the brazier. The voices around him seemed hopeful and bright. But then he saw the andat’s black eyes and was reminded of his unease.
    The session came to its end and the women scattered, each to her own task, leaving only Vanjit sitting by the fire, nursing the andat from a breast swollen with milk. Maati made his way back to his rooms. He was tired past all reason and unsteady on his feet. As he had