Seasons of War

get food,’ Idaan said, her voice acid. ‘Cripple whatever game she came across and then let it beat itself to death. She’s quite the hunter.’
    She slung the bow back over her shoulder, walking carefully into the trampled garden. Flies rose from the beast in a buzzing cloud. Idaan ignored them, putting her hand on the dead buck’s flank.
    ‘It’s a waste,’ she said. ‘If I had rope and the right knife we could at least dress him and eat something fresh tonight. I hate leaving him for the rats and the foxes.’
    ‘Why did you kill him then?’
    ‘Mercy. You were right, though. Vanjit’s in the city somewhere. That was a good call.’
    ‘I’m half-sorry I said anything,’ Maati said. ‘You’d kill her just as quickly, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘You think you can romance her into taking back her curse. I’m no one to keep you from trying.’
    ‘And then?’
    ‘And then we follow the same plan each of us had. It’s the one thing we agree upon. She’s too dangerous. She has to die.’
    ‘I know what I intended. I know what Eiah and I were planning. But that was the andat’s scheme. I think there may be another way.’
    Idaan looked up, then stood. The bow was still in her hand.
    ‘Can you give her her parents back?’ she asked. ‘Can you give her the brothers and sisters she lost? Udun. Can you rebuild it?’
    Maati took a pose that dismissed her questions, but Idaan stepped close to him. He could feel her breath against his face. Her eyes were cold and dark.
    ‘Do you think that Galt died blind because of something you can remedy?’ she demanded. ‘What’s happened, happened. You can’t will her to be the woman you hoped she was. Telling yourself that you can is worse than stupidity.’
    ‘If she puts it to rights,’ Maati said, ‘she shouldn’t have to die.’
    Idaan narrowed her eyes, tilted her head.
    ‘I’ll offer you this,’ she said. ‘If you can talk the girl into giving Galt back its eyes - and Eiah and Ashti Beg. Everyone. If you can do that and also have her release her andat, I won’t be the one who kills her.’
    ‘Would Otah let her live?’ Maati asked.
    ‘Ask him and he might,’ Idaan said. ‘Experience suggests he and I have somewhat different ideas of mercy.’
    At midday, they returned to their camp. The boat was tied up at an old quay slick with mold. The scent of the river was rich and not entirely pleasant. Two of the other scouting parties had returned before them; Danat and one of the armsmen were still in the city but expected back shortly. Otah, in a robe of woven silk under a thicker woolen outer robe, sat at a field table on the quayside, sketching maps of the city from memory. Idaan made her report, Maati silent at her side. He tried to imagine asking Otah for clemency on Vanjit’s behalf. If Maati could persuade her to restore sight to everyone she’d injured and release the andat, would Otah honor Idaan’s contract? Or, phrased differently, if Maati couldn’t save the world, could he at least do something to redeem this one girl?
    He didn’t ask it, and Idaan didn’t raise the issue.
    After Danat and the armsman returned, they all ate a simple meal of bread and dried apples. Danat, Otah, and the captain of the guard consulted with one another over Otah’s sketched maps, planning the afternoon’s search. Idaan tended to Ana; their laughter seemed incongruous in the grim air of their camp. Eiah sat by herself at the water’s edge, her face turned up toward the sun. Maati went to her side.
    ‘Did you drink your tea this morning?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes,’ he lied petulantly.
    ‘You need to,’ she said. Maati shrugged and tossed the last round of dried apple into the water. It floated for a moment, the pale flesh looking nearly white on the dark water. A turtle rose from beneath and bit at it. Eiah held out her hand, palm up, fingers beckoning. Maati was vaguely ashamed of the relief he felt taking her hand in his own.
    ‘You were right,’ Maati confessed. ‘I still want to save Vanjit. I know better. I do, but the impulse keeps coming back.’
    ‘I know it does,’ Eiah said. ‘You have a way of seeing things the way you’d prefer them to be rather than the way they are. It’s your only vice.’
    ‘Only?’
    ‘Well, that and lying to your physician,’ Eiah said, lightly.
    ‘I drink too much sometimes.’
    ‘When was the last time?’
    Maati shrugged, a smile tugging at his mouth.
    ‘I used to drink too much when I was