The Killing Moon

  (Law)

  The din of the late-morning market floated in through the narrow cell window in a babble of voices, clanging objects, and the clucks and bleats of animals. There was comfort in it despite the cacophony, for it was the sound of the city’s daily routine. How could Hananja not be pleased by the order and prosperity of Her people? Ehiru smiled to himself as he knelt in the light and listened.

  Then, from behind, the sound of his cell door’s lock jarred the steady drone of the market. Ehiru glanced around, curious. The men in the guard-station had been solicitous toward him thus far, their ingrained respect for Gatherers still strong despite the ignominy of his circumstances. They had not disturbed him since he’d been brought to the station. But now three men stepped within, pausing until the door shut again behind them. Two were the Sunset Guardsmen who had brought him to the station. They took up positions on either side of the door, hands resting on knife-hilts. The third man was a bearded stranger in the garb of a midcasteman—an artisan, Ehiru guessed by the loose smock and headcloth the man wore. And yet… Ehiru narrowed his eyes, frowning at an odd sense of familiarity about the man’s build and carriage.

  “Don’t you recognize me, Ehiru? I do this to fool the commoners when I walk among them, but I never imagined it would fool you as well.” The artisan stepped into the patch of light, smiling with lazy—and familiar—amusement.

  Ehiru caught his breath. “Eninket?”

  The Prince raised both eyebrows, smile widening. “I haven’t heard that name in years. Mind you—I’m supposed to have you killed for uttering it.” He moved past Ehiru to the narrow shelf that served as the cell’s bed, and seated himself with regal grace. “But I think we can ignore protocol under the circumstances.”

  As the shock faded, Ehiru composed himself and shifted to face the Prince. As best he could, for the rogue’s yoke interfered with movement, he lifted his arms in manuflection and spoke in Sua. “Please forgive me, my Prince. I meant no disrespect.”

  “You need not retreat behind formality, either,” the Prince replied in kind, then switched back to Gujaareen so they could speak casually. “I’ve yearned to speak with you in private for years, Ehiru. I’ll admit this is unfair, doing this when you’re effectively captive, but you refused all of my invitations.”

  “I am a mere Servant of Hananja. You are the Bringer of Night, Herald of Dreams, Her consort-to-be in Ina-Karekh. It is not the place of a servant to dine at the master’s table.”

  “It isn’t the place of a servant to avoid the master, either,” the Prince retorted, then sighed. “No, this isn’t how I wanted it. We’re here now, Ehiru. Can’t we be brothers again, at least for a few moments?”

  Ehiru kept his eyes on the floor, though he finally lowered his arms and dispensed with Sua as well. “Can a bird return to its egg? You call me brother, but we have not been that for decades. And perhaps—”

  He bit the words back, closing his eyes as memories assailed him with sudden, painful force. The scent of blood like metal on the tongue. His mother’s mortal gasp. He could almost see the rose-marble walls of Kite-iyan around him…

  Vision, he told himself, and grimly refocused his mind on the present.

  “And perhaps we never were brothers?” the Prince asked. His voice was soft and sober in the dim chamber. “So I was right. You don’t understand. Or forgive.” Ehiru said nothing, and the Prince sighed. “There were those who would have used you and the rest of our siblings to sow chaos throughout Gujaareh, Ehiru. Think: your mother was Kisuati sonha, from an old and well-connected lineage. Would her son not have been more palatable to the nobles than the son of a commonborn dancer, as Prince? Even a daughter from a good lineage could have been used to foment unrest, for Gujaareh has had female Princes in its past. I did what was necessary for peace—though I’d never intended for our mothers to suffer. They were supposed to be set free, not killed.” He sighed heavily. “That was an error, and the men who committed it were punished.”

  The vision was gone, but in its place Ehiru discovered a flicker of anger, swiftly growing. He fought to keep it banked and his eyes on the floor. “Death is always difficult to control,” he said, very softly. “I live that truth every night.”

  “Then perhaps things would have gone better if I’d had a Gatherer’s discipline.” He paused, gazing steadily at Ehiru. “I kept expecting you to come for me, you realize. As soon as I heard you’d been chosen as the next Gatherer-Apprentice, I thought, ‘Now I will face justice for my crimes.’ But you never came.”

  Ehiru forced himself to shrug. “Heirs have assassinated their way to the Aureole since Gujaareh began. Even the Hetawa accepts the cruelty that is necessary to gain and keep power—so long as a Prince uses it to maintain peace from there on. Over time my brothers”—he put the faintest emphasis on the word—“have helped me to understand this.”

  The Prince made a sound of disgust, which startled Ehiru into looking up at him. “The Hetawa. You truly have become theirs, Ehiru. How they must love having another of our lineage in their thrall.”

  The anger grew by another measure, and Ehiru discarded protocol. “Explain.”

  “Ah, so I’ve offended you. But I won’t ask your pardon, my Brother, for I am unrepentant in my hatred of your adoptive family. As should you be.” The Prince gestured toward the rogue’s yoke; Ehiru flinched. “It was they who unjustly put that on you, after all.”

  “The Superior said you commanded it.”

  “I commanded your removal, Ehiru, before the Superior could end your life. Not this humiliation.” Abruptly the Prince gestured to one of the Guardsmen. “Find the key for that monstrosity he’s wearing. I can’t stand looking at it any longer.” The Guard snapped a bow, banged a pattern on the door of the chamber, and exited when the door opened.

  Ehiru’s fists, already sweaty and cramped after hours in the yoke, tightened further. “Explain.”

  The Prince regarded him for a long moment. Then said, “There is indeed a Reaper in the city, Ehiru. It killed quietly until lately—men in the prison, elders whose deaths could be made to look natural, and the like. I’ve known of it for months.”

  “And you said nothing to the Hetawa?”

  “They already knew.”

  Ehiru’s jaw tightened. “I do not believe that.”

  “Of course you don’t. And I have no way to prove my allegations to you. Nevertheless, they have kept the news of this Reaper quiet for reasons only the Superior and his highest subordinates comprehend. I’ve been trying to find some means of proving the Reaper’s existence, to force them to act—but there have been other matters distracting me lately. This Kisuati spy, among many.”

  Ehiru nodded. “Then the commission came from you. You sent me to Gather her. For political reasons.”

  “I did indeed. She threatens this city. Why didn’t you kill her?”

  “Gathering is not assassination!”

  The Prince rolled his eyes. “Have you never questioned your commissions before, Ehiru? The Kisuati woman would not have been the first.”

  Ehiru caught his breath and stared at the Prince, too revolted to respond. In the intervening silence the Guardsman returned. He moved to kneel at Ehiru’s side but the Prince abruptly rose from the cot, brushing him aside and taking the key. He knelt in front of Ehiru. The Guardsman gasped and immediately removed his front loindrape to lay on the ground for the Prince to kneel upon. The Prince waved it away, never taking his eyes from Ehiru’s.

  “Remember that I freed you, Brother,” the Prince whispered, “while your Hetawa locked you away. Remember that much, if nothing else.”

  Ehiru blinked out of his shock and stared as the Prince deftly undid the locks and buckles of the rogue’s yoke. He pulled it off Ehiru’s arms and threw it into a corner, where it landed with a loud clatter. Ehiru jerked at the noise, then turned his eyes back to Eninket—the Prince—with an effort.

  “Why?” he asked, meaning many whys.

  The Prince smiled. ??
?I can’t tell you everything. You wouldn’t understand anyhow, isolated as they’ve kept you. Suffice it to say that the Hetawa is corrupt; your brethren are dangerous to you now. I’ll do what I can to clear your name and expose their crimes, but you must do something for me in return.”

  The Hetawa was corrupt. Ehiru shook his head, unable to absorb such a monstrous concept. “What?”

  “The Kisuati woman. She cannot be permitted to reach Kisua, Ehiru, or there will be war. My men believe she is still in the outer city, the Unbelievers’ District. Find her. Complete the Gathering. Do this and I will see to it that you can return to the Hetawa in honor instead of shame. By our holy blood, I swear it.”

  To return to the Hetawa. To regain the order and peace that had been missing from his life for what seemed like ages… Ehiru closed his eyes, aching with silent longing.

  The Prince smiled and lifted his hands to cup Ehiru’s face. “I know you’ll do what’s right, my brother.”

  He kissed Ehiru then: once on each cheek, on the forehead, and on the lips. It was the way Ehiru’s father had kissed him during his childhood before the Hetawa, and memories arose at once to buffet him like mountain winds.

  Then the Prince released him, stood, and turned away to rap on the cell door. The Guardsmen fell in behind him as the door opened. When they were gone the door remained open, waiting for Ehiru.

  Slowly Ehiru straightened, untied his waist-pouch, and poured the contents into one hand. His ornaments gleamed back at him, the Kisuati woman’s scored coin among them.

  Carefully—for his hands shook again and this time he could not still them—he put all except the coin back into the pouch. Then he got to his feet, moving slowly as an old man, and walked out of the cell.

  14

  By the age of four floods, a Gujaareen child should be able to write the pictorals of the family name, count by fours to forty, and recite the details of every dream upon waking.

  (Wisdom)

  Nijiri sat in the Stone Garden trying to keep his knuckles from turning white. They would be watching for that. He could give them no cause to doubt his self-control—not if he wanted to be left free and unchaperoned. Not if he meant to go and find Ehiru.

  “Hiding something again,” Sonta-i said. He stood across from Nijiri near a column of nightstone, just as unyielding. “You think we cannot guess your plans. You think we cannot smell the fury curling off you like smoke.”

  Damnation.

  “Is my anger not understandable, Brother?” Nijiri kept his voice calm. “What surprises me is your lack of it. Does Hananja’s peace silence all sense of propriety and justice?”

  “We feel the anger, little brother,” Rabbaneh said from behind Nijiri. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Dreamblood silences nothing. It merely… softens.” He paused, then said thoughtfully, “Perhaps if you were to share our peace—”

  Nijiri pulled away. He took care to keep the movement smooth and minimal, polite aversion rather than vehement rejection. “I would prefer to find peace on my own.”

  Rabbaneh sighed and dropped his hand. “The choice is always yours. But please try to remember, little brother, that Ehiru went willingly.”

  “Yes.” Nijiri saw the scene again in his mind: the shame in the Superior’s eyes, and the aching grief in Ehiru’s. “He went because the Hetawa betrayed him and he could not bear to be among the corrupt any longer.”

  “You trespass,” Sonta-i warned.

  Nijiri got to his feet and turned to face them, his fists clenched at his sides. “I speak the truth, Sonta-i-brother. I saw the beast that attacked me last night. I suffered its touch. And the only reason I survived is because Ehiru-brother fought it away and gave me his last dreamblood. Sharer Mni-inh saw the evidence of this and vouches for Ehiru-brother. Even the Superior acknowledged that imprisoning our brother was not justice but the will of Yanya-iyan. Politics.”

  He spat out the last word like the poison it was, and was gratified to see Rabbaneh grimace in distaste. Sonta-i’s normally impassive expression grew thoughtful, however. Sonta-i would be the key, Nijiri knew. The dreaming gift had come upon Sonta-i too young, or so went the rumors among the acolytes. He had no true emotions, though he mimicked them well enough when necessary, and he drew no distinction between the waking world and the vagaries of dream. Neither could be trusted; neither was real in his eyes. It was a disadvantage in Gathering, but there were times—like now, perhaps—when Sonta-i’s view of the world made him the most flexible and pragmatic of all the Gatherers. Self-interest, not tradition or faith, drove him. If Nijiri could appeal to this, Sonta-i might prove an unexpected ally.

  “We do not judge—” Rabbaneh began.

  “But we traditionally have some say,” Sonta-i interrupted. “Especially in the matter of our own. It is strange that we were not consulted.”

  Nijiri held his breath.

  “The Superior had to make a quick decision.” Rabbaneh folded his arms and began to pace—and this tension too was a sign, Nijiri realized. The Superior’s decision sat poorly with both his pathbrothers.

  “If Mni-inh had declared Ehiru a danger, then the Superior’s quick decision would have been justified,” Sonta-i said. “Mni-inh says his mind is yet whole.”

  “It is,” Nijiri blurted. “He shows only the early signs so far, just hand-shaking and a bit of temper—”

  He realized his error when they both glared at him. Sonta-i’s face somehow became just a touch colder.

  “The method of any Gatherer’s communion with the Goddess is private, Nijiri,” he said. “You will understand that better—and no doubt respect it more—when you’ve had to face the long night without dreamblood yourself.”

  Nijiri bowed over both his hands in shame. “Forgive me. It’s only…” His shoulders and throat tightened. Goddess, no, not tears. Not now. “I can’t bear this.”

  Rabbaneh stopped pacing, his expression strained and grim. “Nor can I.” He turned to Sonta-i. “You understand what this means.”

  Sonta-i nodded. “We don’t have enough information to make an assessment yet. Therefore we must acquire more.”

  “Perhaps we should take this to the Council of Paths,” Rabbaneh said. “Our judgment may be impaired by our closeness to the situation—”

  Sonta-i looked at him; Rabbaneh fell silent. Nijiri frowned at both in confusion.

  “No,” Rabbaneh said at last. He turned away, his back stiff, and sighed. “I don’t really believe that.”

  Sonta-i regarded Rabbaneh for a moment. Then he turned to Nijiri, his gaze speculative. “How will you find him if you go?”

  Only Hananja’s grace prevented Nijiri from gasping aloud. Instead he took a deep breath to calm the sudden racing of his heart. “He’ll be in one of the guard-stations,” he said. “Yanya-iyan has no dungeon and the Sunset Guard does not control the prison.”

  “There are eight guard-stations, Apprentice. One for each quadrant of the city, inner and outer.”

  “I’ll have to check them all, Sonta-i-brother. But I think he’ll be at one of the inner stations, since they’re closer to Yanya-iyan. I imagine the guards will want to be in range of quick reinforcements, if our brother should somehow break free.”

  Sonta-i’s eyes, gray as stone, probed Nijiri’s for several long moments—though what he sought, Nijiri could not fathom. Rabbaneh stared at Sonta-i in disbelief.

  “You cannot mean this, Sonta-i.”

  “Neither you nor I can go,” Sonta-i said. “The city has only two working Gatherers left; we are needed.”

  “So is Nijiri! He must replace Una-une. Bad enough we’ll have one green Gatherer, but if Ehiru is lost, we have to begin training another.”

  “If Ehiru is lost when he should not be,” Sonta-i said with the faintest of emphasis, “we will have lost far more than a seasoned Gatherer. We will have lost the autonomy that is absolutely essential for our proper function. We will have allowed a clear injustice to impact our actions. We, who mu
st be purest of all.”

  Rabbaneh shook his head. “But Nijiri is only a boy, Sonta-i.”

  “He is sixteen, a man by law. In the upriver villages he might be married already, perhaps a father.” Sonta-i focused on Nijiri, though his words were for Rabbaneh. “The pursuit of justice is the duty of every Gatherer, even the least of us. One of our brothers has been wrongfully imprisoned.”

  “This is not the way to free him!”

  “Indeed. Only the truth can do that. But the truth in this case intersects with the duty of our path.”

  “You mean for Ehiru-brother and me to find the Reaper,” Nijiri breathed, understanding at last. His head reeled with wonder. “You mean for us to kill it.”

  Sonta-i nodded. “You’ll need proof to clear Ehiru’s name. The Reaper’s body should do.”

  “And if you don’t find that proof,” Rabbaneh said in a tight voice, “neither you nor Ehiru will ever be able to return to the Hetawa. You’ll both be declared corrupt and hunted down. We will be sent to hunt you, along with half the Sentinels. Do you understand? While you hunt the Reaper, you walk the Gatherers’ path only in Hananja’s eyes. No one else—not the city guard, not the Sunset Guard, not the Sentinels—will acknowledge it.”

  I chose the Gatherers’ path for only one reason anyhow, Nijiri thought, and lifted his chin. “I’ll serve in my heart if serving in public means swallowing injustice.”

  To his utter shock, Sonta-i smiled. It was a horrible expression beneath his dead gray eyes, lacking the slightest touch of amusement or pleasure, and the sight of it sent a shiver along Nijiri’s every nerve.

  “Rabbaneh and I do not endure injustice either, Apprentice,” Sonta-i said. “We send you to kill it.”

  15

  Women are goddesses, like unto Hananja Herself. They birth and shape the dreamers of the world. Love and fear them.