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and Danat were locked in a powerful embrace. Maati lifted his hand in
greeting. When she drew near, Eiah hesitated, her gaze on the fallen
girl. The pale man-Wounded-took a pose that offered congratulations, and
there was irony in the cant of his wrists. Eiah knelt, touching the
corpse with a calm, professional air.
"Oh, yes," the andat said, folding its hands. "Quite dead."
"Good," Eiah said.
"He isn't standing," Idaan said, nodding toward Maati.
Eiah's attention shifted to him and her face paled.
"Just need. To catch my breath."
"His heart's stopping," Eiah said. "I knew this would happen. I told you
to drink that tea."
Maati waved his hand, shooing her concerns away. Danat and Ana had come.
He hadn't noticed it. They were simply there. Ana's eyes were brown and
they were beautiful.
"Can't we ... can't we do something?" Danat asked.
"No," said the andat in the same breath that Eiah said, "Yes. I need my
satchel. Where is it?"
Danat rushed back to the great doors, returning half a moment later with
the physician's satchel in his hands. Eiah grabbed it, plucked out a
cloth bag, and started shuffling through sheaves of dried herbs that to
Maati looked identical.
"There's another bag. A yellow one," Eiah said. "Where is it?"
"I don't think we brought it," Danat said.
"Then it's back at the quay. Get it now."
Danat turned and sprinted. Gently, Eiah took Maati's hand. He thought at
first she meant to comfort him, but her fingers pressed into his wrist,
and then she reached for his other hand. He surrendered himself to her
care. He didn't have a great deal of choice. Idaan squatted at his side,
Otah sitting on the dais. The andat rose, stepping back by Ana's side as
if out of respect.
"How bad?" Idaan asked.
"He hasn't died. That's what I can offer for now," Eiah said. "Maati-
kya, open your mouth. I don't have time to brew this, but it will help
until I can get the rest of my supplies. It's going to be sweet first
and then bitter."
"You've done it," Maati said around the pinch of leaves she put on his
tongue.
Eiah looked at him, her expression startled. He smiled at her.
"You bound it. You've cured the blindness."
Eiah looked up at her creation, her slave. It nodded.
"Well, no," she said. "I mean, yes, I bound him. And I did undo Vanjit's
damage to Ana and myself. And then you, when I saw that she'd done it."
"Galt?" Ana asked.
"I hadn't ... I hadn't even thought of it. Gods. Is there anything
different to be done? I mean, a whole nation at once?"
"You have to do everything," Maati said. "Birds. Beasts. Fish. Everyone,
everywhere. You have to hurry. It's only a thought." The herbs were
making his mouth tingle and burn, but the pain in his breast seemed to
ebb. "It's no different."
Eiah turned to the andat. The kind, pale face hardened. No matter how it
seemed, the thing wasn't a man and it wasn't gentle. But it was bound to
her will, and a moment later Eiah caught her breath.
"It's done," she said, wonder in her voice. "They've been put back. The
ones who are left."
Ana stepped forward and knelt, wordlessly enfolding Eiah in her arms.
From where he lay, he could see Eiah's eyes close, watch her lean into
the embrace. The two women seemed to pause in time, a moment that lasted
less than two long breaths together but carried the weight of years
within it. Eiah raised her head sharply and the andat twitched. Idaan
leaped up, yelping. All eyes turned to her as she pressed a flat palm to
her belly.
"That," she said, "felt very odd. You should warn someone when you're
pla
"Sterile?" Otah asked. His voice was low. There was no joy in it.
"Repaired," Eiah said. "We can bear again. Galts can father children and
we can bear them."
"I don't suppose you could leave me as I was?" Idaan asked.
"So we've begun again," Otah said. "It is all as it was. We've only
changed a few names. Well-"
Wounded cut him off with a low bark of a laugh. Its eyes were fixed upon
Eiah. Otah looked from one to the other, his hands taking a querying
pose. Woman and slave both ignored him.
"Everyone?" the andat asked.
"Everyone, everywhere," Eiah said. "It's only a thought, isn't it?
That's all it needs to be."
"What are you doing?" Ana asked. It seemed like a real curiosity.
"I'm curing everyone," Eiah said. "If there's a child in Bakta who split
her head on a stone this morning, I want it fixed. A man in Eymond whose
hip was broken when he was a boy and healed poorly, I want him walking
without pain in the morning. Everyone. Everywhere. Now."
"Eiah Machi," the andat said, its voice low and amused, "the little girl
who saved the world. Is that how you see it? Or is this how you
apologize for slaughtering a whole people?"
Eiah didn't speak, and the andat went still again. Anger flashed in its
eyes and Maati's hand went out, touching Eiah's. She patted him away
absently, as if he were no more than a well-intentioned dog. The andat
hissed under its breath and turned away. Maati noticed for the first
time that its teeth were pointed. Eiah relaxed. Maati sat up; his breath
had almost returned. The andat shifted to look at him. The whites of his
eyes had gone as black as a shark's; he had never seen an andat shift
its appearance before, and it filled him with sudden dread. Eiah made a
scolding sound, and the andat took an apologetic pose.
Maati tried to imagine what it would be like, a thought that changeable,
that flexible, that filled with violence and rage. How did we everthink
we could do good with these as our tools? For as long as she held the
andat, Eiah was condemned to the struggle. And Maati was responsible for
that sacrifice too.
Eiah, it seemed, had other intentions.
"That should do," she said. "You can go."
The andat vanished, its robe collapsing to the floor in a pool of blue
and gold. The scent of overheated stone came and went, a breath of hell
on the night air. The others were silent. Maati came to himself first.