Seasons of War

to consider that these small chores and pleasantries of the road might be among his last.
    It was only days later, at the halfway point between the school and the river Qiit, that without intending it, Eiah called the question.
    They had stopped at a wayhouse at the side of a broad lake. A wide wooden deck stood out over the water, the wind pulling small waves to lap at its pilings. A flock of cranes floated and called to one another at the far shore. Maati sat on a three-legged stool, his traveling cloak still wrapping his shoulders. He looked out on the shifting water, the gray-green trees, the hazy white sky. He heard Eiah behind him, her voice coming from the main building as if it were coming from a different world. When she came out, he heard her footsteps and the leather physician’s satchel bumping against her hip. She stopped just behind him.
    ‘They’re beautiful,’ he said, nodding at the cranes.
    ‘I suppose,’ Eiah said.
    ‘Vanjit? The others?’
    ‘In their rooms,’ Eiah said, a trace of satisfaction in her voice. ‘Three rooms, and all of them private. Meals this evening and before we go. One length of silver and two copper.’
    ‘You could have paid them the normal price,’ Maati said.
    ‘My pride won’t allow it,’ Eiah said. She stepped forward and knelt. ‘There was something. If you’re not tired.’
    ‘I’m an old man. I’m always tired.’
    Her eyes held some objection, but she didn’t give it voice. Instead she unbuckled her satchel, rooted in it for a moment, and drew out a paper. Maati took it, frowning. The characters were familiar, a part of Eiah’s proposed binding, but the structure of them was different. Awkward.
    ‘It isn’t perfect,’ Eiah said. ‘But I thought we could consider it. I’ve mentioned the idea to Large Kae, and she has some ideas about how to make it consonant with the grammar.’
    Maati lifted his hand, palm out, and stopped the flow of words. The cranes called, their harsh voices crossing the water swifter than arrows. He sounded out each phrase, thinking through the logic as he did.
    ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘This is the strongest part of the binding. Why would you change . . .’
    And then he saw her intentions. Each change she had made broadened the concept of wounds. Of harm. Of damage. And there, in the corner of the page, was a play on the definitions of blood. He folded the page, slipping it into his sleeve.
    ‘No,’ he said.
    ‘I think it can—’
    ‘No,’ Maati said again. ‘What we’re doing is hard enough. Making it fit the things that Sterile has done is enough. If you try to make everything fit into it, you’ll end with more than you can hold.’
    Eiah sighed and looked out across the water. The wind plucked a lock of hair, the black threads dancing on her cheek. He could see in her expression that she’d anticipated all he would say. And more, that she agreed. He put a hand on her shoulder. For a moment, neither spoke.
    ‘Once we reach the river, things will move faster,’ Eiah said. ‘With the Galts’ paddle boats, we should reach Utani before the worst cold comes.’ To their left, a fish leaped from the water and splashed back down. ‘Once I have you someplace with real physicians, I’m going to try the binding.’
    Maati drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. A sick dread uncurled in his belly.
    ‘You’re sure?’ he said.
    Eiah took a pose that confirmed her resolve and also chided him. When he replied with one that expressed mild affront, she spoke.
    ‘You sit here like something from a philosopher’s daydream, refusing to let me even try to mend your heart,’ she said, ‘and then you start quaking like an old woman when I’m the one at risk.’
    ‘“Quaking like an old woman”?’ Maati said. ‘I think we haven’t known the same old women. And of course I’m concerned for you, Eiah-kya. How could I not be? You’re like a daughter to me. You always have been.’
    ‘I might not fail,’ she said. And a moment later, rose, kissed his hair, and walked in, leaving him alone with the world. Maati sank deeper into his cloak, determined to watch the birds until his mind calmed. Half a hand later, he went inside the building, muttering to himself.
    The evening meal was a soup of ground lentils, rice, and a sweet, hot spice that made Maati’s eyes water. He paid an extra length of copper for a second bowl. The commons with its low ceilings and soot-stained walls also served as a