“Don’t scream,” the Gatherer Nijiri said. He sat with one foot on the railing, the other dangling over an eight-story drop, watching her with amused eyes. “Your soldier husband would come charging out here, weapons drawn, and the whole palace’s peace would be disturbed.”
Letting out the breath that she had indeed drawn to scream, Sunandi walked out onto the balcony. “There would be little chance of that if you weren’t perched out here like a skyrer watching for mice.”
“I’m a Gatherer, Jeh Kalawe. Did you think I would come through the front gate with a full escort? Perhaps bringing a chantress to announce me and all my lineage? In any case, you should have been expecting me.”
She rolled her eyes, coming to join him at the railing. “I expected you at dusk. I sent my summons right after the damned Banbarra finished terrorizing the city this morning.” Her annoyance vanished as a more personal anxiety eclipsed it. “Have you been here long?” She had made love with Anzi just before midnight.
He smiled, the Moonlight momentarily making him seem younger—more like the boy she’d first met ten years before. He had grown taller in the years since, and his youthful beauty had refined into something elegant and hard-edged, but he was still quite young even by the standards of Kisua, where people did not live as long. It was his profession that made him seem older than his years.
“If I had come earlier,” he said, “you would have had wistful daydreams of coming to this balcony then.”
It took her a moment to understand his meaning, and when she did she wanted to kill him. “Keb-na! You know I don’t like you tampering with my dreams.”
He said nothing, only watching her, and after a moment she sighed. Of course he would tamper with her dreams as he saw fit. He was a Gatherer.
“You need to know,” she said, changing the subject, “that these Banbarra raids must stop.”
He continued to watch her in silence, possibly because he knew how much his damned Gujaareen calm irritated her, or because he simply had nothing to say in response. “They threaten the peace,” she said, irrationally compelled to fill the silence. “If our control of Gujaareh slips, all manner of chaos could occur. Riots. Sabotage.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“The Hetawa has the people’s ear. Someone somewhere has to have a Banbarra cousin or aunt. You people breed with anything.”
Nijiri only sighed at the slur; he’d heard worse from her. They tolerated from each other what they would not from anyone else. “The Hetawa supports anyone who can give the city lasting peace. For the time being, that’s Kisua. This has cost us greatly, in the people’s trust.”
“A Gujaareen was killed this time! A city guardsman. Another was badly wounded, though I’m told your healers managed to save him. They’ve killed twenty of my husband’s men. Does that sound like peace to you?”
He frowned. “It sounds remarkable. Eight raids, twenty dead Kisuati, and only one Gujaareen death? What have they taken?”
She ticked off on her fingers. “The contents of three storehouses used by our troops, including one supposedly hidden cache of weapons. Horses. Barley sheaves bundled for shipment to Kisua, which I suppose they’ll use as fodder for the horses; Merik knows what else they could do with it in the desert. Moontear wine. Leather and hekeh-cloth. Lapis and sea salt.”
He said nothing for a moment, contemplating this. “Trade-goods,” he said. “Would you say those are goods especially prized in Kisua?”
Sunandi frowned. “Most of it would fetch high prices in any Kisuati market, yes. Such trade makes our conquest of Gujaareh less of a financial loss.” She sighed. “Indeed, losing those goods has already done harm; there’s a faction of merchants in Kisua right now calling for harsher measures in our control of the Gujaareen capital—”
“No people taken? They like slaves, those desert barbarians.”
She ignored the jibe. Kisuati kept slaves too. “None. They’ve no qualms about drawing the blood of those who get in their way, but they take no prisoners. Luck, I suppose.”
“I doubt that.”
She frowned. Something in his manner had changed. She hesitated to call it excitement, for there was something wrong with any Gatherer who felt that. Still, there was no mistaking the new tension in his body. “Explain.”
He nodded slowly as he gazed out at the city, his eyes roving back and forth, back and forth, over the rooftops and streets. Fleetingly, Sunandi wondered how well he slept.
“To the desert tribes,” he said, “we city folk—Gujaareen and Kisuati alike—are soft, decadent, cowardly, and unworthy of the wealth we possess. Even the Shadoun, your own allies, treat with you only because they hate Gujaareh more. So for the Banbarra to take no slaves, and avoid killing Gujaareen while slaying fours of Kisuati …”
Sunandi gripped the balcony railing, groaning softly. How foolish of her not to have seen it. “They’re courting Gujaareh as an ally!”
Nijiri did not reply, but there was no need; Sunandi knew at once that she was right. The tribes of the Empty Thousand had been at feud with one another for as long as anyone could remember. The wars between the Banbarra and the Shadoun—the two strongest tribes—were the stuff of legend, but there had been relative peace in the past few centuries as Gujaareh had grown in power. Neither tribe dared weaken itself fighting old rivals with a new threat lurking so near.
The raids were proof that the long stalemate had broken. The Shadoun were trading partners and sometime allies of Kisua—and now Kisua held Gujaareh. This trapped the Banbarra, whose territory stretched between the southwestern border of Gujaareh and the southern mountain fortresses of the Shadoun, between two allied threats. Small wonder they’d decided to do something about it.
“You believe the Banbarra are targeting trade-goods deliberately,” Sunandi said, frowning as she mulled over Nijiri’s words. “Why? To make our conquest of Gujaareh unprofitable? To trigger some sort of political shift in Kisua?”
“I didn’t say that. But their tactics do show a certain forethought, don’t you think?”
Too much. Sunandi scowled. “Ignorant camel-loving nomads did not think of this.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face at last, fleeting and mild. “They aren’t stupid, Jeh Kalawe. It demeans you to say such things.”
“Even your people call them barbarians!”
“But trading with barbarians has made us rich, remember. Unlike Kisua, we have never allowed our prejudices to blind us to the potential or the threat of any barbarian race.”
Sunandi waved off the scold, folding her arms across her breasts and beginning to pace. “The Banbarra were too proud to ask for help in their struggle against the Shadoun before; why seek it now? And from Gujaareh, when it’s only a humbled captive of Kisua? The desert folk respect strength; Gujaareh has none.”
“If you believe that, you’re the stupid one,” he snapped.
She clenched her fists and whirled on him. “The Gujaareen army—”
“Was only part of Gujaareh’s power even before the Kisuati came. Have you forgotten our ties with the northlands and the east? As you say, half the zhinha are blood relatives to some barbarian king or another. And in this land there is the military caste, most of them born warriors, who have sat idle—and angry—since the army was disbanded. It was a mistake for you to do that; you have no idea how hard the Hetawa has worked to keep them quiescent. And the city guard; and the private forces the nobles employ to protect their lands … and the Hetawa itself. Have you any idea what my fellow Servants could do if roused? The Sentinels alone—”
He shook his head, swung both legs to her side of the balcony railing, and leaned forward. Sunandi fought the urge to take a step back from his sudden focus. Gatherers were not supposed to feel strong emotion, but Nijiri had always had a temper. “I know what Kisua thinks of us. You call us sleeping sheep, content to dream away all our troubles. But when Gujaareh’s wrath is awakened it burns as hot as that of any other land—hotter,
because we stifle it so often. If it ever bursts free, Kisua will lose control.”
She stared back at him and tried to ignore her unease. “You said the Hetawa supported us.”
“The Hetawa supports you for now. But if a better option comes along, Jeh Kalawe, if the swiftest and surest path to stability comes through slaughtering every Kisuati within our borders, then be assured the Hetawa will see it done.” Then, to Sunandi’s surprise, the anger in his eyes shifted, becoming something more sorrowful. “All these years and still we’re strangers to you.”
“Not strangers,” she said, feeling oddly stung. “I know how important peace is to you.”
“It’s more than important, Jeh Kalawe. It is our god.” He got to his feet and sighed. “This much I can tell you: your guess was correct. We have been approached by a representative of the Banbarra leader.”
Sunandi caught her breath. “I didn’t know they had a leader.”
“The Banbarra are many tribes, true, with many leaders. But in times of war, they become one body with one head. The man we’re dealing with is likely to become that head.”
“When did they approach you?”
“After the first few raids on the city. What you’ve told me only confirms something we’d begun to suspect ourselves. And do not ask me when, or whether, the meeting will take place. Hetawa affairs are none of the Protectors’ business.”
And of course she could not promise to keep it secret, given her role as the Protectors’ Voice, any more than he could promise a lasting cooperation with her. They each had their masters to serve.
So she kept her next question open-ended, to allow him room to maneuver between her loyalties and his own. “Is there anything you can tell me?”
He nodded with the faintest air of approval. “The Banbarra head’s spokesman, when they came to us, was a Gujaareen military-casteman. High-ranking; he claimed to have been a general in the days before the conquest. Zhinha by birth.” He watched her as he said it.
“Goddess protect us,” Sunandi whispered, her skin goosebumping with more than the night air’s chill. Shunha and zhinha, the two noble castes of Gujaareh, did not often join the military, being too proud to take orders from anyone of lesser birth than themselves. They would tolerate serving their peers, just. But there was one lineage that a zhinha-born general would serve gladly, even into exile.
Nijiri said nothing at her blasphemy—perhaps because he sensed, for the moment at least, that she was utterly sincere.
“Make of that what you will,” he said. “Now go back to your husband before he misses you.” He stood to leave, flicking one of his twin nape-braids back over his shoulder as he did so. The gesture, and the hairstyle, were so familiar that a soft pang stirred in Sunandi’s heart.
“How are you, Nijiri?” she asked, placing the lightest of emphases on you.
He paused, but did not turn to face her. “I’m well, Jeh Kalawe.”
“I …” She hesitated, then finally blurted, “I actually miss him. Can you believe that? We weren’t friends. And yet …”
Nijiri took hold of the railing. “We will both meet him again someday. You may even find him before I do; you’re a woman, you have more power than I to find your way within Ina-Karekh. And you can still dream.”
She had forgotten that. He was a true Gatherer now, paying a Gatherer’s price for power.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She could not tell whether the note in his voice was sorrow or simply resignation; either way there was pain underneath it. Hesitantly she reached for his shoulder, for whatever good that would do. Her fingers barely brushed his skin before he turned and took hold of her hand.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. He lifted the back of her hand to his cheek and leaned against it for a moment, closing his eyes and perhaps imagining someone else’s hand in its place. It occurred to her in that moment just how lonely he must be, for no one touched Gatherers, not intentionally. They gave comfort to others, but bore their own pain alone.
But to Sunandi’s surprise, Nijiri opened his eyes and frowned. “You’ll never meet him at this rate. Why didn’t you come to me? You know I would’ve helped you.”
And before she could ask what he was talking about, he reached toward her face. She blinked in instinctive reaction and felt his fingertips brush her eyelids for an instant, and then he let her go. When she opened her eyes, he had vaulted up to crouch on the railing, nimble as a bird.
“Don’t summon me again,” he said over his shoulder. “Things are changing too quickly. I misspoke, Jeh Kalawe, when I said that you didn’t understand us. As much as any foreigner can, and better than any other Kisuati, you do. That’s why I’ll forgive you, no matter what the Protectors make you do.”
While Sunandi stared back at him, trying to puzzle this out, he stood up on the railing, balancing easily, heedless of the height. Taking hold of a ledge above, he levered his body upward in a single smooth motion. Then he was gone.
It was not until Sunandi returned to her bed that she understood what he had done. More precisely, she understood it in the morning, when she woke up wrapped in Anzi’s arms, comfortable and more rested than she’d felt in years. Anzi had pulled her close during the night, surely jostling her in the process. Yet she had not woken up once.
5
The Tithebearer
“No,” Mni-inh said.
Hanani kept her head bowed, arms folded before her with hands palm-down. Mni-inh, who sat on a cushioned bench massaging one knee, scowled when it became clear she had no intention of moving.
“I said no, Hanani.” He straightened, flicking his red loindrapes back into place. “The Hetawa has already made its apology to the family of the tithebearer. He’s to receive a full formal burial in the Hetawa’s own crypt, an honor usually given only to Servants of Hananja. Let that suffice.”
“The tithebearer’s death was not the Hetawa’s fault,” Hanani replied, keeping her eyes on his chest. In the low morning light, the ruby collar of his office looked like droplets of blood scattered over his pale skin.
Mni-inh flinched and sat up. But the Sharers’ Hall was mostly empty between dawn and the noon hour, as those who worked the night hours slept and the rest were kept busy with a Sharer’s usual daytime duties in the Hall of Blessings or the herbs-and-simples chamber. Those few who lounged about the hall’s benches and nooks were deep in study or conversation with others. No one looked at Hanani and Mni-inh, though Mni-inh darted his eyes about to make sure, and leaned close before he spoke again. “It isn’t your fault either, little fool! Don’t do Yehamwy’s work for him, Hanani. How can you expect the Council to believe you’re competent if you don’t believe it yourself?”
She lifted her head and watched him draw back in surprise. “I don’t believe I’m incompetent, Mni-inh-brother. How could I, after your training?”
“Then why visit the tithebearer’s family?”
It was a question that Hanani had asked herself all night, during the hours that she’d spent weeping and praying and finally rocking herself to sleep. She had not dreamed; there had been no answer to her prayers for peace or understanding. And so she had awakened that morning with her thoughts full of a single impulse: to find out why Dayu had died.
“Because my heart is empty of peace right now,” she said. Mni-inh drew back at this, frowning. “Doubt has come to fill the void instead. Did I truly press Dayu too far, too fast? Did that tithebearer die because I expected a child to do an adult’s work? You know what doubt can do in narcomancy, Brother. Even if the councilor had not pronounced interdiction on me, I would refuse to perform healings now.”
Mni-inh sighed, a tone of frustration. “That I understand. But how will apologizing to a grieving widow—who may blame you for her husband’s death whether it’s your fault or not—ease your doubts?” He sobered abruptly. “Wait. I know what this is about. This is the first time you’ve dealt with death.”
“That isn’t it,” she said, though she had to look away fr
om the compassion in his eyes. In the early months of her path training, Hanani had actually suspected Mni-inh of harboring a secret sadism in his soul, somehow concealing it from the Gatherers but gleefully inflicting it on his unwilling apprentice under the guise of mentorship. He had been twice as hard on her as the other Sharers with their—male—apprentices, noting when she complained that she would have to be twice as good to overcome petitioners’ fears of her sex. And his hatred for same, she had been certain.
Yet as the months became years, and as Hanani matured, she had understood at last that Mni-inh’s harshness was an act. Underneath it, his true personality was far softer. Too soft, Hanani now believed, sorely lacking the calm and stoicism that the faithful expected of Hananja’s Servants. He took slights to her as a personal insult; he chafed constantly at the Hetawa’s slow pace of change; he forgot tact and said things that damaged his standing among their pathbrothers. It was true that his unorthodoxy had probably made him the best teacher for her, but there were times when Hanani would have found the taskmaster of her youth easier to deal with than the brash and overprotective elder brother he had become since.
“Meeting her will make me feel better,” she said finally, firmly. “And I just need to know more, Mni-inh-brother. I need to know the man who died with Dayu. I need to understand what happened, or at least begin to try. There can be no peace for me without that.”
Mni-inh stared at her. Finally he sighed again, running a hand over his peculiar, wavy, oily-looking hair. “Fine. Go.”
She sprang to her feet and had taken three steps before he spluttered, “You’re going now? Oh, never mind, you probably should or I might change my mind. Just be careful.”
“Thank you, Mni-inh-brother!”
He muttered something under his breath that she suspected was not a prayer.
So Hanani left the Sharer’s Hall, crossing the enormous open courtyard of the inner Hetawa on her way to the Hall of Blessings. A pair of Teacher-Apprentices, their arms weighed down with scrolls, glanced at her as they crossed her path; they fell to whispering almost as soon as she was out of earshot. An elderly Sentinel sitting on a stoop watched her, eyes narrowed, as if taking her measure. She nodded to him; he gave her a nod in return.
The Shadowed Sun Page 4
