The Price Of Spring(93)

"I don't know what you mean, Maati-kvo," Vanjit said. Three women had stepped into the dancing space and were thumping in a simple pattern, keeping time with one drum or the other.

"I mean that everyone wants a second chance," Maati said. "Clarityof-Sight. . ."

Maati bit down, glancing to see if anyone had heard him. The music and the dance were the focus of the room.

"The little one," Maati said, more quietly, "isn't what you'd hoped. But neither would the next one be."

He might just as well have slapped her. Vanjit's face went white, and she stood so quickly the bench scraped out from under her. By the time Maati rose, she was halfway to the door leading out to the stables and courtyard, and when he reached her, they were outside in the chill. A thin fog blurred the lantern hanging above the wayhouse door.

"Vanjit!" Maati called, and she turned back, her face a mask of pain.

"How could you say that? How could you say those things to me?" she demanded. "You had as much to do with that binding as I did. You are just as much responsible for him. I offered to take Eiah's place because someone would have to, not because it's something that I want. I love him. He's my boy, and I love him. He is everything I'd hoped. Everything!"

"Vanjit-"

She was weeping openly now, her voice high, thin, and wailing.

"And he loves me. No matter what you say, I know he does. He's my boy, and he loves me. How could you think that I'd want a second chance? I offered this for you!"

He took her sleeve in his fist, and she pulled back, yelping. She tried to turn away, but he would not let her.

"Listen to me," he said sternly. "You don't need to tell me how deeply you—

Vanjit snarled, her lips pulled back from her teeth like a pit dog's. She pulled away sharply, and Maati stumbled, falling to his knees. When he rose, he could hear her running footsteps fading into the dark, but the fog had thickened so badly that he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face.

Except that, of course, it hadn't.

He stood still, heart racing, hands trembling. The raucous sounds of the dance came from behind him and to the left. The poorly played drums became his polestar. He turned and made his slow, careful way back toward the wayhouse. The ground was rough under his feet, gravel and weeds taking him at slightly different angles with every step.

He shouldn't have tried to hold her. She was upset. He should have let her go. He cursed himself for his stubbornness and her for her lack of control. The drums had given way to a flute and a low, warbling singer. Maati's outstretched fingers found the rough planks of the wall. He leaned against it, unsure what to do next. If he went back to the main room, his sudden infirmity would call attention to him, to the others, to Vanjit. But if he didn't, what would he do? He couldn't navigate his way back to his room, couldn't reach shelter. His robes were damp with the fog, the wood under his palm slick. He could stay here, pressing against the wayhouse like he was holding it up, or he could move. If there was only some way to find Eiah ...

He began inching away from the door. He could follow the walls around the building, and find the deck. If he waited long enough, Eiah would come looking for him, and that might well be one of the first places she'd look. He tried to recall where the deck's railing began and ended. He had been there for hours earlier, but now he found the details escaped him.

He stumbled over a log and bruised his knee, but he didn't cry out. The cold was beginning to numb him. He reached the corner and a set of stairs he didn't remember. The prospect of sitting in the cold at the edge of the unseen lake was becoming less and less sustainable. He started devising stories that would cover his blindness. He could go near the common room, cry out, and collapse. If he kept his eyes closed, he could feign unconsciousness. They would bring Eiah to him.

He stepped in something wet and soft, like mud but with a sudden, billowing smell of rotting plants. Maati lifted his foot slowly to keep the muck from pulling off his boot. It occurred to him for the first time that they had done this-precisely this-to a nation.

His boot was heavy and made a wet sound when he put weight on it, but it didn't slip. He started making his way back toward where he'd been. He thought he'd made it halfway there when the world suddenly clicked back into place. His hands pink and gray against the damp, black wood. The thin fog hardly worth noticing. He turned and found Vanjit sitting cross-legged on the stones of the courtyard. Her dark eyes were considering. He wondered how long she'd been watching.

"What you said before? It was uncalled for," she said. Her voice was steady as stone, and as unforgiving.

Maati took a pose that offered apology but also pointedly did not end the conversation. Vanjit considered him.