The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(42)

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.”