The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(106)

The Gatherer stopped at a heavy curtain that led into what was clearly a different area of the Hetawa—the corridors, grounds, and buildings kept hidden from the public eye. Here Sunandi hesitated. But Rabbaneh smiled again, this time sincerely and with no hint of mockery. “Nijiri has told us many tales of his travels in the eightday since his return, Speaker,” he said. “He’ll be glad to see you again, I think.”

She was not so certain of that. Nor was she certain she wanted to see him, now that she had come.

“We found Ehiru’s body in Kite-iyan,” she said. She noticed that one of her hands was fidgeting, unnecessarily smoothing a fold of her dress, and stopped herself. “The Prince was there, and the other… the Reaper too.”

Rabbaneh nodded. “Our brother put his apprentice to a hard test. But Nijiri passed it, as we knew he would.” He paused, then added more gently, “Come. It will be good for both of you.”

What was it about Gatherers, Sunandi wondered, that could make her feel as though they cared about nothing in the world more than her? Was it the dreamblood that made them this way? Or did they deliberately seek out successors who possessed that fascinating, terrifying mixture of empathy and ruthlessness?

She pulled back her shoulders, nodded stiffly, and passed through the doorway.

The curtain opened into a vast courtyard at the center of the complex. Covered walkways edged the perimeter of this and crossed it here and there, each linking one building with another. Sunandi made an effort not to gawk, acutely aware that she had entered a world seen only by a privileged few. Still she could not help noticing some things. They passed vaulted storechambers whose shelves were stacked with a treasure trove of scrolls, stone tablets, and wooden placards. At the sandy far end of the courtyard, a stern-faced warrior in black stalked down a line of adolescent boys posed in some arcane combat-stance. Nearer by was a fountain surrounded by grasses and flowers, around which younger children chased one another and played in joyous, astonishing silence.

Within these walls, where peace was protected by the Goddess, the war might as well have never occurred.

Then the Gatherer led her into a new building, this one with walls of dark gray marble rather than sandstone. The halls here were completely silent, and utterly still but for her and Rabbaneh.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Instinctively, in such a still place, she kept her voice low.

“The Stone Garden,” Rabbaneh replied. “He meditates there in his free hours.”

They reached the building’s atrium and passed from cool dim corridors into a space of sand and light. Two huge, irregular fingers of rock dominated the scene, one carved from nightstone and the other from white mica, each standing in a corner of the atrium. A handful of smaller boulders occupied the remaining space at random, some small enough to be used as seats. On the centermost of these, with his knees drawn up, sat Nijiri.

Rabbaneh stopped here, inclining his head to Sunandi. “I’ll leave you in his hands.” She nodded, and he disappeared into the corridors’ shadows.

Silence fell, remarkably comforting. She felt herself relax, which seemed strange as she thought of the chaos and despair beyond the Hetawa’s walls. Perhaps that, too, was Hananja’s doing.

“I’m surprised to see you here, little killer,” Sunandi said at last. “Have you been out there? Gujaareh’s streets are anything but peaceful tonight.”

It was difficult to tell from the angle and with only the Moon’s illumination in the Garden, but she thought he smiled. “We’ll go out soon, the three of us,” he said. “The disruption in the city is terrible, true, but it can’t be helped. Certain matters have kept us in the Hetawa these past few days.”

“Such as?”

“Finding the Prince’s co-conspirators. The Superior was dealt with by my brothers several fourdays ago, but there were others who abetted him.” He sighed. “You were right, Speaker. The Hetawa had indeed become riddled with corruption. But we’re working hard to make it clean again.”

Knowing what that meant, Sunandi cleared her throat uncomfortably. “The Protectorate may want a few of the criminals for public trials. That’s not the Gujaareen way, I know… but some things must change now.”

“I understand. I will speak with my brothers. We’ll keep a few alive for you.”

She hesitated. “The Protectors will no doubt try to change you, too. You realize that?”

His smile returned. “Yes, I know.”

He might have been speaking of the wash for all the concern in his voice. Shaking her head in consternation, Sunandi took a seat on a nearby boulder. Nijiri stirred from his meditative pose to face her.

For a moment Sunandi barely recognized him. He hadn’t changed physically, but then it had been barely a month since she’d last seen him. There was nevertheless a new maturity in his features now. The weathering of experience, perhaps—or more likely a lessening of his youth. Gone was the frustrated restlessness that had been omnipresent in him before; gone too was the anger that had always churned beneath his calm facade. Now he was a Gatherer. Now there was only peace. But through the peace she could see sorrow, too.

“Tell me,” she said.

He gazed at her for a long moment, then did.

By the time he finished the tale of Ehiru’s death, she was weeping. He had spoken quietly, without embellishment or artifice—but there was no need for more. Even the simplest words conveyed the agony of Ehiru’s final descent into madness, and the utter loss that the boy now felt. But to her surprise, Nijiri smiled when the tale was done.