9
A Gatherer shall enter buildings in concealment, and approach the bearer of the Goddess’s tithe in stealth. Thus is peace maintained into dreaming.
(Law)
For several seconds after being jolted out of sleep, Sunandi could not comprehend the tableau before her. Lin lay on the floor, coughing and clutching at her throat. A slim, pale Gujaareen youth not far past the age of adulthood crouched over her in a striking stance, staring at Sunandi in almost comical surprise. Another man—bigger, older, dark as a Kisuati and somehow familiar—stood in the foreground half-turned to her, his eyes wide with shock and anger.
Then the fog of sleep lifted and details struck. Lin’s knife on the floor. The intruders’ black-dyed clothing. A moontear-embossed ornament on the man’s nearer hip: the emblem of the Hetawa.
Dearest Dreamer. Niyes had been right.
“ ’Nandi—”
Lin’s croak startled her out of shock. She threw aside the sheet, heedless of her own near-nudity—she wore only a light shift—and reached beneath the pillow to pull out the dagger she kept there. She snatched it from its sheath and leaped to her feet. “Get away from her!”
The man tensed as if to fight—and then some unidentifiable shadow crossed his face, replacing the anger with a strange, somehow detached calm. He straightened and then, shocking Sunandi nearly out of her skin, went down on one knee in formal manuflection.
“Forgive me. This should have gone peacefully.” The man’s voice was deep and so soft that she strained to hear him. He flicked some signal at the youth; the youth took Lin by the arm to help her up. Lin jerked her arm free and stumbled back to glare at both of the strangers. Her breath still wheezed alarmingly through her throat, though she seemed to be recovering. Sunandi edged over to her, knife still at the ready; with her free hand she pulled Lin’s hand away from her throat. An angry red mark spread across the girl’s larynx.
“I did not strike to kill,” the youth said, almost apologetically. He too was soft-spoken, though his voice was higher-pitched. “I meant only to silence her.”
“Nijiri,” the man said, and the youth fell silent.
Reaction set in as Sunandi’s fear eased, though anger replaced it. She shivered uncontrollably as she stepped around the bed, pulling Lin with her to put some distance between them and the strangers. The killers.
“Is this the piety of Gujaareh?” she demanded. Her voice sounded harsh and loud compared to theirs. “I was told the Gatherers of Hananja had honor. I never dreamed you would allow yourselves to be used like this.”
The man flinched suddenly as if her words had been a blow. “Used?”
“Yes, damn you, used. Why even bother pretending to serve Hananja’s Law? Why delay? Kill me and be done with it—unless you mean to talk me to death?”
“ ’Nandi!” Lin’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
It was not the wisest thing to say, true, but something in her words had jarred the older one; she had to keep talking. He was the greater danger, she saw at once. Not just physically; there was something else about him that set her nerves a-jangle every time their eyes met.
Perhaps the fact that he wants to kill me.
The Gatherer went still. His hand drifted away from his side, the fingers curling in an odd gesture—first and middle fingers forked, the rest folded neatly out of the way. For some reason that gesture sent a chill prickling along Sunandi’s skin.
“I was trying to put you at ease,” he said. “But I can calm you once you’re asleep, if you prefer.”
“Gods! No!” She took an involuntary step back. He did not lower his hand.
“Explain your statement, then,” he said. The youth frowned at him in sudden surprise. “That we are being used.”
“Are you mad? Get out before I shout for the guards. You’re the worst assassins I have ever seen!”
“We are not assassins.”
“You are. Doing it in the name of your bloodthirsty goddess changes nothing. Are you the one who’s been killing the prisoners? Did you kill Kinja, too?”
The man’s face changed subtly—still calm, but no longer detached. She thought she read anger in his eyes.
“I have never Gathered anyone named Kinja,” he said. He began to pace around the bed, every step silent, his eyes never leaving hers. The youth followed him—less gracefully, but with the same soundless menace. “No one I have ever Gathered has been imprisoned, except within his own suffering flesh or blighted mind. I offer Her peace in exchange for pain… fear… hatred… loneliness. Death is a gift, to those who suffer in life.”
He stopped, breaking the spell of voice and movement, and with sudden, chilling clarity Sunandi saw that the Gatherer had closed the distance between them until he stood only a few feet away. His hand was still poised in that odd gesture; this time he meant to strike. And when he did, no knife or half-grown bodyguard would stop him.
The fear spiked into terror—and then receded as Kinja’s training reverberated through her mind.
“Two days ago I saw a corpse,” she said. The Gatherer paused. “A man who had died in his sleep some while before. His face… I have never seen such anguish, Gatherer. In Kisua we tell tales of your kind, you priests who bring dreams of death. They say the dreams are not always pleasant. They say that sometimes, if one of your kind loses control, the victim dies irusham—wearing the mask of horror. Do you still want to tell me you know nothing of that?”
The Gatherer froze, the deadly intent in his eyes giving way to something unreadable.
“I know of it,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.
“Then do you truly expect me to believe,” she said, softening her own voice, “that you arrive here to kill me not even a fourday later, and it has nothing to do with the Prince’s plans for war?”
The Gatherer frowned, and she realized she’d made an incorrect assumption somewhere. There was no mistaking the confusion on his face. Just then the youth stepped forward, apparently unable to keep silent. He did not quite step in front of the man, but his stance radiated protectiveness.
“The Prince has nothing to do with who is Gathered, or why,” the youth said. “And my brother’s mistake has nothing to do with any war.”
Brother? Ah, yes. The boy was the man’s physical opposite; it was unlikely they were related. He had to be the man’s apprentice. Snippets of gossip overheard at the Hamyan merged with the niggling sense of familiarity, and abruptly she knew who the man was.
“You are Ehiru,” she said. “The Prince’s last surviving brother.”
The Gatherer’s eyes narrowed. Yes, that was it. Each man had clearly taken after his respective mother in most ways, but the stamp of the shared sire was in their eyes. Ehiru’s were an onyx version of the Prince’s, just as lovely—though far, far colder.
“My family is the Hetawa,” the Gatherer snapped.
“But before that, you were of the Sunset. Your mother was Kisuati, a sonha noblewoman, probably some kin of mine. She gave you to the Hetawa to save your life.”
The Gatherer scowled. “Irrelevant. Once the Hetawa accepted me, I became wholly theirs. The Prince has no brothers; I have a thousand.”
If this was his attitude, it was possible that he could be trusted. But trustworthy or not, it was clear only the truth would deter him from killing her.
Sunandi took a deep breath, straightened, then made a show of setting her knife on the bed. “Lin.”
Lin looked at her incredulously, but the girl had learned long ago not to question her in front of others. With visible reluctance she set her knife down as well. At this the youth relaxed somewhat; the Gatherer did not. He lowered his hand, however, which Sunandi took for a positive sign.
“Explain,” the Gatherer said again.
“This is not the best place for a discussion, you realize. The royal family’s quarters are on the floor directly above.”
“There are no listening-holes in this chamber. That would be foolish, since you might find and use them yourself.”
And her enemies would be far more interested in what she did outside the guest suite, anyhow. “Very well. Perhaps you’re not assassins—or at least, not knowingly. The end result is what matters in this case, rather than the intent.”
“Not to us.”
She resisted the urge to swallow at the menace in his tone. He still intended—no. He still believed wholly in the rightness of killing her.
“You say that someone named me corrupt. Who?”
“I do not know.”
“Do you know why? What evidence they gave?”
“You were accused of spying, corrupting influential citizens of Gujaareh, and attempting to foment war. I do not know the evidence given. That was evaluated—and accepted—by the Superior of the Hetawa.”
“Hananja’s Crusty Eyes.” For a moment she was tempted to laugh, until she noted the affront on their faces and recalled her careless blasphemy. Silently she berated herself; now was not the time for amateurish mistakes. “—Apologies. I shouldn’t be surprised. I have been spying, of course.”
“Then you acknowledge your corruption?”
“Spying, as the Prince has spied on me, and as the ambassadors of Bromarte, Jijun, Khanditta, and every other land in spitting distance of the Narrow Sea have spied on one another for centuries. It is the job of an ambassador to spy. If there’s corruption in that, then you’d better Gather a few other people in this palace tonight.”
“Do you refute the other charges?” His expression was implacable.
“Corrupting highcastes and fomenting war? Let me see. I had a meeting with a highcaste who revealed to me one of Gujaareh’s darkest secrets. He did it unbidden and uncoerced, and his intention was to prevent war. How would you judge that, priest of Hananja?”
“I do not judge.”
“Then you had better start.” She was growing angry herself in response to the tension of the moment and the Gatherer’s obstinacy. “There is a Reaper in this land, priest, and I have seen the proof of it. I believe you and your brethren know of this abomination and conceal it.”
The youth frowned in puzzlement. The Gatherer went rigid. “There is no Reaper in Gujaareh,” he said. “There has been none for centuries.”
“I told you of the corpse I saw.”
His jaw worked, and abruptly the affront in his face was eclipsed by something she hadn’t expected to see: shame. “Sometimes Gatherers err,” he said. Beside him the youth’s scowl deepened, though the look he turned on his mentor was somber. The Gatherer fixed his eyes on the floor. “When that happens, we do penance. But I’m no rogue. Nor are any of my brothers.”
“Twenty men have died like the corpse I saw, at the prison. Do Gatherers err so often?”
The man was already shaking his head, but in disbelief. “Twenty? No, that cannot be. Someone would’ve reported it. One or two mistakes the people can accept, but never so many, so quickly—”
“They don’t know,” Lin said suddenly. Sunandi looked down at her in surprise. Lin’s pale eyes were narrowed at the Gatherer, though she spoke to Sunandi. “Someone in the Hetawa probably does, but not these two. Maybe none of the Gatherers know.”
The Gatherer looked from one to the other of them, confusion plain on his face; his voice wavered with uncertainty and tension. “There’s nothing to know. What you suggest is… is…” He faltered silent.
Sunandi snorted. “At least one of the Gatherers knows. Only Gatherers become Reapers.”
“There are no Reapers in Gujaareh!” The Gatherer’s composure shattered so suddenly that it startled them all. He glared at them, nostrils flared, fists clenched, body trembling with rage. Only his voice remained under control; he had not raised it, though he’d snarled the words with such vehemence that they might as well have been shouted. “That would be an abomination beyond imagination. We are tested regularly. When the signs begin to show, we give ourselves to Her. We all know our duty. To suggest otherwise is an attack upon the Hetawa itself!”
The youth looked genuinely alarmed now, and Sunandi felt the same. The sense of unease that she had felt from the beginning redoubled, joined now by an instinctive certainty. Something is wrong with him.
“I mean no insult,” she said, carefully neutral. “It could be some new poison, whose effects mimic Reaping-death. Or a plague. There’s no way to know for certain.” She spread her hands, moving slowly and deliberately so he could see she meant no harm. “But if there’s no rogue in the city, then someone certainly means to suggest that there is. Would that not also be an assault upon your brotherhood?”
The Gatherer’s agitation cooled somewhat, though his stance remained stiff. “It would if it were true. But you have been judged corrupt. These could be lies.”
Sunandi could think of no counter for that argument. Abruptly the whole situation wearied her; she sighed and rubbed her eyes. “They could be. For all I know, they are—lies fed to me, which I now feed to you. If I had all the answers, my job here would be done. As it is, I’m going to leave it unfinished; I must return to Kisua to tell my people what I’ve learned so far.” She paused, looked at him, realizing that nothing had been settled. “If you allow.”
That quick flex of his jaw muscles again, she saw, above neck-cords taut as ropes. After a long silence, however, the Gatherer jerked his head in a nod. “I declare your tithe in abeyance for now. Until I can confirm—or disprove—what you say.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “If you have lied, do not think fleeing to Kisua will save you. Gatherers have tracked commissions across the world in the past. Hananja’s Law outweighs the laws of any foreign land, to us.”
“Of that I have no doubt, priest. But how do you intend to discover the truth?”
“I will return to the Hetawa and ask my brethren.”
The man’s na?veté astonished her. This was a brother of the Prince? “I would not advise going back to your Hetawa. In the morning when no one finds me dead, the conspirators will know I’ve told you secrets. The Hetawa—this whole city—may no longer be safe for you.”
He threw her a look of withering contempt. “This is not some corruption-steeped barbarian land, woman.” He turned to leave; the youth fell in behind him.
“Wait.”
He paused, looking back at her warily. She went to her chest—still keeping her movements smooth and slow—and rummaged through it for a moment. “If you need to leave the city, give this to the guard at the south gate. Only before sunset, mind you; the shift changes at nightfall.”
She stepped forward and held out a heavy silver Kisuati coin. One face of it had been scuffed and scored, as if by accident.
The Gatherer stared down at it in distaste. “Bribery.”
She stifled irritation. “A token. The daytime guard at that gate is one of my associates. Show him that and he’ll help you, even tell you where I can be found. I mean to be beyond the walls by morning.”
He scowled, not touching the coin.
She rolled her eyes. “If later you decide I have lied, lay it on my breast after you kill me.”
“Do not dare to mock—” Exasperation crossed the Gatherer’s face and finally he sighed, plucking the coin from her hand. “So be it.”
He turned and walked out of the bedchamber into the darkness of the main room. She saw him appear again as a silhouette against the balcony hangings, the youth a smaller shadow beside him. He vaulted the railing, his protégé followed, and both of them were gone.
Sunandi let out a long, shaky breath.
After an equally long silence, Lin inhaled. “I’ll go now,” she said in Sua. Rising, the girl went to the corner where an open pack sat, half-concealed by a large fern; she began rummaging through it, making certain she had everything she needed. “Arrange things with our contacts. Should’ve gone last night, but I wanted to wait until tomorrow when most of the foreigners began leaving after the Hamyan—” She paused, hands stilling their brisk movements for a moment. “Thank the gods I delayed. If I hadn’t been here…”
Sunandi nodded, though absently. She hardly felt able to think, much less speak coherently. She’d faced many trials in her years as Kinja’s heir, but never a direct threat to her life. The Gatherer’s eyes glittered in her memory, so dark, so cold—but compassionate, too. That had been the truly terrifying thing. A killer with no malice in his heart: it was unnatural. With nothing in his heart, really, except the absolute conviction that murder could be right and true and holy.
Lin took her arm. Sunandi blinked down at her. “You need to leave now, ’Nandi.”
“Yes… yes.” Kinja had taken in Lin because of her quick wit and good sense; Sunandi thanked the gods for both in that moment. “I’ll see you in Kisua.”
Lin nodded, flashing one of her impish smiles. Then she was gone, slipping out of the apartment through the front door hanging, an oversized man’s robe wrapped around her to conceal the pack. The hall guards would see her and assume she’d just finished some tryst with one of the high-ranking guests. They wouldn’t question her as long as she headed toward the servants’ quarters. From there Lin could leave the palace and be out of the city before dawn.
Kinja should have made Lin the ambassador, Sunandi decided in momentary envy. She was more ruthless than Sunandi, and eminently better suited to the whole process. But for now, Sunandi would simply be grateful for Kinja’s good taste. She sighed, then turned to the chest to dig out her own pack.
Behind her, beyond the window, a man’s silhouette flickered across the setting Moon.