The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(83)

Silence fell in the chamber. In it, Sunandi cleared her throat. “Respectfully, Esteemed… Are our warriors prepared for an attack?”

An old woman at the far end of the table leveled a hard look at Sunandi. “We have been doing nothing else since we first learned of Gujaareh’s warship fleet, Speaker.”

“But even so, the Prince has moved more cleverly than expected,” said the woman at the center. She spoke heavily, oblivious to the quelling looks of her fellow Councillors. After a long moment she lifted her head. “I thank you for your report, Jeh Kalawe, and Gatherers of Gujaareh.”

Sunandi offered her bow again. But as she straightened, she hesitated. “Esteemed and wise. Kisua has not had war for many centuries, and never with her daughter-nation of Gujaareh. Is there no hope remaining for peace?”

“That is up to the Prince,” the central woman said.

“We shall of course attempt to parley with him,” said another of her companions. “Though it seems unlikely he will be interested in peace after investing this much in his attack.”

The central woman sighed, shaking her head. “And what will you do, Gatherer Ehiru?”

“Return to Gujaareh,” Ehiru replied. “There is still the matter of the Reaper, since it seems you have uncovered no information about its connection to all this. But as for the rest… my brothers must know of the Prince’s plans. There are still some in the Hetawa whom I trust, and who will help me try to stop this—if it can be stopped. War is the greatest possible offense to Hananja.”

The old woman considered this for a moment. “You may have horses and provisions to facilitate your journey home. But take care; by coming here, you may have made yourselves an enemy of your lord.”

He bowed over one hand to her. “We serve Hananja, Elder. Our Prince is merely Her Avatar, and as such he rules only on Her sufferance.”

As he straightened, he remembered Eninket’s face at their last meeting: smiling, reassuring. Lying through his teeth. The rage returned—not the red, brutal rage he’d been fighting since the desert, but something cleaner and more welcome: the cold and righteous anger of a Servant of Hananja.

Perhaps I am not wholly corrupt yet, he decided. Perhaps I can remain myself long enough to administer justice one last time. And for you, my birth-brother, that justice is long overdue.

Seeing something of Ehiru’s thoughts in his face, the old woman’s eyes widened. But then her fear faded and she returned a slow, grim nod.

“Then I bid you good luck, Gatherer,” she said, “and for all our sakes… good hunting.”





31





The Hetawa shall offer healing to all, Gujaareen and foreigner alike, believer and unbeliever. The Goddess welcomes all who dream.

(Law)





Nijiri heard the crowd before they walked out of the Meeting House. At first he thought it was the river, though he had already seen as they passed through the city that the river curved away to the west, disappearing into the green, mist-covered mountains in the distance. Then his ears sifted out words and phrases and shouts, and he realized the noise was voices—so many of them raised and speaking at once that the result was a monotonous roar. He could not imagine why so many people would assemble in such undisciplined chaos. No public gathering in Gujaareh was ever so loud. Was it perhaps a riot? He had heard of such things in foreign lands. Then he stepped outside, and saw.

People: hundreds of them, possibly thousands, thronging the steps of the Meeting House and the streets and the alleys beyond it, men and women and children and elders, so many that he could not see the end of them. But when he and Ehiru emerged onto the steps of the House with Sunandi, the gabble softened, then went silent altogether. Sunandi and Ehiru stopped, and Nijiri did as well, all three finding themselves the focus of countless pairs of eyes.

Breaths passed. Nijiri looked into the faces of the nearer crowd members and saw many things, from fear and curiosity to anger and adoration. More than anything else, he saw something that shocked and confused him, for though he had seen it many times in Gujaareh, he’d never expected to see it in a city that named Gatherers anathema. Hope. But what they wanted from Ehiru—only Ehiru, no one seemed even to notice Nijiri—he could not guess.

Then Ehiru stepped forward, turning his hands palms open at his sides. Startled, Nijiri hastened to follow, hearing Sunandi mutter something under her breath then follow as well. When he glanced at Ehiru’s face he was stunned again, for the strain and misery of the past month had vanished from his brother’s face. He was smiling, in fact, as he continued forward into the crowd, and his expression was the one Nijiri remembered from their first meeting, years and years ago—tenderness, sternness, warmth, detachment. Peace. The crowd, seeing this, murmured and parted for him, whispering to one another.

Then behind them Nijiri heard boots and the jangle of armor, jarring the aura of peace. He glanced around and saw that several Protectorate guardsmen had come out onto the steps, whispering anxiously to one another at the sight of the crowd. Nijiri dismissed them from his attention and focused on Ehiru instead, for he felt certain that what he was witnessing was no less than an intervention of the Goddess. Kisua had abandoned narcomancy centuries before—but respect for it, and faith in Hananja’s power, clearly still lingered in at least some small part of her ancient soul. As Ehiru’s apprentice, it was his duty to bear witness to such a momentous event.