The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(47)

The folk gathered in the square drew back in reverence, making a path. The Guardsman inhaled and backed away in a respectful bow as the party approached the cistern. The cistern servant did the same, and belatedly Nijiri remembered to bow as well.

“Hold, child.” The green-robed woman at the center of the party held up a hand to point at him. The veil obscured all but the faintest outline of her face, but Nijiri’s pulse quickened anyhow at the sound of her voice. Could it be?

He straightened, pointing at himself in disbelief as a meek servant boy should; she nodded. “Come,” she said. She and her acolytes turned away, and he followed quickly.

The acolytes moved to surround him, letting him walk beside the Sister. No one followed them as they left the square. Nijiri glanced back and caught a glimpse of annoyance warring with awe on the Guardsman’s face; the awe won out and the man flashed a rueful but good-natured smile at Nijiri before turning away. Then the Sisters turned down a different street, heading into the crafter’s district. The shops and smithies here had already closed for the day; most crafters worked at night. Only a few people were still about. Some of these glanced at Nijiri and the Sisters, then quickly looked away; most did not even look. They might envy him for being chosen as a dreamseed tithebearer, but no one would show that envy openly. To do so invited Hananja’s displeasure—and the Sisters’.

“Unwise, Gatherer-Apprentice,” said the Sister. Her voice was low and did not carry. She walked at a stately pace, the bells lining the fringe of her robes and veil tinkling in time. “A man intent on pleasure rarely offers much in the way of information, before or after.”

Nijiri felt his cheeks heat. “Sister Meliatua?”

He could not see her face clearly, but he thought she smiled. “You remember.”

He could hardly have forgotten. “It was the only way, Sister. I—” He hesitated then, unsure of how much to tell her.

She did not look at him as they walked. “Ehiru is no longer in custody. He was released just after sun-zenith, whereafter he left the city through the south gate. He had a token of hers, so a guard there told him how to find the Kisuati ambassador. I do not know why he was released.”

So stunned was Nijiri that it took him several breaths to find his tongue. “You… how did you…”

Another possible smile. “I listened, Gatherer-Apprentice, just as I taught you to listen on Hamyan. We of the Sisterhood have contacts both in and beyond Gujaareh who are willing to provide us with useful information.”

Nijiri frowned, making a guess. “Kisuati contacts?”

“And Soreni, and Jellevy, and many others, including some of your brethren. Rabbaneh asked me to assist you. He said you might be in the vicinity of the guard-stations.”

So it was more than luck that she had come along when she did. “Then do you know where I can find my mentor, Sister?”

“No, but the guard at the south gate might, if you can convince him to tell you. You should move quickly, though. I imagine Ehiru will get information from the Kisuati woman and then kill her. After that, who can say where he will go?”

Nijiri frowned. “Gatherers do not ‘kill,’ Sister.”

She smiled again. “I do not actually share my body with tithebearers, Apprentice. I merely give them dreams. Yet when they wake they are spent and sated, their bodies quivering with remembered ecstasy. Do you think the distinction matters to them much, if at all?”

Nijiri flushed. “I suppose not.”

“You must learn to see things from many angles, Nijiri. If anything, that has always been your mentor’s one failing. He sees only Hananja’s Law.” She sighed; bells sang around her veil. “That narrowness of purpose makes him the greatest of your brethren, but it also leaves him ill equipped to handle the schemes of the corrupt.”

Nijiri tried not to think of the look of utter loss that had been on Ehiru’s face when the Sunset Guardsmen took him away. “Then it’s my task to bear that burden for him, Sister.”

She glanced at him, then away. “I see. You know something of corruption yourself. But you’re so young…” It was a question.

He hesitated, but there was something about her that encouraged candor. “I was servant-caste before the Hetawa adopted me. My mother taught me how to satisfy an adult’s lust almost before I learned to walk. It’s something most servant-caste parents teach their children—something they hope the child will never need, but which could spell survival if the time ever comes.” He shrugged, then sobered further. “But I had no trouble as a servant. Only as an acolyte, in the Hetawa.”

She said nothing, though Nijiri paused, fearing her censure. Her silence helped; after a moment he was able to relax and continue.

“All acolytes go on the list,” he explained. “To serve as pranje attendants, I mean, whenever a Gatherer or Sharer goes through the ritual. It’s supposed to be impossible to escape this duty—but there are ways. And which list one ends up on is often a matter of earning the favor of the Teacher who controls that list.”

“You wanted to be on Ehiru’s list?”

Nijiri’s step faltered for a moment. Flustered, he fell silent; Meliatua sighed and touched his hand in reassurance.

“I had a mentor, too,” she said, softly. “If we had such rituals, I would’ve wanted to serve her, and no one else. No matter how wrong or selfish that might have been considered by my peers.”