The Killing Moon (Dreamblood) (40 page)

A Gatherer destroys corruption—and power, if he must
, Rabbaneh had said. And he’d been right to remind Nijiri to stop thinking like a servant-caste. True peace required the presence of justice, not just the absence of conflict.

So Nijiri bit his lip, stifled the part of himself that quailed at the idea of doing something so audacious, and set his mind to the task at hand. “We should seek Sister Meliatua,” he said. “She and the Sisters have many allies around the city; they may be able to help us.”

“Hmm.” Ehiru seemed to consider this. “If she can get a message into the Hetawa… or hide a person…” He glanced at Nijiri, and abruptly Nijiri realized what he was thinking.

Nijiri scowled. “You will not enter Yanya-iyan without me.”

Ehiru opened his mouth to argue, then apparently thought better of it. He shook his head, eyes creasing with amusement. “You have become a willful, rude apprentice, Nijiri.”

“I’ve always been so, Brother.” In spite of his mood Nijiri could not help grinning. But the moment was fleeting. Ehiru sobered and gazed out over the water. It wasn’t difficult to guess the direction of his thoughts.

“Ehiru-brother.” Nijiri hesitated, then blurted, “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps you could go before the Council of Paths. If you could face the pranje again, within the peace of the Hetawa—”

Ehiru took one hand off the oar and held it out. Even over the gentle bob of the barge, the tremor in his hand was
pronounced. Nijiri caught his breath and Ehiru took hold of the oar once more, gripping it tightly to conceal the tremor.

“You see,” Ehiru said. He turned his gaze to the river; his face was expressionless. “Within another fourday, I shall be as useless to you as I was in the desert. So I must act quickly.”

It had been twelve days since he’d killed the soldier, but already Ehiru’s reservoir was empty again—had probably been empty for days, if his hands were that bad. Shaken, Nijiri resumed turning the oar.

As they drew nearer the city, the river traffic grew thicker yet, forcing them to slow and even stop on occasion as boats gathered into knots and lines leading up to the looming arch of the Blood Gate. The crew murmured in annoyance. Pulling himself out of sorrow enough to pay attention, Nijiri watched as the captain called out to another boat nearby to ask why the traffic was so much worse than usual.

“Heard they’re searching boats,” the man replied with a shrug. “For contraband, maybe, or smuggled goods. Who knows?”

“Mnedza’s Tongue,” said one of the crewmen, frowning. “Why in the shadowlands would they tie up half the river with boat searches? Are they mad? It’ll be Moonset before they go home tonight.”

The captain glanced back at Ehiru and Nijiri, though he spoke aloud to the whole crew. “We’ve nothing to worry about,” he said. “Our cargo is strictly legal—this time.” This provoked uneasy laughter that Nijiri could not bring himself to share.

Their boat inched closer to the network of piers and bridges that made up the Gate. Soldiers wearing the gray loinskirts of
the City Guard swarmed along the piers like ants, on both sides of the river. Nijiri’s dread grew as he glimpsed a fisherman standing rigid with fury, watching a soldier poke a spear butt through his day’s catch. As they finally reached a pier, a man wearing the indigo-trimmed headcloth of a tax assessor approached the boat, flanked by two soldiers. “Tie your boat for boarding,” he said brusquely, and the barge’s crew moved to comply. On the captain’s orders, Nijiri and Ehiru pushed the barge’s anchor stone over the side and then stood among the rest of the crew, watching.

The tax assessor stepped into the boat with the ease of long practice and began rummaging through the stacks of baskets and chests. The soldiers boarded less skillfully, but they moved with purpose as they came to where the crew stood. “State your name and business,” said one. While the other soldier took notes on a wide scroll, the crew members began to speak in turn. When Ehiru’s turn came he used the false name he’d given to Gehanu before the desert journey. Nijiri did the same.

“You don’t look Kisuati, boy,” the soldier said, narrowing his eyes.

“He was born in Gujaareh,” the captain interjected smoothly. “My sister slept with a northerner and moved here when the family put her out. I’ve hired him on for the time being, since he isn’t as lazy and shiftless as his father.”

The soldier snorted at this and moved on down the line. Nijiri exhaled in private relief; the captain winked at him.

Finally the soldiers finished interviewing the crew. “All right, then,” said the one taking notes. “Turn and raise your arms, and then we’ll be done.”

The captain started. “What is this? I have been riding the river between Kisua and Gujaareh for ten years and never—”

“New orders from Yanya-iyan,” the other soldier said. He spoke wearily, clearly having said the words many times before. “There have been problems lately with spies and smugglers. You could have contraband hidden on you.”

The captain’s eyes widened in genuine affront. “Are you mad? I—”

The soldier drew his sword and put it at the captain’s throat in a blur of motion; the captain fell silent immediately. “Orders from Yanya-iyan,” the soldier said again, speaking slowly and coldly now. “The Prince’s city obeys the Prince’s law.”

From the corner of his eye Nijiri saw Ehiru bristle at this perversion of Hetawa doctrine, but of course they could not take the man to task for it. The crew members tensed as well, angry on behalf of their captain, but there was little they could do without jeopardizing his life.

“This can be quick and simple,” said the soldier with the sword, with a hint of exasperation this time. “If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.”

One by one, the crew members obeyed. Nijiri did the same, sighing at the indignity, but Ehiru turned only slowly. His eyes met Nijiri’s as they turned, and Nijiri was startled to see that his mentor’s jaw was tight with tension.

But why is he afraid? We have no contraband and barely enough money to be worth stealing. Only—

And then he remembered. Their black loindrapes, hidden under their Kisuati clothing. Their Gatherer ornaments.

His heart began to pound as the soldiers moved down the
line, patting each crew member and pulling out weapons, money-pouches, and the like. They were moving quickly, he noticed with the one part of his mind that could still function through rising fear. His ornaments were in a pouch tucked into the band of his Kisuati loinskirt.
Let them miss it in their haste
, he prayed silently. Perhaps they would feel them and dismiss them as dice or tehtet pieces or just a boy’s rock collection—

The soldier’s hands slapped roughly over his torso, and paused when they found the pouch. Through rising panic Nijiri felt the soldier tug the pouch out of his skirt; he heard the clatter of stones as the pouch was opened. When he heard the soldier’s murmured oath, he knew they were lost.

He glanced at Ehiru; there was only one chance. He mouthed the word
fight?

Ehiru’s expression startled him, for the tension had been replaced by introspection. He shook his head minutely, then turned to face the soldiers. Swallowing, Nijiri turned as well, unsurprised to see a sword leveled at his own throat.

“Gatherer Ehiru,” said the soldier; his voice shook. “Gatherer-Apprentice Nijiri. We were told to watch for you, but that you’d probably left the city.”

“Obviously we have returned,” Ehiru said.

“You will come with us now!” said the other soldier, nearly trembling in his excitement.

“Obviously we shall,” replied Ehiru. He lowered his arms and gazed down at the sword pointed at him, unafraid. “To Yanya-iyan, I presume?”

That was when Nijiri understood. They had found a way into Yanya-iyan after all.

Deep beneath Yanya-iyan lay Yanyi-ija-inank, the Earthly Thrones of the Immortal Kings. Row upon row of shelves lined the silent, winding corridors, each shelf housing the funeral urns of Gujaareh’s past Princes. Interspersed among the shelves were murals in embossed lacquer depicting each ruler’s time upon the Throne of Dreams, accompanied by formal pictorals delineating his or her name and accomplishments in Hona-Karekh. In testament to the ambition of Gujaareh’s founders, fewer than half of the shelves and walls had been filled in the thousand years of the city’s existence—this even though many shelves bore the urns of favored spouses, acclaimed soldiers, and other noteworthy folk granted the honor of resting alongside their rulers. It would take thousands more years for the catacombs to fill completely.

But a temporary use for the empty space had been found, Ehiru saw. Three small, hastily constructed cages stood against one of the blank walls, marring the catacombs’ graceful architecture with ugly iron latticework. The sight filled Ehiru with affront even as the soldiers pushed him into one of the cages and locked the door.

Nijiri yelped as a soldier prodded him ungently into the cage after Ehiru. Their hands had not been bound, but the soldiers seemed well aware of the dangers of physical contact with a Gatherer, using the butts of their spears to goad them along. Nijiri glared back at them and rubbed a fresh bruise on the back of one thigh as he crouched beside Ehiru. “What now, Brother?” He sounded tense but calm, and Ehiru suspected that his tension was as much eagerness as fear.

“Now we wait,” Ehiru replied, examining their surroundings while the guards took up duty outside the cage. The cages were nothing more than flat grids of forged iron bars, tied with oiled lengths of twine to form a cube; the door was just a rough sheet of bronze, laid over an opening between the bars. The soldiers had to roll a carved wheel-stone in front of the thing to seal the door. The whole structure had been tied to iron rings set into a nearby wall of the catacombs, because clearly it would list wildly and perhaps fall apart otherwise. Flimsy in appearance, but nevertheless difficult to escape.

The cage nearest theirs was empty, but the furthest cage held one occupant. In the dim torchlight Ehiru could make out no details of the huddled form, which might have been only a pile of rags for all that it moved.

“Just wait?” Nijiri glanced toward the guards outside the cage,
raising his eyebrows. They could not speak freely, but there was nothing to be said that their enemies did not already know.

“The Prince will be along soon enough,” Ehiru said.

It did not take long for him to be proven right. After an hour’s passing or so, the soldiers snapped to attention as the halls echoed suddenly with the rumble of chains and massive metal hinges. This was the mechanism which opened the heavy stone doors that sealed the catacombs during floodseason. A gust of fresh air and the jingle of sandals heralded the Prince’s arrival, along with four of the Sunset Guard and the child who bore the Aureole. Two other child-servants trailed behind the guards, each carrying an armload of heavy iron chains.

The Prince, resplendent in armor of bronze scales and a blood-red linen skirt, drew to a halt before the cage.

“Ehiru,” he said, smiling warmly. “I’m pleased to see you again.”

“I am not pleased to see you, Eninket,” Ehiru said. Eninket raised his eyebrows, smile fading.

“I see the Kisuati have filled your head with lies before sending you back to us.” He sighed. “If only you had killed the woman. I could have spared you so much suffering.”

“No more lies, Eninket,” Ehiru snapped. “You have planned
war
, unprovoked and to suit your own greed, in violation of our every law. I name you corrupt—”

“You name me nothing.” As quickly as the smile had vanished from Eninket’s face, now a glare replaced it. “I should never have left you with the Hetawa, once I learned they had you. Better you had died with all the rest of our siblings than grow up to become another of their puppets.” He stepped closer
to the cage, though still not within arm’s reach; Ehiru forced his tense muscles to relax. “Do you know what they did to our father, Ehiru? I saw him grovel once, abject as the most humble servant-caste, at the feet of a Hetawa priest. He begged, he wept, he promised to do whatever they asked, if only they would give him dreamblood. And they gave it to him, laughing at his humiliation.”