35
Speak all prayers in Sua, the tongue of the motherland, that we may remember always who we were.
Speak of all dreams in our own tongue, that we may embrace who we become.
(Law)
Amid the thrones of the dead, the pranje begins.
*
The first day.
“I’m not afraid, Brother. I can help you—”
“St-stay away from me.”
*
The first night: metal scrapes against oiled twine.
“What are you doing?”
“Forgive me for waking you. I thought perhaps I could cut some of the knots holding the ironwork together. If we can get out of this cage…”
Silence for a moment. “That was your hipstrap-clasp. The one your mother gave you.”
“It was a child’s thing.” More scraping. “Are you thirsty, Brother? There’s water, though no food.”
“No.”
“You haven’t drunk since—”
“No.”
After a sigh, the scraping resumes.
*
The second day: morning, or what passes for such among the thrones of the dead. Slow, even breathing overlaid by whispered prayer.
“Forgive me, forgive me, Hananja I beg You, I should have offered You my tithe after the Bromarte, I know it now, forgive my pride and selfishness, please please please do not let me kill him.”
*
The second day: afternoon. A brief draught of fresh air and the fading echoes of guards’ boots.
“At least we won’t starve. Here, Brother.”
“I want nothing.”
Silence.
A reluctant sigh.
“Now drink. Your mind will fight harder if your body’s healthy.”
“Have you forgotten your promise, Nijiri?”
“… No, Brother.”
“Then why do you delay? You see what must be done.”
“I see that you must eat and drink, and when our meal is done you must pray with me, and then while you meditate I’ll resume work on those twine hinges. It may take several days, but I think—”
Unnatural fury splits the air. “Foolish, wicked child! Do you enjoy my suffering? Will you force me to perform another of those—perverted—”
“I want anything but your suffering, Brother. But if you take me it will be a true Gathering, because I offer myself willingly.”
“Already my thoughts… the visions… I cannot…” A deep breath, a struggle for calm. “You gave your word, Nijiri.”
“Have you considered what will happen if I take you, Brother?”
“What?”
“It might take longer with me—or it might go faster. I don’t have your strength. But in the end, one Reaper will be as good as another to the Prince.”
Long and terrible silence.
“Drink, Brother. When we’ve won our way free—and when there’s no chance of either of us becoming the Prince’s plaything—then I will send you to Her. That I vow, with everything that I am.”
*
The second night: silence in the halls of the dead, but for scraping.
*
The third day: morning. Harsh and shaky breath.
“Brother?”
“The bars. They constrict. They, they will crush us.”
“No, Brother. It was a vision—”
“I saw them.”
“Then come sit beside me. Death is nothing to fear, is it? Over here, the bars will take less time to reach us. Come.”
Sandals shift on stone, slowly and reluctantly.
“Good. Feel my hand. I have calluses now, do you see? Camel reins, barge-rowing, twine-scraping… who knew the life of a Gatherer would be so hard? Gods, I should’ve stayed a servant-caste.”
“You.” The voice is gravel, groping for itself. “You are… too willful for that. You would’ve been… forced to find a new master every other day.”
A rich chuckle. “Too true, Brother. I should be grateful at least that the Hetawa doesn’t beat its children.”
The harsh breathing stutters, then slows, calming.
After a long while—“Thank you.”
No response, although a voice begins to hum a gentle, comforting hymn.
“It goes so fast this time, Nijiri.”
“Shh.” Another shift; now flesh strokes against flesh. “Here. You’re here. In this world, this body. Stay with me, Brother. I need you.”
“Yes… yes.” An audible swallow. “I’d forgotten what true fear felt like. Nothing holds it back anymore.”
“There’s nothing to fear. All will be well. Rest. I’ll be here when you wake.”
*
The third day: afternoon. The stir of fresh air. The stillness of the dead is broken by three new voices, peaceless and loud and disrespectful.
“Is he dead yet? I’ve got money on you, boy.”
“Look at those eyes, Amtal! If hate could kill, you’d be dead already.”
“No luck. The big one is breathing. He’s just asleep.”
“Sitting up?”
“Maybe that’s how they do it. Maybe he’s trying to kill you from afar.”
“Maybe he’s laying a curse on your family line.”
“Maybe he’s laying a curse on your family jewels!” Raucous laughter.
“Just feed them, you imbeciles, and let’s go. I don’t like this place.”
Stone and chains; the return of silence. After a time, the scraping begins again.
*
The third night: early evening.
“You’re shivering.”
“N-not… cold.”
“I know.”
“Have I ever… harmed you, Nijiri?”
“Harmed me? No, why do you ask?”
“A v-vision. It was the pranje. I hurt you. Beat you. K-killed.”
“Don’t be foolish, Brother. I’m here, aren’t I? I never sat pranje for you, though I wanted to, trained to. And I listened to the rumors about you, talked to others who attended you. Don’t worry; you’ve never done such a thing.”
A voice that trembles: “In the vision, I wanted to.”
A voice that soothes: “I will never let that happen.”
*
The third night, late, or the fourth morning, early: the small hours. The infinitesimal sounds of stealth. Death creeps on fingers and toes.
Slow, even breathing catches for a moment, then resumes.
“Welcome, Brother.”
Silence.
“Do you want me?”
Silence, pent.
“Take what you need. Use it to free yourself. I’ll wait for you in Ina-Karekh.”
Silence. Stealth abandoned; now there is only breath, ragged with strain.
“N… nnh…”
Waiting.
“Nnnnh…” The voice breaks; it sounds barely human. “N-no. I will n-not. I will not.”
“Brother—No, Brother, don’t—Here. Yes. Yes, Brother.”
The sobs that break the silence are without hope, but the soothing tones that overlay them are confident and loving.
“I wanted to… I would have… Indethe a etun— ”
“Shhh. She has never turned Her sight from you, Brother. You’re Her most beloved servant, and you have served Her long and well. She’ll welcome you when the time comes. You will dwell in Her peace forever. I shall see to that myself.”
“Now, Nijiri. It must be now. The next time—”
“The next time you’ll do whatever you must. But try to hold on, Brother. I cut through the hinges a few hours ago. Now only a push will make the wall come loose. When the guards come again, we can break free.”
“Can’t… hold…”
“You can. I’ll help you. Shhh. Close your eyes. Yes, like that. Shhh. I’ll weave us a dream; would you like that? Not a Gathering, but perhaps enough to keep the madness at bay awhile longer. Now lie still.”
“Nijiri.”
“I’ve always loved you, my Brother. I no longer care what’s right. You are my only Law. Rest now, safe in my dreams.”
Silence.
*
The fourth day.
“The Prince was right, Brother.”
Massive chains rumble, sending forth echoes as stone doors shift. Fresh air wafts through the catacombs. Amid the thrones of the dead, life gathers itself for battle.
“You have indeed become a weapon, but not his. All things serve Hananja’s will—even this. Remember that, no matter what you do.”
The rumbling ceases; footsteps violate the peaceful sanctity of Yanyi-ija-inank as the guards approach.
“And no matter what happens, I shall never leave your side.”
*
The guards stop before the cage’s door. “So, boy. Is he dead yet?” They laugh.
And Ehiru looks up, smiling a smile that chills their souls.
“Yes,” the Reaper says.