The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet #4)(86)

For the most part, Maati could ignore this small failure to be at one with himself. Each morning, he rose with the others, ate whatever rubbery eggs or day-old meat the waykeeper had to offer, choked down Eiah's tea, and went on as usual. The autumn through which they passed was crisp and fragrant of new earth and rotting leaves. The snow that had plagued the school had also visited the foothills and shallow passes that divided the western plains of Pathai from the river valleys of the east, but it was rarely more than three fingers deep. In many places, the sun was still strong enough to banish the pale mourning colors to the shadows.

With rumors that Otah himself had taken up the hunt, they kept a balance between the smaller, less-traveled roads and those that were wider and better maintained. So far from the great cities, the ports and trading posts, there were no foreign faces to be seen. None of the handful of adventurous Westlands women had made their way here to try for a Khaiate husband and a better life. There was no better life to be had here. The lack of children, of babies, gave the towns a sense of tolerating a slow plague. It was only the world. It no longer troubled Maati. This was another journey in a life that seemed to be woven of distance. Apart from the overattentiveness of his traveling companions, there was no reason to reflect on his mortality; he had no cause 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," NIaati 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.