Beyond them, Mni-inh dared to take a step closer. “How do you feel, Gatherer-Apprentice?”
Nijiri sighed and shifted to sit on his knees. Ehiru took his hand as a pranje attendant would have, to help him focus. “Like a forty of children dance a prayer inside my skull, Sharer Mni-inh, with every one of them wearing thick, heavy sandals. Forgive my irreverence.”
Mni-inh let out a chuckle breathy with relief. “Under the circumstances I’ll gladly forgive you, Apprentice. Do you remember what happened?”
The boy’s face grew momentarily still. “I remember… an alley. No. A darker place. There were creatures. I… I saw them breathing…” Abruptly he shook his head. “I remember nothing more.”
The boy’s furrowed brow and tight lips said otherwise, but Ehiru did not press and neither did Mni-inh. Instead the Sharer touched his other hand. “Your memory may return in time. For now, you need rest—”
“Sharers,” Ehiru said. “Always putting body before soul.” He got to his feet, pulling the boy up with him; Nijiri swayed a bit but then steadied. “The threat to the people is more important than our comfort, Mni-inh. We’ll both rest after we’ve made our report.”
The boy focused on him, nodded agreement. Mni-inh rolled his eyes.
“Gatherers, too stubborn for sanity!” He mimicked Ehiru’s voice. “Very well. I’ll send an acolyte to wake the Superior—”
“No need, Mni-inh.”
They turned. The Superior stood in the doorway of the healing alcove, flanked by Dinyeru, a senior Sentinel. A hastily donned robe draped the Superior’s shoulders, but his eyes were clear—and hard.
Two more warriors stood beyond him, Ehiru noticed abruptly. Strangers, wearing the red and gold of the Sunset Guard.
“Gatherer,” the Superior said quietly, “present yourself for the judgment of the Hetawa.”
Nijiri gasped. Ehiru stared back at the Superior, uncomprehending. Mni-inh recovered first. “Superior, you cannot believe that Ehiru…”
“I believe many things, Mni-inh.” The Superior stepped aside; Dinyeru and the two strangers came into the alcove. In Dinyeru’s hands was an odd contraption—two long, hinged cylinders sealed together down the length, each ending in a round bulb. Manacles, meant to enclose the forearms and force the hands into closed fists—a rogue’s yoke. Ehiru had seen the device many times as a child, while cleaning items in the Hetawa’s archival vault. It had never been used in his lifetime.
“I believe in the beneficence of our Goddess,” the Superior continued. “I believe in the honor and judgment of our Prince. Therefore I must believe it when his guardsmen come to tell me that a child was murdered in the city last night—a companion of the Kisuati ambassador Sunandi Jeh Kalawe. Your commission, Ehiru, was she not?”
Ehiru, shocked, made several attempts to speak before his voice worked. “Yes—that northblooded youngster. Yes, her body…”
“The child’s body showed terrible desecration, Ehiru, of soul as well as flesh. It was found in an alleyway.” The Superior’s voice never rose, but his words grew sharp as blades. “What have you done with the Kisuati woman’s body, Gatherer?”
Ehiru stared at him. “Done? There was no body. I declared an abeyance until I could discuss the matter with you—”
“No, there’s no body. Her bedchamber is disordered by the signs of struggle; a weapon was found but she is gone.” The Superior shook his head then, sorrow eclipsing anger in his face. “It’s clear the madness hasn’t taken you fully, Ehiru, or you would have been unable to stop yourself from killing your apprentice tonight. I thank the Goddess for that. Because of it I cannot cast you out; some part of you is still our black rose.”
“All of him, Superior!” Mni-inh stepped forward. “I’ve examined this man. His reserves are gone, true. He may be afflicted by the early symptoms, but there’s none of the spirit-wide corruption you’re accusing him of. For the Dreamer’s sake, he’s empty, Superior—if he had taken a child and a woman and then attacked Nijiri, he wouldn’t be!”
“The woman was alive when we left,” Nijiri said, stepping closer to Ehiru. His tone bordered on disrespectful, Ehiru noted through a haze; he would have to take the boy to task for that. “She said she was leaving town, she and her girl. She feared an assassin would be sent, to kill her for her secrets.”
“That may be,” the Superior said, though he sounded less than convinced, to Ehiru’s ears. “An Assay of Truth will determine the fullness of it. In the meantime, the Prince demands that the threat to his city be subdued.”
Behind him Nijiri was compounding his disrespect, speaking with unseemly loudness. “The creature that killed the child was not Ehiru-brother. I saw it! It touched me and, and—” He faltered, took a shaky breath. “It was not my mentor. Ehiru-brother fought the creature off me, saved me. It was someone else. Something else.”
“No other Gatherers went out last night, Nijiri.” The Superior had regained control of himself; his voice was inflectionless. “Sonta-i and Rabbaneh had a much-deserved night off. The girl-child died in obvious agony, but no fatal wounds had been inflicted on her before death.”
“That’s because a Reaper—”
“That is a myth, Apprentice,” said the Superior, and Nijiri flinched into resentful silence. “A myth told around campfires to make the desert nights pass. A rogue Gatherer has no special power or invincibility; he is nothing more than a pathetic creature consumed by his own weakness who may have to be put down for the safety of all.”
“Then where are Ehiru’s pathbrothers?” Mni-inh gestured sharply at the curtain and the Hetawa beyond. “Why these strangers, unsworn, untrained? We have always taken care of our own—”
“Because the Prince demands it!” Both Nijiri and Mni-inh flinched back from the Superior’s flare of temper. Ehiru barely noticed; too much of him had gone numb. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Superior pause and visibly struggle for calm. “Some things are beyond even the Hetawa’s discipline,” the Superior said at last, and this time Ehiru heard an odd tightness in his voice. As if the words half-choked him coming out. “Ehiru will be held in Yanya-iyan. We must consider what is best for all Gujaareh, not just for the Hetawa.” He gestured and Dinyeru came forward.
“Forgive me, Gatherer.” Dinyeru raised the yoke, holding it so Ehiru could thrust his hands into the sleeves. The Sentinel’s expression was sorrowful—but determined. Not even a Gatherer could best a Sentinel in combat.
Silence fell. Ehiru closed his eyes.
“I am still Her servant,” he whispered, and thrust his arms forward into the yoke. Cold metal embraced them. He fisted his hands and grimaced as the straps along the sleeves were tightened, pulling his forearms together into an uncomfortably awkward position. A metal brace was snapped into place across his wrists, locking them together.
Then new hands took his upper arms—the hands of strangers, gripping him without love—and he was pulled along with them out of the Hetawa.
12
At the mouth of the river, which he named for the blood of Hananja, Inunru built a city.
(Wisdom)
“What do you mean, Lin hasn’t arrived yet?” Sunandi demanded.
“Seya, Jeh Kalawe, I mean she hasn’t come.” Etissero eyed Sunandi in mild surprise. “I haven’t seen that straw-haired rascal since your delegation passed through a season ago, when you first came to the city. I would have remembered the girl: she nicked my purse the last time she was here.”
“And gave it back.”
Etissero shrugged good-naturedly. “My people part fools from their funds all the time. Our children play such games to learn the trade. They don’t usually put the mark on me, though, and even more rarely do they manage to score.” He smiled. “I could make a fine tradewife of that girl, if you sold her to me.”
“Alas, my father decided long ago that Lin and I should learn to part fools from their secrets instead.”
“A shame for both of you. There’s no money in spying.”
Well, Kisuati-reared spy-girls were supposed to hurry, and it troubled Sunandi that Lin had not yet arrived at Etissero’s. She’d had a good hour’s start on Sunandi, and that was more than enough time for her to have talked her way past a gate or hired a ferryman.
Then again—
“I had trouble getting out of the city,” Sunandi said, pulling the curtain shut. “None of my friends were on duty. That ordinarily wouldn’t have been a problem—I had enough funds to pay the toll and a bribe, and they knew from my accent that I was a foreigner. But they were more wary than usual. They questioned me closely.”
“Questioned you about what?”
“Who I was, where I was going, why I was leaving at the crack of dawn. I gave them my usual story for unusual circumstances—a timbalin-house mistress going to meet with a distributor to arrange an extra shipment.” She brushed a hand against the gown she still wore, which was made of fine pleated linen rather than the more practical hekeh. The pleats emphasized the points of her breasts, which was something that had usually worked in her favor before. Men rarely remembered her face. “I looked the part, but they barely believed me. They checked my eyes to make sure I was a timbalin addict. They wanted to know which house could afford a mistress with such high coloring.”
Etissero muttered something in his own language, then returned to Gujaareen so that she could understand him. “They’re only that keen when they’re on the watch for something. What did you say?”
“That I worked for the most expensive house in the highcaste district. That I was once an account-keeper in Kisua before I fell low, which explained the accent. And thankfully, my eyes were still bloodshot from being woken in the middle of the night by a dekado Gatherer and his little killer-in-training, so they let me through.” She sighed and ran a hand over the brief, tight curls of her hair. “I think the gods must have granted me more than my share of luck in the last few hours.”
The clan leader made no reply, and Sunandi was startled to realize he was staring at her, his face even paler than normal.
“You saw a Gatherer?”
“I told you someone tried to kill me. Though I talked him out of it.”
“No one talks a Gatherer out of killing. At the most they stay their hand for a few days. Then they come after you again.”
She sighed and went over to a bench between two carved plinths. It wasn’t padded—a Bromarte custom intended to keep their traders’ minds sharp even when they were at rest—and she winced as she sat down too hard. Too many months living in luxury. I’m becoming as soft as the Prince.
No. The Prince only seemed soft on the surface. Peacock and pleasure-hound he might be, but no one soft could play such dangerous, terrible games.
“Abeyance,” she said at last. “That’s what the Gatherer granted me while he investigates my story to see if it is true.”
“Then, my sweet Sunandi, you are a dead woman.” Etissero gazed at her solemnly.
She rubbed her face, still sleepy. “Perhaps. The fool planned to go back to his Hetawa and demand the truth from his masters. Hopefully they’ll kill him and solve my problem.”
“If they kill him, another Gatherer will be sent. The Hetawa always fulfills a commission once judgment has been rendered. They consider it a sacred duty.” Etissero folded his hands and sighed. “Damn them. I never thought I’d lose anyone to their evil, let alone two in the span of a month.”
“Don’t put me in an urn already, man—” She paused, frowning as his words penetrated. “Two?”
“My cousin.” Etissero leaned his elbows on the desk and sighed. “You met him. Negotiator in Gujaareh for his wife’s clan; kept an ear to the ground among the merchants and common folk for me. He lived within the city’s walls—liked it there, the fool. Said it was soothing. But several days ago they found him dead in his bed. The innkeeper said it looked as though he had been Gathered. To me it looked more like he’d had a heart-seizure or something else painful in his sleep, but those Gujaareen can always read a death.”
Sunandi frowned at the dark flicker of memory brought on by Etissero’s words. They’d called Kinja’s death a heart-seizure, too. “I remember the man. Large fellow? He kept telling me how much he liked dark women.”
“The very one. Charleron.” Etissero shook his head. “Only the day before, I’d received a letter from him saying he was coming to visit. We never spoke about clan business, but he shared any interesting gossip that he heard with me. This time he’d heard something important that he wanted to tell me in person. Something about a rift between the Hetawa and the Sunset.”
Sunandi inhaled and stared at him.
“Yes, I know. And then he turned up dead. Murdering gualoh.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, pausing for a moment to master himself; Bromarte men did not cry in front of women. “The Hetawa paid for his funeral. Hired mourners and a chantress, bought him a lapis-covered urn, put him in their own special vault above the floodline. Buried him like a king after they killed him. How I hate this city.”
Silence had its own eloquence at times, so Sunandi kept hers.
It lasted only for a moment, however, until the house’s heavy wooden door—a necessity in this district, and double-locked—banged downstairs. Light quick feet on the steps told them that Etissero’s young son Saladronim had returned from his morning shift as a messenger. The boy came up the steps breathless, his cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright. He paused only long enough to offer a quick bow to Sunandi before blurting his news.
“Soldiers, Father. In the marketplace.”
Etissero frowned. Sunandi rose and went to the window. Behind her she heard the trader quizzing Saladronim; the boy’s careful recital of details and observations put a momentary smile on her lips. Kinja had not been the only one to see the merits of sharp-witted children, it seemed.
Below, in the streets, she saw what the boy meant. Amid the drab earth colors of common folk going about their business, flashes of brighter color stood out. A scattering of warriors in bronze half-torso armor moved through the crowd. Their skirts were a rusty red-orange, and their yellow headcloths swung from side to side. Searching. Cold prickled along her spine.
Etissero rose and came to the window beside Sunandi. “That isn’t the city guard. I’ve never seen men wearing those colors before.”
“I have,” Sunandi said. She stepped back from the window, crossing her arms over her breasts to stop herself from shivering. “They are the Prince’s own men, the Sunset Guard. They leave the palace only on his direct orders.”
Etissero raised an eyebrow at her. “If you weren’t Kisuati, you’d be pale now.”
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her fluttering heart. “That Gatherer was sent to kill me. Perhaps the Prince has decided to make certain the job is done properly.”
Etissero nodded slowly. Near the desk, Etissero’s son sat cross-legged on the floor, watching both of them avidly.
“You’ll have to remain here,” the trader said. “No one knows you’re in this house. Stay hidden for a few days and they’ll decide that you must have reached the trade-roads. They’ll move on, and then so can you.”
/>
She frowned at that. “No. Kinja’s information—”
“Has waited since Kinja died, two seasons ago. Whatever recent discoveries you’ve made will survive another fourday’s delay. Leaving now means the Protectors never get this information, because those men will catch you and kill you. Better late than never, hmm?”
He was right. Sunandi began to pace, in an effort to vent her restlessness. “Very well. But not a fourday.”
“If—”
“If what I’ve learned is true, the Prince’s plans could spell destruction for us all—northerner and southerner, Gujaareen and Kisuati and everyone who trades with either land. Better in time than too late, hmm?”
Etissero sighed. “I thank the gods of wind and fortune our women care more about money than politics in the north. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go home to one like you.”
Sunandi permitted herself a small smile.
“Fine, then.” Etissero flicked the hangings around the window closed. “How do you want to do it?”
“See if Gehanu’s group is in town. I’ve traveled with them before, and they make the run from Gujaareh to Kisua often at this time of year.” She took a deep breath. “That leaves me with only one worry.”
Lin. Etissero saw her face and understood.
He went over to his son and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Fetch refreshments for our guest—figs and almonds if we have them, kanpo-nut and cheese if we don’t.” The boy jumped up and went downstairs, and Etissero eyed Sunandi. “You should build your strength for the journey. The desert is hard on the weak.”
His words chafed no less, she decided, for all that they were true. So she seated herself on the hard bench, and ate when Saladronim brought her food, and tried her best to invent new and scathing scolds to heap upon Lin when she finally arrived.
13
A Gatherer shall neither marry nor acquire property. He shall sully not his body with drug, sex, or other impairment; nor his soul with personal attachments beyond those of faith and brotherhood. He is the right hand of Hananja, and to Her he belongs wholly.
The Killing Moon Page 12
