The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(72)

“They cannot,” says a voice at his side, and he looks down into Nijiri’s solemn eyes. “This is the Gatherer way.”

*

Ehiru jerks free of the vision quietly, some part of him recalling in time that he is surrounded by unbelieving strangers who will look askance at a man who starts screaming for no apparent reason. An overabundance of dreambile, he diagnoses as his pounding heart slows. A Gatherer no longer produces dreamblood on his own. When his reserves are empty, the mind increases the production of other humors in a hopeless attempt to compensate. The scholarly recitation helps him focus on reality even as the sound of snapping bones still echoes in his ears.

“Rest break, Brother,” Nijiri says. Ever the devoted attendant. Ehiru nods, too hollow and numb to speak. He remembers to rein in the camel so that he can dismount; he goes through the motions of setting up his lean-to by rote. When he sits down in the shade the shivers set in. He pulls his robes more closely about himself and concentrates on opening his canteen, praying that no one notices his shaking hands.

I cannot bear this much longer, he thinks, and looks up at Nijiri as the boy comes to assist him with the canteen. He will not plead; the boy must accept the duty on his own. But soon, Nijiri. Please, soon.

Nijiri looks into his face, and his own twists in anguish. Ehiru reaches up to touch his cheek, perversely wishing he had dreamblood to soothe the boy’s pain. But Nijiri pulls away, and though his heart aches, Ehiru knows that this is necessary. Perhaps by putting distance between them Nijiri will find the strength to do his duty. It is an exceptionally cruel apprenticeship trial, but Hananja’s will cannot be denied. Nijiri is strong enough for it, Ehiru thinks with pride. The boy has always had a Gatherer’s soul.

The boy goes over to crouch in the shadow of his camel, rocking back and forth a little as he wrestles with his conscience. Then the Kisuati woman goes over to Nijiri with a canteen and Ehiru wants to watch them, see if the boy manages to keep his temper this time, but he cannot because another vision comes upon him and it is so fierce that he cannot resist and he sees

*

Blood and death blood on the sand blood and fire blood upon blood upon blood. Kill the Kisuati woman kill the witnesses kill them all except Ehiru, bring him back in chains in chains in chains.

Slyly the voice says, Eninket knows you have betrayed him.

I betrayed no one. When the abeyance ends—

Delay, disobedience. HeShe is the Avatar; his word is Her word, which is Law. But there’s still time. Kill the woman now and Shehe will be merciful. You can go back to the Hetawa. You can have peace again. The woman is young but her life has been rich. Her dreamblood will be sweet as you swallow it into your soul.

No! I cannot Gather for selfish gain! That is an atrocity—

The atrocity is what will happen now. Because of you. Do not forget this, fool, beloved of Hananja. Real blood will flow because of you.

He looks up and sees death coming. A true-seeing—

*

Reality returned, hard as a blow.

“Something is out there,” he said. He felt no particular urgency as the words came. “Someone is coming.”

Nijiri was at his side immediately. “What do you see?”

The figures strode toward him from the horizon, immense, smiling, cold-eyed. They were evil, and he told Nijiri so. Flight was the only option—though he sensed already that flight would be hopeless.

“Break camp!” Gehanu cried. She ran through the milling minstrelfolk, swift despite her bulk. “Quickly, we must go! Soldiers of Gujaareh!”

The minstrels’ confusion beat against Ehiru’s mind, their questions against his ears. Why would soldiers of Gujaareh threaten them? Where had those soldiers come from? Ehiru did not know either, but someone did. There was no confusion in the Kisuati woman as she turned toward her mount—but as she did, her eyes met his and revealed her fear.

“They mean to kill you this time,” Ehiru told her.

She flinched, then her lips quirked in a bitter smile. “I seem to hear nothing else from you Gujaareen these days.” Then she was gone, heading for her camel, and Nijiri was tugging him toward his.

Ehiru gripped the boy’s arm. “I’ll be fine,” he said, and saw the boy’s eyes widen at his sudden lucidity. He smiled tightly in response; a Gatherer’s will was a formidable thing. Nijiri smiled back before nodding and sprinting toward his own beast.

They mounted and whipped their camels to the loping canter that was their fastest run. The camels smelled their fear and obliged without protest. The Kisuati border was only a half-day’s ride away. There was no way to tell how far back the Gujaareen were through the heat-haze, or even whether they had spotted the caravan. There was hope.

No there isn’t, laughed the voice in Ehiru’s mind.

When he glanced back again, the wavering specks on the horizon had resolved into clear shapes: men on horseback, four fours or more, riding hard to catch up to them. The minstrels called out to one another in polyglot urgency and all around Ehiru daggers and camelwhips and the occasional short sword appeared. Then Gehanu called out something else and the leaders of the caravan turned, dragging the rest to a halt. Instantly they began circling, backs to one another, weapons at the ready. Talithele’s palanquin they set down at the center, along with the heavier of the trade goods so as to make their mounts more maneuverable.

To Sunandi, Ehiru heard Gehanu shout, “Go!”